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jlf23tumble · 2 years

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Hi! I haven’t been up to date with fandom drama in a few years since I haven’t been active on tumblr, but I read your tags under the ripped jeans Harry post and you got me interested! Could you tell me something about what you’re thinking? What is Olivia doing that you think people should be happy about but are instead whining? what did Robbie Sheffield write? I may have left the larry part of the internet but they still haven’t left my brain 🌼🌞 have a nice day!

anon 2: Hiii :) I saw your tags on the post about Harry wearing jeans but I don’t understand the context for your tags??? I couldn’t find the post/person you were referring to, but could you please explain what you mean regarding this fandom being babies and the whole Olivia proxy/last album being about a break up ect.? Thank you!

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Lumping these together because they're both about my salty-ish tags from last night, a time that was so much quieter than today, weeeee! Sorry it's a bit late, *gestures toward work mail*, but it pretty much always applies, sigh. Those tags stem from some "get a load of THIS horseshit" posts that my brethren and I occasionally trade with each other, usually because we cannot BELIEVE people have the balls to post some of the most malicious, bitter posts you've ever seen, followed by something about how sad it is that fandom is so toxic these days (gotta say, eternal faves). I love these side convos (groupchats, even!) with people who similarly hate the aggressive misogyny in the 1D fandom, and because I follow just a small handful of people in that fandom who don't actively hate women (or feel the need to casually bash them along the way to celebrating their fave rich white man), I'm sometimes out of the loop when the biggies who tend to also be the worst offenders get a little frisky with it, which is why I love it when people send me posts that are the equivalent of "get a load of THIS horseshit"--the lorde provided yesterday! I'll put my unpopular opinions under the cut because it might get rant-y, and I've got tons of aes mutuals who are ????? and patient but probably ???? and patient only to a certain point.

So one of the things I find fascinating about lady-haters in the D fandom is that the vast majority of them seem to be l*rries who also seem to really love spending a lot of time and effort screaming about Eleanor, Camille, Olivia et al. about how they should act and what they should wear and how they should dance or not dance and how obnoxious they are and on and on and on AND ON, while ALSO screaming about how much they support closeted people, hashtag fuck Olivia, man, she's the real villain here! (Paraphrasing, but the #holivia tag on tumblr will give you a pretty nasty snapshot.) And the irony is that by dating Olivia or Eleanor, both these dudes get to write all these songs about a surface relationship that give a good hint about the one right below the surface through that female proxy--you know, because they aren't actually out and can't/won't. And if you're a l*rrie, I'd think you would WANT to see Eleanor around (whew, they didn't break up, even though they were "too young"!), ditto Olivia (whew, I'm ready for a lot of domestic shit about a long-term relationship!), but no, that's a transitive property dot that can't be connected because it means you gotta unclench and let a woman live. To wit: I was sent a post yesterday from one of the biggest lady-haters, saying something something about how Harry's going to have this super domestic album and THEY are taking l*arry's love and putting Olivia in Louis’s place! Outrageous! (Plus a string of tags foaming at the mouth about how awful Olivia is, don't worry, the replies/tags are even bigger yikes.) And it's like, well, YEAH. You should actually find that pretty awesome, in fact, it probably means your faves are still together--I mean, Fine Line has loads of major break-up vibes (in amongst self-discovery and acceptance), and Harry very publicly had a breakup with Louis's proxy on that one. Rob Sheffield's article promoting Fine Line basically promotes that break-up and ends on a real fucking OUCH moment where Harry and Anne are watching Fleetwood Mac singing Landslide, and he's mc-fuckin' losin' it, Anne's there comforting him, and if you're thinking that that moment is about Camille Rowe, uh, you ain't me, babe. (Clapback too for Rob being the one to write the iconic Louis is Lindsey, Harry is Stevie piece). Again, just my own onion, I tend to be okay holding more than one string in my hand (these two CAN break up and get back together, don't even get me started on babygate brainrot talk).

But I think my biggest issue with all of it is that for a lot of l*rries, you gotta be gold star or you're out (literally true in so many groupchats and discords): they've each only fucked one person, they've never broken up, never had a major fight, it's never been messy, never been open, listen, you bitch, they fought against the odds, and they won! And I don't doubt that they did, but this isn't AO3, so I also don't doubt that they might've fucked other people, broken up and gotten back together again, had some real messy stuff, most likely around being in an open relationship for a spell and dealing with unspeakable personal tragedy, in amongst regular human growth and discovery. That doesn't make them bad people, it doesn't mean they aren't back together (and it doesn't even mean I'm right, I'm just a rando who has my own opinions about people I don't personally know, just like everyone else), but there's this fandom naivety about it, big-time fingers in ears la-la-la-la, where you're a bad person for even thinking it, so any cognitive dissonance just gets transferred to the woman involved, woman = bad (I'm simplifying, maybe it's bigger than that, but it's interesting to see how some blogs can't fucking shut about it, whereas others go about their biz--blogs in larr nation, I mean). And that's totally baby behavior, well, toddler behavior. I think a lot of babies can actually go with the flow, it's toddlers who melt down if someone moves their blankie.

Anyway, I'm wandering away from my point, which is that bearding isn't a fucking crime, especially if you claim to support your fave (or for that matter, anyone in the closet--it's what it's, as Louis's chest so wisely tells us). Your guy doesn't want to be or can't be out right now, and that's fine! Makes sense! Makes a lot of fucking sense, actually, these fans are invasive, bro! I just wish that if people were so worried about the state of the larry union, they'd maybe chill out a bit about the women involved. Maybe stop being an asshole. Maybe stop giving women asinine names because you think it's cute. Maybe stop complaining that someone's a narse because they're always "flaunting" [checks notes] that they're dating the person everyone says they're dating, or thirsting or chasing clout or whatever it is that Olivia does that is so god-awful to you on a personal level that you spend your day focused on it. (My fave: people who say she's forcing her latest ig story on them, when they're the ones following her, pausin' that little story, takin' that little screenshot, adding arrows and circles and text that manages to trash her for botox [but not Harry], trash her for dancing as if she isn't aware that everyone's watching [but not Harry], then reblogging all that garbage nonstop--it ain't rocket science, bb, she's not the one putting it anyone's face, you're literally the one following her and doing all this work! Unfollow, and set yourself free!)

Ahem. Anyway, yeah, so that's me, wondering why people spend so much time hating on people who are literally giving you the proof that you seem to need, but shirts work, too, I guess! Harder to hate a shirt, or project your self-hatred onto it, maybe? Makes u think.

#harry styles #probably more info than you wanted lmao #but it really does grind my gears #and i'm honestly so glad i'm not alone in it #i don't have more than a foot in that fandom #and the foot i have there is with people who don't spew that kind of bile #must suck to have that hosepipe in your face all day #unfollowwwwwwwwwwwwww i say

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morganas-pendragons · 4 years

Text

It’s A Long Way Down | D.D.

gif by @bestintheparsec

I was never planning on posting something on Tumblr during No Content November, but this idea has been stuck in my head since I saw Mando 2x03 and on top of that, people kept tweeting ideas on Twitter and now this thing is born... be gentle. I’ve been hesitant to write for him since I started the show last year. I played a little bit with what we know of Din’s past for the sake of this plot.

Without further ado, hurt/comfort galore! 2x03 spoilers!

Please let me know what you think!

tag: @earthtokace / @dindjarindiaries / @kyber-queen

***

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Drowning.” He replies, soft and quiet as he processes the last three days in the midst of the silence. “Almost drowning.. and thinking about how you’d cope when I was gone.”

If I was gone.

Maybe the world would be better off. That’s what Din thinks. That thought lingers for a split second in his mind until he sees the desperation in your aspect and how you need him to understand that this world is a better place with him in it.

The Watch didn’t allow him attachments. They didn’t allow him to feel. He was a warrior.

He was a warrior, and the entrance of you and The Child made his hardened heart soft.

Din has never liked the water.

When he’d been taken in by the Mandalorians and had sworn his Creed, the one thing they had drilled into his mind for his entire childhood was that he was a warrior. Warriors knew how to fight, how to survive, how to endure.

A Warrior who did not dare show his face. This was The Way, and the way kept him safe.

The one thing he could never quite master as a Foundling was enduring the water. To stop the way his lungs seized, how panic overtook him, how he just stopped.

Din didn’t like the water, and Din had never really learned how to breathe.

Then he’d met you. You - the one person he could admit to loving, to admiring from a distance because he has his Creed and you have some kind of Code you live by - and your devotion to both him and The Child has slowly eased the ache in his chest, cracked open his ribs, and taught him a different way of breathing.

Slow, steady, easy. He’s never known life to be that way.

***

There is no Light without the Dark.

Through passion, I gain focus.

You had run across Mando just after the end of the Empire. You’d seen that Death Star explode with your very own eyes and had declared that your final mission with The Rebellion, in which you bid a tearful farewell to Luke and Leia and made your way into the galaxy.

A vast galaxy.. alone.

You and Luke had very differing views on the Jedi Order as a whole and in that difference, you’d taken two different paths. You had followed the Code of the Grey Jedi, and Luke had taken to the Jedi Code.

That Code had carried you through alot of darkness.

Through knowledge, I gain power

Through serenity, I gain strength

The Clone War had introduced you to the concept of Mandalorians. You’d never really had the pleasure to meet one as you’d always been on different fronts a distance from the Dream Team, but you knew of them. You knew they carried a Creed the same way you did.

What you didn’t expect was the extent in which The Mandalorian did. The two of you had met in a cantina only days after he’d taken on The Child, and his claim for knowing where to find you on Sorgan was whispers of a rogue Jedi who’d left the Rebellion to seek peace.

Peace was what you found, contrary to popular belief. Compared to being a part of the Jedi Order, being with The Mandalorian was the most peaceful thing you’d done in over a decade.

Through victory, I gain harmony

You’d been raised around Yoda, so you were familiar with the species, but past that.. You were as clueless as Din was.

You stowed your lightsabers away and that part of your life with it. You left behind the title of Jedi and put all of your efforts into taking care of The Child. Into taking care of Din.

That was easier said then done.

There is only The Force.

***

I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.

That’s all he is thinking as he stands examining the vast waters of the ocean the two of you sail on with the Quarren crew. Your fingers are curled in the direction of The Child’s pram, and he’s giggling as he tries to maintain control of his body while you spin him.

It’s the first time he’s seen you smile in weeks. It’s always small ones too. He looks forward to the first time he’s granted the opportunity to see a real smile.

It had taken you a while to open up to him about your time with the Jedi. You’d barely been a padawan when The Order’s genocide had been in effect, and the greater majority of your life had been lived in fear. Your Code and your Lightsaber were your only guide until Leia had found you and recruited you into The Rebellion.

All your life you’d been looking for a purpose, and she’d given you one.

Being here with The Child - caring for him, teaching him, had given you a new purpose - and being with The Mandalorian had taught you a newfound sense of compassion for people raised as he had been.

Your compassion and heart had won him out in the end. He’d admitted to being in love with you months ago, but he had yet to vocalize it. He would. He will.

It happens so fast. One minute the two of you are smiling - even though you cannot see his own - about The Child’s reaction to the Mamacore, and the next minute you’re roaring with rage as his pram is shoved into the center of the cage and he’s forced to retreat inside for fear of being killed.

He’s a child. A child who’s been too involved in death, in seeing death, in flirting with death.. and Din has had enough of it.

Din Djarin doesn’t like the water. He doesn’t like how it weighs him down, how it threatens to suffocate him, to fill his lungs with something cruel and cold that replaces the warm fire that floods his veins that has been placed there by you.

“You’re-You’re a Jedi?”

“Push him down! Harder!”

His world is illuminated in a flurry of blue light as the Quarren’s keep pushing him down under, down down down and his first thought is ner jeti.. i’m sorry. He’s sorry that he’s again put you in this position where you’ve had to reveal yourself, reveal who you are, and all to protect him and The Child.

Failure.

He’s a failure.

Between you and the trio of Mandalorians that arrive shortly after, the Quarren’s are dealt with in a matter of moments and then he’s being lifted - his lungs are reactivating, are expanding and contracting to remind him that he is alive - and he collapses in the midst of wheezing his concern for the child.

“The Child! Help-Help The Child!”

The Mandalorian on the left dives into the water to rescue The Child from the creature. You turn your attention away from the bodies and sheath your sabers before kneeling in front of Din to assess him.

“The Child-” He rasps, because his thoughts are never on himself, only you and The Child. His life doesn’t matter if it means the two of you are safe. “Jeti, ner ad-”

Jedi, my son.

Your gentle hand on his knee is enough to capture his thoughts. Your way of evaluating Din’s state has never been through the physical sense, but the mental. He doesn’t know how to shield because The Jedi was a foreign concept to him until he met you, and he’s always been receptive to your gentle nature. You don’t need to talk. You never have.

You look.

His mind is a flurry of panic and fear as you gently soothe it into a peace that makes his whole body go lax as Koska breaks the pram shell in half and gently scoops out the baby. “Here you go, Brother.” Koska murmurs, watching from beneath her helmet as you stand to your feet and allow Din to reunite with The Child he claims not to have an attachment to.

Yeah... okay.

Din and Bo-Katan converse - in which he is given an inexplicable truth about himself that he's not quite sure how to process - and he shuts down the idea of them even being real Mandalorians because their way is not his way. It’s a whole new reality he’s never had to face before.

“You are a Child of The Watch.”

And as you stand there, you take in the distress in which the man you love - and have yet to tell - is trying so desperately to hide.

***

His panic bursts through the surface when you unsheathe your sabers in the hall that connects and run right into the line of fire, deflecting blaster bolts left and right so Din can run right past you and blow the door to the bridge right open.

The fight about it comes later, long after the two of you have returned to The Crest for the coordinates to Coravus where Ahsoka Tano is supposedly located. She is a Jedi - or was, once - and might be the only connection you have left to the person you used to be despite how young you had been at the time.

Your first clue to his apparent agitation is the way he hasn’t unclenched his fists and has yet to look at you from where he sits in the cockpit. Your anger is growing steadily at his silence, which has never happened before.. not until you put your life into the line of fire.

“Say it.” Your voice echoes from behind the captain’s seat as you cross your arms over your chest. “Mando-please, stop giving me the kriffing silent treatment and just let me have it.”

“Ner jeti...” He stops short and stands to his feet, practically towering over you in a way that would intimidate most people. He has never once made you feel afraid... but he constantly makes you ache. With want, with pain, with desire. He makes you feel things you haven’t felt since before Order 66. “You cannot do that.”

“Do what?? Save your life? Mando, I’m-”

“Din.” Your rant is cut off halfway as he exhales lowly, a rumble through the modulator, and lifts a helmeted head to meet your gaze. “My name is Din Djarin. I thought it was time you know that.”

Your entire body freezes. You have been a partner, an ally, since the day he’d found you on recruited you to help return The Child to his kind. You have been careful in ensuring that it’s strictly a professional relationship, you never had anticipated this- The intimacy that comes with divulging such a secret as his real name.

“Din?” You rasp, eyes glassy with tears as the air is knocked from your lungs. It rolls off your tongue easily. The sound of his name, his real name, is beautiful. “Wow. It’s... beautiful.”

His response to your affirmation is like watching a galaxy of stars be born in front of your very eyes. He’s so receptive to it.. starved of it.

“I used to forget everything.” Din says. “The people who trained me.. they wanted me to be the best of our clan. There was so much we had to learn. Gun training, hand to hand, the significance of beskar and how important our Beskar’gam was to our safety. I was so good at it. I excelled.. but the one thing I could not shake? The water.

They trained me in the water, jeti. They trained me in the water, to become part of the water... all I could think about was how much it suffocated me. I’m af-” He stops himself short because admitting to a fear is not something he was taught to do, it was bottle it up and compartmentalize in order to get the mission finished. “Afraid of the water because I can’t fight it like I do with a bounty. I can just..”

“Succumb. Sink. Let go.” You murmur. “And that’s not something you know how to do.”

“Yeah.”

You’re oddly intrigued by the fact that this utterly fearless person, this man, was afraid. He’d always struck you as the opposite.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” You ask.

“Nearly drowning.” He replies. “And wondering how you and the ad would cope when I was gone. That’s why I need to tell you.” Din takes another step to close the gap that stands between you both. You’re practically trembling with anticipation. “Thinking about how...”

Din stops. You rest a hand against the exposed skin of his neck and tilt your head as his mind thrums - resonates with the truth of his affection for you - and your lips part in wonder as you realize what he’s trying to tell you.

“Me too.” You whisper. “For a while.. probably since the start. Din, you are a good man. You’ve always been a good man, and I think it’s time that someone puts your needs before themselves instead of the other way around. Please.” Din is slightly taken aback at the pleading tone of your voice as you meet his gaze. “Please let someone take care of you.”

That’s all you can muster before he’s collapsing at your feet.

‘’Take it off.” He begs.

“No, no- Your Creed-”

“Sarad, I want to learn how to breathe again.” He interjects. “This is how I do that. It’s just a faster way of being able to be married to you for the rest of my life.” The man you love is kneeling at your feet and totally willing to abandon part of his livelihood because of you. “There’s nothing I’d want more. Go ahead. Take it off. Please.”

Part of you had always been okay with the anonymity, but as this choice lays just within your fingertips, you find yourself desperate to look upon the face of the man who’d destroy entire galaxies for you and his son.

The Beskar’gam hisses as you remove his helmet and find yourself staring into vulnerable onyx eyes that are wide enough to envelop whole star systems in their splendor.

“Din Djarin.” You whisper, smiling tearfully as trembling hands lift to cup a stubbled jaw. “What a beautiful face to put with an equally beautiful name.”

He exhales his breath on a shuddered sigh and leans into your touch as you begin mapping his face with your fingertips. Din doesn’t dare move, too drunk on the feeling of touch ghosting across his skin in a intimate way that he’s not experienced since his parents left him in that cellar. His face grows warm at how needy he must seem, but you don’t seem bothered by it.

In fact, the way his skin blooms red under your kiss makes your heart swell and your smile widen at the reaction it elicits.

“You know Din, if you wanted me to kiss you.. all you had to do was ask.” You muse. You can read his mind and his body in the same way you read the feel of your lightsaber and the air of a room of hostiles. “Now I don’t know about you, but The Child is asleep and I find myself tired after having to deal with Bo-Katan all day.. can we go to bed?”

“Yes.” He nods once, then twice, allowing you to take his gloves off and lead him in the direction of the tiny cot that somehow manages to house you both. The Beskar’gam comes off one piece at a time until Din is now standing in his usual underclothes which you have not been able to grace yourself with the image of until now as he lays each piece on the floor.

You’re laying flat on your back when he’s finished, arms extended towards the ceiling as you beckon him forward. Din realizes that as he stares at your willingness to be there for him in his most vulnerable moment that he may sleep tonight with no night terrors.

No thoughts of drowning.

“Din Djarin, cyare..” You coo, beaming as he crawls into the bed and allows himself to curl into your body and rest his head on your chest. “I think you should hear it now.” Gentle fingers card through dark curls as he focuses on his breathing - in and out in and out - and listens to the sound of your voice to lull himself to sleep. “I love you.”

He hums thoughtfully and burrows himself deeper into your neck, smiling against the curve of your neck as you lightly graze his temple with your lips. Before Din can properly fall asleep, he rolls himself on top of you and settles himself comfortably against your body. It’s not too heavy, just enough to envelop you in the warmth he radiates.

He’s safe.

You wrap your arms and legs around his form and nuzzle his temple.

Darkness falls upon both of you as Din whispers, “Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” before promptly falling asleep in your capable hands. He’s safe.

Tonight.. he’s not drowning.

Tonight, he breathes.

#Din Djarin #The Mandalorian #Din Djarin x Reader #The Mandalorian x Reader #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fanfiction #star wars imagines #star wars oneshots

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samwritesforyou · 4 years

Text

We’re gonna be okay

Diego x reader

Summary: You and Diego worked out a system for a situation if he ever comes to your place while being in the highest form of distress and needs your help. He assured you it won’t happen often. Until one night, it finally did.

A/N: i feel like i’ve read the whole tumblr dot com worth of diego x reader fanfics and yet i still wanted more, so the desperate need to finally write something myself has been fulfilled. i would actually love to take requests, so if you want, dont hesitate to message/ask me! im ready to write fics and headcanons :) (my blog might seem new but ive been on tumblr for years and years and i finally dedicated a new blog to mostly reader inserts, either my own or reblogging others)

Warnings: Mentions of a panic attack, gender neutral reader

Wordcount: 3,350

There was a knock on the door.

It was pretty late, but not too late for it to be Diego yet.

Or so you thought.

You got up kinda lazily from a comfortable chair you had situated in the corner of a room, at first designed mainly for reading or napping, but ending up doing absolutely whatever you could on the spot. Eating pizza, watching netflix, browsing through the internet after long working hours that you put in into your tiny art selling business.

You slightly opened the door and already plastered a semi-fake smile for a possible neighbor, but in front of you stood Diego.

Your dear friend, who was at the moment soaked from the rain outside, with big eyes, fast breathing and bloody hands.

Bloody hands?!

“Hello to you too, friend!” you said quite worried, quickly patting him down for signs of any physical pain. For the first time in a while he seemed fine, unscarred.

Your eyes finally went up, literally scanning his face but it was completely unreadable.

His eyes were wide and he looked as if he couldn’t comprehend what was going on around him.

You looked down again and took his fists into your hands. His own palms unclenched and you could see that they were heavily bloodied.

“Diego.. whose blood is it?”

No answer.

You rushed him inside and closed the door behind the two of you, facing the damn vigilante again.

“Diego, I need to know who’s blood is on your hands,” your voice grew steadier as you knitted your brows together in worry and confusion.

Only then the guy decided to move his arms and you noticed how shaky he is. He connected his two index fingers in the form of a cross, pressing it to his chest.

Your own eyes went wide now as you stumbled back a few steps and your mind went blank.

You instantly remembered a night that happened a few years back. He has come in crumbling through your window and was obviously in some new form of distress, that you couldn’t quite understand yet.

“Diego?” it seemed like your voice didn’t reach his ears, so you tried calling out his name again, getting up from the couch and patting him lightly on the body, to determine any sign of an injury.

It looked like there was none, so you tried to reach his gaze that was somewhat absentminded, all over the place, scanning everything but not meeting your eyes.

He was a tough guy, and you knew it. You knew that if you want to get answers, you need to either get them yourself or make yourself heard, until he cannot ignore you any longer.

“Diego Hargreeves, what is going on?” your voice was soft yet determined.

His dark orbs finally stopped on your face and he just shook his head, his breathing oddly fast for a man who was just simply standing.

You continued to push. You didn’t have the best day either, and to be interrupted at 1am by his visit was nothing new, but you couldn’t let him have this behaviour. Even though you’re friends, that didn’t automatically mean that he could do whatever he wanted.

Throughout the whole night he didn’t say a thing, but when you started adding volume to your voice, he.. he just broke down.

That night, you’ve witnessed Diego experience a panic attack. Caused by yourself.

You couldn’t fall asleep that night, even after you eventually calmed him down and the only thing that was left to do for you was to watch him sleep and slowly rubbing circles on his exposed arm out of the blanket.

It felt like neons before you noticed a first ray of sunshine drawing from the half-closed curtains, making you spring to your feet and drag your ass to the kitchen, trying to think of what to do for breakfast.

When you figured the recipe out and finished cooking, Diego was already up and joined you near the kitchen counter, next to which you had two stools.

He settled on one of them, looking at you.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” you couldn’t muster anything better, so you just put a plate in front of him and then sat next to his side, simply digging into your portion of scrambled eggs.

“About last night, y/n..” he drifted off, probably at first deciding that it’s better to fill his stomach a little bit.

In the meantime you didn’t dare to speak up and just waited for him to say something, anything.

When he finished his meal, he finally turned to you with a sigh.

“You know that one guy I told you ‘bout? That we.. we do some vigilante shit together from time to time?”

You just nodded, not meeting his eyes.

“Well. I guess I could count him as a close friend. You know.. and,” this was followed by a slight pause and clearing of the throat.

“He died yesterday. I couldn’t save him.”

Your eyes immediately shot up to Diego and all that vulnerability and hurt that you’ve clearly seen yesterday just overtaking him were completely gone. Now present only a strong facade that he mastered whenever he needed to hide from showing emotions. You hated it.

“Shit, Diego..” you spoke quietly and softly, all the words seemed to have left you in all the things unsaid in your throat. But you tried to continue.

“I’m sorry. And I’m also sorry for pushing you over the edge. I.. I didn’t know what happened so I just acted how we would normally do,” he smirked at that, merely for a second, but you still caught it.

“Look, I.. I know, “ he simply said and then it felt as if he was weighting pros and cons of telling you something else that was clearly on his chest.

“You always help me out. Every single night I come to you.. Why do you do it, y/n?” Diego’s eyes were steadily turned your way.

At the sudden question you raised an eyebrow, “well, I.. I care about you.”

He lightly bit his lower lip and turned his gaze away, clearly thinking about something really hard.

“Okay,” he finally said, “y/n, do you think I could ask you for a favour then?”

At that your eyes met and you felt nervous, for some reason.

You really liked him. Not just like a friend. But you understood that there probably won’t be a chance for you two to ever become a couple (mostly considering that you didn’t believe that he could feel about you this way), so you settled for friendship anyways, since you two really got along well.

And having this handsome tough guy as a friend? Damn, just that is already some kind of luck swinging your way.

But your feelings of course meant that.. you’d do more for him than what you’d do just for a friend. You would get out of your comfort zone just to help him with injuries or hear him talk about his girlfriend (at the time, now they were broken up) and how they argued so much that he ended up on the streets and didn’t really want to go to his lonely place at the gym.

And you took him in. You always did. And since the day you became friends you always care for him.

And you’d care now once again.

“What is it?” in your tone danced a question, troubled with what he might ask for.

“Well, yesterday-“ he cut himself from finishing and cleared his throat, starting over.

“I imagine we’re gonna be friends for a long time, right?”

You just pushed your brows up with a small nod in affirmation.

“I never had.. anyone, really, to help me with the states I often got into,” you immediately thought of Eudora, wasn’t his ex-girlfriend supposed to be his support pillar? Or is he just making you feel sorry for him-

“Or I didn’t ever trust anyone that much, you know,” oh, okay, that kind of explains that then.

“And I guess.. I trust you enough? To share this?” he talked quietly and mumbled a lot so you realised soon you won’t be able to hear him at all.

You grabbed his hands with yours and caught his attention this way.

You were never really touchy together, but occasional hugs and even holding hands was kind of a standard for you from time to time.

His eyes met yours again and you cursed yourself for your heartbeat getting faster. This is not an appropriate moment to get butterflies in your stomach, dammit.

“I’m listening, Diego,” you confirmed, nodding again.

“Okay. It’s- it’s just really h-hard to talk about this,” he stuttered a bit, but with the next breath continued again, “When there’s some situation that’s just completely fucked up, like losing someone close to me, or- or somethin’ else, I don’t know.. I finish what I need at the scene where it happened but when I come home I just,” he breathed some air in and you felt his hands squeeze yours a bit tighter, “I just break down, you know? Sometimes it’s just all too much for me and I don’t know how to deal with it and I would just wanna.. someone to hold me, I guess? Otherwise when someone’s trying to talk at me or somethin’ I just get even more worked up and it’s even worse.”

It all started to come together in your mind. Even though it sounded really strange to hear Diego talk about things like.. wanting to be held and shit. But you always guessed there’s a far bigger sweetheart and a soft boy underneath all those harness and knives.

You tried to pick your words carefully.

“So when I started to ask you shit.. You just flipped. Basically because I was talking at you a lot and you couldn’t take it anymore, right?”

He sighed and looked somewhere up, nodding bit by bit.

“Yeah, yep. That was it.”

You clapped at his hands lightly, to bring his focus back again and he looked at you and mustered a sad, faint smile.

You did the same. In the world you lived in, unforeseen and unfortunate events were happening left and right and thinking about his childhood and everything.. no wonders he developed such a huge reaction and coping mechanism to something catastrophic happening.

“That’s okay, Diego. I’m here for you, I mean it. Let’s just talk about some things what I should and shouldn’t do when you come here in that state, alright? I just want you to feel comfortable.”

“Alright. Thank you, y/n,” he was looking down now, the whole morning kinda failing to meet your gaze and just rubbed his thumb across your hand, which send you heart into a race again.

You slowly let go of him, making an excuse to go wash the dishes.

After a while you looked behind you where he sat and said, “We also need some sort of a sign that you can easily show me, since you’re not really talkative when you get like this.”

Apparently he already used said “sign” somewhere, because he had it on the ready.

It was his hands clutching in fists, index fingers crossing each other in a form of a cross, pressed to his chest.

“Something like this. But don’t worry, I don’t think it’ll happen often. That would be really sad,” he laughed a little and then looked at you somewhat longingly and you averted your eyes back to the sink, nodding.

You almost forgot about that and now it all come flooding back.

Something terrible must’ve happened. You were panicking, but you had to stay strong, for him.

He was still standing in your hallway, with a crossed index fingers pressed to his chest.

“Okay, okay..” you mumbled more to yourself than to him, taking his hands into yours and looking him up and down.

He really seemed.. disconnected. It was kind of scary and you tried so hard not to think about what happened. Or about who died.

“Here, come with me, Diego,” you led him by the hand towards your couch as he was holding onto you, but his usual grip was gone.

You both ended up on a sofa and you really didn’t know how to act around him now, because.. he didn’t talk, didn’t look at you but when he did, his eyes were wide and big and he just seemed suddenly like a small boy to you.

Hopefully he won’t remember this tomorrow, you thought and tried to smile a little bit at him.

“Okay. Can you get your hands up for me, baby boy?” You’ve decided to approach this situation as if you were just babysitting an overgrown child.

Because nothing bad happens to children normally, right? And if you kept thinking about him as usual grown man Diego, you’d lose your mind in the process, wanting to scream and shake him by the shoulders until he spills you what happened.

Being Diego’s friend pushed you to new limits each day, truly.

He didn’t bat an eyelid at your tone change and word choosing, just obliging and putting his hands up.

You helped him to get his knives down and put his black turtleneck over his head, so now he sat shirtless right next to you, hands still smeared with blood.

Goddamit the blood!

You took him by the elbows and lead Diego to the bathroom, where you helped to get the red out of his hands. At the sight of blood dripping down into the sink you deciphered a whimper from him, even through the sound of running water and looked up.

Diego couldn’t stop looking down at his hands and tears were running down his cheeks.

You quickly took his face into your wet hands from the water and forced him to look away and lock his gaze with yours.

“Hey, don’t look at it, okay? It’ll only make you stressed. Until I’m done you can just close you eyes, okay?”

“Oh-okay,” he said and just closed his eyes here and there.

You sighed and tried to finish washing his hands as fast as possible, cursing under your breath pretty often.

“I’m sorry..” you heard him mumble and when you looked up, his eyes were still shut.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, right? Don’t worry. You’re safe now,” you smiled as you were already wrapping his hands in a towel and his eyelashes fluttered, eyes opening.

You stayed looking at each other for a second longer than necessary, but then you already lead him away to the bedroom area, where you actually tucked him in, wrapping in a soft blanket and then rushed to the kitchen, grabbing a few cookies and then leaving it on a plate next to him on the night table.

You almost made yourself comfortable on the couch, when he suddenly called out your name from the bed.

You sprung to your feet, thinking he’s actually hurt but you didn’t notice or that- “Can you... stay with me? P-please?” he asked, disrupting your train of thought. You did expect this, but still felt really shy about that.

Diego is vulnerable right now and does need your help and presence though.

And there wouldn’t be anything you wouldn’t do for him.

“Sure,” and after this simple answer you carefully climbed in next to him covering you both with a blanket and he curled up closer to you, almost immediately falling asleep.

From one point of view it felt like you wouldn’t sleep at all tonight, but from the other one.. you actually fell asleep just as fast as he did.

To nobody’s surprise you woke up first and actually flinched at the sight of sleeping Diego inches from your own face.

Your mind went running with ideas what happened and what’s going on until you realised the real deal and your brain caught up to yesterday’s shenanigans.

It was a wild ride and you were thankful that now it’s - most probably - over.

Your eyes were subconsciously scanning his face, until you realised what you’re doing, but you didn’t stop even then.

You’ve never been this close to his face yet and now you could admire and explore every part of it.

Having feelings for a friend that’s laying in the same bed with you at the moment is really not the healthiest thing that could’ve happened to you, huh..

You actually froze and your heart started racing billion times faster when you realised that you have a weight of his arm around your waist, pulling you closer from his sleep.

He grunted and his nose was now in your hair, shuffling a little to get more comfortable.

You had no idea how to change positions, especially when being held by such a strong arm as his and you got a feeling like Diego might actually wake up just about now, so the best solution that came into your mind was to forcefully close your eyes shut and pretend that you’re still sleeping.

He did, indeed, wake up. You were suddenly pushed to the other side of the bed, arm disappearing from your waist and a waterfall of curses fell from his lips quietly.

You used up all your acting stamina to make a believable scene of you gaining your conscious from the deep slumber that you were obviously in, stretched your arms for a good effect and finally opened your eyes.

You immediately signed up for a staring contest as soon as you looked at him and smiled a little. His face remained unreadable but perhaps a little bit flustered?.. But you may be reading too much into it.

“Hi,” you said with a higher tone than intended and Diego just nodded at that.

You tried your luck by addressing the elephant in the room right away, you never liked ignoring the problems that were always looming over you, “care to tell me what happened yesterday?”

He drew a big sigh and rested his head back on the pillow, looking up at the ceiling.

You couldn’t stop looking at him. At first because you really wanted to know the mystery, but the longer you looked at him, the more you realised that you’re just admiring the beauty that he holds, until his words fell like a dead weight right onto your shoulders.

“I found Eudora’s body yesterday. I couldn’t get to the place in time and someone killed her.”

What?

It felt like what he said was simply a trick of your imagination. You liked Eudora yourself, she was a very intelligent and an interesting person, you two often hung out and that feeling didn’t cease even after you found out that she and Diego started dating.

And even when they broke up some months after, you still found your way to spend time with her. So did Diego.

You wanted to cry, but thought that it might be insensitive towards him, because he was much closer to her than you were, so you tried to swallow your forming tears down.

“I’m.. I’m so sorry, Diego..”

“It’s your loss too, I know it, y/n,” he looked at you with much softer look this time.

“Come here,” he said a little bit hesitantly and opened up one arm towards you.

This was unusual, but maybe last night’s events tore down some walls?.. Who knows.

You almost threw yourself into his embrace and once your forehead rested on his chest, you started crying.

From everything, honestly. There’s been problems at work, your seemingly unrequited feelings for Diego didn’t help much either and now you learned that you lost one of your friends.

He started rubbing circles on your back, just letting you get those emotions out, while you two were hugging each other on the bed in your apartment.

And as you slowly started to calm down, he said a gentle, “it’s gonna be okay. We’re gonna be okay”

#diego x reader #diego hargreeves x reader #tua diego #diego reader insert #the umbrella academy #tua fanfic #umbrella academy x reader #diego hargreeves #number two

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farmhandler · 3 years

Text

Spoken, Not Said

Rating: T (for now)

Pairing: Theseus/Asterius/Zagreus

Warnings: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Banter, Bickering, Theseus being Theseus, Slight spoilers

CH: 1/?

WC: 3K~

Read on AO3

Summary: Asterius is taken by Hades as punishment for Theseus' inability to defeat Zagreus. Zagreus feels guilty that he's caused the shades around him so much pain, but he's unwilling to give up on his quest. Instead, he suggests they find Asterius together. What could possibly go wrong?

A/N: Tumblr got rid of line breaks, which is mighty inconvenient and means some parts of the story may seem abrupt. Sorry about that! Anywho, enjoy. Love this game!!!

Theseus does not realize something is amiss until he’s been left standing at the gates to Elysium Stadium alone.

When they are not bound by the duty of reducing the monster endlessly attempting to escape their halls to blood and gristle, it is often the case that Asterius will bide his time in his own quarters or wander the halls of Elysium on his own, ever the watchful guardian; however, rare is it so that Asterius does not meet him at the gates of the stadium once they have received word that the daemon is making his way towards them.

Today—though there are no days, nor nights in fair Elysium—Asterius has not shown himself. Theseus at first does not take it upon himself to grow concerned over his dear friend’s lateness, but as the hour passes, his impatience grows.

Eventually, a messenger shade informs him that the daemon is entering Elysium once again, and Asterius still has not shown.

“You there,” he says, addressing a messenger shade before she can return to her post. “Have you seen Ast— the Minotaur? He has yet to meet me at our assigned post here to face that terrible daemon. Surely you have seen him while delivering your messages?”

The shade hesitates, her eyes flicking off to one side before returning back to Theseus. She shakes her head and apologizes profusely until Theseus dismisses her with a wave of his hand.

“Stay on guard for any sign of him,” he tells her evenly. Theseus does not allow his concern to show. For the shades of Elysium, he is their King, and he must never show weakness.

And how many times have I bested you again? a traitorous voice echoes in the cavern of his mind.

Theseus grinds his teeth together, fists clenching and unclenching at the thought of him. Since being recruited by Lord Hades, Theseus has spent an inordinate amount of time in his presence—far more than he would prefer. Theseus had never expected that his time in eternal paradise would become tainted by the constant clashing with this particularly egregious foe.

He would much rather continue to spar the heroes and champions he is well accustomed to, but he continues with his approach, no matter how often they dispatch of him.

Oh, I think we are long past you dispatching me. I can’t remember the last time I died to your spear.

You wretch! he thinks, imagining a conversation held with him, as he often does. What he wouldn’t give to impale him on his spear one final time—were that he not an immortal, a god—

Theseus stills his thoughts before they can go further. It doesn’t matter what he says, he is no god in his eyes. Compared to the real gods, he is puny. His voice is unbearably grating in every possible way. Elysium is a wondrous and enchanting resting place for those deserving of it, yet that stain continues to enter its impermissible halls, tainting the very ground under their feet with his daemonic presence.

Theseus steels himself with a breath and turns to look for Asterius. He will find him himself, and then they will have a rousing discussion about just how inadequate a foe the daemon is.

Theseus begins to feel concern when, after scouring all of Asterius’ favored resting places, he still cannot find him. He even goes so far as entering into his chambers to see if perhaps somehow he has become ill, despite the impossibility. No other reason would explain his sudden absence when just the night before, they had been discussing battle strategies to increase their chances against the daemon.

With Asterius still not found, Theseus is forced to return to Elysium Stadium to face the daemon himself. He does not vie for the prospect, but he will have to make do.

He is the former king of Athens and the current champion and King of Elysium. He will not fail!

“Oh.”

It is the first thing out of the daemon’s mouth when he approaches Theseus at the center of the stadium. He is looking around, shifting from foot to foot, eyes on the lookout for Theseus’ comrade in arms. Despite having said nothing else, just that single word is enough to ignite the flames of fury from within Theseus.

“You!” he spits, with more vehemence than he usually reserves for their battles. “You dare step foot in Elysium once again? I shall drive you away once more; as many times as necessary until you learn your lesson, foul wretch.”

The daemon appears unconcerned by his very real threat. He cast his gaze about the stadium, turning his back to Theseus briefly while he looks in all directions.

“Is it just us today?” He sounds disappointed, a delicate frown on his sof--horrible features. “Where’s Asterius? Did he finally get tired of being beat by me?”

His humor is lost on Theseus. He slams his spear into the ground and braces his shield as if he is about to charge like Asterius would do during one of their fights.

“Do not invoke his name! You have no right to dare speak it! I will defeat you here and now!”

“Okay,” the daemon drawls, raising one hand in placation. “Fine, have it your way. He’s the one that makes these flights difficult, anyway. After I wipe the floor with you, please do send him my regards.”

“The only thing that will be sent today is your body to the depths of Tartarus, with my blessed spear buried within your midsection!”

The daemon nods, having expected no less, and he shifts back, sliding his horrid flaming foot back and sizzling the grassy plain under their feet while he braces his hands in front of him. He is wearing the Twin Fist of Malphon this time around. Theseus recalls the feeling of it pummeling his lower back until it gave way, but he does not waver.

He slams his spear into the ground again and then points it at the daemon.

“Defend yourself!”

The crowd of shades that have been waiting for this moment abrupt cheers. Theseus feels their spirits embolden him, but just as he is about to lift his spear and aim it, the air shifts.

A familiar presence settles over them. Theseus can feel its oppressive nature almost immediately.

He balks. Since being recruited, Lord Hades has not made himself known more than a scant few times. And never once during one of their great matches, when all of Elysium gathers to watch.

“Father?” Theseus hears the daemon say. He hardly gives it another thought, because in the next moment the Lord Hades words threaten to knock Theseus right off his feet.

“Ahh. I see you’ve made it to the exit gates of Elysium once more. How many times is it now? How many times you failed to defeat him, Theseus, king of Athens?“

His voice booms all around them. Several shades shrink back, while others look up in awe. Theseus feels his grip on his spear loosen.

“Lord—Lord Hades,” he responds. “I…cannot say for certain that I have counted. Rest assured that this time I will—"

“Enough,” he booms. “You have failed me one time too many. It was by my hand that the Minotaur joined you in Elysium, and it is by my hand that he will leave it. Perhaps if you can manage to do your job, I may consider returning him to you.”

The words barely sink into Theseus before Lord Hades’ presence is gone. He stands there for several long seconds, the stadium deathly quiet.

Then the daemon says something to him, approaching on those hellspawn feet of his, but Theseus doesn’t hear it. All he can think about is Asterius.

Asterius. His comrade; his partner. He vouched for Asterius when he came to Elysium so he could have him there. They have been with each other now for so long. To have him torn from him like this is—it is—

“Theseus?”

He is broken from his reverie by him. The daemon. It is always him.

“I’m…sorry about Asterius. I know he was your friend.” Then, lower, to a register Theseus can barely hear, “Maybe despite his better judgment.”

The fists lower, and that hideous, terrible glowing, daemonic eye is cast upon him. Fury course through his veins like divine nectar.

Asterius. Asterius. By the gods, what torture must he be under? A punishment by Lord Hades is to be feared. He could be anywhere in the realm. He could be in Asphodel, or even Tartarus…

“My father will do anything to stop me, but I have to do it. I have to reach the surface again.” The daemon’s face is cast in the shadow of sorrow. His features soften further, shoulders drooping before he raises them and lifts his chin. “My mother—"

“You!” Theseus roars. “This is your fault! You miserable—” he burst into motion, tossing his spear in a single fluid and powerful move. It goes sailing forward, but the daemon shifts out of way “—horrible, forgotten monster. On this day, your death is assured.”

“Forgotten? That’s harsh,” he quips, sailing once again out of Theseus’ way. He has yet to strike a blow, but Theseus is prepared for anything he may try. “Look, Theseus—“

“Speak my name so flagrantly no more! While once I would have encouraged your admiration of me, the sight of you fills me only with disgust! Because of you, Asterius has been removed from my side, and I shall make you pay for it!”

“I think the point was more that the both of you couldn’t beat me,” the blackard points out.

“Because of you—” Theseus continues, undeterred. He is humiliated to find there are angry tears in his eyes. It is no shame for a warrior to offer his tears to his comrades, but this is no warrior. To show any weakness in front of him makes his blood boil even hotter.

He swipes angrily at his eyes with his forearm, clearing his vision quickly before he can be overtaken. But when he blinks, the daemon has not moved, still staring at him with an expression Theseus dare not name.

“I’m…I didn’t know he meant that much to you. You always seem, well.”

The insinuation stings. “Your fiendish attempts to insult me won’t work here! I shall” he sends his spear flying, but the daemon dodges “vanquish you here and now!”

This pattern continues for a time. Theseus attacks, but the daemon, for some reason, does not. He weaves in and out from around the pillars of the stadium and occasionally delivers onto him a glancing blow, but he does not attack with his full vigor. It is almost worse than the times when they are beaten within minutes of the fight starting.

At least in those instances, he is a worthy opponent.

Eventually, Theseus loses steam. His arm begins to tremble and ache, and his grip on his shield is less fortifying the longer that it weighs him down. He has gone on longer before, but with the fresh wound of Asterius being torn from him, he feels weakened.

His anger, instead of fueling him, feels as though it drains him. The daemon does not react to his rage other than to shoot him looks of pity, and the shades watching them aren’t cheering as loudly without the two of them there fighting him together, and with Theseus making no headway.

Eventually, the daemon stops in the center of the stadium and addresses him directly.

“Theseus, I…I think I can help you.”

“You?” Theseus laughs, loud and boisterous although his strength flags. “What a weak attempt to sway the battle in your favor. You cannot help me! Now kindly stand still so I may aim my spear at you!”

“I’m serious,” the daemon says. “I want to help you. Well, I want to help Asterius, but you’ve been looking so pathetic over there I can’t help but feel bad for you, too—”

“Silence!” Theseus shouts. His cheeks flush more than from the heat of battle. The nerve. “Raise your foul weapons and fight me!”

“Why do I even bother?” he hears him say. A sigh, and then the daemon lowers his weapon fully to his side. “Theseus, I know where Asterius is.”

At that, Theseus—in the middle of prepping another toss of his spear—freezes.

“Speak those words again.”

“Well, I don’t know exactly where he is, but I’ve been everywhere throughout my father’s realm, so I have an idea where he might be being held.”

“So you lie!” Theseus cries, aghast.

“Will you be quiet and listen to me for one second?” the daemon snaps. The embers on his feet flare up, sparks flying. “My father, Lord Hades, has been doing what he did to you to everyone that I fight. He’ll take them away to punish them so that they fight harder the next time. I don’t think it’s very effective, but until now…” He shakes his head, sending a few stray petals floating down. Theseus has only just now noticed the crimson laurels adorning his hair. “The point is, I like Asterius. He doesn’t deserve to be punished for doing his job. Besides, I’m sure none of you here are well used to torture like those down below.”

At the mention of torture, Theseus stills.

He is no stranger to what man is capable of, but in Elysium, death is impermanent. And even in combat, their pain is dulled, easily remedied by taking a bath in the river Lethe. If Asterius is in Asphodel or Tartarus, he is certainly being subject to torture of some kind or another.

Theseus drops to one knee. In a single second, his breath has left him, even though he no longer breathes.

“Let me help you find him.”

Theseus lifts his head, lips curled into a snarl. “You are the reason he was taken, monster!” He stands again, abandoning his weapons and approaching the daemon with a single-minded focus. He takes him by the shoulders and shakes him, once, giving no second thoughts to the warm, soft skin resting under his fingertips. “You are the reason all of this has happened! Have you no shame?!”

The daemon stares at him, stonefaced. He says nothing at first.

Then: “I’m doing what I have to do. I’ve already disobeyed my father by embarking on this quest. I can disobey him some more and help you find Asterius.”

His expression shifts then. He looks away, and when his eyes return to Theseus they pierce him even deeper than before.

“But I can’t do it alone. A part of what makes this work is that I can avoid most of the realms if I work fast. I don’t usually go poking around too long, lest my father find ways to reroute me.”

Theseus steps back, the words finally registering. “You ask me to leave Elysium. Blackguard,” he spits, “I will not be tricked!”

“No trick,” he replies. “Trust me, the last thing I want to do is drag you around my father’s realm while everything tries to kill me. I have my own mission.” His shoulders dip slightly, still held in Theseus’ firm grasp. “But you’re right: it is my fault. So I’m going to do what I can to make it right.”

Theseus stares at his foe, attempting to truly consider what he is saying. Assuming there are no lies coming from his wretched mouth, he can find Asterius. He can save him.

But he would have to leave Elysium. Anyone would be a fool to want to leave absolute paradise, and furthermore, it is strictly forbidden by Lord Hades, a god that could smite him on the spot if he so chose.

It would only be temporary, says a voice. That same, familiar voice, the owner of which is standing in front of him.

“You have been enjoying yourself,” Asterius told him once, long before the daemon had begun to beat them consistently. He had heaved his axe from the pillar it had been lodged in and used it to rest his arms upon, peering down at Theseus with a certain glint in his eye. “The short one has given us quite the challenge.”

“Ha! Hardly a challenge,” Theseus replied, wiping beads of sweat from his brow. He would need to reapply with a fresh layer of oils after a bath. “We dispatched of him with haste, and the next with even more!”

Asterius chuckled, a low, deep sound that worked its way into Theseus and sat there, warm. “You are enjoying yourself,” he repeated. “We have not fought this hard in some time.”

“Perhaps, my friend.” Theseus grinned. He clapped Asterius on the shoulder, taking a moment to feel the size of his biceps. “What do you say we make to the bathhouse and discuss our strategy?”

Asterius had nodded, Theseus’ excitement bleeding into him. They had never felt so alive together in many years.

Theseus looks at the daemon now and feels his resolve begin to waiver.

Without Asterius, the paradise of Elysium is a weak and pallid place. Asterius is like no other. Upon imagining the soul as wonderful as his being tormented because of the daemon’s—because of his own failure, he feels a new level of fury rise up within him.

“We will find Asterius, quickly. We will find him and then Asterius and I together shall send you back to the depths of Tartarus where you belong.”

The daemon rolls his eyes. He hefts his fists and shrugs off Theseus’ hands, which had not left his shoulders that whole time. Theseus does not think about its implications.

“Wonderful. Now can you—" he breaks off, sighing deeply before continuing. “Blood and darkness, I can’t believe I’m saying this. Can’t believe I’m doing this. Theseus, I need you to kill me.”

“What?” Theseus barks. “What sort of trickery—”

“I want my sword, Stygius,” he says flatly. “It’ll be faster if you just kill me. I’ll work my way back here and then take you with me.” He pauses. “Come on, don’t act like you haven’t been aching to do it this whole time.”

“Of—Of course!” Theseus answers, taken aback. He moves to grab his spear and shield, only just now reminded that they are surrounded by shades still waiting to see them fight. The crowds look anxious, and they cheer when Theseus picks up his spear.

“Defend yourself, daemon!” Theseus calls with renewed vigor. “Prepare your body for my spear!”

The daemon laughs, though Theseus hardly finds the situation amusing.

“Right. Well, let’s make this look good.” He rolls his shoulders, flexing his admittedly admirable muscles. “And by the way, I’m not a daemon. Call me Zagreus. Zag, even, if you prefer. Though I’m sure you don’t.”

Theseus grins and throws his spear.

#hades #hades game #zagreus #theseus #theseus/asterius #asterius #zagreus/asterius #zagreus/asterius/theseus #theseus/zagreus #secret pining #oh boi here we go #burgerking is the ship name isnt it...? love that

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

What a Wicked Game {15/15}

Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.

That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.

Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.

rating: mature

a/n: thank you to @captainswanbigbang for running this event and letting me write this story, to @resident-of-storybrooke for plotting and listening to me talk and for reading this, like, four times while never complaining, to @captainsjedi for making all of the incredible art for it and writing the sweetest tags, and to @wellhellotragic for finding the original story over on ao3 years ago and supporting me then and still supporting me now ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

-/-

February 2021

His heart is in his throat.

It’s been that way for several hours now, and at some point, Killian should probably get that checked out by a medical professional who can assure him that he’s not going to die and that his heart will return to his chest and beat at a normal rate again.

He is in a hospital, after all, so there’s likely someone who can help him out.

“Killian, you have to stop clenching your fist.”

“I’m not clenching my fist.”

“Literally, look down at your hand.”

Killian blinks before looking down at his hands. His right is tangled with Emma’s, his grip stronger than it should be, while his left is, indeed, balled into a fist on her mattress.

Oh.

Sighing, Killian unclenches his first before loosening his grip on Emma and leaning forward to press his lips against her knuckles. “I’m sorry, love. I - fuck. I really don’t mean to be so dramatic, but you fainted out of nowhere just as we were about to leave to go home, and I’m terrified that something awful is wrong with you.”

Emma’s hand pushes into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he shouldn’t be the one who is being comforted right now. He should be comforting Emma. She’s the one who is in a hospital bed waiting on the results of all of the tests they ran on her, and while he knows she likely had low blood sugar and a lack of sleep from the hectic schedule of their tour, he cannot help but think of all of the horrendous things that could be wrong with his wife.

He loves her in sickness and in health, always, but God, he hopes she’s alright. He can’t live without her, which is so damn selfish to think, but this is where they are now.

(And he can be selfish when it comes to wanting Emma to be alright.)

It’s nothing. It has to be nothing.

“I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he knows she doesn’t actually know, not yet. “It’s been a crazy week with no sleep, and I skipped meals, which was stupid. It’s probably low blood sugar or exhaustion or something else I can fix when we get home and have some time off.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“I mean, I could be dying, but I didn’t think that’s what you wanted me to say.”

“Swan - ”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes at him. “I’m fine until the doctor says otherwise because I pretty much refuse for something to be wrong with me.”

Killian nods and leans down to press his lips against her knuckles once more. He understands. He refuses for something to be wrong with her too. They’ve already spent too much time in their lives with Emma in a hospital, and he doesn’t want to keep doing this.

“Good afternoon, Your Highnesses,” Dr. Roberts sing-songs as she walks back into the room. He has no idea if this woman is always this peppy or if maybe this is her way of saying there’s nothing wrong with Emma before she actually says it. If there is something wrong, Dr. Roberts really has to work on how she speaks. “So, I have some good news.”

Killian perks up, while Emma stays sitting as she was, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re fine,” Dr. Roberts continues, her smile bright as ever, “and so is your baby.”

“Oh thank God,” Killian sighs, leaning forward again. He’d truly convinced himself that something awful was wrong, but Emma is fine. She’s fine.

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles, “did you just say I’m pregnant?”

What?

“I did.”

Pregnant.

“I cannot be pregnant.”

Emma is pregnant.

How did he not hear that part?

“You are most definitely pregnant, Your Highness.”

How is Emma pregnant?

“You just told me I apparently have a baby in my uterus. You can call me Emma.”

Is he going to be a dad? Is Emma going to be a mum?

Killian’s head shoots up from where it’s buried against Emma’s hand to quickly look at her and her slack-jawed expression before looking at Dr. Roberts.

The doctor nods before looking between the two of them, and Killian stops staring a hole into her eyes to turn to look back at his wife who is apparently carrying their child. He feels like the biggest asshole in the world because he can’t seem to form coherent thoughts and should probably be having some kind of poetic thought about what this is going to mean to him, to the both of them.

Killian may be a little shocked.

The fact that Emma is too makes him feel a hell of a lot better.

“Emma,” Dr. Roberts sighs, “I think I’ll give the two of you some time to yourselves to talk since I seem to have shared some rather big news. Just know that both you and your baby are fine, but you need to make sure that you’re not overexerting yourself. You fainted because of a lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and your pregnancy.”

“Thank you,” Killian manages to mutter out while his thumb caresses Emma’s knuckles and Dr. Roberts walks out of the room. The moment the door closes, Killian leans down to kiss Emma’s hand before looking up at her. “Penny for your thoughts, love.”

“I’m really scared that my feet are going to get bigger.”

Killian barks out a laugh and rises from his chair in order to get closer to Emma, dipping his head down and kissing her because he can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t be kissing her at every available moment.

Especially now.

Especially always.

“I believe that means you’ll simply have to get new shoes. I think that can be arranged.”

“Never did I think there would be a day where you were encouraging me to get more shoes.”

“Well, you do have to throw out the old ones, of course.”

Emma’s chuckle is small, but it’s there, and Killian rests his forehead against hers while Emma’s hand comes to rest in his hair, toying with the little strands at the nape of his neck.

God, that feels good.

They’re having a baby.

“Killian,” she whispers, “how am I pregnant?”

“I don’t think I really need to explain the concept of sex to you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. When we are having sex, or making love if that’s your preferred term, and I reach my - ”

“You’re being an ass.”

“Wrong part of the body.”

“Ten years from now, when we think back on the moment I found out I was pregnant, this is what you’re going to have to remember.”

Emma is pregnant.

They’re going to be parents.

Bloody hell.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, pulling back from her so that he can tuck her hair behind her ears and see the beautiful green of her eyes. They’re wet with tears, and he imagines his are too. “And I don’t know how this happened. I assume...I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened, but I do know that I’m happy. Are you happy?”

Emma nods while tugging on her bottom lip. “I’m happy, but I’m scared. I mean, we’ve talked about wanting kids, but talking about it and actually knowing that I’m pregnant is - ”

“Nerve-wracking.”

“Pretty much,” she laughs. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. I don’t think we know how to have a baby.”

“I imagine we’ll figure it out.”

“I guess we will.”

-/-

Killian is flooded with joy for the first week of them knowing Emma is pregnant. She’s only eight weeks along now, so they haven’t told a soul yet, but he’s itching to, if only because he desperately needs to talk to someone about it.

Someone who isn’t Emma because right now, he’s feeling like a piece of worthless scum on the sidewalk for some of the thoughts he’s having.

There are so many damn emotions that come with Killian knowing Emma is pregnant - happiness, elation, joy, terror, anxiousness, excitement - and as much as he fluctuates between all of them, there’s only one that creeps into the forefront of his mind in the middle of the night after a day wandering around knowing that their lives are going to keep changing every single day.

Uncertainty.

And it’s rubbish because he’s not even sure if uncertainty is an emotion, but it’s also rubbish because he’s feeling uncertain not because he doesn’t want this baby, but because he’s terrified that he won’t be a good father to their child.

Killian has a piss poor excuse for a father, and as much as David has filled in for that role, it’s not the same as having a good example for his entire life and seeing year-by-year proof that children can grow up to love their dads and not resent them or be hesitant to even be in the same room as them at family gatherings. He doesn’t love his dad, and he hates that he’s consumed by that. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times in his life, and all Killian feels some days is that he’s already a failure.

(It’s been a week. How is he already screwing up after a week?)

If he didn’t know that Emma is going to be the most incredible mum on the planet and make up for all of his shortcomings, he’d be fully convinced that he couldn’t do this and that fatherhood simply wasn’t for him.

Which is utter bullshit. He’s been in love with Emma for nearly a decade, has known he’s wanted to have children with her for most of that time, and Brennan should not still be able to take up so much space in Killian’s head.

Not anymore.

He’s fighting those demons and dealing with them in his counseling and every time he has to deal with his father, and Killian is determined not to let him taint this.

He can’t.

Not when the woman in bed next to him might as well be an angel sent to him from above, and not when the almost invisible curve of her stomach resting underneath his hand can be felt. They weren’t prepared for this. It wasn’t planned, and it’s apparently the result of the two of them thinking that the month of December was some kind of sex parade where birth control was sometimes optional.

(Emma found where she had skipped birth control pills after they got home, and he thinks she stared at the package for an hour at the very least.)

They were so stupid.

But he doesn’t regret it. Killian can’t. If they’d waited and tried some time from now, the baby growing in Emma wouldn’t be this baby. It would be a wonderful baby he and Emma both love with everything in them, but it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe next time, if they’re lucky enough, the pregnancy will be a result of months of careful love-making and a pointed attempt at trying, but to him, it doesn’t matter.

He’s scared out of his mind about being a dad, doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but he wouldn’t change a thing. Not when he has Emma.

“You’re thinking too much,” Emma mumbles, twisting in the bed.

He lays his hand flat over her stomach. “You’re talking in your sleep.”

“I’m awake. Your thoughts were so loud.”

“If you can hear my thoughts, I feel like you need to explain quite a few of the fights we’ve had.”

“Don’t wanna,” Emma mumbles sleepily. Killian huffs into her hair before twisting around her and allowing her to stick her freezing cold feet between his calves while his lips brush over her cheek. His hand flexes over her stomach again, feeling the proof of a decade of love and heartbreak and everything in between. “You’re a good baby daddy.”

(He rather despises that term, and Emma seems fit to call him that this week. Hopefully that will die down, but he really can’t complain when Emma has just become fraught with morning sickness as of yesterday.)

“Am I?” he whispers into her hair, trying not to laugh. She’s not going to remember any of this in the morning. She has a habit of waking in the middle of the night, having a conversation, and then forgetting about it the next morning.

“Mhm. You’re sweet, and you’re also really hot. I like that about you.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad I can be of service for you in that way.”

Her breathing starts to even out after that, slowly returning to how it was, and Killian keeps moving his hand over the small, almost swell of her stomach, something that he knows is a comfort to both of them already.

“Killian?”

“Yes, love?” he whispers so quietly the ceiling fan drowns out the noise of his voice.

“You’re going to be a good dad.”

And even though she’s mostly asleep when she says it, Killian knows that Emma thinks that. She has so much faith in him even when she shouldn’t, and her words settle the beating of his heart and the worry running circles in his mind.

It’s not everything, but it’s a start.

(And technically, Emma having faith in him is everything.

It’s all he’s ever wanted and far more than he deserves.

But he’s glad for it.)

-/-

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“What? You don’t like it?”

“It’s rather beige.”

Emma huffs and tugs at her bra, pulling it out and gathering all of the excess fabric there. “My mom thought it would be appropriate to buy me nursing bras, but this isn’t even close to my size. Like, I understand I’m going to balloon up in every way imaginable, but this is gigantic.”

“We told your parents about the baby two days ago. How has your mom already sent you new bras?”

“Express shipping, babe.”

Killian laughs and walks toward her. She’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but her knickers and this massive bra that he can’t ever imagine Emma properly fitting into. Apparently, she can’t imagine it either. It hangs far off her back and over her breasts, and if she lets it go from her grasp, it falls to expose her nipples.

She looks ridiculous.

But also rather lovely, and when she turns around to face him, bottom lip jutted out in a pout, he steps up to her and places his hands on her hips, fingers inching up over her sides. “This is the sexiest you have ever looked.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, slapping his stomach.

“What? Can I not talk about it? This bra is so much better than everything you have in your closet.”

“You’re being dumb.”

“Oh, always.”

He leans into her and brushes his scruff against her neck, knowing that it tickles her, before doing the same with his fingers against her sides. Emma is squirming away from him, or, at least, trying to, but he doesn’t let her, backing her up against the counter as he keeps moving against her while she gasps for breath and laughs.

In between calling him an asshole, of course. That’s her favorite name for him.

“K-killian,” she gasps, leaning away from him as he kisses her neck and moves to kiss her jaw. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“In an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Aye,” he promises before kissing the corner of her lips until she’s turning to him so she can move her mouth over his, soft and slow and absolutely perfectly. As always. “But I think I might have some time to spend with you first.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I take this damn bra off?”

“That was kind of the plan.”

-/-

They’re having a boy.

Killian was convinced that they were going to have a girl, as was Emma, and while it’s definitely a shock despite the equal odds, it doesn’t change anything about their excitement level or any of their plans going forward.

They’re having a boy.

And they can’t decide on a name. Everything in his head and on the list on the refrigerator were decidedly more feminine names, and while David, Liam, and Graham all cheekily suggest that their son should be named after one of them, Killian isn’t too sure about that.

(Ruby says their son can and should be named Ruby because she simply cannot wait until they have a girl for her to have a kid named after her.

When Emma suggests she have her own kid - “pregnancy is a bitch,” Emma mumbles - Ruby raises her hands in defeat and says they should name the kid whatever they want.)

It’s not that simple.

For as much as he and Emma push back on the traditions of his family and some of the inane rituals, they do want the name to fit. However, they want it to fit both them as a couple and his family. It’s a mixing of lifestyles and opinions, and the debates seem to rage on and on. Killian’s mum tells him she’s happy with whatever name they choose because it’s their family, Killian’s father makes a rare comment just to tell them how much he’s still pissed over Emma saying she won’t pose for photographs the day after giving birth, and Emma can’t seem to decide on anything.

(Except that she’s still not going to pose for photographs and expose their child to the wildness of the press after twenty-four hours of life, and he supports her wholeheartedly.

The press has tried to ruin them time and time again, emotionally and physically, and Killian will not stand for it for his wife or their child.)

Killian has his preferences, but he’s trying to narrow down her choices on the massive list that seems to keep growing and growing each day.

The name debate wages on as the weeks pass by and Emma’s stomach continues to grow. Killian never spent a lot of time imagining what this period in his life would be like, but overall, it’s mostly the same as he expected it would be. At least for him. Emma has gone through highs and extreme lows as her hormones attack her and change her body, and all he could do was support her and rub her back when she was vomiting.

And make every food that she wants, no questions asked. Though, surprisingly, her cravings are not at all what movies make them out to be. They do follow along with a lot that he’s read in the books and articles he’s consuming.

“There is literally no reason to read ten different books on the same thing,” Emma mumbles as she pulls her up into a bun. “That’s got to be information overload.”

“It’s varying opinions, love,” he insists, taking another note and sticking it to the page in his book. “I want to know as much as I can so I’m not caught unaware, and I needed a break from looking at cabinet handles for the new house.”

“Babe, you’re going to be caught unaware. It’s going to happen. Not even you can completely prepare for this.”

“Aye, but I can try.”

And he does try. He tries as he reads his books and looks at articles online so that he can at least be the tiniest bit more prepared than he would be. Emma reads books as well and is always looking to see his notes and what he knows, but she’s definitely the more relaxed of the two of them.

At least he thinks that.

She’s six and a half months pregnant and in a wonderful phase of constantly wanting him no matter what they’re doing when he realizes that Emma doesn’t like to constantly talk about the baby because it is all anyone talks to her about. When she does engagements, it’s what people mention. When they go out to dinner, even the servers mention their impending parenthood. When Emma talks on the phone with his mother, Allison is constantly talking about gifts for the baby and plans and asking if Emma has looked into some of the classes Allison suggested. Everyone means well and simply wants to share in their excitement, but their life isn’t all about this baby.

Their life is greatly enhanced by him and will change because of him, but at the core of it all, they’re still Emma and Killian who have been having conversations for nearly a decade about things other than a baby.

And Emma is still Emma, and she wants people to ask her how she is or what books she’s read lately or any conversation that would have been had before she was pregnant.

Late at night, though, when they’re lounging in bed with his hand on her stomach and his chest pressed into her back, sometimes she likes to whisper her thoughts and her fears, all of the hopes that she has for this future that keeps getting nearer and nearer to them.

The road to getting here was full of sharp wrong turns and dark corners full of heartbreak, and while they may have gotten a little lost along the way, they’re here now. That’s absolutely all that matters.

It always has been.

“Babe,” Emma calls out on a sunny day in June. They’ve been home all day, neither of them changing out of their pajamas, and he imagines from the look of it, Emma hasn’t combed through her hair. To be fair, he hasn’t either. “Do you know where the peanut butter is?”

“We had that entire box shipped here for you. It should be in the cupboard.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Have you checked the bottom shelf?”

“Yes.”

“Did you really?”

“I’m going to slap you.”

Killian sighs and puts down the letters he was responding to in order to get up and walk toward Emma and the cupboard. When he steps inside the room, he immediately goes in search of the box of jars of peanut butter he ordered for Emma only for it not to be there.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“That’s kind of an extreme reaction to not being able to find the peanut butter.”

“How did we lose an entire box of peanut butter?”

“It can’t be lost. It has to be misplaced.”

“Lost, misplaced. Whatever, love.”

He squats down to look over all of the bottom shelves before scanning each and every other one, shifting around containers and boxes and every other insane organizational tool he decided to buy when he wanted this room to be contained and not a mess.

Except he can’t seem to find anything.

Mostly this damn peanut butter.

“You know what,” Emma sighs, “it’s fine. I’ll eat something else.”

“Darling, I will find it.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Killian,” Emma huffs, tugging on his wrist until he turns around to look at her, “it’s fine. We have those smoothies I like in the fridge. I’ll drink one of those instead.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” She tugs on his wrists again until she’s pulling him out of the room and back into their kitchen. “It wasn’t important.”

“I simply don’t understand where the peanut butter could have gone. I mean, I suppose it could have been moved, but I - ”

Emma loops her arms around his neck and presses up on her toes until she’s gently sliding her lips over his in a slow kiss that has his heartbeat quickening and gooseflesh rising over his skin.

“Stop worrying about it,” she murmurs as they sway back and forth with her stomach pressed tightly against his. “I don’t want a repeat of the blueberry muffin incident.”

“Dammit, don’t - ”

She kisses him again, insistently pressing her lips into his, and Killian presses back, pecking her lips once before doing it again and again and again. He kisses her fleetingly all the while continuing to sway the both of them. The wood is cold against his bare feet, so he’s sure Emma’s feet are literal icicles, but he’s not focusing on that as Emma begins to laugh, a small melodic sound that carries with the music that’s playing over the speaker on his phone from where he was listening to it when he was working.

But the laugh grows louder as Killian’s mouth moves away from hers and more toward the corner of her lips so that his scruff brushes against her skin, tickling her in the same way that his fingers are scratching against her sides and over the edges of her belly.

“You’re the only one I want to make laugh, truly.”

Emma’s laugh quiets at those words until she’s tightening her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face into his neck. There’s a sharp inhale of her breathing him in, and Killian kisses the top of her hair.

“You’re a romantic, my love,” she whispers.

“That’s what I strive to be.”

“I know. It’s why you practice all of those lines in the mirror.”

Killian scoffs. “I do not do that.”

“If anyone asks, it’s your word against mine, and well…”

She lets the words trail off, obviously waiting for him to fill in the blanks and continue their banter, but he doesn’t. He can’t, because the song is changing, and it’s been ages since he danced with her in the privacy of their home. Everything lately has been in suits and dresses with Emma’s heels making her nearly his height, but it hasn’t been the two of them in pajamas with messy hair and the ghost of missing peanut butter cascading over them.

So he keeps moving them, a gentle sway that turns into more, and they traverse the space in the kitchen, their feet quickly moving as Killian whispers in Emma’s ear words of affection that flow from his heart. It’s moments and times like these in the sanctity of their kitchen when it’s just the two of them and no one and nothing else that he thinks of how grateful he is that they fought for their love and won. Nothing about this was ever guaranteed or predestined, but they figured it out.

“I love you.”

Emma hums. “I love you, too.”

She pulls her head back until he can see her eyes, the beautiful glint of blue wrapped up in the green, and her smile is so bright that he can’t imagine not kissing her. He can’t imagine not kissing her as often as he’s able and not kissing her every day on a multitude of occasions. So he does.

And he hopes not to ever stop having that desire.

He won’t.

Emma is his wife and the mother of his child, of this one between them now and any ones in the future, but most of all, he thinks, she’ll always be his closest companion.

His best friend.

“Hey,” Emma whispers after they’ve been silently dancing for at least two songs.

“Yeah, love?”

“I think I’ve finally decided what name I want for the baby.”

Killian chuckles and tilts his head to the side to press his lips into her hair once more, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and everything that he’s grown accustomed to over the years. “And what’s that then?”

-/-

Their son is born on September twenty-third, a few days after Killian’s thirty-second birthday.

They name him Andrew Killian Phillip Jones.

He always goes by Andy.

-/-

Any of my Second in Command (the original version of this story) will recognize Andy. He was, like, star of the show for that crazy long epilogue/sequel I wrote, and I really wanted to include him here. The main reason, though, was to show that even though some parts of Emma and Killian’s story changed, that they went through more of a wild ride this go round, that they still get to have the same happy ending...wait, I think I have to say “happy beginning” here 😉

Thank you all for the INCREDIBLE support! I hope you enjoyed this story!

@mrtinski @klynn-stormz @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @owlways-and-forever @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @397bartonstreet @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @scarletslippers @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @captainswanbigbang

#what a wicked game #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #csrt #captain swan #captain swan rewrite a thon

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thebiasrekkers · 4 years

Text

Infinitatem Venatus

The Infinity Game

Rating: PG-13 // SFW

Genre: AngelsandDemons! AU | angst | romance | drama

Pairing: OT7 x [Reader/Layla/Saoirse]

Warnings: Strong Language, extreme angst, violence, Jin is Lucifer. Jin is the Devil. [just making sure that’s out there], religious undertones [things have been embellished/changed to fit the nature of the story]

Word Count: 4.3K

A/N: Firstly - there are bold and italicized phrases scattered throughout. That is meant to represent Hoseok speaking to [reader] as these moments are happening throughout the day! Second, shout out to @aroseforyoongi for requesting a drabble for the 100 follower special. If it weren’t for that drabble? I probably wouldn’t have mustered the courage to even pull this AU to Tumblr. And @moccahobi cause Hobi is a bad ass. Issa lot. Thanks to Admin E for the beta-panache! And to Admin L who wanted a saucier Devil Jin. Enjoy!

© thebiasrekkers ( Admin T). All rights reserved. Reposting/modifying our work is prohibited. Translations are not allowed. Plagiarism/stealing is not tolerated by any means. Legal action will be taken in instances of theft.

There was a line drawn in the sand.

Pain.

“Moloch, did you really think I’d let you have her?” Hoseok’s voice was a deep; raspy growl. A sound that you weren’t used to hearing. Not your Hobi. He couldn’t possibly sound like this. He wasn’t capable of such vehemence, right? But it was him. It was Hoseok hovering above you. His eyes blazing a fiery gold as his hands clenched and unclenched at his side. The air stirring with each flap of the large white wings protruding from his back.

The demon across from him smirked, tapping a finger against a bloodied lip. “If I knew she was the key to getting you to play with me, I’d have attempted to grab her sooner.” The sulfurous stench of the underworld was thick in the air, and it made you nauseous. Moloch’s blood-red gaze landed on you, causing you to back up just a hair more.

You didn’t care that your hands were shredded. A trickle of blood from your ears left you disoriented from the previous explosion. Hoseok snapped his fingers rapidly in front of Moloch. “Eyes here, asshole. I’m going to tell you one more fucking time, Moloch. If you risk the game, if you test me any further...I will kill you,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

Moloch looked taken aback by the words coming out of Hoseok's mouth. After a moment, he scoffed at the malevolence oozing from the archangel. “You love her.” The demon said, puzzled as a muscle ticked near Hoseok’s jaw. He looked down at you; just as bewildered at Hobi’s behavior. “I’ll be damned! You fucking love her!” Moloch pointed and howled his amusement, a devious glint sparkling in his crimson eyes. “She probably doesn’t know, does she ..Hobi?” The demon’s tone was smug.

Hoseok swallowed thickly, turning his gaze to you. “Moloch...leave before I make a scene.” Moloch held up his hands in mock defeat.

“Fine, Hoseok. Have it your way...” The large black wings spread as the demon hovered. “...you may love her, but her soul is still up for grabs. So you better let her know what’s at stake, Hoseok. The game is still afoot.” Moloch narrowed his eyes before shooting skyward with what seemed to be a mere quiver of his wings.

A game set in motion before the advent of humanity.

The scent of sulfur finally seemed to disappear as Hoseok descended. He had his back to you for a few tense, silent, moments. The wings disappeared as he turned to face you. He looked like himself, the deep brown of his eyes sad at the state of you.

“Oh, baby...” He moved toward you and you moved back. He flinched as if he was gut-punched. “Listen, I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” He held his hands up as he approached you slowly. Your eyes were wide and full of unshed tears.

“What are you, Hobi?” The first tears slid down your bruised cheek. He gasped kneeling down to wrap you up in the warmth of a honey-cinnamon scented embrace. “Why is this happening?!”

You clung to him. The only thing that you knew was safe. The only place you felt like home. You sobbed into his chest as he stroked your hair. Hoseok placed an arm under your legs, hefting you up against his chest. “Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

You nodded softly, sniffling into his shoulder. He turned to see the devastation from such a minor confrontation. You didn’t notice the pressure of his fingers digging into your skin.

They can’t hurt you anymore. Because he wouldn’t let them.

There was only us in the beginning. Everything was fine. Or so we thought.

“You don’t understand what you’re saying?!” A shrill voice seemed to rattle the glass around them. A set of fierce green eyes seemed to blaze in fury. Saoirse was vibrating as she stared down someone she once thought to be her friend. “You cannot mean that. Please tell me you’re joking?” Her gaze softened slightly, a hand reaching out to the immovable object before her.

“I-I can’t, Saorise. And I am very serious about this.” Soft, gentle, and too pure for this world. Layla, eyes full of unshed tears, stood in on the other side of the line. “I love Him, Saoirse. Even with what He is - I still love him.”

Saoirse felt her heart race again. It wasn’t supposed to be like this; at least that’s what had been explained to her. They were special - the Acquisitae. They were beings that carried the weight of many lives. Souls that existed rolled into one existence through time. Past lives? Deja vu? All of it flickered, bits of memory seeping into the consciousness of the current owner’s life.

There were few of them left undecided. Some refusing to be a pawn for either side; some choosing a particular side for one reason or another. But, in the rare instance, if a side was chosen, it was mainly because of hate or love.

In the scheme of things, there was nothing wrong with that. But, Saorise couldn’t fathom anyone in their right mind falling in love with Lucifer. He wanted to destroy the already tedious balance, splatter the land in chaos and strife - just because he could. “Layla, you cannot save Him. He is beyond it!”

“No one is beyond saving, Saoirse. You of all people should know that.” Layla’s demeanor cooled as the other woman flinched. “For all that you’ve done, you still were granted forgiveness for choosing to stand with the Caelestis. You made your choice. I’ve made mine.” She crossed her arms, posture straightening. “I believe I can make a difference in my own way. So until this thing comes to a head, This is goodbye. I’m with Tenebrarum. Period.”

But someone wanted more. He wanted more. None of us could understand it.

Saoirse’s mouth fell slightly agape as Layla dropped that finality. It wasn’t just about their friendship, mostly. It was about the fate of all of existence. They were in the final days and they needed to be together.

They should have been together.

The sound of cellphone ringing interrupted the heavy silence. Layla answered immediately. “Yes, Sir?”

The smoothe dulcet poison of Jin’s voice echoed into the open space. “Come to me, Layla.”

Saoirse couldn’t deny the prickles sliding against her skin at the sound of his voice. But she had enough willpower to deny the sensation.

“I’m on my way.” Layla hung up the phone, aware of the sway Jin could have on others. She turned one last glance to her friend. “Stay away from Tenebrarum - and me.” She pushed past Saoirse as a muscle clenched in her jaw.

The scent of sulfur lingered faintly in the air, causing Saoirse to wrinkle her nose. She left the building, yanking her cellphone out of her pocket. The phone seemed to barely get a full ring before a worried voice answered on the other end.

“Saoirse?” A sudden warmth filled with the scent of earth after a cleansing rain rushed over her.

“Jimin. She’s gone.” Her voice sounded weaker than she’d intended.

There was a long sigh. “Ah, love. I’m so sorry. You tried. Come home, okay? I’ll let the others know.” She could feel his disappointment on the other line.

“She thinks she loves him.” Her fingers tangled in the fiery red-gold strands of her hair. “She thinks she can help him.”

His way of thinking had always been different. But...we never thought that he would...

“It’s a part of his charm, love. It’s unfortunate, the spell that she’s under. But such is the price of those who choose him.” Jimin respected her desire to rescue her friend. He wanted her to try, because it would make the coming days easier had she come along. And now? “I don’t want you on that side of town too much longer. Please come home?”

“Yeah.” Saoirse nodded while turning to The Shard. It was one of the tallest buildings in London - home to Tenebrarum Acq. Ltd., the current residence of CEO Kim Seokjin. Only a handful knew the truth.

Hell was empty. Empty because the devils were all here.

Somewhere in the In-Between…

“Check.”

A Knight moved to capture a King. There was still a way. There was always a way out.

The opposing side chuckled while moving to a King-side castle. The King was protected with the Rook blocking the way.

They both sighed softly. “How long have we been at this?” Taehyung’s deep baritone echoed in the mystical space.

“Does it matter?” Jungkook smirked, retreating his Knight. He could swoop in to take the Rook, sure. But, losing his Knight to the King? Even he appreciated the role of smaller pieces on the game board. “Are you weary, Michael?” Jungkook crooned with his fingers clasped against his knee. “Maybe you should reconsider my offer?” He leaned forward so that the magma-lined ring flared in the depths of his dark brown eyes.

Taehyung’s nose wrinkled at the slight sulfuric odor. “Perhaps it is you that should reconsider, Samael.” The Angel was steadfast and unmoving in his conviction. “Come back to us. This is pointless.” Taehyung’s brow furrowed as he tried to reason with someone he once called Brother.

“Is it?” Jungkook’s eyes were ablaze. “We are pieces, Michael! We are nothing but showy pieces and for what?” He hissed. “To keep a world in order that thrives in disorder? LOOK AT THEM!” His hand waved to disturb the cloudy aura around them. The world flickered below.

Poverty.

Destruction.

War.

Greed.

We never thought he would Fall.

Taehyung stared at all the things that gave Jin power, establishing his reign in the mortal realm. A tear slid down his cheek without warning. Jungkook sighed, reaching forward to brush the sparkling drop away. “Hark, a tear for those who destroy themselves.” There was a fizzle against his skin - a reminder of the choice he made when he fell from Grace.

Taehyung grabbed that hand before it moved too far away. “Please. I don’t want to fight you.” Jungkook stared at the slender fingers wrapped around his wrist.

“It’s too late, Taehyung. What will be, will be.” He pulled away, leaving Taehyung’s hand hovering. “And when the time comes? I’ll make you change your mind.” Jungkook stood up, stuffing his hands into the pockets of pressed black slacks. That fiery ring flared in the center of his eyes as he walked away,his form disappearing into the thick hanging mist.

Taehyung watched the path for a few minutes before lowering his hand. His eyes wandered to the board locked in a stalemate. A deep inhale had his nostrils flaring before he slammed his fist against the board.

Smashing it, and the table, in two.

The balance has always tipped more one way than the other.

It was a stupid comparison, after all. Life being a chess game. Because while you could sacrifice plastic pieces, it was something far riskier to sacrifice pieces of flesh and blood.

Even heavier a price should this game be lost.

All the things you know about the Final Days are absolutely true.

Winter receded, leaving all the auction houses hungry to get into their season. Famous artists settled their wares, antique rarities were whispered among certain circles and the buys were ready to redecorate. The competition was fierce between all the art brokers. But none more fierce than the lasting feud between two of the oldest brokerages.

Caelestis Wares and Tenebrarum Acq. Ltd.

It was always a spectacle when the two vied for valuable pieces.

A lucrative one.

There were members of each auction house that were known to cause a scene. Imagine the hint of blood lust in the air when those two members were in attendance. The auction was abuzz because they were in attendance at the same time.

“Did you see them?” An overly-jeweled socialite purred to her circle of friends. A flutter of fans attempted to dry beads of sweat pooling atop their skin. “I don’t think I plan to do anything but watch.” Her eyes were wide and lust-blown.

The group of women swallowed thickly as their eyes hit the left side corner of the room. Kim Namjoon was one of the most seasoned brokers at Tenebrarum. He wore a suit of gray tweed that tucked and cut against his form. A lighter turtle neck stretched against a broad chest. A pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. The silvery blonde of his hair was smoothed at the sides, settling against the collar of his jacket. His arms crossed, causing the fabric to stretch against the push of his biceps. A smirk lifted the corner of his lips as he spoke.

All the things you hear about the Supernatural? They’re real too.

They couldn’t hear what was being said, but they knew who it was being said to. One of the women let a small whine slip as they ogled his conversation partner.

Min Yoongi.

Yoongi stood a hair shorter than Namjoon. Even so, he still gave off an air of unmistakable authority. He wasn’t just the head broker of Caelestis Wares. He was the current CEO. There were a few rare pieces that both houses had their eyes on.

The whole room buzzed over which item it could be, let alone the monetary bloodbath that would ensue for either to acquire it. The prospect was more exciting than anything they would bid on later.

“Gabriel, it’s been a while since you’ve left the roost.” Namjoon tilted his gaze to Yoongi. “It warms my heart to see you using those old legs of yours.” There was that magma-lined flare in the depths of his eyes. “Things really are getting tight if you’ve come out.”

There was a weary sigh from Yoongi as he fingered the button on the black jacket he wore. A white button-down worn underneath, paired with pressed slacks. The clinking of rings against his fingers were audible as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “You still have a big mouth, Mammon.” A side-long glance was given to the taller demon. Yoongi scoffed. “And you’re still expensive.”

Namjoon’s brow rose as he looked over his outfit. “Come now, Gabriel. You should know that these things are about status and expense. I must look the part, after all.” He placed a gentle hand over his heart - at least where his heart should be. “It’s all about playing the game, no?”

Nothing is safe from the Apocalypse. Everybody is choosing a side or being bribed into making a choice.

There was no mirth to be found in Yoongi’s narrowed gaze. “Namjoon, there’s going to come a day...” A muscle ticked near his jaw as he bit back his words.

“Oh, I’m aware, Yoongi. If I have my way...” He pushed off the wall to lean a hair closer to Yoongi. “...it will be pretty soon.” He patted Yoongi on the shoulder as he side-stepped away. “Good luck today.”

Yoongi watched Namjoon strut into the circle of women that had been staring them down. He rolled his eyes as one woman looked ready to melt to the floor. The vibration of his phone gave him a reason to step out of the room.

His brow furrowed as he saw Jimin’s name flash on the caller ID. He picked up and didn’t get a chance to greet the younger. “We lost her, Gabriel.” The sadness was palpable in his voice. “Saoirse tried to convince her, and she said she loved him. She doesn’t understand--”

Yoongi pinched the bridge of his nose, cutting him off with a heavy sigh. “Breathe, Uriel.” There was a shuddering sound that slid into a soft sniffle. “We knew there was a chance for failure. We’ll figure it out, Jimin. Alright?” There was a sound of words that wanted to be spoken, but ultimately were held back.

“I’m sorry, Yoongi.” The remorse in Jimin’s tone only grated on his nerves. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. No one but his own.

“It’s ok, Jimin. Take care of Saoirse. We’ll regroup tonight.” A tone sounded to notify guests the auction was starting. “Look, I’ll be a little late tonight. Get everyone caught up and I’ll get there when I can.”

The tone sounded again. “Who is it, Yoongi?”

He gritted his teeth as a long silence followed. He considered whether he needed to answer. “It’s Namjoon.”

There was a hiss on the other end. “Shouldn’t we-”

“NO!” He flinched at the volume of his own voice. “No. I’ll be fine. Do as I asked. I’ll keep in touch.”

“As you wish. Good luck.”

The call disconnected.

It’s just that some of you are worth far more than you realize.

Yoongi rolled his head back against the throb in his skull. “Stubborn woman. So, g’damned stubborn.”

He stared at Layla’s contact fighting the urge to call her. The third tone sounded forcing him to let it go - for now. He walked into the auction space, his eyes landing on an 18th-century suspension lamp. It was rumored to be used by a pious man who made a deal to lend his soul to the benefit of Heaven. Remnants of his blood mixed in the oil kept demons at bay. A powerful relic that needed to not be in the hands of Tenebrarum.

He sat on the opposite side of the room from Namjoon. The auctioneer’s smile grew as he realized what was about to happen. They wheeled the suspension lamp to the front. “The first item up for bid, ladies and gentlemen, is an 18th-century suspension lamp from Italy. We’ll start the bidding at one hundred thousand dollars.”

Namjoon and Yoongi raised their paddles at the same time.

So what are we? What are the Acquisitae?

Layla arrived at the top floor exhaling softly before tapping softly on the large double doors of its current CEO.

“Enter,” came the smooth, buttery, poisonous silk of Kim Seokjin’s voice.

She pushed inside to catch him leaning, lazily, against the massive blackwood desk. The perfect petal pink of his lips tilted upward.

“Do you need something, Sir?” A brow arched as she closed the door behind her.

A long finger crooked in her direction, beckoning her to come closer to him. “I need you, Layla.” She stepped closer as his finger tucked under the point of her chin. “I need you to stay away from Calestis Wares.” The other hand slid into the niche of her waist, pulling her against his taller frame. Her lashes fluttered shut as a breath slid quietly from between her lips. “You’ve made your choice, haven’t you?” His lips hovered over the apple of her cheeks.

“Yes, Jin.” She had long gone nose blind to the scent of sulfur that surrounded the infernals. Being around Jin, in the beginning, caused her eyes to water. He gave off the strongest scent and she pushed through. Forced herself to endure, and now? “I told them I’ve chosen my path willingly. You don’t have to worry.”

You are precious. You are the key to saving all of existence.

Jin smirked as she tilted her head, exposing the tender flesh of her neck. His breath was like a handheld blow dryer focused in one spot too long. She flinched, and endured, as he purposely caused her discomfort. The fiery-red ring flared in his gaze and he managed to keep his irritation at bay. He watched as her skin reddened from exposure to the heat. “You really have chosen me, haven’t you?” The smile was lazy as he released her.

Layla’s fingers clenched into the fabric of her pencil skirt. The closer one stood to Jin, the more prone to loss of control. She gave another heavy swallow as she nodded rapidly. “Y-Yes, Jin.”

“I knew you were smart, Layla.” He clasped his hands together against his leg. Her eyes widened at the black nails and silver rings adorning his fingers. “Maybe you can help them be smart too, hm?” Layla looked up, confused. Seokjin smiled and he seemed too radiant. Her gaze lowered to the floor as he continued. “Why don’t you invite your friend, Saoirse?” A brow arched as her gaze whipped upward.

“Excuse me?” A breathless sound pushed from between her lips.

“Saoirse isn’t so saintly, we know this. I mean she used to…” Layla cleared her throat before Seokjin finished his sentence. He smirked at her sentimentalism. “...you know what she used to do, Layla. Doesn’t it make you curious why they even let her stay? All the sins that have permeated her whole life. I wouldn’t judge her. I feel like she could be who she really is here.” Liar. Snake-oil salesman. Seducer. It was all true. Jin was all of these things and his good looks were the nail in the convincing coffin that he backed many people into.

“I won’t do that, Jin.” Layla swayed on her heels before shaking her head. “I agreed to work for you. I have my own agenda and it doesn’t involve sharing.” She spoke through clenched teeth.

“Oh ho! Is that jealousy I smell?” He pushed off the desk with a flare of nostrils. “I like this scent on you. Maybe I’ll pull her in myself?” He loomed over her with hellfire blazing in his eyes. “Because last I checked, I was the one in charge.”

Layla’s posture straightened with no signs of backing down. “I know you’re in charge. I remember who you are, Lucifer, The Morning Star,” she spat, “and if you think I’ll let you hurt her, you do not know me very well.”

You are the key to saving us.

Seokjin clenched his hand at his side as she smirked up at him. “Go ahead. If that’s the best you can do to assert your will.” The red in his eyes turned an abyssal black that swallowed the whites of his eyes. “You realize it now, don’t you?” Her head nodded as he remained quiet. “It’s different when we submit of our own free will.” She smiled, magnificent, triumphant that her theory had proven correct. “We are on equal footing, Seokjin.”

Her phone buzzed. She retrieved it from her pocket with a soft sigh. “Your two o’clock is early. You should do something about your temper.” She turned on her heel and left his office. Letting the air hiss from her lungs as she practically jogged toward the elevator.

Seokjin stared at the door in utter silence. Others came to him with very little need to flex his powers of persuasion. But when Layla came to him from Caelestis, he was eager to get his talons into Yoongi’s most prized possession. Now he realized something he hadn’t before - and now he wanted to corrupt her even more.

His blood was running hot at the thought of the next Spring Gala. A plume of smoke slithered through his nostrils as he chuckled. He turned to check his reflection in the mirror. If you thought about some of the most favored songs in all of history that were named after a woman, you’d tend to wonder what sway that person had on the songwriter, right?

Seokjin chuckled, as he hummed that old Eric Clapton classic. “Laayyyla, you got me on my knees - Layla.” He adjusted his tie in the mirror, a full bright smile spreading across his face. “I’m begging darlin’ please, Layla…”

He whistled as he settled into the leather wingback behind his desk. “...darlin’ won’t you ease my worried mind?” The door clicked as Layla entered again and he clasped his fingers on his desk.

“Mr. Kim, your two o’clock is here.”

You listened to Hoseok explain what was at stake. He spoke of the real world and the creatures that existed just in the shadows. He brought all your nightmares to life and then said that some were fighting on your side.

Jimin and Saoirse showed up almost an hour after you. Luckily, you had a shower, a drink, and Hobi fretting over you for every breath you took.

Saoirse kept eyeing a bottle of whiskey, an internal struggle visible in the shaking of her eyes. She opted to stay next to you, especially after retelling her meeting with Layla earlier. The two of you watched Jimin and Hoseok in the kitchen, deep in quiet conversation.

“Does she know?” Jimin asked, pouring a cup of coffee. Hoseok stared off into space before Jimin spoke again. “Raguel. Does. She. Know?” A muscle ticked in his jaw as Hobi nodded, his shoulders sagging. “What happened?”

Hoseok let a trembling hand settle over his eyes. “Moloch.” Jimin’s wide-eyed gaze turned to him.

“Wait. Moloch came for her?” Jimin managed to keep his voice down.

Hoseok nodded, the exhaustion apparent as he leaned against the counter. “We leveled half a neighborhood, Jimin. He was dead set on leaving with her in any condition.” They slid a glance over to the ladies hugging on the couch. Jimin noted the purple-yellow bruises on your shoulder and a bandaged ankle.

The kettle was placed back on the stove before turning to Hoseok. “Yoongi is at the auction with Namjoon. Layla willingly gave herself up to Seokjin.” A bitter smile formed as he leaned next to Hoseok. “Things went from bad to worse, yeah?”

Hoseok’s eyes were on you this whole time. “I’m not giving up on her, Jimin.” They both looked over to the two trying to find reasons to smile. You held Saoirse through a sob as she fought not to sink into her old habits.

“I’m not giving up either, Hobi.” Jimin placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. They picked up steaming mugs of coffee to join the two in the living room. Hoseok sighed deeply, trying to feign a smile for you. “And now, I’ll tell you who We are.”

#bangtanscenery #bangtanscenerycollab #btswriterscollective #hyunglinenetwork #bangtanarmynet #bts ot7 x reader #bts ot7 fanfiction #angels and demons au #heaven and hell au #biasrekkers #bts ot7 x oc #bts fanfiction #thebiasrekkers

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iamtaekooked · 6 years

Text

I Am Not Jealous (I am just territorial) || KTH

Group: BTS || Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Genre: fluff, a bit of angst

Word count 6.0k

WARNING: Contains swearing. Read at your own risk if it makes you uncomfortable.

Synopsis:

Jeongguk and Jimin really ship you and Taehyung, the rest of the boys cant understand their obsession, Yoongi gets ignored and Taehyung dies of jealousy.

A/N: I am posting after so long and i am sorry but I hope you guys enjoy this one! (Edit: I just noticed these weird ass symbols show up in the writing. If you see them its a tumblr glitch! I tried editing it, but they don’t appear in the draft so please ignore)

Sometimes Jimin wonders where he went wrong in raising Jeongguk. The boy never listens to him, is always on the other end of the spectrum of things, disrespects him, even goes so far as to copy him because- “I was born in Busan first”- or so he says. But there has never been a single thing the two boys have agreed on. Except for one.

The miracle occurs the day Jeongguk decides to divulge a secret to all of his hyungs because he just cant take it anymore. He usually prides himself on being the best secret keeper of the group because he even knows about Jin hyung’s pink princess underwear and he has never told anyone about it. But this is something he feels everyone should know. So in the middle of the night he wakes up all hyung’s, even Yoongi- although he risks losing his life at that point- to have a secret meeting.

A secret, especially from Taehyung.

“Okay so. I have called this meeting because I have something of utmost importance to tell you” he looks around the room at everyone. Jin is already asleep as his head hangs low, Namjoon is yawning, Yoongi is glaring at him, ready to kill; Hoseok is staring blankly at the ground and Jimin seems to be the only attentive one out of all them. And Taehyung is not there.

“I swear to god Gukkie, if this is something stupid I am going to kill you right now” Yoongi says in a grumpy voice, which makes Jeongguk shiver at the spot.

“Hyung- I swear to you this is the best thing you will ever hear in your entire life. It is huuugee” and the look of wonder and excitement in Jeongguk’s eyes is enough to draw everyone out of their sleepy state. Well almost.

“Will you just get on with it” Namjoon rubs his face with his hands, voice sounding muffled as a result.

“Yeah okay. Alright brace yourselves-” and there is a moment of pause as he looks at each member, and the suspense rises. Hoseok can almost hear the drum roll in his ears because of it.

“Taheyungie hyung and y/n have something going on” he says excited with a look of pure happiness on his face. But the response his revelation gets is less than enthusiastic. Except for Jimin.

“I knew it!” He jumps from his seat, and has an equally big smile on his face. The two boys high-five each other, while the rest of their hyungs look ready to kill them.

The commotion wakes up Jin who looks panicked as he looks around himself. “Wait- what did I miss” he says in a state of daze.

The other boys turn in his direction with blank looks on their faces.

Jeongguk doesn’t even dare look at Yoongi because he knows the kind of look he is going to be faced with. In all honesty he feels a little disappointed at the reception he gets.

He widely gesture trying to convey his enthusiasm but it feels like it goes over everyone’s head. “Oh come on hyungs. I am serious. I swear something is going on between them” “If you don’t believe me. I’ll show it to you” he says with a look of pleading in his eyes.

“I’ll help!” Jimin says excitedly.

“We’ll make you believe us hyung” Jimin looks directly at Namjoon who in turn is unable to reciprocate their feelings of happiness because he just wants to go back to sleep. Everyone does. Except for Jimin and Jeongguk.

So, while everyone leaves one by one, Jimin and Jeongguk sit in the middle of the room to plan out how they are going to prove to their hyung’s they are right.

“Lets just go with the classic old way Kookie” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows and Jeongguk looks at him with a blank expression, but it only lasts for a brief second before his eyes light up.

“Jealousy!” He voices Jimin’s thoughts and they both high five.

But then Jeongguk’s face falls and he groans in his hands.

“Whats wrong?” A concerned look passes over Jimin’s face.

“Taehyungie hyung is too secure though. He would never feel jealous” Jeongguk’s face falls and his shoulders slump as he realizes the truth behind his own words.

“Thats true. But there is one person in the entire existence that can make Taehyung jealous” Jimin smiles knowingly, while jeongguk just looks confused.

A moment of silence passes before he loudly claps his hands in excitement.

“You are a fucking genius hyung” Jeongguk high fives Jimin and they both sit in the dark living room, illuminated only by the flashlights on their phones, smiling like idiots.

(i)

You are not sure if you are imagining things, or if you have lost your mind because there was no way Park frickin Bo Gum was standing in front of you. There was no way in hell you were in your right mind. You want to scream and cry out of joy but you don’t want to make a complete fool out of yourself either. So, you try to hold that giddiness in as much as you can but it comes out in the form of trembling legs, stuttered words, and nervous giggles.

You seem to remain unaware of the tension in the room as you busy yourself in a conversation with Bo Geum, who actually initiates it in the first place. If you were paying attention you would have noticed the glares Taehyung was throwing your way. You would have noticed the way his face had taken on a cold and rigid quality. You would have seen the clenching and unclenching of his jaw.

But you didnt.

And it makes Taehyung’s blood boil. Yet, he couldn’t say anything because he has no right over you. He knows that but it doesn’t reassure of comfort him in any way.

“Oh my god holy shit Bo Geum is so nice…” you falter into a dreamy sigh as you collapse on the couch next to Taehyung and place your head on his shoulder

Instantly his grasp tightens on the glass in his hand. He feels something constricting his chest as he registers your words. He feels it with so much intensity, that it suffocates him. He really wants to tell you to stop talking to the guy, and the words are just at the tip of his tongue, but he bites them down.

Instead he presses his lips into a thin smile as you look at him and tell him all the things about his own friend. Suddenly, he feels small and insignificant. He shifts away from you a little, and awkwardly clears his throat before speaking, so his voice doesnt crack. But more than his voice, his heart is breaking bit by bit.

“Yeah. He is” Taehyung smiles very slightly but its the kind that looks completely forced and its gone just as soon as it had come.

Taehyung can feel your eyes on him but he makes no comment about it. You bite your lip to suppress your smile, but it quivers and you fail at it. But Taehyung doesn’t know it since he is busy sulking and mulling over his own thoughts.

Earth to Taheyung

Earth to Taehyung

He can hear the words distantly ringing in his ears, the voice slowly drawing him out of his trance like state. And when he comes to it he is faced with your concerned face.

“Are you okay Tae?”

He nods but you know he isn’t because the crease in between his eyebrows speaks of his troubled mind. But you don’t push it because he doesn't look like he wants to talk about it.

“Thank you for bringing your friend Bo Geum. It was nice getting to know him and I am happy to know that you do have other friends” you smile up at him.

“I actually didn’t invite him but… hmm. I am glad you like Bo Geum” he gives you a tight lipped smile that doesn’t even reach his eyes as usual.

“Oh Tae” you breathe as you loop your hand around his arm.

His eyebrows furrow in confusion as he looks down at you because he doesn’t know what you mean by- “oh Tae” - and he doesn’t ask because he isn’t sure if he’ll like the answer.

Across the room Jeongguk and Jimin observe the situation with amused looks on their faces because finally its working. They excitedly shake each other’s hand and try to suppress the big smiles that threaten to break out.

Meanwhile their hyungs, who also watched the whole thing unfold, look at each other with faces of shock, and disbelief.

“I didn’t know Taehyungie liked y/n” Namjoon cannot seem to close his mouth

“Yeah me too” Hoseok whispers in a daze like state from next to him.

While Yoongi and Seokjin are still staring at Taehyung who seems so deflated, that they both feel the need to comfort him. Its almost cute.

But everyone knows that there is definitely something going on **************

Once the, secret-that-wasnt-really-a-secret was out, everyone begins figuring out ways to make Taehyung divulge his feelings for you; because in all honesty all the boys felt bad for him. However, even with six brains combined together they couldn’t come up with one good idea.

“I still think we should stick with the whole jealousy thing” Jimin looks at the boys, hoping they would accept his idea.

“Given that we haven’t been able to come up with a single idea in the” Namjoon pauses to look at his watch briefly “past six hours I agree with Jiminnie”

Seokjin and Hoseok both convey their agreement by nodding and soon enough all the boys are on board with the plan of making Taehyung jealous. They all get up to catch up on some much needed sleep when Yoongi intervenes.

“Wait. Why are we doing this again?” He looks completely confused and lost because frankly he doesn’t see the point in forcing two grown ups in awkward situations just so they can express their feelings. Maybe he is right.

Jeongguk sighs heavily as he deadpans at Yoongi, while Seokjin ruffles his hair as he passes by. The rest of them ignore his question and proceed to their rooms while Yoongi is left alone at the dining table to try and figure out what the heck is the point?

(ii)

The second time Taehyung experiences feelings of jealousy is when he throws a year end party. Or rather he is forced by Jeongguk and Jimin who practically beg him in front of his whole class during college . When his classmates join in, he is left with no choice but to do so.

However he is totally regretting his decision because some random guy is chatting you up in the corner of the room and he wants to kill someone.

Only he doesnt know that the guy who is supposedly flirting with you has been paid by Jimin and Jeongguk to do so. So its not even real, but to Taehyung it is as real as it gets because he feels completely helpless watching it unfold in front of him. It hurts even more to see that you aren’t even making the effort to shoo the guy away. In fact, if anything he thinks you are enjoying it judging by your laughter, and smiles.

He really wants to punch someone, and break a few things. And then kill the guy who has the audacity to flirt with you.

“10 years” Yoongi slides up next to Taehyung with the red cup in his hand, drink not even touched.

“What?” Taehyung tears his eyes away from the corner of the room that has suddenly become a source of torment for him.

“The minimum sentence for first degree murder” Yoongi finally takes a tiny sip of his drink, nose scrunching at the bitter taste. He only wanted to look cool while saying it but he fails at it.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Taehyung turns his body so he is fully facing Yoongi.

“I am just making you aware that if you do decide to kill that guy” Yoongi pauses to make the situation more dramatic and give Taehyung the time to glance in your direction once again “you are going to be jailed for ten years. Its a waste of your youth frankly”

“I thought it’d be worse” Taehyung chuckles

“You’re not even denying it” Yoongi smirks as he eyes the younger boy curiously

“What’s there to deny?” Taehyung looks at his hyung in confusion

“That you’re jealous” Yoongi arches a brow at Taehyung in question, who pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation

Taehyung sighs as he chugs down his drink in one breath and slams the cup on the kitchen island counter. He pours himself another drink and downs it while glaring at the stupid fucking corner of the room.

“Hyung seriously. How do you pull things out of your ass like that?” Taehyung feigns complete ignorance to his jealousy as he tears his eyes away from you and attempts to continue the conversation; because he would have any kind of distraction to wipe away the image you and the random dude, off his mind. Even Yoongi

“I would thank you for the compliment but even you know I am right.” Yoongi shrugs coolly and smirks up at the younger boy.

This is probably the most he has heard Yoongi say in one go in all the time he has known the boy.

“I- fuck- hyung I am not jealous” Taehyung mutters under his breath, and makes no eye contact with Yoongi.

“Is this your way of coping with your feelings?” Yoongi retorts which makes Taehyung unconsciously push his tongue into his cheek. “Besides everyone in this room can smell that jealousy off you” Yoongi chuckles under his breath as he watches Taehyung roll his eyes in annoyance.

A small stretch of silence later, Yoongi’s words cut through the silence and quite possibly Taehyung’s heart because he sure as hell feels drained of life as hears the words leave the older boy’s mouth. “The boy knows how to kiss though. I’ll give him that”

Taehyung’s head snaps in your direction faster than he ever thought he was capable of, and he crushes the beer cup in his hand while he’s at it. To a third party though it might have looked like he snapped his neck or something. But when his eyes find the wretched corner he sees you standing by yourself, sipping your drink as you look around the room.

Taehyung’s nostrils flare in anger as he turns towards his hyung who looks so amused and smiley he could have shit skittles at the moment. Taehyung keeps glaring at him but realizes soon enough that he has been caught and is quick to avert his gaze. His cheeks begin to flush out of embarrassment because what the hell Kim fucking Taehyung. He coughs awkwardly and turns away from Yoongi. The older boy however, is still looking at him in amusement, with a knowing smirk plastered on his face.

“Thats what I thought kid” Yoongi pats him on the shoulder more out of sympathy than anything else.

Taehyung inwardly groans as he throws his head into hands.

Pathetic Kim Taehyung. Just. Fucking. Pathetic. Way to go

(iii)

Recently, Taehyung realizes, he feels something ugly twist inside of him whenever he is in the vicinity of the Jeongguk. It might to might not have to do with your new found passion for fangirling about him and it really makes Taehyung feel a certain way, but its not jealousy. Or so he likes to believe but everyone else around him can see it.

The first time he encounters it is when Jeongguk makes pasta for everyone.

You couldn’t stop talking about it and Taehyung couldn’t stop feeling irritated. It was quite funny actually because the rest of the boys noticed his cold attitude but you were the only one who couldn’t see it.

“Oh my god Tae. Can you believe it? Jeongguk is such a good cook!” You gushed, stuffing a mouthful of said pasta in your mouth.

“Its just pasta. Everyone can make it. He literally just added the damn sauce to the fucking thing” he grumpily replies, lips jutting out slightly into a pout because he can’t understand how it makes Jeongguk a good cook, when he has done the same thing a million times before and you have never complimented him.

The second instance occurs when Jeongguk and Yoongi are playing basketball and younger pushes up his jersey to wipe off the sweat on his forehead, effectively putting his abs on display.

“Holy…. shi- Jeongguk is ripped” you choke on your water while you continue to gaze at him in a dreamlike state.

Taehyung’s mouth falls open, his shoulder slump, and its as if all the life is sucked out of him. It takes him a few minutes to gain composure, but when he does, his cheeks are puffed out and his nostrils are flaring.

“Oh my god Tae- Look!” you excitedly tap him on the arm to get his attention and even go so far to squint and lean forward in your seat to take a look at his abs. “Damn. He is hot”

Taehyung frowns at you, quickly ripping his arm out of your grasp, and shuffling away slightly. “Y/n they’re literally just muscles. Everyone fucking has muscles”

“I know but- like- his muscles look exceptionally good is all I am saying. What the hell.. wow” you breathe dreamily while fanning yourself with your hand.

Taehyung sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yeah okay. Whatever”

The third time is when Jeongguk helps you learn a few dance steps for your upcoming ball at college. And once again Taehyung is the victim of all the gushing and fangirling

“Tae Jeongguk is such a good dancer. Oh my god” you barge into his room without a care just as he is about to sleep.

“Mhm” Taehyung replies in disinterest as he keeps his focus on his phone.

“I wonder how he learned to dance like that” the genuine tone of your voice, causes Taehyung to sigh heavily.

“Hmm. Well…uhm I am going to sleep.” he lays down on the bed, back facing you.

“Oh Taehyung” you sigh- and once again it confuses Taehyung.

When he feels the bed shift and the sound of footsteps retreat, he shoots up in his bed and scowls at the door.

The kid is a good cook (although Taehyung thinks its debateable), he’s ripped and now he is a great dancer too.

|| || || || ||

Taehyung is so lost in thoughts, he doesn’t notice Jeongguk has taken a seat next to him.

“Did y/n tell you the performance went well?” Jeongguk says with a slight edge of interest in his voice just to piss Taehyung off.

“Huh. Good for y/n then” Taehyung tries to keep a neutral expression because he doesn’t want to give away his frustration in front of Jeongguk, but he finds it hard to do.

“Why do you seem so distant lately?” The younger boy poses the question on purpose.

“I am not. I am fine” Taehyung forces himself to smile, but it comes out extremely fake.

“Mhm. Sure whatever you say hyung” Jeongguk snorts.

“Oh my god. Dont tell me…. you too” Taehyung throws his head into his hands.

Taehyung adamantly refuses to believe he is jealous. Even when its staring him in the face, he doesn’t acknowledge it. Even when it makes him angry enough to see red, he denies it.

Because he is not jealous. And the next person to say it to him will earn a punch to their face. That next person happens to be Jeongguk and immediately his mind backs on its previous resolve because really if there is someone else he is scared of after Yoongi, its Jeongguk- the perfectly tall, obnoxiously attractive and talented youngster.

“Just admit it hyung. Its not good for your health. I read a study that found jealousy can either kill you, or make you kill someone else. The choice is yours” he clicks his tongue and winks at his hyung before coolly walking off.

Taehyung opens and closes his mouth to say something but the words don’t come out. He blinks in disbelief because he can’t believe a kid younger than him tried to school him about his own feelings.

Stupid fucking Jeon Jeongguk- the obnoxiously tall, attractive and ripped kid.

Jimin and Jeongguk hold another meeting that they call “progress check meeting” with Namjoon and the rest of the boys, who are worried for their younger ones’ mental health because this kind of obsession is not healthy.

“What now?” Seokjin looks at the two young boys in front of him.

“Okay so-” Jimin pauses as he looks at the little notebook in his hand. “So far we know that Taehyung is easy to rile up. We know he gets jealous fast too. But he still hasn’t proclaimed his love for y/n-”

“Or at the very least professed his liking for her” Jeongguk interjects and Jimin nods.

“Aren’t you guys taking this too seriously?” Yoongi comments with a look that screams this-is-incredulous.

But as usual he is subjected to a scowl by Jeongguk and ignored by Jimin.

“Anyway” Jimin moves on in a flippant manner. “Maknae and I were thinking we need to do something dramatic this time. Something to push him off the edge so that he says it in front of everyone”

“Why the fuck are we doing this?” Yoongi looks completely lost.” No. In fact why the fuck are you guys doing this? What even is this?” The disapproving and exasperated tone is evident in his voice ; and to say that Jeongguk and Jimin look disappointed is an understatement.

“We need a plan” Jeongguk looks so serious, his hyungs have a hard time holding in their laughs because he has never been this serious for anything in his life.

“Now” Jimin completes the sentence which elicits groans from the older boys who cannot seem to shake off Jeongguk and Jimin, no matter what they do.

*************** (iv)

Taehyung’s head begins to take on a splitting pain right on the temples. Its worsened by the fact that no one feels the need to shut up around him. All the loud noises and laughter is beginning to piss him off and right at the centre of his frustration is you. Its always about you, but he is always too stubborn to admit it. As he looks around himself, the weird twisty feeling in the pit of his stomach grows stronger :

Y/N listen to this - Yoongi obnoxiously putting the earphones in your ear with extra attention to being gentle

Y/n try this!- Jeongguk - the stupid fucking attractive kid- as he feeds you the pasta he made. Stupid frickin pasta. What in the world is so great about that pasta anyway?

Y/n lets go watch your favourite movie - Jimin as he places his hand in yours and leads you to the living room

“Y/N!!!”- an overexcited Hoseok as he glues himself to your side and cuddles into you.

“Y/n you should come over more often”- Seokjin as he ruffles your hair while he walks by

“Y/N, your favourite drink”- Namjoon, handing you the drink he claims he made

The whole evening goes by in a blur as everyone seems to put you in the centre of attention. Taehyung feels so frustrated that by the end he has opted to go completely silent. He sulks in a corner by himself, holding his head in his hand, as once again the heavy feeling contracts his chest. He gave up on the venomous glares he was throwing at everyone long ago. Its futile anyway. No one seems to notice how he feels. You don’t seem to notice how he feels.

He swivels in the chair at the kitchen island as he feels a hand on his shoulder. Turning around he is met by you. He doesn’t even feel like looking at you, so he turns back around and resumes his posture.

“What’s wrong?” you sit on the chair next to him, swivelling around so that you are face to face. He clears his throat awkwardly and partially turns his head away from you, busying himself by plucking the flowers that sit in the flower vase in the middle of the counter. He doesn’t look at you for quite a while.

“Taehyung. Talk to me” you lean in closer as you study his face earnestly for any indication of what he might be feeling.

But silence and reluctance is all you are met with

“Oh Taehyung” you breathe.There it is again- the weird, fond, and exasperated expression that conveys something. He thinks long and hard about it. And then it hits him like a ton of bricks.

You’ve said it every time he has been jealous, which means you do it on purpose. Which means…. Well it means something and he knows exactly how to go about it. Finally he can admit it to himself and even to you because he knows you do too.

“What— what is that- - this- “oh Taehyung”- you keep doing it” he finally asks, diverting all his attention to you. His expression completely morphs from one of sulkiness to amusement.

“Nothing” you quickly look away.

Meanwhile Jeongguk and the rest of the gang are watching the scene unfold and they are quite thrilled about it. Except for Jimin who looks disappointed.

“What wrong with you?” Jeongguk looks at the older boy

“I thought this was going to be something passionate. But they are so boring” he huffs as he watches the two of you engage in a seemingly normal conversation. However its anything but normal.

...

“I know its not nothing. Do you seriously think I am dumb?” Taehyung leans in towards you.

“No I know you are not. But seriously its nothing Tae” you try to brush it off but he is adamant

“You’ve said that every single time that I have— that I have— acted… weird” he opts to choose that word instead of jealous.

“And you think I don’t know why you’ve been acting weird?” You smile knowingly

“I know you do” Taehyung reciprocates the smile

“Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“I am not sure. I just felt too many emotions at the same time and I didn’t know how to go about it” he shrugs

“What changed just now then?” You narrow your eyes at him curiously

“Its when you said- “Oh Taehyung- again. Just now. I just realized it” he chuckles silently, shaking his head.

“Realize what?” You title your head in confusion because you really don’t get what he is talking about

“You know the way you say it is- its- its so - I want to say fond. Its like you do it on purpose. Almost as if you like me” he looks at you intently.

“I am caught aren’t I” you question, essentially confirming the answer because even you are tired of hiding your feeling from him. Plus, he doesn’t seem like he isn't interested so there is no harm in going along with it.

“Why did you act like you didn’t care?”

You shrug. “Why were you jealous?”

“I wasn't jealous, I was just territorial” he shrugs coolly which makes you laugh.

“Oh really?” you tease, that flirty tone evident in your voice and it only urges Taehyung on.

“Yes, I was” he reaches behind you, firmly locks his hand on the stool and pushes you closer to himself. It makes you gasp because you never knew he had this kind of strength and there is something very sultry about it.

“Is this hotter than Jeongguk’s abs?” He smirks at you

“Well…” you pretend to think “Nah. His abs are still hotter” you suppress the playful smile by pursing your lips

“What about this?” He leans in your ear and blows softly. You flinch back while chuckling.

“It tickles” you pout. But you know he meant for it to be seductive.

“Okay. What about this?” he further pushes you towards him, trapping your legs between his as he places them on either side of your thighs.

“You can do better” you tease

“Are you sure you can handle it?” His voice is husky and raspy and you thank the heavens your legs are shut tight, otherwise you would have been forced to do so.

“Try me” you try to keep your voice steady but it comes a little bit more breathy than you expect. But Taehyung thinks its perfect.

He leans in closer to you, lips almost touching yours, but not quite there. You have to stop yourself from gasping because it is hot.

“Why are you such a tease?” He whispers against your lips and looks at you with something akin to playfulness in his eyes, but its more seductive in a way.

“I don't think you should be saying this right now Kim Taehyung” the corner of your moth lifts up in a smug smile.

“Its just a small revenge”

“Do you like me?” you whisper, your breath getting caught in your throat as he moves a little bit closer.

“What do you think?” His voice is still low and raspy, and he even bites his lip.

It seems as if you two have forgotten there are others in the room. But they are watching it all.

“Hyung why the hell are you sweating” Namjoon looks confusedly at Seokjin who has beads of sweat rolling down his forehead.

“I- I- dont know. Its just hot all of a sudden” he wipes his forehead with the the sleeve of his shirt.

The rest of the boys snicker and try to hold in their laughter. But its true. It is hot.

“Is that passionate enough Jimin?” Hoseok nudges him and wiggles his eyes. But Jimin can only nod because he is shocked at how quickly things progressed from 0-100.

“Its like I am watching porn. But like the part before foreplay” Yoongi almost barfs in his mouth at the thought. He looks on the scene with disgust and almost gags, which doesn’t please the other boys so as usual no one pays attention to him.

“I like you dummy. Only you. Always you” Taehyung cups your cheeks and lays a soft kiss on your lips. You pull away and are faced with a smiley Taheyung.

“You are so bad. All those times going on and on and on about Jeongguk. I almost thought you liked him. I even hated the poor kid for a while” Taehyung breathes out and is quick to graze his lips against yours in a soft chaste peck. “I like you too” you then kiss his nose in response.

Jimin and Jeongguk die inside and relay their appreciation with “aww’s”

“You’re cute when you’re jealous”

“Dont make me go there y/n. You have no idea how it made me feel. I wanted to kill every man in your vicinity. Even the guys”

“Awww” you squish his cheeks. “Dont worry baby boy I am your’s”

“Ooh kinky” Taehyung chuckles, and earns himself a playful slap on the arm.

“Yah! Keep it pg-13” Yoongi yells, breaking off the tension in the air, and along with it the little flirty conversation between you and Taehyung. You look behind Taehyung and your eyes widen as you realize the rest of the boys are also present in the room. Suddenly your cheeks start warming. You hide your head in Taehyung’s neck, being unable to look at them.

“Just when it was getting good…” Taehyung laments under his breath, which makes you chuckle because he sounds so annoyed.

“Taehyung!!!” Jeongguk jumps at the opportunity of the sexual tension breaking because frankly he didn’t want to interrupt. He charges towards his friend and tackles him in a hug from behind.

“What is it you brat?” Taehyung sighs heavily because he is really pissed off. He wanted alone time with you but he couldn’t even have that after all the time he has waited for the moment.

“You finally confessed. I thought you were going to die of jealousy. Do you know how much we had to go through to make this happen. We- ” he stops himself at the right moment, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest, but there is no point because he has divulged it already.

“What do you mean?” Tae swivels around in his chair to face the boys.

They all look away, and pretend no to know what he is talking about. But Yoongi as usual ruins it for them.

“I told them not to do it” he shrugs, bailing himself out. But he was right. He did say that.

“Do what?” Taehyung questions firmly.

“They tired to make you jealous. These idiots” he pauses to look at Jimin and Jeongguk “even went so far as to pay a guy to flirt with y/n that day at the party. Just so you would react”

“Hyung!” Jimin and Joengguk say in unison and look at Yoongi with expressions of betrayal plastered on their faces

“What?” The sudden outburst makes every look at the owner of the voice. Its turns out to be you. “So you mean to tell me, that the guy lied? All that shit about me being beautiful and stuff?” You look at Jimin and Jeongguk, but both are quick to hide behind Seokjin.

“Yeah tell her—“ Taehyung looks smug but his face falls as he registers your words properly. “Wait what? - he called you beautiful? I am going to break the guy’s face” Taehyung looks pissed with his puffed out cheeks and flaring nostrils. Its more cute than anything though.

“Shut up Tae. This is a matter of my pride now” you march towards Seokjin who moves out the way, leaving the two boys in question, exposed.

You grab each by his ear, as punishment.

“Ow- ouch okay sorry” Jeongguk hisses in pain.

“Ow-ah-ah y/n sorry. Let go” Jimin pleads next

“What else did he call you?” Taehyung quickly follows behind you, hands placed on his hips.

“Oh god. Stop being jealous. I told you I like you. Now is the time to be my boyfriend and support me. Are you forgetting they planned everything? They are the source of all your suffering” you remind him so he will side with you.

“Boyfriend..” Taehyung whispers and looks down at the ground shyly. Out of everything you said that is the only word he picks out and his ears start becoming red.

“Yeah. What else? Now help me” your voice draws him out of his daydream.

“Yeah. Sure” he supplies.

“You two are so going to get your asses kicked” you look at Jeongguk and Jimin who look terrified for their lives.

Taehyung grabs Jeongguk, much against his struggle and you keep your hold tightened on Jimin who doesn’t even try to struggle. You take away both the boys who look at each for fear of their lives. Okay maybe they are being a little bit dramatic but it feels life-threatening for them.

“Why did we ever get them together?” Jeongguk looks at Jimin, who in turn looks outraged.

“Its was your idea. You said there was something going on. I shouldn’t have listened to you. I was born in Busan first-”

“What the fuck does that have to do with anything?” Jeongguk looks at him incredulously.

“That has everything to do with this” Jimin grumbles while being dragged away by you.

Never in their wildest dreams did Jimin and Jeongguk imagine that helping you and Taehyung would mean weeks of cleaning everyone’s laundry, the one thing Jimin hated to do. But Jeongguk got all his games confiscated as punishment and he was literally regretting every decision he made that led him to the point of being struck with the thought of playing mid man in your romance. That wretched moment.

So while Jimin grumpily cleans the laundry and Jeongguk mourns the loss his video games, you two watch them from afar; as you stand hugging each other.

“We should thank them later. If it wasn’t for them we wouldn’t be here” you look at at Taehyung, who nods. He pulls you in further, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“Yes we should” he smiles looking fondly at his two dumb friends without whom he wouldn’t be with you.

“Oh Taehyung” and its back again- that weirdly fond expression.

‘I am not even jealous anymore” he looks down at you.

“I know. But you’re cute” you look up at him and in that moment you look so beautiful that he cant help but bend down and place a kiss on your nose.

End

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let-it-raines · 6 years

Text

No Longer Blue (4/5)

Summary: Killian Jones met Emma Swan on one of the worst days of his life. That day continuously plays over in his mind, and as much as he wants it to stop, he never wants to forget.

Rating: Mature

A/N: There’s a line in here that says “I will stab you with my fork.” I jokingly said that to my fiancé the first time I celebrated Thanksgiving with his family. I thought we were having a private conversation, and he was teasing me while there were thirty people loudly talking...and all of their conversations stopped the moment the words came out of my mouth. So you could say I make a good impression.

Entire work on AO3 | Here |

Tag list: @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @wellhellotragic@nikkiemms @profdanglaisstuff @mayquita @ekr032-blog-blog@bmbbcs4evr @teamhook @branlovesouat @onceuponaprincessworld @dreadpirateemma @captainsjedi

When Killian drops Emma back off with Ruby and the rest of the bridesmaids, or really when she runs away from him down the hallway because her mind is all over the place and just looking at him made her more confused than anything in the world, they’re all thrilled to see the bag of food, practically tearing it apart before she can place it on the table at the edge of the room. Half of them moan while they’re eating, mumbling something about not having eaten for days to fit into the dresses, and she knows that none of that is true because she saw them eating both last night and this morning. Whatever, it doesn’t matter anyways. She just really wishes people wouldn’t make sex noises when eating food. She’s not saying she’s never done it, but some of these are a bit exaggerated.

Of course, sometimes sex noises during actual sex are a bit exaggerated.

It seems to take eons for everyone to finish getting ready, the next two hours passing at a snail’s pace, but Granny eventually comes in the room right as it’s time to help Ruby into her dress, and while the other girls are crowding around the three of them, this is more of a family moment than anything. They’ve all been through different versions of hell both separately and together, and while a wedding doesn’t always guarantee a happy ending, this seems like one, the zipper and buttons all coming together to make Ruby’s dressing complete.

If not a happy ending, a happy beginning then.

“You look so beautiful, Rubes,” she compliments as she helps to get Ruby’s veil situated for when they take pictures in a few minutes.

“Thank you, Ems. I love you, you know?”

She does.

“I do. I love you, too.”

Emma spends what feels like hours carrying Ruby’s train and smiling for pictures, but it’s worth it. It’s worth it to see Ruby happy, and as Emma watches she and Graham see each other for the first time, she can’t help the smile that breaks out across her face at the pure joy there. It makes her think a bit of she and Killian, but in no way are they the same. They’re not a couple, and they’re not in love, no matter what everyone seems to say. She simply can’t believe the words of others as they seem too good to be true.

She’s in love with him, and as much as she knows that he loves her, it’s not quite the same. It’s something she’s lived with for awhile now, and even if she’s one day brave enough to tell him how she really feels, jumping all of the hurdles and risks of losing him should he not feel the same and not want to be friends with her anymore, she’s not even sure how she’d go about that. She’d probably do something stupid like just blurting it out of nowhere.

“So tall, dark, and handsome,” Aurora inquires as she slides up to Emma while Ruby and Graham take some pictures, “he’s yours?”

Emma feels her stomach drop, a pit forming there while something unpleasant lodges in her throat, and all she wants to do is scream yes, yes he’s mine. But he’s not. She was just thinking that because she’s a glutton for punishment, and if someone is interested in Killian, she can’t hold him back from that. That’s selfish, and even if it kills her, she wants him to be happy. He deserves it more than anyone in the world.

It’s going to kill her.

“He’s a friend,” she says instead, and technically that’s the truth even if it burns her up inside.

“But what about that thing Ruby said about him being taken?”

She has to grit her teeth to try to keep herself from snapping at Aurora, and she might as well just ball her hand up into a fist to keep her from doing something stupid. “I don’t know what she was talking about.”

“Good,” Aurora smiles, and Emma’s unclenched hand instinctively goes to rest at the ring around her neck like it’ll keep her heart from breaking.

It doesn’t.

The rest of the afternoon is like torture, and she hates herself for it. She hates herself for having to force herself into smiling for the pictures, standing with Ruby and faking smiles and laughter as Ruby is practically shaking with giddy anticipation. Meanwhile, Emma’s being eaten up by the little (or more accurately big) green monster called jealousy.

She hates it. She hates being jealous. It’s got to be one of the worst feelings in the world, even when there are much worse things to do or be. And she doesn’t even have anything to be jealous about. Nothing has happened with Killian and Aurora or any other girl that’ll be at this wedding, but all she can think about is his hands running up Aurora’s back or his lips running against her neck. That last thought has her imagining him taking someone back to his hotel room only to realize he can’t do that because they’re sharing a room. That calms her for a moment before she thinks of him thrusting into someone against a closet door or going back to Aurora’s room, and it’s not that hard to imagine. She’s been in a similar situation with him.

It eats at her for the rest of the afternoon and early into the evening, but she has to push it aside to be a good maid of honor and more importantly a good friend. This is a day where Ruby deserves all of the happiness in the world. She’s been through the ringer in life, and Ruby deserves better than Emma living in her own personal hell while she’s getting married.

So Emma pushes her feelings down, keeping her stomach where it’s supposed to be and her throat clear of this awful feeling she’s had for most of the day. Aren’t weddings supposed to be more fun than this? More alcohol, dancing, and love, and less moping, jealousy, and petty hatred.

Screw it. She’s going to smile while she walks down the aisle, and she’s going to mean it.

So she does, walking down the aisle in her red gown, forgetting the chill in the air that’s causing gooseflesh to rise on her arms, and grinning as wide as can be as she looks from side to side at all of the people watching her. Her eyes find Killian without even looking for him, and he gives her a real, genuine smile before mouthing you’re beautiful, and she’ll blame her cheeks blushing on the nip of cold air that just blew through.

She doesn’t have anything to blame for the rapid beating of her heart, however. That’s just all Killian.

The ceremony is beautiful, even if it’s just your standard vows, but it’s something differentto see your best friend get married. She’d felt the same way when David and Mary Margaret got married, and even if her mind had been bit clearer then, she still feels the same amount of joy when the pastor announces them as husband and wife and Ruby cups Graham’s face and kisses the living daylights out of him.

She looks to find Killian in the crowd and is glad to see the smile gracing his face for how emotional this weekend has been for him.

The bridal party finished taking all of their pictures before the ceremony, so everyone but Ruby and Graham are immediately removed to the reception, bulb lights glistening under the white tents that have been set up and red and white flowers covering the white table cloths that rest atop the black and white checkered floor. The place is packed, barely a foot of space to maneuver around in as people alternate between the bar, the buffet tables, or the dance floor where a live band is performing.

Graham’s parents really know how to throw a party.

She’s trying to find Killian, having lost him when everyone rushed here from the ceremony, but all she finds is David and Leo, the both of them in nearly matching suits that may very well be the cutest thing she’s ever seen.

“Well, hello my handsome little man,” she tells Leo, kissing his cheek before she swoops in and takes him out of his father’s arms. “Are you having fun?”

“I’m having a blast,” David answers, cocky little smirk on his face, “and thank you so much for calling me handsome. Though I don’t know about this little thing.”

Emma rolls her eyes, and at the same time she feels a hand wrap around her hip and a solid arm rest on her waist. “I do,” Killian jests, and where in the world did he come from? “It’s a miracle that our favorite toddler friend here even exists.”

Emma has to hold back her chuckle at that because she promises she’s more emotionally mature than a sixth-grader laughing at a joke about a small dick, but Killian doesn’t contain his, especially because of the way David’s lips are downturned and his eyes scream murder.

Bloody murder.

“You are a word I cannot say right now, Killian Jones.”

“I know, Dave.” Killian moves to scratch behind his ear, glancing over at her quickly before looking back to David. “Would you mind taking your handsome mini me back so that I can take our lovely Swan to get a drink?”

David simply nods and takes Leo from Emma’s arms, and when Killian offers his hand as the two of them weave through the crowd on their way to the bar, Killian shuffling through people in line like they’re not angering people who are most likely only at this wedding for the free alcohol, she takes it without question.

“One glass of whatever rum you’re serving plus a glass of wine,” Killian orders, holding up two fingers with his free hand while his other is still holding Emma’s palm, and she really hopes that her hand doesn’t start sweating or become clammy at the heat of Killian’s skin against hers.

Killian releases her hand when they get their drinks, and as much as she misses the contact and the thrill that runs through her, she’s glad to calm her racing heart. It’s getting to be a problem lately, her racing heart when near Killian. A lot of the time it’ll be fine. They can watch television or go to the grocery store together and it’ll all be normal. But other times he’ll just look at her, his blue eyes staring into hers, and something will shift. Something she’s not okay with because it’s every bit as thrilling as it is heartbreaking, and she can’t handle the emotional turmoil of it all.

The fact that Killian is in a fitted suit tonight, his lean muscles obvious under the material, and a tiny bit of black chest hair exposed from the way he doesn’t wear a tie or completely button up his shirt, well, that doesn’t help in the slightest.

He’s stupid hot, and she can’t think of another way to describe him right now as something she’s trying to ignore coils in her belly.

It’s a fun night, and she seems to have forgotten about all of the idiotic, unfounded jealousy she felt earlier by the time she’s on her second drink and her stomach is full of poppy seed chicken that’s some of the best damn wedding food she’s ever had. Killian is teasing her about how Graham’s grandfather very seriously just asked if she’d like to go on a date tomorrow, and how he not-so-helpfully told the man that she was free.

“I will stab you with this fork,” she teases, waving around the utensil with a piece of broccoli on it.

“Oh come on, you – ”

She sees Aurora before Killian feels her tap his shoulder, and when he turns, he’s directly eye level with her cleavage, her bridesmaid’s dress readjusted to give everyone a more obvious look at the tops of her boobs. Emma both hates this girl and respects the hell out of her at this moment.

She mostly hates her.

“Would you care to dance?” Aurora questions, her eyes quickly darting to Emma’s and slanting just the slightest bit while her lips quirk up on one side. Did this woman just fucking smirk at her?

Killian’s a nice guy, and even if Aurora wasn’t offering her boobs on a platter, he’s still going to say yes. She already knows.

“I’d be honored to, milady.”

Killian glances back at her for a moment, smiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world, and he probably doesn’t. He’s going to dance with a beautiful woman, and the only option she’s gotten all night is an eighty-year-old man. It’s not that she wants men traipsing all over her. She only wants Killian, but he’s off dancing to the band cover a Frank Sinatra song while she’s thinking about legitimately stabbing someone with her fork.

She considers throwing in her knife too when Aurora’s hands start roaming Killian’s body, one around his neck while the other moves closer and closer to his ass. She can’t see Aurora from her position at the table, just Killian’s backside, but she sees him dip his head to whisper in her ear and that’s about all that she’s willing to take. It’ll be awhile before Ruby tosses the bouquet or something else Emma needs to be here for, so before she has to watch more of this she’s heading outside of the tent, grabbing a tall glass of wine off the end of the bar on her way out.

She downs the entire thing before she even decides where she’s going in order to get some air, and it’s only after the last drop is consumed that she remembers the lake Killian talked about earlier. Here she is trying to forget about Killian, and all she can do is think about him.

Isn’t that how it always works?

She finds the water after a few minutes of wandering, and how the hell is this place so big?

Killian was right, this place is beautiful. She bets it’s even better when the sun is in the sky, the light from it reflecting off the water so much more than the dim reflections of the moon and the stars. All she has to go on is the picture Killian sent her earlier, but she imagines it’s so much better in person. The sounds of the wedding are in the distance, muted music that she can feel more than she can hear. It’s soothing being out here all alone when she knows that there’s so much life happening a few hundred feet away.

Emma’s not sure how long she stays out there, but she can feel herself shivering and her breath is white every time she exhales and she knows she needs to go back inside before the freezes. She just can’t bring herself to go back quite yet, despite the chill.

Her phone buzzes a few times in the pocket of her dress (which, holy shit Ruby thank you for that), but she doesn’t check it. There’s something calming about staring out at the water. Maybe it’s how it rocks gently back and forth, still if you don’t pay too much attention to it, but her eyes are glued to it as she tries to drown out all of her thoughts.

She can’t though. All she can think about is Killian, and it’s not necessarily about the fact that he’s back at the wedding with another woman, but it’s the fact that she’s out here looking up at the sky and the water without him. It doesn’t matter where she is now. When she sees the water, she thinks of Killian. She thinks of his love for it, even if he’s hesitant to go near it now because of Liam’s death. But he was made to be near the water, just as he was made to be somewhere outside of a city so that he can look up and see the stars.

Emma can almost imagine that she’s back at his apartment with him resting in the hammock of his balcony, his arms wrapped around her as his heat encompasses her and he takes her hand and points out the constellations. They’re not back there, though, so she’s left to try to find the constellations on her own, wishing and hoping for something unknown even to her as she holds to the chain at her neck, lifting it before letting it fall back against her heart.

He’d ended up finding David and Leo after Emma had left him to finish getting ready, and as much as he was thrown off by Emma’s quiet demeanor toward the end of lunch, he tried not to think about it too much. It’s already been a pretty emotional weekend, and he doesn’t really want that anymore. He just wants to go to a wedding and pretend everything is perfectly okay, that there are no underlying emotions about his brother…or Emma.

Gods, she’s beautiful. Just stunning really, and as much as he likes when she’s bare of makeup with her hair matted to her face after they have a late night and she falls asleep as soon as her face hits the mattress, the way her makeup had highlighted her eyes made his heartbeat quick and his spine tingle like he was a teenager again. She makes him feel ridiculous, like that very teenager sometimes, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take being around her without actually being with her.

At least she’s not dating anyone right now. It’s been awhile, maybe a year since she broke up with Walsh, and how selfish is he that he was relieved when it ended between the two of them? If she had been heartbroken, sobbing in a ball and feeling like life wouldn’t go on, maybe he wouldn’t have been so relieved. Maybe he would have pushed his own feelings aside and simply been there for her without the guilt in his mind that he was glad that she was unattached. But she hadn’t been sad, or at least she hadn’t been on the surface. She had been pissed beyond belief because Walsh had been spreading false rumors about her at work. She really knew how to pick the assholes, didn’t she?

Not that he was any better.

Because he was an asshole for being glad that she was unattached because it made his heart ache a little less and allowed them to have more time together. They’ve been close for years, but this past year they’ve been inseparable. It’s like the only place he goes without Emma is work and even then they often meet for lunch. It’s ridiculous, really. He shouldn’t be so dependent and tied up in her when she’ll never be his, and sometimes he tries to resist and move back. But that lasts for about an hour before Emma sends him a meme or God forbid, smiles at him.

He’s a goner.

And there’s no coming back.

“Earth to Killian,” David pokes at his arm above the table, shaking Killian a bit out of his daydreaming. “You got a little starry eyed for a minute there, bud.”

“Twas simply thinking about you, dear old Dave.”

“No offense, but I hope you never look like that when you’re thinking of me.”

Killian rolls his eyes in annoyance before blowing David a kiss, using his hand to make it more obnoxious as Leo blows kisses back at Killian…unlike his father.

“So no babysitter for the little lad today?”

“He’s the ring bearer, so he’s got to be here all day. Mary Margaret and I will probably head out of the reception early to get him to bed.”

“Married life sounds like a blast.”

“It is. You should try it sometime, preferably with – ”

“Don’t make me get irritated in front of the boy.”

David shrugs. “I’m just saying. Settling down isn’t all that bad.”

“It’s not for everybody.”

He and Dave sit in one of the lounges watching television and playing with Leo as he babbles about with the bag of toys the Nolans packed for him, but eventually the three of them do have to get ready, Killian dressing as David took Leo to go take pictures with everyone.

The rest of the day passes quickly, and he manages to feel nothing but joy for Ruby, letting his previous feelings subside as she walks down the aisle with this smile on her face that he can’t help but return even if she’s not looking at him. It’s intoxicating seeing such happiness on her after going through some of his lowest points with her, and he swears that he claps louder than anyone when she’s officially married, even letting out a wolf whistle just for her.

This place is packed, people milling around with barely an inch of skin between them, and as he moves through the crowd, he feels his arm being tugged, his entire body turning to see the photographer grabbing onto him and saying that the bride has requested his presence. How could he ever refuse her?

He’s led out to one of the gardens where Ruby and Graham are laughing about something he’s not privy to, but when Ruby catches sight of him she scurries toward him as quickly as she can in her dress. Her arms around his neck before he knows it, the force of her embrace knocking him backwards until his arms wrap around her waist and he rests his chin against the top of her hair, pressing a kiss there when he pulls back the slightest bit.

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” he whispers into her ear as their embrace continues. “You look so beautiful.”

“Thank you, Killian.” She pulls back and places her hands on his shoulders before she studies his face, her gaze intense like she’s looking for something specific. “You look handsome.”

“Dashingly so, yes.”

She slaps his shoulder as she laughs, and he can’t help but chuckle, too. He and Ruby don’t get together very often without Emma, but they talk constantly. He didn’t know her well when she was with Liam, but he knows her now. As selfish as he’s been with his feelings this weekend, he knows that Ruby doesn’t begrudge him for it. On top of everything, though, now that he’s out of his own head, he’s happy for his friend.

It’s what he wants, and it’s definitely what Liam would want.

“Not that I don’t want to be here as you and your new husband take more pictures, love, but is there a reason you called me over here?”

“Yeah, I wanted a picture with you, ya doof.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “You’re family, and I love you.”

Well, that’s just not fair when he thought he finally had a good hold on his emotions.

“I love you, too, lass.”

He leaves the two of them to finish their pictures after he takes a few and to allow them to spend time together since they’ll be bombarded with people all night, and when he gets back to the tents where the reception is being held, it takes him a bit to find Emma, finally spotting her holding onto Leo and chatting with David. He slips his arm around her waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it is with the way she leans a bit into his touch, her skin warm through her dress.

Feeling his skin through her dress has him really, desperately needing a drink, and it’s not his smartest move when he grabs onto her palm and guides her through the party-goers until they reach the bar, ordering a glass of wine for Emma and some rum for him. Everything feels much lighter after that. It could be the alcohol, but it’s more likely the way that Emma seems to be absolutely beaming with happiness compared to how sullen she was earlier, laughing at his stupid jokes and smiling throughout their conversations while eating dinner.

She’s just hopefully playfully threatened to stab him with her fork when he feels a tap on his shoulder, turning to the side only to come to face to face…actually, face to boob. He’s face to boob because one of the bridesmaids is standing in front of him with her dress pulled sinfully low in a way that makes him uncomfortable because it’s not…it’s not Emma.

“Would you care to dance?”

He wouldn’t, but his mother raised him to be a gentleman, and even if he doesn’t always fit the bill, he can try.

“I’d be honored to, milady.”

The woman leads him to the dance floor, and he should truly learn her name sometime in the next few minutes. He doesn’t want to leave Emma behind, and he was honestly only planning on dancing with her tonight. It seems the universe has other plans for tonight.

Her name is apparently Aurora, and while she’s a beautiful lass who he definitely would have gone home with in the past, he has no interest in going home with her tonight. That’s obviously her intention from the way her hands have started to roam his body, and he honestly just feels fucking uncomfortable at this moment.

This is the longest Frank Sinatra song of all time.

When it’s nearing the end of the song, Aurora’s lips brush against the lobe of his ear before she whispers, “there’s plenty of empty sitting rooms inside the house if you’d like to join me.”

A shiver runs down his spine and not in the pleasurable way, and he chuckles while trying to brush off her advances, pulling back from her embrace as the song ends and scratching behind his ear now that his hands are no longer on her waist.

“That’s a kind offer, lass, but I think I’ll have to decline.”

“Why?”

“I’m not particularly interested in a romp in the sheets with a stranger to be honest.”

“We’re not strangers. We’ve danced together.”

This is damn well awkward now, and he has to slowly start inching himself away from Aurora because he doesn’t know exactly how to get out of this without seeming like an asshole, not that he really cares about that because Aurora is being a bit of an asshole in not letting him go when he’s trying to back his way out of her hold.

Ruby, bless her soul, somehow finds him and pulls him into a dance herself as Aurora storms off to what he assumes is the bar. That’s probably where he’d go. This song is much faster than the last, allowing him to spin Ruby around in circles, her gown flaring out at the bottom as she laughs when he pulls her back into his arms.

She’s happy, and so is he.

When sweat starts to bead at his forehead, he excuses himself to go back to the table to grab a sip of water before forcing Emma to come out to dance herself. She’s not much for dancing, but he’d like to dance with her. Plus, he knows that deep down she enjoys it. She’s just always needed to find a partner who knows what he’s doing, and he likes to think that he’s got smooth moves.

Probably not if he’s telling himself that he has smooth moves.

Emma’s not at the table when he gets there, but he doesn’t think much of it, assuming she went to the restroom or the bar to get herself another drink. But after a few minutes when she doesn’t return, he begins to worry the slightest bit. His first thought is that she’s gone off with someone, but who the hell would she go off with? She hasn’t had a one-night stand in…awhile. He doesn’t remember when, unless she just hasn’t told him. But Emma tells him nearly everything.

So he shucks that idea for his own sanity, pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket and sending her a text.

9:03: Hey, where’d you go? You hiding from the dance floor?

9:13: I assume you’ve just gotten caught up talking to someone, but I think your suitor from earlier might come onto me soon if you don’t return soon.

9:17: Swan, you’re missing Granny twerking. I’m going to send a video because this should be immortalized.

9:17: Or maybe not. I might be a little scarred.

By the time thirty minutes have passed and she’s nowhere to be seen, he really does start to worry, rising from his seat and wandering around, asking anybody and everybody if they’ve seen her. He gets a few crude responses, but besides those, it’s mostly people saying that they don’t know her or don’t know where she’s gone. Logically, he knows that nothing could have happened to her. They’re at a private wedding, and as big as the grounds are, she can’t have wandered far.

He’s seemingly searched every square foot of the place, and when he pulls his phone out to check to see if she’s texted him back, he sees the picture of the water he sent her this afternoon. It’s a little off the beaten path of the rest of the estate, but it’s the only place he hasn’t checked, assuming she hasn’t gone back to the reception while he’s been searching for her. He probably should have asked someone to let him know if she came back, but he was a little preoccupied with his thoughts at the time.

Killian practically sprints there, the chill of the air making him shiver away from the heated tent, and when he sees a small figure in a strapless red dress standing in front of the water with her arms wrapped around her body and her breath white in front of her, he knows that something must be wrong if she’s standing out here freezing herself to death.

His suit jacket is off him, the cold air already prickling at his skin, before he’s even close enough to confirm that it’s her and when he reaches her and officially knows that it’s Emma, he drapes it over her shoulders, shocking her so that she turns to him with wide, watery eyes and a gaping mouth.

“Bloody hell, Emma. Are you trying to freeze to death?”

“I’m not cold.”

He reaches out to touch her cheek, and it’s like he’s touching ice when his skin makes contact with hers. He sees her eyes flutter shut at the contact, her long, black eyelashes reaching down to her cheeks, and her entire body practically shivers.

“You’re freezing, love.” He moves to tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear, and she finally opens her eyes when his hand caresses her neck and moves down to rest at her shoulder, his fingers playing with the chain around her neck. “What’s wrong, darling? Why are you out here?”

“I love you.”

#no longer blue #captain swan #captain swan fic #cs fic #cs ff

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