#almost used two way mirror one way street as the lyrics instead

[swearingcactus]

more cyberpunk stuff including: johnny and jackie fighting for the best friend title, v's real name headcanons, obligatory Used To Be My Girl by The Last Shadow Puppets lyrics applied to the current hyperobsession, and a humble fix it ending (that doesn't fix anything)

[look-at-the-soul]

HIII ANGEL <3 can I request 'Hometown Glory' for the Adele music thing? I love that song so much overall so no specific lyric or anything for reference 🙈

Hello my darling! How have you been? 🥰 thank you so much for sending in this song as request!! As I started playing it over and over, I was playing different scenarios of how to make Tommy go back to his hometown. ✨

⚠️ There’s a bit angst but comfort after it

Lyrics and flashback in italics 😊 I hope you guys like this! Would love to hear your thoughts about it 💕

Song: Hometown Glory by Adele

Hometown Glory

Tommy sighed loudly as they entered the Birmingham territory, he got tense immediately, his energy changed and the atmosphere as well.

Charlie was sleeping in the back of the car, he saw his son through the rear-view mirror.

I've been walking in the same way as I did

Missing out the cracks in the pavement

It had been a while since he came back, over the years he changed, both mentally and physically. Unlike him, everything in Birmingham was the same, but worse; the smoke irritated his eyes, he found more factories than he could remember, people on the streets, smoke clouding around.

He took a turn and found the old church where his mother would take them every Sunday, he hadn’t stepped in one in ages. In the corner he found the old building where he and his brothers used to go to school when they were little, it was now abandoned and falling into pieces, he saw broken windows and the door was replaced by blocks.

"Is there anything I can do for you dear?

Is there anyone I could call?"

"No and thank you, please Madam

I ain't lost, just wandering"

No matter how hard these people worked, they’d never be able to get out of Small Heath, they could only hope to repeat the same story of their parents. They were still digging, but instead of getting out of the hole, they were moving deeper and deeper.

Tommy looked to the side, finding the pub where his Dad used to send him and Ada to get a bucket of beer for him, he even remembered the one time when he and his sister decided to bet who could run faster and the spilled almost half of the bucket, when they got home his father got pissed for the missing booze and started raising his voice, then Tommy saw him taking of his belt. It was only natural to ask Ada to run and hide while he took the beating for her.

As the memories were too vivid for his own liking, Tommy had to shake his head to them brush away.

Somehow his heart felt at ease with the familiarity as he stopped his vehicle outside the Watery Lane house, the place held so many good moments.

'Round my hometown

Memories are fresh

Taking Charlie’s sleepy body into his arms, Tommy had to hold his breath as he looked in the small space between two houses in the other side of the street.

Flashback

“Tommy!” Y/N squealed as his hands pulled her body towards his. “Someone might see us!”

Y/N tried to push him away, but his hands were resting firmly on her waist.

He laughed and the sound echoed in the small corridor while her palms attempted to stop him, but there was no use because he had other intentions.

Leaning towards her face, Tommy captured her lips in a soft kiss.

Y/N gave in, not only to his kiss but her hands gave up and instead of trying to push him away, she moved them to the back of Tommy’s head.

Taking a few blind steps, and Tommy had her pressed between the wall and his body.

“Let them see.” He replied after pulling apart to have some air.

He always waited for her there, he knew the exact time where she would go out to buy some bread for dinner and they’d sneak around before it was time to walk her home.

End of flashback.

'Round my hometown

Ooh the people I've met

Are the wonders of my world

Tommy felt the heartache was unbearable, but as Charlie stirred in his arms, he hurried to open the door to the house where he was once happy.

Shifting his son’s weight to one arm, he carried his kid upstairs, into his old bedroom, the same bed where he and Y/N would lie together to watch the stars and the moon. Memories of the two of them making love right there, burning his skin.

Tucking Charlie in, he stared at his son for a few seconds, before turning around to walk out of his room.

“Mama?” Charlie called half sleep.

Charlie’s voice made him stop on his tracks abruptly. His son had only started calling Y/N Mama.

“She will be back very soon, sleep well my boy.” Tommy lied and his eyes filled with tears.

Charlie had already lost Grace, his Mum. He couldn’t let him lose Y/N too, she was now his Mama, the woman who tucked him in and read him bedtime stories, the one who kissed him better.

Exhausted, Tommy flopped on the couch, he was quiet but his mind was already working at speed to find a way to get Y/N back.

His enemies finally found a way to make him surrender, by taking Y/N he no longer cared about any business, deal or wealth. For the very first time he was powerless, he wasn’t ahead of everyone else like he used to, he didn’t see that coming.

I like it in the city when the air is so thick and opaque

Because one morning she was kissing him say goodbye by the door, talking about going out for lunch together since she would be in the city visiting the orphanage and the next thing he knew is that she never showed up to have lunch, she was barely ten minutes late and Tommy knew something was wrong, she was never late.

As if she knew someone would take her, she left Charlie at home that day since he was sleeping. He wouldn’t be able to keep going if they took Charlie too.

Staring into the flames he made a silent promise; he wouldn’t stop looking for Y/N. He would give anything those bastards wanted, anything to get her back.

***

Looking at her nephew, Polly rubbed her forehead. Dark circles under his eyes, lines of worry decorating his features.

Just like she did for her nephews and niece all those years ago, now she stepped in again to take care of Charlie, she had help him have a bath that morning, get him dressed and have breakfast, all while Tommy was still waiting for a phone call.

As she was wiping her hands with a small cloth, she heard the unmistakable sounds Charlie was making from the living room. The image broke her heart; Charlie was playing on the floor with a horse made out of wood and he was holding a small photograph of Y/N, making voices as if she was riding his horse, but what really hit her like a bucket of cold water, was Tommy’s lost stare, his eyes fixed on his son and the photograph, his cigarette hanging from his lips, still unlit.

She quickly moved with the lighter in her hand and the movement made Tommy snap out.

“Jimmy McCavern called.” Tommy stated without an ounce of emotion.

“Charlie? Sweetheart go and find my shawl, it’s by the window in my old room.” She ushered the kid out of the living room, to then look back at her nephew. “So? What happened?”

“They want the racing licenses, the exportation permit, two pubs and Arrow House.”

“What?”

“It’s the Billy boys Pol, they want everything or nothing at all.”

“But..” She tried to reason with him.

“They planted explosives in my property, they almost killed my boy!” Tommy exploded, his heart was beating like a drum, hammering his ribs, his head. “I’m not going to risk Y/N, I’m giving them what they want.” He explained with fear in his voice and eyes.

Then before Polly could do or say anything else, he stormed out of the room.

“Is my Dad mad at me, aunt Pol?” Charlie looked from the floor to her with sadness.

“Oh no my sweet boy, no…” she tried to stop the tears forming in her eyes as she hugged Charlie, “he’s worried about Mama, that’s all, he sent a letter and she hasn’t written back,”

“But she’s alright, she’s shopping.” He explained sure of himself.

“That’s right, but you know Dad right? He worries too much.” Bitting the inside of her cheek, she extended her hand to Charlie. “How about you help me bake a pie?”

Charlie nodded and rushed to the kitchen, allowing Polly to take a deep breath, she wasn’t sure how long they could keep lying to Charlie and if Y/N would come back from the Billy boys on one piece.

I like it in the city when two worlds collide

You get the people and the government

Everybody taking different sides

Tommy slammed the door, making Lizzie jump in the process.

“Do you have the papers I asked you?”

Lizzie looked away.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.” He was about to lose his patience.

“Tommy…”

“Lizzie give me the fucking papers!”

When she didn’t move, Tommy walked around her desk, took the keys from her skirt and after fumbling with the keys for several seconds, he finally opened the drawer. Rushing towards his office, he took the pen and signed the papers.

As he was about to go out, the ringing of his phone made him stop on his tracks.

“How’s the paperwork going Mr. Shelby?” Jimmy asked.

“I need to talk to Mrs. Shelby first.”

Jimmy groaned. “Fine, you can say hi to the wifey.”

The next thing Tommy heard was Y/N gasping and letting out a sound of pain.

“Y/N!”

“Tom… don’t believe anythi-”

“That’s enough bitch, now…” Jimmy tore off the phone from her ear and threw her to the floor.

“Don’t you dare to hurt her, prick!” Tommy yelled, feeling frustrated and useless.

“Oh, what are you gonna do about it tinker-boy?”

“I’ve the papers.” Tommy made a huge effort to control his emotions, he needed to think.

“That’s what I like about you Mr. Shelby you know how to make a deal.”

“I’ll have the rest of your demands by the end of the week.”

“Fabulous, meet me at the canal at five o’clock. And you can have the wifey back after you hand over the rest.”

“Charlie’s yard. But I need to see she’s alright.”

“Ha, that’s not going to happen, I need to have a little fun first.” Jimmy hang up before Tommy could say another word, and it only left him more agitated than he already was.

Bonnie was already dead and Aberama was injured badly, he couldn’t let Y/N get hurt.

Tommy wanted to throw away the phone but deep down he knew it wouldn’t change a thing. So he walked towards the bar, finding only another memory unlocked as he saw the decanter, Y/N bought it for him after his horse won a race. Just like the globe and the black horse figure, she also added an hourglass in one his shelves.

Everything, reminded him of Y/N. No matter where he looked at.

Taking the checkbook from his drawer he started filling the information on the cheque.

***

Let’s leave the wives out of this. Tommy had whispered to Jimmy before turning his back at him.

It required all of his strength to not kill Jimmy right there at Charlie’s yard, but his message was loud and clear.

Subtly, Tommy let slip a direct threat to Jimmy’s wife by handling him the £500 cheque. Then pointing at Isaiah patrolling around should’ve made clear that he wasn’t joking.

About a couple of hours later, Tommy got a phone call from the Midland Hotel, announcing Mrs. Shelby was dropped at front desk.

He couldn’t drive fast enough to the hotel, smoking frantically to release some stress. As he saw the building another memory hit him hard, as the big salon was the place Y/N chose for the wedding back in the day.

For an instant he was transported back in time to that day, watching her in her wedding gown walking towards him, with her big smile and eyes sparkling from the love they felt.

'Round my hometown

Memories are fresh

Nothing prepared him for what he was about to see, surrounded by a sea of people carrying towels and a first aid kit. Tommy felt like his heart stopped beating as Y/N appeared in his eyesight, there was a deep bruise decorating her cheek, her chin scraped just like her palms, they were already putting some kind of ointment.

“Mr. Shelby I ran a quick checkup on your wife, but I’d like to run a few tes-”

But Tommy finally reacted and pushed past the Doctor to get to his wife. Kneeling in front of her, his hands trembling before caressing her face gently, he didn’t want to make her even flinch from the pain.

“Are you alright love?” He asked with fear in his voice, he was terrified to learn she was hurt.

Y/N threw herself in his arms, feeling relieved to finally see him. “Oh Tom!” Tears flew freely as she wrapped her arms around his neck, his came to rest behind her back, trying to convince himself that she was safe now.

Are the wonders of my world

Taking his gloves off, he took a deep breath.

“I’m hungry.” Y/N stated easing the tension, her statement made Tommy chuckle slightly feeling like he was getting his wife back.

“You heard Mrs. Shelby, she wants to eat something!” He cracked a small smile, leaning forward to catch her lips in a soft kiss, allowing her to give him back the part of his soul that was missing.

Wiping the tears from the corner of her eyes, Y/N arranged Tommy’s tie.

“So… I really need to leave all of this behind, I want to go home, have a bath and give Charlie a hug and then snuggle with you all night.”

“You know I can’t just look the other way around and pretend nothing happened, right?” He already had a plan to get to that prick and not lose anything in the process.

“I know,” her voice faded away as her hand squeezed Tommy’s. “Just let me have this moment, yes? I was terrified that I’d never see you again.”

Tommy swallowed hard as her voice broke. His hands rested at each side of her face, to make her look at him.

“What makes you think that you’d get rid of me so easily, ey?” Tommy asked with glossy eyes.

“Never.” Y/N moved her hand to the back of his head.

“Charlie has been asking for you a lot, Polly told him you were out of town, shopping.”

“Oh! Then we really need to get a few things, to keep the lie going.” Y/N joked, earning a scoff from Tommy.

“Everything reminded me of you… the house, the neighbors, places we’ve been together, this hotel, where we got married.”

Tommy motioned Y/N to stand up, his arm around her waist for support. Kissing her hair softly, he could only think of the memories they still have yet to create.

***

Masterlist

Tag list: @lyarr24 @runnning-outof-time @cillmequick @datewithgianni @cloudofdisney @gretelshelby @gypsy-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @forbidden-forest-witch @ange-thoughts @moral-terpitude @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @thenattitude @winchestergirl22 @zablife @heidimoreton @imichelle-l-rigby @allie131313 @already-broken144 @peakyscillian @babaohhhriley @shelbydelrey @shaddixlife @sloanexx @sydneyyyya (can’t tag) @adaydreamaway08 @pono-pura-vida @thomashelbyswife @darleneslane @everythingelseisextra

[malereadermaniac]

Taylor Swift lyrics with Your Crush

Male reader / Male crush Word count: 830 m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI

"You should take it as a compliment that I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk" ~ Gorgeous

After you notice your feelings for him, you try your best to hide them

So your version of flirting is by making fun of him

He loves that, and when you two are drunk at a party, he can't help but chuckle at you blushing while you make fun of his 'gorgeous- weird way of talking'

"I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush, I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch" ~ Gold Rush

You're both popular

He watches as guys jokingly flirt with you and how girls treat you like their boyfriend

He hates it, he can't stand that people would die to have a snipet of what it would be like to date you

You hate how he gets with a girl at almost every party he goes to

And you hate it even more that you know he does that, but still feel a blush come onto your face when he jokes around with you

"I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you, I don't wanna think of anything else now that I've thought of you" ~ Daylight

You're in the standard delusionship, or at least you see it that way

You're thoughts consist of only him and you're eyes aren't on any other guy

To him, this isn't a delusionship, he likes you

He gets with girls at parties but thinks of you during the whole thing

He can't look away from you when you laugh at one of his jokes or when you avert your gaze from his eyes

"I laid the groundwork and then saw a wide smirk, on your face, you knew the entire time, you knew that I'm a mastermind" ~ Mastermind

You did the usual stalking, Instagram amd facebook

Even spotify, then proceeding to introduce songs in his playlist to your posts on Instagram

You didn't know that he noticed really easily

Using the opportunity to reply to your stories with "I love that song" over a long period of time

He liked thinking about you thinking you've outsmarted him and that your plans were laid perfectly

"I know places we won't be found... I know places we can hide" ~ I know places

He's still closeted

So getting together was hard, but he liked you so much he'd spent hours figuring out when and where the two of you could hang out

Mostly at one of your houses, but the few times you two got risky and had real dates, you two were always secretive and posted elusive stories instead of eachother

Of course you two get caught once or twice, but playing it off as a friendly hang out is pretty easy

It's explaining the hand-holding that's harder to do

"I pictured you with other girls, in love, then threw up on the street" ~ Hits Different

Talking about past relationships to each other makes you both feel uneasy

You hate thinking of him being happy with other people, but especially girls

It makes you feel very insecure

A natural feeling, but it makes your heart skips a beat when he kisses your hand and says 'but none of them could ever compare to you'

His blood boils on the other hand when you mention previous partners

When you two were talking about what you like sexually, you mentioned liking what someone else had done before and he wouldn't stop doing it until you said he did it better...

He's also very subtly protective of you when exes approach you at school, passive aggressive remarks and insults hidden under the guise of banter

"I'm still on that trapeze, I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me" ~ mirrorball

He compliments you a lot

He knows that you tend to get insecure from time to time, so he constantly mentions things he likes about you

You two go to the gym together, and he notices how you look at yourself in the mirror

So he always tries to cheer you up with remarks like "*whistles* damn I bagged a baddie, baby"

He makes you laugh, and he makes you feel worthy

However, he's worse than you

Everytime you mention a celebrity or call someone attractive in passing, he thinks about what that person has that he doesn't

You know that he tries to change himself a lot for you, so you're always complimenting him and saying you love specific things about him

"Remember how I said I'd die for you?" ~ False God

He's crazy about you, he can't get enough of you really

He's even willing to doe for you

So 2 years in, he came out to his friends and family

Luckily everyone was super accepting, but the gesture made your heart warm

You loved him a lot too, so so much

Yo yo yo! If you think of any other T Swizzle lyrics feel free to send them :)

[thisreviewerslife]

The Bricks That Built The Houses (Kae Tempest)

When Kae Tempest -- powerhouse performance poet, two-time Mercury Music Prize nominee, multiple award-winning writer of everything from hip-hop to adaptations of Sophocles -- wrote their first novel, it was probably not a surprise to anyone familiar with their previous work that it was set in South London and featured a cast of characters for whom poverty, desperation, and drug use are constant companions. But this is not purely a tale of London's underclass; instead, Tempest deftly moves the pieces around the board in a series of encounters that, while they might defy the laws of coincidence, never feel anything but fatefully inevitable.

Tempest has a rare ability to perfectly sketch a character such that you can almost feel you're inhabiting their skin, while somehow almost completely avoiding any detailed physical descriptions. The book's primary players -- Becky, a dancer, waitress and masseuse; Harry, a diminutive drug dealer with ambition; and Pete, a luckless, jobless, and directionless graduate -- exist in a cloud of casual sex and casual drug-taking alongside a South London melting pot of secondary characters, all of whom could be any ethnicity, because it doesn't matter when your primary characteristic is that of "Londoner".

The prose alternates between mirroring the way these streetwise characters talk, and occasional more poetic flights of lyricism as Tempest lets her love for the city and its people soar up and down the dirty, over-populated streets, always with one eye on the horizon.

The final few chapters are where the plot, until then carefully woven from seemingly unrelated strands, resolves itself just a little too neatly to be entirely satisfying, but such complaints are easily forgiven amid such rich and well-observed characterisation of both the people and their beloved piece of the city.

[heyyyharry]

Deja Vu (part 2 of 'Drivers License')

(inspired by deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo)

Word count: 2.5k

Read part 1 here

.

.

.

“What the fuck is this?”

Harry flinched as his girlfriend shoved the phone at him. He’d just got out of the shower, hair still dripping wet, but it wasn’t so out of the ordinary that she would start a fight first thing in the morning.

He sighed and gently pushed her phone away from his face. “Baby, if it’s another rumour about me cheating on you...I was with you this whole week!”

“No.” She lifted the phone up to his face again. “That girl just released another song about you.”

Even though Harry didn’t let it show, whenever he heard about Y/N, his heart would always skip a beat. He couldn’t remember exactly when the last time they’d spoken was, but he knew in his last message to her, he’d congratulated her on that new song about him. She’d never replied, and he’d taken it as the answer — they could never go back to the way it was.

It had broken his heart to listen to ‘drivers license’. Y/N had never been the kind of person to be vocal about her feelings. Or maybe she’d expressed it through actions instead of words, and he had been too nonchalant to see? He hadn’t meant to break her heart and leave her in the dust. After all, she used to be his best friend.

“Y/N’s a songwriter. She writes about her own experience the same way I do. Maybe that song is not even about me, babe,” he calmly told his girlfriend, who was standing in front of him with fresh tears in her eyes. He hated to see her cry, and he hated that this wasn’t the first time she’d done it because of him. He tried to reach for her but she stepped back, shaking her head.

“Listen to the song.”

“Baby.”

“Listen to the song,” his girlfriend repeated without looking at him. “Why are you so afraid?”

“I’m not.”

“Then listen to it and tell me it’s not about you, and that she’s not throwing shades at me. I’m so tired of this girl telling the world about how horrible we are as if you had even dated her in the first place—”

“Fine,” Harry exhaled sharply, his eyes pinched shut. He hated that when his girlfriend got mad, she would get so mean for no reason, and the last thing he wanted to hear right now was her insulting Y/N. He knew Y/N. She had always been respectful to his new relationship. However, he wasn’t in the position to tell his girlfriend how to feel about this situation. He knew it was all his fault, so he stayed quiet, took the phone from his girlfriend and sat down on the edge of the bed. His girlfriend stood with her back against the wall facing him, waiting for him to play the song so she could see his reaction to it.

“Go on,” she told him, her voice emotionless.

Harry looked at the song on Spotify. It was titled deja vu. He took a deep breath and one last look at his girlfriend before finding enough courage to press play.

Y/N’s previous song about him had been blasted in every shop he’d visited, all the time when he was filming, every time he was in the car, and now, the moment he heard her voice again, it really did feel like deja vu.

Car rides down Malibu

Strawberry ice cream

One spoon for two…

.

.

.

“Are we there yet?”

“No, stop being so impatient! Just keep on driving!” Y/N said and looked out of the window on the passenger side. The sun was going down, and the horizon was gradually turning the colour of an egg yolk. It was their last day in Miami. They had been filming for every day that week, and this was the only day they could spend just for themselves.

Harry stole a glance at Y/N and saw that she’d finished half the strawberry ice cream while bobbing her head to the song Uptown Girl on the radio. He frowned, making her laugh when she noticed.

“Open your mouth,” she said and fed him a spoon of ice cream.

“Ahh, brain freeze!”

“But it’s good, isn’t it?”

“So good.” Harry licked his lips. The face he made got Y/N laughing harder.

Fifteen minutes later they arrived at a secluded beach. Y/N had found this place when she traveled to this city alone two summers ago and almost got lost.

Together, she and Harry carried their picnic things through a palm forest, and by the time they saw the ocean, the moon had made a fading presence on the pink Miami sky.

Y/N picked up her shoes and ran towards the waves, letting it chase her back into Harry’s arms and nearly knocking him over. Their laughter echoed in the wind as their shadows stretched out long and lanky on the empty beach. In that very moment, it felt to Harry as if they were the only people in this world, and he had a sense of peace that he might never be able to experience again.

“You don’t get to see this in the city,” Y/N said dreamily as she pulled Harry’s jacket tighter around herself. It was dark now, and the sky above them was full of stars. They sat shoulder to shoulder on a picnic blanket, listening to the whispers of the ocean and the wind. Harry used Y/N’s jacket as a blanket because it was too small for him to put on. They’d laughed for five minutes straight when she told him he looked like that monkey from Aladdin and took plenty of photos just to prove the point.

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” he said, still looking at the sky.

“Me neither,” Y/N sighed, her shoulder brushing his. There was a pause, and he could feel her eyes on him, so he turned and saw her looking. “When I get home,” she said with a small smile that made her eyes sparkle, “I’ll learn to drive, and when we come to Miami next time, I can drive you to this beach.”

“I’d love that,” Harry said, then made her pink-promise him.

.

.

.

“They went to Miami last week.”

Y/N blinked. The beach and starry sky disappeared in a second, and she found herself once again standing in the fitting room with her stylist and best friend.

“What?” her best friend marched over to where she stood in front of the full-length mirror.

Her stylist was holding the phone up to show her the article. “Here. Harry took that actress to Miami last week.”

“Don’t show her these!” Y/N’s best friend grabbed the phone and put it on the vanity desk as she gestured to the stylist. “You do your work. Enough chit-chatting.”

“I took him there,” Y/N said. She didn’t even recognise her own voice at first because she was too in shock. She didn’t think Harry would do something like that. But let’s be honest -- how much did she really know about him?

It had been a few months since his last text to her, which she had ignored, and now her song had been overplayed, and nobody cared about the drama anymore. The whole world had moved on, and she had, too. Or so she’d thought. Now, seeing these pictures of him and his girlfriend on that Miami beach made Y/N feel betrayed.

“Asshole,” her best friend said and grabbed her shoulders. “Don’t worry baby. You’re prettier.”

Y/N worked up a smile and opened her mouth to say that she was fine, but then she heard someone call her name and turn around. They weren’t calling for her. Just a name similar to hers that had become an inside joke between her and her friends.

The moment she locked eyes with Harry’s girlfriend, her heart seemed to stop as she held her breath, her lips thinned as if to hold back a scream. She didn’t know the girl personally and had never run into her before today. How unfortunate that they had to be in the same room after Y/N had seen those Miami pics.

“What is she doing here?” Y/N’s best friend asked the stylist the question Y/N was too afraid to ask.

“Fitting for an event, I guess,” the stylist said.

Y/N told them to just ignore the others and mind their own business. The sooner they got the measurements, the faster she could leave. Or she could leave right now and come back another day, but that would make it look like the other girl’s presence was bothering her. They were both actresses, and so they would have to run into each other at some point. She must be professional about it. This was normal. Just act normal.

“He’s so unique,” Harry’s girlfriend said while laughing with her team. Y/N didn’t mean to overhear the conversation, but apparently, the girl was making sure that Y/N heard her loud and clear. “We were watching reruns of Glee last night, and he even sang to me and told me he loved me inbetween the chorus and the verse. Don’t touch the jacket! It’s Harry’s and it’s Gucci. We exchange jackets sometimes. Isn’t that adorable?”

“Show off,” Y/N’s best friend scoffed while shaking her head.

Y/N didn’t say anything. In her mind, she agreed with her best friend for a second and immediately felt that she was being petty so she forced herself to just be nonchalant about it.

She could not. She could not ignore the fact that she’d been replaced as if she didn’t matter. Harry was doing all the things he used to do with her with his new girl. Even taken her to that Miami beach. Their place.

Y/N bit her lip and tried to hold back the half-formed tears in her eyes as the stylist went on talking about the fabric. She chose a random one just to get this over with.

“I hope that fucker gets deja vu.”

“What?” Y/N blinked at her best friend, who gave a mean shrug as she glared at the girl.

“He’s probably thinking of you while doing all that shit with her.”

Y/N pondered over it. Over and over. Even after the girlfriend’s laughter had faded down the hallway, and Y/N was also packing up to leave the studio. Her best friend’s words stayed with her as she got into the car and watched the street of London pass by her window.

That night, when she was alone in her living room with her piano. She sat down and started playing a few experimental chords. Then, she cried. Her tears blurred the handwritten lyrics on her notebook as she tried again.

“I have this idea,” she told her manager on the phone before sending the recording. It was three in the morning.

“Oh my god,” her manager exclaimed, sounding much more enthusiastic than he had when picking up her call. “This song...is so gonna win a Grammy!”

.

.

.

Y/N’s song had won a Grammy.

They had talked about it for so long. Harry had encouraged her to pursue a singing career, because she’d started out as an actress but was blessed with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard.

Ironic, wasn’t it? Now he was sitting at the front row and looking up at her as she received the award from an artist she looked up to, for the song written about him. She smiled at the crowd as the light shone on her and everyone was cheering because she deserved this. She said her thanks and expressed her gratitude to her family, her teams and her fans. She didn’t say his name. He hadn’t hoped that she would, because he knew there was no way his name would come with a positive message. So he was kind of glad she hadn’t mentioned him.

His girlfriend squeezed his arm as if she knew what he was thinking of. He smiled at his girlfriend. A smile of reassurance. They had put it behind them and promised to try again after all the fights about the song they were playing right now. Nothing would change after tonight. Because there was nothing Harry could change.

He caught Y/N’s eyes for one brief moment as she ascended the stage. Although he was sure he loved his girlfriend, there was something about that look that made him sad. Would he be happier to come here with Y/N tonight instead of his girlfriend? He wouldn’t know, because that would never happen. He didn’t even know if she still resented him, or if she was still the same person he remembered. A lot could change in a day let alone many months. And it was scary to think someone you used to know so much had become a complete stranger. The opposite of love wasn’t hate. It was indifference. And Harry felt it deeply as Y/N never paid him a second glance.

At the after-party, he worked up the courage to approach her when he found her standing alone texting on her phone.

“Hi. How are you?” he said.

Y/N looked at him as if she couldn’t understand English. If she ignored him and walked away, this would be the most humiliating moment of his life.

But no. She pressed her lips into a gentle smile and said, “I’m good. How are you?”

“Good.” He nodded, wanting to shake her hand, but his fingers stayed glued together behind his back. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you.” She picked up the glass of wine on the table beside them, and Harry knew he’d lost his chance of shaking her hand tonight. “Did you like the song?”

“Yeah. It was good,” he said, finding it difficult to hold eye contact with her. There was something new about her that unsettled him, and he couldn’t pinpoint what it was. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For speaking out about it.”

“Oh.” Y/N showed no emotion as she shrugged. “It’s alright. I only said the truth. The song was fictional, and I don’t want anyone to get hate for it.”

They both knew it wasn’t true, and he couldn’t tell her that his girlfriend had almost broken up with him for it. Even if he had told her that, he didn’t think Y/N would care. She didn’t look like the Y/N he knew anymore. Suddenly, he recalled that night on the beach, when she was still looking at him with feelings.

“Look, Y/N, I—”

Before he got a chance to form a proper thought for what he was going to say, his girlfriend, who was obviously drunk, shouted from somewhere behind him. “Babe, Jeff’s wearing a tiny jacket! He looks more like the monkey than you!”

Harry looked at Y/N. She held his gaze. The corners of her red lips quirked as she raised her glass. “Deja vu?”

Just like that, she left him standing there all by himself.

[btxtreads]

Hero

CHAPTER 10: SOMETHING ABOUT THAT SUNSHINE (PART B)

↳ Pairing: Kang Taehyun x Reader

↳ word count: 2.1k words

↳ rating: G

↳ genre: Angst, fluff,  Moody teenagers, Taehyun is just sad ok :(((, they kith

One hand on the steering wheel, the other on her thigh—Taehyun felt so light and carefree as they drove through the streets of Seoul together. The radio played a familiar song, one he’d know in his sleep. After all, it was his—or rather TXT’s.

Nunape pyeolchyeojin geon uyutbit eunasu.

Pieonan geumbit gyejeol, like our summer.

Taehyun smiled as Y/N’s hand fell down, covering his that was resting on her thigh. A bright smile was on her face as she brought her free hand up—taking a picture of them both inside the car. She then lowered the camera—hand still on her, as she reviewed the photos.

Eodie isseodo, eotteon gyejeoredo.

Uriga hamkkeramyeon, feel like summer.

He smiled, grasping her hand as he heard her mumble the lyrics under her breath. Taehyun laughed, eyes flickering to the side mirror. Immediately, his smile fell. Noticing this, Y/N looked over at him worriedly.

“What’s wrong?”

“They found us.”

Y/N whirled around in her seat, surprised as she saw the black vans following them.

“Really?” Y/N whined, eyes searching the road and pointing over at a road. “Turn here!”

“Huh? Where does that go?”

“I don’t know, just get them off our trail!” Y/N said, slapping his arm lightly. “Go!”

Taehyun sighed, turning the steering wheel and entering the unknown road. Y/N pulled out her phone and opened her map.

“Okay, it said to go take a left.”

“You sure?”

“The map said so.” Y/N argued. “Listen to the map.”

And they did. For about an hour. Suddenly, the map stopped giving instructions. Taehyun just kept driving.

“Where to next?” Taehyun hummed, fingers drumming on the steering wheel as Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. “Because we’re in a forest-looking place and I’m pretty sure we’re running out of gas soon.”

Y/N turned to him, eyes wide.

“We’re out of gas?”

“Yeah, almost. I just noticed.” Taehyun sighed. “You have a spare in the trunk?”

“No!” Y/N cursed, eyes looking around. “I’m pretty sure we’re not in Seoul anymore.”

“Why would you say that?”

“There are no forests in Seoul!”

“How do you know that?” Taehyun challenged. “You’ve never been to Seoul before.”

“I—“

“Just check the map, princess.” Taehyun sighed, eyes looking around for another path to follow.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s dead.”

Taehyun slowly turned to her, deadpanning.

“What?”

“My phone died.”

Taehyun cursed under his breath, irritation slowly creeping up on him as he pulled out his own phone.

“You know we wouldn’t be here if you just searched it up in the first place instead of telling me to turn to a road we didn’t know.” Taehyun said.

“We were getting chased by press, you didn’t want to be seen by press!”

“Beats being lost in the middle of nowhere!” Taehyun retorted. “Fuck, no signal. Great.”

“We wouldn’t be here if we just went over to Beomgyu’s in the first place.”

“Hey,” Taehyun started, tone accusatory as he narrowed his eyes over at the girl. “you were enjoying today. If you told me no, I wouldn’t have pushed it but you wanted to.”

“I—“

Before the two can fight further, the car suddenly shut down.

“Gas.” Taehyun only sighed. “Guess we have to walk from here.”

“What?” Y/N gasped

Her eyes followed him as he exited the car, pulling the door.

“Come on.”

“What about our car?”

“We find signal and get it towed.” Taehyun replied irritably and pulled her out. “Now come on. Walk.”

Y/N angrily walked infront of him. Taehyun watched the girl warily as she angrily walked away.

“What’s wrong with you?”

Y/N turned, only glaring at the boy before continuing on her walk.

“What?”

“You seem angry at me.”

“I’m not angry.”

Taehyun pulled out his phone with a huff and a roll of his eyes, holding it up to the sky.

“No bars, still no signal.” He hummed, shrugging.

Y/N watched the boy as he pocketed his phone once more, shrugging. He shoved his hands in his pockets and whistled as he walked. The girl, apalled, stopped in her tracks as she watched the boy stroll away towards a nearby plant to admire the small purple flowers growing out of it.

“Are you serious?” Y/N asked.

Taehyun turned to her, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as the girl stomped past him.

“What did I do now?”

“Nothing.”

“You know from your tone, it doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Maybe because it isn’t?” Y/N retorted, crossing her arms across her chest and glaring over at him. “We’re lost in the middle of nowhere, Taehyun. You’re treating this as if it’s some sort of field trip.”

“Y/N, it’s not that serious.”

“Tae, your friends are waiting for us. I left my sister in a beach, in a place where we don’t know by the way, for you.” Y/N angrily stated. “We’re in the middle of fucking nowhere!”

“We’ll get out.”

Y/N blinked over at him, scoffing before shaking her head and turning her back on him.

“Unbelievable.”

“Why are you so grumpy right now?”

“I’m not grumpy, or cranky, or mad or whatever.” Y/N said, looking over at him. “I just want to go back to Beomgyu, and I want him to take me home.”

“Beomgyu.” Taehyun narrowed his eyes. “Right. Beomgyu.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” Taehyun scoffed, walking past. “I’ll take you back to your beloved Beomgyu, don’t worry about it.”

“What is it now, your highness?”

“Now, you know what?” Taehyun said, angry as he turned over with a glare. “I just wanted to had fun, I wanted to go out because for the first time in years papparazzi weren’t after my ass.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere!”

“Without any papparazzi!” Taehyun replied back. “And maybe I wanted to spend some time with you because for some stupid reason, I actually like you.”

“Oh, you like me?” Y/N snorted.

“Why do you think I kissed you?” Taehyun hissed. “I kind of regret it, seeing as you wouldn’t get off my back. I just want a moment of peace, is that so hard?”

“Peace? We’re lost!” Y/N replied. “And what’s with the tantrums?”

“You had one first?”

Ignoring his statement, the girl walked forward with narrowed accusatory eyes.

“I bet when you get in a mood, you always throw tantrums and the boys always have to chase you down and baby you, isn’t it?” Y/N accused. “You act like such a superstar—“

“I thought you liked me?”

“No, I think I specifically told you before that I didn’t like you.”

“You let me hold your hand and kiss you the whole day.” Taehyun deadpanned.

“Maybe I was confused?” Y/N snorted. “Clearly, because I wouldn’t like such a selfish brat  who thinks he’s such a big star and everyone likes him.”

“And so what?”

“Everyone likes you because you’re a star. I bet the boys are only the real ones in your life yet even they can’t get away from your shitty attitude.”

“Oh, I have an attitude?”

The girl only scoffed, lightly shoving his chest.

“And for the record, let’s discuss your girlfriend, Aera.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Taehyun replied in irritation.

“Why are you dating her, then?”

“I went on a date with her twice. Last year.” Taehyun explained. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m interested in you, I kissed you.” Taehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“I find it hard to believe someone I can’t understand.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and stepped away when Taehyun’s hand latched on her wrist, pulling her back into his arms.

“Y/N—“

The girl lost her footing. WIth a gasp, her body slammed onto Taehyun and they fell behidn some bushes—straight into a pond. The two of them sat up, Taehyun’s hands still tightly gripping her waist. Y/N and Taehyun exchanged shocked looks before bursting into laughter.

The boy’s hand squeezed her waist slightly, head leaning on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry for being a brat,” Taehyun sighed. “You were ignoring me and I had to get your attention somehow. It just spiralled out of control.”

“It’s okay, I was being a bitch.” Y/N sighed.

There was a soft apologetic smile in her face as Taehyun glanced up at her with a grin. She moved to grip his hand in hers as she stood up and motioned towards a boulder by the bushes.

“Come on, let’s get dried up.”

Taehyun had her hand in his, playing gently with her fingers as they let the cool air dry the both of them. With her free hand, Y/N ran her hands through his damp hair. They talked about anything and everything as they sat together.

“Hey,” Y/N started. “so tell me about Aera. What’s the deal with her?”

Taehyun looked up at her with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

“Are you jealous?”

“Do I have a right to be?”

Taehyun giggled, placing a soft kiss on her palm before continuing to play with it with a hum.

“Well, I did date her briefly back then—twice—but she was never my girlfriend.” Taehyun explained. “I didn’t see her like that.”

“Then why do you keep her around?”

“I don’t know—because she likes me.” Taehyun shrugs. “I keep the people who like me around.”

Y/N didn’t answer, a conflicted expression crossing her face. Sensing the discomfort, Taehyun looked up with wide eyes and cupped her face.

“No, It’s nothing like you’re thinking of, I swear.” Taehyun explained. “I actually really like you.”

Y/N gave him an unsure smile, making Taehyun sigh and kiss her forehead before going back to playing with her hands.

“No, it’s just. I’m scared of being alone. That’s why I keep people like her around.” Taehyun said. “They like me, so they wouldn’t leave me. I wouldn’t be alone.”

“You have the boys.”

“Yeah, I know.” Taehyun smiled softly. “But that’s the point—Recently it feels like everyone but the boys want something from me. RIght now, sure I can give them what they want, what they need, but what about the time when I don’t have anything to give out anymore.”

“Tae,” Y/N said softly, an understanding look falling on her face. “I understand—but like i said. You have the boys.”

“Just the boys?” Taehyun asked teasingly, grinning up at the girl making her blush.

“Stop.” She mumbled, pushing her hair behind her hair. “Fine, I guess I like you enough.”

Taehyun chuckled, sitting up straight and pulling her against him. Y/N smiled as he shifted her body to lean on him, arms wrapped around her as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

“No, I know I have the boys—and you.” Taehyun said, smiling over at her. “But I don’t know—I don’t want to bother the five of you. I bother you guys enough, I mean look at what this movie deal has been doing—taking up too much of our time.”

“Movie deal.” Y/N mumbled. “That’s why you couldn’t be seen by the press, right?”

“Yeah.” Taehyun nodded. “When I get it, I’ll have to film for like two months.”

“But you have a tour?” Y/N asked, worried while she reached out to play with the gold necklace on his neck. “Isn’t a movie and a tour too much at the same time. You’ll get burned out.”

“I don’t really have a choice.” Taehyun shrugged. “I don’t want to disappoint anybody.”

Y/N sighed, dropping her hands to cover his as she buried her face in his neck.

“I don’t understand the star life at all.” Y/N said. “Everything you say and do is so big and public—I’m just normal.”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N sighed, looking back up at him. “For talking down at you like I know how it is.”

Taehyun only chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned his forehead against hers.

“Yeah, well, not everything I say is public, you know. Like right now.” Taehyun smiled. “It’s just you and me here. When I’m with you, I’m just me.”

“Not the superstar?”

“Yeah, well,” Taehyun shrugged teasingly. “That’s a part of me, I’m afraid.”

Y/N giggled as she reached her arms up to wrap around his neck. Taehyun smiled as he pressed his lips on hers once more, one arm wrapped snugly around her waist and the other running through her hair.

In that moment, Taehyun started to understand what love actually meant.

[mirohlixie]

Never Enough (Hyunlix) Pt. 1

Pairing: Felix x Hyunjin Word Count: 2.4K Genre: AU, love, dystopia

Synopsis: In a world where being different from the conventional gender and sexuality rules means death, the gay youngster Felix struggles to hide his true sexuality. He is doing well until he meets Hyunjin, an undercover hitman hired by the government to get rid of all the "different" people in hiding. The moment the two meet each other, both of their lives change forever, but will it be enough?

Content warnings: AU, homophobia, discrimination against LGBTQ+, explicit language.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~He looked up from his notebook, out of his window. The wind was blowing and rain was falling out of the sky in thick drops. The poor boy got bored from being inside all the time, but the weather wasn’t very forgiving. It had been like this for a couple of days now and it didn’t look like it was going to change soon.

“Felix,” a soft voice called from downstairs. “Do you want to come down for tea?” It was the same old story every day. He’d be in his room, usually reading or working on song lyrics all day. Some time afternoon his mother would start to wonder what he was doing up there all the time, and call him down for tea. He always said no, like he was going to do now. He simply didn’t feel like being among other humans.

All Felix longed for was to take a long walk, anywhere. Just him and nature and no other people. A place where he could be alone with his thoughts without feeling like it was a sin to even have them cross his mind. Because that was what his thoughts were: a sin. A boy like him should not be thinking about the things he thought of. Even better, it was forbidden. If anyone ever found out about the words dancing in his mind, he’d have to pay with his life.

At first, Felix had been pretty good at hiding his thoughts. He’d be among his family and laugh and have fun with them. However, as he grew up, he found it harder and harder not to let the words slip his mind. The safe storage that was once his head slowly began to deteriorate. His subconscious longed for the freedom that would come with the exposure of his secret. However, that moment could never exist. He didn’t want to die. Not because of this.

“Please Lix,” his mother called again. “You’re never downstairs anymore. You’re withering away in that room of yours. Wouldn’t you like to be with us just for a little? Just one cup of tea?” Felix knew his mother would keep asking until he’d give in, and he couldn’t give in.

Especially today his mind had been like a time bomb. Every time he looked in the mirror he had to withhold himself from saying those forbidden words. From saying those words that would essentially cost him his life. He could not even imagine what it would be like if he was among others. If his reflection alone was already enough to make him break, then what would a living human being do to him? How would he ever be able to resist their curiosity?

“No,” he called down. “I’m about to go on a walk,” it was an impulsive excuse and he hadn’t known why exactly he’d thought it would be the perfect one. However, now he’d already said it and had to follow through with the plan. He hopped from his bed and quickly put on a pair of shoes. He looked out the window, sighing when he saw the rain, and sprinted down the stairs to put on a coat.

“In this kind of weather?” His mother questioned, raising an eyebrow as she saw her son appear in the hallway. “It’s raining cats and dogs.”

“I know, but I like the rain,” Felix lied. “So I’m going on a walk. I’ll be back before dark, mom,” he zipped his coat and gave his mother a kiss on the cheek before walking out the front door.

The cold wind hit him in the face like a brick and he had to take a deep breath before he could find the courage to actually walk down the driveway and leave the perimeters of his parents’ house.

“I like the rain,” he muttered to himself as he pulled the hood of his coat closer to his face and started to conquer the strong winds fighting for dominance over him. “I’m such a bad liar.”

It was empty in the streets, which was perfect. The last thing Felix needed now was encountering someone he knew. He wanted to be alone. Completely alone. The rain started to get less intense the more he walked, which was a welcome change. The wind still stayed the same, pulling at his clothes and trying to push him back towards his home.

He loved the thundering sounds the moving air brought with it. It completely masked any other sound coming from him and his surroundings. It made him feel safe; safer than he was at home. Safer than he was anywhere.

Here he’d be able to speak his mind without care. Here he’d be able to be himself just for a second. He took a deep breath, looked around him, and smiled a little before uttering the dangerous words.

“I am different,” he whispered at first. Fear grabbed him by the throat as he checked his surroundings again, afraid someone would’ve caught him anyway, but there was nobody there. “I like men,” he elaborated. “I am a sinner because I like men instead of women,”

To Felix, it was hideous that this detail about himself could cost him his life. Unfortunately, it was the truth. Having a sexual and romantic attraction to people of the same sex was not allowed. Falling for or having a relationship with someone of the same sex was not allowed.

It was crazily old-fashioned and absolutely the highest form of discrimination, but yes; your sexuality could get you killed. If you were pleaded guilty of being "different", it meant immediate death, as ridiculous as that may sound. No trial, no bail. If there were enough grounds to convince the government you were gay, you were done for.

Not only men loving men or women loving women suffered this tragic and brutal fate, but every person who was different. Every person who didn't fit the standard boxes of society, the standard boxes being women loving men and men loving women. There was no room for nuisance.

Why these rules existed in today’s day and age? Nobody knew. The simple answer was that it had always been like that. People who were different were a threat. People who were different didn't have a right to walk this earth. To them, the lives lost did not matter, which was absolutely disgusting in Felix’s opinion.

To them, it was merely a way to make sure the earth wouldn’t get overcrowded. The way Felix saw it, they were just scared of change. In ancient times it had been normal to be a man romantically involved with another man. It was the modern-day society that had made it into a sin. The few people who rejected this idea and showed resistance awaited the same fate as these "different" people. Nobody was safe, so it was better to pretend you agreed with it.

Felix's parents also lived by these rules, so ever since Felix found out his preference wasn't towards women, he'd hidden from them. They couldn't find out, or they would probably report him to the state. Their own son meant nothing to them if he was different.

Of course, tracking down every single "different" person was difficult, and seemed nearly impossible, since you’re not exactly born with a sign on your head that says you’re different. However, the government had its ways to track you down, may it be legal or illegal. These ways were sneaky and far from agreeable. You never knew who you could trust and who not. Living in this world was a true hell for people like Felix, but there was nothing they could do.

“I’m fucking different!” Felix shouted into the wind, knowing nobody could hear him here with the wind raging around him. “I like men and there’s nothing I can do!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Are you sure you accept the terms and conditions of this task?” The lady on the phone had asked him for the tenth time. “Are you sure you are willing to take this task upon you and deal with the consequences that may come with it?” Hyunjin had nodded before realizing she would not be able to see that.

“Yes, ma’am,” he’d said. “I accept all of it. I am ready, I promise,” he’d looked at the booklet that had fallen onto the doormat this morning. He’d been waiting for it for a while now and today had been the day it had finally arrived. He’d almost jumped when he’d heard the sound of the booklet hitting the fabric. It was dumb and he knew that, but to him, this seemed like the only option.

It was fucked up, Hyunjin knew that and would never try to deny it. However, he needed the money he’d get out of it. Not for himself, but for his mother. His dear mother, the woman who’d raised him to be the man he was today, was a sickly woman now. She’d been diagnosed with a rare disease that could only be helped with expensive treatment. Without the treatment, the chances she’d not see the end of the year were very big. If she did get the treatment, it would give her the rest of her life back.

That’s all Hyunjin wanted for her; She had to see him grow up. She had to see her grandchildren grow up. He couldn’t lose her, not in a society like this one.

“Ten grant,” he’d whispered to himself. That was what he’d receive if he went through with this. It was enough to pay for his mother’s treatment and her medicine. It would be enough to keep her alive. It would cost him a part of himself, but that would be worth it if he was able to save the woman who meant the most to him. But was ten grant enough in exchange for a life? Because that was what this task entailed…

The task he was about to accept, was that of a hitman. The government granted rewards of ten thousand dollars to those who were willing to go undercover and find out which members of their society did not follow the law concerning sexuality. Well, those who found them received only three thousand. Those who then also managed to end those so-called moles would receive the full ten grant. His job would be to be among the people and find out who was hiding their true, forbidden sexuality and to simply end their lives.

The government needed undercover hitmen like this because there were way too many moles for their normal police forces. The standard procedure was execution in the name of the state, according to the legal methods, like they to criminals who got the death sentence

These hitmen were different. Their methods were technically illegal, but if they got caught, they would be let off again before they could even go into trial. The government would close their eyes for crimes like the murder of these moles as long as the hit-man had an official permit given to them by the state. These hitmen were highly necessary since there was no way the government could punish every single mole, and other than that they'd gotten better at hiding their true nature as well.

“Then I would like to congratulate you with your permit,” the lady on the phone had said. “You know how it works. Find someone you think is suspicious, figure out whether they genuinely are or not, and then eventually end their life. Send the body over to the morgue and receive your ten grant. Try not to get caught. It's such a hassle to make them drop the charges,” she’d explained once more. “If you have any questions, do call us. The last thing I would like to add, is that the most important aspect of this job is instinct. Make sure you follow it. Don’t be a fool. Don’t ignore the signs.”

“But how will I be certain if it’s one of them?” Hyunjin had questioned. That’s what the moles were often referred to: them. Not us, but the other.

“You will know,” the lady had assured him. “I promise. I have to move on to the next call now. I wish you much wisdom and luck, Hwang Hyunjin. We are looking forward to seeing your first catch soon,” and with that, she’d ended the call. Hyunjin had sat on the couch and contemplated the idea for the rest of the morning, fumbling around with the permit that had just been activated in his hands.

Was he actually going to kill someone only because of their sexuality? He knew they were deemed evil. They were different, that's what everyone had always been told over the past centuries. They didn’t deserve a place in this society, according to the government. It was never completely explained why this difference from the rest was such a bad thing. They were still people, weren't they? Was he really capable of taking another human’s life?

He shook the thought off as he was walking outside in the rain with his hood pulled over his hair a couple of hours after the call. He needed the money, so he was going to succeed. He didn’t care how much it would cost him, or how long it was going to take him to find someone. He was going to try the best he could and that was all he could promise right now. After all, it would take a while before he’d find the first person, wouldn’t it? They were called moles for a reason.

That’s what Hyunjin thought before he saw him; the person who would change his life forever. The person that truly caught his attention. At first, he thought he was just looking at the back someone who had lost his mind, yelling meaningless words into the wind, but when he listened more closely, alarms should’ve started to ring immediately in the back of his head.

“I’m fucking different!” The figure with the blonde hair yelled into the wind, probably thinking nobody would be able to hear him over the loud thundering of the air. “I like men and there’s nothing I can do!” Hyunjin bit his lip. Bingo, he thought. This was going to be easier than he’d expected.

[katsukisbeatingheart]

sing to me

soulmate au where you can hear the songs stuck in your soulmate’s head. the closer you are to them the quieter the music becomes, before the voice changes altogether.

word count: 2,440

a.n.: helo i have a few of these typed up and a few others in progress explicitly for soulmate aus. it’s the least angsty one so far so here you go friends.

(psst here’s dabi’s)

(psst here’s sero’s)

(psst here’s bakugou’s)

listen while you read 👉👈

ao3

Shinso Hitoshi did not sing, and isn’t the type to give even so much as a hum. But when he did—of his own volition, mind you—he never did so in front of people.

Which is how he knew this soulmate bullshit might not actually be all that contrived.

Sometimes he’d catch himself embarrassingly humming or whistling in public—usually to the absolute amusement of his friends and family—stuck with songs in his head he hadn’t even ever heard of. And it was in times like that he’d begin singing something ridiculous back, as his own petty way to clearly say ’stop’.

When the music would disappear, he’d chuckle lightly to himself and continue about his day.

Only to fall asleep that night to you whispering sweet, sweet literal nothings from the far side of his mind. Barbie Girl was a slap and a half, but if he had to check out with it rolling around in his head at two a.m. for the third night in a row, he’d dedicate his waking hours to annoying the hell out of you.

See how you liked it being startled awake—hopefully, he wasn’t 100% on the time difference—by Caramelldansen.

There were even a few times where you’d try to push music into each other at the same time. Like hijacking a radio frequency, you’d change channels on each other all day and all night until it was a warbled cacophony of noise, bordering on a headache big enough for a small city. Rarely would either of you concede, but if and/or when you did, you’d make sure the song was something you both liked.

At any other rate, Shinso had to give you credit for your taste in music; even if he didn’t recognize a fair few, he’d remember the lyrics and scour the internet later looking for them like his life depended on it. He already had a building playlist of the songs you’d sing to him—separate ones for the songs he knew, the songs he didn’t know, and his personal favorites. He kept those to himself like trade secrets, deflecting questions about what he was listening to or what kind of music he had on his phone.

Oftentimes, it was easy to guess how you were probably feeling if he just listened. There were queues of songs that made him feel relaxed and incredibly focused—which he assumed did the same for you—and others that just set him on fire.

Then there were days he felt like he was walking around with water in his shoes and a storm cloud lamenting with taut strings and frail keys. It was days like those that he liked to physically, consciously hum meme audios—or if the sadness was particularly dour, he’d find a quiet place, and sing songs that meant the world to him. Shinso wouldn’t hear anything back, and assume you were singing too.

The music said a lot about you, which was a considerable feat as he had never met you before, and he wanted to be selfish. He didn’t want to spoil what was special to you and him before he even got to see you.

You definitely worked your way around that, the maddening anonymity—using song titles to give away bits of information about one another as generously as you could. Favorite colors, films, seasons; all objective small talk suddenly turned scripture. He amassed everything in a small journal like priceless treasures—carrying around the value of another life in his pocket as casually as a to-do list. He had the music, but something tangible like this put his mind and heart at ease. You were really out there, and Shinso could meet you someday.

It wasn’t a known secret to anyone that subject posed one of his greatest fears. One day finding someone to spend the rest of ever with, with someone else’s song playing in his head.

In more than a few ways, you helped him remain largely optimistic. As long as he could hear you, he could find you, and as he got older and he acquired more freedoms and was just a little surer of himself, there was a chance.

That hope suddenly burned like ice on one derisively beautiful day.

Shinso dragged himself up the flights of stairs leading to his apartment, sliding around the stacks of moving boxes cluttering up the only way home. He tottered down the hall, and stepped through the threshold inattentively humming a new tune he’d heard that day that he thought you might like.

If there was one thing he could ever count on, it was your consistency.

Ever since you were kids, he grew up with annoying, made up nursery rhymes he still had memorized, as though he’d written them himself. They quickly turned into fun jingles, which then morphed into some of the most beautiful melodies he’d ever heard. Those didn’t usually have lyrics though, so it wasn’t like he could look them up to be sure—and yet he somehow knew they were original to you.

It was then that he realized, he had never gone a single day of his life without music.

So, when he sat back after a long night of work and readied himself for at least a few hours’ sleep, he froze. Shinso hadn’t heard a beat of song all day. Not anything besides what might have been jumping around him as he went out for errands or to the agency. 

With a harsh shake of his damp hair, he swiped a towel over his stony expression. His clenched jaw was starting to drive an ache into his skull.

You probably slept all day, he reasoned.

Even though he was sure you’d sent songs to him in sleep more than a few times in your life…

No. Absolutely not.

He shook himself free of worries, refusing to end the day with fear in his heart where the music should be.

Instead, he closed his eyes and slipped into a tune he’d fallen asleep to before—one that he was sure you created. It rained over his restless consciousness like sun-drops and star-dew, pulling steady, even breaths out of him and pushing a gentle weightlessness in.

The next morning, however, brought even more questions Shinso was just slightly afraid to have answered. Still no sign of the little voice that sounded like him, but was not his own. He absently picked up on a lilting murmur somewhere from upstairs, and anchored to it the more the weightlessness slowly began disappearing.

Shinso shrugged off his nerves, whistling light and roses into the bathroom mirror through his teeth. He splashed cold water into his face and closed off the tap with a huff, sending a final apprehensive glance to his reflection before heading out the door.

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly ineffably compelled to turn into the shop on the corner after a quick run to the market—but he is. Maybe it’s the incoherent and yet still familiar ringing in his ears, clear as a bell ushering him along his spontaneity.

Shinso’s morning started jittery and threatened to boil over in anarchical agitation. Strolling down the street with the absence of his wonted metronome, hands in his pockets tapping to the beat of an abandoned drum, he felt he stuck out like a loose screw. He was mindless in his trips to each store as he blindly reached for things he was vaguely sure he needed.

It was when he had stepped out onto the corner that something inexplicable snapped into place.

Shinso jogged across the street and through the inviting doors of a building whose name he hadn’t even bothered to read. He found himself surrounded by chrysanthemums and dahlias before he realized he’s in a floral parlor.

The redolence of fresh soil and ingratiatory verdure engulfed his wearied demeanour; the petals brushed his cheeks, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d suggest that the bouquets were reaching for him. The salvia and larkspur waved from the other end of the aisle, and he followed their purple buds to the other side of the shop.

He stopped to admire the camellias and daffodils, lightly taking them between the pads of his thumb and forefinger.

Butterflies.

Hitoshi’s eyes widened with a start, his posture straightening like he’d been struck with lightning.

They fill my guts when I look in your eyes.

He pivoted back and forth on his heels, desperately looking to the flowers for an explanation. A voice filled his head for the first time in nearly two days.

A heart that’s young is filled with sweet surprise.

This time though, the voice isn’t his. It’s clear and ringing and it doesn’t belong to him. The usual warmth he felt basking in the sound of music you whisper in his voice does nothing to compare with the exhilaration frothing in his chest now. Shinso ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, sliding it down his neck and over his shoulder.

It’s really not his, he inwardly surmised. It’s like listening to someone from inside a bubble, though; it’s a round and full sound, but he just knew if it were only slightly louder, the barrier would pop and he’d be free.

Only the innocent can sympathize.

It’s yours.

He brushed past the water lilies, clearing row after row as casually as he could in a futile attempt so as to not appear deranged.

I don’t care

The voice bled into his mind clearer, like watching the gentle shift of river to ocean water through facile currents. He turned the last corner with a breath of anticipation. In a final bit of direction, the lilac, heather, and baby’s breath spilled out of an ornate frame, unquestionably pointing to a figure facing away from him.

“About the funny way you wear your hair,” you crooned. You turned to tenderly repot the rosy begonia cupped in your palms, tucking it in place with the most serene gleam Shinso Hitoshi had ever seen. He sighed, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding for years.

“Someday you’ll let me put my comb up there.”

“’Till then you’re beautiful and I just stare,” Hitoshi finished softly.

You almost dropped your armful of forget-me-nots. Your strangled breath caught in your throat, hooked solely on the man standing there waiting. He gazed at you with an amused smile and crinkled, bruised eyes. It’s reminiscent of a sleepy kitten and if you hadn’t been so shocked, you’d have melted in your shoes.

“I missed your voice yesterday,” he drawled almost lazily, crossing his arms over his chest. You cleared your throat, rolling upright with a swing of your hands as they lock together at your back.

“I was going to say the exact same thing.”

His movements reminded you of a large jungle cat, stalking forward with a controlled lethargy tensed in anything but. As eager as you were, you matched him beat for beat, dragging your quivering legs in delicate strides down the aisle.

“So, is this supposed to mean we met sometime yesterday then?”

He stood right in front of you, finally close enough to recognize as the nameless and faceless childhood friend you’d been listening to since you could think on your own. You stepped into him, coming to a stop just before the tips of your shoes met his.

“It’s likely.”

“No way,” he said with a resolute shake of his head. “I’d remember you if that were the case.”

“You sound so sure of yourself.”

He stared you down with a focus you wouldn’t expect from eyes as exhausted looking as his.

“I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.” You bashfully tugged at the fabric of your clothes, the warmth in your chest spreading upwards to beam across your face. Flattening your palm against the expanse of his collar bone, you idly swung your hands over the surface like a pendulum.

“Maybe we just missed each other then—crossed paths without finishing them,” you suggested, twirling a lock of purple around your finger.

“You wouldn’t happen to be moving in somewhere, would you?”

Your head jerked with a small start to twist at him quizzically. How could he possibly know that?

“In a complex a few blocks away from here, yes. Why?”

Shinso’s smile broke into parts amusement and incredulity.

“Looks like I’m your new neighbor,” he grinned. My neighbor? You lit up, eyes twinkling with excitement.

“That means—!”

“You’re stuck with me, yeah.”

“That can’t be such a bad thing,” you started, dropping your voice to push into him more, “—after all, I’m a little new to the area.” You blinked, letting a coquettish simper slide across your features.

“I could do with some sort of guide if I’m going to survive out here, you know.”

“I think I know a guy,” he murmured, a strained husk in his volume.

“Oh, you do, do you?” you whispered under fragile breaths.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning down to angle his face with yours. Just as you reached in to touch his lips, he pulled back suddenly, tapping his finger to his chin in thought. “Tall, blond, black streak of lightning across his bangs—hard to miss. I’ll introduce you; probably just your type.”

You rolled your eyes and punched his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his shirt in an iron fist.

“How could you possibly know my type?”

You pulled his stupid happy face to yours and kissed the mischief out of him, and he dissolved into a tender mess under your fingertips. All of this was new and unexpected, but he imagined seeing, meeting, and eventually kissing you going much different. Shinso hadn’t expected colliding like old, familiar friends; Shinso hadn’t expected missing the way you pressed into him, as though you’d done it a thousand times before. This was a first kiss between two people, but not the first time you’d ever touched.

“Be careful,” he sighed, voice richly warm, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

You languidly pressed your lips to the corner of his mouth, tracing time signatures into his jawline.

“Have been since we were kids, thanks for noticing.”

“You mean to tell me Mr. Snuffles Is My Best Friend was actually for me? I’m flattered.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Absolutely not about one of my favorite stuffed animals.”

“That’s good to know. And here I was thinking I would have to challenge a teddy bear for your hand.” You laughed heartily, pressing your forehead into his chest.

“Can I walk you home?”

You fingered the fabric of his shirt, leaning in to feel the rhythm of his heart. It was the prettiest song you had ever heard.

“I’m already there.”

[hansensgirl]

salvatore | iii

series summary | Bucky Barnes doesn’t believe in love anymore. Especially after the tragic, unknown death of his wife, Natasha. He thinks it’s stupid and a waste of time and- oh my. Hello there, you. There you were, with your notebooks and your novels, writing your heart away. He’s hellbent on saving you from this nasty world, his elusive neighbor that has him under the stupid spell of love. You soon find yourself trapped in a tragic love story with Bluebeard, not Prince Charming.

chapter warnings | graphic depictions of murder, guns, blood, kidnapping, crying, manipulation?, bucky being a creep once again, sad!reader, alcohol, feelings, dark themes, dark!bucky, 18+ THIS IS A DARK FIC, IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT, DON’T READ IT!

pairings | dark!bucky barnes x reader, bucky barnes x reader, mentions of bucky barnes x natasha romanoff

a/n | the long awaited part three! enjoy and leave me some feedback! also thank you so much @threeminutesoflife for beta-reading and editing this chapter for me, ilysm!

7:48. Bucky traced the gun in his hand with his metal arm, admiring it in such a way that he almost forgot what he was doing. He was crammed in the front seat of a lousy car he stole, but that wasn’t the problem. It was the man who left the tall building at last, wearing a smug smirk that Bucky desperately wanted to knock off. Bucky shoved the gun into the waistband of his jeans and stepped out of his car. He kneeled behind an expensive car next to his, the one your boss loved more than his own wife. Just when the man reached for the door handle, Bucky pulled out the handkerchief that was soaked in a chemical far more strong than chloroform. The diamond encrusted CEO struggled in Bucky’s strong grip, but didn’t inhale. Bucky huffed as he grew annoyed with the businessman, gutting him in the stomach. He wheezed and inhaled deeply, falling unconscious in just a few minutes.

8:03. Bucky dragged his body into his stolen car and slammed the door shut before driving off. He drove further into the city, all the way to little old Brooklyn. As he drove down the streets, old forgotten memories were brought back up. He quickly pushed them back down, trying to focus on his mission. He felt almost like the Soldat, just with freedom. He wasn’t on HYDRA’s leash, he was free after years of torture. Bucky hung a right and parked by the old abandoned warehouse. He stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut, adrenaline coursing through his veins. It wasn’t the good kind. He dragged your boss’s body into the old warehouse, trying to hurry the process up. He shut the metal shutters and cringed at the loud bang from them before dragging the body into the warehouse’s basement. He sighed and pulled out the gun, pulling the trigger. One. Two. Three. Three bullets pierced through the man's body and Bucky didn’t feel a remorse of guilt. He rushed out of the basement but left the door open, leaving the warehouse. By tomorrow night your boss’s wife and colleagues would find the body.

9:14. It seemed to Bucky that the day was in a hurry to end, but he couldn’t let that happen. The smell of gunpowder filled the car and he realized that he had to ditch it before it was too late. He ditched it on the side of the road for someone else to find, leaving the keys in the ignition. He jogged back to his home in an effort to reach there before ten. He couldn’t wait to see you, maybe you’ll wear that pretty pink dress in your closet, or that black skirt in your drawer. He smiled once he saw his house become closer and closer, before looking up to the window. He could see your faint silhouette dancing to a song he didn’t care about. He smiled at how carefree you seemed, wanting to stay there and watch you dance all night. But he couldn’t. He opened the door to his house and shut it behind him, before heading up to the shower. He undressed himself and dumped his clothes in his laundry basket. He turned the water on so that it was scorching hot, but not too hot. He stepped in and revelled in the refreshing feeling, wanting to take all the time in the world just so that he could relax. But even he himself couldn’t resist going out with you. He felt as if the water cleared every sin of his away, almost as if he was a new man. Was this love? Was this what true love does to you? Natasha never made him feel this way, this had to be true love.

-

It’s half past nine and you’re lost. The blinds to your window are slightly opened, allowing slivers of moonlight to shine through and they make your tear-filled eyes glisten. You blinked them away, even though you dared them to fall. You don’t know what to feel. You were happy, but at the same time you were the melancholic mess you’d sworn you would never become. Old feelings for Bucky have resurfaced and a question circled your mind for the whole night. Was it always just a puppy crush or love? There’s no way it was love, right? You groaned as you asked yourself the same stupid question, trying not to let it ruin your night. You pressed shuffle on your playlist and swayed your hips to Lana Del Rey’s elusive voice. You stopped in front of your closet and tried to find something suitable. You grabbed a skirt and tank top, before you began to sing along to the lyrics. You pulled the articles of clothing on, not realizing how revealing they were.

Your face frowned with disappointment as you realized that your bra straps did not suit the outfit. You sighed and slivered your hand to your back, undoing your bra clasp. Your tits fell with a bounce and you let out a lewd sigh at the feeling of your hardening peaks against the soft material. You stood in front of the mirror and smiled at your reflection. A chain of curse words fell from your mouth as you realized it was almost ten o’clock. You scrambled for your phone and completely rushed down the stairs. You struggled to pull on your shoes that seemed as if they didn’t want to be worn. “Come- on!” You grunted with frustration before your foot finally slipped in. The other side fitted with ease and before you knew it, Bucky was standing on the other side of the door.

You let out a small gasp, before standing up straight. He tied his long locks into a bun but the simplicity of his outfit contrasted the exuberance. You were dumbfounded, just watching him. His eyes raked up and down your frame, taking you in. “Ready?” He asked, smirking playfully. You nodded meekly, following him. You tried to catch up to him, but his long strides didn’t give you a chance. “Wait up! You walk too fast!” You squeaked, making him chuckle. He stopped in his tracks and turned around, colliding with your small figure. The super soldier didn’t feel a thing, but he let out a grunt for no reason. You winced at the collision, looking up at him with eyes that asked a simple question. “Are you okay?” you both blurted out, before chuckling. You looked into his steele blue eyes and wondered how anyone could consider him a monster.

Bucky stared into your eyes, an underwhelming feeling surging inside of him. He had to hold back the urge to kiss your lips, to hide you away from this cruel world that hurt you. But he couldn’t. Instead, he intertwined his flesh fingers between yours, his rough skin contrasting the soft feeling of yours. He felt his hand become clammy, but you didn’t. He tugged you gently down the small sidewalk that led you to his home. You frowned as you noticed his front lawn. It resembled a graveyard, filled with withered flowers that were begging to be dug up. You stood on the front porch and looked around, trying to make out your surroundings in the dark. “Ladies first!” He cajoled as he opened the door. You smiled and stepped into his house. It was something out of the forties. “At least the walls aren’t flower covered” you mumbled under your breath, hoping he didn’t hear a word.

His eyes burned holes into you as your words replayed in his head. But when you turned and smiled at him, all his anger flew out the window. “You have a nice house, Bucky” you complimented, taking off your shoes that gave you trouble before. You bent down and tried to take off your shoes as smoothly as you could, not wanting to embarrass yourself. Now, that would haunt you for the rest of your life. Bucky unashamedly stared at your skirt-clad ass, imagining what it would be like to bend you over and fuck you to his will. He had to take things slow, unlike what happened with Natasha. He turned around and opened the freezer that was filled with all your favourite frozen foods and treats. “Slowly but surely, James” he recited in his mind, grabbing a tub of your favourite ice cream. He set in down on the marble countertop and placed two spoons next to it.

You placed your shoes next to the door and turned around just to see your favourite ice cream on his counter. You pinched yourself and winced at the sting. It was too good to be true, right? Were you so used to being treated horribly that you couldn’t believe that someone was doing something nice for you? You smiled brightly and grabbed one of the spoons. Your smile slowly began to fall when a question floated around in your mind. How did he know? Bucky turned around and pretended to smirk at your shocked expression. “What? It’s too late for some of the best ice cream ever?” He teased, setting a flask of mead next to the container. You cursed at yourself for worrying at something so trivial, not even noticing the flask. You noticed the spoons were similar to the ones you couldn’t find earlier that day, but then again, you had purchased them at the local Target that was about five minutes away from your neighborhood.

He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards his staircase, bringing you upstairs. Your eyes scanned the walls but they seemed to go by in a blur. He brought you into the farthest room at the end of the hallway, and you looked around. The room was dark, yet it was so lively. A record player sat on a table and he had a bookcase that was stacked with all your favourites. You gasped at some of the more provocative titles, ones that you wouldn’t dare to think Bucky would’ve even glanced at. Bucky watched you carefully, noting the small gasps that left your mouth and the way your eyebrows were slightly knitted together. “Have you ever read it?” He asked, noticing the way you marvelled at the specific title. You meekly nodded, remembering all the times you had to take a cold shower because of it. Bucky felt his pants slightly tighten at the thought of you touching yourself to a book. You turned your back to the bookcase and took the tub of ice cream from his hands, opening the cold cover. Your mouth salivated at the sight of the treat, and you immediately dug your spoon into it. You held back a small moan when you ate the ice cream, your worries almost disappearing. Bucky’s spoon soon joined yours, but he didn’t really care for the tub of ice cream.

He set the spoon down and cleared his voice before speaking. “So, why did you want to hangout?” He asked, hoping you’d open up to him. As Natasha used to say, “if we don't have trust, we have nothing.” You nearly choked on your ice cream, making Bucky let out a chuckle that had you weak in the knees. “Well, I just had a bad day, you know?” You spoke, sighing heavily. You set your spoon down next to Bucky’s, realizing your situation. You were jobless and your own mother didn’t even want you to visit her and your father. You felt a lump in your throat form, tears stinging your eyes once again. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. Bucky fought the urge to sigh as he realized that you weren’t ready to open up to him. He put a reassuring hand on your shoulder, the gentleness causing you to look up at him. You both locked eyes for the billionth time that night, but this time yours were filled with tears. “Hey, maybe this’ll help. Talking about your problems helps a lot, you can confide in me, doll. Trust me, I’m a safe” Bucky coaxed, making you relax your muscles. You didn’t even know you were tensed up.

Bucky dug around in his pocket and pulled out the small flask of Mead. You furrowed your brows with confusion and he smiled down at you. “Thor brought it from Asgard, y’know, Thor? It’s their alcohol, it’s way stronger than anything anyone on Earth has made. It can actually get me drunk” he explained, twisting the cover open. He pretended to take a small swig from it, knowing that he’d have to stay sober for the night. You watched him fake a wince, his face frowning at the “taste”. You reached out for the flask and he handed it to you, gazing at you as you took three gulps of it. The flask felt lighter than before and so did you. Your throat burned from the amber liquid, making you cough. Bucky patted your back and sat you down on the bed, chuckling as you stumbled slightly. So cute, Natasha would’ve fought me off, though. You clinged to Bucky and your eyes darted around the blurry room. You groaned softly and immediately regretted drinking the Mead so carelessly.

It’s 11:47, and you were sitting in Bucky’s lap. You babbled nonsense and Bucky simply cooes at you like you were a little baby. “My stupid boss fired me because I requested for a vacation. And now, I can’t even pay my bills!” You exclaimed drunkenly, grasping Bucky’s hand in yours. “It’s okay, baby” he rubbed your back innocently and admired you. We’ll have to do this more often, doll. “And my mom, she and my dad retired and she doesn’t even want her own daughter to visit her!” You cried out, not even bothering to hold your tears back. Everything had come crashing down at that moment and Bucky’s heart broke for you. You wiped your tears and leaned your head onto his shoulder, looking up at him. He looked down at you and stared at your lips. They were slightly puckered, almost as if you were silently begging him to kiss you. Fuck! You moved closer to Bucky until there was barely any space between your faces. You looked him in the eyes, and your reflection stared back at you. You closed your eyes and pressed your lips against his soft ones.

Bucky couldn’t stop himself then. He kissed you back without hesitation, loving the way your lips felt against his. He began to move his lips against yours, but somehow you sobered up. Your eyes shot open and you pulled away from him, your lips swollen. You stuttered and struggled to look him in the eyes. Bucky’s gaze followed you as you hung your head, almost ashamed with your actions. The kiss had sobered you up, even though the Mead still was in your system. “I- I’m sorry” you muttered out, realizing you were still in his lap. “‘S’fine” he whispered loud enough for you to hear. All of a sudden, you felt drunk once again. You stumbled back into Bucky’s lap, placing your head in the crook of his neck. Your eyelids started to feel heavy and they shut on their own accord. You soon dozed off, sat in Bucky’s lap.

-

You woke up in your soft bed, tucked in and your phone was charging on your bedside table. You groaned as soon as a killer headache seared through your head, recalling everything that had happened last night. You thought about the kiss and kept replaying it in your mind. You started to feel butterflies in your stomach, almost as if you were a school girl who had gotten a crush. Your eyes shot open wide once you realized what was happening.

It was 9:36 a.m, and you have fallen in love with James Buchanan Barnes, your next door neighbor.

Fuck.

@spicylangdon @lollypop-lam @boozeb4noon @debonaire-princess @ok-buchanan @binkysteebnpewter @buckysthot @honeychicana @orphiclittleone @autumnsoidier @bvckys-doll @lousocean @parker-barnes-af @anxiousamandapanda @jianawoods @marvel-mania27 @xoxabs88xox @sillyqt @hv-chw3 @notyourtypicalrose @sebbbystaaan @mushyjellybeans @rayche776 @marvelsangels @grayxswan @livsheph @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @hoseokchild @evanssgi @babyboyjames @amirahiddleston @kitkatd7 @readermia @steveodinsonbarnes @bucksgoat @vherriepie @femalemarvelfanatic @golden-ariess @princess-of-riviaa @official-and-unstable-satan @deceitfuldevout @itgetsdarksometimes35 @captainchrisstan @smollest-soybean @literalmcuhoe @iheartsebastianstan @imsoft-barnes @sebssweettooth @captainamerica-is-bae

[whitecrowapothecary]

Like A Dream

Jaskier has had dreams for as long as he could remember- of monsters and magic and all the things that go bump in the night. He dreams of golden eyes and silver swords and honeyed ballads. 

AKA the modern immortal/reincarnation AU no one asked for but I’m writing

Read it on AO3 here!

There’s music around him. Coming from him, his throat warm and honeyed with the lyrics he sings. Not him- the bard, the unknown man who captures his mind at night when he closes his eyes. He- they- are playing for an audience. Jaskier is used to this, the wayward looks, captured attention, but it’s… new. There’s an instrument in his hand he’s never learned to play and lyrics on his lips he’s never written, clothes resplendent of another time, another world, and he drinks it in with abandon. Full, flowing skirts, jackets made of the richest silk brocade in all colors, though all are muted compared to the bright, rich amethyst ensemble he seems to have donned for the performance.

He’s deep into his set, if he should call it that, singing about a fishmongers daughter just to get a laugh out of the crowd when his eyes catch on a small, insignificant detail. Jaskier sings and sways among the royalty around him, but all he can see is gold with flecks of amber, curious cat eyes watching him from the shadows. He takes a step closer, then two, then three until he’s propelling through the crowd, and just as a jaw covered in a neat snow white beard is unearthed from the shadows, a blare sounds, and the image shatters.

He gasps awake, clutching at his chest and trying to quell the shaking of his hands. Sweat sticks his hair to the back of his neck and his forehead in small curls which Jaskier rakes a hand through. On the nightstand, next to the bed, his phone vibrates, clanking softly against the wood until Jaskier scoops it up and hits answer. There are only a handful of people who will actually ring through.

“What, Pris?”

“Ah, woke you up huh? Touchy touchy. You haven’t forgotten about our brunch date, have you?” The voice on the other end is perky, far too awake for Jaskier’s liking right now.

“No, no of course not. You aren’t here yet, are you?” He slips from bed, grimacing and rummaging through his closet for something to wear, phone pinched between his ear and his shoulder.

“Almost, a block away.”

“Shit, okay, let yourself in?” The woman on the other end hums, amused, and Jaskier hangs up. Leave it to him to fail to set an alarm for something like this. He drags his sorry carcass into the bathroom, intent on getting a shower. He feels cold and sticky for all the wrong reasons, and when he looks at himself in the mirror the blue in his eyes is offset by the purple bags underneath. It’s… not an attractive look for himself. The hot water pounds against his back when he hops under the spray and he groans, letting it wash over him. Praying it’ll wash away the dream that seems to cling to him, digging at his bones and refusing to leave.

He’d had the dreams for as long as he could remember- at first they were nothing more than terrors, dreams of hideous, foul smelling creatures with sharp claws. Claws that regularly tore into the soft flesh of his belly, or the tender meat of his thigh, leaving him to wake up screaming and thrashing in bed. His parents, bless them, had tried everything to help, from heavy medication to therapy to a stint in a mental facility, but nothing took the monsters away. Medication only trapped him within his dreams, unable to wake up until he was well and thoroughly taken apart, and therapists only insisted the monsters were representations of some trauma he’d sustained as a child. The stay at the mental facility, well, that was more a break for his parents than thirteen year old Jaskier.

He’d learned to hide them, since then, to hold people at arms length and keep them from seeing what he truly was. The monsters rarely followed him into real life, but on the occasion he saw mention of a kikimore on the news, or a striga cropped up in Germany somewhere, well, it was all too easy to flip the channel and pretend. Now though… it was becoming harder and harder to leave his dreams behind when the sun came up. The dreams had shifted when he was almost eighteen, from monsters hunting and maiming him to something else- instruments and performances and gaudy, awful clothing he had no name for. Days spent walking and walking and walking, sweating under the sun but grinning like it didn’t bother whoever was in his dreams. It was harder still, to pretend that the performer in his dreams didn’t have his hands, his wonderful, skillful fingers, or the voice he’d spent years fine tuning.

He’s knocked from his reverie by the sound of his front door opening and clicking shut and the smell of food drifting in. His stomach growls loudly, protesting it’s current situation, and Jaskier hurries to finish his shower and get dressed. He’s got a towel in hand, scrubbing at his hair when he pads out barefoot and spots the blonde currently tinkering with his tv remote. Her blue eyes are bright, friendly, and she motions to the spread of food currently piled on his coffee table.

“Got you coffee.”

“Thank Melitele.” He makes a beeline for it, not caring the way it burns his tongue as he gulps it down. That draws a laugh from his companion, and he throws himself onto the couch, settling his legs across her lap and tossing his towel onto the chair nearby. He’ll get it later. “You’re a godsend, you know that Priscilla?”

A small smile plays on the woman’s lips, colored by rouge lipstick, and she raises a brow. “I do, but it’s nice to hear. Did you not sleep at all last night, Jaskier?”

“Ah, I’m afraid my muse kept me up, as usual.” He grins at her, reaching out to snag a strawberry from her plate before bending to get at the french toast on the coffee table. It smells absolutely divine, and maybe some food will make him feel more like himself and less like a shell of someone else.

“You really need to learn how to prioritize sleep.” Priscilla says, shaking her head fondly and digging into her eggs. He hums, half paying attention to the news on the screen. It’s nothing new, stocks going up and down, the latest in sports, and something about him, actually. Talking about his newest single that’s put him up in the top ten- Her Sweet Kiss. Jaskier clicks away before they can play the music, drawing a laugh from Priscilla. “You know, you never told me where the song came from.”

“Didn’t I? A whirlwind affair in Europe, during my last tour. She was… incredible, shall I say? Truly someone never forgotten.” He’s bullshitting and Priscilla knows it. The song had come to him, as most do now, in his dreams. Ringing through his ears in a voice so close to his he can feel his throat burning when he wakes up. She doesn’t press though- she knows better than to push Jaskier too far. The glassy, far away look he got when thinking about whatever it was that inspired his songs was sad, old, and lingered on Jaskier’s face the rest of the day. Jaskier focuses on eating now, barely tasting bite after bite and only stopping when his stomach is full. Priscilla does much the same, but she chatters through the melancholy.

Jaskier stops himself on a random show, listening to Priscilla but staring at the screen. It’s something nonsense, talking about old instruments, but his hand stops mid bite, the french toast falling back onto his plate with a wet smack. He stares, wide eyed, at the wide, oval bowl of the instrument and the short, sturdy neck. The strings, there are more than a guitar but not nearly enough- no, his had more. Six pairs, one singular. His?

“-ier? Jaskier, what is it?”

“What is that?” His voice sounds strange, words twisted faintly by an accent he’s never had before, and he sets his plate down as Priscilla looks between him and the tv.

“An instrument? You put on the show.”

“But what kind?” At this Priscilla frowns. She doesn’t seem to know either, and she shrugs reluctantly.

“We could ask Essi, I’m sure she knows more. Why, do you recognize it?”

“No.” He says softly, switching the tv off. He ignores Priscilla’s worried look and goes instead to put on socks and shoes, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on. It’s big, engulfs his frame, but there’s something about it he couldn’t get out of his head when he’d seen it in a thrift shop off of 28th. It’s also entirely too hot outside to need it, but he feels naked without it, and the hood will give him a better chance at remaining hidden. Not that that happens much anymore. Priscilla has the food cleaned up when he steps out of his room, and she swings her keys around her finger, lingering near the door.

“Where are we going today, my famous friend?” Jaskier rolls his eyes, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Anywhere but here. I think I’ll go mad if I hide in bed anymore.”

“That’s the spirit! There’s this new music store on Madison we could check out, and then that little bistro for a late lunch-” Her words fade from his ears as they merge into the crowd outside of his apartment building. He slips on sunglasses, nondescript ones he’d gotten from a random gas station, and prays that today he looks like anyone else. With Priscilla at his side, arm looped through his, no one pays much attention to the couple wandering down the street, chattering away. Jaskier feels a rush of gratitude for his friend, for the unwavering presence she is in his life. He’s not sure how he would have managed his budding fame without her, or handled being recognized everywhere once his face and name and music became more common knowledge.

“You’re the one who wrote the songs.” A rough voice reminds him, teasing.

“Yes, well, I didn’t expect them to break into my HOUSE for an autograph!”

“Get better doors. And a guard.” He drowns in those eyes, an endless pool of gold, and he reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair away, a smile stretching his lips wide.

“Why would I need anyone other than you?”

Jaskier stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk, pitching forward, and it’s only Priscilla next to him that keeps him standing. He rights himself, cheeks pink, and laughs despite his heart pounding in his chest.

“Ah, rather clumsy today. I probably should have had more coffee.”

“Or more sleep.” She counters, Jaskier laughing again and nodding in agreement. More sleep is definitely what he needs. A nice, dreamless sleep. Maybe if he gets that, he’ll be able to function like a human being again, instead of walking through the world with half a mind stuck firmly in fiction. The music shop is a quaint, cute little building tucked in a strip of other quaint buildings, and Jaskier ducks into the dim light of the shop. There are rows and rows of cds, vinyls, movies and more, and his eyes track along them all, taking in the sights and colors. There are plenty of instruments on the wall, guitars, basses, a couple of keyboards and a few sets of bongos even. There seems to be little rhyme or reason besides the alphabetical arrangement of the displays, and Jaskier spends his time wandering while Priscilla goes straight for the vinyls.

He’s near the back of the shop, by the counter when he spots an instrument on display behind the glass display. The sight is enough to make him freeze, and he stares at the smooth wood, the graceful curve of the instrument, finding that his fingers have begun to twitch. This can’t be a coincidence.

“Do you play?” A voice breaks through to him, and he has to blink a few times before he can focus on the man standing before him. His dark hair curls rather attractively, falling around his face and framing rather striking hazel eyes. Jaskier’s countenance sours immediately, and he squints suspiciously. It takes the man a moment, but he grins wide when he recognizes Jaskier. “Dandelion! A pleasure to have you here.”

“Valdo. This is your shop?”

“It is indeed, opened it up after my last album.” He’s proud, almost annoyingly so, but Jaskier begrudgingly has to admit the shop is rather nice. His eyes wander back to the instrument behind Valdo, and Valdo raises his brows. “You never said if you played. Would you like to hold it?”

“You’d let me?”

“I’ve seen how you care for your guitar. I’d warn you it’s expensive, but I know you’re good for any damages.” Jaskier snorts as the other man goes to grab the instrument, and his fingers drum against his thighs. “Do you even know what this is?”

“Not a clue.” Jaskier’s hands are reaching for it as soon as Valdo holds it out, and he tucks the strap around his body. The neck settles into his hands, fingers resting on the strings, and a line of tension holding his body razor tight snaps.

“It’s a-” The soft sound of Jaskier plucking out a melody stops Valdo short, and Jaskier closes his eyes to ward off the dizziness.

A fire crackles merrily in front of him as he plays, tinkering away at a tune with his notebook close by. He isn’t sure about the harmony of the piece, the way the notes blend together. There’s something missing, and he can’t figure out what it is. He stops with a heavy sigh, scrubbing at his face and wracking his brain.

“You’re missing the lowest note in the harmony.”

“Pardon?” He looks up, sees the sensual curve of a small smirk on a very ruggedly handsome face, and those eyes, always those eyes staring back. The man comes over, reeking of pine and metal and home, and reaches to softly pluck at one of the strings. The note rings out and Jaskier latches on.

“Try.” The man whispers, and Jaskier does, drawing the note into his harmony and grinning at the fully bodied life it brings.

Jaskier’s head is spinning when he finally opens his eyes again, Valdo staring at him with unabashed surprise. Priscilla is at his side, hand on his elbow to hold him steady, and he glances down at the familiar way in which his hands hold the lute. Because that’s what it is- his favorite instrument, the thing that made him coin and granted him fame and found him a-

Jaskier’s heart cracks in his chest, and his breath punches out of him in one big whoosh. He lifts the lute over his head, pressing it back into Valdo’s hands before turning to bolt out the front door of the shop. He doesn’t know where he’s going, merely that he has to get away, to find somewhere safe. He feels a thousand eyes on him, whispers following his frantic fleeing, and he ducks into an alleyway, hiding behind a trash can and pressing his back to the brick wall. There’s a stitch in his side from his frantic running and his hands won’t stop shaking as he rakes his fingers through his hair. The song rings through him, as fresh as the day it was written, and the lyrics come to him unbidden.

He’s crazy. He’s well and truly crazy, because there’s no way what he’s seeing can be real, but it’s so vividly him, buried so deep in his heart that there’s no way it could be fake either. His breath comes from him faster and faster, and tears blur his vision as he folds his knees up to his chest and rocks. Priscilla finds him that way, huddled in a ball amongst the trash, sobbing and muttering to himself, and she uses the large hood of his jacket to hide his face as she gets him home. Jaskier has calmed enough to get himself up the stairs when they manage to stumble their way back, and his chest aches from the pounding of his heart.

The tremor in his hands hasn’t abated yet, but the mug that’s pressed into his hands doesn’t shake, so he just enjoys the warmth that it brings him. Priscilla seems at a loss for words, but Jaskier knows what she wants to ask. “Just say it, Pris.”

“What happened? You haven’t been yourself all morning- first with the tv, and then the lute in the shop? Jaskier, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“I have dreams.” He says, voice so soft it’s almost lost in the sound of his heartbeat. “And lately, I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.”

Priscilla reaches out, touching his shoulder lightly, and her face is soft, sad. “They’re just dreams. What you do here, the music you make, that’s what’s real.”

Jaskier nods, but his heart is plummeting in his chest and he doesn’t know why. Priscilla’s words should be a comfort, someone rooted in his reality telling him that his dreams are just that- dreams. The result of an overactive imagination. That’s all they are, all they’ve ever been. Jaskier tries not to let the thought suck him down somewhere he doesn’t want to go, but it’s near impossible to fight the tide rising in him. “They’re just dreams.”

He takes a sip of his lukewarm drink to find that it’s tea- the stuff he usually drinks as a last resort before bed time. It’s never worked before, but Jaskier downs the rest of it and hopes that this time, it will. Priscilla waits until he’s finished to take the cup, and when she comes back she’s holding a very large, very lute shaped object in her hands. Jaskier frowns, confused, but takes it from her anyway, tracing fingers over the lacquered wood. It’s smooth and warm under his touch, and he finds himself picking at the strings just to hear the sound. “Valdo said that it was yours.”

“I didn’t pay him.”

“He knew you’d say that. He said, and I quote ‘I’ve only been holding it for him.’ Whatever that might mean.” Jaskier schools his features into careful indifference, trying not to let his discomfort show. What in the hell does he mean by that? He’s going to have to go back to the shop and talk to him to find out, but he’s not inclined to leave his apartment for the foreseeable future. Priscilla, sensing the mood has gone down, ruffles Jaskier’s hair and gives his shoulders a squeeze. “Take some time, Dandy, get some sleep, then come back.”

Jaskier makes a soft noise in his throat at the silly nickname, but it’s sweet and Jaskier has never told her to stop. He watches her duck out of the apartment with one last look his way, and once the door clicks shut, locking behind her, he grips the lute tighter. He hasn’t ever played formally- has never been trained, and while a guitar is similar, there’s more strings than ever and he expects to fumble.

He doesn’t.

His fingers know what to do even without his brain, and he hums along to the melody from before. Here, in the safety of his apartment, he plays and plays until the song is firmly committed to memory and he’s written down the lyrics to go along with it. A song about the monster of the wood, a cruel, hungry creature with the head of a deer, stalking him in the night.

“You need to listen to me-”

“I’m your barker, for better or worse. How can I bark if I never see anything?”

“You stay alive for a day longer.” His hands shake with anger, chest burning with it, and the man in front of him, golden eyes fierce and animal, glares back just as hotly. They’re nose to nose practically, and his head pounds in time with his heartbeat as his hands come up, shoving the man away and watching in shock as he goes.

“Go then. I’ll be here, tending your fire and watching your horse, as that is all I am good for.” He turns then, but a hand grabs at his arm, turning him around on his heel. He pulls against it, fights to be released, but Geralt’s hand bunches in his shirt above his heart and holds him. “Geralt-”

“For better or worse, Jaskier.” His eyes meet gold, molten and scalding, and he’s speechless at the sincere intensity in Geralt’s gaze. “I would rather it be better.”

“You don’t get to decide that-” Geralt cuts him off with a kiss, lips hard against his own. It’s awkward, a bit painful, but Jaskier tilts his head, pulls back a bit and Geralt responds in kind. He kisses, Jaskier decides, like a man who has been kissed not nearly enough, and he commits himself to fixing that immediately. Geralt’s grip loosens in Jaskier’s shirt, but Jaskier’s hand comes up to bury in snow white locks, keeping him close as his heart rockets into his throat.

The strings of the lute dig painfully into his fingers when he comes to, and he shakes himself, releasing his tight hold and groaning when blood rushes back into the pads of his fingers. He tucks the lute back away in its case, not wanting to look at the flowers painted onto the wood along its wide belly. He tells himself not to touch the lute, to leave it alone so that all this will go away, but the longer he sits on his couch, leg bouncing and tv on some awful movie the more his fingers itch to play.

Instead, he forces himself to get up, to pull out his vacuum and mop and cleaning supplies. He spends the afternoon scrubbing down every inch of the apartment, puts away his laundry, and even tidies up his desk, which is a rather artful disarray of papers. Some, like Priscilla, call it a mess, but Jaskier knows where each piece of paper goes, and he prefers it stays that way. Cleaning can only distract him for so long, and once the smell of lemon cleaner becomes too much he caves, grabbing the lute and ducking out onto his balcony.

The sun is beginning to descend on the city, and he allows it to warm his bones and loosen his muscles as he plays. Each song that comes from him is new and old and entirely his, each rich, resounding note a piece of him. The instrument is no more a stranger to him than his guitar, or his flute, or any of the other instruments he’s picked up and enjoyed along the way. Its weight, the feeling of the double strings pressing under his fingers is home to him, and he plays long after the sun is set. There’s a reckoning, a righteousness within this instrument that calls to the deepest parts of Jaskier’s soul, and he finds himself crying with no real reason as to why.

He cries silently, holding the lute close to him and staring out over the city. Cars rush past his building, far below, and somewhere nearby a dog barks. But it’s all background noise- it’s nothing compared to the harsh intake of his breath or the way that it shudders out of him. When he can’t stand it anymore he retreats back inside, leaving his lute on his dresser before stripping down and crawling into bed. There, buried under blankets and utterly, terribly alone, Jaskier closes his eyes and dreams.

“You’re alive.” A low, rough voice breathes behind him. He turns, but he already knows what will be waiting for him, and he can feel his face lighting up in a grin.

“Geralt! Of course I’m alive, how could the world bear to part with me just yet?” His heart jackrabbits in his chest at the sight of the man before him, clad as always, in dark armor and a stormy, conflicted expression. Well, the expression is new. The armor, not so much. He finds himself smiling for no real reason as to why, but Geralt’s face is open and honest and terrified, and he can’t keep from reaching out to gently touch his cheek.

“There were rumors- about a bard, having been murdered by a beast.”

“As if I could be harmed by a beast with you protecting me.”

“But I wasn’t.” Jaskier takes a step forward, cupping his witcher’s cheek and smiling when Geralt leans into the touch.

The dream dissolves as Jaskier shifts, drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness. The latter wins out, and his body drifts away while his mind slips again.

Blue eyes stare at him through the mirror. It isn’t a great mirror, small and cracked and woven with imperfections, but he won’t need it for long. He only needs to make sure his hair is presentable, his golden doublet unmarred by any stains, and that his smile, when shown just so, is as charming and delightful as always.

“You’re fussing.” Geralt says, and Jaskier knows, his heart knows that voice and the hand that slides over his hip better than anything. He finds himself leaning back against a strong chest, laughing and tipping his head back.

“Some of us care for our appearance before a performance.” An amused hum, and then lips on his neck, gentle and sweet, kissing a trail up toward Jaskier’s waiting lips. He sinks into the kiss, turning as Geralt’s arms come up and around him, careful not to crease Jaskier’s clothes.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Most of the night. You’re free to come, love. I’m sure they’d love to pester the White Wolf himself.”

“Mmm, pester is right.” The warmth in his chest is softer now, with no edges of anger, and he knows what this is. It’s love. Pure and unfettered by doubt.

That same warmth burns in his chest when he jerks up in bed, leaping from under the covers to run into his bathroom. The mirror he has now is perfect- gleaming with the fresh cleaning he’d done just today and showing his reflection without any defects. The same blue eyes stare back, sweeping over the same lips, the same cheekbones and nicely shaped jawbone. The same messy, tousled brown hair as the bard in the dream. As him . Whoever he was- is- is long gone- left behind in another life completely. That isn’t him anymore, it can’t be, but when he thinks, and thinks hard, they’re there. All the memories, the times in between his dreams. The first time he’d seen Geralt, sitting in the back of a tavern refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, to draw any unwanted attention to him. The feeling of his hair, so devoid of color, twisting around his fingers as he washed blood and viscera from them. His friends- Priscilla, in her blue and red ensemble with the poofy shorts, Essi, a near twin to Priscilla, only shorter and plumper. Valdo, his rival, the troubadour who writes songs without any meaning but somehow comes out on top.

Valdo.

Jaskier scrambles for his phone, dropping it twice before finally swiping open the screen. He has his number, more to make sure he never answers than anything, but now, now he needs it more than anything else. He hits dial without letting himself think, holding his phone to his ear and shifting nervously from foot to foot. The line rings and rings, and just as he thinks it'll go to voicemail he hears a soft click.

"Dandelion? It's nearly three in the morning, what could you-"

"I'm not crazy."

"Debatable." Valdo's voice is amused, but when Jaskier doesn't respond he quickly grows serious.

"You said you were keeping the lute for me." His words are rolling in his mouth, voice mangled by an accent that he can't seem to keep away or bring back. He hears a sharp intake of breath, and then a long, shuddering sigh.

"I was, Julian. For far, far too long. Meet me at the diner on Broadmoor." The line goes dead and Jaskier is left to get ready, a long, long dead name ringing in his ears.

                                                             -*-

There are three diners on Broadmoor. Jaskier curses his luck, but only one seems to have the lights on and so Jaskier heads that way first. He pulls on the door and is hit in the face by the smell of stale coffee and hash browns. He glances around, searching, and spots Valdo in a booth back in the corner. His face is drawn, hair a mess, but he has a cup of coffee waiting For Jaskier when he slides into the cheap plastic booth. Valdo slides the mug toward him and he clasps it in his hands, sniffing lightly. He debates putting sugar or cream in it, but he needs the caffeine too badly right now to care much about the bitter taste. Valdo watches his internal debate with a raised brow, leaning back in the booth and sighing.

“You remember.” Jaskier accuses, wincing at the way his tone sounds. Valdo takes it in stride, tilting his head in a small nod and sipping at his coffee.

“I always have. I didn’t know if you would this time around.”

“This time?” Valdo nods again, and Jaskier is quickly becoming frustrated by the non answers. “Valdo, what the fuck is going on?”

“Reincarnation. You’ve heard of it before, yes?” Jaskier nods, and Valdo continues on. “There are some of us who keep coming back. Not always with memories, not always whole. I seem to have no problem keeping them, but others like Priscilla, or Essi, or-”

“Are they really reincarnations?” Jaskier frowns- how much is it reincarnation if you’re just the same body without knowing if your consciousness is the same?

“I said that, didn’t I?” His glare is enough to set a house on fire, but Valdo doesn’t fold under the pressure, instead waving for menus to be brought over. “For decades I was unsure why. Why us? Nothing seemed to connect us together, just random strangers being brought through life. Until I found out you came along as well.”

“You’re saying that I’m the link?”

“You know us all, have some kind of connection. You are the one constant in each of our lives.”

“But the others, they don’t remember?”

“They never have.” Valdo orders something for the two of them, waving away Jaskier’s protest, and plows forward in his conversation. “You don’t always either. I’ve held that lute for the past two reincarnations, neither of which you retained memories for. But you remember now, or are beginning to.”

“Yes.” Jaskier’s voice is a whisper, and admitting it, saying that it’s real takes a weight off his shoulders he didn’t know he was carrying.

“Tell me how?” It’s phrased as a request, and Jaskier nods, staring at his coffee to try and ward off his tears.

“I was seventeen when my dreams started feeling real- performances or days on the road, nights spent stitching wounds or bandaging cuts. Lately they’ve-”

“Been bleeding into your waking hours. Like when you played in the shop.” Valdo’s interrupting makes irritation flare in the back of his mind, but he tamps it down. He’s only trying to help, and is filling in more details than Jaskier would have gotten on his own. Their food comes then, and Jaskier watches as some kind of breakfast scramble is placed in front of him. It’s heavy with hashbrowns, eggs, bacon and cheese. It looks awful. Jaskier digs in hungrily, groaning at the heavenly taste- shitty overnight diners always have the best food. They eat their food in relative silence, too hungry and tired to care much to continue with something else in front of them.

This all seems fake, too good to be real. Valdo’s instant reassurance of what he’s feeling, what he’s dreaming, it has to be some kind of con, some way to get dirt on him. He expects the other man to laugh any minute, to call him crazy and tell him he needs serious help. He’s waiting for a punchline that isn’t coming, and it makes him anstier and anstier by the second. It explains so much- the old, old memories he has of a time before electricity, or running water, of nobles and peasants and monsters. Of witchers and sorceresses and bards. There are newer memories too- of him in a diner much like this, sitting across from a man with white hair and shining golden eyes. Of dancing in a club to his own music, standing alongside all the others in a rally, holding a sign protesting the inequality that ruins his life while cameras show his face. Through it all, his companion is there- a silent, steady presence.

“There’s- a man. Who I am desperately in love with, no matter who I am.”

“Your witcher. White hair, cat eyes?” He doesn’t need to nod for Valdo to know the answer, and he grins. “His name is Geralt of Rivia, though Rivia is long gone now.”

“Is he…”

“Alive? Of course. They, unlike us, do not die.”

“They?” He doesn’t even get a chance to let Valdo talk, his vision going blurry and ears ringing.

“C’mere asshole!” Jaskier laughs, darting away from the witcher intent on catching him. It isn’t Geralt- his hair is dark and cropped short, voice smoother, less gravelly. He’s also much, much more expressive.

“Catch me if you can!” His lungs hurt from running and laughing so much, and he squeaks as hands grab the back of his doublet and yank him to a stop. Jaskier squirms as arms wrap around him, and he pouts, letting himself go deadweight. “You aren’t supposed to use your witchery powers, you know.”

“Oops.” He’s let go then, and Jaskier shoves the other man lightly, grinning.

“Ass. Maybe I’ll go find Eskel, at least he follows the rules of the game.”

“Rules are for peasants.”

“Then you should fit right in, Lambert.” He dodges a swat to the back of the head, laughing and disappearing further into the keep.

Valdo is staring at him expectantly when he blinks, the stone walls and cold breeze fading away from his mind. His food is lukewarm in front of him, and he takes a big bite just to avoid having to say anything yet. Valdo is too smug for his own good though, and he sits forward, grinning.

“Jogged your memory, eh?”

“Shut up.” His insufferable grin only grows bigger, and Jaskier wants to smack it off his face or strangle him. Either would work, honestly. “Is there some way to contact him, or any of them?”

“Not unless you’re a government official, or happen to know someone who had a pest problem. But, there is something that might work.”

“What?”

“Your songs. I'm sure you've already written new ones with the lute- release them in an album. If they’re listening, which is near impossible not to with your reputation, they’ll find you .”

“What if they don’t?”

“Then I suppose you’ll have to bed a government agent.” Jaskier scoffs, wrinkling his nose, but Valdo wags his eyebrows and he can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from his chest. He falls into silence then, staring down at the rest of his food, and his voice is soft when he finally finds the courage to speak.

“Thank you. For keeping it safe.” When he glances up, Valdo’s eyes are bright, shining with relief.

                                                             -*-

Jaskier does what he does best- he writes a few songs, then writes a few more, until he’s bursting with music and lyrics and ideas. He gets himself into his studio and doesn’t leave until he’s recorded an entire album, with his lute being the main focus. It brings with it a new, exciting kind of charm that his producers eat right up, a kind of mystical energy that isn’t present in any of Jaskier’s other songs.

It’s also a release- he lets go of the monsters that haunted him, bringing them roaring into his music instead and letting them run wild. His dreams are still plagued by memories, but the more he plays, the more he tries to remember, the easier it gets. Turns out when you stop fighting against a piece of yourself, letting it in is much, much easier. The music videos are his favorite part of the whole process- he crafts one specific to each song, embedding as much of a message as he can in the hopes that one of the witcher’s will see. Will see him and know him, and extend a hand.

He tries to look up the witchers, to see if there’s any kind of way to find them online, but Lambert is too common a name and he has no clue what last name he would use, if any. Eskel’s name yields less results, but still too many for him to narrow down, and he’s left back at square one for them. Geralt’s name? Now that pulls up results.

‘ The witcher, most formally known as Geralt of Rivia, is one of the world’s only practicing monster slayers, and a bit of a recluse. He was last spotted hunting some kind of sea serpent along the mediterranean, and then boarded a plane bound for America.’

‘Geralt of Rivia, White Wolf, was allegedly seen decapitating a local woman at a train station in France. When questioned by police, they were informed that the woman was a bruxa who had been preying on locals. Mr. Rivia was released without further incident.’

That article makes Jaskier laugh, and he prints it out to tack above his desk on his cork board. Leave it to Geralt to scare everyone around him while doing his job. Any article related to Geralt gets its spot on the board, actually and he’s fairly certain he looks like a stalker, but they’re his only glimpse into what Geralt has been up to. It makes the pain easier to handle, knowing he’s just been too busy to seek Jaskier out, and certainly not ignoring the neon signs that are his music. Half of them are Geralt’s exploits, after all, and if he doesn’t recognize them then Jaskier has failed to faithfully recreate them.

But the songs work- somewhat. In a small town somewhere in the midwest, a witcher hears Jaskier’s music, and begins to hunt for his white haired brother.

Jaskier, in the meantime goes about his life, bouncing from interview to interview, one of which he’s in now. The chair is somewhat uncomfortable and the lights are a little too bright, but the woman interviewing him is new, nervous, and he does his best to put her at ease.

“You’re doing great, love. What were you saying?”

The woman blushes, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before asking again. “Your newest album, it pulls away from the bouncier, lighter tone of your second album. Why?”

“Good question. Writing fun music is wonderful, lovely, but I, and I’m sure you’ll be surprised, have my own fears. Monsters that haunt my dreams, who begged to be put into song.”

“So the songs are based on dreams?”

“Now you’re catching on.” Jaskier winks, drawing another giggle from her, and he leans back in his chair, tilting his head. “No one can tell me they don’t dream of dark and twisted things sometimes. Of wanting a knight in shining armor to come save them.”

“That’s an incredible way to put it. Are any of the monsters in your songs real?”

“Oh yes. The leshy, or leshen is a forest spirit that is said to roam the deepest parts of a forest. There are also ghouls, terrible hunchback creatures who stalk battlefields, and basilisks, large winged creatures with iridescent scales and scalding breath.”

He sees his interviewer shudder, and his gaze goes soft, a wistful smile tugging at his lips. “Where did you hear about these monsters?”

“From a friend, years ago.”

"Do you still talk to them?"

Jaskier's eyes find the camera, and it's a terrible cliche to spike the lens, but he does it anyway. "We lost contact a while back. I'm hoping that… through my music, I can find him again."

"Well, I'm sure your fanbase can help!"

"That they can." Jaskier grins, glancing back at the interviewer, and he hears someone yell cut behind them. He stands, shaking her hand and giving her a quick hug. He murmurs a few words of encouragement, and when he ducks into the room they've designated for him he tells his producer to send her something. Flowers or a gift or anything. She handled him like a champ. It's thankfully his last interview of the day, and he grabs his lute, which he brought just in case before ducking out the door. He makes his escape from the building out onto the street with relative ease, slinging his lute across his back to navigate the crowds easier. The amount of times he’s had to refuse security before they learned was more than he could count. He's stopped a few times by fans, asking to take pictures, and he glances at them on his phone once his Twitter dings.

@dandelion stopped and took a picture! Best day ever!

The rest of the post is filled with heart eye emojis and hashtags, but Jaskier stares at the photo. The awful stripes and swirls on his button up are reminiscent of a bowling alley floor, but his jeans are cute and his boots top the whole outfit off. He thought it'd looked cute when he put it on, and is pleased to see that others agree. He looks better in general- the bags under his eyes are all but gone and there's a confidence in the set of his shoulders he hadn't noticed before. Like knowing who he is has completed a puzzle he didn't know he'd lost a piece to.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket as he skips down the steps to the subway, whistling merrily the whole time. The public transportation in the city had to be his favorite thing in the world, aside from jelly donuts and Geralt's eyes. It makes going from place to place a snap, and he doesn't have to constantly tell people he can't drive when they ask where his car is. The train is running a minute behind, as usual, but Jaskier books it down the rest of the stairs and through the turnstile, jogging up just as the doors slide open. People file on quickly, taking their seats, and Jaskier moves to step on when he spots snow white hair.

That in itself isn't unusual- plenty of old people ride the subway, but it's a man who looks no older than his mid thirties. He's dressed in all black, jeans and a heavy sweater, and strapped to his back are twin swords, their pommels shining dully in the fluorescent lights of the train. A duffle bag hangs from one shoulder, nondescript, but a pale, scarred hand hovers over it protectively. Jaskier is aware he's staring, holding up the train, but his feet are rooted firmly in place as his head begins to pound. The man- Geralt- irritated by the lack of movement turns to see what's going on, golden cat eyes cold and hard. The sight sends vertigo crashing through Jaskier so wildly that he feels his knees give out, and his vision blurs as he collapses onto the ground.

                                                      -*-

"No, no. He's fine. Don't hold the train for us." A voice, rough and low and heavenly drifts through his consciousness and he groans, burying his face in a warm, nicely toned chest. Strong arms wrap around him, holding him, and he sinks into the embrace without really thinking. When he moves the arms tighten around him, holding him closer, and he finally rouses.

He cracks an eye open to see an officer in front of them, debating with Geralt about getting him medical care, and he groans, sitting up and plastering his best smile on his face.

"Sorry love, my sugar dropped again. Was I out long?" The officer stops when he speaks, and Jaskier tilts his head curiously. "Tell me you didn't call them, you know I don't want the attention."

He looks up at Geralt, false frown on his face, and Geralt shakes his head. "Another passenger. I told them you were fine."

"That I am! I'm very sorry for the confusion, I just got off of a rather long interview and was a bit hungrier than I expected." The officer looks between them, brows furrowed, but tucks his notepad away and nods reluctantly.

"If you're sure you'll be alright."

"Feeling loads better already! Sorry again Officer!" Jaskier watches until the officer leaves the platform, and then shoves his way out of Geralt's arms. Geralt lets him go without a fight, sitting on the bench and watching as Jaskier paces the length of the platform, ranting. He's speaking in a language he knows but doesn't know, but it's better than letting everyone else hear him.

" I dreamt about you for years! Years, and the first thing I do is pass out when I see your goddamn face. Son of a bitch." Jaskier glares accusingly at him, but the corners of Geralt's mouth tug up in a smirk and Jaskier can feel his heart going a mile a minute. " I could have broken my lute, or-or been cut in half by the doors all because you were on the subway you big old insufferable-"

" You dreamt about me." Geralt's voice is soft, fond, and Jaskier loves and hates the way his voice curls around elder speech. " Jask, I didn't know you'd come back."

" Didn't- didn't KNOW? I am, and I am going to brag here, insanely famous, Geralt. Like on the news famous. How in the WORLD did you not know?"

" I don't watch the news."

"Of course you don't- of course I would get the one witcher in the whole wide world who doesn't watch the news ." He's cut back into English at some point, and he stops, fists clenched as Geralt stands up with his palms out. It's something he's seen Geralt do with Roach a thousand times when she's being antsy, and it drives him up the wall. "I am not a horse , Geralt, I am your fucking barker."

"You're acting more like my horse right now." Geralt is close enough now Jaskier can smell the soft cologne he's wearing, and his knees go weak again with the fact that he's actually here.

"You jackass -" Jaskier launches forward, throwing his arms around Geralt's neck and pulling him down to kiss him senseless. Geralt takes it in stride, scooping Jaskier off his feet and spinning with the momentum. He's careful of Jaskier's lute, but his hands are strong and firm as Jaskier is thoroughly crushed to his chest, held so tight that neither of them seem to be breathing. Jaskier doesn't care- his feet are off the ground completely, a fistful of white hair in his hands again and Geralt's lips on his. He has a beard, neat and taken care of, and Jaskier's other hand slips down to cup the side of Geralt's neck, thumb brushing through the coarse fibers.

Geralt is the first to pull away, Jaskier tipping forward blindly to kiss him again, huffing when Geralt smiles and bumps their noses together.

"Train is coming. As much as I've missed this, I'd rather not miss the next one."

"Tell me you aren't leaving me." Jaskier presses their foreheads together, eyes closed to keep any potential tears at bay. “Please.”

“I have to check into my hotel.”

“Geralt of Rivia, if you think for one minute you aren’t coming home to sleep in my bed you’re a fool. Fuck your hotel room.”

“It has a jacuzzi.” Geralt laughs when Jaskier pulls back to glare, and Geralt holds onto Jaskier’s  hand, guiding them through the throng of people and onto the train. Geralt motions towards a seat, but Jaskier stays plastered resolutely to his side and just rests his head against Geralt's shoulder. He sways with the movement of the train, but Geralt’s arm is around his hip, holding him steady as the train goes around a curve and slows a bit. He feels more at peace with Geralt next to him than he has in years, and he’s drifted off to sleep when Geralt moves just a bit, dipping down to whisper in his ear. Elder speech brushes against him, trailing down his spine, and his eyelids flutter as he leans in to hear him better.

“What stop do we get off at, Jaskier?”

And oh, if hearing his name from Geralt’s lips isn’t sublime. “Two more.”

“ You were asleep.” Jaskier chuckles softly, turning his head and kissing him lightly.

“ I’ve lived here for years. I know how long I have.”   His elder isn’t nearly as pretty or fluid as Geralt’s but he seems to enjoy it all the same, pupils widening at the sound, the sight of Jaskier’s lips moving. He feels like prey being hunted and he loves it. True to his words, two stops later Jaskier is the one to lead them off the train and up the many, many stairs to the street above. His hand never leaves Geralt’s, afraid that if he lets go the man will disappear into the crowd and leave him alone again. His apartment building isn’t far from the station, and he has to pass through three different checkpoints before he’s even flagged into the building. All of the security guards eye Geralt with barely hidden suspicion, but Jaskier is either oblivious or doesn’t care. The hot, possessive kiss that Jaskier pulls Geralt into while waiting for the elevator is answer enough.

Jaskier’s head is spinning again by the time they make it to his door, and he sags against it, panting lightly and trying to get his key in the lock. Geralt’s hand comes up, guiding the key in as he stands just close enough for Jaskier to be intimately aware of every inch of him. Jaskier gasps, shakes against the door and finally manages to shove it open. He hurries into the room, past the kitchen and into the living room. His lute is slung onto the cushions gently just as his knees give out again, and he catches himself on the arm of the couch, Geralt at his side a moment later.

He can’t feel his legs- he really, really can’t feel his legs, and he isn’t sure that it should seem like such a good thing. Geralt is a hard, hot presence between his thighs, and he arches up into Geralt’s touch, whimpering his name. He wants, he wants so desperately and he feels like he could fall apart at any moment, his breaths coming faster and faster as Geralt grins down, at him teeth sharp and glistening and begging to be buried in flesh. He reaches up, brings him down and kisses him, lapping into his mouth just to taste and let a fang scrape against his tongue.

His chest is heaving when he blinks from his memory, and oh, oh he’s embarrassingly, frustratingly hard. How in the hell does he explain something like this? His knees smart from where they’ve hit the floor and he pitches himself forward, out of Geralt’s surprised hands, his palms slapping against the wood of his floor as he pants. It’s better than letting Geralt see him, worked up over nothing. But he doesn’t get the chance to even think of a lie- he hears Geralt’s sharp intake of breath, the soft huff of a stunned laugh. Geralt is on his knees next to him before he can move, lips on his neck and teeth digging just so into the pale, unmarked flesh. Jaskier keens without meaning to, the noise spilling from his lips, and his cheeks flush when Geralt makes a triumphant noise, pulling back and using a hand on the small of Jaskier’s back make him sit back.

“If you say anything smart, Geralt, I will throw you off my balcony.”

“You don’t have to hide from me.” Is all he says instead, and he takes Jaskier’s hands, guiding him to sit on the couch while he takes care of Jaskier’s lute. Jaskier watches, knees pressed to his chest to hide his slowly dwindling erection as Geralt hunts around his apartment, breathing deep and seeming pleased at what he finds. He lingers briefly by the bedroom door, but seems to think better about exploring there just yet. Instead he reaches up, undoing the clasp across his chest and letting his swords slide from his back. He places them on the coffee table and pulls his sweater up and over his head. Jaskier watches it all, eyes wide, and he jumps as the sweater is tossed at him. He catches it with only a minor fumble, pressing it to his face and breathing deep.

He can almost feel the growl that rumbles through Geralt at the sight, and he grins, toothy and bright, sniffing again. It’s easy to lose his train of thought at the sight of Geralt- Modern clothes suit him well, from the cut of his jeans to the way his t-shirt shows off the rather lovely shoulder to hip ratio he has. Practically perfect. What really arouses him, and this shouldn’t ever be admitted out loud, is the amount of weapons Geralt has on him. There are two pistols tucked into sheathes under his arms against his sides, at least two knives tucked into each boot, not to mention the swords he’s already discarded.

“How do you draw the pistols with your sweater on?”

“I don’t.” Geralt’s voice is amused, and he reaches to unbuckle the leather harness, silver rings glittering along his fingers. There are no fingers that are bare of rings, whether they’re smooth, simple bands or ones studded in small spikes. It’s… ridiculously attractive and Jaskier fears for his heart at this rate. The holsters slip off of his shoulders and they too are left on the table with his swords, though he doesn’t go for the daggers in his boots at all. “You’re staring.”

“I’m allowed to.” He breathes out, reaching a hand out as Geralt pads over. His fingers splay against Geralt’s chest as the older man leans down, kissing him slowly, the warm metal of his rings sliding across Jaskier's cheek. Jaskier shivers at the sensation, making a soft noise as he stretches up further to try and get closer. Geralt pulls back too soon, always too soon, and Jaskier groans with disappointment.

“Tell me what happened when we came in.”

“Do we really have to talk about that now?” Geralt leans back, eyes searching his face, and Jaskier sighs dramatically, tugging Geralt to sit next to him on the couch so he can lean against his chest. "I wasn't born with my memories. I had- it feels stupid to repeat this all- I had night terrors as a child."

"Of monsters." Jaskier nods, pressing Geralt's sweater to his face and speaking through the fabric.

"Particularly of me being eaten by them. When I got older, graduated high school, they shifted focus. They showed me, or the bard I thought was haunting my dreams, following you, performing at a banquet, being chased by a farmer's husband. Within the past few months they got worse. They slipped into my daydreams, took them over, until I could hardly go outside without seeing something that would set them off."

"Is that what happened on the platform?" Jaskier shakes his head, sighing.

"I don't know what that was- a reaction to seeing you again, after only seeing you in dreams maybe? All I remember is getting hit by the worst vertigo I've ever felt, and then I was waking up in your arms. This last time- I'm not sure. I really don't want to keep collapsing though, my knees won't be able to take it."

His joke is weak but Geralt chuckles anyway, pressing his nose into Jaskier's hair. "I'll get you kneepads."

"My hero." He feels a rumble go through Geralt's chest and that brings a smile to his face. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Tell me about you, what you've been doing. I, for one, have been struggling with my memories and made it as a musician. But you, last of the witchers, are impossible to find info on."

"How do you know I'm the last?"

"Internet speculation. Don't worm your way out of this." Geralt sighs heavily, shaking his head and muttering to himself before Jaskier turns and plops himself into Geralt's lap so Geralt has to look at him.

"Eskel and Lambert retired a few years ago. Contracts are few and far between."

"What do you do then when you aren't fighting monsters?"

"I… Translate." Jaskier doesn't think he's heard right, and he tilts his head.

"Pardon? Was my very sexy boyfriend about to tell me something even sexier?" Geralt raises a brow at the word boyfriend, but Jaskier can see that he's pleased by the automatic assumption that they're together. Like they were never apart at all.

"I interpret. Mostly for doctors offices or business meetings. I'm occasionally called to the field when researchers need help."

"What languages?" Geralt doesn't say anything, cheeks flushing a faint pink instead. Jaskier grins then, pleased as all get out, and he leans forward, bumping their noses together and watching the way Geralt's pupils open wider at the contact. "What languages, Geralt?"

"There- aren't many I don't know."

"Someone's been busy."

"I had time. And language barriers make hunting harder." Jaskier laughs at the defensive tone to Geralt's voice, leaning their foreheads together and laughing until Geralt kisses him to shut him up. And even then he giggles against Geralt's lips, wiggling when Geralt tickles at his ribs.

"No wonder your elder is good." Geralt huffs out a laugh, shaking his head and leaning back so he can look at Jaskier, gaze sweeping over Jaskier's face slowly.

"My brothers and I are the only ones fluent."

"In the world?"

"There are small elven communities hidden around, but other than that, yes."

"Where are your brothers?"

"Somewhere in the midwest." Geralt says it with a shrug, as if it isn't a big deal. "They move frequently."

"Too used to being on the Path." Jaskier muses, though it's truer than he might realize. “What about you, where do you settle?”

“I don’t.” Jaskier tilts his head, thinking about that. He isn’t sure why Geralt would ever settle down, since he’s the last witcher active apparently. It would make sense for him not to have any place to call home, but the thought bothers him. A lot more than it should.

“You have a home here, if you want it.” He whispers, heart in his throat, and Geralt’s whole demeanor softens. His eyes look more amber in the setting sun coming through his balcony, and Jaskier leans forward, lips brushing Geralt’s at the same time his phone rings. He groans, intent to ignore it, but Geralt’s fingers dip into Jaskier’s back pocket to pull it out. He hits answer, holding the phone up to Jaskier’s ear as he glares.

“Jaskier, who the fuck are you kissing?”

“Hello Priscilla, nice to see you again, I’ve been just dandy since we last saw each other.” Jaskier takes the phone from Geralt, pressing it to his ear on his own.

“Jaskier, Twitter is in an uproar, there are pictures everywhere.”

“Naughty pictures?” Jaskier puts the phone on speaker while he moves over to Twitter, scrolling through the thousands of tags he’s gotten in the past two hours alone. They’re all the same picture, which Jaskier saves immediately, some better quality than others. There’s him in his bowling alley button up, held aloft in Geralt’s arms, kissing him senseless. It’s a rather artistic photo, the contrast between his bright colors and lute and Geralt’s stiff black clothing and threatening swords. “Ah.”

“That’s all you have to say? You haven’t seriously dated anyone since high school and that's what you say?” Priscilla is pissed, rightfully so, and Jaskier winces.

“Look it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just-”

“I asked him not to.” Jaskier can hear the sharp intake of breath over the phone from Priscilla when Geralt talks, and she’s much more pleasant this time when she speaks. Traitor.

“Oh. And you are?”

“Geralt.”

“And where are you from, Geralt? How long have you been dating my best friend?” He sees Geralt’s lips quirk in a smile, and he rolls his eyes, letting Geralt do the talking. At least that way he isn’t getting yelled at.

“Rivia. We’ve been seeing each other for a few years now, I would say.” Jaskier snorts at the lie, except well- it isn’t really a lie. They’ve been together for years and years over entire lifetimes.

“Rivia?” A distant quality overtakes her voice, and Jaskier winces, clapping a hand over his ear as Priscilla squeals. “Jaskier, please tell me you aren’t dating Geralt of Rivia.”

“Uh.” Geralt’s lips twitch upward as he raises a brow at Jaskier’s hesitation, but Priscilla is laughing, wheezing out little breaths, and Jaskier waits for her to calm down before he answers. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, no it’s just unbelievable.”

“Hey!” There’s offense in Jaskier’s tone, and Geralt’s hand rests on his hip, squeezing lightly. Jaskier shudders at the touch, scowling, but his witcher is the picture of innocence. “I guess the cats out of the bag, eh love?”

“Mhm.” Gods Jaskier has missed those little sounds, the answers but not answers.

“You have to say something on Twitter before your fans break the site. And introduce us properly.”  

“Right, right. Dinner okay?”

“Only if I get to pick the place.”

“Deal. I’ll call you later, okay?” Priscilla gives an affirmative and hangs up, Jaskier tilting his head at Geralt with his brows raised. “So, Geralt of Rivia, ready to be official with a popstar?”

“Not really. But with you? I’ll manage.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, moving to tuck himself against Geralt’s side. Geralt’s arm snakes around him, hugging him a bit closer as Jaskier raises his phone.

“Say cheese!” He grins wide, waiting until Geralt isn’t glaring to snap the photo. It’s a good one, Geralt’s eyes liquid and warm, the corners of his mouth tilted up in the smallest of smiles. It’s definitely going to be his wallpaper. Jaskier posts it onto Twitter with a simple caption.

My knight in shining armor.

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 4

Thomas X Reader

2306

Summary: Flashbacks and First days.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

[ Nine months before Somme]

“Why are all of the songs you sing happy?” he asked, mouth half full of slimy porridge.

Y/N glanced up from her rations, “What do you mean?”

Thomas shrugged, “You always sing about fighting or beating the odds no matter how bad it seems. Or about how angry everyone is about the war. Why don’t you ever sing anything that’s sad?”

She put her spork down, “You want me to sing a sad song during war?”

He didn’t answer right away, only shoveled a couple more mouthfuls down his gullet. After a swig of stale water he continued.

“I dunno. I feel like we should be allowed to be sad sometimes. Singing all these happy songs feels like we’re pretending that all the bullshit we see everyday isn’t real. Like we didn’t just watch several men lose their legs or that artillery didn’t just rip a man in half.”

Y/N let out a long sigh, “Thomas, I love you, but dear God man I’m eating.”

His heart skipped a beat. This was something he wished more than anything was real. That went beyond the comradery of soldiers. Yet, he schooled his features into something more neutral. Despite the fact that he craved to hear the words again but it was their spontaneity that was precious to him. 

Thomas was barely able to scramble together a reply, “I just want to feel again.” He blinked, not exactly sure where the admission had come from. Though he couldn’t take it back now.

Over the next few days he’d catch her humming a melody he didn’t recognize. Some parts she would work over again and again. Others would be there and gone, carried away on the breeze. When she sang it to them for the first time it was after a rough day. 

They had lost a handful of people to a tunnel collapse in the northeastern sector and all the hard work they’d done over the past six months was completely scrapped. One of the members of that team had been the youngest in their company. He had a fiance with a baby on the way even if he couldn’t yet grow a full beard.

She’d been perched on a piece of rubble that had fallen from a church. Her voice was clear and perfect as crystal. The song was about a soldier going home to find his wife bleeding on the floor. She’d ended her life to be with him after receiving a call that incorrectly informed her that his company had been massacred. 

The men of the 174th wept that night the hardest they had since the war began. All the pent up rage and fear leaking out onto their pillows in the dead of night. For those who couldn’t be silent, they wept with their heads held between their hands in an attempt to muffle the noise. It was the army though and no one ever questioned crying men.

Thomas hadn’t cried. He was more angry about the deaths and couldn’t quite settle down enough to listen to the words. It wasn’t until she’d sung it a second time it had unraveled him. She’d changed the ending. The first time the wife wasn’t saved and the soldier had to move on without her. This time, they lived into their greying years with the knowledge that life was unbearable without the other.

“Why is it the ‘happy’ ending?” she asked him once.

Thomas shrugged, his eyes still swollen. It was one of the few times they were alone and she’d sung it for him. He didn’t mind being the only audience but it had made the unexpected turn in lyrics all the more powerful for him. 

Thomas’ voice cracked as he spoke, “Don’t ever sing that in front of Hopper.” He elaborated when she raised her eyebrow, “If you sing a single note of that in front of him he’ll figure out you’re a woman.”

Y/N froze, “How did you know?”

He smirked, “You never bathe with the other men. Your uniform is always too big. You’re almost a head shorter, to the point I’m surprised no one has said anything. And your face does the thing”

“What thing?”

“That soft thing that everyone thinks is cute.”

He swore he imagined it but her cheeks turned a light pink, “Did you just call me cute Shelby?”

He shrugged, “Just keep the singing away from Hopper.”

〜

[Present Day]

Y/N awoke the next morning to the raucous laughter of dozens of men floating up the stairs. With a bewildered groan she checked the small window to her room to find that it was at least past noon at this point. On Saturday.

She cursed to herself as she quickly dressed in trousers. Her leg almost didn’t lift high enough to get inside without pain shooting up her back. With an audible growl she shoved her limp foot through the hole and grabbed her violin case. A passing glance in the mirror told her that her hair was wildly out of control, but if the singing had already started it was too late to fix it now.

Y/N practically hopped down the stairs on one leg. Twinges still assaulted her with every step, but it was better than just hobbling around on a bum leg. Which she’d have to do anyway on level ground.

Upon descending into the bar, she was confronted not by the milling groups she’d seen at lunch time the previous day but a completely packed room. Fully grown men were pressed shoulder to shoulder all staring up towards the front of the bar. A woman’s voice lulled over some lyrics Y/N recognized as a folk song that had become popular again after the war. Nostalgia always popped up in weird places.

With some luck, and her short stature, Y/N squeezed her way close enough to the bar that she had enough elbow room to play. Standing in front of the bar was the woman she’d seen at the opera...and the restaurant. Once she was done with her current song she waved to grab her attention.

Grace’s eyes practically bulged out of her head when she noticed Y/N, “Uh..Y...Yes? Can I help you?”

“Oh, this is weird,” she mumbled to herself. Speaking louder to be heard over the crowd, she lifted her violin case, “Thomas told me I was supposed to help you out on Saturdays. What would you like me to do?”

Grace’s eye’s cast about wildly. “Did he hire you?”

“In a way. Did you need help or…?”

“Yes. Yes. Set up over at that end of the bar. Do you know Black Velvet Band?”

Y/N nodded as she moved. “I know most of the popular songs. But if I don’t know something I can usually figure it out after the first verse as long as it’s nothing weird.”

For the next several hours, they entertained the patrons of the Garrison Pub. Grace could usually sing several songs in a row, but eventually she needed a break and that’s when Y/N would go from a supporting role to the main role. After Grace had rested and filled orders, she would once again relinquish center stage.

The patrons were eating it up, and at one point Y/N had caught sight of Jerimiah. She waved in a small pause in the music and damn near killed the man. He had turned ashen when he’d registered who she was and had begun to sway only to be caught by Danny, who’d stopped by after an errand. 

He’d quickly left, returning a couple hours later with almost the half the platoon they’d served with. The bar, already almost at max capacity, was now so overflowing with people that the party had begun to spill onto the streets. Someone had gone home and grabbed a portable skillet and had offered to cook anything people brought him. Soon the smell of grilled meats wafted through the slums of Birmingham. And the Garrison Pub was serving every single one of those thirsty people.

At some point a couple of men had constructed a makeshift stage for the women to perform on and had urged them outside. Now the dancing had started as women came to find their husbands up to their ears in drink and food. Children ran amok, mimicking some of the dances with others finding whatever they could to play with as music brought this part of the city to life.

It wasn’t until the sun had begun to set that someone caught sight of Thomas Shelby and his family approaching the Pub. Word spread quickly, and most continued their revelry even if it was subdued. Finally, Thomas made it to the foot of the stage. Everyone waited with baited breath to hear what the gang leader had to say.

“So, allow you two to play music for one day, and it becomes a feast?”

Y/N finally put down her violin after hours of playing. Her back practically screamed at her to sit down, but this was the first time she’d played to a crowd like this in years. She’d missed it.

So she did what she always did. “That’s what you get for sticking us both up here. Hell, between the two of us I’m pretty sure we could play so well the pearly gates themselves would open for us.”

“After all the shit you’ve pulled?” He raised his eyebrow skeptically. A soft murmur went through the crowd as people shared confused glances. She knew Thomas.

Y/N couldn’t help but grin, “Oh, they couldn’t bear not to have us play for the angels themselves. But here we are instead playing for these hard working men and women, and I think we’ve done a good job filling their hearts with hope again.”

He chuckled, “Fine. Just make sure the Garrison stays busy.”

“As you wish.” Y/N shrugged, her arms complaining as she lifted her violin once again.

Grace stared at her new companion with unveiled wonder, “He lets you talk to him like that?”

Y/N flashed Grace with one of her signature wicked smiles, “We were army buddies.”

“But they don’t allow women to fight.”

“Eh, who says they had to know?”

Grace’s mouth fell open as Y/N started up another song, one that Grace didn’t recognize. But the entirety of the 174th sent up cheers, their glasses raised. 

It was a fast paced one that made it hard to sit still. Y/N braced herself before she began to dance on the small stage, tapping her feet in time with the beat as the 174th began to sing. Their voices rose over the general din. There wasn’t much melody in it, but those men sang from somewhere buried deep inside. It was as if the hope that had carried them through the worst days of hell sprang to life to answer the call of music.

At the edge of the crowd in the shroud of darkness, the barest outline of Thomas Shelby could be seen. Even if he didn’t scream the lyrics along with his brothers in arms, he still sang. It was then that Grace understood why Thomas had been so adamant about there being no music in his pub.

If Grace wanted to truly understand Thomas Shelby she’d have to learn about him not as the gang leader, but as the man who survived the worst part of human history. Who was he before and what had happened with this woman that had changed his life forever? It was a way out, another option that didn’t rely on giving herself to the enemy. Holding onto that hope, Grace closed her eyes and tried to decipher the jumbled lyrics.

〜

Finally the Garrison Pub closed. Grace sat slumped against a table as Harry mopped the floor. Y/N curled up on one of the few benches in the corner. After everything was well and tidied up, Grace got up to leave.

“You coming?” she asked.

Y/N shook her head, “Actually I’m staying upstairs.”

Grace’s brow furrowed, “But...why? I mean your dress was lovely, and you were playing in one of the most expensive places in town. Can’t you afford a better place?”

“This suits me just fine. Besides, you of all people should know that a pretty dress is just a costume; at the end of the day it doesn’t mean nothing.”

Grace froze, “What do you mean?”

Y/N fixed Grace with a tired gaze, “It’s just how it’s always been. You may love rolling around in the dirt, but a bath and pretty dress later no one would ever know.”

She let out a deep sigh of relief but just as she was about to leave Y/N stopped her once more, “Hey, since you’ve been in town longer do you know any good music halls? Operas? Theatres? I’m looking for work that isn’t just on Saturdays”

“Oh, I can’t stand Opera so I wouldn’t know about that. But I think there’s a new place opening up on the other side of the river.” Grace waved dismissively then shut and locked the door behind her.

Y/N slowly stood and finally let herself limp over to the bar and poured herself a drink. She mulled over the possibilities of why the hell Grace was at the opera if she hated it and wasn’t dragged there by family. So far none of the possibilities looked good and it was getting to the point she’d have to tell somebody. 

The wad of money Thomas had shoved at her still burned a hole in her pocket; she hadn’t gotten a chance to return it today. A goal for tomorrow then.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Camila//this is our place, we make the rules

Request: Camila mendes x reader where they get Madeleine (readers sister) with Vanessa mad they have a double movie date at their house and when r and mads fall asleep V and cami talk about how much they really fell for them

hey! i hope you like this! its gay, fun and fluffy!! also, i don’t know if anybody knows but i l o v e taylor swift, so a good portion of requests will be named after lyrics from her songs, sorry, i don’t make the rules. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this one is from ‘lover’ by the way (i was heavily influenced by the song and i was feeling soft). anyway, have a good day/night! stay safe, be gay! 

The universe works in mysterious ways. Everyone knows that, its like the universes’s thing. Some people are funny, some people are smart, and some people like to control life every aspect of life in weird ways. When they are actually people, they’re sociopaths, but when its all of space and time, its just one of its cute little quirks. 

People can be connected by something as small as a name, but it can lead to something so big. An invisible tether connecting you to these people, and its something that you don’t even know about until years later when you’re talking about that funny story from ages ago and the other person is like ‘oh, i used to go there all the time’ or ‘how weird, my aunt lives right around the corner of your childhood home and we never met once’. 

And it doesn’t have to be that type of connection. A serious of fortunate (or unfortunate) events can lead you to a whole load of new people. You could walk into the wrong classroom in a new school and meet your best friend, or find a new coffee shop after your usual is closed for the day and meet the love of your life. 

There’s so many ways that you can be connected to people, you never know when you’re going to meet a friend, and enemy, or something more. 

Its both magical and terrifying at the same time. A story waiting to be told, you just have to stand on the right butterfly or tempt just the right amount of fate. 

For you and your sister, Madelaine, you both did exactly that. And thankfully the universe seemed to be on your side. 

One day, she gets a job on the CW’s newest show, and then a few years later, both of you end up with girlfriends from the same show. And while you and Camila may have been fast to get together (within a few months of actually meeting), it took a little longer (and a lot of sisterly teasing) to get Madelaine to admit that she was head over heels for her on-screen girlfriend. 

It was a long and sometimes tedious road for all four of you. Madelaine complaining to you, Vanessa complaining to Camila and then the two of you complaining to each other. You eventually locked them in a room together, something you haven’t done since you were a teenager, and they thankfully got together. 

While Madelaine and Vanessa were playing ‘will they, won’t they?’, you had your own things going on. You and Camila had finally made the step to move in together. And after months of searching for the right house (and one that you could afford), you finally found it. A cute little place tucked into a side street of LA. 

“I think thats everything.” You smile and look around the large living room. Its been a long few months. But they’ve been fun though. When you were younger, you never thought you would actually be here, buying a home with a girl you loved more than anything and who loved you back. 

You and Madelaine would spend hours talking about how you would decorate your own houses. They would be right next door to each other (much to her dismay), with a gate in the back garden so you could come and see each other anytime (again...dismay). Your house would be bright, filled with things you’d collected over the years, flowers and plants would decorate every room, pictures on every wall, and right in the centre, you...with her. 

At the time you had no idea who she was. You just knew she would be there. You would be happy and in love and you wouldn’t care who knew. You wouldn’t be scared, or try to hide. You’d just be you, she’d be her, and the two of you would be together. 

And thats exactly what you got. Funnily enough though, when you think back you’re pretty sure whoever she was, kinda looked a bit like Camila. 

Madelaine’s house is a little different from how she planned when she was 13. Yes, she had the large house and the dogs. But instead of the man, she got the woman instead (much better in your opinion). Which is something it took her a while to get her head around. 

She watched you grow up, figure yourself out and then come out to the world. She saw your struggles and your victories. She wiped your tears when someone was mean, and laughed with you at your first pride together. 

She watched as Camila went through the same struggle after meeting you. She listened to her while she went through every possible scenario that could happen if people found out.

And she watched Vanessa play this badass bisexual on screen, but struggle with the possibility of liking girls behind closed doors. 

Three of her favourite women in all the world, all going through the same experiences. Having the same fears. And then she did the same. Thankfully, all four of you came out the other end stronger and a lot happier. 

You and Camila got together five months after the first time meeting and that was almost three years ago. Madelaine finally admitted how much she really liked Vanessa, due to the looming threat of you telling her yourself if she didn’t, and today marks their six month anniversary. 

That, mixed with your new home is the reason all four of you are hanging out tonight. Its a double movie date, that will definitely end in all of you falling asleep in the living room, slightly drunk. 

“No more boxes?” Camila asks and wraps an arm around your waist. You lean into her touch, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her close. 

“I think so. I think we’ve officially unpacked everything.” You grin and her expression mirrors yours. She stares at your for a few seconds, just taking everything in, before letting out a content sigh. 

“So we’ve officially moved in?” 

“Yep...we’re home owners.” You press a soft kiss to her lips and the world blurs around you for a few seconds. Thats until the doorbell rings and you have to reluctantly pull yourself away from her. 

“If I’m to go into crippling debt with anybody, its always going to be.” She says sweetly and you giggle before opening the door. 

“Y/N!!” Madelaine shouts and hugs you tightly. You groan, but it just makes her grip tighten as you struggle against her. 

“Hi V.” Camila appears behind you, completely ignoring you and Madelaine, she learnt the day she met you, don’t get in the middle of a Petsch argument...it won’t end well. 

So she starts talking to Vanessa, the two of them having a small catch up, while you struggle away from Madelaine. You huff loudly and straighten your clothes out while she sends you a sarcastic smile. 

“I feel like we haven’t seen each other in weeks.” She says, pushing past you and into the living room. Vanessa passes you, whispering a ‘sorry’ as she follows her girlfriend. 

“Thats not accidental.” You send her a sweet smile and she rolls her eyes at you. 

“Here.” Vanessa interrupts and hands you a small gift bag. “Its a housewarming gift.” 

“Aww.” Camila makes her way over to where you’re stood and the two of you quickly open the bag, revealing a picture of the two of you from the first day you met. You’re stood next to each other, shy smiles and soft blushes barely noticeable to anybody else. But you see them and they make you smile brightly at each other. 

“Thank you.” Camila says and the four of you hug. 

“So.” Madelaine is the first to pull away, now looking around. “My baby sister actually has her own house. Have you drawn all over the walls yet.” She teases and you shove her. 

“Everybody knows it was you that drew on the walls and then you would blame me.” 

“And mom and dad still believe me!” She smiles triumphantly. 

“Yet, I’m still the favourite.” 

“Who knows why, I was definitely the cutest.” She argues. 

“You keep telling yourself that...potato face.” You reply and she sends you a scowl in return. 

“At least I didn’t look like a ham when I was a baby.” She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and she looks exactly the same as she did when you would steal her toys. 

“At least I don’t look like a ham now.” You retort and she gasps, offended. You send her a small smile, happy that you’ve won this round and she continues to glare at you. 

“Aw, its just so nice watching how they love each other isn’t it?” Camila whispers to Vanessa and she stifles a laugh as the two of them watch you insult each other. 

“Tell me about it.” She groans. 

“Do you want a drink?” She asks, motioning to the kitchen. Vanessa looks at the two of you, now actually physically fighting before taking a deep breath and turning back to Camila. 

“...please.” 

----

“Mads! When you’re finished snooping, the movie’s about to start!” You shout into the kitchen. 

You and Cami are cuddled together on one of the sofa’s, while Vanessa waits for Madelaine to come back with the snacks on the other. The empty take out cartons are scattered on the coffee table, and the three of you wait in anticipation for whatever Madelaine brings back, all of you chatting about work. 

“Please tell me someone other than you has chosen it.” Madelaine asks as she walks in. Her hands full of food and drinks and Vanessa quickly stands to help carry them. 

“Cami chose it.” You reply and smile at your girlfriend, reaching out to hold her hand and she gives it a light squeeze, the two of you momentarily forgetting that you have company. You’ve both been dreaming of this night for months, the first proper night in your finished home and now its here you can’t quite believe it. 

“Oh, thank god. You have an atrocious taste in films.” Madelaine says and you’re moment is gone. Your soft expression reserved only for Cami, has now turned into a scowl as you stare at you sister. 

“Well, I watch everything with you in so maybe thats more on you than me.” You say casually and a grin takes over her appearance as she sits down beside Vanessa. 

“Aw, you watch the movies I’m in?” 

“Yeah, the very few that there is.” You snide and she looks at you offended. 

“How many movies are you in?” 

“How many CW shows that are well written are you in?” You reply and its followed by a chorus of offended ‘heys!’ 

“Sorry babe, and V.” 

“And?” Madelaine asks impatiently. You look at her confused for a few seconds before she tuts and looks at the tv. “Why couldn’t mom and dad have just gotten a dog?” She mutters making Vanessa laugh softly. 

“I’m sure they thought the same thing when they found out about you.” You reply. “A dog would certainly have been a lot cuter, and well behaved...and maybe a little more talented to-OW!” 

You’re interrupted by a cushion smacking you square in the face, followed by loud laughter from Madelaine and Vanessa. Cami stifles a laugh beside you and you pout at her for a few seconds. 

“Its a good job you’re cute.” You mumble and cross your arms over your chest, still pouting at Cami and she presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. You reach for the cushion thats fallen on the floor, but before you can throw it at a now distracted Madelaine, Cami grabs it from you and throws it gently to V who puts it back. 

“Don’t even think about it. Those pillows are new.” She scolds. 

“Is everyone ready?” Vanessa asks and you all hum in reply. 

“Wait!” Madelaine shouts. 

“Play the damn movie V.” You say before she has the chance to say anything else. 

“Happily.” She laughs while Madelaine pouts beside her.

Silence settles over the room as the opening titles start. You and Cami cuddle even closer than before and a content sigh slips past your lips. She presses a soft kiss to your forehead while her fingers draw lazy patterns on an exposed part of your arm. 

“Can we always be this close?” She whispers and a blush settles on your cheeks. 

“Forever.” 

“Get a room!” Madelaine groans and Cami throws a pillow at her. 

“I didn’t think it was possible for me to love you more but I do.” You grin and kiss her quickly while Madelaine complains. 

“I thought these were new.” She mocks and the two of you roll your eyes. 

“They are, but this is our house so we make the rules.” 

“And our first rule is for you to shut up.” 

“Thats not a rule, thats an order.” She grumbles to herself and Vanessa pats her shoulder sympathetically. 

“Its okay babe. When we get a house together our first rule can be that they’re not allowed inside.” She mumbles making a small smile appear on her lips. 

----

“Cami.” Vanessa whispers, stretching to kick her gently. She pulls her gaze away from the tv, now nearing the end of the movie, to look at her friend. Vanessa doesn’t say anything, just gestures to Madelaine and then over to you, both of you fast asleep and curled up in exactly the same positions. 

“As much as they annoy the hell out of each, they are literally exact the same.” She laughs as the two of you snore softly. 

“Does Y/n refuse to believe she snores too.” 

“God yes.” Cami snorts a laugh and the two of you stir slightly. Vanessa and Cami continue to laugh as quietly as possible at the two of you, your snoring seemingly getting louder with each breath and it sounds like the two of you are competing with each other. 

“The first time Mads stayed the night, I thought someone was doing road works outside.” Vanessa whispers making Cami wheeze with laughter. 

“Stop it.” She waves an arm around while holding her stomach with the other one. “I’m gonna pee.” 

“Don’t get me started on the peeing. I swear she gets up about three times a night to go. And she turns-” 

“Every single light on!” Camila adds and the two of them laugh loudly again. 

“Yes!” 

“I wake up at 2am thinking its early afternoon because its that bright.” 

“We really fell for them though didn’t we?” Vanessa asks, her tone a lot softer as she glances at her sleeping girlfriend. 

“Yeah...I suppose we did.” Camila replies, brushing a piece of hair from your face. 

“Life works in weird ways doesn’t it?” 

“Definitely.” She nods. “If you’d have told me four years that I’d be a homeowner at 26 with my girlfriend of three years...I honestly would have cried.” She admits making Vanessa frown. “Not for that reason...obviously.” She glances at you. “Its just, I never thought I could be this happy with somebody. But I am. I’m so, unbelievably happy that sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.” 

“If she was awake I don’t know if she would say ‘aw’ or ‘ew’.” Vanessa laughs. 

“Probably a mix of both.” 

“I forgot to ask earlier.” Vanessa starts and Cami reluctantly pulls her gaze away from you. “Does this place feel like a home yet?” 

“Anywhere with her is my home.” 

[janejocaro]

Good Morning (Snippet)

April 1941

With each block they passed Gene got more tense. He was actually counting them down. Only two more and they would reach the street of her hotel. He would drop her off, not knowing when or if he would see her again. This idea seemed intangible to him. Right now he couldn’t even imagine letting go of her hand. It fit so perfectly into his. Involuntarily he held it a little tighter.

“I finally did it, didn’t I?”

“Hm?”

“Shut you up.” Judy said, and he could hear the smile in her voice.

“Why would you think that?”

“Well, you’ve grown awfully quiet.”

“Sorry, I didn’t even realize.” And he truly didn’t. Too busy had he been trying to make sense of his thoughts and the feelings that started to take hold of him. He didn’t know what to make of them. Immediately he felt guilty for wasting these last couple of minutes with her with worrying. Looking at her, he added, “You didn’t. I loved listening to you.”

As he broke their gaze Judy did a double take on him. He was smiling, but there was something else in his eyes that made her wonder what went through his mind. She rarely had trouble reading people but even though they had connected so well, Judy couldn’t shake the feeling that there was some kind of barrier between them creating a distance she didn’t know how to cross. Quickly she tried taking her mind off it. The last thing she wanted was ruin these last few minutes with him by pondering about silly ideas that might not even be true. They had such a fun evening. Being away from her mother and the entourage of people who were supposed to keep an eye on her felt too good to be true. Judy was actually dreading the moment when they would reach her hotel … And there was only one block left to go.

“I don’t think I ever returned home this late … my mother must be boiling by now.”

As Gene looked at her, he was surprised to see how this idea seemed to amuse her.

“I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.” He said nevertheless.

“Oh, you didn’t, honest.” Putting her other hand on his arm she added, “It was such a nice evening.”

As Gene’s eyes met hers, and he saw the sincerity in them, his heart did a small leap.

“It really was.” He said returning that beautiful smile of hers he already knew he would miss terribly. “Though I guess you could say it’s morning already.”

“Oh, they would love you at the studio.” Judy giggled. “If I had the choice my mornings wouldn’t start before noon.”

Gene laughed aloud at her comment. He had to admit he couldn’t blame her. Just listening to her talk about her busy schedule had been enough for him to feel exhausted. And he never shied away from work.

“Even if they start like this?”

“Hmm … Well, that depends.”

“On what?”

“Would you be there too?”

Gene tried suppressing a grin. Knowing that she’d want him there lifted his mood instantly. He even forgot that they would have to part soon.

“If you want me to.”

He was fully aware that he was flirting with her, but it was too much fun to stop.

“Would you take me to all your favorite spots again?”

“Yes.”

“And take me dancing?”

Gene let out a chuckle.

“Oh, definitely.”

“Okay then. I might be able to get used to that.”

Judy was enjoying their small banter way too much, and hardly even noticed when they turned the corner. But what she did notice was the suspicious looking smirk that started creeping up his face.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, tell me.” Judy asked again and as she tugged on his arm his smirk turned mischievous. She could see him hesitating for a moment, but then he started to sing,

“We’ll dance the whole night through, good morning, good morning to you.”

Hearing him trying to imitate her singing was hysterical to her, and she couldn’t help but laugh at his interpretation of one of her songs.

“So, that’s how I sound to you?”

But instead of an answer, Gene merely gave her a smile before he continued.

“Good morning', good morning', it’s great to stay up late, good morning', good morning' to you.”

By the time he finished the rest of the chorus, Judy was still giggling, and couldn’t help but sing along, but when she did, he stopped and just listened to her.

“When the band began to play the stars were shining bright.” Gene had to laugh as she pointed up at the starless night sky, “now the milkman’s on his way” and when she gestured towards a terribly sophisticated looking man who was passing them. As their eyes met for a moment, Judy almost exploded with laughter herself, but held it together, “it’s too late to say goodnight, so good morning, good morning, sunbeams will soon smile through, good morning, my darling, to you.”

Gene felt her eyes on him, but just as he wanted to return her gaze she averted her eyes. And he figured he knew why she did it. He felt it too. Obviously, they were just part of the lyrics but hearing her sing my darling to him was enough to make his heart melt. Her voice, sounding like velvet to his ears, only added to that. Listening to her talk and eliciting that delicious laugh from her had been the greatest joy to him, but hearing her sing was something else. Even if she was just goofing around, her voice was the most beautiful thing he had ever heard.

“I was still so chubby back then.” Judy murmured, interrupting his thoughts.

“What?”

“In that picture.”

“Come on, that’s not true.”

And she wasn’t, he meant that. But he couldn’t deny that something was different about her. She had definitely grown up.

“Well, I definitely looked different.”

“Maybe, but not chubby.”

She just shrugged it off, but Gene could tell that she still didn’t want to believe him. He could feel her fingers tightening around his and noticed that they were slowly approaching the hotel. For a moment, he wondered whether she did it because she didn’t want to leave him either … at least not yet. A tinge of panic rose up inside him. Gene felt like they still had so much to talk about, there was still so much he wanted to ask her, and so many facets of her that he couldn’t wait to unravel. But instead of saying something, he just interlaced his fingers with hers.

“That was around the time when we first met.” Judy said in a soft voice, gazing up at him. “Remember?”

“Judy … Of course I do.”

Gene would never forget that evening. He still remembered being completely blown away by her confidence and charisma that seemed to illuminate the entire backstage area. He had never met anyone like her before.

Slowly they came to a halt in front of her hotel.

“Well, I guess here we are.” Gene said, trying his best to sound casual. But as their eyes met he realized that there was no need to pretend. Not with her.

“Do you think we’ll meet again?”

Hearing the insecurity in her voice surprised him. But it also gave him a hint that she was serious. She really did want to see him again. Her question kindled a small glimmer of hope in him that it would happen someday.

“I hope we will.” He replied with a smile on his face which she reciprocated in the most angelic way possible.

“Please come to Hollywood. I know they would love you. And not just because you like to start your days as early as them.” She teased.

“I’ll try my best.”

His reply seemed to please her, at least for the moment.

“Thank you so much for the lovely evening, Gene. I had so much fun.”

“I had a feeling you did.” He chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone laugh as much before. At least not when they’re listening to my stories.”

“Well, then they don’t appreciate you.”

Gene didn’t know what to say, not at all. They just stood there, looking at each other for a moment before Judy broke the awkward silence that started to unfold between them.

“Well, I guess this is it then.” she sighed, gazing towards the hotel entrance.

“I suppose … Would you like me to accompany you inside?”

“Oh, no that won’t be necessary, thank you. I’ll manage.”

Judy didn’t want him to go with her. Their night was supposed to end here. It had been too perfect. She didn’t want the memory of it to blur into an image of her mother scrutinizing her and questioning her about why she returned so late.

“You sure?”

Judy just gave him a nod.

“All right.”

There were still so many questions going through her mind. Was he as reluctant to leave as her? Or was he relieved? Did he find her annoying? Oh dear, he did, all the laughing and giggling … it must have come across so immature, she thought. But then she couldn’t think anymore as his hand that held hers only a moment ago moved around her waist, gently pulling her closer.

“Thank you for tonight, Judy. Really. I enjoyed every minute.”

As he leaned in Judy felt his lips brushing her cheek before he placed a soft kiss on it. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe as the tingles that moved through her body reached her fingertips that were now resting against his chest. He enjoyed every minute of it, she thought, his words echoing inside her mind. To the people who were passing them, it probably looked like an innocent goodnight kiss, but to her, it felt so much more intimate. But before she could wish for him to stay like this he pulled away. As their eyes met she could see the conflicting emotions in them so clearly. It was as though they mirrored hers. But there was nothing she could do about it. Reluctantly, Judy dropped her hand from his chest and gave him another smile before she made her way to the entrance.

When she turned around again, he was still standing exactly where she left him.

“Gene?”

“Yah?”

“Good morning.”

He gave her a broad grin before he let out a chuckle.

“Good morning, honey.”

And when he saw her disappearing through the large entrance door of the hotel, he let out a deep sigh and turned around. But as he walked down the street and felt the chilly wind on his skin, he was relieved to realize that he could still feel her small hand in his and hear her voice that seemed to light up his soul.

[zodiyack]

Born To Die

Requested by anon: Can you do a imagine with Tommy Shelby? A song fic maybe Lana Del Rey's Born To Die but fluffy and angsty?

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, angst, *in Italian voice* mention of mafia stuff, mention of death, death not Reader’s or Tommy’s, fluff

Song: Born To Die by Lana Del Rey

Note: I can’t remember if they say how their mother died, I’m guessing it was when she gave birth to Finn, I dunno, I’m assuming so because...yeah idk. I hope you like it!

Edit: OH SHIT I JUST REALIZED I REMEMBER WHEN HER DEATH IS MENTIONED- I'M BIG DUMB LMAO

Lyrics = Bold + Italic | Memories = Italic | Thoughts = Apostrophe + Italic + Apostrophe

Taglist: @captivatedbycillianmurphy, @stydia-4-ever, @matth1w, @redspaceace, @simonsbluee, @jenepleurepasbaby, @peakysputain​

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Feet don't fail me now, take me to your finish line. Oh my heart it breaks every step that I take, but I'm hoping that the gates, they'll tell me that you're mine.

Walking through the city streets, is it by mistake or design? I feel so alone on a Friday night, can you make me feel like home if I tell you you're mine?

Tommy sighed, watching the woman he loved walk angerly out the door of his office. He informed her of the Changretta’s vendetta and how she would need to leave him to live. He told her that he didn’t care whether or not she wanted to, that it was his decision because he was the one the Italians wanted to kill.

“I can fend for myself!”

“I don’t doubt that, love, but you need to leave.” He looked away, the quivering of her lip too much for him to handle. Tom almost cried, his eyes were watery and his heart was aching, he really didn’t want it to come to this. “Maybe being able to protect yourself will keep you alive if you ever need-”

“Whatever. I’m not leaving. I’ll just go home until you can change your mind or learn that I’m no coward. Perhaps when you do choose the right decision, you could come stay with me. Otherwise, enjoy your time here, Husband.” Venom dripped from the word, hitting him hard as he watched her spin around, grab her coat, and hurriedly stomp out the building. 

Y/n smiled slightly, only for a moment, responding to the sorry expression Lizzie gave her as she walked past. The smile soon dropped from her face, showing that it was only for Lizzie to see, that she too was sorry. The woman flinched as the doors slammed, rubbing the sides of her head with a deep sigh.

“Thomas. She’s right, ya know. I’ve seen that girl do some extraordinary shit. Think about it.” With that, Lizzie followed Y/n’s actions, quieter and calmer, but still leaving him to drink his sorrows away while he “thought” about everything.

He downed another shot. What had been? His hundredth shot? His desk was already a mess, his office no better, and his heart still bared the burden of knowing Y/n would either be hurt by him or hurt by the mafia. There was no loophole this time.

The girl he thought of made her way to her old home, drenched in the rain, and utterly tired. Mentally. Emotionally. Slightly Physically. She knew exactly what she was getting into; Shelby business usually always had guns involved. Pol often told her that Tommy really did love her, that he was just stubborn.

Y/n laughed mockingly. Thomas was stubborn, but stubborn could be broken with choices. So that’s what she gave Tommy. Two of the hardest choices she’d ever thrown at him. Y/n grew worried as she neared her home, the feeling in her stomach and heart. ‘What if he doesn’t follow?’

She halted in her steps, turning and looking around. He wasn’t there.

Her walking continued, this time feeling very, very, very, very, alone. Each time she passed a block, knowing she was nearing her house, she felt all hope leave her body. She felt strength, bravery, and faith deteriorate as her heart slowly tore in two.

The door to her house taunted her. It’s readiness to be opened, to have her brain laugh in self-mockery, to tease her about how stupid she was to believe Tommy would actually care.

Or maybe- he’d be behind the door. Raced her to her home to prove her wrong with a pleasant surprise. Her front door was full of tricks, and her heart was pounding with anticipation.

She opened the door, revealing the nothingness of her home. It’s interior dark and Tommy-less. Y/n didn’t know what to do. Her plan to hurt him just a little backfired into hurting her just a lot. The couch was her bed that night. She was alone.

Tommy failed her.

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry, sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough I don't know why. Keep making me laugh, lets go get high, the road is long, we carry on; try to have fun in the meantime.

Come take a walk on the wild side, Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, You like your girls insane, So choose your last words, this is the last time, Cause you and I, we were born to die.

Ever since that weekend, she’d been avoiding Tommy. She only stopped by their mansion to see Charlie and the other Shelbys, but other than that, she stayed in her old house. The Y/n Tommy knew was clinging onto the edge, praying he’d change his mind.

Tommy was too damn stubborn for his own good.

“Thomas. You have to apologize-”

“No, Pol. I don’t have to apologize nor admit that she’s right. You know why? Eh? Because she’s not. I will not have the woman I love get murdered in front of my own eyes, or at all. If Y/n is to die, I’d rather it be old age or peacefully in her sleep than by the son of the man who tried to kill her at our own wedding.” 

He knew the mafia would make it harder to prevent deaths, which he’d learned from John, and Y/n would be shown no mercy by Luca, so he took his time, for once, to think about his options.

“See? She’s escaped death once, who’s to say she won’t laugh in his face again?” Polly scoffed at her nephew, walking out the door to visit Y/n like she’d been doing for the past few days.

Y/n needed company, and Polly was the perfect person for it. She made Y/n tea and helped her unwind, allowing her to know more of her past than her own family member did. Y/n ranted to Polly, about the things she missed and the things she didn’t. About the things that made her want to lash out and the things that made her want to cry with joy.

“How’s Tommy?” Y/n spoke through sniffles.

“Horrible, still a stubborn bastard. But lets not focus on his actions in the now. Instead, why don’t you think of the things you love...no, loved, about Tommy, more specifically, how he was before the paranoia caught up to him?”

“I mean, can you blame him? His brother was-”

Polly pursed her lips, hinting to Y/n that she was not in the best of moods to be discussing anything of John’s death. Y/n stopped, looking to Pol, waiting for her to continue. “Tell me, what did Tommy do to win you over?”

“He was... kind. And very caring.”

A small boy chased a smaller girl through the woods, their bare feet crunching the leaves under them, cold air nipping at their noses and uncovered parts of their skin.

“Tommy!”

The younger girl cried as she tripped over a branch in the path. Only nine, she was sure she’d fallen in love with the twelve year old boy. He’d been sure of the same thing as well.

“It’s okay, Y/n, I’ve got you!” He raced over, jumping skillfully over the wood and dropping to his knees. His hands reached for her leg, she hissed in pain and brought her leg back towards herself. “No, you have to let me see it if I’m to help.”

“Promise you won’t hurt it more?”

“I promise.” The boy smiled brightly up at the girl before inspecting her leg. When he discovered it was nothing major, he pressed a chaste kiss to her injury, then helped her up and onto his back.

“He knew just how to make me laugh..still does,” she chuckled quietly.

“Thomas! I can’t believe you did that!” The teen girl gasped at her admirer, his story being more amusing than he’d thought. It was a relief. “Polly must’ve been pissed!”

“She was. Told me to stop doing the impressions, that it was disrespectful. But John enjoys it, so Aunt Polly doesn’t have to know everything...” They stopped, Y/n put out her cigarette and pulled Tommy’s from his mouth, putting it out as well. “It’s um..raining.”

“I know.” Y/n smirked at the boy, biting her lip shyly before extending her hand, “May I have this dance?”

“Isn’t it the boy who asks the girl?” She rolled her eyes playfully, Thomas joining her in their laughter, “Fine fine, yes, you may. As long as I lead.”

“Can’t promise you anything, princess.”

Tommy gasped, feigning offence, “Oh you didn’t-”

“Oh but I did.” Her smile made his heartbeat rush, the blush on her face mirrored his, and the dinosaurs in their stomachs evolved into giants. Once butterflies, now giants, their teen crushes never hesitated to bring them closer.

They danced, Y/n’s dress sticking to her skin like Tommy’s dress-shirt. They’d came from the church, Tommy’s story about how he talked to John in the preacher’s voice, and their Sunday Bests were now soaked with the skies tears, which their melody came from.

“Y/n?” She nodded in response. “Lets run away. Together.” He dipped her, and then pulled her back up to see her reaction. A wild, even mischievous, smile rested on her lips before he leaned forward to join their grins in a rough kiss.

“Polly will kill us, you know?”

“Oh I don’t doubt that for a second.” He pulled away from her, twirling her with his hand and basking in her giggles, “So I suppose we should think of what our final words’ll be, huh?”

Lost but now I am found. I can see but once I was blind. I was so confused as a little child, Tried to take what I could get, Scared that I couldn't find; All the answers honey.

She winced, crying out in emotional pain as the priest slapped Tommy. Pol collected her nephew, but no one came for Y/n. She was going to give up, allow the church to take her wherever they planned, but the door opened again. Polly waited by it.

The older woman blinked in surprise as the teen wrapped her arms tightly around her waist. “T-thank you.”

“You’re very welcome dear. Now, come along, we mustn’t stall.”

Ever since that day, she’d been so bothered with the curiosity of what led Polly to help her. Even now, as an adult and married to a Shelby, she was confused. Polly was still helping her, even though she wasn’t on the best terms with Tommy.

“Why?” Pol looked up. “Why’d you help me that day? Did Tommy ask you too?”

Polly thought back, smiling and shaking her head. “No.”

“Then what made you help me?”

“Nothing, Y/n. I just... I just felt the need to help. Thomas had no say in the matter, as he believed your parents were coming. I believe I... I could see his love for you. The way he looked at you, the gleam in his eyes when someone brought you up, the pep in his step whenever he went where you were. Tom was happy, and that was important... especially when their mother passed.”

Y/n nodded, a single, yet still sad, tear rolling down her cheek.

“Tommy? what’s wrong?” The 18 year old boy crawled through her window, eyes red and puffy. He mumbled something of his mother dying after giving birth to the youngest, and the last, Shelby brother. 

She felt her eyes well up with tears, knowing his pain and feeling the need to hold him close to her. 

And she did. His head rested on her chest as they drifted into a peaceful slumber, waking up with tear-stained cheeks, tired eyes, and matching red hazes across their faces.

She fell asleep with him that night. And the next. And the next. And the next. He continued coming over, crying to her, sometimes with her. Despite them not confessing their feelings for one another yet, they knew full well how in love they both were, after all, they’d kissed before.

1908 was a wild year.

But it was also the year they finally vowed to be together. The sooner three more years had passed, the sooner she’d be with the man she loved. She smiled, stretching as much as she could with a sleeping Tommy on her. The sunlight danced across his sleeping face, allowing her to admire him and all his beauty.

The sleepy smile on his face too. It showed how happy he was.

That, or how much he enjoyed the feeling of her nails combing through his hair.

Either way, they were both happy.

“That’s why I helped.”

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry, Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough I don't know why. Keep making me laugh, Lets go get high. The road is long, we carry on, Try to have fun in the meantime.

Come take a walk on the wild side, Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, you like your girls insane, Choose your last words, this is the last time, Cause you and I, we were born to die. We were born to die We were born to die.

Come and take a walk on the wild side, Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, You like your girls insane~

Luca blinked, blood in his eyes, as Y/n walked through the door and raised her gun. Thomas’ eyes widened; he was expecting Arthur, not his wife to push past him. And he certainly wasn’t expecting Arthur to just stand there, doing nothing to stop her. 

She smirked at the Italian before shooting him, the bullet passing through his head and hitting the barrel behind him. She didn’t so much as flinch as the gunshot rang throughout the building.

Changretta’s body hit the floor with a loud thud, splashing sounds following. Gin poured from the hole in it’s barrel, but no one cared. 

They were too focused on Tommy’s wife, who was tucking her gun away.

The woman looked at Tommy, a sigh of relief, possibly from the fact that he was still alive, escaped her mouth. She turned and left without saying anything.

He let out a shaky breath, speaking with pants every now and the,. “Tell your people in Chicago, that Michael Gray will sign the import licence to New York. 300 barrels of English dry gin a month.”

“Leave. All of ya. Tell your boss what you saw here today. Tell him...you don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.” Arthur stepped aside once the men had left. “And uh brother? I believe you have your own business to attend to?”

“What?”

Polly flicked Tommy’s ear with a shocked expression. It was not from Y/n killing Luca, though she did feel proud of the girl, but from Tommy’s stubborn dumbassery. “Quit being such a stubborn bastard and go after her, idiot!”

“Right-” He swallowed before nodding and rushing out of the building.

Don't make me sad, don't make me cry, Sometimes love is not enough and the road gets tough I don't know why. Keep making me laugh, Lets go get high, The road is long, we carry on, Try to have fun in the meantime.

Come take a walk on the wild side, Let me kiss you hard in the pouring rain, You like your girls insane. Choose your last words, this is the last time, Cause you and I, we were born to die.

The slam of the door caused Y/n to stop and turn around. 

“What do you wa-” She started, only for her to be grabbed by the back of her neck and pulled into a kiss. Their lips fit together perfectly, dancing before separating for the horribly-timed human need of oxygen.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you-” Y/n cut him off, pulling him down by the lapels of his jacket. The rain began to pour, dousing the couple in a familiar melody. She pulled away, grinning widely. “Oh.. it’s raining. Should we head back ins-”

“I know.” She extended her arm to her husband, her action and interruption catching him by surprise. “May I have this dance?”

[moondustaeil]

anoetic ❧ kim doyoung [teaser]

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ✧☾.·:·. anoetic

⠀ ⠀⠀ about

⋅ ɢᴇɴʀᴇ : breakup au ; exes to ... ; fluff , angst , suggestive

⋅ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ : soloist!Doyoung x reader , composer!Taeyong , soloist!Taeil

⋅ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ : 15k

⋅ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ : numbered parts are current events , unnumbered parts titled as “summer sun” are flashbacks , alcoholism , suggestive content , guilt-shaming , hidden but exposed relationship , idol-dating drama , arguments , jealousy , inappropriate language , ...

⋅ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ : send a message/ask if you would like to be added ! Fic will be out August 7th

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ synopsis

⋅ The record is new, the songs that play old and the message overdue. Kim Doyoung, once your summer sun, now an empty silhouette draped in noirceur in your apartment. You’re his remedy. 

⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ part of

⋅ the neo-summer collab, hosted by @neo-cult-ure​ . With a chosen summer-titled song we write a fic about a chosen member: my song is “Summer sun” by Hooverphonic.

❧ ᴏɴᴇ : "ɪɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱɴ'ᴛ ᴀɴʏ ꜱᴘᴀᴄᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ." ☙

The clock-like ticking of the direction indicator resounds over the song that is playing on the car radio. It is one of the love songs that Doyoung tends to play, not as lyrical as his own songs due to the repeated "baby, baby," in the intro, but he still enjoys listening to the sentiment hidden in the voice. He takes the turn rightwards and turns off his indicator as soon as the turn has been made. After doing so, he places both hands on the steering wheel as he drives into the street.

The new street welcomes him almost like he's never seen it before, but the street he turned into is far from unfamiliar to him. Aside from the doubled amount of cars that drive on the other side and the few modernised apartment buildings, things look exactly the same.

He cocks his head to the side to be able to have a broader view of things he shouldn't be looking at, but a lot of drivers habitually look at the surroundings more than the actual road they drive on. Just like those drivers, Doyoung sets his eyes on the different buildings or even white clouds that slowly move in the same direction as his car.

Almost too distraught by the outside world, he forgets the purpose of driving in this street. Until. The apartment building where you live comes in his eye-sight, he doesn't even need to cock his head to the side to be able to see the window that belongs to your exact apartment.

Something that could resemble a smile starts to form on his lips but he parts his lips to not give in to the temptations of the shown emotion. As much as he wants to smile, there is no objective meaning to do so yet as happiness has not made its introduction in today's events.

The first available parking lot is taken up by his car, neatly parking between the white rectangular lines as he learned at his driving classes ages ago. He isn't someone who bought his licence in a pack of cereal, something that apparently happened a very long time ago, but that might only be something old people say to clarify how easy it used to be in the past. After checking each possible mirror, he turns off the motor of his vehicle.

His silver Porsche 911 Carrera S gladly forces itself to listen to the given instructions. The overly-expensive car provided Doyoung with comfort and support during the entire ride, but Doyoung is glad that soon he will be able to get out of the car and stretch his legs. Momentarily, he leans back against the leather seat to release the tensed feeling in his shoulderblades but soon realises it won't ease the nerves that he's feeling and does the opposite of sitting in a relaxed position. He hovers forward as one of his arms lays over the steering wheel, with the other he fishes out a piece of jewellery from his pocket. On his left hand, he places a real silver ring on his pinky. A strange action compared to what most people would do in this situation.

Not until a couple of minutes after he gets out of the car, he finally collects the courage to walk up to the familiar apartment complex. But the moment he does, he can only stand in front of the common front door like someone is willing to open it before he rings the bell. To the right his eyes are endlessly reading over the many names of those who have their homes in the building: on purpose, he reads foreign names slower even though he can read them as well as he can read those that are written in Korean. The first syllable of your name is ignored, no matter if it says your name or not, he, for now, opts to move on to the next one.

What now? His slow reading didn't get him any further as in the end he has no choice but to either way leave or search for your name between the others and take his chance to ring the bell. Before he even starts with his mission, he sighs because he knows he doesn't need to search for your name on the white-coloured tags.

A lump of unstable breathing leaves his lips as he presses his index finger to the black buzzer but not before he makes sure to move further away from the camera and microphone, thinking you wouldn't if you figured out it was him. The buzzer begins chanting its ringtone and the sound only makes Doyoung's heart beat faster, he might have a heart attack the moment the buzzing is replaced by your voice.

With the multiple second-lasting buzzes, Doyoung freezes in his current spot. Not because he's cold without coat covering his shoulders but because many what if's start to form scenarios in his mind. What if you don't open the door because you don't live here anymore? What if you don't open the door because you are in bed with somebody new?

The first scenario can be nullified as your name still was on the little white tag, still typed in the same font as before which meant that nothing apparently changed. It gives him hope that the second scenario is as much made up out of fiction as the first one.

"Hello?" Your voice interrupts the scenarios completely, they disappear like they never were possibilities in the first place. "Who is it?" you ask again when you don't get a proper response. You don't hear a voice responding to you, neither do you see anyone, not one glimpse that reveals someone is waiting for you to open up the door.

The tone of your voice makes Doyoung cover his mouth with one of his hands: the words don't mean anything to him but hearing your voice after such a long time shoots a bullet of sentiment to his heart. It's not an effortless task for him to stay silent while you are speaking, because even when he covers his mouth with his hand, he's obligated to purse his lips invisibly.

Wordlessly, Doyoung narrates and tells himself to leave now that he still has the chance to do so. Despite knowing you're there at home, he guesses he won't be fulfilling his goal today. From his pursed lips pushes a sigh before he turns his body away from the door.

The three steps that form a small staircase together are taken quickly, Doyoung easily skips them all by just taking one large step until he finds himself on the public walkway. He wants to run to his car but his feet don't allow him to go quicker than an average walking pace.

"Doyoung!"

Before he can prohibit the action to himself, his body turns towards your apartment building where the sound of your voice comes from. Firstly, his eyes meet the common front door of the apartment complex but when observing slight movements out of the corner of his eye, he looks up towards the windows. Your window is opened and you're standing there, chanting his name to catch his attention.

Speechlessness overwhelms his vocal cords momentarily but luckily his hand takes over part of the job. His index finger points towards his silver-coloured vehicle, his other hand in his pocket quick to unlock the door before he seems to disappear on the passenger's side of the car.

His empty-handed arrival is turned around when once again he is in front of the common front door, this time not waiting, nor empty-handed. There is a little collection of bundled wildflowers gripped between his clenched fist that he doesn't let go of, not even to hold the railing as he walks inside the complex and takes the stairs to get up to the right floor.

Each step he takes reminds him of the many times he was on that exact step. The memories that he revisits don't tire him out, despite the long time that he stands still in between. Step one only reminds him of the first time he was able to come in on his own because he received a key, the step in the middle that separates one floor from another reminds him of the tiring sighs that left your lips when groceries had to be carried up the many steps, and the last step reminds him of the last time he walked down from them. All of them had been heavy steps and the steps that he was taking now didn't vary much in weight.

Two steps. One step.

As soon as he wants to step on the unchanging floor, he almost stumbles over his clumsy feet when the door of your apartment opens. There is still a chain that separates the door from completely opening but after re-opening your door, he can fully see you in front of him.

Almost ceremonially, he holds out the flowers towards you. You're too far away to grasp the little bouquet of nature between your fingers and even after five more tiny steps, when he's right in front of you, your fingers still don't reach out for them.

"Come in," you tell Doyoung without greeting him first, your door opening as wide as it can to let in the person that you used to unofficially share this place with. Your body doesn't completely turn as you keep on checking whether Doyoung actually follows you inside, instead of trying to flee like he did when he was outside. This time Doyoung's feet allow him to follow you inside the apartment, the only time his feet halt is when he takes off his shoes in the hallway and neatly places them on the provided rack.

Your feet stop in the living room as you expect to sit there together with him rather than an inconvenient spot such as your bedroom the kitchen, not that they were untried places, but the progressive situation caused them to become inconvenient over time.

"I brought these," Doyoung says but not until after he once again holds out the little bouquet of flowers towards you, he almost didn't say anything but noticed how you didn't seem to get the hint of having to take the flowers from his hand. You look down at his hands to see what he is holding before you focus on his face again, trying to decipher the unreadable expression.

Without sharing a response, you take the bouquet from his hand and hold them between your lightly-clenched fist instead. "Thank you," you say with a small nod out of discomfort and awkwardness even though you're grateful for the little bouquet. Whether he came empty-handed or not wouldn't have mattered to you at all, perhaps him not coming at all wouldn't have mattered either. "I will put these in a vase and get you a drink. What would you like to drink?" you ask.

"Just some water," you hear Doyoung say right before you can disappear into your kitchen. Thinking you knew what he wanted to drink, you already took the steps towards the other room. Water was his standard drink: not too cold so that it wouldn't damage his vocal cords and not too warm so that he wouldn't feel nauseous because of the odd flavour. Although you expected him to say water, another drink momentarily seemed an option as well and you'd rather not think about that too much.

Silence fills the apartment as each of you are in a different room right now: you're in the kitchen looking for a vase and pouring Doyoung his drink while Doyoung is in the living room and can only silently look at everything. Time seems to go by slowly but you blame it on yourself for stretching some time as you are too busy mouthing possible conversation-starters to yourself. After all, appearing stupidly inarticulate in front of your ex-lover wasn't something you want to take place.

In two turns you take the objects towards the common room: first the vase with wildflowers that are placed in the middle of the table, setting you and Doyoung apart with the decoration, after that you place two glasses of water on each side of the table.

"Thanks," Doyoung says once the glass of water is placed in front of him. His hand wraps around the glass, shoving it slightly towards the end of the table. As much as he wants to gulp it down so that he doesn't need to speak for a few seconds, his fingertips can only trace over the thin ribbles of the glass without lifting it to his lips to drink.

Over the bouquet of flowers, he can see you sitting on the other side of the table but lowers his eyes to the flowers instead of continuing to look at you. He fails to notice how you look at him for a short amount of time: starting at his hair before your eyes undergo the transition from his face towards his upper body. He still looks the same as he does in the pictures that you've kept and the memories in your heart.

Doyoung looks away from the flowers, perhaps due to the visual attention even though he doesn't realise that you were looking. Firstly, he looks towards the white walls that seem the same as they were long ago even though some patches are discoloured from the sunlight that shines in on a summer day. Next, his eyes follow the individual pieces of furniture that fill the room, one by one even though some of them form a set together. Almost like a matching lingerie set, but less sexy and more personality-revealing, but why did he even make that comparison?

"You look good."

Faster than ever before, Doyoung's head turns towards you. His eyes shifting to you after you say the words and he silently hopes you were still eyeing him, but unfortunately, your head is hung low and your eyes turned away from him. Your gaze fixated on the half-empty or half-full glass of water in front of you.

Doyoung loves the remedy of sound and the remedy of silence. Truly, it doesn't cure what is going on but it's like a placebo that gives him the feeling that things are brightening up. Perhaps rather than a remedy, he still feels stunned by the words you said and he takes them a little bit too much to heart. Hopefulness fills his heart, unneeded.

"But the hair is still stupid," you seriously add. There is no need for you to look at his hair once more before stating the comment, you can clearly recall the many colours of Kim Doyoung. From his pulchritude regular hair colour at the beginning of your relationship to the strawberry pink shade, or from the soft purple locks to an intense blue shade, and up until now where his hair was regularly black. Still, you conclude you don't like the look of his hair and if you can't blame it on the colour, you blame it on the forehead-covering bangs.

The remedy of silence seems Doyoung's accustomed placebo today. He stares at you as you let the continuation of words flow from your lips, and even when you fall silent, he opts to take a second placebo. As he looks at you, the side effects seem to kick in: memories of you and him, a new record filled with old songs.

[jennsmischievousmind]

Fucks not Found

White Flag

Ch1 Ghosts | Ch2 Florence | Ch3 A Matter of Seconds | Ch4 I need a Backdoor | Ch5 Die Hard | Ch6 White Flag | Ch7 Haunt the Living | Ch8 One, but not done [end]

“Remember when Five said if you’re ever left behind in a mission, he’s not coming back for you.”

“hm, Seven said he was going to change that.”

“Because you trust Seven now? Four lifted an eyebrow, you shrugged.

A whizzed cut the humid air, the choke loose down, allowing you a sharp intake of air followed by multiple coughs.

Seven had snipe the big guy right in the head. Your brain took a second to recover from the lack of oxygen, Four hanging above the void flashing back into your eyes, you crawled to the edge. "Four," your voice was harsh, he hunched his body upward, grunting while you reached for him. Grabbing your hand and the net he hoisted himself up to safety.

You laid down holding onto each other "I've got you" your voice wavered, Four nestled his head on your chest, arms around your middle. He was breathing hard through his nose, the blood slowly coming down is head.

“Will you now get down, eaglets!” One’s annoyed voice filled your ear.

“Five, you sighed, I think I broke a rib.”

“Make it 3.” Four groaned trying to stand up.

The adrenaline rushing out you had trouble standing, Four and you stumbled in the freight elevator holding onto one another. His hand never leaving yours.

Soon crashing into the back seat of the Mini R55, a sense of warmth filled you seeing the team around you. Catching Seven’s eyes in the rear view mirror you nodded a thank you at him. He had break the rule. It’s not like you could blame One, he had warned you, if you were to get caught during a mission, he’d left you behind, for the sake of the mission. You breathed in deeply trying not to freak out at what just happened. Five was already looking at your ribs, pressing into your sides to feel anything abnormal.

 One had called a “meeting” as soon as the sun would be up, so you had a few hours to tend to your injuries. Watching yourself in the big mirror bathroom, only in underwear, new bruises started to appeared on your ribs. Lifting your arm, a bruise was spreading from your waist to under your sports bra, another on your right hip. A faint red in a hand shape around your neck-this one was heavy- your fingers grazed the sensitive skin, you hissed.

Catching a glimpse of Four in the mirror reflection, you removed your hand almost shameful, he looked behind him before coming in and locking the door behind him.

“Give me hand would you” he took the gauze from your hand.

He stood before you, his jaw clenched and eyebrows furrowed at the sight of your bruised body, he sunk to his knees slowly brushing your sides with hesitant hands. Warm breath fluttered on your injured skin, his forehead on your tummy he sighed, your fingers running through his dust blond hair.

He then talked for the first time since he entered the bathroom “I really thought I’d lose you up there.”

“Well same here” you chuckled bitterly, he wrapped the gauze around your middle.

“I mean, I can’t afford to lose you Y/N!” He never used your name lightly since you’d told him.

“What we’re doing, this … job in itself, we can die, for real, anytime, we’ve learned that, painfully.”

“That’s why I’m asking you to be careful, if I’m in trouble, that’s it you run and...”

“Would you? You cut him he looked at you shameful, "would you let me behind?”

“No.” he admitted

“I thought I had been clear. I’m not losing anyone else.”  

You kissed his temple before leaving to surround yourself with ice bags and rest.

“You good?” it was the first time One had spoke to you since, yet not entirely showing real concern, casually leaning on the kitchen island, munching on some crackers.

“I’ll live,” You walked past him grabbing a few ice packs from the freezer, you weren’t mad at him per se, but slightly deceived. Ever since Six passed, a weird bond created itself between One and you, you weren’t sure what kind or why though.

“What’s between you and the boy?” he was serious, not like when he’d ask Two and Three, he was dead serious this time.

“Like Two said, transfer.” Hand in his bowl you took a handful of crackers, ice packs hanging in your t-shirt.

Finally at ease in your bed, body clad with ice bags you slept off the pain, you didn’t feel Four kiss your forehead before going back to his room.

 In the morning you meet up at the market. Seven and One started violently arguing. Seven revealed his name, Blaine, and ask Four his and yours. He insisted that he had just save both of your life, which was true.

Four hesitated looking at One “It’s Billy.” You look at him with fondness, you knew his name since a while now. He did look like a Billy. 

And everyone felt like revealing their name, Camille, Amelia, Javier….Well,

“Don’t look at me I’m not saying my name,” you leaned on the truck.

“Thank you, EIGHT! “ One emphasized on your number.

You liked this squad but saying your name was a no-go, for now at least, it implied saying your brother’s name too, because you knew they’d ask.

Seven tilted his head to you, clearly upset. Four smirked, he obviously knew your name.

One took a low blow with that argument but the mission resumed. Flying to Turgistan was the next move. The plan was to hijacked the TV radar to broadcast Murat’s speech instead of his evil brother’s. 

Later on, you ended up in the back of a truck with Five. Just for assisting really. Seven and One were infiltrating the main power generator of Turgistan.

“Really FBI this set up” you nodded looking around you

“One’s idea, you know how he is.” She waved her hand at the monitors.

Within minutes One was completely ruining it. The guy they were trying to convince was not biting it. Five tried to help…

“Noor’s dead, say is dead!” Five rummage her papers

“paper, so archaic.” You mumbled to yourself, she threw you a paper cup, still rummaging the notes about the others generators’ head of power plants.

“Wrong guy is alive. Fuck!”

You started to laugh, Five panicked on the comm “Just recover, recover.”

Hearing One over the comm you completely lost it, “He was found with a belt tight around his neck in a unfortunate masturbating accident.” Five froze “One, shut the fuck up!”

Tears of laughter were rolling on your cheeks until Five slapped your thigh “Help me with him!” You unmute your mic, still laughing “One fucking hell, abort!” Four’s slang was creeping on you.

Five and you were totally dumbfounded at his ramble, worst is, it worked somehow. 

Hours later you were ready to launch phase 1.

“Let’s go change the world.” One activated the inverter’s TV radar, Murat panicked in the inter comm saying he couldn’t go live. Then his face appeared on every TV of Turgistan. One broadcast it from his phone.

Murat gave his speech perfectly, concluded “It’s time for a revolution. Rise up and let’s take our country back!” 

White Flag by Bishop Briggs started playing in the broadcast.

“Wh..who picked this?” One inquired almost offended.

Five and Seven both looked at you and Four.

“You're welcome,” Four lifted his finger  – One clearly unamused looked at you.

“It’s a good song,” You agreed with Four

“This... No.” One sighed loudly

“It’s perfect!” Four argued

“That’s subjective!” One put an end at the discussion, sulking.

Four raised his fist your way- fist bumping- you were pretty proud of your choice.

 “FOUR!!” you stood up clumsily from the bed with your tablet in hand, headphones on, only wearing a bra and sweats short. “This one is perfect!” you yelled through the building, focusing on White Flag’s lyrics, a grin on, you didn’t see Four rushing to you until his naked torso collided into your side.

“One’s coming, like right now!”

Running through the sandy corridor you slid in the bedroom, throwing everything on the bed. There were too many belongings of yours in the room “shit. Kitchen!” Grabbing back your tablet you saw yourself in the screen, “shirt!”

You’ve never walk -semi-run- so fast in your life. “Hey Uno!” Trying not to sound so out of breath as you had just sat on the dismantle kitchen bar as he arrived.

“Is your trailer too small?” he immediately asked

“… I need more space,” you pointed at your Nasa shirt

“That’s an awful joke.”

“Learning from the best … “ you taunt staring intently at him.

“So,” he changed the subject when Four arrived this latter glanced at you. “We’re good? video, inverter?”

“Yeah, yeah hum Eight was telling me about it, just need a tiny detail and I think we’re good.” You nodded, trying hard not to drool at his state, shirtless and shorts hanging low, you averted your eyes quickly. Yeah you were working on the last details before he walked in the bedroom looking like a Greek god and you got handsy.

“Great, now you, missy, can go back to your trailer,” One pointed at the door then to Four “and you can put a shirt on.”

You rolled your eyes, taking your best teenager voice ‘Yes, MOM!”

He flicked you off without looking back on his way out.

“Shit!” Four heaved himself on the edge of the window, you waited a minute, before jumping down the bar, tiptoed to Four who had his face in his hand. Yours eagerly padding his toned stomach. Some words whispered in his ear made him look at you.

“Luv ....” his Brits’ accent coming out rougher at the sweet name, he saw your eyes changed as soon as he said it.

“Fuck!” he lunged to you, caging your face in his hands and pressing his lips to yours, you giggled inevitably, hands on his low waist you step back to the bedroom, falling on the bed you squealed as he grabbed your thighs to anchor them around his hips.

One fired the bombs placed by Two and Three at the bottom of Rovach’s tower, destroying his statues and freaking him out, just what you wanted.

Back in the car on the way to the boat, you watched the streets’ CCTVs. You were blown away by the people following Murat’s words without doubts, News around the world were relaying the coup underway. Phase 1 was a success. 

Settling on the boat everyone started to suit up.

“So I get a gun!” you beamed as One handed you an USP-45

“I’m not sure it’s safe after all.” He tried to retrieve it from your grip

“Three carries a gun, I think we throw safety away at that moment.”

One thought about it for a second. He handed you a second gun.

You kept a comm’ open for Two and Three just in case.

“Two, you’re good?” you called in her comm’

“The party is going crazy,”

“Great, we’re on our way. Over.”

// 

“Three, what’s your ETA?” you waited a few seconds “Three?”

“you evil fuck!” he angrily yelled 

“That’s..., not an ETA..” 

Then you heard a loud crash, him scream and another crashing sound.

“Tell me you’re not dead, you idiot!” you let his comm’ open, updating One on Three status. 

One wasn’t worried “He’s a strong motherfucker, he’ll make it.” 

He was right, soon hearing gunshots and Three trash talk you caught yourself smiling relieved, this crazy dude is immortal!

Four got out the cabin as you passed by it “Ooo I love the wetsuit!” you eyed him up and down.

The corner of his mouth quirked up “Hands off lady,” he looked around for Five or One, “It’s to cover your cute ass out there,”

“And I’ll cover yours,” you swat his wetsuit-clad butt, he swiftly caught your hand and shove you into the cabin before the others could see anything. “What..,” his lips eagerly pressed on yours. Kissing you like it was the last time he’d be able to do so. Seeing his confidence fading in his eyes you hug him tight “It’s gonna work out,” as he tightened his embrace you saw One over his shoulder, at the door, watching you. Since when was he there you didn’t know, and right now you couldn’t care less. He disappeared as you kissed Four’s cheek.

“Is there metal in there?” One nodded at your neck, he didn’t assess anything about earlier.

You shrugged “I don’t know” strapping a knife at your calf.

“Leave it here”

“I’m not leaving it here!” you sounded offended

“Leave the cross here Eight!” One argued back

Groaning you removed the cross, kissing it, storing it in the inside pocket of your duffle bag.

“When will you stop defying everything I say,”

“You see any cross,” you dramatically pull your collar

“You know what I’m talking about,” he left to drop the submarines.

Seventh chapter - Haunt the living

Only 2 chapters left, not gonna lie my favorite is the last one. I’d like to already thanks everyone who’s be reading this fiction, I see you, thank you.

A/N: don’t forget to double tap if you liked it. 🙏