#so she just stands there in the dark kitchen. feeling utterly alone in the world

[cuteniaarts]

What a shame… you always had such beautiful hair

[flaggermuser]

Pour Some Sugar

1,334 words || AU, Bakerverse timeline, Thinly Veiled Threat, Patriot is her own warning, Baking, Fluff, Sex Mentioned, Patriot/The Deep, Patriot & Reader, Homelander/Reader, Homelander/Baker ||

A little gift for @hom3landr & her Baker - this fits in with her Bakerverse.

Border by Saradika

“Well, don’t you smell sweeter than brown sugar.”

You still the second you hear that distinctive voice, quaking as you slowly begin to turn around, coming face to face with her.

Patriot.

Long blonde tresses cascade over her shoulders, a wolfish grin on her cherry red lips and a fierce look in her captivating blue eyes; she’s the last woman in the world you’d want to be alone with. Homelander hasn’t held back his feelings about the Seven’s newest addition.

“Can I help you?” You ask, trying to stand your ground but shrinking when she steps closer.

“You can. Homelander raves about your baking; I’ve even had a chance to taste your pastries. They were utterly divine, to die for.”

The way her eyes run over you - you’re not sure if she’s here for any other reason than to eat you alive. Either way, you’re terrified of her and, more specifically, her intentions.

“I’m glad you liked them,” your voice shakes, not fully believing the sincerity of the compliment.

“Convinced me that you’d be the perfect person to help me with this little task,” she steps closer.

“You see, I have this ‘family recipe’ from my ‘grandma’,” she says with air quotes. “It’s for sugar cookies, and I want to make them for my Sugar Cookie, but I’m having a problem getting them right.”

Sugar Cookie - her pet name for The Deep.

Another thing Homelander has been incredibly vocal to you about. At Vought Tower, they’ve been very open about their relationship, and from what you’ve heard, it won’t be long until it’s made public, with Vought’s marketing team has been working on the ‘exclusive’.

You notice she starts pouting, and suddenly, you become aware that you’ve not said anything for a while. Whether it’s from fear or because your mind has wandered, you don’t know.

“You will help me, won’t you? It’ll mean so much to him. And I’m sure Prince Charming would be happy to hear that you’ve been so accommodating.”

You nod despite your inner terror, nervously taking the recipe from her hand and reading it carefully. It’s an old recipe from the late 1950s or early 1960s, a period of baking you’re not fluent in, but you’re not a novice either. Yet there’s something about it that bothers you.

It’s her grandma’s recipe? But she was born in a lab?

“It should be easy to make; I can have them ready for you by-”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She waggles a finger in your face. “You’re not making them for me; you’re helping me make them. I want him to know I made them for him especially.”

The idea of spending the afternoon helping her bake in your kitchen fills you with nothing but pure dread. This is your safe space, a little paradise where you make delicious baked goods for Homelander. She tilts her head, those unhinged eyes tinged with curiosity.

“How do you feel about flying?”

Patriot’s penthouse is imposing.

The dark green walls and hardwood floors are complimented by tasteful furniture, the exact opposite of what you expected. Despite her earlier question about flying, she didn’t carry you here; you’d been very forthcoming with your fear.

And she’d just… accepted it.

She was more than happy to let you make your own way to Vought Tower, which further exacerbated the unsettling feeling currently taking up residency in your gut.

“There you are! I almost thought you wouldn’t make it.”

She appears almost from nowhere, no longer dressed in her suit but in civilian clothes: checkered pyjama bottoms, a Deep Thought with The Deep tank top, and no bra.

She’s very well endowed.

“Follow me; I’ll show you the kitchen.”

Her kitchen is lavish, the kind of kitchen you’ve dreamed about, fitted with the latest appliances. It would be perfect for opening a bakery, but you know everything here costs more than what you make in a year.

“Don’t be shy,” she coos gently, carefully grabbing your arm and tugging you closer. “You can stand next to me. I don’t bite, well, I won’t bite you.”

She gives you a toothy grin - flashing her teeth nearly threateningly.

All the ingredients are already laid out, and you spy a bin brimming with burnt and malformed cookies. At least she wasn’t lying about her motives to get you here.

“Now, how do we proceed?”

Baking with Patriot has been an eye-opening experience.

You’ve gone from terrified to cordial, something dancing along the border of friendly. Clearly, there is more to Patriot than meets the eye and some vulnerability lingering just below the surface, but that has been kept out of your reach.

“They are perfect!” She squeals, pulling the cookies out of the oven.

You hover behind her, directing her towards the kitchen island and, more importantly, the cooling rack. 

“They’ll need to cool for a little while,” you say, doing your best to hang back and watch while she carefully moves the baking paper from the tray to the rack.

She’s giddy with excitement and very pleased with her work, and her reaction makes your chest swell with pride. You’ve never considered teaching someone else to bake, but from what you’ve seen today, it might be an avenue worth exploring. 

“While they cool, we can start making the-”

You stop midsentence when you see Homelander saunter into the kitchen, his eyes shifting between you and Patriot. He must have smelt the baking or you and come to investigate. He stands there, hands behind his back and a slight hint of disappointment in his eyes.

“I didn’t know you were going to be in the tower today,” he nearly huffs. “I thought you’d give me a heads up.”

You swallow, preparing your answer, only for Patriot to interject before you begin.

“She didn’t know she was going to be here either,” she rolls her eyes. “I needed some help baking, and seeing as you’re constantly raving about her, I thought I’d ask for expert help.”

‘Expert help’ - that makes you stand straight and proud, still avoiding Homelander’s gaze.

She scoffs, “Drop the betrayed act. She would have told you she was coming but probably didn’t want to worry you. After all, she’s been spending the afternoon with this ‘unhinged, big-titted, airheaded bitch.’”

Now that makes Homelander falter and makes you cringe - it’s probably one of the kinder things he’s called her.

“Look,” she continues, turning her body and looking between you and Homelander. “Once she’s finished here, I’m sure she’ll be happy to spend the evening with you.”

Homelander nods, shooting you a look of concern just as he leaves, glancing at you cautiously while he leaves. He obviously came here not only out of disappointment but also of worry for your safety.

“Now, you were talking about making icing.”

Warily, you enter Homelander’s penthouse with a box full of iced sugar cookies as a peace offering.

You’d usually send him a message when you were heading to the tower, but you’d been so preoccupied with your fear that Patriot was luring you into a dangerous situation that the notion had bypassed you completely. Immediately, you’re pulled into a tight hug, the box hitting the ground.

“I was so worried about you,” Homelander mumbles into your hair. “What possessed you to help her?”

“She came by my apartment and asked… nicely. I was apprehensive about baking with her in my kitchen because that’s where I bake for you.”

He releases you from the hug, only to take your face in his hands and look deep into your eyes. “Just… next time, please let me know. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

A kiss on your forehead has you closing your eyes and smiling. His protectiveness warms your heart, and it’s one of the many reasons why you love Homelander.

The little heartfelt moment, however, is ruined by the sounds of animalistic sex coming through the shared wall of Homelander’s penthouse, making you both cringe.

“He liked the cookies then.”

[finitevoid]

Sakura clicks the front door shut behind her, pulling off her shoes and tossing her coat on the back of the nearest chair. There’s the telltale sounds of someone cooking, banging pots and pans and— the smell of freshly washed fruit wafts towards her, and she sniffs in appreciation.

No doubt it’s Sasuke’s latest foray into the culinary world. He had been utterly and completely appalled to find out that Sakura couldn’t cook, and then was deeply offended that she had no interest in learning.

“It’s a survival skill,” he’d hissed. “You’re a field medic. How the hell have you not needed it before?”

“Yamato,” she said, voice very collectedly flat, hands clasped demurely in front of her. “And I’m not a field medic anymore. I’m Head Medic of the village.” Something dark in her had relished in his wince.

Truthfully, she hadn’t wanted Sasuke to move in with her. But the council— and Kakashi himself— had decided that Sasuke couldn’t be trusted to live alone. Sakura agreed with that. But him and Naruto together were just going to cause chaos, and he couldn’t stand Sai, and everyone else and him were on frosty terms at best. So the problem, much like most problems, was tossed into Sakura’s lap with nary a second thought by most involved.

Except, of course, for Naruto, who pouted for a full afternoon, because he’d gotten it into his head that he’d be able to see Sasuke every day, Sakura! He’d perked right up when Sakura reminded him that he could always just… come to their house and see him. And then he didn’t think about it again. But Sakura did. Sakura always does.

She steps through the kitchen doorway, rubbing at her sore arms. Pulling a double shift wasn’t exactly her idea of fun, but it did leave her tired in a loose, relaxed sort of way. The kind of tired where your body feels floaty and yet gentle.

Her calm evaporates when she sees him. There’s something about him that’s— off. He’s holding a knife and slicing a pomegranate open, and the juice is spilling onto the counter. It coats his fingers, drips thickly down the glinting metal of the blade. The insides of the fruit are spilling out, seeds bulging from it. It’s so red, she observes, such a deep red. Much like blood. A lot like—

There’s something about him that’s sending her back in time, back, back, until she’s clutching Naruto’s heart in her hands and jerking it back and forth, back and forth. Pumping blood through his veins with nothing but her hands, covered in his life, hot and thick. It’s covering her hands like the juice is covering his, so very red.

He’s got the sharingan trained on her. It’s red, so much like her hands, like the fruit. Spinning gently, almost lazily, watching her. She tenses, ready for— she doesn’t know, a fight? There’s a kunai on her belt and she reaches for it, all her senses sharp like blades, cutting through the cool evening air. He looks like he did then, hair framing his eyes that are so, so red. Red like fire, red like organs spilling onto the coarse dirt of a freshly christened battlefield. Organs she needs to sew together, attached to a person she needs to save.

He looks like Itachi, she realizes breathlessly. His eyes are sunken and his hair is long and he has never looked so much like his brother, tall and yet small. Like he’s curled in on himself. His shoulders are bowed, but his back is straight, hands delicate and yet confident.

He blinks, and suddenly his eyes are black again. She pulls her hand from the grip of the kunai.

“You use it to cook?” Is what she says.

He studies her for a moment, then shrugs. “I need to be precise,” he jerks his chin towards his left side, where his sleeve is, noticeably, drifting freely.

Naruto got an arm, specially tailor-made by Tsunade. Crafted from wood and chakra and bound to his stump, it’s both moved and fueled by his chakra. An undeniable feat of medical engineering, and an unprecedented accomplishment in chakra manipulation.

It was decided, by the council and Kakashi both, that it would be better to not give Sasuke such a prosthetic. Lest he become able to form two-handed jutsus.

“You’re making him into a prisoner,” she’d snarled at Kakashi in the dim hallway beyond the Hokage’s office.

“I love Sasuke,” Kakashi had told her, eyes deathly serious. No hint of a joke in sight. “But I don’t trust him.”

Sasuke waves his hand disinterestedly, still holding the knife. Some of the juice has dripped down to his wrist, staining his soft, pale skin. “It’s not like it’s going to hurt me.”

There’s something in his voice, at that. Something that says once it did, something in the flat planes of concrete that is his tone that implies something she can’t fathom. It must be about Itachi, she thinks, seeing his shoulders tense and then relax, in that very deliberate sort of way of someone trying to shake the emotion off.

“Unless I piss you off,” he adds, muttering.

She rushes to say, “I wouldn’t have—“

“Yes, you would have.” He snaps, punctuated with a sharp thunk of the knife blade hitting the cutting board. He’s chopping lemons, now. “It’s useless of you to lie, at least to me. I’ve seen what you can do.”

It’s almost a compliment. The part of her that never grew up is preening, a little, warmth pooling in her belly. The part of her that did is curious, and a little irritated. “I would not have actually hurt you, not unless you gave me a reason to.”

“I’ve given you more than enough reason to.”

“The war is over.” She elects to say.

Sasuke stills. He tips his face upwards, as if facing the sun. But the only thing he must be able to see is the wooden ceiling. The only light that hits his face is that of the lamp, making the planes of his expression glow.

“So you all keep telling me,” he whispers. His hair is obscuring his face, hiding all expression, hiding anything she could possibly glean about how he’s feeling. What he’s thinking.

She leans her arms on the nearest kitchen chair, bracing them. Her fingers are digging into the wood, and before she can reign in her strength they leave little dents, half-moon marks in the surface. “It doesn’t feel like it’s over for me, either.”

They stand in silence for a long moment. Sasuke begins cutting fruit again, tossing them into a salad bowl as he goes. Sakura watches him.

“Do you miss it?”

“Miss what?”

“The war.”

He sighs through his nose. “I miss being able to go wherever I want. Do whatever I please.” He gestures vaguely with the knife. “But no, I don’t miss the war.”

He sets the knife down. Turns to look at her. His eyes are opaque, as black as they’ve always been. They’re still, like stone. As if he’s staring through her.

“Do you?”

She clenches her jaw. Debates lying. She knows it would be useless to, with the way he’s looking at her. “Yes.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

“It was simple.” Sakura voices her inner thoughts. She isn’t sure why she’s telling him, daring to impart this to him when she’s trusted no one else. Maybe it’s because she thinks he’ll understand. Maybe it’s precisely because he won’t.

“We fought. We followed orders. I didn’t have to… think. I didn’t have time to wonder about what we were doing. If it was the right thing to do.”

A muscle in his cheek jumps. “So you’ve finally figured it out.”

There’s a spark of something in his eyes, something like pride. Something like regret. It tastes bitter in Sakura’s mouth, like rotten food. Yes, she’s figured it out. It’s all she’s been able to think about, hands deep in the innards of the nin they send to her hospital, because the other villages’ aren’t as good as her’s. At twenty fucking years old. It’s all she’s been able to think about, breaking into Kakashi’s office and reading documents she’s not supposed to see, kunai poised at the door. It’s all she’s been able to think about, remembering those golden years of youth, when they all laughed a little bit more.

“I wish that things had gone differently,” and it’s the closest she can get to saying what she means.

He smiles. Small, warm, relieved. Just the slightest quirk of lips. The warmth of the expression cracks through his stone mask, spears through the ice he’d met her with just minutes earlier. It lights up his entire expression, crinkles his eyes, raises his cheeks. He looks younger. He looks brighter. She wonders if he had ever thought about that. Wondered about it the same way Naruto wondered about him, pining listlessly for companionship that they couldn’t find a way to have except through their fists.

His eyes are still heavy, though, when he says, “I often think… that if you had come with me… it wouldn’t have ended the way it did.”

There is so much she could say. There’s apologies in her throat. There’s part of her that’s still angry. It all builds behind her teeth and her tongue until she can’t part her lips anymore. All there is is the sound of her breath.

Once, Tsunade had told her that she had a gentle breathing. Like merely the sound of it could soothe a patient. She’d said it to assure her, to tell her that for all she may be abrasive, she is a good doctor. That for all she could never stand on the same stage as Sasuke and Naruto, she outclasses them all by a mile in healing.

“You’re right,” her voice cracks. “It would have. But you burned that bridge before we could cross it.” And he had, with his cruel words spat at them from across a battlefield, with the danger in his hands, humming with lightning. Sakura had nearly killed him once and once she regretted not going through with it. Now it all just tastes rotten, like vomit.

The smile melts from his face. Part of her relishes on it. Part of her mourns, grieves that smile. Mourns it like she mourns every day when she wakes up, stares out her window and knows that nothing has changed.

He shrugs, seemingly indifferent. “I did. That’s my cross to bear.”

He doesn’t apologize. There’s no point. All the apologies in the world have already fallen from his lips, and Sakura has already accepted them all. Has already told herself to forgive him. She’s already heard all the explanations, all the context. She’s listened to Sasuke pour his heart out on their living room floor and she’s shed tears for him on those very wooden planks. She tells herself that she forgives him, because the part of her that never grew up thinks that if you love someone, you have to forgive them. She doesn’t have the heart to tell that little girl that she’s wrong, yet.

She thinks he sees through it. He’s always been able to see straight through to all the ugly parts of her, the ones she labors to hide. All the pretty distractions do nothing to draw his attention away from those dark parts of her. Like to him, she’s clear glass. When they were on the battlefield, covered in each other’s blood, he knew her better than anyone else ever did, and she, him. Maybe they still do.

“Do you regret it?”

He quirks a sardonic little smile. There’s humor in his voice when he says, “I also wish things had gone differently, Sakura.”

These days, he’s clear as glass to her, too.

[fallingforyou123]

Cupcakes and Therapy-Meeting

A/N: I'm so sorry this is late, I had it queued up for the wrong day, but it's finally here. This is just the first part, I plan on continuing this with little blurbs after. I hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.15k

Warnings: Some language, a panic attack and talks of panic attacks, falcon and the winter soldier spoilers

He woke up in a cold sweat, the last of his nightmare still fresh on his mind. For the third time that night he’d been jolted awake, the idea of sleep slowly slipping away. The sun was just starting to rise, a few rays slipping through the cracks in the blinds. He hadn’t slept through the night since his time in Wakanda. After Steve left him and the fighting stopped, there was nothing keeping his mind occupied anymore.

Slowly, he rose from his makeshift bed on the floor, every inch of his body aching from lack of sleep. He made his way over to the window, looking out at the street below. A new hobby he’d found was people watching, as creepy as it is for an ex-assassin to do, but it calmed him. It brought him back to reality when he felt like he was slipping into a dark place.

He doesn’t realize how long he’s stood there until Alpine starts rubbing up against his leg, meowing loudly. Alpine never fails to remind him just how utterly starving he is after sleeping for 22 hours a day. Bucky makes his way to the kitchen to fill his bowl, making note of all the things he’s running out of, a trip to the market after therapy becoming his plans for the day.

He throws a jacket on over his t-shirt and slips on a pair of gloves before leaving the apartment and making his way to the small coffee shop just around the corner. His routine had started consisting of coming here at ungodly hours of the morning for breakfast before making his way to his weekly therapy sessions.

He walked in and sat at his usual table, the barista on shift coming over with his usual coffee and muffin. Bucky hands her a crumpled 5 with a small smile, before grabbing a newspaper. He doesn’t really read it, he’s not one for politics before noon, but he does it to keep him occupied. It also helps to make it not look like he’s scoping the place out when he sits there for hours a day.

He sits there sipping his coffee and nibbling on his muffin, still too shaken from his nightmare to stomach much. He looks up from the newspaper every now and then to watch the people around him. Sunday mornings make the cafe crowded, couples and groups of friends line the one wall, families taking up space at the tables, and a few solos floating through.

There’s a feeling in his chest that hits him hard as he watches a mom trying to wrangle her daughter as the dad laughs. It hits again as he sees a woman curled into the side of the man beside her, giggling at something he’s whispering in her ear. His eyes shift from person to person, the ache growing strong as his breathing becomes difficult. He stands up abruptly, his knee hitting the table causing his coffee to spill, the few people around him shooting him strange looks. He rushes for the door, barely having time to apologize for bumping into someone.

The heat hits him hard when he steps outside, the feeling of being suffocated only worsening. He can’t think straight, the lack of air in his lungs making him dizzy. He turns into an alleyway, leans against the wall and tries to ground himself. A woman spots him as she walks by, coming over to check on him. She rests her hands on his arms, shaking him gently to get him to focus on her.

“Sir, sir you’ve got to breathe. In, out. Easy, easy. There you go.”

Her voice is smooth, almost melodic, and it does the trick to help calm him. Bucky attempts to follow her breathing, gasps of air slowly turning into steady breaths.

He manages to say a small “Thanks,” between breaths. The girl smiles and lingers a little longer to make sure he’s okay before heading on her way. Bucky’s stuck momentarily, trying to figure out what the hell just happened. Suddenly much more tired and willing to go back to bed, he wishes he could head back home and hide for the rest of the day, but he doesn’t want to deal with what’ll happen if he doesn’t show up to therapy.

***

He keeps zoning out as his therapist talks, his mind wandering to what had happened that morning. He was no stranger to panic attacks, but they usually came after a nightmare, not sitting in a coffee shop. And the woman, no ones ever been that quick to help him, not when he looks the way he does. He couldn’t stop thinking about her, her face stuck in his mind.

“James, at least pretend to pay attention.” His therapist's voice knocked him out of his thoughts.

“I’m listening.”

“No you’re not, you’ve got that look on your face that means you’re thinking about your nightmare while telling me you’re not having any.” Her voice is calm, but he knows she’s getting annoyed with him.

“I can assure you, I’m not thinking about a nightmare. I, uh, had a panic attack this morning.” He looks away from her, the confession more than he’s ever shared.

“James, that’s normal. PTSD has a lot of symptoms.”

“No, no this was different. This wasn’t because of a memory or a nightmare. I was sitting drinking coffee, just looking around, and it hit me. I had to leave, spent a while trying to calm myself in an alley. And this woman, she came over and tried to help me. I mean, it worked, but I just, I don’t know. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, you’ve got to stop downplaying these things.” She’s really starting to get annoyed now, her voice now having a slight edge to it.

Bucky can’t quite figure out what pisses him off more, knowing she’s right, or how she doesn’t sugar coat things.

“Tell me exactly how it started, what were you doing?”

He groans, not feeling up for a heart to heart at the moment.

“Listen, I told you. I was drinking coffee and looking around. People watching, I guess. Keeps me occupied.”

“Ah,” she sighs. “I think what’s happening is your minds telling you that you’re lonely. Seeing all those people being happy together, it’s something you haven’t had in a while. You need people, James.”

He doesn’t want to hear it and she knows it. It’s all he’s been told for months now. But he’s fine, really. He has weekly lunches with Yori, and Alpine is plenty of company when he’s at home.

“Listen doc, I’m fine.”

“Bullshit. After everything that’s happened to you, being alone is the quietest, most personal hell. And, James, it is very hard to escape it.”

***

The market was crowded today. The mid-summer heat enticing people to spend their days in the sun. Bucky made his way through the rows of stands, stopping to grab various items he thought his fridge was lacking. This had become a weekend routine for him, spending Sunday afternoons trying to create some sort of normality in his life.

He gets distracted momentarily by the sound of a high pitched laugh, forgetting about the bag of fruit being handed to him. It’s then that he spots you, the same girl who helped him in the alley. You’ve traded your hoodie for a tank top and you’ve got a little yellow apron covering you now. There’s a basket of pastries in your hand and you’re laughing with a group of people.

That small ache in his chest makes an appearance again, thoughts racing through his mind. Bucky doesn’t believe in fate, he’s far too old and seen too many things to think it’s real. But in this moment as he watches you, the girl who took time to care for him in a dark alleyway, looking like the world belonged to her, he can’t help thinking that maybe it does exist.

He doesn't know what comes over him, but before he knows it, he’s shoving everything into his bags and heading towards the shop. He doesn’t know what he’ll say, blinded by the need to just be near her. Before he can reach you, you’ve already headed back into the building and stationed yourself behind the counter.

He walks in and is hit with the smell of fresh pastries and he’s brought back to spending weekend mornings baking with his mom and sister. You’re just finishing up with the group, turning your attention to Bucky, “Hi! Welcome to Honey, what can I get for ya?”

Bucky blinks a few times, suddenly losing every ounce of confidence he’d had. “Do you need a few more minutes? Or would you like a suggestion?”

He takes a second to compose himself before replying, “Yeah, um. A suggestion, please?”

He doesn’t understand where his shyness has come from, but you seem to find it endearing. You motion to the display case and start rambling on about each treat, “The orange zest cookies seem to be a fan favourite, personally I like the neapolitan ones the best. We’ve also got every flavour of scone you could imagine if you’re feeling more classy. And oh, this one's new, bourbon pecan nut bars, a little midday pick me up. We’ve also got some fresh sandwiches if you’re looking for lunch. Or if you’re still not sure I can do a sampler box?”

“Yea, I’ll just get one of those, and maybe a sandwich too?”

“Sure thing!”

Bucky watches you fill up a little basket for him, noticing how you add multiples of your favourites. When you head into the back for a moment, he starts figuring out how to bring up this morning without being creepy. He doesn’t want to sound like he stalked you, that would really mess up his shot with you. You finish it up with a fresh sandwich from the back and hand him a neatly wrapped basket. “Alright, is that everything?”

Bucky realizes that this is his last moment to say anything, “Yes, and no. I don’t know if you remember, but I’m the guy who you stopped to help in the alley this morning. I didn’t stalk you or anything, I swear, I was just shopping in the market when I saw you and I thought I’d come over and say thank you.” By this point he’s wishing the ground would open up and swallow him, his face turning extremely red.

“I thought it was you. Don’t worry, I’m not freaked out. It’s no big deal, I’m glad you’re okay. I know how scary panic attacks can be when you’re alone, I’ve had far too many.” You offer him some sympathy, knowing how awful these things can be.

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. Thank you again for the help. I’m Bucky by the way.” He reaches his hand out towards you, and when you take you swear you feel something, “Y/N, nice to meet you.” You reply with a smile.

The both of you stand there for a moment, lost in each other, only shaken out of it by the ringing of the door as someone enters. “I should go, I’m still on the clock.” You reluctantly let go of his hand.

“Can I get your number before I leave?” The question takes you by surprise, but you’re quick to put your number in his phone, and he makes a promise to call you later that night.

***

When you arrive home that evening you’ve completely forgotten about the promised phone call, too eager to make dinner and then climb into bed. You’re in the middle of cooking when your phone goes off with an unknown number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Bucky.”

That voice fills your ears and your heart stops for a moment. He sounds tired, the raspiness sending a warm shiver throughout your body.

“Hey, yea, how are you?”

The both of you fall into comfortable small talk. He asks you about work and you tell him about all of your favourite moments from the day. You ask him about the pastries you sent him home with and he confesses that his favorite were the oatmeal lemon cookies, they remind him of the ones his mom used to make.

You end up still on the phone with him by the time you’re curled up in bed, barely able to keep your eyes open. “You should go to bed doll, I can hear how tired you are.”

“But where’s the fun in that?”

Bucky laughs, a small little chuckle, and all you want is to be able to hear that sound forever. “Why don’t you come over tomorrow after I’ve closed up the bakery and I’ll teach you to make something?”

“I’d like that. I’ll see you tomorrow doll.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.”

[awkwardgtace]

Secret Brother Pt2

Continuing Ian and Mikhail gonna keep the same tws unless someone's asked for changes

TW: mentions of abandonment. Later parts will have mentions of a borrower being treated like a pet this is entirely painted in how fuckin wrong it is and how it added to the trauma.

Part 1 Part 3 (Final)

Secret Brother Part 2

Mikhail started living a double life after that. He was making good progress with Ian. He wasn’t sure how Ian had made any kind of home before, he seemed to struggle with basic bits of borrowing. It was becoming the highlight of most days to go home and sneak in to his own house the size of a borrower. Ian seemed almost nervous to be left in a house with a human alone, it didn’t make a ton of sense. The thing that started his move before must have been pretty bad.

The last few months had been a bit stressful too. At least one of his students seemed aware that the dorm ‘ghost’ had left with him. She claimed it was discussing her thesis, but it seemed to be highly focused on borrowers. Although she kept calling it a hypothetical idea of small beings. A study on the folklore of creatures like that which pop up in a lot of cultures. Finding ways to push her to new topics was becoming hard. Mikhail was looking forward to his afternoon with Ian.

“Ian, you around bud?” he called out. Ian rushed at him, covering his mouth. Mikhail looked at him curiously. Ian slowly slid his hand off him, seemingly happy with the silence. “What was that about?”

“I, uh, I thought I heard the human before,” he said nervously. Mikhail had been quiet, he hadn’t even opened his door. “I figured we should be extra quiet today, or just stay here, I have enough supplies for at least a week.”

Mikhail studied him, this wasn’t normal. Even if he made noise on his way, he can’t hear the noise in the walls as a human. Well he couldn’t hear them this far in, he made Ian move to make sure of that. Ian was jumpy, looking around like something would show up out of nowhere. He’d go with it for now, they’d hang out in the walls. He could teach him better sewing and they could work out the paths a little more.

“All right bud,” he said, hoping the smile would calm him. “We can stay in the walls just get some chores done in here, set up some extra paths you may need.”

Ian visibly calmed hearing that. He grabbed Mikhail’s arm and dragged him to the makeshift table. He had plenty of projects he started and needed guidance on. Mikhail was happy to oblige. They worked in a casual silence, Ian showing the parts he struggled with and Mikhail guiding him. It was a pretty normal day as far as life for a borrower is concerned, but Mikhail couldn’t ignore how terrified Ian was. It couldn’t just be that he thought he heard Mikhail, or well the human sized Mikhail, in the house. He was trying to think of how to bring it up when Ian dropped his project.

“Mik,” he started. “You’ve been coming to this house for a long time right?”

“Yeah it’s a normal stop,” he answered. He didn’t think he wanted to know where this was going.

“What do you think of this human?” Ian looked at him, his eyes had something in them he couldn’t read.

“I’m not sure what you mean bud,” he knew the right responses, but didn’t want to give them. He didn’t want to encourage Ian to be afraid of him.

“L-let’s say, there was a human you knew was bad, like really bad. If you had to pick between them and the human here, which would you pick?”

“I mean, as far as I can tell with this human, they wouldn’t do anything bad,” he started slowly. “I don’t know how bad the bad human would be in this scenario, but I’d pick the human who lives here. I’ve known them for an extremely long time, they don’t seem the type to do anything cruel.”

Ian nodded solemnly. Something was going on and he wasn’t telling him. Mikhail was tempted to push, but there wasn’t a good way to ask. He didn’t like leaving like this, but he had some work to get done this weekend, he couldn’t stay. He ruffled Ian’s hair standing to stretch, then started gathering the few things of his he brought with him. Ian grabbed his shoulder tightly.

“Mik, can you stay? For a few days?” his voice was small. Mikhail wanted to stay, to help him with what he wasn’t saying, but he couldn’t. He had to grade assignments and review thesis topics. He turned with a sad smile to Ian.

“I’m sorry Ian, I can’t. Honestly I may be gone for about a week this time. I can’t put off this work much longer. It won’t f-”

“Can I come?”

Mikhail sighed, “Ian I can’t take you with me for these trips. It won’t feel that long promise.”

Ian let go of him. Mikhail turned and saw he looked close to tears. He pulled Ian into a hug, holding tightly. Ian melted into it, seeming to need some sort of reassurance. Mikhail was more reluctant to leave, but he had to work so they could keep this up anyway. He let go and moved towards the exit, relieved to see Ian sitting back down at the table. He’d tell Ian the truth next time, he had to know he wasn’t as alone as he thought when ‘Mik’ wasn’t around.

“We’ll talk about some important stuff when I come back too all right?” he asked. Ian perked up, nodding with a look of relief. Things like that seemed to calm him, promises that meant he’d return without that being the promise. Once outside the house Mikhail waited a few minutes before shifting back. He needed to make sure Ian wasn’t planning to follow him. Once sure he focused and the world returned to its usual view. He took slow steps toward his car, climbing in to move it. Next time he saw Ian wasn’t going to be easy. He pulled the car off to the side, hidden completely from view for the weekend.

He sighed as he walked in, far from excited to deal with the guilt he’d be feeling. He went straight to his desk, if he could make it through the papers fast enough he could talk with Ian sooner. He pulled out the first and got to reading, blocking out the world around him. Ian wouldn’t come out for a while based on how he was acting. Hours passed as he worked through the assignments, a number of which would need to be completely redone. The black ink on white paper getting to him, he walked out to get a drink. The house was dark, he never bothered to turn on any lights when he came in. He reached the kitchen and flicked the light on, nearly screaming.

Sitting at the center of the table was Ian, his hook placed clearly out of reach. Mikhail couldn’t believe his eyes. He decided to act like he saw nothing, continuing on to get his water. He would go back to his desk and then Ian could keep up whatever crazy thing he was planning. Unless this had to do with the question earlier about trusting the human here. Did he know it was Mikhail who lived here? Ian must have figured it out. He turned to leave, trying so hard not to let his concern show.

“H-human!” Ian called out. There went any hope of pretending not to see him. Mikhail locked his eyes on Ian, the boy flinching as he gained the attention he wanted. Mikhail crouched down, getting himself eye level with the borrower. He was barely ready for whatever this meant.

“Hi?” he said. He had no idea how to do this. Wait he called out human, does Ian not know?

“I-I want to make a deal with you.” Ian was trying to be confident. Mikhail felt a lot of pride at that. He was so much more confident than he was a few months ago.

“What do you need?”

“I-if you’ll keep the bad human from me and my friend I’ll stay with you.”

“Wait what? What bad human? What do you mean stay with me?” Mikhail was utterly lost. Ian was here in front of him when he was human. Offering to stay with him in exchange for protection from the bad human. Now he really needed to know what was going on. He leaned down on the table, arms as a pillow, to be a little closer.

“I-I ran away from a human. They were keeping me as a,” he paused a mixture of fear and disgust on his face, “as a pet. I’ll stay with you as one if you’ll keep the bad one from me and my friend.”

“First no to that whole pet thing, you’re clearly a person. Second, I need to know about this bad human to help.”

“I-I can be good. I won’t run from you. I’ll be the project thingy for you they were talking about. I can-”

“Whoa slow down buddy, I just need information.” Mikhail was trying hard to stay calm. This is what scared him so much. Some human kept him as a pet and brought him to the school. Mikhail was going to deal with this, later though for now Ian had to calm down.

“I can do tricks, I won’t complain really. You can go get a cage now and I’ll wait right here. I won’t move at all. I won’t fight if you try to show me off either. I’ll be a good pet just as long as you protect us.”

“Kiddo, I just said the pet thing isn’t happening. I’ll just help you if you talk to me about this bad human.”

“I’m not stupid. I know you’ll want something eventually. I’m giving you something. I know you spend time at the place the bad human had brought me. I’ll be obedient for anything you need just keep the bad one away. I put the only way I can get down far enough away. Just admit you like this idea and-”

“Ian, knock it off! I’m not entertaining you talking about yourself like that’s all you’re good for. You’re a person, damn it!” Mikhail shouted. He hadn’t meant to, but hearing Ian thought he’d like this idea hurt. Over the last few months Ian felt like a younger brother, he’d do anything for him.

“H-How do you know my name?” Ian’s eyes were wide. Mikhail didn’t realize he used his name, he’d gotten lucky until now. Ian seemed far more scared than before hearing the human knew his name, starting to back away. Mikhail stood up and backed off. This wasn’t what he wanted to happen. He was going to have to show him as much as he hated it. He made his way back over to the table gripping the edge with both hands. He focused on them as he willed himself smaller. He pulled himself onto the table then sped up how fast he shifted. Focusing his gaze on Ian once he was done.

“This,” Mikhail gestured to himself, “would be why you couldn’t come with me.”

[thekingdomofelfhame]

Jurdan Fanfic: Highschool AU Part 1

Summary: Much to Jude's annoyance and surprise, she and Cardan have been paired for a school project. Cardan's feelings, on the other hand, continue to blossom when he arrives at Jude's apartment only to witness something beyond his comprehension.

Warnings: Mild cursing

This will be an alternative between Cardan and Jude POV just to get a good look at how their feelings develop.

Cardan POV:

She keeps staring at the ring enclosing her finger, her gaze never shifting to the notes scattered on her dressing, her walnut eyes intense with emotion. She kept humming the same tune over and over, her voice as smooth and soft as butter as she traced invisible patterns on her ruby studded ring, its bright red colour magnifying the beauty of her hand.

I had never seen her like this: bursting with emotions. Standing before me was the same girl who lived in impenetrable walls, walls that I had been trying to overcome only to lead us down a path of hatred. She was the girl of steel, no titanium, and yet she melted away like snow in early spring when no one was around.

Her voice echoes in the room which-surprise, surprise- is a mess of pillows and papers. This girl had been haunting my dreams since sophomore year but my foolish imaginations were nothing compared to the beauty that stood before me and when she starts vocalizing, I swear my heart skips a beat.

As she turns to pick up her phone, her eyes find mine and I am robbed of the melodious voice that had filled this room a few seconds ago. I am pretty sure I see her eyes swimming in tears but she immediately blinks them away. She has trained herself well.

I hadn't even realized she was in her bathrobe until she stopped singing and am left with her perfectly masked yet startled cuteness when she becomes aware of her current state.

"Why'd you stop?" I say clearly disappointed, "your voice is beautiful"

"Weren't you supposed to be here at 11 30?", she says completely ignoring what I just said, tightening her robe around her.

"I clearly said I'd be at your place by 11", my eyes skim over her robe and am pleased to see her cheeks flush with colour as I say, "maybe I'll make a habit of coming early"

"How'd you even get in?"

"Your roommate let me in and, oh, she told me to inform you that she will be staying with her boyfriend for a while"

"Wow. She and Van are really speeding things up", there a short pause that feels like eternity before she says, "Okay, now could you go wait in the lounge while I get ready?", she says and something tells me she is not asking. Though I would very much prefer to stay, I obey her orders for she is The Queen of my heart.

Jude POV:

I walk out of the room, no longer dripping, and am utterly surprised to find Cardan lounging on the white sofa, one of his legs draped over the arm rest. He looks...comfy.

I think about the way he was looking at me in awe when I found him leaning against my door, his dark black eyes peering into mine. I had never seen him so captivated. How long had he been standing there?

Your voice is beautiful...

His words ring in my ears and I can't help the faint pink rising on my neck. Cardan Greenbriar had complimented me; that was a first. I was surprised he didn't make fun of me just like he has been since the day I set foot into school. He didn't mock me as he usually would, seeing my emotional outburst. This was Cardan Greenbriar, the most spoiled rich kid who never gave a fuck about anyone.

I had never once let anyone past my defenses, not even my family, foster or not. No one knew about this small world of mine and I liked to keep it that way. That is, until today when I saw a pair of iridescent coal black eyes bewitching me into wanting to tell him everything about this tiny world I had created where I would doze off to whenever I wished. That was when reality hit me and I was reminded of why I had lived in an armour for so long, why I had never let anyone get close to me.

I snap out of my thoughts when Cardan interrupts, "Like what you see, huh?". I scoff and I didn't realize I had been staring at him as he further added, "Should we get on with the project or are you gonna stand there all day, thinking about me?"

"Asshole. You wish", I snap right back at him and he lets out a soft laugh as I go through his notes.

We had agreed on double-checking each other's notes before we started the project, and by the looks of it, we had a lot of work to do. Surprisingly, Cardan's notes were not only correct and authentic, they were thorough and much more organized than mine. He had even used fancy words like serendipity- I mean what does that even mean?

"Jude, I think some of your notes are missing", he says raising his black brows and a book with torn pages.

"Oh, yeah. The torn notes are in a green file right over there", I gesture to the stack of books behind him as he leans over to find it only to frustrate me further when he says, "Uh, Jude. There is no file here".

"It should be there. It cannot go anywhere", I stand up and walk towards the mountain of books.

That was when I realized my foot is asleep and I stumble over a book, covering my face with my hands, ready for impact. Only I don't hit the ground; instead I feel arms slide around my waist and when I remove my hands from my face, the first thing I see are Cardan's eyes partially covered by his black locks.

I almost get lost in the moment. The world stops when he runs his hand through his hair as if he is nervous and he stares back at me. That is, until I remember who he is.

Ughhh....

"Looks like you're falling for me, Jude", he teases.

I abruptly push him off of me and start looking for the notes. Despite my foot still being asleep, I try to walk as if nothing happened but the bastard still notices.

"Here. Let me help you", he reaches for my hand but I stop him with a gesture and he does.

Looks like my defiance all these years really did have an effect on him.

"If you want to help, start by looking for a green file. It is unlabeled, no fancy decorations what so ever"

"What else to expect from the boring Jude Duarte"

"Well, at least I am not like one of those stupid girls who are so easily charmed by you"

"Did you just say I am charming?"

"Fuck off"

"Okay, okay", he raises his arms in defeat and I go to my room to look for the file. My eyes shift to the scattered notes over my bed and my dressing and my carpet.

Shit.

This is going to take longer than I thought.

Cardan POV

As I search through her notes, my thoughts keep drifting to the moment I had her in my arms, her body fitting right into my hands. I battled with the urge to get lost in her deep brown eyes or to drop a kiss on her cute nose.

No, no, no. Stop.

Wine. I needed wine. I needed wine right now.

Jude hated me and I should hate her. She was the one person who had refused to let me get my way and would continue to do so. She could never want someone like me, let alone love. This was just a project and as soon as it would finish, we would go our separate ways.

And yet, I cannot help but think about her all the time.

Jude POV

I return to the lounge drenched in sweat, panting and gasping for air. I had been rummaging in my room for the past hour and had finally found that file.

I slam the file onto Cardan's face and he doesn't dare reply when he sees my tired state. I sink into the sofa, one hand covering my eyes the other blindly searching for the glass of water on the front table.

"What happened to you?", Cardan asks as I open my eyes to find him completely shocked but instead of answering him, I gesture towards the file while gulping down my third glass of water.

"Let's continue. I don't want to waste any more time", my voice is dry as I open my laptop to start typing in the outline and he continues to examine my notes.

"God, your handwriting is horrible", his voice is filled with surprise as he brings one of the papers closer to those haunting, dazzling eyes to get a better look but gives in and throws it back onto the table.

"If you can't read it, why don't you make me something to eat instead?", I say robotically while looking at my screen and had not expected him to actually go to the kitchen in search for food.

My eyebrows furrow together as I walk up to him and say, "I was joking! Come on, we gotta get this done"

"I know you were joking and I know we have to this done but I am hungry and if you are not going to ask me then I am going to make myself", he complains as he looks around, opening cabinets and drawers.

"I didn't know you could cook", I say clearly perplexed by his actions.

"There are many things you do not know about me, Duarte", he continues his search and when I have had enough of his noise I say, "Stop! Okay, stop making noise! God, it's like raising a child or something", I grab the spatula from his hands but he takes it back saying, "Well, I am hungry and I can't work when I am hungry and by looking at you, you should be too"

As much as I would hate to admit it, I was hungry and I felt like I hadn't eaten in ages.

"Fine, you cook and I am going to take a break and watch some Netflix", I say right before telling him about where I keep the food and where the utensils are.

"One more question. Should I make sandwiches or hotdogs?"

"Lilliver usually does the cooking so, whatever you want", I turn on the television and continue to watch Shadow and Bone, each episode more intriguing than the last.

I hadn't realized an hour had passed when Cardan came with sandwiches.

The room is suddenly filled with the smell of freshly made sandwiches and that does nothing to satiate my hunger as I reach out for the dish set in front of me but Cardan quickly grabs the dish before I can get my hands on a sandwich.

"Patience is a virtue, dear Jude", Cardan says raising a long slender finger in the air.

"First of all, never and I mean NEVER call me dear", I glare at him as I grab the dish back, careful not to break it, "And you took so long making sandwiches that I got hungry"

I take a bite of the sandwich and if I am being honest, I had never tasted such sandwiches in my life and Cardan must have noticed me and my increasing craving for his delicious sandwiches that only seemed to make my hunger more insatiable when he said, "Either you like them", he gestured towards the half-bitten sandwich and its cheese dripping from the side of my mouth, "or you haven't eaten all day"

"Hmm. Yeah, I think it is the latter", I lie through my teeth with ease as I take a second one into my mouth.

I would never compliment him to his face, especially since I don't want him spreading the story in school.

"Why are you acting like this?", I ask out of nowhere before I can even process what I just said out loud.

"Like what?", he asks dumfounded

"I don't know, you seem a bit more... tolerable, I guess", my voice almost drops to a whisper as I stare at my third sandwich, suddenly looking for something more interesting in a piece of food that would soon be in my mouth.

He doesn't answer but I am able to see his mood shift as his body language completely changes and his muscles become more stiff. His pupils become dilated and he looks every bit as horrifying as he did when he once threw dust into my food after I had punched him.

All of a sudden, I regret what I had said and cursed my stupid mouth for opening itself.

We don't speak to each other for the rest of the night and though I hated Cardan with all that I had, one small part of me felt that there was more to this person, that he was more than just a bully and that I had missed an opportunity to get to know the real him.

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! Also, I will now on follow a policy of following back those who follow me, just to spread a bit of kindness!!

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[musicallisto]

⚔ — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥; (tyrion lannister x f!reader)

@multifandomfix​​ requested: Hey, for your start of the year event, could I get #44 with Tyrion Lannister, please? Thanks in advance if you end up choosing it. I hope 2021 will be a great year for you. 😊

song: bazzi - beautiful | 𝄞

summary: How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

author notes: I ain’t never seen a fluffy one-shot written by me, always half of it gotta be depressing

word count: 2.7k (what the HELL)

warnings: language + the typical stuff that’s commonplace in GoT

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 younger, young enough to hear her speak freely around you, you’d often heard the illustrious Cersei Lannister, blessed may her reign be, mutter her implacable adage through slit eyes and arrogant teeth; in Westeros, when one played the game of thrones, they were either crowned or buried. Some win and some die, she’d state with a smug grin, ignoring Jaime rolling his eyes right by her. You would always nod in silence; partly because you, lesser Lady of King’s Landing, certainly did not dare to contradict your most redoubtable playmate; but also because, deep down, you believed in her truths. You’d seen it when your father came back from his battles, commanding the Crown’s armies across the Southern seas, or when you heard the whispers at Court of yet another fallen Lord who believed he could play with fire like the Targaryens; there was little more than victors and vanquished, and you, as a lady-in-waiting to the future Queen, could sleep easy at night knowing you were on the right side of the world.

Yet when the rebellion led by your father’s army of mutineers was crushed by the King’s forces, when your brothers all fled into exile across the continent; when your title, name, and lands became those of a traitor to the Crown; you understood that in the game of thrones, death was the only blessing the powerful bestowed when they were clement; for there was far crueler and harrowing a punishment than torture: humiliation and servitude.

King Robert Baratheon, his mercy guided by Tywin Lannister’s murmurs, decided against sending you to death as he would have any of your brothers, despite the abject crimes your name now carried. In all his bonhomie, he had made you a servant of his wife instead, perpetually condemned to following the Lannisters around and never quite catching up to them.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked Jaime one time, in hushed tones, aware that a servant caught talking to the Kingslayer with such familiarity would cause quite the scandal.

“Probably because he knows you were always a dear friend to Cersei and me.”

That was Jaime, as always; believing what he wanted to believe, and damned would be the one who’d change his mind. And to think he still thought, with a disconcerting assurance, that Cersei and you were still dear friends...

You hadn’t asked her why you were still alive. You knew she’d eye you for a moment, then order you to fetch her some water. She savored the sight of you in rugged clothes and immensely exhausted.

The only one who knew was Tyrion.

He always knew everything.

Even more so when it was about you.

“Why did the King spare my life?” you had asked him one evening, in the quiet banquet hall, only illuminated by flickering candles. He had looked up from his chalice of wine and at you, clearing the last dishes from the grand supper, and he swore his heart ruptured. He loved nothing more than staying absurdly late after dinner so he could catch you alone, but when your misty eyes, still too pure and bright for a world so cold, asked such unfathomable questions...

“I don’t know,” he had muttered casually.

Neither of you believed it. There was nothing Tyrion didn’t know.

But how could he tell you it was Tywin’s sick little pleasure, to keep you in chains at an arm’s length from him, from his embarrassment of a son? How could he tell you it was all his fault - that he had loved you to pieces since the stars had taken their first breath, and that Tywin’s revenge on him was to make you suffer while he was powerless?

“Sometimes I wish he had not,” you had confessed with this outrageous beauty of yours, chin up and prosody of a dame despite the greasy plates in your elegant hands.

Tyrion had bitten his tongue hard enough to draw blood. You were not the King’s prisoner, nor the castle’s, nor your family name’s; you were his, and he loved you so ardently, beyond all the words he knew, that he was utterly paralyzed.

The wine and hall were long cold by the time he went to sleep that night.

The following days, inexplicably, Tyrion was the first of the family to retire to his quarters after dinner. A pang of sullenness stung your throat when you brought the usual wine cup to an empty chair. Never before had he gone to bed without wishing you goodnight. Not since the night, so many years before, when you had run out on Cersei and Jaime to stay with their boring and lame little brother and talk the night away with his electric soul...

“Why didn’t Tyrion wait for you?” Jaime had whispered into your ear as you leaned over to pour him more wine.

You froze, almost long enough for Cersei to flair your discomfort. That was Jaime, as always; surprisingly perceptive when he allowed himself to be...

“I don’t know.”

You and Tyrion were so alike. You had the same inflection in the voice when you admitted to not knowing something... frustration and defeat.

“Maybe he’s not feeling well. You should check on him.”

“I’m certain he is f—”

“Y/N, go tend to my brother, please,” he cut, his voice a little louder.

You stopped, looking at Jaime, strong and tall and almost imperturbable. You were a servant of the Lannisters, but Jaime rarely bossed you around. You looked deep into his eyes, looking for a hint, a glimpse... and found it; a remnant of the boy you once knew, the childhood friend you sparred with wooden swords with. The boy with mischief and connivance.

“Yes, of course, my Lord.”

Your footsteps already echoed in the somber halls when you remembered you hadn’t even brought the wine pitcher back to the kitchens.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of Tyrion’s closed door. Years before, you had run up and down all the castle halls in search of passageways and hiding spots with a giggling Cersei on tow; yet you had never felt as lost and out of place as you did then, knuckles hovering over the wooden panel.

“Lord Tyrion, your brother asks to see you,” you called in one breath after knocking sharply. Calling the twins by their titles was disturbing enough to you; but Tyrion, brilliant and dedicated Tyrion, Tyrion you'd find reading hidden in the library and who'd blush when you asked him what his book was about—Tyrion, a Lord of Casterly Rock?

“No, he does not.”

There was nothing he didn't know. Especially when it came to his brother... and you.

“I...,” you sighed, at a loss for words. So many untold truths jostled in your throat, none eloquent enough for his bright soul. “He insisted I check up on you, sir.”

“Well I'm fine, am I not? You can go now.”

His words echoed in your skull with the strength of a thousand storms. Taking a shaky breath, you prepared to turn around and leave him... but a sudden force rumbled deep in you like a menacing earthquake. You might have been stripped of your lands and rights, you might bear the name of a traitor and a criminal, but he had been a general before he was a corpse and you had been an eldest daughter before you were a plaything. Your foot grazed the door, almost with too much violence, when you turned to face it.

“Truth be told, I wanted to check up on you as well, and to tell you that I’m bewildered at your recent behavior towards me, and that I don’t think I have done anything to deserve this shift in your attitude, and that I esteem you dearly and dared to hope that it was the same for you, and that I am frankly hurt by your sudden coldness, and that if you will not deign to tell me whatever is happening, then I will merely wish you a pleasant night and disturb you no further. Sir.”

Catching your breath, you turned on your heels before you could regret any of the words you’d just said. It would be a miracle if Tyrion managed to catch any of them clearly with how fast you had hammered them; let alone answer to them... yet as you were about to leave, the door was unbolted, and there stood a seemingly somber and preoccupied Tyrion.

“Come on in. And please, we’re alone. Don’t give me any of that “sir” crap, I know you hate it.”

And like so many times, so many years before, you stepped into Tyrion’s quarters like inside a forbidden dungeon, but it all seemed twice as small and dark as it did when you were reckless children.

The both of you remained silent for long moments, even after he had motioned for you to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of his bed; the shadows from the fireplace projected onto his face made Tyrion’s unmoving silhouette all the more unreadable.

“Is it something I’ve done?”

“Do you wish to know why the King didn’t have your head when your father rebelled? Well — why my father didn’t?”

Your eyes widened for a split second, but your irritation barely subsided. For some reason, despite your never-ending quest for answers, the subject of your family’s treason and fate always prompted you to defensiveness when it was mentioned by others... especially by your best friend. The one who knew too much.

“What does this have to do with anything, Tyrion?”

“Everything, Y/N. It has to do with everything.”

“Enlighten me, then. You always know better than everyone else.”

Tyrion took a deep, interminable breath before continuing. It was only then that you noticed how shaky his hands were; for the first time, you read a disconcerting uncertainty on his face.

“My father knows humiliation is far worse than death, especially among Lords... and he knows how to take the most pleasant acts of revenge on his enemies. Your last name... and myself.”

You kept quiet. The puzzle was starting to piece itself together, spurred by Tyrion’s voice, low and even, albeit a little unsteady — as though the charred logs and crackling fire were confiding in you themselves...

“He’s known you since you were an infant. You were always proud and righteous, a proper Lady and a treasure to your name, but still pure and kind... all the traits I adored in you when I first met you. He knew nothing would hurt you more than stripping you of everything you had - status, respect, poise, and dignity... and your friends. He’s burying your family’s legacy under grime and filth and savoring every second of it...”

His words became progressively spaced, as though he was choosing them carefully. You hadn’t yet noticed your own hands were shaking now, too.

“And he can screw me over as well. Any chance he gets, he takes.”

His shoulders were solid and unmoving, but his words came in ragged breaths and laborious swallowing. He took a step forward, finally breaking free from the backlighting of the fireplace; his eyes were fixated on you, resolute and, despite the nervousness, more tender than ever. You remembered the expression all too well; it was the one he had worn all through the night you had talked until daylight about anything and everything... and seeing the enamored child in the man before you, you started to understand it all.

“He’s always known how much I care about you. How your presence never fails to lighten my mood and ease my worries, or how I’ve always looked for excuses to talk to you alone and catch your eye at supper. Most of all, how you’ve always given me exactly what I wanted... a chance. And he always thought it was the ultimate example of my weakness. To kick you around like an animal when I can’t do anything about it and know it’s all partly because of me is his favorite game...”

You clasped your hands together on your lap to curb your agitation. He had taken another step towards you, and you couldn’t break away from his gaze. Each of his features held more love than you’d ever known; more than when your father would ruffle your hair, or when you’d share your family tart with your brothers and smeared all the jam on their cheeks; and you couldn’t fathom how long it had taken you to discover this warm and fuzzy feeling you got whenever Tyrion was around had a simple name: home.

“Tyrion,” you spoke before the tears invaded your eyes. “Are you saying you fancy me?”

“Ah, to hell with it.”

Eyes entirely bathed in light now, he responded almost immediately and clearer than before.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N, and that I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I first thought that I only liked your company, and admired your grace — that you were just the sister I wish I’d had, but I’ve had to face the fact that your face and voice set me afire in a way that nothing else can. I’m light and naive when you’re around... and you make me believe I have the strength they all won’t stop blabbering about. But I thought that if I could convince my father I saw nothing more in you than a whore like all the others, he would maybe let you go... maybe set you free.”

And the last confession seemed to hurt him more than everything else he had admitted that night, because it cut him right in his pride.

“I was wrong.”

An impossible soreness had taken over your throat during Tyrion's tirade, leaving you struck and mute. For a few seconds, all you could hear was the gentle hooting of the wind outside and the rapid and disjointed thumping of your heart... when you spoke eventually, it was but a hoarse whisper.

“All these years...”

“Yes.”

“And all those girls I had to see you with...”

“None of them mattered. None of them were you.”

“Why didn't you tell me, Tyrion?”

“Why would I?” he puffed with an acerbic laugh, gesturing at his frame, his scars, his cynicism and selfishness, and his wit and brilliant mind and feverish eloquence and golden eyes...

And suddenly your father's voice echoed in your head, unmistakable yet so distant, as he had spoken to you one day when you were little; he had said that angels existed in this world, closer than one might expect, and more often than not they took on unexpected forms, but once could always recognize them as they were the shiniest forces in the world around when everything was grim and black.

Maybe it was the dim lighting of the fire and moonlight that cast abstract shadows on the walls, or maybe your eyes and heart playing tricks on you, but you swore Tyrion was veiled by a pulsating halo, gold and black, that got even more radiant as he half-smiled.

When you leaned over and kissed him, you did not doubt that he truly was the angel your family tales had told you about, and maybe the only remaining angel in Westeros — because kissing him was like every star in the sky falling into place and forming new constellations, and when he grabbed your face to deepen the kiss, you were certain you felt his wings rustle.

“You have the most beautiful soul in this damn city, Tyrion,” you breathed when you finally pulled back.

Had he always looked at you with this unshakeable air of triumph and delight, or was it another trick of the light?

“If you knew how long I've waited to tell you how beautiful you are...”

“Tell me. Over and over.”

There was a smile on his face, the first genuine and devilishly charming one you'd seen in weeks when he stepped back and closed the velvet curtains.

He told you all night.

tagging; @fives-cup-of-coffee ​ @softeninglooks ​(all my writing)

[jimlingss]

Foreverland

➜ Words: 15.2k

➜ Genres: 95% Fluff, 5% Angst, Peter Pan!AU

➜ Summary: Just because you're nineteen doesn't mean you aren't still a CHILD! So why does everyone want you to grow up so badly?! Is it so wrong to not want to work? To get married?! And for heaven's sake, you'll wed anyone but boring Namjoon! Little do you know, a certain fairy boy's about to grant your wish and whisk you far away from this nightmare.

cr.

You flip the page of the storybook.   It sits on your lap, the two covers spread over your thighs, the page corners crisp against your fingertips. The colours seem to jump out at you — raspberry, periwinkle and kelly vibrant against the white. And you’re completely enthralled with the adventurous storyline, studying the sentences before your eyes follow the illustration of the garden gnome climbing the mountain.   “Y/N!”    A sharp shriek interrupts your concentration and you look to the house porch. Your mother has her hands on her hips, apron tied around her waist and ladle in hand. “Heavens to Betsy! What did I say about climbing trees again! Are you tryin’ to break your neck?! Get down here this instant, young lady!”   You sigh, jumping down from the thick branch much to her horror. But your landings are always perfect. This spot’s perfect. You don’t know why she has such a bone to pick with your favourite reading place.   Not only was the tree branch comfortable, but you got the biggest and brightest view of the grassy field and can feel the wind whisking through your hair. Not like she’d understand.   She never liked heights.   “Look at yourself,” your mother chastises and starts to brush off the skirt of your dress. “You got so dirty. You can’t be looking like this when Namjoon’s coming by.”   “Again?” Your exaggerated exhale gains the lift of her brow. But you can’t help it. It’s not like your walks with Namjoon are something you enjoy. “I don’t like him, mom. You know that.”   “Then who do you like?”   You recoil. “No one.”   “You’re not a child anymore, Y/N. You’re already nineteen and you’re turnin’ twenty soon. And what happened to your friends? Sarah’s already gotten married and so did Irene.”   “That’s because they had no dreams,” you tell her. “They’ve always wanted a boring life.”   “Well, it’s time for you to grow up,” she huffs, holding you by the shoulders and looking at you one last time. “If you don’t want to get married, then move out and get a job.”   Heck no. You don’t want any of that.    The last thing you want is to be like Sarah or Irene who only knows how to gossip over tea and plan how many babies they’re gonna have. Or be like your parents. Your father’s a war veteran and always working long hours while your mother’s a homemaker — she’s so bored in the neighbourhood that she frets over every detail about you and drives herself nuts.   You don’t know when it became like this but all the adults are so utterly boring.   It seems like everyone’s grown up to live a monotonous life in the suburbs and you refuse to follow.   “Y/N?”    Your train of thought comes to a crashing halt by a tall dark-haired gentleman with rounded glasses. Namjoon’s always been polite and well-mannered but his talking can get you fast asleep. “Are you okay?”   “I’m fine. Thanks.” You muster a smile, looking away from the kids crowding around the trees and climbing them, giggling, hooting and hollering at each other.   As Namjoon walks past them, he shakes his head in disapproval. “They’re so noisy.”   “When was the last time you climbed a tree?” you suddenly ask.   “I never really did. I always preferred to build train sets and reading.”   Immediately, your eyes light up. “Reading?”   “Encyclopedias.”   Your eyes dim just as quick. “Oh.”   //   The pastel mint that’s engulfed the dining room — walls, chairs, tablecloth — is washed out, especially with the dim yellow ceiling lamp hanging over the rectangular table. But you don’t comment when the pastel pink kitchen looks much worse. Your parents’ decorating choices have always been questionable to you.   “I heard Namjoon came by,” your father says at dinner. “How was it?”   “Same as always.”    It goes silent. The air is awkward and your mother clears her throat noisily. The mashed potatoes taste bland on your palette.   “You know, he came by the other day to have a chat with me. It seems like he’s quite serious.”   You have an inkling of what your father’s trying to get at and you put your fork down, allowing it to clank against your dinner plate. “Namjoon’s terribly dull.”   “He’s a respectable businessman,” your father asserts.    Your mother agrees and chimes, “Namjoon isn’t boorish.”   “He has no life in him,” you retort back. “Watching paint dry is more fun.”   Your father’s brow jumps and he raises his voice, “He will be a fantastic family man.”   “He has a great background, dear,” your mother offers in a softer tone.   You abruptly stand, chair legs squeaking against the linoleum, not wanting to hear anymore of their reasons. No matter what you say, they have hundreds of defenses. No one’s actually listening to you. They don’t understand!   “I won’t marry him, never ever. I won’t get a job either! I hated working as a secretary!”   “Sit down, Y/N,” your father deadpans, looking back at his dinner plate as if you’re just a dog barking. You don’t faze him whatsoever. “You’re not a child who can throw a temper tantrum anymore.”   “I am a child!”   “You’re nineteen,” he reprimands. “It’s time to grow. up.”   “Ugh!” You whirl around and stomp up the stairs, abandoning your dinner on the table. Your mom calls after you, demanding to know where you’re going, but you get to your room, slam the door shut and lock it.   You dive into your bed, face flat into your pillow.   A moment later, you hear a knock but when you don’t respond, the steps fade away.   It’s always like this. You don’t know why so many kids want to grow up quickly to be adults when there’s nothing fun about it whatsoever. You don’t want to marry Namjoon. You don’t want to be a housewife for the rest of your life. You don’t want to work for someone else either.   You just want to be free — is that so much to ask?   All you want is to read, to go on an adventure, to escape to somewhere else, be someone else.   You move your face to the side and out of the pillow to finally breathe and your eyes incidentally stray out your windows. It’s a starry night tonight, pinpricks of milky light glittering over the dark horizon. You find yourself standing up and walking over to open the latch. Immediately, fresh air whisks inside your suffocating room and you inhale a deep breath.   You lean on the window sill with your arms, pupils flickering up to the bright North Star in the sky.   It’s silly and naive, but with how dismayed you are, you shut your eyes and wish upon that glimmering star. You wish that someone could take you away from here. Far, far away. To a place where there won’t be any expectations for you. A place where you won’t have to work. Where you won’t have to marry Namjoon.   A place where your dreams could be granted.   But not for a second do you expect for your wish to actually come true.   You become sleepy while resting at the sill, lids heavy as you begin to drift off. But then, there’s a tickle at your nose and a light tap of your shoulder.    “Mama….stop it,” you groan, “I’ll talk to you later…”   Yet, there’s a harder tap and a deeper voice— “Hello?”   Your eyes shoot open at the unfamiliar timbre and your eyes narrow in on a man-boy floating in front of you. Dark hair. Twinkling irises. A mischievous smile. You stumble back on your butt and scream.   No one hears you, not your parents who are heavy sleepers or the noisy neighbours who somehow have taken a day off from snooping around. So, you’re left alone to face the stranger who’s seemingly not standing on anything. He’s just outside your bedroom window, floating mid-air.   “W-Who are you?!”   You have to blink thrice to make sure you’re really seeing turquoise fairy-like wings.   “Name’s Seokjin.” A sparkly red vest with golden trousers and a blue hat with a green feather on the side — he looks like he’s come straight out of one of your storybooks. “But you can call me Jin.”   “What are you doing here?” your words stutter out.   “I heard a wish being made and came to grant it.”   Jin floats down and steps onto your window ledge, peering curiously inside your room.    “It’s quite pink,” he notes and the corners of his mouth upturn into a perfectly rounded smile. “I’m guessing that’s your favourite colour.”   Without warning, the stranger comes in. An uninvited guest who’s all too meddlesome with the trinkets on top of your dresser. Your eyes bulge, brought speechless in the meanwhile. You wouldn’t know how to explain if your parents were to come in and see this stranger walking around your room.   You don’t even know if he’s a man or a boy in the first place. It’s almost like he’s both — one second, he looks young and the next, he looks to be around your age. But one thing’s certain. He’s tall, height overcoming yours, and he has light blue translucent wings on his back.   “What are you?”   The question stumbles out without much thought and you realize a little too late once it’s said.   He whirls around with a frown and lolls his head to the side. “I’m a human.”   “How does a human have wings?!”   He laughs, a bubbling sound emitting from his mouth, and he looks behind him. “Oh this? It’s magic. I guess that kind of makes me a fairy.”   You wonder if by fairy, it’s the fairies in the books you’ve read and you wonder what exactly he means by magic. More importantly, you wonder if this is all a dream in the first place.   Jin holds out his hand, palm lifted upwards and after a beat of hesitation, you take it. He helps you stand up on your feet again and smiles. “What’s your name?”   “It’s Y/N.”   “That’s a nice name. Okay, let’s go.”   “Excuse me?” You blink hard, questioning if he’s even from this world. “Go where?”   “Foreverland, silly.” Jin smiles, plump lips pulled, cheeks puffed out like loaves of bread, brown irises twinkling. “Don’t you want to escape from here? Go on an adventure? Come on!”   He takes your hand, leading you to the window, but your steps are slow. “Where’s Foreverland?”   “Boy, you ask a lot of questions, don’t you?” He looks back at you with a boyish grin. “Just come see for yourself.”   You wonder if this is a dream. If it is, then there’s no point in staying in your room.   So you simply nod and his smile widens.   Jin gets onto the window ledge and pulls you up with him. But before he can go any further, you blurt out, “Wait!” And he promptly halts, looking at you to see if there’s anything wrong. “D-Do I need to bring anything with me?”   He laughs at your question.    “No.”   Then, before you can even blink, Jin jumps. With your hands held, you fall out the window after him and scream at the top of your lungs. Yet, there’s no fall in the pit of your stomach. There isn’t a rush, the wind tearing through your hair, or the impending splat on the ground.   You peel open your eyes to discover Jin carrying you. An arm around your back and the other behind your knees. Immediately, you loop your arms around his neck and find your house becoming smaller and smaller as he flies away.   “Did you really think I was just going to let you fall?” the strange boy asks with a cheeky smile.   “You should’ve warned me,” you murmur, not putting up much of a fight or complaining when you were too busy looking at the view. You were flying over the entire city, watching the way the lights of the buildings glimmer into a mosaic of colours, your house now a mere dot in the distance.    It’s a breathtaking sight, reminding you of stars in the distance. Except they were the buildings you entered on afternoon shopping trips with your mother or streets you biked through. You could see the diner and the record shop and even the drive-in theater!   Jin smiles as he looks at you. “If you’re impressed now, wait till we get to Foreverland.”   You turn your attention to him, eyes running from his lashes to the slope of his nose and the dip of his cupid’s bow. The breeze makes your cheeks warm and you take the opportunity to pinch yourself on the arm.   It hurts, which only means one thing. This isn’t a dream.   “How are you doing this?!”   “I said it before!” he exclaims in a pitched voice. “Magic!”   It can’t be real. But at the exact same time, it is.   And with that realization, you start hollering at the top of your lungs, momentarily startling the boy carrying you. “I can’t believe this is happening! This is amazing!”    Jin grins. “I know!”   You cheer as if you’re on top of the highest mountain, as if you’re facing the endless ocean and screaming your name, as if the entire world could hear the howls coming from the pit of your stomach. Exhilaration bleeds through your veins and you laugh aloud, finally feeling alive.   Instead of feeling fearful, cautious, or burdened with an apprehension you know anyone in your position would have, you’re elated. For the first time, you were finally going on an adventure.   The two of you fly a bit more, soaring beyond the wispy clouds and blue oceans, until the golden sun starts to rise over the horizon. As soothing as it is, to where you could fall asleep, you make sure to keep your eyes open to catch it all. And soon enough, Jin’s swooping downwards towards an oblong-shaped island in the middle of nowhere.   “Welcome to Foreverland.”   A sandy beach, an open field, a forest nearby. Jin lands and sets you down onto your feet. The grass is pliant beneath your toes and you look around with your lips parted.   “What is this place?”   “Anything you want it to be,” he says. “Foreverland grants magic, so anyone can escape to it. Here, you can make your dreams come true. Anything in your imagination can be real.”    If what he’s telling you is true, then the possibilities are limitless. But you don’t know what to do, where to start.   “Where do you live?”   “In that treehouse.” Jin points a few paces away to where the forest and the meadow meet. You see an enormous tree that looks centuries old with winding branches that act as a staircase and a tiny fort fit at the top. Cute windows, warm lighting spilling from inside and a string of bulbs wrapped around the green foliage make up his cozy home and you’re put in awe.   “There’s magic all around us,” Jin says with a small smile after watching your reaction. “You can do whatever you want. Try it.”   “How?”   “Just imagine whatever you want!”   It sounds too easy, but even though you’re not quite sure what you want to do, you shut your eyes anyway. Somehow, your mind strays to how you always wanted to be a princess when you were younger and then to the castle dollhouse your aunt got you for your sixth birthday.    Lilac walls, three towers, trim wrapped in pink, a brown gate, teal roof, the ribbon flag.   And then you open your eyes again.   A gasp befalls your lips. The castle you used to play with as a child is built right in front of you, manifested from thin air right to the last detail from your memory. The flourishing bed of flowers and winding cobblestone path welcomes you inside as the castle’s majestic ruler.   “Looks like you have a natural talent for this,” Jin laughs with an enormous grin.   “This is incredible!” You don’t know what you want to do first. If you want to run inside the castle and look into all the rooms, if you want to fall back on the meadow floor and imagine pools of chocolate, or if you want to feel that buzz of magic again, those vibrations in the air that still tingle on your skin. “Why aren’t there more people here?”   “There’s a lot of visitors, but no one stays for long,” Jin says, his expression unrecognizable in the split-second that it changes. He smiles again before you can decipher it. “But you can stay here for as long as you’d like.”   You decide that you want to go inside the castle first.   You run around the halls, up and down the stairs, flinging bedroom doors open and sprinting across the massive ballroom with the hanging chandelier. There are three levels in total, ten rooms, a dining hall and the top of the highest tower gives you the best view of the forest and the mountains in the back.   Jin follows you in the meanwhile, infected by your excitement and answering the numerous questions you have. He seems happy to share Foreverland with you, and your mind’s already racing with countless ideas of what to do, build and create. Or at least until your stomach grumbles.   “Hungry?”   You sheepishly smile. “I guess.”   Jin grins as if it’s a problem easily solvable, but you’re not sure what he has in mind when he leads you through the thicket of the forest. It’s an uphill climb, the lush canopies letting through the rays of sparkling morning light while the chickadees and blue jays chirp, wings fluttering overhead.   The tree trunks eventually open up to a cleared riverside with enormous rocks scattered around.   But what takes your attention is the long, white table and rounded chairs all around. There’s cake stands filled with buttered pastries, frosted cakes, teacups and teapots discarded and a radio on top of a rock.   “What is this?”   “It’s where we have our tea parties,” Jin informs with a smile as he pulls out a chair for you and you plop down with a fork materializing in your hand.   Instantaneously, magic thumps the air and the teapots start to dance. Fuzzy folk music plays from the static radio. And the appliances start to swirl to the cheery rhythm, tilting back and forth as teacups start to levitate in front of you. It’s like something straight out of a book and you laugh as you watch them.   The teapot pours a cupful until it spills over and you quickly take it.   “Thank you very much.”   It’s the best earl grey tea you’ve ever had and your eyes widen before you’re sipping it again. If possible, the teapot seems to blush and pours you another cup.   “Have some cake,” Jin suggests, sitting on the other side and watching you with a grin. The fork flies out of your hand to cut into the slice and the silver utensil feeds you itself. The sweetness explodes on your tongue.   “This is amazing, Jin!” You’ve never been allowed to eat so many sweets, not when your mother was constantly nagging and telling you to watch your weight. But there’s no one here to tell you otherwise, so you fill your stomach until it aches. The plates and utensils also settle down after they accidentally dribble frosting on Jin’s hair, much to the boy’s dismay.   The tea party concludes after you’ve had your full and you bid them goodbye.   “Did you like it?” The both of you are strolling back into the forest, Jin matching your steps.   “Did I ever!” You laugh. “It was spectacular. Foreverland is spectacular!”   “I’m glad.” He smiles to himself at the same time your eyes stray over to a majestic tree sitting in the middle of the magical forest. Large trunk, enormous branches, your steps speed towards it.   Jin’s brow raises but he follows after you, watching you hoist yourself up on the first branch.   “You gotta be able to see all of Foreverland up here.”   The boy’s amused and his wings start fluttering. “I could always fly you up if you want.”   “That’s cheating,” you argue, grappling with another before pulling yourself up. “My dad’s always told me that the effort makes the result sweeter. Plus, there’s nothing quite like climbing trees. You should try it.”   Jin observes the way you’re already sweating and out of breath, and opts not to. “I’ll stick to flying.”   “Suit yourself.” You dust your hands before jumping to grab another branch.    You can tell Jin’s impressed at how you’re maneuvered yourself but it’s all thanks to your childhood in the countryside. This is nothing. And in just a few minutes, you’ve made it to the top of the ginormous tree, overlooking the entirety of Foreverland. Jin’s wings stop flitting as he sits down on the branch beside you and you both soak in the scenery.   The wind tears through your hair and you’re left breathless, gazing upon the painting-like island. You can spot his treehouse from afar, the castle you’ve built, and the beaches near where you first landed. The greenery and blue horizon seems to stretch on for miles, and it’s all laid out in front of you for your eyes only.    You don’t notice how Seokjin’s turned his head to look at you.   “This is so unbelievable,” you exhale.   None of you see the green leaf beside you that withers away.   “I’m glad you love it so much.” Jin smiles. “You can stay for as long as you’d like.”   The sun is hanging high in the sky, signaling it’s already afternoon and you realize that in your excitement, you haven’t had a wink of sleep. Up here, it’s quickly catching up to you. You’re too comfortable against the tree trunk, unable to stifle your yawns, and your lids become heavier.    The second time Jin glances at you, he finds your head bobbing and he smiles.   He carries you back to your castle, through the window into one of the rooms and he places you on the soft bed. In your deep slumber, you hear a soft voice— “Sleep tight, princess.” — and for some reason, you rest easy.   //   In your dreams, there’s a man-boy with wings wearing a ridiculous outfit, red vest and golden trousers with a blue hat and a feather on it. But somehow, he seems to sparkle and so does the place he takes you to. Magic thrums the air, vibrating on your skin and anything you wish for can be real. It’s a fantasy world straight out of the many storybooks you’ve held tightly onto….   In your dreams, you want to stay forev—   FWOOP.   There’s a deafening noise in your ear. A violent rush of wind smacking your face. You open your eyes with a shriek already tearing from your raw throat.   Onyx eyes sit high on the creature’s narrow skull and they stare into yours, mere inches away. There are horns on top of its head, body crimson and scaly with a row of larger scales running down its spine. Its black talons are sharp, gripping against the edges of the shattered shingles.   Dragon.   It’s a colossal dragon. And it’s ripped off the roof of your castle.   The creature’s shadow looms over you and every exhale from its nostrils whisks your hair back.   This isn’t a dream. It isn’t. “Jin!”    You scream at the top of your lungs, scurrying back in a cold sweat, blood curdling at the back of your throat. “Jin! Jin!” There’s only one person who can rescue you— “Seokjin!”   The dragon leans down and it nabs the hem of your white nightgown with its pointed teeth. You’re immediately lifted into the air with another screech violently ripping through your vocal cords. The dragon’s wings flap aggressively and you’re practically dangling diagonally in mid-air.   Oh shit. Shit!   In the midst of your panic, you scramble for a way to save yourself and then you remember. This is Foreverland. Anything you want can become a reality. You can grant any wish you desire.   So with that in mind, you quickly think of a witch’s broomstick. Something you can easily fly away on. And just like that, it manifests itself beside you, parking next to your dangling body.   A smile stretches into your features and your arm lifts to—   The dragon bats it away. As swiftly as it appears, the broom is being flung downwards.    The creature increases its speed, beginning to circle the island and you resort back to screaming— “Jin!”    You’re shivering as the dragon soars through wispy clouds, heading towards the mountains past the forest. When the creature starts to sweep downwards, your shrieks only increase in volume and pitch.   Then, the dragon drops you.   You’re flailing for ten seconds, mind-blank, the pit of your stomach falling up into your throat, your screams becoming soundless. But before you slam into the ground, your body is plunged into light green.   It absorbs your speed. Cushions your landing.   And you open your eyes to figure out that you’ve been dropped into a humongous plate of jelly. Unable to breathe, you start eating your way out towards the light. Your hands shove backwards as if you’re digging yourself out of dirt and your mouth chomps down until you’ve broken free.    Gasping, you pull the rest of your limbs out of the green jelly and stumble to the ground.   The taste of green grapes linger on your tongue.   But more importantly, your attention is stolen by a figure standing on top of a gray rock. Ruby cape, golden crown lopsided on a black head of hair. The stranger suddenly turns around and you’re faced with a rabbit-like boy — doe eyes, a big nose, pouty lips.   “Welcome to Jelly Mountain.” His voice is smooth and he hops down to hover over you. “You’re my new hostage.”   Suddenly, there’s rope bounding your entire body.   You’re utterly confused and you realize you’re quivering uncontrollably. “W-Where’s Jin?”   The corner of the stranger’s mouth tugs.    “Seokjin?” He barks out into deep, sinister laughter. “Dead, of course.”   Blood drains from your face.   The turmoil slams into your frame. You burst out into tears.    The stranger goes completely silent, eyes widened as he watches sobs choke out of your chest and he flinches back. “Wait. A-Are you okay? Is everything alright?”   Dead. Jin’s dead. Devastation wrecks you entirely and you lose strength fighting, flopping over to weep into the ground. Just like that. He’s. Dead.   Your captor cautiously approaches you while you blink past your hazy vision, teardrops hanging off your lashes. And once he gets close enough, you lift your foot to kick him in the knee. Hard enough that you can hear a crack in his joint.   “Oof!”   The boy doubles over and you get to your knees, rage replacing grief. “Why would you kill Jin?!”   “Who killed me?” A familiar voice sounds overhead and you knock your head back to see a dignified silhouette standing at a higher cliff. Jin flies down in front of you and points a wooden sword at the king.   But the boy wheezes and lifts his palms up. “I give, I give.”   The ropes around you instantaneously vanish and the second it does, you rush upwards, launching yourself at Jin. Your arms open and your bodies collide against each other. He’s surprised and stumbles back before he smiles modestly. Jin pats your back as you mumble into his shoulder, “Oh god, a dragon took me from my bed and I thought you were dead for real and I was so scared.”   The wind ceases for a moment, the sky losing its blue vibrancy for a sheer second.   A soft laugh emits from Jin’s lips and after you let go and he whirls around to the other boy. “Look at what you did, Jungkook.”   Jungkook scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I was just kidding, I didn’t know you would take me so seriously. This is how we usually play.” He melts into a timid sort of smile and approaches you again to properly introduce himself. “I’m Jin’s imaginary friend.”   Before you can think too much, Jungkook eagerly shakes your hand. “I was really excited when I heard there was someone new in Foreverland.”   “Well, it’s nice to meet you too. But it’s very rude to take your dragon and steal me out of bed,” you huff out, almost sounding like your mother. At the same time, said dragon pops up from behind a rocky boulder with sad eyes and a whimpering noise.   You recoil and dart to hide behind Jin. But he laughs and steps aside. “It’s alright. Everyone’s friendly here.”   The dragon is clumsy as it tottles towards you and it bends over to dip its head down. You hesitate, but with Jin’s encouragement and his reassuring nod, your hand lifts and you pet its mound. You’re shocked to find the scaly texture softer than expected, though your caresses are cut short when it nudges you with a puff from its nose. The dragon’s tail is wagging.   You step away after a held breath, turning to glare at Jungkook and he ducks his head.   Jin laughs and takes your hand before another argument or fight can take place. “Are you hungry? Let’s go have some cake and tea.”   You allow him to lead the way and Jungkook strolls along with his arms folded comfortably behind his head. “I want earl grey!”   You’re not sure how imaginary friends work in Foreverland. But you don’t know how Jungkook is so life-like. If you were told he was someone like you and Jin, then you would believe it.   Jungkook readily drinks up all the tea until the teapots are tired of pouring. “Ugh, scones?!” He tosses the scones over his shoulder and indulges in cake just as much as Jin does.   There are still so many things about the power of Foreverland you have yet to learn.   “What do you want to do now?” Jin asks as the four of you tread through the meadow. It was a new day and a day full of endless possibilities.   You hum, considering it for a moment. “Have you ever read Jack and the Beanstalk?”   “What?”   A seed materializes in your hand and you lean down to plant it into the soft dirt. Both Jin and Jungkook have inquisitive expressions, but you simply step back and let magic do its work. It takes an anticipated second of bated breath held in throats. Then, there’s a splitting noise.   The ground shakes beneath your feet and a thick, green stalk blasts from the ground. It sprouts, twining and twirling upwards, growing past your eyes and the cotton clouds.   You turn around to Jin with a cheeky grin. “What are you waiting for?”   You start to climb the soft vines of the huge beanstalk, hoisting yourself upwards while Jin’s wings begin to flutter and he takes flight beside you. Jungkook, in the meanwhile, stays rooted to the ground and you look down at him, asking if he’s coming along.   “I’m fine,” he declines politely. “I’m not one for heights.”   “Alright.”   You continue onwards while Jungkook waves with the dragon beside him. Seokjin, on the other hand, is eager to see what’s awaiting him at the top.    “What is this?”   “It’s the beanstalk from Jack in the Beanstalk. You know, the story about the boy who traded in his cow for magical beans and it grew the next morning.” When Jin’s expression remains blank, you elaborate, “He fought the giant, took the goose that laid golden eggs and became rich. Have you never heard of it?!”   Jin merely shakes his head and you’re absolutely appalled.   “It’s a fairly famous fairy tale.”   “I was never allowed to read much of them,” he says passingly and notices how you’re starting to break into a sweat. “I can fly you up.”   “No.” As tiring as it is— “I love climbing.”   Within minutes, your fingertips can grasp the white clouds and your castle’s diminished into a mere smudge. You heave your body upwards with one last surge and collapse onto the clouds.    Foreverland has become the size of your thumb, surrounded in the abyss blue ocean. But you don’t look down for long when there’s so much to see around you. It’s just how you envisioned — a kingdom above the clouds, mist thin at the horizon, pastel blue overhead.    Jin lands on the plush surface and seems to be even more amazed than you are. He stares at the cotton clouds that stretch beyond the sky and after a beat, starts to jump. He bends his knees, springs upwards and bounces off the clouds.   “Look!” He laughs and you giggle, mimicking him. It’s soft beneath your feet, dipping when you land and pushing back as you hop from place to place. You twirl around when you capture air time while Jin seems to be having the time of his life, jumping as high as possible.   “This is so much fun!”   “What did I tell you?”   For once, you’re glad you can finally be the one to show him something new.   “I can jump higher than you can!”   “Not for long!”   But the bouncing session is cut short when you leap towards him and he drifts to the side in mid-air. Your heads bump into one another, skulls knocking — and you both fall back with groans and sharp inhales.   “Ouch!” — “Ugh!”   You pout, rubbing at your pulsating forehead while Jin’s cowered over and scratching his crown.    “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”   “It’s not my fault,” you retort. “I’m not the one with wings.”   He snorts and to get back at him for the injury already fading away, you collect an armful of the clouds. They remind you of the soap bubbles in a bubble bath, foamy and fluffy, and you fling it at Jin. The majority hits his face and some floats down on top of his head.    You burst out laughing at his wincing expression and how the clouds have clung to his hair and the area around his mouth like he has a beard. “You look like Santa Claus!”    “Oh, you’re gonna get it now.” He wipes his eyes and you giggle, staggering back to your feet to run. Jin regains his own footing and starts chasing you with an even bigger armful. “Get back here, coward!”   “Hey! No flying! That’s cheating!”   “We never made up any rules!” He grins as you struggle to run on the bouncy surface, restoring to leaping away. The pair of you are laughing incessantly until your stomach aches, but then you’re interrupted by a deafening roar.   Harsh wind swoops your figure back and you’re startled, falling onto your butt again. The red dragon soars past the clouds with its wings expanded. It circles over your head before landing a few steps away. Yet, instead of being frightened like earlier, you laugh this time.   Jin slows down and smiles. “The dragon’s name is Lady.”   “Lady?”   You look around from Jin to her, noticing how long her lashes are. She stares at you as if anticipating something.   “Sit,” you command on a hunch and surprisingly, she listens. Lady plops down on her behind and her tail begins to swing from side to side. You ease and step closer towards her. “Roll over!”   Lady rolls on top of the plush clouds.   Your thumb and forefinger shoot out. “Bang!”   Lady flops to her side as dead weight and you burst out laughing, coming up to pet her, scratching right under her chin. “Good girl. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you? Yes, you are!” She practically melts in your hand, nuzzling into your palm.   At the same time, Jin watches you with a softened smile. The horizon loses its bright hue.   //   “Have you ever heard of the Little Mermaid?”   “Tell me about it.”   “Well, it’s a story about a mermaid who falls in love with a prince she rescues. She trades her tail for legs in exchange for her voice to be with him. But he thinks someone else saved him and marries that girl instead.”   Jin’s brows are deeply furrowed, taken aback by the fairy tale. “Then what happened?”   “She’s given the choice of killing him to get her tail back, but in the end, she can’t do it. So she throws herself into the ocean and becomes sea foam.”   “That’s sad,” he says on an exhale, genuinely saddened by the story and you suppose the first time hearing it is always the most emotional.   But you agree with him. Part of you finds it hard to understand why someone would give up their family and home, but your friends always said love makes you do crazy things — whatever that’s supposed to mean.   Your hand tightens on Jin’s as the both of you swim deeper into the ocean’s trenches. The only way you’re able to breathe comfortably is through the water-breathing seaweed you thought of, and you were pleasantly surprised to find that something doesn’t need to exist in the real world to materialize in Foreverland.   The waters are perfectly still, a vivid cyan with the golden sunshine from above cascading through. It shimmers all around you and once the soft sand floor comes to view, so does the rocky towers and arches.   All from your imagination, you’ve constructed a whole water kingdom. Now, colourful schools of fish glide past you, anemone and seaweed practically wave, seahorses swim by and the corals decorating the structures are vibrant against the stony shades.   Jin smiles, swimming closer with you hand-in-hand so none of you can drift away. “I never thought about doing this.”   “Have you ever heard about Atlantis? It’s apparently a city underwater that’s sort of like this too. I read it in a book once.”   “You really like to read,” Jin muses and you nod.   “It’s the only time when I can be somewhere else without having to really be there.”   Jin stops at the center of the city’s square, surrounded by the many towers and buildings you’ve created in the middle of the sea. “You can make all those stories come true in Foreverland.”   As sincere as his words may be, they spur on your curiosity. “How long have you been in Foreverland for?”   “I don’t remember.” He looks to the distance. “A long, long time.”   Before you can dwell on what he says or decipher the expression on his face, you’re swept up by a school of rainbow fishes that tickle your skin. A giggle emits from your lips and air bubbles float upwards as the water sparkles around your frame. With the distraction, you don’t notice the way Seokjin’s gazing at you.   Or the way the sunshine shimmer dims.   //   It’s a busy day — from being woken up by a dragon quite literally stealing you out of bed, having a tea party, climbing a beanstalk to jump on bouncy clouds, and exploring an underwater kingdom, you and Jin are equally winded when night arrives.   So the pair of you opt to gaze at the stars instead of going on another adventure. You lay next to each other on the meadow floor. On top of a bed of soft grass with daisies surrounding you.   “Did you know the North Star always stays in the same spot?”   “Really?” Jin shifts his head, looking at your profile instead of the glimmering pinpricks of light. A daisy near him droops.   “All the constellations move except for that one. It’s pretty easy to see too. It’s right there.” You point upwards. “If you can find the Big Dipper, you can find the North Star.”   Jin smiles to himself as you chat about all the things you know. He’s always been the one showing others, guiding them around, teaching them about Foreverland. It’s nice to be the one who listens for a change. But eventually, he’s lulled by the sound of your voice and your own lids begin to droop before you’ve realized that you’ve dozed off.   It’s a bit later on that in your sleepy haze, you feel the brush of a blanket.    Jungkook sneaks by, draping the cotton over your forms before he lays down too with his arms behind his head. Lady, on the other hand, curls around your frame to further keep you warm.    And the four of you fall asleep like that, out in the open of the most magical place.   //   Time passes quickly in Foreverland. You suppose it’s like that when you’re busy having tea parties with Lady, Jungkook and Jin. When you’re going on adventures together. When you’re exploring the entire island. Telling each other stories. Manifesting all kinds of creations.   But every so often, your mind strays and you wonder what your family at home thinks.   You’ve been at Foreverland for more days than you can count on both your hands and you don’t want to leave. But you wonder if you should. You wonder if they’re worried. If they’re searching for you.   The last conversation you had with your parents was an argument. You didn’t mean to stomp off, to disappear completely. You just didn’t want to marry Namjoon, but it’s not right to end things that way.   And all of it weighs on your mind.   It lingers. Even when you’re laughing, giggling, having so much fun that you want to stay forever.   “Jin.”   “Hmm?”   “Should I go back?”   He turns to you abruptly, like he already knows the meaning of those four words, as if you don’t need to explain any further. And his brows furrow deeply, boyish visage ruined by the hurt.   “Why?”   “I….just don’t want my family to worry about me.” You fiddle with the long strands of grass spilling past the gaps of your fingers. “I’ve been here for a long time.”   “Time works differently here than it does where the others live,” he says and your eyes connect. “You don’t need to be worried that they’re worried. They’ll barely know you’re gone.”   It’s comforting to be assured by him, but it still doesn’t solve the unrest stowed in your heart.   It’s not right to abandon them. To leave your family behind. Even if they, themselves, don’t know—   “What do you want to do?” Jin suddenly asks, interrupting your thoughts with his gleaming irises.   You hum, tapping your chin.   He smiles. “Do you want to go on a pirate adventure again? Or go slay the giant.”   “I have a better idea.” A grin swells into your cheeks as a suggestion forms in your mind. “Have you ever heard of Cinderella?”    He shakes his head.   “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Cinderella born, and she grew up being mistreated by her stepmother and stepsisters. One day, there was a ball in the kingdom and everyone went, except for her. But then her fairy godmother came and gave her a beautiful dress. She went to the ball and danced with the prince.”   “There’s a lot of princes in these fairy tales,” Seokjin interjects and you laugh.   “Yes, there are.” You chide, “Don’t interrupt! I haven’t finished.”   “Sorry. Keep going.”   Night sets and stars paint across the sky like silver glitter spilled onto black paper. A full golden moon sits high up to accompany the stars. The weather is warm and the breeze caresses against your cheeks, a perfect cuddle against your form. The light from inside your splendid castle spills out on the horizon of the otherwise tranquil Foreverland.   “The spell wore off at midnight, so right before the clock struck the twelfth hour, the girl ran away and she only left a glass slipper behind. The prince tried to find her and once her foot fit the slipper, they got married and lived happily ever after.”   Jin hums, less amused than he was with the other fairy tales you told. “What do you want to do with this story?”   “Have a ball, of course! It would be a lot of fun.”   “I’m not really the dancing type.”   “Then I’ll just have to teach you!”   The rounded carriage pulls up to the stone steps of the castle and you get out, kitten heels hitting against the cobblestone. You’re a bit more clumsy walking in them than you expected, but Lady grunts happily and helps you up the stone stairs by nudging you with her head. You pet and praise her when you get to the top and her lashes flutter as she lays back down at the bottom.   You’re not one for dressing up when your mother’s always nagging and fretting over every single detail. But it’s fun to do it yourself and envision that you’re an actual princess of Foreverland. It feels like you’ve completed another one of your dreams — purple ball gown, flowers sewn into the skirt, sparkling tulle overwhelming, and a crown of daisies in your hair.   For once, you feel less like the tomboy climbing trees and more like a princess from a storybook.   “Welcome.” Jungkook smiles boyishly, dressed in his own costume. White shirt with ruffled sleeves, long blue coat, breeches and stockings — he looks silly, like he’s from two centuries ago, but you don’t laugh in case he gets embarrassed.    Tonight, Jungkook’s playing the role of the squire after all. And he stands near the entrance, happily allowing the grand doors to open. He grins before announcing your name, “Y/N!”   Once the crack of the door parts, your eyes fall directly to Jin in the center of the golden ballroom.   There are funny puppets you’ve made filling the room — paper figurines you used to cut out as a child now full size and flapping to the breeze, stumbling around as a poor excuse of dancing. They make you laugh, the sound traveling mellifluously above the violins and trumpets playing by themselves in the corner. It’s the good kind of classical music that adds to the elegant atmosphere.   But you don’t dwell, not when Jin holds out his hand and you walk to him before taking it.   You slide his one hand on the small of your waist while your hand is placed on his shoulder and you hold his other. Jin’s dressed in princely attire, black jacket with a golden sash across and dark trousers. His hair is pushed to the side, revealing his forehead and you muse how it makes him lean to the older side of his usual appearance.   “You’re very handsome,” you admit with a smile, realizing his shoulders are broader than you ever considered. “How do I look?”   “Pretty,” Jin exhales and the way he says it makes you embarrassed as well. You’ve never been complimented excessively in your lifetime, but enough times that they easily roll off your shoulders. Yet, somehow, with the way he’s staring at you, with the way the syllables stutter out of his lips, a single word you know that is genuinely spoken, you feel your face heating.   “Thank you.” You divert your eyes towards your shoes and guide him with your steps. “Step back once and then to the side. One, two, three. Like that. See? You got it already! Who said you couldn’t dance?”   Jin hums, naturally falling into a rhythm. He’s a fast learner.    “Do you feel like a princess now?”   A cheeky grin swells your cheeks. “I do with you around.”    “This is surprisingly fun.”   “Of course, it is.” Your eyes flicker to the chandelier hanging off of the rounded, high ceiling. Then to the polished marble floor that’s ornate with flowers and swirls. The entire room is a warm, yellow hue and it seems to sparkle. “The pictures of balls were always pretty in storybooks. I liked them as much as the adventure stories.”   As the music swells, Jin spins you around and you twirl across the floor with a hand held.    But as you land back into his arms, his left foot smashes on yours. “S-Sorry!”   Laughter bubbles out of you. “It’s okay.”   You look into Jin’s eyes, soaking in just how brown his irises are. They resemble the warmth of the sun, a cup of coffee your dad would brew on cold mornings. They’re deep and comforting. And for a mere moment, it feels like you’re just two people who met at a dance hall one magical evening — same-aged strangers who could’ve run into each other serendipitously.   “How old are you, Jin?”   “Whatever you want me to be.”   Suddenly, you realize your feet are not on the ground anymore. You’re levitating, floating mid-air, gliding upwards. Immediately, you gasp and grip Jin closer, pressing your body onto his.   He smiles tenderly.   “Jin!”   “It’s alright. Just trust me.”   The music crescendos as you dance while drifting around the ballroom in his arms. The skirt of your gown sweeps with you and magic thrums the air, vibrating on your skin. You feel enchanted, swept up in the moment, in his eyes and embrace.   The corner of Jin’s mouth tugs and a quiet giggle befalls your lips as he twirls you around again.   When the both of you become tired, you get back to the floor and stumble out onto the castle terrace laughing.   You’re still catching your breaths, his cheeks rosy and yours warm. The violins are muffled behind the glass doors.   “Look at the stars, Jin!” you tap his shoulder twice, pointing upwards to the boundless horizon.   You don’t notice how he’s turned to gaze at you. How his eyes have become tender. “I’m looking.”   You rest against the balcony railings with a quiet sigh. “We should’ve done this sooner.”   “We could always do it again.”   Your head swivels over and you’re caught off guard to see Seokjin staring at you intently, as if he has something to say but doesn’t quite know how to. Your breath hitches in your throat and you gaze back at him, eyes met, tension overwhelming. It’s a moment that reminds you of when you were younger, when you used to peek into the kitchen at night and see your mom and dad at the counter speaking in low tones — intimate. The word you were searching for: intimate.   Ding Dong. You snap back to your senses when the clock strikes midnight. The bell chime resonates through Foreverland and you grin.   “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”   Staying true to the tale of Cinderella, you slip away from his side.    Yet, you’re immediately pulled back. Seokjin takes your hand before you can fully walk away, cradling your palm gently in his. “Y/N,” he calls you quietly and you spin around. “Stay with me.”    You’re not sure why he has that expression on his face. Why he looks anxious. Why his wings become transparent.   “I’m joking,” you say with a smile to ease him. “I don’t need to run off at midnight like actual Cinderella.”    “No. I mean...stay with me in Foreverland.” A pause. His deep timbre is heartrending. “You don’t need to go back.”   “Jin.” You step closer to him, brows furrowed deep enough to hurt. You don’t know what to tell him. You don’t know how to utter the words that are restrained in your throat. “I have to go back eventually. I can’t just leave my family behind forever and I can always come back. It’s not like you’ll be alone anyhow. You have Jungkook—”   “You’re different,” he instantly blurts and you frown, not sure you quite understand.   “What do you mean?”   Jin opens his mouth but closes it a second later. “I’m not sure. You’re just...different.”   You’re utterly confused, but unable to dawdle on the subject when he smiles and squeezes your held hands, pulling you back into the ballroom. “Let’s dance some more.”   //   It’s seldom that you awake peacefully — without Lady ripping off the roof of your castle to pick you up by her teeth, without Jungkook bouncing on your bed and pretending he’s a knight in the middle of battle, or Seokjin trying to tickle you to consciousness to start the day of adventures.   But today, it’s quiet. Unusually so.   When you step out of your castle, you’re horrified to find the ground split. The land across Foreverland is cracked several inches wide and deep enough that all you see is darkness when you peek in. It’s as if there was an earthquake or a storm that caused an earth fissure.   The flowers have lost their colour — petals and leaves monochrome. The trees don’t sway. And when you look up at the sky, in between the azure horizon is a streak of the black galaxy.    It’s as if Foreverland itself is starting to crack.   Panic overcomes you.   “Jin! Jin!”   You run, avoiding the split of the ground, sprinting across the gray meadow and towards Jin’s treehouse on the edge of the forest. You call his name at the top of your lungs, alarmed and frightened at what’s happening. But the figure you see in the distance isn’t him.   It’s Jungkook and you’re relieved to find someone in reach.    “W-What’s going on?” you pant, catching your breath and slowing down. “Jungkook?”   The boy’s frowning, lips lopsided, eyes diverted from you.    He’s not panicking — he knows something.   “I’m…..I’m not allowed to tell you.”   “What? What is it?!”   He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, scratching the back of his neck, fidgeting on spot. He doesn’t utter a single word and anger swells inside of you. “Jungkook!”    The boy groans loudly and leans over to take your hand. “As long as you promise not to tell. I’m only doing this because you’re so special, okay?” Jungkook starts walking frantically towards the treehouse and you struggle to catch up to him.   “W-Where are you taking me?”   “You’ll see.”   The both of you climb the stairs of the treehouse and enter. You’ve come here enough times, glanced out the window, laid on the wooden framed bed, sat at the oak table, admired the strung lights and cozy atmosphere. But Jungkook comes to the bookcase on the back wall and pulls out the spine of a blue book.   You step back in surprise when it trembles and starts descending into the floor, revealing a concealed area. In moments, the top of the bookcase is snug against the floorboards like two seams never even there.   Jungkook looks back at you and you follow after him.   It’s a darkened space that consists of a downwards spiraling staircase and you begin to descend down. You figure that you’re inside the tree and that alone amazes you.   Jungkook materializes a lantern in hand to give luminescence and the two of you come to a wooden door at the bottom of the staircase. He hangs back and looks at you. “Open it.”   Your hand wraps around the golden knob and you push it open.   Wind sweeps through your hair, making you shut your eyes. But once it subsides and you look again, you’re met with a hidden room of secrets — a small space with towering piles of briefcases on desks and scattered across the floor. There’s metal filing cabinets, picture frames, books, soaring stacks of papers. It clutters the room, giving off a suffocating feeling.    You step in slowly. “What...is all this?”   “It’s where Jin stores away his subconscious,” Jungkook murmurs and you pick up a photo frame of Jin tensely standing next to what you suppose is his father — a stern-looking man who’s similar to his son but with more wrinkles. They’re both expressionless in the fuzzy photograph. “He comes from a long line of salesmen. His dad was a salesman and so was his grandfather and his great-grandfather.”   You set the picture down and look upon the heaps of briefcases, almost scared they’ll topple over you and smother you to death.   “If Jin talks about his reality, his creations will shatter, so he stowed everything away,” Jungkook says and you turn around to look at him. “You still have a connection to reality, so it doesn’t affect you as much, but the longer you stay here, the more you have to detach yourself from the real world.”   “How do you know all this? How...do you know Jin’s secrets?”   The boy smiles gingerly. “I’m not just Jin’s imaginary friend or best friend, Y/N. I’m his voice of reason and self-awareness. He stowed those parts away too, just in me, so he wouldn’t have to feel so sad all the time. You could say I’m the adult in him. Or at least, I have all the adult parts of him.”   “The adult parts of him?”   Jungkook nods. “Foreverland is a place for kids who don’t want to grow up. It grants magic so people can escape to it, but you can only stay if you retain your innocence. Or if you don’t regret it and choose to leave. Kids always end up growing up and choosing to leave, and Jin recognized that. So he decided to put away any part of himself that would ever grow to regret it.”   You wonder how many children came and went. How many stepped in Foreverland, spent their time here and chose to leave in the end in spite of everything he did to get them to stay. You wonder how many times Jin was left alone. Abandoned.   You wonder if that’s why he begged you to stay with him forever.   Your voice is a cracked whisper— “How long has he been in Foreverland for?”   “Time works differently in Foreverland, so I’m not sure how much it is in the real world.” Jungkook is as solemn as you are. “He’s probably been gone for a lot less. But he came here when he was your age and he’s been here for twenty eight years. Five of which he spent without anyone outside.”   You’re stunned, made speechless, trying to fathom that length of time.   “Twenty eight years?” More importantly, you don’t know why you feel so heartbroken. “What has he been doing in that time?”   “He’s been looking for a partner to stay in Foreverland with him for...forever.” Jungkook musters another smile and he shrugs with melancholy faded in his doe eyes. “The dream world Seokjin built is lonely by himself and I’m just an imaginary friend. I’m the only other person who can take a human shape. You can’t create humans in Foreverland — I was just already in his mind when he arrived here, so it worked.”   It’s a lot to understand, to wrap your mind around. All the secrets of this magical place are being spilled into your lap and you’re not sure what to do. All you’re certain about is that Jin’s stored away parts of himself, that he’s been deserted over and over again, and that he’s been yearning for someone permanent.   He’s been suffering.   “Y/N?”   “Then why is Foreverland breaking apart?” you quickly ask. “Is it because his subconscious is leaking back into him? Is it because of this room?!”   Jungkook smiles softly. “It’s because Seokjin’s falling in love with you.”   A beat. A pause.   Your heart swells up to the bottom of your throat and it aches.   “That’s what’s distorting his reality and everything he’s built in Foreverland. Falling in love means abandoning innocence since children can’t fall in love the same way adults can,” Jungkook murmurs. “It’s been happening for a while, Y/N. You just haven’t noticed. The flowers and leaves withering, the sky losing its colour, the breeze stopping, the sun becoming less bright…”   Jin’s falling in love with you?    He loves you?   You don’t know why that discovery has you so joyful and sorrowful at the same time. His emotions are reaching out for the part of him that he tucked away. Yet, at the same time, you’re the one ruining all of Seokjin’s dreams. You’re destroying everything he’s ever created.   “That’s not a bad thing,” Jungkook interrupts and your eyes meet his. “It’s not a bad thing to be in love, Y/N.”   “What...what will happen to you if Foreverland breaks?”   The corner of the boy’s mouth tugs timidly. “Don’t worry. Foreverland will always be a place and I’ll always exist here, even if Seokjin leaves and forgets about me.”   Jungkook takes your hand and guides you away from the room. “I think you deserve to hear all of this since you’re becoming someone important to Jin too. But you should keep it a secret or else he might throw me overboard during the next pirate game.”   “Jungkook.”   He turns around, simply smiling at you. The boy leads you up the stairs and seals the space with the bookcase again. You step out of the treehouse and knowing the secrets of Foreverland, everything looks different to you now.   It’s less like a paradise of infinite dreams. More like a fragile flower about to wither.   Jungkook comes beside you and waves his hand. He repairs Seokjin’s Foreverland.   The ground stitches back together, the sky painted blue again, the flowers becoming vibrant. But you know it’s just a temporary fix. Underlying the polished layer are cracks.   //   It’s never the same again. Tea parties, dragon rides, adventures and explorations of Foreverland — Seokjin doesn’t once notice the way the colour in his flowers are losing their hue or the way the branches of his treehouse are withering, losing leaves like it’s the autumn season.   Your naiveté has been casted away.   You can’t ignore it once you’ve seen it, can’t revert the enlightenment, and you can’t stay with him.   Not when it’s ruining the world he’s made. Not when he has no choice in the matter. Not when he’s not even aware that this is happening.   “Jin.”   He shifts to you.    The pair of you are sitting on the branch of the tallest tree in Foreverland again, reminiscent of the first time you came here. You climbed while he flew, and together, the both of you look out at the sun, sitting next to one another. And you savour this moment, knowing it’s the last.   Your breath is heavy in your lungs. “I’ve decided to go back.”   “Go back to where?”   “Home.”   “The castle?”   “No.” You can’t look at him. Your voice drops down to a quiet murmur, “Home where my family is.…..where my parents are. Home as in where you took me away from.”   Silence.   It threads through the spaces between your bodies that seems to be growing as the seconds pass. The weight of tension lies on your shoulders and a lump forms at the bottom of your throat, clogging the overwhelming emotions bubbling in the pit of your stomach.   You finally gather the courage to look at him and he utters a single word—   “When?”   “A-As soon as possible.”   “Why?”   You muster a small smile. “It looks like I can’t leave them behind after all. It’s...not your fault, Jin.”   For the first time and for one last moment, you reach out. Both you and Seokjin are looking forward towards the sky, but your hand hesitantly slips on top of his. A beat later, he turns your palm to lace his fingers through yours, squeezing your hand tightly.   “Do you really have to?” he asks.   “I do.”   “When will you be back?”   “I don’t think I will come back.” You swallow hard, eyes stinging painfully. “This is goodbye forever.”   Suddenly, Seokjin lets go of your hand and he launches himself forward, flying away. You stand up from the branch, stunned by his cold reaction. “Wait!” you scream after him. You don’t want this to be the last moment. You don’t want it to end like this. “Take me back! Jin—!”   In the midst of your panic, your foot slips. You lose balance and teeter backwards. It’s too late. A shriek tears from your throat as you fall. Stomach dropping. Eyes shut tight. But before you can conjure something up to save yourself or cushion the landing, the blow is softened by warm arms.   Your lids flutter open to find that Jin’s caught you. He’s carrying you with one arm behind your knees and the other around your back. You loop your arms around his neck, gasping for air and he swoops to the ground.   Jin sets you down on the soft grass. “We’ll leave tonight.”   His turquoise, translucent wings rapidly beat and he takes flight again. You watch his backside fade into the golden sunset until it’s a black silhouette too difficult to look at. And you know there’s not much of an hour left.   //   Never once had you dreaded when night came to Foreverland.    You always looked forward to the starry horizon, watching the constellations move overhead and laid in the grass with your close friends by your side. You liked to count the specks of glitter, admire the shine of the moon, allow the breeze to caress your cheeks. Yet, it feels bittersweet tonight.   You’re not sure if it’s because you yearn to stay in Foreverland. Or if it’s because you’re afraid of leaving the people behind.   The red dragon curls up to your frame and you smile while running your hand down her scaly muzzle. She whimpers, cuddling up to your touch. “I’ll miss you a lot, but you’ll be a good girl, right, Lady?”   She grunts and the sound of crunching grass beneath feet has you whirling around. Jungkook approaches with his arms behind his back and your smile widens. “So you’re going?”   “Uh-huh. Get in here, Kook.” You come over, opening your arms to hug him.   Jungkook squeezes you back and he mumbles in your ear, “Are you sure this is the right decision?”   “No.” You part from him, taking a good look at the boy who kidnapped you for a game, who led expeditions and adventures through Foreverland, who let you know the secrets of this magical place. “I wish I could be sure when I make a choice.”   The corner of Jungkook’s mouth curls. “Even adults are never sure.”   That alone comforts you, resonating inside your mind.   Seokjin arrives at that moment, flying towards you and landing smoothly. He doesn’t look you in the eye. “It’s time to leave.”    You nod and he carries you the same way he brought you to Foreverland, his arm placed around the back of your knees and the other behind your back while yours are looped around his neck. He lifts you up like you don’t weigh a feather and he soars into the sky.   You look down to see Jungkook waving with a boyish grin, Lady roaring out. You watch how your castle, the last traces of your time spent on the island, becomes a mere dot in the distance. The sandy beaches, open meadows, Seokjin’s treehouse, forest and mountains, they fade into the clouds. You blink back the tears that have accumulated, that threaten on your lash line and you look ahead to allow them to flow without Jin being able to see.   The two of you soar beyond the wispy clouds and blue oceans until the silver moon is high over the horizon. The wind brushes through your hair and you allow yourself to lean onto Seokjin’s chest, savouring the warmth of his embrace.   As soothing as it is, you focus on the view to subside your sobs. And it’s still a breathtaking sight, even when your vision is hazy by tears. Eventually, the pair of you fly over a familiar city, watching the way the lights of the buildings glimmer into a mosaic of colours.   Your house comes into sight.    Jin didn’t even need reminders of the direction, as if he memorized the house you came from.   “You can set me down in front of the house,” you mumble, hoping he can’t hear how clogged your voice is from silently crying the entire way.   He nods and descends swiftly. Jin sets you down on the grass and you hold onto him, hoping he won’t leave so soon, hoping you can have another moment. But you know this is goodbye.   This is it.   You turn to face him.   He’s the first one to say something. “Are you sure?”   You nod. “I’m sorry—”   “You shouldn’t be.” He slips your grip off of him and you flinch, hurt. But then he takes your hands in his and your eyes meet. “I won’t force anyone to stay with me if they don’t want to.”   No. It’s not like that! Yet the declaration lays on your tongue, threatening to spill, but never coming out. He has it wrong. It’s not like you don’t want to stay. But if you told him that, in the last seconds of your final farewell, what would he say? What would he ask you?   “I….I loved every second I spent with you, Jin! I—”   The lights inside the house suddenly flicker on and you whirl around, wondering if they woke up from your loud voices. You’re running out of time.   “Go inside,” Jin says gently with a wistful smile.    He lets go of you. About to take off.   But before the time runs out completely, before midnight has struck, you rush forward and plant a kiss on his cheek. It’s soft. Chaste. Your lips press against his rosy skin, hesitant and timid.   Jin’s stunned, eyes as big as saucer and he looks at you.    You muster a smile, trying your best not to cry and leave that as his last memory of you.   “Thank you.”   Before tears can spring from your eyes in the form of heavy April rain, you spin around and hurry to the door of your house. Your mother’s bad habit of leaving the door unlocked makes it easy to turn the knob and you step inside. But when temptation is at its highest, you peek over your shoulder.   But Jin’s already gone.   As quick as he came into your life.   “Oh Heavens to Betsy! Oh my goodness!” The cry of your mother gives no room for you to grieve. She stumbles down the stairs, unable to believe her eyes. “Harold! Y/N’s come home!”   Your mother scurries and even though she’s upset, she immediately embraces you with a fervour that has you shifting back. You can feel her entire frame shaking and you hug her back, pressing your face to her shoulder to dispel away the tears collecting in your eyes.   Your father comes at the commotion, slippers clunking on his feet down the stairs. Once you come into sight, he’s shocked frozen in his spot. “Y/N?”   Your mother lets go and you smile at your father. “I’m home.”   “Where did you go?”   “I thought you did something foolish,” your mother gripes. “You were gone for three days! I wanted to go down to the station but your dad decided to wait! I couldn’t sleep a wink at all—”   “Wait. I was gone for three days?” You’re taken aback. You were in Foreverland for three whole months. But you suppose Jungkook really wasn’t lying when he told you time works differently there. “I-I’m sorry. I was staying with a friend farther away. I should’ve said something before I left. I’m….sorry.”   “No.” Your dad shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”   In your entire life, your father’s never apologized to you. He’s not the kind to, always disciplining with a firm mindset, never to give any leeway. So you’re even more astounded.    “What for?”   “I’m sorry for forcing you to do things that you didn’t want to do. I was just worried. But I won’t push you to marry Namjoon if that’s not what you want.”   “He’s been doing a lot of thinking lately, sweetheart.” Your mother smiles, coming to his side.   You shake your head. “No, I understand. I’m just…..I’m just really happy to be home.”   Your mom’s brows furrow. “Then why are you crying, Y/N?”   You don’t realize you are until she says it. Until your hand lifts and you’re wiping at your wet cheeks. Then the sobs surge and you cry harder, choked whimpers spilling from your aching chest, your throat constricting your emotions. Your mom quickly comes to embrace you and you lean into her while looking past your hazy vision, out the kitchen window, to the starry sky above.

Memories of Foreverland begin to fade against your will as time goes on.   You wonder if it has anything to do with what Jungkook told you and how your connection to the place is weak. But you begin to forget the scent of the flower meadow, the taste of the special earl grey on your palate, the heat of the sun beating on your cheeks.   Then, it’s the feeling of loneliness when you climb the tree in the field to read while your mom looks on from the kitchen window. Sitting on the branch and gazing out at the view, you wonder why it feels so lonely when you’re used to doing it by yourself.   A haunting nostalgia lingers uncomfortably as well. Most often when you see kids doing play pretend on the streets, when you listen to their bubbling laughter, soak in their carefree nature.   After that, you begin to forget doe eyes, soft yet scaly texture against your hands, and dark hair. Twinkling irises. A mischievous smile. Brown eyes that resembled the warmth of the sun to you.   A rotten sense of discomfort overcomes your very being.    Like there was something you should’ve never forgotten. Like you’re missing something, or rather, someone. It’s a crazed desperation of yearning that aches your chest. And you can’t shake that pain off.   All you know is that you often wake up in the middle of the night with a tear-stained pillow and there’s the word Foreverland written on a page at your desk that you have no idea what it means, even when you know it’s your writing.   You slip inside the house quietly, dress ruined from tree climbing. You wonder if you’ll be scolded—   “...just looks so sad these days.” Instead, you overhear your mother’s voice coming from the kitchen. “Heavens, ever since she came back from her trip a week ago.”   “Did she ever say who she visited? Maybe that has something to do with it.”   “No, she hasn’t said a single word. Maybe she should go see a doctor, Harold. Our little girl’s not speaking much either and it’s startin’ to worry me. She’s not usually like this…”   You step into the pastel pink kitchen. They straighten their posture and seal their lips as if to pretend you weren’t the topic of discussion a moment ago and you muster a smile.    “Afternoon.” You go to pour a cup of the orange juice from the pitcher and pause. “Actually, I was just thinking about something.”   Your mother places down the kitchen towel, anticipation clear in her face. “What is it, dear?”   “Well…” You turn around, leaning against the counter. “I was thinking about everything, what I want to do from now on, how Irene and Sarah are, all my friends and all that, and I think it’s time for me to get married.”   They’re shocked.    Your mother’s mouth draws open while your father promptly puts down his newspaper, folding it back up.   “This...this is great news, honey!” A grin draws on your mother’s features and she comes to hug you. You’re nearly squeezed to death. “I can’t believe you’ve finally come around and changed your mind!”   But your father seems less enthused. “Are you sure?”   You nod. “Sure as I’ll ever be.”   You’re fairly certain the only way to shake off this painful discomfort is by moving on. It’s not like you want to worry your parents anymore either. Like they said, it’s time to be an adult.   And just like that, you’re thrusted forward quicker than you can imagine.   The next time you meet with Namjoon, he gets down on one knee and presents his grandmother’s gawky heirloom to you in a box. He ends up sliding it on your ring finger before you even get a chance to respond properly.   “How do you feel in this dress?” your mother asks.   One blink later, you’re placed in front of a mirror, drowning in a white, wedding dress.    The skirt is overwhelming your frame and it’s oddly tight around your midsection, making it hard to breathe. Not to mention, the sleeves are cut off awkwardly, not quite at your wrist or at your elbow. The lace sweetheart neckline is scratchy at your skin too, making you itch at it.   It’s ugly.   “It’s beautiful,” Irene squeals.   Sarah nods her head, pulling another tissue out to dab at her eyes. “You look gorgeous, Y/N. I think this is the one.”   You muster a smile.   Even if you go this far, for some reason, you don’t think you’ll ever forget about those brown eyes.

In the real world, it’s been days. In Foreverland, it’s been months.   Seokjin sits by himself in the meadow, downcast head and reddened eyes.   Foreverland is falling apart around him. The ground continues to splinter with each moment that passes, deepening the trenches that echo silence. The sky has split, no longer azure during the day or filled with stars during the night. It’s become blackened and every so often, pinpricks of light rain down and hit the land as if the stars themselves are falling.   There isn’t a breeze. The ocean does not move. The trees do not sway.   What hasn’t withered has lost their colour — flowers, petals, leaves monochrome like newspaper print. Jin’s own wings flicker between being tangible and a hallucination.   It’s as if Foreverland itself is crumbling and Jin makes no effort to save it.    What’s the point?   In the meanwhile, Jungkook sighs to himself, looking onward. He doesn’t think you ever expected that Seokjin would still be very much in love with you even after you’ve left and removed yourself from this place.   Jungkook approaches his best friend and sits himself down. “What’s wrong?”   Jin picks at the grass. “Nothing.”    The former holds back a snort, staring out at the horizon. “You know I always know how you feel, right?”   “It’s just Y/N,” Jin discloses in a half-hearted mumble. “It feels empty now that she’s gone.”   “A lot of people have left before.”   “It feels different this time.”   “You love her,” Jungkook says in a quiet yet firm voice. It isn’t a question, answer, or suggestion.    It’s factual.    Their eyes meet. It’s silent.   Seokjin’s Foreverland is collapsing, breaking apart at the seams — the treehouse, the flowers, the sky shattering into a darker, less star-full horizon. The proof is all around them and one that cannot be ignored any longer. It screams to be acknowledged, aches to be heard.   The corners of Jungkook’s mouth curl. “Go where you need to be, Seokjin. It’s a better place for newer dreams that you can fulfill. This isn’t where you should be anymore.”   “What about you?”   Jungkook’s boyish smile turns into a grin. “I’ll always be here. Plus, I’m right here too.” He pokes Jin’s chest, right where his heart should be and the latter scoffs with a soft smile. “I won’t miss you too much. We’ve already been together for so long.”   Jin exhales in exasperation and Jungkook leans back, putting more weight into his hands behind him. “Foreverland is a place for visitors. It’s not a place to make a home.”   “Then where’s home?”   Jungkook looks at the sky. “With the people you love most.”

The lace is itchy.    For some reason, scratching doesn’t seem to alleviate the itch, even when you’ve scratched enough to make your skin raw and your fingernails hurt. The dress is really white too. To the point where it’s blinding to your own eyes. You’re starting to think you should’ve gone for the other dress with the feathers even though it was fifteen pounds heavy.    Your mother shrieks and it nearly startles you to death. “Oh my goodness! My daughter’s never looked more beautiful! Now hurry along before we’re late!”   You nod, mustering a smile.   A part of you wonders if this is the right choice, but you remember someone told you that even adults are never sure of their own choices. You wonder who told you tha—   “Are you alright?” your dad interrupts your train of thought.   “Of course, I am.” You nod to reassure him and turn away before his perceptiveness can flourish the doubt that’s long overcome the discomfort that still lingers. You take his arm and inhale a deep breath to brace yourself.   The grand, wooden doors of the church hall open.   It parts and you’re allowed a peek inside. The hundred people seated on the brown benches turn around with smiles. The organ deafeningly plays the beginning discordant chords of the bridal march before it crescendos melodically and echos down into your eardrums. The bridesmaids and groomsmen grip their bouquet of flowers and begin filing down the aisle.   Oh my god. You can do this. You can do th—   “You can always walk away from this.” Your dad’s quiet voice breaks your inner mantra and your eyes find his wrinkled ones. He looks concerned, brows furrowed, lips lopsided and reading the look on your face. “I’m on your side until the end, sweetheart.”   The corner of your mouth pulls into a soft smile. “Thanks, dad.”   It’s your turn. The doors are wide open. The music beckons you to meet your destiny.   And you step inside the church hall. Namjoon is on the other end of the aisle, prim and proper in his traditional suit and bow tie, wearing an amiable smile that could only belong to a businessman. You try to match said expression, but it’s hard to feel your cheeks.   Everyone’s eyes are on you, some dabbing their cheeks with tissue. Irene and Sarah are on the side in their brown bridesmaid dresses, swooning at the sight. And your dad lets go all too soon.   Before you’ve even realized, you’ve made it to the end and he’s passed you to Namjoon, taking his place beside your already sobbing mother in the front rows. The music tapers off as well.   “Welcome, family, friends and loved ones. We gather here today to witness and celebrate the union of Namjoon and Y/N in marriage.”   Namjoon’s holding your gloved hands, his smile picture perfect. You face one another as the officiant drones on.   “Marriage is a joyous occasion. It is the promise between two people who love each other, and who trust in that love. It is truth, honesty, and hardships shouldered among a pair—”   It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is how itchy your lace dress is. And it’s everywhere. From the neckline to your armpits to where the sleeves end. It’s driving you crazy and you wish you could rip your hands away from Namjoon’s to scratch.   “—that are prepared to begin their new life together. Marriage is the most sacred unity in humanity—”   Christ. This is so boring. You can’t wait till this is over and done with. If J͠҉̛̀͏ì͢n̷͏̵͢͞ was here, he would’ve snapped his fingers and put the almost senile, croaking officiant into a pirate costume.   You smile to yourself at the idea, muffling a quiet snicker.   But then you freeze.   Wait. Who’s .̛̀҉̷̕.͠͠͡?   “—and should not be entered into lightly, but rather, reverently, lovingly, solemnly. Thus, if anyone has just cause to object to the forming of this union, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”   Suddenly, the doors bang open.   The doors crash against the church walls, startling you to death and nearly causing you to stumble back onto your butt and scream. Everyone instantly whips their head over with widened eyes.   A stranger interrupts, shouting from the pit of his stomach, “Wait!”   There’s a man, perhaps your age or a year or two older, standing at the end of the hall. Dark hair pushed to the side, revealing his forehead. Irises twinkling. And past the crowd, the shocked expressions, the scandalized whispers, the stranger looks right at you.   Namjoon immediately steps forward, covering your sights on the stranger. “Who are you?!” he bellows.   But you place your hand on Namjoon’s shoulder and he stops, looking back at you. You stagger forward with a frown, steps slow down the aisle. Your parents call for you, but you don’t hear them. Not when you’re so transfixed on this man. There’s something strangely…..familiar.   A tap on your shoulder. A boy outside your window.

       “Don’t you want to escape from here? Go on an adventure? Come on!” 

An island. Faraway. With a castle and a treehouse. A….flower field. A dragon. A doe-eyed companion.

       “There’s magic all around us.”

A beanstalk — an underwater kingdom — a magical ball.

       “Stay with me.”

The man gazes at you and you stare back at him, looking into his brown eyes that somehow resembles the warmth of the sun to you. Like a cup of coffee your dad would brew on cold mornings. They’re deep and comforting, and a murmur befalls your trembling lips, “Seokjin?”

Before your brain can catch up, you’re sprinting towards him.   Seokjin grins, plump lips pulled into a mischievous smile, cheeks puffed out like loaves of bread.   You launch yourself at him. Your arms open and your bodies collide against each other. He stumbles back with a laugh and embraces you tightly in his arms. You hug his broad shoulders, eyes fluttering closed, savouring the moment.   He doesn’t have his sparkly red vest, his golden pants, the blue hat with the green feather. Jin doesn’t have his wing either. There’s nothing remotely magical about him, not when he’s just in a plain, white dress shirt tucked into black trousers. But him being here is already the most magical thing that’s happened to you.   “I-I can’t believe it’s you. What are you doing here?”   “I had to come see you,” he murmurs. “I went to your house but no one was there. I heard from the neighbour you were getting married today.”   You pull apart from him, inches away from his face. “No. I mean what are you doing here, Jin?”   He doesn’t hesitate. There isn’t uncertainty in his expression. No moment to waver.   He’s as certain as the stars are real and answers within a beat—   “I love you.”   A fact you had known, that creeped up on you and made you feel bittersweet. But something you thought you would never have the chance to hear from his own lips.   You search his expression. “W-What about Foreverland?”   “It doesn’t matter where I am. I just want to be with you.”   You’re crying. You can feel the tears streaking down your cheeks and for once, it’s not from tender longing or a nostalgic sadness. A smile tugs on your lips and you pull him closer.   “What took you so long?”   Seokjin smiles against you. “I needed to get my things in order, but I’m here now and I’ll stay with you if you’ll take me.”   “Yes. Of course, I will, silly.”   You heartbeat pitter patters fervently in your chest and he leans down, brushing his soft lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Your arms come to loop around his neck while his palms cradle your waist. The warmth of Jin’s skin heats your cheeks and your lashes flutter shut while his eyes open just a little to watch you. He kisses you long enough that he can inhale your breath and you feel his smile against your own.   Your heart soars. Everything you had longed for is right here. And it feels like magic. 

[Epilogue]   Growing up and becoming an adult doesn’t mean needing to abandon fun — and your life with Seokjin proves it.    The pair of you go on plenty of adventures and explorations, more than your parents would like. You’re always packing your bags to discover something new. And when you visit, your parents are adamant that sometimes it feels like there are two children at the dinner table.    But you know they’ve never been happier to see how overjoyed you are and what a great fit Seokjin is. They assume he’s someone you met when you disappeared and while that’s technically true, you don’t add more to the story. They don’t question it either.   You’re sure your parents are a lot more worried when they see you teaching Jin how to climb the enormous tree out by the field.   The whole church fiasco ends up as a scandal. It’s the talk of the neighbourhood for months on end. It’s not like you particularly mind — although, you still get glares from Namjoon and his family when you run into them. You’re sure he doesn’t want to hear any more apologies from you, but you’re also certain that this experience will make him less boring as a person.   Your nose twitches.   You sniff the air and before it even registers, you groan.   “Jin! Why is there something burning?!”   You come into the kitchen and call him again, but silence answers. With a sigh, you check the oven and take out the cake that’s practically burnt to ash and push it onto the counter. The smoke is dispersed after you waft the air.   You’re already busy picking up after school children as a teacher, you don’t really need to pick up after your husband too when you get home.   You look out the door and step onto the porch. From a distance, you can see him and a hopeless smile slips onto your visage.   You cross the field, the meadow soft beneath your feet, wind whisking through your hair. The golden sun is sinking over the horizon, turning the sky into shades of tangerine and your figure a black silhouette against the light.   Seokjin’s seated beneath the canopy of the tree. The two covers of the storybook spread over his thighs, page corner crisp against his fingertips. The colours seem to jump out — raspberry, periwinkle and kelly vibrant against the white. He doesn’t notice you approaching, completely enthralled by the adventurous storyline.   While you were gone for three days, Seokjin was gone for two years. It was a mess to sort out with his family too, his father even stricter than yours and angered while his mother was devastated and resentful that her son had chosen to leave without a single word. It was hard for him to adjust to the real world as well. It took time. But you’d like to think Jin made it out okay.    “You left the cake burning in the oven.”   His attention is brought back and he looks up, smiling at you. “Sorry.”   Much to your dismay, Jin pulls you down and plants an affectionate kiss on your cheek.   You scoff lightly and unknowingly pout while your husband grins, already aware he’s gotten away with it.   You plop down next to him and lean your head to lay on his shoulder, staring at the pages of his storybook. “What are you doing?”   “I’m thinking of writing another storybook,” Jin hums. “A sequel to Jungkook’s Adventures. What do you think if I called it Foreverland?”   “I think it’ll be wonderful.”   The two of you share tender smiles, gazing at one another while the tree above you sways, leaves rustling to the warm breeze.   You don’t need magic to live in your dreams forever.

[billyspotato]

Could i possible request a jj imagine from that one scene where they trap the girls on the boat, and reader gets left with them, reader is dating jj, but they have really bad anxiety so she is upset with him when they go to pick the m up from the boat

Left Behind - JJ Maybank

Words: 1.6k+

Type: Angst & Fluff

Warnings: English is not my first language, sorry for any typos. Fear of the sea/being left in a boat.

A/N: Gif’s not mine :)

It’s been around 6 hours since JJ, John B and Pope left you, Sarah and Kie alone in a boat with no way back home.

You had agreed to making Sarah and Kie have a conversation and sort out their issues, but the idea of you being the one that has to be with them just to make sure they don’t kill each other... Now that’s some bullshit, but it was decided. Without you knowing a word of it.

And just to make matters worse, you have anxiety problems. Everyone knows this, especially your boyfriend, JJ.

And we all know that anxiety has the power to make a small issue or fear into a whole trauma-like experience.

But the motherfucker didn’t even think twice in leaving you in the boat.

It was just like you all had planned, everyone steps into the boat and then runs out but you were utterly pissed when noticing that they were escaping without even looking back at you.

Oh and the way they all laughed... Anger boiled your blood.

You are definitely not okay with any of this.

Kie and Sarah have been talking on one side of the boat since you told them to, and you are sitting in the other side, leaving them to have their privacy.

And now, your mind is at 500 miles an hour, since anxiety has gotten a way with it - thinking of all the possible horrible endings this evening could have.

You couldn’t swim back to the island, you couldn’t row this kind of boat back home, and also can’t call for help, if anything bad happens.

This is just a disaster waiting to occur. And your mind is hating it. Your hands are slightly sweaty, heart is pumping rapidly, breathing seems difficult and seeing the skies become dark is just making everything worse.

You’re not a boat kind of person. You like the idea of being in one but not for too long.

And these 6 hours... are long enough for anyone to pull up next to this boat and try to steal something, kidnap you or even, I don’t you, something worse.

Outer banks is safe, yes, but anybody who has seen any crime documentaries knows that even the safest towns in the world have god damn someone that fucks it all up. It can even be an outsider.

But that, in a strange way, is not what is worrying you the most.

And anybody with anxiety will understand when you say that you don’t exactly know what’s bothering you but it god damn is fucking you up inside.

You just have to find out now to try to fix it.

“You okay?” Sarah asks, making you look away from the water and look up at her.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about what else I could be doing if it weren’t for this situation” You comment in a low tone as she takes a seat next to you. “Have you and Kie talked it all through?”

“Yeah, I guess we’re friends again”

You smile a bit at her and she leans her head on your shoulder.

“How long do you think we’re going to be in here for?” She asks in a whisper and you sigh, tears filling your eyes, but you blink them away.

“For a few more hours”

(...)

It’s been some hours, and the girls have noticed that something is off about you ever since Kie took a seat next to you, just like Sarah. And they haven’t left your side ever since.

You had told them that it was just your anxiety and they tried their best to make you feel better.

Sarah tried to play a game and Kie tried to tell a story, anything to distract your mind.

It had worked, in some way. But only for a few minutes.

You even cried a little when they asked you to tell them what’s wrong. Mostly out of frustration, you did not mean to cry.

As you shared your frustrations with the girls and tears ended up rolling down your face, they both hugged you close to them, trying to comfort you not only with their affection but with their words as well, as they said: “we got you” and “we won’t ever let anything happen to you”.

As the three of you stared into the dark sky, looking at the stars, you hear a motor of a boat.

“They’re here” Sarah whispers to you and Kie.

The sound of the motor of the boat gets closer and pure anger just boiled in your veins. Mainly towards JJ over any other of the guys.

You three get up from the front of the boat and walk over to the John B’s boat, now floating right next to yours, at the back.

“How did it go?” Pope asks but none of you answers.

Sarah steps in the boat with John B’s help and when he did the same thing to you, JJ also tried to help, which you just ignored.

He leaves his hand in the air as you took John B’s hand for help and then quickly taking a seat next to Sarah, who already sat down comfortably in the smaller boat.

As Kiara goes sit next to Pope, JJ sits down with you.

“So, how did it go?” John B repeats Pope’s words and Sarah looks up from her hands to him.

“Amazing” She answers sarcastically.

You ignore their conversation as John B starts taking all of you back to the island and you finally feel your body starting to relax.

“Hey. You okay?” JJ asks you and you look at him with a serious expression, not even saying a word. “I’ll take that as a ‘no’”

You look away from him while rolling your eyes and stare into the water, in silence. And that lasted the whole way back to JB’s house.

You all got up in your feet and started to get off the boat. You, Kie and Sarah almost kissed the ground as your feet felt the dirt under your shoes.

As everyone decides to stay under the tree and watch the sky change colors, you decide to go in JB’s house and sit at the porch with a glass of water - as any other normal human being would do.

“Can we talk?” JJ asks from behind you as you grab a glass cup from the cabinet of the kitchen.

“Depends on what you want to say”

“You’re mad at me-“

“No shit” You interrupt while filling the cup with water.

“Is it because we left you in the boat with them?”

“What do you think?” You ask with the driest of tones.

“We didn’t mean to make you upset, we just thought it was fu-”

“You know that I’m scared of the water, and you still fucking left me there, JJ. That. Is. Not. Funny”

“I honestly didn’t know you were that scared”

“Well, you could’ve at least taken a guess” You spit the words and he looks at you with a softer expression now.

You two stay silent for a few seconds and don’t try to meet each other’s gaze. JJ doesn’t really know what to say to you. 

He wants to make things right, but he just doesn’t know how.

He takes a few steps forward to get closer to you and you look up from the floor at him.

“I’m sorry” He starts, “I really didn’t know you were that scared of water. Really. If I knew, I would never let the guys even think of doing something close to that”

You stay silent.

“I don’t know what I can do to make you forgive me. What I did was fucked up and I didn’t even acknowledge it until now” 

Kie’s laughter from outside fills the air but it doesn’t stop the boy standing next to you.

“Will you ever forgive me?”

Well that took a dramatic turn, You thought.

You look back at him with a serious expression and he almost flinches at the sight of it.

“Of course I’m going to forgive you, ass hat” You say and relief reaches his face, “Just not now”

“What can I do to make you forgive me faster?”

You start to think for a second and JJ starts naming actions.

“What about cleaning your room? Not that I’m saying that it’s dirty, I just can do that for you, you know? And, taking you out for ice cream? Maybe bake you a cake?”

“JJ, you don’t know how to bake”

“I can learn. I’m sure that there’s millions of videos on easy cake recipes”

You look away as you fight a smile over JJ’s desperation and that slightly relaxes the boy, who is internally freaking the heck out.

“You have a lot of baking to do” You say and a huge smile grows on the blonde boy as he wraps his arms around you as a celebration. “Like, a lot”

JJ lets you go and looks down at you.

“I don’t care, I’ll work hard enough” He says, “What do you want? A cake with like 5 layers? Cupcakes with hearts made out of that pink shit? Maybe, cinnamon rolls?”

You laugh at his ideas and choice of words and JJ can’t help but smile as well.

“I’m not kidding, you might need to start listing what you want now. I’m a hard worker but I don’t have the time-stopping power so I can work 7 hours in 1″ He says with his smile as you continue to laugh, “Pick pick woman, I need to work”

- - - - - - -

🌸✨Sorry, but I’m not writing in this account anymore. Go check out my new one @twinklelilstarkey ✨🌸

[admiringlove]

IX: aparecium; an incantation to always remember.

— you finally read all the other pages of his diary.

+pairing: miya atsumu x reader.

+genre: crossover(hq x hp); fluff; angst; frenemies to lovers.

+word count: 2.9k.

+warnings: FLUFF!! pls, if i don’t put fluff, some of my moots would cry(*cough* ray).

+usual customers(taglist): @babyworld @renee1414 @anotherhydrangea @seita @tobiosnoelle @weebslxt @tsukkiwaifu16 @loveusandoor @kozumebri @sarawrz @crackheadsara @kyuudere @cultsax @supernovaa-a @akaashikeijisan @b3llo-there @sugasloverr @kagebunshiin @tetsurolls @velvetfireworks @kritiiiii @1wai@seijohlogy​ @sweetrosemilktea @bellesowl @ems1des​ @akaashi-todorki @sakuric​ @irishhbamb​ @sweetsamus​ @cherriechurros @mxshimoo @bluebirdandcomrades @zukuroo @denki-core @sarahvvictoria​ @littlevoxine

+author’s notes: this is the last chapter(im def not sad) BUT i will be writing bonus parts!!

+navigation: previous, masterlist,.

You stand in front of your apartment, sighing as you close your eyes, making your way inside your bedroom and begin to pick up the cardboard boxes with the help of your wand, moving them outside into the living room for someone(who is quite late, yet again) to take to your new home.

You tie your hair up, fixing your overcoat a little as you sigh, making your way to the smallest box, placed in the corner of the room. Just by looking at the stamp on top of it, you smile. 

The memories of your time at Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

You carefully sit on your knees, your plaid skirt riding up just a smidge, as you open the carton in front of you. 

To say that it was filled up completely was an understatement because right now, a few books and photographs fell out onto your lap, making you chuckle. You picked up the photographs, settling with your back against the wall and your legs stretching out, as you looked through them one by one. 

The first one—one of your graduation ceremony, standing next to Shimizu Kiyoko(the current owner of the most popular Quidditch shop in London) who was beaming vividly at the camera with you, holding up your wands as a gesture that you had finally done it. Something that seemed almost insurmountable when you first started school, and now? You all were content, happy with your lives. 

The second photograph was one from the third year, your first time in Hogsmeade. You were in The Three Broomsticks, and a mustache of the froth from the butterbeer had formed atop your lips. Behind you, a certain fox pointed and laughed his guts out. 

The next picture was from the Shrieking Shack—where all of your friends had ditched the second last day of school and spent the whole day drinking and reminiscing the past seven years of nostalgic happiness. A boy held your hand with the fondest look in his carob orbs, and you returned it. 

You gingerly took the three photos, storing them in the photo album that had also fallen out of the box in the process of you opening it. Smiling, you took out some more mementos. 

Your broomstick, the Nimbus 2001, sat at the bottom, but you excitedly removed it and placed it on the ground, saying, "Up!"

It almost made it to your hand but fell down upon grazing your fingertips. You pouted, blaming the number of years it had passed since you had played Quidditch. Peering into the box as you placed the broomstick aside, you found something even funnier. 

Cheap, piss colored hair-dye that was almost ten-years-old. 

You chuckled, looking at it playfully as you opened the top of the bottle. The disgusting odor that came from it made you grunt as you immediately placed the cap back on top, never desiring to touch that thing ever again. And once more, you placed the item in your hand to the side, looking into the box to find more things that reminded you of your happiest years. 

You couldn't believe your eyes at what sat at the bottom of the carton. 

An empty notebook with a soft leather cover, with a grey quill by its side, sitting there and ridiculing you. 

You blinked twice, making sure what you were seeing was real. Hell, you even rubbed your eyes until you could see mindless patterns in the dark. You opened your eyes, the patterns making themselves sort of visible in plain sight, disappearing after a few milliseconds when you grabbed the brown book in front of you and whispered with your wand in hand, "Aparecium."

September 2, 20**.

I don’t know what I’m doing at this point. It’s been 3 years since I started loving her.  When I saw her walk into the train today, umm, yesterday cause it’s past 2 AM now… I felt so happy?? I mean, I know I tease her and all, she’s quite amazing. She’s got the brains for it all and insults me back even when I say something stupid.  I really dunno. 3 years and I’ve made 0 progress. I seriously need to re-think my decision about my love for this girl 'cause 'Samu says there’s no chance she loves me back. Dunno if I’ll be able to stop my feelings, though. I’ve liked her since my second year. Damn me, for being such a lovesick puppy.  And to think I colored my hair for her too. [Y/N] called it piss-colored. Out of all things, why the fuck would ya compare somebody’s hair to piss? That’s utterly disgusting. I wonder where [L/N] gets these dumb ideas. Damn her, that slug. Anyways, I have class in a couple hours. G'night. 

'Tsumu. 

You immediately let out a hearty laugh, flipping to the next page when you remembered a certain encounter with the boy who wrote the diary. The day he told you he loved you, by the infamous Black Lake, he spoke of this particular page. He said that he addressed the nightly trips around Hogwarts, about how much he longs to be yours, about his happiness when he sees you, and your snarky comments that are just as, if not more, witty than his. 

September 4, 20**

Today was the third day of school. Also my first trip around Hogwarts with [Y/N] under my invisibility cloak. We snuck into the kitchens and got ourselves steak pies and treacle tarts, and then went to the Astronomy Tower where we ate them while laughing about nothing in particular. I love these little trips. They make me all warm and fuzzy inside. Dunno how to put it into words, but I really like spending time with her alone. It makes me really really really happy. I wish that someday, maybe when I'm all grown up and play for a known Quidditch Team and she's a DADA professor, we are still like this. Going around to aimless places, eating food, and laughing about the old times(or anything really, I just want to be with her even when I'm older). And just like always, she doesn't fail to throw dumb comebacks at me. I can't help but chuckle at them, because sometimes they really are offensive. Well, looks like it's time to hit the hay now, so g'night. 

'Tsumu.

You gasp as the page comes to an end, a hand on your mouth. He wasn't wrong when he said he wrote about you. You smile as a tear runs down your cheek as you flip to a random page this time, and you realize that it's written in his sixth year of Hogwarts. 

December 23, 20**

I stayed back for Christmas break this year and my dorm is all empty. So is hers, because she says she didn't want to go back home at all until the summer. I feel bad for her gran, that woman must feel lonely. 

You giggled at the line, grinning because you remember your grandma sending you a Howler, which yelled at you in the empty dorm-room for not coming home for the holidays. She said she missed you, and that your grandfather's health was deteriorating. She had also said that she knew why you didn't come back, and that it was okay, because she understood that you couldn't see another loved one go. The Howler ended on a sorrowful note, but everything eased back into its place because you remember the writer of the diary in your hands being there to comfort you when a dreaded letter came in after the holidays. You continued reading where you left off, wiping away the new wave of tears that had emerged from the memories.

Yesterday, me and [Y/N] went around the castle under the invisibility cloak I gave her. It was fun because I always get to see this little smile on her face that only shows up during these trips. We also went to the forbidden section of the library just because we wanted to look at a few spells that are probably illegal. I did accidentally kill a rat practicing the second unforgivable curse, and [Y/N] helped me hide all the evidence by feeding the dead rat to the Hippogriff she had found in the Forbidden Forest. I swear, if someone saw the way I did the spell and couldn't stop until [Y/N] threw Expelliarmus at me, they would throw me in the deepest pin in Azkaban and I'd probably never be able to see [Y/N] again. Anyway, I have to go back out for dinner now. G'night.

'Tsumu.

You, again, laughed at the man's childishness. You recollect distinctly how scared he was, that he had almost pissed his pants in the Courtyard that night. You had assured him that nothing would go wrong and that your lips were completely sealed, because he was your friend of course, so you had quickly formulated a plan to help him. And yet again, you flip to a new page, one from the fifth year this time. 

July 15, 20**

 I hate this part every year. Ever since my third year, it sickens me to come back home for summer. I can't see her because she lives in Lambeth while I'm in Westminster with my posh family. It makes me a little angry sometimes that my family is well-known in the wizarding world because this means my summers are filled with whatever my parents want me to do. The train ride back home was definitely not quiet. It was so chaotic(mostly because of the constant bickering between me and [Y/N]) and Kita-san yelled at us at the end. That was the first time I've ever seen him get angry, so he was either really fed up or we were being too dumb. Anyway, I'm gonna miss Hogwarts a lot for the next month or so, because after that I get to see her again. Honestly? Can't wait for the sixth year. I hope she grows taller, because right now, she's quite the midget. I'll write her a letter or two, but I probably won't send all of them. G'night for now. 

'Tsumu.

You continue reading it all. Page by page, parchment by parchment, word by word, letter by letter until you finally get to the last page. The one he wrote on the graduation day, where he says that he wants to marry you someday. But you don't get to read it just yet, because he walks into the room with his booming voice and boyish grin.

"[Y/N]! Sorry I'm late, sweetheart! I apparated back home as fast as I could 'cause Coach saw me slack off a lil-"

"So ya actually read it all, huh?" he smirks, walking up to you and crouching down next to you, "Ah, the last page, have ya read it yet?"

"Not the last one," you smile, "—if only I'd read these sooner, we wouldn't have gone through all that mindless drama in seventh year, right?"

"Eh, 'twas kinda worth it in the end," he shrugs, sitting down next to you and placing his thumb on your chin, "Love, you've been crying?"

You shook your head lightly, letting out a small chuckle which to him sounded like the sweetest melody on the face on the planet, "Tears of joy, 'Tsumu. You were a cute teenager in love."

He smiles with his teeth on display, his fading blonde hair falling on his face with perfection as he whispers, "Only for you, darling."

"I'm glad," you mutter, closing in and placing a ghost of a kiss on his lips when you realize, "Wait, shit! We have to take all of this to the House! I'm supposed to leave for Hogwarts tonight!"

"Kiss me first, then we'll talk."

"'Tsumu, you really didn't have to come all the way to Hogwarts to drop me off," you giggle, as the yellow-haired man intertwines his fingers with yours quietly, giggling along with you as he says, "Hey, now yer students get to see yer hot boyfriend that you've been with for the past eight years."

"My stupid boyfriend that did a lot of illegal things in school. You're not exactly a good influence, you know," you mumble, earning a little offended open-mouth Atsumu walking alongside you to your quarters. He continues faking the vexed expression, a hand on his heart as he says, "How could ya wound me like this, baby?" 

"I love you though, so it's justified," you say, opening the door and placing your trunk by the bed. He closes the door, leaning on it with his arms crossed over his chest as you set up your things in the room. When you turned around, you saw Atsumu looking at you with the most enamored look in his clove-infused eyes. You sighed, your shoulders immediately relaxing when your orbs land on him by the door. You step towards him, your beige trench coat trailing behind as you wrap your arms around his very muscular figure(now that he's a part of Nottingham Jackals as a Beater). 

"You're going to leave, aren't you?" you mumble against his chest softly, as he chuckles out, "Yer lucky ya get to stay in Hogwarts when I'm gone. Everything's gonna remind ya of me."

Before you open your mouth to retort, your boyfriend says, "Don't worry, slug. I'll send ya letters everyday. And I'll come to meet ya twice a month. Maybe you can even let me meet yer students."

"'Tsumu, no-"

"Imagine! Children and teenagers, all of 'em love me to death. They'll love yer class, even more, when you make me meet 'em!" he exclaims, his eyes filled with curiosity, "Also, also! What about the third years? I wanna be there when the boggart lesson goes on-"

"'Tsumu, no. The school won't allow it. Although, my students do come and ask about you a lot because they like your Quidditch playing skills. They're not idiots like me, they won't fall in love with your stupid personality," you chuckle, pulling away from the hug, but still holding his arms with yours. He pouts, pulling you into a soft kiss, but immediately pulling away and winking at you, "I'm gonna see ya in a few weeks. Maybe I'll take ya on a date to Hogsmeade again, we can sneak into the Shrieking Shack again under that invisibility cloak."

"'Tsumu, I'm a teacher, not a student!" you laugh, but he simply says, "If anything, that gives us an excuse!"

Miya Atsumu never expected you to be agitatedly running around in your green-room, trying to find things for your hair and make-up. He chuckles lightly because all the other people in the room can do is shake their heads and sigh at your frantic state. Your maid-of-honor, Kiyoko, tried to calm you down about half an hour ago, but it was to no avail. 

Atsumu sent Kiyoko a knowing glance, to which she and all the other bridesmaids stepped outside for just a minute. 

"[Y/N]," he says, his voice low but still soothing. You stop in your tracks, turning around and gasping as you looked at him—clad in sweatpants and a white shirt—and widened your eyes. 

"Dummy, you aren't supposed to see me just yet! Go away and wait at the altar!" you yell, walking over to him and attempting to shove him outside the room. 

Emphasis on the word, 'attempting'. 

"You look exactly like what you are right now, a slug. So listen to me, love. I need to give ya something before you start stressin' out all over again," Atsumu murmurs, placing his hands on your shoulders tenderly as he pulls out a book with a leather cover and hands it to you. 

You sigh, picking it up as you sit down by the vanity. Atsumu looms behind you, crouching down to whisper next to your ears, "Love, open the last page, will ya?"

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, turning your head to look at him with exasperation. He places a peck to your cheek, humming indulgently as an indicator for you to continue as he instructed. You sigh again, shoulders drooping low as you turn over the book and open it, and muttering, "Aparecium."

July 2, 20**.

I want to marry [L/N] [Y/N] someday. 

Miya Atsumu. 

From the last day of the seventh year, and Atsumu continues to explain to you that during the train ride back home when all of you were sleeping, was when he wrote the last entry of his diary, and never opened it again. Because he knew, that he meant every word scribbled on every page. 

You sat there, listening to the man with the messy faded blonde hair, losing yourself in his perfect brown eyes all over again. You felt as if you were diving deep into an ocean of pure chocolate, the sweetness and the slight bitterness getting the best of you as you drown—but voluntarily, because drowning was your intention. 

"I love you, Atsumu," you say out of nowhere, cutting him off. He stops abruptly, his eyes growing wide and his mouth forming into a pout. His lips form into the brightest smile ever, as if the rays of a thousand suns meeting at one point. His boyish grin melts your heart, as he presses his lips to your forehead and says, "I love you more, darling. Now, take a breather, will ya?"

"Oh, and before I go. Don't disappoint me today, slug. I've been waiting to do this for the past eleven years."

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

i’m not crying. yes. 

[crankynewt]

Chapter Three - You Said Forever

Another Love Series Masterlist

Pairing(s): Regulus Black x Fem!Reader, Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Song: driver’s license - Olivia Rodrigo

Warnings: Angst, shoddy timeline, swearing, (I think that’s it??).

Word Count: 2.8k

Masterlist

Author’s Note: I made an angst series using sad songs, ofc I had to use driver’s license eventually! Also, although the characters have gotten a bit older, I’m still using Andrew Garfield and Timmy Chalamet as the face claims! I hope y’all enjoy this chapter, it’s a big one!!

(Neither gif is mine, all credit to the creators!)

If the decrepit walls of 12 Grimmauld Place could talk, they would tell the tales of misery and anguish. The house had not seen much happiness since it’s construction, especially during the period Walburga, Orion, and their children inhabited it. It was only following the deaths of all of Sirius’ family that he took up residence there with you when the anguish was displaced with joy, if only for a short period. It’s no wonder that you moved to a cabin in the middle of nowhere with Remus following the events of October 31st.

Standing in the front entry once more, the ghosts haunting the dwelling seemed to be whispering unintelligible warnings against proceeding further into the house. You could hear the shrieking of Walburga’s painting upstairs, a familiar nuisance that had your blood boiling in an instant. Your husband’s arm draped protectively across shoulders as he rubbed soothing circles with his thumb was the only thing keeping you sane at that moment in time. 

Through the open door at the end of the hall you could see the face of Sirius Black, the light in his eyes slowly returning as he spots two of his favourite people in the world. He quickly stood, rushing out the door to embrace you both in a warm hug as you dropped your trunks to the floor. He held the both of you close and tight, afraid that should he let go, he would wake up alone in his cell once more. 

The Order reuniting was the perfect distraction for both you and your husband, your recent unemployment resulting in a sense of unease in both your minds. Luckily, both Sirius and yourself had inherited enough money that you needn’t worry about working, but the void that your children left when they returned to Hogwarts the following year was certainly hard to fill. Summer break couldn’t come soon enough for any of you. 

Towards the end of that summer the Weasleys came to stay, Molly and Arthur bringing their four youngest, meaning that mischief lay just around every corner. About a week after their arrival was when Hermione showed up, the same day that Moody had taken a small group to retrieve Harry from the Dursleys.

Hearing the opening door, you rushed from the kitchen where the meeting had been taking place to see that Arthur had returned with the young girl who he’d picked up from her muggle household.

“ Professor (Y/L/N)!” She smiled, lugging her cart behind her with one hand while the other cradled her ginger cat. 

“Oh please, Hermione, I’m not your teacher anymore.” You said. “(Y/N) is fine.” You knew the girl had seen you as a role model, both academically as a skilled teacher but also following the story Harry had detailed to her about how you’d worked for the Order to relay Death Eater secrets to them. You can still remember the slap across the head she’d given Ron after he let her secret slip during class, the young girl embarrassed that you knew how she idolized you.

“The rest of the kids are just upstairs if you want to join them, Ginny will show you to the room you’re sharing.  Harry should be getting here in about half an hour, and dinner will be at six-thirty!” You explained, the girl smiling as she carefully let Crookshanks down to the floor before she dragged her case up the stairs behind her.

Returning to the table, you sat in the seat across from your husband as you shared a tight-lipped smile. The two of you had decided that it was probably best to maintain a level of professionalism around your fellow Order members, the pair of you keeping all talk of your relationship outside of the meetings. These gatherings, however, continued to consist of endless bickering over the topics of Harry and Voldemort, the only subtle comfort you’d found during the evening had been Crookshanks crawling upon your lap for a snooze.

“I’m just saying that we can’t risk telling Harry about this, it’ll just be putting him in more danger and we never know who’s listening.” You said. “I mean, look at Pettigrew! He hid in your house for years without anyone knowing! Who knows what he’s shared with ‘You Know Who’!”

“Yes, but there aren’t exactly unregistered animagi running around everywhere, (Y/N).” Sirius remarked. 

“Says the unregistered animagus to the other unregistered animagus.” You snapped, glaring at your in-law from across the table.

You forced your mouth shut after that, not wanting to continue bickering with your friends, letting your thoughts wander until Sirius’ comment forced it’s way back to the front of your mind. You weren’t exactly sure as to why it was bothering you so much. Even after the meeting had concluded and you were the last one in the kitchen, baking cookies for the teens to snack on the following days, you couldn’t shake an odd feeling. As if there was something that your subconscious had registered that your conscious mind hadn’t yet comprehended. 

It was only when you turned to grab the tinfoil from the cupboard behind you that a cold sweat found your body, your mind finally registering what you’d missed when something caught the corner of your eye. Maybe you hadn’t noticed it because you didn’t want to believe it, or maybe it was that part of you realized just how long it would take for this shock to fully register.

“You must think I’m stupid,” You began, refusing to turn away from the dough you were scooping onto the cookie sheet, “or maybe you’re still just as arrogant as you were in school.”

You didn’t receive a response right away, causing both a wave of relief and disappointment to wash over you at your incorrect suspicion. But that all went away when you heard a shifting sound and the screeching of a chair.

“What gave me away?” A voice called from behind you in a smug tone you’d heard countless times many years ago.

“Oh please, Regulus.” You said, finally working up the courage to turn around as you fought desperately to conceal your emotions. He was older now, crinkles reaching the corners of his eyes, and his previously neat clothes were now battered, torn, and bloodstained, but apart from that he looked just as he did when he walked out the door years ago. “We were married - I know you better than you know yourself.”

He gave a silent chuckle as his smirk became a tiny smile and he looked towards the floor. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as a strong, unnamable tension continued to grow between you. While you expected an explanation, Regulus seemed to have anticipated a much happier reaction from you. 

“What, you’re not happy to see me?” Regulus commented, his confusion continuing to build at your indifference to his sudden appearance. “I’m still your husband, you can’t spare me a smile, at the very least?”

That’s when it hit you - he doesn’t know. Regulus, or Crookshanks, rather, hadn’t heard anybody mention that you’d moved on. It must have been some luck or twisted fate that he’d never been in the room when your relationship had been mentioned, which means he also doesn’t know about Teddy. But does he know about Archie and Cassie? Surely he would’ve asked about them immediately if he was aware.

“You’ve been gone for a very long time.” You said, your bitter tone contrasting the quietness of your voice, yet your volume grew with each word until you were shouting. “You abandoned me, how dare you show up now and expect me to welcome you back into my life with open arms. Do you have any idea what I have been through the past sixteen years?! You have no fucking clue exactly what you left me to deal with! And now you sit here with that smug expression, daring to call yourself my husband and expecting me to forgive you for the hell you put me through?!”

Regulus sat there with his mouth opening and closing, the first time you’d ever seen the quick-witted boy speechless. You could see the hurt in his emerald eyes as his mind desperately searching for something, anything to say. But you never got the chance, as the door opening as a third voice filled the room.

“Honey, it’s starting to get late, I think you should come to - dear god.” 

Both your and Regulus’ heads snapped towards the over of the voice, only for your eyes to meet your other husband. It didn’t take long for Regulus to process why Lupin was calling you “honey” and exactly where his comment was going, his eyes darting between the two of you over and over again, before a sigh escaped him.

“So that’s why.” He said, leaning further back into his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. “How long was I gone before you and the werewolf started -”

“Don’t!” You bit, probably a bit too loud because that was what finally caught the attention of two sets of ears upstairs. In the long, dark hall, two doors opened and two sets of eyes stared at each other from across the way. The eldest and youngest of the Black men eventually made their way down the stairs together, careful to be quiet as they attempted to discern what the voices in the kitchen were arguing about.

“There is a lot more going on than you realize, you can’t just expect everything to go back to normal after so long. Now if the two of you would stop bickering like children we can discuss everything like adults.” They could hear Remus say, presumably attempting to diffuse the situation considering how level-headed the man typically is. 

There was no sound as Sirius slowly peeked his head through the already open door, utterly disbelieving the sight before his eyes as his shocked exclamation broke the eerie silence.

“Holy shit!” 

“What?!” Archie gasped from behind him, squeezing into the room behind Sirius and peering over his shoulder to see a face that he’d only ever seen in photos before.

Regulus’ eyes widened at the sight of the young Black, clearly seeing so much of himself in the fifteen year-old boy. You being pregnant when he left definitely wasn’t outside the realm of possibilities, you were married after all, and suddenly a lot of your anger towards him seemed justified. 

“Is that my… Were you…”  He trailed off, unable to find the words he wanted to say as his mind still processed this new information.

Remus suddenly covered his shaking head with the palm of his hand, quickly exiting the room and heading out the front door to get some air. He didn’t want to watch Regulus steal his wife and his kids away from him - he just couldn’t.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath, holding your own head in your hands as you attempted to make sense of the insanity around you. “Archie, go back upstairs, I’ll be up in just a minute.”

“But-” Your son didn’t get to finish his protest, the look in your eyes when your head shot up to look at him scared him into compliance. In his entire life, he’s never seen that look of utter fury, especially not from you. He quickly left the room, anxious to fill his sister in on everything that had just gone down.

“Sirius, please deal with your brother while I go find my husband.” You breathed, not sticking around to hear a response as you made your way down the hall.

“Now where,” Sirius began, pulling out the chair at the head of the table and quickly sinking into it, “have you been?”

“I was the cat.” Regulus stated simply, the smirk he typically wore working its way back onto his face.

“You were Hermione’s cat?!” Sirius laughed, finding the irony of another “dead” person in his life winding up as being one of the trio’s pets. “Maybe we need to take a look at Harry’s owl.”

But the humour of the situation didn’t last very long, both their faces quickly falling as reality gained their attention once more. 

“I can’t believe I have a son…” Regulus trailed off, still in utter disbelief about the existence of the boy who looks exactly like him.

“And a daughter.” Sirius added, his brother’s eyes widening to saucers once more. “Twins, to be exact. Arcturus and Cassiopeia.”

“What’re they like?” He asked, desperate to learn more about the children he’d never known existed. Of all the things Harry, Ron, and Hermione talked about around him, they couldn’t have mentioned his children at least once?

“They’re perfect - don’t know where they get it from, probably somewhere on (Y/N)’s side.” Sirius said, a small smile forming as he talked about the kids he adored so much. “They’re both in Slytherin, just about to go into their sixth year. Archie is the quieter one, just like you were, while Cassie is a lot more extroverted and even joined the quidditch team her first year.”

“And (Y/N)...” Regulus suddenly grew solemn again, letting out a disappointed breath as he looked away to a random point in the room. “I need to win her back.”

“Regulus, I- I don’t think you can.” Sirius said, causing his brother’s head to whip back around to him, fury written all over his face. “Remus and her have been together for years, that’s not something that’ll just go away. He raised your children with her and they also have another son together, Teddy.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Just give up?!” He snapped, a sinking feeling beginning to set in as he began to realize just how difficult getting you back to himself will end up being. 

“What’re you supposed to do? You’re supposed to get to know and form a relationship with the children who’ve thought you were dead their entire lives!” Sirius said. “And maybe you’ll establish a new relationship with (Y/N) again, one as co-parents. But her and Remus have both been to hell and back, so please, just promise me you won’t go about trying to sabotage their marriage.”

“But what about our marriage?”

Remus couldn’t hear any of the typical sounds of busy London that night, he was too anxious and all that he could pick up were the sounds of his heavy breathing. He was so distracted, in fact, that he didn’t notice you quietly slipping through the front door or sitting down beside him until you leaned your head on his shoulder. 

“How’d he come back?” Remus asked, wondering just what had happened to tear his life apart. 

“He was Hermione’s cat.” You said, your voice soft and sorrowful. “Turns out the Marauders weren’t the only unregistered animagi at Hogwarts. I’m just embarrassed it took me so long to figure it out, I knew it was his patronus but I guess I just didn’t want it to be true.”

“What does this mean for us?” Remus asked the dreaded question looming in his mind.

“What do you mean ‘what does this mean for us?’ Why would this change anything?” You asked in disbelief, raising your head from his shoulder to look at him.

“But he’s Archie’s and Cassie’s father-”

“So are you! You’re also Teddy’s dad.”

“And you were married. He was your husband first.” Remus added, gazing at you with a look of nothing but misery. “We were at Hogwarts together, I saw how utterly obsessed the both of you were with each other for years. You never even spared me a second glance, the only reason you even knew I existed was because I was friends with his brother… I’m not even mad about it, you should be with whoever you want to be with, and that’s Regulus. You’ve always deserved someone better than me-”

“Now you listen to me Remus John Lupin.” You began, your husband flinching at the use of his full name, something that you only did when you were angry. “You are who I want to be with, not Regulus; there’s no one better than you. If anything, I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you. Yes, we were married first, but that was for less than a year and happened seventeen years ago! We’ve been together for fourteen years, Remus, you’re my life now. I loved him in the past but he abandoned his family, you’re my life now and the one I want to grow old with. He might be Archie and Cassie’s father, but you’ll always be their dad.”

None of your eyes were dry by the end of your confession and you both spent the next several minutes just holding each other, relishing in the fact that the both of you were going to be okay. 

“Let’s go to bed, yeah?” You said, Remus nodding in response as the pair of you stood up. “We can deal with the rest tomorrow, Sirius can handle it for now.”

A/N: Okay, so I don’t personally believe the theory that Regulus never died and was actually Crookshanks, but it was what worked for this story so that’s what we’re going with! I’m so grateful for all the support this series has gotten, you guys are the best!

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Series Taglist

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[oksana-moods]

Ghost of you - Part 5

Summary: When your answers doesn’t fill in the blanks properly, the only option is to move forward. A/N: Two in a row, ‘cause I’m nice like that. Thanks for those who left comments and likes, reblogged and gave me any kind of support. You’re amazing! I mentioned that this would be slow burn, right? Trigger Warnings: Violence, language, mentions of death… If you find others, let me know.

“And all the things that you never ever told me.”

My encounter with Fury left me felling scarred and open. I knew a name; I knew who I used to be. I knew things about me, but they felt so foreign, like they belonged to someone else. Maybe, because it did. I wasn’t Lara, but was I Ghost? Later that night, I was assaulted with the woman’s… no, Carol’s crash, Carol going away scenes once again. My head was an utterly turmoil.   It became obvious that my memory from Carol leaving, our brake-up, came after the accident and not in the sequence that Hydra played in my mind. Bastards. They led me to believe that I was useless. That all I was authorized to feel was void, emptiness. What did I feel, now? Besides this rage masquerade as fire, what was left to feel? What was permitted?

I looked at the door as soon as I heard the locks. Romanoff enters my accommodation and I get up, not too fast to not startle her. “Miss Romanoff, fancy seeing you here without bodyguards.” She glares at me. “Thought didn’t worth the effort to protect them.” She’s flashes me a tide smile. “It came to my attention that you’ve met Fury.” I nod. “So, how should I call you now?”  She takes two steps closer and leans at the table. “Lara? Or do you still prefer Ghost? I shrug “All of them makes me uneasy. None of them seem to fit.” “Hm. Maverick then.” “I never said that this one was good either.” “Well, we need to call you somehow.”  A grin is scaping her lips. “We?”  I blinked and she was looking at me from the door frame. “Come. I’m afraid that you’re starting to rust.”

Agent Romanoff didn’t want revenge, but she definitely wanted payback. And God, that woman is almost too fast for me to keep up. Almost. After being in my accommodation for so long, I was indeed a bit rusted. However, my muscles loved the exercise, and it did wonders to my brain. Fighting against such good opponent kept me focused on our spar. First time in days that I stop to think and overthink about my misery. Romanoff came with one of those Widow’s combos that I menage to dodge and block a few, but one kick reached my shoulder while her elbow found my temples.

All of a sudden, I’m standing in a bar. My mind’s eye was caught in something like a foggy screen and oh my, is this a memory? I had a drink in my hand while the other one was resting in a sling. I was feeling like shit, so much sorrow coursing through me, all I could… I feel a slap in my good shoulder. I look up to see a tall man offering me a pool cue. ‘Come, the winner gets free beers.’  I look at my drink while I say. ‘Thanks, I’m good. I’m not in the mood.’ He nudges me. What part of mood, he didn’t catch? He speaks. ‘Oh c’mon, Mav. Danvers’s accident is tragic and all, but c’mon… or are you just sad about your injured arm?’ Fire starts to spread throughout my chest. ‘Excuse me?’ He leans in the counter. ‘Look, all I’m saying is that you guys weren’t even friends, none of us were. She was too cocky. Guess Miss goody two shoes couldn’t even drive a car, let alone fly a jet.’ The fire was consuming, was bursting out of me until it reached its peak. Complete forgetting about the sling, my hand moved to the back of his head so, so fast. Next thing I knew, I was knocking his head in the counter. He looks up with his nose covered in blood. ‘Bitch!’ He charged at me. He knocked me down and my head hit the floor, but I needed to put this fire out, I wouldn’t stop now, I needed to vent my rage. I failed in protecting her from dying, but I sure won’t fail in protecting her memory from this scum. After exchanging punches and kicks, I held him in a chokehold. ‘Never, and I do mean never talk about her like this, Specht.’ I looked up to see an audience. ‘I’ll kill anyone of you who dares to speak of her.’ I let go of him and left the bar. When reality finds me again, the first thing to reach my ears is Romanoff’s voice. “Maverick, are you alright?” “Yeah, I’m good. Why?”  She scoffs. “I hit your head and then you stop fighting, kept looking nowhere, like in a trance.” “Oh. I… I’m sorry.” Her voice is softer when she speaks again. “What happened? Do you need me to call, Bruce or Dr. Cho?” “What? No, no. I’m fine. It’s just… I had a vision, I don’t know.” I rub my temples to ease the pain in my head. “I think that I saw a memory, after you hit me, in a moment I was here sparing with you and the next I was in a bar having a bar fight with a man.” “You were a fighter even before, huh?” She joked and I shrugged. “Are this visions or memories assaults a common thing?” I frown trying to make it simpler. “I’ve never had another memory except being left behind and the Crash in a loop. Guess I’m just confused. Do I need specific triggers to remember things or is this my brain fighting Hydra’s brainwashing?” She gives me a look that I can’t decipher. “I’m sorry all of this happened to you. Let us help you.” “Help? With what? Will you guys erase my memory again?” “How long will take for you to start to trust us? We won’t hurt you.” Trust? Her question caught me off guard. How can I trust, when I don’t know what trust is? “I want to believe in you but all that I know is Hydra. Guess I’m afraid of this being just smoke and mirrors.” Her brows were so furrowed that probably hurts. “It’s not. And I’m here to help.” I narrow my eyes at her “Why are you being nice to me?” I open my arms to show the sparing room “Bringing me here, offering help… I’m the enemy, Miss Romanoff.” She shakes her head. “No. You were a victim who were weaponized, yes. Nothing, but another casualty.” I’m still not convinced, and she knows. “Look, Fury trusts you and I trust Fury. Remember all those Hydra’s bases and facilities that you gave us?” I nodded. “We paid a visit to a few of them, the intel you gave us matched so far.” “Does this mean you’ll let me go?” I asked. “Do you really think that you would be safe out there?” Her green orbs are boring into mine. I sign, looking away. “Stark’s Tower is one of the safest buildings in this world.” “Then, what are we?” What am I, prisoner with benefits? A smirk makes its way to her lips. “The enemy of my enemy…”

 Surprisingly enough, Romanoff led me to the tower’s kitchen and offered me a sandwich for lunch. I’m a bit uneasy with this interaction, don’t know how to act, don’t know what to expect. I take my surroundings to mentally calculate an escape route, she knows the place, but I believe that I could fight with her if she tries to kill me with a butterknife. She doesn’t try to make small talk and I’m glad. To fight, survive and punishments are the only interactions that I’m used to. I don’t know how to function in a normal life, if that exists.

I recognize a newcomer, Captain America in all his glory. Romanoff puts a plate in front of me while speaks. “Hi, Cap. Joining us for lunch?” “What is she doing here, Natasha?” “Everything she told us matched so far, Fury trusts her. Since she’s helping us against Hydra, I’m willing to give her the benefit of doubt.” “If Black Widow is willing to trust you...” He offered his hand for me to shake. “I’m Steve Rogers. Captain America if you will.” I took his hand in mine. “It’s a pleasure, Sir. I’m… hm.” I let go of his hand, suddenly I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. “I don’t know how to introduce myself.” A humorless smile grace my lips. “Guess Hydra never taught me that part.” “I think we should call her by her call sign. Maverick.”  Widow supplies With a shrug, Rogers says. “It’s catchy. And if I called you Major, you’d outrank me.” He whispers the last part “I wouldn’t like that; Tony could use you against me.” The Redhead sitting next to me let out a heartly laugh which is soon joined by Rogers’s and I’m mesmerized. So, this is how people function in daily basis. I always wondered if being caged in a dark room waiting to be called for missions was only my reality or everyone’s. Guess that seeing them here, so relaxed having a meal in a wide kitchen with a meaningless conversation was answer enough. I’m amazed how light, how comfortable they seemed to be with each other. I wonder…

“Mav?” I’m brought out of my reverie by Romanoff’s voice. “Sorry, what?” “I said that your intel about anti-aircraft weapons were crucial to help us reach Hydra’s bases unscathed” Rogers says. “Didn’t thought they would have so many.” “As I told miss Romanoff before, everyone was paranoid. Even with all the guns, defenses, and secret locations. Nothing could ease their fear. Now I know that they were afraid of you.” I chewed a bit. “Have you guys closed all the ones I gave you, already?” “Not yet. We’re looking for something. So, we’re choosing our targets according with your intel and ours.” I looked at him. “What are you looking for?” This was a sensitive subject, if his subtle shift was any indication. He was uneasy to share this with me. Couldn’t blame him, though, I was still enemy. An acquaintance enemy, but still. “It’s a high-tech device. Extremely dangerous, especially in their hands.” I didn’t miss the way he chose the word ‘their’ indicating that I wasn’t part of ‘them’ and I appreciated the gesture. This device tough… “There is a lot of facilities build for experiments. Those were the ones always exchanging data, research, personnel…” I was deep in thought. “But there was this one in Sokovia. They were always asking for more subjects, or volunteers as they called.” I wet my lips. “I was ordered to be the stealthier that I could, my hole unit stayed there. I was the only one to come back.” I looked up to him.  “Have you guys tried that one, yet?” “Sokovia?” He repeated. “No, there’s little to none about Sokovia in our files. Isn’t an old building with ancient, abandoned equipment and vehicles?” “There’s nothing old and abandoned in Sokovia, mister Rogers.” I rest my fork in my empty plate. “On the contrary, they are the busiest. They’re just keeping an incredible low profile.” He turns to Romanoff. “Nat, contact the team. We’re going on a trip.” “Don’t forget your jacket.”

--------------- 

Apparently, Sokovia was a huge success with a very big H, because I was invited to a party, by Tony Stark himself. Now, my dilemma was increased, if I didn’t know how to act in a simple conversation. How do they expect me to function in a party, with their friends and a lot of them knows who I am. Plus, I’ve never been in a party. This is bound to be a disaster.

Yep. I was right. There was a crazy robot giving a speech about Avengers being nothing more than killers. Then, all hell broke loose. I’m fighting killer robots in a fancy party room. Without thinking, miss Hill handled me a gun. Guess that ‘the enemy of my enemy’ is really a thing around here. In the end, my metal arm did more damage. As soon as Thor’s hammer crashed the last robot, the party was over.

[literaila]

lurking

spencer reid x reader 

summary: reader longs for spencer 

warnings: fluff? longing.. no real conclusion. mentions of alcohol..its based off of a day dream i have all the time so... beware...ummm.. thats it 

***

Dreams are things made out of hope. 

Dreams are made out of emotions you collect as a child, emotions that you store in your back pocket for a rainy day. For the future. Dreams are made out of all the things that you once saw as reality. Things that escape you as you age, as you fade away from the bright-eyed child you were. Once were. 

Dreams are made out of things that fall out of your pocket. 

Dreams are invasions, popping into your head at any moment, any second, awake or asleep. They crawl around your insides, looking for your weakest spot, the very place that will hurt you most.

They lurk. Climbing over walls and tip-toeing through corridors. They lurk and they don't leave. No, for them, there is no exit, no signs directing the way out. 

There is no escaping from the dreams that sneak their way into your body.   

They search in the dark, not alerting you to their presence until they find it, that one spot, that one place that hurts the most, in the darkest corner, in the farthest place. 

Dreams are invasions that know how to hurt you the most. 

They sting, and they burn, and they sear at your skin, they create their own passages, burning you in the process. They go through flesh and bones, and all the things your body has to work to repair. They destroy your insides, looking, searching, lurking, for that one thing. 

The one thing that hurts the most. The one thing that you try to keep locked away. Keep away from the prying eyes of other people, and monsters that lurk in the dark. Monsters that like the tear dreams away from people. It's the one thing that can be taken by anything, people, places, things. 

It's the thing that will always, inevitably, hurt the most. 

The very one thing that you don't think about. 

You don't think about it. 

You aren't supposed to think about it. Because it hurts. Because thinking about it can only hurt you in the long run. Because you can't trust yourself to believe something that isn't there, might never be there. 

Dreams are monsters that people pretend save them. 

*** 

Her dream wasn't any different. 

It wasn't hopeful, was a dream she ever planned to follow through with, her dream was just a secret she wouldn't keep, deep down, for as long as she could. 

You see, her dream wasn't something obtainable. Wasn't something she’d ever hoped to dream. 

She loathed this dream of hers. 

Because it wasn't realistic, because she wasn't a child anymore, she wasn't bright eyes or naive, or full of hope for the world. She was older, and she understood that dreams are just made up things. She understood that you didn't get everything you hoped for. 

And this dream, this dream, in particular, was especially made up. 

This dream wasn't about becoming a princess like she had dreamed of as a kid. This dream wasn't winning the lottery, or opening up her own business, or having kids, or traveling the world. 

No, those things were all obtainable, were all possible to some extent. If anyone tried enough, they could make any one of those dreams come true. 

Her dream. Her only dream. Was impossible. Utterly impossible. Something that would never come true. 

And for that reason, she hated her mind for coming up with it. 

She hated her subconscious for allowing this dream to dance around her head while she was powerless, while she could do nothing to stop it, nothing to avoid it. She hated that she could ever come up with something, something so far away from her, something she could barely reach. 

Something lovely, something perfect. 

No. 

This dream, this far away dream of hers, it started in her house. 

Not the apartment she lived in, but the house she used to live in, the house she’d lived in for most of her life. 

It started, with her on the couch. 

And she was staring at the wall. 

There was this feeling in her heart, in her chest. This unmistakeable, indescribable feeling. 

She’d never felt it before, never quite felt the same panging in her chest, the banging of her heart. Not in all the years she’d lived, through all the emotions she’d felt. No, she’d never felt something like this. 

There was no word she could put on it. 

She wondered for a brief moment if there was something wrong. If there was something wrong with her heart, with her lungs, if that was why she was feeling this strange new emotion in her body. 

But, then her eyes moved around the room. 

They moved and they saw him. 

And, even though she’d never felt like this before, her mind understood. 

Spencer was sitting in a chair across from her, his legs crossed, almost uncomfortably in the tiny chair, and he looked at her. 

And she was used to that. He looked at her all the time. 

But this was different. 

There was a small smile on his face. Not like a grin, not like a smirk, this smile was completely different, so so different. 

And this look, this look he was giving her, it was new, it was brand new, straight out of the box and shiny. It was a look she hadn't seen before. 

But it filled her stomach with butterflies, her heart with hope, and that feeling was stuck in her chest. 

She could feel herself get flustered under his gaze. 

Her body was moving away, her eyes leaving Spencer and heading toward the kitchen, as she looked around she didn't wonder why she was there, her mind already seemed to know. 

She was moving around the kitchen, trying to ignore the burning gaze of Spencer, trying to remember what she was doing in the kitchen, why she went there in the first place. 

She hated that he could still see her from the living room. She turned her back towards him, staring at the cabinets above her head. Trying to get her mind together, her thoughts in a straight line. 

She tried to control the pounding of her heart that wouldn't stop, wouldn't stop as long as she could feel the burn on her back. 

And when she turned back around, he was still staring at her. With the same look in his eyes, the same smile on his face. 

Her body almost crumbled under his gaze. 

“Why are you staring at me?” she asked, her laughing surprising herself. 

Spencer only smiled wider, amused, well aware of her reaction to him. 

The two of them were alone in this house, 

“I’m not staring,” he said, laughing with her. 

She rolled her eyes. Placing a hand on her hip, her heart beating loudly in her ears. 

“Then what are you doing?” she questioned, her eyes were scowling at him, but her smile proved otherwise. 

Spencer idly looked up, fiddling with his hands in his lap, teasing her with no answer. 

“Spencer,” she warned with her voice, the threat clear in the air. 

“I’m watching you. You’re hard not to look at.” 

Her heart skipped a beat. 

A moment passed, two. 

“So you are staring at me?” 

Spencer laughed. 

She laughed with him. 

He motioned for her to come closer, speaking all the words she needed to hear with just his expression. 

And then she was sitting in the chair with him, sitting on his lap, and they were alone. 

And they kissed. 

His lips were soft, and inviting, and completely mesmerizing. 

It felt like a first kiss. All over again, 

And there was this thing. This thing between them. A feeling in the air. It was just a feeling. But they were looking at each other, and the adoration could be seen from a mile away, miles away and anyone could tell just how much love was in their eyes. 

Love. 

Love was the feeling. 

…

She hated it.

She hated that dream. 

She hated it with a blinding, scorching, fire. 

She hated that it existed. 

She hated that it was the first clue. She hated that it was her realization, that waking up from that dream had changed her. Forever. 

She hated that the dream had found her opening, in the deepest darkest place of her body. She hated it. 

She hated that she’d so thoroughly enjoyed it while it was going on. She hated that there was a part of her that wished it wasn't a dream. She hated that she loved it. She shouldn't, she couldn't, love it. 

She hated it. 

So much. 

She hated it. 

*** 

Dreams were nothing but ideas, fantasies. 

Dreams were only there to hurt you. 

*** 

She couldn't stop staring at him. 

Couldn't stop thinking of that dream. 

Couldn't stop searching his eyes for that same look. 

She knew she knew, that it would never work out. That he didn't like her like that, that her dreams had fooled her, that she was just making things up. 

She knew that. She did. 

But she couldn't stop thinking about that moment. 

That moment she had woken herself up to. That moment when they were both staring at each other, lovestruck. 

She couldn't stop thinking about the look in his eyes, the smile on his face. 

His lips on hers. 

She couldn't stop thinking about that feeling. 

That feeling that she had never felt before. That feeling that seemed to be stuck in her chest, glued to her ribs, to her heart, to all the veins that ran through her body. That feeling was everywhere, far too intense, far too much. 

Stuck. 

And maybe she was making it up, maybe he didn't actually make her feel that maybe it was some false reality her mind had created to give her a moment of peace while she slept. Maybe maybe maybe. 

But, even if it wasn't true, she couldn't get rid of the urge to find out. To know, to discover how she really felt. That annoying urge to know. 

And that dream kept appearing behind her eyes. 

Even a month later. 

It hadn't faded even an inch. 

And she was standing in front of him, watching him laugh with all of their friends. 

He was laughing, talking to Hotch about a case they’d been on when he’d first joined the BAU. And she was laughing with them, partly listening. But she was thinking. She was too preoccupied to pay all of her attention to the conversation. She was looking around, noticing things. 

And she’d noticed. She’d noticed the way he was looking at everyone else. 

She’d noticed how he looked at JJ the exact same way he looked at her, how he looked at Emily, and Garcia, all the same. He looked at them like he loved them like he cared. 

But it wasn't that look. It wasn't the same look. 

She couldn't stop staring at him. Couldn't stop thinking, wondering. She hoped no one had noticed. Hoped that it wasn't obvious. 

She wondered how long she had felt this way. How long she had been hidden under the fog, the fog that kept her away from these feelings, this staring. How long she had been trapped without the realization of her dream? 

Her stupid stupid dream. 

She watched him laugh. 

“Hey Pretty Girl!” she heard from across the bar. The lights on the ceiling blinded her as she looked over to Derek, her hand in front of her face, trying to notice him in the crowd. “Another drink?” he shouted when her eyes had finally found him. 

And she looked down to her glass, almost empty. 

She thought about how she felt. How she would feel later. 

She thought about how Spencer wasn't looking at her, the feel of his lips, the way he had grabbed her thighs in her dream, the lovestruck look in his eyes, she thought and she thought and 

She nodded. 

Her head was already spinning a little, getting heavier to hold up. But, she thought, another drink won't hurt. Just one more. 

Just to get this feeling out of her chest, to get this image out of her head. To get this hurt away from her body. 

Because it hurt too. While she was curious, and mad, and hoping. It still hurt. 

It hurt because she didn't like dreaming. She didn't like expecting, she didn't like that feeling, that crushing feeling that always made her way eventually, that feeling when everything fell out of her body, when all her excitement, her nerves, vanished, and she was just alone with disappointment. 

The disappointment was almost worse than anything else. Because disappointment didn't leave, no matter how much you begged it to. 

And for that reason. It hurt. It hurt to dream, to hope, to know that nothing was coming, that nothing was there. 

“Y/N?” she heard, and her heart jumped, and the glass in her hand almost fell. 

She turned to look at Spencer, her body moving slower than it was five minutes ago. 

“Yes?” she asked, her voice almost too soft for the music playing in the background. 

But who could blame her? She was distracted by his eyes on her, his lips, his smile, the mess of his hair. 

“What's the craziest case you’ve been on? Everyone else has shared theirs…” he said it soft, almost as if he was talking to a child. She enjoyed it, enjoyed that moment when he was looking at just her. 

And then that moment was over. 

And the funny feeling in her stomach was gone. 

And Derek handed her a drink. 

And she was talking. 

*

And even hours later, when they were all blinded by the lights, and dizzy, her dream was still there, sinking in her chest. 

And she couldn't stop staring at him. 

It was ridiculous. 

It had been like this for a month. A complete month of staring at him, waiting for something, anything to happen. 

She hated it. She hated this hope, she hated this dream, she hated everything about this situation. 

Spencer was her friend. Spencer was just her friend. He had always been her friend, always been extra support when she needed it, had always been nothing more than a person she loved. He was like all of her other friends, there was no difference, there was nothing different about him. 

So why did she feel this burning, this terrifying passion whenever she looked at him? Why did she feel like she was never going to breathe again if he was in the room? Why did she feel like nothing would be complete unless she got to feel his lips against hers, just once, just once for real? 

Why did she feel this way for someone who had always been her friend? 

It was ridiculous. It was completely stupid, and it didn't make any sense, and she wished she could go back to a month ago and will herself to never dream, to never have this dream, filling her heart with empty promises, and expectations. 

And she was staring at him. 

She really needed to stop staring at him. 

She needed to stop thinking, to stop hoping. 

She needed this dream to stop. 

And they needed to leave. 

It was already three in the morning, already later than she ever went to bed, already pitch black outside. All of them knew that if they left the bar it would be completely quiet, their city dead with all its people asleep. 

All of them knew it was time to leave. 

They walked out the doors together, the cold air outside filling all of them with relief after being inside, after walking around all the body heat all night. 

It was wonderful outside. 

The stars were up, lit, it seemed just for them. The sky was quiet, not a thing going on. It was peaceful, wonderful, it almost felt like a completely different dream. 

One that wasn't hopeless. 

“Beautiful.” She breathed under her breath, the words filling their air with something content, and all her friends turned to look at her. 

“It isn't it?” Spencer whispered from beside her. And for a moment, it felt like he was just talking to her like this was meant to be a moment for just them. Like this was just for them. Like it was a dream. 

But then Spencer looked away from the sky, to their friends, their friends who were waving goodbye. 

And the moment was almost broken. Almost. Almost. But. 

Then he turned to look at her again. Turned back to her now that all of their friends were gone. 

And she thought of him, she thought of nothing but him, nothing but his voice, the kind way he always seemed to talk to her. She thought of nothing but his lips, but his eyes, but his mouth, but the way his hands would feel on her. She thought and she thought, and she could think of nothing, her brain was so full, so filled to the brim of just him that it was almost impossible to think- 

But.

His lips. 

His soft-looking, right there, lips. 

She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to stop closer, to take that step, to be close to him under the beautiful sky, to feel his lips against hers in a moment that wasn't a dream, she wanted to move, she wanted to move miles with him, move miles away so it would be just them. And she just wanted, she just wanted, she just wanted to kiss him. She wanted nothing more, but to kiss him, to live her dream. 

Her dream that was almost as close as he was, her dream which was only a reach away. Only one movement, one movement, one tiny little step away, her dream her dream her dream. 

His lips. His lips were everything, this moment, this moment was everything. He was everything. Dream dream dream dream. She wanted to kiss him, to step closer, to just- 

No. 

No, she muttered to herself. 

Her brain might be fogged with alcohol, and dreams, and desires.

But, she won't, she doesn't. 

She won't kiss him. 

She’ll just walk away. Walk far away. So far. 

***

Because, the thing about dreams, is that they’re not real. 

They’re just not real. 

Dreams can come true. They can shape themselves into reality. 

But, dreams are just ideas you keep stored in your pocket, hopes that you hope won't fall out. A different world that you must carry in your own arms. 

And sometimes, the weight simply gets too heavy. 

Sometimes you can't carry the weight of the world by yourself. 

Sometimes, dreams fall out of your pockets, hope goes with them, and sometimes you drop the world, the world that you were supposed to be carrying. 

It's just too heavy. 

Dreams are monsters that lurk in the dark of your body, searching, lurking, for the places, the spots that will hurt the most. 

Because, pain, deep-burning pain, is all dreams are. 

They used to be good. 

They used to be full of innocence, and hope, and desire, and nothing but lovely thoughts. 

But they lurk too long. 

And never come true. 

*** 

She would sleep again that night. 

She would know that it would come back, that her dream would be back to haunt her another night. 

She would fall asleep in hopes that she could dream again. 

Just once more. 

***

my masterlist here

[li-karina]

The Girl in the Bakery (Part 1)

It was another one of those days where Adrien Agreste just wanted to be someone else. Even with the glamorous lifestyle that came with his last name, there wasn’t anything that could outweigh Adrien’s craving of freedom. His entire life had been presented to him on a silver platter, except for the fateful day he received a black and red box. With Chat Noir, his superhero alter-ego, nothing stood in the way of being able to go wherever he wanted.

Maybe with the exception of Ladybug—not that he minded the hold that his partner-in-crime had on him. It was hard not to follow Ladybug anywhere she went, as her confident energy and natural leadership made her addicting to be around. 

She truly was the perfect woman in Adrien’s eyes. Beautiful, courageous, selfless, determined, yet stubborn, strict, and utterly irresistible. Ladybug was also a good kisser, not that Adrien would remember. The heroine in red had completely captured the heart of Paris, as well as her second in command. 

Rarely had Adrien been let out of the prison he called his home; however, with the powers of his miraculous, it was easy for him to escape out his window and into the world. He didn’t enjoy having to transform anytime he wanted fresh air, but it was the only way he wasn’t followed by his bodyguard or his father’s assistant, Nathalie. All he had to do was leave the record player on, echoing out the sound of Chopin or Beethoven, and he would get away with a few hours of free time. 

Usually, once Chat Noir’s feet hit the concrete of a deserted alleyway, he would turn back into Adrien and carry on his merry way--maybe take a walk through the park, get some ice cream, and avoid paparazzi as much as he could. But on this particular day, his leather suited counterpart seemed more appealing. Perhaps he was hoping to catch Ladybug on a daytime patrol or wanted to scale the Eiffel Tower, but something about staying Chat Noir just felt right.

He launched himself from roof to roof, occasionally waving at those who spotted him. His black ensemble made it harder for him to be seen due to the sky growing dark, but his green eyes and small yelps of joy made it very obvious to citizens which hero was out. Perched on the Louvre, Chat Noir hummed softly to himself. “Little kitty on the roof, all alone without his lady…”

“Chaton?” a voice spoke, ringing into the air with a sweet tone. Chat’s eyes darted up, settling on the blue eyed beauty standing behind him. A genuine grin stretched across his face, before replacing it with a smirk. Standing up quickly, Chat’s hand engulfed Ladybug’s and he pressed his lips to her knuckles in a playful kiss.

“Good evening Bugaboo,” Chat said, bowing slightly in a joking manner. “Nice of you to join me on this beautiful night.”

Ladybug rolled her eyes before taking a seat and gesturing for Chat to sit back down next to her. “It’s nice to see you too, kitty. But I can’t stay for long.”

Chat Noir’s smile fell before plopping himself next to his lady and clearing his throat. “Are you busy tonight?” he asked, realizing the disappointment in his voice. “Not that I can’t handle patrol by myself! And if there’s something you need to do, you can totally go do that.”

A light-hearted giggled escaped Ladybug’s mouth. “As much as I appreciate your concern, you know I can’t tell you to pro-”

“-tect our identities. I know. But you know that I care about you even without the mask. Whoever’s behind there, I still lo-” he cut himself off. “All I’m trying to say is that it’s not the end of the world if I know one detail about you. The real you.”

Ladybug stared at Chat for a few silent seconds, her lips pressed together in contemplation. She sighed, choosing her words carefully. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, something about his tone made her give in. “You know the bakery over on 12 Rue Gotlib?”

Chat nodded. His mom used to love their stuff. It was a rare treat he received, usually after more draining photoshoots, coming home to a box of chocolate croissants from Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie. After his mother’s passing, he hadn’t even thought of the small business. A sudden craving for sweets came over him.

“Well, sometimes I help out over there. I’m not an employee or anything, but the owners let me take care of the smaller tasks. Like delivering cakes or working the register,” she said, her voice turning less professional and more care-free. A soft expression blossomed on her face, making Chat’s heart melt. 

Finally. He knew something about the woman he was so helplessly in love with. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. It was enough. Chat smiled. “Thank you for telling me. You can go if you need. I can handle it if Mr.Pigeon gets akumatized again.”

Ladybug laughed. He loved her laugh. “See you later kitty! Bug out!” And then she was gone.

Chat found himself staring after her with a lovesick smile. “Bye m’lady.” 

Clearing his throat, Chat turned around and once again started jumping from roof to roof. Landing on top of his own manor, he was about to swing back into his room, but a sudden hunger stopped him. He knew Nathalie would call him to supper soon, but if he was going to end up eating alone, he was at least going to eat something he wanted. 

Not that he disliked the meals provided to him by his chef, but the diets and cleanses got a little overwhelming at times. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the taste of a certain flaky, delicious pastry. 

Before he could even process what he was doing, Chat felt himself making his way to 12 Rue Gotlib. Staring at the lit up windows and catching a whiff of the sweet aroma, he suddenly dropped down and was standing in front of the cute building. Peeking inside through the glass door, Chat caught a glimpse of a girl sitting at the counter, idly doodling in a notebook. 

Something about her--her eyes, her dreamy intensity she had aimed at whatever she was drawing, or the way she looked like she needed someone to talk to-- drew him in. Chat’s breath got caught in his throat as she glanced up, causing him to dart into the dark shadows beside the building. He thought for a moment.

“Plagg, claws in.”

The small kwami that was just in his ring shot out. “Adrien? What are you doing?” 

“I just wanted to go in for something to eat. I promise I’ll be quick,” Adrien entreated, looking at his supernatural friend with pleading eyes.

Plagg sighed. “Fine. But once we get home, I want cheese,” he said before going to hide in Adrien’s overshirt.

Adrien took a deep breath and smiled--and in he went. 

The girl in the bakery looked up from her notebook, immediately closing the book in front of her and smiling politely. “Hi! How can I help you?” Her voice was as sweet as the atmosphere around them. The way her eyes sparkled made it impossible to look away. She was gorgeous.

Adrien smiled back at her, taking extra careful steps. She looked so delicate that the blond couldn’t help but put extra effort into being as gentle with every movement. “Hello,” he finally said. His tone was soft, and made his voice sound more silky.

Adrien’s eyes wandered around the small bakery, everything looking delectable. His mouth watered with every new item he noticed.Then he saw the chocolate croissants. His finger pressed against the glass directly in front of them. “Two please.”

The girl nodded. She grabbed a box and a bag and began packing Adrien’s order. Meanwhile, Adrien racked his brain trying to think of something to say. But before he could even come up with a coherent thought, the girl was already handing him the bag. “It’s on me. You look like you’ve had a rough day. I hope it gets better.”

Adrien stared wordlessly at her. “Oh, thank you. I just haven’t been here in years, so it’s a little strange being back.”

The girl hummed in response before speaking. “Why’d you stop coming?”

“My mom died.”

Adrien mentally slapped himself in the face. The slightly taken back expression on the girl made him feel even worse.

But then she returned to the kind smile she had before. “I’m sorry for your loss. Feel free to come in anytime, okay? I’ll have a warm croissant ready for you every time.”

He stared at her. “I...never got your name.”

“Marinette. Yours?” She looked back at him expectedly.

“Adrien. Adrien Agreste,” he replied a smile finally painting itself back on his face. 

“Adrien? Like from that one ad?” she asked, giggling.

Adrien laughed along with her. “Yeah, exactly like the one from the ad.”

Then a woman walked in from the other room, looking like an older version of Marinette. Probably her mother, Adrien thought.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Adrien. Hopefully I’ll see you again, goodnight.” Marinette waved, before disappearing behind the wall guarding what seemed to be the kitchen. Adrien waved back, not that she could see him do so. Without another word, Adrien left.

He walked back to his home while the sun set behind him. Plagg floated alongside his companion with a knowing smile. He knew who Adrien just met, and it killed Plag that he couldn’t tell anyone.

 It was maybe 7 P.M. and Adrien knew someone would probably check on him soon. The bag of boxed croissants hung around his wrist, tempting him to eat one right there. But he waited.

“Plagg, claws out.” 

The small black cat had a look of dread before he was sucked back into the silver ring. Once Adrien was back as Chat noir, he jumped to his room just in time to hear a knock on his bedroom door. “Adrien? Time for dinner.”

“I’ll be right out!” he yelled before transforming back and heaving out a held breath. The croissants were set on his desk and he readjusted himself. Plagg flew out, his intentioned set on the mini-fridge filled with camembert.

Well he’s all set, Adrien thought as he opened his door and started downstairs. His thoughts were filled with celebrations. Today was a good day.

(Quick Author’s Note: Hi! Okay, this took me hours to write but I think I;m okay with it. Sorry for no Marichat in this part, but I wanted to set up a relationship between Marinette and Adrien first so he has a reason to visit her in the first place. Hope you enjoyed!)

[decayandfanfics]

The great book of sayings

PAIRINGS: Tomura Shigaraki x FemReader

SUMMARY: He looks at you, his scarlet eyes fixed on yours, burning a hole through your head, every bit the predator he is, but you are as tough as it gets, so, against your better judgment and any well-founded logic, you answer his silent threat, the animalistic look he gives you with nothing less than a fearless smirk, irises burrowing into his pupils.A clever girl. He thinks, finally labeling you inside his head, cursing himself in the very moment he allows his brain to think of you as more than an asset. He is sure (he knows himself enough to know) he’ll think of this moment many times from now on.A clever pretty girl.

Reader is a typical college student until she gets herself tangled with the league of villains.

WARNINGS: Unhealthy/complicated relationships, violence, Tomura being Tomura, mentions of murder, heroes’ abuse of power, smut.

A/N: I’m trying so hard to write crusty boy here really in character. At least after AfO is taken. Any misspelled words, english is not my native language so i’m trying Helen.

As always, let me know what you think!

_____________________________________________________

Chapter 11 / Chapter 12

Out of sight, out of mind (interlude)

I

They disappear one night the same way they appeared.

Without a word.

It feels like waking up after a long dream. The way the sunrays enter your little kitchen, splashing your space in golden light looks almost ethereal, no longer their figures staining your white walls, standing out of place in the middle of your living room.

It feels a lot like the mornings after some heavy rainstorm.

It’s over. You think, breathing heavy and tired.

The apartment is quiet and cold, foreign to you. It reminds you a little they way you feel in hospitals. Places without personality, places without any personal touch. Even when everything is in place; the blankets are neatly folded in the closet and your toothbrush is the only one in the bathroom (Toga surely took her time tiding everything up) but you cannot feel at ease in it.

Maybe you are no longer the same person that use to live alone in this place, because it doesn’t feel like you belong inside the four walls that began to close too tight around you now, and even when you know you should run to the next police station and ask for help and protection because you’ve been hostage in your own home for weeks, you can’t get yourself to do it. It feels like a betrayal, somehow. Even when they held you captive, even when they’ve threat you and berated you. Even when there is no guarantee they would not be back to end the job after what you did to Dabi, after what happen with Shigaraki.

He looked like he wanted to hurt you last time.

Sorrow soft and silent start to rise, your heart breaking slowly with realization, smothering you, drowning you gently as you stand alone in the middle of your home, because they will never be back.

He will never be back.

It’s fine…I’m…safe. I’m safe.

You feel the jarring stab of grief, your heart cracking open under the pressure and the loneliness you’ve been trying to keep under control all this time, so you let out a shaking sob, finally admitting to yourself the ugly truth.

This is more than a little crush.

More like falling in love.

And your sweetheart has red eyes like jewels and a starved need for ruin.

So, you curl in a corner of your couch, hugging a pillow that smells way too much like soap and leather, finally allowing yourself to cry because this is painful, the kind of infatuation that can get you killed, that can destroy your life and ruin you. Him never coming back is a gift made of grief and poison, but you’ll take it because you know this is what you get in exchange of an attachment like this for a man who does nothing but harbor resentment inside the dark pit that is his chest.

You cry your eyes out, you cry desperate and lonely, holding tight to the pillow that still smells like him, no longer trying to suppress the nasty wound his gaze carved into your heart the moment his eyes met yours.

You cry because you think he hates you, because he didn’t just decide to go. Shigaraki choose to run away from this just to spite you and your infatuation because he wanted to stab you back. Because that’s the kind of man he is, that’s the kind of man that you allowed to hold grip onto your heart.

So, you stay curled in the corner of your little couch, sobbing and weeping over the painful mess you’ve made, wishing for the kiss you didn’t get the chance to steal and swearing that if you ever see him again, you’ll squeeze that devious grin out of his sharp face with your bare hands because if he wanted to hurt you by leaving without a word, then he should be fucking proud.

_____________________

II

He wasn’t joking when he asked her if she could handle rough.

“Oh my god” she sobs, inked tears staining her cheeks.

She looks like a mess, but he prefers it that way. He favors that she’s different, a complete opposite with her heavy makeup and revealing clothes, her smudged lipstick painting her chin and her breasts bouncing heavy, scaping her torn little dress. A perfect depiction of ruined and lewd. 

She gags when he squeezes her neck hard, his index fingers curled as he yanks her body against the brick wall, too angry to care for his companion. No. He just wants to thrust into her as fast and rough as he can so he can get off the soon.

“Oh my-” she pants trying to hold herself against the wall, but he pulls her neck to him, pressing her back to his chest and then he yanks forward and bites her hard in the shoulder, his teeth leaving a purple mark on her skin.

“Shut up.” He grunts maddened when she sobs and squirms against his body, her smell entering his nostrils, making him gag instantly because he cannot stand the cheap perfume mixed with cigarettes, sweat and sex.

He cannot stand the smell of her hair, nor the shape of her body, or the height difference.

He cannot stand her lewd screaming.

So, he covers her mouth with his hand and shut his eyes tightly closed before resuming his brutal animalistic pacing, trying not to think in the salty flavor of her skin in his mouth. He just needs his release; it’s been a while since he gave himself to this kind of pleasure and for all things he’s ever done, he never fucked this angry before.

Tomura thinks he’s not particularly sexual on a daily basis. He doesn’t go walking around thinking about the next time he gets laid, not when he’s never been that interested in girls anyway, because he just…doesn’t like things nor people. So, his approach on sex is more like a task to be filled if anything else (like eating), rarely relying on another body since he doesn’t want to be touched at all. Now, of course he’s done it now and then, sometimes paying for it, sometimes a nightstand after some vodka in a seedy bar, but always quick to dispatch the person involved.

For Tomura, sex is about him wanting something and obtaining it the easiest way possible to just keep on with his life.

Or at least that’s how it was, but some reason he’s been feeling incredibly starved for it lately, and after being in a heck of a terrible mood and some heated lash out at his crew out of nowhere, he decided to pick his anger and put it somewhere else before killing one of his comrades.

Now, the woman is drooling all over his hand with all the choking, making him feel nauseous so he lets go of her and just digs his fingers on her hip keeping his index up, his long nails clawing at her skin, making her whine, squeezing him tight in reflex.

She tries to catch his wrist to move one of his hands to her breast, but he yanks away to pull her hair, growling a curse against her ear, swallowing hard.

This feels so wrong.

It’s not the right cup size.

It’s not the right smell.

It’s not the right height.

It’s not the right woman.

The mechanic friction is finally working its wonders because Tomura feels his low abdomen tighten before finally getting off.

No, he doesn’t see stars, nor grunts in feverish pleasure. He doesn’t taste her neck nor smiles when he cums. As soon as he releases, he shoves the woman as far away from him, removing the condom with disgust and decaying it (the thought of feeling her bare wet cunt against his naked skin revolving his guts).

He adjusts his clothes before throwing the woman some cash and just walks away, concluding that this was the most unsatisfying fuck in world’s history.

Tomura looks at his hands, feeling the sticky sensation of her saliva and her sweat, troubled because his face it’s super itchy but he feels so disgustingly dirty, that he doesn’t even need to smell them to know that her musky tacky perfume now lingers on his palms.

Maybe if I rub my hands, I can decay it away. He thinks, trying his hypothesis to no avail. ‘kay, that was pointless.

He manages to rub the fabric of his sleeve against his brow until the skin begins to show red dots of blood as he thinks seriously that he could kill for a hot shower, even when he’s not the cleanest guy around (he showers when he can. If he can’t do it, then he just doesn’t think about it), but he can’t stand the way the prostitute’s scent remains on him like a sin, and the thought is so ridiculous, because he’s done plenty of horrible disturbing shit in his life to now feel all guilty and nasty for a “less-than-mediocre” fuck.

So, he walks away, utterly unsatisfied. His anger dragging behind him, leaving a bloodied mess of chaos and longing for something far brighter than a rough fuck behind some lost alley, because he wants more than that. He wants the name, the body and the holy spirit that inhabits the girl with dangerous gaze and healer hands. He wants her violence, her anger and wild bravado, all for him to feaster and be consumed by it.

A violent delight that he can’t afford, not when he’s busy surviving until he finds the doctor or his master’s weapon, so he repeats himself that his infatuation, this sickness will disappear eventually, he just needs to get his priorities straight and focus.

He’ll do it, time will get everything in place again.

Cold creeps into him, the city lights filling the streets between car noises and people returning their homes. All of them busy minding their own lives, completely unaware of the hooded serial killer walking by, quietly sneaking into the fire escape of some old building.  

_____________________

III

Internal medicine is one of those courses that drains every bit of life out of you. Arguably the hardest in a career full of hards, you now live under the constant threat of failure because this shit is a monster, and you know the statistics too well to not being aware that this course has the highest rate of reps in all the damn faculty.

So, you enter your uni mode; sugar-rush based diet and coffee like the world is ending to keep your brain functioning like is a nuclear reactor, sleeping four hours at nights and barely dreaming. Of course, it’s not just that class, is that you have three more besides that one, all of them of high difficulty for you to rejoice in your misery, so yeah. You live like a zombie.

I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich; I’m going to be rich… You repeat to yourself every morning after showering, watching your body in front of the mirror, admiring the sharp angles and purple eyebags that already began to claim your face.

Oh, and the hair loss due to stress is just the cherry on top of the cake, really.

Yes, your brain is at the brim of collapse right now, but classes start again, and your friends are there to suffer with you and it makes you feel accompanied and secure. Is just another semester of tears, panic, pizza and everything that implies to be a twenty something student, so you are thankful nonetheless, because you don’t have the time to think about the other thing…

You don’t think about it.

You don’t really think about it.

You don’t even think about it.

And you don’t say the name either, you refuse because you’ll do anything to forget about him, anything to erase the memory of his dark figure like a shadow against your white kitchen, too clever and insolent for your own good.

But it’s okay, you don’t think of him, or his slender fingers taking the bishop to strike down your king, and the way his dry lips curve upward before some smartass remark. You don’t think of his lean body towering over you, touching yours in so many places but none at the same time.

No, you don’t think of him while awake, but sometimes he visits your dreams to terrify you with his cadaveric hands and his face hidden by his hair. Ready to strike you down, a hand extended in motion to decay you into oblivion.

Sometimes he hovers over you, kissing your neck while ravaging you, incredibly close and raw and intimate, his mouth snarling dirty words you’ll never dare to say out loud. Dreams where his warm chest press against your naked body and your lips sings lewd lullabies just for him, welcome him to feaster on your skin with your face nuzzling against his scarred cheek, covering your face with his silver hair.

Sometimes he just sits in your kitchen as the sunlight reflects over his milky locks. His hand holding his cheek over the table in serene expression, calling your name to play again as the black king spins between his delicate fingers.

___________________

IV

Tomura has a meeting with this new allied Twice found, like three days from now.

He’s not particularly excited about it, surely, it’s just another capo wannabe with grandeur delusions, but it could be worth it. Maybe he could get some money out of it since the league is completely broken after his sensei’s incarceration. They are in desperate need of a hideout, now more than ever since Kurogiri vanished and he’s sure the heroes must have captured him. (Thinking about this is pointless anyway because he doesn’t have the means to get him back)

Minding his own business, he walks with his hoodie on, passing between civilians like he’s one of them, completely invisible when he sees her.

It catches him by surprise. His heart stopping dead on its tracks, wide eyes and tight lips, uncertainty filling him all of the sudden, but he’s accustomed to make hiding spots out of nowhere, so he gets behind some store sign where he can watch her safely.

She stands outside a coffee shop, animatedly talking with some guy who wears the same clinic uniform that she has on. A school mate maybe? She’s an intern in a hospital so, they are probably on shift. Another doctor like her.

She looks tired and paler, but beautiful, nonetheless. The way her lips move give away she’s talking about something clinic, because her face has that firm expression she always does when she’s being professional.

She already looks like a doctor and God knows he’d gladly be sick every day of his life if she’s the one to treat him.

His feelings betray him. He was sure after a month she would be completely out of his system by now, this stupid illness already cured, but shit just doesn’t go away.  It pisses him off to no end because she’s not worth the aggravation. C’mon, she’s just another boring normal civilian, she doesn’t do anything important or interesting. She’s not remarkable in any way that serves him, because not even her quirk is truly useful. Not when it threatens to kill her every time she uses it.

And looking her objectively, she’s not even that pretty, but somehow, he’s torn between his desire to make her see him and get as far away from her he can.

Searing jealousy pierces him, hate raw and jarring dripping from between his ribs when the man leans over and whisper something that makes her laugh and for a moment, he seriously thinks he’s going to kill him right there, no quirk needed because he would just love to gut him out in plain view for her to see what he thinks of her stupid friend.

He hates the man, but he hates her more because she dares to laugh, she dares to enjoy life and people meanwhile he crawls hungry and cold between ruined places.

Like sensing his glare, she suddenly turns her head with her eyes directed to the spot where he hides, her expression changing from joyful to confused in seconds, making him laugh because even when he’s sure she cannot see him, she knows he’s there and it feels like she’s tied to him somehow.

Her face gives away disappoint when she fails to catch him and the thought of her grieving after he left delights him, but he’s sworn to let her behind, so he rejoices for a moment in this little victory of his pettiness over her charms, before turning away from her, fully believing that this is the last time he thinks of her.

Chapter 13

__________________________________________

Hey lovely readers! since English is not my native language and writing Shigaraki is kinda hard because he changes and grows, and because he usually says many things about himself, but then he goes and do completely different things (like when he says he hates everything, but CLEARLY he’s fond of twice and stuff like that) so much in manga, it would be lovely to know what you think of this! I think it’s the only way to be better at something really, So, any questions, comments and concerns, please feel free to comment!

[roughentumble]

geralt and roachie

@avrupasya​ asked for a fic/continuation of this post of mine, where modern au geralt’s roach is a stuffed animal. sortve told in, like, vignettes, i suppose?

[read on ao3 if you like!]

The one constant in Geralt's short, stressful life, is Roachie. The little brown stuffed horse, named after a fish with similarly colored eyes("I'm gonna' study animals when I'm big!" he proclaims to anyone who will listen, which isn't many, so he whispers it into his horse's mane instead) has been with him long enough that he has no memories without her in some peripheral corner-- clenched in his fist, sitting on his blanket, overflowing from a fit-to-bursting pocket of his shorts. She's been with him through two houses now. He likes to think that she was given to him the day he was born, that they'd never been separated, but he can hardly ask anyone for confirmation. It's just one of those certainties you hold in your heart as a child.

So of course, for his seventh birthday, a dog eats her.

(The kicker is that it isn't even his birthday. It's a government assigned day that may or may not be in the vicinity of the actual day of his birth. It's not like he was dropped off at the fire station with paperwork or anything. He is vaguely, sort of, aware of this, just enough that it feels like an extra kick while he's down.)

She is utterly and completely beyond repair. Her shape isn't even recognizable, and for all his inconsolable tears, she's gathered up and unceremoniously dumped in the trash.

He cries when he finds her, cries through dinner, cries late into the night, cries until he is informed by one of his caretakers through what seems to be a rather impressive headache that if he doesn't stop crying, he would be "given something to cry about," which...

He already had something to cry about. Hence the crying.

He chews on his fist, however, startled into silence by the shouting, and hiccups softly into his pillow. Even as he's left alone, in the dark, he can't settle-- the thought of Roach thrown away like garbage is one that just doesn't sit right with him. He waits until the house is silent, into the wee hours of the morning, then sneaks on silent feet to the kitchen. He rustles through the trash as quietly as he can, pulling out pieces of his old friend, now not simply in tatters but also covered in what was left of dinner.

He nearly loses it at the sight of her, destroyed and filthy. Tears well in his eyes, blurring the world around him, and he sniffles once, weakly, but he doesn't want to wake anyone, and who knows what they'd do if they found him rooting through the trash, so he steels his resolve. Stomps down on the urge to give into another round of crying fits.

The night air is cold against his hot, sticky face. It's refreshing, but he barely notices it as he shuffles into a far corner of the yard. He digs a shallow hole with his hands and reverently lays her body inside. He covers her back up, tamps the earth back down with his palms, and then sits back on his heels. He's a little too young to fully understand what goes on in a funeral-- he's never seen one before, after all-- but he's seen TV, and he knows you're supposed to say something nice, so he says something to the effect of "Roachie was the bestest friend, an' the prettiest horse, there ever was in the whole entire world," and then sits in silence for a few moments longer, sniffling in the cold night air.

He suddenly recalls headstones, and he doesn't have any rocks-- doesn't know how to carve words into one-- but he does see a stick nearby. He shoves it in the ground like a stake and looks over his work. About as good as any grave dug by a seven-year-old could hope to be. He stays there until the cold starts making the tip of his nose and the joints of his fingers hurt, and then he stumbles back inside and curls up in bed.

He's moved to a new house a week later.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He starts skipping lunches. He goes to school hungry, and comes home hungrier, and devours his dinners in this new house voraciously.

Every penny that would be spent on school lunches gets shoved in his pocket, then consolidated and shoved in his sock drawer when he gets home. Once he's gotten a decently-sized pile, he gathers it all up in his tiny little fists, shoves it in his pockets, and walks all the way to the local thrift store.

He'd gotten it into his head, somehow, that Roach still existed. Some childish idea that'd popped into his head as a comfort, and that got ingrained in his mind as he repeated it to himself over and over at night. He'd seen the rags, of course, what'd become of her after the dog had had it's way, he knew she was buried in the dirt a state away... but the core "soul" of his Roachie, that'd been with him and loved him and cared for him, was out there, in some other brown stuffed horse, waiting to be found again.

He marches into the toy section in the back of the thrift store with the determination of a soldier on a rescue mission.

And at the bottom of the bin, underneath all the teddy bears and off-brand babydolls, is one single brown stuffed horse.

Logic would dictate a coincidence-- but to his little eyes it looks a lot like magic.

He snatches her up instantly and runs to the front of the store, lest anything come and rip her from his arms again. He has to stand on his tip-toes, but he pushes her up on the counter, then pushes over the pile of money and asks if it's enough. The old lady looks at his pile, then pushes her glasses down the bridge of her nose to get a better look at the tag on the horse's ear. She squints, then glances at his wide, desperate eyes. "Well!" She announces. "Would you look at that. That's the exact right amount. Must be fate." Then winks down at him.

He gasps loudly, eyes getting impossibly wider. Fate-- Roach really had been waiting for him! He reaches up and makes a grabbing motion with his hands. "Can, can I... can I hold her, then?"

"She's all yours." The woman says gently, and places it in his waiting arms.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Roach stays with him all the way to the doorstep of the Kaer Morhen Home for Wayward Boys. He's thirteen, and she has a few weak seams, a few patches where the fur's been worn away. She's heavily loved, and he hasn't spent a night without her since they were "reunited". He's worn as well-- tired of the constant cycle of new places, new "families".

A few months later, with no prospect of leaving in sight, he takes back his wish for someplace permanent.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He rooms with a boy named Eskel, who is about the only bright spot in Kaer Morhen, as far as Geralt is concerned. He is only mildly mocking of a thirteen year old sleeping with a stuffed animal every night, and it's mostly companionable ribbing, so even though the thought of anyone mocking Roachie gets under his skin, he lets it go. Eskel is his friend, after all. Of course, though, because that's the way of the world, some older boys overhear Eskel's teasing.

He comes back to his and Eskel's room that night, expecting to find Roach under his pillow-- he's too old to carry her everywhere, now, so that's where she lives-- and instead she's strewn across his bed.

He's old enough, now, to know that it maybe looks a little ridiculous from the outside, but he's too upset to be self-conscious, and Eskel is nothing if not understanding as Geralt sobs into his shoulder that night, quiet except for the occasional little soothing noise as he strokes a hand up and down Geralt's trembling back.

It's unsalvageable, at least for their inexperienced hands. Neither of them is a seamstress. After lights out, Geralt sneaks out-- this time with Eskel in tow-- and creeps into the backyard. Just like last time, he silently digs a hole and places her inside. That's what you do with Roaches, after all-- you bury them, then you find her all over again. The idea of Roach not existing out there, somewhere, is inconceivable.

He curls up next to Eskel that night, and it isn't the same, and he doesn't quite sleep... but it helps.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

His first Roach had been about the side of a Beanie Baby, and had been a light, palomino sort of color. His second had been more the size of a Build-A-Bear, with slightly stiff limbs and brown fur so dark it was nearly black. The third time he finds Roach, she's a reddish sort of Bay, peeking out at him from behind a large Lego set on the thrift store shelf.

He'd already searched the bins three times and had come up empty-handed, not even a miscolored unicorn, or something else close-but-wrong to show for his efforts, and... there she is, sitting right there, like it's some sort of game. He gasps, and Eskel turns away from the slightly melted Barbies he'd been toying with at the sound. Geralt shoves the box aside and grabs at her, cradling her carefully in his hands. She's already a little on the worn side this time around-- one eye's a bit loose-- and she's right in the middle, size-wise, compared to her other two incarnations.

He loves her instantly.

It must show on his face, because Eskel laughs a little and throws an arm around his shoulders. "So, is this the fated horse, then?" He asks, teasing.

"Yeah," Geralt replies breathlessly, too excited to meet the teasing tone back, "I think so."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lambert shows up when he's thirteen and they're both sixteen.

He's loud, and violent, and instantly hones in on Geralt's preternaturally graying hair and the shock of white growing out of the back of his head(poliosis, born from stress, though none of them know that term). He's inhumanly annoying, a real pain in the ass, and somehow, against all odds, Geralt and Eskel both instantly adore him.

Maybe it's the way he talks back to their "caregivers", or the way he sometimes gets into fights on smaller kids' behalf, who knows, but the three of them form a little clique fairly quickly. Lambert pretends it's begrudging, but it's not hard to see that it's mostly a front. He's a brat, through and through, but he's their brat.

Which is why he's even in their room-- they're all hanging out, Geralt flipping through a book and Eskel attempting to study, while Lambert fiddles with Roach. He turns her over in his hands, examines the spot where the loose eye had fallen off a year back, picks at one of her loose seams. "I just don't get it," he says, scrunching up his nose, "like. What does it do?" He asks.

"Be careful with her." Geralt says, flicking a glance over at Lambert before returning to his book. "And she doesn't do anything. She's a stuffed animal, she just sits there."

"Well, yeah, no duh." Lambert replies, rolling his eyes. "I'm not stupid." Eskel mumbles 'Could've fooled me,' from his own bed, and Lambert hisses back 'Watch it,' and kicks his leg as he snickers. "I mean, what do you do with it? Give it wots and wots of hugs and kissews?" He asks mockingly. He's holding her by the front legs, wiggling them up and down like some sort of dance and shoving her in Geralt's direction. He's about to tell Lambert to knock it off, trying to bat him out of the way to continue reading when, one of her legs just... pops off. There's a stunned moment where Lambert just stares at the two pieces in his hands.

A strangled noise works its way out of Geralt's throat, and he snatches Roach out of Lambert's hands.

"I-- I didn't mean..." He tries, looking between Geralt and Eskel helplessly, but the tears are already welling up as Geralt clutches her closer to his chest.

"Oh, shit," Eskel mutters and scrambles to his side drawer, which hides in the bottom a small sewing kit. Lambert slips out of the room in between Geralt sobbing and Eskel rushing to reattach the limb.

The fabric is weak enough around the seam, and Eskel is inexperienced enough at sewing, that the limb is noticeably shorter than the rest, but she's whole and in one piece by the end of the night.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lambert awkwardly shuffles in place in their doorway the next day. "I-- fuck, man, I really didn't mean to..." He mutters, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Geralt holds Roach a little closer. "It's fine," he says tersely, "but no one's allowed to touch Roach anymore. Ever." He says firmly.

"Yeah, no, that works." Lambert tentatively steps into the room and then, when he isn't shooed out and no one starts crying, grows a bit bolder, sitting down on the edge of Eskel's bed. "I mean, except for nursemaid Eskel over here, right?" He says jokingly, and earns himself a punch on the shoulder from Eskel.

"Piss off, ya' little brat." He mutters fondly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Years pass and Geralt and Eskel age out of Kaer Morhen. They get an apartment, split the costs, because they've basically never not shared a room, and they need all the shoulders to lean on they can get. All they really get is each other, so they settle for that. A few more years and Lambert is shoved out at the healthy age of eighteen-- just like they were. He's invited to their little apartment, and he's loud, and complains that he went from one roommate to two, bitches about how they're both sticks-in-the-mud who don't know how to have fun, and that they snore, and that he'll never get a good night's rest.

It's exactly what they were missing, and Roach watches all of it from her spot on the shelf near Geralt's bed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Then, Geralt meets Jaskier.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time Jaskier comes over, Eskel and Lambert are both at work, so they have the apartment to themselves. Geralt opens the fridge to pull out two beers, and Jaskier flounces past him towards the shared bedroom. "I'm gonna' go root through your stuff without permission." He announces teasingly as he opens the door and slips inside.

Geralt snorts and rolls his eyes, taking his time popping open both bottles. He hears an exaggerated 'oooohh, interesting,' from the other room and carries the beers to his room. "There's really not much here to see." He says as he bumps the door open with his hip.

"Oh, I don't know about that." Jaskier replies from his place on Geralt's bed. "Who's this little cutie, huh?" His tone is light, teasing, and he's got Roach in his lap, playing with her ears.

Panic crawls up Geralt's throat-- she's old, now, and her ears were always a weak point. It's been years since he was sixteen, and her leg had come off so easily back then, so now... he shouts something strangled at Jaskier, maybe 'no' or 'stop', he isn't really sure, and Jaskier looks up with wide, startled eyes. He rushes over and drops the bottles on his night stand before scooping Roach out of Jaskier's hands. He doesn't yank-- terrified of what might happen to her stitching if he did-- but he isn't nice about it either.

He ignores Jaskier's stammering entirely, swiping his hand across her shelf to make sure there isn't any dust, before carefully sitting her precisely where she'd been. His hands tremble a little as they hover in the air in front of her, waiting to make sure she didn't fall, glancing over her to make sure nothing was out of place, that she still had all her limbs. After a moment, he lets out a shaky breath and steps back from the shelf.

"No one touches Roach." He says firmly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Jaskier starts, and Geralt whirls on his heel, grabs Jaskier's wrist.

"Swear it." He says, squeezes Jaskier's wrist tight. "Swear you won't touch her."

"I won't." He sounds a little mystified at the afternoon's sudden turn, but he gently places his other hand over Geralt's. "I promise."

Geralt deflates a little with relief, loosens his grip and lets Jaskier's wrist slip from between his fingers. "She's..." he starts quietly, eyes averted, guilt and embarrassment creeping in over his sudden outburst. "She's really fragile. I... I didn't mean to... just, please don't touch her." He finishes weakly.

Jaskier agrees once more, reaches out and squeezes Geralt's hand reassuringly. They drink their beer in the living room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Months pass and his friendship with Jaskier deepens.

Then, he meets Yen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Hmm." She says thoughtfully, arms crossed over her chest. "I like your stupid little horse."

Her tone is light, teasing, and it strikes him right through the heart all the same. But, at least she isn't trying to touch Roach. He pulls her down into his bed, and the conversation is forgotten.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

They dance around each other like that for far longer than either reasonably should. Fuck, then fight, then silent treatment, only to fall back into bed and start the cycle anew.

He cares, really he does, and he knows Yen cares back, in her own way, but it's just all so... much. It's a little hard to take, most nights. As he lays there, unable to sleep, he catches sight of Roach out of the corner of his eye. His bed is cold and lonely, and thoughts of Yen won't stop swirling around his mind, and he just... he just wants to feel settled. Before he can talk himself out of it, he's carrying Roach down off her perch and curling around her to sleep with his old friend for the first time in a long time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few months later, Jaskier uses his spare key to open the door to Geralt's apartment after a few rounds of knocking goes ignored.

He's got snacks, and a six-pack of beer that he deposits in the fridge, before calling out into the apartment, announcing his presence. He gets back a muffled 'in here,' and opens the door to the bedroom to find Geralt planted on the middle of his bed, Roach cradled carefully to his chest. "Sorry," he says weakly, sniffling into his palm, "I- I guess I forgot we were supposed to hang out."

Jaskier's by his side in a moment, kneeling in front of him on the bed, gently brushing his hair out of his face. "Oh, Geralt, what happened?"

He shrugs a little, helplessly. "Yen and I broke up." He pauses for a moment, rubbing little circles into the back of Roach's head, and then adds, "For good this time."

Jaskier reaches out and gathers Geralt up in his arms, lets him tuck his face in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry..." He mumbles, nosing into Geralt's hair.

"It's fine," Geralt replies weakly, voice cracking, "it was bound to happen sooner or later. We're kinda'... volatile."

Jaskier huffs out a humorless laugh. "Yeah, that you were..." The past-tense on Jaskier's tongue hits Geralt like a bolt to the chest, and he chokes out a sob. "Oh," Jaskier croons back, reaching up to cradle the back of his head, "oh, it's alright... it'll be alright..."

As he collapses forward into Jaskier's arms, he lets himself be soothed by Jaskier's voice, his arms enveloping him, and the softness of Roach's fur beneath his fingers.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A few months later they kiss for the first time there, on his bed, in full view of Roach, which doesn't occur to him until later, but once it does it makes some small part of him wish he'd turned her around. She's seen enough of him, she doesn't need front-row seats to... that.

Then he realizes that she was also there for Yennefer, and he feels a sudden surge of guilt mixed with a healthy dose of shame.

His poor little Roachie.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first time they fuck in his room, Geralt pauses with his hands on Jaskier's hips, blushing faintly. "Do... do you mind if I...?" He asks nervously.

"What is it, dearest?" Jaskier asks lowly, smoothing his hands up and down Geralt's bare chest, eyes all want and smoldering heat.

Geralt clears his throat awkwardly and lets go of Jaskier for a moment to reach up and carefully turn Roach so she was facing the wall. It's deeply embarrassing, but he hasn't been able to stop thinking about it ever since he had the realization about his time with Yen. He turns back around, expecting to be mocked, but Jaskier looks nothing except fond.

He laughs a little, but not meanly, and wraps his arms around Geralt's neck. "Good call," he says, pressing a kiss into Geralt's cheek, "don't want to subject poor Roachie to anything she didn't sign up for."

The complete lack of judgement, paired with the nickname, has a surge of affection swelling in Geralt's chest. He grabs Jaskier by the hips once more, and gently tosses him onto the bed. Jaskier laughs again, delighted, and opens his arms to grab at Geralt, who happily follows after him.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Geralt, look at this!" Jaskier announces from the couch, tilting his phone screen to the side as Geralt scoots closer and hooks an arm around his shoulders for easier viewing. "It's a stuffed animal repair service, but she runs a blog with pictures of the process and calls herself Doctor Beth. Isn't that the cutest thing?"

"Hmm." Geralt hums back. He glances at the screen, scrolls a little, but he quickly abandons it in favor of burying his face in Jaskier's neck and depositing kisses along its length.

Jaskier laughs and snuggles closer, but holds out his phone screen more insistently. "C'mon, Geraaalt," he whines, "you have to actually look. It's cute! You have to say it's cute."

Geralt flicks his eyes towards the screen once more, then away just as quickly as he deadpans the word "Adorable." right into the curve of Jaskier's jaw.

"You are the worst!" He announces, but he's grinning like a fool, and he turns his head into Geralt's affection all the same.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Once the kissing has died down, and Jaskier is seated side-saddle in Geralt's lap, he pulls his phone back out. "In all seriousness," he says, tucked up comfortably against Geralt's chest, "it's actually very interesting. She's really good at her job-- look at this, the bear's practically rags before she reconstructs it."

Instead of trying to distract Jaskier again, Geralt dutifully listens, watching the pictures as Jaskier flips through them. She is rather good, he has to admit, and there is something interesting in watching the stuffed animal go from rags to repaired, in the same way it's relaxing to watch an episode of How It's Made. He 'hmm's again, though it's a more thoughtfully, agreeing sort of ‘hmm’ this time.

"I've actually been following her blog for a little while now, and... I was just thinking..." Jaskier fiddles with the edge of his phone case, "maybe you could... send Roach to her, and--"

"No." He says, swift and firm. The playfulness has left his tone entirely, just the thought of sending Roach anywhere enough to make anxiety race through his chest and his palms turn clammy.

Jaskier's mouth twists into a frown. "Oh... sorry. I just... I know she's fragile and I thought this might help, so I--"

Geralt slides a hand up and down Jaskier's back soothingly. "It's alright. Thank you, for thinking of her, just... I... I can't."

He nods in return and straightens up to press a kiss to Geralt's cheek. "Alright, love, whatever you're comfortable with."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Now that Jaskier's said it, though, the thought won't leave Geralt's head. He scrolls through Doctor Beth's blog when he's alone, gets a feel for her track record.

Roachie is fragile now. Close to ten years with him, and she was already thin in some places before he got to her.

On the other hand, does he really trust some stranger on the internet to treat her right? What if she comes back wrong? What if, somehow, she doesn't come back Roach? He reaches out to run his thumb gently across her snout, looking to soothe himself, and watches as little tufts of fur come away under his feather-light touch.

He's already buried two Roaches. He really doesn't want to do again.

"Well, Roachie," he murmurs into the empty room, "third time's the charm, right?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He is the closest to a nervous wreck that Jaskier's ever seen him in the intervening weeks. He'd packed the box with Roach so delicately, gently surrounding her with bubble wrap so she didn't get knocked around and somehow lose pieces in shipping, and as soon as the box was shipped he took to pacing the apartment and checking his phone every twenty minutes. Jaskier thought it was endearing, if a bit worrying.

It drove Eskel and Lambert up a wall.

There were a lot of movie nights in those weeks in an effort to keep Geralt's mind off of things, but inevitably about halfway through the movie he'd get a bit of a distant look in his eyes and he'd reach down to feel his phone in his pocket, make sure it was where he'd be able to feel it if he got an email.

Waiting to confirm materials, what color cloth to use and what eye matched best with her other in his opinion, what to do about her now rather sparse tail and mane.

Jaskier would touch his arm gently, bring him back to the present, and he'd turn his attention back to the movie, maybe sling his arm around Jaskier's shoulders. It was nice, and very sweet to see him so very concerned, but Jaskier did wish he could do a little more to ease some of Geralt's worries.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

There are, as Jaskier recalls, a few posts where people had sent in video of the results, of them opening the box and seeing their little stuffed animal friend all fixed up. And he knows for a fact Geralt's going to be excited to see Roach again, so when the box finally arrives and Geralt sits down on the couch with it, Jaskier opens up the camera on his phone without much thought.

And then has to set it down almost immediately.

As soon as the box opens, before he could even get his hands on her, big, fat tears start rolling down Geralt's cheeks. Jaskier drops his phone on the table without even bothering to turn off the recording, rushing forward to envelop Geralt in a hug.

Geralt's hands grip the edge of the box so tightly his knuckles turn white, and Jaskier holds him closer, runs his fingers through Geralt's hair soothingly. "What is it, what's wrong?" He asks softly. Geralt shakes his head.

"She just-- she didn't even look this good when I first got her and I--" He's cut off by another sob, and Jaskier holds him a little tighter. "I just can't stop thinking about e- every time she... she broke and I couldn't fix her and I h- had to just... just buy a new one and I... I..."

"Shh, shhh..." Jaskier quiets him gently, pressing a kiss to his temple. "It's alright..."

"I know, I know, she just... she's like new, you know?" He says weakly into Jaskier's shoulder.

That gives Jaskier pause. "Love... are you," he asks incredulously, "are you crying because you're happy?" Geralt nods, and Jaskier can't help the little laugh that escapes him. "Oh, my dear heart..." He murmurs, almost sickeningly fond as he nuzzles into Geralt's hair. "Why don't you pick her up, then? I'm sure she missed you."

Geralt reluctantly pulls back from Jaskier's embrace to look down into the box.

She really does look good as new, and Geralt's almost afraid to touch her. Maybe the new stitching isn't as sturdy as it looks, maybe she'll fall apart in his hands, or maybe she just won't feel right... He sucks in a breath and carefully curls his hands around her. All his breath leaves him in a whoosh.

He holds her in his hands, and something he didn't even know was unsettled, settles in his chest.

As he presses her close to his chest, she still feels like Roach.

Except now she looks like herself again. Whole and complete and strong.

"Thank you," he turns to Jaskier and wraps an arm around him, tugging him in close while the other keeps a hold of Roach, "I never would've done this if you hadn't brought it up. I... Jask... thank you so much."

"Of course, love," he says gently, carding his fingers through Geralt's hair, "got to look out for dear Roachie... where would you be without her, hmm?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"You know, she's so much sturdier now that she's all fixed up." Jaskier points out gently, after a few quiet moments have passed. "She could handle... well. Being handled more, again. She doesn't have to live up on that shelf anymore."

Which, kind of had been the whole point, but Geralt hadn't thought it through in so many words. The tears come back with a vengeance and he sniffles into Jaskier's shoulder, clutches her to his chest firmer than he's dared to in years.

That night, he falls asleep with Jaskier behind him, and his old friend clutched in his arms, and it's maybe a little silly, a little childish, but it's the best sleep he's had in his life.