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doiefy · 4 years ago

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blue // na jaemin

“The winter has passed and the spring has come We have withered and our hearts are bruised from longing”

- blue, bigbang

In which one ceases to age until they find their soulmate, with whom they then grow old. In which everyone has moved on without you.

genre: soulmate!au, fluff, angst, slow burn

pairings: jaemin x female reader (written with a female character in mind, but it can easily be gender neutral!), features relationships with other dream members, briefly mentions haechan x jeno

word count: 11.6 k

warnings: language, mentions of alcohol and smoking, mentions of war, mentions of death, discussions of Korea under Japanese occupation, some of the historical references may be inaccurate.

taglist (DM, comment or Ask to be added): @simplicitysbabe Big thank you to @neojaems for beta reading this for me !! <333

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Your test comes back blue.

When you rip open the envelope containing your results, you find the little coloured square hidden between pages and pages of lab protocols, testing procedures and other nonsense you know no one actually has the time to read. Then there are the stupid pamphlets, the ones with overtly bright and bubbly messages reassuring people that they’ll find their “special someone” soon, slogans most likely written by people who found their soulmates before they even turned twenty. You scoff, shoving the useless papers back into the envelope and recalling the first time you tested back in 1945, right after the war. The receptionist wrote your results down on a piece of paper and nonchalantly told you to have your emotional breakdown outside.

Now you stare at the blue marking on your paper blankly. It simply means you haven’t aged biologically in ten years, but when you haven’t aged in decades, it means nothing. While the world progresses, you remain frozen in the same body, playing a cruel game with fate. And as with any game that one cannot win, you’ve slowly become bored with it, allowing it to take its course while you sit idle nearby. You feel only disappointed, and not even perplexed or surprised in the slightest. Something about meeting Jaemin just seemed too good to be true; after a lifetime of misfortune and failure, something about the bad news feels… expected. Inevitable. As if unconsciously, you knew he wasn’t the one.

Na Jaemin is not your soulmate. And you spend the walk home contemplating how you’ll tell him this.

When you unlock the door to your shared apartment, you know he’s already home, and earlier than usual: his shoes are placed meticulously on the rack by the door and his jacket is hung up next to the messenger bag he takes to work. The living room smells faintly of the pine and vanilla candle you bought last month, and you smell traces of shampoo and bodywash from the bathroom.

“I’m home!” you call out as you kick your shoes off and put them neatly next to Jaemin’s. There’s a muffled response of your name before the door to your room opens. Then his arms are around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he mumbles a tired greeting.

“Bad day?” You ask softly, pushing all your other thoughts to the back of your head. He looks exhausted. His hair is tucked messily under the hood of his navy sweater, still damp from the shower he took earlier. His eyes lack the usual brightness you often find yourself so immersed in, replaced with the fatigue and weariness he almost never brings home.

“I hate this company,” he sighs as you run your fingers through his hair. You feel him relax in your arms a bit. “My boss is a dick, everyone in my department hates each other and the coffee tastes like actual ass. Maybe I should just quit while I still can.”

You frown. “Jaem, you’ve been with them for literally a month. You can’t possibly be thinking about quitting already.”

“A month! A month in and I’m already having mental breakdowns under my desk at lunch. Imagine what will become of me if I spend a year there,” he scowls, but his expression softens when you kiss him reassuringly on the cheek. “Alright, alright, fine, maybe not quit, maybe I’ll just take a long, long, vacation and then retire… Move to the countryside with you…” He trails off dreamily and for a moment, you lose yourself in the fantasy he’s painted for you. The mental image of a quaint house by the ocean is quickly shattered when you remember the test results hidden in your bag. The sunflowers you envisioned surrounding the cottage are blown away in the wind, their bright yellow petals swallowed by the blueness of the sky.

“Oh, you wish,” you laugh, quickly pressing your lips to his in hopes that he won’t see your expression, that he won’t see the sadness and regret you’re fighting to suppress. “Maybe, baby, maybe one day we can do that.”

“Maybe,” he laughs, his face lighting up with the energy and liveliness that has been missing. “But enough about me. How was your day, love?”

“Mm. The same old,” you say, pulling out of his arms so you can finally take your jacket off. You crash into the couch where you fold up your scarf and toss it aside. “Stressful.”

He stares at you for a hard moment, visibly concerned as if he can tell there’s something troubling on your mind. “Is something the matter?” He asks carefully, sitting down next to you. He holds you at arm’s length so he can look at you properly. “Is this about the test?”

“What? Oh, no, not the test. I doubt the results will come in until sometime next week.” The lie slips out easier than it should, and you feel guilt slowly start to twist your insides. Just a white lie, you tell yourself. It can’t hurt anyone but yourself. He’s been through enough today. He’s tired. Not tonight. It can wait. “I’m just tired,” you shrug. “I need some dinner and a nap, then I’ll be all good again. Do we still have anything in the fridge or should we order takeout?”

“I already ordered chicken from Yong’s. I had a feeling that today would be a bad day for the both of us,” Jaemin grins. His smile is smug at first, then endearing when he sees your shock.

You practically pounce on him in excitement, and the two of you go crashing into the couch cushions until you have him pinned beneath you. “Oh my god, I fucking love you, you know that?”

Jaemin groans, curling into himself as he gives you a wounded look. “And that’s how you show your love? By trying to break my bones?”

“Besides the point,” you huff. “You aren’t going to say it back?”

“Yes, of course. I love you too.”

Unsatisfied with his answer, you lower your face so your lips are hovering just inches above his. He looks up at you starry-eyed, his fingers ghosting over your cheeks; you can’t help but notice the way his gaze travels briefly to your lips.

Then you realize how dangerous this is. You know that he’s not the one. You know that you’ll eventually part ways with him when he finds out, no matter how reluctant you’ll feel. Every moment you spend with him like this will come back to haunt you when he’s gone. It will become another reminder of what you’re about to lose, yet here you are, falling deeper into his embrace, intoxicated by his scent and lost in the depth of his eyes. You are only tying more strings between the two of you, strings that will need to be stretched and snapped. You are only making it more painful for the both of you.

But for tonight, you don’t care.

“Say it like you mean it,” you whisper.

He holds your face gently, and those sparks you felt upon your first meeting with him are still there, igniting each time he looks at you, blazing into an open flame when he tells you, “I love you.”

You kiss him with more urgency this time, your lips meeting his in a clash of teeth and tongue. He puts his hands around your waist and pulls you impossibly closer to him. For just a moment, you’re focused on only him and his presence. For just a moment, you forget about everything; the sheet of test results is just another piece of paper in your bag, the blue mark just another colour. Because tonight, he is all that matters to you.

You met Na Jaemin almost three years ago.

Though the details have faded with time, you remember your first conversation well. It began at a friend’s art show beneath the golden glow of the studio lights, the two of you surrounded by brilliant splashes of colour and bold strokes of texture. Renjun had insisted on introducing you to Jaemin before you even arrived at the gallery, and you couldn’t have possibly refused. Your friendship with Renjun goes way back to the 40s, and you often think he knows you better than you know yourself. “I think he could be good for you,” he told you quietly just before leaving to speak with his other guests.

At first, Jaemin seemed timeless. It was as if he didn’t belong to any particular time period, as if he had lived to see several generations rise and fall, but had never risen or fallen with any of them. Dressed elegantly in a fitted turtleneck and a wool coat, he appeared youthful and contemporary; yet the way he spoke hinted at a certain maturity, at wisdom and sagacity. There was something charming about him too, something about the way he recounted events of the past and drew you in with only his words.

Next to a breathtaking oil painting of the sea, you discovered your commonalities. He was almost two decades younger, but like you, had spent his entire life searching for a partner without much success. You were delighted to learn that he had also worked in teaching—though he mentioned changing careers frequently whenever things became too mundane. He was effortlessly intriguing, and every word he spoke was lively and animated. He infused your conversations with colours, painted everything in bright yellows and aquamarines that matched the swirling paint strokes of the artworks around you, left you wanting to know more without even trying.

You left the gallery that night with his number in your coat pocket. Needless to say, Renjun was thrilled.

Weeks passed before you saw him again. Your busy schedules always managed to get in the way of your plans, but the two of you still kept in touch, chatting late into the night and well into the early hours. As the months went by, you dared to hope that maybe he was the one.

You immediately scolded yourself for being naive. With all your past partners, you had been hopeful in the same way, only to be let down in the end. Your test when you were with Donghyuck came back blue, as did the one with Mark. Both have since moved on, found their soulmates and written their happy endings. Even if you still stay in touch and meet up for an occasional coffee, you know that you are only a distant memory to them in some way or another.

The prospect of the same thing happening with Jaemin had never occurred to you—you’d been so caught up in getting to know him, so blinded that you’d completely forgotten. And then you saw him differently. As if he were a flame that could be snuffed out in an instant, a feather that could be sent flying with the slightest breeze, the slightest breath. You mulled over it for weeks and always did so silently, until it finally came up in conversation.

Almost a year had passed since you’d met him. With the summer coming to an end, the two of you had driven down to the Han River where you sat in the open trunk of his car, sharing a can of cheap beer from the convenience store. There were no words, only the faint melody of an old pop song buzzing from your phone and his hand around yours.

“Move in with me,” he said at last, glancing at you expectantly, trying to gauge your reaction. It wasn’t completely out of the blue—you’d been searching for a new apartment for weeks—but it still took you by surprise. “Too fast?” He asked when he registered your shock.

“No, not at all,” you shook your head and squeezed his hand. “Don’t get me wrong Jaem, I’d love to. It’s just, I don’t know about any of this. About us. If we’re actually…”

He hummed a quiet response, his brows furrowing slightly in contemplation. “Soulmates,” he said with a melancholic sigh. “You don’t want to go any further before we know for certain. I understand.”

You nodded. “It always hurts, you know? You think you’ve finally found them only to realize you’ve been completely wrong the whole time.”

“I know,” he said, and his empathy flooded you with warmth and reassurance. “You always think you’ll be prepared for the next time. You always think it will hurt less as time goes by. But it doesn’t.”

“Exactly.”

You tipped the last of the beer into your mouth; it tasted faintly sweet on your tongue before dissolving into a pleasant bitterness that hit the back of your throat. When you were finished, Jaemin took the empty can and fiddled with the tab, bending it back and forth until it snapped off.

“I want it to be you,” he told you after a few minutes of silence. “I want it to be us.”

“And if we aren’t?”

He kissed you, hard enough for you to see stars. It wasn’t desperate or longing, but it seemed to convey a hundred different thoughts all at once, a hundred different emotions for you to decipher. When he finally pulled away, his voice was thoughtful and he was seemingly lost in a pleasant daydream. “Oh, love, the universe has already cursed us to search eternally. We may as well spend eternity together.”

“Seriously, Jaemin, what if we aren’t?”

The tremor of your voice snapped him out of it. The glimmer of hope disappeared from his pupils and the dream slipped from his hands.

“We’ve been alive for so long,” you continued, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t think I can go on like this. What if we aren’t meant to be? What will we do?”

You didn’t regret your time with Donghyuck or Mark or Jungwoo or any of the people you were lucky enough to have met, but you’d watched all of them from afar, watched them grow while you stayed frozen in time. Each new generation that came along was only a reminder of your loneliness. You felt a certain emptiness each time you invited new people into your life, one that deepened when they eventually left you behind. Or worse, when they gave you their pity. You couldn’t stand it when people told you that it was unfair or that you deserved better, all while they lived comfortably with their soulmates. You weren’t jealous, nor could you ever be angry at them for something beyond their control. Your anger was directed at the invisible forces that toyed with the world, the mischievous hands spinning the universe in some strange direction that left only you disoriented.

His expression took on a faint sadness and when he spoke again, his voice was calm, barely a whisper. “Then so be it. If you need to move on, it would be selfish of me to stop you from doing so.” He stared out at the waters wistfully, at the yachts sailing downstream. “And besides, you’re right. Maybe it’s time we settle down… even if it’s not with each other.”

Your birthday came a few months after that night, but you held off on testing. The bus you took home from work passed by one of the labs, but you never got off at the stop, always watched the doors open and close from your seat. The test isn’t that accurate anyways, you told yourself; it could produce only an approximate biological age, so maybe the longer you waited, the better.

But in the end, it was simply an excuse to escape reality, to avoid your confrontation with fate itself.

You moved in with him just before the end of the year.

New Year’s Eve wasn’t a big deal for you (you’d lived through too many for it to be exciting), but you spent the last minutes of the year with him, surrounded by cardboard boxes waiting to be unpacked. Jaemin had still made some sort of effort at festivities despite your indifference: pale pink and gold candles lit around the living room, golden champagne in delicate glasses set on the table.

You were almost asleep when the clock struck twelve, wrapped up in one of his oversized sweaters and a white throw blanket. The celebratory music blaring from the TV was muffled in your ears, a pleasant symphony that lulled you deeper into sleep until Jaemin awoke you with a kiss.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

“Happy New Year, Jaem,” you mumbled, a smile ghosting your lips as you focused on the comfort you felt in his arms; on the new year, on your new home, new hope.

You know something’s wrong.

Jaemin doesn’t come out to greet you, even after you announce your arrival. He’s home—his shoes and coat are put away neatly like any other day—yet it’s deathly silent, terribly still. No music playing in the living room, no voice down the hallway. Only the occasional chirp from your broken smoke detector, which you’ve been meaning to fix for weeks. As you bend down to unlace your boots, you can’t help but worry.

You find him in your shared bedroom, sitting cross-legged on the comforter. The sun has almost set and the shadows stretch across the room, blanketing him in darkness and masking his expression with ambiguity. He doesn’t move when you turn on the lamp on the bedside table. He doesn’t move when you sit next to him.

There’s a familiar sheet of paper in his hands.

“Jaem, I…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

It isn’t accusatory or hostile; his voice is laced with nothing but sadness, yet you feel so much guilt, guilt that closes around your throat and squeezes the air out of your lungs, leaving you breathless. You kept it from him for days, and now this is the way he must find out about it. From a piece of paper you were careless enough to leave where he might find it. From a piece of paper detailing the DNA extracted from a sample of your blood. You should have told him.

“I didn’t know how to,” you let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Are you serious?” There it is, the cold edge that begins creeping into his voice as he stares down at you. He flicks a finger in the direction of the date printed at the top of the paper. “It’s been a week, Y/N. You kept this from me for a week. Why?”

“I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, okay?” It comes out sharper than you intended; you immediately begin to drown in guilt as soon as you see Jaemin’s expression fall. You didn’t mean to lash out, and now you make up for it by taking his hands in yours. They're ice cold. “Look, the day I found out, you were already tired from work. I didn’t want to bring it up and make everything worse—”

“So you lied. Said the results hadn’t come in yet,” he says flatly and you rush to defend yourself, only to realize that he’s right.

“I’m sorry.”

The rest of your words don’t come. With a tired exhale, you bury your head in your hands, too overwhelmed to say anything else. You can only hope that he’ll understand, that he’ll empathize and that he’ll forgive you, even if you don’t exactly believe you deserve any of it right now. You hold back the tears. Only when he pulls you into his arms do they fall. He takes your hands, gently pulling them away from your face so he can wipe your tears despite your protests. There’s no coldness in his expression now, only concern.

“I needed time to process everything,” you continue, but you choke on the words. “I couldn’t even accept it myself, I couldn’t—”

“I know, love,” he says quietly as his thumb brushes against your cheek. “I know. It’s alright.”

Your silent sniffles turn into unrestrained sobs as he pulls you into his embrace, your pent-up emotions finally released in the form of silvery streams on your cheeks. You aren’t sure how much time passes. The sun meets the horizon in a hazy line of faint pink and orange. The sky darkens. Outside, the city lights up in a multitude of hues, the amber light from the street below seeping into your room. The minutes go by, but Jaemin never lets go of you until your tears have run dry.

“Better?” He asks, albeit his voice is shaky, his gaze trembling when he looks up at you. You nod.

“We’ll figure this out,” his eyes seem to say. You can tell he’s just as terrified as you are, just as unsure and as lost. Though for now, you simply hold each other. You say nothing about the paper that lays discarded on the floor or what it entails, even if you both feel the need to address it, to face its implications. In this moment of brokenness, neither of you have the strength to do so.

You eventually collect yourselves. You make dinner and force yourselves to eat before passing a meaningless hour in front of the TV. You clean up, wash up. Sleep early in preparation for tomorrow. Jaemin never leaves your side.

“Where do we go from here?” You whisper into the darkness of your bedroom.

“Tomorrow, love,” you hear him say just before slipping into unconsciousness, into restless sleep.

According to Lee Donghyuck, the chances of meeting your soulmate are 1 in 10 000. Or at least, scientifically. Theoretically. Donghyuck was a man of logic and reason, and had your lives not revolved around soulmates like the earth revolved around the sun, perhaps he wouldn’t have believed in fate at all.

“Remove fate from the equation,” Donghyuck mumbled to himself thoughtfully, jotting a few numbers down on a paper napkin. “And let’s assume your soulmate is around your age.”

“Can’t you rule that one out too?” You pointed out, but he was too busy, already lost in his thoughts.

“If your soulmate is determined at birth and instantly recognizable at first sight… And they’re actually alive somewhere in the world…”

You watched the quick movements of his blue pen with intrigue. He spun the pen restlessly, allowing its barrel to cross over and under and between his fingers, at times so quickly that it became nothing but a blur of colour. Finally, he scribbled a final verdict and inked two definitive circles around it. “If fate hadn’t been so kind, the chances would have been one in ten thousand. One lifetime out of ten thousand.”

“That slim? Ten thousand lifetimes, that’s nearly impossible,” you said, skeptical but amused at his train of thought nonetheless. You took the napkin from him and looked over his calculations, though some of the numbers were too big for you to check without a calculator. You trusted that Donghyuck had done them correctly though. “You know, if you told that to someone who’d spent a century searching for their soulmate, they’d probably beat you up. You’re lucky I like you.”

He giggled. “We’re lucky it’s only hypothetical.” He took the napkin from you and crumpled it, smudging the neon blue ink on the tips on his fingers.

With Donghyuck, things were simpler. He was young, young enough to not be in a hurry, young enough to speak his thoughts so freely. He never pitied you or worried about offending you, and he never treated you as if you were out of place among the new generations. He offered you perspective. You knew that you weren’t meant for each other, but you were still content to spend your time with each other. To wait together.

“So… I might have found a new place.”

You don’t miss the surprise on Jaemin’s face when you tell him over dinner. His eyes widen a bit in curiosity, his brows arching upwards and his mouth falling slightly agape. He sets his fork down against his plate, folding his hands together the way he does when he’s deep in thought.

“Already?” He inquires. Maybe you imagine a hint of disappointment in his voice, a slight dip in his tone. He looks at you with a sort of sadness, as if trying to imagine what it would be like with you gone, to come home to an empty apartment every night. “Seriously, Y/N, you’re welcome to stay if you need to. We said we would take the changes slowly.” His words aren’t just out of consideration for you.

More than a month has gone by silently, and within that time, the frigid cold of winter has finally given way to spring. Nothing has really changed when you think about it, as if your test results are meaningless. And you suppose that they have become just that, a meaningless scrap of paper at the bottom of the recycling bin in the kitchen. Jaemin still holds you the same way, though his touches are just a little bit more fleeting. Your conversations still extend late into the night, though they feel just slightly melancholic. You hang onto his every word even while telling yourself not to, that maybe there is no point in doing so when everything is already coming to an end.

“I don’t know if I’ll take it… at least not for sure. And even if I do, I won’t be moving in until April. I just thought I’d tell you ahead of time,” you tell him, reaching across the table to take his hand. “I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I think I need some time alone. So I can adjust to all of this.”

“No, I understand. It’s just a little jarring, you know? Don’t know what it’ll be like without you here.”

“It’s literally only a block away,” you giggle, and he smiles. “I’ll still be here.”

After the coolness of February comes grey skies and a drizzly March, heavy rainfall washing the white snow to grey slush. Eventually, the clouds part across the sky for the sun, allowing the brilliant blue of the sky to peek through. April comes sooner than expected, producing blooms of yellow and white in the flowery courtyards of your new apartment complex, bursts of bright colours along the cobblestone paths.

You stand surrounded by boxes in the middle of your new studio apartment, watching the people pass by on the streets below. The windows are cracked open for air and you can hear the bustle outside, the yells of the street vendors, an occasional shriek of a child’s laughter. The new bedframe and mattress you ordered stand leaning against the wall in the corner, waiting to be assembled. Jaemin stumbles through the door with another box and sets it down before dusting his hands off on his jeans.

“That’s the last one,” he says. He collapses on the couch that the previous owner left behind, out of breath. You sit down next to him, allowing him to rest his head on your lap. He finally looks around, then at you. “Everything you hoped for?”

You nod happily. “I’ll miss having you around though,” you chuckle, playing with the soft strands of his hair, freshly dyed—after losing a drunken bet to Renjun a week ago, he reluctantly let the latter bleach and tone his hair bright silver. But you think it suits him; it accentuates the darkness of his eyes and paleness of his skin, gives him a cold and chic edge offset by the gentleness of his smile.

“I’ll still be here,” he repeats your words from two months ago. “And you’ll be much closer to work, right? No more crazy subway routes and early mornings. At the cost of me being your personal alarm clock, of course.” He grins, and you smack him with a red throw pillow.

“I won’t miss that,” you roll your eyes teasingly.

“Whatever you say, love.” He lifts his head off your lap to press a kiss against your cheek.

You spend the rest of the afternoon with him, unpacking boxes, hanging up clothes, building the bedframe and fitting the mattress with clean sheets so that at least you’ll have somewhere to sleep tonight. When the sun sets, everything is lit in an ethereal glow, and you stare out the floor-length windows, admiring the sky. Jaemin joins you after a moment, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you rock back and forth to the steady rhythm of the music playing from his phone.

When he leaves in the evening, he gives you a final hug, jokingly telling you not to miss him too much. When he’s gone, you find yourself staring out the window once more, at the blocky silhouette of Jaemin’s building a few blocks away. He pointed it out earlier, thrilled that you could see so far from this high up.

You quickly learn that on cloudy days, it is nothing but a smudge of grey in the distance.

While Donghyuck always tried to ease your worries with reason and strokes of pen ink on his skin, Mark took you on long drives around the city, hoping that the wind blowing through your hair would clear your mind.

On late nights when you couldn’t sleep, you often found yourself in the passenger seat of his 1975 Hyundai Pony, listening to static-laced 80s rock music while he drove you around the streets of Seoul. He would always roll the windows down in the summer and watch the contentment on your face, one hand around yours while the other guided the wheel.

Mark Lee was even older than you—and with all the wars and tragedies he’d lived through, he understood what it felt like to be kept awake by the nightmares. To be kept awake by thoughts of loved ones being blown to bits, to be haunted with memories of the past. With how long he’d been searching for the right person, he knew the urgency you felt and the longing to finally settle down with a soulmate. He understood.

The stories he told you were woven between puffs of cigarette smoke and gentle kisses on your forehead. He told you about Canada and the mountains that surrounded Vancouver, where he’d spent some time in the 40s. He told you about his family, about his brother’s grandchildren who looked older than he did. It was strange, he’d admitted with a small laugh and sadness in his smile.

The two of you often pointed out buildings along the side of the road, reminiscing what stood in their place before the bulldozers and big trucks rolled in. Just down the street from his apartment, the old drive-in cinema was being replaced by an upscale theatre. Next to it, a park was being cleared for a new shopping centre. Even the studio he’d rented out last summer had been demolished so a new entertainment agency could build its empire. Once in a while, he would drive by and stare ruefully at the construction site—the classical compositions he’d once recorded there were being replaced by a new type of music, with catchy beats and pretty pop stars dressed in shiny outfits.

His music had been drowned out by a new industry, and likewise, many of the things you remembered from your childhood have been lost to time. Talking about the past with him helped you remember. It was a sort of reassurance even as you moved on.

Mark eased a bit of your pain, staying out with you until the early hours of morning to make sure that you were alright. The next morning, he would almost always call to ask if you’d slept okay, unless there was an issue with the old landline phone in his office. All concept of time disappeared when you were with him, along with your memories and the demons haunting your dreams. But eventually, he would drop you off at home and bid you goodnight, leaving you to watch him drive away. Eventually, the night came to an end.

He couldn’t stay with you the whole night, nor could he stay with you forever.

Your evenings are often interrupted by Jaemin’s messages asking you to come over. Sometimes he says that he misses you, or he wants to see you for dinner. Other times, he kisses you breathless against the closed door as soon as you’ve stepped inside, always with an unmatched fervour and urgency as if you might slip right through his grasp and disappear.

Tonight, however, it’s neither.

It’s half past midnight when your phone is set off in a series of quick vibrations. Wrapped in nothing but a towel with your hair still dripping, you type in a reply, hesitate, press send. You get changed, slipping into a pair of jeans and an oversized T-shirt before grabbing your keys.

Jaemin is uncharacteristically quiet when he opens the door for you, his gaze downcast so you can’t see his expression. He’s deteriorating; you can see it in the way he turns his back to you after locking the door, the way he walks inside with a halfhearted invitation for you to follow.

“What’s wrong?” You ask when you’ve sat down across from him.

“I think I found them,” he mumbles and you notice how he averts your gaze. “My soulmate, I mean. I think I found her.”

“Wait, then why with the long face? Jaem, that’s great—”

He cuts you off with a sharp bark of emotionless laughter. His expression turns bitter when he pulls his sleeve up to reveal a mark along his wrist: two linear streaks of dark purple that twist together like the centre petals of a rose. He stares at it, almost with contempt. Apart from the standardized DNA tests, markings are the only other way to identify soulmates, though they almost never show. No one has any proper explanation for them and you have no explanation for why Jaemin has one now.

“Don’t get me wrong, I think she’s great. She’s smart. She’s funny. We have the same mark so I know it’s her,” he says shakily. “But god, I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this.”

You feel dread. It hits you all at once, because the way Jaemin speaks is so distant and unnerving, as if he’s lost himself in a trance and forgotten all about you. You’ve seen this dazed look before, only twice, when he was truly distressed and truly lost. This isn’t like him.

He found her. He should be happy. You should be happy for him. He should be happy.

“What is it?”

“I think I’m broken. Something’s wrong with me.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, and you try to keep the urgency out of your voice for his sake. He doesn’t say anything. “Jaemin?”

“I don’t feel anything when I’m with her. Nothing.”

You don’t register his words. They don’t make any sense to you. They are barely coherent. No, you think. That can’t be possible.

“Maybe we rejected each other in a past life and then both offed ourselves. Or maybe this is just the universe’s way of saying ‘fuck you.’ Maybe—”

“Stop that,” you tell him firmly. “Whatever this is, there has to be an explanation for it. Marks don’t just appear out of nowhere, right?” You pause to take a shaky breath, suddenly realizing that your words aren’t meant to comfort only him. “We can look into it. We can figure out what’s going on. This is the 21st Century, remember?”

“But what am I even supposed to tell her?” He demands, his tone exasperated and his brows furrowed together. “‘I know you’ve been looking for me for your whole life, but I can’t see you as anything more than a friend, sucks for you’? What do I do, spend the rest of my life drowning in guilt and self-pity because I couldn’t love her the way she wanted me to? Because I could only pretend?”

You have no answers for him. Perhaps he hasn’t felt anything for her because he hasn’t let go of you. Perhaps it really was a mistake, a freak accident in the cosmos that put the wrong marks on the wrong people, designating a pair that was never meant to be. Your thoughts run wild, but you can’t put anything into words for him. Even if you could, you don’t think you would have the strength to say anything aloud.

Instead, you hold him in your arms, wiping away the tears of frustration that have formed at the corners of his eyes, running your fingers through his hair. You can only hope that his soulmate will do the same for him some day, perhaps in some future where the cruel forces watching over you cease their endless games. Genuinely, you hope.

The tone goes off a third time. You glance at the clock across the room: 11 AM. He has to be up by now, you think to yourself as your fingers continue drumming a repetitive rhythm onto the kitchen counter.

“Hello?”

Just before the automated voice can tell you to leave a voicemail, he picks up. Donghyuck’s voice is groggy, as if he’s just woken up—or maybe he’s just about to go to bed. With his disaster of a sleep schedule, you can never be sure.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“Oh hey, you, I know you.” You hear him chuckle on the other end of the line. “How are you, Y/N? I haven’t heard from you in ages.”

“I’m alright, the usual, I guess. How about you? How’s Jeno?”

“Jeno adopted another cat because he’s fucking insane, so now we have three little furballs running around the house. But yeah, it’s going great! So great,” he drawls with a familiar bite of sarcasm. You smile to yourself. “If he brings home another one because ‘Oh Hyuck, look it’s so cute, can we keep it?’ I will literally choke him in his sleep. Anyways, what’s going on? You never call me.”

“You never pick up,” you huff, earning a small laugh from him. “Okay, I wanted to ask you something. What do you know about soulmate marks?”

Thoughtful silence. “Not much. I mean, I’ve got my theories, but nothing has really been proven. Why, did you get one?”

“No, not me. Jaemin.”

“Oh, Y/N… then that means…”

“It’s alright, don’t concern yourself with me, Donghyuck. I’m more worried about him, honestly.”

“Hm?”

“He found his soulmate recently, but it’s not exactly… it’s not going as expected, let's just say that. He said he feels almost nothing when he’s with her, and to make things worse, apparently now it’s mutual. God, Donghyuck, they’re so awkward with each other, it physically hurts me.”

Donghyuck is silent again, and you hear the faint clicking of his keyboard. You can almost see his contemplative gaze and the soft blue glow of his computer screen lighting his face. “Did they know each other at all before the marks appeared?”

“Yeah, they were coworkers.”

He hums. “Okay… that could be why. Marks have a tendency to appear if soulmates have been around each other for extended periods of time without realizing it. It’s like nature’s way of telling them that the person they’re looking for is right in front of them. As for why they haven’t felt anything for each other? I dunno… reincarnation can really fuck with people. Any previous sentiments for your soulmate stick with you as you pass on, even if you’re both reborn completely different people.”

I must have really fucked up in a past life to deserve this. Jaemin’s words echo in your head.

“Obviously, there’s still opportunity to fix things,” Donghyuck adds quickly before you can get too lost in your thoughts. “It just takes time. Honestly, I wouldn’t be too concerned”

“I know, I know,” you groan. “I’m just upset that after everything he’s gone through, this is the shit he has to deal with.”

“Yeah. I can’t even imagine.” He pauses. “You know, a lot of people would just run off if they were in the same situation. He’s lucky to have you.”

You give a breathless laugh and shrug. “I feel like it’s the least I can do.”

“You never give yourself enough credit,” Donghyuck says, a hint of melancholy to his voice. There’s a sudden noise in the distance that cuts him off, and he curses beneath his breath. “Shit, the new cat’s not trained yet and I think she’s doing something stupid in the kitchen. Jeno will kill me if anything happens to her.”

You suppress a giggle. “Go ahead. We can catch up some other time.”

“Of course. See you, Y/N.”

The line clicks.

If Donghyuck taught you to be hopeful and Mark taught you to be strong, Jungwoo taught you to be brave.

Kim Jungwoo was your first love, and in many ways, you consider him to be irreplaceable. Perhaps it had simply been the result of young naivety back then, but you thought he was unlike any other person you’d ever met. In hindsight, he was different. A bright light dancing his way into your life when you were only a child in the 30s, a free-spirited boy who went where he pleased despite living under such an oppressive regime.

The Kims lived only a few doors down. You frequently saw the boys in their front yard kicking a beat-up soccer ball back and forth between them. Jungwoo was the middle child, and he sat right in front of you in class, his back always perfectly straight against his wooden chair so as to avoid the teachers’ chastisement. He was a quiet boy, and he never said a word unless it was to answer a question. But even then, his voice was small—not exactly shy or scared, just quiet. He quickly learned to raise his voice when the teacher hit him on the back of the hand with a ruler and demanded he speak up, when the wood scraped apart the skin of his knuckles.

At the time, when Japanese was all too foreign on your tongue and you struggled to understand anything taught in class, you thought he was a genius. He always had the right answers when he was called upon and there wasn’t a trace of an accent in either of his languages. Not that you heard him speak Korean much; you didn’t dare speak it unless you were hidden in your own homes, where your parents could discuss the uprisings without having to worry about the police roaming freely outside. Though, they still spoke in hushed voices as if anyone could hear them, as if terrified for what could happen if someone did hear.

The first time you spoke to Jungwoo properly was in middle school. After a humiliating incident at school that left you in tears, he ran to catch up with you on the way home and spoke to you in timid Korean, offering to help. You were still teary-eyed and beyond upset, but you let him guide you through your homework. He rambled to you about the Japanese grammar you couldn’t understand and explained the mistakes you’d made for your teacher to lash out at you the way she had. It didn’t stop you from making the same mistakes the next day, but at least he was patient, unlike the adults at school.

“You’re not stupid,” he told you one afternoon on the way home. Again, you were in tears.

“But the teachers think I am,” you grunted. “And I feel stupid. I can’t understand a word they say. I never have the right answers. Everything I say is wrong. If that’s not stupidity, I don’t know what it is.”

“Y/N, all we do at school is memorize meaningless facts that don’t really matter,” he replied with a shrug. “Just because you can’t shove all that information into your head doesn’t mean that you’re stupid. Look at Doyoung. He was failing school but he’s still one of the smartest people I know. He just… learns differently.”

“So? That doesn’t make me smart either. They still think—”

Jungwoo scoffed. “Who cares what they think? I think you’re wonderful, and they’re the real freaks. Miss Ito, especially.” He wrinkled his nose. “She smells funny.”

“Hey, be nice, Jungwoo,” you chided, but you were laughing. He was effortlessly funny and it was such a pleasant contrast to the way he acted at school. He was always so disciplined and perfect when the adults were watching, but he seemed to let loose around you. It made you feel… special, in a way. Validated, accepted. Something you never felt at school.

You walked home with him almost everyday from then on. You became inseparable, even when your school shut down and sent all the students to gender-segregated schools, even when your parents worried that you were spending too much of your time with him instead of studying. Even when war arrived.

The Second World War plunged your lives into darkness; Jungwoo quickly became the only light to guide you. He was there for you while your parents were away, while they laboured in the factories making helmets and guns and bullets so that they could at least put food on the table. He was there when the light at the end of the tunnel went dim, though he was miles away from home.

Jungwoo had never struck you as a fighter or rebel, even if he had the physique of a soldier. He had the drive and the courage and the steel to fight, but you only saw gentleness in his monthly letters to you. The last letter you received from him still sits in a drawer somewhere, the last words he wrote sealed in a plastic envelope so that they won’t fade away.

You took the test a few months after the war ended, only because he had pleaded with you to do so. Even if I don’t make it home, he wrote to you in the same curving script he’d used to teach you years ago. Promise me.

When the receptionist gave you a piece of paper with an X marked next to your name—there were no colour indicators back then, only X’s and hollow circles—a part of you felt relief that you couldn’t quite explain. Another part of you was disgusted, convinced that you were being selfish and apathetic. You thought that maybe you had no regard for him; that you only cared for yourself and a stranger you were still searching for. He’d risked his life to join the rebel army, fought on the frontlines with the Allies, and you repaid him with nothing.

It would take you years to come to the conclusion that your reaction was only natural. It would take you years to heal and start seeing other people. In due time, you would stop frequenting the church in your hometown and your fingers would cease to brush against the memorial stone in the yard, upon which his name was carved. Just one name among many.

Jaemin’s hands are all over you: in your hair, around your throat, pushing you against the wall as he kisses you. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls on the strands, forcing your head back a bit so he can continue trailing his lips over your neck and collarbones.

“We can’t be doing this,” you tell him when you manage to pull away. His arms come around your waist anyways and he buries his head in the crook of your neck. You can smell the alcohol on his breath, and you glance behind him to see empty soju bottles on the kitchen counter.

“I’m not with Jieun,” he snarls. “Besides, like I said. I think we’re fucked. We aren’t meant to be.”

“Don’t say that,” you hiss, taken aback by his sudden coldness. “This isn’t fair to her.”

“It’s mutual, remember? I bet she’s out there doing the exact same thing with some other guy. She doesn’t need me.”

“Jaem—”

“We’re fucked. She told me she doesn’t need me, and I told her the same.”

You’re horrified. “You did what?”

“Hilarious, isn’t it? We had our first fight, and we aren’t even together yet.” He scoffs, pushing a hand through his hair in irritation. “Some type of soulmate.”

You’ve never heard him talk like this. He’s out of his mind. He’s lost it. “Fuck, Jaem, how much did you drink?”

“Not enough to feel better, clearly,” he snaps.

“Alcohol and whatever this is between the two of us isn’t going to make you feel any better. This isn’t going to fix your problems.”

“Then what do you want me to do?!” His words are sharp, his expression hard when he glares at you. “You tell me to move on and to give her a chance and to stop doing whatever—” he motions frantically. You’ve never seen him so wild, so out of control, and you’ve almost never seen him lash out at anyone like this. “—whatever the fuck this is, but do you even know how it feels? Do you even care?”

A sharp intake of breath, and then the world is crashing down around you.

The feelings you fought to suppress re-emerge, rising up to crush you and force you into relapse. Doubt. Regret. Guilt. The little voice in the back of your head is a raging monster now, and it shouts at you, screaming at you in a blind rage. Telling you that you’re heartless and self-absorbed and indifferent, everything you believed you were when Jungwoo died. Reinstating what you know isn’t true. You know he doesn’t mean it. You know that it’s just alcohol fueling the words spewing from his lips and nothing more, but they still bring back unpleasant memories, a sense of dread you can’t shake.

He realizes, albeit a bit too late. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

If you knew how much it hurts me to watch you do this to yourself. If you knew how much it hurts me knowing that there’s only so much I can do for you. “Don’t. I get it.”

For a few seconds, the room is silent, save the ticking of the clock behind you. It reminds you briefly of a memory that you can’t quite grasp, like a flash of deja vu before you spiral back down to the present reality where you stand in cold, frigid silence. The broken smoke detector chirps.

“I should go,” you say at last. You go to grab your keys from where you left them on the counter but he quickly stops you, his hand coming around yours. You look up at him in irritation, pulling away sharply.

“It’s late,” he says shakily, almost pleading. “You shouldn’t walk home at this hour. Not alone.”

“I’ll call a cab,” you shrug before slipping into your sweater and pulling on your shoes. You bid him goodnight and leave him dumbfounded in the living room.

You return home to a sleepless light and endless thoughts in a cold bedroom. A broken record replays his words in your head again and again, until you see Jungwoo’s face floating above you in the darkness. His features are faint, like wisps of smoke that loosely form sad eyes and lips pulled downwards in a frown. And then he’s the one asking, “Do you even care?”

You have no answer for the annoying voice in your head. You stare at the lines of light drifting across the expanse of the ceiling, wide awake as the sky brightens outside.

“How long will you be gone?”

It was the 3rd of August 1995. You knew because the next day would mark 50 years since Jungwoo’s death. The next day, you would be going back to your hometown and laying flowers on the altar in the Kim family home, revisiting the memorial you’d left behind when you moved to Seoul.

You shrugged as Mark passed you his lighter. The old zippo produced a small spark between your fingers, and then the sting of smoke was filling your mouth and nose. You didn’t smoke regularly—you’d stopped years ago—but you sure as hell felt like you needed one tonight.

“I dunno,” you said, taking a long drag from the cigarette. “A couple more days after the ceremony? If I stay any longer, Doyoung might get upset.“

“Upset?”

“He doesn’t like seeing me. Said I bring back bad memories. I think I remind him of Jungwoo too much.”

Mark grimaced. “Well it’s scary, seeing a childhood friend who hasn’t aged in fifty something years… Must he like seeing a ghost.” He paused, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear so that he could see your face. “My nephews feel the same way about me.”

“You remind them of something?” You asked.

“Their father, I guess,” he explained. “My brother… wasn’t the most understanding of them when they were younger. Whenever they see me, all they can think of is their childhood and his abusiveness.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?”

He took a moment of contemplative silence “No, not really. I mean, maybe it did at first. But it’s not like I go out of my way to avoid them just because of the memories they associate with me. That would be unfair for me.”

“It would be,” you agreed.

“So then why avoid Doyoung? What he thinks of you is beyond your control. If you remind him of painful memories, that isn’t exactly your fault.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. I just feel like staying out of his way might help him heal. Maybe it’ll help him move on from everything he’s trying to forget.”

“Oh, Y/N.” Mark took your hand with a breathless laugh. His smile was both sad and endearing, as if he were in awe of you—what for, you weren’t too sure until he murmured, “You’re too kind sometimes.” He paused to exhale, smoke escaping his lips and bleeding into the atmosphere, dispersing into the starry sky. He stared into the sky for a few moments, silent.

“But it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves.”

“What the hell happened to him?”

Jaemin looks like a mess. His hair is disheveled and swept messily all over the place. His skin is unhealthily pale, unusually warm to the touch beneath your fingertips. You can tell he’s had a little too much to drink; he sits on the couch in a daze, his eyes fixated on an invisible point in front of him as if searching for something that is no longer there. He yelps in pain when you wipe at the cut on his lip.

“We bumped into a couple guys at the bar. One of them took a swing at him,” Renjun explains as he passes you the bottle of disinfectant. You carefully apply a drop to a cotton swab. “And it didn’t help that he was also drunk. Thank god Lucas was there to break up the fight.”

“I wasn’t drunk,” Jaemin groans in protest. “Just tipsy.”

“Tipsy? You couldn’t even tell me Y/N’s number.”

“I don’t remember anyone’s number.”

“Well, you couldn’t tell me your own name either. Got any excuse for that one, smartass?”

You ignore their bickering and continue cleaning the cut on Jaemin’s cheek, holding him firmly by the shoulder so he doesn’t move. The cotton quickly turns light pink between your fingers. You briefly examine the red marks along his jaw where he’d been hit, frowning. Jaemin has never been one to get into fights and especially not while under the influence, but the bruises on his cheek and his knuckles suggest otherwise. Hell, he rarely even gets drunk, but it’s becoming more and more frequent, to the point where Renjun makes sure to watch over him whenever they go out together. He’s derailing, you think to yourself as you brush his hair into some sort of order.

“Okay, let’s get you to bed.” You put his arm around your shoulder and help him up to his feet, nearly staggering beneath his weight. Renjun rushes over to help you move him into the bedroom.

“You should probably go home. It’s getting late,” you tell him when Jaemin has been settled in bed. You glance at the clock hanging in the kitchen as you clean up the first aid kit on the table: almost 2 AM. “I’ll stay with him… make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I really tried to keep him away from the alcohol tonight. I swear I turned away for only a second to deal with Yangyang and he— Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Renjun apologizes again, shaking his head. “This whole soulmate ordeal is really getting to him. I’m worried, Y/N.”

“You know how he is. He always figures it out one way or another” you reassure him. “I’ll talk to him again though. Maybe he’ll actually… listen this time.”

“Well, call me if anything happens. I probably won’t be asleep anyways.”

“I will. Thanks, Jun,” you nod appreciatively.

By the time Renjun has gone home and you’ve finished cleaning up, Jaemin is already asleep. He stirs when you switch off the lamp and reaches out for you in the darkness, fingers intertwining with yours. “Stay,” he mumbles, pulling you a bit closer.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You say as you admire the way the moonlight filters in through the windows and draws pale lines across his cheeks. Despite the cuts marking his skin, he looks so much softer now, innocent, in a way. Again, you’re reminded of the Jaemin you met at the art gallery. He was none of this. None of this pent-up frustration released in empty beer bottles, none of these crimson bruises marking his otherwise smooth skin.

“You have to stop doing this to yourself,” you murmur. There’s no reply at first, and you wonder if he heard you at all.

“I’m sorry,” you finally hear his voice: small, feeble in the darkness. His words become more urgent as he keeps speaking, spilling from his lips uncontrollably. “I shouldn’t have said those things about you. I wasn’t thinking. You know I could never mean it.”

You hush him, wrapping him in the security of your arms. A single tear brushes against the back of your hand, then another. “It’s alright,” you assure him as you rub soothing circles against his back. “You were going through a lot. I understand, okay? It’s okay.”

He shakes his head frantically, his tears falling in steady streams now. You let out a low hiss when you see them stain pink with the blood from the wound on his cheek. “Still, that shouldn’t be an excuse. I’ve managed to fuck up everything since all of this started. I hurt Jieun, I hurt Renjun, I hurt you. I can’t even go to work and look at Jieun without feeling like such an idiot and getting mad at myself for being such a child. Without feeling like maybe I deserve this.”

Your heart drops, then shatters into a million pieces at the bottom of a dark abyss.

“Look at me,” you plead as you take his face in your hands. “Look at me, Jaem, please.” He finally lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the stillness. All you can see is brokenness, defeat and regret, a look you knew well. It’s an expression that once followed you around for years, appearing in every mirror and reflection you passed by. An innate, intimate part of you that you despised so much until you came to accept it. “Listen to me, Na Jaemin. You are one of the strongest, bravest and kindest people I’ve ever met, and nothing will ever change the way I see you. You don’t deserve any of this bullshit. You don’t deserve this.”

“If you knew what I told her, Y/N,” he lets out a shaky breath. “If you knew what we told each other when we found out neither of us had any feelings for each other… maybe you would think differently of me.”

“If that’s truly what you believe, fix what you broke,” you say firmly. “Apologize to her. Make things right between the two of you, unless you want to go through this all over again in another life. Things will only get worse if you don’t address them now.”

“And if I can’t?”

“If anyone can do it, it’s you, Jaem.” Trembling, you press your lips to his temple. “Whether or not you end up with her, whether or not you think you deserve this, I love you. And that will never fucking change.”

He leans forwards, his forehead touching yours, his nose brushing against yours and his lips just inches from meeting yours. But he never comes any closer, and you feel no urge to close the distance either. Perhaps it’s a sign that both of you are already starting to let go, to drift apart; this moment is nothing romantic or lustful, nothing more than comforting each other in your brokenness. Nothing more than trying to help each other numb the pain.

“I love you.” His voice trembles, but his words are steady, deep-rooted in sureness.

“Then promise me you’ll try, Jaem. You’ll try to set things right, for both our sake.”

“For you, love,” he murmurs, so quietly that you can barely hear him. His voice is lost to the faint rumbling of the air conditioning unit somewhere outside and the distant noises of traffic. “For you, I would do anything.”

You wonder if he’ll remember any of this in the morning. You wonder if he’ll take your words to heart, or if they’ll simply be enveloped in dreams fueled by drunkenness, reduced by sleep to nothing but a blur.

...it’s not always up to you to heal their wounds. At some point, they have to learn to heal themselves

You’ve done everything you can for him, you decide. Even if you continue to walk by his side, the rest is up to him.

One Saturday morning, Jaemin shows up at your door dressed in black jeans and a button-down shirt, his hair swept up neatly. There’s a kind of brightness to him; it’s not necessarily hope or excitement, but certainly a change from what you’ve seen the last couple of weeks. He’s meeting Jieun for lunch, he tells you nervously. He wants to see you before he goes. You tell him you’re proud of him. That genuinely, you admire him.

The next time you see him, it’s at a floral shop. He’s in the middle of picking out flowers, and he flushes when he sees you. A single rose seemed too cliche, he tells you sheepishly, and asks your opinion. He thinks she’ll prefer something a bit more unique but equally tasteful, equally elegant. You recommend orchids or gerberas. They last longer than roses, but they convey the same message. When he’s gone, you buy a small vase of irises for your apartment; your living room needs a bit of colour.

Weeks later, you find a small package in the mail: a parting gift, you realize when you tear open the padded envelope. It’s nothing too special, nothing fancy or expensive—just a piece of blue glass wrapped in silver accents, attached to a delicate chain that you loop around your neck. When you hold the pendant up to the sun, its blue tint shatters into infinite colours, tossing specks of luminous yellow and orange all over your bedroom. More than just a singular colour, it reflects the other hues around you. And for just a brief moment, you think you see your own reflection.

You watched Jaemin move on just as you’d watched Mark and Donghyuck: from afar, with reserve but at the same time, excitement. Close enough for him to know that you were still there for him, but allowing some sort of distance that grew as the days melded into weeks and then months.

For the most part, he seemed to be alright. His texts were always cheerful, covered in happy emoticons—he used them when he was too giddy with excitement to type actual words. “We figured things out,” was all he said one night, and it was all you needed to hear to know that they’d be okay.

You started to notice the fondness he’d developed for her; it was subtle at first, just a hint of affection in his voice when he told you about her over the phone. Though slowly, it developed into something more. It was just as Donghyuck said: time had forged a relationship out of nothing, out of empty words and empty emotions, growing a garden from a barren piece of wasteland.

The first time you spoke to Kim Jieun, it was over the phone during one of your calls with Jaemin. She’d chimed in on your conversation at some point to say hi, and the way she spoke almost reminded you of Donghyuck: bright, cheery, a little sarcastic in a playful manner. You quickly learned that she was easy-going though brutally honest at times, well-mannered yet well-humoured. Most importantly, she wasn’t judgemental, and she didn’t treat you any differently from Jaemin’s other friends just because you’d been with him previously.

Of course, there was still a sense of yearning, a bittersweetness whenever you saw the two of them together. Your fingers always danced fleetingly along the screen of your phone before pressing like on the photos he posted to his social media. You saw him less and less, only occasionally running into him at the bakery you used to frequent together or at a friend gathering. For the most part, you let the past stay in the past. He seemed happy. And honestly, you were happy for him.

“I told you he’d be fine,” Donghyuck murmured to you at one of Jeno’s rampant parties, once most of the guests had trickled out for the night. The two of you sat on the balcony, watching everyone stumble around in their drunken stupor: Jeno was passed out on the couch with two cats sitting perched on his chest. Renjun was trying to braid flowers into Jaemin’s hair, which he’d recently bleached yet another shade lighter to match Jieun’s platinum locks. Out of the corner of your eye, you watched Chenle and Jisung exchange a few bills and bicker over a bet—Chenle was still in denial that Jisung had won, apparently.

“I didn’t doubt you for a second, Hyuck.”

“But you were worried,” he grinned smugly.

“Why wouldn’t I be worried?” You sighed and knocked back the rest of your wine before motioning for him to pass you the bottle. You swiftly poured yourself another glass. “If I couldn’t have my happy ending, at least I wanted him to have his. As… cliche as that sounds.”

Donghyuck raised a brow at you. “What’s to say that you won’t get yours too? They can’t keep you waiting forever. The longest it ever took for someone to find their soulmate was 241 years.”

“Goddamn, are you trying to make me feel better or worse?”

“Better, of course! Okay, what I’m trying to say is that it’s rare for anyone to wait longer than two centuries. If everyone lived for up to three hundred years, we’d have a lot of dictators and other crazies running the world. The universe would spontaneously combust.”

“I know I’m barely even halfway there, but come back to me when I set a new world record,” you rolled your eyes, to which he responded with a small chuckle.

“So what now?” He glanced at Jaemin, who sat across the room with his eyes half-closed, an empty red solo cup in his hands. Jieun had her head on his shoulder, rambling drunkenly about something to Renjun. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought she’d been a part of the group all along; she fit in so seamlessly, and it warmed your heart to see her getting along with everyone.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged. “Nothing for now, I guess. Just waiting.”

“Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll be worth it,” he hummed in reply.

“You think so?”

“People say that the longer you wait, the better. It’s all in your head, of course, but they have a point.”

You sighed, lifting your head to gaze at the stars hanging overhead. “I suppose they do. Maybe someday I get to find out.”

He patted you on the shoulder reassuringly. “You’ll figure it out. You always have.”

Donghyuck left a little later to get a drunk Jeno to bed, and then you had only the quietness of night to keep you company. Your mind drifted and you contemplated his words, repeating them silently to the wind. The night sky replied with nothing but a gentle breeze against your skin.

You could be patient, you thought as you watched the others inside. You fished the pendant out from beneath your shirt and stared at the reflection in the glass. It was as if you were grasping a piece of the night sky between your fingers: the stars and a crescent moon captured in a single, translucent oval. In the dark, the pendant appeared deep indigo, not too different in hue from the four coloured markings you’d acquired over the years.

But the sun would rise in due time, you thought to yourself mirthfully. Beneath the brightness of morning, you’d hold a different colour in your hands. You tucked the necklace back into the fabric of your shirt. You could wait.

read the epilogue, yellow

#nct #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct dream fanfic #nct jaemin #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin fanfic #nct angst #nct fluff #jaemin angst #jaemin fluff #the longest shit ive ever written hoLY SHIT #cznnet

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pedropascallovebot · 4 years ago

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had to repost this because my internet is awful but huzzah i have returned from a writing hiatus i have been doing nothing but reading sambucky fics and i decided to curse the world with a bucky x reader even though no one asked me to. you may now put me in exile.

Bucky likes the smell of the candles you burn in your apartment, even though he swears to you that you have to stop forgetting to blow them out before you go to sleep. He knows that your record player in the corner collects a bunch of dust. He remembers laughing when you had defended yourself when he joked about your devastatingly low vinyl count- "I swear, I do use it! But look me in the eye and tell me Spotify isn't more convenient." He likes the various little crystals and stones you have scattered on your windowsill, even if he doesn't know anything about that stuff. Bucky really likes your bookcase, though. You told him upon his first visit to your place that you thrifted it for an absolute bargain, and it appears that it's been put to good use, given there's not a single place on the shelf for another book to fit without stacking some on top of one another. Most of all, he likes that you’re there. He’s only known you for a short period of time, and he gets that nothing is really official yet… but he likes you. He can’t say it out loud to himself yet, but his therapist definitely knows your name.

All throughout his horrible, miserable, no good bad day, Bucky is thinking about how warm and safe your apartment feels, and consequentially, he's thinking about you. He knows he's got it bad, but there's little to be done about it when his brain starts screaming profanities at him whenever he dares dwell on the thought of your face for too long. He misses you, though. Especially when he's nursing some embarrassment and frustration caused by a group of anarchists pushing him out of a moving truck. He wants so desperately to call and check to see how you're doing, what you're up to, but by the time Sam's got him back home it's nearly one in the morning and he shouldn't wake you. Right? He should lock his door, hang up his jacket, and settle in for a long night of doing nothing but scrolling through the guide of all the weird movies his cable company is playing. He shouldn't be halfway down the stairs of his apartment building to walk across town in the middle of the night to come see you.

But it's inevitable that he ends up at your front door. That annoying yelling in his brain is back, telling him that he should just go home before he knocks and wakes you up, but his hand is already rapping on the wood and he can hear scrambling from the other side of the door. It was only then he realized it might of been a good idea to call ahead, because God, what kind of person is answering the door this late, and who's to say you don't already have someone there already, and fuck, fuck, fuck, it's not too late to just hide behind the big artificial tree that the apartment complex put up for decoration-

You open up right before he can entertain that thought. You look like an absolute angel, he thinks. You’re in some t-shirt that’s way too big for you, and your eyes smile when you see him. But from what he can tell, you're tired. Maybe he did wake you up, and he feels that familiar pinch of guilt in his chest.

"I was, uhm.. in the neighborhood," he starts, his hands very focused on the loose thread of his jacket sleeve. "figured I'd stop by and see how you were."

And there goes your eyes again, kind and soft and welcoming, something that Bucky isn't really used to feeling yet. He's being ushered in, and suddenly realizes the television is still on. The guilt subsides knowing he didn’t wake you.

"You should absolutely be sleeping right now, but I'll let it slide because I miss you," you smile, and Bucky knows he's a goner when you press a kiss to his cheek before shutting the door behind him.

“So should you.” Then, a quiet “I miss you too.”

"Want some tea? Or some coffee? I've got the kettle going with some hot water and I was planning on making some sleepytime tea, but I think I've got a few packets of that instant espresso crap buried if you don't wanna wait for the coffee pot to brew..."

You trail off into a comfortable silence for a minute as he watches as you grab a box of the celestial seasonings that you always kept in stock, the one with the bear sitting by the fireplace. Feeling inclined to help, Bucky attempts to step foot in the kitchen and grab a couple of mugs before immediately being banished to the living room, where he then listened to your rant about how he looked like he just got run over by a moving vehicle, and how he should sit down. Well, you were kinda right. You go to drop a couple of teabags into hot water, but not before you warn him to get on the couch before he falls asleep standing up.

He doesn't follow directions very well, because his feet lead him over to your bookshelf, where you've got some sort of scented wax over a tea light. Eyes trailing over the numerous books you have, he recognized a few. A Farewell to Arms, Main Street, and the two copies you had of The Great Gatsby. He knows you have a love-hate relationship with Harry Potter, but all seven of the books sat at eye level, a bit faded from countless rereads as soon as the weather got colder and you needed something cozy and familiar.

His gaze is caught on one book in particular; one that he thought about earlier today, before a teenager punched the living daylights out of him and before Walker and his unbearably chirpy sidekick made his day go from bad to worse. The Hobbit sat tucked away to the left of The Lord of the Rings, and Bucky reached out and gently pulled it from the row. It wasn't the same cover as the one he had at his apartment- yours had drawn trees and mountains, with runes lining the edges of the illustration. His own copy had what he assumed was a still from the movie adaptation, something he never bothered to watch. He still felt compelled to buy the book when he saw it sitting on the shelf at a store.

"I already called dibs on the Star Wars mug," you joked, heading out into the living room carrying two mugs of tea. "You're gonna have to drink from the-"

"Can you read to me?"

He does feel bad for interrupting you, but to be fair, the words slipped out before he could even stop them. He feels his nerves swell up a bit before you answer him, and the book in his hands feels heavier than it should.

You set the tea down on the small table at the end of the couch before switching on the lamp, offering the room some light which was previously only provided by a few candles, the kitchen, and the glow from the television. You switch that off, too, and the nerves that Bucky was sure were radiating off him melt away.

“Only if you stop standing ten feet away and come cuddle me while I do.”

When you spoke, it took Bucky all of two seconds to make his way to the couch, grabbing the blanket he knows you love and draping it over the both of you as you trade him his tea for the book.

“Teasing me about wanting to read The Hobbit is off the table, doll.” Bucky drapes an arm over your shoulder, making himself comfortable. “A friendly reminder it sits on your bookshelf.”

He hears you giggle and he’s in absolute awe of how much he wants to kiss you. Sure, you both have done plenty of that over the course of time he’s known you, but there’s something about you sitting in his arms with a book he knows so well open in front of you. Home.

“I’ll admit, it’s been a while since I’ve read this, my knowledge of Middle Earth is a bit spotty.”

“I’m willing to bet it’s been even longer for me,” he jokes, but there’s still a sting when he says it. Bucky pushes it aside.

“Alright, old coot. Let’s start from the beginning.”

“The dark filled all the room, and the fire died down, and the shadows were lost, and they still played on.”

It takes Bucky all of five minutes and a few sips of tea to get him tired before he’s placing his cup down and resting his head on your shoulder, and you’re almost down for the count, ready to retire to your bed. But you only have about ten pages until the end of the chapter and Bucky is way too good of a pillow to even think about moving. The dwarves start to sing their song, and if you’re remembering correctly, this is when things really start to get good. You debate if you want to continue, but then you look down and see Bucky absolutely zonked, and your mind is made up. You yawn and set the book on the table before reaching over and shutting off the lamp, attempting not to wake up the sleeping figure next to you.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes #falcon and the winter soldier

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monicashipslokius · 4 years ago

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Soulmates Actually Pt 5 (of 6)

(Read Part 1/Part 2/Part 3/Part 4)

Loki drags their hands up Mobius’s front, palms flat against his chest, pressing wrinkles into his white shirt. At Mobius’s shoulders, Loki slides their fingers under Mobius’s suit jacket and eases down Mobius’s arms. Mobius straightens his elbows, and the jacket falls unceremoniously to the floor, a dark mark on the beige carpeting. The green tie quickly follows.

Mobius watches Loki with a hooded, passion-filled gaze as their deft fingers open the buttons of his shirt, one after the next, before it too falls down to the floor.

When Loki’s hands finally touch bare skin, they are desperate for it. They follow the path made when Mobius was clothed, up his chest, over his shoulders.

“Loki,” Mobius says, voice caught somewhere between a whisper and a moan.

Loki wraps their arms around Mobius’s waist and pulls him closer. Loki is wearing their silk sleep-shirt, but the fabric is so thin they can still feel the heat of Mobius’s skin against their own.

Loki drops a kiss to Mobius’s bare shoulder, a line across his clavicle, and then up the side of his neck. Mobius tilts his head away, giving Loki more access.

Mobius’s fingers dance up the length of Loki’s arms. He clutches Loki’s shoulders a moment, bunching the nightshirt as Loki bites gently at the soft spot behind Mobius’s ear.

“I want to do this right,” Mobius says. “It’s right for me, but is it right for you?”

Loki hums, trailing a path of kisses to Mobius’s lips before claiming them. Loki pulls away too soon, and smiles when Mobius leans forward, following them. “You are doing perfectly.”

Another kiss. Two. “Not too fast?”

Loki pulls away again, only so far as to look Mobius in the eye so he will know the depth of their feeling as they say, “If I do not have you this moment, I will burst.”

Mobius laughs, and Loki’s heart swells with new, unknown feeling - pride, happiness, unconditional affection. Mobius has won startled laughs from Loki many times but never the other way around. Mobius’s eyes sparkle with delight, with interest and joy and some pride of his own.

Loki wonders if this is what love feels like.

“Not too fast then.” Mobius’s smile lingers.

“No.”

“Good,” Mobius says, and gives Loki a shove.

Loki, caught unawares, falls back onto the bed. “Mobius!” Immediate they are on their elbows, watching Mobius step closer, up to the bed, in the open space between Loki’s legs.

Heart racing at the potential, blissful implications, Loki attempts to keep cool and lifts one lone brow. “My soulmate is feeling bold, I see.”

As Mobius’s hands reach for the waistband of Loki’s sleep-pants, Loki gathers all of their willpower not to whimper out, please. Despite their efforts, it still erupts from their throat, a cut off, strangled sound of desperation that makes Mobius’s smile grow into a shark-like grin.

“Your soulmate,” he says, dropping to his knees, “intends to worship their mischievous god.”

Loki has been in many sexy situations across the centuries, but never in their very long life have they ever felt this much longing, this much lust -

No, more than lust. Desire coupled with affection, wrapped up in...

“Mobius.”

At the first whispered touch, Loki’s thoughts frizzle out, and they do not return for a long, long time.

The apartment’s dark, lit only from the dim starlight peeking through the sheer curtains and the flashing clock on the microwave that neither of them set properly.

Loki’s cheek is pressed to Mobius’s bare chest, their ear over Mobius’s heart, listening to the strong, steady rhythm. Mobius’s breath is slow and deep; he fell asleep hours ago. But Loki, even with their body pleasantly exhausted and their desire temporarily sated, lies awake.

They count Mobius’s heartbeats, but hold their breath for the space between them. Humans are fragile things with such short lifespans. Fifty seems so young, but for Mobius, that is already over half his life.

“I think I should retire,” Mobius said earlier, over dinner. “I’ve worked since I was sixteen. Saved and saved. I’ve got enough investments to see us through for a good long while.”

“You love your work,” Loki said, half-hoping they hid the hope in their voice successfully enough to appear supportive.

Mobius laughed, happy and fond, which perhaps was a reveal all its own. “If I dropped dead right now, they would replace me tomorrow.” He stabbed his fork through a green bean, but he might as well stabbed Loki through the heart. His gaze on the food, he didn’t appear to notice. “It’s not personal. It’s a good company. They’ve treated me well over the years. But... that’s just how jobs work. I don’t know. I have more to live for now than just that. And we can afford it.” He laughed again, softer and sadder. “I want to at least have a few years where I can keep up with you.”

“I won’t leave you behind,” Loki said, and they could hear their own desperation.

Mobius finally looked up at Loki, and even though he smiled, he could not hide the gentle heartache in his eyes. “I’m no spring chicken, Loki. Eventually -”

“Do not finish that thought, Mobius M. Mobius.”

“I’m just saying that -”

“I know what you are ‘just saying’ and I will not hear it. I will not leave you behind, and that is the end of the discussion.”

Mobius’s brows lifted high, and Loki expected further argument. But per usual, Mobius subverted all expectations and laughed again, as happy and fond as before.

“If anyone can figure out a way to cheat death, it’s you,” he said then.

He snores a little now. His arms clutch Loki closer, even in sleep. And Loki renews their vow, quiet in the dark.

“Nothing will take you from me.”

Mobius puts in his two week notice the next day.

The photo of his office building that he kept on the dresser gets replaced with one of he and Loki together - much of the wall space in their apartment does too. Their smiling faces greet them at every turn.

Perhaps it’s narcissistic, Loki wonders, to have that many pictures of them in their own home, but Loki is so unaccustomed to their own happiness, it is like looking at a stranger.

When they tell Mobius, Mobius smiles and kisses them. He doesn’t reply with words, but he does get that far away look in his eye, the one that appears when his joints are too stiff in the morning, or when he wakes up from having fallen asleep on the recliner without having meant to, or when he looks in the mirror at his gray hair and promises Loki, “I used to be blond.”

And though he never says, I want you to have something to remember me by, Loki can hear the words as loudly as if he shouted them.

Mobius taps his finger on the top of the dresser, near the framed photo of his parents. “You know, I only have this one picture of them. Forty years with them in my life, of phone calls and Christmas cards, too few visits. All of it down to one picture and a bunch of fuzzy memories.”

Loki stands beside him, glancing briefly at the photo before staring at Mobius, at the far away look, and the rare-sadness tilting down his mouth. Yet before they can think of something that would bring some measure of comfort, Mobius turns to Loki and says, “Let’s go on vacation.”

Surprise replaces worry, and Loki glances at the smiling photo of Mobius on his jetski. “A lovely idea,” Loki says, and offers a small grin. “I believe I was promised a trip to the ocean as recompense for surrendering dominion over this realm.”

Mobius wide smile returns, and Loki’s grows in victory.

“A man should keep his promises,” Mobius says, and they start making plans.

Two weeks pass, and Mobius's last day at work comes and goes.

“You’ll be sick of me in a week,” Mobius says the first day off, but after a week, and then two after that, Loki cannot get enough of their time together.

During the day, he and Loki talk and go for walks and watch the soap operas Loki pretends to only like ironically but secretly loves.

“Is that Georgina or Regina?” Mobius asks.

Loki, an expert after weeks of indulgence, can easily identify one twin from another. “That’s Georgina. Regina has the beauty mark above her lip.”

During the night (and sometimes during the day too), they lose themselves in each other. Without draining himself at work all day, Mobius has more energy to properly worship his mischievous god, and though Loki will never admit it aloud, they do some worshiping too, of their foolhardy mortal.

Their precious, fragile human.

The longer they are together, the more perfectly matched they seem. And Loki, who has never been in love before, begins to allow himself a moment of soft wonder.

Loki remembers their first touch, the spliced visions of their future, and the way Mobius said, I love you. Again and again, a thousand times in one moment. Loki begins to wish for that... to crave it.

Sometimes they wonder what Mobius saw during the vision. Did Loki say it to him?

They have no idea how to ask without giving themself away.

The night before their trip to California, Mobius and Loki pack clothes into a pair of suitcases. At first they had attempted to share a single suitcase, but quickly deemed that an unwise decision.

“I don’t understand why you need so many clothes,” Mobius said, as his ‘half’ of the suitcase shrank down a considerable margin. “Can’t you just magic your outfit whenever you want?”

“You always wear that same drab suit, despite all the others we procured for you, despite no longer being required to wear it for work,” Loki replied. “Surely that portion of the suitcase is enough for one suit.”

Mobius looked down at the brown suit he currently wore, and though his smile remained, a small line formed between his brow. Loki knew instantly they had pushed too far.

So they cleared their throat and said, “Or perhaps I am doing my best to ensure you spend most of the trip naked.”

Mobius laughed and his brow smoothed out. “Alright, alright. I’ll get another suitcase,” he said, without further prompting.

Now, Mobius carefully folds yet another white shirt as he lowers it down onto the perfectly aligned pile of five exact copies. “I’ve been thinking.”

“A dangerous prospect,” Loki says, tossing a few shirts into their own suitcase. “One that usually ends in anxiety for me.” They say it as a joke. They do not expect Mobius’s quiet in return.

Worried there might still be lingering hurt from the suit remark, Loki shifts all attention to Mobius, and finds him a tangle of tension and uncertainty.

“Mobius?”

“Maybe it’s not a good idea.” He unfolds and refolds the same shirt. Twice. “Forget I said anything.”

Loki reaches out, takes the shirt from Mobius hands, and lowers it. Then they take Mobius’s hands and turn him toward them. When Mobius’s gaze drifts off toward the kitchen, Loki laces their fingers together and squeezes his hands gently.

“Good or not, I should hear your idea,” Loki says. “I enjoy knowing all of your thoughts.”

Mobius shifts his glance briefly to the photo of his parents on the dresser. “Even if it’s something that might cause you anxiety?”

Loki traces their thumb over Mobius’s. “I believe not knowing would be substantially worse.”

Finally, Mobius looks at them. “Yeah, okay.” He presses his lips hard together as he studies Loki’s face.

The longer the silence lasts, the more worry coils around Loki’s chest until they feels as if they might explode just from anticipation of -

“I think we should invite your family to our vacation.”

Loki blinks. Waits for the punchline.

For surely Mobius is jesting.

Instead, Mobius winces. “Now that’s a look.”

“You... aren’t jesting.” Loki tries to imagine Odin standing on a sandy Californian beach, but the image is so outrageous, their mind cannot conjure it.

“Look, I know it’s a bad idea. And we can go ahead and never talk about it after this, but...” He glances again at the photo of his parents, and the heartbroken look returns to his eyes. “Too few visits.”

Only one picture.

There are no pictures of Loki’s family. Mobius offered to print a fuzzy photo of Thor from the internet but Loki refused.

“I’m not saying we invite your dad, I know that’s...” Mobius gives Loki’s hands a gentle, supportive squeeze. “But what about Thor? I promised him a jetski ride.” A pause, then softer, “What about your mom?”

Loki can imagine Thor acting a buffoon on a sandy beach - building a sand-Asgard (or attempting to - Loki’s would be infinitely better), racing Mobius on jetskis, swimming out too far and having to use Mjolnir to fly back to safety.

Oddly, Loki can also imagine Frigga, perched on a lounge chair under an umbrella, flipping through pages of a book. She would be the judge of their theoretical sand-Asgard competition and would undoubtedly deem them equal, regardless of actual merit.

“There’s that smile,” Mobius says, drawing Loki back to the now, away from the beach and to their small apartment in Dubuque. “Maybe not such a bad idea after all?”

Hope burns hot in Loki’s chest, even as they say, “They’d never agree, even if we could find a way to invite them.”

“I don’t believe that,” Mobius says, and his confidence further brightens Loki’s hope. He tilts his head. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. I’d never complain about having you all to myself.” He surely aims for a smile, and he gets one. “But... would it be okay if we tried?”

They’ll say no, Loki knows. They’ll never show. But blind hope has them nod their head, just once.

“Great.” Mobius lifts one of Loki’s hands and kisses the back of it. Then he releases them both and steps into the middle of the apartment.

“What are you doing?” Loki asks.

Mobius winks, then lifts his gaze to the ceiling. “Um, hi?” He furrows his brow and glances at Loki. “What was his name again? The guy who’s always watching? Helmdell?”

“Heimdall,” Loki says, “But I’m not sure he’ll appreciate playing messenger for such a silly request.”

“Come on,” Mobius says. “Guy is probably up there all day dealing with huge crises. He might appreciate something lighter for a change. Plus, if anything goes wrong, we can just blame the ignorant human.” He points his thumb to himself.

That this silly human man is so casually willing to bother a god with a party invitation has Loki want to hide their own face in embarrassment and also cover Mobius’s in kisses.

What an impossible fool.

“Mister Heimdall, sir?” Mobius says to the ceiling. “I’m sorry to bother you, I know you're busy. But if you could please let Loki’s mom and brother know that they are invited to come to our vacation in Malibu tomorrow? For a week? If they want to? I’d appreciate it. Uh, thank you.” He lowers his head, frowns, and lifts it again. “You can come too.”

“Mobius,” Loki hisses.

“He can come,” Mobius tells them as he returns to their side. In a whisper, he says, “We can’t be rude.”

Only the most extreme level of willpower keeps Loki from rolling their eyes. “If you were worried about rudeness, you should have invited my... the All-Father.”

Mobius’s smile slips. “No.”

It’s such a sudden turnabout that Loki’s brain goes quiet a moment.

“I’m sorry, Loki. If you want him there, of course, we can invite him, but listening to you talk about him. Even right now, did you hear yourself? You called him ‘All-Father,’ not Dad or Pops or even Odin. So formal. And look at you.” He grabs Loki by the elbows and jostles them a bit, and Loki realizes how tense they’ve been. “Coiled up like a spring about to pop. If this is what just mentioning him does to you, I don’t want that guy anywhere near you.”

Loki loosens as Mobius trails his hands to their shoulders.

“He may be displeased at not being invited,” Loki says.

“We’ll deal with that rainbow bridge when we cross it.”

Mobius rubs Loki’s shoulders, and Loki closes their eyes, putty in his hands.

“You cause infinite trouble for me, soulmate,” Loki says.

Mobius chuckles. “Yeah, but you like trouble. Keeps things interesting.” Mobius’s fingers dig into tight muscle, and Loki lets out a soft, relaxed sigh. “That’s why Regina’s your favorite.”

Loki’s eyes snap open. “She is not.”

“She’s the mischief-maker.”

“No, I assure you, she is far from my favorite. Her plans are so poorly executed that even Claudio, besotted as he constantly is over Georgina, catches wise of her almost instantly. She insults the name of mischief.”

“Maybe. But they wouldn’t have a show without her. She’s the only one who does anything.”

“No, you simply have not watched enough episodes...” Loki stops themself short and stands suddenly taller. “I know what you're doing.”

“Oh?”

“You are attempting to distract me.”

Mobius hums, and his little smile turns 100% smug. “It worked too, didn’t it?”

It did, and Loki is both infuriated and endeared at once. “How do you do this to me?”

Mobius shrugs. “You’re pretty easy to rile up.”

“That’s not what I mean, I -” They stop themself again, realizing they were about to admit to... feelings. Dangerous feelings. They swallow down the words they want to say, and say instead, “You infuriate me, Mobius.”

“Yeah,” Mobius says, “But you like that too.”

Loki does. All powers in the cosmos help them, they absolutely do.

They are as besotted with Mobius as Claudio is with Georgina. No, more so.

Mobius is so earnest and good and kind, and cares so much about Loki and Loki’s happiness, that even though Loki is annoyed, they still lean forward and kiss Mobius quick on the mouth.

Mobius closes his eyes for the kiss, then takes his time opening them again. He looks at Loki like they’re the brightest star in the sky, and Loki, chest swollen with an unfamiliar emotion that washes away all annoyance, even the faked kind, pulls Mobius into their arms and kisses him again, more properly.

Overwhelmed with warmth, Loki swoops Mobius up into their arms, mouth pressed against Mobius’s laugh, and carries him to the bed.

In the end, both suitcases end up on the floor, overturned, contents spread out all over, Mobius’s many shirts no longer perfectly folded. The one he was wearing will need some serious mending, buttons all ripped off. The pants are too torn to be salvageable.

Mobius holds Loki close and places soft kiss after soft kiss along their hairline. The space between one and the next lengthens until eventually they stop altogether.

With Mobius’s breath slow and steady in sleep, Loki leans to Mobius’s ear and whispers, “I think that I... I love you.”

“They aren’t going to come,” Loki says in the taxi cab to the airport.

“They surely have other matters to attend to,” Loki says at 30,000 feet.

“I cannot imagine them meeting us,” Loki says on the Californian tarmac, even as they do imagine it - the four of them with multi-color drinks topped with sliced fruit, curly straws, and tiny umbrellas.

Mobius has not released their hand the entire voyage. “You never know. Stranger things have happened.”

“Stranger than two gods vacationing with their delinquent adopted relative?”

“Sure,” Mobius says with a shrug. “You hear the one about the gorgeous god who found their soulmate in a folksy dope of a human?”

A small measure of Loki’s anxiety melts away. “You are referring to when the realm’s bravest human opened their heart to a broken god?”

“Not broken,” Mobius says, suddenly serious. “Never broken.”

“Mobius,” Loki starts, but in a flash, Mobius easy smile returns.

“Come on. Let’s hit the beach.”

Loki bounces their leg the entire taxi drive to their beach-front hotel. Their suite is large, upgraded last minute at surely no small expense, to a set of three rooms, just in case Thor and Frigga decided to arrive. They change into swim trunks and descend the staircase off their balcony down to the sand. The hotel arranged a series of lounge chairs and umbrellas that Loki is eager to claim, but Mobius pulls them down to the water first.

“We’ve been in Iowa too long. We have to at least touch the ocean.”

Loki accommodates him enough to step into the water, ankle-deep. Mobius splashes in all the way. He dips below the surface, then reappears, drawing closer, soaking wet.

“Do not even think of -” Loki says, knowing what’s coming. Mobius allots them plenty of time to move if they wish, but they do not. Though they do groan in dismay as Mobius wraps them in a damp hug.

“Kiss me,” Mobius says, bright as the sunshine and laughing. “I taste like the ocean.”

Loki does not bother to stop their rolling eyes, even as they indulge him with a kiss. Hm, he does taste a bit salty. But it’s still Mobius underneath.

“Perhaps you are part fish,” Loki offers, teasing.

Mobius’s eyes light up. “Do you think mermaids are real? Mermen?”

Loki, watching Mobius’s youthful glee, has no desire to quash his joy, even slightly. “Perhaps?”

“Oh, man. How great would that be?” Mobius says and releasing Loki, flops back into the water.

Loki can’t help their smile. And they don’t want to either. Mobius makes them feel young again too, full of hope and possibilities. Like they could accomplish anything.

Like defying death.

Their smile slips, but they struggle to hold onto it, not wanting to ruin Mobius’s fun.

But even this trip carries the weight of Mobius’s unsaid wish, I want you to have something to remember me by.

“We will remember together,” Loki says under his breath, as Mobius jumps into a wave.

Then, like a boom of thunder across the beach, roars a voice, “Brother!”

Loki turns to see Thor in bright-colored shorts and a too-small white tank top walking toward him. Large sunglasses hide his eyes, and a swipe of white sunscreen streaks his nose, but his wide smile leaves no argument to his expression. And beside him...

Frigga wears a long, floral sundress and a wide-brimmed hat. Where Thor barrels forward, oaf-like, she moves like the water itself, each step on the sand fluid and careful.

Reality flashes through Loki, stealing his breath. When last she saw them, they were... not...

They have no idea what their relationship could be now.

This was a mistake.

Loki has to run.

They look at the water, but Mobius is too far out.

For Loki to run, they would have to leave Mobius.

Indecision roots them. To stay or to go.

But no, Frigga would not wear a sundress if she had meant only to renounce them. She would not dress as though she intends to stay.

And Mobius...

Loki steels their resolve. How tightly had Mobius held Loki after they fought about his job and he thought Loki gone forever? How many whispered promises had he made since then, of their staying together?

No. Mobius would not leave them.

Loki will not abandon him either.

Thor reaches them first. “Good to see you again, Loki. Heimdall sends his regards, and his regrets. He could not get away.”

“Oh... uh, of course.”

“Where’s... oh!” Thor looks out at the water. “Mobius! My brother! Stay there, I will join you!” Then he trudges into the water, each step a large splash.

In his place, stands Frigga. Loki stands tall, bracing themself for perhaps-deserved condemnation.

But then their mother lifts a hand and places it softly to their cheek.

“My beautiful child,” she says, and it is enough. It is everything.

Loki falls into open arms, feeling much like a youth again, safe and protected in their mother’s embrace.

“Thank you for inviting us,” she says as she cards her fingers through their hair. “It was a most pleasant and unexpected surprise.”

“It was Mobius’s idea,” Loki admits.

“Your soulmate knows your heart well,” she says, kindness warm in her voice. “It brings this mother peace to see her child so happy. Especially after such a long period of distress.”

Loki closes their eyes and bites back their bubbling emotion. To have their pain acknowledge is almost too much. As to, is having the reaffirmation that they are her child, even now, even after everything.

Loki realizes too late that they are still wet from Mobius’s hug, and pulls away sharply. But Frigga keeps her arms on their shoulders, her smile ever-soft, ever-patient. She holds no harm for them, only kindness. Only joy.

Mobius approaches slowly, kicking gently through the water, creating only minimal disturbance to the water’s surface.

He looks first to Loki, as if studying their face. Loki knows he is searching for distress, that Mobius will rise to their defense with nary a moment’s notice. But he mustn’t see that, because a smile breaks wide on his face as he turns it toward Frigga.

He holds out his hand, dripping wet with saltwater. Frigga glances at his hand, then ignores it and pulls him into a hug, too.

“Thank you,” she says, voice nearly lost among the shift of the waves and the loud beating of Loki’s own heart.

“You don’t have to thank me.” Mobius’s voice is much stronger. “You’re always welcome to... oh.”

She says something else, something Loki cannot hear, something that makes Mobius’s smile soften and his eyes search out Loki’s over her shoulder.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, either,” Mobius says. “Loving them is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.”

Loki’s whole world goes very still.

The sun shines. The waves continue to pound the sand. Somewhere, Thor calls out for them to join him. Mobius looks away from them, back to Frigga.

Loki just stands there, a single word, echoing loud in their head.

Mobius’s voice. Mobius’s word.

Love.

#oops i'm going to need a chapter 6 after all! sorry about that! i guess there was more to write than i initially thought haha #lokius #loki x mobius #wowki #i wrote this #soulmate au #part 5 of 6 #love confessions #death talk cw #fade to black #alcohol cw #family drama cw #self worth issues cw #self hatred cw #long post cw in case you open it on dash #ao3 link tomorrow

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honeypirate · 4 years ago

Note

Honey, as a fellow All Might simp, I send you this request. I've had a rough couple of days. Please gift me the most tooth rotting fluff you can provide of our sweet Toshi

Okay love you bye!!!!💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

Okay okay I love love you thank you for this!! I struggled with many ideas and ended up with this so I hope you like it!!

Toshinori Yagi/All Might x Reader

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

Your relationship with him started off complicated, you were mainly work acquaintances who occasionally did hero work together, but the rest of the time you found yourself around him resulted in embarrassing moments.

Almost every day you passed him in the hallway, but once you bumped into him when he was carrying a box of something, you laughed awkwardly and went to step to the side, smiling a little when he did the same thing. When you both stepped to the side again you laughed, the next time it happened you shook your head with more laughter “okay okay” you say and place your hands gently on his shoulders before slowly leading and turning in a circle with him “there we go” you say and he laughs “sorry about that” he says and you shake your head “no worries” after that instance you developed a major crush on the symbol of peace which makes the rest of the awkward interactions that much more painful.

One day when you were late to your class you rushed out the door of the teachers apartments only to hit him in the face with the door, effectively giving him a nose bleed. “I’m so sorry All Might!” you say as you fret over him, you wish you had something to give him for the blood, you tried to give him your jacket for it but he refused. “Oh god is your mouth bleeding too?! I feel terrible!” “my mouth isn't because of you! It just happens sometimes!” he says quickly, chuckling awkwardly “aren’t you.. Uhh aren't you late for class?” he says, holding his nose with his hand, and you gasp, swearing under your breath you bow deeply to him “I am so sorry All Might please forgive me!” before taking off again down the classrooms, kicking yourself for making the man you had a big fat crush on bleed.

Later that week you were in the cafeteria with Midnight, you were chewing on your lip as you stared across the room as All Might got something from Lunch Rush, Midnight was talking about something but you weren’t paying attention, you were too focused on the symbol of peace and how you could make it up to him for giving him a nose bleed.

You brought your cup to your lips to take a sip “why are you staring at All Might so hard?” Midnight says right next to your ear, she had leaned over to you to see who you were staring at that had you so entranced, All Might looks over when he heard his name just at the moment you accidentally spit your drink all over. “Shut up!” you whisper hiss at her and she chuckles as she hands you a stack of napkins. You clean up your mess and then cover your face with your palms as you groan. “Tell me” she says and you sigh before dropping your hands and telling her everything, right down to your big fat crush on the retired hero.

He saw your accident and it made him smile, the way your cheeks flushed pink as you wiped off your chin, he held his breath, it was so adorable. He had to really fight hard to not spit up blood because of how much you amused him.

A couple weeks later, you still had no idea how to repay him, and now you were too embarrassed to know how to talk to him and with every passing day it gets further and further from the incident causing you to feel even more embarrassed and uncomfortable.

When you exited the school you sighed at the slushy snow falling from the sky, by the time you got back to the teachers apartments you would look like a freezing wet rat. “You can walk with me if you want” his soft voice behind you sent blood to your cheeks, when you turned around you noticed his blushing cheeks as well and it relaxed you a little bit as a small smile found its way to your lips “really?” you ask, a little wary, “of course” he nods with a bright smile and unwraps the umbrella before opening it and placing it over his shoulder, offering you his arm.

The walk back would take about 10 minutes, walking slowly on the slippery sidewalks, you were really grateful to have his arm to hold so you could stay steady. The walk was quiet, you didn’t know what to say and you were racking your brain thinking of something, anything. “I’m-” “so-” you start at the same time and then chuckle together “you go” he says and you smile awkwardly, your stomach in nervous knots, “I’m sorry again for hitting you with the door, i've been trying to find a way to make up for it but- Ah!” you yelp as you almost slip and fall down, his arm snakes around your waist and he pulls you tighter against his side to keep you up right, you wrap your arm around his back as well as your feet slide around. Once you get your feet under you again he smiles “you okay?” he asks and you laugh, your cheeks red, “thank you All Might” you say “call me Toshi, or Toshinori, if you’re comfortable, that is” he looks down at the sidewalk, his cheeks flushing from the nervous butterflies in his own stomach.

“Toshi” you say, a little quietly to test it, his heart races at the sound of his name from your lips, it sounded sweet and sent shivers down his spine, “As I was saying, is there any way I can make it up to you?” he thinks for a moment then says, “this, this is enough”, his hand around your waist pulls you in to his side again for emphasis and you feel your heart drum against your ribs and in your ears “oh” you say softly “it is?” you ask, turning to look up at him and holding his side a little tighter. He turns his face to you with a soft smile, “it is”

The next week after a particularly difficult villain attack, the teachers went out to drink and relax and blow off some of the anxiety that came from the fight. You went to the bar to get another drink, purposefully walking up next to where All Might was, “how are you?” he asks and you place your hand on his arm “I’m better now” his cheeks flush and your smile brightens before your eyes focus on the door behind him and you notice your ex walk in “what happened?” he asks as he watches your expression drop, when you focus back on him you get an idea, you lean in close to him “Toshi” you say into his ear “would you do me a favor and pretend to be my date tonight? My ex just walked in and he’s-” his arm wraps around your waist, he watches the way your skin on your neck and shoulders erupt in goosebumps because of his action and he smirks “yeah don’t worry about it. I am here for you” he grins and you blush with a nod “thank you so much!” you say and lean in, kissing his cheek causing his heart to drum against his ribs.

It was incredibly easy to fall into S/O ways with him, he had his hand on your hip the whole night, you leaning into him as you talked with your friends, you texted Midnight what was up and she told the rest of your friend group so they would play along, you felt your ex’s eyes on you the whole night from where he sat at the bar, an uneasy feeling in your chest.

When All Might went to get you another drink you saw your ex move to come over to you, as he walked through the crowd you panicked, moving to walk in the other direction, to put as many people between you as you could as you made your way over to Toshinori, when you got to him he had his drinks in each hand, you could see your ex in the corner of your eye as you placed your hands on All Might’s neck, your eyes asking him if this was okay as you leaned in closer, he nodded once knowing what you were asking, and then leaned the rest of the way until your lips were touching.

Kissing him was soft, your heart exploded into butterflies as your stomach flopped it’s way out of the knots it had tied itself into. your hands found their way buried into his unruly hair at the nape of his neck as you deepened the kiss, his tongue swipes your bottom lip and you chuckle as you let him in, your tongues swirling slowly together before you pull away, giving him one last peck before backing up and looking up at him with a starstruck smile.

He was looking at you with a look of adoration, his smile similar to the one he used as the symbol of peace to assure people he would protect their lives, except this time you were pretty sure it meant he would protect your heart.

You felt lost in a world that was just you and him until someone next to you clears their throat, “y/n?” your ex says and you turn to look at him, your eyebrows raised and you cock your head “do we know you?” you ask in a sweet voice and he looks like you just kicked him, “it’s..it’s me” he says and you hum, taking your drink from All Might’s hand, you turn back to look at your ex. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you. Excuse us, we have to get going” you lace your hand with All Might’s and you both make your way back to your table with the rest of the teachers, you watch as your ex storms out of the bar.

He walks you home after that, his hand never leaving yours. You walk through the park that is next to the school and you stop at the fountain that’s now off because of the time of night “do you have any coins?” you ask and he laughs “for what?” he digs in his pocket and pulls out a few and you get excited, squealing as you dance a little on your toes. “Okay, you take one, whisper your wish to it, and then toss it over your shoulder into the fountain. Then your wish will come true” you take a coin from his hand and then walk around to the other side of the fountain so he wouldn't hear your wish.

You bring the coin to your lips “I wish that this is more than a fake date” you whisper and then kiss the coin, tossing it over your shoulder. The plop sound as it hits the water echoes as his coin falls in as well, You turn around and make eye contact with him across the fountain, the light from the moon above lighting up your features, both of you smiling at each other. He makes his way around to you and takes your hand again.

“What did you wish for?” you ask even though you know it’s against the rules to tell “if i tell you then it won't come true” you chuckle, your free hand coming up to hold on to his arm and you lay your head on his shoulder “i wonder if we wished for the same thing” you say quietly as you watch the moon’s reflection in the still water.

“I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours” he says, breaking the silence of the walk as you get to your apartment door, you chuckle and take his other hand so you were holding them both between you guys. You look up into his eyes, “you first” you whisper and he laughs “at the same time” he says and takes a step towards you so your toes were touching, you leaned into him and stood a little on your tiptoes as you start to count down together, his warm breath hitting your cheeks “3..2..1” and then your lips connected.

You drop his hands and bury your fingers in his soft hair that you loved, his hands wrap around your lower back as he pulls you into his chest. You moan softly as his tongue enters your mouth, he lets out a sigh into your mouth as you pull his head down gently so you could press your lips harder into his. His kisses are hungry, like he was trying to drink you in and not waste a drop, one of his hands goes up to your neck, brushings his fingers softly across your skin.

You felt spellbound, like magic was flowing through your veins, this was a kiss for you both, not to scare away an ex in a bar as you pretended you were together, there was nothing about this that was a ruse. You felt like you had carved out a moment in time together that was just yours, it felt like your hearts were beating in the same rhythm, that you were sharing the same energy.

When you pull back you’re both smiling as he presses his forehead against yours, you feel giddy, like you’re full of pure magic, “to clarify, my wish was that you felt the same way I do” he whispers and you chuckle “my wish was that this was more than a fake date” his lips brush against yours again, just a sweet peck before he pulls back to look into your eyes “go on a real date with me tomorrow?” you nod “yes please” he pulls you into his arms and hugs you goodnight, you hear his heart racing as you place your head against his chest.

You were to meet him at the cafe you loved downtown before he took you somewhere that he wouldn't tell you, a surprise that he wouldn’t give up no matter how much you tried to guess, as you get to the cafe you stop outside, looking at your reflection in the glass as you fix your hair and lick your lips before your eyes focus on him at the table on the other side of the glass, a smile on his lips and a look of pure adoration in his eyes, you grin at him and raise your hand to wave with your fingers before heading inside, your body filled with butterflies and excitement as you open the door to what you hoped would be something that lasts forever.

#toshinori yagi fanfiction #toshinori x y/n #toshinori yagi x reader #toshinori yagi x you #toshinori x you #yagi toshinori #all might #all might x you #all might x reader #all might x y/n #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfiction

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dreadlockholiday · 4 years ago

Text

Stucky Fic Rec List #3

by @dreadlockholiday

Part #1 - #2 - #3 of my Rec List.

Note: ALL FICS ARE COMPLETE, some of them belong to a series with additional works.

🍃 Kiss With A Fist by IndigoNight - [Explicit; 5k words]

[Post-Azzano; Spanking; Bottom!Bucky; Cathartic Crying; Hurt/Comfort]

“Undress,” Steve orders, resting his back against the door for just a second while he braces himself for what he’s about to do. He’s only done something like this a few times before; usually it was Bucky pulling him back into line and draining the pent up rage out of him after yet another back alley fist fight. But now Bucky needs him, and he’s damn well going to do whatever Bucky needs.

*****

In the aftermath of Azzano, Bucky is drowning in the pent up rage and fear that he can't let go of. Fortunately, Steve is there to help.

🖤 i think i was blind before i met you by finnhoe - [Explicit; 15,6k words]

[College AU; Barista!Steve; Strangers to Lovers; Bottom!Bucky; Fast Burn]

steve is an unsuspecting barista at a university starbucks and bucky is a college student that just needs some sleep, godammit. making out, phone number exchanges, ice skating, and car sex ensues.

🌇 Every Now and Every Then by shouldbeover - [Explicit; 1,7k words]

[Canon Divergence; Post-Endgame; Retired Stucky; Vacation; Smut; Bottom!Steve]

Just a post-Endgame fixit. Steve and Bucky with no problems.

🌶️ you can't take heart and soul by @endofadream - [Explicit; 4,3k words]

[Canon Divergence; Bottom!Bucky; Rough Sex; Praise Kink; Mild Breathplay]

The way he arches is a thing of beauty: the late-afternoon light paints the wall in slanting tones of faded yellow, casting half of Bucky’s face in shadow. It highlights the arch of his cheekbones, the sculpted hollow of his cheeks. The fanned flutter of his lashes when he closes his eyes.

God. Steve had almost forgotten how good Bucky sounds when he begs. Breathy, a little high-pitched. Every bit Steve’s.

☕ Five times Steve didn't get his coffee, and one time he did by @deadto27 - [Gen; 8,7k words]

[Modern AU; A/B/O; Alpha!Steve x Omega!Bucky; Barista!Bucky; Pre-Serum Steve; Human Disaster Steve; Pining]

Steve just expects a normal morning, getting coffee from his favourite place. Instead, he's floored by the new barista, makes a fool of himself, and tries desperately to win his affection with courting gifts.

-----

For Steve, it’s like being struck by lightning.

One moment everything is the same as it always is, and the next, his world has turned upside down. It’s just visceral, his reaction. Every sense comes to life and he can’t focus on anything except the feeling that he’s just met the person he’s supposed to be with.

🍑 breathe & relax by freshwoods - [Explicit; 4k words]

[College AU; Massage; Ass Worship; Bottom! Steve]

Steve knows from personal experience just how good Bucky can be with his hands, and won’t look a gift-horse in the mouth.

🍓 Forgive Me If You Remember by Judeyjude - [Teen; 53,4k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Post Infinity War; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Falling in Love; Canonical Character Death; Grieving; Hurt/Comfort; Temporary Amnesia; Angst with a Happy Ending]

When they finally tumbled into bed, Bucky straddled Steve and said, “Just because we danced, doesn’t mean you can die.”

Steve pulled Bucky down and kissed him slowly. “Never,” he whispered in Bucky’s ear.

–

Part 1: In which Bucky yells at a National Icon, grieves the aftermath of the world losing half its population, and somehow falls in love along the way.

Part 2: When time rewinds five years, everything Bucky had ever wanted suddenly becomes true—to have his family back. The price paid? Worldwide memory loss.

🍽️ Happy Accidents by Slagathor99, art by @elkleggs - [Mature; 11,7k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Chef/Caterer!Bucky; Cooking; Domestic Fluff; Humor; Making Out]

Bucky and Steve have a date planned. A nice, romantic date. With, of course, some fun plans for "dessert." Which works great, because Bucky is pretty sure he's beginning to fall for Steve. Unfortunately, their kitchen equipment has other plans.

🌬️ one man loved the pilgrim soul in you by ourraeofsunshine - [Explicit; 1,7k words]

[College AU; English Major!Bucky; Smut; Bottom!Bucky]

Bucky doesn’t know when he starts crying, but his arms are wet when he lifts his head. A breeze comes in the window and presses against his face, each tear, and then Steve is there, pulling his head back and pressing a kiss until all the salt is gone and all that’s left is Steve.

Steve. Steve. Steve. This. This. This.

“Everything,” Steve says. “You are everything.”

+ Bonus Series

💫 Invisibuck by @im-weapon - [Explicit; 2 works; 22,5k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Invisible!Bucky; Dom/Sub Undertones; Bottom!Bucky]

-> Magpie - [10,9k words; Light Bonadage]

"I am picking up life signs indicative of a human adult male.”

“In my bedroom? That sounds unlikely,” Steve said, dryly.

“Nevertheless sir, my sensors are usually highly accurate.”

Steve hauled himself out of the chair on his balcony and silently slid the door open back to the interior of the apartment, high above the baking streets of Manhattan. He lowered his voice considerably, “What are they doing, and how did they get in?”

JARVIS’s voice emitted quietly from the wall closest to his left ear, “The thing is, captain, the intruder appears to be invisible.”

–

-> Not Sorry - [11,5k words; Kink Negotiaion; Praise Kink; Insecure Bucky; Spanking; Hand-feeding; Mild Breathplay]

“Bucky?”

“Bucky, I know you’re in here.”

“Bucky, if you don’t come out, I’m going to go out to eat dinner without you, and leave you locked in here to try and cook for yourself. We both know that won’t end well.”

Minutes of silence passed. Steve sighed and gave up, turning to fetch his jacket and bike keys from the bedroom. He had tried waiting patiently, bribery, asking questions he knew Bucky would feel compelled to answer but Bucky was clearly otherwise occupied in his invisible state. Probably having a crisis over his identity. Like he did every day.

#stucky fic rec #stucky fanfic #fic rec #rec list #dready's fic recs

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theyscreamjade · 4 years ago

Note

Y’know those bodycon knitted sweater dresses that fits the body just right? Since it’s sweater weather, can I request smut or nsfw hcs of Bakugo, Hawks, Shinsou, and Kirishima reacting to their thicc s/o wearing it? That shit is making her figure look illegally sexy (it’s cupping her tiddies and cake too well 👀) and she’s wearing leggings or thigh highs that make her legs and butt look 🤤immaculate🤤. I just wanna see em go feral when she does mundane things for them in it like offering hot chocolate and snacks, watching tv and looking too damn fine, or bending over to pick up something and her ass (plus arch) is finna make these guys go ham 🌚

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year.

Ohhh! I see you’ve chosen death I see. I hope you love it! As a gift to you all, HERE’s FOUR ALMOST SMUTS.

Side Note: I wanted to expand it from just dresses and sorta incorporated it into various outfits and things.

Disclaimer: (almost) NSFW

————————————————————————————————————————

Katsuki Bakugo

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your heels clicked while you scanned around for presents to gift your friends Kirishima and Tsu, which was going to be a difficult issue. Unsure of what they’d like and since your boyfriend knew them a bit longer than you did, You thought he’d be a help. BUT! He was too busy standing over you like a guard dog and glaring at every person that looks your way.

“Katsuki, Come on. We need to find a gift.” You whined as his red eyes snapped down to your view. He scoffed before crossing his arms, looking towards another store. “Shitty hair likes anything I’ll fuckin give him.” He said as something caught your eye. “That’s perfect!” You said, rushing over to the store where you spotted a Crimson Riot jacket for him. Your hand picked up the tag before a arm lifted you up without hesitation. “Katsuki! Katsuki! Put me down!” You demanded, trying to keep the large sweater down.

He carried you straight to the dressing room, grabbing the jacket from the rack. With a sudden drop, your body accidentally slammed against the wall inside the empty dressing rooms. “What are you doing?” You questioned quickly as he pulled your body close to him, his lips inches from yours while your eyes locked with one another.

“I’d keep my voice down, Teddy Bear..” he said softly before smirking. His hand slipped underneath your dress, his fingers lacing with your panties. “You expected me to keep my hands off you when you’re wearin this?” He asked even though your words were in your throat.

His dominant demeanor was displayed within the private room while your panties slid their way down your legs while you prayed that no one would discover you two.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hitoshi Shinsou

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hitoshi’s stare was intense, watching you while you joked with your friends Mina and Toru who wore pajamas like yours.

For some strange reason, Kaminari wanted to have a pajama party with everyone. Even though Hitoshi didn’t want to wear a stupid onesie with cats on it, you convinced him somehow. What you should’ve warned though, was what you’d be wearing and just how tight it was.

Denki suggested that everyone should sit down and watch a movie together inside his fairly large living room. You sat beside your boyfriend, leaning close to his open arms as his right hand wrapped around your waist. You bundled each other in a large fluffy blanket. Grinch played on the large tv while his hand slipped towards your thighs. Your breath hitched while you snapped your gaze to your boyfriend who stayed completely focused on the movie.

“Toshi..” you whispered softly before you felt fingers rub against your panties, almost making a moan slip from your mouth. You were about to question how in the hell did he do that yet..who said you wanted him to stop. “I can’t wait until they fall asleep..and I have you all to myself.” He whispered in your ear while the movie continued to play.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eijiro Kirishima

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

Your eyes sparkled, admiring the beautiful Christmas lights while the show hadn’t started yet. Kirishima wanted to have a relaxing day with you so he decided to take you out to the park to a beautiful Christmas light show. You basically walked through the park while thousands of lights sparkled and shined around you.

It was pretty late and everyone had disappeared, leaving you two lovebirds alone. The colors danced off your body while your outfit was rather..tight to say the least. Kiri tried his hardest to be manly and not crave the constant need to touch you but that ass looked scrumptious from afar.

“Sharky?” You called out, snapping him back to reality as he looked at you. “Yeah babe?” He retorted quickly, keeping his cool before you giggled softly. “Looks like we’re at the end, is there anything you’d like to do?” You offered with a smile. God, that smile you had just made him warm and fuzzy every time.

The sudden pop made you jump and face away from him as fireworks began to cover the dark starry sky. You admired the gorgeous flashes of light while you boyfriend wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. You couldn’t help but feel something hard pressing against your bottom, your eyes widened a bit as your boyfriend leaned in and kissed a small exposed part of your neck.

“I can think of a few things.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keigo Takami

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

You laughed softly, standing with your small group of colleagues. Mirko, Yu and Taishiro all stood with you, talking with one another like old time.

“It’s not the same without you, Y/N! You and I used to kick so many bastards asses together..” Mirko said, frowning at bit at your early retirement. You did retire pretty young, you were apart of the hero’s who was affected by One For All. He took your quirk and luckily you were found barley alive. Due to the incident, that’s how you met you husband by being his secretary.

“He’s living up to his her name.” Yu commented, pointing at the Pro-Hero who quickly snapped his gaze off you. You laughed softly at how adorable he was being even though it was a small gathering with all the hero’s. A Secret Santa party to be exact, everyone exchanged gifts and had fun with one another, discussing about either school things or villains butts they kicked.

You walked out of the large meeting room and walked towards the bathroom, walking inside. You examined your face closely, trying to fix the eyeliner smudges from laughing so hard when you heard the lock click. Your body spun as you faced his yellow ones. “Hey there, Kid.” He said with a smirk.

His hand gripped your ass, tugging the stitched fabric. You knew exactly what he wanted and he wasn’t going to stop until he did. “Keigo, We’re in public. What if someone hears?” You said quickly as he scooped you up and sat you on the cold sink.

“Then, Let them hear you Baby Bird..”

#my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero academia fanfiction #i hope you like this #my hero academia scenarios #bnha bakugo katsuki #bnha hawks #bnha shinso hitoshi #bnha kirishima #kirishima x reader #bakugo x reader #hawks x reader #hitoshi x reader

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xaphrin · 4 years ago

Text

Raven knew exactly what he was doing, and it was annoying. Her eye twitched as she saw the pamphlets laid out on their kitchen table, advertising far-off locations like Fiji and the Maldives, along with places closer to home like the Rockies or Sedona. Dick had been dropping hints for the past six months that they should get away, and it was nothing short of torture.

She didn’t have time to get away. Dick may have retired his cape in lieu of working a more traditional job with the Gotham city police department, but she hadn’t. Raven was still fighting super villains and wrangling a team of young superheroes. She appreciated his thoughtfulness, but there was no way she could leave the team in the hands of Changeling. That was asking for something to go horrifically wrong.

Raven heard the door open behind her, and she turned to see Dick standing there, shrugging off his uniform jacket. She kept her face blank and stared at him, letting a thin snarl tug at her lips. If he felt her animosity, he didn’t say anything.

“I’m thinking Thai for dinner. Gang Garee?” He ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out a few raindrops. “Or we can eat the leftover spaghetti you made last night… it was mostly edible.”

Her snarl turned into a scowl, and she crossed her arms over her chest. “Richard Grayson.”

“Oh. My full name. I must be in trouble.” He walked up to her and glanced down at the pamphlets, still spread along the table. A knowing smile pulled at his mouth. “I see you got my gifts…” He reached down and grabbed the pamphlet for the Rockies. “I’m leaning more towards the mountains… a chalet hidden from everyone. No cell phone service. Hot tub.” His grin widened.

Raven continued to glare. “I cannot take time off.”

“Yes, you can.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his demeanor slipping into that of a leader. He might have left the Titans years ago, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t pull rank on her. He could still exude that air of authority, and Raven usually fell in line - but not this time. She refused to let him boss her around like he still had sway over her professional life.

“I cannot. Kon and Cassie just got recruited to the team, and their discipline is abhorrent. I have to be here to make sure they don’t destroy half the city because they can’t control themselves.” Raven’s voice was low and firm. “Right now is not a good time to take off.”

“Yeah?” Dick lifted an eyebrow and stared into her face. “It’s never a good time. You’ve always got something going on. Something that needs your attention. Another fire you need to put out. You don’t give yourself enough time for you.” He reached down and grabbed the pamphlet for the Rockies again, pushing it towards her. “Next week. You’re packing your bags and you’re going to stay all week in a mountain chalet with me, where we will sit in a hot tub and watch the snow fall.”

“You don’t get to dictate that.” Raven’s voice was dripping venom.

“I do now.” He dropped the pamphlet back on the table. “I already talked to Vic and Donna. They’re ready to step into your place for a week and make sure your team doesn’t obliterate the city while you’re gone.”

“Dick… you don’t get to just upend my life because you think it’s necessary.” She sighed and her shoulders dropped, feeling the end of the argument starting to creep up on her. She was too tired to fight him for much longer.

“You haven’t taken a vacation in three years, Raven. You haven’t even taken a day off in two. And we haven’t had sex in a month. You’re overworked, underpaid, and everyone relies far too much on you.” His lips twitched. “I barely see you right now, and I’m married to you. I just want to spend time with you… preferably in a hot tub in the mountains, but I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.”

Guilt twisted in Raven’s chest, and she looked away from Dick’s striking blue eyes. Gods. She hated it when he was right. It annoyed her to no end. She had been so busy that she hadn’t even realized how tight she actually was. It was like she was a string that had been twisted too tight, and now she was ready to snap. If she didn’t take time to herself, she was going to hurt someone, and probably herself too.

“Vacation.” Dick stepped up to her, his hands settling on her hips as he pulled her close. His features softened just a little, and he pressed soft kisses along her hairline. “A hot tub in the mountains, staring at the night sky… making love by a roaring fire.” He kissed along her temple to her ear. “All day long.”

A shiver slid down her spine, and she found her fingers clinging to the front of his shirt. It had been far too long since she slept with her own husband. Her frown deepened. “I hate it when you’re right.”

He laughed and his hands tightened on her waist. “Yeah?”

Raven leaned up and kissed along the sharp line of his jaw. “Should we start our vacation early? I feel like I’m out of practice when it comes to making love.”

His grin widened. “Oh?”

“Mm.” Her hand slid down the front of his chest, flicking open the buttons on his uniform. “I think I might need to go a few rounds before I remember how.”

“Well…” His hands were already pulling at the hidden catches in her uniform, and the cool chill of the apartment started to soak through her bare skin. “Good thing you have a willing partner. I’m happy to help you practice.”

Raven just pulled him down for a kiss, and let herself enjoy a few blissful moments of peace.

#dickrae #robrae #(sorta)#xaphrin's birthday queue 2021

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years ago

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Home (Part 1)

Summary: Two years ago, you’d left behind your hometown and the love of your life to pursue your dream career, but returning for Christmas really made you start to second-guess that decision.

Pairing: Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Language

Author’s Note: A Christmassy one for ya’ll! This story is inspired by the requests above from @shawnie--jo, thank you for those and for the inspo! I couldn’t fit everything into a oneshot, so this may end up being three or four parts.

---

You stuffed your bag into the overhead locker and collapsed into your seat, completely exhausted.

Some chaos was to be expected when travelling so close to Christmas, but still, you really could've done without the three hour check-in queues and the chorus of screaming babies.

Leaning back in your chair and pulling on your headphones, you squeezed your eyes shut and just tried to think about all the things that would make this journey worth it, all the things you’d missed about Christmas with your parents.

The excitement on their faces as they greet you at the airport, your mother’s incredible home-cooking, your father’s insistence on playing charades three or more times a day. It was your first time visiting home since moving away two years ago, and you wanted the whole cosy, corny nine yards.

There was just one teensy little caveat to your relaxing family holiday- two years away from home meant two years since you'd seen Bucky.

You were childhood sweethearts, head over heels in love with each other for as long as you could remember and best friends for even longer. When you were offered a job across the country, you wanted so much for him to move with you, but he’d already promised his father that he’d take over the family car-repair business.

It was the most difficult decision of your life, but eventually the two of you agreed there was no choice but to separate.

Being away from him tore you apart for the first few months, but now you'd finally gotten back on your feet, and you were ready to come face to face with your past again.

Or so you thought.

---

Your parents pulled you into a tight bear-hug as soon as you walked through arrivals, taking your bags, talking your ear off and quickly ushering you to the car.

Amongst all the excited babbling, you just about managed to discern that they’d planned a welcome home party for you that night with half the neighbourhood, an announcement which triggered a mix of dread and excitement to begin churning in your stomach.

You were looking forward to seeing your oldest friend again, you just hoped to god that things wouldn’t be weird or awkward between the two of you.

After a short drive, the car pulled up outside your childhood home. Just seeing it from the outside made you feel all warm and cosy but, as soon as you glanced through the door, those feelings were amplified off the charts.

The place looked incredible. Your mother had obviously put so much effort into making it look cosy and festive, you even felt yourself tearing up a little when you stepped inside. It was so elaborate, you had half a mind to interrogate her about a possible Christmas with the Kranks scenario going down prior to your arrival, but you decided it was probably best to just keep your mouth shut.

After you’d looked around properly and unpacked, it was only a matter of hours before the first guests started arriving.

You downed two beers to loosen yourself up a little. Each time the bell went, your eyes snapped towards the door, the sound making your heart leap out of your chest. It felt like you were waiting to find out whether that hard mass in the bottom of your stocking was a big-ass diamond or a lump of coal.

When Bucky finally appeared in the doorway, your jaw almost hit the shag carpet. The last two years had been unreasonably good to him, he looked like James Dean but somehow even more buff.

The boy you'd left behind had become a man in your absence and sweet Jesus it was really making you feel some kind of way.

His eyes were frantically scanning the room but he hadn't spotted you yet, so you took the opportunity to sneak up behind him and tap him on the shoulder.

‘Hey, stranger.’

He swivelled round, his eyes lighting up when they met yours. Before he said a word, you were pulled into a tight hug, audibly gasping when you were lifted clean off the ground.

‘Where the hell you been, Lilypad?’

You burst out laughing, remembering falling into a pond on your seventh birthday and him never, ever letting you live down. A wave of happy memories flooded your mind, making you smile widely as he set you down.

‘Still the same old Yucky.’

‘Hey, we agreed you wouldn't call me that anymore.’

‘I'll stop calling you Yucky when you stop calling me Lilypad.’

The corners of his mouth curled into a mischievous smirk. ‘Never.’

And just like that, it felt as though you'd never left.

You were excited to be with your old friend again, you were happy that there seemed to be no awkwardness between the two of you, and you were really doing your very best to suppress all the other intense feelings that had surfaced as soon as he’d walked through the door.

‘Come on, I'll get you a drink.’ You grabbed his arm and dragged him through to the kitchen, rummaging around in the fridge while he leant against the counter next to you. ‘Are you still working for your dad?’

‘Yep. He's hoping to retire in the next few years, so I'll finally be taking over.’

‘That's so great, you're pretty much set for life with that place.’

He nodded faintly, burying his hands in his pockets and flicking his gaze down to the floor. ‘So how, uh- how long are you back for?’

‘I'm flying back early on the 31st.’

‘You’re not even staying for New Year?’ The hint of disappointment in his voice made you immediately stop what you were doing and look over to him, his face going a little red as he shifted around awkwardly. ‘Ah, I bet you got loads of invites to big, crazy city parties.’

‘If you call staring at a computer screen until 3am and slowly spiralling into madness a party.’

You passed him a beer, his eyes staying fixed on the bottle as he mumbled. ‘All the work will be worth it one day though, right?’

‘I hope so.’

Your eyes locked, a heavy silence falling between you. This was exactly the kind of uncomfortable atmosphere you were dreading.

Panicking a little, you vaguely gestured towards the living room. ‘I should probably, y’know, mingle.’

‘Sure. I'll find you later though Lilypad, we gotta catch up some more.’

You gave him a warm smile and nodded, turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

The next couple of hours seemed to blur together. You made meaningless small-talk with people you barely knew, all the time just thinking about Bucky, about how quickly things had gone from fun and light-hearted to incredibly tense.

You just hoped you could get things back on a good track before you had to leave, losing him completely was the very last thing you wanted.

Shuffling into the kitchen to grab yourself another drink, you noticed him duck out the back door. He must've hit his socialisation limit. The two of you used to reach that point around the same time at parties, so you'd slink out together and share a cheap cigarette.

Abandoning your freshly opened beer on the counter, you followed him out, finding him tucked away around the side of the house.

‘Right on time.’

His head snapped towards you, the cigarette almost falling from his mouth as he shot you a wide smile. ‘Am I that predictable?’

‘I just know you too well.’

You leant against the wall next to him, hugging your arms tight as you felt yourself start to shiver, cause you were the kind of idiot that went outside in December wearing short-sleeves. Bucky noticed straight away, letting out a gruff chuckle as he shrugged his jacket off his shoulders and wrapped it round you.

‘That cushy city life has made you soft.’ He rubbed your arms a little, trying to warm you up, before eventually bringing his hands to rest on your shoulders and fixing his gaze to yours. ‘I'm really glad you're here, Lilypad. I've missed you.’

‘I've missed you too, Buck. I've missed a lot of things about this place.’

‘So why don’t you stay longer?’

‘Believe me, I was lucky to get this much time off.’

His eyes narrowed slightly, a concerned frown spreading over his face as he folded his arms across his chest. ‘Is everything alright? I haven't heard much about this job but so far it's pretty much been all negative.’

‘Oh, I do love it, honestly I-’

‘Why would you even try lying to me? You know I can always tell.’

You couldn’t help cracking a slight smile at his smug expression. He was right, the last time you’d managed to successfully lie to him was in first grade when you told him you didn’t know where his crayon sharpener had gone, knowing full well it was stashed in your pocket.

‘It's just a lot.’ You rubbed your forehead exasperatedly. ‘Apart from the few hours of sleep I get each night, I'm pretty much constantly working. You asked earlier if it was worth it and, to be honest, I really don’t know.’

He nodded faintly, dropping his cigarette and crushing it under his foot, before opening his arms towards you.

‘C'mere.’

You didn't hesitate. Launching yourself towards him, you let him enclose you, squeezing your eyes shut and wrapping your arms around his neck.

‘You'll figure it out.’ He mumbled into your neck. ‘You always do.’

‘Thank you, Buck.’

After a minute or so, you both pulled away slightly, stopping when you came face to face. A lot of things about home had slipped your mind whilst you’d been away, but you’d never forgotten how gazing into Bucky’s piercing blue eyes made you feel.

That feeling had never changed, and you were sure it never would.

You dropped your hands to rest on his shoulders, your eyebrows shooting up when you noticed how rock-hard they were. ‘Jesus, Buck. I’ve only been gone for two years, have you been at the gym that whole time?’

‘Nope, just been working hard at the garage.’ What absolute bullshit. ‘But feel free to keep the compliments coming.’

You smirked and feebly shoved him away, turning to head back inside but stopping suddenly before taking a step. ‘Oh, you better pick that cigarette butt up or my mom will go ape shit.’

‘Good call.’

You slipped through the back door, passing his jacket back when he followed you in. The two of you couldn’t have been out there for more than a few minutes, but it seemed as though the crowd inside had really started thinning out.

Bucky’s parents strolled over when they spotted him, informing him of their intent to leave pretty soon too, so he gave you a long hug goodbye and made you promise that you'd see each other again before the end of the holidays.

The two of you had parted on a good note, which was all you’d wanted going into the party, but now you found that you were pretty keen to squeeze as many more good notes out of these next few days as you could.

It was probably best not to delve too deeply into the feelings behind that sentiment. So you didn’t.

You helped your parents tidy up, your eyelids drooping as the exhaustion from a long day of travelling and socialising finally set in. Just as you were about to head upstairs, your mother piped up, using her expertly crafted trying to appear casual despite being really very invested in what I’m asking tone.

‘It must've been nice seeing Bucky again.’

‘Oh yeah, definitely.’

‘He must've changed quite a bit since you were here last.’

You chuckled to yourself. ‘Physically, yeah, but he's still the same goofy dumbass he's always been.’

‘It's always a treat when he pops round, he's such a nice boy.’ A suspicious eyebrow crept up your forehead. ‘And he's still single y'know, he hasn't-’

‘Alright. That's my cue to go to bed.’

Your dad strolled over and gave you a firm pat on the back. ‘Good idea, sweetheart. Get out while you still can.’

‘Thank you. It's nice having one sane parent.’

‘Although, I do have to say, he has been very good to us since-’

‘Dad!’ He raised his arms in surrender, using one hand to zip up his mouth. ‘Lord help me. Goodnight, crazies.’

You quickly escaped up the stairs. Stumbling into your room and pulling on your pyjamas, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in the pillows and letting out a long, exhausted sign.

As you drifted off to sleep, all the stress of the day melted away, leaving a single thought to echo around your mind.

You’d really overestimated how over Bucky you were.

---

Part 2

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Permanent Taglist: @nnuree @tcc-gizmachine @somewhatasoftbaddie @emmabarnes @juenenfeu @linkpk88 @ddowii

Join my permanent taglist here or let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist for this story

---

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goodlucktai · 4 years ago

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the ship sways but the heart is steady

chapter three: build bridges with these arms

the untamed pairing: jiang cheng & wei ying, lan zhan/wei ying, jiang cheng/wen qing word count: 3794 summary: Wei Ying’s friends are at rock-bottom, and Wei Ying puts his life on hold to help them put theirs back together. To absolutely no one’s surprise except Wei Ying’s, his family goes with him. read on ao3

Jiang Cheng doesn’t remember dropping the phone, but he must have, because Wen Qing is holding it now and talking to A-Li in the sharp, rapid-fire way she speaks when she’s frightened. He doesn’t remember getting off the couch or leaving the room, but he’s pacing back and forth on the veranda, the warm glow of the porch light pushing away encroaching nightfall. And he doesn’t remember Wei Ying coming after him, but his brother is there, watching with wide, anxious eyes, his hands balled into fists in the front of his shirt.

“I don’t fucking believe it,” Jiang Cheng bites out, his heart beating so fast it’s painful. “I can’t believe she didn’t fucking—she didn’t fucking call? She couldn’t let us know that—that our sister—”

“Maybe she meant to,” Wei Ying says hoarsely. “Maybe she—forgot.”

“Our mother never forgot a single thing in her fucking life as long as she could hold it against us.” He’s so angry he feels brittle with it, as though moving too much or too fast would cause his body to break. “A-Li asked her to call us and she didn’t. A-Li wanted us there and we weren’t.”

His baby nephew was coming early, and his sister was having an emergency C-section, and his brother-in-law was pacing a waiting room by himself for hours waiting desperately for good news, and Jiang Cheng was just fucking around in a lake the whole time.

A-Li’s voice was so tired and shaky that Jiang Cheng knew, inherently, how bad it was.

She didn’t say it on the phone, of course she didn’t, but she didn’t need to. All of Jin Ling’s useless uncles have been reading every article about pregnancy and prenatal care that they could get their hands on from the moment A-Li told them she was expecting, and they each, to a man, could probably write a white paper on the risks of preterm labor.

Yanli could have died from complications. It wasn’t unheard of even now, in the twenty-first century. She could have bled too much, could have been gone, and Jiang Cheng wouldn’t have known until it was too late. He wouldn’t have been there to hold her.

Mother was supposed to call. She didn’t.

It’s like the sudden collapsing of some integral foundation. The weight-bearing limit was reached and the floor is crumbling beneath him and this building he’s lived in his whole life that he mistook for mortar and stone is actually some childish construction of paper and wax. This place he thought would withstand storm and fire and erosion is finally falling apart after so many years of careful repairs, so much frantic patchwork.

Mother hurt them over and over and over again, but she was still their mother. Family is just hard, Jiang Cheng had always thought. Family hurts. That’s just the way it is, it just costs you every day, and you’re always discovering how much farther you can push your threshold, how much more you can actually take.

Except... his siblings never hurt him. Never on purpose. He doesn’t look at A-Li or A-Ying and feel anything but fondness and exasperation and loyalty for them. He would do anything for them.

Wen Ning plainly adores his sister, and Wen Qing’s world revolves around her brother. None of their immediate relatives stepped in to help them after the fire, clearly screening their calls, none of them eager to sacrifice their time or money, but Granny has been almost a constant presence in their lives since they got here. She adopted all of them, no relation required.

Wei Ying came to the Jiangs when he was five, an emergency placement with the second family listed on his parents’ will, because his legal godfather was dealing with the death of his brother and sister-in-law, and the subsequent adoption of his young nephews. By the time Lan Qiren could be reached and came dashing to New York, it had been almost a week, and Wei Ying and A-Li and Jiang Cheng were all comfortably attached at the hip.

Rather than uproot his traumatized godson again, so soon after the initial upheaval of his young life, Lan Qiren reached an agreement with mother and father to let Wei Ying stay with them. He paid for all of Wei Ying’s expenses and then some. Jiang Cheng only knows because mother likes to complain about being short-changed when she’s drunk.

And then when his nephews were a little older, and he could step down from his role as director of a ridiculously prestigious music school, Uncle Qiren retired, and relocated his family from Suzhou to New York City. Wei Ying always had a second place to go home to if he needed one. His siblings were always welcome there, too. Uncle Qiren was strict and never let them get away with a goddamn thing, but he keeps all their pictures on his desk.

Family, Jiang Cheng finally realizes at twenty-three years old, isn’t supposed to hurt.

You’re supposed to be loved. You’re not supposed to have to buy it.

Wei Ying is crying in that awful, silent way he cries, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed to make a sound. Jiang Cheng storms over and drags him into a hug that’s probably too tight, and Wei Ying hugs him back just as hard, and for a moment that’s all there is.

Night is creeping in around them, inky and inexorable. They’re suspended in the warm orange porch light like a couple of sailors marooned at sea. Jiang Cheng holds onto his brother, and finally lets go of someone else.

It is silently agreed-upon that Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying need to see their sister. Wei Ying tries to apologize for leaving in the middle of retiling one of the bathrooms and Wen Qing gets properly angry with him for it.

“He’ll finish when he comes back,” Jiang Cheng promises, which ends up sounding more like a promise that they’re going to come back at all.

“The tiles in the bathroom are literally the least of my concerns,” Wen Qing snaps, and that sounds more like she’s saying she doesn’t need a promise, she knows they will.

They barely pack anything, they just sort of move around the house in anxious circles until the airport shuttle shows up, and then they shove on their shoes and grab blindly for bags and jackets.

Goodbyes are made on the veranda. After living together and rebuilding a home together, the embraces come easily. Jiang Cheng doesn’t even have a chance to feel self-conscious about any of it.

“The tickets should be in your email,” Lan Zhan says.

Wei Ying checks his phone and frowns. “You only got two?”

Lan Zhan says, “I will stay here.”

His eyes are dark and unreadable, but Wei Ying must see something in them that Jiang Cheng doesn’t. He drops his bag and shuffles forward and Lan Zhan puts his arms around him. He stands there like some ancient, immovable structure, like a load-bearing wall, like Wei Ying could bring absolutely anything to him and Lan Zhan would help him hold it.

“Give the bunnies a hundred kisses for me while I’m gone,” Wei Ying mumbles against Lan Zhan’s shoulder, muffled and wet in a telling way.

“A hundred kisses,” Lan Zhan agrees solemnly, and presses the first one into Wei Ying’s hair.

A-Yuan, holding Wen Ning’s hand, largely confused and a little troubled by the tense atmosphere, earnestly assures that he’ll take care of the bunnies. Wei Ying ruffles his hair playfully, and then finally seems ready to go.

“Try not to let the place fall apart without me,” Jiang Cheng says to Wen Qing.

“I’ll do my best,” she replies. She doesn’t reach out to him with her hands, but her eyes seem to.

Jiang Cheng can’t get her eyes out of his head.

Yanli is pale and tired and beautiful. She lifts her head as they come into her private hospital room, and then lifts her arms immediately, and Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying both run to her like they’re children again. She’s sobbing, trying to wrap her frail arms around them as hard as she can.

“I missed you so much,” she says. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Jiang Cheng can’t think of how close they came to losing her or he’ll go insane. He just sits on the edge of the bed and holds both of his siblings and doesn’t make fun of Wei Ying for crying as much as Yanli.

Jin Zixuan comes in with a nurse and a bassinet at that point, and there are deep bruises under his eyes and his clothes are as unkempt as Jiang Cheng has ever seen them, but he’s smiling.

The nurse bustles around cheerfully, checking vitals and talking to A-Li about how well the results of some screening or another turned out, but Jiang Cheng can’t focus on anything except the tiny little swaddle of butter-yellow blankets that Jin Zixuan is lifting out of the bassinet.

“A-Ling, this is your Uncle Cheng,” Jin Zixuan says softly, passing the infant into Jiang Cheng’s arms. He doesn’t take his hands away until Jiang Cheng’s apparent panic must have faded, and then he’s suddenly sitting there holding his nephew.

Jin Ling is faintly purple, and his tiny limbs are all curled up like he still hasn’t realized he has room to stretch them out now, and his face is pinched in a moue of absolute distaste for the world in general.

“Oh my god,” Wei Ying says. He leans against Jiang Cheng’s shoulder, smoothing a finger against the soft mop of dark hair on Jin Ling’s head, and the tiny seashell curl of his ear, impossibly gentle. “What a weird-looking baby.”

“Shut up, you asshole,” Jiang Cheng snaps. Now he’s crying, too. “He’s perfect.”

Yanli is beaming at them, leaning into the arm that Jin Zixuan wraps around her shoulders, and asks about California. Wei Ying launches into animated chatter about all their projects and all their progress. Surrounded by them, some jangling, dislocated thing in Jiang Cheng’s chest finally begins to settle.

The day that A-Li and Ling-er are discharged from the hospital, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng are skulking around the overpriced gift shop on the first floor. Lan Huan is with them, and Jiang Cheng is trying to talk him down from spending eighty dollars on a giant teddy bear, when he sees her.

His mother, making her way through the lobby toward them. Something cold and sharp replaces the warm golden core of him in an instant. He puts a hand on Lan Huan’s shoulder and says, “Keep my brother here.”

Lan Huan blinks. His eyes follow Jiang Cheng’s gaze, and his pleasant expression sours.

“Of course,” he says. “He can help me pick out a bear.”

“Jesus christ, with the bears,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and shoulders past him to get out of the gift shop, cutting his mother off outside the door.

“So you’re finally home,” she says by way of greeting. “Did you enjoy your vacation?”

“We’re not doing this here,” he mutters, hyper-aware of Wei Ying puttering around somewhere not even ten feet away. Turning on his heel, Jiang Cheng leads the way past the gift shop, away from the busy atrium and the receptionist’s desk, trusting his mother’s need to have the last word will compel her to follow.

He stops abruptly in an empty hallway somewhere between the billing and record departments and turns to face her.

“I didn’t come here today to play childish games,” mother says, sounding weary of him, of all things.

And it hurts, how much Jiang Cheng still loves her. How much he still wants to love her. His entire life is a series of attempts to trick her into feeling something for him, feeling anything for him. Trying to win her affection. Attempting the impossible.

“You didn’t call,” he says.

Yu Ziyuan scoffs. “You made it fairly clear that you weren’t interested in anything I had to say to you.”

“A-Li wanted you to call,” Jiang Cheng insists, the temper he inherited cresting inside him like a wave, or a wall of fire. “She could have—do you even care that she could have died? That she was scared? She wanted you to call us. And you just decided not to, to get back at us for disobeying you? I’m twenty-three years old! If I want to go to California to help my friends, I’ll go to fucking California!”

He’s never in his life raised his voice at her like this. A small, childish corner of his heart quails from the stunned anger on her face.

He clenches his fists to keep his hands from shaking.

“You stay the fuck away from us,” Jiang Cheng snarls. “All of us. I mean it. We’re done.”

Family, he thinks, isn’t supposed to hurt.

When he starts to step past her, mother grabs his arm hard enough that her long nails manage to pinch even through the sleeve of his denim jacket.

Knee-jerk, he rips himself away from her. He never forgets to flinch.

His mother stares at him like she’s never seen anything like him before, her hand hovering in the air between them. Jiang Cheng takes a step back, and then another.

He thinks of his sister’s precious life, his nephew’s, used as some sort of bargaining chip.

“We’re done,” he says. It comes out quieter than he meant for it to. It comes out sounding like he really, actually means it.

If something flickers in his mother’s expression, if her hand trembles, if she shifts towards him, he doesn’t see it. He’s already spinning around and heading back the way he came, not quite fast enough to call it fleeing. When Jiang Cheng rounds the corner, he runs headlong into someone who catches him by the shoulder before he can stumble.

Wei Ying’s gray eyes are wide and full of pain. Jiang Cheng doesn’t need to know how much he overheard to know that all that hurt is for Jiang Cheng’s sake, and A-Li’s, with hardly any left over for himself. Wei Ying never had to wonder if Yu Ziyuan loved him—he always knew she didn’t, no matter how much his siblings tried to convince him she did.

Jiang Cheng sinks forward against him, head falling against Wei Ying’s shoulder. He’s still trembling with anger, but now it feels more like grief.

Wei Ying hugs him, cheek pressed to Jiang Cheng’s hair, and after a moment he rocks them both from side-to-side.

“Come on, A-Cheng,” he says gently. “You’ll feel better once you see how much Lan Huan spent on Ling-er’s teddy bear.”

“Oh my god,” Jiang Cheng mutters. He already feels a little bit better.

They end up leaving a week later. A-Li promises to come visit the second the baby is cleared for travel, and kisses Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying both on the cheek. Jin Zixuan waves goodbye at them with Ling-er’s tiny hand.

Flying stand-by gets them home whole hours ahead of schedule, and they land in California at something like two in the morning. Neither of them want to wake up their friends, so they spend a small fortune on an Uber instead.

Predictably, Wei Ying’s eyelids start to droop the second the car pulls onto the highway. Jiang Cheng only nudges him awake when they enter city limits. As they pass the township sign, Jiang Cheng’s heart twists in his chest, like a dog perking up at the sound of a key in the front door. The Uber driver squints in confusion at the GPS screen, so Wei Ying leans up over the middle console to direct him down the proper county road.

They pull up in front of the villa and Jiang Cheng’s whole body sort of sighs in relief.

Wei Ying is beelining towards the front door before Jiang Cheng is even entirely out of the car, juggling bags to dig his keys out of his pocket. He’s got that look on his face of single-minded focus, a look that says he is going to get to his fiance in the next two minutes even if he has to break a window to do it.

“You’re so dumb,” Jiang Cheng says, and shoulders him aside to unlock the door.

“Your face is dumb,” Wei Ying retorts maturely. He kicks off his boots and drops his bags by the door, and then races for the stairs like it’s been thirteen years since he’s seen Lan Zhan instead of like thirteen days. “Night!” he whisper-shouts over his shoulder.

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes and locks the door behind him. He leans against the wall to tug the laces of his sneakers loose and tosses them toward the shoe rack. Shouldering Wei Ying’s bags with his own he deposits all of them inside the big French armoire that functions as an entry-way closet.

Reflexively, he checks in on the rabbits on his way through the living room. They’re fast asleep in their expansive two-story hutch that sprawls half the length of the wall. Muttering derisively about his brother’s taste in men, Jiang Cheng snags a blanket off the back of the sofa and steps through the narrow doorway into the den.

Wen Qing is fast asleep at her desk, face buried in her folded arms. She’s been doing this ever since she resumed her classes.

Shaking his head, Jiang Cheng leans over her laptop to save all her work, then closes it so it’ll have some battery life left in the morning. He drapes the blanket over her slumped shoulders carefully.

“I’m home,” he tells her quietly. She doesn’t wake up, but he didn’t mean for her to.

Wei Ying is greeted the next morning by a screech. A-Yuan flings himself away from the breakfast table to attach himself to Wei Ying’s leg.

“You’re back!”

“I’m back!” Wei Ying says, hauling the kid up into his arms. “And I brought you so many souvenirs from New York!”

There are mouth-shaped bruises on Wei Ying’s neck, because of course there are. Jiang Cheng prays to god for any shred of fucking patience and pointedly doesn’t look at him or Lan Zhan. How fucking dare they be like that right in front of his eggs.

When they’ve eaten, Granny says, “Everyone has a big surprise for you two. They hurried to get it done before you got home. A-Ning, go find your sister. Let’s show them.”

They’re shuffled outside, through the conservatory and down the back steps, and Jiang Cheng sees it a half-second before Wei Ying does. He grins, full and wide, and hears his brother gasp.

“You finished the dock!” Wei Ying yells. “It looks amazing!”

He goes running down the hill with Wen Ning and A-Yuan like a summer storm composed of loud, delighted noises and waving limbs. Lan Zhan follows slowly with Granny hanging onto his arm. Jiang Cheng watches after them, reaching into the corners of his chest for the pain that always comes hand-in-hand with moments of impossible joy like this, but he can’t seem to find it.

“The contractor said he would give us an estimate on a pavilion,” Wen Qing’s voice says from behind him.

Jiang Cheng turns to find her standing on the porch, leaning against the door, her hair still messy from sleep. She’s holding the blanket around her shoulders where he left it. Her eyes are reaching for him.

He’s braver than he was when he left.

“That’s a pretty permanent fixture,” Jiang Cheng says, heart beating wildly. “You sure you’re invested in something like that?”

She sighs in that way that means she’s laughing and comes down the steps to join the rest of her family by the water.

When the pavilion is finished, they have a wedding there.

It’s a small ceremony. The Lans are invited, of course, along with Jin Zixuan’s half-brother and a scattering of close friends, like Mianmian and Nie Huaisang. A-Yuan is the ring-bearer, and when he’s successfully delivered the rings to the grooms, he lifts his arms in a bid to be held.

Laughingly, Wei Ying scoops him up. His hair is loose and his eyes are bright, and Lan Zhan is looking at him the way he’s always looking at him, like he would follow him absolutely anywhere.

Just this once, Jiang Cheng will allow it.

The daylight is fading fast, and the night is going to be perfect and clear. Yanli and Wen Ning are spinning each other around in time to the music, totally out of step with everyone else and laughing brightly. Granny is taking a fussy A-Ling back up to the villa to put him to bed in the nursery that every single one of them spent way too much time and energy on, leaving Jin Zixuan free to nurse a glass of sparkling grape juice and stare judgmentally at his half-brother for flirting with Lan Huan. Jiang Cheng might join him for some judgmental staring, actually.

Wei Ying and Lan Zhan are slow-dancing with a giggling A-Yuan held between them. The water rocks gently against the posts, crowded with the lily pads and lotus flowers that Jin Zixuan carefully maintains for A-Li. Wen Qing crosses the dock to Jiang Cheng, and her hand slips easily into his.

And none of it hurts. It isn’t supposed to.

Their house waited empty for a long, long time, but they’re all finally home.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #yunmeng shuangjie #wangxian #jiang cheng #wei ying #wen qing #lan zhan #jiang yanli #my writing #mdzs fic #the ship sways

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jimlingss · 5 years ago

Text

A Promise of Freedom

↳ This oneshot is a continuation of this drabble

➜ Words: 8.8k

➜ Genres: 60% Angst, 40% Fluff, Wartime!AU

➜ Summary: War is cruel and its inhumanity has not spared you. Captured by the enemy, you were brought to the front lines to heal their wounded. But after one night of saving a particular man’s life, he swears to fulfill any wish of yours.

“What do I do?” It’s a question you’re frequently asked and you’re never quite sure how to answer. Everyone thinks you have the solution, that you can bring the dead back to life, that you can rescue the wounded. But you aren’t god. You don’t have healing hands. Even if they point their guns at you, you don’t have the powers of revival. Most often than not, it’s your body that’s moving on its own from muscle memory and sheer adrenaline than having a moment to sit still and truly think. If you had a moment to think anyways, it wouldn’t certainly be about healing the enemy. “Doctor!” You’re called by the young boy with watery eyes, a poor apprentice trying to learn from you. You wonder what he did wrong to be brought to the front lines with such little medical knowledge, but you haven’t had the strength to develop a deep enough relationship to ask and pry. Everyone had their own stories of being here. Yours is one you don’t really want to think about. “Give me the scissors, quickly.” It’s another night without sleep — one where you’re at others beck and call, too few materials and resources and much too many wounded and moaning out for their loved ones. You don’t know how to fix an arm that’s been detached, heal someone’s face that has melted in fire, put back the pieces of someone who’s stepped on a grenade. You don’t know what to do. They should’ve killed you instead. “Are you alright?” You’re asked in the midst of the chaos by a man with doe eyes who’s clutching his chest that’s been bandaged underneath the loose shirt that he wears. He grips the door frame of where his room is at the back, a quiet sanctuary meant for his alone. You barely have time to look at Corporal Jeon when you’re tending to an infected solder’s gash. The nurse beside you, on the other hand, is distracted by his presence. Admittedly, he has a striking appearance when washed and not on the battlefield and a naturally commanding aura. “You shouldn’t be standing, Corporal.” You turn to the nurse, capturing her attention again. “Please see what medication is left. It should be in the top drawer of the second cabinet.” She nods and stands to rush to the back area. He looks around the room to the nurses flurrying about, each calling you for different reasons. “Is there anything I can do for you?” “There is nothing,” you say sadly, eyes meeting his before the nurse returns and you give further instructions. It’s not until an hour before dawn where things have settled and you step away. There’s always more that you can do — but you’ve quickly learnt that there’s little that you can do to actually help. You can't perform miracles. All you know is how to apply the knowledge you’ve been taught and try to make use of the tools around you to stitch together what’s been torn apart. And in the moment that you have time, you return to the sanctuary of your most important patient. Arguably, your favourite. “Did you get any sleep yet?” he asks the moment you enter. “I will later.” “You could always sleep here if you need to.” At the way you look at him, the man quickly adds, “If your own place is inadequate.” A smile forms at your lips, one that he barely sees when you dip your head. “Thank you for your consideration, Corporal.” You approach and begin unbuttoning his shirt without asking to check his bandages. It’s quiet, intimate even. You aren’t ignorant to the way he stares at you, how his breath seems to slow, but you focus on your task and find the wound’s closed up nicely. “It’s looking better. You might be able to return soon, but you still need to take it easy.” “Are you tired?” Your eyes flicker up and you assure him, “I can handle more than you think I can.” “It’s not that I doubt your abilities. I know you are capable.” “Good.” A smile comes across your face — you didn’t think you could remember how to smile until you met him. “I once ran through the forest, sprained my ankle and sliced open my leg but healed myself with the things around me. Of course, I was caught. Evidently. But I survived, didn’t I?” You’re not sure at what cost, but it is what it is. “You’re brave,” Jungkook says as you wrap his chest again and he lifts his arms slightly to give you room to. “You would’ve made a better soldier than I.” You scoff lightly. “You flatter me.” His eyes search your expression. “I am sincere.” “And that’s what makes it difficult,” you murmur, incidentally leaning close to his body when you pull the bandages around his backside. “My mother once told me to stay away from men like you.” The corner of Jungkook’s mouth curls. “Men like me?” You stand, putting away the materials that have been pulled from their place by the frantic nurses from earlier. He watches your backside as you organize. “Men who know how to speak well.” “I am a man of my word. I keep my promises,” he insists and then lightens the mood with a quip— “I am sure your mother would find me a very proper young man.” “Perhaps. But that’s if my mother is still alive.” At once the tension returns, but it’s darker and solemn. It’s a reality that you’ve long come to terms with, not knowing if your family is dead or alive, but clearly one that Jungkook is not used to by his expression. You clear the lump in your throat, changing the topic before exhaustion overwhelms you and you begin to cry. “Would you like to go outside? You’ve been stuck in this room for a long time. I can help you.” “I would love to.” It’s a brief period where the sky has begun to lighten up but the darkness has yet to be dispelled away. You can still see the night sky and the numerous stars that take their place above. Jungkook’s arm is wrapped around your shoulder, leaning onto you slightly with another hand pressing to his chest. You make sure to keep your own arm secure around his torso to help hold him up. But it doesn’t stop you from gazing at the horizon, taking in the scene and breathing in the fresh air instead of the scent of sticky iron. “You know, I never got to see the stars like this.” When you turn your head, your eyes meet with Jungkook’s. “Back where I used to live, there were too many lights to see them.” He hums but doesn’t gaze at the stars like you do. He instead pins his eyes to your profile. “Well, when you’re in the middle of nowhere, it’s easy to see the stars.” He smiles when you do. “You’re right.” // There are little freedoms that you have. Not that you expected much in the middle of warfare. But often times you might be standing still for a moment, trying to feel the rumble of the faraway explosions of the battlefield not far from where you are or watching the way the smoke of fires curl in the air, only to be pushed aside and told to move along. The price of keeping you alive after all is that you keep your head down and work as fast as possible, as good as possible. You are the only doctor here — the only one that they could keep in this place. But ever since Jungkook’s arrival, he’s given you something that money can’t buy. Moments. He’s given you small moments that keep your sanity above water, small moments that you’ve begun to cherish and long for during difficult times. Where you don’t have to be pushed into the face of the wounded and the crying, told to fix them without knowing how. With Jungkook’s position, no one dares to shove you in his presence. “How could you hate sweets?” You’re absolutely appalled and the man grins, front teeth peeking out and eyes crinkling. It makes him appear like his actual age for once and not a worn down soldier that’s a few decades from retirement. “I just prefer savoury foods.” “But you don’t like chocolates?” Jungkook hums. “Not particularly.” It’s a terribly petty and mundane conversation, but a kind that you don’t have often. You shake your head in disapproval and it only rouses more chuckles from him. “Officer Jeon!” The banter is interrupted by a young soldier, no more than eighteen, running his way and waving an envelope. “You have a letter from General Min.” “Thank you.” He receives it and the soldier salutes him before moving on his way. Jungkook rips it open and his eyes skim along the lines. Once finished, he finds you with a raised brow. “Officer Jeon? I thought you were a Corporal.” The corner of his mouth curls. “You must’ve read my badges wrong.” You think back to them but are unable to recall. He hasn’t worn his jacket since he arrived here and when he did, you merely had a second to glance at them, only knowing he was important enough to warrant his own doctor and room. “Why didn’t you ever correct me?” He looks over the horizon, a smile still placed on his features. “It’s kind of nice to hear that I’m a corporal again. Fewer responsibilities,” he murmurs, so quietly that you almost miss it. Then he smiles. “Why don’t you just call me Jungkook?” His eyes meet yours. “But isn’t that improper? Won’t I get into trouble?” “Then you can call me that when we’re in private. It’s been a long time since someone’s called me casually, and I’d like to call you by your name too instead of doctor. You’re more than that, right, Y/N?” A light scoff spills out of you but you don’t hate the idea. In this place, they’ve only ever called you by doctor. To hear the syllables of your name fall from his lips, your ears tickle. It’s been so long that it almost sounds foreign to you. You forgot that’s what your name sounded like. “Okay, Jungkook.” You nod, giving into his will and his boyish grin spreads into his cheeks. Your eyes flicker down to the paper he still holds. “What did the letter say?” “Oh.” He’s taken from the moment, lips slowly falling again. “I’m being called back.” You don’t say a word, neither one of comfort or acknowledgment. It was inevitable after all. These moments are just that — moments. Tiny increments of time that are fleeting. But you know you’ll miss his company when he leaves. Jungkook has been the only one who has treated you so well.

Life continues on with or without Jungkook — something you come to terms with easily when there’s so much to do. But that doesn’t mean his presence isn’t missed. You discover yourself staring at the doorway to the back often as if waiting for him to emerge, grip the wooden frame for leverage and give a soft smile from across the room. Other times it’s when you're grabbing syringes or bandages that you shift around as if expecting him to be laying on the bed in the corner watching you. It’s not until someone calls you urgently that your trance is shattered. You can only sigh when those memories resurface. They’ll always be fond to you — you’ll always be fond of Jungkook. But you try to not miss him. The two of you lead different lives after all and you don’t expect to see him ever again. You don’t expect him to return. You don’t want him to return. Doing so would mean he’s injured. Any day that you don’t see him is a lucky one. “Who’s the doctor here?!” a soldier bellows from the entrance and all the nurse’s heads swivel towards you. He approaches and hands you an envelope. You notice that it’s been open and likely read. “It’s a letter from Officer Jeon.” “T-Thank you.” The soldier walks away and you stare at it for a second before slipping it in your pocket, opting to read it later in private without the prying eyes of the nurses and apprentice. And it’s the next day before dawn that you’re finally able to have some time to yourself. At first, it’s puzzling. Jungkook’s letter is short and dry with brief sentences. He tells you that your instructions and ointment works well, that his wound is perfectly healed and that he sleeps well these days. But you begin to understand when he tells you that he’s had a dream recently. A dream about going to a place with so many lights that you could never see the stars. He’s coming for you. You can read in between the lines and you know. But you’re uncertain of his methods, when or how, merely that he’s going to keep his word and get you out of this place. And that alone is enough to give you the strength to hold your head higher. // It’s a few weeks later that you’re suddenly shaken awake in the middle of the night. At first, you’re alarmed that someone’s in your tent. You wheeze, rushing upwards and afraid that this is it. You’ll be dragged out, executed because they don’t need you anymore, because the apprentice has finally learnt enough to take over your position. Or worse, they’ll have their fun with you before disposing your body and never allowing you to see the light of day again…. But a hand cups your mouth before you can scream. A familiar, soothing voice calls to you and you find doe eyes too tender to belong to a soldier. “It’s me. It’s okay.” You peel his palm off and his name stutters out of you like it’s a song you haven’t sung since childhood— “J-Jungkook?” He nods. “Are you ready to go?” “Right now?” your whisper is harsh as your eyes narrow in the darkness. The moonlight provides little light in your translucent tent. “There’s a boat leaving tomorrow off the West harbour with other refugees. It’ll take a day to get there, but we can make it if we leave right now.” There’s too many questions to ask, too many things you want to say to him. But you don’t hesitate. You take his hand. Jungkook smiles and pulls you up to your feet. He gives you different clothes that you easily change into and asks if there’s anything you want to take. But they had burnt all your belongings when you were first captured, so with just the clothes on your back and a sack of stale bread, you and Jungkook evade the soldiers making their rounds and escape. He seems to know what direction he’s going in and walks in assurance. To you, it’s always been an abyss of nowhere. You’ve always known you wouldn’t have gotten far on your own. But with Jungkook, your desires may come to fruition. Still, you linger and look behind you when the camp becomes the size of your fingers. Jungkook notices that you’re dawdling and turns around. “What’s wrong?” “I just….wonder if it’s wrong for me to leave them behind for my own selfish reasons.” Your gaze meets his. “No one knows as much as I do. No one has as much medical knowledge. They might be my enemy, but they’re still people.” People that will die without your help. Suddenly, your thoughts are interrupted when Jungkook wraps his hand around yours. It’s a comforting squeeze that he gives, his eyes softened. “It’s okay to be selfish, you know.” There’s a second stolen, one where he allows you to make your own decision. Then you nod and your steps sync with his, making your way towards freedom. You can’t save everybody. But it’s time to save yourself. // The night is colder than you ever realized. You’re used to shivering under thin blankets or letting the chills creep through the tent walls while you work until dawn tending to the wounded. But being out in the open, underneath the stars and trekking through the forest reminds you of the night before you were captured. For a moment, you wonder if this is a trap. In the short time that you’ve gotten to know Jungkook, you’ve come to find that he’s righteous and full of honour. There’s no reason why he should help you and in turn sabotage his people. But you trust him. Perhaps it’s naive, but the last dwindling hope you have has been placed on him. And if you die, then that’s fine too. You’ve run from death long enough. “Are you okay?” he asks, shattering the silence and brushing away some branches in your path. “I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.” “You can tell me if you’re tired. We can stop if you’d like or we can slow down.” “Are you underestimating me, Jungkook?” A tiny smile finds its place on your features, lightening the mood and the corners of his mouth curls too. “I just don’t want you to try to endure it, Y/N. You can lean on me if it’s difficult.” He is gentle, more than what you’re used to for someone who fights on the battlefield and gives orders for others to slaughter your people. “As I thought, you’re good at sweet-talking, aren’t you, Jungkook?” Your quip draws a sigh out of him. “I mean it though.” “I know. Doesn’t mean it isn’t sweet.” Just as he has offered, you lean in closer to him to keep warm. “You don’t seem much like an officer, Jungkook.” He grins. “Then what do I seem like?” “A young man,” you say, turning to him. “Maybe someone I would’ve met back in my town.” Jungkook hums and the two of you quietly wonder what that would’ve been like. If your people weren’t at war with one another, if you had lived near each other and met during a time of peace. It’s a sad hypothetical, one you wish would be real but it’s just that — a hypothetical. // When daylight breaks through the horizon and you take a break to rest your feet, you realize the air has become salted. The humidity makes the sweat stick to your skin, your hair clumped together, the moisture making it harder to breathe. “We’re getting close,” Jungkook tells you. “It should be another hour before we’re there.” “How’d you even know that they’ll be a boat of refugees there?” “Things trickle down the grapevine and you hear them when you’re in the position that I’m in.” He smiles. “It came up when I was doing some digging.” “You didn’t get in trouble?” you ask, still not knowing how he managed to even get to you. But Jungkook merely shakes his head. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.” The pair of you reach the end of the forest in the next hour, a place where the trees have stopped growing and the slope morphs to dirt then sand. You can see the blue-gray ocean that morphs into the dark skies, the tides kissing upon shore and bubbles fizzing in sea foam. But before you call Jungkook in excitement, have the moment where liberation has dawned upon you, there’s a shout— “Stop!” Two soldiers stand with their hands on their machine guns, wearing camouflage-patterned uniforms that blend in with the surrounding foliage. You’ve been caught. Just like that, the opportunity has been yanked out from under your feet. It’s the end. But before you can even react, Jungkook pulls you behind him. His spine straightens and head lifts as if to show the medals on his uniform. “Stand down!” “Sir!” The two of them immediately salute Jungkook and your fingers clutching his sleeve only tightens. “We received orders to patrol the area for enemies looking to flee. We did not know you would be here.” One of the soldier’s leans over to take a look at you, but you dip your head and hide behind Jungkook. “These are not matters pertaining to you. Unless you want to interfere with top secret matters.” “O-Of course not.” The two soldiers salute Jungkook, but as they leave, one of the soldier’s glances over his shoulder and his eyes connect with yours, menacing and full of suspicion. Jungkook takes your hand, leaving in the opposite direction to draw distance between the soldiers you narrowly escaped. But then you hear the distant static of a radio. There’s murmuring, akin to a report being made and then shots are fired. “He’s deserted his post!” Deserted? The bullets cut through the wind, explosions that you heard from afar happening right next to your ears. They hit against the trees and the dirt, narrowly missing you and Jungkook, but close enough to make you wince. His hand on you tightens as you both run through the forest, past branches and ditches, away from the beach that was supposed to liberate you. And your head turns to look at him as you wobble away from the projectiles, realizing that Jungkook’s gone awol. There’s little you can say when you’ve both finally lost the soldiers, trying to catch your breaths and slow down your pulse that’s moved up and clogged your throat. “D-Did you get hit?” It’s the first question you ask when you’ve both collapsed on the ground. Jungkook inspects himself and you before taking a sigh of relief. “No.” “Y-You abandoned your post, Jungkook?” “Yeah….” He deflates, doe eyes connected to yours. He wears an expression of heavy guilt and conflict, one that warns you not to pry. “I did.” // The plan has failed, but Jungkook hasn’t given up. Far from it when he spreads out his map and tells you that evening, “We can take the inland road, cut through the forest this way and make it to the border here. No one’s guarding this part of the wall during this time of the year — the army didn’t want to spread their troops thin.” “That’s far,” you murmur, realizing that it’s half across the region. You’ve tried making it over the border once with your family, but you failed. You were caught, taken away, spared while the fate of your family remains unknown. The thought of trying again makes you feel uneasy. But Jungkook turns to you. “It’ll take five days if we can keep up our pace.” His eyes are full of consolation and warmth, dispelling your doubts away. “I’ll take you there.” And you wonder if you’re an idiot for believing in him. The journey is as hard as you had remembered. The slope is steep, full of branches and pits. Sometimes you’re sure that Jungkook is lost in the forest with the way he glances at the map every so often and his brows furrow, but he never tells you, trying to keep morale high. And when you follow him, staring at the back of his head as sweat drips off your face, you wonder why he’s going to such lengths to save you. Why he’s abandoned his high rank and position to bring you to the border. Surely, it has to be more than just about keeping his word…. The two of you stop once in a while for a drink of water and to rest your feet. He claims that he’s tired, but you’re sure he’s relenting and slowing down for you. His consideration isn’t difficult to discern. But when night falls, camp is sent permanently. It’s impossible to keep moving no matter how much you want to. “This is a good spot.” Jungkook says, looking down at some soft moss around a tree. “But we can’t build a fire. Someone might see the smoke.” “Okay.” You nod, getting comfortable and ripping some of the bread to share between you and Jungkook. It’s stale and tough to bite into, doing little to satisfy the hunger bubbling within your stomach, but still better than nothing. After you’re finished eating, the two of you get settled. “You should rest.” Jungkook says, “We’ve been walking for more than twelve hours.” “But what about you? You’ve been walking too.” “I can keep watch.” “Are you sure?” The man nods, his smile tender. “You can keep watch later if you’d like.” With that said, you lean against the tree trunk, shutting your eyes. It’s hard to get sleep when your mind is racing, when the stakes are so high and you feel guilty for trying to rest while Jungkook, who’s equally exhausted as you are, is forced to be awake. But you manage to drift on from sheer fatigue. You dream of running through the thick forest with Jungkook. The soldiers at your heels. The bullets spraying past. Except this time, he’s hit and screams out in agony while you’re yanked back— You’re shaken awake by the sound of leaves crunching. Jungkook notices the way you rub your eyes tiredly before staring up at the sky and realizing it's still night. It only seems like two hours have passed at most. Yet he acts like it’s daybreak now, holding onto branches and collecting them into a pile not far from the tree. “Am I being too noisy?” he murmurs softly, not to startle you. “I’m sorry.” “N-No, it’s okay. What are you doing?” “I’m building a fire,” he says while arranging the branches. “But I thought you said it was too risky.” “Yeah, but you were shivering.” “I was…?” It was true that you were cold, that the chills of the night have settled within your bones and while you tried to hide it, you didn’t know it slipped in your unconsciousness. Jungkook’s smile is coloured with sorrow and his hands quicken to make the fire, but you stop him. “We shouldn’t risk it, Jungkook. What if we’re caught again?’ “We won’t be,” he insists and you realize he has a habit of assuring things out of his control. He only stops once you’ve stood up and grabbed a hold of his hand, startling him with your sudden touch. Before he can ask what’s wrong, his question is answered when he sees your anxious expression lit by the dim moon, the way your mouth lopsides and brows knit together. Jungkook sighs and relents. “How about a compromise then?” It’s a few minutes later that both you and him are leaning against the tree with your knees gathered to your chest and your weight pressed against his. Jungkook has his arm wrapped around your shoulder, tugging you close so his body heat can keep you from shivering. It might be inappropriate — for someone like you and him to be this close during the night, for it to be this intimate. But you can’t find yourself to be bothered with formalities. Not when his embrace gives you so much solace. “You should try to get some rest,” you murmur and Jungkook hums. “I’ll keep watch.” The forest is serene. It’s excluded from the warfare and trenches, the explosions and shooting. A sanctuary spared of violence and greed. You almost wish you could stay here longer, but it would be avoiding the inevitable. No matter how well you hide, they’ll find you. But they might not be able to catch up if you run fast enough… You listen to how Jungkook’s breathing slows, his chest rising and falling steadily. And when his grip around your shoulders loosens, his head starts to droop. You gently guide him to rest on your shoulder and smile at how boyish his features really are in such a neutral state. But it doesn’t last long. Soon enough, his brows are twitching and his fingers jerk as if he’s pulling a trigger. Jungkook begins to murmur underneath his breath as well and stirs no matter how hard you try to comfort him. His spasms only increase in intensity and then he’s screaming— “Jungkook!” You’re startled when he pushes himself away from you, crazed like an animal. He pants, eyes wide and your hands lift, trying to calm him down. “It’s okay. It was just a nightmare. You’re okay.” “I….” He looks around at where he is and then slumps. “I’m sorry.” “Your nightmares never got better?” Jungkook shakes his head and returns to your side, exhaling deeply. “No, they didn’t.” “Why did you tell me they did? I could’ve—” “I had to leave anyway. It wouldn’t have mattered and I didn’t want to worry you.” It goes quiet. You’re not sure what to say, how to soothe him or make it better. You don’t know what to do, even though you feel like you should. But you can’t perform miracles. You aren’t god. You don’t have healing hands...in spite of wanting to — for the first time. You wish you were what everyone made you out to be. You wish the skills that saved you from slaughter were as valuable as they had thought. Jungkook is the one who shatters the silence. “I received orders once.” “You received orders?” You shift, unable to understand but he nods. “May sixth at nine in the morning. I received orders that the army was hiding in Hua Xin village. I ordered my men to go in and we killed everyone,” he murmurs, each syllable laying heavily on his tongue. “Anyone who looked normal was actually a soldier in disguise. Anyone who didn’t look like a soldier was hiding one. That’s what we were told. But halfway, I realized no one was fighting back. It’s not that they were unprepared. They were civilians.” “Not one soldier was there.” Jungkook bitterly laughs. “Not a single one. And I couldn’t stop it. It…..it was a massacre.” All at once, he breaks out into sobs. Jungkook’s head knocks back, eyes tilted up at the sky as tears slip down his cheeks and you stay motionless. “I led my men to do it. They were people like you — children, women, the elderly. They had nothing to do with it. They were telling us to have mercy, to stop, and I couldn’t do anything.” It hadn’t made sense to you before, not when he had wanted to return to the field so desperately when you had first met him, when you had known first hand that he would not abandon his own men. But Jungkook’s guilt has outweighed his duty. His promise to you has taken his highest priority. It’s why he’s left his post. Why he’s abandoned his men and thrown away his honour, how he got hurt in the first place and ended up in your hands. Why he feels so desperate to help you. It’s to make up for what he’s done. Jungkook cries pathetically and you imagine if it was your mother. Or a friend that was killed by him. A senseless death made by the mistake of the enemy. A part of you itches to hate Jungkook, to detest his entire being and enact revenge, to gain retribution for those victims. To reduce him as your opposition like many of your own people have. But you can’t. Not when you know him. His habits and personality traits. His experiences and regrets. You can’t turn a blind eye to what you know of this young man. You can't hate Jungkook. Not when you have known his humanity first hand. “The fact that you feel remorse is enough to know that you’re not a monster, Jungkook,” you whisper into the night that creeps towards you. “It wasn’t intentional.” “Think of them the next time you’re on the field. You might not know who they are, but they were people too. And memory is what keeps them alive.” You’ve always wondered who would kill you. There are times you’ve shut your eyes and envisioned the end of a barrel and a cold gaze. But you don’t want to be a faceless target or an increase in their personal number of casualties. You want the person to kill you to remember you. That night, you dream of the blazing sun hot against the back of your neck and lifting your face to see a trembling muzzle and doe eyes glossy with tears. But it isn’t a nightmare. Far from one. It wouldn’t be so bad if Jungkook was the one who killed you. It would be better than a soldier who doesn’t know your name. // “Look what I managed to catch.” Jungkook holds a big-eyed rabbit by its ears and you can only nod stiffly, not sure what to think when you’ve never actually caught an animal before. But it ends up sitting in your stomach well, satisfying your starvation after Jungkook’s taken care of preparing it and roasted it over the fire. The two of you are deep enough in the forest to finally be able to huddle around a flame for warmth without worry of soldiers catching sight of the smoke. When the meal is over, he takes out the map, studying it carefully and planning your next course of action. But as you sit with your knees gathered to your chest, staring at the tangerine flames flickering and glowing on your cheeks, you turn to notice Jungkook swaying in his spot. He’s startled when you lean over, pressing your palm to his forehead. “W-What’s wrong?” “You’re warm, aren’t you?” “It’s from the fire.” You merely hum, pulling yourself back from him. “But you’re sweating. I’m not. Does your body ache?” Jungkook is baffled as he watches you get up, suddenly looking around at the bushes. “Only because we’ve been walking all day. But I’m fin—Hey! Where are you going? It’s dark!” “I’ll be right back.” You smile easily as if this is your own backyard. “Don’t go anywhere. You have a fever, Jungkook.” The officer scoffs lightly, keeping his eyes trained on you but still following your instructions not to stand. He’s not sure why it matters. He can still walk, can still move, think, breathe. If a small fever was enough to slow him down then he would’ve never made it as a soldier out on the field. He’s fought with his hand sliced open, with his ankle twisted, and with starvation making his stomach turn inside out. He’s a man. A man who’s stronger than— “Press this on your forehead.” You’ve returned when he’s snapped back to reality, a cool strip of cloth suddenly placed on his forehead. His fingers lift to keep it there as you walk towards the fire with your glass container of water. Jungkook’s eyes dart to the white flowers in your hands to your cloak ripped at the hem, realizing it's where you got the strip of cloth from. “The river is surprisingly warm. I thought it would’ve been colder.” Jungkook watches silently as you fiddle around and in the next five minutes, you’re returning with the warm container but with the liquid inside tinged green. “Drink this. It’ll keep you hydrated.” He sips it, feeling his body ease. “What is it?” “It’s made from elderflower. It’ll help with the fever. I need to check your wound though. Just to make sure there’s not an infection.” You sit down in front of him, beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt and he lets you, eyes heavy against your features but softened. “What if it is?” “Then we’re going to have some problems, Jeon.” The corner of your mouth tugs and he smiles. You’re bathing in the glow of the fire, the deep hue casted against your face and at this proximity, he’s able to count each of your lashes. “Let’s just hope it’s not.” It’s intimate. The way you take a sigh of relief when you find it isn’t an infection. The way you begin to button his shirt back together. The way the pair of you are inches away and he’s sure if he wrapped his arms around your waist, you’d collapse against his chest and he’d be able to hold you…. But he doesn’t move. And you pull away from him much too soon. “You should rest. I’ll keep watch.” “I’m fine,” he insists almost angrily. He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly so irritated. Maybe because you’re underestimating his strength. Maybe because he doesn’t know how to cope with these emotions swelling into his throat that makes it hard to speak properly. “I have been through worse. I’m supposed to be protecting y—” “And I’m supposed to tend to your well-being,” your voice raises and you stand, crossing your arms. “We all have our duties, Officer Jeon. How are you supposed to help me cross the border if you fall sick? You should be grateful I caught it early and it hasn’t gotten worse. A thank you would have sufficed.” “I’m sorry.” The apology spills out of him before he can think twice, before you can turn away from him completely. Jungkook diverts his vision, embarrassed at his outburst. “I didn’t mean it that way. I want you to stay with me.” He’s still pressing the cloth to his forehead with three fingers, hair damp from sweat, pupils shaking. You know much more about him than he intended for you to know. He’s made a mistake — showing you this much about him. It’s frightening to be hurt in this way, he realizes. He would have rather maintained the facade of a harsh officer than a powerless boy— Suddenly, you’ve plopped next to him and wrapped your arms around his body, guiding his head to your shoulder. Like how he had held you while you were shivering, it’s you who’s offering him warmth this time. Jungkook turns his head until his face is buried into your neck. He notices the way you tense and then ease, goosebumps raising all over your arms, but he doesn’t move. Jungkook steals the opportunity while he has the chance and neither of you speak. He doesn’t think he’s been held like this since he was a child. He hasn’t been taken care of by anyone other than his mother. He hasn’t had anyone care for him since he enlisted at eighteen. “Thank you.” // The sunlight pierces through your closed lids, shaking you awake. When you open your eyes blearily, it hits you that you’ve fallen asleep and that it’s day. More importantly, Jungkook isn’t by your side. You gaps, looking around before there’s a boyish chuckle to your left. “Mornin’, sleepy head.” He rolls up his map, tucking it into his pocket. “You were out like a light.” “You shouldn’t have let me sleep for so long.” You wobble upwards, getting onto your feet again. “Are you alright? You’re not supposed to be walking around yet.” “I feel fine,” Jungkook declares with a grin. “Promise. I felt normal again when I woke up. With your skills, that magical tea of yours and my great health, I’ve gotten better in no time.” His mischievous smile only garners a scoff from you but then his smile softens and his voice becomes gentle. “I won’t give up on my promise to you. I’ll get you there.” “I know, Jungkook.” Warm smiles are exchanged across the serene forest that’s waking up as the sunlight dances past the horizon and billows through the trees to turn darkness into verdant hues. And it’s not long before the beautiful scene is left behind and the trek continues on. “Can I ask you something?” “Depends on what that something is,” you reply playfully. Jungkook grins. “I’d love to know more about your home. Where you came from.” “Why?” “I’m curious.” The corner of your mouth twitches before it quirks into a faint smile. “I came from a small town. It doesn’t exist anymore but it was called Gaoling Village. It was between Nan Shan River and Senlin Mountain. Everyone knew everyone, but it was more hectic than you would think. Mostly because of my siblings though.” Jungkook notices your fond smile and asks, “How many siblings do you have?” “Two. A younger sister and brother. We were all trying to cross the border, but they went ahead with the group while I stayed behind with my mother. She was slower than the rest because of her bad feet….” “And your father?” “He passed away after being drafted from the previous war when I was fourteen.” You look beyond the horizon, where the forest meets the sky, wondering if the rest of your family is still alive or have been taken from you. After a moment, you clear your throat, changing the topic before you can start to cry. “It was unexpected and I needed a way to help support the family. Luckily, the medic of the village was kind enough to take me as an apprentice and that’s how I started to learn.” “That sounds...difficult,” Jungkook offers sympathy and you exhale with a gentle smile. “It was. But we managed,” you murmur. “It was better than being apart...” Jungkook hums, his expression thoughtful yet saddened by the implications of your words. But you try not to dwell on your regrets and you turn to him. “What about you? Where did you grow up? Did you have any siblings?” “No siblings. I was an only child. My parents moved around often, so I never really had a home. I went to school here and there and then enlisted when I was eighteen.” “Why?” “My dad and my uncles had enlisted and fought without having to be called, so when the war happened, I thought that naturally, I would enlist and climb the ranks too.” Jungkook rolls his tongue in his cheek and you’re not sure if he regrets his decision or the fact that he didn’t think it through enough. But you don’t pry or try to decipher his expression. Instead, he takes his turn and asks, “Did you have anyone special?” The corner of your mouth subtly pulls. “What do you mean by that?” The soldier coughs and scratches the back of his neck. He’s sheepish and you notice how his ears have gotten red. “Well, I mean if you had anyone else significant in your life….I’m just curious why you never got married and—” “No,” you answer. “There was no one like that.” Jungkook becomes visibly relieved and you hold in your giggles to not further his bashfulness. “Did you ever have anyone like that?” you inquire, throwing the question right back at him. The doe-eyed boy glances at you and then looks ahead, shrugging. “Maybe.” You scoff lightly. “I don’t know what that means.” “It means what it means.” A timid smile spreads into your face, one you keep to yourself but it’s noticeable and infectious enough that Jungkook’s own mouth tugs, a blush dusting onto his cheeks. He walks a bit ahead and your eyes pierce his backside. You don’t want this journey to end. // “We’re almost there—” he tells you a day later and you can only nod. When night arrives, the whistle of planes flying overhead and the subsequent explosions that follow seconds later echo through the forest. It rumbles the ground, vibrating underneath your feet as you wince and watch the smoke curl in the air. You wonder what they’ve bombed this time, if it’s a village or a town, a base or the army themselves. “Don’t worry. They’re far away.” But Jungkook’s reassurance does little when you’re already aware. They can’t hurt you. Only their noises can serve to haunt. In spite of the bombings, you and Jungkook try to get some rest. There’s merely one more day before the border will be reached and you will be free from this battlefield…. Right as you’re about to drift off, you feel the soft brush of a hand. With your eyes still kept shut, your palm gingerly uncurls and slides into Jungkook’s. Your fingers interlace together, his larger hand cradling yours and your palm squeezes his. Neither of you speak a word and you fall asleep that way. In the morning, you wake at the same time and your hands slip from one another as you stand, preparing for the final hike. “There it is!” Standing at the cliffside, you can see the looming stone wall that seems to stretch across the distance. The other side is the liberation that you have so desperately sought since your capture. And to know that you got here because of him makes your chest swell with an emotion you’re afraid of confronting. Jungkook shifts and smiles at you. “We’re finally here.” “How do we climb it?” “There’s no need. Over there.” He points. “There’s an opening. My….men had taken people from there before. But not many people know its existence. But that’s where we can go.” You should be running down the slope, sprinting through the grassy field as fast as your legs can take you. But then your steps slow, cautious and almost reluctant. It’s Jungkook who pushes you ahead by keeping the pace and making you catch up to him. It’s within moments that the two of you are standing meters away from the opening in the wall, a dark tunnel that has no end from where you are. But it’s one that you had so desperately tried to find a year prior. “Y/N—” “Come with me.” Your gaze is locked with Jungkook’s and you turn to take his hands, holding them tightly like you’re afraid of being pulled away from him. Frantically, you search his expression. “If you come with me, you won’t have to fight anymore, Jungkook. You can see the other side and help my people. It can be a way for you to atone for what you’ve done. And we….and we...” “I can’t.” Jungkook tugs away from you slowly, his eyes sorrowful. “I’ve decided to go back.” “Aren’t you afraid?” Your voice cracks against your will, volume raising with your anger. “They will punish you for deserting your post.” “I know. But I have to go back and face the consequences. This is my journey to lead. I can’t avoid it.” Jungkook’s gaze shifts to you, tender like he knows he’ll miss you by his side. “And even if I came with you, they’ll shoot the both of us on command if they know who I am.” “I’ll tell them that you helped me.” “I’m still the enemy.” He takes a step towards you and cradles your cheek in his palm, the closest he’s ever touched you. “I need to give you your best chance, Y/N.” Jungkook wipes away the tear that sheds down your face with the pad of his thumb and you hold onto his arm, fearful of letting go. “W-What if I never see you again?” “It’s okay. We will meet,” he vows. “I promise.” He’s doing it again, that bad habit of promising things that are out of his control. The habit that gives you too much hope. “Don’t promise things.” “Sorry, I can’t help it.” Jungkook boyishly smiles, pressing his forehead against yours for a moment. One last precious moment that you try to savour. “Thank you for trusting and joining me so far. Now go and don’t worry about me. Don’t look back.” But it’s easier than it sounds. Even when you walk off, you can’t help turning over your shoulder. You can’t help the trembling of your lips, the way your eyes fill with tears as you stare upon his forced smile…. “It’s okay to be selfish one last time, right?” you ask with a shaking voice and close the distance within a few strides. An inhale is taken through your lips and then you’re lifting yourself on the tips of your toes to press your mouth against Jungkook’s in a searing kiss — a bittersweet farewell that you had dreaded. The young man smiles against your lips, quickly reciprocating as his hands come to cradle your cheeks again. And then the moment is over. The two of you have parted, the affectionate gesture tingling against your skin with his faint scent already fading away. “I’ll remember what you taught me,” Jungkook murmurs. “And I’ll remember you the most.” Even when you’ve long walked away onto the other side and faded from sight and he, too, turns away to begin yet another journey, but one on his own — Jungkook’s promise stays with you.

[Epilogue] A young girl in a floral dress approaches the counter hesitantly until the other person looks up from their computer. She clears her throat, voice timid, “Hi, I’m looking for a Jeon Jungkook.” The nurse’s expression lights up and she smiles. “Oh, you must be them! We’ve been waiting. Right this way.” The girl turns around and nods towards you. Then she walks around and pushes your wheelchair forward, following the nurse down the hall. “He was lucid a week ago. But you should maintain your expectations. There’s a chance he won’t be able to recall with his Alzheimer’s. If you have any photographs or mementos, that might be able to jog his memory...” The room is reached and the nurse happily opens the door while you turn to the young girl. “I can take it from here.” “Are you sure?” your granddaughter asks in worry and you smile. “I am.” The room is modest but quaint. After a life of noise, plain walls and the quiet was all anyone could ask for. But your breath stutters in your chest as you find an old man sitting in his bed alone with his head turned to look out the window. His hair has turned stark gray, wrinkles lined all over his face. Exhaustion has made its mark on him. But what hasn’t changed and what you still hold dear to your heart is his bright doe eyes. “Mr. Jeon?” The nurse calls and he swivels over. “You have a special guest with you today...” She steps out and you roll the wheels of your wheelchair in. The eighty year old man doesn’t recognize you. You know it by the way his eyes are glossed over, how his expression never changes, how his lips remain in a tight line. He looks at you like you’re a stranger and you suppose you are. After six decades, you don’t recognize yourself anymore either. But before he can ask who you are, you call his name— “Jungkook.” It takes a moment. Like the many moments he had once given you. And it’s a long one that’s drawn out for seven heartbeats. Jungkook gazes into your eyes, brows furrowing and then his mouth parts. “Y/N?” He remembers, like he had promised. Laughter spills out of you before they turn into choked cries, one made of happiness. You wheel yourself over to his bedside and take his trembling hands in yours. You shouldn’t cry — not when this moment was so precious and meant to be cherished, not when you had tried so hard to reunite with him. It took too long to meet him again, but now was better than never. “I-I’ve gotten old, haven’t I?” “Not at all.” The aged man shakes his head, chuckling heartily and wipes away a tear on your wrinkled cheek with the pad of his thumb. “You’re still as pretty as back then.” You laugh, not paying mind to the nurse who’s standing at the doorway with a warm smile and your granddaughter tearing up at the sight. You had made sure to tell your children and grandchildren about him, about the man who had saved you, who had given you the chance to live this long. “How did you find me?” his voice croaks in curiosity, brown orbs holding the same amount of tenderness. “You kept your promise, so the least I could do was keep this one.” There’s so many things that you want to say, so many things you had thought about throughout the years. But now, none of it seemed to matter. All you had within you was gratitude. “Jungkook.” “Yes?” “Thank you for saving my life.” He squeezes your wrinkled hands, caressing them within his own. You know that below his aged exterior of gray hair and slow movements is still a boyish officer — a young man who had once taken your hand and led you through the winding forest without ever faltering. And beneath your own old skin and bones is still an exasperated doctor who had healed him. “The one thing I don’t regret during that time,” Jungkook murmurs, “was saving you.” The two of you smile as if no time had passed at all.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts angst #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfiction #Y'ALL this isn't heartbreaking but like there's something in my eyes now #and like it's prob dust #but maybe not

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that-good-trash · 5 years ago

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Burn Away With Me 2

Shoto Todoroki x reader / Dabi x reader????

Warnings: mentions of death, profanity, kidnap, Angst,

Word count: 6,315

Part 1

Summary: Kidnap and murder usually go hand in hand but not like this. The world thinks your dead and you have to watch them mourn you like a princess locked away in a tower. Except princes don’t look for dead girls. You might just have to rely on the villain who took you.

Comment: Sorry I haven’t been posting but I’m back. This took longer than I thought and there will be a third part. I’ve decided to make this a series while I work on other fic ideas. Which if any of you have any suggestions or ideas I totally need inspiration for more one shots and series’s. I hope you all enjoy.

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You were dead.

At least that’s what everyone thought, was told, had ‘witnessed’. In a way you were dead because having to watch the world exist without you, killed you. Watching Shoto in interviews and reading article about him made you wish you had actually died since he was lifeless. You had agreed to this so you were an accessary to his misery. The one thing you always promised was to never abandon him, to always love him. You had failed to keep that promise. You were now causing him pain and couldn’t even apologize for it.

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After your Hollywood murder, your vanishing act, you had woken up in an unfamiliar place that smelled damp and musty, like mildew under week old wet carpet. It was toxic to your nose which had become a little sensitive from living a modern clean life. You were wearing a jacket that wasn’t yours that smelled faintly of burning charcoal and cigarettes. While lifting the overly long sleeves you had become aware that you lacked any chest covering. You were naked besides the jacket and silk panties you wore under it. It wasn’t like you had time to pack, hell you actually hadn’t expected to ever wake up again. Trusting a villain was dicey, it could backfire terribly and you couldn’t figure out yet if it had. You were alive. That wasn’t for sure a good thing. The room you were in had a bed, which you were laying in, the sheets were stained and slightly charred in places. There was a single window and two doors, one leading into a closet, the other you didn’t know where. An old suitcase sat in the corner and you didn’t really want to know what was in it. Outside the door you could hear the sound of talking, it was staticky meaning it was coming from a TV or radio. You had gotten off the bed hugging the long black coat against your body as you made your way to the door. Fear flooded your veins. You had no idea what Dabi’s plan had been. While you slept the news of your death spread across all media. You weren’t even aware of this. You were thinking that this was a kidnap ransom thing. As the knob turned you could hear the voices a little more clearly. It was a TV, the light shining down the short hallway. You walked toward it before feeling your heart stop. Across the bottom of the screen was your name, your real name and hero name. It was the words that followed that made your legs give out. Now on your knees with shaking shoulders you read the headline, hear the news caster.

[ L/n F/n – Hero Name, was found murdered in her shared home.]

“Her fiancé Todoroki Shoto cannot be reached at this time but we mourn his lose.” You read the words and listen to the tail end of his sentence piecing together what had happened. The image changed from the inside of the news room to a helicopter view, footage taken hours ago. Your shared home had been surrounded by police vehicle’s and you watch Shoto rush out of his car and directly into the house. A sob escapes as you watch the police and pro heroes look down and away. You couldn’t hear anything other than the helicopter but you could imagine he was screaming your name. What was left behind? That’s when you became all too aware of a throbbing pain in your left hand. Looking down at your hand you scream, your ring finger is missing. How the hell hadn’t you realized this to begin with. There were so many pieces missing to this fucked up puzzle. How the hell did you get here? Where the hell was here? Where was Dabi and better yet your god damn finger? These questions invaded your mind as you watched the screen continue to show pictures of you with claims of death. You weren’t dead and if you were this was one hell of an afterlife. Purgatory was a shitty back alley apartment.

“When we, the public, were informed of L/n’s death everyone wanted to hear what the Todoroki family had to say, specifically Endeavor. His interview shows his conflicted emotions and many are quick to blame grief for his lack of emotion.”

You watch the interview and listen to your future father in laws words. He didn’t care. You had stopped crying as you watched him speak on your behalf. How dare he claim to know what you wanted. If you weren’t aware of the real mastermind, you’d think he tried to have you killed. How could someone be so heartless. You had spent so much time trying to prove you were worthy of Shoto even though your lover told you that you were more than enough. The social pressure Endeavor put on you was suffocating and you were really starting to realize that just by watching some shitty interview he did for publicity. Your hands were clenched into fist despite the pain in your left hand. You stood up a little too fast and fell backward. You never hit the floor, instead a hot hand caught you. You sighed in relief before staring into your kidnapper’s eyes. You weren’t weak or none confrontational. Your eyes burned with fury, your lips twitching with words brewing behind them.

“You son of a bitch, You bastard.”

“Woah, no reason to bring my mom into this, though I will say you’d be right about my father.” He was so smug as he held up his hands in defense against your hissed insults. He had expected tears and fear not an enraged hurricane. “Now calm down, what’s got you so pissed?”

“YOU FUCKING KILLED ME!” Your eyes were bulging out and your breathing was unsteady. Your eyebrows knit together as you glared him down with hell fire behind your eyes. You looked like a savage. Like a crazed lunatic. Instead of looking scared or remorseful he just backup against the tattered couch. His arms crossed and he lifted a brow. His smirk told you that he found this entertaining.

“Um, you seem pretty alive to me doll. You can’t believe everything you hear on TV.” He laughed at his own joke, or maybe the pathetic chaotic state you were in. As you heaved your chest in exasperation. You realized that you’d made a huge mistake. You killed yourself off on your own accord, you should have fought back then maybe you’d be in Shoto’s arms and not on every news station. If you had been kidnapped people would be looking for you but they aren’t. No one is looking for you. In an instant all anger subsided. You were tired, in pain, scared, pissed, lonely, dispirited, you were dead. Your shoulders slumped with no fight lingering. You let the wall catch you before sliding down it. Your head fell heavy into your hands before settling between your bend legs. You weren’t looking at him, but Dabi did seem a tad guilty. He pushed off the couch walking toward you. He dropped down, squatting in front of you. His fingers brush your hair out of your face, you slap his hand away looking at him with feral eyes that had tears bottled in them. A sigh escaped as he stood up, he could hear the TV mention your name. He watched people on the screen hold candles standing along a dark street. This was live. He yanked you off the ground and pulled you out of the apartment making sure he covered you with a scarf he snatched from the rickety coat rack. You didn’t know where he was taking you but when you ended up on the roof of this building you panicked. Was he going to actually kill you? Maybe that would be better for you. Instead you feel your face yanked toward a specific location. This building was old and crumbling but it was tall. It seemed to be taller than plenty of the buildings near it. As you looked off squinting you saw lights in the distance.

“What are you trying to show me?”

“Shh.” You were pissed. What the hell was his problem. Frustrated you cross your arms feeling the cold breeze and get a little less mad and grow shy after remembering again your lack of coverage. You go to ask if you can return to the apartment but he points and you follow. The city lights disappear and in a Disney moment the sky seems to light up. You watch from the ground miles away lights move like waves and from the tops of buildings lanterns fade into the sky. You watched in awe.

“They are mourning the loss of a true hero, you.”

He’s not looking at you but instead watching the lights. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and he doesn’t look at you as you collapse to the cold dirty roof ground. You scream into the illuminated darkness. It’s painful, like a wolf crying out for its mate after receiving a fatal wound. A howl of sorrow and agony. Was Shoto watching these lights mourning you as well? Your knees pressed into the harsh concrete beneath you cutting into them. Dabi stood next to your broken shaking form, his hands sat inside his pant pockets. He was watching the sky letting you fall apart. He had been in a similar situation before, having to mourn his own death.

It felt like hours had passed by the time you ran out of tears. Your knees hurt from the embedded concrete, your hands were shaking and your fingertips had the slightest tint of purple. You were cold, practically naked, empty, and alone. No one knew you were alive besides the person who killed you. The sky was no longer lit up and you wondered if this was goodbye. If this was how your life as a hero ended. You didn’t get a huge battle like All Might at Kamino, or Sir Nighteye’s battle with Overhaul. You didn’t get to retire or die in a heroic way, instead people would remember you as the hero who died in her home, murdered by some mystery villain. You knew in a week you’d be old news and everyone would be talking about this in the future like it was a part of Shoto’s tragic backstory. You stood up before almost falling directly back down. You catch yourself by grabbing onto Dabi. He winks at you which you react to with disgust. He nods toward the door and you walk toward it leading the way. You think for a moment that running off the side of the building would be a good escape plan. He knows what you’re thinking as he links your arm with his own and pulls you along back into the building and eventually into the hellscape of an apartment. You yank yourself free before walking to the couch and falling back onto it with a huff. You were pouting because he had caught onto your plan, because you had to be here in this disgusting shithole.

“This place is gross.” Dabi raises a brow before laughing, his laughter echoes throughout the small room.

“Sorry this isn’t a five-star hotel princess.”

“It doesn’t have to be a luxury hotel; it just has to be livable. The TV looks like it’s from the 80’s and the carpet feels damp. This couch smells like you set it on fire and it’s still burning. The bed room has various stains in various places. I haven’t even seen the bathroom but I imagine it’s even worse, oh god I can’t live here.” You weren’t prissy or someone with high standards, this place was just literal hell and since you were dead it was even worse. You could imagine that Dabi wasn’t going to let you leave whenever you wanted so having to be stuck in this place was going to drive you insane.

“I think you sound be more concerned with clothing than housing. You have a roof and a bed; you have no clothes.” Dabi made a very good point that you forgot in your depression over the living situation. You throw your head back letting out another frustrated sob.

“Fuck, you should have just killed me.” You thought you ran out of tears and yet some slid down your cheek. You were frustrated and wanted nothing more than to curl up against your fiancé while he comforts you but you couldn’t do that.

“This isn’t forever. My plan just needs to go accordingly and you should be free to go. Think of this as summer camp or a stake out mission.” You looked at Dabi skeptically. He stared back lacking any intension to deceive you.

“Tomorrow night I’ll bring you by some clothes. If you really hate this place so much, I’ll let you clean and decorate it. Give me a list of shit you need tomorrow and I’ll see what I can do. Your stuck with me and when I’m not here you are going to be under house arrest. You don’t get to leave and if I find out you tried; I’ll show you exactly why you shouldn’t disobey me.” His eyes darkened at the end. He wasn’t the smug Dabi but one who truly would turn you into ash. Minutes ago, you would have chosen to be burn alive rather than have this as your life but that was quick to change with the hope that you would actually be released. Dabi wasn’t all that bad, scary kind of but not bad. Clothes were a blessing you couldn’t wait for. The ability to make this place livable also enticed you. He really knew how to get you to stop whining. A smile spread across your face and Dabi raised a brow. He expected a thank you, he shouldn’t have.

“You’re still a fucking asshole who kidnapped and ‘murdered’ me so don’t go thinking I like you or want to rely on you. The idea of being burned alive is almost tempting when compared to living here with you as my only company.” All this was still served with your smile. You stood up and let the coat tail spin behind you as you walked off to the bedroom. “I’m a size [Y/size], don’t forget that.”

The door shut leaving Dabi alone in the living room. His head falls backward and a chuckle escapes passed his lips. “Damn, what a weird girl. Can see why you like her little bro.”

His hands dip back into his pockets as he leaves the apartment. Once on the street below the dirty building he looks up toward your window. It’s hidden away in the alley. You are looking out it hoping for a view but there isn’t one. He knows how miserable you are but also knows you’re a fighter who will survive. He lights up a cigarette as he disappears into the night. You are left sitting on a dusty windowsill thinking about your would-be husband, your almost widow. You wonder what he was doing, how he was doing. Were his friends with him? A single tear slips down your cheek and onto the window sill mixing into the dusk leaving a dirty mark. A melancholy laugh puffs passed your lips. You close yours eyes remembering the first time the two of you met. Remembering how falling in love happened slowly then all at once.

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

Shoto Todoroki was an emotionless teenager when you met him. You were older than him by a year and met him by complete accident. You both attended UA and he got lost ending up near one of your classes. He ran into you as you rushed to deliver paperwork to the office. More like you ran into him. Instead of swooning over the mismatched eyes and hair like most girls did you pushed passed him. “Sorry gotta go, next time watch where you’re going.”

You had found him outside your classroom afterschool waiting for you. You were confused as he looked at you with about as much emotion as a wall. Hell, you’d seen walls with more emotion. He was like a red and white brick. Your fellow classmates walked around you, some whispering questions amongst each other. You were as confused as they were.

“Um why are you here?”

“You ran into me.” You raised a brow at his blunt accusation. You thought back to earlier and indeed you ran into him. You should have apologized seriously earlier but now you were curious. He waited out here just to tell you that.

“Earlier I was walking down this hallway and you ran into me, then you proceeded to tell me to watch where I was going when you were the one who should have watched herself.” A child, a first year, a stranger was scolding you. A normal person would apologize or defend themselves. You weren’t normal. Instead you laughed at him. He didn’t like that but his irritation subsided into concern. What had he said that was so funny? This seemed like a very serious topic, had he told it like a joke? “Why are you laughing?”

“You seriously waited out here, outside my classroom, just to scold me. Man, you are taking justice pretty seriously, that or I offended your pride as a man. Is it that one? Did I make you feel less of a man because I pushed you while blaming you for my own neglectfulness?” Shoto couldn’t believe how you spoke to him. His cheeks actually heated up from embarrassment and that never happened. People didn’t usually speak to or toward him like this. It was, different? You patted his head when he didn’t speak but just stood there like an old windows computer trying to start up.

“See yah.”

“Wait.” You stopped behind him and turned around. He was facing you with conflicting emotions. “What are you doing right now?”

“I have training, why?” You were put off slightly by his change in attitude.

“Can I watch.” Okay that sounded stalkerish. “I have a classmate who likes to collect information on people’s quirks. You’re from class 2A so I assume you have a unique or powerful quirk. I think he’d like to watch and I have to write a report on quirk studies so…”

Bullshit, it was all bullshit, you knew it he knew it. The janitor that passed awkwardly knew it. This boy would die of embarrassment if you brought it up. A sigh slips out and you can’t say no because you are already late and at least this would give you an excuse to give your teacher. “Sure.”

After getting changed you found four underclassmen staring at you. It was uncomfortable and almost comedic. You never really brought attention to yourself, actually class 2A never really attracted too much attention. The dual hair colored boy stood next to a green haired boy who seemed really excited to see you. The other two consisted of a taller blue haired boy with glasses and a shorter round cheeked brunette. You actually realized you knew all four of them. A grin spread across your face as you pointed at them.

“You guys are from class 1A. I watched you guys at the sports festival and I watched you guys at the school festival. Oh man you are Midoriya Izuku, you’re Iida Tenya, Uraraka Ochako, and that makes you Todoroki Shoto. They all looked amazed that you knew their names. Hell, it was hard to not when everyone talked about the class of villain fighting heroes. They were famous and you had mocked the class heartthrob. It made you laugh because you had classmates that found him hot with his cold demeanor and mysterious scar. When you looked at him you saw a socially awkward kid.

“You’re L/n F/n! Your quirk is so cool! I read about it in a book Mr. Aizawa had about former students. I would love to be able to see it in action! Would that be okay?” He was enthusiastic and you couldn’t say no. You also needed to get to training because you were even more late now. After a nod they all followed you to the training grounds. Other students looked at you and laughed at your entourage. They made teasing comments while others swooned over Shoto. You rolled your eyes. Training mattered more than some dumb boy. Little did you know how wrong you were at that moment. Running into him that afternoon started a domino effect. He had watched you never looking away as you fought. You were mesmerizing. He hadn’t heard a word said by his friends. It was cliché but he was captivated by you.

After that day Shoto found himself following you a lot. He would meet you after class and watch you train or go with you to the library. It was awkward to you but kind of cute. He opened up to you about his past and you didn’t cry. Instead you smiled and held his hands. You told him that he was strong and that his past would never define his future. He had fallen deeper and deeper in love with you, who seemed so far out of his league. Little did he know that he filled your thoughts. You always wondered what he was doing or thinking. You learned to make soba so the two of you could eat while watching the sunset. He missed being around you when you were at your work studies but he supported you behind the scenes. Eventually the two of you were inseparable, until graduation. You stood amongst your fellow classmates laughing and smiling, beaming with pride that you had made it. Everyone had flowers and gifts except you. You turned when someone had called your name. It was Shoto standing facing you, he had a bouquet of your favorite flowers with red streaked across his cheeks. He said something but you couldn’t hear over the crowds. As you walked closer you tried to hear him better. You kept yelling that you couldn’t hear so he mouthed it slowly and you realized what he said; I love you. Your heart stopped and all of a sudden no one else mattered. The loud crowd disappeared leaving just you and Todoroki. Your legs kicked off the ground flinging yourself the distance tackling him into a hug. He dropped the flowers, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you too.” He cried against your shoulder because he hadn’t known love like this. Your love was something he gained and his trust was something you had fought for. He loved you and you loved him and that was all the mattered. That time felt so far away but in reality, it was only 3 ½ years ago. You’d been with him for 3 ½ years and engaged for six months. It wasn’t always perfect but you wouldn’t have traded it for anything, except you did trade it. You traded it for some shitty apartment and a death sentence. You were truly the villain of this story.

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

It took Dabi two days to ‘find/steal’ the things on your shopping list. He brought you a haul of ‘crap’ and clothing of various sizes. You were miserable but this was one thing that made you smile through the depression. Cleaning supplies gave you something to occupy your time. A small chipped table for the eating nook next to the tiny kitchen, a dresser with mismatched paint and broken drawers. A clean set of blankets, sheets, and towels found a home on the bed and in the closet in the hallway. It wasn’t perfect but you were excited to put them where you wanted. It was like an interior design show for the less fortunate. Dabi sat on the couch with a bottle of bourbon while watching people play hero on the TV. You cleaned around him. He wrinkled his nose when you poured carpet cleaner everywhere. The apartment smelled of bleach and lemon by the time you finished. He was actually impressed, a smirk spread across his face as you flopped down on the couch. The large blanket he got you covered the dirty stains on it. He looked you over, noticing how you looked good in the wore torn jeans and oversized t-shirt he got you. It was casual and he liked it. He imagined from what you had come from that you wore a lot of blouses and skirts rather than this.

“You did a good job. I’d give the place two stars.” You hit him with the towel sitting on your shoulder. He laughed noticing your eye roll. “I gotta leave for a few days. While I’m gone you better behave and maybe I’ll bring you a treat.”

“Fuck you.” He had gotten used to your foul mouth and wondered how such an energetic snarky girl ended up with tight ass Shoto who only showed emotions like confusion and anger. He pushed off the couch. He needed to go back to the league and knew he couldn’t involve you in it. You were dead and it needed to stay that way. The league would use you for a different goal and he couldn’t let that happen. He grabbed his coat throwing it over his shoulder along with a wink and kiss to you. You blinked with an annoyed face before catching the kiss throwing it to the ground grinding it under your foot. His laugh could be heard even after the door closed behind him. You were once again alone which changed your demeanor from aggressive to weary. Your eye lids drooped and your shoulders fell. Your legs found themselves pulled onto the couch with your arms wrapped around them. You watched the news hearing segments talking about Deku saving three people from a fire and Red Riot helping catch a bank robber. You smiled happy for them. You never resented them, instead you rooted for your fellow heroes. They were saving the day while you scrubbed strange stains out of ancient carpet.

“As you all know we recently lost hero/name and it’s been hard to cope. This Saturday is her funeral. It is not an open viewing but we were informed that citizens are allowed to place mementos and grieve afterward outside the building. We are also being told to remind people to let hero Shoto grieve and not to bother him if you see him in public.”

Whatever was said afterword you didn’t hear because you were processing the new information. You were going to be buried, this makes it even more real. Chest tightening you stumbled off the couch reaching for the remote. Silence surrounds you as the TV clicks off. The room in spinning and you feel as if you are actually in a small box being buried. You cover your ears begging the world to stop spinning and for the voices to stop. You hear your friends giving eulogy’s, you hear crying and whispers of disappointment. You were a hero how did you lose. The ground hit you, wait no, you hit the ground. Your legs had given out and you were sobbing into the carpet, you could taste the chemicals you had used earlier. At the moment you didn’t care, not about the taste or about anything else. You had a request for Dabi that you knew wouldn’t fly well. You wanted to attend your own funeral.

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

A week after your ‘murder’ came your funeral. There were strict rules enforced by Dabi, you weren’t allowed to leave the apartment for obvious reasons. This rule prevented you from going but you got to watch it. After begging for some kind of way to be there Dabi returned with a laptop that had shaky footage. You didn’t know who was recording it and knew better than to ask. The footage wasn’t perfect but it gave you what you wanted. Dabi offered to leave you alone but you didn’t want to be alone. The sounds of sniffling were caught coming from many guests. The building was gorgeous. Huge with marble walls and columns near the entrance. It felt like you were at a Greek wedding not a funeral. Everyone was adorned in black. You didn’t recognize the people near the camera person. The camera angle moved and you gasped, walking down the aisle leading toward the end of the room where you assumed a casket laid were your friends. You had friends from your own classes but these weren’t them. These were the friends you made through Shoto. Midoriya walked, his hand holding tightly onto Uraraka’s, she was crying. You smiled sadly at her through the screen. They were an adorable couple who you always rooted for. Now they were finding comfort in each other mourning you. Following behind them was Kirishima with Bakugou, Bakugou looked good in a suit but his red eyes made the red around them stand out more. You felt bad since you knew how much he hated feeling or looking weak. Kirishima was smiling but it held pain. There were many other classmates following behind but the camera turned to watch people gather around the front doors. Your hands flew over your mouth and Dabi had to catch the laptop before it fell from your lap. He placed it on the coffee table angling it so you could watch without dropping it. He wanted to scoff at your pain because he couldn’t understand why you would be sad. This was all a game, a show put on for the media. No one really cared for others this much, or maybe they did, Dabi just knew that he didn’t understand why the dead felt bad for the living.

“Please let him through.” Tenya was signaling people to move away from Shoto. Once the crowds dispersed you could see him. He looked like he hadn’t slept in months, his eyes bloodshot with black holes surrounding them. His cheeks were hollowing, and the rest of him looked thinner. He hadn’t been eating. His hair wasn’t styled and seemed messier, longer. His skin was dull and lifeless, like his eyes. He walked like he had no idea where he was going. Tenya held his shoulder walking with him like a guide. Had Tenya been watching over him for you? You hope someone was, you hope someone will intervene and stop his self-destruction. The camera follows as close as it can and you don’t know how much you can watch. In the front, stood rows of chairs for close family and friends. Your mother was wiping her eyes with her head against your fathers’ shoulder. They looked at the casket that you knew was empty. The camera watched Shoto tap their shoulders. They stood up and hugged him. He was apologizing to them; they didn’t take the apology. Your parents were always fond of him. They wouldn’t blame him. Shoto sat down away from them, Natsuo and Fuyumi sat next to him. Natsuo was rubbing his sisters’ shoulder as she sobbed into her handkerchief. The seat next to them was empty, reserved for Endeavor, for someone who wouldn’t show up. Natsuo had told you before that Endeavor didn’t do funerals, he even missed his own sons. You were actually glad that he wasn’t there, he didn’t deserve to be there. Dabi noticed your change from a forlorn stare to one filled with scorn. He knew you had been thinking about Endeavor, he knew because he had felt he same thing. He had been in the same situation watching people cry over him while the person that caused it was MIA. He watched the footage continue and could feel you stiffen up as people got up to speak. Speech after speech drained you of tears and life. You looked like you were actually dying as you watched Shoto stand behind the mic.

“I don’t want to talk much. I could stand here and tell you every tiny detail about F/n that I love, that I miss. I could tell you about her but I won’t. Instead I’ll say this and only this. I will not sleep, I will not eat, I will not rest till the killer is caught. No one even cares that this was a murder. She isn’t dead, she was murdered and while the rest of you cry and live your comfy lives, I’ll be out there taking down her killer.”

A sentimental speech is what you expected but received a promise of revenge. People gasped and shook their heads in disbelief. It was tasteless to people but to you it meant he fell right into Dabi’s clutches. Dabi was smiling with knowing eyes. He already knew this would happen. He knew all along and you couldn’t be mad because apart of you hoped this would get you back in his arms faster. The rest of the funeral went by without much problem. You watched the casket be lowered into a hole and buried with goodbyes and bundles of flowers. Shoto was the only one left besides the camera man. He put the camera down walking over to Shoto. You gasped as the winged hero put a hand on Shoto’s back apologizing for his lose. Shoto didn’t react while Hawks picked up the camera and turned it off. You watched the black screen feeling your hands shake, you slowly turn to Dabi.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.” You did was answers. You needed to know why the number 2 hero of Japan, Endeavors subordinate, was doing Dabi a favor. You had heard about heroes helping villains and selling secrets but this was to close to home. What the hell was happening. “Please Dabi, tell me what’s happening. Why was Hawks there? Why was he recording for you?”

“We all have secrets doll. I can’t tell you to much but I can tell you he owed me a favor and this was how he was repaying me. I needed to see your funeral as well to make sure my plan was actually working. It is and Shoto seems to be playing the game as intended. Soon enough you’ll be trading your stained walls in for your old egg shell white ones. Your pumpkin will turn back into a carriage sweetheart and while your dancing with the prince, I’ll have the kings head on a stick.” You knew he wanted Endeavor but you finally started piecing together exactly how he was going to do it. He was going to use Shoto to kill him or capture him. Either way Shoto was now a pawn on the same board as you. Dabi was playing the game against a cheater, someone who wouldn’t lose easily. Endeavor was not an easy man to break. This was going to be harder than manipulating your husband and you knew that.

“I want to help.”

“You already have. You being dead gives Shoto reason to kill. To go against his hero code. As long as you stay dead and he seeks revenge all goes well. I get what I deserve.” His phone beeps and he’s leaving you. The laptop goes with him, you don’t mind because there isn’t anything you can do on it anyway. You walk to the window watching his figure disappear into the foggy street. What an ugly night. You went to bed and curled up with a book Dabi had brought you.

Elsewhere Shoto stood in the darkness of an alley behind his fathers’ agency. Hawks walked by talking on the phone with someone not noticing the boy’s presence. Shoto waited and slipped into the building before the door closed. He couldn’t be caught using the codes or else they’d know it was him. He knew how to avoid the cameras, how to maneuver the building without getting caught. He found himself outside the large office he had been in plenty of times. To think it would be his father’s final resting place, it was perfect justice. He went to push the door open but hesitated when he heard him talking to someone.

“I offered her money, I offered her positions outside the country, Hell I had other heroes try to seduce her but nothing worked. She was hell bent on staying with Shoto. I couldn’t allow her to ruin his chances at being the number 1 hero. He needed to focus and if he were to marry it should be to someone with a quirk that complimented his. I needed her out of the picture and to think someone else took care of it before we had too.” Shoto knew his father was shitty, manipulative, abusive and so many other fucked up things but this was something else. This was beyond shitty and abusive. This was evil and a power trip. His father may not have killed you but he was going to get what he deserved for playing a part in it. The door opened under his touch and when he walked in his father turned a huge smirk across his face.

“Oh Shoto, I was just going to call you.” He put his phone down and Shoto was able to make out the name of the contact he had just been talking to, Hawks. He thought back to the funeral and pieced together theories. Hawks had a part in this and he was going to find out exactly what happened to you. His arm encases itself in fire the other arm freezing the exits. He stares at his still smirking father. “This isn’t a friendly visit. You’re going to tell me you killed Y/n and then I’m going to decide if I should kill you now or slowly torture you first.”

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Taglist: @flowersgirl02

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#shoto todoroki x reader #bnha #bnha dabi #bnha x reader #mha x reader #mha imagines #bnha shoto todoroki #dabi x reader #bnha todoroki

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starksvixen · 5 years ago

Text

Falling For A Maybank

Summary: Based on the song Falling In Love x Night Troubles.

Requested: No.

Warnings: Underage Drinking, Language, Underage Smoking, Some Angst

Well now really when we go back into falling in love. And say, it's crazy.

“Madam,” JJ says, his hand reaching out to gently grasp onto yours.

He gently lifts you onto John B’s boat from the docks, the cheekiest grin etched onto his tanned face. It’s infectious, causing you to mimic that same grin as you put down the cooler in your hand.

“Thank you, my good sir,” you reply, giggling softly as you handed him a beer.

“Ooo, my favourite,”

His fingers tickle yours as he gently takes the beer from you, goosebumps travelling up your arm at a rapid rate. But you shake it off, taking a step back from him as your smile slightly disappears. It was a trap to like him, the guy with a new girl in his bed every night.

“So? Where are we off to today?” you ask to no one in particular.

“Probably just back to the marshes, after that hurricane last night there is surely more fish ripe for the fishing,” John B replies as he drives off into the water.

Softly, you nod, pulling a beer out of the same cooler that rocks against the boat’s floor. As soon as the top meets your lips, almost half of it’s contents disappeared within a few minutes. Maybe under the influence you could calm your nerves, finally enjoy yourself for the first time in weeks.

As soon as your butt hits the seat beside Kie, a knowing eyebrow of hers raises up to meet her hairline.

“Oh, god, Kie, not again,” you mumble quiet enough for only her to hear.

“C’mon, (Y/N)!” she whisper yells. “There is obviously something between you two.”

You take another long sip from your beer bottle, trying to avoid looking straight but you do. His eyes meet yours, that classic grin returning at the sight of you. Instead of returning the smile, you quickly turn away, swallowing the bitter liquid down hard.

“No, no it’s crazy,” you reply softly.

Falling. You see? We don't say "rising into love". There is in it, the idea of the fall.

You both were walking on the beach where the water meets the sand. It had been a long night at a graveyard party. Watching JJ constantly flirt from girl to girl didn’t hurt any less then it did before. How you ended up walking down the beach, only the moon’s light cascading across your faces, you still didn’t know.

“(Y/N), it’s a brilliant idea!” he exclaims as he chuckles. “We just need a fuck ton of weed and paper.”

“And probably an ambulance from overdosing,” you giggle softly.

“No such thing,”

“You will be the first person to make it happen, JJ, I can see it now,”

“I feel high all the time, (Y/N/N),"

Your heat flutters at his special nickname for you, forcing your gaze down at your feet to hide your warm blush against the cool light.

“Well I can’t doubt that, now can I?”

Both of you fall back into a fit of laughter. Before you know it, you’re in front of the small shack you call home. None of the lights were on since your family had already retired to bed. You stop by your door, gently twisting the doorknob to open the door. Once you look up however, you’re met with bright blue eyes and long blonde hair tickling the tip of your nose.

If your heart could fly into space it would. You willed your feet to move backwards but they never did. Instead, you were frozen, looking into the eyes that brought you warmth, the hair your fingers had been tangled in many times.

“Goodnight, (Y/N/N),” he whispers softly, kissing your forehead before disappearing down your street.

You could deny it all you want, but deep down you knew. You had risen into love.

And it goes back, as a matter of fact, to extremely fundamental things. That there is always a curious tie at some point between the fall and the creation. Taking this ghastly risk is the condition of there being life.

You couldn’t take it anymore, constantly watching him flirt with other girls, having to help them find their clothes strewn across the Chateau the next day. You just couldn’t take it.

So, you withdrew. No longer were you on their boating trips. No longer did you show up to boneyard parties. Everyone would text you, wondering where you were. All of them get a response, except for him.

It angered him. All of the Pogues tried to comfort him, saying that she must have texted them all on accident. But he saw right through it. You were ignoring him, and he didn’t know why. He has to know why.

Without the other Pogues knowing, he snuck away and was on his way to your house when he passed the park you played at when you were kids. When he first fell in love with you. A bunch of boys had ganged up on you. Despite the beating he got, the boys left you alone from that day on. You took him home, cleaned up his wounds, both from the boys and his dad, and promised that you would be quiet as long as you two stayed friends. It had started back at the fundamental things.

JJ knocks lightly against your window, a frown forming when he notices that you aren’t drawing the blinds for him like you usually do. He knocks again, and again, until you open the blinds and lift the window out of pure annoyance.

“What do you want, JJ?” you mumble under your breath.

“Why are you ignoring me?”

“I’m not ignoring you! I just need to be alone,”

“Alone from me?”

“Yes from you!”

You look at him with tears falling down your face. The sight of it almost sends JJ into tears himself.

“Fine, then, I’ll leave you too it,”

And with a harsh sigh, he jumped off your window and was gone.

You see, for all life is an act of faith and an act of gamble.

You had recently come back to the group, pretending like nothing was wrong. But JJ knew something was, however after that day in your room he refused to speak with you. Kie had talked with you many times, to just take the leap already and tell him. And you promised you would...

The moment you take a step, you do so on an act of faith because you don't really know that the floor's not going to give under your feet.

You, Pope, and JJ had infiltrated the Midsummer Ball for the Kooks with ease, posing as waiters for all those who couldn’t see over their nose to get it themself. Your eyes couldn’t stay off of JJ the entire night. It became too overwhelming once JJ had returned from giving the note to Sarah. Without a second thought, you pull him close to you by the collars of his jacket, and you kiss him.

The moment you take a journey, what an act of faith. The moment that you enter into any kind of human undertaking in relationship, what an act of faith. See, you've given yourself up. But this is the most powerful thing that can be done: surrender. See. And love is an act of surrender to another person. Total abandonment. I give myself to you. Take me. Do anything you like with me.

Without a second in between, JJ kisses you back and his arms hold your frame against his tightly. Once both of you come up for air, uncontrollable smiles grace both of your faces.

“JJ! (Y/N)! We gotta go!” Pope yells as the Pogues make their escape.

JJ runs after them with his hand around yours while you follow. Both of you grin ear to ear as you run towards the van. Without a second thought, JJ lifts you up by your hips and gets you into the van, sliding in right beside you. Once he was in beside you, he lifts you onto his lap, kissing you once more as your hands frame his face, kissing him back urgently.

“Fuckin’ finally!” Pope yells at you, causing both of you to break apart and glare at him.

“Just keep the PDA down why don’t ya?” Kie replies to Pope.

In response, you two kiss once more, making sure to add a moan or two in there to make your point.

#jj imagine #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #outer banks #outer banks imagine #rudy obx #jj maybank obx #rudy pankow #rudy pankow x reader #rudy pankow imagine

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clintbartonswife · 6 years ago

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Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, (platonic) Steve x Reader Summary: When Steve first comes out of the ice, he learns of his fellow Howling Commando’s fates, yours being less than pretty. So, when he goes back to return the stones, he decides to be selfish. He brings you home.

Written for @buckygrantbarnes writing challenge with the prompt : Epiphany (n)- a moment of sudden revelation or insight. It’s in bold. I really tried

Warning: brief mentions of suicide, angst, minor swearing, involves flashbacks (through Steve’s eyes) to 40s!bucky and 40s!steve

Word Count: 3.2k - this was not meant to get this long oh dear god

masterlist

“Are you sure you want to do this Cap?” Tony asked, placing the Manila folders in front of him cautiously, “You might not like everything that you read”

Steve just nodded, his eyes immediately drawn to your file, “I have to know”

He waited until he was alone that evening to look through the folders, starting with Dum Dum’s folder. By 2 am in the morning he had finally reached yours, fingers hesitating at the crisp pages. With a deep breath, he finally opened it.

Your face beamed up at him, standing in between him and Bucky. That particular picture had been taken after their first successful hydra raid with the howling commandos, the three of you full of incomparable joy. Steve felt his eyes brimming with tears as he set the picture aside, moving onto the typed up briefing of your life.

He knew something was wrong before he had even started, the folder much thinner than that of the other members, only a mere few pages detailing your life after the war. His stomach clenched uncomfortably at the sight, yet he continued to read.

She continued to fight with the surviving commandos until the end of the war, where she was heavily decorated amongst her peers. Retiring from the forces, she moved back to Brooklyn, only 5 minutes away from Rebecca Barnes and her new husband. 3 months after retiring from the service she was found dead in her apartment from a gunshot to the head, self inflicted.

Steve felt sick. Utterly, utterly sick. He had left you alone, and without him or Bucky there to help you, you had crumbled. Shoving the folder away from him, he stumbled to his feet, dashing out of his room and towards the common room kitchen to get some water.

He ignored a few worried calls as he walked through the corridors, his mind reeling with the imaginative horrors of your death, conjuring up images of your limp body sprawled lifelessly on the floor -

The thought made him heave, tears gathering in his eyes as he clumsily took a cup from the cupboard and began to fill it up, his usually steadfast hands shaking life a leaf as memories of his youth filled his head.

“I didn't see you here yesterday, you’re always sat here sketching at 4. Were you okay?”

Steve looked up at you in shock, sketching pad lying on his legs as he tried to formulate a sentence.

“Wha - yeah. My asthma was bad is all, ma didn't want me leaving the house. Um - I’m Steve”

“Y/N” you greeted cheerfully, seating yourself next to him on the bench, “I think we’re going to be great friends”

“Steve! Wait up!” you called, running down the street, madly weaving through the throngs of people that lined the Brooklyn streets. Steve had known you for years now, Bucky instantly accepting you into the fold.

Steve watched you approach with a grin, leant against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets to keep out of the way of the morning rush.

“I thought you had ditched me” he teased, elbowing you lightly in the side, “was waiting for 20 minutes doll”

You ducked your head slightly, your hair falling in your face as you laughed, “I would never Steve - you know that”

With a small nod, he offered you his arm, the two of you walking towards the theatre.

“Is Buck coming?”

“Shouldn’t you know that?” He teased, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

You blanched, a blush creeping up your cheeks, “I don't have a clue what you’re talking about”

He snorted, falling next to you in line at the ticket booth with a relaxed smile.

“Yeah, because you didn't fall hopelessly in love with him when we were 7″

You punched his arm lightly, stumbling over words as you tried to defend yourself.

“He’ll ask you out any day doll, I’m sure of it”

“Steve! Help me!”

He turned around to see Bucky close in on you, tackling you to the ground before he began tickling your sides.

“Make him stop - ow! James! I’ll get you for this I swear!”

“Nah, you love me too much to hurt me babydoll” Bucky smirked, his eyes shining with admiration as he stared down at your scowling face.

Steve sniggered as he watched you turn beet red, immediately wiggling out from underneath the taller man and making a rushed excuse to leave.

“What was that?”

“You called her babydoll again” Steve smirked, crossing his arms triumphantly, “Just admit it, you like her”

“I don't know what you’re talking about punk”

“Jerk”

“It’s in Europe, they say we might have to join” you said in a low voice, squished between Bucky and Steve in a booth, a shared smoothie sat on the table.

“Someone’s got to stop the Nazis - I think we should help” Steve explained with a small shrug. “They’re bullies, they need to be stopped”

“What do you think Buck?”

“Huh - what? Sorry doll I wasn’t listening”

You sighed, narrowing your eyes at Dot who had been flirting with him from across the diner.

“Just go sit with her if she’s that bloody interesting”

“If that’s alright with you?”

You huffed moodily, Steve answering for the both of you, a scowl forming on your face as you watched him flirt.

“He’s nothing but a skirtchaser” you huffed, taking an angry sip of milkshake, “Just admit it Steve, he sees me as a sister. I’ve known him too long”

“Trust me, he doesn’t look at you like he looks at Becca. He’s just being an idiot right now” Steve said, consoling you, “Besides, they never last more than a week, you’ve got to realise there’s a reason for that”

“I’ll believe it when I see it Rogers”

“Buck you cant go” you cried into his chest, hands fisted into the material of his jacket.

“I’m sorry doll, but you know I have to. I’ll come home, I promise” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hairline as he pulled away, moving to give Steve a hug.

“Look after her while I’m gone Steve, I mean it”

“You know I will”

“And don't do anything stupid”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you” Steve smiled sadly, moving to hold your hand as you waved Bucky off.

As soon as he was out of sight you buried your head in Steve’s shoulder, letting out broken sobs as he held you tightly.

“I didn’t tell him Steve”

“I know”

“What do you mean you’re leaving? You’re being deployed?”

“Yes, well I -” You cut him off with a hug, knowing how much he wanted to get in to the army, until the reality came crashing down.

“What am I supposed to do? What about your asthma? Your pains? I - I should join the nurses, see if I can go with you. You’ll - you’ll need someone who knows how to help you”

“Y/N no, I promised Buck -”

“You cant leave me here alone Steve, I cant be in Brooklyn alone”

“Who are - wait - Steven?”

“It's me”

“But you’re massive! What happened to you!”

“I joined the army” he chuckled, a sad tinge to his voice

“Why’re you sad?”

“They’re not deploying me. They have me on a dance troupe instead, something about selling bonds”

You pulled him into a hug, withholding a sigh of relief, “Well, I guess I’ve found my new job, eh?”

You snuck off stage with Steve, ignoring the cheers of the soldiers as you consoled him, smiling at Peggy as she approached.

“Tough crowd? That audience contains what was left of the 107th -”

“Wait, the 107th?”

Steve was up in a flash, you and Peggy following close behind.

“Sir I just need to know one name, Sargent James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th, please”

“I’ve written more of those letters than I’d care to admit today - I’m sorry but the name does sound familiar”

You choked down a sob as Steve asked what the plan was to save the POWs, your hand absentmindedly clutching his as you tried to ground yourself.

“I cant believe I let you come” Steve breathed exasperatedly, watching as you put your show helmet back on, a determined look in your eye.

“Hey, I’ve been training her, she’s pretty good” Peggy smiled, handing you a pistol and holster, as well as a stolen machine gun.

The plane leered to the side slightly, Howard shouting apologies from the front.

“I’ll have you know I beat your accuracy on the shooting range, Rogers” you teased, attaching the thigh holster as you steadied your breathing, getting ready to drop into enemy territory.

You fought brutally, following Steve’s every move as you made your way through the hydra base.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Get the prisoners out, I’ll carry on looking for Bucky”

“Are you sure -”

“If he sees you here you know he’s just going to act tough, we need to move quickly”

You snorted in agreement, taking the cell keys and splitting off from him, shooting down the last few guards before entering the room.

“Who are you?”

“Here to save your asses”

“I asked you to keep her safe!”

“I did! She’s fine isn't she?”

“She is standing right here! And yes, I’m joining and there’s nothing you can do about it, okay?”

“Doll, I just don't think -” “Bucky if the dame wants to come along, let her come” Dum Dum interrupted, “She saved us back then and she seems capable enough”

You smiled smugly, raising your eyebrow at Bucky as Steve watched on in amusement.

“You’re not gonna back down from this are you? God my ma’s gonna kill me”

You cheered at his acceptance, pulling both Bucky and Steve into a hug.

“The three musketeers back together again”

“I wish it was under better circumstances”

“don't we all”

“Bucky I’m fine! It was the right move, if I hadn't have gone in there then the turret might have taken Gabe and Pinky out!”

“You almost got shot!”

“We’re always almost getting shot!”

“But normally I have eyes on you - I can look out for you” “I don't need you to babysit me James! I can do it!” “Well I cant! I lost eyesight on you and you weren’t answering me doll - I - you can’t do that -“

“You don’t seem that bothered when the others leave your sight! You’re being hypocritical Bucky -“

“I LOVE YOU GODDAMNIT”

Everything went quiet, a shocked gasp escaping your lips at the epiphany.

The men cleared their throats awkwardly, the two of your voices carrying back to the camp. Steve, however, sat back in his seat happily, glad that his friend had finally taken the leap.

Everyone was sat quietly as Jaques fiddled with the radio, trying to hack into the Russian network.

Steve was sat opposite the two of you, watching as you had a hushed conversation. You were sat in between Bucky’s legs, your back leant against his chest. You tilted your head upwards to talk to him, small giggles escaping your lips as he pressed light kisses all over your face.

The rare peaceful moment was cut short as the channel took hold, harsh Russian cutting through the cold air, bringing with it the beginnings of the next mission.

“What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that we were cornered and I needed to get into the control room!”

“Jesus babydoll, are you trying to give me a heart attack”

“I can handle myself Buck! How many times do I need to prove myself before you realise that? I can fight my own fucking battles”

Bucky cut you off with a growl, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder, muttering something about your dirty mouth.

“We’ll be back in a bit Steve”

“Try and keep it down this time” Steve teased, earning a shocked curse from you as you began to scold him.

“Steven Grant Rogers, how very dare you -”

“Stevie you’ll never guess what!”

“Did he do it?”

You turned around to Bucky, a massive grin on your face.

“He knew?”

“Of course he knew, who do ya think helped me pick the ring?”

Delighted, you hugged Steve, thanking him.

“He was getting cold feet, thought it was too soon” Steve teased, “all I had to do was remind him you’ve been in love since you were 14 - he’s been carrying that damn ring around since the last big town”

“I love you big idiots”

Bucky chuckled from behind you, his arms encircling your waist protectively, chin resting on the top of your head.

“Just a few more bases and we can go home” Bucky promised, Steve nodding firmly.

“Just a few more”

You stared blankly at Steve, his words falling on to deaf ears. Blindly, you started towards the edge of the cliff to look at the train track where he had fallen, Steve’s hands preventing you from getting too close.

“He’s not gone. He’s not”

“I’m sorry, I reached for him. He was right there and I-“ Steve’s voice broke off into sobs, your arms mechanically hugging him. You were numb.

“It’s not your fault” you murmured repeatedly, “not your fault”

Only two weeks later, the group had found the main hydra base. Steve had tried talking you out of coming but you needed the revenge, the alcohol not cutting into your grief.

You moved through the base with conviction, unbridled fury coursing through your veins as you cleared corridors of hostiles by yourself, movements brutal and unforgiving.

“He’s on the jet - missiles - I need backup”

You watched as Steve kissed Peggy, a small smirk pulling at your lips, before you continued clearing the way to the control room.

“I’ve got to put her in the water”

“Steve - no. You can’t do that to me, please”

Peggy tried to come up with an alternative route, but Steve was sure it was the only way.

“Y/N I’m so sorry”

As Steve stepped on the platform, one glance at Bucky confirmed what he had to do.

When he had first remembered you, he had cried for hours in Steve’s arms until he eventually worked up the courage to read your folder. He had gone silent for a few minutes before letting out the most heart wrenching sob Steve had ever heard.

He was inconsolable for quite a while afterwards, quite similar to Steve when he had found out, unable to imagine you in a place that dark.

“3, 2, 1”

A hesistant knock sounded at your door, bringing you out of your daydream. You cursed the interruption, reality crashing back down around as you realised you were back in the States and they were gone.

The person knocked again, more firmly this time. You opened it with a fake smile (one you had mastered recently), to be met with a familiar set of broad shoulders.

”Steve?”

Your voice was shaky, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek.

“Oh god I’m going insane aren’t I - you - you died. You’re both dead. Who - why are you doing this? It’s not funny!” You wept, scrambling backwards.

“Y/n-“

You froze at his voice, hands beginning to tremble.

“No, no”

Your crying increased as you pressed your hands to your ears, sliding down the wall until you were hunched over, rocking back and forth slightly.

“You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re dead” you mumbled.

“Y/n I’m here, it’s me. I’m here doll”

Warm arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a comforting embrace, “shhh. Shhhh”

“Is it - is it really you?” You asked, hands clawing at his shirt, “Steve, Steve it’s you?”

“It’s me, I’m here” he said, voice cracking with emotion.

“But - but - the ice. You crashed Steve. You - you - you died! You both died!” You had to pause, choking on tears, “you both left me. I had to come back here alone, you know I didn't want to be in Brooklyn alone”

“I know, and I’m so sorry doll. I’m so sorry. But I came here to take you home, with Buck and I”

“Oh - I did it didn’t I?”

“What?”

“I’m dead”

“No. You’re not dead, but you did-“ his voice broke off, tears falling from his eyes as he tried to finish his sentence, “I know what you’re thinking of doing”

“Oh”

“I’m from the future, there’s no easy way to put it. The ice froze me, kept me alive. I read it in your notes”

“Bucky’s alive in the future too?”

“The fall didn’t kill him”

You gasped, filling in the gaps yourself.

“Oh god, we - we basically handed him to them!”

“But he’s alive, he’. Please let me save you doll - come back with me. I know it will be different but -“

“Yes, please don't leave me again Stevie I cant - not again - I cant”

The blond just nodded in understanding, helping you to your feet.

“Is there anything you need to get?”

You shook your head, your engagement ring still shining on your finger as you grasped the two sets of dog tags around your neck.

Steve tilted his head to the side questioningly.

“Rebecca wanted Bucky’s, I couldn’t say no to her. I got to keep yours though - you can have them back if you want?”

“No need” he smiled, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand, “Let’s go”

You fell to your knees on a metal platform, Steve’s hand still resting on your shoulder.

“Steve what did you do?”

You ignored the unfamiliar voice as you looked up, eyes frantically searching for Bucky.

“Steve -”

You whipped around at the sound of his voice, “Buck”

You launched yourself at him immediately, the two of you crumbling to the ground in a messy embrace. Tears ran steadily down his cheeks as his hands ran over your figure, as if solidifying that you were really in front of him.

“Your hair is so long now” you giggled tearfully, stroking your hands through the silky strands, “and you have a beard!”

He laughed ruefully, searching your face quickly before burying his face back into your neck.

“I missed you babydoll” he whispered into your skin, tightening his arms around your waist, “I’m so sorry for everything”

Frowning, you cut him off, gently moving his face in front of yours and pulling him into a sweet, tender kiss.

“You have nothing to be sorry for James, nothing at all”

He looked down at your intertwined fingers, eyes drawn to the ring.

“You kept it”

“There was never gonna be anyone else Buck -”

“I know”

Averting your eyes from Bucky for a few seconds, you gestured for Steve to join the hug, your family unit complete.

“The three musketeers back together again” Steve smiled, leaning forwards so all three of your foreheads were touching.

“Punk”

“Jerk”

“Idiots”

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