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dirty-holy-things · 4 years ago

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Christmas Tree Farm

Part III of the Invisible String Series

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV Read on Ao3.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x AFAB Reader

Rating: Mature, for slight references to sex and swearing.

Words: 6.6k update

Chapters: 4 / ?

Warnings: Very few. Swearing, subtle references to sex.

Author's Notes: This story is broken into two segments, with the first half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas together, and the second half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas spent with the Wilson's, their found family.

Summary: The winter holidays can be a challenging time for many, and you and Bucky were no stranger to lonely Christmases. But love has a curious, insistent way of melting away the ice that locks away and protects our hearts; and as time passes, both you and Bucky finally allow yourselves a little bit of that holiday cheer.

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The city lights somehow shone even brighter, thanks to the addition of copious (or one could say, excessive) amounts of Christmas lights that likely threatened to upend the entire city’s power grid. Every storefront was decked out with tinsel and trees, each mannequin was dressed in their holiday best, and you couldn’t take two steps without being greeted by a vibrant advertisement for “This season’s must-buy holiday gifts!” While you certainly weren’t a Grinch by any means, you also hadn’t had much of a reason to celebrate the holiday through the past few years; that was, until you found yourself a 106 year old, semi-stable boyfriend with a secret love for Christmas that was comparable to that of an eight year old on a sugar high.

Bucky Barnes was an intimidating figure to those who saw him in the streets, but after nearly a year of dating, you had thoroughly cracked that hard exterior to see the gentle and romantic man who had been locked away and frozen for so long. People on the streets saw a powerful man with a gleaming metal arm; you saw a man who could pick you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder before pinning you down and tickling you. Shoppers in the grocery store saw a brooding and intimidating figure; you saw him fall asleep on the couch, his frame protectively curled around his cat Alpine. You had once been like all those strangers, only seeing that which was on the surface, but you had come to know and love him as a whole person.

And as such, it did not come as that much of a shock when, shortly after Thanksgiving dinner, Bucky’s requited love for Christmas broke through for the first time. “Hey, doll,” he started, an inquisitive tone in his voice. “Where’s your Christmas music? Been goin’ through your records but I can’t seem’ta find any.”

“Don’t have any,” you called out from the bedroom, folding the last of his laundry that had taken up permanent residence in your top right dresser drawer. You strolled into the living room to see him still flicking determinedly through your collection, hoping against hope to find something that would put the apartment into the holiday spirit. “Buck, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any Christmas records — but I can play some music from my phone, if you want me to.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweets.”

He sank into the plush fabric of your sofa, sighing defeatedly. You laughed at his exaggerated response, before moving to sit next to him, draping your legs across his and nestling into his arms. You pulled your phone out of the pocket of your leggings, searching for a Christmas playlist, before you were distracted by Bucky’s lingering, pensive look. “What’s on your mind, Bucky?”

He sighed, metal hand tracing cool circles into your exposed skin. “It’s nothing, it’s silly.”

You frowned, not thrilled with his sudden withdrawal. “Clearly it’s not nothing. C’mon, Buck, you can talk to me.”

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since 1943,” he said slowly. “Hydra certainly didn’t celebrate, and after I came back from the Blip, I didn’t have anyone to share one with. I thought — I had thought, maybe, since I have you, we could do something for Christmas together. But, if you’re not really in’ta Christmas, that’s okay.”

You could tell that his casual tone was forced, you could pick up the subtle changes in volume and pitch. Your heart ached for him, as you thought about the loneliness that he had endured for decades, all of the holidays and joy and traditions and memories that he had missed out on; and while you weren’t a Christmas person by nature, by god, you were going to be one for Bucky Barnes.

***

You fully assimilated into the Christmas spirit and enthusiasm, trying to provide Bucky with every sweet, cheesy, moment of joy that he had been denied for so long. The weeks leading up to Christmas were positively filled to the brim, near-bursting, with holiday spirit and theme-appropriate music, the lyrics echoing throughout your apartment to the extent that you wondered if future tenants may one day hear ghosts of Christmas past — also known as the ghost of Bucky Past, as he sang along to every tune that crooned its way through the small, shared space. You had never seen him so indulgently and freely happy before, so you didn’t begrudge the fourth or fifth playing of the Holiday Hits records, or his subtly-insistent urging for a real Christmas tree.

It was the second week of December when you executed your ‘master plan.’

Manhattan wasn’t exactly known for its Christmas tree farms, so you had planned on making the long and laborious trek out of the city to fetch your own real tree. Bucky was more than happy to oblige, with the promise that he could fell his own Christmas tree; you had no doubt that your sweet, sensitive, and powerful super-soldier could fell whatever tree stood before him. But aside from your confidence in his physical abilities, you wanted to give him this Christmas moment, this Christmas memory — you wanted to give him the opportunity to bring his tree back to your shared space, and to create these Christmas memories with him. You wanted to break his pattern of ignored or heartbroken Christmases, and after he had confessed his love for the holiday that Thanksgiving night, you had been thinking about all of the ways you could make this year special for him.

Bucky had been more than thrilled by your suggestion to drive out of the city for an evening, particularly for a Christmas tree, and the two of you sank into the slow, gentle peace that steadily grew as the car carried you further and further away from the bustling city. You had picked a destination that was quite far from the city center, having seen the positive reviews online and the promise of free hot chocolate; and to be honest, you thought that the brief break from city life could do the two of you some good.

He had picked you up from your apartment, after acquiring this evening’s rental car; and his time spent battling lazy rental car representatives and New York traffic had given you the perfect amount of time to enact your vision for the apartment before his call rang through, informing you that he was here and waiting by the front door. Your drive out of the city had been filled with more and more Christmas music, cups of coffee, and a stash of chocolate chip cookies that you had decided would be appropriate fuel for the evening ahead. Bucky had eaten ten out of the twelve you brought.

The Christmas tree farm was illuminated with countless twinkling globe lights, a soft golden glow radiating around you and bouncing off of the freshly-fallen snow that crunched underneath your boots. Bucky grinned from ear to ear, in an easy way that you had never seen before, and you felt a rush of confidence and surety about your somewhat-secret plan.

Upon your arrival at the Christmas tree farm, Bucky had quickly picked out the prettiest tree in the entire lot; the branches were tightly packed and well-filled with needles that smelled of pine and childhood memories. The attendant who had handed him the axe to fell the tree watched in shock and awe as Bucky cleaved through the tree trunk with two strong strokes; you laughed quietly into your hot chocolate, bemused by your boyfriend’s blatant display of strength. Bucky strapped the tree to the top of the rental car with impressive speed, and it was not long afterwords that you were hurtling back into the city, towards the apartment that the two of you now called home.

Forcing the tall tree into the slim elevator was a challenge, one that Bucky took in stride; and after multiple curse words and sweaty exclamations of frustration, it finally fit to the point in which Bucky could abandon the advanced geometry he had been working at. The ride upwards was humorously tense, as Bucky observed you being pinned in by the tree, and you nervously awaited the arrival that you had planned for your sweet super-soldier.

Your front door now held a large wreath, bedecked with poinsettias and glimmering gold tinsel; the sight caught Bucky off-guard, as he recognized that this was a new addition. “I like the wreath, sweets,” he grinned, moving to shift the tree out of the cramped elevator and free you from its heavy, pine-scented branches.

“Thought some Christmas decorations were in order,” you laughed lightly, finally freed from the cramped elevator; and you briefly wondered how long that fresh pine scent might linger within the small space. Bucky kept the tree upright while you nervously opened the door, suddenly anxious that maybe you had taken the Christmas enthusiasm too far.

Bucky was a man on a mission, as he determinedly hauled the tree through the hallway and into the living room; you had previously cleared a corner for the tree, right next to your patio door, hoping that the ambient light from the city would help to illuminate the tree that would now fill the recently-vacated space. You watched him corner the tree into the wall, ensuring it was supported appropriately, before he turned to survey the apartment that was surrounding him.

You might’ve gone a bit overboard with the Christmas decorations, but you would’ve thrown yourself overboard ten times more to see that smile spreading across Bucky’s face.

The entrance to the apartment now displayed a vibrant poinsettia wreath, and a welcome mat that said ‘happy holidays,’ a sentiment ensconced by the image of ivy and red berries. The tea towels in the kitchen were red and green, boasting cheeky jokes about holiday cheer, and the glassware had been replaced with wine glasses and rocks glasses of emerald green crystal. The kitchen table was fully dressed for Christmas, with gold and green accents at every turn, highlighted with poinsettia blossoms. Your plush ivory couch was now draped with multiple blankets: one chunky knit, one soft and fuzzy, and a wool blanket with a plaid blend of emerald green, dark navy, blood-red, and gold. All of the picture frames and artwork on the wall had been wrapped over to look like Christmas presents, the fireplace was bedecked with mistletoe and holly, and even the bathroom hand soaps had been swapped out for holiday scents.

“Sweets — what’s, what’s all this?” Bucky asked breathlessly, surveying the unexpected sight before him.

“It’s our first Christmas,” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved to wrap your arms around his waist, savoring the combined scent of pine and that which was distinctly Bucky. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes — and I want to make every kind of Christmas memory with you. I want us to decorate our tree together, I want us to sneakily wrap up presents for each other, I want us to wear silly matching pajamas, I want us to leave the decorations up for way too long just because they bring us back to this perfect moment.”

Bucky’s strong and irresistible hands guided your body towards the couch, your bodies collapsing softly into the cushions as his plush and chapped lips pressed into the soft skin of your neck, biting gently at your racing pulse. You could feel the excitement and joy radiating from Bucky, comparable to the blazing heat of the sun, or a fire, or any other brightly-burning thing, and you knew that your decision to go all-in for Christmas had been the right one. Grinning to yourself, you thought about the extensive, and… myriad applicability of mistletoe you had acquired, and how you might work this into a Christmas miracle of your own.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky exhaled against your flushed skin. “I’ve never felt so fuck’n lucky, to have someone like you lovin’ me.”

You allowed yourself a moment to sink into the weight of his words, allowed yourself to feel appreciated, valued, desired, wanted. “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” you whispered, your hands tracing gently across the sharp and chiseled planes of his face. “Loving you is as easy as breathing… even when you steal all of the covers, or insist on rewatching Lord of the Rings for the fortieth time.”

Bucky laughed, a deep chuckle echoing from his chest as he pulled you closer against his thickly-muscled body. “Looks like quite a lot of mistletoe here, doll,” he grinned, pressing a casual kiss against your forehead as he surveyed the state of the apartment.

“Oh, yeah, that was intentional,” you quipped, giggling as you leaned in for a kiss; only to have Bucky pull away, a devilish and almost dark grin on his face.

“Y’sure you’re ready for that?” He asked, his voice holding a shred of a threat and the weight of a promise.

“Bring it on, Barnes.”

*********************************************************

Christmas had grown to become a full-fledged, extravagant, blowout event with each year that passed. The holiday season started earlier and earlier, as you both plotted and planned for how to one-up the other with some sort of holiday surprise or thoughtful gift; and you eventually grew to ignore the odd looks of your neighbors as the poinsettia wreath was now regularly hung before Thanksgiving dinner was done cooking.

This year, however, was going to be different. After a handful of long-weekend trips down to Louisiana to visit Sam, Sarah, and their family, you and Bucky had decided to take an extended vacation - two weeks, to be exact. The two of you would be sharing both Christmas and New Years with the Wilson family, and you couldn’t possibly be more thrilled — or anxious.

Over the past few years, Bucky and Sam had settled into a brotherly sort of friendship, full of barbed comments, silent hugs, and quiet words of encouragement and advice; and after you met Sarah on your first Memorial Day trip to the small town, the two of you had taken to one another like lifelong best friends, sharing a love for merlot and a sense of worry for the two men who were dead-set on saving the world.

So it came as little surprise when the Wilsons invited the two of you for an extended stay; and you had eagerly agreed to the idea of both a vacation, and a holiday spent with your found family. Bucky had pretended to be resistant for a moment, mumbling something about ‘not wanting to share his time with you,’ but had caved easily when you pressed on the matter. He was likely just as eager to have a family Christmas as you were — but Sam certainly couldn’t know that.

You had spent nearly two months leading up to your trip relentlessly questioning Sarah and Sam about gift ideas, feeling an immense pressure to get things right. You struggled to keep up with the ever-evolving interests of AJ and Cass, and you felt the need to find something perfectly sweet and thoughtful for Sam and Sarah, as they had been so kind as to invite you and Bucky into their home for the holiday season. Bucky was able to sense your nervousness about finding the perfect gifts, and was able to remain fairly level-headed and reasonable as you perused countless stores. However, as empathetic and kind as your super-soldier may be, he was still prone to bouts of boredom or hunger.

“Look, sweets, we could get the kids gift cards and I’m sure they’d be more than happy —“ Bucky started, before you cut him off with an icy glare. You were in the fifth store of the day, and while Bucky’s patience with you had extended far past a reasonable amount, he was admittedly wearing thin.

“No gift cards,” you bit, cutting him off harshly, before rubbing your hand across his forearm gently in apology. “I know Sarah said they didn’t really need any more gaming stuff, but they’ve got a pretty good deal for the new Xbox here…”

Bucky chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss on the temple, forgiving your earlier tension. “With the way you’re try’na spoil them, you’d think they were our own kids.”

You blushed, knowing he was likely right. You were prone to gift-giving and over-indulging the wants and whims of those you loved; Bucky knew that firsthand, and was fair in assuming this would extend to all you loved — whether they were currently in existence or not. “Just imagine if we ever do have kids, Barnes,” you said lightly, hoping the barely-concealed eagerness in your voice didn’t betray you. “Honestly, you’ll be even more of a sucker than me.”

“Me? No, not at all,” he huffed, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within, unable to picture a situation in which Bucky would be anything other than a marshmallow around children, particularly his own. “Between the two of us, you’re the one who will be a softie. Mark my words, Barnes, you’re gonna be wrapped around a tiny little finger one of these days.”

He chuckled softly, eyes flitting lightly across your body. “Y’call me Barnes an awful lot, sweets.”

You nodded, shoulders raising as if to say, so what?

“Makes me think you might like the name — y’maybe might even want it for yourself,” Bucky grinned, a simultaneously mischievous but sincere glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging your shoulder into his chest. You returned your focus to the sale tags in the store, trying desperately — and futilely — to quell the reflexive, undeniable excitement that came with the idea of a life with Bucky.

Marriage, a home, babies, the whole nine yards — but you were in Target, you were getting way too ahead of yourself. That was a thought for another day, another time.

***

Your arrival at Sam and Sarah’s home had been just as warm and welcoming as you expected, with Sarah ushering you and Bucky upstairs to the spare bedroom that had basically become yours after the extensive number of vacations and visits. You and Bucky both slept well that night, as the long drive had worn you down, and for the first time in several months — if not over a year — you were up the next morning before Bucky Barnes.

It was Christmas Eve, and the excitement of this day was not lost on you; rolling away from Bucky’s solid grasp was a challenge, but you managed to do so without disturbing the sleeping brunette who had been wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. You laughed quietly to yourself as he sleepily grabbed for your pillow, pulling it inwards to cradle it between his arms.

You stealthily snuck out of the room, wanting Bucky to get whatever measure of rest possible, and made yourself decent before heading downstairs to find Sarah in the kitchen. She was dressed and ready for the day, and you slumped into a kitchen chair with a yawn.

“Coffee’s ready, I’d suggest y’get it before Sam and Buck are up.” Sarah joked with a sleepy smile. So far, only the two of you were up, and you gratefully accepted her recommendation for a cup of coffee, appreciating the warmth and rush of caffeine that it offered.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You asked, as the two of you sat down at the kitchen table together.

Sarah smiled into her cup of coffee, taking a long sip before responding. “I’ll probably have’ya give me a hand with the pancakes, you’re a good judge for when to flip them,” she commented, eyes wandering to the bay window that offered an exceptional view of the sunrise. “You can also help me by giving me a heads up about the boys’ Christmas presents.”

You instinctively felt the need to say no, to preserve the integrity of the surprise and excitement of Christmas morning, but you realized that telling Sarah wouldn’t spoil the surprise for the boys. You excitedly discussed the details of the gifts, both for the kids, and for Sam and Bucky, and despite the clock indicating an obscenely early time of 7:48AM, you still felt the Christmas spirit radiating in the cozy kitchen space.

You and Sarah worked together to prepare a full breakfast, consuming cup after cup of coffee until you heard the unmistakable sound of Bucky stepping heavily down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Stepping away from the pancakes for a moment, you quickly started to brew another pot of coffee; and as you returned to your station by the stovetop, you giggled as you felt Bucky’s arms wrap securely around your midsection.

“Well this is a Christmas miracle,” Bucky whispered into the soft skin of your neck. “You’re up and outta bed before me.”

You laughed, turning to faced him as he continued to hold your body against his. “We’re not even to Christmas yet, Barnes — who know what kinda surprises might be in store for you.”

Bucky hummed suggestively, his teeth barely grazing your skin as you shivered against him. Your body instinctively molded to his, and you were in the process of turning around for a kiss when you heard, “Ah, ah, ah!”

You pulled away from Bucky with a laugh, seeing Sarah standing by the sink, hands planted firmly on her waist as she stared the two of you down with the kind of glare that only mothers could possess. “Not in my kitchen! Save that shit for Brooklyn.”

There was an undeniable heat in your cheeks, and you could see the pink tinge that Bucky’s face took on as Sarah called the two of you out. He still kept his hands on you, but with less suggestive placement. “M’sorry, Sarah, I just couldn’t help myself.”

She rolled her eyes before tossing him the coffee mug she had just finished drying; Bucky, of course, caught it despite the lack of warning. “Well, help yourself to some coffee and breakfast - I suggest you get started before the boys are up, it’ll be a frenzy before too long.”

Bucky laughed and grabbed your mostly-empty coffee mug as he strode across the kitchen; he was filling the second cup as a thunderous sound echoed through the house, as Cass, AJ, and Sam quickly filled the remaining space in the kitchen. The boys were startlingly hyper despite having just woken up - you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up that exuberantly - and Sam yawned while making a beeline for the coffee pot that Bucky held in his metal grasp. The two men exchanged the coffee pot silently, but peacefully; and you and Sarah stepped back from the kitchen to rest on the couch, to enjoy the remainder of the morning and watch the feeding frenzy that was comparable to piranhas descending on the sun-streaked Louisiana kitchen.

***

The remainder of Christmas Eve had gone smoothly and happily; AJ and Cass fell asleep close to 11PM, about halfway through The Grinch, and Bucky and Sam had carried them to bed despite weak protestations that they wanted to stay up to catch Santa. As soon as Sam and Bucky returned to give the all-clear, indicating the boys were soundly asleep, you and Sarah set to work on bringing out all of the gifts that had been carefully concealed.

You were stacking presents meticulously when you saw Bucky taking a handful of the Christmas cookies that had been left out for Santa; Sam had noticed as well, and he frowned. “Hey, man, I don’t see you in a red suit with a white beard,” Sam whispered loudly.

“Don’t see you in one either,” Bucky responded around a mouthful of a poorly-iced sugar cookie. The five of you had spent the afternoon baking and icing cookies for Santa, the neighbors, and the mailman; and while it was adorable and endearing, there was a distinct lack of artistic talent for cookie decorating.

“Bucky, share the cookies,” You laughed, nudging him to hand over the plate that he had taken hostage. Bucky grumbled, but you could see the way the corner of his lip quirked up; he was just as amused and happy in this scene as you were. The remainder of the cookies were shared, Sarah finished stuffing the stockings, and you placed the last present under the tree; looking at the last gift, you saw your swooping handwriting on the tag: To Bucky, with love.

“Is that everything?” Sarah asked, an exhausted but content look upon her face. “Last call for gifts, before Santa takes off for the night.”

Bucky coughed, giving Sam a side-eyed look that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Should be everything,” Bucky responded cooly, but you could see the subtle flexing and whirring in the prosthetic arm that indicated a sort of nervousness within him. It was Christmas Eve, what could he be stressing about? Unless a gift had gotten lost in-between airports; but you had accounted for everything, you were sure of it. Shaking off the feeling as a side effect of exhaustion, you smiled when Bucky extended a hand to help you off the floor. “Ready to say g’night, doll?”

You nodded, and the both of you said quiet goodnights to Sam and Sarah before heading to bed for the evening. Tucking yourselves into the warm, soft bed, you saw the clock blink at 12:08AM. “Merry Christmas Bucky,” you whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss against his forehead, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the few silver hairs that had slowly appeared along his hairline.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he mumbled happily, from the warm space between sleep and waking, the space where anything good could feel true, the space where Santa might be real and the world might be kind.

***

You had forgotten how early kids tend to wake up on Christmas morning. A silent apology to your parents passed through your groggy mind as you worked to drag yourself out of bed, having been roused by the inescapable sound of fists banging on the closed door and children’s muffled screams of, “Wake up! It’s Christmas!”

Bucky wore his usual early-morning scowl; one that would’ve sent fear coursing through any rational person, but it was a look you knew and loved. He pressed the soft, downy pillow over his head, trying to muffle out AJ & Cass’s insistent excitement. “Too… early…”

You laughed hoarsely, your voice not fully awake just yet. “You try telling them that, see how far it gets you,” you suggested, as you grabbed for your glasses and the pair of pajama pants that you kept handy for decency’s sake. Bucky grumbled again, and glancing at the clock, you realized you couldn’t blame him. It hadn’t yet cracked 6AM, and while Bucky was the early riser out of the two of you, this was a solid hour before his internal clock would typically wake him up. “C’mon, Buck, up and at ‘em. It’s Christmas morning, there’s presents and coffee waiting.”

The two of you finally emerged from the door, disheveled and sleep-deprived, only to be greeted by the loud cheers of AJ and Cass, who informed you that everyone else was already up.

***

The den quickly devolved into a chaotic mess of torn wrapping paper, slackened bows, crumpled tissue paper, and more toys and electronics than the room should’ve rightly been able to hold. The adults sat back and watched as AJ and Cass tore through every present, shouting and jumping and screaming in excitement with each gift that was voraciously revealed. You had shrugged your shoulders in a subtle I’m sorry to Sarah, as the kids triumphantly lifted the new Xbox above their heads. She didn’t seem to mind too much, however, after watching AJ and Cass tackle Uncle Bucky to the ground with promises and threats of ‘kicking his old butt at Mario Kart.’

As the glitter and tinsel settled throughout the love-filled room, AJ and Cass proceeded to withdraw from the early-morning celebrations to play with their new assortment of toys, games, and electronics. You had finished your second cup of coffee and had sent Bucky to retrieve your third, while you and Sam plucked the remaining gifts from underneath the tree, to be distributed amongst the adults.

You passed Sarah a thick envelope that was tied with a silver ribbon, and watched as she pulled forth a stack of papers of various sizes — airplane tickets, hotel check-in details, Broadway tickets — and happy tears flooded her cheeks as she hugged both you and Bucky tightly, thanking you for the fully-planned vacation. “Oh, and it’s not written anywhere officially, but we’re also volunteering to babysit,” you added, and laughed as Sarah grinned and clenched her fist in excitement.

“We are?” Bucky asked, pretending to be surprised. You elbowed him gently, and he corrected himself. “Yes, of course we are.”

The gift-giving continued, with lots of laughter and happy tears. Sam and Sarah had gifted you the slate-blue Le Creuset you had been eyeing wistfully for years, and Bucky received a set of tickets to a symphony performance and dance night, featuring hits from the 1940s. “Might have’ta bust out the old uniform for this one, doll,” he said with a sly grin. “Used to look real nice in those slacks, y’outght’a have the chance to appreciate the view.”

“Oh, I can only imagine the number of girls you pulled in that uniform, Barnes,” you teased. He shrugged nonchalantly as a thick arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his relaxed body. “Hey, ease up — you’re gonna make me spill my coffee!”

Bucky planted a solid kiss against your forehead as he drew you in closer, albeit with more consideration for the scalding-hot beverage in your hand this time. “That’s ancient history, sweetheart. No need to worry about Dolores at the nursing home stealing me from you.”

“Y’sure about that, Buck? I’ve heard stories about you and a redhead named Dolores…” Sam interjected, a playfully antagonistic hint to his voice. Bucky retaliated by throwing a pillow at Sam’s head, with the kind of ferocity that could only come from a super-soldier. “Kidding, kidding,” Sam laughed, as the pillow hit him squarely in the shoulder.

Both you and Bucky laughed, and he plucked the cup of steaming coffee from your hands, taking a sip before commenting further. “Only one girl I ever truly loved, sweetheart, and she’s right here with me,” he said softly, his voice rough and gravelly, but full of sincerity.

You knew that Bucky loved you, and you knew that you loved him. Little else in the world seemed to matter past those two facts, but you also understood that your shared love existed in a complex and challenging world. A world that you struggled to find a place in, a world that had all too many places for Bucky to fill; the freedom of narrative had been stolen from both of you, but as you retrieved your Christmas gift for Bucky, you hoped you had found a way to give a piece of that narrative back to him.

You handed him a thin, flat box; meticulously and nervously wrapped, the tag unmistakeable; To Bucky, with love.

You watched him open it excitedly, and he pulled out two photos. The first photo was from the original Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, the one that had stood for several years now. The second photo was one that you had taken yourself, of the recently-updated exhibit; specifically, the segment of the exhibit that documented Bucky’s history. You watched his facial expressions closely as he examined the differences, and you saw his jaw twitch and throat tighten as he focused more closely upon the second, most recent image.

“W-what’s this, doll?” He asked, his voice shaking.

You placed a hand gently over his, the one that held the image of the updated exhibit. “This,” you spoke softly, pointing at the inscription, “This is your legacy, Bucky Barnes. The true one. The one that matters, the one that countless people will read every single day. This is the story that everyone will know.”

Looking at the photograph grasped tightly within Bucky’s human hand, you read aloud the new inscription.

“Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front.

Captured by HYDRA troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, torture, and experimentation; but his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood best friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, the Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed HYDRA bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.”

Bucky nodded, commenting quietly. “I’ve seen this part, at the Smithsonian.”

“Yes, that was the original; the one you would’ve seen. They also noted your date of death — but as you well know, there’s more to the story,” you added gently, drawing your finger across the image to direct Bucky’s attention to the new addition.

“Barnes was tragically captured by HYDRA operatives after what was perceived to be a deadly fall. Captain America and the Howling Commandos mourned their loss of their brother and companion, with the unit fully dissolving after the loss of Captain America.

Barnes was kept as a HYDRA prisoner of war for decades, before being freed through the work of his childhood best friend. Recruited by Rogers to fight against the Titan known as Thanos, Barnes fought valiantly alongside the Avengers and helped restore the world to its rightful state.

Barnes is recognized as one of the great heroes of our time, having successfully overcome the might of both HYDRA and Thanos. As a nation, and as a global community, we now look to Barnes as an example: an example of what is good, what is right, what is resilient, what is brave and unbreakable.”

Your hands were shaking as you finished reading the new inscription, the new addition to the exhibit; and while your hands were shaking, all of Bucky was shaking. You reached an unsteady hand out towards him, letting it settle onto his shallowly breathing chest. “This is how the world will remember you, Bucky. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as a hero, as James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier was never you — and nobody will make that mistake again.”

Bucky huffed, exhaling strongly, and you could see that he was fighting off the tears that were threatening to spill from his ocean-blue eyes; you reached to hold his hand, squeezing it tightly as you smiled up at him. His bottom lip trembled slightly as his free hand came up to stroke your face; you leaned into the cool feeling of the vibranium against your warm cheek and kissed the corner of his hand that lingered against you.

“How’d you manage to pull this off, doll?” Bucky asked, voice shaking.

You shrugged and smiled playfully. “I think you’re forgetting that I work for the Smithsonian Institute, Buck. I was able to pull a few strings, call in a few favors — and anyways, museums are pretty heavily invested in having the correct information.”

Bucky laughed hoarsely, the tears receding before they had the opportunity to fall. Sam and Sarah had watched on quietly, both of them feeling grateful for the acceptance and love that you and Bucky had found with one another. “Y’know, Buck, I was thinking that your gift was pretty impressive, but after this… I dunno, man. She might have you beat.”

You looked back and forth between the two men; clearly, secrets had been exchanged, and you had been left out of it. Bucky winced as he leaned over to retrieve your gift, agreeing with Sam. “Yeah, shit, I don’t know how I can follow that. Rewriting history? Jesus, you didn’t even give me a chance.”

Bucky placed a long, narrow box in your hands, and despite his previous comment, he still smiled excitedly as you picked at the red, snowflake-covered wrapping paper. “Whatever it is, Buck, I know I’m gonna love it.”

The lid to the box opened with ease, and the contents both shocked and confused you for a moment. Your fingers nimbly grasped the silver dog tags that rested within the box, the metal chain clinking against itself as you looked more closely.

JAMES B BARNES

32557030 T42 2B

R. BARNES

3092 STOCKTON RD

SHELBYVILLE IN

The tags had been unmistakeable, undeniably familiar, from the moment you laid eyes on them. Holding the tags tightly within your hand, you turned to Bucky with questions in your eyes, and on your lips, but he beat you to it.

“Yes, these were mine. But they’re yours now.”

You stuttered, still shocked by the gesture. “B-But Bucky, aren’t you supposed to keep these on you? Isn’t it like some sort of rule? In case — oh, god, in case anything ever happened —“

Bucky shushed you as you became increasingly worried by the thought of something happening to him, the thought of him disappearing without anything remaining to identify him as the man that you loved. “Shh, doll. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and that’s exactly why I’m givin’ these to you. I promise, I’m never gonna leave you. I’ll never be far enough away from you to need these ever again.”

While Bucky may not have cried, you certainly did, unable to fight off the swell of emotions that hit you like a tidal wave — but a tidal wave of all good things. The weight of his words ad his gesture was overwhelming; he was handing you a piece of himself, entrusting it to you, and promising that you’d never again have to face a world without him in it. You thought about these same dog tags, how they had rested against his chest for decades, and now having this piece of him so close to your heart threatened to entirely overwhelm you.

“I love you, Bucky, god, I don’t even know what else to say right now, I love you more than anything —“ Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you breath was a staccato rhythm as your gaze flitted between the dog tags and the man they belonged to.

Bucky grinned, and you could see the threat of tears had returned. “Just promise me you’ll wear ‘em — and that you won’t lose ‘em.”

You nodded and smiled sweetly at him, before handing him the dog tags so he could fasten them around your neck. His hands cupped your chin and brought you in for a gentle kiss, despite the protests of Sam and Sarah; but they sounded worlds away, because your whole world was right here, holding you, and would never let you go.

***

Taglist: @bdavishiddlesbatch @aleynaandrews @who-is-a-heretic-now

#Bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x y/n #winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #invisible string #Bucky Barnes fluff

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cunningambitousdetermined · 3 years ago

Text

i need a plot for this

yall so ive been trying really hard to get back into writing and i went to a writing camp this summer. im going to post a poem that i wrote there later bc im super proud of it but right now i have something else i need help with. SO basically there was a prompt about someone finding a letter or a note. that’s the prompt. so i wrote something, really liked it BUT I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE TO TAKE IT FROM HERE. my basic ideas involve the two characters meeting each other again to do SOMETHING WHICH I DONT KNOW and slowly arcane (youll see when you read the story below) thaws and falls in love with kalon and kalon has always been in love with her and its like best friends to enemies to friends to lovers ya know? ANYWAY if you dont hate me for being inactive and needy, please read this and help me.

Dear Arcane,

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 10 years. Wow. I don’t even know if you’ll ever get this, you could’ve moved. You could be dead. Oh god, that’s dark. You’re not dead, someone would’ve told me, I’m sure. So that must mean that there’s a good chance you have this, but I’m not even sure if you’ll read it.

He was right, as he most often was. Arcane had not planned to read the letter from the moment she read her name on the envelope, written in a neat sort of messy handwriting that could only come from one person. The letter had been sitting at her desk for a week before memories began to drown her and she knew she had to open it.

That’s not the point though, I’m sure you’ll read this. You’ve always been a sucker for the intimacy of written letters. Maybe that’s why I wrote to you instead of calling.

Arcane closed her eyes, the pounding of the memories at the door slowly consuming her. She took a deep breath and let them in. The whispers started to fill the room, every word echoing off the walls, like her past had become a living, breathing thing in her room. How could he write her now? After all these years. Anger reared it's small head in the back of her mind. How could he be so casual as if he wasn't the boy who ripped her heart out and tore it to pieces.

Maybe it’s because I did read all the letters you wrote to me. Even after the voicemails stopped filling my phone and the emails ran dry, your letters kept coming.

She remembers writing those letters, the pen shaking in her hand as it hit the paper. She remembers wondering what you said to someone like him, a friend who left you behind. The squeeze in her chest that tightened each time he didn’t reply. The break in her heart when the last letter she ever wrote was returned to her doorstep.

If you’ve read this far without tearing my letter to pieces, then I would say this is a good start to our reunion. I’ve missed you. Your stubborn ways, always trying to keep me safe. But you always came with me wherever I went anyway. I miss your secret smile, the one you saved just for me. The treehouse we built in your yard. Do you miss that? I wonder if you wonder about me. I wonder if I can even ask that of you.

She did miss them. But, those things that she missed were long gone. The treehouse was overgrown with vines, Arcane was sure you couldn’t even get into it anymore. She went with him on his stupid adventures because what would she do if he left and met new people? He would leave her and she would be alone. So she desperately followed him blindly, hoping it would keep him close. Arcane missed her secret smile, the genuine one she had always saved for him. He missed it. How could he miss something that he destroyed. With his one and only letter to her, he demolished any leftover love for him that hid in her heart. He couldn’t ask if Arcane wondered about him. That wasn’t fair. That night, ten years ago, was still a raw wound in her soul that she was pretty sure would never heal.

The rain was relentless that night, banging against every edge of the house, but a little girl was waiting by the door, not even flinching as the lightning and thunder clapped furiously. Arcane peeked her head above the window frame to find the mailman running through the storm, his frantic steps pounding through the floor of the house. Her eyes lit up with a hope that was slowly fading with each mail drop. She opened the door and hid the small smile that started to spread up her face with a cough.

“Hi, Dan!” Arcane’s voice gave away the excitement that was flooding her system.

“Hey, Arcane.” Dan couldn’t help the pitiful grin that he gave her. She waited by the door for him every day and each day there was no letter for her. It must be soul-crushing, he thought, waiting for a letter that never comes.

“Is there…?” Arcane was practically on her tiptoes at this point. Dan rifled through the letters, dread settling as her name wasn’t there. Again. And then there was a squeal. “Oh, Dan! I found it! I knew- I knew it- I told them!” Her sentences didn’t even come out fully as she beamed, her smile brighter than any ray of the sun.

Arcane had run into the house, a breeze following in her wake. Plopping down into the soft plush couch, she ripped open the envelope, not caring about the paper that flew everywhere in the room. A paper fluttered out, floating toward the ground. Arcane grabbed it, hands shaking, she could practically feel the sweat dripping down her face. Words were the easiest way to break someone. The letter only contained eleven words, yet they would stick with her for the rest of her life.

Stop writing me. None of it was real. You were nothing.

Eleven words. And they shattered her. Crumbling, shattering, a million pieces breaking. Sobs racked through her whole body, her chest shaking and trembling with each broken breath. She caught her face in the mirror hanging off the pale wall and didn’t recognize the girl that stared back. You were nothing. A scream tore through her, the ache of her heart so raw that even the sun seemed to cry, rain dripping onto the panes of the windows. And slowly, so very slowly, Arcane buried the ache and gathered the shattered pieces of her heart and encased them in an impenetrable cage, never to opened again.

The ache was still present now, ten years after the letter had arrived. The dullness of her buried hurt made her clench her fists around the letter that sat in her hand now, the same lopsided handwriting adorning it.

But, that’s not why I’m writing this letter. I’m writing this with an actual purpose, if you can imagine that. I didn't just write to rehash our friendship.

Arcane could feel her eyes narrowing, fighting the urge to roll her eyes at the inanimate piece of paper. An actual purpose? To break her heart all over again? This time she did roll her eyes, even though no one was there to see it. But, it wasn’t the fact that he wrote her after all these years or that his tone was friendly throughout that made her body freeze. It was the last line that had the hairs on the back of her neck standing to attention.

In all the years that Arcane had known him, he'd never been very dependent. He often just struggled in silence and figured them out on his own. Not once, not ever, had has asked for help. But, there the sentence was inked in his slanted, loopy writing.

I need your help.

Love,

Kalon

~~everything below here is stuff that doesnt have to be a part of the story but i still liked it and where it was going (idk please give me ideas)~~

The quiet, shock of the room seemed to weigh on Arcane. She flopped back onto her bed, the soft pillows cushioning her landing. I need your help. Those few, simple words, tugged at the strings that bound her heart. He needed her. The thought was fleeting as just as quickly as it came, it left. In its spot was anger. Now he needed her? After all those years when she needed him? What did he do then? Nothing. And that’s what she was going to do now. She huffed in satisfaction, tossing the envelope to the side. Her fingers reached into her hair, massaging her head. There were too many things to think about right now. Arcane squeezed her eyes shut as memories stung her eyes in the form of tears.

“Please, don’t leave me.” Arcane had whispered, her small breaths filling the one room of the treehouse.

“I don’t have a choice. You know I don’t want to go.” Kalon’s voice broke and he looked away so Arcane couldn’t see the tears in his eyes. It was silent.

“We’ll still be best friends right?”

“Yeah.” Kalon’s reply didn’t hold much conviction, causing Arcane to look over at him, confused, glossy eyes narrowing.

“To the moon and back, Kal, remember?” She said, her tone desperate. It was a promise they made one night as they were watching some cheesy movie on the old television set. The boy had told the girl that he loved her too ‘the moon and back’. Kalon had then explained that the two characters said that so that they would never be apart. They could meet at the same moon, always and then they could go back. And then, they would never be fully apart. Arcane had liked that. So naturally, she had grabbed Kal’s face and made him promise that they would go ‘to the moon and back’ if they were ever apart. It became a goodbye for them, a way of saying ‘I’ll see you soon’.

“Yeah,” Kal had replied, a smile barely curling through his lips, “I’ll race ya there.”

She wasn’t sure how long she lay there, letting her memories flow down her cheeks and into the bedsheets, but eventually she had to get up. She pulled herself up and off the bed, limbs protesting at the use. She just needed a few days is all, then she wouldn’t even remember what she was crying for. Kalon didn’t mean anything to her anymore.

thank you for reading this far, i love all of you. just throw out ideas please. or give me some advice, i would love that. whether its about my writing or the plot i would love to have tips and constructive criticism on how to get better! tagging some moots who i hope dont hate me after this below the cut:

@natashxromanovf @pad-foots @griffxnnage @voidmalfoy @flxss-bxbblxs @alwaysreading @herondalesunsetcurve THANKS YALL I LOVE YOU MORE THEN I EXPRESS AND I DO NOT, I REPEAT, DO NOT DESERVE ALL OF YOU AND YOUR LOVE

#my writing #a book?#writing a book #plot ideas #please give me some ideas #writing #original characters #and an original storyline #found letter prompt

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curious-menace · 4 years ago

Note

Batman has put on a bit of quarantine weight (he could lose it but he's like fuck it I'm cool with having a muffin top) and his villains take notice how would they all react to slightly softer looking batman bonus if one of villains is like supportive like you look adorable all chubby bats..like a cuddly bat plush.

dad bod batman.

that is all.

jk here are some headcanons

Penguin

well he’s a lil chubby himself so i doubt he’s going to be in a position to throw any stones in this particular glass house. You could argue that batman looks the same since some men look really fat when its actually muscle. think rugby players, professional weight lifters (not body builders thats all for show) and maybe professional boxers? look at albert king in arkham knight. he’s chubby but he’s a brick wall! either way i dont think penguin will be treating him any different. batman can still punch his lights out and now with a bit of extra weight? he’s going to hit like a runaway train.

TwoFace

Again, he doesnt spend much time looking at batmans ass while he’s running away from him. he might make some jokes about how batman weights if he landed on him for a take down, maybe joke like catwoman about needing a few more notches in his utility belt. To be honest, this whole quarantine isolation thing has him a bit down in the dumps. he’s probably just happy to see another human being, even if it is batman.

Ivy

Shes teasing but not mean, like selina. shes loving quarantine life. nobody bothers her and she’s free to be with her plants all day long. she’s basically just chilling in the botanic gardens, since its closed due to not being an essential service. when batman shows up to check on her, she notices something is different but doesnt pin point it right away. but when he jumps down from the rafters and makes her glass herb gardens rattle she burst out laughing. again, shes not being mean, she just genuinely finds this hilarious that even the great batman has put on a few pounds in lock down. yes, she is loving the new look, softer around the edges and better for sitting on if he was under mind control

Scarecrow

i mean this in the nicest way possible but scarecrow literally does not give one tiny fuck. he’s gotten so much work done in lockdown without people bothering him, he’s soo deep in his research that he doesn't even notice batman approach. he does freak the fuck out , flinging vials of his new toxin 10 feet in the air in fright when he turns around and batman is standing there. the vials land far enough away that they aren't in any danger. still Stawman is pissed that batman just had to show up right then and scare the piss out of him. but he hasn't seen another human in like 3 months and since his research is ruined, he asks batman to stay for a few minutes. there's nothing technically illegal afoot in his lab right now, so why not see how crane is holding up? he sits in one of scarecrow old chairs that groans like a dying animal under his weight. scarecrow might raise an eyebrow but he’s not going to stay anything, not right now anyway.

Riddler

oh thank GOD ! another human being! riddler is glad, actually fuckin glad to see batman. he’s been so BORED since lockdown started he actually contemplated kidnapping some people just so he’d have company. i made a joke once that you cant gag any riddler because they’ll just store it up and ramble more later. this is exactly what happens with batman when riddler spots him , he’s speaking so fast the flash would have trouble understanding him “Come in batman, sit down make yourself comfortable, not in that chair that’s a deathtrap ive been working on. have you put on a little weight? nevermind im sure you can work it off in my newest puzzle its very- wait where are you going?!” speaking of bat plushies , riddler absolutely has a batman plush on his desk that he likes to ramble at. when the real bats leaves he makes a mental note to put some more stuffing into plushie batman.

Harley

Harley hugs batman. i guess its ok, she might as well be part of his bubble for all the time they spend together. she notices right away hes put on a few but shes not one to complain. makes him soft, its a nice change from jokers bones and refusal to give her even a head pat. Batman is a softie at heart, he cant bring himself to push her away. she’s mostly compliments about him looking soft and chubby and invites to stay with her or wont he please please please take her to the batcave shes so bored and she misses the robins, god help her she even misses the other rogues. she also misses going outside but technically a cave isnt outside so shes not breaking any rules and surely there must be enough room to be socially distant in a place that size. batman disappears for a few hours, seemingly ignoring her request . he returns with plushies of all the rogues and batfam, and a special bat patterned facemask just for her. this earns him another not so socially distant hug with harley possibly not quite copping a feel of his new love handles and plump butt.

this was very silly but an enjoyable write, thank you for the prompt nonnie! i must admit, im more like scarecrow than harley. i like being inside, but i worry im getting to use to it and if things return to normal (relatively speaking) i wont want to go back out again.

i suppose that's a problem for future shep right?

got something you wanna talk about? send me an ask or a dm!💜💙��🧡💚❤️

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taeyohonic · 5 years ago

Text

Just a Taste – Chapter Four

Summary: Being asked to take a blood test just to work at a merchandise booth should have been the first read flag for you. But you just gave them a sample of your blood in exchange for a very much needed paycheck and a summer job during BTS’ world tour. After the youngest member of the popular kpop band finds himself in a difficult situation, you come to realize that this wasn’t the last time you shed blood for your idols. or: You becomes the new donor for seven bloodthirsty idols, who seem to be way too interested in their new food source.

Pairing: OT7xfem!Reader

Genre: Fantasy, Smut, (Fluff)

Warnings: nothing

Words: 2.1 k

Chapters: Prologue, Chap. I, Chap. II, Chap. III, Chap. IV, Chap. V, Chap. VI, Chap. VII

There is not enough air in your lungs. You know this. But every breath you take seems to disappear before it reaches your chest. It feels like you’re suffocating. Hoseok’s eyes widen even more as he looks at your heaving breasts.

“Girl”, he tries to get your attention – tries to meet your eyes, but they water too much and can’t focus on the vampire in front of you.

Their movements were too fast, your brain couldn’t keep up with Bangtan talking… no fighting… around you while every fiber of your being was locked into place. Hell, you couldn’t even feel your heartbeat. And then everything came rushing back. Your muscles released form an invisible vice. But it happened too blunt, your mind couldn’t handle the sudden energy around you.

And now you are close to fainting. You are sure of it.

“We don’t want you to faint, girl”, the dancer whispers helplessly. You can hear Yoongi mutter a “speak for yourself”, but before your mind can even process his insult, your eyes fixate on Hoseok’s smile.

It stretches his thin lips, showing off a white row of teeth. His dimples frame the curved mouth and the smile seems to shine like a bright orb. It really looks… heavenly. You can feel the warmth on your own face. Then there is air in your lungs and you can feel your body slump against a strong chest. The sunshine in your heart is making you feel giddy and you can’t keep a little giggle from escaping your throat.

The eldest look at you with reserved endearment, while the younger vampires are fixated on their leader. This is the first time in two decades Namjoon fucked up. And now he isn’t even masking his feelings in front of a human? Admittedly, she is a drugged and drunk human – but a human nevertheless. What is going on with him?

“You are so… so warm”, you slur against Hoseok’s neck. Your nose is buried against his silent pulse point and you breathe in his musky scent with ease.

“Could… somebody get her some water?”, the young rapper asks, while escaping your intoxicated advances. He positions you back against your chair and slowly increases the distance between you and him. You feel the warmth leave you and your mouth turns into a frown.

Hoseok’s question seems to cut through the tension in the room and Jungkook moves faster than light to the bottled water on the table, opens it and tries to bring it close to your lips. But you don’t respond – already out cold.

“Yoongi-hyung?”, the maknae asks with agony in his voice. The cold-hearted rapper hisses at the youngest. Why can’t he say no to this sorry excuse of a vampire? Jungkook looks pathetic kneeling at your feet, submissively holding the untouched water.

But Yoongi relents, his eyes closing on instinct. “What should I tell her?”, he asks, turning to his leader blindly.

“As much as she has to know without giving her any leverage”, Namjoon answers and looks at you with interest. You are turning out to be quite a challenge. Now he regrets having hindered Jungkook from killing you yesterday. There is a headache coming and he hates that painkillers don’t work on the undead.

“Way to be specific”, Jimin mutters as Taehyung massages his neck to lessen the tension in his muscles.

***

“What the hell, Yoongi?”, you tell at the rapper before you, standing in your old room; the childish pink of the walls are making you weirdly emotional as you step closer to him. “What happened?”, you ask and try to clear your head. You remember Hoseok’s warm smile and then feeling... pure bliss. Until you discover Yoongi in your dream. “There was... a lapse of judgement on Namjoon’s side. I... apologize.”

You can formerly feel how uncomfortable these words make him. But you don’t find any joy in his discomfort. “Lapse of judgement? I stopped freaking breathing”, you exclaim, pointing at him with an accusing finger.

“Don’t be crass, human. You were well enough to cuddle up to Hoseok-ssi”, Yoongi snickers and your cheeks redden instantly.

“Only because h-e he… did something with th- this weird s-smile of his”, you respond half yelling. But before your embarrassment heightens, you remember the start of this dream conversation. “Wait, stop distracting me. We... we were talking about Namjoon! What did he do to me?” Yoongi looks extremely displeased as he moves to your tiny childhood bed in the corner of the room. With one side glace he sits down on your covers. “You know that he can control the... time”, he starts and sees you nod. “Well, he can also ... selectively freeze the time continuum for... certain humans.” Okay, that kind of made some sense. If anything even requires to make sense anymore. “But it’s always a pain in the ass to only freeze single perspectives. He has to constantly monitor his power with their awareness. Sometimes... he gets careless.”

Yoongi looks at you as if to say: exhibit one, ladies and gentlemen.

“We try not to move too out of place so that when humans join our timeline again they aren’t confused by our positions... Obviously that didn’t work this time”, he explains and picks at the skin on his thumb with high interest, not meeting your inquiring eyes. “I understand”, you say more to yourself than your distracted vampire. “And why did you guys decide to... put me on hold?” There must be something close to gold underneath his nail bites, because Yoongi is still looking at his hands. “We had a disagreement with your... alcohol tolerance”, he starts to explain. “There are a few of us that don’t like the idea of you not being fully... conscious while discussing vampires, donations, life changing and threatening decisions, you know?” Still no eye contact - even with this jab at your unprofessionalism. But you don’t mind, because Yoongi doesn’t notice the gleam in your stare. They don’t know you could hear them discussing… Taehyung’s assault. This evens the playing field … somewhat. So they aren’t truthful to you… shocker. Still, the ARMY in you is slightly disappointed. “Fair”, you say blatantly lying to him. “And what was Hoseok-ssi doing... with his teeth?” Now you can only see the corner of his lips turning up into a smirk.

“Ahh... well... What can I say? He is our sunshine quite literally.” “He... is the sun?”, you ask and feel Yoongi’s disapproval. He did not think you were this dumb. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know how most of our kin despises the sun.” You sit in your beanbag across from the bed and suppress rolling your eyes.

“He just... extracts some of your light and... blinds you with it.” What. The. Hell? “Hoseok is ... a mirror?”, you try to clarify. No sun, only an absorbing reflection... You are just two syllables away from joining the circus. The rapper leans back, resting his head on your bedding. He looks so relaxed in your dream – it’s unnerving.

“Most of our fans seem to... enjoy his brightness”, Yoongi smiles at the memories of previous donors submitting to his brother with giggled consent. Blood does taste better when humans are aroused. You on the other hand are far away from smiling, lost in your thoughts. “How did you guys keep your secrets all these years? It”s been what? Twenty-four hours and I’ve had Jungkook biting me to the brink of bleeding out, having Namjoon mess with my time on two separate occasions, you visiting my dreams, Jimin... shadow-waving at me and Hoseok... drugging me with his smile?! Like... you guys must get a lot of hate from the community”, you muse and bite your tongue to not include Taehyung harming humans by touch alone.

Yoongi – still lying down – snorts audibly. “Let’s say... these have been uhm eventful hours for us as well.” And for the first time you do not hear nearly as much mockery behind his words. He just sounds... tired. You yourself are deep in thoughts, thinking about this whole situation.

“Why... didn't you want me to agree to Namjoon’s offer?”, you ask after a few minutes of silence.

But Yoongi doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even flinch. You slowly get up and move towards the breathing vampire, leaning over his still body. He looks strangely peaceful in your childhood bed, surrounded by stuffed animals and laying across your hand knitted comforter. His hair is a mess, the roots in dire need of a touch up. The features of his face look so angelic, dark eyelashes against soft skin. The vampires intruding your dream... is sleeping. And you can’t even be mad. This is the nicest he has ever been towards you.

So, with a deep sigh, you retreat to your old beanbag, watching over your intruder with heavy eyes... until you yourself join him in a peaceful dreamland. *** “I think she is waking up!”, an excited voice claims – hot breath meeting your cheeks at a fast pace. You don’t really want to open your eyes, but now there are footsteps against marble coming nearer in quick strides. And even though your memory is foggy, you do remember that the restaurant had a soft carpet.

As soon as you open your eyes, you meet Jungkook’s stare. The youngest is way too close to you and you try to move away from him – with no success. The plush bed you’re in stands in stark contrast to the uncomfortable beanbag of your dreams. But wait… a bed? Tired eyes move around the room. This is definitely not the restaurant. No, you are back at their suite. And judging by the soft light peaking through the windows you guess it’s not even the same night. Morning has come… and Seokjin, who leans against the doorframe, his eyes wide awake and resting on your figure.

Before you can even articulate a question, ask where your dream walker is and whether or not Jungkook even left your side during the night, the eldest intervenes:

“I hope you are feeling well rested.” You are not sure about yourself, but Seokjin looks very relaxed in a grey sweater and some dark blue joggers. His hair looks neatly styled, while his face seems to be freshly washed, red rims around his eyes still irritated from the water.

Jungkook on the other hand is only in his boxers and a white shirt – his knees are resting on your bed, the elbows way too close to you. He smells sweet and you can’t help breathing deeply. Why does Bangtan smell this good?

“Of course she is well rested”, Jungkook snorts, “she slept seven hours and forty-six minutes. Her breathing was slow paced and deep – the pulse never elevating out of the norm. She only turned two times. Not a single snore.”

It sounds like he is reporting to his commander at war – not listing your sleep pattern to his bandmate. But you can’t even be that angry. First, you are still in the process of leaving your dream and a sleeping Yoongi behind. Second, the boy in front of you looks so… endearingly caring. Like what he just said isn’t highly problematic and way too creepy. No, Jungkook looks so – so proud of himself. Does he think he was actually helping you by watching over you the whole night?

“Look hyung”, he continues, “There isn’t even any discoloring under her eyes.” And now his long fingers trace under your eyelid. His touch is soft – with a childlike enthusiasm. Again, the vampire catches you off guard and you even flinch. His fingers are so soothing, a fresh coolness awaking your skin.

“Jungkook”, Seokjin warns in a low voice, but without any form of treat in his tone. It seems to be enough to make the youngest move away from you and meeting your perplexed stare with wide eyes.

“So-soorry, _______”, he apologizes and leans back, giving you more space to sit up in the bed.

“Good morning”, you say, having decided to start the new day with a somewhat friendly tone.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle with happiness at your greeting and he decides to give you more room, stepping away from the bed.

“Breakfast?”, he asks and seems to vibrate while joining Seokjin at the door. They look so handsome next to each other. Alone they are force, together they are danger. Your heart starts beating faster and you can read their faces all too well: While the older vampire just smirks – reading the situation too well – Jungkook scans your body with worry.

“Yoo-u don’t ha-ave… to”, he tries to retract, so sure he made you uncomfortable. Jin on the other hand sends you and Jungkook an amused smile.

“Why don’t we all get ready first, hm?”, he asks.

“What do you mean? I am ready!”, Jungkook shoots back in confusion.

“He means Jungkook get dress and ________ take care of your morning breath”, Jimin shouts from the other room, a teasing edge in his words making you blush.

_____

Thank you so much for reading! I love that some of you like this story! It means a lot to me. I... did put the part about Yoongles lying to her face in there because... of reasons. HOW CAN HE DO THIS?! In two days? Guyssss,,, Again - thank you for reading!

Love, Dana

#ot7 x reader #bangtan fanfic #bts x reader #vampire bts #bts x you #jungkook x reader #taehyung x reader #jimin x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #seokjin x reader

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isnt-it-loverly · 4 years ago

Text

little birdie (4)// five hargreeves

Warnings: blood

Summary: When Five lands in the Sparrow Academy, he must convince one of them to help him reset the timeline.

Word count: 1800

Author note: sorry if this is bad, ive been in a rut as of late. Once again thank you so much for all the love and support. I hope you enjoy :)

part one, part two, part three part five

You knocked softly on the door of apartment 217. An elderly lady opened the door with a bright smile on her face.

“Hello, my little birdie! It's been so long!” She said while pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. The wool of her sweater scratched against your skin, and the smell of freshly baked cookies and wild flowers filled your nose. She pulled away and placed her gaze on Five.

“Oh, you’ve brought a friend!” She added gleefully.

“Yes, Granny, this is um… Aidan! We met at the karate class my father has me in,” You explained. You hated lying to such a sweet old lady, but you knew the truth would be too much for her to understand. Plus you really didn’t have the time to explain everything.

You turned back to Five and have a shrug of your shoulders. He was right, he didn’t need a normal name. Five was just too fitting. She moved closer to him and grabbed his cheek, making him very uncomfortable.

“You’re father is just terrible for making you kids do that! Look how roughed up the pair of you are, come inside and we’ll get you cleaned up” She said solemnly.

Five walked beside you and grabbed your arm firmly. Pulling you to the side he whispered a quick “what the hell” in your ear.

“She thinks she’s my grandma,” you replied bluntly, “just go along with it.”

Five sighed in exasperation, this was not helping him find his siblings. He followed you into the apartment begrudgingly, trusting that you were not just yanking his chain. The old woman excused herself and said she would bake a fresh batch of cookies. After she left you grabbed his sleeve and whispered, “follow me.”

You lead him into a side bedroom. It was small and quaint, very homey compared to the academy.

“Remember when I said that I’ve lived a million lives? Gertrude was one of my first, I got stuck in her mind for weeks, and I learned a lot about her. Her husband died right before I got trapped in her noggin, so I switched some memories then added some new ones. I’ve been visiting ever since,” You explained.

“Do your siblings know?” He asked, worry dripping in his tone.

“Not to my knowledge, I don’t think they’d appreciate me having a life outside the academy,” you answered with a shrug.

Five was utterly perplexed by you. You were an enigma, so eager to trust others, so kind, and selfless. How did you end up so different from the others? He watched as you opened a drawer of the cedar chest that was in front of the bed.

“Sometimes, I like to take things from the people I’ve been. Just as little reminders. I think I have some clothes in here that might fit you,” you said with extreme focus. You pulled out a tee-shirt and jeans, something Five was not accustomed to. He turned his nose slightly.

“I’d rather choke on my own tongue than wear that,” He groaned.

You shook your head in annoyance, pulling out a set of clean clothes for yourself as well. You enjoyed civilian wear, it made you feel normal and secure- something your academy uniform could never.

“Just put on the damn clothes before I make you short stack,” you snapped back. Your eyes glowed s brighter blue for a moment and Five now knew he didn’t have a choice in the matter.

“At least turn your back,” he grumbled in response.

You gave him a small laugh and did as you were told. You crawled to the other side of the bed and slipped on your new clothes as well. After a few minutes, Five gave you the clear.

“Wow, unknit that eyebrow and wipe that frown off your face, and you look almost normal,” You said with a smile.

It was true, he looked like a regular ole teenager. Something you know that he has never been. You give him a look over before your eyes stop at his forearm. An umbrella tattoo, of course, he would have one.

Five noticed you staring, he followed your gaze to his arm. He lifted it so you could see it better, and an ever-present scowl on his face.

“Do you have one?” He asked.

You nodded solemnly and pushed up your sleeve. You placed your arm against his, the bird and the umbrella practically touching. You wondered why your Father loathed them so much and then it was quiet for a moment.

“The houses of Capulet and Montague,” you spoke up in a mocking tone.

“I didn’t ask you to betray your entire family,” He said. His voice was deep and rough, a sense of anger could be detected.

“No, but you really twisted my arm showing me the whole apocalypse thing. I’m an empath idiot, your feelings became mine,” You were quick to snap back.

Five liked that about you. You were nice and helpful, but you also knew when to stand your ground. He could compare you to a coin, two different sides yet well balanced. A perfect equilibrium.

“I’ve helped you,” you murmured, “now I think you owe me.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, curious and intrigued at what you were going to say.

“I’ve only done this once and it didn’t end well. I need you to keep me grounded, do whatever it takes to get me back. My father believes that I can project my consciousness onto someone without looking into their eyes, so I’m going to try to do that to your sister, Allison,” you explained.

“You said it didn’t end well? What happened?” Five asked, very concerned.

“It takes a lot out of me, I couldn’t get into anyone’s mind and it almost killed me,” You confessed.

“I’m sorry, did you say killed?” He responded wide-eyed. It warmed your heart that he was at least concerned about you.

“Look, do you wanna find your family or not? Unless you have a better plan?” You asked with a slight raise of your voice.

Five shook his head, knowing that this was the best plan You sat on the plush bed, curling your fingers around the soft comforter. You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes tightly. Running the fabric between your fingers you counted every stitch. You pictured his sister’s face in your mind, paying extra intention to her eyes. Five watched intently as you did, he was worried about you- you were an important asset and a powerful ally. It would be a shame if you died. Your eyes opened abruptly and to Five’s amazement and horror there was just white and a soft blue emanating from them.

When you opened your eyes again to find yourself sitting at a kitchen table. Looking up you see Allison sitting across from you, intently reading the newspaper. If she was there, then who were you? Looking down and the palms of your hands the words ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ were splayed across them.

“Well shit, I’m the pretty one,” You mumbled to yourself. Although you were very glad and very surprised that you had managed to pull this off, you would have to thank your father for the extra training the past few months.

“What are you on about now, Klaus?” Allison said utterly unamused.

“Actually it’s number five. Not your Five, the other five. Sparrow Five. Ya know what I’m rambling, I’m (Y/n),” You spit out quickly. Holy shit this man’s brain was fried. Everything was happening at a million miles an hour, you couldn’t keep up.

You watched as her expression changed, she stood up abruptly in the same fighting stance Five had used earlier. Her eyes watched you like a hawk and if looks could kill you’d be dead.

“Your family killed my brother, now I swear if you harm one hair on Klaus’ stupid head. I’ll end you,” She spat venom dripping in her words.

“He’s not dead! Five is very much alive, and we’re looking for you guys. So all we need is an address and we will be on our way,” You replied with a smile.

“Yeah right, why would I trust you?” She questioned.

“Look, Five is hurt really badly. This astral possession thing is gonna knock me on my ass, I won’t be able to protect him from my siblings. If you don’t help us, well, we’re both already dead,” You said in a somber tone.

You could tell that the gears we’re winding in her head. You felt a pain in your head that radiates in your chest, you coughed slightly and blood appeared on your hands. Shit its starting, you couldn’t stay much longer. You felt blood begin to slowly drip from your nose. Double shit with a cherry on top.

“What are you doing to him?” She yelled.

“Allison,” you choked, “he needs you.”

“Fine, just stop whatever you are doing to him!” She yelled in fear of her brother, Moments later she revealed the address, perfect that’s all you needed. Now you could get back and share your triumph.

You closed your eyes tightly and the world began to spin. Round and round, faster and faster. Until finally, you felt your legs give out but you didn’t hit the floor. You opened your eyes slowly to find yourself in Five’s arms. He was looking down at you, fear present in those emerald eyes. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank God, you started pouring out blood like a fountain. I thought you were dead,” He scolded. He sounded like an old man when he spoke, it was almost endearing.

You touched your nose and wiped away some of the fresh blood, staring at it intently. You felt so weak, that was too much and you vowed never to do that again. The cost was far too high. You sat up and you felt Five’s hand on your back- ready to steady you if you need it. You had really scared him, he didn’t know why. He had just met you, so why did the thought of losing you hurt so badly.

“I did it,” You mumbled hoarsely.

“Did what?” Five whispered in a soft voice. The tone was foreign even to him, but right now he felt like you needed a friend and not a sarcastic asshole.

“I found them, I found your family. They aren’t far from here,” You breathed out.

Five hugged you tightly and gave you a sincere thank you. You hugged back gently, you couldn’t remember the last time someone hugged you. It was a feeling you could get used to, warm, secure, and safe. You also couldn’t remember the last time you felt any of those things. Perhaps these umbrellas weren’t so bad after all.

“Come on,” You said breaking away, “let’s get some of those cookies, hit the road, and get you back to the right timeline.”

Taglist: alexander-hamilhoe

#number five #five x reader #five hargreeves #number five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #number five x you #five x y/n #five #Umbrella Academy #The Umbrella Academy #tua #aidan gallagher

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violetnotez · 5 years ago

Text

Is the this the longest fic Ive ever written? Yes. Does it suck? Also yes. Will nobody read it because it makes no sense but Im still going to post because I wasted way too much damn on this thing? TRIPLE YES.

Word count: 10.4k words (she thicc)

Genre: Angst and Fluff, sfw

AU: Fantasy AU!, Hanahaki disease

Prompt: “How could your keep this from?”

Warnings: blood

Summary: You are born into a worls where you must marry your best friend, Prince Shoto, in order to unite your kingdoms in harmony. You are happy to marry your childhood friend and love, until he leaves for a quest unannounced, and you are left questioning if you really want to marry him. Once he returns a few weeks before your planned wedding, you begin to not fall in love with him, but one of his comrades- the barbarian, Bakugo.

*this is for the even for @bnhabookclub! Heres the link to the post if your interested!

Again. welcome to the shitshow that is my blog. read at your own risk cause this gets REAL WIERD REAL QUICK

Petals-all you could see were the petals.

Your mouth and throat felt so dry, your forehead damp with sweat as your back convulsed painfully, raspy coughs wracking out of your chest as you forced the petals out of your body.

They were so pale, like creamy vanilla, a stark contrast from the droplets of your blood splattered on the delicate buds.

You quickly reached for your handkerchief, wiping the residue off your dry mouth in fear of it dribbling on to your white dress-your wedding dress. Your hands were shaking, unable to cry any more tears at your misery-you had come to terms many weeks ago that you were going to reach an unhappy end.

Why did it have to be him?

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

You were the princess of your kingdom, destined to marry Prince Shoto of the neighboring kingdom. It was something you two had been accustomed to from birth- in order to connect the two kingdoms and end the quarrels between the two civilizations, you had to marry. It would be a harmonious marriage: Prince Shoto was kind, soft spoken, and a natural born leader. You two had been wonderful friends as siblings, your fathers putting away their troubles in order for you two to get along. They were hoping that by making you friends at a young age, you would learn to grow feelings for each other.

For a time, it worked-you had fallen for Prince Shoto, his soft yet powerful demeanor making you blush each time you remembered him, your young hands writing your name with his last in your journal like a prayer. At 13 you already began to count down the days until you would turn 18, because on that day, you were set to marry your predestined lover- Shoto Todoroki.

For years you had felt so lucky you were blessed with such a sweet boy to be with, being able to live out your lives harmoniously and in peace, something both your parents didn't have the luxury to have. It sometimes left you feeling frustrated- Shoto was truly kind, but very quiet about his thoughts. Your love felt one sided, Shoto seemingly only tolerating you because he had to.

Once he got older, he became more distant towards you, clearly wishing to rebel against his father’s wishes by being distant towards you. It hurt you immensely to see your best friend and crush plainly reject you, but you still held on to the hope that you two could be happy with each other. Yet all that changed when the Prince had left for a quest.

He had been gone for what seemed like an eternity and for a time, you were extremely worried. You could barely focus on your studies, only imagining your poor friend somewhere cold, hungry, and alone. You knew he would be fine, he was a resilient fighter, but yet you couldn't help but allow the worrisome thoughts to collect in your brain. After news that the Prince was in a neighboring kingdom, safely traveling with a young boy, a witch, and a warrior, you felt at ease- with all those comrades, he was sure to be safe. You finally breathed a sigh of relief, able to calm your anxieties after a long time of being unable to.

Information continued to trickle in, sometimes good and sometimes bad, but it always stated that the Prince was spotted safe and sound. You took solace in that information, and for awhile, you began to worry less and less about Shoto, until he was barely a memory.

During that time, you had begun to take on the habit of reading. Before it was a task you simply did when forced or extremely bored, only reading books and stories from your own kingdom.

With so much extra time on your hands waiting upon the Prince to return, you began to learn of other stories, ones that were trully a delight to you: stories of nomads who traveled the country and did rituals to bring them fortunes, women who sold potions by gathering mystical ingredients from the woods, people choosing their own destines and their own paths. It intrigued you- from birth you had one mission for your life: to unite your kingdoms. Once you married Prince Shoto, your destiny would be complete: and then what would you do? You had no other purpose, except being a symbol of that peace for the rest of your life, sitting pretty on a throne until your last breath.

It began to eat at your insides, gnaw at your conscience that you were merely a pawn in your father’s legacy. You could now fully understand why Shoto had been so defiant: he had realized the truth of his life as well.

Slowly, you began to learn to dread instead of anticipate your wedding day. With the Prince being gone, it was sending quite a ruckus in your home, your father more annoyed with each passing day that the Prince had not come back. You, on the other hand, rejoiced. The kings had both agreed at your times of birth that if anything happened to either child before your 18th birthday, the agreement would be cancelled and the marriage no more. They would rely on their children to fix their broken ties.

You had just turned 17, the mental clock beginning to tick in you and your father’s minds, as the Prince still wasn't back form his quest. Just a few more months, and you would both have your wishes: Shoto seemed to have no interest in marrying you, and why should you even for that matter? You two truly didnt love each other- your friendship was a hoax your fathers had created in order to save their own legacies. Your love for each other was man-made and a lie. Just a few more months, and you'd be free of this terrible fate.

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

The day you turned 17 and a half, you were busying yourself on your plush pink bed, reading another novel about free spirited women in a far off land.

“Princess y/n,” your hand maiden opened the door quietly, afraid of disturbing you, “the King would like to speak with you.”

You gave your shy handmaiden a small smile, delicately marking the spot in your book as your feet landed on the cold floor.

“Thank you,” you replied, “Ill be there shortly.”

You entered your father’s study, his feet stomping the room heavily as he paced in deep thought.

The room was grand, a golden chair sitting in front of an old ebony desk, the room surrounded by maps, battle plans, and bookcases full of legends of stories written long before your time. Light flitted through long windows against the wall, looking out to the rural countryside and a matching red carpet run the lengths of the stone floors.

Your entrance seemed to have disturbed your Father’s train of thought, his head instantly looking to see who had interrupted him. Once he saw it was you, he sighed, greeting you with a tight smile.

“You wished to see me Father?’ you asked politely, your fingers tugging nervously at the sleeves of your dress. Your father never called upon you unless it was extremely important- had you done something wrong? You wracked your mind for any actions that would had been unwise for your father to find out, but to your surprise, you couldnt think of a single thing you had done.

“Yes, yes,” your father said hastily, waving his hands toward a small wooden chair at the foot of his desk, “please-sit. We have much to discuss.”

You sat on the hard chair, a chill traveling your back as you watched your father sit in his plush throne, his face clearly tired.

“As we all know, Prince Shoto has been on a quite a long quest for some time,” your father began, his voice deep with annoyance, “and has not come back. And with your 18th birthday fast approaching, and it worries me that the boy wont be back in time for your marriage. I have talked to King Todoroki about my worries, who also had the same fear, and he promised to bring the boy back and end his little shenanigan. But Shoto refuses to leave until his quest is complete.”

Your father took in a deep breath through his nose, his face a mix of anger and agitation.

Your heart beat excitedly- the prince wasnt coming back? The news bounced happily inside you, giving you some hope that you needed- that must have been why he had gone on that quest in the first place! Even though you were excited, you felt a tightness in your chest- you were childhood firend after all. He really didnt like you that much that he felt he had to run away?

“Oh dont look so solemn daughter,” your father comforted, his voice soft with sympathy,” Shotos father allowed the boy to finish his quest in 5 months’ time, and he is forced to return to his kingdom. In the meantime, we can not forget the whole reason for your marriage like young Todoroki has- you must connect the kingdoms in order to bring harmony.``

“Which is why,” your father added, “we must begin to plan the wedding.”

Your head shot up, the feeling of shock flooding your body. It was still going to happen? Your body began to feel heavy, your father's words fuzzy against your ear- you didn't want this, any of this. You felt trapped like a songbird in a cage, unable to scream out what you desperately wanted to say: if he didnt love you, you didnt want any part of this.

Your father seemed to not notice the look of terror on your face, continuing to inform you of his plan. “We already have sent out invitation to relatives and noblemen in other countries, as well as begin to plan out the festivities. It will be a 3 day event, full of food and parties and, of course, the celebration of our kingdoms coming together. The closer to the date, we will begin to need you for fittings of your dresses as well as rehearse your wedding vows and such. I promise I will make this as wonderful as I can, for you are my only daughter.”

The king smiled at you, wrapping your stiff body into a hug. You could barely feel his embrace- the world was numb to your screaming mind. You wished upon everything in you to end this, to make this all go away, but you knew you couldn't- you would be forced to do this whether you wanted to or not.

You simply nodded your head to your father’s parting words, and then ran to your quarters, shutting the door and ceremoniously throwing yourself on your bed in defeat.

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

For days you felt numb and broken, all fight leaving your body. You watched as all your handmaidens and servants ran like chickens around the castle, preparing for the enormous festivities coming in close time. You were a good and proper princes, silently placid and allowing everything around you to happen.

Flower arrangements, samples of sweets, and fabrics for your dresses all came to you, and you agreed to all of them or just randomly choose. You could care less for your “special day”- the only thing you could truly hope for was prince Shoto ignoring his father’s wishes and not coming back.

That, of course, was a wishful fantasy. You were having a blissful dream when your hand maiden barged into your room, clearly too excited to be considerate of your sleeping state.

“Miss y/n! Miss y/n! Oh please wake up! There is most wonderful news!” she cried excitedly, gently pulling the covers off your body, “You must get ready at once!”

“Prince Shoto- he is back from his quest!”

---------

The whole of the kingdom rejoiced at the news, since he had arrived a month before the wedding. He was here, ready to marry and unite the kingdom. That was all that truly mattered.

Your handmaiden dressed you in your most elegant gown, the icy aqua color bringing out the rosiness of your cheeks, as she placed pearly ornaments in your hair. You felt like you were being presented as a gift to the Prince, a reminder of what he was destined to do. You sighed, dreading having to reunite with your once friend and secret love.

Shoto was standing in the ballroom of your castle, very accustomed to it since you both played here occasionally as children. He was used to the golden floors and the crystal chandeliers the sizes of boulders, all hung gracefully in a row on the ebony ceiling. Him and his company were standing shoulder to shoulder, facing the polished staircase cascading towards them.

He looked at his new found friend’s faces, their expressions clearly in shock. Izuku, his face ruddy with dirt and his cheeks aflame from nervousness as he twisted his shirt between his fingers (a nervous tick Shoto had noticed). Uraraka gawked at the room around her in awe, her wide eyes drinking up the scene in front of her. Bakugo was least impressed, his arms crossed in front of his exposed chest and his eyes formed in judgmental slits.

Shoto had told the others before why he had to go back, but only after the quest was over- he wanted to help his new found friends, and after promising to help them in their battle, he would have felt extremely guilty leaving them behind.

Their reactions were mixed when he revealed he had a marriage in a few weeks time- Izuku was clearly shocked yet in awe hed be marrying a princess, while Uraraka seemed to find the situation romantic. Bakugo simply laughed, mocking him from being such a “sissy” for actually getting married in the first place.

Shoto was feeling conflicted inside at the moment- it had been so long since he had last seen you, and when he had, he was less than kind to you. He was quiet, distant, and quite petty about the whole situation of your marriage. You had turned barely 17 when he left, his young body desperate for some adventure and resilient to his father’s wishes. He merely saw you as a nuisance, someone in the way of his freedom. He knew it was unkind and unjustified, you didn't know what was going on inside him, but he was angry nevertheless and desperate to leave. So when he was approached by young boy in need of a friend for his quest, it was hard to resist the offer.

But as nights when on and he had time to be alone with his thoughts, his mind always seemed to travel to you. The way you giggled, your laughs sounding like chimes in the wind, or how your smile always seemed to make his skin tingle with warmth.

You were always a strange girl, but always in the best way, daring Shoto to races even thought your father said it was “unlike a princess to do so” or trying to braid Shoto’s mix-matched hair.

He would never forget the day he had allowed you to do so, your nimble fingers soft against his skin and making him burn up from nervousness. Your touch was so calming and soothing, your small compliments and soft voice sending his soul soaring with pleasure. It was then he realized he had loved you for you, not because he was forced to.

Shoto felt guilty for forgetting those cherished memories in his fits of anger, but he had agreed to help Izuku and he vowed to not give up on that promimse. Months went on, and Shoto couldnt tell how much time had passed: he only hoped you were doing okay without him.

It wasnt until his father had came to collect him that he realized how short he was on time. He had still stuck by his friends, yet the constant reminders of your wedding was in the air, haunting him. They would travel through kingdoms, the whispers of this event following him as the townspeople began to talk. It was a wonder his friends never caught on except him, only to find out weeks before your wedding.

Now Shoto was standing in the ballroom, feeling quite nervous- he hadnt seen you in so long….would you look any different? He was certain your beauty had grown by then, the thought of you looking older and more womanly bringing a blush to his cheeks. How would you see him? He had become quite a different person on his quest, his body becoming more hardened from battles with bandits and the harsh life of travelling. Would you feel the same for him still? Were you just as excited as you were so many years ago to finally be together?

Shoto heard the clicks of shoes on the wooden floor, a man with the straightest back he had ever seen standing proudly at the steps of the stairs.The man took a deep breath, his voice traveling through the room as he announced your arrival to the group of travelers.

Yet Shoto didnt hear a single word he said- he was enraptured by your beauty. You had seemed to turn into a fine young woman since he had last seen you, your curves accentuated by the tightness of your gown, the blue complimenting you perfectly. Your hair flowed in soft ringlets on your back, the pearls in your hair like stars. You were an angel blessed to this planet- an angel he was destined to marry.

The only thing that was worrying him was your expression- he had expected you to seem so much more lively, welcoming the bright smile you would always give him when you saw him. But now, your face was gone of any warmth, looking almost numb to the situation as you looked down at the group.

You traveled down the stairs, hating the way your name sounded in the announcer's voice. This was all so cliche- the Prince comes from a quest, and there is the Princess, simply a prize for his hardwork. A trophy of sorts for doing a good deed. Why did it have to be this why? Why couldnt you feel anything? The world had felt so cold for so long, feeling trapped due to the lack of control you had. Everything had seemed to loose its splendor and color, your vision for weeks turning gray in sadness-

Until you saw him.

The ash blonde boy, his hair unruly and his eyes a bright red like blood. He was clad in strange clothes, like a barbarian, his chest completely open and showcasing his taut muscles. You were intrigued by him- you had only seen likes of him in books and stories you read. He was so different, so menacing, and you wanted to know more. He was the only thing you could focus on, not taking any time to look at the others in the group, including Shoto.

Shoto was the first to reach you, unafraid to approach you like the rest of the group as you reached the bottom of the steps.

“Y/n-” he said, his voice deep and airy, “you look-wonderful.”

You gave him a small smile, but it made his heart sink- you didnt look happy at all. It seemed forced, far from the bright grins you used to send his way all the time.

“As do you, Shoto. You look quite different from when we last saw each other.”

You quickly turned your attention away from him, focusing on his new comrades instead.

“I assume these are the young heroes that accompanied you on your journey?”

“Y-yes!” the young boy with the unruly green hair stuttered, nervously bowing his head. He was quite adorable in a way, his small stature and freckles dusted on his cheeks giving him a child-like quality (even though he was most likely your age). “My name is Izuku Midoriya!”

You gave a reassuring smile to the young boy, trying to make him feel comfortable.

“It is wonderful to meet you Izuku.”

You began to walk towards the girl know, her pointy yet colorful hat signaling that she was a light witch, a sorceress who used your powers for good.

The girl shimmied in her dusty boots, clearly as nervous as the boy. She lifted the corners of her cloth dress, bowing slightly.

“My name is Ochaco Uraraka, your highness,” she smiled sweetly, her cheeks dusted in a pinky glow.

“Ochaco…” you mused over the name, its sound foregin yet light on your tongue, “you are a light witch, I assume?”

“Yes, yes I am!” the girl practically squealed, relief seemingly flooding her face. ‘How did you know?”

You giggled a her amazement at you, completely unaware apparently that she had the most witch-like outfit you had ever seen.

“A lucky guess,” you shrugged your shoulders playfully as you began to walk again, your heart beginning to race as you edged toward the barbarian.

You stopped in front of the man, his stature a head taller than yours. You eyes looked slightly up at him, your cheeks reddening- he was much more handsome up close, his rugged features making you feel breathless. He un-apologetically judged you with his vermilion eyes, looking you up and down with scorn.

Why did you find that so attractive?

“And you are-”

“My name is Bakugo.” he instantly interrupted you, his voice deep and velevty like syrup, “thats all you need to know.”

“Bakugo?” Your brain searched for any name similar to that, but found none- this boy was definitely a foreigner, most likely from far off lands you could only dream of. You had no idea why he followed Shoto back to the kingdom, but you were happy he did- he was definitely a sight for sore eyes.

“A warrior, I assume by your garments,” you nodded, your eyes trailing to his torso “and by the looks of your scars, an experienced one.”

He scoffed at your observations, his eyes rolling in his sockets.

“For a princess, your eyes wander a damn lot. But yeah- Im hella of a good warrior. Best in the kingdoms.”

You cocked an eyebrow at his language, your cheeks red by his comment. He was so unapologetic and rude, yet- it was intoxicating to you.

“I’m glad to here that.”

Shoto was eyeing you sadly the whole time- what was so different between you two? Why did you seem so welcoming to the others but so distant to him? His face began to turn red with fury as he watched you interact with Bakugo, the way Bakugo insulted you so plainly and cockily making him want to yell. He watched as your face had light up for just a moment when you spoke with him, something Shoto didn't get the luxury to experience.

He also noticed what Bakugo had vocalized- you eyes did wander when you looked at him. Shoto at first tried to rationalize that you were simply being curious, since Bakugo was definitely a strange sight for you, but the way your cheeks blushed and you smiled so warmly at him made him think otherwise.

What did you see in that barbarian that you didnt with Shoto?

You looked again at the odd group, taking a deep breath through your lungs.

“I want to congratulate you all for your successful quest,” you began, the lines slightly rehearsed, “and as thanks from my father for bringing back Prince Shoto, he would like to welcome you all for dinner tonight. We would love to hear all about your journey then,” you then snuck one last look at Bakugo, his eyes boaring into yours. It was making you feel a warmth inside that you had thought long ceased.

You instantly looked down at your hands, your cheeks feeling hot. You knew this was wrong- you shouldn't feel smitten for any other boy, especially this warrior, yet you couldnt help it- you were entranced by his resilience and the freedom he had, something you could only dream of.

“If youll excuse me, I have - things to attend to. It was a pleasure to see you all” you gave the group a tight smile, turning your back quickly from the group to follow your handmaiden back to your quarters.

Shoto watched you until you were gone, his heart beating painfully. He wished he could run up to you, grab you by your wrist and ask you what was the matter. It was still him, your friend for all those years, and you were still you, his love and his best friend. Were you beginning to forget, like he did? He felt his stomach drop painfully at the idea- he would ask you, tonight. He would figure out what had happened between you two, and fix it.

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

You were now at dinner, sitting stiffly as you moved your food around your plate, your tight corset making you feel un-hungry. All night you had been detached and quiet, feeling almost sick by your surroundings. Your father was overly outgoing to the guest,giving you side-eyed glances and trying to enter you in the conversation. You would simply smile and nod, occasionally throwing in a comment before returning to squishing your food between your utensils.

The only time you ever seemed interested was when Bakugo would speak. His comments were all snarky and rude, completely self centered about how strong or intelligent he was.

He was constantly proving his worth throughout the dinner, taking over the story of their journey when he saw fit, making sure everyone knew he was the most capable one of the group. It was obscene, his remarks, his language, even his personality, but- you were intrigued by it. The only person he had to listen to was himself. It was so intoxicating to watch him talk, to hear what other remarks would leave his mouth. Whenever he spoke, you stood up a little straighter, taking time to take in any information he gave about himself and immortalize it into your brain.

Shoto had felt awkward the whole meal, not knowing how to gauge your emotions. You seemed so distant, as if a stranger was sitting next to him. He wished he could enter your mind, detangle all the emotions and thoughts that were keeping you from being yourself around him. There was no laughter, no genuine smiles, no happiness came from you. This bothered him- you were usually so cheerful. His nervousness was eating the inside of his stomach, as his mind still couldn't figure out how to approach you after dinner.

“-and the wedding will be a three day celebration, full of festivities,” your father continued boisterously, his voice booming embarrassingly around the room, “Shoto and y/n will be the main attention, of course, over 200 noblemen will see them share vows-”

The sound of your chair pushing away echoed throughout the dining hall, making the whole group look to you. You cleared your throat delicately, a hand resting on your chest.

“Excuse me for my rudeness, but Im feeling- unwell,” you sighed a quick smile.

“Are you alright, do I need to-” the king asked, his eyes full of concern as you shook of his worries.

“Oh no, Im completely fine- just a headache,” you gave a pained smile, “I hope you all enjoy the rest of the meal.”

Shoto watched you walk away, desperate to make sure he knew which way you went in this large castle. He instantly pushed away from the table as well, rising quietly.

“I- uh-am full, thank you for the meal,” he bowed to the King slightly, placing his napkin on his plate as he rushed out, confusing the group that was left.

Izuku and Ochaco looked at each other, their cheeks red with embarrassment and shock as they looked at Bakugo, who was clearly not bothered by the disturbance. Ochaco then looked at the king, who was clearly confused by the whole ordeal, as an awkward air lay heavy on the table.

Ochaco hastily took a large bite from her plate, filling her mouth with food- “MMMMMM!” she exaggerated, trying to start up conversation again, “I LOVE the ham!”

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

Shoto ran around the castle, looking through every corridor and door, searching for you.His head was racing, trying to organize his thoughts in his minds. He needed to figure out how to speak to you- should he act normal, like nothing was wrong? Should he be formal and see how that went? Angry? Upset? He didnt know how to approach you, but he knew he had to do it.

He finally saw your gown turn an empty hallway, his feet picking up pace. He quickly was able to catch up once he could pin point your location, his hand wrapping around your wrist in order to stop you.

You felt slender,cool fingers wrap around your skin, making your body run cold. You instantly jumped by the sudden touch, all breath leaving your body as you turned around quickly.

Your wide eyes met the mix matched orbs of Shoto, a small pang of annoyance filling your body from getting so scared.

“Shoto,” you replied breathlessly, slightly happy though it was only him and not somebody else that had grabbed you.

“I-uh-y/n,” he replied back, his mind going blank.

He let go of your wrists, his hands resting at the side of his body. “I-Im sorry to scare you like that,” he apologized, “I just- wanted to speak to you. If you’ll let me.”

You looked at the boy, his eyes now averting yours, probably from nerves. You decided to listen, turning your body to him.

“Apology accepted,” you said plainly, “What did you want to speak about?”

Shoto drew a blank- what did he want to talk about? He loved hearing your voice, finally only reserved for him, but yet you seemed preoccupied. Distant. Like you were on another world and not truly there with him.

He stared at you lightly, looking extremely conflicted. “I-I wanted to talk to you about what happened while I was gone.”

“You explained quite plainly what happened on your journey,” you replied, clearly not in the mood to talk, “I applaud you for your bravery, it must have been quite a difficult journey-” you gave him a small bow, your eyes gone of any warmth. “I really must go to bed, Im sorry, but i do feel-”

You began to walk away again, Shoto desperate to keep you near him. He walked in font you, blocking your path.

“You didnt here me correctly-” he changed his wording this time, trying to be as specific as possible. “I want to know what happened to you while I was gone.”

You eyebrows turned down in confusion. “What are you trying to say Shoto?”

He swallowed, trying to clear his dry throat as he licked his lips, conflicted.

“You seem-different.”

“Its been a year and a half since I last saw you, Shoto,” you reasoned, “of course Ill be different.”

“Yes, but-” he paused, “youre too different. Youre not the same y/n I knew.”

“Why? Because Im not following you around like a love sick puppy?” Annoyance began to bubble inside, feeling attacked by Shoto’s words. “Because I finally got over the fact you didnt love me ? You dont have to pretend Shoto, I know full well you only see me as a nuisance.”

Shock flooded Shoto’s system as your icy words pierced his skin. What happened to you? Yes, he was rude to you before he left, but he didnt feel like that anymore. That was a simple phase, were you going to define him by that?

“I dont see you as a nuisance, y/n.”

“Really?” you scoffed at his words. “then tell me why your father had to go out to find you twice before you finally decided to come back?”

“I made a promise to my friends. I had to finish my quest before-”

“You had a promise to me, Shoto!” you yelled exasperatedly, your heart bursting with hurt. “To your family! To my family! Our people! What was so much more important than that?”

“I was so worried about you Shoto, terrified for you. Those first few months I couldnt think of anything but you.” You were beginning to reveal a lot, too much, but the emotions, the hurt, the anger, was flooding out of you like a broken dam and you couldn't stop it.

“But then I realized that you didnt care for me. You thought I didn't notice how you gave me the cold shoulder those last few months? How you ignored me, only gave me quick answers, acted as if I was just a pest following you around? I remembered all of it, and then I realized- you left because of me.”

“You left because of me, didn't you, Shoto?” your voice was harsh and crude like metal, stabbing into Shoto’s conscience.

He stayed silent- how could he say anything back? Your words were making him feel small and foolish- he should have known that you would have noticed his change in demeanor, just as he noticed yours.

You smiled painfully at his silence, feeling a fresh cut of pain slash inside you. “I knew it.”

“Y/n, I-” There was so much he wanted to say, things he wanted to take back. He didnt want this meeting to go like this- with you even more distant to him. Out of all the possible outcomes, this had to be the worst one.

“Dont even try to backtrack Shoto, I know the truth now,you just confirmed it.”

He knew he was less than kind to you before he left, but know it wasnt like that anymore. Why were you so angry?

“Fine-yes-I left, and it wasnt right,” he admitted, his voice deep, “but Im back. Why are you putting my old self against me now?”

“Because I couldn't for the year and half you were gone! I-I loved you Shoto, and you-”

“You dont love me anymore?” Shoto looked down at you sadly, his eyes full of sorrow. It felt like his heart was breaking in two, the way those words spilled out your mouth so easily making it sting even more.

You swallowed, filling a pit grow in your chest. Everything felt so cold, so empty. This was your best friend- why couldn't you just be nice to him? You thought you had gotten over all this.

“You dont love me-so why should I love you?” your voice was barely a whisper, cold and empty in the frigid hallway.

Shoto stared down at you, his voice caught in his throat. Did you really believe that? That he didnt love you?You had been friends since children- you really thought all those times, all those days you played together, were all fake? Who even were you?

“I just want you to know,” you spoke, your voice monotone and icy,” Im not doing this for my father, or your father, or even you. Im doing this for my people and thats it.”

“It” meaning the wedding.

Tears began to prickle your lashline, confusion flooding your numb body as you began to walk away from Shoto-

you hadnt cried in what seemed like forever.

Why were you now?

“Y/n, please, can we just talk-” he tried to reason, harsh with desperation.

“No.” your voice was plain in its tone that you were done with the conversation.

“Im just curious Shoto- why did you come back? Because if I had the luxury to have all that freedom, to be free for once- I wouldnt.”

Shoto’s heart felt broken as he watched you walk away, your dress ruffling as you continued on your path. He felt defeated, confused, even angry- what had happened to you since he had been gone? Did you really hate him that much? What did you mean you had no freedom? More questions flooded his mind than what were answered, but he now knew one thing- you didnt want anything to do with him.

As Shoto’s was returning to his corrdiors sadly, you were lost in thought, just feeling- empty. You didnt feel sad, or angry, or even spitefu anymorel. Just- numb to the world. You could walk for miles and miles it seemed and you wouldnt feel a thing.

Why was that? Why were so mean to your long lost firend? You should be hugging him from happiness and relief-not meeting him with coldness and hate.

As you were lost in thought, you didn't even notice yourself running into a person. Your hand instantly reached out, meeting soft yet rough skin. You looked up in confusion ,and your breath hitch- it was the barbairan, his vermilion eyes like rubies as he stared down at you in scorn.

“Oi, watch were your going you damn princess,” he scolded,pushing you off him gently. You stumbled slightly, trying to get your footing right- you had run in to him, you had even touched him. If you were feeling alright, and if the circumstances were different, you could practically squeal. “Youre gonna hurt someone.”

“Did I hurt you?”

He scoffed at your comment. “Like you could ever hurt me,” his voice was deep and velvety, his comment sending shocwaves into your system. The reply was prideful, yet it could have been- sweet. Kind, in a way in a different light- maybe he meant it like that?

“How do you know that?” you blurted out, a small smirk crawling across your lips.

You just wanted him to talk more, to hear that velvety voice directed towards you- but you were close to flirting with him. What were you doing? What was going on with you?

One second you were chewing out your life time friend weeks before your wedding, and now you were being smitten with a random man you didn't even know.

He chuckled slightly, his canines glinting. “Your a fucking handful, arentcha?”

He eyed your wobbling feet, as you still were finding your footing slightly.

“You clearly cant walk right-you feeling fine, because Im not gonna be the one who carries you-”

“No, no , Im fine.” you reassured, your cheeks rosy. ‘Thank you for catching me.”

“Youre the one who ran into me.”

“You could have just pushed me off though, you seem like the type to do that,” you gave him a cheeky grin, it disappearing when you heard a slight growl come form him.

“The hell you mean princess?” he was trying to be menacing, but you could tell there was something behind it- he was curious. You loved how he called you “princess”, making it sound like a pet name than a title.

“Your a lone wolf, are you not? You are strong, independent, free-” you began to list off, your eyes focusing on his, “you follow your own code and beliefs”

“Damn right I do,” he agreed, your heart soaring that he looked so proud of you for describing him so perfectly. “-which is why Im confused as hell that half-and-half prince is allowing himself to get married.”

Ouch.

The small amount of hope that Bakugo seemed to like you had quickly got destroyed, feeling hurt flood your body. You quickly tried to shake it off, so Bakugo couldn't see it on your face.

“What he even want to talk to you about anyway?” The boy shifted in his stance, his muscles moving with his movements.

You gulped, guilt filling your body- Shoto, the one who had just fought with. You couldnt tell this boy what had happened- that was private, and really, it was embarrassing.

“Just-uh-about-” you stammered, your cheeks red as you searched for a lie.

“Ugh, let me guess, you two were trading spit werent you?” he interrupted in disgust, taking your red cheeks as a sign you two were doing something unholy in the hallway.

You swallowed, licking your lips as you gave him a tight lipped smile. You were just going to follow along with Bakugo’s line of reasoning- you didnt have any other better ideas.

“Y-yep, just- please dont tell anyone?”

He gave a bitter laugh, his voice booming against your ears. “You guys cant get dirty? I guess that makes sense, since you all our royalty, cant be having any scandals-”

“Do you promise?” you rushed him, now feeling uncomfortable- if anybody heard you and Shoto were kissing in the hallway, and you two were really arguing-

“Yeah, dont worry princess, youre secrets safe with me.”

You sighed a breath of relief, feeling your heart jump at the smirk the boy sent your way.

“Thank you- I- uh- best be going now,” you stammered, rushing past the warrior, “have a nice night Bakugo.”

You rushed to your room, your heart feeling on fire. Your hands were shaking, your mid racing- all you could think about was that boy. Your world had seemed so dark, until he showed up. His rude responses, his chaotic personality, his snarkiness, that overly prideful speech, his freedom- it was so intoxicating to you. You felt your heart pumping against your chest- you hadn't felt this alive in so long.

You suddenly felt very sick, your head feeling drowsy- maybe you were actually catching something, and thats why you were acting so strange? You were gasping for breath it seemed, your corset making it hard to breath. I felt like something was tightening around your chest, small prods poking into you from the inside- it was a strange sensation, one you did not welcome in the slightest. You stumbled to your bed, holding on to the post as your lungs felt tight with no air, liking something was blocking your passageway. Coughs began to erupt out of you, wracking your body until you finally felt you could breathe. You sucked in a deep breath, welcoming the sweet night air, your chest still feeling tight. You looked down at the ground, trying to slow your stammering heart, until your eyes feel upon something new- a single white petal, resting softly on the ground.

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

After that night, You became obsessed with this boy, learning bits and pieces from him though conversation you had overheard from Shoto’s friends and workers inside the castle. You learned he was from an extremely far off land, past even the Mountains, which surprised you. He lived alone, and apparently had a dragon as well. He had gotten in many fights due to his overly prideful personality, which was why he had so many scars decorating his taut body. Your handmaidens seemed to look at him with annoyance, saying he refused to wear anything “civilized” and would plainly cuss them out if they even set foot in his room to clean.

You knew he had a softer side though- he had kept your “secret” safe, right? You heard nothing around the castle about any make-out session or argument between you and Shoto. That little act made you feel special in someway- maybe he had a soft side for you?

Whenever you would feel yourself getting sucked into the sadness of planning your wedding, you’d think of fantasies with that barbarian boy. Him taking you in the middle of night, taking you far away from this place. His hands placed around your waist, that snarky smile looking down at you again.

Seeing him walk around the castle grew a desperation and love in your body, watching his handsome face stare around the rooms, his voice loud and prideful- you wished he could look your way, acknowledge you again. His vermillion eyes sent fire into your soul whenever you closed his eyes, his face being a beacon of warmth in your life.

Yet that beacon of life was killing you from the inside- every day and every night you fantasized about Bakugo, the sickness taking over you grew worse and worse. The closer you got to your wedding day, the worse it felt, the vines inside you prickling at your soft organs. They were growing, you felt it, as you coughed up more and more petals.

For a few days you had no idea what was going on, fear striking you as you wondered if you should ask to see a doctor. But you decided to do your own research, scourging through books until you found your sickness: Hanahaki. The the mythical disease for unrequited love. It was quite rare, but it came to the most lonely, delusional, and desperate of lovers.

It made sense, really- it all started when you talked to Bakugo, after falling in his arms. It hurt he didnt love you back- but why should he? One run-in shouldn't make people fall in love with each other, but somehow it made you. You welcomed the pain alittle, as it was a reminder you still had some feeling other than emptiness inside you. It also terrfiied you- you were supposed to be in love with Shoto, not some barbarian from a far off land you barely spoke to.

How had this happened, how could you let this happen?

Even if you did tell others you had Hanahaki, they would point the finger at Shoto, calling him cold and callous for not loving you. You were the one who was the cold one, pushing your old friend away. Even if you felt some residue of anger for him, you wouldn't put him through that- he didn't deserve it. You let this disease do its course- if it went away youd be freed, knowing that Bakugo loved you back, and if not- well, you’d figure that out when you got there.

You had barely talked to Shoto or even noticed him since that night, not realizing the amount of worry he felt towards you. Everyday that went by he noticed how sick you looked, your skin paling and you eyes losing any life. Every cough you tried to hold back he noticed and it rang in his ear like a terrible siren- there was something wrong with you.It ate at his insides, his fear of you pushing him away again making him scared to ask what was wrong.

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

It was now the night before you wedding and you were feeling less than hopeful. You were supposed to be lively and happy, as your father had thrown a party to celebrate the events of the next day, yet you had no energy left in you to dance or socialize. You stayed in a dark corner, trying your best to blend in and not be noticed.

The coughs were not leaving, and it felt like your chest was being constricted until you could barely breathe. The annoying tickle of a cough was constantly at the back of your throat, as you tried to keep the petals at bay. You were miserable.

“Princess, are you doing alright, you seem a little- pale? Do you need some water, or maybe fresh air,” the young witch Ochaco approached you, her rosy cheeks and bright eyes looking at you.

“Hello, Ochaco,” you greeted, your smile strained, “you know-fresh air would be nice.”

The sweet girl smiled at you, gingerly taking you by the crook of your elbow and out of the ballroom. The fresh air was rather nice, soothing your hurting brain and your sore lungs. You two walked in silence for a while, enjoying each other’s company. Your mind was shifting around, thinking about Shoto and what would happen tomorrow. It hurt too much, though- you still were both not at speaking terms, and now you had to be promised to each other for eternity. The thought made your throat itch even more, and instead, you switched to own of your many fantasies of Bakugo that brought you some comfort.

“So, how are you feeling? Nervous, excited, scared?” Ochaco asked gingerly

“About what?” you asked, looking at her with curiosity

“Uh,um-your wedding,” she giggled nervously, her cheeks growing red again.

Oh-you cursed yourself for getting to invested in your fantasy, feeling embarrassed for thinking of Bakugo and not about Shoto.

You really didnt know how to answer her question-You felt yourself dreading it-how could you tell her that? But you didnt want to lie to her- lying to her would be practically evil, like giving a child a promise and not fulfilling it.

“Its expected of me to marry him,” you reasoned out carefully, “Ive been thinking of this day since I was a child.”

She gaped out you in awe. “Really?That early? In your kingdoms is it a tradition to marry from each other’s kingdoms?”

You gave her a wihsful smile. “Actually- no, it isnt. We’re the first ones.”

Her brown bob fluttered against her cheeks, her eyes staring up at you in confusion.

“I-if you dont mind me asking,” she asked nervously, “why is that?”

You sighed, giving her a small smile.

“Its kind of a long story….”

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

“Long ago our two kingdoms began to quarrel against one another. But that happened years back- we still continued to fight against each other, and quite frankly, we forgot about why. We just knew we hated each other and wanted to see the other fail. My father had always said to me that my mother wished for her children to be born in a peaceful kingdom, yet my father’s pride prevented that from coming true for her.

“Until the day I was born- my mother, sadly, died while giving birth to me. My father now had no queen, and really, no future ruler, since I am a girl and only men can become ruler in my kingdom. In his grief, he began to feel sympathetic, I suppose- he knew King Todoroki had a young boy who was barely turning 4, and my father got an idea. He travelled to his kingdom, and somehow was able to talk King Todoroki into an agreement.”

“In order to end the suffering of our two kingdoms, Shoto and I would marry once I turn 18, in which would bind our kingdoms forever in peace, with Shoto as ruling over both.”

Ochaco breathed out a large sigh, giving you a conflicted expression.

“So-thats why you two are getting married? Its arranged?”

You looked at her in confusion-“Didnt-Shoto tell you that? I thought Bakugo at least knew-”

“Bakugo?” Ochaco blinked a few times, clearly puzzled. “Bakugo just thought it was quite, well, wierd Shoto was getting married- Bakugo is just a lone wolf who cant understand love I guess-”

You strangely felt angry at her words- how could she even say that about him? Yes, he was cold and callous at times, but how could she know he couldn't at least love? You knew he had to at least have some way of having feelings for another person, you had to at least hope for that-

“-it must be why he left last night,”

You stopped in your tracks, feeling a ton of bricks pound into your chest.

“He-he left?

“Um yeah! Something about being ‘bored waiting around for a stupid’- oh my gosh, y/n are you alright!?”

You were coughing up quite alot, your lungs dry and painful as your heart tore in two. He-he left. Without you. Without even a goodbye.

After all that daydreaming, all that hope, that dedication to him, hoping he would notice you- he left. He never loved you, and you knew it- you were just so desperate for someone to take you, to teach you how to be free.

You wanted him to teach you, to see potential in you that you could be just as defiant to the world as him.

Uraraka wrapped her slender arms around your body, patting your back softly to help you rid your body of whatever had attacked you. It was taking everything in you to not let a single petal fall out, the itching in the back your neck unbearable as your heart beat agonizingly against horribly.

You felt a few silky petals slip out of your mouth, soft against your dry tongue. Miraculously, Uraraka didn't suspect a thing- most likely from the darkness she couldn't see the disease overtaking you.

You gulped desperately for air, finally getting a hold on your lungs.

“I-Im fine,” you panted out, raising from the floor on shaky knees. “Thank you”

Urarka gave you a pointed look, clearly not convinced. “Of course, but are you sure? Do you need water, or maybe I should get Shoto-”

“No!” you yelled out, covering your mouth in case of another attack.

You felt a little guilty for yelling at Uraraka so harshly, her wide eyes looking at you in shock-you just couldnt bear seeing Shoto when you were grieving over a lover that was never yours- and apparently dying from it too.

“No, Im fine, really,” you said more calmly, trying to be reassuring, “lets, just- walk back, if thats okay-”

“Yes of course! Ill walk you to your room, just in case you get sick again-”

You two walked in silence again, you mulling over your broken heart as Uraraka watched you in worry. You two passed the ballroom, everyone seemingly enjoying themselves and not noticing you two as you lead the way to your room.

You stepped up to the door, your hand grasping the doorknob until you paused, a question entering your mind. You were still confused why Uraraka said she didnt know your marriage was arranged-you would have expected Shoto to have told his group after saying he was getting married.

Was he embarrassed by it, that he was marrying you?

“You said you were surprised to here our marriage was arranged,” you asked quietly, “Shoto never told you?”

Uraraka shuffled in her pink boots, her shoulder hunched close to her chin.

“He-uh-no,” she breathed out, “he said he made a promise to marry a girl he loved.”

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

Morning.

Daylight.

Wedding.

You should be feeling happy, excited, optmistic-you had been imagining this day since you were a child. But now, all you could feel was a coldness you couldnt seem to shake off- after your talk with Uraraka last night, you felt so confused.

The person you “loved” had never loved you, leaving you sick and hurt.

The person who did love you, you most likely pushed away to the point where they didnt love you anymore.

You couldnt even understand your emotions yourself. All night your sickness wouldnt leave your poor lungs alone, making you cough uncontrollably all night, the petals piling up around you.

You wouldn't allow anyone to see you in the morning, snatching your wedding dress from your hand maidens and putting in yourself. You fixed yourself up, trying to make yourself look as lively as possible, but it seemed impossible- you felt too empty inside to really put your heart into it.

Another round of coughs attacked your chest, a single petal dribbling out of your mouth, along with a speckle of blood. It dripped on the inner folds of your creamy white dress- easily disguisable if you made sure it was covered- yet it made you begin to cry.

What was going on? Why did you have to do this? Why were you still sick?

Your knees hit the cold floor, wave after wave of tears and coughs struck your body in a terrible symphony, the petals piling up on your dress.

You couldnt take it anymore- this sickness was going to have to take you, because you had no energy left to fight it anymore.

You felt a knocking on your door, the sounds harsh against your temple. You sniffled, one last cough feebily spilling out of your bloodied lips.

“Go away-I promise Ill be out soon-” you began sadly, until you heard the door swing open.

You looked up, your face in shock as you did not lock eyes with your handmaiden, but with Shoto’s.

He looked around the floor, noticing the bloody petals, his face completely torn-he knew what was going on.

Shoto stared down at you, his eyes boaring into yours-he knew something was wrong with you. He had came by your room in hopes of fixing your relationship before speaking your vows, working up the courage until he heard you crying. No matter what was between you two, he wouldnt let you go through pain by yourself.

Now he watching you cough up your life, those sickly petals flowing out of you, each one taking a toll on your body.

He gasped out your name, the words like honey as he sat next to you on the floor. You looked so beautiful in that white gown, like an angel from heaven.

But the paleness of your skin, the bags like bruises under your eyes, the blood on your lips- it all reminded him that you were human, and you were hurting inside. He reached for your hand, his fingers grazing your skin-so cold- but you pulled it away quickly.

“Please, dont Shoto-” you whispered hoarsely, “Im-”

Another wave of coughs wracked at your chest, this time the rasps painful against your chest as the vines squeezed.

Shoto didnt know what to do- how could he help you? There wasn't anything he could do to help, except watch his best friend and love slowly cough her life away. A few petals cascaded out of your mouth, adding to the piles as you heaved air back into your lungs, your knuckles white.

“How, how could you keep this from me?” he asked sadly, ignoring your pleas and pulling you into his lap.

You felt how warm he was, and realized- he did love you. He had been there for you as a child, and he was here for you now, comforting you in your worst moment.

Your heart felt like it was exploding as tears cascading down your face, salty and warm against your skin.

“How-how could I Shoto?” I shuldnt have been so mean to you,” you sobbed, “Im so sorry, so sorry, this is all my fault-”

“Please, no, dont be sorry,” he said softly, his arms cradling your body, “we both have our own faults. I shouldnt have left you for so long, and Im sorry for that, I-” he gulped, his heart beating harshly against his chest.

“I-I do love you,y/n, I do.”

You picked up your head, forcing yourself to look at him- he was so handsome, his mix matched eyes softly looking down at you- he was still the little boy you knew from a child, though, always so calm and sweet.

“I know, Shoto, I just, I-” you gulped, fighting to keep the coughs and sobs at bay.

He sighed, feeling his heart sink.

“You loved Bakugo, didnt you? Thats why,” he motioned to the petals, “this is happening to you.”

You gave him a shocked look, your eyes wide and glassy. You forgot how observant Shoto could be- you felt your cheeks grow red, realizing now he must have known by the way you stared so much at Bakugo.

“Was-it that noticebale?”

“Y/n,” he sighed, his chest feeling heavy, “very.”

You giggled at his remark, feeling strange for laughing for once. But Shoto was so abrupt with his words, it always made you laugh at his remarks.

Shoto’s heart soared at your laugh, the sound like chimes against his ears. It died down, the room quickly feeling closed in again.

“I just dont want to do this. I-I want to be friends again. To figure out who were are, without us being forced to be with each other.” you sighed, your heart rattling against your chest. “ I-I want to be with you and marry you- when we decide. Not my father, or your father- I want to be free to choose.”

You turned to Shoto, your hands touching his cheek.

“I-I did love you-and I still do-Im just so confused, and trapped, and-”

“You just want to be your own person,” he finished your sentence, his voice so much stronger than yours.

He looked down at you, his face surprisingly smiling.

“I think I may have arranged that,”

You jumped up, your face in shock. “H-how? Tell me!” you squealed, not unilke a child, your eyes wide with anticipation.

Shoto grinned at your face, loving how excited you could get so quickly.

“Do you remember my oldest brother?” he asked

“Of course I remember Natsuo! He was always so kind to me as a child,” you reminenscenced, “but how is he going to help us?”

“Well, as it turns out, I spoke to our fathers and my older brother,” he said, a small grin on his face, “they agreed that my brother could rule both kingdoms in my place. By himself, and my sister will accompany him if he ever needs help.”

You sucked in a lung full of air, unable to believe what you had just heard-

“So that means-”

“We are free to do what we want now.”

You yelled in happiness, happy tears cascading on your face as you wrapped his body around yours, “thank yous” spilling out of your lips.

Shoto hugged you back, smiling sadly- he had to admit, it was hard negotiating that new deal. After the night, that remark of how you didnt feel “free” stayed in his brain, haunting him until he found a solution. Knowing it would make you happy made it worth it- even if that meant you could leave him now. He loved you, but if that meant you could be happy with or without him, he would be content with the knowledge that you were finally able to be your own person.

“You can now be yourself,” he said sadly, his eyes staring down at the floor, “and even if that means you do not love me, I accept it. You dont have to feel guilty.”

You looked at the poor boy, his eyes shaded as his bi-colored locks cascaded onto his foreheads. You felt a warmth fill your chest, the sensation soothing and calming as the tightness in your lungs dissappeared. The tickling in your throat seemed to wane slightly. Your hand found his as his eyes instantly rose to meet yours.

“I wont feel guilty,” you smiled gently, “I want to be free- with you.”

Taggings: (if you want to be added, just shoot me an ask or a reply on this post and Ill add you on to my future fics!)

@freckledoriya @orokayagi @leeeah-loooser

#bnha #bnha x reader #bnhabookclub #bnha au #bnha fantasy au #todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todorki x reader #mha todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki shoto x reader #shoto x reader #shoto #mha shoto x reader #mha shoto todoroki #bnha prince shoto x reader #prince shoto x reader #prince shoto x you #prince shoto x y/n

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out-of-jams · 5 years ago

Text

Press Play || knj

Summary: You didn’t mean to. Didn’t intend to fall in love with a dying man.

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader.

Word count: 9k

Warnings/Genre: Fluff, alluded smut, cursing, angst, character death.

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

| | Masterlist | |

Beep. Beep. Beep.

With a sigh, you shifted on the uncomfortable chair’s hard plastic. It creaked beneath your weight in protest, as if judging you for the powdered donut pressed to your lips. The obnoxious beeping from the heart monitor belonging to the patient behind the curtain next to you continued on, blaring loudly over the annoyance wafting off you in waves.

You hated hospitals, hated everything about them. From the sterile smell of disinfectant, to the unnecessarily bright walls and fluorescent lighting, and all the way to the way the stench of disappointment hovered right on the precipice of hope. The sound of footfalls could be heard from outside the door of the room, left half-open as if to try and air out the reek of hopelessness.

Another breath of hot air left your lips as you attempted to relax further back into the chair that apparently had some sort of vendetta against your numb rear. The crinkle of the plastic wrapped mini donuts was the only sound that could be heard over the beeping of the heart monitor behind the curtain. The white sheeted bed to the left of you was empty, the covers drawn down messily.

Somewhere in the cold building they called a hospital was your sister, hooked up to the same machine that was trying to save her life, only to pump deadly chemicals into her bloodstream. She’d left you alone thirty minutes ago, practically stiff arming you into staying behind while she got treatment. Soohee, your sister, absolutely refused to allow you to see her in what she liked to joke was her cyborg form.

Even though the joke made no sense, you didn’t have it in you to refuse anything that came out of her mouth. Especially when that request came at the cost of you not having to witness her skin turn a sickly, pallor white while the machine at her side filtered her body with the white hot fire that they called medicine.

While your tongue flickered across your lips to collect the white powdered sugar at the corner of your mouth, you hand stayed busy absentmindedly scrolling through your Instagram feed. It was right as you were liking a vacation picture of some old highschool acquaintance that the door to the room swung the rest of the way open. Just like the chair under your ass, the door protested at the movement.

You were going to ignore it, you really were. You knew it couldn’t be your sister, seeing as how she still had a little ways to go to finish her treatment. But a flash of silver caught at the corner of your eye and refused to let go. So there you were, the final half of your last powdered donut pressed to your parted lips, that you saw it. No, not it.

Him.

He shuffled through the door in a pair of white slippers the same shade as the boring walls, with one hand holding on to the IV pole wheeling along beside him. Dressed in a pair of comfortable looking black sweatpants and a baggy grey hoodie, the boy’s attention was somewhere over his shoulder. You couldn’t make out any facial features from the way he was turned, but his mop of messily styled silver hair caught the fluorescent light almost teasingly. His tan skin that poked out from the sleeves of his hoodie looked a little pale, the veins in his hand standing out as it grasped onto the IV pole.

“Really, don’t worry.” Even without seeing his face, you knew that his voice matched him perfectly. It was deep, but with a rasp to it that made it soft around the edges. “I’ll be fine.”

Somewhere outside of the room someone responded. Your ears couldn’t make out who it was or what they said, but the slightly high pitched lilt of the voice told you it was female. A nurse, probably. Or a doctor. Whatever, that wasn’t really what was important. What was important, however, was the scratchy chuckle that flowed from the boy’s mouth like water.

“Promise.” He lifted his free hand in a wave, jokingly shooing whoever was on the other side of the door. “I’ll ring if I need anything.”

The nurse, or doctor, or shaman, or whoever the hell it was, must have taken the boy’s word because his hand reached out to draw the door back to its half-shut position. You really should have averted your eyes, or politely looked away or something as he finally turned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You didn’t believe in love at first sight or in soulmates or whatever mumbo-jumbo bullshit people liked to put their faith in to feel less lonely. Attraction at first sight though? You definitely believed in that. It was hard not to. Especially when your eyes caught the dark brown ones of the boy standing in the doorway.

Almonds. That was your first thought. Almonds that had been left out to sit in the sun for too long and now radiated warmth. He may not have had long eyelashes that brushed gently against the apple of his cheeks or whatever stupid bull that was written on the pages of romance novels. But god, he didn’t need them anyway.

Your second thought was of the perfectly shaped slope of his nose right above plush pink lips. And the natural golden, sunkissed hue of his skin that should have clashed with the color of his hair, but somehow didn’t.

His ears were pierced. Small silver hoops dangled from his earlobes, catching the light. Not all men could pull of the whole pierced ear thing without looking like a giant, raging douchebag, but somehow he managed to make it look soft, handsome even.

The boy stood frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in surprise. He must not have been expecting to see you there. Not when the room was normally empty or at the very least usually had the curtains around the few occupied beds drawn closed in a semblance of privacy. He must have been new. You’d never seen him before.

“Uh,” the sound left his lips as he blinked slowly, short eyelashes dark against his skin. “Hello.”

God, he must have been freaked out by the weird ass girl with powdered sugar clinging to her lips with the staring problem. But it wasn’t like you could help it. Not like it was everyday that you got the privilege to lay eyes on a boy--no, man--who looked like he could grace the cover of GQ magazine.

His voice snapped you out of your silent analyzation and you gave your head a light shake to bring yourself back to the present. You lifted your fingers in a little wave with the hand still holding on to the mini donut, powder flaking off onto the hard tiled floor. “Hey.”

He gave an awkward smile at that. Either he didn’t know how to respond or didn’t have the desire to. Because that was the end of that short conversation. With a small nod of his head, the man shuffled further into the room, the squeak of the wheels of his IV pole trailing after him.

Your eyes dropped from him at that point so that he didn’t think you were some sort of weirdo. But you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye while you pretended to scroll through Instagram again. It wasn’t like the beach photos from Gabby’s vacation four months ago could spark your interest anyway. Especially not while the first splash of radiant color that you’d seen in that dreary hospital shambled towards the bed right across from you.

How cliché.

It would have been at least, if the man’s slipper hadn’t caught on the edge of his IV pole. With a yelp of surprise, the man stumbled forward, free arm pinwheeling in attempt to regain his balance. Whatever backwater physics he was trying to pull failed him and down he went, sprawling across the full-sized mattress with limbs splayed in the most undignified manner you’d ever seen.

He’d somehow managed to drag the pole down with him. It rang loudly as it fell half-onto the bed and the floor, the bag of fluids swinging wildly. One of the man’s slippers left his foot with the fall to take shelter underneath the metal bed frame.

The deathly silence that overtook the room was brief, but voluminous.

“Are you okay?”

You shot to your feet, almost empty donut package forgotten as it fell. The soles of your shoes scuffed against the tiled floor as you raced over to his side of the room. You stopped at the foot of his bed, hands awkwardly hovering over his prone form.

He was tall. So tall that his legs hung halfway off the bed and dragged against the floor. His lips were parted in surprise as he gaped at the IV pole like it’d insulted his mother. Like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no.” Your concerned voice must have snapped him out of the confused daze he’d been left in, because he blinked once and lifted his eyes to you. “Ah, I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Yeah. I’m..,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Nice to meet you, Yeah.” The corner of your lips perked in amusement at your own joke, eyes trained on him as he scrambled to sit up. “Sure you’re okay? Need me to call someone?”

“I’m okay.” He finally regained his balance to sit up properly, feet planted firmly on the floor: one slippered and one bare. His slendered hands reached out to return the IV pole to its proper upright position. Though he kept his eyes averted from you, likely in an attempt to hide the heated pink blooming across his cheeks.

“You sure, Yeah?” You crossed your arms across your chest. The fabric of your denim jacket did little to chase away the cold air conditioning that the hospital somehow insisted be blasted on high at all times.

“Namjoon.” His voice sounded muffled as he bent over to retrieve the lost slipper underneath the bed.

“What?” The tilt of your head couldn’t be helped as you stared down at him in confusion. A golden ring on one of his fingers caught your attention as he slipped his footwear back on.

“My name.” The man finally looked up at you, a small smile tilting at the corners of his plush lips. “It’s Namjoon. Not Yeah.”

“You sure?” The expression on your face was deadly serious, mouth pursed. “I think Yeah kind of suits you. Very unique.”

The man, Namjoon, lifted a dark eyebrow in response. His smile grew in amusement, forcing the two dimples on his cheeks out of hiding. “You saying I’m unique?”

Namjoon’s warm eyes glistened teasingly and now it was your turn to feel warmth blossom across your face and down your neck. You cleared your throat. “Well, you sure know how to make an entrance, that’s for sure.”

Eyes widened in shock at the words that just spewed from your lips, you clamped your jaw shut. Why the universe had cursed you with the sarcastic humor of a bitter 90 year-old widow, you had no idea. But wow, talk about putting your foot in your mouth. With an internal cringe, you waited with bated breath at the offended look that was sure to overtake his face.

Namjoon groaned, both hands covering his face in embarrassment. He didn’t explode in anger however. A chuckle left his lips and he shook his head back and forth like he could wipe the memory from his mind. “Please pretend you never saw that.”

You sucked in air through your teeth jokingly and shrugged in fake apology. “Sorry, no can do, dude. It’s seared into my brain. Cursed to forever play on repeat.”

“Talk about embarrassing.” Namjoon’s voice was muffled by the palms of his hands.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” You leaned your thighs against the metal bed frame, hands finding the pockets of your jacket. “I’ve seen worse here, trust me.”

Those seemed like the magic words, because Namjoon finally freed himself from the cage of his fingers and lifted his eyes back to yours. His dark eyebrows shot into the messy bangs that shifted with his fall and now fell across his forehead. “Worse? What could have possibly been more embarrassing than what just happened?”

“Well,” your tongue ran across your lips, eyes raising to the white ceiling in memory. “There’s this old woman in one of the rooms a few doors down. I’ve heard some of the residents call her Crazy Shorts Cathy, but between you and me, I think that’s kinda rude.”

“Crazy Shorts Cathy?” Namjoon interrupted your story with a snort of amusement. “Why do they call her that?”

“Trust me, once you see her, you’ll know.” You nodded sagely, a smile gracing your lips as you reached up to twirl a piece of your hair around a finger absentmindedly. “But anyway, back to the topic at hand. So, Crazy Shorts Cathy had surgery a little while ago. And afterwards she was so doped up on anesthesia that she was somehow convinced that she was a medieval knight.

“Poor woman tried to joust the nurses with an IV pole. Caused a huge commotion in the hall. Like, there were doctors and nurses everywhere trying to wrestle the pole from her without opening her fresh stitches. So many casualties. Too many. May they rest in peace.”

A loud laugh left Namjoon, filling the cold room with warmth. It didn’t sound like bells, or windchimes or some other stupid romantic simile. No, Namjoon’s laugh was a roaring, throaty ha-ha-ha! Like it couldn’t leave his lips without forming each syllable perfectly.

“What?” His eyes were wide in disbelief, staring up at you with shoulders shaking in laughter.

Your own ugly, obnoxious laugh joined his, sounding more like a squeaky toy than anything else. That only seemed to spur his amusement further until no sound left him, just quiet intakes of air as he completely lost himself. Namjoon was bent over at the waist, elbows braced against his knees and eyes squeezed shut with mirth.

“That can’t--” He had to pause in order to get the breath to speak. “That can’t be true.”

With teeth biting into your bottom lip to try and contain your giggles, you shook your head. “It’s not.”

“What?” Namjoon lifted his gaze back to you, eyes shining with unshed tears of glee. He pointed a finger at you and tried his hardest to give you a stern look, but the silent laughter shaking his chest gave him away. “You lied!”

“Ah.” You pointed your own finger back at him. “But I made you feel better though. Just don’t tell Crazy Shorts Cathy that I’ve been soiling her name.”

“Oh, so she’s real?”

“She most definitely is.” You nodded in fake seriousness.

A short silence overtook the room once again. But instead of being filled with awkward air, it was comfortable, infused with a homey warmth that threatened to chase away the chilled ice of the air conditioning.

“Hey.” Namjoon’s voice had sobered and he leaned back on the bed on his hands, head tilted back to look at where you still stood at the foot of the bed. “You never told me your name.”

You simply shrugged one shoulder in response. “Maybe I’m the mysterious type.”

He snorted, silver hoop earrings glinting teasingly. “Mysterious people don’t go around telling people that they’re mysterious. That kind of goes against the whole ‘mystery’ thing.”

“Does it?” You wiggled your eyebrows playfully, slowly shuffling backwards and towards your abandoned hard plastic chair.

“It definitely does.” Namjoon sat back up properly at your retreat, a frown pulling down the corners of his lips. “Where are you going?”

“That’s a mystery, Namjoon.” You were almost there, feet away from your sister’s bed.

“Ah, of course.” He nodded knowingly, as if you’d just told him the answers to the universe. “Whatever you say, Sugar.”

That halted your feet. “Sugar?”

Namjoon hummed and shifted himself on the bed so that he could lie down properly, even though the bottoms of his slippers still hung over the bed. Long-legged giant that he was. “That’s what I’ll call you.”

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion, head tilting to the side like a dog waiting for a command. “Why Sugar?”

He tapped the corner of his mouth and his eyes glinted with amusement once again. Your own widened as you quickly reached up to brush away the powdered sugar still clinging to your face.

God damnit. Talk about embarrassing yourself. “Please pretend you never saw that.”

Namjoon simply propped himself up on the wall behind his bed. “Sorry, no can do, Sugar. It’s seared into my brain. Cursed to forever play on repeat.”

You groaned, foot stomping against the floor in protest at his mocking words. How dare he. “I cannot stand you.”

His plush lips parted to give a retort, but Namjoon was abruptly cut off as the door to the room swung open. Your attention was immediately pulled away from the adonis across the room and to the girl that stumbled through the door.

Whatever fire that Namjoon had ignited in the room with his presence disappeared with the entrance of your sister. Her pale skin seemed even more sickly underneath the ugly fluorescent lights. The top of her head was covered with a pretty pink, sparkly scarf, as if the bright pop of color could somehow chase away her sickness. And the grey sweats and matching sweater she wore that drowned her tiny frame did nothing to help either.

Soohee sent you a shaky smile once she caught your eyes. She dragged her own IV pole behind her as she slowly shuffled inside. You met her halfway, arms extended to wrap around her and guide her back to her bed.

“I’m fine, really.” She tried to reassure you, but the weak, frail way her voice left her throat told you otherwise. Soohee followed without further protest however, and let you tuck her into bed until the covers were pulled up to her chin.

Your fingers brushed the end of her scarf away from her face with gentle fingers. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Soohee rolled her eyes, but let them slip closed anyway. Her treatment always seemed to suck the energy right out of her until only a lifeless shell remained.

With a sigh, you leaned back once more into your uncomfortable chair. Your eyes flickered up to glance at Namjoon, only to see him with his head on his pillow and a book open between his propped up knees. The cords of white headphones flowed from his ears and connected to his phone in order to give you a semblance of privacy.

As you distractedly thumbed through Instagram once again with eyes glazed over, you couldn’t help your thoughts from circling around the man across the room.

Silence greeted your ears as you slowly pushed the door open. It let out a squeak and you grimaced at the sound, turning your gaze to glare at the rusty hinges. You’d think that someone would have fixed that already, but alas, noisy doors weren’t exactly a priority in a busy hospital.

Your eyes lifted to scan around the room, the curtains around all of the beds were closed, shielding the residents from view. The tips of your boots creased as you tip-toed into the room, slowly closing the door behind you. Whether the occupants were awake or asleep you didn’t know, but it was the thought that counted at least.

The charms on the bracelet clasped around your wrist shook as you reached up to brush back your sister’s curtain. All of the lights above her bed were shut off and you could just barely make out her figure underneath the pile of blankets on her bed. As you shuffled to your normal seat, you couldn’t help but reach out to gently brush your fingers against her prone form.

The time on your phone read that it was only 3:37 pm. While that wasn’t exactly prime time for sleeping, you knew your sister tended to take frequent naps due to the exhaustion that constantly overtook her.

Your jeans hit the cold, plastic chair as you slid the bag on your back to the floor at your feet. You tried your best to muffle the sound of the zipper in order to pull out your laptop. There was a seven page English paper just begging to be written. Well, the paper wasn’t begging, but the 11:59 due date definitely was. And of course you hadn’t even started.

It wasn’t until the small digital clock in the corner of your laptop read 4:53pm that you finally heard a noise other than the clicking of your laptop keys. Your fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard as you heard the sound again.

A curtain sliding open.

You tried your best to ignore the feeling of...something pulling at your chest and set your laptop carefully on your chair once you stood up. The soles of your boots squeaked as you snuck over to the curtain and peered out. Across the room stood the very person that had been unrelentingly having a one man show in your thoughts since the day previous.

Namjoon stood next to his bed, hands patting the pockets of his Adida joggers in search for something. A grey beanie was on his head, unknowingly matching the same shade of his hair until both blended into each other. The too-long sleeves of his red hoodie hid half of his hands from view as he continued to search for whatever it was that he’d lost.

A noise left the back of his throat as he finally located the wallet that he pulled out from in between his bed sheets. He slipped it into his pocket and turned abruptly, coming to halt as he caught you peering at him from behind the curtain. Your eyes widened in surprise, having not expected him to turn so quickly. And once again, you felt the burning heat of a blush spread across your cheeks.

Namjoon’s mouth quirked up at having caught you. “Hey.”

His voice was quieted in an attempt to not disturb anyone. But god, someone really should have told him that he was shit at whispering.

Your hand rose on its own accord, fingers wiggling in a wave. “Hey.”

Namjoon slowly made his way over to you with his hands in his pockets, this time wearing actual shoes instead of hospital slippers. “How long have you been here?”

“A while.” You finally slipped free of the curtain separating the two of you, head tilting back in order to maintain eye contact.

He hummed and jerked his head towards the door in silent invitation. “You hungry, Sugar?”

“Maybe you should wear a bib.”

Namjoon glanced up from his tray of lukewarm hospital food to give you a dry look. But you only raised an eyebrow in response and glanced pointedly down at the barbeque sauce stain that now graced the fabric of his hoodie. The piece of chicken that he’d speared onto his fork was barely hanging on for dear life, threatening to take a nosedive onto the wood table at any moment.

“Maybe you should take your own advice, Sugar.” Namjoon smirked at the feigned insulted look on your face. His deep, raspy voice threatened to drown itself in the loud chatter of the hospital cafeteria and you had to lean a little closer to hear it clearly.

People were scattered throughout the room, queuing behind glass covered food and seating themselves in the tacky chairs and booths. Whoever designed the cafeteria must have been going for a 70s-disco-meets-retirement-home look. It took all you had to keep the high school lunch-esque pepperoni pizza down.

Why hospital food had to be as depressing as the atmosphere, you had no idea.

“I came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.” The cardboard, plastic free straw of your chocolate milk was pressed between your lips.

“Uh-huh.” Namjoon shrugged. “Then I rescind my invitation.”

With a fake gasp of anguish, you slammed your container of choco milk down onto your tray, just narrowly missing the edge. “But then who will I grace with my clever, astounding wit?”

He tilted his head side-to-side as if contemplating your question. With a hum, Namjoon finally, finally saved the piece of chicken on his fork by shoving it into his mouth.

“Crazy Shorts Cathy.”

Namjoon just had to say that right as you were taking a sip of milk. He did it on purpose and you knew it.

You couldn’t help the snort of laughter at his stupid joke, which of course, caused the milk to get caught in the back of your throat mid-swallow. A yelp left your lips at the cooling sensation of milk shooting from your nose. Coughing, you covered your face with one hand and hastily reached over for a napkin from the pile in the center of the table.

Namjoon’s obnoxious ha-ha-ha! drew curious onlookers and you hurriedly attempted to wipe up your embarrassment before it could further stain your non-existent reputation. The silver haired man was bent over, elbows and hands supporting his weight against the table as he laughed himself into hysterics.

“You did that on purpose!” You dropped the used napkins onto your tray and glared up at him. Or you tried to at least. It was hard to stay mad at a man that laughed like a happy baby.

“Maybe you should wear a bib.” Namjoon only slipped harder into laughter at the unamused look on your face.

But the accompanying smile slowly slipped from your face as his laughter turned into coughing. And then the coughing turned into vicious hacking, until the hands that once braced himself against the table now clung to the edge to dear life.

“Namjoon?” You questioned, concern lacing your tone as worry began to take over as his coughs ceased to end.

He shook his head, reaching out to grab up a handful of napkins to press against his mouth. Leaning across the table, you laid a hand on his one that was still grabbing at the table, eyes wide and panic catching in your throat. “Namjoon!”

The man shook his head once again, attempting to take deep breaths to stop the coughs from racking his frame. You were about two seconds away from jumping up from the table to try and help him somehow when he finally stopped. The coughs turned into wheezing and then finally ceased altogether.

“Namjoon?” His name left your lips once again. You tried to catch his eye, but he averted his gaze to a flower print booth across the cafeteria.

“I’m fine.” Namjoon’s voice came out scratchy, the normal rasp accented into something deeper. He took a deep, shuddering breath and moved the now crumpled napkins away from his mouth.

“You sure?” The knit of your brows spoke of your concern for him, lips parted and voice quiet.

“Yeah.” He sent you a weak smile, finally lifting his gaze to yours and dropping the crumpled up napkins onto his tray. “What were we talking about?”

It wouldn’t take a genius to see it. The same look that sometimes graced your sister’s eyes shone in his. A pleading, begging look for you to just forget about what happened and move on. To ignore what you’d just witnessed as if that would somehow erase the memory from your mind.

A smile that didn’t meet your eyes lifted your lips. “Crazy Shorts Cathy.”

“What are you reading?”

Namjoon glanced up from where he was lounging across his bed, back pressed up against the headboard. His warm eyes met yours as you sat on the end of his bed, legs folded under yourself. Your fingers had paused on the keyboard of your laptop, lips pouted in a desperate attempt at drawing the man into conversation.

“You already asked me that.” Namjoon flapped his book and raised an eyebrow. His plush lips lifted in amusement as you huffed and leaned your head back to glare into the ceiling. “Three times.”

“Amuse me.”

“Paper that rough?”

You finally moved your harsh glare from the ceiling and to the man across from you. Eyes softening unknowingly, your shoulders jerked up in a half-assed shrug. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Namjoon chuckled in amusement, now raising both eyebrows to give you the look. His bullshit detector look. You’d been on the receiving end of it a multitude of times throughout the month that you’d known each other.

A mumbled response left your lips accompanied by a put upon sigh.

“What was that, Sugar? You’ll have to speak up. Couldn’t hear you over all that grumbling.”

With a stretch of your leg, your kicked at his thigh playfully with a socked foot. “I just don’t understand why a 10 page paper is necessary. Who gives a flying fuck about why some stupid author transformed his stupid character into a cockroach.”

“Stupid author?” You didn’t even have to open your eyes to see the look he was giving you.

“Sorry,” though the grin that overtook your face negated your apology. “Did I offend thee, thine book nerd?”

Instead of receiving a verbal answer, you felt the tickling pressure of Namjoon’s fingers against the bottom of your foot. With a squeal, you jerked your foot back out of his range.

“Hey! You know I’m ticklish, you traitor!” You ignored Namjoon’s laughter to send him a glare instead. Who cared if it lacked heat? It would get the point across anyway.

He merely rolled his eyes before placing his bookmark into the spine of the book and slipping it closed. The glossy cover hit the end table next to his bed and he reached out a hand to wave you over.

“Come here.”

“All the way over there?” You really hoped the sarcastic tone of your voice drowned out the loud pounding of your heart beating against your rib cage. Hoped that it hid the butterflies that took flight in your stomach.

“Yes, all the way over here.” Namjoon wiggled his fingers in invitation. “Or do you want to keep writing your paper?”

The lid of your laptop closed in response to his question and you shifted to your knees to slowly crawl your way to the head of the bed. With the mattress dipping at your weight, you settled on top of the rumpled blanket and leaned your back against the wall to mirror him.

While you’d been friends with Namjoon for weeks, that was the closest you two had been in proximity to each other. If you shared the same bed, you’d be at one end and he’d be at the other. Not side by side. Not so close that the skin exposed by his short sleeved shirt brushed against yours. Not so close that you could smell the scent of fresh laundry that wafted off of him.

You weren’t sure whether you wanted your sister to wake up from her nap or not. Weren’t sure if you should be feeling how you were feeling. Weren’t sure whether the frantic beating of your heart was from the way Namjoon’s voice caressed your eardrums, or if it was from fear.

“Here.”

Held in between his slender fingers was one end of his earphones. The other was already pressed into his ear closest to you. You took his offer without hesitation, pushing the bud into your ear until half of the white noise in the room disappeared.

“What are we watching?” You asked, eyes tracking as his thumbs flicked across the bright screen of his phone held up between you.

“Not watching.” Namjoon opened up Apple music and didn’t even pause to read over the song titles like he could navigate his playlist blindly. “Listening.”

“What are we listening to then?”

His thumb finally stopped on whatever song it was that he was looking for. Seeing him move to look at you out of the corner of your eye had you turning to meet his gaze. His almond eyes shone with something, something, before his dimples revealed themselves with a smile.

“Just listen.” The warmth of his voice blended in with the gentle, melancholy song that drifted in from your end of the earphones.

You slipped your eyes closed in an attempt to block out Namjoon’s soft, soft, soft look and concentrate on the harmonizing vocals. At least that’s what you told yourself. Your head found his shoulder, bringing with it the scent of his warmth.

And if his cheek pressed onto the top of your head and his breath ghosted the baby hairs brushing your forehead, well, at least your eyes weren’t open to witness the heavy sigh leaving his lips.

But you could feel it.

You could feel it.

Something.

“I’m so sorry for ever doubting you.”

The disbelief in Namjoon’s tone was almost palpable. You leaned back into the vending machine behind you, back pressed to the glass and shoulders shaking as you held back a laugh. Namjoon’s expression mirrored his tone, dark eyes wide and mouth gaping.

You hummed, unscrewing the cap of your iced tea to take a sip. “I told you. But you didn’t believe me.”

“I-” Namjoon’s voice stuttered in his throat as the topic of you conversation passed by once again.

With long salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a low ponytail, the short woman pushed open the door across from the alcove of vending machines. She looked normal, sounded normal, hell, even smelled like normal flowery perfume. But the knee length shorts covered in a multitude of rainbow colored horses spoke otherwise. The door shut behind her, taking both her perfume and loud shorts with her.

“Holy shit.”

Pushing off of the vending machine, you reached up and closed Namjoon’s gaping mouth with a finger. His wide eyes flickered over to you as you leaned in close as if telling him a secret. You told yourself that you didn’t care when his gaze moved to your mouth for the briefest moments. Told yourself that he didn’t lean his head closer to yours. Told yourself that you didn’t want to close the distance and see for yourself if his lips were as soft as they looked.

“If you want.” Your lowered voice brought Namjoon’s attention back to your eyes. “I can buy you a pair.”

Namjoon groaned in exasperation as you leaned back onto the heels of your shoes, hands clasped behind your back, eyes wide and expression innocent.

“Let’s leave the crazy shorts to Crazy Shorts Cathy please.”

Your laugh echoed down the hospital hallway, drawing glances from some of the passing nurses. But you ignored them in favor of the fake annoyed expression that crossed Namjoon’s face. For the soft smile that graced his lips. For the way his tongue caressed your name to pull you back to the hospital room.

For the way your heart pounded a tattoo into your rib cage.

“Joon.” Your voice was whispered, stretching out across the nonexistent space between your bodies.

“Hm?” Namjoon’s sleep filled hum filled the darkness encompassing the room. The curtain hiding the two of you blocked out the light from underneath the hospital room door. Soft breaths could be heard from the few occupied beds in the room, accompanied by the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor hiding behind another curtained section.

The blanket thrown over the both of your shoulders shifted as you turned onto your side. Barely, just barely, you could make out Namjoon’s profile in the dark. The soft slope of his nose turned a little in your direction as you moved.

“Why..,” you took a breath, voice fading as you tried to find the words that failed you.

Namjoon’s fingers trailed a line of fire against your shoulder, his thumb drawing light circles onto your skin. The sound of his heartbeat was calming and you slowly inhaled his comforting scent, the soft cotton of his shirt caressing your cheek.

“Why?” He prompted. You felt the deep rumble of his chest more than you heard his actual words.

“You never told me.” The fingers of the hand thrown across his waist plucked at his shirt helplessly. “Why you’re here.”

Silence.

The beeping of the heart monitor.

A sigh.

“Sugar.”

You shook your head as much as you could with your limited range of movement. The fingers of your hand fisted the material of his shirt, bunching it in a way that you knew would wrinkle. “No. Don’t coddle me.”

“I’m not--”

“You are.” Your nose met the soft skin of his neck, the warm breath of your words causing him to shudder. “We’ve known each other for six months. You know you can tell me anything.”

Namjoon’s fingers halted their movement against your shoulder. He let out another sigh, turning his face and burying it into the top of your head. “I can’t.”

“Why?” If your voice broke, neither of you mentioned it.

“Because, Sugar.” He threaded his fingers into your hair, burrowing themselves in the glossy strands. “I don’t want to ruin this.”

“Please, Joon.” The words were more of a shaky exhale than anything else. “Please.”

Namjoon’s chest shuddered. His nose buried itself further into your hair, his lips brushing the crown of your head. The silence was stifling, lingering so long that you thought he wouldn’t respond. Thought he would deny you of the one answer that had been tormenting your mind for months. That had been mixing fear into the euphoria that churned your stomach.

But finally, finally his voice met your ears. And you’d never wished for someone to take back words more than right then, in the darkness pressed to his chest.

“Cancer. Lung cancer.” Namjoon’s fingers tightened in your hair to where it was almost painful. But you couldn’t complain, couldn’t move away. Forced to face reality. “Terminal.”

“Joon.”

“Sugar.”

“Why don’t you do chemotherapy? I’ve never seen you go. You’ve never--”

“Sugar.”

“It could help. It could--”

“Sugar.”

The hitch of your breath brushed the skin of his neck and your fingers tangled themselves even further into his shirt. As if that could somehow force him to take the words back. Force the reality back into something else. Anything else.

“It won’t help.” Namjoon’s lips pressed to your forehead and they lingered before he pulled away. But only so he could pull you harder against him. “It won’t do anything. I’m too far gone.”

“How long?” You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. But you needed to. Had to.

“A few months, maybe. At least that’s what the doctor says.”

Not even the beeping of the heart monitor could drown out the cries that fell from your lips. The salty tears that left a trail of anguish down his neck. The sound of your heart slowly breaking.

The soft scritch-scritch-scritch of pencil on paper filled the room. It was almost masked by the hard beat that bled from the speakers of Namjoon’s phone.

“Stop corrupting my little sister.” Your voice was filled with amusement as you looked up from the book open on your lap. Something that you normally wouldn’t have read, but did so at Namjoon’s insistence.

The gray haired man sent you a smile, dimples revealing themselves. It was bright in the room for once. The curtains spread across the window looking outside that were normally closed were pushed open to let in the sunlight. It filtered in, bringing its warmth with it.

Namjoon shifted in his hard plastic chair, amused eyes throwing you a look that said not my fault. “Hey, she’s the one that told me to put this on.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to listen to her.”

“She can make her own decisions, thank you very much.” Soohee didn’t look up from the sketch pad settled across her lap. The pencil in her hand continued to move as she drew the portrait of the main sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed.

“She also has taste.” Namjoon didn’t even try to hide the cheeky smile he sent your way.

“You saying I don’t have taste?” You narrowed your eyes at the man as the opening sound of another 2Pac song flowed from his shitty phone speakers.

Namjoon’s eyes creased into half-moons as a blinding grin graced his lips. The white of his teeth was almost blinding in the sunlit room. Or maybe that was just Namjoon himself. You didn’t know. “You said it, not me.”

“Hey!” You looked around for something to throw at him, but failed to find anything that wouldn’t accidentally break his perfect teeth. So you settled for crossing your arms across your chest instead, pout overtaking your features. “Bully.”

“You love it.” Namjoon teased, slouching further down in his chair in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Stop moving!” Soohee ordered, slapping a hand to her sketchpad in exasperation.

“Sorry, sorry.” The man apologized, his warm eyes moving back to meet yours.

You couldn’t avert your gaze. Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

Only hoped that the look in your eyes expressed all of the things that you couldn’t.

“If you could be anything in the world, what would it be?”

Namjoon hummed in thought, his face so close to your own that you had to close your eyes to avoid going cross-eyed. It was dark yet again, the curtain around his bed drawn to a close. You liked to imagine that it could stop time. That the flimsy material hanging above your heads could freeze you in that moment forever.

“A rapper.”

“A rapper?” You opened your eyes in disbelief, mouth falling agape. “Really?”

He shifted, fingers tapping out an imaginary beat against your hip. “Yes really.”

“Hm.” Your own fingers traced nonsensical shapes against the skin of his exposed collarbone. “Wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Is it really that far fetched?”

You paused in thought, tongue flickering out to wet your lips. “Nah, I guess not. I could see it. You get all poetic sometimes.”

Namjoon’s breathy laugh fanned against your face. “What would you be?”

A small shrug lifted your shoulders. “I dunno. I’d like to travel, even though that’s not really a career.”

“Where would you go?” His hand moved from your hip and upwards, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek. Your eyes slid closed on their own accord as you leaned into his touch.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“That sounds nice.”

You smiled. “Yeah. But only if you came with me.”

“I’d like that.” Namjoon’s thumb drifted to your bottom lip and you shuddered at the feeling of his skin against yours. "For you to take me with you."

“Yeah?” Your question ghosted against his thumb. “Where would you wanna go?”

“Mm. Seoul.”

“Korea?”

“Yeah.”

“Why there?”

“My parents were born there. I think I’d like to see it. See where they came from.”

“I think I’d like to see it to.” Your breath hitched when his head shifted against the pillow, breath mingling with your own.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Soft.

Namjoon’s lips were softer than you imagined they’d be as they pressed gently against yours. He tasted of the strawberry chapstick he loved to use. Tasted of hopelessness, of heartbreak turning bitter on your tongue. You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, pressed your lips harder against his.

His kiss forced the thoughts from your mind. The feeling of his hand sliding up your shirt extinguished the cold rush of despair from your veins. His shirt hitting the floor buried the soul crushing anguish. The feeling of skin-on-skin spoke of desperation. His mouth on yours stifled the moans that threatened to escape your throat as he made you feel what neither of you could say aloud.

The darkness swallowed up the heat of his gaze as the curtain shielding you from the rest of the world stopped time.

“So, I’ve been thinking.”

“Wow, that’s a surprise.”

Namjoon snorted at your sarcastic reply, lips pressed together to try and hide his mirth. But the happy gleam that sparked behind his eyes gave him away. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“If this is you trying to get into my head, think again.” You mumbled distractedly, shuffling around the cards in your hand. The fact that you didn’t even need to look up to see Namjoon’s eye roll was scary.

“Like I even need to. You’ve lost the past five rounds.”

“Shut up!” Tongue in cheek, you glanced up to see his amused expression before looking back down at your cards. “Got any 3s?”

“Go fish.” Namjoon smirked at your groan of exasperation, ignoring your mumbled you’re cheating. “As I was saying. I was thinking.”

“About what, cheater?”

He paused before answering, eyes lingering on you as if gauging your response to what he would say next. “I want to show you something.”

Looking up at him over the tops of your cards, you wiggled your eyebrows. “Yeah? Like what?”

Namjoon gave a deep, put upon sigh that only you could pull from him. He jokingly called it annoyance, but you called it an accomplishment. He shook his head at you, the purple of his newly dyed hair clashing violently with the orange shirt he had on. Why that man chose to dress like a chic hobo with no fashion sense was beyond you.

“You know what? Nevermind.”

“No! Tell me!” The cards in your hand dropped to the table between you and you leaned forward, hands outstretched to grab onto his forearms.

The two of you were in one of the lounges in the hospital’s ICU. The other chairs were empty, leaving just the two of you together. You would go there together sometimes to escape the boring white walls of the rest of the hospital. At least here someone had thrown up brightly colored wallpaper. Even if it didn’t match the ugly polka-dotted upholstery of the couches.

Whoever the interior designer of the place was really needed to be fired.

“No, now I-” Namjoon cut himself off, a hand pressed to his lips to try and stop the sudden coughs from forcing their way out. They overtook him, his wheezing, violent coughs.

“Joon!” You stood from your chair in alarm, rushing around the small table separating you. Knees hitting the carpeted floor painfully, you kneeled in between his legs, hands coming out to rub at his shoulders.

Namjoon bent at the waist, wet coughs hacking their way out of his throat. His forehead met your shoulder and you raised a hand to run through his hair. “I’m here, Joon. I’m here.”

You didn’t know how long his attack lasted, but it was too long. Too long that he was without breath. Too long that he sat there coughing and wheezing and shaking. But like everything, it eventually came to an end. And Namjoon sat back, swiping a hand across his lips and smearing blood.

“Joon.” Your voice came out choked. Alarmed. The red on his skin didn’t belong there. Shouldn’t have been splattered down his chin.

“I’m okay, Sugar. I’m fine.” But Namjoon’s voice didn’t sound okay. Didn’t sound fine. His breath shuddered as he inhaled, like his lungs were protesting against the intake. “I’m okay.”

He wasn’t.

“This one’s a favorite.”

“You’ve said that about all of them.”

“Duh. That’s because I mean it.”

“They can’t all be your favorites.”

“Yeah, Joon? Says who? You the favorite police?”

“What even is that?”

“Exactly.”

Your fingers flipped the page, eyes reading over the words penned into the white spaces. Namjoon’s neat handwriting stared back up at you, the poetic lyrics drawing you in, pulling you deeper into his thoughts. His hopes. His dreams. His fears.

“Let me see which one you’re reading at least.”

Jerking the leatherbound journal out of Namjoon’s line of sight was harder than one might think. The tall, long-legged giant had height on you. But you managed, somehow. “Nope. Now let me read in peace.”

His sigh harmonized perfectly with your laughter.

Namjoon’s dry stare bore so deeply into you that you swore you could feel his gaze in your soul. He rolled his eyes skyward as if asking the divine why he was forced to deal with you.

“Why?”

“You don’t like them?” You pouted, kneeling onto the mattress of his bed to peer up at him with puppy eyes. Your lips met the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t want it?”

Namjoon sighed as you kissed your way across his jaw, stopping just before you reached his lips. “Want me to take it back? My gift that was so painstakingly difficult for me to get?”

“For fucks sake.” He rolled his eyes yet again, ignoring your your face will get stuck like that. Namjoon turned his head and captured your lips in a chaste kiss. “I’ll keep it. Happy?”

“Will you wear it though?” It was hard to contain your giggle, even between the pecks he littered onto your mouth.

“Don’t push it.”

Your giggles turned into full blown laughter, eyes landing back on the ugly, rainbow colored cat printed shorts drooping in his grasp.

It was raining.

That much you could remember.

The icy droplets had poured from the sky suddenly as you hopped out of your car and rushed into the hospital. It pelted your skin, drenched your hair, dampened your clothes. But you didn’t feel it. Didn’t care.

The white tiled floor squeaked underneath the soles of your shoes as you ran straight past the reception desk. The white painted walls blurred together as your chest heaved with the effort of running. You knocked into a nurse. Or a doctor. Or a shaman. Fuck, you didn’t know. Didn’t care. Didn’t stop to check.

It wasn’t until you saw the familiar door. Until you flung it open with so much force that it bounced into the wall and ricocheted back towards you. Breath leaving you in pants, your eyes stared, stared, stared at the empty bed. At the curtains drawn neatly back as if taunting you that there wasn’t enough time. That there had never been enough time.

Your feet were glued to the floor, stuck as if you could rewind time if you didn’t move. As if reality wouldn’t come crashing down on you.

Movement caught your eye and you whipped your head around to stare at the small frame of your sister. She stood by her bed, hands grabbing at her own curtain like a lifeline. Soohee stared at you, eyes filled with a sadness that you didn’t want to see. That you refused to accept.

“When?”

“Last night.” Her voice was small, but the words were obnoxiously loud, filling the room with dreadful silence.

“Why?” You may as well have been screaming, but the question barely even left your lips. The room was cold. So cold.

“He didn’t want you to see it.” You could have sworn you saw her move, inching her way over to you. But you weren’t sure. Couldn’t see past the blurring of your vision. “Said that he didn’t want you to remember him that way.”

“That’s bullshit! It’s bullshit and you know it.” You were screaming now, hands clenched in the damp fabric of his hoodie drowning your frame, as if holding something of his would bring him back. “Why didn’t you tell me. Why?”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see anything. Nothing but darkness. And it was cold. God was it cold. Why was it so fucking cold? “I’m sorry.”

The headphones pressed over your ears and buried into your hair drowned out the sounds of city life. Around you people shuffled, brushing against each other as they hurried to their destinations. But you stood still, eyes glued to the silver device resting in your palm. It’d taken you a long time to hunt one down.

But you’d been determined. He’d always said you were obnoxiously stubborn.

The thought brought a small smile to your face, the sharp twang in your chest reminding you that it’d been real. That he’d been real. Your fingers ghosted over the plastic warmed by the time it’d spent in your pocket.

A family rushed past you, the youngest child almost ramming into you. But you ignored it, blocked it all out. Instead, you took a deep breath, eyes closing to brace yourself. The voice of your sister rang in your ears as if she was standing right next to you, voice carried by the wind.

He left this for you. Said he’d wanted to show it to you someday.

With one last inhale, you opened your eyes once again to gaze down at the device in your hand. The black cassette tape rested innocently in the slot of the small cassette player. Written messily across a piece of gray duct tape was one simple word: Mono.

And beneath that, scrawled on another piece of tape that looked newer than the one above it.

Take me with you.

Your thumb hesitated over the play button.

He made it for you. Spent hours holed up in one of the hospital lounge rooms. Writing out the lyrics. Recording on some equipment he borrowed from one of the nurses. Your sister had said as you stood on the front steps of your shared apartment. Her short hair had been on full display, likely her way of showing the world that she was in remission. He’d want you to listen.

Eyes looking back up to the sidewalk in front of you, at the storefront signs written in foreign characters that you couldn’t understand, you paused.

The streets of Seoul were busy.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward.

And pressed play.

#bangtanarmynet #bts #bts fic #namjoon #namjoon fic #original got deleted

364 notes · View notes

marshmallowprotection · 5 years ago

Note

Well, hey, if youre willing to write for it im delighted to request it! If you dont already have an idea in mind, how about snapshots of each rfa member with the rfas unofficially/officially adopted child? Or what each would do if they needed to pick them up from school cause they got sick? I kind of love this whole idea so ive already thought up way too many ways to use it haha, but id be happy with literally anything related to the rfa communally raising a kid

I've written some little blurbs for you, nothing long but something just enough to get a taste of what it might be like. I couldn't decide on a specific kid to use so I'm just going to swap between a boy and a girl for whichever it feels right for.

Yoosung

"Sungie, do you always get to see so many animals?"

"Mmm. Yeah, it's part of my studies. If I wanna be a great Vet someday, I have to learn about all kinds of animals and meet them."

"Really cool! I wouldn't mind if I got to hang out with puppies all day."

"Well… It's not always like that."

"Oh, right, there must be kitties and bunnies too!"

They always chatted like this.

Yoosung spent the time that he did have free with everybody's favorite son. He was often one of the least busy members of the group but only during the afternoons while the others were working. They would waste a lot of time playing games that he enjoyed or LOLOL, which Yoosung liked.

They got along really well. Yoosung had taken to him like a big brother, and while he wasn't entirely sure if he was doing it right, he enjoyed the time they spent together.

He wasn't ever really that close with his big sister, so to have a little buddy to hang out with like this was so different!

He wasn't the youngest person now, so a lot of the words directed towards him were now thrown to the wayside. It made him feel like he was pretty mature!

That wasn't always the case, though.

Video games were an easy way for them to interact and because of that he got a little too invested in them. Of course, just because he was older didn't mean that he always won those games.

The kid took it ten times more seriously than he ever did and he had to actually try to win what they were on. He never really had that issue before without having many people to play against. But, it was like Seven had been tutoring him on how to destroy others.

Today was no different.

"I WIN!" he shrieked as he jumped off of the couch and thrust his hands in the air as Yoosung hung his head in defeat.

"Looks like you win again," he laughed, though still a little embarrassed.

Zen

She was a star, a bright shining star.

All she wanted to do was be the one who made all the sad stuff go away, far, far away from here! It was a dream of hers to be as cool as her family was, and she thought the best way to do that would be to practice for the next party!

She got the idea from Jaehee, cause she always said that Zen could shine so brightly that it made her feel better.

So, who else to ask for tips then Zen?

So, she put on her little show as best as she could for him.

"You're doing great, keep it up out there, princess!" Zen cheered her on as she spun around in circles and circles on end, pretending to perform for the little crowd of plush toys and Zen.

He clapped as she finished up her little routine a few minutes later, with her arms stretched out wide and little chest heaving from all the little motions.

Her eyes twinkle with such joy. It was a blessing to see her look so happy and all she ever wanted to hear was that she was getting better at this.

She puffs out her cheeks when he doesn't say much more, "D'ya like it, Zenny? I can't show everybody else less you think s'good!"

This little girl was an absolute darling to everybody that she came into contact with and it was no surprise given her parent, who had been the kindest soul ever to walk the face of the planet. She never caused any trouble and all she wanted to do was have a little fun every now and again.

Zen wasn't all that great with kids, at least, he never felt like he was. He didn't exactly do a perfect job all the time, but he did try his best when he could.

She had insisted that he sit down and watch her perform this time around. She wanted to show that she could be as dazzling as Zen was, and he would stand to agree that this little girl had a future in talent if she wanted to pursue it.

Even if she was a little bit pitchy with her own rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.

Zen let out a little laugh. He pressed his hand against the top of her head and ruffled her hair. "It was very good. You'll blow everybody away at the next party for sure, okay? I need to watch out. You're going to give me a run for my money."

Jaehee

The little boy clutched at his locks, clearly frustrated with the paper of homework in front of himself. It just wasn't making any sense to him and he really wanted to just give up and quit it.

He had been trying so hard to do it all on his own so nobody would get worried.

That hadn't worked because Jaehee caught him looking so dejected in the corner of the café.

There was no hiding anything from that woman. She just knew when something was wrong and wouldn't let the subject go when she started talking.

She always got onto him. It wasn't rude or mean though!

She was just looking out for him, he knew. It didn't change the fact it was a little embarrassing.

Jaehee looked over his notes and instead of scolding him for the bad marks, she merely hummed and nodded her head. She pointed out some of the troubling areas for him and tapped the spots.

"So you see, you'll need to do this first before you start doing this part of the question. You're getting ahead of yourself when you're working on these types of problems."

He stared at the paper for a moment with pursed lips, "...Oh. I guess I didn't think about that."

"Why don't we try some together and see where it's confusing, okay?" Jaehee smiled.

He may have felt unsure of himself but he knew that he could trust her judgment at times like this.

Jumin

"You look lovely today… I see you and Elizabeth the 3rd are wearing matching bows."

"Oh, you noticed? I tied them all by myself too!"

"Did you? That's very crafty of you to do so, princess. Elizabeth seems positively pleasant about it. Why, may I ask, did you do it?"

"Oh! Elizabeth and I are having a tea party today. We can't have one without looking cute n' stuff. You think my Mommy would like these?"

"She would. That's her favorite color."

Jumin had never been sure how to act around children. He had never really been a normal child himself, and by the time he figured it out, he was already well grown into an adult. Now, he was really learning how to interact with children.

This little girl had stolen not only his heart but the hearts of everybody she came into contact with over the past few months.

She was bubbly and sweet, never out of line, she had a penchant for cute toys and little accessories, and she liked to make her own things and play pretend.

Most importantly, she was the only person in this world who could get CEO Jumin Han to sit in a small chair and pretend to drink tea.

That's what he was doing right now.

Elizabeth the 3rd was sitting on her own chair as the girl pretended to pour out some tea into her cup with a smile, "You want some more, Elizabeth? Really? Okay, more tea for the lady!"

Once she set it down she glanced over at Jumin with a big grin, "I'm glad you like it too, I tried really hard. I made some for everybody to wear! I made you a purple one!"

And if anybody thought he wouldn't wear a bow in his hair for this kid, they were wrong.

Seven

“I did it! I think I put it together, it works, it really works!“

She always looked at the world with stars in her eyes.

Every new experience was something great to watch happen and it didn’t matter what it was that she was doing or trying out. She always smiled and laughed. It was a great sound, and it had been such a long time since Seven had even heard anything like that.

This little girl was equal parts smart and sweet.

If Seven handed her something to work on, she would devour it and figure out what was wrong or what needed to be fixed within a couple of minutes. Seven let her tinker with some of his old robots. Granted, he didn’t give her anything really complex, but still, she learned fast.

It didn’t always work out, but she never lost her big grin.

He beamed. “Oh? So you did! That’s impressive. Good job! Meowy 2.0 here is looking much more lively, huh?”

She gripped onto the little bot and nodded her head. “Mhm! I wasn’t sure if I was gonna be able to figure it out, but thanks to your help, I got it.”

He couldn’t have been more proud.

Seven didn’t know what it was like to have many older people in your life care for you like this in a way that was more domestic and typical. He never thought that he would ever have to chance to be around kids like this, but it was something that he always wanted to do.

She had stolen his heart, though. He would do anything for the kid.

“That’s right,” Seven nodded. ”You don’t have to do everything alone to figure stuff out. It’s actually better to ask for help when you don’t know what to do next time.”

She was quiet for a moment and grinned. “...Yeah, about that. I was wondering, how hard would it be to add a flamethrower?”

Nobody tell the others about that though.

"Does it matter if I make my sky a different color then blue? Why does it always have to be blue? Is it wrong to do something like that? Can it only be blue…? I don't understand."

"Well, the sky isn't just blue, you know. It can be almost any color you want it to be, it's your drawing to paint so it's your choice what it looks like. Why do you ask?"

He hung his head, not wanting to look V in the eyes. "... Some kids told me I was stupid and wrong. I guess... I’m just not as good as you thought I was."

V frowned. He got to the boy’s level and pressed his hands against his shoulders, "Hey… that's not true at all. I love your sky, that's why we put it up on the fridge."

He had really low self-esteem. It wasn’t something that was always remedied by the fact that he had a support system behind him. For some children, it was hard to connect with others in some capacity.

This boy was always radiant and smiling when he was with the RFA. But, when he was alone or by himself, there were those times when the unease shined through. It wasn’t for a lack of love. Those feelings could affect anyone no matter their life or background.

V hated to see that.

“Are you sure?” he asked, quietly. “I would understand if you didn’t.”

Because he was special, not only to him and the rest of the RFA but to himself as well.

“I’m sure. I would never lie to you. Now, let’s see what we can do about this problem of yours at school, okay?”

Saeran

Saeran was always wary of children.

He always thought of his parents and how badly they had screwed him over as a kid, and his first fear was that he was going to do something as bad as what they did to him to somebody else. That was the last thing that he wanted to do to anyone.

It wasn’t easy for him to build a bond with MC’s little girl, but he did try every now and again. For some reason, the girl really liked him and stuck to him like glue at every chance that she got. It was kind of hilarious to see somebody so bright and cheery reaching out for somebody as dark looking like him.

There were times when she would talk somebody’s ear off, but she would never do that to anyone apart from the people in the RFA. She was often quite shy and anxious. With Saeran, though... she was quiet and didn’t often press him for talk and chats.

She seemed to understand that he really wasn’t much of a guy for chatting, and they both could just hang out without worrying about anything. Today was a little different though.

He had walked in the room that she was sitting in, and noticed that she was crying. His body stiffened, and he felt rather uncomfortable. He knew that he could have directed somebody else to the situation but at the same time, he didn’t think he could make himself do that.

He had been in that position too many times as a kid and nobody was there for him. Against the dread in his gut, he sat down next to her and didn’t say anything at first. She was clearly looking over at him.

“S-Saeran?”

“...Mmm.”

“I wasn’t... cryin’... just got dust in my eyes.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want too,” he said, quietly. “I just figured you would feel better if you had some company.“

“...Thank you.”

#anon #ask #mod kait #prompt #mystic messenger #mysme #saeran choi #saeyoung choi #jumin han #hyun ryu #jaehee kang #yoosung kim #jihyun kim

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agrestenoir · 5 years ago

Note

ml au where lila has the black cat miraculous

lies and trying times (chat noir!lila au)

There’s a girl in a hotel lobby sitting on a plush sofa, watching raindrops trail down the glass pane of the window. Paris storms have overtaken the seemingly quiet morning, and on her first day in the city, Lila Rossi wants nothing more than to leave the stuffy hotel room her father has booked.

It’s supposed to be for three days, a business trip to impress a few French officials, but her father has already warned her that it might stretch out a bit. However, “a bit” in the Rossi family, is code for “three months to a year, depending on work”. He hasn’t decided whether they’re staying or leaving, which means she can’t decide whether to plan for permanence or establish an escape. The whole thing, like most other relocations throughout her entire life, is exhausting and messy. It’s the whole reason her mother decided to take a vacation to Barcelona three years ago… and hasn’t come back yet.

Outside, the rain pours hard. Lila can only watch.

She’s tired of waiting—for her father, for her mother, for her life to start.

She pushes herself off the sofa, gets up on her feet, and heads towards the front entrance of the Bourgeois hotel. Outside, there’s a bustling and busy city, full of ancient history and secrets—a whimsical world she so desperately wants to throw herself into but has never had a chance. Lila rushes out onto the wet pavement, wedge heels clacking through puddles as she pushes past people.

The rain pours. Lila leaves.

She’s tired of waiting.

ii.

The story starts like this: Lila lies.

It’s something she’s done in every situation. The lies are a quick and easy way to meld in with the new crowd of new people with new faces in a new place; she just wants to be liked and have friends. That’s the crux of the matter: Lila is always lonely.

In a way, she doesn’t care if everything is built on lies because nothing in her life is permanent—not her parents, not her home, not herself. Consequences are lost on her. She does what she can to process, to fit in, but something’s different this time.

You see, there’s something about those Paris rainstorms that leave her feeling light and new, where the rain washes away all her sins, like she has a clean slate with no problems.

In the Paris rain, Lila is born again.

(In the Paris rain, an evil burns with a new rage.)

In one world, a tottery old man named Master Fu finds a baker’s daughter and a famed son, giving them the tools to save the world from one man’s unquenchable dreams. In this world, he finds a lost little girl who lurks in the shadow of self-created chaos and dreams of doing better.

Potential, Master Fu thinks, is stronger than nature.

When he falls waiting for a train, cane clattering across the cement, Lila Rossi stares for a moment before extending her hand to help him up. Rainwater drips in rivets from her tangled hair and sopping clothes, but she still has those sad eyes and soft smile. He tucks the Black Cat Miraculous into her purse as she turns to jump onto the train, walking away with a surety even in the face of risk.

It’s a gamble, he thinks, but one who can create chaos knows how to control it.

The story starts like this: Lila lies.

But it ends like this: Lila can be better.

iii.

The first akuma is hard and rigid, his heart a rocky range of every reason he cannot find to love

Plagg calls him Stoneheart. Lila calls him hurting.

In a way, a part of Lila can understand where Stoneheart’s dark feelings originated from. Her life is a constant cycle of coming and going, having and hurting, and loving and losing. The geography of her own heart is full of high mountains and wide, open oceans, barriers to block her core from complete destruction, but each day in a new place leads to more bits being chipped away and crumbling to dust. Each place she goes, every person she meets: it’s the same story over and over again

Paris is different. It leaves her breathless and free in a way everything else has failed to do.

It doesn’t make her life easier, but it sure does make her believe in the impossible.

“Rock monster,” she murmurs to herself, staring at the akuma as he stalks through the streets. He leaves footsteps of cracked pavement, handprints of crumbled brick on buildings, and his roar echoes like thunder through the city. “I have… to beat a rock monster with a baton.”

“Hey,” a voice says beside her, startling her from her strategizing. “I’ve got a fucking yo-yo. I think you’re the one who’s better off here.”

Lila whips around, coming face-to-face with glittering green eyes and a bright smile. A boy stands beside her, all red and black-spotted with a mask to match. His blonde hair is wind-tamed and tousled, as if he’s been dashing across rooftops and flying through the city too. He looks every bit the partner that Plagg told her about.

“You must be my partner,” she says needlessly.

“Ladybug,” he introduces and holds out his hand. “You can call me Ladybug, pretty kitty.”

“Chat Noir.” Lila holds his hand in a strong grip and tugs him forward, until their foreheads are nearly touching. She levels him with a sharp smirk, eyes burning something fierce. “And I am so out of your league.”

Shoulders shaking, Ladybug laughs and laughs and laughs. “Oh,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m so going to love being your partner.”

In another world, a charismatic cat falls in love with a blue-eyed wonder. In this world, the cat finds a friend.

A little bit more of her heart crumbles to dust, leaving her more open to all that life has to bring her.

What do you know? In Paris, impossibilities are possible after all.

iv.

“Listen,” her father tells her, three weeks after they arrived in Paris. “Something came up.”

Lila enrolls in school the next day. She can’t say she didn’t see it coming.

Francis-Duponte is full of nameless faces and numerous questions, things she’d once rejoice in, but it’s her sixth school in three years, and she just wants a break. Madame Bustier introduces her to the class, and she sulks to the back row, slipping into a seat with hunched shoulders and tired eyes. Interactions are quite exhausting when nothing ever sticks.

The day passes in slow lunges, no sudden leaps or stumbling stops. The teachers are knowledgeable, the kids are loud, and the world is a kaleidoscope of everything she can’t handle. It’s during lunch, though, that a student accosts her in the hallway.

“You’re new, right? Lila Rossi?” A girl with bright blue eyes stands in front of her, holding a tablet against her chest. For the first time, Lila is at a loss for words. “Someone told me you were from Milan.”

“I am,” Lila acknowledges, and her mind is spinning away with lies built on threads of promise and purpose, whispering friend friend friend. She vehemently tries to deny it, swallowing back a lump and trying to pretend that old urges aren’t scratching at her heels.

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” the girl says. She shifts her weight, gaze skittering everywhere else; she’s nervous, but Lila doesn’t know why. “Do you want to sit with me at lunch? I’m working on some designs, and I was wondering if you could tell me about some of the fashion in Milan.”

I have my own fashion line.

My father owns half of the fashion industry in Milan.

I came to Paris because I’m personal friends with Gabriel Agreste.

I’m—

Lila doesn’t lie. Lila tries.

The question hits her in a whoosh, air jumping from her lungs as if a wrecking ball had slammed into her ribcage, and she can’t catch her breath. “I…” Lila swallows again, shaking her head. “Yes, actually, I can do that. I’m probably the best person to ask actually; I know a lot about Milan fashion.”

Marinette smiles.

Paris at night is beautiful.

Lila stares at the dark sky above her, which twinkles with clusters of stars and the soft glow of the pale moon, and she can’t help but think there’s something ethereal about this city. Ladybug sits above her, leaning against one of the struts of the Eiffel Tower, but he’s not staring at the view.

He’s staring at her.

She quirks a brow high, a smile slipping onto her face. “Distracted tonight, bug?”

“Why won’t you tell me your name?” He crosses his arms against his chest and levels her with a quizzical stare. “We’ve been partners for over two months now. Don’t you think that at least puts us on a first name basis?”

“Colleagues.”

Ladybug jumps down from his perch above, landing softly on his toes, and settles back on his haunches with a small, cautious smile. “I’m pretty sure we’re way past coworkers, kitten.”

Lila can’t help the laugh that falls from her lips. “Then what the hell would we be?”

He flashes her a quick, blinding smile—teeth and all. “Friends, obviously.”

Lila pauses, trying to make sense of her suddenly slippery world. With a quiet sigh, she drops down and parks herself alongside him. Their thighs brush against each other as they kick their feet back and forth, falling in sync like a pendulum swinging in time with a clock. Slowly but surely, her life in Paris ticks away, seconds slipping past without her notice, and she wonders when the day will come that her father will pick up and move to another city, another country, another continent.

It goes like this: Lila doesn’t form attachments.

It goes like this: Lila lies to push people away.

It goes like this: Lila is tired of being lonely.

“Friends,” she echoes.

“Yeah.” He rolls his eyes. “Haven’t you ever had a friend before?”

Lila toys with her fingers, needing to be doing anything to take her mind off of the situation, but the words still leave her lips. “No, I haven’t actually.” Something tells her that she needs to be open and honest with him. That’s what friends do, right?

“Oh,” he says. A quick pause and then, “I understand that feeling pretty well myself.”

There’s silence—thick and heavy like fog before a storm—but she pushes past it and forces herself to admit the truth. “I’ve moved around a lot literally my entire life. I never really had a chance to sit down and… talk to people, I guess. I really don’t know how to have friends.”

Ladybug bites his lip, pondering the problem for a moment before suggesting, “Well, I think you’re doing a pretty good job right now.”

She snorts, cheeks burning hot with embarrassment. “You’re lucky I like you, Ladybug.”

“See?” He pokes her nose with his index finger. “You’re great at this.”

Lila can’t stop laughing.

She really, really loves Paris.

vi.

It’s been months and months, but if it’s one thing that Lila Rossi knows, it’s that life is only temporary.

There’s no such thing as permanence when it comes to a home, people, or even friends.

What a fool I’ve been, she thinks.

vii.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that, Agreste?” Lila tells Adrien Agreste one morning after Marinette leaves the room, all stammer and stutter, muttering something about the restroom so she can try to drown herself in the sink to quench her raging embarrassment. Alya, the last of their trio, follows at her heels in effort to revive the former if needed be.

The perky blonde with the green eyes simply blinks up at her, too taken back that Lila erupted out of the blue. It’s obvious he’s confused, but Lila is tired of watching her friend make a fool of herself over a stupid boy who won’t give her the time of day.

“Excuse me?” Adrien asks.

“I said you’re an asshole,” she continues, crossing her arms against her chest. She leans forward, brown eyes burning with a fierce fire, her smile so sharp it could cut class. “And you’re going to start treating her better, or you’re going to have to deal with me.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he tells her, and she just rolls her head. Stupid boy, stupid boy. “Marinette’s a good friend—”

Lila snorts. “Like you don’t see the way she looks at you, or how she can’t even speak a complete sentence the minute you walk into a room.” She flicks her wrist in his direction, poking the bridge of Adrien’s nose with her index finger. “Marinette’s my best friend, and I will not let you drag her along like she’s your latest toy.”

Adrien flounders, trying to find the right words. “I’m sorry, Lila, but I really don’t know what you mean.”

His answer makes her blood boil because how can he not see what he does to her? There’s an itch under her skin, because people who are too oblivious are hurt too easily, just like those who fall too fast and hard. Instead of a healthy relationship between two people, you just get a mess of pain and hurt, and there’s no hope of relief. It’s not a happy situation to get involved with.

How does he not know? And if he does, how can he let it go on?

“Marinette’s in love with you,” Lila says in a rush and laughs, something bitter and hard. “And you don’t care.”

There’s silence—a long pause—and then the voice that speaks is certainly not Adrien. “Lila?” Marinette asks, shaky and feeble from the doorway to the classroom.

Adrien turns to Marinette, eyes softening. “Marinette…?”

The other girl can’t even form a coherent response—in fact, she doesn’t even try—and instead bolts out of the room before either Lila, Alya, or even Adrien can stop her.

Something settles in Lila’s chest, like the pieces of her heart are clicking back together just to get broken again. The looming horror of the situation haunts her, a reaper coming to bring death to the tentative peace she’s carefully crafted. Ever since she came to Paris, lessons of love have been the only things she’s learned: how to love a friend, how to love a partner, how to love a city.

This is her first lesson in heartbreak.

viii.

“That akuma was my fault!” Lila thunders at Ladybug, their Miraculous beeping insistently as she paces the rooftop.

“In what way?” He turns to face her, eyes burning into her own. “You know that it’s never the akuma’s fault, so it’s certainly not yours. Hawkmoth—”

“Because I hurt her!” Chat Noir’s power thrumming through her, Lila can’t stop the hiss that falls from her lips. She grits her teeth, fists her long brown mane, keeps moving because coming to a standstill makes the world weigh heavier on her shoulders.

“That doesn’t make this your fault,” he says. “They’re vulnerable, and Hawkmoth sends his butterflies when you’re hurt, purposely because you’re at your lowest, when you’re the most vulnerable and easily manipulated. It’s his doing, not yours, chaton.”

“You don’t get it,” Lila interjects. “I betrayed her, and I put her in that position. Hawkmoth wouldn’t have gotten to her if I hadn’t hurt her in the first place. She’s my friend, and I did that to her!”

There’s quiet, a stillness that settles over, thick and heavy. “You know Marinette then?”

Lila snaps her gaze away from her partner, staring at her hands clasped into tight fists. Her ring is still beeping, as is Ladybug’s, but none of them seem to care at this point. “Yeah, I do.” She wonders how much she’s just given away.

“Are you Lila then?” he asks, and there it is.

Like an arrow has pierced through her heart, she grasps at the front of her chest as if to smother it’s fire, but nothing helps. Suddenly her world is crashing down around her, and the peaceful bubble she’s spent the last five months inside has burst.

Lila’s already lost one friend today—is she about to lost another?

“How do you…?” But she can’t voice the question quick enough as the magic gives away, and both Ladybug and Chat Noir disappear in a kaleidoscope of color.

It’s Adrien Agreste.

“Oh.” Everything turns slippery, and she struggles to find an anchor to keep her from falling. “Oh god.”

“Lila,” Adrien says, expression softening as he catches sight of the fear and worry lining her face. “It still wasn’t your fault. You were only trying to protect your friend.”

“No, you still don’t get it, Agreste. I hurt her.”

The name silences him, and shame washes over her like the high tide against the shore. Adrien Agreste has never been someone Lila gets along with, just for the sole way he turns her friend into a mess and continues on like it doesn’t matter. Lila knows people who string others along without a care—has done it herself for most of her life—because people are not important, and they truly don’t matter to her.

(Because she doesn’t matter to them—she never has, and never will. So many names and faces, all in different places, who promise to call or write even after she leaves, but no one has ever reached out to her after she’s gone. It’s the crux of her pain, and it makes her realize that she’s never been wanted, she’s never been first choice, and she’s never been someone worth having.)

“We’re only human, Lila,” he tells her after a long while. The words echo through her head, louder than she wants them to be, but they still speak volumes. He’s not wrong, but he’s not right either.

“Do you know how hard it is to tell the truth?” Lila takes a deep, shuddering breath and pushes on. “Telling the truth is like… giving a part of you to someone, and today I did that. I told you how Marinette felt, and that was a part of me—a part of her that she willingly shared—and… I took it, and I told you. She will never trust me again, won’t even look at me, and I lost one of my only friends. So don’t try to tell me you understand because you don’t get it.”

“I’m sure Marinette will forgive you. You just have to apologize—”

Lila shakes her head. “No, no. You still don’t get it, Adrien, and you never will. I don’t tell the truth because the truth fucking hurts. It’s so much easier to lie. It’s the only thing I’m good at.” She laughs, bitter and broken. “I should’ve just kept lying.”

Right now, with everything she cares about broken on the floor, it’s the only truth she knows: Lila Rossi is so good at lying, it hurts.

ix.

It goes like this: Lila lies.

It’s easy on most days, just a couple of words strung together to capture the ear of whoever’s listening, to make them linger on her voice, their eyes following hers like a lifeline. In a way, it makes them navigators as they track her across the sky, using a star to find their way. Empowered, she feels infinite, where she can be the impossible and they just pray in her wake, but it’s been a long time since she’s longed for that.

Paris has changed her. Being Chat Noir has changed her. Friends have changed her.

Telling the truth has changed her.

Truth is a faith that Lila has never believed in. It’s a metamorphosis of chance: you have faith in the ones you love, you have faith in the city you protect, you have faith in your partner—but there’s no guarantee that the truth will make things better. Truth, like any form of human nature, just like the lies she used to spin, has the capability to hurt. But like the first time she donned the mask, she curls herself up into a cocoon, the truth a hard shell against the rest of the world, and waits and prays to become a butterfly.

In the best turnout, Lila flies. In the worst possibility, she falls.

Lila didn’t realize just how truth could be a weapon. Lies are a two-way street: one who benefits, and those who suffer if they’re stupid enough to believe it. Truth can be wielded to render someone raw and bleeding, until lies seem like the better option, to the point where they can even heal.

Lila wishes she remembered how to lie.

Marinette stands in the deserted hallway, arms crossed against her chest, and she refuses to meet Lila’s inquisitive eyes. “I just wanted… to talk about yesterday.” It’s like she’s steeling herself against a stronger power before she presses on.

“What’s there to talk about?” Lila shrugs and tries to pretend like it doesn’t matter but it does it does it does. “You went full akuma and tried to destroy the city. It’s just a typical Tuesday.” She swallows thickly, dropped her chin to her chest. “At least Ladybug and Chat Noir were there to save you.”

Marinette laughs, something soft and quiet. “At least there was one bright side.”

“Obviously,” Lila says. “Chat Noir is pretty damn amazing. I know her actually, did you know that?”

“Lila.”

“I’m also on a first name basis with Ladybug, but he’s pretty cute, you know? I could totally introduce you guys—”

“Lila.” The sound of Marinette’s voice freezes her in motion. It feels like she’s trapped in orbit and just waiting for gravity to take hold and bring her down, like a meteor due for impact.

Lila closes her eyes and spits out a quick, “I’m sorry!”

“Excuse me?”

“It’s my fault you were akumatized. It’s my fault you and Adrien aren’t talking.” There’s a burning sensation in the corner of her eyes, and Lila desperately tries not to cry.

“I…” Marinette presses her lips into a thin line, shaking her head. “First off, I forgive you.”

There’s a stunned silence. “What?” Lila asks, too afraid to have her repeat it.

“I said I forgive you,” Marinette tells her. “We have a lot more to talk about, but that’s the most important thing for you to know right now.”

The shake of Lila’s hands amplifies for she’s been shown love and doesn’t know how to handle it. It’s not something she gets from her father and her mother is more distant than the miles away from her last home. Ladyb—Adrien is perhaps the closest thing she’s ever had to someone she cares for, and it’s clear now that Marinette (and perhaps some others) have gotten that close too.

“You forgive me?”

“Come on.” Marinette grabs a hold of Lila’s shoulder and pushes her forward down the hall, out towards the courtyard where the rest of their class is taking lunch. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, and you can tell me exactly how you know Ladybug and Chat Noir.”

There’s a pause, and then, “You think I’m lying, don’t you?”

“Please,” Marinette snorts. “You think I honestly believe that you know Ladybug and Chat Noir personally?”

“I do.”

“Sure.”

The two friends go on, much like life does.

It’s the way of the world.

It starts like this: Lila lies.

But it ends like this: Lila is better because of it.

“So,” Adrien says from his perch on the edge of the rooftop, his Ladybug mask practically glowing in the afternoon sunlight. “Marinette asked me out this morning.”

“Huh,” Lila remarks, cocking her head to the side. “You sure you heard her right?”

Snorting back a laugh, he nudges her side with his elbow. “Please, you know I’d never—”

“We all know you don’t have the balls to handle that girl.” She stands up and takes a couple steps back from the ledge, unclipping her baton from her waist. “Just like we all know she is the best thing to ever happen to you, and if you don’t her as such, I’m going to break you.”

“Lila!” he snipes back, cheeks burning red.

All she can do is laugh as she runs towards the edge of the rooftop, leaping off into open air. “Try to keep up, bugaboo!”

“Don’t call me that!” Adrien calls after her as the two fly through the streets, past the meandering civilians and through silver sunlight that streaks through buildings and trees.

The city sings. Lila laughs.

She’s living.

Oh god, is she living.

#clmeeni #ask away #miraculous ladybug #lila rossi #my writing #my fic #adrinette

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brunhiddensmusings · 5 years ago

Text

year in review of parenting

thought i would try and record a few prime interactions ive had with my kids so i remember them as my 3 daughters are just so out there - daughter says shes interested in becoming an animator so i have to line up a list of animations on youtube i know were made by one person, including ‘no evil’ by betsy lee, dingo doodles sips and the karaoke of doom, ‘witches on tinder’, and piemations as examples of the kind of thing one person can reasonably do with a lot of dedication and if you pay close attention you can see how each of the animations are done differently - explaining what skaa was, twice - spending time at gamestop just discussion how some funko pops make sense and some are super dumb. makes sense funko pop would be one of the main characters of a movie thats well loved, dumb ones would be the same but for a movie literally nobody likes but funko pops were released before the movie was so they will never sell, or having 40+ differnt versions of rick and another 50 of morty. even having 15+ different batmans doesnt make sense because given the choice do you want orange batman or classic batman? - no i cannot go to your school to beat up the kid who was mean to you. i mean technically im physically able to but thats not the point - explaining what the music style ‘scat’ is and why its unrelated to the same word used to mean ‘wild animal poop’ - i dont know how to explain to you who freddie mercury is because were in a car and i cant show you a youtube of bohemian rhapsody while im driving - explaining why i am irritated at the kid friendly versions of classic horror monsters, they dont get it so i have to go into detail a- is the wolfman scary? like just a dude thats hairy? no. no he is not. however imagine that someone you know, and you dont know who, may at some point in time turn into a ravenous monster who will attack their friends ruthlessly, its already happened at least once so everyone is on edge wondering who it is. however, secretly it is you that is the monster, living in fear that you could loose control and kill the ones you love most b- the frankenstins monster, just a big green dude with bolts in his neck? scary? no, hes just a larger zombie basically. however imagine someone at college going nutty and then starts to raid the morgue, the cemetery, butcher shops, and surgery wards at hospitals for the human parts he stitches together into a rude parody of a human being and brings it to life. but it doesnt stop there, because he abandoned this new creature that thing now stalks him out of revenge, one by one killing everyone they know - the kids now understand why the majority of the classic monsters are supposed to be scary as balls - explaining COPPA to them because several youtubers we watch together have started loudly announcing ‘not for children’, at which they unprompted start complaining about a youtuber called ‘ryans world’ where a very annoying screaming child tells everyone to buy shit and is repeatedly recommended to them by the algorithm because it knows theyre kids. i should have taken that as a warning so i wasnt surprised at just how much ‘ryans world’ merchandise was in stores this year, like ye gods theres more of it then there was starwars and harry potter merch combined he has his own cereal which is apparently frootloops and disturbing plush animals. we agreed its weird when on his merch theres four different characters but the pink cat girl looks like she was made by someone different then the others because shes got way better detail - explain to kids that ‘green eggs and ham’ was made on a dare, which requires me to recite the whole thing for them to count that there are exactly 50 different words 5 year old- “wheres my sister” me- “in the bathroom, why” 5 year old- “imma hug her” me- “nn.... wow youre - 14 year old in the bathroom- “GAAH!” me- “-fast” - i can do a perfect impression of the ‘huhuhuhuh’ sound sans undertale makes - its been 3 years of me using the phrase ‘sans undertale’ specifically and my daughter who has spent the last 3 years dressing like him and listening to his music hasnt caught on that the way im phrasing it is in fact a joke - kids accidentally stumble uppon a history meme i was part of and i have to explain thats a thing i do - explain to kids what the emu war was - explain to kids who rasputin was - explain to the kids what the problem with hitler was, given the 11 year old is supposed to only get this in the school curriculum this next year i can understand why she was shocked. 14 year old was also shocked becuase she is in the between part of ‘we briefly touched on that war’ and ‘okay now that you are old enough we can explain how shoving people into ovens works’ - they asked, they really did, and only then do i realize that despite it being something everyone should definitely be aware of... figuring out how old and how to explain it really is a tricky matter cause ho-damn most adults get queasy when you explain it and im sure those kids had bad dreams for a week - theyre also aware of the trump concentration camps and were able to draw the connections real quick - pun contest - kid asks me to acquire a daft punk song for her so i can put it on her mp3 player, i have never heard of this song despite her spending 5 minutes describing it and how their eyes are freaky. have to explain to her that when i was about her age daft punk released an entire movie made of music videos. we have to show each other different daft punk videos to understand each other - no, daft punk are the robots, not the blue eye people. literally nobody knows what they look like under the helmets they even show up to music award shows wearing them. the helmets can actually make words and emotes theyre really rad songs we have erupted into together - spooky scary skeletons - narwhals narwhals - another irish drinking song - hubba hubba zoot zoot

#dad things #year in review #dorks

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love-killed-the-superstar · 6 years ago

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femslash february strikes again and i finally updated that one cornirma fic that ive been meaning to get back to for literally an entire year

Title: The Frying Pan Conversation Pairing: Cornelia/Irma Chapter: 2 - funny how we run around Summary: “You're awake...” “Great detective work, Sherlock, want a medal?” “It's too early in the morning for you to be sassing me,” grumbled Cornelia, half-heartedly throwing her phone onto the blankets and scooting closer to Irma. “Good thing you're way too cute for me to be sassing you with intent to kill,” Irma teased, pulling her in closer for a hug. She was overly warm from sleep and Cornelia happily melted into it. Irma's boobs made for an excellent pillow. (Cornelia and Irma spend Christmas with the Hales.)

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13743063/chapters/42144206

Cornelia loved watching Irma sleep. While she usually ran her mouth during the day, when she slept she had some sort of serenity around her, a tranquillity one wouldn't expect from someone who spent half the night tossing and turning, hogging the blankets and drooling all over her pillow. Yet, when morning came and Cornelia returned to wakefulness, Irma was at peace with herself in the land of dreams, hair framing her face like a halo. It took all restraint not to kiss her, but Cornelia had never been a fan of kissing before one had brushed their teeth.

Instead, she continued to watch. It was quiet and dim, the early morning sun casting strange light and shadows throughout the main room where they were set up. Without her family milling around, it felt peaceful. She wondered if this was how it would be all the time, if she and Irma moved in together some day. Sure, it wouldn't be some luxury cabin, but the world would be quiet like this. There would be no eyes on her. The whole room would be theirs to lie in silence and watch each other and feel cosy and secure. While Cornelia did want lavish things for herself someday, when she was older and things like throw pillows and vases mattered greatly in the grand scheme of things, it amazed her how easily she would sacrifice that just to be able to wake up next to Irma each morning and take on the day, regardless of whether they were in a plush king-sized bed or squashed together on a pull-out.

Geez. She really was picturing the rest of her life with Irma, like the hopeless romantic she was.

She rolled over to reach for her phone in the semi-dark. Too early to start messaging the group chat, but she hedged her bets with someone who did have a tendency to be up at this hour.

Will, you awake?

Not three minutes later, she received a reply.

ofc?? no rest for an athlete, corny. how did telling the parents go?

It didn't. Turns out I'm a bit of a coward.

nah it's tough. i only told my mom about being genderfluid a month ago, and i had no idea if she'd even CARE about it

Well, she cares about YOU. And from what you've told me, she's taken it well?

The speech bubble indicating a reply stayed for a while, and Cornelia repositioned herself so that she could watch Irma doze while waiting on Will to get back to her. After a few minutes, her phone finally pinged, and she hastily lowered the volume as Irma stirred slightly.

yeah, turns out dean being our teacher way back in the day finally paid off bc sheffield has diversity training or smth. he sat down w me and my mom and talked over all this stuff she was confused about. and she still doesn't totally get it, but she said she just wants me to be happy. guess that's all i really needed. stuff like if she comes to pride and w/e doesn't matter to me tbh, just knowing she's there for me is enough

Cornelia chewed her lip wistfully. If only it worked out that simply for everybody...

That's great. Really, I'm so happy it all worked out for you. I'm just worried about my parents, I guess. They're not bad people, but sometimes they can be so backwards with things. Really, I just want them to accept that this is a part of me so I can stop lying about a college guy just to keep them from overanalysing the way I am around Irma.

hey i get it! you're both just so darn cute together!

Indeed we are.

They shared some quick, casual conversation (Will, as usual, had some funny story to tell her about life as Taranee's roommate, and Cornelia caught them up on the bullshit that was her and Irma's road trip to the cabin) before Will had to leave to start their morning swim practice.

“Psst. Blondie.”

Cornelia dropped her phone in surprise, catching sight of rich green eyes watching her intently.

“You're awake...”

“Great detective work, Sherlock, want a medal?”

“It's too early in the morning for you to be sassing me,” grumbled Cornelia, half-heartedly throwing her phone onto the blankets and scooting closer to Irma.

“Good thing you're way too cute for me to be sassing you with intent to kill,” Irma teased, pulling her in closer for a hug. She was overly warm from sleep and Cornelia happily melted into it. Irma's boobs made for an excellent pillow.

“You're comfy,” she mumbled.

“Yup, cushy tits run in the family,” Irma remarked, relishing in the way Cornelia shuddered with an implosion of laughter. “You know this is the first time in months we've woken up together?”

“Feels like it too,” Cornelia sighed. “I've missed this. You should really come visit me more often, you know.”

“Oh yeah? I visited you twice last term. It's your turn to visit me just as soon as daddy dearest hands over your fucking prius.”

“Well, no offence, but your college campus is like a 30 minute drive away from Heatherfield,” pointed out Cornelia. “I'd sooner you visit me than risk bumping into Uriah of all people at a house party.”

Irma scoffed. “Thanks a lot! It may not be ivy-league or State U or anything, but there's still a ton of stuff to do! Besides, pretty sure Uriah's at Sheffield Community College, Anna works with his mom.” She paused. “Though, I did run into our dear old chum Nigel at a Halloween party this year.”

“Oh? And how did that go down?”

“How do you think? He followed me around half the night asking about Tara until I finally snapped and was like, 'you missed the boat, honey, our girl is gay as the day is long'. Haven't seen him since. Reckon he dropped out when he heard how swimmingly Taranee's life is going without him.”

“I doubt he flunked out because of a girl he was dumped by five years ago,” Cornelia deadpanned.

“Uh, hello? Our girl is a catch. He's lucky to have even walked the Earth in the same lifetime as her.”

“A bit dramatic, but I get the sentiment.”

Cornelia fell quiet, listening intently to Irma's heartbeat, her breathing.

“D'you think today's gonna be the day?” Irma asked softly.

Cornelia let out a noise, somewhere between laughter and a sigh.

“How do you always know what I'm thinking?”

“Because you have the antithesis of a poker face, darlin'. I've been reading you like a book since I was thirteen.”

She tangled her fingers up in Cornelia's hair, gently combing through, careful to avoid knots.

“I don't know if it'll be today,” sighed Cornelia. “Does it make me a hypocrite? I was so certain I wanted to do it this time.”

“Look. You need to stop putting this pressure on yourself to do everything exactly how you imagined,” Irma said firmly. “You don't have to tell them I'm your girlfriend. You don't even have to tell them you're pan if you aren't ready for it. We can call this off, you can spend the rest of Christmas break not having to worry about their reactions, and we can make out and cuddle and all that good stuff the second we set foot in my house. Would that make you feel better?”

“No?” Cornelia reached up to pull Irma into a proper hug. “I want them to know how happy you make me. I want them to know that I'm happy being myself. But the part where I actually tell them? Opening up like that, it... it's a very emotional process.”

“I know. I know it is. But I promise you, once it's out in the open... never mind their reaction, you will feel worlds better with it off your chest.”

“Ugh, why does my girlfriend have to be so wise?” Cornelia wondered aloud. Irma formed a fist and lightly knocked her on the head.

“If I'm going to be a teacher some day, I gotta be wise. I'm meant to be some sort of inspiring prophet, if your dad's stirring speech at dinner last night was anything to go by.”

“He's a passionate guy,” Cornelia shrugged.

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

A sudden creak from down the hall disrupted them, and they sprung apart, Cornelia sitting upright and reaching for her phone while Irma pretended to go back to sleep. A moment later, Harold's face poked around the door.

“Morning, darling!” he uttered in a stage-whisper, before stepping into the room clad in his robe and slippers. “Does Irma take coffee? I was thinking of brewing a pot to wake your mother up.”

“Only with six million sugars in,” Cornelia said, rolling her eyes fondly. “Don't worry, I'll take over. I know how to make it so she doesn't spit it out.”

Harold laughed, and moved over to start on breakfast as Cornelia set up the coffee maker.

“You two are as thick as thieves.”

Cornelia's hand froze.

“...Well, we're still good friends, but...”

“I drifted apart from my school friends when I went away to college, you know,” Harold mused. “I regret it now. The rift grew so big, and by the time I saw them again they were married, had families... and although we could still talk with ease about these kinds of things, the bond we shared at school – the books we liked to read, the movies we saw together, the pranks we would play on our teachers – all of that was gone. It was something we could look back upon and laugh at, but it's not the same.”

“I didn't know that.”

Harold offered her a kind smile, and reached over to crack some eggs into a bowl, dusting the mixture with pepper.

“Well, I think it's important to keep in touch with those you love. I was actually quite worried when I heard that you were going to your college alone. I know how close you are to the girls you met at Sheffield. I'm... glad that you were able to keep a close bond with them despite the distance.”

Oh, if only he knew how close.

Cornelia set out some cups on the side, hoping her face wasn't burning. If she really was as easy to read as Irma said...

“Well, they're my friends. They're important to me.” She glanced over at him. “Dad, I'm... I'm really happy with my life right now. With the person I am, and the person I'm with.”

Harold stopped whisking, and moved over to pull Cornelia into a tight hug.

“I'm so glad to hear that, darling. I really am.”

They worked in a pleasant silence after that, and when Irma next rolled over, Cornelia was nudging her, cup of overly sweetened coffee in her hand.

“Rise and shine.”

Harold was whistling away as Irma took her first sip, his back to them as he began tossing some bacon and eggs in the pan.

“Mmm. You made it just how I like it.”

“Well, you're picky. If my dad made it you'd choke it down and feel awful the rest of the day,” Cornelia teased. Irma stuck her tongue out.

“Jerk.” After another sip, she added coyly, “I heard the conversation between you two. It was sweet. Are you thinking today might be the day after all?”

“Maybe,” Cornelia said, a flame of confidence ignited in her heart. “He really wants me to be happy, so... maybe when I tell him, he'll understand.”

“Look, Harold Hale might not be leading a revolution, but he's always seemed like a chill guy to me,” Irma said quietly. “If you keep dropping hints, he might figure the rest out on his own.”

“Maybe.”

Cornelia glanced back at her father, still blissfully unaware of their conversation, and she leaned down to press a kiss to Irma's forehead.

“Now, drink up. We have a big day ahead of us.”

…

Breakfast was uneventful, with Lillian dominating the conversation with talk of some dream inspired by a zombie TV show she'd been binge-watching over Christmas break. Irma munched on French toast and bacon and watched in amusement as Harold became disgustingly sweet with Elizabeth, pressing kisses to her head whenever he went to refill drinks, even reaching down to pinch her behind when he was sure his daughters and his oldest's girlfriend weren't looking. Elizabeth swatted his hand away, pretending to be mortified at his brazen display in front of Irma, but the rouge on her cheeks and the affectionate eyeroll told another story. All the while, Cornelia quietly ate and drank, keeping a straight face while prodding Irma's foot playfully with her own under the table.

Oh, Irma could get used to mornings like these.

They took turns showering and dressing, and did the usual routine of wrestling for more mirror space as they brushed their teeth and put on make-up.

“So what's the plan for today?” Irma asked, rubbing some kind of moisturiser into her cheeks. Cornelia leaned in closer and inhaled with a happy sigh. Mango. Irma took the opportunity to turn and press a kiss to the tip of her nose, and Cornelia pulled away with a grin.

“Oh, well now we're all together, today will definitely be a decorating day. I mean, it's Christmas eve tomorrow, so it'd be a little sad if we didn't have the decorations ready by then,” she explained with a shrug, uncapping her mascara beginning to apply it to her upper lashes. “It really shouldn't take too long though. We'll have some time to get away, don't worry. And I think tonight my parents reserved dinner for us at a restaurant in town. I have to warn you, the waiter we had last time was super obnoxious...”

Irma stared at her reflection in the mirror, zoning out of Cornelia's anecdote about the wait staff at said restaurant, before glancing over at her girlfriend. In their teen years, she'd always envied how immaculate Cornelia's appearance was. She'd always seemed flawless somehow, even though Irma knew better and would never ever admit that much. Then, those feelings started to mix with something else, and attraction, jealousy and self-consciousness melted into an ugly soup of insecurity in her psyche. Even now, when she knew better than anyone that Cornelia was smitten with her, doubt crept in, especially in situations like these when they had to stand beside one another and pretend like they belonged in the same league.

“You're beautiful,” she sighed, interrupting Cornelia's spontaneous yelp review. Cornelia's hand jerked at the suddenness of Irma's statement and she hurriedly reached to blot away a clump of mascara stuck to the end of her eyelashes.

“Oh. Well, I do my best, and when it comes to make-up practice always makes perfect, you know.”

“I'm not talking about make-up, though yeah, you should consider dropping out of college and becoming a beauty guru on youtube instead.”

“Well, I think you're gorgeous too,” Cornelia replied with a smile, moving onto her lips. First a layer of balm to soften them, a waiting period of three minutes, and then the application of gloss or lipstick. It was her routine every time, and the waiting drove Irma mad in the mornings they'd spent together over the years. Cornelia's lip balm always smelled so damn good that fighting the temptation to kiss it clean off was a rare torture.

“Have you seen me?” muttered Irma, frowning at her reflection. “Eyebags for days. Messy brows. My lips are chapped to fuck and my skin has been kind of red lately...”

“Every time I see you I want to kiss you all over,” Cornelia said in the kind of factual tone that had Irma raising an eyebrow in disbelief. Still, she didn't protest as Cornelia wound her arms around her, and Irma caught a whiff of coconut lip balm. God damn it, she wanted Corny-kisses so bad. “You still get insecure, huh?”

“Hard not to when my girlfriend could pass for a fucking supermodel.”

“While I'm flattered that you hold me in such high regard, you're a far cry from the disaster you're making yourself out to be,” Cornelia laughed. “Besides, if you're really worrying about stuff, just talk to me, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Irma muttered. Cornelia rifled through her make-up bag for a few moments, before bringing out a small bottle.

“Come here, dope. Let me help you.”

“Why pay big bucks for a beautician when you can get one for free in the form of a generous girlfriend?” Irma deadpanned, but a smile tugged at the corner of her lips. Cornelia grinned back and started to apply the liquid to her cheeks and brow with some kind of blender sponge thing shaped like an egg.

“The trick to combating redness and dark circles is to have a good, strong base that neutralises any discolouration in your skin. In your case, green tones kind of cancel out reds, and yellows are good against dark circles, so it just leaves your skin looking healthier, see?”

She switched over quickly to one with a yellower hue, and Irma hummed in agreement, staying put as Cornelia began tending to her eyebags.

“I think I get where you're coming from. Hay Lin calls me up all the time to gush about colour theory, the importance of colour wheels is stuck in my brain for life.”

“Oh, you and Hay Lin call each other all the time? More than me?” Cornelia teased. She put down the sponge and reached back over to her make-up bag, retrieved something that Irma could only describe as the world's tiniest broom, and began to tame Irma's unruly eyebrows. “Don't tell me the two of you are having a sordid affair behind my back.”

“Our torrid love affair is about as real as yours with mystery botanist man,” Irma responded. Without breaking eye contact with Cornelia, she reached over for her own chapstick and began to apply it. Cornelia's tongue poked out slightly in concentration as she smoothed down Irma's brows.

“It's bad enough my parents keep going on about him, don't you start.”

“Well, he is my alter-ego,” Irma pointed out. “Seems a little rude to silence my opinions on him.”

“I hate when you make a good point.”

Cornelia leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Irma's brow, breathing in the smell of her mango moisturiser one more time and sighing deeply. Irma, in a similar moment of pure, unfiltered lesbianism, caught the scent of Cornelia's lip balm and damn went out of her mind. She tilted Cornelia's head down and what transpired for the next few minutes were a combination of kisses, hugs, and several attempts to escape Irma's python-like grip.

“It's lipstick time,” Cornelia complained, a playful glint in her eye as she finally pried Irma's arms off of her waist. “My lips will dry out.”

“Honey, we're both balmed up, if anything, now we have a double coating. You'll be fine.”

“Still, the sooner my make-up is done, the sooner we can get decorating out of the way, and the sooner we can chill out watching crappy holiday movies.”

“The temptation to stay in this bathroom where no one's watching and we can keep kissing forever, though...”

“Aren't we saving 'kissing forever' for the week at your place?” Cornelia asked innocently, perfectly pencilled eyebrows raised.

“No, that's 'sex forever', silly,” Irma said cheerfully, clapping her on the back.

She glanced back at her reflection. While the foundation and tiny grooming hadn't done much besides tidying her reflection up some, her eyes twinkled with something she could only describe as 'the Cornelia effect', and she found her appearance didn't really bug her so much by this point. As they stood side by side, Irma came to the realisation that she and Cornelia really did fit together, but more like a pair of odd socks that compliment each other in all their contrasting glory.

Maybe someone else would call that love.

…

Christmas with the Hales was turning out to be pretty fun.

Irma and Lillian fought bitterly over control of the spotify playlist that morning, while Elizabeth and Cornelia decorated the tree and Harold cheerfully filmed the entire ordeal. Lillian was stubbornly obsessed with the classics, while Irma kept switching them out for lesser appreciated cover versions, partly because rooting for the underdogs was how she rolled, and partly because she got immense glee out of pissing Lillian off (and for that, Cornelia saluted her for her heroism). When Karmilla's edition of 'All I Want For Christmas' came on instead of Mariah Carey, Lillian threatened to throw Irma's phone out of the window, which had Elizabeth swooping in and putting an end to their temporary rivalry.

They called a truce when the parents set out to buy icing and other edible decorations for the Christmas cookies, leaving the girls to prep them for baking. Lillian greased the baking tray while Cornelia mixed eggs and flour and sugar and cinnamon together in a big red bowl. Irma, meanwhile, sat herself on the island and, in compromise with Lillian, put on a playlist of nineties nostalgia, singing along to Re-feel-it and pretending to drum with a pair of wooden spoons against the countertop.

“Funnyyyyy, how we run around,” she belted. “And see what we got, we don't even know what it is we found...”

“And honey, take a look around,” Cornelia chimed in, using the whisk as a microphone. She spun on her heels, her eyes meeting Irma's as she lifted the whisk up to her lips. “By the time we get there we won't even know where it is we're bound!”

The two of them burst out laughing, and Lillian rolled her eyes. “Dorks.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Cornelia sighed dramatically, smirking at Irma before turning back to the mixing bowl and continuing to whisk the mixture. “I forgot we were in your divine presence, Lillian. I hope you can forgive us for entering the realm of uncool nostalgia for two seconds.”

Irma snorted.

“You know, she always gets more sarcastic when you're around, Irma,” Lillian accused.

“Yeah, I rub off on her. I'm a baaaad influence.”

“Is that any way to talk to our renowned guest?” Cornelia chastised. “What would Dad say?”

“He'd probably tell you not to sing into the whisk. You know how many germs you could be putting into the cookies by breathing on the mixture? You've built up an immunity living among students, but have some consideration for those of us who haven't stepped foot in a sweaty student union hall.”

“You're actually mad,” Irma cackled. “What kind of diseases could Cornelia have besides a bad case of the cooties? Unless... Corny, please don't tell me your parents are anti-vaxxers, or I might have to end this friendship for good.”

“Hell no, they're fine. Since when did you become such a germophobe, Lillian?” Cornelia teased.

“I play zombie games,” Lillian responded sagely. “I know how infection spreads.”

“They really don't paint as accurate a picture as you've been led to believe.”

As the mixture began to thicken into a dough, Lillian joined Irma on sitting on the island counter.

“So what's college like?”

“Classes are boring, my roommate sucks, and I'm drowning in student loans. But the parties are fun, and the people are cool when they aren't being pretentious tools.”

Lillian hummed.

“I can't wait until I go to college. Community's one of my favourite shows.”

“Heh, well, Community is an exaggeration for the sake of comedy, but...”

“Cornelia, what's your college like?”

“You saw it when you and Mom and Dad helped me move in,” Cornelia pointed out, distracted as she began to knead the dough.

“Yeah, but it's not the same! Your dorm is nice, sure, but what about the classes? The parties? The boys?”

“Hmm, I don't know about that. Boys aren't my area of expertise.”

“Well that's gay.”

Irma raised her eyebrows.

“Using 'gay' as an insult? Very 2004 of you.”

Lillian rolled her eyes. “Sorry. So you don't have a boyfriend?”

“Nope,” Irma said shortly.

Cornelia began to knead a little harder.

“I bet you know stuff about Cornelia's boyfriend though,” Lillian said to Irma, arms folded. “Why doesn't she talk about him? Is he secretly ugly?”

Irma snorted.

“Ha. I know a thing or two, but he's actually... probably the most handsome person I've ever known. Aside from your sister!” She playfully punched Lillian on the arm, who looked unimpressed by the statement. Cornelia made a strangled sound.

“Lillian, pass me the cookie cutters, please,” she choked.

Lillian raised her eyebrows and hopped off the counter top, retrieving ones shaped like pine trees and angels and bells, handing them to Cornelia.

“Here they are, weirdo. Anyway, you can't blame me for being curious! We had to pry it out of you that you were seeing anyone at all, and you're always so twitchy when we bring him up. Irma, is he a junkie or a biker or something?”

“Nope, just a loser who lies around watching cartoons all day,” Irma responded with a lazy grin.

“So you have a thing in common.”

“Lillian!” Cornelia admonished, slamming a cookie cutter into the dough with enough force to make the other shapes jump. “Also, Irma, I don't appreciate you calling my partner a loser.”

Lillian pulled a face.

“Partner? What are you, old timers?”

“Cowboys,” Irma chimed in.

“Oh, stop teasing me,” Cornelia huffed. “I'm just trying to be more inclusive. The world could do with more of that, you know.”

Lillian shrugged. “Whatever. So you're liberal now?”

“I reckon I've always been, yes.”

“And you, Irma?”

“Socialist, through and through.”

“Of course you are.”

“Just wait until college, Lillian,” Irma chided with a smile, as Cornelia began setting out the Christmas cookies on the tray. “There's a whole wide world out there.”

…

The Italian restaurant Harold took them to that night was fucking fancy, to say the least. The kind of fancy where there were lemon-scented wipes in little packets on every table and complimentary garlic dough balls and everyone was in suits and dresses. The Hales looked like they fit right in, and Irma was some vagrant they'd picked up off of the streets and were treating to dinner in a commendable act of charity.

“I don't even know what half the stuff on this menu is,” Irma hissed to Cornelia as they took their seats.

“It's good food,” Cornelia promised. “They just use posh names to scare people into thinking its worth the money they're paying. Come on, you watch enough Hell's Kitchen to know what filet mignon is.”

Irma ended up ordering something that she was pretty sure was some kind of beef thing, and Cornelia ordered the one pasta dish on the menu that used aubergines instead of pancetta. The wine was decent at least, and Irma found it easier to sneak glances at Cornelia's cleavage in the scoop neck dress she was wearing with the large flower centrepiece obscuring them from her parents. Lillian, while looking the part in a simple white turtle neck dress, was very obviously playing on her phone under the table.

The sweet onion soup starters arrived swiftly, and Irma was dragged back into a light grilling about her teaching degree from Harold, while Elizabeth began to catch Cornelia up with the latest family drama.

“Why, I just think it's so inspiring that you're choosing to act as a beacon for young people, and pave their futures-”

“-And your uncle, of course, is still coming around asking for money, as if your grandparents don't have enough to worry about-”

“-And you know, teaching qualifications open up the whole world to you! You could teach in international schools, or you could teach English in schools where it's a secondary language-”

“-It's not like their health is getting any better, you know! I keep telling him it's time to stand on his own two feet, he's certainly old enough-”

The moment that their waiter came to take the dishes away, Irma hurriedly excused herself.

In the bathroom (one of those spotless white ones with tiny shell-shaped soaps and embossed toilet paper because of course, rich people) Irma took a few moments to collect herself, staring at her reflection in dismay. She'd done her best to look presentable, but she still stuck out like a sore thumb in this kind of environment. Her dress was a little tight since the last time she'd worn it was for graduation, and her choker was crooked. Her bun was already starting to look lopsided, the redness of her cheeks was starting to show through the base Cornelia had applied that morning...

“Why am I not as perfect as the folks out there?” she muttered to herself, eyes narrowing as she glared at her reflection. She reached for one of the shell-shaped hand soaps and began to pick it with the edge of her fingernail. Absently, the faucet turned and water began to gush out, thrumming to the beat of her frustration.

After a few minutes of self-loathing and contemplation, she heard the sound of the door open behind her, and saw a flash of Irish green fabric, before Cornelia came up behind her, a vision of concern. She startled as the small army of water gushing from the faucet turned on her, almost letting out a hiss of steam, before Irma quickly called it off, allowing it to taper down the drain and out of sight.

“Irma, are you okay? My parents thought I should check on you in case the wine didn't agree with you, but...”

“Yeah, it isn't the wine,” Irma sighed. “It's this whole place. I can't fucking believe your dad called this place rustic on the way here.”

“He doesn't know the meaning of the word,” Cornelia agreed with a giggle. She wrapped her arms around Irma, leaning down to rest her chin on her shoulder. “You look amazing tonight.”

“Really?” Irma sighed. “I don't feel it. Or is this a classic 'lying to your girlfriend's face so she doesn't start crying in a stupidly fancy bathroom' tactic?”

“Well, it wouldn't be a great start to the meal.” Cornelia pressed a kiss to her jaw. “But I'm serious. You look great.”

“I'm practically bursting out of this dress. My tits are fighting for freedom. And my hair is coming undone and my stupid face is getting stupid red!”

“Of course it is, you've been drinking,” Cornelia said, rolling her eyes fondly. “And your face is the furthest thing from stupid, so don't even start.”

“I'm past the point of starting, Corny, I'm waist-fucking-deep in it. Look at this damn soap.” She gestured aggressively towards a shrivelled pebble in the basin. “That was shaped like a fucking seashell when I came in here and I picked and picked at it and now it looks like, I don't know, a really tiny golf ball?”

“Wow. Okay, let's take a step back from the soap.” Cornelia spun her around and rested her hands on her shoulders. “Irma, you look wonderful tonight. Seriously, you do, and I hate that going to this stupid dinner has made you so worked up.”

“It's not just the dinner.” Irma frowned up at her so-tall-it-was-unfair girlfriend. “Look at us. I mean, really look. We're like chalk and cheese, except, you're too pretty to be chalk. We're like – I don't know! An oil painting and cheese! I don't belong here eating food so fancy I can't pronounce it with wine I'm too weak to drink and in a dress that's too tiny for my damn good. You might fit into this magazine-spread life where everything is minimalist and perfect and velvet but I just don't. I saw it in the mirror this morning and I saw it in the mirror again just now. Are you honestly okay with that?”

“Why are you asking me this?” Cornelia asked, the smile gone from her face. “I love you. I love having you in my life. Sure, I like the nice material stuff sometimes, but if you think for one second that I'd put that stuff before you – before us – then the wine has definitely gone to your head.”

Irma huffed. After a beat, she muttered, “Rich people wine is ridiculous.”

“Agreed. Now, listen to me. We're too deep into this relationship to be hitting insecurities over stuff like this, got it? You know I come from money. You wanted to come on this trip with me. Unfortunately, that means seeing the way my family lives up close and personal. I just want you to remember that doesn't define me, or how I feel about you. I want you here. Okay?”

“I hate when you're being reasonable,” Irma groaned. She hugged Cornelia tight.

“Oof. Heh, don't tell me you're drunk already, we have the rest of a dinner to get through.”

“Are you gonna tell your parents tonight?” Irma mumbled into Cornelia's waist.

Cornelia hummed uncertainly. “Maybe. I don't know.”

“Well, remember I still love you. If you don't wanna come out here in this stupid fancy restaurant, no pressure. We'll make it happen some other time.”

“Hey, no need to comfort me, you're the one feeling insecure,” Cornelia teased. Irma lifted her head up to protest, and was met with Cornelia's lips pressing against her forehead.

“Ugh, you're too cute,” whined Irma. “If I weren't wearing heels I would go on my tiptoes and kiss you. And if you weren't wearing heels, we might actually be fucking level for once.”

“Thanks for clarifying that,” Cornelia quipped. “Not to worry, I can accommodate you.”

She leaned down and cupped Irma's cheeks, pulling her into a kiss.

The sound of the bathroom door abruptly shutting ended the sickeningly sweet moment, and they jolted apart. Lillian stood there, wide-eyed.

“Uhhh. Mom told me to come get you two, the main courses are out...” She blinked a few times. “Are you guys... lesbians?”

“Lillian,” Cornelia started, voice strained.

“I'm a lesbian,” Irma said with a shrug and an awkward chuckle.

“So you called me ignorant earlier even though you really are gay?”

“Ignorance is ignorance, sis.”

“Lillian, please don't tell Mom and Dad about this,” Cornelia pleaded. “I'm going to tell them myself, I just haven't had time to yet.”

Lillian folded her arms and huffed.

“I can't believe your mystery guy is just Irma.”

“Oh, ouch?”

Cornelia let go of Irma and approached Lillian.

“I'm serious. Can you please promise me you won't say anything?”

Lillian shrugged.

“I guess. I mean, I don't care about it. Not like they'd believe me anyway.” Seeing Cornelia's pinched expression, she sighed loudly. “All right, no. No, I won't say anything. So you can stop looking at me like that! Now come on, or Mom will be next to find us in here.”

As she pushed open the door to leave, she turned back.

“Also, Irma, you've got lipstick on your face. Hard to play dumb when the evidence is right there on your forehead.”

“When did she become such a smartass?” Irma muttered as Cornelia fished around in her clutch, bringing out a make-up wipe. “Look, don't panic. Lillian might be a pain, but she respects your business. Probably. I mean, I don't know her that well, but it's none of her business right? She knows that.”

“How did she seem to you?” Cornelia asked, chewing her lip. “Uncomfortable? Freaked out? D-Disgusted?”

“None. It was the same kind of grossed out she got when she caught you making out with Peter for the first time, I reckon. It was sibling disgust, not, y'know, her being a phobe.”

“Are you sure?” Cornelia fretted.

“Super sure. Now come on, you heard what she said. Lets go back before your mom drags us back by the ears.”

Irma reached over to squeeze her hand and didn't let go until they were out of the bathroom and in sight of the Hales. Elizabeth turned and shot them a disapproving look, motioning them back over, and Harold's face lit up with a delighted smile.

“I was starting to think the two of you had fallen in!” he joked, as they took their seats. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, everything's fine,” Cornelia promised, a lie rolling effortlessly from her tongue as Irma stared down at the steak au poivre in front of her. “Irma just smudged her mascara and needed me to come to her rescue.”

“Ah, I see. Surely it shouldn't take that long though?” Elizabeth turned to Lillian. “Were they taking selfies?”

“Oh, they were having a gay old time in there,” Lillian deadpanned.

Cornelia froze. Irma dared to look up from her food to stare daggers at Lillan.

A moment passed, and Harold shrugged.

“Well, I'll never understand it, myself. But the youth of today are always finding beauty in everything! They can make moments last a lifetime! And I'm envious that an entire generation has learned to take pictures from an angle that certainly appear more flattering in post-production...”

As his speech continued, the tension melted away. Elizabeth raised her eyebrows at the two of them, as if to silently chastise them for sending Harold on a spiel about technological advancements, before tucking into her food.

Cornelia swiftly kicked Lillian under the table, but all she got back in response was an impish grin.

…

“Urgh, I'm full to burst.”

A now pyjama-clad Irma flopped face down on the pull-out bed, before rolling onto her side and burping softly into the back of her hand.

“I told warned you against dessert, if you recall,” Cornelia said with a grin, pulling her nightgown over her head.

“Yeah, but they had cheesecake. You know I'm weak for cheesecake, Corny.”

“That I do.” Cornelia lay down beside her. “I was a bundle of nerves the whole night.”

“Aw, come here.” Irma pulled Cornelia close, combing her fingers through her hair. “Lillian was just being a brat, that's all. She's got dirt on you, of course she's gonna poke a little fun. But she wasn't about to out you or anything.”

“I know,” Cornelia groaned. “I know. But she's on thin ice, I'm telling you now!”

“Well, the sooner you get it off your chest, the sooner she'll lose that power over you,” Irma pointed out. She yawned. “I'm pooped. Can you turn the light off? And then come spoon me?”

“Sure, your highness,” teased Cornelia, prying Irma's hands off her waist. As she wandered over to the light switch near the hallway, she caught sight of Lillian leaving the bathroom. The two stood there in silence for a few moments, before Cornelia uttered, “Hi.”

“Hi.” Lillian shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly. “Hey, Cornelia?”

“Yeah?”

“Um. I know I didn't say it at the restaurant, but... I don't like, mind or anything. About you and Irma.”

Relief washed over her.

“You don't?”

“No! And you should stop caring that somebody does, you know? Mom and Dad are whatever. I don't know if they'd care about it. But, it shouldn't matter if we mind or not, that's my point. It's about you and Irma, not about the rest of us. Although, since you're a lesbian now, I wish you had better taste in girls. I've seen her eat peanut butter out of the jar with her fingers,” Lillian pointed out, pulling a face.

Cornelia, stunned by the overload of information, leaned back against the wall.

“With her fingers?”

“Yup. It was our house peanut butter, too!”

Cornelia buried her head in her hands. “Oh my god. If I didn't love her so damn much that would for sure be a deal breaker. Also, I'm not a lesbian.”

“You're not?”

“No. I loved Peter, remember?”

Lillian pouted. “Yeah. I miss him.”

“I know you do, you remind me all the time.” Cornelia squared her shoulders. “Lillian, I'm pansexual.”

Lillian raised an eyebrow. “Pansexual?”

“Yes. Pansexual. I... fancy people regardless of whether they're a guy, a girl, or nonbinary.”

“Nonbinary?”

“The internet is a great place to learn about this stuff, since you're on the track to being an ally now.”

Lillian giggled.

“Yeah, I guess. Well, okay. So you're not gay, you're... what's the short of it? Pan?”

Cornelia nodded wordlessly.

“Okay. Cool. You're pan. And Irma's your girlfriend. And she's a lesbian?”

“Yes. You caught on fast.”

With a shrug, Lillian said simply, “It wasn't that hard to grasp. You're pan, Irma's gay, you're dating. That's that.”

Cornelia's mouth opened and closed a few times. At last, she uttered, “You made that seem really easy.”

“I'm a smart and socially aware kid,” Lillian said proudly, hands on her hips. Her smug expression softened. “And I'm happy you're happy. I was kinda thinking, cause you never mentioned your 'mystery uni boyfriend', that maybe you didn't really like him. I'm glad it's just a mix up.”

Cornelia's heart swelled, and she stepped towards Lillian, hugging her tight.

“You're a good sister.”

“And you're a clingy sister, god!”

They bid goodnight and Cornelia climbed into bed beside Irma, who had her back to her and was softly groaning. She yelped as Cornelia wriggled under the covers.

“Holy crap, Corny, your feet are colder than Mount fucking Thanos!”

“So warm me up.”

“Sorry, you got the wrong guardian for that party trick.”

Cornelia rolled her eyes fondly and reached around to spoon her.

“Geez, you ate too much. Your stomach feels like a rock.”

“Don't bully me, that was rich people food! How many times am I gonna get to eat like that again, huh?”

“If you'd just let me take you fancy places-” Cornelia pointed out.

“You know I hate fancy places!” whined Irma, punctuated by another burp. “Ugh. Just cuddle me to sleep, jerk.”

“Who are you calling a jerk, jerk?”

Cornelia obliged nonetheless, letting her body wrap around Irma's with a familiarity that had adapted over the years; from guardian sleepovers to family vacations to just the two of them drunkenly sprawled out in Cornelia's dorm. And now here they were, fitting together like jigsaw pieces, water and earth.

“Sweet dreams,” Cornelia whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of Irma's neck.

“Keep your lips to yourself, Corny,” mumbled Irma sleepily, snuggling closer all the same.

#w.i.t.c.h.#w.i.t.c.h #cornirma #irmelia #femslash february #cornelia x irma #irma x cornelia #cornelia hale #irma lair #irma/cornelia #cornelia/irma #writing

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