#also have you developed any chest hair since ive been gone

[magini0]

Kimset (IV)

Pairing: ot6 x Jungkook | Jungkook x Everyone

Genre: Witch AU, Soulmate AU, Ex's to Lovers, Angst With a Happy Ending

Summary: Jungkook has until the next Witching Moon to develop a cure for his chronic illness. With his race against time, he really doesn’t have the nerve to be constantly pestered by his old coven mates—whom he had left behind after a mission gone wrong. Back as a famous healer and sponsored by a renowned magical society, Jungkook is ready to do what it takes to survive. Now, if only his former coven would back off and stop being so damn persistent in making up for their old mistakes…

Word Count: 13k

Also accessible on ao3 => Here Previous Chapter => Here Next Chapter => Coming Soon

There was a strange, nauseating race to Taehyung's heartbeat as he walked down the hall. His feet cascaded down the tiled floor; his loud footsteps echoed tauntingly throughout the empty corridor illuminated by the afternoon sun. The shadows cast the window's silhouettes against the floor. His palms were strangely sweaty, restless as he switched through a cycle of clenching and unclenching his hands before he'd fiddle with his clothes for the umpteenth time, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the window's reflective surface as he walked, combing through his hair. 

He followed the numbers on each door, trying to find the one that belonged to Jungkook. B013, right? He was nervous because, of course, he was. Their last conversation—if you could even call it that—had hardly even grazed the top of the iceberg that was their relationship. To be entirely fair, Taehyung strongly doubted that this conversation would go any differently. But unlike his hyungs, he just couldn't bring himself to give Jungkook space. He just couldn't. 

Not when it's been literal years since he's spent more than a fleeting moment with Jungkook, not when he had yet to fully take him in. His hair had grown out, Taehyung recalled. The still black, natural hair was cut into a styled fringe. Hair a little longer, bangs stopping a little over his cheeks with a slight curl to the end swaying from the face. The sides of his hair were still styled, covering the tips of his ears. A row of piercings lined one of his ears, along with his brow and bottom lip. His chest puffed with a momentary sense of pride as he had noticed them during their last encounter, and reluctantly wandered back to a place where he watched Jungkook marvel through a jewelry shop's showcase window—lamenting the fact that his parents would never let him tarnish his image through body modifications. 

Taehyung scoffed at the momentary reminder of Jungkook's atrocious set of parents. But there Jungkook had stood— his little bunny, sprouting piercing like it was no one's business. Because it wasn't, and Taehyung couldn't help but feel an assortment of pride and happiness that Jungkook had found that independence for himself. 

Having Jungkook before him terminated any and all of his thoughts, rendering him to nothing but a blubbering stupored twat—while simultaneously promoting such a heaviness to take hold of him. The kind of short, fleeting questions one could sense in the pit of their stomachs—sinking. What had Jungkook been like during his first piercing? 

Taehyung recalled in that vague moment by the jewelry shop window how he had promised Jungkook that when the witch turned eighteen, he'd sneak him out to get his ears pierced. A fleeting smile twitched across his face as he walked, his hand lifting to subconsciously brush against his earlobe. About a month after making that promise, Teahyung had snuck out of the academy and purchased a set of earrings, small silver stars hanging from a delicate chain, and a little clear glass diamond in the star's centers. It hadn't been much, and usually Taehyung wasn't such a fan of something so delicate. But his bun was discovering stargazing with Yoongi at the time—something that had totally not made him jealous—and seemed to be enjoying it. Taehyung had blown most, if not all, of his summer wages on that set. 

Because Jungkook getting his ears pierced had been so much more than just getting to buy some new jewelry. It was more than just an act of spontaneous defiance. It was a call for independence, a step towards individuality that Jungkook's parents refused to permit otherwise. Taehyung had understood that—he still does. 

Taehyung glanced outside, but his gaze was unfocused—did Jungkook need to hold someone's hand? Did his face scrunch up the way it always does, eyes squeezed shut, and nose crunched in that adorable way? Taehyung had missed it. That moment he had reserved for them—he had missed it all. The sense of loss that realization accompanied was unbearable. 

He couldn't help but wonder if Jungkook ever got those tattoos he had wanted, too. Of course, he wouldn't go on and ask something so personal. His bun might literally shank him for it. 

But he still felt unsettled and frustrated by their last meeting. He had wanted to say more, but just being able to see Jungkook again—before him, living, breathing, alive; vaporized any and every thought of his because Jungkook was finally there—he was okay.  

Jungkook had been angry— rightly fucking so, he might add. Emotional, frustrated, hurt. It killed him. Their eyes had locked, and suddenly he was speechless. There stood his baby, his stupid, naive bunny—crying, and he wasn't able to do anything about it. 

Ultimately, he was one of the six reasons those eyes were shedding tears in the first place. In that moment, it didn't matter how long Taehyung had prowled the streets of Korea looking for those same pair of eyes, how he scanned over the crowds to try and recognize that familiar head of tussled, unkempt hair, because Jungkook was there, crying because of him. 

Walking further down the hall, Taehyung didn't expect this conversation to go any better. Realistically, he was just psyching himself up to be yelled at, berated, and metaphorically thrown around as Jungkook vented six years of hate onto him. But Taehyung didn't mind because it was Jungkook's voice doing it. He didn't mind those heated, fiery gazes because it was Jungkook's chocolate eyes pointing them.  

Because even for a moment—he got to exist in the same space as Jungkook. 

And maybe, just maybe, after Jungkook got to say everything he needed or wanted to, Taehyung would be able to say he was sorry. He was really starting to hate that word—sorry. as if the depths of his remorse, the sheer level of guilt, regret, and sorrow could ever be narrowed down to five abysmal letters. 

Because he was so much more than just sorry. He cursed every day that had passed for the last six years—2,190 damned days, give or take a few. He hexed every watery blink, the haunting quiver of his sweet voice, the balling of his fist and shaking of his hand. For every minute, Jungkook was out there, thinking for even a second he hadn't been out there looking for him. 

Gaze following the labels against each the door, he felt the numbers nearing Jungkooks. The door was slightly ajar, and through it, Taehyung could hear the familiar voice of his soulmate. 

"But we fell in love." 

"Despite all odds—fuck, we grew to love each other above all else." 

"So—" 

"So when three of our parents demanded a trial." 

"We agreed." 

"Because—" 

"Because we thought we'd be proving them wrong." 

"We lost everything." 

"Or, at least—I had lost everything." 

Taehyung wasn't much of a crier—that was Jimin's job, and by the Gods, he hated those tears, too. So why—Why were his eyes suddenly so watery? The hair around him felt heavy, cold, and stale. 

He had half a mind to burst into the laboratory, stand before Jungkook, and proclaim that he was still here. That Jungkook still had him and that he was so, so fucking sorry. That there wouldn't be a day that would pass now where he wouldn't be there to hold his hand. Because Taehyung loved him. 

He hasn't stopped. The abrasive, explosive anger within a single night could never diminish even an ounce of the care he held for Jungkook. Because when they had first met, before it was him and Jimin, or Hoseok or Yoongi or Jin and Namjoon— it had been Jungkook. Despite having cared for all of them, Taehyung loved him first. 

He still does. 

But what should he say—now? When your soulmate stands before you, tone filled with such grief and desolation at the sheer recollection of you, of what you had and what you were. 

Taehyung didn't consider himself a coward—no, he was a true hothead who felt first and thought second. So he had practiced his confessions with Jimin, over and over, deep into the starry nights and bear ceilings. But his tongue felt heavy, and suddenly, all the words he had prepped felt inadequate. 

Taehyung had never been good with words. He couldn't string together poetic confessions like Namjoon or Jimin, lay out his soul like Hoseok, or make himself as clear and vulnerable as Jin and Yoongi. He was just well—unsure. He chose to act; when someone bothered Jungkook, he'd bash the perpetrator's head against a locker. If the headmaster went off again, he'd put a hex on the seams of his clothes. 

Jungkook deserved more than that. Not someone who immediately set out on a tyrannical war path, promising vengeance for every tear spilled because his baby bunny was upset and someone was paying for it. He deserved someone who didn't become completely overwhelmed with fury the moment he shed a tear, someone who would do more than just stand still with his head bowed low while being scolded. No, it had been six cursed years. Taehyung was going to show that he had changed, that he could—and would find the right words for him. He might not be as flowery or delicate—but they'd be his. 

"How'd it go?"

Jimin hurriedly asked before Taehyung even managed to close the front door. Taehyung, still feeling like a brooding cloud had formed over him, didn't utter a word as he meticulously took off his coat. He dusted it off despite only having walked to and from the science building before hanging it up. He stepped out of his shoes and put them neatly on the shoe rack, sliding into his slippers shortly after—to put it concisely, he was stalling.

Jimin frowned. It didn't take a genius to decipher the pensive mood looming through Taehyung's aura. Jimin would've gone with Taehyung to hopefully talk with Jungkook, but not only did the witch ignore his little note on the breakfast tray from earlier this week, but it also would have overwhelmed Jungkook. Neither of them wanted that—they just wanted to talk, to see him. 

Taehyung had finally looked up, eyes locking briefly with his own. His own breath caught briefly stuck in his throat at the pitiful sight. Taehyung's hair was disheveled, no doubt from his fidgety hands constantly combing through it. The rim of his eyes were a bit bloodshot, and trailing down his gaze to Taehyung's cheeks they appeared just a bit too red. Jimin bit the inside of his cheek, a poor attempt to keep his scolding at bay. He knew Taehyung handled his emotions differently and that whenever the witch was ever brought to tears, he'd wipe them away with such incredulous vigor till his cheeks turned raw. 

The sight was strikingly familiar. It barely felt like any time at all since Taehyung appeared like that in front of his door. Gods—it had been so late into the night that it became early. But Taehyung hadn't stopped; hadn't slept either— none of them had. The witch's cheeks had been sunken in ever so slightly, and the darkness underneath his eyes had completely altered Taehyung's otherwise healthy complexion. Taehyung had been out looking for Jungkook again. 

Jimin might never forget that night when he opened his door for Taehyung. How, during that night since Jungkook's disappearance, Taehyung had cried. Cried—a loose term for what had happened. Sobbed seemed more appropriate, the type that made one's legs feel weak, made it hard to breathe, and left you with a sore throat. It was the sound of someone losing hope. 

Taehyung never stopped looking—none of them had. But after the first few months, Taehyung's near-daily outings turned more sporadic. But they still visited Hangawoondae annually, still holding onto the fickle hope of spotting their bunny window shopping again. 

"Let's go talk in my room, hm?" Jimin suggested, carefully reaching out and taking a hold of Taehyung's cold hand. Walking past the living room still felt surreal to him, seeing Hoseok lounging while switching through the channels playing across the TV, elbow resting on the armrest and cheek squished against the palm of his propped-up hand. Jin was moving about in the kitchen, preparing a honey pastry with a ruminating look. The sweet dessert had been Jungkook's favorite, a fact that had gone unnoticed by no one. 

Nothing had been the same since Jungkook left. Being able to see some of his old hyungs and share a communal space with them again felt strange. He had missed it.  

Walking past the open space and down the hall, he ignored the twisting pang of emotion he felt by passing Jungkook's closed door. Whether Jungkook was there or not, that pale white door remained closed. He couldn't really blame him, especially after their last confrontation—Jimin understood.  

Gently nudging Taehyung into his (their) room, he gently closed the door. 

The enchantment wasn't necessarily very noticeable, the spells back boning loosely marked onto the inside of the doorframe. But walking through the door, a lingering sense of magic brushed against one's skin for a moment—not by much, but enough for anyone to be aware that the room they were entering was very much manipulated by an outside force.  

Gone was the dreary interior of a basic apartment bedroom, replaced by something more to Jimin's tastes, to his needs. The space was larger, with a wide circular window casting nearly the entirety of the room in natural light. Creams and soft colors scattered about, from blankets to pillows, frames, and wardrobes. A queen-sized bed covered in far too many throws and pillows. There wasn't a color out of place; everything followed a similar pallet. It would've looked stale if it weren't for Jimin's artistic eye, dotting little spots of complementary colors here and there, the occasional green plant from Namjoon giving the space a little liveliness. 

A picture frame of him and Taehyung rested on his bedside table, and a group photo of everyone during their third Solar dance in the academy hung against the wall. 

Jimin was aware of his contribution to their split. He had been so scared, hurt, frightened, and angry at the time. He had his reasons during that night; the time he spent in the Deep with the others was too long. The mission had been immoral from the start—who would do that to a bunch of teenagers? 

But still, he had never managed to actually get rid of any of their shared photos. He still had their old photo albums hiding underneath his bed; the one hanging against the wall was simply his favorite. Glancing at it now, their naive and smiling faces. His eyes lingered against Jungkook's young form; they had been holding hands. Jimin— Jimin couldn't bear to look at it. 

Yeontan was snoozing in his little dog bed, the hyper dog oblivious to the occurring drama. Hana, Jimin's white snake familiar, remained sunbathing by the window sill. Her sharp, snake-like eyes opened as the two witches entered the room. She remained silent, but she didn't need to say much to show her disapproval. 

Taehyung plopped himself down at the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his thighs while he dropped his head in his hands. Seeing Taehyung so depleted unsettled Jimin to the core, his pace slightly hurried as he sat down beside him.

"It didn't go well, huh?" Jimin hummed, beginning to rub gently at Taehyungs hunched over back. There was a silence that followed, a pause as Taehyung breathed, focusing solely on the rhythmic pattern of Jimin's soothing hand. 

"It didn't go at all," Taehyung muttered, voice hoarse. 

Ah. 

Ah.  

Jimin sighed, shoulders dropping as the little flicker of hope he had built dimmed. Taehyung had cried, when exactly he wasn't sure, most likely on the way back to the apartments. 

"Hyung…" Taehyung strained, the small plea halting Jimin's actions and line of thought at the sheer—grief? That Taehyung's tone carried. It broke his heart more than it already was. 

"Oh, oh honey, come here." He ushered, pulling Taehyung into his arms. A tight hold, reassuring in the sense of telling Taehyung that he was there, that I'd be okay, and that he's got him. So Taehyung fell. Small sounds, muffled by the wool of his sweater, soon became louder. More unkempt, earnest. 

"Hyung—hyung… he, he sounded—" Taehyung choked and sniffled as he tried pulling himself together. "He sounded so sad." 

Jimin shut his eyes, inhaling sharply. None of them had been spared from Jungkook's distraught gaze, from the disappointment and anguish encapsulated within those familiar eyes. They had deserved it. That much was clear, but still. Seeing it, hearing it, Jimin had wanted to drop to his knees. Bind his soul—more than it was already bound—to Jungkook and his own lifelong pursuit towards redemption. 

"Like—like the thought of us was something to grieve over." Taehyung's wavering voice cracked, prompting Jimin's own eyes to begin watering. 

Because that was his bunny, they were talking about. His companion from day one was that sweet, shy, silly mess he had bumped into in elementary school. The boy with the kindest eyes and most amazing abilities, his little prince, "Eomma says I can't be friends with nulls, Minie." How Jungkook never became like his parents was a true wonder, but he didn't. Not when they snuck off campus during recess or when they took turns pushing each other on the swings. Jungkook had always had a heart of gold, even when he was scared and riddled with insecurities; "Jungkookie, see this red string here? It means we'll be friends forever, forever and ever! Nothin' will change that, my eomma says we're lucky. So let's be lucky, k'ay? It's our lucky ribbon." 

Glancing down at his pinky, Jimin lingers on the five vibrant, red knots around his finger. The sixth, pale and washed out, only remained visible for a few inches before fading out into the air. But Jimin knows it’s still there—now more than ever. 

"We—we have to fix this hyung." 

Jimin nodded, gaze fixed and determined as he cupped Taehyung's cheeks. Using his thumbs to gently swipe away the offending tears, he looked into the scared eyes of his lover. The past week had been an utter cluster-fuck of emotions, a cruel combination of pure elation, utter grief, and guilt, and now fear. Because what if Jungkook never forgave them? It was possible. Despite how the singular thought tore at his heart, it was reasonable, too. 

They could lose him again. 

No.

No, Jimin wouldn't let that happen. He couldn't. Jungkook might never love them again, might never trust nor care for them. But he'd be there. In Jimin's life, in Taehyungs. 

"We will." 

Taehyung looked into his eyes, all too vulnerable and teary. Looking towards him for guidance, and Jimin felt all too misplaced. This was Namjoon's job, or Jin's, maybe even Hoseok's, when the situation called for it. They were all too adept at taking control, leading. But for tonight, he'd take Taehyung's hand and hopefully lead him towards a brighter future. 

"We found each other again. That's all we need." He mused, voice hushed and soft as he leaned down and pressed a kiss against Taehyung's furrowed brow. 

"We'll have forever to get it right."

Jungkook tucked his hands into his pockets as he walked, the warm coat doing little to keep the chill away. Mornings were always chilly around this time of year, just as autumn began to creep around. Jungkook couldn't really tell when his body was being affected by the outside temperatures anymore, considering how his limbs were gradually growing colder each week; breezes like these didn't really bother him anymore. A loud, exaggerated yawn pulled him from his thoughts. Glancing to his side, he smiled at Yugyeom's bundled-up form. A thick, knitted scarf hung around his neck, chin nestled securely in the warm material. The witch had never been much of a morning person—neither was he honestly, but nowadays he couldn't get more than five hours of consecutive sleep. 

Originally, Jungkook intended to stop by for only a day, fix his Halmoni up, and hop onto the next available train. But having Yugyeom here somewhat derailed his original, concise plan. With Yugyeom by his side, he couldn't help but want to show his friend everything he'd been up to and what he'd built for himself since leaving. Perhaps he was a little biased towards Jung-so, considering how the little witch had somehow nestled itself into his heart during their sessions. 

Iseul had stopped by the bookstore this morning, only there to briefly return a book she had borrowed. They didn't usually rent out books, but Chae-won had as much of a bleeding heart as he did, trying to support Iseul and Jung-so as much as she could. Which is how Jungkook ended up offering another tutoring session. Considering that it was a weekend and wouldn't conflict with the kids' schedule, Iseul readily agreed. 

"Since when do you like tutoring so much?"

Yugyeom's voice had cut through the comfortable silence, tone a little fussy from being wrangled out of bed before ten. 

Shrugging, Jungkook tried recounting exactly when he had grown to like teaching so much. He had grown up with all kinds of tutors; attending a school was mainly used by his parents as a form of socialization, a little something required by law, a hassle. If the teachings could be affordable by mainstream magicals, then they simply weren't good enough for his parents. Resulting in his rigorous schedule of six hours of public schooling only to come back home to be tutored privately; he only ever saw his parents for mealtimes. 

A blessing, really. 

Jungkooks upbringing was rigorous, strict, disciplined, and—well, lonely. 

Amongst missed birthdays and solitary dinners, Jungkook could account for two people who made his otherwise desolate childhood bearable. Jimin, a bundle of confident sunshine he met in elementary school, and Soo Choi. A middle-aged witch who began tutoring Jungkook long before he presented, before he could even materialize his mana enough to actually do something. But where his parents lacked, shrouded in the depths of their prejudice, there was the kindness of Soo Choi. A person Jungkook deems responsible for preventing him from becoming a replica of his parents, teaching him about magicals with an openness he hadn't found or seen before. 

Jungkook found himself wanting to be, in the presence of Jung-so and other uneducated children, someone that Soo Choi had been to him. A place of education, unbiasedness, and kindness. A person who taught magic, who could make all things mana, spells, and changes less scary, more natural. 

Letting out a small hum, he glanced at Yugyeom. "Probably because of Mrs. Choi."

Nodding, Yugyeom smiled. It was a fond smile, followed by a warm gaze Jungkook couldn't stand to look at for longer than needed. Yugyeom chuckled, cheeky bastard, clearly amused with Jungkook's flusteredness.

"What?" Jungkook muttered, not enjoying the giggling at his expense. 

"Oh nothin.'" Yugyeom snickered, the witch still clearly amused. "Although I'd love to see you teach, I don't really get why I'm here. You know how I did back in school." 

Jungkook nodded. Yugyeom had never been someone who let others or work stress him out. Jungkook still couldn't get over how Yugyeom had actually managed to pass their history class; considering how often he slept during those times, must've been witchcraft—considering it now, it probably was. 

"Remember Jung-so, the kid I told you about?" Yugyeom nodded, recalling one of their first catch-up sessions in the lab during inquiry day. 

"Well, he's the kid I'm tutoring now. He just recently presented as a witch, and his mom Isuel isn't a magical. The Dads out of the picture, and you know I can't perform magic. I was hoping you could show off a little, being able to see someone manifest some mana, meet someone who was a gifted witch too, might help ease Jung-so into things a little better." Jungkook explained, looking ahead as he watched the little cafe come into view. Cars passed them on the street, the clouded sky making the surroundings appear dull. 

Jungkook might not be able to relate personally to the struggles of gifted witches, but he was aware that they existed. Young children overwhelmed with their new abilities, uncertain how to proceed and finding the concept of magic unnerving. Jung-so was like that, a gifted witch originating from a mundane household. Unsure what being a witch meant, what that made him. 

Jimin had been like Jung-so.  

And he had helped him back then, too. 

"God, you're such a softy." Yugyeom huffed, smile fond as he playfully nudged Jungkook's arm as they walked. 

The cafe carried its usual warmth, a welcomed contrast to the otherwise freshness of the morning. Jungkook had only been away for about two weeks now, but seeing the familiar, cream-toned walls made him feel a little nostalgic. Jungkook could never recall a single day when the cafe wasn't filled, couples laughing, the occasional office worker chatting on the phone, the consistent calling of names. Despite the sheer number of customers, the place never felt rushed or hectic, something Jungkook ought to give the staff the most credit for. 

"Jungkook! I was beginning to think you switched cafes on us!" Han chuckled, making him flush a little. He hadn't come here that often, only every other day—and for tutoring, of course. Yugyeom, as if sensing his embarrassment, elbows him in the arm with a chuckle. 

"Hi Han, I actually left for my seventh trial, I'm only here to visit my Halmoni." Jungkook explained, receiving a simple nod from the barista. "I could've sworn I saw little Jung-so in the back; two hot chocolates then?" Han mused, but before Jungkook could agree, Yugyeom budged in. 

"And a coffee, please!" 

Han wrote down the order while he paid, Yugyeom waiting by the counter as Jungkook went to greet Jung-so. The thought of the little kid being on his own for too long unnerved him, even though he trusted the cafe—and Han, who always kept a watchful eye over the kid—he didn't exactly trust others.

Jung-so was sitting in one of the corner booths, slightly hunched over a book as he waited. Legs kicking out idly underneath him, he was the restless sort. But he wasn't crying this time, so Jungkook considered that a win. 

"Hey, kiddo, miss me?" He mused, prompting Jung-so to look up. The kid smiled, all crescent-eyed and flashing dimples, completely unaware of how it tugged on his heartstrings. Jungkook didn't expect it, nor did he expect the boy to hurriedly hop out of the booth and crush him in a hug, small arms wrapped around his waist and head nuzzled into his lower stomach. 

Chuckling, Jungkook crouched down and pulled the boy into his arms before picking him up and spinning them in a short circle. It strained his already sore arms, but Jung-so was laughing, and that's all he needed. Lowering him back down, he couldn't really suppress his own smile. "You make it seem like I was gone for forever," he teased before ruffling Jung-so's already messy hair. 

"You were." Jung-so huffed, sliding back into the booth. Jungkook followed, sliding in beside the boy. It was their usual spot, formed in a little semi-circle against one of the cafe's corners. 

"God, you two even look alike. Jungkook-ah, you sure your dad isn't keeping a secret from you?" Yugyeom chimed in, holding three drinks in a little carrier carton as he walked over and set it down. Glancing at the labels, he distributed the drinks accordingly. Jung-so shied away a little, glancing at Jungkook apprehensively. 

Jungkook laughed at the joke, rolling his eyes at the thought. He wouldn't mind it, having a brother and all. But Jung-so and he had already formed that kind of bond; they didn't need to be blood-related. “Jung-so, this is Yugyeom. He's a good friend of mine!" 

Yugyeom bent down so he was at eye level with the kid, holding out his hand and shaking it eagerly when Jung-so held out for a hand-shake. "Good to finally meet you, little man! I'm Jungkook's friend—well, more like his bestie. Now, someone's told me you presented as a witch. How exciting!" 

Jung-so nodded, a little more shyly but less reserved than before. Jungkook smiled, ushering them back to sit at the booth. He nudged the hot chocolate towards the kid, smiling at the polite thank you he got in return. 

"Jung-so, I brought Yugyeom here because he's a witch too." Jungkook explained, watching the kid's face light up. That was good, really good, actually. It was important for him to help Jung-so develop a good relationship with all things pertaining to magic and witches; it's a community that he could fall back on in the future. 

"Mhm, I sure am!" Yugyeom mused, smiling gently. 

One of the things Jungkook always admired about Yugyeom was how quickly the witch adapted to different people. This wasn't necessarily surprising, considering that Yugyeom was an empath. 

"I’m also a gifted witch!" 

Jung-so nodded, staring at Yugyeom for a second, then two, then three before turning to Jungkook:

"Whats a gifted witch?" He asked. 

Jungkook chuckled, watching Yugyeom blink a little as he recovered. 

"Well, magicals are categorized into two parties. For witches, it's between gifted and born witches. So, if both your parents are witches and you exhibit magical traits you're a born witch." He explained, before pointing to himself. "Take me as an example, I'm a born witch. I come from a long line of powerful witches." 

He paused, waiting for Jung-so to nod before continuing. "Gifted witches—" he continued, pointing at Yugyeom. "Like Yugyeom over here, are like you. Who don't necessarily have witching parents or grandparents. Sometimes, your great-great-great grandma was a witch and was able to harvest mana. Just enough to collect traces but not enough to use it. If she had mana, then her kid would likely inherit some too but remain dormant." Jungkook explained, grabbing a pen and paper and jotting down a simple family tree while he talked. 

"If there isn't enough mana in the body, it'll remain dormant. So it can easily pass through generations unnoticed, but it'll eventually accumulate and present itself through another generation." 

"Like me?" Jung-so mumbled. 

Jungkook nodded, "Mhm, like you and Yugyeom. Somewhere down the line, which can span across centuries. One of your ancestors began accumulating mana." 

"I know it can be a little startling, suddenly finding out you're a witch and all. Trust me, kiddo, I've been there." Yugyeom reassured, smiling kindly. Jung-so nodded, although it was obvious he still felt unsure. 

"Wanna see a magic trick?" Yugyeom piped up, no doubt sensing the slight dread through Jung-so's aura. He grabbed his cup of coffee, peeling back the lid and watching the steam rise through the air. Yugyeom kept focus, beginning to slightly twirl his index finger. Suddenly, through the cloud of steam, two silhouettes emerged. Dancing a small waltz around the cup, going higher and further into the air. 

Jungkook watched, smile crooked and unrefined as Jung-so's eyes widened with a natural curiosity. 

"What's important," he began, sipping at his own drink. Is that you remember that magic is only scary if you don't understand it—I know it's hard too. I mean, we witches carry extraordinary talents. To the untrained eye, that can be frightening." 

Slowly, as the steam began fading into the air, the two dancing silhouettes followed. It was a pretty trick; Jungkook had to give Yugyeom that. Although it looked fairly simple, it wasn't necessarily easy. They had both learned how to manipulate matter during their third year. Solids were much easier to mold than gas, especially when it came to such refined forms as a couple dancing, a realistic waltz at that. 

"But gifted witches are called gifted because—well, that's just it. Magic is a gift, something special." Jungkook smiled, gently patting Jung-so on the head. He wondered vaguely what kind of witch he was himself. Without magic, it was hard to carry the title without carrying what made him that. For the first time since cutting off his own mana, for sacrificing his own gift in exchange for a little more time. Did he feel like he had actually lost something. 

It was all just survival back then. He was competent enough not to need magic on a day-to-day basis. But seeing Yugyeom, the flying books within Veil's library, the familiars, the conscious shears and watering cans in the gardens, the constellations he'd cast onto his ceilings—it was all gone. Jungkook had given it all up. All for the sake of a few more days, months; he wasn't really sure. 

Seeing Jung-so discover the wonders of magic and how pretty it could really be, he wanted the kid to love it, to adore the craft as much as he did. He hoped that if all else failed and he truly did pass away, he'd be remembered for everything he loved because there was so much he cherished about this world. 

But he still had time. Eleven more months, that's all he needed. 

"Hyung, I thought witches weren't allowed to perform in public?"

Yugyeom began cackling, slapping his knee as Jungkook glared at him. "Oh hun, trust me. That's technically true, but you won't find a single person actually adhering to that rule!" This time, Jungkook reached over and nudged Yugyeom's arm.

"Yah! You're giving the kid bad ideas—Jung-so, don't listen to Yugs here. Follow the rules please." 

"Easy for you to say! Hmm, shall we talk about what you were like growing up, Kookie?" 

Jungkook narrowed his eyes, daring Yugyeom to continue. Which he did: "So, our Jungkookie here was actually quite the delinquent—"

"Lies and slander! Jung-so, avoid eye contact and cover your ears!" 

Jung-so laughed, "I already know! Hyungs Halmoni told me about it. Said you were a little riff-raff back in the days!" 

Jungkook gaped. Covering his heart as if he'd been shot, mouth open and eyes wide. "My Halmoni? My sweet—" Yugyeom's laughter interrupted his little spiel. 

"Aish, I grow to love that woman more by the day." Yugyeom heaved, wiping away his tears. It took them a few more minutes to calm down before Jung-so went on with his endless supply of questions. 

What was allowed, what wasn't. Chatting about their own experiences with presenting, cracking jokes here and there. Jungkook looked on as Yugyeom pulled Jung-so further out of his shell, the sight warming his heart. 

"Hyung, why does Yugyeom have more strings on his fingers than I do?" 

Jungkook paused, his eyes pulling together as he lowered his now empty cup. He glanced up, briefly meeting Yugyeom's surprised expression. "You—" he cleared his throat before sitting up. "You can see Yugyeoms soul strings?" 

Now it was Jung-so's turn to look confused, tilting his head. "Of course, most people have them. But Yugyeom has six, and I only have four." 

Jungkook nodded, it wasn't necessarily unheard of for people to be able to see soul strings. It was just a level of insight that most people did not share, it was rare of sorts. 

"Ah, Jung-so, being able to see soul strings isn't common." He avoided the word normal, the last thing he wanted to do here is make Jung-so feel like he was unusual. Too many neglected witches went through that feeling, and he couldn't help but want to shield the boy from it. 

"It isn't?" Jung-so mumbled hesitantly. 

"It's not bad!" Yugyeom hurriedly chimed in, unable to bear the sight of Jung-so deflating. It would've made him feel smug at how quickly he got wrapped around the kid's finger, but he wasn't any better off. 

"Witches can have affinities. Things they're really good at naturally, like unlocking special abilities that others can't. For example, I'm a green witch. It's an encompassing term for someone who has affinities towards nature—all things living. Some people have water affinities or light affinities." He went on, gesturing with his hand before pointing at Yugyeom. 

"Affinities don't have to be elemental or physical; for instance, Yugyeom over here has empath affinities. He can decipher auras and emotions far better than the regular witch." Yugyeom smiled, making a little heart with his pointed and thumb.

"So what does that make me?" Jung-so asked, still sounding tentative. 

The two older witches shared a brief glance, "Being able to see soul strings is most common amongst seers, hun." Yugyeom explained gently. 

"What's a seer?" 

"Someone who can glance into the future, who can look into people more than the average person." Jungkook tended to stay away from seers, mostly from his own eerie encounters. There's something about getting a hollow look from a stranger that just feels unsettling; he just didn't like it. 

"So, I'll be able to tell the future?" Jung-so went on, sounding more excited. 

Sighing, Jungkook hated having to burst the kids idyllic bubble. "Not exactly, Seers can't really control their affinities. Glancing into the future comes in short visions that you can't control—" Rising his hand, he hushed Jung-so before continuing.

"I know that sounds a little scary, but that's why magicals like you go to a special school. You'll find out what affinities you carry there, and the system will cater to your needs." Jung-so nodded, mulling over the new information. 

"So no one else can glance into the future?" 

Yugyeom sighed, a fond kind of sigh. It didn't surprise Jungkook, the kid never ran out of questions. Of course he wouldn't, this was all new and scary for him. Right now, he was just focusing on laying down the fundamentals for Jung-so so that when he finally transferred to a proper school or academy, he wouldn't feel too far out in the deep end. It felt like his responsibility. 

"Well, yes and no." Yugyeom chimed in. 

Jungkook rolled his eyes, continuing to elaborate. "Most magic can be learned. It's just different when you have an affinity for a certain subject. For example, some people can learn the art of future telling with tools like tarot cards and other mediums. But it will never compare to what seers are able to do. Someone with a water affinity cannot be compared to someone who focuses on spells manipulating liquids. You can study spell mastery all your life and still be different from a grimoire witch." Jungkook wished he'd have some glasses; he could push them up right now and look all proper. If his past self could see him now—he'd probably be stunned. After all, how could he have gone from a spray-painting delinquent to an eloquently educated tutor? 

It would've satisfied his parents; somehow, that thought made him sick. 

"Yeah! It's kinda like comparing a fish with a swimmer! You can learn how to swim, but you ain't nothin' like a fish." Sighing, Jungkook couldn't help but laugh. 

"Eloquently put, Yugs." 

"I'm a natural." 

Walking from the cafe, Jung-so held Jungkook's sleeve as they walked. Jungkook walked closest to the road, the kid in the middle and Yugyeom to the left. It was cute how the kid felt too "grown" to hold his hand and instead opted for his sleeve. 

They had spent another half an hour chatting, going over what they had already talked about and wrapping up any lingering questions. 

"Hyung?" 

"Hm?" 

"What can't I see your soul strings?" 

Pausing, Jungkook looked down at his pinky. The six red knots rested heavily against the skin, and yet, somehow, they remained as feathery as always. 

"Do you not have soulmates?" Jung-so sounded sad; why was he sad? 

A small chuckle pushed past his lips, mostly to usher away the grave expression taking hold on Jung-sos otherwise soft features. "I have soulmates; six actually. You're so young; don't expect your affinity to show up clearly all the time. It's unreliable so early on, you won't be able to see everyone's soul strings." 

Jung-so pouted, nodding his head as they walked. It was still afternoon, and although Jungkook wouldn't have minded spending the entirety of his free day teaching Jung-so, the kid needed a break, and so did Yugyeom, who had been rather eager this morning to walk around Busan for a bit. 

"Hyung?" 

"Hmm?" 

"How come we even have soulmates?" 

Yugyeom smiled. It was such an innocent question. It was clear why Jungkook had taken to such a kid, and although Yugyeom didn't know what Jungkook was like throughout his childhood himself, he could see some similarities. 

"It's a long story. It dates so far back that it's more myth than fact, really." Jungkook hummed. It didn't feel right to explain the gushy tale about soulmates. Even if he tried remaining natural, a quick glance between him and Yugyeom made his discomfort clear. 

"Have you ever heard of The Three Fates?" Yugyeom asked, taking the lead here. 

"No, were they the first soulmates?" 

Yugyeom shook his head, glancing down at his own tied-up pinky. "No, they weren't. The Three Fates were Goddesses in Greek mythology; together, they controlled the destiny of both gods and humans. One Goddess works as the spinner, determining a person's birth. The second was the allotter: she measured the length of a person's life. The third was the unturnable: she was responsible for cutting one's string with her shears." Yugyeom explained dutifully, not short on the theatrics as he acted out, spinning some thread before stretching it out and finally snipping it. 

"Okay, but what does that have to do with soulmates?" Jung-so asked, lowering his hand to hold onto Jungkooks hand properly. 

"Well, back then, everyone only had one string, their own. The strings connecting us to our soulmates now are still the same as back then, an extension of our own souls—the same ones The Three Fates would've woven and cut for us," Jungkook explained. It felt easier when he was just stating supposed facts. 

"Exactly! So, one day, Atropos The Unturnable ventured to earth. They say she met a kind stranger on her path, one who was hospitable and genuine, who offered her water and bread from their bag and shelter for the night." They crossed the street, nearing the convenience store.

"To reward their kindness, Atropos bestowed upon the traveler a favor should the time come." Yugyeom finished, ignoring the teasing look he got from Jungkook. 

"All it took was some water and bread?" Jung-so exaggerated, making them laugh. "Hospitality was very important back then," Jungkook reminded. 

"Anyways, the traveler disappeared. Years later, he came back to Atropos ready to exchange their favor." It was a well-known myth, considering that soulmates were the topic and all. 

"What was it? Did they ask for a soulmate?" 

If Jungkook had a penny for every question Jung-so asked—he wouldn't be rich, but he'd have quite a few pennies at this point. 

"No, the traveler had a lover. Sickened and weak, the traveler sought out Atropos. Realizing that their lover's string would soon be cut, they begged the Goddess to pardon their dying mate." 

Jungkook could relate to that desperation. Although he was assured of his capabilities, that finding a cure couldn't be impossible, that nagging urgency and despair with each passing month; Jungkook knew he wasn't above begging. Hells, he'd probably kneel in front of a goddess too if it meant he could stick around for a bit longer. 

"Atropos could not simply grant someone pardon however; and instead offered the traveler a compromise. She'd cut both their strings and tie them together, binding their souls and saving their beloved." Jungkook felt like Yugyeom was a natural storyteller. He had heard the same tale several times before while growing up. Still, Yugyeom treated it like a performance, capturing both his and Jung-so's attention while he talked. 

"But Gods aren't exactly well…the fairest. By binding the two mortal souls together, they were bound. If one perished, the other would as well." Jungkook knew gods still existed to this day, but they were rare. Demigods were really the only ones still spotted every once and again, from what he understood was that they preferred to lay low. Blend in. But boredom breeds a need for entertainment, no matter the costs.  

"Which is why it's called soulmates!" Yugyeom finished, clapping his hands together. "Soul because the souls are tied together, and mate, referring to one's beloved!" Jung-so smiled, walking through the convenience store's doors.

"So if one of my soulmates dies, I die?" 

Jungkook chuckled, letting go of the kid's hands before ruffling his hair. Grinning at the cute huff and pouty expression he got in return. "No kiddo, it's just an old myth. You'll be fine." 

"Hyung, how come I've never met your soulmates before?" Jung-so pouted, jutting out his tongue. Just as dramatic as Yugyeom, he remarked silently. 

"Well, they don't live here." He hummed, keeping his tone soft and leveled. He didn't want to think about it, about them. All these stories of love, sacrifices, loss, and happy endings were tying his stomach into a knot. 

Jungkook had loved. 

He had sacrificed. 

And he had lost. 

So, where was his happy ending? 

"Jung-so, listen to me for a moment." He breathed, kneeling down as he grabbed both of the kid's hands. "Soulmates can be wonderful. But they are just people, too. What matters most is how they treat you. Your happy ending does not lie in the hands of another, do you hear me? You deserve to be treated with kindness, respect, and love." He smiled, giving Jung-so’s hands a small squeeze before letting go. He tapped his nose, smiling gently. "Don't ever let someone tell you otherwise, got it?" 

Jung-so nodded, but his lips tugged downwards for a moment before he pushed to hug Jungkooks waist. 

"Hyung, you'll come and visit me often, right?" 

Jungkook wasn't too sure. He'd be busy, more than he already was with his inquiry. Time was ticking, and he still hadn't found a solid lead yet. He needed to work more, research more, study more, the list went on. He didn't have time to visit as often as he was, even if he wanted to. He couldn't promise Jung-so those frequent lessons anymore. 

"Hey, don't sound so sad. I'll come whenever I can, okay? If you ever need me, your eomma has my number. You can talk to me whenever you want and whenever you need something." Jung-so nodded, but he looked more upset than before. Jungkook knew that Jung-so could read between the lines, that this would be a longer goodbye than before. 

"Promise?" 

"Promise." 

Leaving the convenience store after dropping Jung-so off felt disheartening. It was always rough leaving the kid, especially when there was still so much to cover. Would Jung-so be okay? 

"I think the biggest lie you ever tried selling was the concept of you being an asshole." Yugyeom suddenly chimed in, breaking the silence. "You're a real sweetheart, Jungkook. You might not realize it yourself, but you always go the extra mile for people. Teach the lessons no one had taught you; that's admirable, Kookie." 

Awe. 

Jungkook flushed, he wasn't really used to such praises. It meant so much more coming from Yugyeom; it felt genuine. What should he say to that? 

"A twat maybe, but definitely not an asshole." Yugyeom remarked cheerily, clearly teasing as he grinned mischievously at Jungkook. 

"Yugyeom!" 

Laughter filled the air, the sun beginning to peek through the parting clouds. "Come on now Kooks, let's go shopping now!" 

Turns out that going shopping with Yugyeom was hard. 

The day had stretched on seamlessly as the two had stopped to eat lunch in a nook-in-the-wall restaurant, the type that was clearly run by an elderly married couple. The woman taking the orders before shouting them towards the back, a man skillfully preparing all forty-two dishes himself. At this point Jungkook had already taken Yugyeom to a few malls, splurging a little on his friends wardrobe, not without a little struggle of course and much to his own chagrin had been forced to try on countless items as well. 

Jungkook should have called it quits after eating; he had already felt a little rusty this morning. Joints hurting just a little more than usual, his head feeling just a little more foggy and tighter. He could tell from experience that today should have been a resting, lay-low kind of day. It was a kind of foresight one only really got through overestimating oneself, but Yugyeom hadn't been in Busan before. Maybe, just maybe, he wanted to show his friend his little part of the world. 

The pretty side. Away from all the melancholy shrouding him. 

Which is why Jungkook couldn't help but add another stop to their sight-seeing trip. "One of the best places to go for magicals in cities like Busan are markets like the Laminel Market." He explained, pushing past a metal gate. A little flash of heat prickled against his skin, a tell-tale sight of passing through a magical barrier. 

"Yeah, I haven't seen as many magicals in the city as I do in the suburbs." Yugyeom said, closing his eyes briefly as he walked past the barrier. 

"I mean, it's a lot harder to navigate a city with large wings or horns," Jungkook added, which got a shrug from Yugyeom before the witch paused and took in the sights of the market. 

Laminel was bustling with an array of magicals twisting and wandering around the lined stalls. Stalls and tents, crafted from materials ranging from spider silk to moonbeams, lined the meandering cobblestone paths. A symphony of otherworldly languages made the market hectic, but compared to other markets, that was rather normal. The air was filled with enticing aromas, whether from a wild assortment of herbs, teas, or other mystical treats from food vendors. 

Markets like these were the place to go if one needed any and all things magical; vendors, who themselves could be vampires, shifters, faeries, or witches, sell everything from cursed artifacts and ancient tomes to rare ingredients and flunky talismans. 

“Wow,” Yugyeom stammered. Eyes flicking over the surroundings as he walked through the market with Jungkook. The overarching sky was cast in a perpetual starry sky, a neat trick to make the bazaar more accessible to the nocturnally inclined. A pair of witches question and ogle a selection of simmering potions. Across the market, a dragon in human form haggles over a piece of meteorite. 

Further down, a group of mischievous pixies flit around selling maps to "hidden realms" to non-magicals. To the side, a faerie musician plays a peppy melody on a lute, captivating a crowd of diverse magicals. 

It was busy. It was hectic and so so magical.

Strings of fairy-lights hang from stall to stall, people conversing happily as they walked by. It was natural, a safe space for everyone who entered. Although humans were the most likely to get scammed in a place like this, they weren't necessarily unwelcomed as long as they behaved. 

"It's pretty, isn't it?" Jungkook teased, smiling at Yugyeom's slightly awestruck expression. The sheer auras must be a little overwhelming for the empath, but there was always a level of comfort when being surrounded by one's own kind like this. Being in a city like Busan left little room to properly indulge in all things magical; bazaars like this always seemed to refill that depleting battery. 

"It's so lively. I heard about the city markets, but I didn't think they'd be like this." Yugyeom vaguely gestured to all around him, eyes lingering on the jewelry stalls. 

"I get Halmonis tea from here, and I'm friends with the vendor." 

"Let me guess, the vendor's an oldie?" 

Jungkook passed, tilting his head as he glanced at Yugyeom. "How'd you know?" 

Yugyeom laughed, shaking his head incredulously at Jungkook's obliviousness. "Seriously! You're found fodder for them! A well mannered, polite little witchy boy who needs some affection." 

Jungkook paused, huffing as he looked away. They walked for a moment longer, his arms crossed over his chest as he pouted. "I'm not little…" 

Walking through the market was hectic, especially since Yugyeom felt the need to stop at every second stall they passed. But there was a sweetness to watching his friend converse so freely with others, laughing with vendors, trying a multitude of rings and necklaces. The occasional hat, shall, or other nicknack wasn't spared either. It felt strangely normal to be here with Yugyeom, and it still gave Jungkook a bit of whiplash to think they had only just reunited two weeks ago. It felt like they had never parted. A part of him understood why leaving Yugyeom had been a necessity and why he did it. But he also wished he never had; Yugyeom ushered away loneliness within him he hadn't even been aware he had. 

A sudden sharp throb against his forehead made him hesitate, his smile turning into a poorly concealed grimace as he let this new onslaught pierce against his skull. Jungkook knew he'd get a headache today, and most of his symptoms were accompanied by headaches. Like a headband far too tight, the pressure increasing throughout the day. 

His heart squeezed painfully like a small dull contraction, leaving his chest sore. He lifted his hand, gently rubbing small circles into his chest. His little episodes were bearable, but with each passing week, they were bordering on downright painful. But Jungkook managed; he was used to this, and he had been warned about this. He knew that if he were to glance at his wrist now, those hauntingly familiar black veins would mar his skin again like an unwanted tattoo. Instinctively, he pulled the sleeves of his black puffer jacket down further. 

"Jungkook—"

The earlier comfort in the market was gone, an unpleasant shiver running down his spine like the shadowy ghost of a hand. It was too loud, too busy, too hectic—

"Jungkook?"

His gaze snapped back to Yugyeom, blinking once, twice—again until he could focus back on who was in front of him.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” Yugyeom asked, skeptical gaze wandering across his tense frame. 

No. 

No, he felt awful. 

"Yeah, I'm good. Got a little lost in thought there, I'm still trying to find proper source material for my research y'know?" Word vomiting wasn't exactly a fair way to avoid confrontation, but Jungkook didn't have it in him to properly lie and make an excuse for himself. 

"Thornvine is good and all, but its potency decreases after introducing it to air." Jungkook paused, ignoring the confused expression from Yugyeom. "Of course, we could put it into an airtight container but the nitrogen, oxygen, and argon would still find a way to interact with the medicinal herb whenever used." 

"Jungkook—"

"Thornvine is a purifier, but it detoxifies the entire body. Considering that the mana is what is actually corrupted, would the thornvine root potentially strain the remaining body?" 

"Jungkook!!" 

Jungkook paused, mouth shutting with a small snap as Yugyeom moved in front of him. "Breath, okay?" Stable, unwavering eyes met his, and Jungkook found himself unable to do anything but breathe. Yugyeom had a very stern voice if he needed it. 

"We were talking about rings, when did you get to thornvine roots again? Jungkook-ah, I find your work ethic admirable and I understand— the pressure you're under. But balance is important, yeah?" Yugyeom explained, clear and direct. Jungkook nodded, exhaling slowly as he calmed down. He'd rather get scolded than have his friend worried, Yugyeom was enjoying the market after all. He didn't want to be the one to cut that time short. 

"Okay, sorry." He breathed, sporting a weak smile. 

Yugyeom stared at him a little longer, clearly still skeptical about something, before letting it go with a sigh. Jungkook grabbed his hand, giving it a small apologetic squeeze. "Let's go to that tea stall now, okay? They give out free samples." 

Nodding, Yugyeom let him lead them through the crowds. Jia ran the stall with her sister, the two elderly fairies had a larger space compared to the others; small foldable chairs and desks littering the front for anybody wanting a cup of tea in person. 

"Ah! Jungkookies back! Bora look—look !" Jia rushed, Bora—her sister—grabbed the dangling pair of glasses around her neck and quickly put them on. Clapping her hands together in joy, "and finally with some company too! Whose this, your boyfriend?" 

Jungkook laughed, shaking his head as Yugyeom snickered. “No no, this is Yugyeom. An old friend of mine." 

"Oh, how lovely. Sit sit! I'll make some tea." Jia ushered, waving them over to sit down. Jia was a very peppy woman, always adorned in far too many layers and patterns. A smaller but larger framed woman whose writs were always covered in large chunky jewelry. Bora was the opposite, a very tall and lean woman who wore monotone colors. Behind each of their backs were small fairy wings. Although Bora was more direct and brutally honest than Jia, both of them were sweethearts. 

They both sat down after some thorough questioning, each being given a steaming cup of tea to enjoy as they talked. Jia and Bora both busy with other customers. 

"Alright," Yugyeom announced as he set his cup down once he noticed Jungkook's thoughts straying again. 

"Thornvine root loses its potency after exposing it to the air, right?" Jungkook was a little surprised by the change of topic, feeling a little bashful at his poor concealment. His head still ached, and his inflamed ribcage was begging for a warm heating pad at the moment. 

"Yeah, it's complicated to prepare but durable. I can't use it if it loses its effectiveness during consumption either." He explained, thornvine root was the best herb he had found for his condition. "My theory is simple so far, thornvine is a strong antioxidant. It has long-lasting purifying qualities." He waited for Yugyeom's nod before continuing. 

"If my mana is the subject of corruption, introducing a purifying agent could control or reduce the levels of toxicity." Jungkook wanted a cure—something to rid himself of this disease. But he was running out of time, and being able to develop a cure that would reduce his condition from fatal to chronic, then he considered that a momentary win. 

"We could put a spell on it? A type of concealment spell to keep the air away." Yugyeom suggested, glancing at his teacup absentmindedly. 

Jungkook shook his head, sighing sadly. "In theory, but no. If you put a spell on a consumable item, you'll also be consuming a small amount of mana. That could potentially develop into a catalyst for the condition." 

Yugyeom nodded, frown deepening. Jungkook had gone through all of this before, developing a theory only to be proven wrong. The defeat grew worse the further on he went when hope was snatched out of his fingertips yet again. It breeds a hopelessness he'd like to spare Yugyeom from. 

"Oh honey, you need to find yourself an azurelbloom!" Jia suddenly popped up beside Yugyeom, making the witch jump a little as he hurriedly grabbed his nearly spilt teacup. 

Jungkooks brows furrowed, trying to recall the herb Jia was describing. "I've never heard of an azurelbloom before." 

Jia hummed, gently tapping Yugeums head in a silent apology for spooking the boy. "The azurelbloom is very old, one of the few truly sentient flowers left on the planet. It was said—" Jia began, lowering her voice into a whisper to make the story sound more interesting. She pulled out a chair, inviting herself to sit down at the table with them. 

"The flower was said to be used by the Gods." 

Gods? 

"Aish, don't believe any of that nonsense Jungkook." Bora muttered, dismissing the idea with her hand as he sat down at the last remaining chair, spooking Yugyeom once more. It made Jungkook stifle a snicker, the two sisters could be quite—sporadic. 

"What?! The azurelbloom existed!” Jia argued, crossing her arms. 

"Perhaps 500 years ago. You're feeding the kid a legend Jia, what Jungkook really needs to do is go find the Nereids." Bora objected, pushing up her narrow glasses. 

"Nereids, as in, the water nymphs?" Yugyeom asked, still recovering from getting jumpscared—twice. 

Bora nodded, waving around the closed fan she always carried with her. "Nereids pulled all kinds of things into the water with them if they were fond enough. They are masters at preservation; if they desired a daisy one day, they'd preserve it to never touch the depths of their springs. If they're able to keep air in, it's only fair to assume they'd be able to keep air out, too." 

Jungkook nodded, finding a way to preserve the thornvine roots was his biggest obstacle at the moment. Perhaps if the Nereids showed him how, he'd be able to finally begin creating proper prototypes. 

"That all said and good, but don't nymphs have an aversion to men?" Jia asked, frowning at the thought. "You're sending the boy out into danger!" 

Bora scoffed at the accusation, "as if setting him out to hunt down an ancient, cognizant flower is any better." 

"Well, it's better then—" 

Jungkooks head pulsed, his fingers trembling underneath the table. He had a lot to think about, and yet, there was so little time. But he had a new lead, and that's all he needed. 

Now, how the hell was he going to find a Nereid? 

Come on… 

A little more… 

So close—

Jungkook gasped as the library's ladder began to slide to the left. He was leaning off towards the side, trying to reach a book on Ancient Greek folklore, or more specifically, nymphs. Unlike most magicals, who could simply summon the book down from the shelves where the library's encyclopedia stood on the podium, Jungkook—for several reasons—could not. 

Perhaps he should have just climbed back down and shifted the ladder a little to the right, but it had been a long day, and he was still partially recovering from his trip to his Halmoni. So, he had been lazy and was now going to suffer the consequences of tasting the old carpeted flooring as the ladder continued to slide. 

Closing his eyes, Jungkook briefly expected the impact to come as he inevitably lost his footing on the ladder as it stretched his form out. Gasping quietly—this was still a library, after all—Jungkook braced himself only to feel tingly? 

Eyes snapping open, Jungkook shuddered as he shortly levitated in the air before being carefully lowered down. His feet touched the floor slowly, but the adrenaline still made him stumble. His savior's magic linger against his skin, like a subtle warm or fading caress. 

But Jungkook could recognize that magic from anywhere, and he didn't even need to wonder who had saved him before turning around greeting Namjoon's worried expression. 

"Did you hurt yourself, Jungkook-ah?" 

Perhaps Jungkook would never get used to the sight of his old soulmates again. The library was a loose term for what Veils had to offer; it was more like a grand and ancient archive. Long, stretching bookshelves required sliding landers just to be able to access the top sections of the bookshelves. The middle of the library had long, heavy mahogany desks available for the students. However, small, shorter desks were also littered around along with comfortable seating for anyone simply trying to read. 

Natural light seemed to flood the library, too. Windows lined the walls, filling the otherwise academic architecture with warmth. Namjoon stood before one of these windows, the light peeking around his silhouette and embracing his form. Jungkook hadn't taken the time to properly look over Namjoon, he had briefly glanced over him when moving in and during their last argument, but now Namjoon was before him and—and he looked beautiful. 

Yeah, Jungkook would surely never get used to the sight. 

There was a new sense of maturity in Namjoon's appearance, from the way his posture was straight yet still carried a certain mellowness. His face and features are now sharper and more defined. Six years had been a long time; somewhere along the way, all of them had gone from boys to adults. Of course, things would have changed. Jungkook just hadn't noticed it before, the intensity in Namjoons changed gaze. 

His style alone had changed too; back in the academy, Namjoon had never strayed from the required uniform, but on holidays, the mandatory dress code wasn't enforced; Namjoon had still chosen to dress in rather formal, business-casual attire at most. Jungkook recalled, rather fondly, how Seokjin and Jimin had dedicated nearly an entire day to pepping up Namjoons wardrobe. They had hunkered down in Jimins and Taehyung's shared room, clothes spewn half-hazardously across the floor, across chairs and their beds, Namjoon forced to parade in front of the full-length mirror like a personal manikin as they tried discovering Namjoons preferences together. Hopefully to stray from his interrogation-like style and more of a casual academic style. Their day hadn't been the most productive, but they did discover that Namjoon enjoyed certain styles over others. Jungkook had enjoyed that day, simply goofing off with his Hyungs and forcing his usually put-together Hyung in various styles and outfits. Having watched Namjoon be out of his element for once had quite the bonding factor for him, especially since Namjoon had struggled so immensely with showing his vulnerabilities. Vaguely, Jungkook couldn't help but wonder how much that has changed. 

Even now, Namjoon wore a soft set of grayish-brown suit pants—some habits never die, it seems—tied at the waist with a black leather belt that matched the black turtleneck that hugged his body. A loose, large-sleeved gray cardigan ties the outfit neatly together. Namjoon appeared soft but still put together enough that Jungkook assumed would make Namjoon feel comfortable. 

How could Namjoon simply look so effortless? It irritated him, mostly because he got caught staring. Who could blame him? He hadn't seen Namjoon in nearly six years; somehow, his eyes were still trying to catch up with the fact that Namjoon was real , that he was in front of him. Besides that, what frustrated him more was that within the past week, he had been asked the same question twice already by both Hoseok, Yoongi and now Namjoon as well. 

Jungkook had hoped silently that they could all just go their separate ways after their argument. At least they could all just pretend to hate each other, right? Hating them was easy. Even if Jungkook's feelings stretched far beyond just hate, what was going on was far more complex than just simply being sad or angry. Hating them was the only way it didn't hurt. 

Finally snapping out of his embarrassing stupor, Jungkook nodded. "Yep, just fine. Thanks." He murmured, looking around him to spot the book he had nearly taken the fall for lying on the floor. Bending down, he picked it up quickly. He wanted to leave. Lest he take a look into Namjoons all too familiar eyes. It was like taking a look at one's past while simultaneously glancing at one's own unachievable, daunting future. A world consisting entirely of what-ifs and had-beens. 

It scared Jungkook how much he was still able to hurt for these people. For him. 

"Well, anyways, I'll be going—"

Namjoon quickly stepped in front of him, stopping Jungkook from escaping the situation. Brows now furrowed in irritation, Jungkook took a step back. The string connecting them tugged lightly, almost unwilling to let him escape their unwelcome proximity.

"Namjoon, move." 

"No, please—" Namjoon exhaled, brushing his hair back with his hand nervously. He glanced around before finally locking eyes with Jungkook. It nearly took the sickly witches breath away, they hadn't been that close before, Jungkook hadn't seen those sincere eyes since— since then. 

It hurt.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook.” Namjoon began, frowning deeply. "For everything. Gods have mercy; there aren't enough ways for me to apologize to you for all that's happened. But also for our last argument, emotions were strung high and I—" Namjoon inhaled sharply, his exhale a little shaky. "You had every right to react the way you did, telling you to calm down was inappropriate of me. I spoke out of turn, and I'm sorry for that." 

Ever the diplomat, Kim Namjoon. Jungkook thought bitterly. However, an apology was better than none, Namjoon's reaction had been out of turn, no matter how diplomatically refined his apology came across. Jungkook stood silently between the narrow aisle of bookshelves, staring at the man he had loved endlessly six years ago as he let his apology dangle heavily in the air. But Namjoon was right, there weren't enough apologies in the world for his anguish to subside. 

Namjoons apology came too late. 

The silence between them made Namjoon nearly sink in on himself, the older witches hand hesitated as it briefly lifted to reach out for Jungkook, halting mid air before dropping limply to his side. Eventually, it balled up. 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Jungkook." Namjoons usually relaxed voice sounded wobbly, unsteady as the pleading witch swallowed. 

And just like a dormant dragon, Jungkooks anger sprung back to life. Mostly because the sheer vulnerability within Namjoon's tone unsettled him, and another because the string connecting both him and Namjoon tugged weakly on his finger. He still wasn't used to that feeling; no, their bonds had remained devoid of any and all motion during the past years; feeling it move rattled him. There was something about seeing a shine to Namjoons's eyes that also irritated him. Why was Namjoon close to crying?—he had no right. 

Jungkook had been the one hurt here. 

The silence hanging between them was uncomfortable, nearly sparking from its intensity. None of them spoke, and with a resounding sigh, Jungkook's shoulders sank. 

"I'm not sure what you want me to say, Namjoon-sii." Perhaps that was the most level-headed Jungkook could be at this moment, but there was a certain defeat in his tone. 

"I can't say that everythings fine, that you are forgiven, that I don't hate you. None of that's true—" Namjoons remorseful gaze never left his, when had been the last time they had looked into each other's eyes? "—and you know that."

Again, the library's silence grew louder in its stillness. Namjoon seemed to be mulling over his own words, before he nodded. “I know that, Jungkook-ah. I'm not asking for your forgiveness," there was a pause, and Namjoon seemed to understand that asking for Jungkook's forgiveness was beyond him. That— that was something he wasn't allowed or able to request. 

"All I'm asking for is a chance—" 

"No." Jungkook cut him off, he wanted none of it. 

"Please, just to talk." Namjoon continued, a level of desperation as he pleaded. "Jungkook, I haven't seen you in six years. Please, I know I'm in no place to make requests from you—"

"So don't." 

Namjoon heaved a sigh, combing his hair back. "I've missed you."

Gods, what would Jungkook give to never hear Namjoon say that again. Such simple words, wrapping around his throat like a noose. 

But Namjoon continued, his own draconic eyes mirroring the desolation and fear that this could be their last time talking. "Please, Jungkook. Let's talk—we need to—to talk." 

Jungkook closed his eyes, inhaled sharply, and counted to ten until he opened them again. Keeping the wateriness at bay was futile, and he watched as Namjoon's hands itched to wipe his tears away. The elder stayed still, good. 

With a deep breath, tone cold and filled with a pained contempt, he spoke, perhaps a final time with Namjoon:

"You didn't just walk out of a room that day, Kim Namjoon." 

"You walked out on me."

There was a finality to Jungkooks tone, a bit unrecognizable to his own ears. But it needed to be said, Namjoon needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it. 

"The moment you walked out that fucking door. You relinquished everything you had on me. You have no rights to my life anymore. So don't—" Jungkooks voice quivered, forcing the sickly witch to swallow down his rising emotions. "—don't ask me to talk with you, especially when we have nothing to say to each other." 

Jungkook's hand tightened around the spine of the borrowed book, taking a few steps back. 

"Not anymore," he murmured, giving a slight bow with a politeness associated with strangers. "Goodbye, Namjoon-sii." He whispered, holding onto a faulty sense of closure as he walked away.

The sharp sound of a book slamming shut, followed closely by an elongated sigh, broke the silence surrounding the laboratory. Glancing out the window, the sun had set hours ago; leaving the sky generously decorated by the stars. Yugyeom had left the lab hours ago, not without the firm prompting of the Im coven threatening to send over some of its members to collect Yugyeom personally (which they had); it had been cute. It comforted Jungkook how well-matched Yugyeom and the Im coven were. He glanced briefly at the empty food container on his desk, a gift from Jaebeom since Jungkook had made a habit of getting take-out since he didn't want to spend any more time in his shared apartment than necessary. 

Originally, he had only accepted the meal under the guise that the coven had simply made too much for dinner last night, but this being the fifth day in a row, he was beginning to have some doubts. 

It had been—what? Six days since Yugyeom and he had returned from Busan? It took nearly the entire train ride back to persuade him to tone down his fussing, and even now, Yugyeom focused more on his meals than ever. Apparently, he hadn't been all that subtle at the market. 

Nearly every morning, Yugyeom would come in with a hot drink in his hand, usually a type of tea and a little snack. The teas, always kept warm by simple magic, contained some type of health benefit. Youngjae began joining them during the mornings, explaining a little more about each current selection. Jungkook later found out that Youngjae was the one actually making and brewing the tea specifically for Jungkook's health, each day selecting something different. One day, it had been a brew specific for his metabolism, another for his muscles or heart, and something generic and basic. Occasionally—and thanks to much discussion—the Ims would only bring him food for lunch every once in a while. Now that he was receiving food nearly every night for dinner, also accepting a clearly homemade meal for lunch just felt like too much. Too leeching.

So on the rare occasion where Jungkook allowed himself to be manhandled off towards lunch, he'd eat with Yugyeom and usually some of his other coven members. Depending on who had time at the moment, Yugyeom rarely ate alone. Jaebeom was the head of the coven, prompting him to be significantly more busy than the younger members. But Jungkook managed to spend nearly most of his week with the Ims, and it was—it was nice. Mark and Jackson made him laugh more times than he could count; Youngjae was easy to fall into conversations with, especially regarding his growing herb garden. Jinyoung had traveled a lot before finding his soulmates, and Jungkook loved hearing about the man's adventures. Jaebeom gave off a sense of authority that Jungkook generally avoided, but as the days flew by, Jaebeom grew softer and more doting. BamBam, as it turns out, is as much of a brat as Yugyeom, roping Jungkook into whatever they had planned for the day. 

Glancing at the fresh bouquet of flowers in the corner by the windowsill, he couldn't help but wonder which of the Ims was responsible for replacing and filling the empty vase every two to three days. At first, Jungkook found the gesture cute for Yugyeom, if only the flowers hadn't been on his side of the lab each time.  

The flowers didn't come from Youngjae's garden, so he could only assume it was another form of encouragement from the coven.

Spending time with the Ims felt natural and easy. Despite all their poorly concealed fussing, no one looked at him with those solemn expressions he absolutely loathed. Besides the teas, the inconspicuous push of vegetables, broths, and not-so-subtle additions of meats to his plate, he was treated like a person—not a tragedy but a friend. 

It meant a lot to him. 

A soft, subtle knocking disrupted his poor attempts at getting anything done. Glancing away from the flowers, he knew he'd have to revisit the topic of nymphs and nereids at a later date, most likely tomorrow. 

The lab door opened before Jungkook could get up, glancing around to see if Yugyeom had forgotten his coat or phone again. 

"What did you forget this time, Yugs?" Jungkook hummed sarcastically, turning to look at the door before halting. His amused smile slipped, taking in the sight of Jimin holding a large bouquet of flowers. A delicate assortment of purple hyacinths, tulips, sunflowers, and white lilies separated by the occasional green leaf or branch. 

The bouquet was beautiful, as were the last few he'd received. They would've been even more beautiful if he hadn't just realized they had been coming from Jimin. 

Jimin looked shocked, as if he wasn't expecting Jungkook to still be in the lab. Which was wild, considering that it was his laboratory. His eyes were wide, staring back at Jungkook in a slight stupor. He wore a white puffer jacket that was zipped up all the way, a gray scarf tucked snuggly around his neck. His cheeks and nose were dusted a light pink from the cold, the hand holding the bouquet a cold pinkish as well. 

Jungkook seemed to snap out of his surprise first, clearing his throat as he mimicked his nonchalance. "What are you doing here?" 

He sounded calm and insouciant. Jimins' presence bothered him, and so did the newfound knowledge that the bouquet of flowers he always spent time admiring each morning was from him. But it was well past midnight, and Jungkook had woken up early that morning to head to the library—his interaction with Namjoon still heavy on his shoulders. Working just helped in that regard, with each word he read and every page he studied. Devoting himself to what truly mattered helped sway the focus back to where it should be; his cure. 

As if snapping out of a trance, Jimin perked up before tumbling over his words. "What?—OH, yes—yeah, I just umm… came here to replace the—uh, flowers." Jimin looked sheepish, which was rare considering that hardly anything made Jimin flush back in the day. At least, they hadn't been able to. Jimin had been open to, well— most things. Besides little embarrassing hiccups around strangers, hardly anything could deter Jimin's unwavering confidence back in the day. 

Did—

Did Jimin consider him a stranger? 

Somehow, between all the bitterness and sorrow he felt when looking at Jimin, the thought of being reduced to a simple stranger bothered him. Not when they had known each other for longer than they hadn't. Not when Jimin had meant everything to him. 

"Ah," for a moment Jungkook wished he could string together an actual intellectual sentence. But it was hard to think around any of his old coven members, there was something about their mere presence that overwhelmed him with emotions. Clearing his throat, he glanced away bashfully as Jimin's gaze softened on him—fondly? 

"I wasn't aware you were the one leaving those." Jimins lip quirked upwards at his words, the witch rolling on his feet before Jungkook let him in with a stunted nod. He walked over to the vase, carefully taking out the resting flowers. Besides a few petals here and there, the bouquet never managed to look withered before Jimin supposedly replaced it. He tended to them with a level of care that borderlined on affection, and Jungkook couldn't handle the thought of any of them, including Jimin, being affectionate with him. 

"Yeah, I had wanted to talk to you after you got settled in. But when I got to your lab, you weren't there." Jimin explained, his voice composed and warm. He took the new bundle of flowers, removing its rapping carefully before summoning a quick set of pruning scissors and beginning to prep the ends. Jungkook sat still, unable to process the normality of Jimin's behavior. 

Maybe Jungkook was just really tired. He still hadn't fully recovered from his episode in the market, or maybe he just hadn't slept enough. But having Jimin in his laboratory felt strange, and so did his warm, gentle tone. It was just so Jimin. 

It had been years. Nothing about the man before him should still feel familiar. 

"I just noticed how dull everything looked, y'know?" Jimin went on, skillfully beginning to arrange the set of flowers he bought into the vase. 

"This is a laboratory, not a gallery, Jimin-ah." Jungkook retorted, crossing his arms. 

Jimin laughed, lightheartedly and airily. Like the gentle music Jimin's laughter had always been, even with how soft and quiet it was now, it eased Jungkook's tense shoulders. After all these years, Jungkook still found himself so weak for Jimin. 

A weakness he couldn't—shouldn't allow. This was about himself, his protection, his self-preservation, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to usher Jimin out of his sanctuary. He only lowered his head, picking at the soft fabric of his sweater.  

"I just—" Jimin paused, hand trailing over the stem of a white Lilie. "Remembered how you used to like picking flowers every spring; the seasons are changing and all, but I thought you'd like a little color in here regardless." Sighing quietly, Jimin stepped back to admire his work. The flowers were arranged beautifully, even if Jungkook didn't want to admit it. 

A silence stretched between them, lingering lonesomely. "This room gets a lot of light. So I thought sunflowers would look quite good in here." Jimin mused, glancing around Jungkook's filled work desk curiously. 

He should've asked Jimin to leave the moment he entered. But Jungkook was at a wits end for tonight, between too much work and little sleep, spending the better part of a day trying to figure out a way to get occasionally man-eating goddesses to help him out. 

It can't be that hard, right? 

Jungkook kept his gaze on the flower arrangement, there was something ironic about the sight of sunflowers without any sun to bask in. Jimin had a light affinity, a literal, breathing, sun. 

"You shouldn't be here this late, Jungkook-ah, it's not healthy—" 

"You were like the sun." Jungkook croaked, projecting a silence against the room. Faintly, one could hear the soft calling of crickets outside despite the laboratory being on the upper floors. 

His eyes lingered on a sunflower protruding from the arrangement, a strange sense of melancholy erupting within him. Jungkook was exhausted, there just wasn't any room for anger tonight. Looking at Jimin, all Jungkook felt was a bittersweetness that edged more on sorrow than anger.  

"You were my sun." Had his voice always sounded so fragile? There was a lump in his throat forcing him to swallow.

"And—" 

"—and when you left ." 

Jungkook looked up, his absent gaze finding Jimin's rueful ones. His old soulmate's waterline glistened, a wetness threatening to spill over if Jungkook went on.  

"You took the sunlight with you." 

Just because a witch had an affinity didn't mean they had to share a personality with their abilities. Necromancers didn't have to be edgy and downright creepy, nor did seers have to be reserved and wise, but Jimin— Jimin was like a ray of sunshine. 

When they had met Hoseok for the first time, it had been like two stars colliding. Erupting to create a light so warm, so gentle that they had all been drawn to it. 

"I—I spent years in that darkness, not able to see where I'm going, where I'm heading, it was all just empty." How many times, prompted by the jinge of the bookstores bells, had Jungkook wished he'd see Jimin's familiar face? 

"So when I finally—Finally managed to light a candle, you show up." He didn't mean to sound so grim, but their reality was; in fact, far from perfect. It had always been the two of them, like Bonnie and Clyde or Robin Hood and Marian. Until it suddenly wasn't. 

"And I don't care, I don't care that your presence promises me sunlight." 

"Jungkook-ah—" Jimins voice quivered, sounding watery. "Can I just please—"

"Because when you took it the first time, you also took my sense of security within you."

Had he been too dependent on Jimin? Of course not; they had been soulmates, after all.  

"When you left, you made it look easy —" 

Jimin had always shone so beautifully; if he had been the sun, then Yoongi would've been the moon. Only now did Jungkook realize that in all his life he had never been anything more than a mere sunflower.

"—like, like it was easy to leave me." 

Autumn was approaching; Jungkook hadn't noticed it before, the subtle chill joining the breeze brushing past him. The leaves were beginning to change colours, greens migrating into different shades of yellows and oranges. The park's gravelly path wasn't littered with foliage yet, but occasionally, a leaf would separate from its twig and dance through the air before landing on damp grass. 

It was early. Early enough in the morning, that the park was still a tranquil haven, cloaked in the soft hues of dawn. The trees stretch out the shadows of the rising sun, its golden hue forcing the dewdrop-covered leaves to practically sparkle as the warming light peaked through branches. The air still had a certain bite to it, a crisp that usually faded throughout the later mornings, currently carrying the sweet fragrance of dew-kissed grass and blossoming flowers. 

Jungkook wasn't usually an early bird; he was late to rise and even later to rest. But it had been Yugyeom's suggestion for Jungkook to indulge in other things outside the laboratory, which is why he was here now. Caring a small bag Yugyeom had gifted him consisted of nothing besides a small sketchbook and pencil. It was an old hobby of his—to draw. Quite frankly, he had ceased all of his hobbies after his diagnosis. It felt bittersweet; Jungkook hadn't really realized just how much he had given up that day. 

Jungkook consistently trod the delicate line between elation and guilt. Throughout his years of study, he carefully avoided any and all thoughts of his inevitable death. He could—He couldn't accept it. Every action he took, every chapter, every essay, every paper he read was done with an innate sense of dedication—of urgency. 

He wasn't going to die. 

The grass, still dappled with the glistening remnants of the night's dew, crunched underneath Jungkook's boots as he wandered off the path and towards an empty bench looking out onto the lake. A sense of renewal pervades the air, and the stillness carries a promise of unknown possibilities. Mallards still stayed floating on the water's rippling surface, heads tucked on their backs and against their wings. The birds nesting amongst the surrounding trees had gradually begun to sing, soft chirps and boisterous calls echoing through the rustling leaves. It was almost as if the park itself was awakening with the day, ready to unfold its wonders for those fortunate enough to witness its early morning beauty.

Jungkook almost found it amusing how Yugyeom's exuberance rekindled his own. How, in his steel-fortified focus, he hadn't recognized the depths of his own isolation. Along the way, toeing between different kinds of grief and sorrow, he had somehow convinced himself that companionship was unnecessary. Now, he had someone holding his hand again. Looking out onto the lake, Jungkook watched as the first ducks began awakening, beginning to prune their feathers before he glanced at the small beige tote bag Yugyeom had handed to him. 

It felt surreal—how things were beginning to change. Jungkooks own echelon was beginning to form, and watching the ducks cluster together as they awoke made Jungkook oddly happy. He had his Halmoni, now Yugyeom and Balam, and he was even becoming evermore familiar with the Im coven from their frequent visits to his shared laboratory. 

With every passing day, Jungkook felt his head slowly emerge from the water he felt himself sinking into. He had always boasted about his ability to move forward after his verdict, but comparing his current now and his previous then.

Had he ever really moved forward? 

His eyes caught onto the still resting form of a swan, the bird's long neck laid across its back and eyes closed as it drifted across the lake. He couldn't help but wonder lazily, what was the saying—Swans mate for a lifetime? Moving to grab the tote bag, Jungkook grabbed the small sketchbook and pencil, perching the notebook on his lap before beginning to sketch the idyllic swan. He was rusty, no doubt from his six-year gap, but he quickly familiarized himself with the nostalgic peace sketching gave him. 

But the reposed silence didn't last long, the sound of someone sitting down beside him had Jungkook tensing. The slight edges of annoyance filling his aura, as a quick glance around gave way to several empty benches. Glancing to his side, Jungkooks breath caught in his throat as he looked at Taehyung. 

The witch wore a long, gray-textured wool coat that reached a little past his knee. A large, red and dark gray chequered scarf draped over the back of his neck, leaving his neck exposed. Jungkook wanted to scoff, partially because wearing the scarf was pointless like that, and to resist the urge to wrap it around Taehyung's neck properly himself. The hell was up with him?

The witch also wore a pair of auburn brown pants that matched well with his white sweatshirt. Taehyung's entire outfit gave off a clean but simple look, matching well with the growing autumn colours. Taehyung had yet to look at Jungkook, eyes instead gazing forward and observing the same picturesque scenery Jungkook had been soaking up all morning. Most specifically, Taehyung seemed to be watching the rising swan. 

Jungkook hated it. He found it abhorrent how his hands itched to fix the witch's scarf, how he couldn't keep his eyes from marveling at the stark change between his Taehyung and this Taehyung. However, he figured the worst part of all—was how beautiful Taehyung still was. 

Jungkook was no longer looking at a rough-looking delinquent with smokey eyeliner and overly moussed hair, and neither was he breathing in the smell of old leather or subtle spray paint. No, the Taehyung beside him was entirely different. He smelt of subtle cologne and wore no make-up at all, adorning a well-picked-out outfit for autumn that complemented his stature entirely too much. Taehyung, when did you change? 

"The others told me not to talk to you." Taehyung began, and somehow Jungkook couldn't help but connect the opposing witches' aura to their surroundings; somehow Taehyung carried the same nippy frost the freshening air did. 

"But I don't care," Taehyung added, and despite the clear disregard towards his own wishes—he found Taehyung's disobedience comical, familiar. "Jimin told me about what you said to him." 

Ah, Jungkook had almost forgotten just how close they all were with one another. Jungkook had accepted the fact that his path would never align with his soulmates again—he came to terms with that. But that night, all of them had split up. Jungkook had remained unaware that while he trotted around the world like a pariah, they had been wandering together. 

Jungkook inhaled, his shaky breath coming out quivery as it clouded against the fresh morning air. There was no way that that realization would ever not hurt him. 

"He looked for you." 

Taehyung hadn't looked at him as he spoke, but it carried a curtness he was familiar with. There was a subtle, pensive sweetness to the familiarity; that despite the physical changes, Taehyung would always remain Taehyung. It took Jungkook a moment to catch onto exactly what he had said, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion before realization dawned on him. 

Briefly, the scene of Taehyung entering the auditorium and jogging towards Jimin's brooding figure during Yugyeom's presentation flashed through him. The sight of Jimin's turbulent thoughts vanishing, practically melting under Taehyung's doting affections. They were so close to one another. Bonded. 

"What?" Jungkook piped, looking out at the grooming swan. It was ironic to be surrounded by so much ataraxia and yet remain utterly troubled. 

Jungkook watched as Taehyung's blank expression cracked, the facade quivering as he whispered, "We—well, we looked for you." 

This time, it was Jungkook's turn to avoid eye contact because—what was he supposed to do with that information? Give Taehyung a participation sticker? A part of him wanted the other witch to stop this conversation entirely because, despite his efforts, his unbridled hate and contempt for everything regarding soulmates—Jungkook still bled for them. With every word, with every encounter, his heart would begin to weep all over again. Taehyung's words hurt, an ache entirely different from anything that could've been caused by insulting him. It was a deep, visceral kind of throbbing.  

"We searched for years," Taehyung whispered, and perhaps if the park wasn't nearly as serene and empty as it was, Jungkook would've lost the softness of them to the wind. 

A moment passed, Taehyungs gaze lowering to the ground as his expression contorted into one of mild frustration. Jungkook vaguely remembers a similar reaction to a conversation they had long ago, where Taehyung confided in him and complained about his inability to properly express himself. Jungkook couldn't help but wonder if those words still applied today. 

"There wasn't—" Taehyung paused, inhaling as his tongue flicked to wet his lips. "There wasn't a pebble we left unturned Jungkook." Please, Jungkook thought pleadingly, please don't say my name like that. 

As if the world depended on Jungkook believing him. 

"Jimin hyung," Taehyung began again, "Jimin even went to your parents." The witch let out a dry, bitter-sounding chuckle that was more spiteful than anything else. Jungkook instantly understood, his own surprise at the information wearing off. His parents were huge, bigoted classists who were pretty prejudiced against gifted witches—those who weren't born into a witching bloodline—opposed to their superiorly born witches. 

Jimin was a gifted witch, as in he hadn't actually developed his abilities until the MCA classified him as a magical. There wasn't necessarily any difference between the abilities of a born witch and gifted witch, but prejudices still existed nonetheless. Jungkook never cared for any of that bullshit. But to imagine Jimin, a man who has always been viewed as inferior by his parents, knocking on their door and asking about his whereabouts stirred his mixed emotions even more. 

"You could imagine how well that went." Taehyung cursed, hands scrunching up. "The old hag tore him apart—rightfully so, but Jimin only ever repeated his question." 

A small flock of ducks flew down towards the lake, circling it once before slowly lowering into the waving water with energetic wingstrokes. They squeaked and squawked, playfully circling each other as they occasionally ducked for food. Gradually, people began entering the park too. The lonesome jogger or dog walker following the path outlining the body of water. 

"So I went to find Jimin, and together we began combing through Hangawoondae together." Taehyungs expression never truly changed as he recounted what occurred after Jungkook left. His fists were hidden in his coat pockets, but Jungkook could tell that he was cycling through a restrained pattern of clenching and unclenching his fists. 

"But together, we couldn't find you either." Somehow, Taehyung still managed to tone his words with a level of despair that made Jungkook wonder if he was still missing. "So we went to find Namjoon and Jin." 

Jungkook knew he shouldn't be indulging Taehyung like this—he should've left. But another part of him wanted to know , he wanted to know what they did when he left. The first weeks on his own were gruesome, a collaboration between being cold, hungry, and lonely. When all Jungkook had was an empty park bench to lay on for the night, his gaze cast up into the desolate starry sky. Wondering vacantly where they were, whether or not anyone was out there looking for him.   

Jungkook knew that despite all the supposed hate and disassociation he had prided himself on, he never lost a certain hope throughout the beginning. With every jingle of the front entrance bells at his Halmoni's store, Jungkook had hoped to see a familiar face. But that day never came, and those hopes died after the third year had passed. 

So Jungkook remained seated, his pale hands resting on his knees, fingertips dusted a light pink from the cold. Though the temperature hardly bothered him, his body didn't really heat up anymore. His mana too preoccupied at keeping himself stable to waste energy on heat.

"Namjoon and Jin went and found your Grandparents—fuck, we even tracked down your Uncle," Taehyung muttered. Jungkook frowned; he had cut all ties with his family when he left. There wasn't one member worse than the other, and they were all just dreadful. But to hear they had managed to track down his salacious, estranged Uncle? That must've come from Namjoon's connections. 

"Hoseok and Yoongi had apparently already searched for you on their own," Taehyung said that strangely—spitefully? And here Jungkook thought they were all lovey-dovey with one another. He had to stifle a snarky remark, but despite all that could've changed with Taehyung, they were still so much alike. And Jungkook knew that if he interjected now, Taehyung might close up and leave. 

"Not even Yugyeom knew where you were." Taehyung pushed through, and unlike the seething stare Jimin had centered around his best friend only a week ago, Taehyung had managed a look of anguish instead. 

Jungkook didn't know where to place that information, the thought of them looking for him. But then why hadn't they just cast a spell? A tracer. Hells, they could've just followed the red soul string connecting them if they had wanted to. It wasn't and never had been impossible to find him. 

Taehyung twisted to face him, steely, determined eyes nearly taking his breath away. "I'm not saying this to guilt you, Jungkook. I just—I want you to know. Know that there wasn't a day you were out there where I wasn't looking for you." There was an unyielding tone to Taehyung's words as if daring Jungkook to disagree. 

"Years we searched the media for any sign of your apprenticeship. But nothing, you were just—gone." Taehyung went on, an almost reminiscing look casting over his gaze. 

Distantly, birds sang, chatting and flitting through the air. Taehyung sighed, scrunching up his face before meeting Jungkooks. "We fucked up!—more than just that—we royally screwed up everything good in our lives." 

Jungkook felt a bubble of protest stuck in his throat because that couldn't be true. It just couldn't. They fucked up, yes. But Jungkook hadn't been that quintessential to their coven; they had moved on without him. How far would they have gone still if he hadn't shown up on orientation day?

As if sensing his straying thoughts, Taehyung reached over and grabbed one of his icy hands. Weakly, Jungkook could still make out the now unfamiliar tingles the touch of a soulmate provided. "Jungkook-ah," Taehyung called out softly. 

"Jungkook, you don't have to forgive us." When had Taehyung garnered the ability to look so vulnerable? Where had the turbulent man of his youth gone? It nearly pained him to look up at Taehyung to meet his soft, pleading features for longer than he already had. 

"Losing you," he began again, looking out onto the lake briefly as the swan swam closer to them before subsequently passing them by. "Was the greatest mistake I ever made." 

The handing holding his squeezed, and Jungkook wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to pull away or not. "I'll be the first to admit it. One year is what I get with you," and for a second Jungkook's heart sank before he realized that the Veils program only lasted so long.  

Suddenly, Taehyung's warm eyes were back on him. "But don't think that I—we won't spend every minute of it trying to make up for those mistakes." 

A silence stretched between them as Jungkook searched Taehyungs face for any integrity, or perhaps anything to promote the opposite. Softly, Taehyung began to chuckle. Letting go of Jungkook's warmed hand to comb his hair back, breathing deeply to relieve the phantom pressure that had settled over the older witch. "Big words, huh?" He mused, trying to lighten the mood. 

"I'll prove it to you, I—"

"Why didn't you just follow our bond?" Jungkook interrupted stubbornly as he looked up at Taehyung. But the pure confusion that met him somewhat derailed him. Taehyung's eyebrows had pulled together as the other now searched his face for signs. 

"What?" The unease settling in his gut made him feel antsy; why did Taehyung look so confused? 

"Jungkook," Taehyung's voice cut through the tension between them. 

"Your soul-string faded away after you left." 

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T for language and mild medical drama

Warnings: Typical Vampire shenanigans

Genre: Hurt + comfort

Summary: Bela is somewhat unprepared to deal with a soulmate who has no clue about her condition, her family, or any of the village's secrets. Thankfully, her sister Cassandra is more than willing to be a bad example. Also there's some fluff.

Notes: For reference, each of my soulmate stories take place in their own contained timeline, since they each involve different types of soulmates. So in this one, Cass doesn't currently have a soulmate.

Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow

2: Tangled Strands

A gentle humming fills the space around you, as fingers slowly run through your hair. As far as you can tell you had fallen back asleep, for several hours, and you were just now waking back up. No longer holding you down, your soulmate is curled up next to you. There’s still a needle in your arm, much to your irritation, but now you can finally see what it’s connected to: An IV for a transfusion. Explains why I’m feeling so much better than before, you think. Then you’re turning your head to the other side, eager to finally get a good look at your soulmate. Instantly you’re blushing, tongue tying itself into a knot, because wow are you lucky.

“Feeling any better?” She asked, as soon as your gaze met hers. You try to stutter out a confirmation, but you’re too distracted by the soft curve of her smile to speak, and barely even manage a nod. That beautiful smile grows wider in response. “Good. I couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering more, after what you’ve already been through.” Now her smile fades, and she looks away for a few moments. Watching it makes your heart ache. So you swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to relax, before trying a little comforting of your own.

“I am safe now, am I not? Moreso, we have too much to talk about for us to dwell on the ill circumstances of our introduction. Let us cherish this time, in respite, with our hearts open wide to one another,” you said, donning your softest smile. Somehow your words fulfill their purpose, and your soulmate is once again grinning. Slowly she leans forward to rest her forehead against yours. Then she’s speaking, voice as smooth as the sheets you lay on.

“You are right, of course. I simply wish I could have saved you sooner,” she replied, tone betraying the sadness that her expression otherwise hid. Before you can protest, she continues talking, and you soon forget all about your qualms. “To think I don’t even know your name yet… nor you mine, I suppose. Let’s remedy that, yes? I am Bela Dimitrescu.” Something about her last name feels familiar to you, but not to the point of clear recognition. Instead of inquiring, you return her favor, giving her your own name. She repeats it back a few times, letting the syllables roll off her tongue, and you feel your heart skip a few beats. “A lovely name for a lovely soul, perfectly paired.”

A pause, followed by Bela reaching out to examine your IV. Following her gaze, you turn to the metal hook adjacent to the bed, where a blood bag hangs. Only a few drops remain inside. Just as when you first awoke, Bela gives a soft hum, then rises into a sitting position. Your first instinct is to copy the motion, and you’re relieved when (this time) she doesn’t push you back down. Both of you quietly inch your hands closer until they’re laid on top of each other.

“I wish I knew more about medicine, but unfortunately my family is more experienced in the creation of wounds than the treatment of them,” Bela said, scowling. Confused, you tilt your head at a slight angle, watching her with interest. Am I supposed to know who she’s referring to? My memories of the past couple days are still hazy, you think. “Do… do you remember how you ended up in the dungeon? I know you wanted to speak of happier things, and we can, soon. It’s just… Knowing how you arrived here may help me deal with the consequences of freeing you. Mother will be dreadfully upset that I’ve interrupted a draining, even if we are soulmates.”

“Wait, are you saying…? The intimidating giantess who strung me up and attempted to bleed me dry… is your mother?” You asked, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. This was an unexpected development, for sure.

“You didn’t know?” Bela replied, eyes going wide for a moment. Clearly she wouldn’t have said anything if she realized you weren’t already aware. Suddenly the tension in the room is palpable, with an uncomfortable silence overtaking the two of you. In the moment, you cannot even bring yourself to look at Bela, too stunned by this new knowledge. Eventually she breaks the silence, voice sounding unsure for once. “I realize that this is a lot to take in, if you need time to process it, I… I can go. But you need to understand that our situation is far more complicated than it might appear. We cannot survive without the blood of others- it is what sustains us when nothing else can.”

Now you’re staring at her like she’s crazy, and she’s standing up, moving to the other side of the room. She draws back a curtain, gazing out into the snow covered hills. Every muscle in your body is urging you to run while she’s distracted. Thread of fate be damned, this went far beyond anything you had ever imagined having to deal with. You come so close to ripping the IV right out of your arm. But a gentle tug on your soul string makes you pause, remembering all the times this bond gave you hope in dark times. Had she felt the same way, all these years? What had she gone through, in this absurd castle, on the very edges of civilization? You pull on the red thread, feeling a wave of composure wash over you.

“It appears there is much I need to learn. But is that not the very nature of our connection? We know, simply, that we are bound to each other, though we know not what shapes our souls take so that we might put them together, nor even what roles we must play. I cannot say that I understand your plight, my dear, but I will try, as is my obligation, and my honor,” you said, wishing you could hold her, and cursing your IV. As soon as the first word leaves your mouth, Bela is turning around, watching you with a bittersweet expression. Once you’re done she’s moving closer, as if reading your mind, extending a hand to cup your cheek. Then she leans forward to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Oh, how I have longed for this- to be with you, to get to know you.”

“As did I,” she murmured. You can’t help but lean into her touch, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment. “Perhaps I should introduce you to my family? I imagine you’ll be needing breakfast anyway, and bringing human food back to my quarters would raise more suspicion than I’d like.” Well, the moment couldn’t last forever, could it?

“Only if you promise that your mother won’t suspend me by my wrists again. Or by any other part of me. Shall we simply put suspension off the table altogether?” You asked, half teasing. To be entirely honest, you were equally worried about Bela’s sisters. Well, the people you had heard other prisoners whispering about, who were the daughters of the giantess, and by connecting a few dots were also, presumably, Bela’s sisters. Apparently they preferred to play with their food. Unless, of course, Bela was one of the daughters you had heard about, and would have easily torn into you if not for your connection. Let’s not dwell on that concept, you think, glad to be distracted by your soulmate.

“I will not let anyone harm you anymore, my beloved. My mother would not stand so firmly in the way of my happiness,” Bela reassured, though you detected a hint of uncertainty in her tone. Still, there wasn’t much you could do other than trust her. “Now, let me take care of your bandages, then we’ll head downstairs…”

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

“Who the fuck is this?” An unfamiliar voice asked, as you meandered down the corridor, arm around Bela for support. As soon as she hears the person speak, your soulmate is freezing in place, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. When you turn as well, you spot someone dressed almost identically to Bela. However, the woman wears a yellow pendant, as opposed to a red one, and her hair is a dark brown. It feels safe to assume that she’s one of the sisters you’ve heard about. Which understandably makes you nervous, to the point where you almost want to hide behind Bela. Instead, you stand tall, attempting to seem unfazed by either her presence or her vulgarity.

“Mind your manners, Cassandra,” Bela hissed, taking more of an aggressive stance than you had anticipated. “This, dear sister, is my soulmate. And if you even think about harming them, or getting in our way, I will tear you apart.” While you’re downright shocked at the intensity of Bela’s statement, her sister doesn’t look at all impressed, and eyes you with minimal interest. Better than looking at you with hatred, right? Apparently not, as Bela moves to stand between the two of you, eyes narrowed. There’s a clear stiffness in her posture that leaves you anxious. Cassandra seems to notice it as well, and laughs, before taking a few steps in your direction. Then your soulmate mimics the movement, forcing you to do so as well.

“They’re human,” Cassandra snapped, pausing to sniff the air and scowl. “Here I thought your soulmate would have to be special, if they’re to compare to your ego. You’re disappointed, aren’t you? Having to settle for this.” With that she shifts, flesh writhing, making your stomach churn as you watch her disintegrate into a cloud of… flies? What the hell is wrong with this family? Can Bela do that too? I hope not, you think. Soon you’re pulled from your thoughts, however, as the swarm circles around you, single insects occasionally surging forward to cut at your skin. But Bela is grabbing you by the sleeve and tugging you to her chest, moving against a wall so that her body shielded your own. Your eyes clamp shut as you shake in her arms. When the buzzing stops, it is quickly replaced with cruel laughter. “That fragile, hmm? I can’t wait to see what mother thinks. See you at breakfast, sister!”

Then the two of you are alone, still pressed against the wall, staying still until the sound of footsteps fade. You’re stunned, unsure of how to react. The fact that a few drops of blood roll down your cheek only makes things worse. Still, Bela managed to prevent you from getting too hurt, and the few wounds on your body are negligible. Ever filled with gratitude, you hold her close as you try to stutter out a few sentences.

“Is she always this hostile, or am I truly not what you had expected? No, pay me no mind, it hardly matters. Thank you for protecting me,” you whispered. In response, Bela gives you a little squeeze, then pulls back enough to wipe the blood from your face. There’s a hint of something odd in her expression, which you interpret to be related to her apparent ‘need for blood’. Thankfully, she is in perfect control, and does not frenzy the same way you had read about fictional vampires doing. But she does hesitate, words dying on her tongue, like there are a thousand things she wants to say, and no words to say them with. “It’s alright, my dear. Let’s just go to breakfast, like we planned, and hope your sister behaves better when supervised.”

Bela nods, quickly, before taking your hand in her own. Whatever awaited you in the dining room, the two of you would be ready. Hopefully.

[defiblover27]

Old Friends

Sorry that I have been gone for so long. Finally back to writing again. If you ever have any ideas for a story my DMs are always open. Enjoy!

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

Bek is a 37 year old female with blonde hair that falls to her shoulders. She is slightly on the heavier side with and stands at just five foot three. Bek and one of her closest friends Ryan have decided to meet up at her house after they have both been busy with their professional careers and have not had the time to sit down and catch up in quite a while. Bek puts on her jeans and a shirt and then finally pulls a hoodie on over top while she waits around for Ryan to arrive before he has to go into work later in the morning. After Ryan arrives the two sit in the living room and start chatting about their current lives and reminisce the good old days of growing up together. The chatter quickly develops and they sit and laugh together as they recall some embarrassing stories that they experienced together. "I can't believe that we really did that.... Would you care for a cup of coffee before you have to leave?" Bek asks. "That would be great" Ryan responds. Bek gets up from the couch and heads into the kitchen just a few feet away. After picking up the coffee pot she turns to the walk to the sink to get some water when she suddenly feels very light headed and her tongue starts to tingle. Before she can do anything her vision goes dark. There is an audible thud and the shatter of the glass coffee pot is heard in the living room as Ryan jumps up from his seat. "You okay in there Bek?" as he turns the corner he sees the glass shards across the floor and Bek lying in the middle of the kitchen floor. "Oh my god Bek" he quickly rushes over and kneels down beside her. He shakes her shoulders to get a response and after a few shakes Bek lets out a sigh as she begins to regain consciousness. "What... what happened?" Bek asks shakily as she attempts to sit up. "You must have passed out has this happened before recently?" Ryan asks as he helps her up into a seated position. "No nothing at all, I've felt a little under the weather since this morning but besides that nothing." Bek responds as she slowly picks herself off the floor into a standing position. "I'm calling an ambulance" Ryan states as he heads back into the living room to get his phone. "No I'm fine really" Bek pleads but Ryan is already gone and dialing 911. Bek hobbles over to a bench in the kitchen by the table as she leans up against it. She can hear Ryan in the other room talking to the emergency dispatcher. She still feels lightheaded and a little woozy but brushes it off without another thought. Ryan reenters the room and stays by Bek and explains that the ambulance is on the way. After a few minutes the EMT's arrive at Bek's house and Ryan lets them in and leads them to where Bek is leaning up against the bench in the kitchen. They set down their bags and ask a few initial questions. After checking her vitals they explain to Ryan that she should be okay but they want to transport her to the hospital just in case. Bek tells Ryan to go to work and that she will call him later. The paramedics get his contact information before he leaves and he tells her to make sure to call him later. Ryan leaves the house and heads to work even though he is still worried about Bek. Jayden, one of the paramedics, asks his coworker Alex to go to the ambulance and grab the gurney since she is having trouble walking. Alex leaves the room while Jayden stays behind with Bek. "My... my chest... it..." Bek collapses to the ground for a second time. Jayden catches her as she collapses and lays her gently on the floor. He feels for a pulse and breathing. Finding none he quickly places his gloved hands between her breasts and begins CPR. He felt as each compression caused her chest to cave in and return to its position each time. After giving thirty aggressive compressions he tilted her head back, sealed his lips over her mouth, pinched her nose, and delivered a breath. He gave two full breaths into her still lungs causing her chest to rise and fall with each one. He did another round of thirty compressions as he felt a few ribs pop out of place due to

the force of the compressions. Again he gave two breaths as Alex returns with the gurney to see their patient unconscious on the floor. "What happened?" Alex asked quickly as he grabbed the heart monitor and AED from the gurney. "She went into full cardiac arrest, I've done two rounds of CPR and still no response. Alex grabbed some shears from his pocket and cut away Bek's hoodie, shirt, and bra causing her breasts to fall to the side. Jayden placed his hands between between her exposed chest and continued CPR. "We need to attempt to stabilize her before transport." Jayden announced. Alex grabbed an orange ambu bag from the O2 bag and sealed it over Bek's face. After every thirty compressions Alex squeezed the ambu bag twice to inflate her lungs. While Jayden was performing CPR Alex also attached the electrodes and AED pads to Bek's bare chest. The monitor whined to life as the line bounced up and down in v-fib. The AED charged to 200 joules as the paramedics backed away. The shock button was pushed and Bek jerked on her kitchen floor as the electricity coursed through her dying body. With no response Alex took over CPR as the AED charged to 300 in preparation of a second shock. Alex used the full weight of his body to compress Bek's chest as he felt a few of her ribs break under him. The AED announced that it was charged as they backed away and pressed the shock button. Again Bek jerked on the floor before relaxing again. "Still no response, lets give one more shock and then transport regardless." Jayden announced. Alex was already giving Bek CPR and simply shook his head in agreement. The AED was charged the 360 as CPR continued on Bek's dying body. They backed away once more as the AED was charged and shocked her again. This time the increased voltage caused Bek's chest to rise slightly off the kitchen floor before crashing back down causing her breasts to shake. "Asystole, lets roll out hopefully the ER can do something else to help her" They rolled her over before placing her on a backboard and loading Bek and all of their equipment into the ambulance and sped away. Alex hopped into the drivers seat and flipped on the lights and sirens as he attempted to get to the hospital as quickly as possible. Meanwhile Jayden was in the back of the ambulance compressing Bek's chest which now had a grayish look to it as her body began to shut down. The first few minutes of the ride were uneventful as Bek remained in asystole while her chest was being pounded away on. After pushing another round of cardiac drugs into the IV Jayden was able to force Bek's heart into v-fib as the AED was charged to 360 again. The shock caused Bek to jerk violently on the gurney before going still again. There was no change in rhythm so the AED was charged again as Jayden quickly tilted her head back and slid a metal blade into her mouth and down her throat slightly. He then passed a 8.0 ET tube down her airway and secured it with a blue holder. Attaching the ambu bag he gave a couple ventilations as he placed his stethoscope onto her cold and clammy chest to ensure it was placed properly. He was able to get it right on the first time so he dropped the bag so it laid against her face and pressed the shock button again. Bek's feet jumped off the gurney slightly and clenched up showing off the wrinkles of her small feet. Jayden began to lose hope of saving Bek as the monitor went flat once again as she went into asystole once again. Jayden pounded away at her chest as a purple bruise began to form in-between her breasts from all of the aggressive CPR. Her complexion started to fade and her lips turned to a bluish purple as her body was shutting down. She was now cool to the touch other than the center of her chest where Jayden's warm gloved hands have been so often. Each compression forced her breasts to shake violently as her chest was caved in rhythmically. He pushed another round of drugs into her dying body and gave to quick squeezes of the bag hanging out of her mouth before continuing CPR. He lost track

of how many cycles he has done so far or how long she had been down. All he knew is that he wouldn't stop until he got her heart beating again.

As they arrived at the ER Bek was still under intense CPR as her chest caved in rhythmically. They rolled her out of the ambulance as Jayden straddled the gurney. His hips placed directly on hers as his body hovered over hers as he continued aggressive compressions. Alex picked up the ambu bag laying on the gurney and gave a few squeezes every few seconds in attempt to give her much needed air. They took her directly into the trauma room as Alex gave the report. Jayden hopped off of the gurney and helped transfer Bek to the bed. They rolled her to her side and slipped the backboard out replacing it with a CPR board to get her chest in the correct position. Her nude body now laid dying on the bed as a nurse took over CPR. Jayden backed away slightly trying to catch his breath from all of the CPR that he had just performed. They placed another IV port and gave Bek her next dose of epi and continued CPR. The monitors beeped in tune with each compression that she received as her body shook around from the force. The attending doctor took out his pen light and checked her pupils. They were sluggish but reactive meaning that she still had a chance at coming back. They had no time to waste before it would be too late though. A day that went from hanging out with an old friend turned into a day where a team of medical professionals did everything they could to bring her back to life. The monitors began to bounce erratically as Bek converted into Vfib once again. The paddles were taken off of the crash cart, a large amount of gel was placed on one of the paddles as they were rubbed together, placed on her bare chest, and discharged. The shock caused Bek to flop on the bed and after the shock there was no change. CPR was resumed as the paddles were charged again to 360. In a moments notice the cold metal paddles were back on her skin as she was shocked again. This time her arms flailed to the sides and her feet scrunched up and relaxed again. Bek still did not convert so another nurse centered their hands between her large breasts as the paddles charged again.

Jayden was near the nurses station as soon as they left the room and called Ryan. "Hello is this Ryan?" Jayden asked. "Bek is not doing very well and I think that its important for you to get to the hospital as soon as possible. You are the closest thing to family that she has." He hung up the phone and looked into the trauma room as he watched the resuscitation continue. A few minutes later Ryan busted into the ER and ran toward Jayden. Jayden had to catch Ryan in his arms before he could burst into the trauma room. "What the hell is going on? She seemed okay when I left. I should have stayed with her." Ryan frantically pleaded. "She went into cardiac arrest shortly after you left. We have been doing everything that we can for her. She is in good hands." Jayden responded. Ryan could barely see into the trauma room but was able to see as everyone backed away and then as her body shook around on the bed. He fell to the floor as Jayden caught him and tried to console him.

"Asystole doctor" the nurse in charge of ventilations announced. "Push another round of epi and continue CPR please." he replied. The team worked in silence as they continued resuscitating Bek but they all knew that she was inching closer and closer to death. After three minutes at her 40 minute mark of her code the doctor asked "is there any family here?". A nurse informed him of the situation and he asked that Ryan be brought into the room. Ryan could barely hold his own weight as Jayden guided him into the room. "I'm the attending here and have been in charge of Bek's case. She was brought into the ER 20 minutes ago in full cardiac arrest. Her heart hasn't been beating for over 40 minutes. We have given her all of the drugs that we can and have done everything in our power. I am going to check for any signs of life again. Come on over and hold her hand." The two of them approached Bek as Ryan placed her hand in his. He could feel how could it was. "Stop CPR and check for pulses." The team backed away as they checked her carotid, and femoral pulses. The attending checked her pupils for the last time and found that they were fixed and dilated. "Time of Death 10:46am. I'm very sorry." The doctor announced. He left Ryan and a few nurses in the room as they started post mortem care. The disconnected the ambu bag, leads, wiped the gel off her chest, hung a toe tag on her right foot, and finally draped a white sheet over her nude body. Jayden stayed in the room with Ryan until she was taken down to the hospital morgue. Her autopsy found that she had suffered a massive heart attack.

[poison-rat]

For the ask thing: intrulogical! P.s. I love your work

Thank you!! I havent written a proper fic in like a year but Im just itching to write lately.

I love Intrulogical so much but my wife doesmt ship them so I never get to talk about it.

Logan and Remus are both chaos but in different ways. This will also borrow from my human AU. I have set ships in it, it is its own thing I may try to write for, but I like using the characterisation Ive made.

Who is the most affectionate?

Remus loves PDA. Hes always holding onto/draped over/sitting on Logan in one way or another. Always dropping sloppy kisses on his face or yelling that he loves him, despite Logan sitting right next to him.

He feels shy in front of other people, but in private, Logan is just as much all over Remus. Hes not nearly as vocal about it, but he also enjoys leaning against him or kissing his cheek or lays with his head in Remus' lap. Its a silent affection and Remus loves it all the same.

Who initiates the handholding?

Remus typically. Loves PDA, again. But Logan will sometimes reach over and just... hold.

Who worries more for the other?

Logan doesnt try to show it, but hes always worried about Remus. He always worried Remus is going to embrace the wrong intrusive thought and hurt himself somehow.

Who is more likely to ask for help?

Logan for sure. He understands that he doesnt know everything and is more than happy to stop and ask for directions when theyve passed the same gas station and souvenir shop 3 times. Remus says would rather die than ask for help, but even he can admit when he needs it, and will typically only ask Logan for help, or maybe Janus.

Who is the one always losing the keys?

Remus loses everything. If he doesnt have it attached to him, its gone. Hes gone through six pairs of sunglasses while on a vacation, has his phone on a stretchy lanyard when hes out and about (and a good phone insurance in case rhe lamyard falls off), and his keys are on a locking carabiner on his belt loop because the dealership wont give them another set. They really shouldnt have give him the extra 4 that that did.

Logan will lose small things like books or his glasses and occasionally his phone, but he always finds them. His keys stay hung up on a hook by the door and Remus isnt allowed to touch them.

Who leaves little love notes for the other?

Logan loves to leave post its everywhere. Not just love notes, but reminders for himself and Remus. The notes are all the sort of generic, "I love you!" and, "Remember to commit atrocities against your fellow man!" and Remus steals them all and keeps them in his pillowcase. Its extremely impractical because he has a tendency to pull the pillowcase off with his tossing and turning, but he manages to keep the notes in. Logan will sometimes find more vulgar notes left for him, but also some that say, "Hey nerd, youre cute," or similar, and he hides them in his books for safekeeping.

Who can’t sleep unless the other is there?

Both sleep fairly well on their own. Logan wakes more easily without him there. Remus is a sprawling bed hog, so he doesnt typically notice when Logan isnt there.

Who is more likely to propose to the other?

Logan has been planning it for a long time. He wants things to go according to his plan, but he forgets to factor in that Remus is erratic and unpredictable. He loves that about Remus but its frustrating to his logical brain. Eventually, when he does propose, its out of the blue, in the middle of a crowd, and he doesnt make a big deal of it. Its unpredictable just like his boyfriend. Remus screams in joy, effectively scaring the shit out of many nearby, and of course says yes.

Who introduced the other to their family first?

(Borrows from AU. Remus has an okay relationship with Roman and his mom, Remus being the younger twin, Logan has a tense relationship with his absent parents. All of the sides live in the same house near a college most of them attend.)

Remus met Logan when he and his brother were living together, so Roman knew about Logan the entire time. When Remus told him they were dating, Roman was thrilled for him and also teased him a lot. His mom also knew about Logan the whole time, and when she found out, the first thing she did was ask Roman when he was gonna get a boyfriend, that its improper to marry off the younger child first. She loves Logan and is so happy for her son.

Logan doesnt talk to his parents often. Theyre busy with their business, he knows that. In fact, he doesnt even tell them hes dating someone until theyre getting married. His mom acts all upset that he didnt tell her, but he doesnt believe her. They congratulate him, and thats about it. The nanny that raised him, she's absolutely thrilled and so happy for the two. Shes known about Remus since Logan starred to develop a crush and he called her in the middle of the night to ask for advice. She meets him in person a bit before their wedding.

Who is more likely to play with the other’s hair?

Remus is a tactile person. He loves to touch and play. When he doesnt have a fidget toy, he demands Logan's hair. Its difficult to read and also not doze off when someone is playing with his hair, but he tries.

Logan also plays with Remus' hair because its long and a bit wild. He mostly does it when he needs to help Remus brush it out, but when Remus is sitting in his lap with his head om his chest, Logan cant help as his hand just wanders up and starts carding through his hair. Remus melts every time, touch starved and desperate for affection.

Who makes sure the other has meals/stays hydrated?

Both of them are terrible at keeping up with needs. Logan will get into a focus and just not remember the world around him until Remus sets a sandwich and a glass of water down next to him. Hes very grateful. Remus is more an active person, so he'll be running around causing chaos, typically with Janus or Virgil and occasionally Roman, and Logan will make sure he has something when he gets home, because Logam cant focus on anything but making sure Remus is okay when hes gone.

Who is more likely to stand up to anyone for the other?

Remus will defend Logan to the death. Whether it be he has to throw hands or yell at someone, he'll do it. Logan is forever glad to have Remus in his life because he is a very passive person.

Who is the most likely to prepare a surprise for the other?

Remus' surprises are not always safe for work, but he loves to just... have a surprise waiting for Logan at any given moment.

Who makes the other pinky promise not to do certain things?

They both agree the pinky promise is the best way to do things for them. Its childish like Remus likes, and feels a little official like Logan likes.

Who puts a blanket over the other when they fall asleep on the couch?

Janus does because they both just fall asleep draped over each other. Logan doesnt like to sleep anywhere but his bed and Remus will sleep anywhere, and always while laying on top of Logan so he has no choice but to stay there. He denies a blanket, saying hes gonna get up in a bit, but he never does.

[eberles]

Just Friends

Mat Barzal

A/N: this is my first mat barzal fic, and the first thing ive written outside of the obx fandom! im very nervous to be posting this, but i hope some of you like it! also, thank you @fav-imagines for the idea ilysm!! feedback is of course welcome, and my requests are open if you want to send something in! 🥰

Warnings: angst, swearing maybe?

When you met Mat over a year ago you never would’ve expected to be where you are in your relationship. You met him in a bar, a few of your friends forcing you out after a break up, and he spilt his drink on you. As if you weren’t already having a bad night, now your shirt was wet and you smelt like beer, that was until you looked up and saw his face. You could see his lips moving, but you couldn’t hear anything he was saying, having been distracted by his gorgeous face. He shook his hand in front of your face, a smile brightening his features, and you snapped back into reality. He was apologizing profusely and after a few minutes of talking you agreed to go back to his apartment, he assured you there would be no funny business after he could tell you were contemplating going off on him. You guys spent the night eating pizza and watching movies, and thus was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. 

Now here you were, 15 months later, crying about how you craved for Mat to be more than just a friend. Of course, you were beyond grateful to have met him that night, he helped immensely with your break up and it didn't take long for you to start feeling more than just friendship feelings for him. You would never tell him though, always wanting to preserve the wonderful friendship you guys did have, but sometimes it was difficult. Like now, when Mat appears to be in an amazing relationship, with an amazing girl who he raves about all the time and constantly posts pictures with. Scrolling through his instagram for what felt like the 100th time that night, with tears in your eyes, you heard a soft knock on your apartment door. Walking over to the door, wondering what someone would want at midnight, you looked through the peephole to see Mat. “Shit.” you whispered, using your sleeves to wipe at your eyes knowing it wouldn’t make a difference because of your red face and puffy eyes. 

“Mat…” you opened the door, talking softly, noticing distraught features covering his face. “Are you okay?” you stepped out of the doorway, letting him through as you spoke. You watched as he made his way to your couch making himself comfortable like always and you sat beside him, eyes searching his face.

“We broke up.” Mat whispered, head down almost like he was ashamed to admit it and you hated that you even felt a small jolt of excitement as his words. Of course, seeing him in pain was the last thing you wanted. “I should've ended it a while ago, it was clear the only thing she wanted from me was outside attention. She just-I don’t know, it was so amazing at the beginning you know?” Mat spoke looking up at you, finally seeing your face and immediately his dropped even more than before. “Wait. What’s wrong? Were you crying?” 

“Oh, Mat. I’m so sorry. I know you really liked h-”

“Y/N...talk to me. Are you okay?” Mat asked, with pleading eyes, grabbing your hands in your lap and holding them for comfort. The action and his words bringing more tears to your eyes, causing you to turn away from him and pull your hands out of his grasp, standing up off the couch. His eyes followed you, watching as you backed away from the couch slowly, using your sleeves to wipe the falling tears away again. 

“I’m fine, really. We were talking about you anyways.” You brushed it off, hoping to bring the attention back to him. Mat eyed you skeptically and patted the seat next to him on the couch for you to rejoin him. You walked closer to him feeling his gaze following you as you found your spot next to him again. He put a hand on your knee, squeezing it subtly, unbeknownst to him causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach and a heat to rush to your face. “You know it’s her loss right? She’s missing out for sure.”

“You think so?” Mat smirked, bumping his shoulder against your own, rolling your eyes noticing his cocky self start to return. “It’s okay, i’m not heartbroken about it, but it’s another failed relationship added to the list.”

“I definitely hear where you’re coming from, bub.” You sat back against the couch, feeling better after your meltdown earlier. Mat had that power over you, just his presence alone could turn your whole mood around in just a matter of minutes. You guys fell asleep on the couch together watching netflix and you were grateful he chose to not bring up your crying episode from earlier. 

✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿✿

It’s been a few weeks since that night and a few days after Mat had to leave for a few away games, and tonight he was coming home. You were beyond excited to see him again, never understanding how you lived your life happily before meeting him and now you couldn’t even go 2 weeks apart from him. You didn’t know this but Mat felt the same way, it killed him everytime he had to leave you. He knew you would be home waiting for him so your house is the first place he went after getting back into town. You heard a knock on your door and you jumped up from your seat, running to the door and swinging it open. You just about lunged at Mat standing in front of you and he grabbed you tightly giving you a long hug right in the middle of your apartment complex hallway. Mat picked you up walking you into your apartment, while you laughed as he mumbled something about not wanting to be in the hallway any longer. 

“I missed you!” you spoke as he put you down, you releasing yourself from his grip and looking up at him smiling widely. He mirrored your expression and repeated the words back to you in a genuine manner. You bombarded him with questions about how it was being away and on the road, obviously you watched the games from home, but you wanted the insider details. Mat updated you on his life and listened as you briefed him on everything happening on yours. There was something different in the air tonight and both of you felt it. Ever since that night and during the weeks he had been gone, you both noticed different things developing between the two of you. More touches, more flirting, more late night talks, and it felt like everything was falling into place.

It’s now been a few hours since he arrived at your apartment and after talking for most of the time you guys put on a movie, which was always a ritual for the two of you. You guys were laying on your bed looking at the screen and Mat was playing aimlessly with your fingers when you heard him start to whisper, “I think i’m in love with you.” 

You shot up from your laying position and stared at him, blinking slowly, “Did you mean to say that?” He shook his head slowly and continued, “Before I met you I felt like there was something missing in my life and over the last few weeks I realized I was missing you”

You gasped, feeling your heart swell in your chest. These were the words you’ve been waiting over a year to hear. Mat started to shift awkwardly next to you and you realized it’s been a few minutes and you hadn’t said anything. “You have no idea how long i’ve waited for you to say that.”

Mat breathed out a sigh of relief, sitting up so he was next to you, cupping your face between his hands, both of you leaning in, brushing your lips against each other. It started out slow, but turned heated rather quickly, both of you releasing all of your pent up emotions. Your hands were wrapped around the back of his neck playing with the hair on the back of his head, before pulling away slowly.

“I’m in love with you too, by the way.” you laughed, breathing heavy from the passionate kiss before leaning in for more.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 19 - Holy Ground

Masterlist; Chapter 18

Summary: In the days before the mission in Tallinn, you and Neil have a few conversations to clear the air of doubts. Only, the mission itself proves to be a disruption...

Warnings: Swearing; mild violence.

Author’s Notes: Here we go, my favourite mission (and favourite Neil outfit too). This is only part one of the Tallinn action because so much happens... as you’ll see. I’m sorry. I really am. Hope you enjoy and please leave me feedback if you feel like it!

Song mentioned is: ‘Holy Ground’ by Within Temptation (I’ll share it in a post later but basically listen to it after reading and you’ll know why I’m obsessed)

Edit is courtesy of my amazing friend @sh3tani​ once again (ilysm and thanks for everything 💕)

The upcoming days were busy. You have been assigned the task of getting hold of some of the vehicles and artillery TP wanted for the heist in Tallinn. It was difficult, not only because it is actually rather hard to acquire a fire truck with no records left from the transaction, but also because you barely had any clue what you were actually doing. And so, most of the time, you were sat at the dining table in the flat, calling various shady people Neil gave you contacts to. Sometimes, a tea would appear in front of you, courtesy of the other team members thoroughly apologizing for how they handled the ‘alley situation’.

It seemed like your late-night walk and the cold treatment you gave everyone (including Neil) for the next 24 hours afterward worked. The jokes have ended, and contrition took their place, usually in the form of extreme helpfulness, random acts of kindness, and, in Neil’s case, a break from teasing. At least for a short while.

The only development you were not so sure of was the fact that the whole team decided to label your relationship. Not just any label but dating, verging on a couple. And that was rather terrifying. It struck you especially the night before when you have minded your own business in the kitchen. Watching over the pasta boiling on the stove, you listened to the plans made by Ives. He was trying to settle on the best way to track Neil during the heist when he suddenly turned to you with a question:

“Has your boyfriend told you what kind of car they are going for in the end?” the neutral tone made you skim over the term at first.

But then your brain caught up. What?! You almost toppled over the whole pot of pasta onto the floor when trying to drain it. Fuck. Ives was staring at you quizzically, as though confused about your current state.

“I… Who?” you stammered out the question, knowing it will only make everything worse.

“Neil” Ives grinned, “Unless you’ve gone for an open relationship and there’s another boyfriend involved”

“Christ, please stop” sighing, you tried to calm down just enough to function “I believe he’s going for a BMW, don’t know what series but something fast enough just in case there was a chase” triumphantly, you poured the sauce over the noodles.

“I’ll need to give him a call about it” Ives smacked his tongue thoughtfully.

“Feel free” using the opportunity, you grabbed the cutlery and escaped into your room.

Boyfriend? Now that was something to cause anxiety. Because despite everything that happened, all the things you have told Neil and got in return, you had no clue what you were supposed to be. Not really. Yes, sometimes you let yourself entertain the idea that maybe you were together, maybe he was your lover. But… was he? Could he ever be that?

With those thoughts occupying your mind, you only managed to last until afternoon the next day before giving in. After failing to contact a car dealer for the fifth time and realising that you have completely messed up the route plan due to forgetting about important details, you closed the laptop. It was hard to think when all your brain did was give reasons for why Neil would never actually want to be with you. To summarise: you were not enough, naïve, hopeless, and dumb enough to think that someone this incredible could think about you seriously. Stifling the sudden desire to breakdown and give up on everything, you dialed his number. He picked up almost instantly.

“Yes, my love?” your heart clenched at the nickname.

“Hi… um… Do you have a moment?” you cringed at the awkwardness.

“For you? Always”

Maybe, on another day, that would have made you smile. But that was not that kind of a day.

“Neil, I’m serious,” sighing, you rested your head on the cold wall behind your bed.

“What’s wrong?” his tone switched from playful to concerned.

Okay… now there’s no turning back.

“I’ve just been thinking...” you started, debating on the best way to breach the topic.

“Oh no”

Damn him. You cracked a small smile, knowing that was the intention. You could almost picture him at this moment, sat in some absolutely strange position in the armchair, nothing but long legs and ruffled hair. You did have it pretty bad.

“Shut up” you took a deep breath and blurted out “It’s probably stupid, and feel free to ignore this but... what even are we?”

There it is. Your whole existence hanged on his reply. But, of course, Neil needed more clarification than that…

“How do you mean?” his careful tone made your heart rate elevate.

The result was a string of sentences you shot out with the speed of a machine gun.

“Because everyone here assumes we’re dating. And Ives called you my boyfriend last night, and I don’t... I don’t know if that’s what’s going on and-”

“Okay, calm down,” he interrupted your rant “Take a deep breath” he waited until he could hear you exhale to continue “What do you want this to be? Because we’re the only people who have a say about it” the diplomatic tone made you frown.

But then maybe he just wanted to get your point of view before saying anything substantial… Trouble was you had no clue. Picking on a loose thread on your sweater, you sighed:

“I don’t know” maybe this was the right time to give him another piece of mind?  “I always hated labels because when you name something, it becomes real” you admitted, letting yourself slide down onto the pillows.

Nothing could hurt you there. Apart from potential rejection from the likely love of your life. Basically, fml, as the kids say.

“What about good things?” his question caught you off guard.

“Well, yeah, but… once there’s a couple, then there can be a break-up” the insecurity had an answer for that too.

Your cheeks heated up upon saying the word. Because even that felt like a step too far. Like maybe you were clingy. Obnoxious. Someone he could want to get rid of as quickly as possible. Before you decided to back out of the conversation, he replied:

“That’s a rather bleak way of looking at things” it was still that thoughtful tone.

A burden then.

“I know” you groaned, frustrated with yourself.

But the next thing he said was rather surprising…

“I’ll need to work on making you more optimistic. Not because I don’t like you the way you are, but because I want you to realise how wrong you are sometimes” the conviction and practical implications of the statement made you speechless.

The future tense. The admission that he did like you, with your countless issues and overbearing anxiety. It couldn’t be, could it? Neil took your stunned silence as permission to say more:

“From my side, let me say that dating doesn’t quite cut it because it implies not being sure... And…” despite yourself, your ears perked up, wanting to know what he meant.

“Yeah?” you prodded, trying to toe that precarious line between curiosity and fear of rejection.

“I’m not really in the trial stages anymore. Don’t think I’ve ever been” he clearly wanted to tell you more but was holding back.

Maybe it was for the better. Before you could think about a response to that, Neil added:

“Basically, we don’t have to use any labels. We’re just us” the simplicity of that statement broke through your resolve, making tears well up “Me and you. We know best what that implies and no one else matters” quietly, you sobbed, and he laughed before choosing to put that final nail in the metaphorical coffin “You’re my love, and that’s the only nickname I need” Neil sounded happy, as though despite your worries, he wanted to say that “I can be your idiot, as long as I’m yours” the punchline came with an audible smug smile.

Oh my god. You laughed, with tears still silently falling down your cheeks and heart hammering in your chest. He was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Suddenly asking that crucial question was not that scary. Because maybe today was the day when would tell you, without alcohol or worries prompting the confession. Taking the plunge, you spoke:

“Neil, do you-”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted you with an answer.

“I haven’t even asked the question” you frowned, unsure whether that kind of an answer was better than a confession.

Because, yes, he already said it once (almost twice), but both those have been anything but thoughtful. And your ever doubting brain was quick to use that fact against you.

“But I know the answer” he sounded certain.

Perhaps too certain.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to tell you over the phone” Neil sighed heavily on the other end “Listen, I have to go… but call me or text if you need to talk” he hesitated before adding, “No matter what I want you to remember what I said that night in London”

Oh… It was the first time any of you brought it up. You just assumed it was one of the things that just slipped out in an unguarded moment. You wanted it to be true, but then that was too risky. But maybe not…?

“I heard you” you whispered despite being alone in the room.

“I know” you could picture the soft smile he sometimes gave you “Goodbye, my love. Good luck with work” at the reminder of the piles of papers still waiting, you groaned, causing him to laugh.

“Will be needed since what you’ve assigned me is close to impossible” the change of the topic was dearly welcomed.

Grabbing the laptop again, you opened it up and felt all the motivation dissolve upon the sight of the route waiting to be planned. Coffee will be needed. And maybe whiskey too.

“I believe in you,” Neil broke your brooding with a comment, “And it’s not really me who assigned it” you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, idiot” unable to stop the grin on your face, you ended the call.

So maybe it was worth calling… Even if only to learn that he was in fact yours. And that he did not mind your insecurity or moments of anxiety. Maybe all this had some more potential than heartbreak and tragedy? Ignoring all the thoughts, you focused on the workload. After all, someone had to get all those bloody vehicles on time for the boys to play with.

*** The closer it got to the day, you could feel the tensions rising within the team. Partially it was your own fault and the fact that you were nervous. The plan was vague enough. What you and Ives’ squad knew was that TP intended to take over the plutonium 241 on the move, specifically on the highway leading out of the city. For some reason, he needed a fire truck and a firefighter suit for that. You had no clue why, but you blamed it on the boyish dreams of being a firefighter. Sure they all had those.

Neil was simply the designated driver and mission coordinator, and you hoped that meant he would stay out of harm. As much as that was possible for an idiot like him. You were not allowed to meet to stop TP from getting suspicious, and so all you could do was rely on texts and daily phone calls to keep you from going insane. The downside of the situation was that you could not slap Neil when he said questionable things. Examples being referring to the heist car as sexy (“And what if I told that it’s not the BMW that’s sexy?” “I’d be flattered”) and calling you his girlfriend on the call with Ives. That second incident resulted in the squad leader acting all smug because he apparently ‘figured it all out’. He did not, but who were you to prove him wrong.

And so, you perfected the plan, finished all the assigned tasks, and waited on instructions concerning the day of the mission. When they came, the message was simple – sit on your assess and wait, just in case the Cavalry was needed. You did not specifically like that ‘waiting’ part. Especially since Ives began insisting that you do not actually join them in the field. In his mind, the safest place for you was the flat. Not being a part of the squad and not having enough experience were the main factors acting against you. And you hated the fact that he was right. That is until the evening before the mission when an unexpected text from TP came. You were busy trying to understand the rules of a strange competition show on the television when your phone buzzed. Expecting something nonsensical from Neil, you picked it up instantly. Only to get shocked by the number on display. The message was straightforward:

“Join the squad in the field in Tallinn. You must be there”

Right… When you were asking the universe for help, you did not expect that. But it was better than nothing.

Without a further ado, you got up and wandered over to Ives, who was sat with Wheeler and Michael at the table. Upon your approach, the Brit looked up:

“Don’t tell me you’ve got some last-minute changes from Neil” his blue eyes were hazed with concern.

“No, I’ve got something better” you passed him the phone and waited for a response.

The widened stare and arched eyebrow was the initial reaction.

“He wouldn’t have sent if it wasn’t important” you added, hoping to win the case.

“I don’t get it” Ives sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair.

He glanced at Michael, who nodded and left the room. You just assumed that the discussion was not meant for any ordinary squad member.

“Apologies for my language, but you’re not a bloody soldier, and it might get rough out there” Ives spoke up again after a beat “And I don’t want to fucking worry about your safety amidst all the other mess” he met your gaze warily.

It was a little embarrassing to be considered a burden. You flinched internally before trying another approach.

“I know, but Neil might need me” as soon as you said the words, Ives scowled.

Of course, that just sounded like a lovesick teenager fighting for a hopeless case. And you hated that. But his very next words triggered the remains of resolve.

“Frankly, darling-”

You broke into a laugh, knowing the quotation well.

“I swear, if you quote Gone with the Wind right now, I’ll do something stupid” as a warning, you grabbed hold of the knife lying on the table, making Wheeler snicker quietly “Please, let me go out there. I can track his GPS signal or something. And well, you know that I’ve got a good aim. It might count for something” pleading was not your forte either but at the end of the speech, Ives’ gaze softened.

Maybe? He sighed once again before leaning his forehead on the folded forearms on the table.

“If you get hurt, he’ll kill me” he muttered gloomily.

“You’re exaggerating” you bit back a dry chuckle.

“No, he’s not” your head snapped up at the sound of Wheeler’s voice “But I’ve got to back you here if TP sent that text, then it’s probably important” she looked at you with a small smile.

“Thank you” you grinned back, grateful for the support.

With the days spent among men almost exclusively, Wheeler’s company meant a lot. Soon she became the only person you were willing to discuss your worries with. Because she was not keen on cracking dumb jokes about your relationship and asked questions that did not only concern Neil. And that was a welcomed change.

“You really need to be careful though, because Neil cares about you. Which probably makes you the most important person on this squad” her voice broke through your thoughts.

You knew she meant well, but the statement still made your cheeks heat up. Because did he really care?

“Don’t. You’re making me all flustered” deciding you’ve had enough of the awkwardness you got up to fix a tea.

“Well, I’m only speaking the truth here” turning back to the table, you saw Wheeler shrug “The physics boy took his fancy upon you, and that’s no funny business” she grinned at your perplexed expression.

Briefly, you glanced at Ives, who seemed to have given up on fighting with you and instead was listening in to the conversation with a neutral facial expression. The kettle boiling was your cue to respond:

“Great” semi-aggressively, you threw the tea bag into the mug poured the water “Did he though?” you asked, not even looking at them or expecting an answer.

“Yep,” Wheeler stood up and gave you a quick reassuring shoulder squeeze.

“I’ve never seen him like this before” Ives added once you turned to face him again.

That tea could not brew any longer…

“Not even with…” you hesitated before adding quietly, “Alex?”

“Not quite,” the man gave you an enigmatic smile, only increasing your frustration “You’ve convinced me though. You’re coming with us. Just please, for the sake of my sanity, be careful out there” you resisted the urge to jump up in relief “Because I’d rather not deal with an angry Neil. He’s a pain in the ass enough” Ives added darkly before getting up and joining you by the kitchen counter.

Smiling, you finished the tea.

“Thanks. I’ll do my best” playfully, you nudged his shoulder with yours “You can always blame me though” picking up the mug, you turned towards the corridor.

“As though he’d care” Ives muttered at your back.

The sudden surge of confidence was surprising yet also inspiring:

“I’d make him care. There are some things even he can’t say no to”

The last thing you heard upon closing the door to the bedroom was Ives choking on water.

*** The Tallinn mission for you began with an early morning phone call from Neil. You got as far as getting out of bed after having been staring at the ceiling anxiously for the past three hours when the phone rang.

“Morning,” you muttered, stifling a yawn.

Espresso was certainly needed. Maybe two, before you would have to head out.

“Hey,” the soft tone felt like a mild punch “I’m glad you’re up already” Neil’s sleepy voice made you wish you could wake up together again.

There was always that slightly husky tinge to it, the way he lazily pronounced some words just because it was early still. So different from the enthusiastic overenunciation when he was preaching another messed up plan of his. Or the cheeky inflections he tended to use with you during banter. It was terrifyingly easy to get to know him that well because of how open he was with you.

“I couldn’t sleep. But it’s okay I’ll manage” you admitted, distracting yourself from the sudden thoughts “I didn’t tell you last night, but I got another text from TP… he wants me to join the squad today”

From the moment you have shut the bedroom door the previous night, you have debated calling Neil about it. But then he initiated another rather amusing texting exchange focusing on his fashion choices, and you felt bad disrupting the peace. It could wait. Not anymore. You held your breath until Neil responded with a simple question:

“Why?” he was careful, and you could not blame him for it.

You perched on the windowsill and looked out at the quiet cityscape. The streets were strangely empty for a weekday morning. Sighing, you answered in the best way possible:

“I don’t know, but Ives said yes after some coaxing, so I might see you out there” smiling despite yourself, you waited for his response.

Since recently you had to rely on phone calls, it became increasingly easy to determine his mood based on the tone of the reply. Or on the various nonverbal noises he sometimes made. Now there was a quiet hum proceeding the sentence. A surprise, mild confusion, and worry. Brilliant.

“As much as I’m happy we might meet… and that you can see me in that sexy car,” you rolled your eyes awaiting the point “Please, be careful. I need you safe”

It was not disappointing. You knew he did not intend it that way, and yet the anxiety fuelled brain was onto it instantly. I need you… safe. Unable to stop the comment, you muttered:

“Just safe, then”

“What?” any hope that he might have missed it dissolved with that single question.

Could he for once not listen to what you say? You know, like men tended to do. But then Neil was by no means an ordinary man.

“Nothing. Don’t mind me” the attempt at saving your dignity failed too.

“I thought it goes without saying that I do need you. And that I want you”

Oh god. At once, you wanted to smash your head into the wall and to kiss the bastard for being the way he was. Adding to that sentence, the mental image of his sheepish smile was enough to make your heart speed up. When the silence stretched, becoming awkward, you whispered a reply.

“It’s good to hear it sometimes” the coldness of the window glass cooled off your blazed cheeks, “Especially when I don’t actually believe it” he knew that by now, undoubtedly.

Here the nonverbal cue was a half-choked sigh. Annoyance. Frustration.

“You should. I don’t go around telling everyone that” Neil’s confident voice was trying to pull you back “And I certainly don’t have moments as we do with anyone else” at the implication, you felt flustered again.

Because there did not an hour go by without you thinking about what happened. The pull between you was startling at times. The absolute desire you felt. The way Neil knew exactly how to make you remember every second of every moment. With the memories flooding your brain, you could only utter a single question:

“Why me?”

It was curiosity. Because apart from that evening months ago when you first tried to make sense of your budding relationship, he never said why he cared about you. And you would never dare ask. But now, with everything that happened, it was worth trying. And Neil was willing to deliver:

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because you’re the bravest, kindest, most beautiful person I know” you could only keep on listening with your mouth agape “You fascinate me, and I want to discover all that you’re willing to give me” he finished in a reverent whisper.

That was not what you expected to hear. Not now. Not ever. Speechless, you wondered whether maybe this time it was not a mistake to give your heart away. It was too late. He had everything but your body; that was just a matter of time.

“Neil, I…” this was all you could manage, afraid you would give away another confession.

“Well, you’ve asked,” he chuckled lightly and then asked, “Are you okay?” you could picture that crease between furrowed eyebrows.

“I suppose-” a loud knock on your door interrupted the sentence; it was time, “I think I should probably join them for the final briefing…” hesitantly, you jumped off the sill.

Only two of you could be interrupted during such an important conversation.

“Go, I won’t keep you. Believe me, though, when I say that I want nothing but to be with you. In every way possible” your breath hitched at the connotation behind the sentiment.

Jesus, this man…

“That’s rather mutual,” like a secret you passed it to him on a sigh “But only when you’re not an ass” that was a much-needed distraction for you both.

There was work to be done, after all. You could hear the commotion in the apartment rise in volume and strength.

“I’ll do my best then. Good luck, darling” you grinned at the nickname he was determined to use.

Darling, you could do with. It was better than the ‘love’ that always made you feel like you were just another one among many.

“Don’t do anything stupid I still owe you a few slaps… and a payback” you added the necessary suggestive tone to the last word.

The rest was up to him to figure out. Which he did, if the pleased laughed was anything to go by.

“I’m very much looking forward to all of those” you missed that smirk.

“You should. Bye, my idiot,” you debated saving his number as that in your phone.

Maybe it was the way forwards.

“My love,” laughing, you ended the call when he uttered the words just for the sake of it.

But then that was Neil’s essence – doing things just because. Or to get a reaction from you. And you would not have it any other way.

*** Only when sitting in that bloody SUV, you learned the true meaning of waiting. And how much you hated to do that. There was nothing to do apart from sweating in the protective gear and avoiding the awkward small talk others were susceptible to. The squad has cramped into two non-descript vehicles, and you being the so-called precious cargo, ended up in the same car with Ives who have sworn to protect you. Only, for the first half-hour, there was nothing to protect you from. Apart from anxiety, boredom, and frustration.

Your role was rather simple – follow Neil’s signal on the map to know where you might be needed should he call for backup. As much as you did enjoy the possibility of tracking his movements somehow, you did not appreciate the cheeky smile Ives had on his face when he gave you the job. Or the comment combined with it: “Well, he’s your boyfriend, it’s only fair you keep him on the metaphorical leash here”. That is how the small blinking dot on the map of Tallinn became your sole focus for the past hour. Just before everything kicked off, Neil radioed you with a simple message: The mission is about to start. Wait for further instructions.

Ever since your morning phone call and the revelations that came out, you only exchanged a few texts concerning the practicalities of the action. Despite the nerves, you did hope to see him in near future. Even if just to check whether what he said was true. Looking for a distraction from the sudden thoughts, you glanced at the screen again. They were near, on the main junction of the highway, heading towards the port. Your SUVs were parked underneath a small overpass, five minutes away in the current traffic conditions. Which proved to be convenient, as it turned out.

“Is he still following the set route?” Ives’s question brought you to the present moment.

“Yeah, they’re-” you glanced to double-check the exact location when you realised that something has changed.

The dot was not moving. It was still blinking, but clearly, they have stopped at a crossing. Traffic lights? Your brain somehow knew that it could not be that simple. You opened your mouth to voice the thoughts when the comm came alive on the dashboard with static crackling:

“We need back up here. ASAP”

“Roger that” Ives tossed you the radio “Ask him about the details”

Without waiting for more information, Michael fired up the SUV engine as Ives contacted the second vehicle.

“Neil” you spoke into the receiver “What happened?” you flinched at the louder noise from the radio.

Gunshots?

“We’ve been ambushed by Sator’s people. TP’s status unknown”

Bloody brilliant. Swallowing down the rising worries, you asked another question:

“How many people?” another gunshot pierced the silence.

“Not sure. They’ve gotten clean up orders” a strained breath from Neil told you how bad the situation was.

“Okay. We’ll be there soon” you glanced at the road ahead.

Still, 2 mins to go. Anxiety was threatening to overpower you at any moment. But now was not the time.

“Hurry up” Neil closed the channel with a final dose of static.

Fuck… Forcing a deeper breath, you could only watch as you got closer to him. The sheer thought of something happening to Neil was unimaginable. That was enough to trigger panic. So you pushed the idea to the back of your head, focusing on the distance disappearing.

There was no mistaking the fact that you have been led to the right place. Crashed cars, asphalt littered with glass shards and broken parts, gunshots piercing the air. The destination looked like a car pile-up from an action sequence. Frantically looking through the windows, you tried to spot that blonde head. To no avail. The SUV came to a sharp halt as the squad members began jumping out of the vehicle. Once everyone else disembarked, you moved to follow them, only to be stopped by Ives:

“You’re staying here. I can’t have you out in the shoot-out” his blue gaze was stern, hand blocking exit out of the car.

The idea that you were so close to Neil and could not see him was enough to make you angry.

“I can handle myself. And he’s-” you spit out the words in the face of the squad leader while trying to push him away.

“I said no. The conversation’s over” with a final glare, he stepped away and scanned the horizon for immediate danger “If someone approaches the car, you know what to do,” he threw as a parting remark and disarmed the rifle.

Fucking hell! Groaning in frustration, you kicked one of the seats. He was so close. You glanced at the device in your hand. He could not be further than behind the first line of crashed cars. Biting on your lip harshly, you quickly went over the options. One was to obey Ives and stay inside the bloody SUV like a well-behaved child everyone apparently took you for. No one seemed to care about the vehicles you parked on the outskirts of the action. Flinching at the further salve from the heavy artillery, you knew that the squad had joined the fray. You could be safe here… but… Taking a deep breath you knew there was no possibility you could stay away from the action. Not when Neil was there, potentially in danger. It was not possible to give up on someone that important just because you were told to. Christ…

Glancing through the windows again, you could see Sator’s people attempting to clear the place. The squad evidently attempted to push at them from one side, hoping to get a clean sweep that way. Then, just as you were about to go back to the internal crisis overwhelming your thoughts, you did a double-take. Surely not? You would recognize that hair colour everywhere. There he was attempting what was looking like a skirting manoeuvre to circle the mercenaries with the Cavalry on the opposite side. Only that left him completely uncovered, in the direct line of fire. Bloody idiot. The instinct to jump out and run to him kicked in. The only thing holding you back was the fact that you would disobey the orders. And leave the car unguarded. All the hesitation disappeared once the comm in the car crackled with static:

“Emergency assistance needed. ASAP” the tension in his voice made your pulse quicken.

The lack of response from the team made all the blood drain from your face. You could see him trying to hide behind some overturned car. The henchmen were near enough to get him with no problem.

That thought was all the convincing you needed. Swearing, you quickly pocketed the tracking device, adjusted your protective gear, and grabbed the gun. You have been offered a rifle (just in case), but you preferred the classic. At least it was something right?

In two leaps, you have covered the distance. With the team trying to get through the attack line on the other side, it was just you and Neil. You shot a round in the direction of the approaching merc, missing the target yet earning attention from the main object of your focus. His eyes met yours across the plane. You could see shock, worry, and something else there. Suddenly a salve whizzed past you. The bullets cutting through the air all around, shooting past your head and piercing the car behind. A strangled yell from Neil was a surprising reaction, yet you did not blink twice. He was all you could see. With a final surge through the field, you reached him. The pure fury and anguish in his eyes took you aback. Have you missed something? But there was no time to ask questions.

“Go, I’ll cover you” you whispered, looking at the approaching group of mercs.

Neil took an additional moment to stare at you as though he could not quite believe you were there. But then he jumped up, aiming the gun at the man closest to you. The same that undoubtedly attempted to take you out seconds prior. When the mercenary fell with a bullet in the head, you stared in shock. There was no time to recover as Neil pushed through, barely looking behind at you. It was surprisingly easy to tune out the emotions, taking out anyone who could threaten him or halt your advances. You worked well together, movements in sync enough to stun the opponents on a few occasions. For a second, you wondered whether it was only bound to get better the closer you get to each other. That was certainly an interesting idea… In no time you have met with the line of the squad, watching on as Ives dealt with the last man standing. You have won. The adrenaline started to leave your body, resulting in tremors and shaking hands. Clutching the gun to prevent it from cluttering to the ground, you met the exasperated gaze of the squad leader. Your only response was a shrug. You did not regret the decision, seeing as you have evidently helped them in the field.

“Neil? Do you know where TP is?” Ives took his attention off you and looked at the blonde man.

You followed his gaze, for the first time actually looking at Neil since you spotted him across the plane. At the moment, you were struck by what a sight he was. Navy shirt with sleeves rolled up to expose the forearms covered with veins. The same tie he had on during your walk. Your pulse quickened. The vest drawing attention to the ratio between his broad shoulders and narrow hips, accentuated with a belt. Brown loose-cut trousers and scrapped leather shoes adding a classy touch. You were aware that you were staring yet unable to look away. Not knowing whether to blame it on the adrenaline rush, you wanted nothing but to touch him. Take off those driving gloves that piqued your interest at the first sight. Or have them be wrapped around your throat with just enough pressure. Get rid of the tie again. And…

“Think Sator took him” Neil’s response broke through your increasingly hazy thoughts.

Shaking off the images that started appearing, you looked up at his face again. The ruffled hair and flushed cheeks were not helpful. Fuck’s sake. It had to be stress. Because what else?

“Their place in the port?” Ives asked, his tone nothing but strict business.

“That’s my bet” Neil shrugged, looking around with something dark in his eyes.

He was tense, like a feral animal that could lash out any moment. You were not wrong. The cold blue gaze settled on you almost remorsefully, but before you could open your mouth, he snapped:

“What the fuck were you thinking?” the hostile edge to his voice was new.

You flinched as though you have been hit. The lack of physical impact did not matter. Your heart stammered. He need not explain what it was about. Please no.

“You needed a cover. They weren’t responding, so I did the obvious” you shrugged, feeling the anger grow “And I could ask you the same question” spitting the sentence into his face, you took a step closer.

You have never seen him that furious. Not even in Oslo after your little fuck-up. The sight was both terrifying and alluring. The dark blue eyes blazed with fury. Jaw clenched. Slight pink tint on the cheeks. And yet, still, you had no idea why he reacted like this.

“I knew what I was doing. That’s the difference” the coldness of his voice threw you off.

So it was real. He did mean it. You tried to save him, and here he was, pissed off at you. Making you almost regret it. Almost, because the love was there too. Not giving away no matter what.

“That’s bullshit” it felt good to admit, “You were reckless, as always, and expecting me to-” your rant got interrupted by a strangled yell.

Nothing prepared you for the revelation then. Or the sudden anguish on his face.

“You were almost shot!” Neil’s eyes glistened as though he was close to tears.

Suddenly it made sense. The rain of bullets you were hit with just before getting to him. The way he reacted. But you made it. Nothing happened. So why was he acting like that?

“Almost” ignoring the growing pain in your chest, you pointed out the obvious.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ives and the rest of the squad observing you. You would rather not have an audience, but then Neil seemed determined to drive his point forward. His face scrunched into a pained scowl.

“Fucking hell,” turning away from your gaze, his back tensed even more “You can’t do shit like that just because I’m involved” the defensive tone took you aback.

What? It was getting worse. You could feel the confidence leaving your body as you struggled for a response. You would never think Neil would do something like that. Not after everything you have told him. Figuring out the only way you that could work, you took your own line of attack.

“Who says I did it only because it was you?” the implication hurt because it was partially correct “Quite an ego you’ve got there” his back was still turned to you.

That angered you even more. Crossing the distance, you placed your hand on his shoulder, making him turn to you. He flinched upon the contact as though your touch burned him. Oh my god. The tears welled up in your eyes. It could not be real. But the emotionless look in the eyes you thought you knew was very much real. It was as though before you realised Neil has built up a wall, guarding himself against you. And there was nothing you could do to get through. You got shocked by the cruel smirk that split his face.

“I can see the way you look at me. As though you wanted to-” you interrupted him sharply.

“Neil”

It was too much. Perhaps because it was true. But he was not done. Persistent to keep going.

“Admit it. It’s because you said some things, and now you can’t bear the thought of losing the object of your affection” the careless tone and the words pierced your heart with gut-wrenching pain “Well, you see, sometimes feelings need to be put aside” he added, almost casually.

Fuck. You gasped, unable to keep a straight face. He might as well see what he has done. Some things. So this is how much your confession meant to him. Good to know. You wanted to slap him, but you felt like that could turn back on you. So instead, you made sure to straighten your back, putting on the familiar mask of neutrality. You have done this before. Probably should have expected it. Only why did it hurt ten times more?

“Can we leave the bloody lovers quarrel till later?” Ives’s voice pierced through the tension.

But you were not ready. Raising your hand in a stopping motion, you turned back to Neil. His face was terrifyingly indifferent. Maybe it was all an act. Or maybe it was just that easy for him to get over whatever you thought you had. A lie. Gathering the smithereens of confidence, you forced a levelled tone:

“Says you. As though you’re acting out of reason right now” you gave him your best impression of the sneer visible on his face.

You could crumble at any moment now. Only the pounding in your ears and the wounded pride were keeping you upwards. But Neil wanted to destroy everything.

“More than you” he glanced at the team waiting impatiently “I really thought you’d know better than this” the punchline was more than you could take.

No. Please no. Your knees buckled, and you swayed. But then you caught the flash of concern in his eyes. Just for a split of a second. So it was not all cold and hatred? You heard Ives huff out a string of curses. There was no time for this. Whatever it even was. Honesty it was then.

“Better than to give away my heart to someone like you? Evidently not” you met his eyes for the final time before walking away in the direction of the SUVs.

The shock you saw in Neil’s face was enough to fuel the survival instincts. With the heart broken or not, the mission was still on. And the rest was silence.

[kachinnate]

,,,,okay i know i just said i wasn’t going to talk about the deh movie but actually yeah imma talk about it for just a sec bc y’all actually make me legitimately distressed sajkfndsmjkgds

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hLQ_A0H1otc i dont have the braincells to do a shot by shot analysis right now but here’s what we’re lookin at

under a readmore because ghhhhhhh

firstly, let me lead with this: yes, from what we know, there’s a lot of things wrong with this movie. 

the worst, in my humble opinion, being the bts treatment of the (very few) actors of color, and the lack altogether of any production team members of color. that’s something that should be acknowledged, talked about, and fucking dug into especially at the current fucking period of time we’re living in. it’s unsurprising, but disgusting nonetheless, and it set this movie up for failure from the very beginning. i’m a white person so by no means so i feel inclined or like i have any authority in saying what one should feel wrt all of that, however i will say if there’s to be a boycott in not watching this movie, that should 100% be the reason why. it’s fully poc’s choice whether or not to forgive the production team or give this movie a chance for the irredeemable shit it did in regards to handling the movie’s production. the movie imo definitely doesn’t deserve their forgiveness, but again, that is not for me to say. 

there’s some little things too that i can’t fully think of off the top of my head - like, the whole making larry connor’s stepdad thing fucking irks me, for example, but, like...... listen.

if you know me like at all, you know my favorite word is nuance.

so, i’m going to say it outright: the way you people are approaching this three minute trailer shows literally.... none?? no nuance ??? is it no-nuance november over here or ???? like i’m begging you i’m BEGGING YOU to put aside your pre-determined prejudices against this movie and like stop pretending to be a renowned film critic for ten seconds because it’s really not as outright fucking abysmal as you are saying!! and also it’s possible to have opinions that aren’t completely fucking polarized to one side because guess what, the deh movie? a piece of media! what is the shit y’all are constantly preaching about having the ability to consume media critically ? because you’re trying to cancel a fucking trailer based on the contents of the trailer alone !!!!! hello !!!!!!!!

media is bound to be problematic. if y’all were as quick to judge any movie as you did this one, guess what you wouldn’t be watching any movies like ever <3 

anyway lets get into the parts that are probably going to get me cancelled lmao 

ben platt - listen. LISTEN. listen i know he’s too old to be reprising evan we ALL know he’s too old to be reprising evan i’ve heard this same argument since the announcement was made we get it we all know. haha he’s a grandpa yes bestie ur so right ur so funny wow. i do agree that we should’ve maybe had a not-ben-platt evan moment but here’s some things to keep in mind: the arguments of “oooh ABF is right there !!!!!!” 1. who’s to say he was available? 2. the environment of a movie is so, SO much different than that of a musical -- as much as you wanna pretend you know everything from just a trailer, there’s no way of knowing what scenes were added that might’ve made the movie like.. idk possibly more intense story-wise not even COUNTING the fact that just inherently a movie set is different than a musical one? like yes ben platt might be just being used as a device but that’s probably not the sole and only reason. Also, if i see One (1) more comment about his FUCKING HAIR 😃 first of all it’s not that deep like... if you’re so distracted by an actor having their hair different that’s on you, but going as far as to call it bad or distracting or being like Vehemently a way about it? y’all i know it’s most likely not your intention but that is literally just ben platt’s natural fuckin ETHNICALLY JEWISH hair sajknfgkjds!!!! i’m not the first to make this point, but like dsjnfkjdsg!??! y’all are being so mean about it and for WHAT? again, maybe not intentional, but it reads as like high key Very antisemetic and you should.... maybe not 😳 be that way

connor. the thing about a trailer is that they don’t show you all the scenes because they want you to come see the movie. right? can we agree on that? all the connor scenes in the trailer had SEVERAL hard cuts, omitting a lot of the scene -- like the computer lab scene! we see the beginning of it, there’s a VERY obvious hard cut, and then he’s running out! in my opinion my first watch through of this trailer i had a very like “:// hmm all these actors feel a lil like dry”, but man oh man the comments ive seen about connor. holy shit guys. this boy gets 7 minutes of stage time in the actual musical, and the whole thing is we DON’T KNOW VERY MUCH ABOUT HIM. not to burst your bubble, and i by no means hate connor, i love me some good connor lives fics and stuff, but everything we write with connor being alive? that is !! speculation on our part !!!! those are headcanons and us using the little context we have!! connor doesn’t have any significant development IN THE SOURCE MATERIAL that is being adapted into a movie !!! you 1. can’t fully judge a character with already limited screentime in a 3 minute trailer, 2. can’t really call what connor has canonically in the musical as in depth character development !! what is his arc then !!!! he pushes evan, goes to the computer lab, has an outcast loner kid moment, gets upset, takes the letter, DIES. sorry stans, that’s just how it is !! and, AND, everything in between, all the idiosyncracies, that depends on the actor playing connor! speaking of, you know who the actor is playing connor in the movie? that’s right, colton ryan! so, i don’t know, maybe... have some trust in the process, in an actor who ALREADY has played connor on broadway???? and also trust that you will get more connor content then u are seeing from a 3 minute trailer!! dhgnijsdg and some of the comments on like his appearance specifically? like are you really made that he doesn’t have long hair?? they kept his nails and his rings but nahhh the hair was apparently a MUST HAVE (even though like.. not all connor actors on broadway always had/have long hair but w/e).. REGARDLESS. tldr on THAT , the movie would have to do a pretty shitty job if they want to take something from someone who doesn’t have much to begin with and i think y’all are being extremely harsh on this point 

jared. honestly i’m a bit worried too about the like... name change, because it does have the potential to be taking out some representation, but... they did change the name to fit the actor’s ethnicity? it’s a really [hmm] topic because, again, from a trailer and from what we have been told we don’t KNOW a lot of the context, but i think it’s important to remember that uh.. jewish people aren’t just? always white ?? there’s a possibility they changed the last name to fit with the [ethnicity] while keeping him jewish?? ofc there’s the possibility that they Didn’t and ... again hm that’s its own thing altogether but just reiterates the point that you can’t knock a whole movie just based on the trailer. you can’t talk about things you know nothing about. 

alana. same thing as before, you can’t.... completely bash a character based on a 3 minute trailer. there was discussion about how she seemed ‘shy’ when talking to evan, which like.. maybe she is but also that scene was them talking in a library like if u actually take notice of what’s happening in the scene jdskngsd though i do share the general consensus with many others that she won’t get a lot of screen-time but that’s neither here nor there 😔 moving on

scenes and the setting. one of the things i was most like.. tentative about in regards to a switch from a musical to a movie was how they were like... going to do certain scenes? naturally, a lot has to be different when we’re going from a minimal stage set to an entire movie with like.. settings. there are going to be new scenes because a movie lends to have like, physical places that aren’t just [evan’s bedroom] and [murphy kitchen] and [implied school]. so new scenes, new conversations, slightly different pacing.. this is all to be expected right like are y’all geneuinely surprised here or ........

there’s a lot we aren’t seeing yet because this is a TRAILER. again i already mentioned this re: connor but like... again, y’all are making some Claims that just... fucking outlandish. there are so many moments in the trailer that are very obvious Hard Cuts. you don’t have all the information yet. you are angry at a tiny fragment of something that is confusing you because you don’t have all the context. is there a chance that some of this shit is just genuinely Bad? yeah but you really cannot 100000% say it with your chest and gauge it without seeing the movie and understanding what that scene is in context. lowkey uhhh saw some jokes about the zoe scene in the car and :’))) ? jesus? christ????

concluding thoughts because my brain hurts but like. you don’t have to like the movie. you don’t have to WATCH the movie. like all media if you choose to consume the movie you should do so with some CRITICAL THOUGHT. but, just like the novel (and i do not want to have any discussions about that i don’t care if you think it’s good Or bad that’s not what this is about) you guys are going in this WANTING to believe it’s bad and completely polarizing your thoughts on what this is going to be. yeah, maybe there shouldn’t be a movie. i genuinely think we could’ve gone without. but it’s just a piece of media, it’s not a progression like all your (musical is good, novel is bad, MOVIE IS WORSE OH NO) posts are suggesting. they are all just. different pieces of media stemming from a source. at the end of the day it’s just a fucking movie. if you already hate it so much, guess what? you don’t have to watch it! you don’t have to put so much needless fucking hate into a 3 MINUTE TRAILER. you can stop being performative and dissing it for its poor treatment of POC while then going on to make fun of ben platt’s hair and just targeting a different group like! please !!!

i’m not trying to be a fuckin’ advocate for this movie because there’s so much opportunity for it to suck, i do Not have high hopes for it, and i’m not even really sure i want to watch it (i bought the novel when it came out and have yet to read it, and i’m sure the movie will like.. elicit very similar vibes from me lsdngjkdsg like im just not uhhh feeling it) but y’know what? watching the trailer did not bring forth the fucking onslaught of hatred in me that apparently has fuckin posessed all of y’all and like djnsgjksdg plagued my dashboard for this whole evening. don’t come into my inbox trying to like.. argue with me about this (preemptively im turning off anon because i like i Can’t lmao) this is just like... a rant i needed to get out of me real quick. 

SO. tldr for now: have critical thought about shit you consume, there’s no ethical consumption under [the film industry], you can’t judge a movie entirely on its trailer, and y’all need to calm the fuck down 

[yeoldontknow]

The Morning After | (M)

Author’s Note: welcome back to chanvember! i hope you enjoy this piece <3 its been a while since ive written smut for him and given how the last time went over, ive been very nervous about this. so i hope everyone has a great time! | this work features graphic sexual content and themes not suitable for an audience under the age of 18. please do not read if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable or if you under 18. Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: smut; romance; friends to lovers!au; fluff; angst; au Summary: For the last several months, every time you and Chanyeol get drunk you wind up in bed together. At this point, you’ve come to expect it - it happens like clockwork. But now, your feelings for him have developed into something much stronger than friendship. Now, you’re not sure you can carry one pretending to be fine with this arrangement. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; unprotected sex; creampie; sex on a kitchen counter for all to see (but the stove isnt on; safety first!); dirty talk; drinking games; jongdae possibly passed out in the snow Word Count: 11K

The heat of his body pressed against yours is what wakes you, the full length of his limbs nestled against your skin, seeking security. 

Chanyeol is needy in sleep, always curled against you in the hopes of sharing warmth, contact, and affection. Waking up beside him, held so tightly in his arms, his breath cascading over your neck, is your favourite part of this non-arrangement - the glory of waking up and feeling wanted. He’s good at it, too, tall enough and warm enough to make you feel special, protected; and enough to make you want him him down to your soul, as though you could ever want him less. 

But this, you know, is also your least favourite part of waking up with him - apart from waking up at all. The gift of waking up feeling held, protected, needed, down to your very bones, is a blessing most people savor, something they would hold onto with both hands, reluctant to release even after morning breaks. But you, you know what it means, and it’s the meaning that stings, even if it’s shallow. Being held like this makes it <i>hard.</i> It makes it hard to leave, makes it hard to remember who you are and what you are, feeling special only to remember these fleeting moments don’t last. 

With other people, you’ve grown accustomed to waking up and walking away - in fact, you relish the act of leaving, body sated and mind empty, your craving reduced, in these morning hours, to coffee and solitude, with no room for anything else. With other people, you disappear as though it is your magical blessing, body already awake before dawn, footsteps quiet, and smile reserved for yourself, for the satisfaction that comes from liberating yourself from men you don’t really want.

For you, walking away is easy, a sacred talent of empowerment, but, with Chanyeol waking up hurts.

The sun seeps through the linen of the curtains, and you sigh, blinking resolutely at the yellow hue fully aware you’ve missed the dawn, and thus missed your escape. Mouth dry, the alcohol from the night before lingers on your tongue, much the same way his hand lingers on your stomach, palm flat as if to hold the totality of you. His other arm rests beneath your neck, cradling you close, protective, while still ensuring you are comfortable enough to sleep. 

Biting your lip, you press back against him, feeling the hardness of his erection rub against the curve of your ass, as much a reminder of his anatomy as it is a phantom memory of the previous night, the purposeless celebration, and the way you fell to bed together, acting as though you were surprised and unprepared.

Chanyeol was already drunk when he found you, stumbling into the living room with a smile on his face that spoke of yearning, Your own motor skills had been delayed by the alcohol in your system, a frown set on your face as you attempted to figure out the HDMI settings needed to use the Nintendo Switch the Air BnB had so generously provided. It was for Mario Kart, you complained, eyes wide and pleading with Chanyeol’s savant capabilities with wires and technology. He had to help you. 

But he didn’t want to. He said this with a pout, reaching for your neck and shoulder with messy inelegance, looking bereft, the beanie on his head too large for his cheeks, giving him the appearance of someone too innocent for his age. The drinking games had gone poorly, bad enough to hurt his pride, and he was seeking consolation for his losses. He needed you, he said, adamant and desperate, pleading even though he’d never admit it, looking so young and so small and so terribly needy. 

Hands on your hips, you grimaced, told him he’d only get comfort if he helped you, annoyed because he certainly did not need any comfort. He was terrible at drinking games, the only games he could never master because he could never master his drink, and he should know this, you said. He’s smart enough to know. 

You don’t remember how his lips found yours. If you’re being honest, you rarely ever remember. Every time, you never truly remember much beyond the blinding haze of desire that floods your limbs whenever you look at him, but you remember the feeling. It was so unlike the kisses he usually gives you when he’s this far gone, hands seeming to remember where you like them best and lips moving with an assured confidence, as though he no longer needed permission - as though kissing you was something that came naturally, and without hesitation.

Chanyeol walked you up the stairs, one at a time before pulling away from your lips with a frown, and lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you the rest of the way.

‘Fuck off.’ A weak protest, one that you mumbled against his lips. ‘I’m too heavy.’

‘No, you’re not. Shut up.’

He resumed kissing you, kissed you even as he pushed through your assigned room, the room you staked claim in by dropping your bags not seven hours previous. You were glad you’ve moved them to the floor. 

It was messy, from there, his hands at your jeans and pulling them down while your fingers worked at his belt - too complicated, you’d said, and he’d laughed. His mouth found your core, licking a full line up your slit before diving inside. He moaned on contact and so did you, not bothering to be quiet. Downstairs, Jongdae yelled victoriously - another win. In bed, you gripped Chanyeol’s hair with one hand and the bed sheets with another, feeling victorious yourself as you rolling up against his face until he kissed your clit and told you not to come. 

The thickness of his girth still resonates between your legs, stretching you to a fullness your body always remembers, but can never replicate with your own hand and fingers, not even your vibrator. He fucked into you while he called you love, and baby, and perfect, kissing at your breasts as he fucked you hard enough for your hips to hurt. He came inside you, too, a new development that makes you grateful you’ve been taking birth control, a new development that makes your thighs clench in memory. Overwhelmed by his orgasm, he moaned into your neck, biting down on the flesh until he shuddered to a halt, cock still twitching inside you.

He kissed and kissed at the mark, apologizing for the redness and any pain, kissing at your lips only when you told him it didn’t hurt too much, and that you liked it. 

Your hand finds the mark now, careful not to disturb him. Running your fingers over the mark, the bumps and indents of his teeth still remain and you still feel him, the pain gone and leaving with it a memory of heat and wanting, a tattoo of recollection that makes your chest feel tight. It’s strange, you think, to feel marked and claimed without anyone truly wanting the possession of you, a feeling that makes you feel lonely rather than alone. 

Turning over to look at him, making sure your do so lightly, you eyes catch sight of his tattoos, the dark lines and art casting shadows on the veins and always so tantalizing to touch. Cuddling closer, you run your hands through his hair, aware that an action like this is both too affectionate and too risky, but you find it can’t be helped.

A few months ago, you discovered that he enjoys having his hair stroked, though you never do so when he's sober and certainly not when he's awake. But when he's sleeping, and you've been lucky enough to have him, he cuddles into your touch, whining with a puff of air through his lips. He's needy, your favourite thing to learn about him - a man so notoriously detached from connection and romance craves it with all of himself when his guard is down, and when he doesn't know he wants it at all. 

The sun hits his skin in ways it seems to avoid your other partners. Lately, you've woken up with other people and watched the way the sun carves edges into their skin that makes you feel hollow. It does not make them ugly, just harsh, illuminating all the reasons they aren't what you want, only just what you needed - briefly and for a limited amount of time. On Chanyeol, the sun finds a home, turns the tips of his ears pink and adds dimension to the dark strands of his hair, the curls turning from a deep brown, almost black, to a rich chocolate, turning him amber and amber, and turning your heart to amber, frozen in the single moment of your admiration. 

His eyelashes splay over his cheeks as he sleeps, a slight flush of rose smeared against the bone, and you smile, knowing that even under blankets with another person the heat is sweltering, You're warm too, always a little too warm with him, but for some reason you don't mind. Always, you push yourself away in bed, careful not to touch or be touched after you've had your fill, looking forward to leaving but not really sleeping, chest filled with great disdain for accidental contact. 

With Chanyeol, sleep comes easily, easier than it does even when you're on your own, and so you've learned to hate leaving - often already left, body finally relaxed into a state of comfort with him, rousing only when he has departed entirely and craving the lack.

Having spent too long thinking around and through him, beyond comparison and into craving, Chanyeol's eyes begin to flutter with the first traces of wakefulness. Feeling adrenaline seep into your veins, you pull your hand away, dropping it carefully on the pillow beside your head and closing your eyes, hoping he does not notice or feel your movement.

For a moment, there is only silence. Silence and the deep, low growl that always accompanies Chanyeol's yawns. Biting the inside of your cheek, you force yourself not to smile, always amused by the sound and the way it resonates around the room, long and aching as though he pulled it from deep within his soul. When he's quiet again, the sudden lack of noise, only his even, smooth breaths remaining, feels painful, hair on your arms standing on edge, defying the weight of expectation.

'Really?' Chanyeol's voice comes as a soft mumble, a whisper of reverence that makes your chest flush. You're glad to be covered by the blankets, the pink heat of it hidden from view. 'Again?' 

Not a trace of displeasure tints his voice, the smile he wears offering a gentle caress to the cadence of his tone. If you could, you'd sigh in the breadth and the wake of it, luxuriating in the way his smile can never be hidden, not even by the darkness of your closed eyes and the icy cruelty of the morning sun. Chanyeol drips everywhere, all over you and into your soul, smiling to himself in his own amusement and smiling into your spirit, giving you wings enough to feel carried through the day. 

It's enough to make you want to stay. It's enough to make you think it could be easy. 

But he moves under the sheets and the spell is broken, reality scratching at your shoulders, reminding you this kind of softness is never reserved solely for you, especially not when you’re sober. 

You focus on keeping your eyes calm and still beneath your eyelids, waiting for him to depart and counting down the seconds to the loss of his warmth, his touch, and his attention. Idly, you wonder if you’ve ever waited long enough to wake up with him, realizing that there is no record time to make it to, no goal to achieve before the norm feels broken. By missing the dawn and having your fill, you’ve already broken the mold, and now you must start over, from nothing and from everything all at once.

The pillows and the sheets wrinkle, bed shaking with the motion of his long limbs, but the warmth doesn’t leave you. Instead, it comes closer, one of his legs sliding between yours, the bone of his hip meeting the curve of your stomach as he curls into you. Chanyeol brings himself closer, humming with a rumble of contented bliss, and your heart lurches into your throat.

A lump forms. Panic rises. You feel yourself drawn into him by your own accord, lured, like always, just as a magnet to its pole, to the cascade of affection radiating from his soul. And it would be so easy to give in, to let yourself fall back asleep and pretend you didn’t feel him, you never felt him, that this whole time it was him who was preparing to leave, but you can’t. 

To let it continue would only be a detriment to your soul and to your heart. And so, however unwillingly in the effort of self-preservation, you furrow your brow, assume the imagined expression of a person learning to greet the day, and open your eyes, met, instantly, with the kind tenderness of his stare.

Blinking at him twice, you let your eyes adjust - to his brightness, to the feeling of seeing him see you first, before anything else, and to the notion that he has not moved. Chanyeol does not pull away, not even a little.

'Morning,’ he whispers, settling deeper into the pillow, getting comfortable.

Strands of hair fall into his eyes, your fingers twitching, straining with the effort of keeping still and refraining from wiping it away. Chanyeol narrows his eyes and blows them off his forehead instead, shaping his lips into a perfect circle. The air leaves your lungs, leaves you breathless, transfixed by their pink softness.

'Hi,’ you manage, the word barely more than a murmured breath of acknowledgement. 

He chuckles, wiggling his toes against the bed. The muscles in the leg caught between yours flex, and you wait for him to comment on the intimacy of this position, but he does not. 'Day one and we're already at it.'

It’s your turn to laugh, looking away from him, sheepish. 'We've been making a habit out of this.'

'We?' he exclaims in mock offense. 'I think you mean you?'

'Me?' you laugh. 'You were the one all sad and looking for a kiss after you lost, what? Kings? Beer pong? Whatever the fuck you were playing.’ Letting your smile fall into a pout, you regard him with wide eyes, teasing. ��Jae and I just wanted to play Mario Kart.'

'I didn't need a kiss,' he whines childishly. 'I wanted a hug or something. If you didn't give me one I would have been fine.'

Rolling your eyes, you click your tongue. 'You are literally the least self aware person on this planet.' Gasping, Chanyeol wiggles in the bed in protest, and you press your hands against his chest, laughing. 'Calm down, you know you are! How do you do that?'

With a deep pout and a huff, Chanyeol stops his fussing and lets silence fall over the room once more. He doesn’t make any motions to leave, and you keep your eyes on his muscles, waiting for any sign of abrupt departure, keeping yourself on edge. Your hand leaves his chest, skin still tingling with the contact, bringing it under the sheets to press your nails into you leg, hoping to erase the sensation. 

In all his fussing, Chanyeol has brought his chest as close to yours as he can, close enough one deep inhale on your part would press your breasts against his sternum, and so the motion of your hand beneath sheets, accidentally and inadvertently, grazes against his side. Eyes going wide, Chanyeol pushes away, albeit not far, a playful smile of protest tugging at his lips.

'Stop!' he yelps, though it falls away with little protest, revealing an undercurrent in his tone than sends a shiver down your spine. 'That tickles!'

Drunk on the power of this moment, you smirk. 'You big baby, I didn't do anything!'

Even as it happens, you can feel this moment and the weight it carries, the change it means to deliver. Biting your lip, you watch as Chanyeol remains still, expectant, eyes alive with a hunger that keeps you nervous and, conversely, invigorated, driven to know what a look like this could mean. Something about this look speaks of desire, longing, and encouragement, and so you act quickly, with little thought at all, hooking your leg over his hip to flip him on his back. 

Straddling his hips, you bring both your hands to his sides, and tickle him, keeping your thighs locked on either side of him as he fights. 

Loud in general, Chanyeol’s laugh is thunder against your skin, an earthquake that battles at your sternum, demanding entry to your heart. His laughter his loud and so is his yell, the yell of defeat he releases as he grips your hips, head thrown back and eyes closed, smile on his face bordering in ecstasy. 

But he yells, and in the aftermath, you both pause, halting your motions, watching one another in abject shock.

People have seen you - everyone sharing this Air BnB with you has seen you with him. Waking up with Chanyeol is not new, hardly a new development that could surprise anyone.

The first time you kissed, you were both wasted - exceptionally, beautifully caught in the throws of a haze that made you both ravenous for attention. It had been Baekhyun's drunken suggestion, tossed nonchalantly into the wind as a way to break the tension and ensure you both received what you were looking for, thus leaving everyone else alone. In a way, your lips on Chanyeol was a drunk form of entertainment, a way to prove to everyone, and to yourself, that friends - best friends - could kiss and make out and still come away unchanged, perhaps closer, delighted that boundaries had been blurred without any real consequences.

And so you kissed him with vigor, kissed him hard and long, mostly to make everyone laugh or gasp, waiting for a reaction, but partly, and in many ways most of all, to prove to yourself that you could. You kissed him as a means to prove to your aching heart that the torch it had been carrying and feeling ultimately meant nothing and that, with one taste of Chanyeol's lips, you would be sated and disinterested, glad to have someone to keep you comfortable when your skin flares with desire for a pair of hands.

The problem, in the end, was that you kissed Chanyeol and then seemed to never stop. 

The second time, it escalated to his fingers against your waistband, teasing the skin while he sucked your bottom lip, hesitation in his touch but not his tongue.

The third time, he'd left marks on your shoulder and your teeth had marred his neck purple, and everyone had noticed, your foundation not a match for his complexion; your breasts ached with the feel of his palms for days, desperate to feel the force of his touch once more.

The fourth time, he'd asked you if you wanted him to stop, lips wet with your kisses and the traces of his beer, eyes wide and affectionate, and aware enough to be concerned. His hands lingered at the waistband of your sweats, gripping the fabric tightly, while your legs lingered at his hips, your shirt discarded somewhere across the room. You told him no, don’t stop. You never wanted him to stop. 

The fifth time he did not ask if you wanted him to stop. It was clear you didn't want him to, not with your mouth around his cock. He paid you back in kind with three fingers in your cunt and his lips kissing against yours, smirking possessively until your came around his knuckles. You watch, cheeks red and soul blanched, as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes on yours the whole time.

The sixth time, there was no room for words - not with the way he gasped as he fucked into you, and not between the moans he pulled from your throat with each snap of his hips. There were no words after the orgasm, your body still shuddering against his while he held you, his own lips pressing soothing kisses to your neck and chest, right above your heart.

There hasn't been room for words since, not for at least nine months, perhaps even longer - you've really only started counting the times where you woke up with him, not the times your mouths found one another accidentally on purpose. 

And so, everyone is aware of this silent agreement - all agreeing silently not to talk about it because the tension always seems to disappear in the morning. But with Chanyeol looking up at you now, eyes wide and cheeks blanched, you know he's not ready for someone to see you in bed. Something about being found feels to real, to raw, and you’re not sure either of you are ready to bear that cross. 

Your heart sinks. Your mind races. You realize this is why it’s best to leave, even if it hurts.

Chanyeol rolls his hips up into yours, his erection pressing against your core as a reminder you both are naked and wrapped against one another in the sheets. His hands grip tightly at your hips, your own hands pressed against his sides, careful not to move, as he rolls up against you once more. Eyes falling closed, you remind yourself this is his favourite position. He’s said as much, declaring it so because he gets to kiss you, keep his hands on your breasts, and wear you like armor - his drunken words six months ago when you came so hard around him you thought the prison of your bones had been shattered.

Grinding down onto him, responding in kind to his movement, you wait to see if he will meet your pressure, but he doesn’t. Chanyeol keeps still, trapped in a state of wait but for what you can’t be sure. Mind fogged and heart starting to feel like glass, you can never seem to truly sense the needs of his body when you’re sober - your own mind and body wrought with the pleasure it feels and the awareness that it still feels good, perhaps even feels best, without the burning edge of alcohol laced through the satisfaction. 

For what feels like too long, Chanyeol doesn’t move, his hands on yours an anchor that only serves to remind you of all the ways your feelings and his touches are a problem.

'Sorry,' you say, keeping your voice even and clear. 'I didn't mean for that to get loud.'

Sliding off his hips, you don’t bother remaining in bed, too awake to let yourself pretend anymore. Throwing your legs over the side, you look down, seeing the clothes you’d thrown in your haste. The memory of how Chanyeol hadn’t bothered to fully remove his jeans, sliding them down his thighs enough to push inside you turning your mouth dry. With no trace of your underwear and the nearest thing being your shirt, you sigh and rise to a stand, putting it on with a stretch. The hem of the shirt just falls to the curve of your ass, rising up slightly each move of your arms overhead. 

Outside the window, endless white seems to filter through the gaps, a too bright sheen battling against the sun. The hardwood floors sting their chill against your toes, and you hug yourself in a shiver, glad for the snap of winter to keep you grounded and level headed. 

'You're not gonna put underwear on?' Chanyeol asks, breaking the silence with a tight voice. 

'Calm down,’ you laugh, keeping your chastisement soft. Walking away from the bed, your nod in a vague direction. 'My bag's over there, I'm not going far.'

Crossing in front of the footboard, you turn to look at him over your shoulder. He’s pushed himself up against the pillows, erection tenting the sheets gathered at his waist as he watches you, pupils dilated and jaw tense. His hands remain nowhere insight, body still and chest flushed. It’s the sort of vision that will stay with you long after the morning has passed, taking possession of this moment with greedy hands and fingers, and you smile, unsure how the expression truly looks, not bothering to mask any of your emotions, if only for this moment. 

Chanyeol’s head tips back, nostrils flaring as he exposes more of his neck in the effort of appearing long, powerful, imposing. Wetness gathers at your core once more, threatening to glide onto your thighs from the force of your desire, and you turn away from him, looking back out the window, hoping for a distraction. 

'It snowed last night,’ you muse, hoping the white blanket beyond the curtains can help ease the racing of your heart, the empty expanse soothing.

'Must be why I slept so well.’ Chanyeol’s words are heavy, thick, and you try not to focus on the sound, aware of the effect it will have on the clenching of your thighs. 'Finally cold enough for your body heat.'

Rolling your eyes, you shift your gaze from the window and crouch in front of your suitcase, careful not to bed over or to tease. 'You say that like you're not a personal heater,’ you counter, rifling through to find your favourite hoodie. ‘Or like you don't actually sleep well after you've fucked me.'

Chanyeol huffs, sounding petulant. 'It's the orgasm.' 

'Well,' you laugh, sliding on your underwear with a sway of your hips, 'at least I still get to say I'm responsible.'

Pulling your hoodie over your head, you immediately regret your choice. Chanyeol was the last person to borrow this, the fabric having taken on his sent - or, maybe, it was his to begin with, and you had stolen it. It’s been passed between you both so many times neither of you really remember who has rightful possession, sharing it with mutual custody. The problem, now, is that it smells like him and is too warm, too thick, for the bedroom, the heaviness of both these things making you feel light headed.

'I'm gonna go make brunch,’ you announce, giving yourself an escape as you turn to face him once more. 'Can I expect your help with the pancakes?'

Head tipped back against the headboard, he nods minutely. 'Yeah, just need a minute.' 

Humming in a noise of acknowledgement, you duck out of the room, considering all the lines you’ve crossed from the moment you opened your eyes. Too much touching, too much laughing, too close - far closer than you’ve ever been while sober, blurring the limits and boundaries you’ve defined for yourself. The taste of alcohol lingers on your tongue, but it does not linger in your blood, aware that the choices you made this morning were done with clear, selfish rationality. 

Walking down the stairs, you’re glad for the distance you put between one another, giving himself time to think and yourself time to rebuild your armor. 

The kitchen is far cleaner than you remember it being, glancing over to the open expanse of the living room to see this, too, has been cleaned. Smiling, you make note to thank Minseok and Jae, both early risers who likely sorted most of the mess before taking their morning run together. In a distant room, Baekhyun snores, though there remains no sign of Jongdae, the door to his room fully open and bed empty when you passed. Briefly, you wonder if this will be like the time you found him on the lawn in college, passed out with a bottle of beer in one hand and a smile on his face.

The thought makes you smile, but you imagine since there’s snow, if this did happen, he would have woken up and moved himself somewhere warm - you trust him at least enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

You’re grateful for the silence of the house as you begin to cook, the one thing that truly relaxes you, an automatic response of your hands married to your eyes,   having long surpassed the need to measure, plan, or time your actions. Chopping garlic, your hands do the work for you while your mind walks, travels far back beyond the first time you kissed Chanyeol, looking for clear moment to define when your feelings changed.

Still, you come up empty, aware that it likely wasn’t any one thing that turned your feelings of love from platonic endearment to deep rooted longing. Rather, it was a lot of little things that accumulated over time. Intimacy is a thing that is gained, gathering not unlike the snow during a storm, piling until you notice it and until it sticks - until, in the end, you find yourself buried, unwilling and unable to moved back to your prior state, not unless the season of your heart changes. 

Intimacy between you and Chanyeol had gathered almost violently, aggressive in the way you suddenly anticipate his movements, skin hungry for his and heart ready to give and give all of yourself over to all of him, without question or hesitation. With Chanyeol, you do not hide, you know that you do not have you. With Chanyeol, you know that you are accepted unconditionally, already aware of your greatest flaws and still supporting you in spite. 

With Chanyeol, you know there needn’t be a reason for you to have fallen in love with him, accepting, in the end, only the knowledge that you did. Most of all, the knowledge that a love like this, was ultimately inevitable.

Whisking the eggs and garlic together in a bowl, you feel Chanyeol enter the room rather than hear him. With your back to the entryway, the atmosphere seems to change simply because he is there, the electric shock of awareness running down your nerves. Food was the first thing you shared with him, long ago and long before you knew his name, dipping your fry into his milkshake with his permission the night Baekhyun introduced you.

Over time, you’ve continued to share food: drunk breakfasts, sober dinners, holiday meals cooked together, prepared in quiet understanding of one another’s movements. Every time you cook together, the chaos that usually follows you is seemingly absent, falling into a comfortable, wordless flow. 

A smile pulls at your lip, glad for the familiarity of the silence that will come from his help. Cooking with Chanyeol, there will be no need for conversation, hopefully eradicating the sensation that anything has changed at all.

'Can you start making the pancake batter?' You don’t bother to take your attention away from the eggs, already imagining his small nod and proud smile. 'You're so much better at pancakes than I am.'

Chanyeol comes behind you, pressing his chest firmly against your back, curling over your short frame as he drops his chin onto the crown of your head. You pause, lifting your eyes and keep them trained straight ahead at the wall and the cabinets, waiting for his petulant whine of disinterest. Or, perhaps, his claim that he doesn’t want pancakes and would rather have toast, something far easier to make when hungover but equally as hearty. 

He’s done this before, after long bouts of teasing and usually in conversation, wrapping around your body to make your movements difficult, to slow you, to tease you. Chanyeol has done this before but he has never done it the morning after, certainly never done it with drink still in his system and without expectation. Closeness like this always demands more, and you feel too sober to let yourself get carried away.

Forcing yourself to smile, you run through these thoughts and prepare for his complaints, building up your walls on instinct. Instead and without warning, he brings his hands beneath your hoodie and shirt, pressing his fingers firmly against your skin as he hugs you close, tight enough you imagine he is seeking to bind you to him. 

'It's cold,' he whispers, as though this explanation is sufficient enough. 

'Yeah,' is all you can manage.

You wonder if he is lying, if he actually is cold at all, his hands and fingers perfectly warm to the touch. If he were cold, you’d already have swatted him away, startled by the chill of his skin. But he remains, and you let him stay, his heat flowing and spreading over your skin like a fever. The warmth of this is familiar enough to water you, tongue feeling heavy as your walls clench around nothing. 

'You're warm,’ he continues, tipping his head down to kiss against your hair as he speaks.

You blink. 'Are you still drunk?'

He laughs, shaking his head against yours and messing up your hair. 'No.'

'Hungover?' you try, needing an explanation, an answer - any clue to assist in your next response.

'Not really?' he muses. 'You left water by the bed before we fell asleep, so I feel a little better. You're always taking care of me.'

With a small, happy sigh, he hugs you tight, leaving no room for air between your bodies. He brings his chin to your shoulder, turning inward and letting his nose graze along the tendon of your neck as you tilt for him, giving him room and access against your best judgement. 

'Chanyeol.'

'What?' he mumbles, eyes closing, eyelashes ticking your skin in the process

'What are you doing?'

The words come heavy and thick, so unlike the soft, kind words of affection you like to give him when he’s like this. So too unlike the words of playful abjection that comes from feigned irritation, reminding him and your friends and yourself that you are, in fact, just friends. 

Just friends and nothing more.

He furrows his brow, and you can feel the tension in his cheeks as he does so. 'What do you mean?'

Turning your body in his hold, his hands maintain their position as they slip to the small of your back. Gingerly, he lifts his head just enough for you to regard him, cool and bewildered. Remaining careful, your own hands grip the curve of the counter, knuckles tight with the effort of not reaching for him, wrapping around him with the same, easy affection. Your eyes search his face, his small frown of concern and his deep, chocolate eyes filled with such warmth and vibrancy, the very closeness of him making your chest burn with ardor.

Taking in a deep breath, you gather the strength to speak. 'We do this when we're drunk,’ you say simply.

It hurts to say the words, to bring the very grandeur of him down and to name yourself as the reason for his withering expression. But it hurts more to let your hands and lips and heart kiss at the glimmers of hope. It hurts just as much as the way it renders him so small, so impossibly small and young and lost, his eyes reading your expression as anxiety begins to seep into his irises.

'What if I want to do it when I'm sober, too?' he tries, the quietest he’s ever been, especially around you.

Casting him a quizzical, hesitant stare, you bite your lip, attempting not to feel wounded or boxed into a label that hurts. 'You mean officially be friends with benefits?'

Chanyeol pull back from you a little more, blinking as the color drains from his cheeks. 'Is...is that what you want?'

Something in his eyes tells you that he’d give this to you if you said yes. His admission for wanting this sort of intimate closeness when he’s sober says he’d give you this if you said yes, feeling as though he’s won the universe with sex and a best friend, and a world of other options ready and waiting for his touch. He’d give himself to you, too, you see it in the way he bites his lip, making sure you felt pleasure every moment, your world colored into ecstasy, the limits put on pleasure suddenly rendered obsolete. 

It would be so easy, to have him and simultaneously have nothing at all. 

And so you swallow thickly, aware that moments like these are tests of love - self love, and little else. Chanyeol has granted you a rare opportunity to be honest with yourself, even if you are not directly being honest with him, fully aware that you are too selfish to want only a fraction of his whole. With Chanyeol, you want all of him - you want absolutely everything, having tasted both sides of his soul, even if you have not tasted them altogether.

'No.' You shake your head, lungs empty of oxygen, speaking within a hollow exhale of emptiness.  'I don't think I could stomach that.'

'Oh.' 

He regards you with a crestfallen expression, shoulders and posture falling as your resolute answers weighs him down. 

Bewildered by this unexpected response, you decide to be completely honest, fully aware that unless you say something, he will absolutely never figure it out for himself. 

'You have to know it's been hard for me, right?' you try, cocking your head to the side in a silent plea. 'The last few months of this?'

'We can stop -'

You cut him off, closing your eyes and shaking your head. 'That's exactly my point, Chanyeol.' Your grip tightens on the counter, bracing yourself for this fall - this time, likely, away from him. 'I don't want to stop. I keep having to stop when we wake up and walk away. I'm -’ your voice breaks, throat tight and mind racing. Taking in a deep breath, you let yourself say it, all of it, without reservation. ‘I want more, constantly. I want all of you to myself. You know I'm inherently selfish, and also inherently direct. So I'm just letting you know I can't be your sober friend with benefits. I think that would kill me. I want you too much.'

When you finish, Chanyeol swallows, your gaze drawn to the movement within his neck. In your chest and hands, your pulse is racing, blood moving at a pace that keeps you lingering on the precipice of falling or flying, feeling, all at once, not unlike Icarus.

'I don't want to be friends with benefits either,’ he says, shaking his head, almost imperceptibly.

Your grip loosens. Your stomach drops. Still, your nerves remember the sensation of his touch, bringing forth the memory in urgency, aware that, not an hour ago, you already had your last fill.

'Then…’ your voice drifts, words arriving on your tongue in the wrong order. ‘Do we stop? I know you Chanyeol, you can barely handle alcohol and I can't handle myself around you.'

Even if he wants to stop, you aren’t sure you can. Your desire for him has reached deep into the nodes of your lungs, spreading like spores into the crevices of your heart, your mind, your blood. Chanyeol fills you, everyday and all the time, especially when you are drunk. With a drink in your system, your lust and love for him hits you tenfold, and one look at him will never be enough, not with the memory of the taste lingering behind the vision.

'I don't even really want to be friends, either.'

His abrupt announcement makes you grateful your hands are on the counter, knees buckling with the weight and help upright by structural stability of the house alone. 

'Oh.'

The word doesn’t sound like it comes from you, but you don’t bother clearing your throat. Really, you think you’d welcome the hold of the floor. At least it would never let you down.

'I want so much more of you than that,’ he clarifies, breath leaving his chest in a desperate, needy sigh. 

Your skin starts to tingle as he presses you tightly against him, hands walking up your spine as he grinds his hips against yours. Letting himself get close, he nudges the side of your face with his nose before speaking, opening you to him.

'I want to be able to do this -’ Chanyeol leans down and places a kiss at your neck, tongue stroking the marks his teeth made the night before. 'Whenever I want.' The coolness of his breath against the wet spot he created makes your tremble, and he chuckles at feeling of you quaking in his arms. 'I want to touch you here -’ Abruptly, he slides his hands down your back, both palms cupping your ass with a firm squeeze ' - without you thinking I'm joking.' 

Leaning back to make room for his closeness, you finally release your hold on the counter, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers card through the soft hair at the nape, scratching in a mindless pattern that makes him growl within his throat.

'And most of all, I want to taste you when ever I want.' 

He captures your lips in a kiss that feels so unlike all the rest he’s given you. Sober and fully in control of your awareness, you cup his cheek, fingers toying with the tip of his ears as he parts your lips easily, running his tongue against yours with skilled prowess. The hot flash of his tongue is brief, removing a hand from your ass to guide your face up and back, moving to suck your bottom lip between his teeth. 

Against your stomach, your feel the hardness of his erection begin to form, the solid feel of it sending a wave of desire to your core. Wetness pools between your thighs, and this time you are grateful for the underwear that separates you, letting your desire win over. The heat of your craving gathers in your veins, making your skin feel tight as his hand roams from your ass to the small of your back and down again, possessing what it can and claiming you for his own. 

Breaking away to catch your breath, he rests his forehead against yours, feeling yourself recline into him. 

'Chanyeol,’ you sigh, feeling slightly dazed and a little light headed. 

In your chest, your heart battles against your sternum, sending waves of heat down and down into your core, feeling yourself become soaked, wanting to be full of him.

'You left me so hard this morning.’ He kisses along your cheek, letting his words cascade over your skin. 'I had to feel your wet cunt over my dick without getting to have my fill of you.'

Moving his hand from your cheek once more, he grabs your ass firmly, squeezes the flesh with vigor, rutting against you with a fervor that speaks of his need to be inside you. Over time, you’ve come to learn that Chanyeol is an inherently giving lover, so willing to offer pleasure first, the sense of pride in making you come likely its own form of eroticism, a stroke against his ego as pleasurable as a hand stroking at his cock. But, while he is terribly giving, he can often be impatient, his desire to be buried inside your walls sometimes rushing him past foreplay. 

Most days, you do not mind, just as desperate to feel full of him and to sate the empty feeling that always comes with his departure. Today, it is your turn to be greedy, your own ego riding a high at the thought of leaving him wanting.

'All you ever have to do is ask,’ you smile, coquettishly cocking your head to the side.  'You know that.' 

Moving your hand from his neck, you glide your thumb along his bottom lip, feeling the plump softness. Keeping his eyes trained on yours, he sucks your fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tip before releasing it. On instinct, your legs part wider, making room for him and making room for the feel of him.

Dipping to capture lips in another kiss, his hands massage the flesh he holds with deft fingers, squeezing hard enough to lift you up onto the counter. Pulling back, he swallows hard and grips both your thighs, pulling you to the edge and wrapping your legs around his waist.

'Can I fuck you?’ he asks, kissing against your lips as he speaks.

Chuckling, you nip at his bottom lip, a small whine escaping your chest as he thrusts against the thin fabric of your underwear. Beneath his sweats, it’s clear he wears nothing else, the heat of his erection seeping through to your core, creating a wet patch in the shape of the head of his cock.

‘You’ve been fucking me,’ you sigh, voice caught between a laugh and a moan.

‘I want to fuck you,’ he clarifies, leaning down to place his teeth against your bite mark, grazing gently. ‘I want to fuck you and I want it to mean something.’

Pressing your heels against the back of his thighs, you roll your hips against him as best you can as you pull him close, clicking your tongue. ‘Have the last nine months meant nothing to you?’

Abruptly, Chanyeol raises his head and regards you in abject shock, looking stricken. 

Blanching, you search his face for a problem. ‘What?’

‘It’s been a year,’ he explains, assertive in his tone. 

‘A year?’

He nods. ‘It was a year last month.’

Time swirls around you, catching up to you only to depart once more, the timeline of your love and lust for him blurring together to one long, extended always. 

Clutching his neck and pulling him close, you kiss him, hard and demanding. ‘I’ve only been counting the times since we started waking up together.’

He smiles, moving a hand from your leg to rest between your bodies. Slipping his hand beneath the hem of your hoodie and moving it out of the way, he finds the space between your parted thighs and brings his fingers to the clothed barrier of your slit. ‘I’ve been counting it from the first kiss,’ he clarifies, pressing lightly smirking at the wetness he finds.

‘We’ve wasted a whole year,’ you manage, ending on a gasp as he moves your underwear to the side and drags his finger over your cunt. 

‘I’m too impatient to waste anymore time.’

Taking your lips once more, he moans into the kiss as he teases your slit with his fingers, moving his tongue against yours in the same rhythm, gliding over your wetness. Curling around him, your hands roam over his chest, his arms, his shoulders, gripping his muscles through his shirt. One hand moves down his sides, making him gasp in oversensitive shock against your mouth, before your grip settles on the waistband of his sweats, tugging at them.

The tips of his fingers against your cunt become insistent, offering teasing, gentle breaches into your wetness, wanting more and all of you.

‘How many fingers do you want?’ he questions, walking his free hand down your back and over to your hip, thumb rubbing circles against the skin. 

‘Three,’ you breathe against his lips. ‘It feels best with three.’ 

‘That’s my girl,’ he smirks, hand moving from your hip and over the soft fold of your stomach, palm settling with a rough grip against your breast. ‘Always so greedy.’

Pushing at his thighs with your heels once more, the movement of your legs makes you aware of the cold marble of the counter, aware that this is the most public you’ve ever been - breaching more boundaries in one day than you ever had before. 

‘Shouldn’t we move?’ you ask, gasping as he presses his index and middle finger inside. You clench around him, wishing for more, for something larger, thicker, and deeper.

Feeling the tightness, he smiles, offering shallow thrusts with his hand that slowly increase in speed. His other hand massages your breast idly, thumb pressing against your nipple as he smiles.

‘Don’t want to,’ he mumbles, setting a deep, languid pace with his hand. ‘I’ve needed you since I woke up.’

Moving your hand under the band of his sweats, you scratch along his hip bone, pleased with the way a shiver ripples through his muscles. The memory of his hard length pressing against your ass when you woke up gives you a sense of power, digging your nails deeper into his skin. 

‘Poor baby.’ 

Chanyeol whimpers, pressing deeper into your core and dragging a moan from your chest as he pulls his fingers out, only slightly.

‘Don’t tease,’ he chastises, hands moving from your breast to your back, pulling you closer as your other nipple rises, waiting for attention that will not come. ‘I’m hard enough for you it hurts.’

Sliding your hand forward, you walk your fingers down, tracing the fine hair of his happy trail down to the thick wires of his pubic hair and smirk, proven correct. Beneath his sweats, Chanyeol wears nothing at all. 

‘What did you do without me?’

It’s an ambiguous question, vague and almost meandering, but he catches on immediately. 

‘I used my hand and thought about your pussy on my tongue.’ The pace of his thrusts increases, curling upwards as your head rolls back, resting on the cabinet with a gentle thud. ‘Didn’t feel nearly as good as the real thing.’

Emboldened by his admission, you reach down and grip his cock firmly at the base, his fingers halting in their ministrations against your walls as he gasps, releasing a keening whine at the strength of your hand. Pumping him, you keep your gaze on his changing expression, watching as his features morph in the wake of pleasure.

‘Like this?’ you whisper, pumping his cock with long, languid strokes. ‘You touched yourself like this?’

Chanyeol leans forward, nodding, pupils dilated and lips parted. Spreading his fingers into a wide V, he stretches you in preparation, matching the pace of your hand against his cock. Like this, you share pleasure together, wetness gathering against his fingers and the blood of his cock racing beneath your palm. 

‘Yeah,’ he breathes, sounding strained.

Finally, he grants your requests and he slips his ring finger into your core, pressed against his middle in an effort to maintain the stretch. Satisfaction courses through your veins, the bump and ridge of his knuckles against your walls putting tension in your thighs. Always enamoured with the size of his hands, three of his fingers inside you is a stretch that you relish, a whisper of the fullness you anticipate.

Using your other hand to tug his sweats down, you free his cock, increasing the speed of your pumps. ‘You’ve been a needy boy this morning.’

‘You make me that way,’ he moans, moving his hand up your neck to fist in your hair. He leans down, kissing at your jaw, down to your neck, sucking on the tendon he finds, mouth and tongue needy. The overwhelming sensation of being handled by him has your free hand gripping the small curve of his ass in pleasure. 

‘I can’t take it,’ he announces, releasing your neck and tugging your hair back, demanding your attention. ‘Are you ready for me?’

Focusing on the intense expression he gives you, it hits you that your orgasm lingers not far off in the distance. With three of his fingers working at your walls, the slickness of you gathering at his hand evidenced by the wet noises that fill the air, you suddenly realize your are gasping for breath, flushed and hot and tense, thighs and back aching for a release.

Nodding, you close your eyes, releasing your focus on power and letting yourself be consumed by the sensation of being owned by him. Your wetness drips over his fingers, smeared onto your thighs and onto the counter, drenched for him the same way your body tightens for him, brought to the edge of desire by his touch alone.

Chanyeol pulls out his fingers, pulling from you a keening whine of emptiness, your muscles protesting the loss. His hand joins yours on his cock, twining your fingers together as he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. It’s such a romantic expression of ardor, one that softens you more than you would have expected to feel, realizing now that Chanyeol is far more romantic than you might have ever given him credit for. 

But he breaks this expression of soft, gentle romance easily, placing your hand on his hip while he pushes you forward, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance. 

‘Need to be inside you,’ he mumbles, impatient. 

Even when drunk, Chanyeol had adopted a habit of pausing at your core, letting your wetness smear over the tip as he grazes your slit. It could, you imagined, be a method of teasing you into submission, but always his eyes bore into yours, waiting for your approval. Now, totally sober and in control of himself, aware that you, too, are fully in control of your choices, he pauses, this time with far more hesitation than you’ve ever seen.

In this moment, flush creeping up his neck and into his ears, cock straining to be buried inside you, he pauses, waiting for your answer and giving you the opportunity to retreat. In this moment, for the first time, Chanyeol looks as though your answer weighs his happiness, appearing vulnerable behind the bravado of being so cocksure. 

Reaching up, you brush the hair out of his face, glad that these touches get to belong to you, and nod, angling your hips to spread your legs wider, urging him inside. 

With a low moan, Chanyeol thrusts into you, pushing through your walls and burying himself to the hilt. Your hands grip at his shoulder blades, a hiss of pleasure escaping through your teeth as you feel yourself stretch to accommodate his large girth. Chanyeol stills inside you, giving both of you a moment to adjust to the sensation of feeling one another, sober and without distractions. 

The difference in sensation is difficult to rationalize, nerves and synapses entirely overwhelmed by how intense the feel of him inside you actually is. Without the alcohol to dull your awareness, Chanyeol feels so much more tactile and heavy, your walls stretched around him in a way that feels complete. You clench around him and he shivers, moving both hands to your hips, keeping you still as his head falls to your shoulder. 

‘Don’t do that,’ he moans into your skin, words garbled from pleasure. Unable to help yourself, you do it again. Chanyeol squeezes your hips, offering a shallow thrust into your core. ‘Please,’ he begs. ‘If you keep doing that I’ll come faster than I want to. You’re so fucking tight, I can’t really take it.’

You let one of your hands find the hair at his neck once more, stroking idly in comfort while he moves in small, messy thrusts, getting used to the feel of you both without a condom and while sober. Stretched full of him now, your orgasm looms, a promise you can almost kiss without really feeling, but you don’t rush him to move, aware that he feels completely different - harder, longer, and deeper than you have ever experienced before. 

Eventually, he pulls out to the tip and sets a hard rhythm, pressing the full length of his cock into you with each thrust. The pace he sets is not unusual, but the tenderness with which he ends his thrusts, almost slowing to ensure you feel every inch of his length and that he feels every aspect of your walls is tender, sweeter than he usually is. Last night, he was unforgiving in the way he snapped his hips against yours, both of your relishing the pain that came with your hips meeting and the stretch of your lips to accommodate him. 

Now, he is almost careful with you, his hands pushing your hips to meet his every thrust while he kisses at your ear, tender and gentle, whispering praises of how good you feel. 

‘You’re pretty,’ he whispers. ‘You’re so pretty like this, wrapped around me and completely mine.’

It's the first time he's allowed himself to be so possessive, using words that stake claim and allowing himself to be needy. You're not sure how long you've felt like his, perhaps always, but now you are glad to relish the title, aware that it is your rightful home, and your rest a hand on his cheek, titling his face towards your to kiss him. 

The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, but you smile against one another, Chanyeol fucking into you with an urgency that makes the muscles in your back and stomach coil, tense to your core as your body learns to take him deeper.

'Chanyeol.' You sigh his name against his lips, a whine following quickly after as he hits the spot inside you no one has ever reached, not even him. You hold onto him tightly, feeling the tightness of pleasure overtake your limbs, nails starching into his skin, tense. 

'That's my girl,' he says, speeding up his thrusts.

Chanyeol moves a hand from your hip, working it between your bodies to swirl his fingers against your clit. On contact you moan, hand coming away from his shoulder to grip the handle of the cabinet as you roll up against him, needing more. You're not ashamed of how loud you are, forgetting there are others in this house - that you're even on holiday with someone other than Chanyeol, your high pitched whines unleashed with every hard press against your clit. 

With his finger on your clit, your walls clench involuntarily, your orgasm approaching with a swiftness that startles you. 

'Fuck, baby,' Chanyeol whines, his thrusts losing their sharp, even edge and becoming messy. 'Baby, you're doing it again - fuck, oh fuck.' 

Chanyeol's attention your clit stutters, hand on your hip tightening as his head rests once more on your shoulder. You smile through your pleasure, eyes trained up at the ceiling in awe of how raw and full and warm he is. His boyish moans only lure your orgasm closer.

Still, you continue to clench around him, the swirl of his fingers driving you closer. 

'Fuck,' he announces, fucking into you harder. ‘I’m gonna come.’

‘Yeah?’ you breathe, surprised by how quickly his own end approaches. 

When drunk, it is not that he lasts for an explicitly long period of time, merely that he takes his time - foreplay takes time, his thrusts take time even if they are hard and fast and long. Now, he trembles against you, skin hot and neck damp as he lets himself get overwhelmed, straining to keep his pace. His arms shake, hand at your hip clutching to you as though your flesh and bone root him to the earth, but you are glad for this hold, pressed into the counter and held in place.

You, too, feel yourself become dizzy, dazed and overwhelmed by the stimulation of him. His natural scent mixing with the cologne already lingering on his shirt, the heat of the hoodie, the sound of his breath as he moans through his thrusts - louder than you ever remember him being - is enough to set the burn in your heart and chest to your core, your own legs shaking, a hard press to your clit rolling you up into him once more.

‘Come inside me,' you mutter, breathless and urgent.

Chanyeol's head rolls against you, his hips slowing in an attempt to slow his thrusts, but you clench around him, shuddering as a swirl over clit makes you quake, and he chokes, thrusting hard and deep, right against your spot. 

‘Are you sure?’ he whines, kissing at your neck in desperation.

Taking your hand from the cabinet, you clutch at his shoulders, nodding. Realizing he cannot see you, you suck an inhale through your teeth, the muscles at the base of your spine building a pressure that sends your hips into his, messy and uncoordinated, pushing yourself to an end, even if it is not unified. 

‘Just come,’ you affirm, scratching your nails down his back. He whispers a small, almost missed fuck into your neck, and you smirk, clenching around him in encouragement. ‘Come in me, I’m so close.’ 

He whines, hand at your clit stilling while still lingering, a teasing pressure that keeps you needy and on edge. Something about this barely there touch sends fractured and splintered waves of your oncoming orgasm down through your back and stomach, a ripple of an oncoming storm that has you quaking in his arms, feeling violent and wild. 

'Come with me?' he tries, the words choked and garbled.

It’s the romance of it that does you in, you think. So many times over the last year, it seems, you’ve had Chanyeol and the hard edge of his eroticism, the teasing and possessive way he licks a full line of your slit before he presses his tongue inside; the way he leaves bite marks on your breasts, hand prints on your ass, marking you in all the places that say someone has been there before and will be again. Now, he asks for your heart, seeking a climax that is shared, kissing your hands and kissing your soul, entwining you together and staking a claim that says someone is here and always will be. 

So it's the romance, seeing him so devoted to you and your needs, to your heart and your body, that makes you hold onto him a little tighter, legs widening to take him even deeper, all the way into your soul. It's the romance that has you nodding against him, gasping for breath beneath the heat of the hoodie, his touch, and in the wake of his thrusts, your orgasm burning beneath your skin, ready to shatter your bones.

Against your neck, he smiles. 'There it is,' he whispers, but you're too far gone to ask. 'I can feel you. This is my favourite, every time.'

Chanyeol presses his fingers against your clit once more, the shift from the teasing, cloying grazes you'd been feeling to the rough swirl of a circle sending your orgasm through your nerves. The world around you breaks, black and white and full of colours, the shapes of the world blurring behind your tears and into nothing as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands fist in his shirt, clutching to him as though afraid of disappearing altogether, the bliss and ecstasy of feeling all of him at once breaking over you in a wave that leaves your lips parted, his name spilling from your lips in a whispered, almost silent, scream. 

His name spills from your lips at the same time he spills inside you, the sound of his orgasm reverberating into your skin. On him, your name is a shout of euphoria, almost victorious in the way he declares it, a tattoo of ownership against your neck. His warmth fills you, the heat of his come warm and almost unfamiliar, a sober experience that feels strange yet paradoxically so right. 

Chanyeol slides his hands from your hips to your back, tips of his fingers rubbing circles at the base of your spine, something about this touch so overstimulating that you shake in his arms, drawing him closer and breathing him deep. 

‘Mine,’ he mumbles, sounding so small and so shy. ‘Please be mine.’

It's hard to imagine how he would believe you belonged to anyone else, could ever want to after feeling all of him, right down to his soul. But Chanyeol has always been shy and insecure, the tremors of his bravado simply a mask that hides his nervous smile. 

Your arm feels heavy as you lift it to his hair, carding your fingers through the strands and stroking him, soothing him. ‘Yours,' you agree, turning your head to kiss at his ear. Chanyeol rumbles happily against you, the heaviness of his limbs comforting. 'Only yours.’ 

‘Literally, what the fuck?’ 

Minseok's yell startles you both, Chanyeol flailing as he pulls back and thus pulls out of you, your eyes squeezing shut from the stimulation of it. He pulls you to the floor, hidden from view behind the kitchen island, covering your mouths to keep from laughing. 

'This is...,' comes Jae's voice, drifting away in shock. ‘You’re both disgusting!’

Chanyeol's come begins to drip between your legs and you grimace, aware that the mess has spread elsewhere. Still, you don't really find it in you to be guilty.

‘You’re cleaning all of - whatever the fuck - on your own. I’m not coming in there,' Minseok declares resolutely, the sound of their footsteps drifting as they run, rather angrily, up the stairs and to their room where they close the door with a slam. 

Moving his hands from your mouths you both erupt into laughter, Chanyeol collapsed on top of you as he howls. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you nudge him, rolling him off you as you reach up for a dish towel. 

‘The good thing about sex on the floor,’ Chanyeol begins, watching you wipe his come off your thighs and the floor, ‘is that if it’s with the right person you don’t realize it’s the floor.’

Cleaned, your fist the towel into a ball and put it beside you, making a mental note to add that to the laundry. Turning to face him, you smile. ‘Want to find out if that’s true?’ 

[softbiker]

Bucky Barnes Oneshot

Warnings: a couple of bad words

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: After being injured on a mission, Bucky winds up spending a day with the Avengers newest recruit. Bucky x Reader

A/N: This is my submission for @nacho-bucky ‘s writing challenge! My prompt was ‘the smell of freshly baked bread’. As a side note, I drank a whole pot of coffee yesterday and wrote this in one afternoon, so it’s also unedited :) As always, let me know what you think! 

By the time the quinjet is an hour out from New York, Bucky Barnes is in an irredeemably foul mood.

Breaking up terror cells in Germany was supposed to be an easy mission - in and out, with the practiced ease of their well-oiled strike team. Really, they took the mission to spare German special forces the trouble...that, and a potential connection to an old Red Room contact of Natasha’s. With their ���dream team” (Sam’s words, not Bucky’s) of Cap, Bucky, Sam, and Natasha, this should have been a light op, a scrimmage, Nerf ball.

Turns out superheroing is a contact sport, and they’ve got the bombs and broken ribs to prove it. A train station, a decoy, and an explosive device Natasha failed to disarm. With Sam coordinating civilian evacuation, there had only been a couple dozen injuries, but the suspect had slipped away, leaving them bruised and empty-handed.

Bucky had taken a brutal hit as he pulled Nat to safety, and now he is curled in his seat on the jet, metal hand holding his ribcage. He watches Steve scowl in the cockpit, jaw unflinchingly tight as he goes over the mission in his head. The captain doesn’t know how to let things go - never has, never will. Sam is actually piloting the quinjet, making unreturned small talk about a basketball game he went to last weekend. Natasha sits across from Bucky, a Stark tablet in her hands, dissecting bomb schematics and diagrams of diffusion techniques. There’s a little scab of dried blood on her bottom lip that she pokes at with her tongue, red brows lowered in concentration.

Bucky is exhausted - his hair smells like dust and smoke, his mouth is tangy and dry. There’s dried sweat underneath his uniform and he itches and his feet are hot in his boots and his ribs really fucking hurt. He lets his head fall back against the seat, and wishes they were home already.

**********

She pops her head up over the back of the couch when she hears them. What a sight they make: Bucky, propped up on Steve’s shoulder, Natasha dust-covered and buried in her tablet, Sam still sweaty and tugging at the harness on his suit. She still smiles, tentative but kind.

“Hi guys.” She lifts her fingers in a little wave. “Everyone okay?”

Bucky grunts in response; Natasha says nothing, making a beeline for her room and a shower. Sam, without doubt the most talkative person on the team, props himself on a stool and blows a harsh breath past his lips.

“We’re alright, yeah,” he sighed. “Barnes is a little beat up but he’ll get over it - he’s just  dramatic.”

“Fuck you, too, Wilson.” Bucky flips Sam off over his shoulder as they hobble towards the elevators.

She winces, not yet used to their harsh banter.

“Hey man, be nice in front of the rookie, alright?” Sam hollers, mock-offended. “You’re creating a hostile work environment!”

Steve chuckles a little at that, jostling Bucky’s tender ribs, which makes him scowl at his best friend.

“Bucky is a hostile work environment,” Steve deadpans. They’ve reached the elevator, and shuffle inside, turning to face the common room. Bucky catches the rookie’s eyes as she giggles behind her hand.

“She’s fine,” he rolls his eyes, sparing a wink for the rookie. “When I make it hostile, bird brain, you’ll know.”

The elevator doors close, and he leans on Steve a little heavier, and jabs his elbow into Steve’s stomach.

“Thanks a lot for that, by the way,” he huffs.

“What?” Steve feigns innocence, and very poorly. “Didn’t know you were so worried about making a good impression on the rookie.”

“I’m - I’m not.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up.”

They meet Dr. Banner in the medical wing where his lab adjoins the clinic; Sam had messaged him half an hour ago that they were inbound with a broken supersoldier, and Bruce had taken the liberty of setting up some of his supplies. Of all the doctors on staff, Bucky favored Dr. Banner - he was mild and soft-spoken enough to not trigger Bucky’s anxiety, in spite of the needles and IV drips and the snapping of latex gloves.

An X-ray and some bandages later, Bucky is removed from the active duty list for two weeks.

“Even with your advanced healing factor, I wanna be careful with this,” Bruce says, taking off his glasses to scratch the side of his nose. “I mean, your medical history is a little blurry, to say the least - and with all the shit HYDRA pulled, who knows what kind of stress your bones have been through before.” He taps away on his tablet, notifying FRIDAY and the admin system to remove Bucky from the roster. “In the meantime, take it easy - no missions, no training, no lifting weights. Probably avoid the motorcycle, too. I’ll check on them again in two weeks, and we’ll go from there.”

Steve is nodding - he never leaves Bucky by himself in medical - and crosses his arms. Neither of them have changed out of their uniforms yet, and in this sterile observation room, Bucky can finally smell the layers of grime and sweat clinging to them. His nose wrinkles when he gets a little whiff of himself, feeling bad for the nurse who bandaged his ribs.

“Oh I almost forgot -” Bruce turns around and reaches for something on his lab bench. A little blue bottle, full of round white pills. “Here. I developed these for the two of you - since you metabolize normal painkillers so quickly, I figured we might need something that would work in the event you sustain heavy injuries which…well, seemed likely. Take 2 every 4 hours, okay?”

His metal fingers grip the little bottle, rattling the tablets inside.

“Sure thing, doc.”

**********

She lifts the hem of her shirt, wiping at the sweat on her forehead, and leans against the wall of the gym. Her breath comes in short pants as her chest heaves, trying to cool down from her last bout with Agent Romanoff.

“Heads up.”

Her hands barely make it up in time to catch the flying water bottle headed for her face.

“Good catch,” Romanoff smirks a little. She’s sweating, too, but in a way that’s decidedly more sexy, little red curls hanging by her face. She looks fresh from a Pilates class, not a suicide workout - the rookie can feel the heat of her own face, the sweat drenching her clothes, and knows she’s not nearly as glowing as her trainer.

“You did really good today,” Romanoff continues. She keeps saying to call her “Natasha” but that is so hard to do with a woman so intimidating her alias is one of the world’s deadliest animals. “Really good. You’ve shown tons of improvement since we started. I’m going to recommend we start letting you shadow on missions in a couple more weeks.”

“Wow, really?” Her face lit up in spite of her exhaustion.

“Sure.” Natasha smiles. “I know it’s gotten a little boring, having you go through all of this.”

“Boring” was an understatement. Despite having a few years of experience under her belt - well, according to Tony Stark, vigilantism barely counts as “experience” - the rookie was assigned to a training program for her first couple of months on the team.

“Too much of a risk to put you in the field right away,” Stark had rattled off, handing her forms to sign and an official t-shirt (‘Look Mom! I’m an Avenger!’) and a tablet with a map of the compound. “Legal says we can avoid liability issues with a training program before we gradually phase you in, and I’m inclined to agree, so! Welcome to the team, but not officially!”

Her days consisted of early morning workouts, followed by combat and tactical training with Black Widow herself, and then...well, not much. There was research, of course, and she stayed on top of the intelligence briefings with the rest of the team. She went to meetings and official dinners and unofficial karaoke nights, but the rest of her time was mostly her own. Frankly, she was chomping at the bit to get back out there, in the action. Helping people.

“Well, hopefully it’ll pay off,” she sighs, giving Agent Romanoff an exhausted smile. “I wouldn’t want to be the weak link on the team.”

“You won’t be, believe me,” Natasha shakes her head. With a glance at her watch, she picks up her own water bottle and heads for the door. “Now I’ve gotta run, Skype meeting with Fury in 5. I’ll see you later, Rookie!”

**********

Bucky Barnes was feeling good.

Like, damn good.

Like, ‘Banner should label his controlled substances’ good.

Thing is, post-HYDRA and post-fugitive and post-cognitive reconstruction therapy, Bucky was more mentally okay than he had been in decades. He had the occasional rough day, and he definitely wasn’t perfect by any means, but with the shrinks that Stark had on retainer, he was getting better at dealing with it all. His physical health, however, was more of a moving target. In spite of receiving a bastardized supersoldier serum, he had been pumped full of so much other shit and gone through so much physical stress that his body had fundamentally shifted equilibrium. Multiple appointments with Dr. Cho and Shuri revealed that his chronic pain may never fully heal - if it did, it would be a very gradual process. Normal painkillers in reasonable doses did nothing for him, so Bucky settled in to his discomfort, carrying it the way he carried his knives and his scars - always.

24 hours into his medical leave, a few doses of pills down, and he couldn’t feel a single ounce of pain in his body - he shifted his awareness to each part of himself, like that guided meditation thing Wanda did sometimes, and he couldn’t find the pain, not even lurking behind the muscle and metal. He might be a little miffed at being off the active duty roster, but if his whole vacation is going to feel like this? Well, he doesn’t mind to let Steve handle the next threat to world peace.

With his schedule suddenly wide open, Bucky wonders what he’ll do with his day. He can’t remember the last time he truly had nothing to do - it’s an exciting prospect. So he lets himself ease through his morning, sleeping in, long hot shower, slipping on those plush Black Widow pajama pants Nat gave him as a gag gift. He knows everyone else will have had their breakfast and moved on to morning briefings and training drills by now, and he wanders down to the kitchen in the hopes that they’ve left him some coffee.

He sees her there, perched on a stool at the island and frowning at the tablet in her hand. There’s a little scrunch to her nose when she does that, he notices.

“Good morning,” he says softly, trying and failing not to startle her.

“Oh, hey Bucky,” she smiles, watches him round the island to the coffee pot on the counter. “I didn’t see you there.”

“S’okay. I’m quiet.”

“You didn’t get tapped for the recovery mission? They’re going after your suspect from Berlin again, I think.”

“Oh, I’m off missions for two weeks.” He turns, giant ‘Don’t forget to be awesome’ mug gripped in his metal hand. “Banner’s orders. You didn’t hear about my smashed ribs?”

“Oh no, I guess not - are you okay?” Suddenly she’s concerned, and a little sheepish. “Sorry, I’m still a little out of the loop I guess.”

He feels guilty for that - she’s eager, bright, kind, a brilliant recruit. But it can take a while before you’re ‘in’ with the team. Not because they exclude her, but, well - a group made up of outsiders has a hard time adding new faces to the mix.

“Don’t apologize. Not your fault.” Bucky digs around in a jar on the counter for a few sugar packets, dumping them into his mug. “Anyways, I’m off the roster for now. Gotta figure out something to do with myself, I guess.”

Her smile is slow, ducked under pretty lashes - he really needs to stop noticing these things.

“Would you - I mean, you can hang out with me if you want?” She chews on her lip. “I’m done for today - my training with Natasha ended early and they didn’t need me in on the briefing so…”

The rookie was lonely - he could see that, anyone could. The fact is, between their own training and missions, it had been a little hard for the team to spend very much time with her. Bucky himself was often a bit of a loner in his free time, preferring to hole up in his room with books and movies rather than go out for drinks or another karaoke night. And yet, he found himself feeling eager at the thought of spending a relaxing day with the new recruit, getting to know her a little, hearing that funny little laugh through her nose.

“Sounds great, Rookie - what did ya have in mind?”

**********

“Okay, I just wanna go on the record and say I called it. I called it!” She’s grinning. “I knew you would love this.”

“Well, hey, in my defense, I’ve never hated beautiful women.”

She just rolls her eyes, kicks her feet out to rest on the coffee table in front of them. There’s a pile of DVD’s, all hers, laying across the surface, picked through and ranked in order of what was most important for Bucky to see. His film education was obviously lacking, considering he missed out on 70 years of movies, and didn’t even know what he liked anymore, so he was content to let her pick. After raiding the kitchen for an array of snacks, they settled in, opposite ends of the same couch with a bowl of popcorn and dark chocolate M&M’s between them.

Approximately 20 minutes into the movie, Steve appears, just passing through for an apple from the fridge. He stops in his tracks behind the couch, the crunch of the fruit in his mouth just above their heads.

“What is this?” he says around his mouthful. If his Ma could see him now, Bucky thinks.

“It’s called ‘How to Marry a Millionaire’ - came out in 1953,” she answers, smiling over her shoulder at him. “It’s one of my favorites honestly.”

“That’s - that’s Lauren Bacall!” Steve perks up, smacking Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah, punk,” Bucky rolls his eyes. “Betty Grable’s in it, too.”

“No shit!” Steve is grinning now, and he gives the rookie a conspiratorial look. “Y’know, Bucky used to have her pin-up poster. The one in the white bathing suit? Had it in his suitcase when he shipped out.”

“Oh, really?” She’s looking at him now, eyes sparkling at the rosy blush climbing up Bucky’s cheeks. “Betty Grable, huh?”

He clears his throat. “Well, everybody had that picture, I mean...it’s famous for a reason. All the boys had ‘em.”

“No, no, I get that,” she shrugs. “I just had you pegged as more the Rita Hayworth type, that’s all.”

It takes him back for a second, Steve too, that she knows these starlets, that they could’ve been having this same conversation 75 years ago. He can see that look in Steve’s eyes, sly and knowing as they slide towards him. Bucky works his mouth, tries to control his smile.

“Well, nothing wrong with her either,” he drawls, spreading his arms along the back of the couch. “But did you see Grable’s legs?”

“I just thought you might’ve had a thing for redheads!” she laughs.

“They’re alright, I guess - now Dugan on the other hand…”

Neither of them notices Steve leave the room, tossing the apple in his hand and a huge dopey grin on his face.

**********

“Tell me again what the recipe says?”

“One cup of pumpkin puree.”

“Oh - shit, I thought you said one can.”

She smacks her forehead. “No wonder the batter is so goopy!” She rolls her eyes playfully. “You’re trying to ruin my bread, Barnes.”

“I swear I’m not, doll - it was an accident.”

“Okay, new plan - we just make a double batch since the can has two cups in it.”

She shuffles around behind him, grabbing her flour and sugar and sour cream and other ingredients, hands flurrying to measure and fix the dough. It’s mid-afternoon now, a couple of movies down, and they (she) decided they needed to get in the fall spirit by baking a ridiculous amount of...breads. The banana bread is already in the oven, the pumpkin will be on its way as soon as she fixes his mistake, and a blueberry bread (made from muffin mix) is next on the list.

“But...what’s so special about making it into breads?” He had asked, causing her to look at him like an idiot.

“Ask me that again after you try them, Bucky.”

So he shut up and cracked eggs and sifted flour, stirring when her arm got tired. He was already regretting his words now that the smell of the banana bread was drifting towards him from the ovens, and he had to admit the pumpkin and cinnamon from her bowl was making his stomach growl. With all the bowls and measuring cups laying around, they were making enough sweet breads to feed an army, but hey - the Avengers are practically a small army of their own. And besides, Bucky intends on taking an entire loaf - baker’s privilege.

He decides that he likes watching her work, bouncing around the kitchen, some oldies playlist on the speakers, her tongue poking out between her lips. She’s got her sweater sleeves pushed up over her elbows - he had to help with that, after she got dough on them. This song is good, too, and he wants to ask her who wrote it-

“Are you gonna stand there staring at me, or are you gonna help?” she quips over her shoulder. He has no idea when he last smiled so much.

“You’re the boss, Rookie.”

**********

She’s got her feet in his lap now, and they haven’t said a word in an hour, and Bucky doesn’t even remember taking his last dose or two of his pain pills but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing.

There’s a huge book in her lap, Stephen King - a favorite, he’s learned.

“I read at least one of his books every year in October,” she tells him. “You know, to get ready for spooky season.”

“Spooky season? What the hell is that?”

“You know, Halloween time!” she smacks his arm. “It’s Halloween first, Buck, you gotta get in the spirit.”

“I’m -” he sputters, face drawn in the most adorably confused look. “Halloween first?”

She hands him a book of his own and now here they are - he’s 20 pages into The Shining, but he’s stopped paying attention because she’s yawning behind her book and her eyes are fluttering shut, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

He forces his eyes down to his own page, to Jack Torrance and haunted hotels, but they’re drawn back up when her book finally drops the rest of the way to her lap. Her head slumps sideways onto the back of the couch, mouth open just a little. He draws the blanket down around her feet and tucks it in a little tighter, but other than that, doesn’t move a muscle. He’s just fine right here, thank you.

He’s sinking in again, driving up the twisting mountain road to the Overlook, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Carefully - in the way highly trained superspies can be careful - he lifts his hips up and pulls his phone from his pocket, managing not to dislodge her feet or wake her up. She merely sighs in her sleep, nuzzling her face into the couch pillow. A text notification from team group message lights up the screen.

It’s Natasha. A photo, a photo which she somehow managed to take without him knowing, of him and the rookie, practically snuggling on the couch and reading together. Her legs are propped over his lap, and Bucky’s eyes are staring straight at her over the top of his book. Nat has captioned the photo: “looks like Barnes found a good nurse.”

He snorts a little. Natalia. Glances up at her, still sleeping, and tilts his phone upwards a few degrees and snaps a picture to send back.

“She sleeps on the job” he types, thumbs still slow on the phone keyboard. Instantly, his phone starts buzzing with more texts from the team, but he mutes it and lays his phone on the coffee table. He doesn’t feel like talking now. Well, talking to them.

“Hey...Rookie,” he whispers, reaching out and shaking her shoulder a little. She hums in her sleep, but makes no other move.

“Rookie, I gotta ask you something.” He wiggles her leg a little, shaking her feet in his lap, and whispers her name. He’s rewarded with her eyes fluttering open, her mouth drawn down in a pout at being woken up.

“Whatisit,” she sighs, still slumped into the cushions. He clears his throat. Here goes nothing.

“So, there’s a charity gala for the Stark Foundation coming up next weekend,” he starts bravely. “And - and the whole team is going anyway, so I know you’re gonna be there, but - well, maybe you would consider going...with me?” Courage runs out, and his brain backpedals. “I mean, just as a friend?”

She huffs. “I can’t believe you woke me up for that.”

“Oh.” He looks down, hair falling in his eyes. “So...you don’t want to go with me?”

“Of course I’ll go with you, Barnes,” she sighs. “Now shush. I was napping”

His face hurts from the stretch in his cheeks when he smiles. He’s gonna give Bruce those pain meds back.

[you-are-my-neverland]

so. it’s finally time to talk about [my] nano.

i’ve kept my nano project pretty under wraps so far, mostly because it’s been out of my hands. i wasn’t actually planning on doing a for real for real nano; instead, i thought i would dedicate some time to my fanfic (spoiler alert, but i haven’t yet) or work on finishing up revising fairbone (spoiler alert: i did revise one chapter, but i still have like half of it left to go and a nov 30 deadline...rip). if that didn’t work, i thought i would pick a wip i started over the summer or one i had half developed (let’s just say the ideas note i have really boomed over the summer and like...yeah). in conclusion, there were many wips ready for me to work on them, including ash heart, which i really want to write but haven’t figured out how to.

instead i started a new wip.

well, it’s not necessarily new, persay. it’s an idea i’ve had stewing since like late september/early october and planned out a good portion of. however, deciding to start it was a last minute decision - and by last decision, i mean that on october 31st i finished developing the barebones of character development and basic plot lol and then gave it a go. it’s honestly been going crazy well. as of today (november 9th), i just hit 21.2k words. i’m hopeful about this year, while also not wanting to jinx stuff, but like...wow. but writing is has made me realize that, wow, this book is going to be crazy long probably...like i’m 21k words in and we’re still like in the exposition idk what’s going on. but hey, i finished planning out the rest of the basic plot for it today!!!

right. onto the wip details.

honestly, the only reason i haven’t introduced this wip is because a) i want actual stuff done on it and like a proven commitment, because i feel like too often i introduce wips i don’t actually go anywhere with and i hate it, b) i don’t have a set title and c) i actually have no idea how to summarize this.

the novel i’m working on right now is the first of a projected trilogy. i say projected because i have a vague idea that it belongs to a trilogy, but like not a lot of plot except some vaguely connected ideas that should happen in the future. in it, i used a lot of characters from these violent ends, which i tried to write for camp april 2020, but like just their basic barebones; i changed a lot to fit the story, of course. 

not to sound nerdy, but it is like....harry potter inspired, but ONLY in the magical boarding school sense. of course, right now all i have is magical boarding school shenanigans, which i don’t really like because i feel like it unfairly sets the book up as like fun magical stuff when it’s really about murder & politics & student activism (+ a lot of other things ending in -ism). the whole activism part came from watching the trial of the chicago 7 and i was like, bingo, this is what this story needs. 

kay but ANYWAYS. onto the story. like i said, i can’t really summarize it, but there are lots of themes of classism, feminism, the affect on youth and youth’s effect, manipulative adults, revolution, terrorism, sibling dynamics and found family vibes, like all that stuff...packaged into a magical boarding school off the coast of maine setting...recipe for disaster!

mainly i’ve been writing in ophelia’s pov, because she’s my main girl and she’s problematic, but also she’s trying her best and just having a little difficulty fitting in. some other main characters are her twin brother, sebastian, and two other boys, asriel and vincent, who have an initially animistic relationship with ophelia (& kind of each other?) but it’s like enemies to friends (to lovers?).

anyways. here are some carefully curated excerpts below the cut:

i. vincent and asriel meet on a train (ch. 1)

The boy pursed his lips together. “It’s unusual,” he said, finally. “That’s all.” But he was looking at Vincent as if he was noticing him, which meant he was lying, or at least withholding the truth about something. He added, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Do you mean geographically?” Vincent replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m from New York.”

A small glimmer of a smile appeared on the boy’s lips, though it vanished as quickly as it had come. “From the Magical World,” he clarified. 

“What gives it away?” Vincent asked sarcastically, waving a hand across his body. “My impeccable taste?”

“Among other things,” the boy said.

ii. sebastian and ophelia discuss grief on a ferry (ch.2 )

“You and mom talked?” Ophelia asked, surprised. She hadn’t exactly been keeping track of them, but she was sure she and Sebastian had spent much of the day together, as they were wont to do.

Sebastian looked at the floor. “Yeah,” he answered, hoarsely. “At least she wants to talk about Des. Dad doesn’t, and neither do you.”

Ophelia sighed, wondering why, today of all days, her sister was haunting them. Maybe it was because there should have been three people heading to Rijevduct, instead of two. Maybe Mother Magic was reminded of the loss of one of her own. 

“I’ve let her go,” she said. “You should too. We have too much of our lives ahead of us to mourn Desdemona forever.”

“I don’t mourn,” Sebastian said, words uncharacteristically sharp. “But I do grieve.”

“Isn’t that basically the same thing,” Ophelia mumbled, closing her eyes and feeling the press of a headache behind them. 

“Sorrow,” Sebastian said, the word a soft shudder. “And sad endings.”

“What?” 

“That’s what makes a good tragedy,” Sebastian answered. “I read it in a book.”

iii. headmistress alexeyev gives a speech (ch. 2)

“Eight years ago, seventy two students were slaughtered here. Some died on the very spot where you now stand today.” Ophelia glanced down at the floor, seeing the motion repeated instinctively around her as well. She looked over at Sebastian, who had closed his eyes instead, a pale flush meeting the faint color in his cheeks. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, tennis shoes scraping against stone as he toed them against the floor, as if he was shaking something only visible to him off.

“It was a tragedy,” Headmistress Alexeyev continued. “I say this because it is the truth. It was a tragedy, and not one that should never have happened.” She inhaled; Ophelia saw her chest rise, shoulders with it, in a sharp motion before she exhaled, body rearranging itself into poise once more. “I speak of this to tell you to assure you that Rijevduct is safe. I know there have been continuous doubts over the security of this school since that day eight years ago. I cannot, of course, guarantee that you will not come to any harm here. I cannot tell you that Rijevduct is the safe haven you were taught it was growing up; events have already proved that it is, in fact, not as impenetrable as one might think.”

Ophelia frowned, confused as to the line of reasoning. She had thought the whole point of the year of transition was to make sure that Rijevduct was infinitely more safer than it had been—and they had all been under the assumption that Rijevduct was virtually impenetrable until the massacre, which had led to the heightened security measures they saw today.

“I can, however, promise you that I, and everyone here today, will do anything in their power to keep you safe,” the Headmistress said. Next to Ophelia, Briar bowed her head, lowering her eyes and swallowing, the action almost a convulsion of her throat and mouth. Ophelia brushed her hand, lightly, in question, and the other girl just shook her head, looking away purposefully, so that Ophelia lost sight of her face and her sad eyes.

“These next three years will be far from easy. Gone are the sheltered lives where your parents could kiss your injuries goodbye, or sing you to sleep at night. Rijevduct is far from the cold, real world, but it is close enough when it comes to not asking you what you want first. This is an adjustment period. This is learning how to survive—and I will tell you this; surviving means many different things to many different people. You will have to decide on your own what this will mean for you, and how you will apply what you are taught here to your futures. Be wise. Be proud. Be humble. Cry. Laugh. Live. As your Headmistress, I, along with your professors, will be here throughout your time.” She raised her glass, “To the worthy,” and then drank, turning and walking back to her seat, which she lowered herself into gracefully.

iv. sebastian pov! (ch. 3)

There was a dead girl in Sebastian’s first period Magical Theory class. She was sitting diagonal from him, on the Glass side of the classroom, in an empty chair, staring straight ahead at the chalkboard. Sebastian tried not to look at her too obviously, his eyes straying from the open book in front of him to her cautiously, beneath the sleeve of his sweater.

She was sitting blankly in the chair, scraping her shoes against the ground, though they could not leave any scuff marks. Though she was the same faded shades most girls were, Sebastian could make out her pleated pale blue plaid skirt, which brushed around her knees, and the stained white blouse that might have once been spotless, but had been marred forever by the circumstances surrounding her death—objectively, that was to say, with blood. Her dark brown hair fell into loose curls around her shoulders, little silver studs glinting dimly, unable to catch the light. Her knee high socks now pooled around her calves and ankles, revealing a rotting bandaid on one of her knees. One of her tennis shoes was peeling at the toes, looking as if it had been ripped apart. 

Her fingernails had all been pulled off. Sebastian was good at analyzing ghosts by this point; he recognized the bloody flesh and bone of the nail bed. There was also blood matted across her head, trickling down her temple, with bruises covering her body; they peeked out from beneath the collar of her shirt, blackened across her cheekbones with a sunken quality in particular to one of her cheeks, as if the bone had begun to cave.

Subjectively, she was far from one of the worst that Sebastian had seen.

[elixir4paradise]

Promise-of-Happiness

Set after Bad Relationship Ending 1, what happens if V catches wind of what Rika has done to both her and Ray? Will they be saved?

I could remember screaming, a voice screaming my name. A voice asking, begging, pleading for forgiveness for leaving me alone. The face before me seemed so familiar, yet so far away. Bleached hair with pink tips splayed messily on his forehead, his gloved fingers running over my cheek. Why was his touch so familiar? Why couldn't I speak?

I hazily remember him shouting as believers grabbed him and pulled him away. He continued to shout for me, telling me he would be back..but why..? It was like I had no memories of him, I only remembered the Savior calling me down to her throne room and scolding me for barely using the messenger I had come to test. The game? Oh wait. It wasn't a game, they were real people. What a strange feeling.

Feeling darkness invade my field of vision, I cried out; or so I thought. I was awake but I couldn't open my eyes, a faint beeping filled my ears. I struggled and cried out internally as I begged my body to listen to my commands. A futile effort, I couldn't wake up. Ceasing my internal struggles, I faintly recall hearing a voice, speaking to me so very softly.

"It'll be okay, MC." The owner of the voice gently stroked down my hair, tangling his fingers between the locks. "I'm so sorry I got you involved in this, so please wake up soon." Then my memory faded back into black as I felt my consciousness slipping back away. Sweet darkness, warm darkness, comforting darkness.

The redhead who sat beside the hospital bed, untangled his fingers from the young woman before him. His eyes clouded with worry as he turned towards the door that slid open. "V.."

The man with mint colored hair adverted his gaze from the golden eyes baring straight into his soul. "Luciel, I didn't think you'd still be here." he spoke softly, nervously approaching the redhead. He lowered himself onto the foot of the bed, flitting his eyes to the hand Luciel had the unconscious girl's in. "I didn't realize you were so close."

Seven pressed his mouth into a thin line, glancing back to the girl. "We're not." he said curtly. "We get along in chat and I..." biting his tongue before considering his next words. "..I feel responsible, with Saeran and all."

V watched him closely, feeling he was hiding something, but it was not an issue he was going to press. He knew Luciel had started to develop feelings towards the woman attached to IV and a heart monitor before them, it was obvious in the way he interacted with her on messenger. It was even more obvious as he set aside his work for the agency even after their rescue was completed.  Not mentioning it was the least he could do since Luciel never once asked how he knew she was at Magenta. How he knew his brother was there too, he just listened as they infiltrated and carried out the mission, no questions asked.

--- My dream was hazy, I felt the warmth of the sun hitting my face. It felt so good, I felt myself shifting to my side and a hand supporting me. I stirred again before opening my eyes. Beautiful mint green/blue eyes gazed into mine, the familiar white haired man looked to me with such tenderness on his face. I gathered that I was on his lap, I could feel a soft pressure on my head causing me to reach up before his fingers intertwined with my own.

"I'm sorry, did I wake you?" His voice was beyond comforting and familiar. "Don't mess with your crown princess, it's fragile."

Crown? I strained my eyes to unblur as I began to notice he was sporting a crown of flowers, causing me to reach up and touch upon some soft petals entwined around my head.

"I'm sorry." He spoke again, brushing a strand of hair from my eyes. "You just looked so much like a princess I had to make you a crown to match the sleeping beauty before me."

The heat that rose to my cheeks had me certain that I was burning as bright as the roses that adorned his crown. I adverted my eyes quickly as I sat up, his hand loosening on mine, allowing me to shift into a sitting position.

I felt my body move on it's own as I let my head lay into his chest, curling up lightly inbetween his legs, I took in the surroundings before us. We lay against a tree in a garden, vibrant colors painted the scenery before us, the orange of twilight cascading the area in an even dreamier glow.

"You fell asleep, Princess." Lips touched the back of my hand and touched again on my forehead. "We were having a picnic, remember? The Savior has allowed it and I was so happy to see you." He smiled wistfully as he stroked my hair, a nervous but calm aura surrounded him.

"I love you." he broke the silence, his voice shuddering, it sounded as if it was his first time confessing those words. I heard myself confirming his feelings by pushing up and letting our lips touch, before I pulled away I spoke. "I love you too, Ray. So much."

A sad smile crossed his features as he began to dissolve infront of my very eyes. He faded into darkness, leaving my arms cold and empty. I reached out as I watched him disappear before my very eyes. ---

"RAY!!" I shot up in bed, the scenery around me vastly different from my dream. Sterile white walls, a beeping monitor. I jolted my body forward, gasping for air and wincing as I felt the IV tube grow taught against my movement. A hand grasped around mine, causing me to whip around. Gold eyes bore onto mine, an intense, somehow familiar stare, peering into my soul.

"Who-" Before I could even get it out, the redhead before me was moving me to lay back down on the hospital bed.

"Rest. You've been out for a few days." His voice was so quiet, sweet and somewhat sad. For some reason he also seemed familiar. His red hair messy, disheveled and yellow and black striped glasses adorned his face. "I'm sure you're surprised. He won't hurt you anymore."

Who? I glanced around the room nervously, trying to figure out what he was saying, trying to rack my brain as to who he was. He reminded me of the guy in my dream, but starkly different with the red mop atop his head. "Ray....?"

Seven sat back down after getting her to calm down, sighing softly and shaking his head to the confused woman. "MC, You probably know me as Luciel.. I.. I'm so sorry."

"Seven?" Obviously bewildered, his name came from my lips probably louder than I intended. "Where's Ray?"

"He won't hurt you now."

He didn't! He was always kind to me. I was remembering now, my affirmation to his feelings, the memories we  shared in the garden seemed like so long ago.

 "He... he would never hurt me.." I finally managed to choke out, contributing to the mix of emotions on his face. "He... He's not--"

"No. He's okay. V and I got him in the psyche ward.." His voice trailed, an obvious pain contorted his features. "His name isn't Ray." He inhaled deeply, resting his hand on my shoulder. "His name is Saeran. He's my twin.. it seems like someone pit him against the RFA, he was unconscious when we found him, just like you were." His amber colored eyes seemed to search mine for answers.

Seven shifted in his seat before continuing. "He was in a basement, locked in a cel. According to the doctors he ingested the same mixture of chemicals you did, but a greater quantity. I'm not sure what that stuff was but he was angry and delirious. MC.. Do you remember who did this..? Anything.. He's my brother. I left him in Rika's care, V ensured he was safe but he won't answer my questions."

The young man spoke so quickly, feverently that it was almost so hard to keep up. It was a lot of information. "The Savior must have... The Savior must have punished him after I stopped coming on messenger.." I recollected to the best of my abilities. "She... looked really familiar.." suddenly something dawned on me and as I began to ask him to show me a picture of Rika, the door to the room swung open and a gentleman with mint colored hair and mint eyes stood, his breathing labored.

Seven and I sat in silence as the man entered the room. "Please don't say any more." He panted. "Please." He approached us slowly, holding his hands in a clasped position. "Please let me handle... that Savior."

I shifted my attention to Seven, whose hands were gripping the railing to my bed, his knuckles white. As if to comfort him I moved my hand to cover his lightly. His whole demeanor relaxed at my touch. He let his head hang down in defeat, not pressuring the mint haired man further.

"V..." Seven spoke softly, trying hard to mask the shaking in his voice. "Why are you here...?"

"I came to check on you both, the other members asked me to since you haven't been on messenger. I filled them in the best I could."

Seven nodded lightly. "How is he..?"

"He's still angry, he keeps calling for someone, he seems desperate but incoherent."

I tried to find the courage to speak, moving my mouth opened and closed, like a guppy gasping for breath. "Can I see him...?" I finally managed. His memory was becoming clearer, our memories together. I wanted to see him more than I could bare.

"He's your kidnapper. I don't feel it'd be wise." V spoke sternly, his eyes narrowed lightly, somehow betraying the calmness and tenderness behind his voice. He approached me and reached out to touch my arm gently, his expression has since relaxed. "He is very frantic, I'm not sure you'd help. I'm sorry."

Seven watched his "guardian" speak to MC, watching them interact closely. He was acute to the emotions being hidden in their tones as their voices bounced along the walls of the sterile room. Thank goodness for his experience as an Agent helping him read the situation better. While he understood V's concern, he could feel the eagerness and sincerity behind MC's intentions too. After a while V excused himself, leaving the two in silence. They waited a while, ensuring V was gone before he spoke up, his voice still hushed. "Want to come with me..? I know where he is."

I couldn't help the joy that sprung to my eyes, glittering with happy tears as I nodded vigorously. "Please!" ---- I could hear screaming from the room, thrashing around and a nurse leaving quickly before our presence caught her attention. "I wouldn't go in there." She spoke quickly as she finally pushed past. 

I could feel Seven looking at me, concerned, as if he was questioning our next move. I was holding onto the IV drip, rolling it beside us as Seven was pushing my wheelchair towards the room. His excuse was that I haven't used my legs in days and he didn't want me to overexert myself.

The shrill screams filled my ears again snapping me from my distracted state. I made sure my eyes met with Seven's and mustered up the most determined, pleading expression I could muster. I was scared but I had to see him with my own eyes.

"Little brother.." Seven's greeting was met with a hiss and another crazed scream. "Bro, Listen. I--" A book flung across the room, narrowly hitting him. Sighing he confirmed with me again but I wasn't ready to give up. Finally he wheeled me into view.

The frail figure on the bed was bound tightly, his chest struggling against the bounds, causing the railing to rattle with the sheer force he was using. Another sharp hiss of an inhale before those icy mint eyes met with mine. For a moment his angry expression faltered.

He gasped and tugged at his binds again, his eyes seemed to brim with tears. 

She was here. She was here! She was ALIVE! He pulled again, desperate, his demeanor no longer one of anger. "MC..." he choked out, completely forgetting the man who brought her to him. "MC!" his voice broke out in a sob, a strangled desperation of an onslaught of emotion crashing into his weak body.

Seven watched his brother's attitude go a complete 180 upon seeing the girl. What did he feel towards her? The same thing he felt? Maybe he only liked her because they are twins and they felt the same thing? Trying to piece together his own emotions, he didn't notice the girl struggling and reaching at the railing of the bed.

I shakily grabbed the railing to Ray--Saeran's bed and pulled myself up, I could barely stand but I felt the need to get close to him. Tears were threatening to burn my eyes as I managed to pull myself forward, stumbling. "I'm here.." I felt a strong pair of arms lift me and sit me on the bed, Seven smiled tenderly, mussing my hair before stepping to the side with a soft nod, signalling me to go ahead.

Glancing at the sobbing figure before me, I lifted his chin gingerly, examining his face. Ray--wait. Saeran's face was stricken with tears, a look of relief gracing his lovely eyes. He buried his head against my shoulder, choking back another gasp. Wrapping my arms tightly around him I let him cry it out into my shoulder, feeling the tears I was holding back falling freely. ---

A month has passed since we were discharged from the hospital, Saeran and I were living in Seven's bunker, I slept in one of the guest rooms, Saeran had his own room and Saeyoung, who I learned was Seven's real name obviously had his own.

The brothers have gone through a lot in the time we've been together. Saeran had pushed away from his brother and fought feverently against the belief's the Savior had instilled in him. Deep down he understood Saeyoung did what was best for them at the time but there was a part of him that didn't want to accept it.

Saeran suffered a lot, anxiety attacks riddling him a useless sobbing mess. I was always quick to help him breathe and calm down. We would press foreheads together and count slowly. His tears would slowly dissapear as his breathing would slip away from erratic to calm and collected.

I stayed in my room a lot to give them to bond and to struggle with my own feelings, I loved Saeran so much but I was very confused. I was trying hard to process the that Saeran and Ray were similar but not quite the same. I tried to quiet my steps as I headed towards the kitchen. Upon reaching my destination I was graced with a serene scene of the brothers actually eating peacefully together. Saeyoung was cracking some joke or another and annoying Saeran but not to the point of angering him.

Mint and gold eyes flitted over to me, holding my surprised gaze. 'G-Good morning you two.." I pushed past, bowing my head lightly, trying to seem as small as possible, to not disrupt their peaceful moment. Saeyoung's voice rung through the morning. "Let's go on a date!!" His hearty laugh reverberated in his chest, the mirth in his eyes youthful and excited.

"Date..?" Saeran looked up from his breakfast curiously, knitting his eyebrows together. "What do you mean..?"

"You, Me and MC!"

I felt the plate fall from my hand, clattering to the counter. My face was so hot I felt like I couldn't breathe. "W....what...?"

Saeyoung wasted no time, moving and wrapping his arm around my shoulders in a onesided hug. "Well! GOD7 is bored and you've helped us both so much! If you hadn't come to chat.." his voice grew serious from the hearty boyish tone he had before as he pulled me tighter. "I wouldn't have been reunited with my baby brother and I wouldn't have met you so please! Let us treat you.."

I could hear Saeran choke on his food before getting up and prying his brother's arm off me. "Okay okay that's enough of that.." He spoke flatly, mussing my hair. His tender eyes glanced down on mine, smiling lightly. "Go get ready.. Yeah?" 

Saeran watched as she scrambled back to her room to get changed. He moved to meet his brother's gaze. "What's with you?"

Saeyoung only grinned largely, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

"Whaaaaat?" feigned innocence dripped over his words. "Jealous?"

Saeran didn't miss a beat. "Yes. Stop flirting with her."

Saeyoung slumped his shoulders, defeated before his shit eating grin disappeared. He tried to gather his thoughts before speaking again. "You love her...?" He watched a series of emotions flash through his brother's face. Gold eyes widened as his brother confidently nodded. Back to a shit eating grin, Saeyoung grabbed his twin tight. "I'M SO EXCITED FOR MY SISTER IN LAW!!!" 

Yes, his heart had been shattered into a million pieces but he bounced back quickly. He was happy to set his feelings aside as long as they could both be happy. He swung his brother back and forth laughing loudly to keep from the feelings he buried deep in his heart. He understood his feelings may not change but his brother has suffered enough and deserved this chance. ------ The "date" was lovely, walking around a botanical park and Saeran explained the many different flowers. Saeyoung played on his phone but he and I cracked jokes freely, teasing one another. We poked and prodded as Saeran would watch on with tender eyes.

I was on cloud 9. The happiest I've felt in years. We were headed towards our final destination to the date, my arm linked in Saeyoung's playfully as we pretended to be heading down the yellow brick road. As my free hand swung freely, I brushed against the back of Saeran's hand. I shot an embarrassed glance to him and his response took me back to the days in the gardens. His fingers intertwined with mine, staring straight ahead as if it was a natural action.

The ice-cream shop was bustling, Saeyoung had already unlinked with me and went off to order ahead of us. Saeran's fingers never left mine as we sat across from each other laying our linked hand on the square table. His eyes bore into mine as he smiled lightly. "One chocolate, one strawberry and one vanilla coming right up!!" Saeyoung's voice snapped me out of my trance and Saran and I untangled our fingers. I touched my burning cheek in embarrassment. Saeyoung sat at the table, handing the cones out, laughing to himself. Sarean and I blinked together as if wanting in on Saeyoung's inside voice.

"Together we make Neapolitan Ice-cream!" He held up his chocolate cone while Saeran held up his vanilla, I brought my strawberry cone in the middle, the flavors lightly touching as we made a "toast" with the ice-cream. Laughter ensued. ---- Saeran and I have grown even closer since that day and my realization that Ray was alive inside of him only made my feelings stronger. Saeyoung and I had become the best of friends and hung out constantly. I was no longer confused about my feelings. I did love Saeyoung, but not the same way he hoped I did.. 

My feelings for Saeran.. have become clear as day.

Saeran was planting some flowers outside of the bunker, admiring his work and wiping his arm on his head. I sat on the ledge of the flower box, kicking my legs as I watched him work. "What did you plant?" I asked curiously.

"Primrose, roses, dandelions, baby's breath and lily of the valley." His cheeks dusted with a sweet rosy pink as he mentioned the last one. Curiosity must have filled my face because he answered me without my asking. "Lily of the valley.." 

He removed his glove and cupped my cheek gently. "The promise of happiness." I felt the blood rush to my cheeks, my eyes softened lightly as I leaned into his touch. "I hope you'll find all the happiness in the world. You and Saeyoung deserve it." I touched my fingers along his wrist, stroking them lightly.

He relaxed into my touch and caught my gaze in his own, keeping eye contact, he searched mine as if asking if I was listening. Before I knew it, his face was so close to mine, our foreheads touching, his eyes never leaving mine. "I've already found it.."

Saeran's breath tickled my lips, casuing my breath to hitch in my throat. I shivered against his touch, my heart hammering in my chest. "Y...You have?" 

Without a moment of hesitation, he closed the distance between us, cupping my face now with both hands. I felt like I couldn't breathe for a moment, giving into his kiss I exhaled, wrapping my arms around his neck. His free hand wrapped around the back of my head, pulling me closer. He exhaled through his nose, pushing the kiss deeper.

We stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, not wanting the other to pull away, but we both needed to catch our breath. A radiant, gentle smile graced his features, tears brimming in his eyes. "My MC. I love you. I always have. I know now.. those feelings weren't just Ray's but mine. Thank you for being by my side constantly and for helping me find my family."

I inhaled nervously, pulling myself into a closer hug, trembling lightly. His words processed as I let my eyes flutter closed. I had no doubt in the world now. 

Nothing could break this moment. I exhaled against his collar bone, peppering kisses on it lightly. "I love you too... I love you Saeran... All of you, every side of you and that will never change."

I heard him let out a relieved sob, exhaling a breath I was unaware that he was holding. We both laughed to ourselves, showering the other in months worth of kisses to make up for lost time. Both a tearful, hiccuping laughing mess, we couldn't have it any other way.

The promise of happiness. Everlasting love.

Nothing ever felt more right in the world and we had it, in our hands.

Forever.

[disabled-queen-hc-blog]

I haven't seen an ED hc on here yet and I need to project a bit so here's this: at the begging all the queen boys were skinny as hell but as time went on the only one who remained that way was brian. and everyone assumed that it was all natural. what they didn't know was that brian consciously started eating less when he got to the age where people's metabolism usually slows down. he was well aware that his skinniness was part of his trademark look and decided he needed to keep it that way (1/3)

he started cutting down the amount and frequency of his meals but the others never noticed - brian had always been peculiar with food (not eating meat or unhealthy things etc.) so they assumed he ate at home whenever he refused the takeout they had in the studio. in the mid 80s they slowly start noticing that brian’s no longer just skinny, but also sickly looking but still don’t say anything, assuming he might have a stomach bug going on (touring can bring that on quite easily after all) (2/3)

then, a couple of months later, brian passes out in the studio and the boys finally connect the dots. they feel incredibly guilty for not noticing the signs and are determined to help brian recover. (3/3) //if you could please write something where the boys realise all this had been going on without them noticing and then try to figure out how to help brian out of this mess while he refuses to believe that he needs help at all (can be gen or you can add a ship if you’d like)

TW explicit mentions of Eating Disorders, Disordered Eating, Anorexia, Orthorexia, Hospitalization and excessive vulgar language. 

All your letters in the sand cannot heal me like your hand…

For my life still ahead, pity me…

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Again.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

One more time. So you remember how you fucked up.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17,18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

24 ribs sticking out from grey ashen skin.

Brian’s bony finger traced over each one as he counted outloud, eyes focused on the full body mirror in front of him.

You remember how handsome you used to be? Remember when theyjutted out like a fucking Greek god? But you ruined it. You ate that chocolatecupcake like the pig you are and now you’re fat again. Fat and disgusting.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

It doesn’t matter if you cry about it. It won’t make you anyskinnier. Put on your running shoes, fat ass.

“Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…”

RUN!

Brian wiped his face free of the tears, eye’s falling downto his bare feet. Skeletal but most people’s standards but bloated looking tohim. He had blisters on his heels from running a mile every morning, but itdidn’t matter. Pain was beauty, right?

♚

Of all the numbers, zero is the most beautiful. Brianthought that to himself as he ran around his neighborhood, the sun dipping inthe sky, crickets already chirping.

His knees hurt so bad, his chest was on fire and he was surehis blisters had reopened, but he had done this to himself. If he only atethings that were good, he wouldn’t have to run this second mile. If he juststopped inhaling anything that came into sight, he could be home right now,settling into a night’s rest.

But he was out here. In the cold English sunset, wearinglayers of jogging clothes to try and keep warm. He deserved this. Briandeserved this.

The day he hit his goal weight, he’d never have to do thisagain. He’d be doing zero laps.

♚

It was nearly midnight before he tempted to step on thescale.

The bathroom was so dark. Only trickles of moonlight pouredin from the window. He refused to turn on the lights since he weighed himselfnaked. Having to see his bare body was revolting. There was so much wrong withit. His legs were too chubby. His stomach so round. His cheeks akin to a hamster.It was better in the dark.

The cold metal of the scale sent a shiver up his body as hestepped onto it. He had to squint to see the number, but he was sure it hadgone up since this morning. That fucking cupcake.

8 stone.

Tears pricked his eyes. The number had gone down. Why was hestill so big?

So big.

Who could like someone so grotesque as him? With so muchskin? With so much fat?

Brian hugged himself, elbows tucking into his concavestomach.

He was disgusting.

♚

“You’re drinking your coffee black, Bri?” Roger asked, nosescrunched up as he peered into Brian’s coffee mug. Brian pulled the mug closerto him defensively but smiled and lolled his head as if nothing was wrong.

“You know I don’t drink milk, mate,” Brian said, taking asip of the acrid brew, forcing his brow to stay unfurrowed.

“Since when? Thought you were vegetarian, not one of thoseweird animal hippies,” Roger said eyes narrowed.

“Well, I’ve decided through research that the milk industryexploits cows. Did you know that mother cows and their c-“

“Yeah, yeah, alright. You could at least put a sugar or twoin there, you mad man,” Roger said with the wave of his hand, Brian’s plan atboring him with animal ethics having worked.

Brian smiled to himself, taking another sip. Roger was outof his mind if he thought he’d ever put sugar in anything he ate. Might as welleat straight fat. At least his little plan worked.

♚

“Brian, sweetheart, you look absolutely pale! Have you caughta cold?” Freddie said, a hand pressing against Brian’s clammy forehead. Brianducked away from the touch, laughing nonchalantly as he did.

“Perhaps? I feel, uh, fine. Maybe I’m just low in something,”he said as convincingly as possible. His fingers started to twiddle with the sleevesof his shirt that was far too big.

Freddie gave him a look he couldn’t decipher but he nodded.

“Well, you better rest up. Can’t have our main guydeveloping an ailment before our show tomorrow, huh?” Freddie said, a handstraying onto Brian’s bony shoulder. The touch made him erupt into goosebumps.

Did he know?

Does it matter?

♚

“Brian, we need to talk,” John said, his grey eyes big andstormy.

His gut dropped to the floor, heart pounding so hard itechoed in his ears. Was the gig up?

Brian wouldn’t go without a fight.

“What about?” he said casually, crossing one leg over theother, leaning back on the couch backstage.

John sat down next to him, uncomfortably close. Brian didn’tlike people touching him. It made it all the harder to hide.

John looked around to see if anyone was around before heleaned and whispered, “The crowds really big tonight. I, um, I’m kinda nervous,”

Oh sweet jesus. Thank god. Thank god.

The anxiety melted from Brian, a small smile growing on hisface.

“John, how old are you? You silly man,” He said jokinglybefore pulling John in for a hug.

The bassist grew rigid, not reciprocating. It’d only been a second,but the atmosphere grew bleak and heavy. John pulled away, face tightened infear. He looked over Brian for a second before he left in a hurry without somuch as a word.

Did he feel how skinny fat Brian was?

Who cares?

♚

Just because you finished a successful tour does not meanyou get to pig out. Look at all this food. It’s disgusting. Unhealthy. Do youwant to be fat? Don’t you want to be the skinny boy everyone knows and loves?

But I’m so hungry…

Hunger is good. Hunger means you’re strong. Hunger means you’rebeautiful. Hunger means you’re worth something.

I don’t feel good.

You won’t feel good if you get fat. If you stay fat.

I really don’t feel good.

Put that carrot down. Do you know how much sugar carrotshave? Do you want to poison your body with junk?

I think I’m gonna…

The after party for The Game fell silent. They’d all beendrinking, laughing, eating and a few other illegal activities when they heard athud. Hundred of eyes searched the room for the source of the noise untilsomeone spotted a collapsed Brian by the single veggie plate in the corner ofthe room.

Flurries of bodies and voices, yells and whispers erupted,some rushing to the phone, some running over to Brian.

Roger, Freddie and John surrounded their guitarist, panicfueling their every move.

“He’s bloody cold! Has someone called 999?” Roger shouted,rolling Brian over so he was on his back. It was a frighteningly easy task todo, the guy being light as a feather.

“Brian, sweetie, wake up please. Help is on the way, love.Stay with us, please,” Freddie pleaded, eyes misty as he held Brian’s handbetween his own, hoping to warm it up some.

John just stood next to the three, mouth and tongue seized,body trembling uncontrollably.

This is good. This is really good. Maybe soon you’ll benothing. Zero. A beautiful number. A beautiful state to be in.

♚

“…He was in fucking heart failure…”

“…electrolytes too low…”

“…emaciated…”

“…bone’s of a 60 year old…”

“And if he had died?”

“…you never said anything!”

“…was I supposed to know what this was?”

“He’s alive no thanks to any of you…”

♚

Brian’s eyes opened sluggishly, theonly thing he could seeing being an intense white light.

Was this it? Was he in heaven? Was allof this finally over? The pain and the cold and the empty stomachs and the migraines?Was that all gone now?

“He’s awake,” a mousy voice said.

Brian’s vision cleared, revealing awhite ceiling.

So he wasn’t dead.

He looked in the direction the voicecame, shivering when he saw it was John. His face was so swollen and so redfrom crying. It looked like he’d done a week’s worth. When their eyes met, Johnlet out a heart shattering sob, burying his face into Brian’s bed sheets. Theywere soaked.

Why was John crying so hard? He justpassed out was all. Nothing to be bent over.

His eyes scanned the room for other faces.

He found Roger’s. His eye bags wereunprecedented. His hair mused like he’d been trying to pull it out. Rogershrunk back into his chair, looking down at his shoes instead.

He didn’t have to look for Freddie.

Freddie walked up to Brian’s bed, hisface untelling. He looked at Brian’s IV, which he just now noticed he hadbefore he opened his mouth to speak. He faltered for a moment but spoke.

“Brian, I am so, so sorry,” he said,voice cracking, throat dry. He reached for Brian’s hand, but Brian pulled away,shaking his head.

“For what, Fred? I just passed out! It’sno one’s fault,” he said incredulously. They all looked like train wrecks for asimple blackout?

Freddie recoiled at Brian’s wordsbefore he softened again. His eyes parted from Brian’s, licking his lips. Whydidn’t anyone want to look at him?

“Brian…you didn’t pass out. You wentinto heart failure. You were in the ICU for 3 weeks in a coma. It…they had touse the electric paddles on you on two separate occasions,” his voice grewthick, obviously trying to push away the urge to cry and scream.

“They thought you weren’t going to makeit,” Freddie mouthed, his shoulders caving in as a few tears escaped down hischeeks.

Brian blinked before finally look downat himself.

Various bruises on his arm fromdifferent IV’s and blood draws Burn marks on his chest. And a line running downhis chest, all stitched and taped up.

A number 1, almost.

Not a zero.

He looked up to Freddie, jaw hanging.

“You needed a bypass, Bri,” Freddiesaid, a nervous hand rubbing his neck.

“W-Why?” Brian choked out, his mindhaving gone blank.

Roger snorted from across the room. “Youknow why,” he said bitterly.

And it was true. Brian knew why.

The room was quiet except for Deacy’smuffled sobs.

“I…I…the…I..can’t bloody think withyour crying, John!” Brian snapped. He didn’t mean it, he really didn’t.This..illness made him do horrible things. Nasty things.

John responded by growing smalleralthough his crying didn’t. Freddie wanted to bark back, but this wasn’t right.None of it was. Instead, he grabbed John and left the room. Roger was the onlyone who could talk to Brian about serious stuff anyways.

Brian gulped when the door slammedbehind the two. Now it was just him and R-

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Rogerasked, playing with the hem of his shirt. There was no malice in his voice.Just a simple question.

“I..didn’t think anything was wrong,”Brian said, which was the truth.

This, whatever it was, made the worldsplit in two. Reality and what went on his brain both felt real. He knew he wassick, but he wasn’t. He knew he was skinny but he wasn’t. He knew he was dyingbut he wasn’t. It was hard to know the truth sometimes. All the times. It washard to reach out when everything felt both okay and crumbling. Which was thetrue one?

Roger let out a puff of air from hisnose, eyes fluttering shut, desperate for sleep. In times of crisis, he seemedto be the only one capable of keeping their wits about, so he’d been on babysittingduty for nearly a month. He wanted his bed so bad.

He wanted his best friend too.

“That’s fair,” he said with a sigh.There was another silence between them before Roger got up and padded over toBrian’s bed side. He plopped himself onto the uncomfortably wet sheets but paidthem no mind, instead looking at the skeleton before him.

“We’re all really sorry, Brian. None ofus knew you were fighting a battle alone. We just thought…I don’t know what wewere thinking. But we thought you had a handle on whatever you were doing and thatwas wrong of us to just assume,”

“You needed us and we weren’t there.There’s only so much we can do about the past though, right? But we’re gonna behere for you from now on. When they send you to the psych w-“

“Psych ward?” Brian spat out, sittingup straighter in bed.

That’s where crazy people go. I’m notcrazy. I’m fine. I’m fine. I don’t belong there. They’ll make me eat. They’llmake me gain weight.

Roger just took in Brian’s anxiety, an uncharacteristicallygentle hand laying onto Brian’s bandaged chest.

With the sincerity and sweetness of amother, Roger said, “We almost lost you Brian. We almost had to bury you. We’renot going to let that happen again. You’re not going to leave us like that,”

Brian laid back against the bed, hisonly veiny and pale hand going over Roger’s.

Nothing felt real. Nothing made sense.Nothing was good. But he knew he could trust Roger. That infernal voice buzzingin his head might have been his constant companion, but Roger was his bestfriend. And best friends don’t lie.

Brian blinked away a few tears, hiswhole body tired, in pain and in a mental tug of war, but he said, “Okay,”Roger collapsed for the first time in weeks.

♚

John held onto Brian so tight, his faceburied into his neck. He would prefer to never let go, but he knew he had tosoon.

“Brian, I lo- you’re my best friend,okay? Get better?” he said before letting go. Brian smiled, patting his back.

Freddie came in for a hug next, meltinginto Brian’s embrace.

“I need my guitarist back. My soul brother,”Freddie said, kissing Brian’s cheek.

Lastly was Roger who just held out hishand for a shake. A firm one.

“See you soon, mate.”

Brian looked at all of them, taking intheir faces before he had to go. Wheeled out from the hospital and into the vanthat’d be taking him to the psychiatric ward.

The future ahead was scary and unknown,but he wanted to charge ahead. He wanted to live. For his friends, his family andmost importantly, himself. He wanted to play guitar and sing and eat and neverworry again.

All he wanted was to be four again.

Not zero.

Never zero.

Take heart my friend we love you

Though it seems like you’re alone

A million light’s above you

Smile down upon your home

[michaelmyersmalewife]

LEVIATHAN | 15. Epilogue | MASTERLIST

words: 3k+

A/N: and there it is :') im still in shock that the second ever fic i finished is fuxjcking about godzilla of all things (and clocking in at about 80k+ words in total, it’s the longest thing ive written so that’s fitting i guess) but ngl, i had the most fun writing it and i actually felt motivated and even excited to start a new chapter ?? and it feels almost a little weird to see it end; anyway, it always feels nice to finish a project ur passionate about, no matter how self indulgent it is

you can also support this fic on wattpad & ao3

Jodie adjusted the mic on Dr. Graham's blazer.

It had been a long time since she had seen her so nervous, not since the mass awakening. But she couldn't blame her. She tried giving her a reassuring smile, but the woman was staring just past her shoulder, at the wall behind them.

"Uh, Dr. Graham?" Coleman cleared his throat as his head peeked through the door. "You're on in about in a minute."

Vivienne snapped to attention almost immediately, and Jodie stepped away. The doctor wrung her hands as she took a deep breath, taking a tentative step towards the door.

It was a big day, one that could potentially take a step toward mending Monarch's relations with the government and the public alike. Or, it could just make it worse. Jodie already felt her heart thunder in her chest, the start of a headache forming in the back of her head. She had suspected the oncoming barrage of conferences and hearings and the like after Boston, but she didn't think it would happen this soon.

"You got this, Viv." she punctuated with a thumbs-up.

The smallest of smiles appeared on her face before she turned away. Taking a deep breath, Dr. Graham stepped through the door, and in the brief moment before it closed Jodie could see the flashing of camera lights illuminate her form. Now, all she could do was wait.

Sitting down at one of the tables in the small, rectangular room, she pulled out her tablet from her bag. Things had been so hectic - what with being tasked with co-running the Monarch archive that Sam had created - that she barely had any time to catch up with her usual journalistic endeavors. She scrolled through the influx of newsletters that had flooded her inbox over the past couple weeks. It was odd, suddenly seeing 'deforestation halts across the globe', '14th species to be taken off the endangered list', and 'coral reefs restored' among other things. The general public was still unsure about titans as a whole, but their importance was undeniable.

Suddenly, she could hear Vivienne's muffled voice from just beyond the door.

"The Rise of the Titans was an unspeakable tragedy, one that we may never truly recover from. And while we've done all we can to track and contain the ones that were released, we have confirmed that they've begun to retreat to their natural habitats on their own. But it seems that is only the beginning. We believe that there are more titans to be discovered, ones that Ghidorah's call was not able to reach."

There was a massive uproar after that, but Jodie drowned them out. Or, tried to at least. Just then, a notification popped up at the top of the tablet's screen. It was a video call - from China's Yunnan Province. Opening it without hesitation, a livestream filled the screen.

It was Gill. Jodie had been waiting in anticipation for the stream to start, as she was just as excited as the rest of the expedition team for the trek into Mothra's temple. Though, Gill probably had her beat in that aspect.

The feed crackled every now and then, the soft fuzz of radiation seeping through the camera. It was dimly lit, but a fair amount of what looked like a tunnel was illuminated by a handful flashlight beams. It looked like they were walking down a spiral staircase, if those stairs had been carved straight out of the earth. Every now and then they would pass by tall, wide pillars. Just ahead of Gill's point of view were two figures leading the expedition.

In the background, just behind the door, the rabble died down and Graham continued with her speech.

"Which is why Monarch is currently developing a more effective means of dealing with the titans that will potentially..inevitably..wake in the coming years. More effective than our current containment facilities. Now, these plans are still in early development but we will make sure to provide you with regular updates as the project progresses. Which leads me to our next point,"

They had been walking for a while now. And every now and then someone would speak, but their voices would be difficult to make out. Just how far down had they gone?

Suddenly, the static on the camera spiked, filling the screen for a brief second before stabilizing. The feed was still fuzzy, but Jodie could tell they had entered a large chamber. As the flashlights fanned out, Gill's camera swept through the chamber.

There was a raised dais in the center of the room, and on either side were impossibly massive statues. They were identical, and they both depicted women standing almost protectively, their arms splayed out, pointing to something between them. Something massive.

Gill and the two figures that had remained ahead of her approached the object, while the others continued inspecting the rest of the room. One of the figures turned around, looking at Gill with raised eyebrows. It was Chen, and it wasn't too out of the question to assume the person by her side was her sister Ling.

They both pointed their flashlights at the object.

"As of now, Monarch will be operating with full transparency. In accordance with the United Nations, 60 years worth of our documentation regarding titans will be freely available to the public. And with each new discovery, there will be no more secrets. No more hiding. In a post-Godzilla world our mission was to provide a means of defense against every titan we uncovered. And now we believe that staying informed is the greatest defense of all."

Gill's camera was facing downward now, glancing at the EKG monitor in her hand. It was steady, but every other few seconds she could hear the beep of a heartbeat. The object on the massive platform was alive. Jodie felt a wave of chills rush down her spine.

Gill and the twins focused their flashlights onto the object, condensing into one beam. Jodie suppressed a gasp as she realized what the object was.

It was an egg, a giant egg about the size of two buses stacked on top of each other. It was a dull blue and yellow, with light white-ish spots accenting the striped pattern. She heard Gill laugh, unbelieving of the find. She turned to face the twins, and they had each lay a hand on the egg, staring up at it with the lightest of smiles on their faces.

Covering her bases, Jodie thought to herself. She couldn't help but smile along with them.

"We hope that with this new development, we can navigate this new era not just together, but with the titans as well."

_____

Darkness.

She couldn't tell if the void she was in was the size of a crawlspace or the entire universe. But what she did know was that it was pitch black, and it was cold.

She took a step forward, but found that she was frozen. She tried to wriggle her fingers, kick her legs, anything that would allow her the slightest of movement, but it was all futile. Elena could do nothing but silently scream into the abyss, the deafening silence threatening to push at the fabric of her mind.

She was about ready to give up her struggle until she heard it. The laughter.

That same lilting cackle.

It kept echoing throughout the space, three separate sounds melting into something so loud she thought her eardrums would pop. She wasn't sure if she was screaming or sobbing, but she had to find a way out.

Get out get out stop laughing let me OUT -

Elena shot up in bed, eyes wide and tear stains trailing down her cheeks. That was the third time that month where she had "The Dream", as she had been referring to it as. With a shaky hand, she wiped the drying trails away with her palms, quietly looking around her room. It was cold, and the blanket was so warm, but yet she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, brows creasing in annoyance as she reached for the alarm that blared in her ears.

She lay there in the stiff bed for a moment, face half-buried in her pillow as she stared ahead in the dimly lit room. There was an ache in her bones that had never quite left her since the battle of Boston, and some days it wasn't anything more than a dull stiffness that would soon fade as the day went on. But there were others where it spread anywhere it could reach, seeping into her limbs and leaving her wanting to never get out of bed again. Today was one of those days.

For all its inconveniences, she couldn't hate the feeling - not completely. She liked to think of it as proof that she was alive. But that didn't mean it wasn't a bitch to deal with.

Eventually, she knew she would have to drag herself up and out unless she wanted someone knocking at her door, so she did. Swinging her legs over the mattress, she pushed herself up, shuffling to the bathroom. Brushing her teeth, the lukewarm water hitting her face in the shower - it all felt hazy through the sheet of grogginess that still clouded her mind. It wasn't until she looked at the time while getting dressed that she finally snapped back to reality.

Grumbling to herself, she shot out into the hall of Castle Bravo's living quarters, messily tying her hair back in a ponytail as she walked.

It wouldn't have taken her so long to reach the command center had she not decided to stop by the mess hall, picking up a cold bagel and a cup of black coffee. Discreetly popping a painkiller in her mouth, she took a swig out of the cup, walking over to the figures standing in front of an array of controls.

"Well, it's about time." Dr. Stanton said, glancing over his shoulder before returning to his screen, staring intently at the steady beeping that came from the monitor. "Tall, dark, and atomic over here isn't the most patient of lizards, you know."

Elena made no comment save for a roll of the eyes as she ambled over to the front of the room, approaching the wide window that took up half of the wall. Godzilla was just on the other side, multiple drones flagging him like remoras with their floodlights trained on his form. He didn't look particularly upset, but he didn't look too happy either. It was hard to tell with him sometimes. But he seemed to be in a good mood nonetheless, or about as good a mood as the newly crowned "king" could be. But that was likely due in part to the minuscule figure just ahead of her.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor was Madison.

She looked up, giving her a quick wave and a small smile. Elena gave her a friendly nod, crossing her arms and trying not to look directly at the titan as she leaned against the window. Elena wasn't too keen on being around the titan even now, but the child had insisted she be there to 'send him off'.

"Am I interrupting?" she asked.

The girl shook her head. "Nah, he's gonna leave in a little while anyway."

She nearly sighed from relief. "Busy schedule, huh?"

"I guess," Madison shrugged. "Says he's got somewhere to be."

Not too far away from them was a large, mobile screen. Hooked up to it with a handful of thick wires was a familiar device. The ORCA 2.0's soft humming thrummed throughout the control room as a series of words appeared on the screen.

> YOU MAKE IT SOUND SO CASUAL

Madison snorted. "I'm sure whatever you need to do isn't as dramatic as you say it is."

> IF ALL GOES WELL

> THEN HOPEFULLY IT WON'T BE

Elena slightly raised a brow, but she decided not to ask any questions. Since Boston, her fear of the lizard had significantly faded, but she still found herself on edge whenever she was around him, no matter how much Madison reassured her.

"You won't be gone long, right?"

> YOU WORRY TOO MUCH

> TINY SPEAKER

Madison grinned sheepishly at the comment. Smiles like those were rare for her. From her mother's detainment to her father insisting she be given a "proper" education outside of Monarch's programs, Elena suspected the time she spent using the new and improved ORCA were moments of relief. It almost reminded her of..her. Or at least a long lost version of herself.

In that moment, Godzilla's eyes wandered from the girl over to Elena. She felt herself stiffen, but the lizard himself didn't seem to notice. At least, he didn't make it obvious that he did. Instead he let out a snort, a trail of bubbles fluttering above him. Madison had tried coaxing her into talking to him, even to say a simple 'hello'. But she wasn't sure if she was ready, not yet.

> I'LL SEE YOU

> WHEN I SEE YOU

As he began to turn around, Madison waved him off. Elena simply watched, taking a bite out of the bagel still in her hand. With a strong whip of his tail, he shot away from the base. The drones around him returned to their stations, and the ORCA 2.0 quieted as its translation feed shut off automatically.

"Where did he say he was going anyway?" Elena asked as she watched the titan disappear into the blue.

Madison stood up, smoothing out the jacket that had bunched up behind her. In a voice that was all too calm, she answered.

"Skull Island."

_____

Mateo led the men clad in black uniforms down the dimly lit corridor.

Despite their seemingly calm demeanor, they made him nervous, what with their heavy boots and steely gazes. None of them were talkers by any means, but that wasn't what made them seem..off. It was something in the way they acted, the way they spoke that unnerved him. It's not that they didn't act human, it's that they were trying too hard to be. That was especially true for the man that he assumed was their leader. Mateo had known people like him before, hungry for power no matter the cost. He didn't ask many questions, for at this point he just wanted their deal to be over and done with. Despite how uneasy they made him, he couldn't back out now. They were the ones that had approached him, after all.

And even if he could refuse them, it wouldn't have made much of a difference. The world had been changed forever. Much of his family and friends were either dead or scattered around the world due to the mass evacuations held just mere months before. He hated remembering it, how he could have been there for his family.

He had happened to be out at sea when Rodan woke from his slumber deep beneath the island's volcano, and he had been near enough to witness the drop of a bomb that left the waters lifeless. And during Ghidorah's storm, he had managed to make it to shelter. When it was all over, not many of his old relations were left. But he still had his boat and his fishing gear, even though they hadn't served much of a purpose since then. The island's seas were barren, and all the fish that had been killed during the bomb were poisoned.

But somehow, luck had been with him. He had made a good catch, and the strange men had come to pay him for it. Or they would just kill him and take it without a word.

They didn't look like any of the military folk he had ever seen, but they had a similar air to them. And in his experience, that usually did not bode well. But he had run out of choices, and he couldn't do much other than continue to lead them further down the warehouse.

"It's a brave new world, my friend." he told the leader with the calmest tone he could manage. "Such things as this have become much more valuable since the rise of the king."

The leader said nothing. Mateo swallowed nervously.

"Took nine fishing boats to raise it," he continued. "My men, they don't ask for much. Just enough to help their families."

Finally, he saw the entrance to the room where their prize lay.

"Can't fish here anymore..everything's dead."

As they reached the open warehouse space, he saw his men waiting to the side. They all seemed just as uneasy as him. But not because of the swarm of men behind him, but by the source of the stench of death that permeated throughout the room.

He flipped on the lights, and prayed that it was what they were looking for. His coworkers stepped away from it, recoiling as if it could strike them at any moment.

Even in death, covered in seaweed and barnacles, his once golden scales dulled by decay, Ghidorah's head was still terrifying. He had seen it happen, when Godzilla tore it off with his bare teeth and dropped it in the sea just before the bomb hit. He didn't have the slightest idea as to why these strangers payed him and his men to fish it out, but he knew - vaguely - how much titan parts ran on the market. He refused to dabble in that sort of thing, as something about it made him feel wrong. But evidently, whatever they were planning to do with it, the leader had no such qualms.

The leader stepped into the light, walking so close that he was able to touch the creature. As the white-haired man placed a hand on its slimy, rotting flesh, he stared up at it with an unsettling expression. His eyes were as placid as a lake, almost expressionless, and yet he was smiling. But there was nothing denoting happiness in that smile. It was the sort that his father used to call la sonrisa del diablo.

For the first time since his arrival, the man spoke.

"We'll take it."

[littlebitoffanfic]

Baking

Fandom: Texas Chainsaw Massacre Character: Leatherface, luda, Hoyt, monty Relationship: Leatherface/reader Request: Leatherface x reader where reader Chan is a baker and chef so constantly insists on helping with cooking. Just simple. A.N: apparently I cant do simple. But if you’d like a part two that’s a little more simple (since I’d have an established story). You placed the freshly bakes cupcakes on the windowsill of your home, the aroma filling the house. They looked delicious and smell as divine, which you were glad of, because they hoped they would draw your visitor once again. You had seen him about numerous times. He liked to walk in the woods quite often but always hid his face behind masks. When you first moved into the house, you had been frightened of him. He was a big guy, tall and very muscular, but even in fear you couldn’t help but feel the smallest ping of attraction for him even then. It had all started when you put some mini pies on the windowsill to cool, and you came back to notice one was gone. Slowly, all the things you baked seemed to go missing. Only the ones that there were a quantity of, so big pies, cakes and such stayed intact, putting the idea it was an animal to sleep in your mind. But you soon met you visitor. You had been hiding at the side of the window, waiting for whoever to make an appearance when you saw him. You had planned to confront whoever had been stealing your baked goods, but when you saw it was him, you couldn’t. You had heard rumours about him, that he was a retard and stupid and that he was an animal. The man standing at your kitchen window was an outcast, much like you had been before. He didn’t need someone shouting at him. So you had spoke to him. He had jumped and started to leave when you called him back, telling him it was fine, that you had made them for him and he could take them all, if he wanted. Which he didn’t. he only took one then quickly retreated back to the forest. Slowly, but surely, you developed a kind of friendship with him. He started being you things to ‘trade’ for your baking after you had declined to take money. Jewellery, pictures, books, utensils, you name it. You had also learned his name. Thomas. It had happened because you wanted to know his name, but he never spoke. Whether mute or just the silent type, you still wanted his name. So you wrote down a few names you though he might suite. When he came again, you presented your list to him and ask if any were right. He seemed to pause and you saw his eyes light up, meaning he was smiling under the mask. Grabbing a pen, he circled the name “Tom” which you had written down and scribbled “Thomas” next to it. You still had that piece of paper. You were brought out of your thoughts when you heard a small knock on wood. Turning around, you saw Thomas standing at the window. “hello.” You greeted with a smile, running up to the window to speak to him. You loved having a constant visitor. “This is a new recipe, so I don’t know how they will taste. Will you give me feedback?” You asked, nodding to the cupcakes. Thomas nodded, ever helpful. He placed a book beside the plate which you quickly picked up and recognised the cover. “Oh Ive heard of this one. Its meant to be very good. I cant wait to read it.” You smiled, holding the book to your chest and smiling gratefully. He seemed a little nervous today and you could couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was until he placed a box on the windowsill as well. Frowning slightly, you placed the book down and took the box, opening it up to see meat inside. A red meet that was cut into chunks. “Do you want me to cook this?” You asked, and he seemed relieved that you understood, nodding quickly. “Okay, well, what about in a pie? Or a stew? Do you have any preference?” Thomas thought for a moment, before holding up one finger, meaning the first open. “Pie it is. When do you want if for?” You asked as you went and put it in the fridge, well awake that it was a warm day. he looked at the clock, which read 12pm, then held up 6 fingers. “6pm tonight?” You confirmed which he nodded to. “Are you having a family dinner?” He nodded, then pointed at the floor. It took you a moment to understand what he was meaning. “You want your family to come here to eat?” You asked, a little confused but he nodded, offering you a apologetic look. “Oh okay. How many are there?” He pointed to himself, then to you, then held up 3 fingers. “Okay, 5 is manageable.” You nod. “is pie with mash potatoes enough?” He nods, his eyes smiling at how quickly you had understood him. Even his own family weren’t always able to understand what he was trying to say. He took the cupcakes and left. --------------time skip------------ Glancing at the time, you brushed a stray hair out of your face. It was 5.50pm, only ten minutes before Thomas and his family arrived. You weren’t sure why you were meeting his family. Maybe they had asked about you, did they know of all the baked good Thomas got from you? Going back to the stove, you turned the heat down but continues to stir the mash, giving it a quick taste test before adding a little more salt. You heard the door bell ring and you quickly wiped your hands on a towel and ran for the door. When you opened it, Thomas was standing at the front, to his right was a man in a sheriffs uniforms, his face showing that of a man who had lived a hard life. There was a woman beside him, her hair whitish grey and she was a healthy pump woman with an obvious sense of self pride shown by the ironed flowered dress with pearls around her neck. To Thomas’ left was a man very similar to the one in the sheriffs uniform in age but not in style. He wore dungarees that hung loosely over his slim shoulders. He seemed to have a permanent slouch. So this was them. The Hewitts. “Please, come in.” You smiled, stepping back and gesturing into your hallway while holding the door open. “Thank you dear.” The woman said as she stepped in first before all the men. She ran the house, you knew it. But she spoke with such warmth to you without even knowing you. The men muttered thanks as they past you and Thomas smiled. He seemed to have got dressed up, with a clean red shirt and pressed trousers. you showed them into the dining room which had a table with placements already set up for 5v guests. You decided it was best to introduce yourself to the woman first. “My names [y/n] [l/n].” you smiled as you spoke to her, which she returned. “Luda mae, sweetie. And this is my brother, Hoyt, this is uncle Monty and I believe you have met my son already.” She pointed to each member as she spoke. “Thomas? Yes, I know him.” You smiled, nodding as you tried to remember the two mens names. “How do you know his name?” She asked, perplexed. So he must be permanently mute. “Oh, I wanted to know it so I wrote down some names I thought matched him on a piece of paper. I wasn’t far wrong.” You smiled as you moved to a small desk in the corner and pulled out the paper, offering it to her. She smiled as she looked at the writing on it. “Well dear, aint that sweet. Look.” She showed Hoyt, who frowned and eyed you up and down. He was obviously a man who didn’t trust easily. “If you’d like to take a seat. Dinner wont be a moment. Theres no seating arrangements so just wherever you feel comfortable. And theres wine, soft drinks and water on that table.” You pointed to a small side table you normally kept photos on but was now a drinks bar. “Got any beers, doll?” Monty asked, earning a elbow to the ribs from Luda. But you answered before she could chastise him. “Oh yes! Sorry, I forgot. Let me just grab them. Is Budweiser okay?” You scolded yourself for forgetting beers. “My favourite.” He smiled at you and you knew you had him on your side. Escaping into the kitchen, you let out a sigh of relief. They seemed like a lovely family, but tonight was going to be a long night. Pulling out the pie, you smiled at how perfect it looked. It was like a pie from a commercial. The top was a beautiful colour and it was crispy. Plating up, you tried to give everyone an even amount of pie and mash. You also poured some of the gravy into a container to place on the table for anyone who wants gravy on their mash or extra. Taking a deep breath, you picked up one plate in your right hand and placed another on your forearm like waitresses do, Lifting up a third plate, you made your way into the dining room. The family sat at either side of the table, leaving you with the head of the table. You were surprised, since you expected either hoyt or luda to take the top but you didn’t say anything. Luda would be on your right and Thomas on your left, with Monty sitting beside Luda and Hoyt beside Thomas. “Smells delicious, dear.” Luda smiled as you placed a plate in front of her. You got similar comments from Hoyt and Monty before you went to get yours and Thomas’ food. Once again, you took two plates on one arm and used your free hand to the gravy. “Will you say grace?” You asked Luda as you placed your plate and his down. She smiled widely before ducking her head. You mirrored the rest of the family as she spoke, keeping your head down until she finished. The first few moments were torturous as you waited for their verdict, but soon the hum of satisfied taste buds filled the room, making you let out a sign of relief. The rest of the meal was spend with idle chit chat. Luda asked you about your life, your hobbies, what you had done before moving to the little cottage. You asked her about her dress, about how long she had been here and about the family. Hoyt and Monty only offered some conversations, but spent the whole time stuffing their faces. Thomas might have done the same, except for the mask her still wore, which meant the mouth hole was a little more difficult to shovel food into. You wondered if he ate with his mask on all the time or if it was just since you were here. “Well, I don’t think ive ever tasted the meat that tender.” Hoyt smiled as he leaned back, his stomach full and his plate empty. “Yes, human meat is a little tough but I find if you marinate it for a couple of hours in the gravy, it really makes the dish.” You spoke nonclonally, not looking up from your plate as you cut up some meat and ate it. You felt four sets of eyes on you as you looked up. You couldn’t help but smirk at their horrified faces. Not because it was human. But because you knew. “How?!” Hoyt demanded, his anger not taking you by surprise. “Ive worked in many places, with many people. I have some… strange friends who make and sell the best chili you’ve ever tasted.” You shrugged, placing down your cutlery. “I honestly don’t mind. I know how hard it is to make a living out here and I know how dangerous a lot of travellers are.” If they hadn’t been surprised, they were now. “You aint real.” Monty piped up. “No way Thommy found a girl who cooks well and is fine with all this.” you saw Thomas’ head snap to his uncle, giving him a dirty look but you shrug, unable to hold back the smile. “Hey, I keep myself to myself mostly. But its good to have people you can trust.” You look at Monty, seeing a smile pull at his lips. “hot damn.” Hoyt laughed loudly, making everyone jump slightly. “Is everyone finished?” You asked, steering the conversation momentarily away from the topic. You didn’t really need to ask. All the plates were empty and Luda had placed her cutlery down last. Gathering up the plates, you went into the kitchen to give them some privacy. But you crept closer to the door to eavesdrop. “Shes good. We could use someone out this way. You know how they all run for the meat factory. Well, shes smack dap in the middle of us and the factory.” Monty said in a hushed voice. “But its another mouth to feed.” Hoyt hissed. There was a moment of silence. “Thomas is right. Shes stocked up here. She obviously get some stuff in from outside the town. I don’t think she would be any bother. Plus it would be nice to have someone around that’s Tommys age. He obviously likes her.” Luda was a little louder than Monty, but she seemed to smile at the end. You couldn’t help your own smile at the thought of the gentle giant having feelings for you, even if only as a friend. You decided now was the best time to go back, so you scooped up the pudding and plates before entering. “I hope you left room for dessert. Its a Victoria sponge cake with cream.” You smiled as you placed the large cake in the centre of the table. “Would you like to cut?” You offered Hoyt the knife. A tactical move. Even though Luda seemed to have the last word, he was the face. He was the one who would appear to be in charge and liked that. Smirking, he got to his feet and cut the cake directly down the middle then attempted to cut it from there, only to be scolded by Luda. “God sake, don’t cut it like that!” She got to her feet, elbowing him out of the way and taking the knife right out of his hand. “Damn woman.” Hoyt hissed as he dropped back into his chair. You had to cover your mouth to stop you from laughing. You could really tell they were brother and sister. Some things just never changed. Glancing to the side, you saw Thomas was looking at you. You could tell he was smiling under his mask and you lowered your hand to show your smile. Soon, there was cake being passed around, everyone drizzled theirs with some cream and you smiled at how the family didn’t treat you any difference once they knew you knew. As before, no one really spoke during dessert although moans of delight filled the room on the first bite. “I must bring Henrietta and Katy to you.” Luda suddenly said. “They are very fond of high tea and these cakes are to die for.” “Are they relatives?” You asked, purely out of curiosity. “Yes, cousins actually. Oh and Henriettas about your age. Might be nice for you to have people your own age about.” Luda nodded as she took another bite. She wasn’t wrong. You adored Thomas and his company, but being able to have a conversation with someone both ways was something you missed. Once everyone was done, you raised from your chair to clear the plates away and saw Thomas mirror you. You couldn’t help but smile softly as you collected the plates and he took the cutlery and left over cake and followed you into the kitchen. “I cut off some for you and your family to take home.” You called to him over your shoulder as you set everything down. Your kitchen looked like a bomb had hit it but you didn’t mind. You would happily clean it later. Letting out a yawn, you couldn’t help but stretch. You heard Thomas move closer to you and placing a hand on your back, silent asking if you were okay. “Yeah, just a busy night. I think im going to watch a movie later so I kinda want to stay up.” You tell him, smiling at the contact. He tilts his head ot the side and you understood what he meant. “I was going to watch Saw.” You tell him but he shakes his head out of confusion. “You haven’t seen it? it’s a body horror movie. Theres 6 in total. I was going to marathon them for the next few day. Do you want to join me?” Thomas nodded his head vigorously, seeming excited by the invitation. You couldn’t help but smirk a little. The problem was that you were too good at reading Thomas. You knew he hadn’t just wanted his family to taste your cooking, he wanted them to meet you. By the way they spoke, they knew about you and Thomas seemed to have communicated a desire to keep you around. A man in his late twenties doesn’t just look for female company for friendship only, nor do they introduce them to their family for friendship. Thomas was a big man, he towered over any person and especially you, but he never intimidated you. If he really wanted, he could had forced you to do anything he wanted a long time ago. But he hadn’t. He had gotten to know you, he had listened to you and brought you things. Maybe he had got the ideas from old movie. Like a courtship. Not that you minded at all. He was a very attractive man, even with his skin issues. And you didn’t care about that at all. He was sweet, a gentle giant. You could easily fall completely in love with him. And maybe you already had. the two of you made your way back to the family. You gave them two large tins stacked on top of each other, one with the left over pie and the other with half the left over cake. “Thanks, dearie.” Luda smiled. You could tell she wanted to stay longer but Monty and Hoyt were anxious to get home to bed. It was dark out and nearly 10pm by the time they made their way to the door. Each told you it was nice to meet you and you returned the compliment. They didn’t question when Thomas didn’t follow them out, although you saw Hoyt send Monty a smirk and wink. Closing the door, you let out a sign of relief. “That went well.” You commented, seeing Thomas nod made you relax more because it meant it really did go well. Taking him by the hand, you guided him into the living room and pulled him down onto the sofa. Thomas followed you like puppy and once he was sitting, you cuddled into him as you switched the tv on. Thomas didn’t start to relax until a little into the movie when he wrapped his arms around your shoulder then tensed. Until you cuddled into him a little more, resting your head on his chest. You also told him that the couch had a reline function so he was able to put his feet up which you lay on the rest of the couch. Towards the end of the movie, you thought you would try something. Closing your eyes, you pretend to be asleep as the movie came to an end. You felt Thomas lean forward firs to sit up and then, once you didn’t move, to look at your face. He hesitated for a moment, before leaning back and reaching for something. You felt something drape over you and you knew it was the soft throw that had been lying over the top of the sofa. He covered you up then leaned backwards, seeming to settle down for the night. With his arms around you, he seemed so comfortable and at peace. Looking up at him, you felt him jump a little at realising you had woke up. But you pushed yourself up to press a chase kiss to his lips before ducking back down, hoping he would allow you to sleep here for the night. Which he did, in exchange for a few kisses in the morning.

[nerdylittoyvoid]

“Fall Risk” Pt. II

A/N: Hello again friends, I am back with another part for @writinginstability‘s writing challenge! I had way too much fun with this part so I hope you all like it, lemme know if my obscene sense of humor is making this work or not :)

Warnings: Swearing (Gavin’s always making this fun for everyone)

Y/N woke up to bright lights taking over her vision. She heard the steady beating of a machine beside her and the IV machine administering fluids. Looking down, she saw long IV tubes coming from her left hand, and a bandage cast on her right. How she landed up here was beyond her, the last thing she remembered was getting out of the car, grabbing Connor by the arm and running.

Looking to her left, she saw Connor sitting at her bedside. His eyes were closed, though you knew enough about androids to know that he was probably making repairs or updates on his software. His brown curls were disheveled and his tie undone – something that has never happened. The guy took every chance he got to make sure his appearance was up to par, seeing him in this state only alarmed her further.

“Connor?” Y/N asked timidly. Her mind was running wild at what could have possibly happened. She remembered nothing. Connor stirred, she supposed he simply was not interested enough to respond. He certainly was starting to develop selective hearing.

Taking in a breath, she tried again.  “Connor!” Connor’s eyes snapped open, moving to look her in the face. “Why am I here?”

For the first time, Y/N heard Connor chuckle. It was truly music to her ears and somehow was incredibly comforting. At least someone (even if it was an android) found humor in this situation.  

Connor opened his eyes and took a look at Y/N. She had scratches down the right side of her face, and was a bit bruised all down her right shoulder. “Well, Y/N, let’s just say that you aren’t allowed around trees or benches anymore.” 

Shaking his head, Connor gave Y/N a smirk.

“What?” Y/N demanded, clearly shocked. “I know I’m clumsy but how the hell did mess myself up like this? Did I break a bench?” Y/N’s eyes widened at her next thought. “Is the bench okay?”

Connor rested his index finger and thumb on the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. Something about the way she was acting, showing more concern over an inanimate object than her well being was… endearing? Yes, that might be the word for it. “Well, you grabbed my arm and started running towards a nearby park. You wanted to show me what it is to be ‘alive’ and subsequently tripped over a tree root and hit your head on the bench beside the tree.”

“Oh my god- “

“I appreciate your effort on showing me what deviancy has to offer. But, even though I am not as fragile as humans, I’ll pass.”

“No, no Connor. I just fell that wasn’t a demonstration of anything- “

“I called Gavin and Hank and explained what happened. I assumed it would be best to have those who know you well to be there during your recovery. I also contacted Captain Fowler to notify him that you will be taking time off of work to recover.”

“Connor, you shouldn’t have done that.”

Right before you could begin scolding him in walked Gavin. Wearing his typical leather jacket and jeans, he stopped in his tracks to look at Y/N, only to burst into condescending laughter.

“Well, well, well.” Gavin tutted while crossing his arms. “If it isn’t our favourite tree kicker.”

“Gavin, kindly shut the fuck up.” Y/N retorted. She groaned as a headache came upon her. Gavin, after all, did have that effect on people.

Hank walked in after Y/N and Gavin’s little exchange with a look of amusement adorning his face. “never a dull moment eh, Pinky” You groaned at the use of your adolescent nickname. All because you dyed your hair pink when you were sixteen, and now you’d never live it down.

“I hate all of you.” Y/N crossed her arms. She had a roaring headache, was most likely concussed and now she had another story that was going to be told at her wedding.

“I’m sure that both that tree and that bench could say the same about you.” Connor sassed back. This little quip of his made the entire room go silent, he was usually so literal. Connor joking was almost unheard of.

Gavin was the first the break the silence. “So, the plastic prick now knows how to joke.” He scoffed.

The visit continued as follows: Everybody made fun of you. That was it. It was about an hour into the visit that your arm started killing you, so the nurse topped you up on morphine. Gavin wasted no time in gaining footage of you high on painkillers for “blackmail purposes”.

After another hour, you were asleep. Gavin had returned to the DPD, which only left Hank and Connor.

Hank turned to Connor, seeing his LED blinking yellow once again and a frown etched onto his features. The damned LED always seemed to be yellow these days.

“What’re you thinking about, Connor?”

“Y/N got hurt trying to convince me that being deviant would result in a better quality of life. That I am alive. Why would she do something so foolish?” Connor’s gaze moved to her face. Scratches adorned it. He wondered if they would lead to scarring.

“She’s always been cartoon-ishly optimistic, sometimes naïve. I wouldn’t beat yourself up about it, Connor. If I know her well enough, she isn’t anything close to upset with you.”

Connor nodded. What was this heaviness he felt in his chest? Sadness, Guilt? Was it both? Was it even possible to feel more than one emotion in one sitting? “It’s not that I’m concerned about her being upset,” Connor lied, “it’s merely that she is such a great asset to our investigation, it’d hinder it by having her off work recovering.”

“Whatever lets you sleep at night, Connor.”

“I don’t sleep, lieutenant.”

Hank rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Whatever. When you can, look up what sarcasm means.”

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

Y/N returned home a couple nights later. She was instructed by doctors to periodically take her pain medication to aid with her concussion and arm, as well as to stay away from lights and digital screens. Connor insisted on staying home with her for the first day that she was released, insisting that “The best detective at the DPD needed to come back fully recovered”.

Y/N blushed, poking fun at his attempt of flattery. “Connor, you, a machine that cannot feel made a personal compliment?” Y/N walked into her kitchen with Connor following suit.

Connor responded in a hushed tone, aware that loud sounds could cause her to experience pain due to her concussion. “It wasn’t a display of romantic or platonic feelings. It was merely a fact.” Connor stated. Somehow, he felt flustered, as if he was trying to convince himself more than Y/N of the former.

“Whatever- “

Connor cut Y/N off, “-helps you sleep at night? Hank noted that phrase as sarcasm while you were sleeping in the hospital last night. He told me to look it up.”

Y/N laughed at this, then winced at the loud sound as it had caused her head to throb.

Connor continued, “I took the liberty in looking up and beginning to master all figures of speech. I hope that it will help me better integrate with humans.”

Y/N turned around and flashed him a grin. With a joking tone Y/N retorted, “Stupid nerd.”

“An insult and an oxymoron all in one. Most impressive.” Connor said as he put a hand on his hip, using his other hand to lean on the kitchen counter.

“You’ve done too much research on sarcasm and sass. I don’t need another version of Hank at the DPD. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to play a video game from my childhood.” Y/N grabbed a Pepsi the fridge and walked to the living room.

“The doctor instructed not to be in front of any screens for the next 24 hours- “

“The doctor can kiss my ass, I spent 48 asleep in the hospital room. I’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, head injuries are just a result of the brain smacking against the inside of the skull.”

Y/N chuckled at what she thought was Connor’s attempt at a euphemism. She thought he was becoming more and more deviant by each day.

She grabbed the controller for her old PS4, now considered a classic. She remembered her parents telling her about how they used to play this all the time before she was born, passing the hobby onto her when she was old enough. Oh, where had the time gone.

Connor scanned the controller, searching the internet to see what console it could belong to. “That console is 25 years old!” Connor had exclaimed for the first time, fascinated by the old technology.

“It is! My favourite game on it is Skyrim. Its in medieval sort of time setting on a planet with magic.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Fascinating.” He muttered.

“You want to watch me play it? I can start a new character so you can watch the storyline from the beginning?” Y/N offered.

“I think I’d,” Connor paused. He’d never been in a situation where he’d like to do something. “enjoy that, very much so.”

Y/N looked shocked at his choice of words. He was developing likes and dislikes, seemingly growing out of his aloof and uninterested behavior. “Well,” Y/N began with a growing smile on her face, “Let’s get started!”

Connor and Y/N played for hours; Connor fascinated by how such old technology seemed to impressive and new to him, and Y/N fascinated by the look of pure wonder on his face. For once since Connor became activated, he was not focused on a mission, for his only task seemed to “just be” with Y/N.

A ‘system instability’ alert came up in Connor’s vision. He quickly ignored it. He felt that since his purpose for being here was serious enough (solving deviant cases and all), he might as well enjoy himself every now and then.

The conversation started to die down. Connor felt this was awkward as he thoroughly enjoyed talking with Y/N. He tried thinking of conversation starters but was stumped, he’d never been in this type of predicament before.

Connor resorted to searching the internet (since he had it built in to his program).

“Conversation starters”: 15 000 000 000 results.

Connor chose the first link he saw: “Good questions to get to know someone”

Reading through the list, he finally decided on a couple questions he felt would be best. With that, he cleared up his throat and began speaking.

“Y/N?” Connor asked.

“What’s up?” Y/N responded while taking a sip of her Pepsi.

Connor turned to Y/N, meeting her eyes. “Are there any recent or interesting events pertaining to your love life?” Connor inquired, tilting his head.

Y/N choked on her drink in response to the randomly personal question.

“Where the heck did that come from?”

“I searched the internet through my system on questions to start conversation, this seemed like the one that would produce the most reaction.”

“You got that right, why would you ask about my love life?”

Connor shrugged. “It seems like the subject humans are most passionate about. Talking, commenting on, or joking about their love life is very common in social culture.”

Y/N sighed, contemplating asking this question. If she kept the person- no, android she had her eyes on very vague, he wouldn’t find out, right?

She took another sip from her Pepsi, paused the game and turned to Connor. She positioned herself to be sitting cross-legged with her back against the arm rest of the couch. “What the hell, I’ll tell you. I do have my eye on this one person, though he’s very... unattainable.”

Connor nodded slowly. “Would you consider- “ Connor stopped, thinking of the term commonly used for mutually partaking in romantic activities.

“Asking him out?” Y/N asked, trying to finish Connor’s thought.

“Yes, that.”

“Well… No, I don’t think so. The risks are too high. Others would strongly disapprove and the relationship itself would be very complicated.”

Connor processed her answer and continued to pry, now very curious on who this mystery person was. The bubbling in his chest and stomach seemed overwhelming. Imagining someone else spending time with Y/N like he was, causing him to be with her less made this sensation worse. Maybe this is what jealousy felt like. “Are those the reasons, or is it really because you’re scared of being turned down?”

Y/N stopped, surprised by his next question. “You’re getting really good at this ‘asking questions’ thing, aren’t you?”

Connor shrugged.

“Yes. Mainly I am scared of being turned down.” Y/N admitted. “But the repercussions outside of that are very risky.”

“Y/N Y/L/N, the girl who has been playing video games for 4 hours after getting discharged from the hospital is afraid of risk.” Connor said sarcastically. He smirked at her when she rolled her eyes, amused at her reaction.

“I guess I’m more scared of rejection than brain injury.” Y/N joked. Hearing Connor slowly trying to get her to pursue a relationship with… well, him, was starting to make her uncomfortable. The smile she has put on her face slowly disappeared, leaving a frustrated and confused look on her face.

“I don’t know what to do, Connor.” Y/N sighed, defeated.

Connor felt the need to do something – no, anything to help Y/N. Feeling the need to ask for consent, he asked Y/N if she needed comfort.

“I know that humans enjoy physical interaction when faced with hard situations, I thought it may help.”

“That would be really nice, Connor.” Y/N gave him a warm grin, moving towards him.

Connor opened his arms, Y/N graciously taking the offer. She ended up with her head on his chest, listening to the sound of his thirium pump. The beating seemed to accelerate when she wrapped her arms around him.

“Strange,” Y/N thought to herself, “I thought androids didn’t experience physiological symptoms.” Y/N made a note to herself to ask Connor later, not wanting to ruin the moment.  

Y/N looked up to Connor, taking in his warm, brown orbs. She sighed contently. “Thank you, Connor. Truly.”

Connor didn’t say anything, going for a calm smile in return. They stayed there for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. They didn’t say anything, for the silence surrounding them was calm.

It was as if everything was acting organically. Sensing the heat of the moment, Y/N was the first to lean in the slightest bit, Connor doing the same.

Connor’s pump accelerated considerably, a ‘signal instability’ alert popping up in his vision. He couldn’t help but think to himself; “Is this the right thing to do?”

Taglist: 

@layinglonely

[emhoardsbooks]

behind the curtains

Remus and Sirius don’t know what’s developing between them. It takes sharing a bed to set them down the path of understanding what their feelings really are.

read ch. 1 on AO3 // read this ch. on AO3

CHAPTER SIX

i.

Remus spent almost the entire summer at the Potters’. His parents didn’t seem to mind. Honestly, he thought his mother was a little relieved not to have to deal with his little problem. He didn’t blame her.

Instead he spent the long summer days exploring muggle towns with the boys and Lily, getting ice cream floats and catching fireflies. Merlin it sounded so lame, but they knew this was their last summer of freedom before the real world. And as it stood the real world didn’t look so exciting to be a part of at that moment.

He and Lily would stay up late at night, whispering about what it’s like to have muggle parents, and wondering if they’d still have some of the same friends when they returned to Hogwarts.

Remus didn’t mind when he wasn’t chosen as Head Boy.

Things already felt hard enough without the added stress and besides, now he would have more time to spend with Sirius.

He rested his head on his boyfriend’s—it was still so weird calling him that and yet, it felt oh so right—shoulder as the train sped closer to Hogwarts. He would have to leave soon to attend the prefect meeting, but for now he would stay here, happy and content.

Sirius pressed a kiss to his forehead and they sped on toward their final year at Hogwarts.

Toward one final year of bliss. Before the pain of a war would tear them all apart.

ii.

The first month of school went by faster than ever and Sirius was happy it was finally a Hogsmeade weekend. He and Remus had decided that they would stay in, sleep late and take advantage of an empty dorm room.

They had yet to go all the way—as Peter called it, complete with eyebrow waggling. But oh how Sirius longed to. He thought maybe with the others gone to Hogsmeade for the day, this could finally be their chance.

He pressed a kiss to Remus’s bare shoulder, relishing the softness of his skin against his lips. Remus turned his head and smiled at him, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Sirius loved that look.

“Morning,” he said.

“Not quite. I think it’s already noon,” Remus groaned as he stretched.

“What can I say, I like being in bed with you for as long as possible.” They hadn’t spent a night apart since returning to Hogwarts. Even after the last full moon, Sirius had snuck into the hospital wing and stayed with him. Remus had been so pale, so tired, and still he had been cracking wise ass jokes so good Sirius’ sides ached with laughter the entire time.

Remus rolled on top of him suddenly and Sirius gasped. The mischievous smile on his boyfriend’s face sent shivers down his spine and he curled his hands into the waist of Remus’ pants, pulling him closer.

“I can think of some things that would keep us in bed even longer,” Remus whispered into his ear. Sirius’ back arched as Remus began kissing that spot on his neck. His hold beneath Remus’ pants to the bare skin of his hips and tightened. Remus knew what that spot did to him. It drove him crazy with pleasure but it also tickled.

“Enough,” he hissed before twisting his head to capture Remus’ mouth with his own.

Sirius often felt like snogging Remus was like drinking firewhiskey. It was warmth and pleasure and he couldn’t get enough of it.

The curtains on their bed were yanked back suddenly and they nearly jumped apart. They were comfortable with James and Peter catching them occasionally after they had been officially been together for nearly five months now. It was just bound to happen. But still some warning would’ve been bloody nice.

Sirius glared up at James, assuming he was about to hear once again about how James was worried about making a move on Lily. Instead his friend’s face was serious. That made him pause and he propped himself up on his elbows.

“What is it, mate?”

“Both of you get dressed, we’re having a meeting up here in ten.”

Then he was gone, leaving Sirius and Remus to ponder what was going on.

It better be bloody good for interrupting us.

iii.

Remus lay in his bed that night, mind reeling from what they had learned that day. After he and Sirius had dressed, James came back with not only Peter and Lily, but Marlene and Mary too. It had been odd, seeing all the girls in their dorm. He thought he noticed James looking between his mess of a corner and Lily nervously and found brief amusement in it.

Then Marlene shared the information she had with them.

“I’m good friends with Frank Longbottom, he used to help me with my herbology assignments,” she started. “We haven’t seen each other since he graduated last year so we met up for coffee in Hogsmeade this morning. He told me he’s joining an organization to fight You Know Who. When I found Lily and James and told them about it, they thought we should all meet here to talk.”

“It’s called the Order of the Phoenix,” Lily chimed in, “Dumbledore runs it.”

“Who else would,” James said.

The seven of them had talked about it for hours. What was happening outside of Hogwarts, what it might mean to join the Order. Whether Dumbledore would even let them join. It was a lot to take in. Remus wanted to fight, he really did, but a cold nervous fear had settled in his chest. What would it be like to fight a war with his condition? He didn’t voice his fears, even though he could feel Sirius’ increasingly concerned stare the entire time they talked.

Remus was still staring at the canopy above him when Sirius finally slipped into bed. He knew instantly from the way Sirius wrapped his arms tightly around him and pressed his face into his hair, inhaling deeply, that Sirius had decided to join.

“Remus, I—”

“No, don’t talk about it right now. Just sleep with me.”

So they did.

iv.

They didn’t talk about it again. Sirius thought maybe they would talk about it on Halloween. Or even on his birthday for Merlin’s sake. But Remus remained quiet about the Order, always walking away whenever any of them brought it up. It was driving him crazy.

The night before they left for Christmas break, Remus slipped into bed with a sigh and wrapped Sirius up in his arms. Sirius’ agitation nearly faded away as Remus kissed him and lazily ran his hands up and down his back.

They had had sex for the first time on Sirius’ birthday. It was kind of cheesy, he thought, but finally letting themselves belong completely to each other was the best birthday gift he had ever had.

He could tell Remus wanted it tonight by the way his teeth tugged at his lower lip and his hand slipped into his pants. And that’s when the realization appeared in Sirius’ head that they both wanted something. If Remus wanted him, Sirius was getting some answers first.

So he snuck his hands between their chests and gently pushed Remus away. The pout on his face was hard to resist but he was determined, dammit.

“I want you to tell me what you’re thinking about the Order,” he said sternly. A cold mask descended over Remus’ face and he rolled onto his back. Sirius thought for a moment that he might just stare at the canopy until he fell asleep and not say a single word.

“It’s going to be different for people like me, Sirius,” Remus said finally.

“For half-bloods? Remus the resistance is full of people like you, Lily is—”

“Monsters like me.”

“Oh.” Remus snorted at Sirius’ pathetic response. Of course that was what this was about, though. It always came down to this. Sirius understood, really he did. But it pained him to see how much Remus could hate himself for being who he was.

“Do you want to fight the Death Eaters?” he asked finally.

“Of course I do, but—”

“Then there’s no buts. We’re all joining the Order when the school year is over and that includes you.”

“I don’t know if it’s going to be that easy for me, Sirius.”

“Nothing will be easy, it’s a bloody war out there.” Sirius drew Remus back to him and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “But we’ll be together. And we’ll have Prongs and Wormtail, and don’t forget about the girls. They’re downright frightening, those Death Eaters should just quit now.”

Remus chuckled and kissed him back. Sirius knew the conversation wasn’t really over yet. But it was enough for now. So he kissed his boyfriend and dreamed about a future together when this war would be just another bad memory.