#somebody help me quell this urge!

[kquil]

i've been getting into the mcu recently (not too deeply) but omg! i have such good ideas for potential reader fics

i want to write them but it's unrealistic for me to have so much on my plate even though i adore writing! i even have unfinished projects im still fleshing out in the background! i can't do it! (ง ͠ಥ_ಥ)ง

(ugh! but i secretly really want to...)

i know i can just request it from other writers who are very talented and may be willing but... i wanna be able to write my own ideas... WHY AM I LIKE THIS?! (˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )

if only i was rich, then i could write fanfiction all day long ‎(ﾉಥ益ಥ）ﾉ ┻━┻

[kuamiru]

There was a private ask to write about a platonic yandere Zhongli with twin children, where the reader has a female perspective.

I hope you all like it and consider forgiving my long absence :)

It's almost 6k words! What a read!

—————————

The Tale of the Rocks, the Sun and the Moon

Having power means you also have enemies who desire it. An evil god set his sights on Rex Lapis' extension of power, and the Geo Lord weeps.

Warnings: Death and child death, blood, eating somebody alive. Beware that the start is pretty dark.

It was strangely quiet. Morax was accustomed to having the wind blowing against his face, the earth trembling due to every step he gave, even having the skies raining down on him after a particularly difficult battle. He always took the latter as a form of repent, as if nature was trying to wash away his sins and bury them down in the ground.

But the skies were clear, and the only thing looking down on him was the blazing sun. The true storm raged inside his heart, his blood imitating the tears from the sky as he found himself unable to cry.

“We fear there are no survivors, my lord.”

If he acknowledged the words of his adeptus, he didn’t show it. His eyes were fixated on the desolate landscape before him, feeling the sorrow in his chest consuming him more and more each time he discerned a new body below the fire and destruction.

“What about—”

“We found the remains, should you wish to see her.”

“Show me.”

The adeptus nodded. She started walking away, carefully traversing a path previously cleared of death and debris. It didn’t take long before they were standing in front of a particular corpse; it had been laid carefully against the broken wall of what was left of a house, now burned down to the ground. There was another adeptus already there, fixing the body so it wouldn’t be such an horrific sight for anybody present.

Morax didn’t say a word. He stood still for a few seconds, simply watching the distressing scene before approaching and kneeling before the remains, reaching out to cup the cold cheek in his warm hand.

The two adepti remained silent while he mourned. They shared a look between them, and the woman left to help recover whatever bodies they could find.

“There’s only one of them here,” he said after a moment, looking at his surroundings looking for something. “Where are they?”

“That’s…”

It was obvious from the pair’s faces that they were debating internally on how to approach the topic.

“Back with the evil god that razed the village.”

A wounded adeptus approached the scene, using the broken wall to support his body and try to approach his master as much as he could.

“You fought here,” Morax noted, looking him up and down. “Tell me what happened. Now.”

“It was that evil god’s doing, my lord. It took us all by surprise, we had no time to react,” he answered. “He didn’t just burn this village; he knew this is where you concealed your children. They… he was after them.”

His heart felt heavy, his chest started to hurt. The reality of the situation was finally dawning down on him. He didn’t even realize that he had walked all the way to the adeptus, looking down on him with a dangerous look in his eyes.

“He… ate them. Oh, Celestia, we couldn’t do anything but watch as he swallowed them. That god wished to gather power to defeat you and steal your new place as the Lord of Geo. We— we couldn’t save—”

The boy finally broke down, letting his own body fall as wept at the memories of the early fight. Rex Lapis simply watched him, feeling the deep, boiling rage in his veins threatening to take over him. His hand ached, desperately urging him to summon his polearm and destroy anything that was still standing just to quell his anger.

His family, his children, his two beautiful treasures… He wasn’t able to protect them; it was his fault this happened, he didn’t foresee this attack, his adepti didn’t have enough power to win. Useless, useless, useless.

The ground started to tremble. Faint, almost unnoticeable. The men that were with him quickly became alerted, and the crying adeptus tried to compose himself as fast as he could.

“We have him sealed, still alive.”

The pair wanted to breathe a sigh of relief when the earth finally quieted down. Morax’s eyes returned once again to his subordinate, and he didn’t have to say anything to get his message across:

Take me to him.

.

“The great Rex Lapis, the new and almighty Lord of Geo, standing before me. To what do I owe such honor?”

Oh, how he wished he could smite that god out of existence. To make him swallow that smug smile by dismembering his body piece by piece and be witness to how his wretched soul dragged itself right into hell.

And it destroyed him knowing that he wasn’t able to do so.

“Silence, you fiend! You have no right to speak to our lord like that.”

The god only scoffed, amused by the situation.

“Did you come here to finish me off, Morax? To take revenge on me for killing your spawn?” He taunted. “Or perhaps, would you like for me to tell you how those two screamed and cried, desperately calling for their dear father to save them?”

The sound of a polearm hitting the rock wall filled the room. The small cut on the god’s cheek only let a drop of blood escape, before retracting and slowly closing itself. Just as if nothing had wounded him at all.

Morax’s heart sank even deeper at this. He knew where those powers came from, didn’t he? A fleeting memory came to him in an instant: a wound, two small children crying, and a woman consoling them. He slowly retreated his arm back to his side, not bothering to summon the weapon back. He didn’t have the strength to do it.

The creature laughed maniacally. It was elated to see the powerless figure of the Lord below him, feeling as if he had won before the fight even started. “You’re weak, dragon. Maybe these powers aren’t enough to slaughter you, but I have taken something from you. Something you will never be able to take back.”

.

“So? What happens next?”

“It’s obvious! Morax defeats the evil god and avenges his children, right?!”

The woman closed the book with a smile, finally looking up to see her children tucked in each one’s bed. “Well, what do you wish for it to happen next?”

“Rex Lapis kills the god! And, and- he finds out his children aren’t dead! And they all live happily ever after, fighting all the evil gods that come after them!”

She couldn’t help but laugh at her son’s words.

“You two have such a wild imagination sometimes.”

“But how does it really end?” Both the woman and the young boy turned to look at you, who had a hopeful look on your face. “Does it really have a happy ending?”

"Well, you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out. Right now it's time to sleep." She put the book away before giving each kid a kiss on their forehead. "Have a good night, my treasures."

It only took a few seconds for her to turn of the light and close the door, disappearing into the hallway of the house. Both siblings remained in silence for a moment, before one of them shifted uncomfortably.

"Are you feeling okay, 妹妹?" Came the words of your brother, turning to face you. "Are you cold?"

"No, I just can't sleep. I'm thinking about that evil god… What if he breaks free? And attacks our village?! He'll hurt mom and dad!"

He got up from his bed, careful not to make any noise that could alert your parents, and slowly walked up to your bed, getting inside the sheets with you.

"It's just a story! That god probably doesn't even exist, and I doubt that Rex Lapis has had any children in the past." As expected of your older brother, such mature thoughts! He took great pride in the fact that he was able to comfort you.

"Really? So it's not real?"

He took your tiny hands between his. "Yeah! Plus, there's no one Rex Lapis can't defeat. He's our Geo Lord, after all."

You couldn't help but chuckle. Your brother was always right.

None of you said anything after that. The light of the moon illuminated the room through the window, barely letting you see each other's faces. It felt safe, knowing that your brother was there to guard you.

It was always safe.

.

"Here, try this sweetheart."

A red-colored drink was put in front of your face, hanging there barely a second before you grabbed it with both hands.

"It's strawberry, your favorite."

You smiled at your father, hugging him by the waist as a 'thank you'. He only chuckled and ruffled your hair, which in turn made you groan and quickly separate from him so he wouldn't mess it even more.

Your brother was busy clinging to your mother, who was in turn busy paying for the drinks your family had. The market was filled with all sort of people walking along, stopping by the various stands and buying all sort of things that you were sure no one would ever need. These were times of peace, your parents always reminded you two. As the war between gods finally came to an end, every creature was eager to go outside and celebrate, even if that celebration just meant going to the market and enjoy the afternoon with your family.

Without the ever-present danger of a stray attack of a divinity striking you for being in the wrong place at wrong time, it wasn't such a wonder everyone was feeling pretty happy.

"It's a statue of Morax!"

"What a marvelous piece of work!"

Your father had to grab your free hand when people started to pass by you in a rush, eager to reach the center of the street, just behind you both. Your eyes followed the multitude and lingered on, finding the statue they were fawning about. The sculptor was startled by the sudden noise of people gathering around her, momentarily separating her chisel from the stone before any irreparable damage could be done. She breathed a sigh of relief and brushed her forehead, failing to notice the bucket full of utensils at her side and inevitably pushing it down the stairs she was sitting on.

The metal resonated a few times before hitting the ground, spreading every instrument on the floor. The few onlookers that were close enough were quick to get out of the way, simply watching the artist groan in frustration at the thought of going down and retrieving all her stuff.

You were quick to leave your father's side, the sound of his voice calling out for you being drowned by the gasps and exclamations of surprise from the crowd around the square. You left your drink on the ground, opting to collect all the scattered items in your small hands. The woman shouted a big "thank you" from where she sat, waving her arm so you could notice her. You waved back, although you could barely move your right hand without letting every utensil fall from your arms. She used a rope to lower down a hook, stopping when it reached your waist so you could reach it without any inconvenience.

Just as you were just about to make haste to reach the rope, a metallic sound caught you attention. You looked back, finding a small hammer on the ground. It must've fallen from your hands. You looked at it for a couple of seconds, debating whether you should try to pick it up or just come back to retrieve it after sending back the bucket, with the possibility to have everything fall if you tried to grab it. Just as you were deciding to come back for it, a pair of black shoes stood next to the hammer, a gloved hand picket the small item up before handing it to you.

"I believe this is for the lady up there?" A deep, masculine voice asked. You looked up to find a pair of gold, glowing eyes.

"Thank you, mister!"

You did a small bow before quickly making your way to the statue of the Lord of Geo, using the rope and hook to hang the bucket with all the utensils inside. It wasn't long before the sculptor pulled the rope and retrieved her materials, waving once more just to show how grateful she was. This time you waved back accordingly, bidding farewell to the lady up there.

When you turned around to go back to your father, you only found strange faces walking along. Even looking all around the square proved to be in vain, as none of the men there looked remotely similar to him. Starting to feel nervous, you took a step forward and retracted almost immediately. There was a red puddle on the ground and an empty cup just a few centimeters away from it. This must've been your drink, you thought, and somebody must've kicked it accidentally from leaving it on the ground. Oh this was bad, your mom would surely scold you for being so careless! But, you had to find you dad first-

Your little eyes started scanning every inch of the plaza, feeling more and more anxious every time you failed to notice a familiar face.

It was then when you suddenly found one.

"Are you okay, little one?"

It was the man from before, you realized. He stood in front of you once more, slightly bending so you could see each other eye to eye. He must've seen you panicked and came to your rescue.

You noticed it the first time, but it really felt like the eyes of that man did glow. Such a nice golden color he had. It briefly reminded you of the landscape surrounding your village, the countless afternoons you spent with your brother playing around while the mountains watching over you from afar. It brought a feeling of peace along with it.

You wondered how long you were looking at them, for when you came back to yourself, he had his head tilted with amusement.

"I- I can't find my dad", you confessed, looking down in shame.

Oh, how he didn't like the loss of visual contact. A dangerous glint flashed before his eyes, quick enough to disappear just as you were raising your head again.

"I see," he said, smiling gently. "What does he look like? That way I can help you look for him."

It should be okay to tell him, right? Your mother always told you not to talk or go with strangers, but this one was trying to help you get back to your family's side. He had such gentle eyes, he surely couldn't be a bad guy.

The man nodded his head as you described your father's appearance. Though he maintained an amicable expression, you didn't fail to notice that his smile suddenly became strained. It was almost like he was feeling more disappointed as you rambled on.

"I say we look for him. He must be very close still." He extended his hand for you to take, and you didn't think twice. As you were just about to grab it, a voice calling your name made you stop. You turned to see the little figure of your brother calling your name and running straight to you, and the man closed his fist tightly.

"Where were you? Papa was worried when you left his side, mama scolded him a lot!" Your brother fussed, taking your hand in his as he started to make you follow him.

"Ah, wait!" The man at your side let his panic show for a moment, grabbing you both and making you stop in your tracks. He had his left hand on your shoulder, and his right one in your brother's arm, just above your linked hands.

The pair looked at him quizzically, but he refused to take his eyes off you both. You though they were glowing before, but now they were shining. They went back and forth between you two, and it was starting to get uncomfortable to be held by this stranger.

The hands grabbing you started to tremble.

The moment your sibling made up his mind to ask the man what did he want with you, the voice of your mother startled you. She came up running, your dad following her just behind. "I told you both to not get separated from us! Something could've happened!"

In an instant you both were set free. The man took a step backwards, as if he was suddenly shook awake from the trance he subconsciously put himself in. Looking back at him for barely a second you found him glaring intently at your mother. He seemed to assess her, looking up and down her appearance as if looking for something specific. Alas, he didn't find it, for his mood soured even more.

"Mister was going to help me find you, dad!" You exclaimed with excitement.

Your father turned to look at him, "Is that true? Well, thank you sir..."

"Mo- Zhongli. My name's Zhongli."

Neither of your parents realized that he was going to say another name. You and your brother looked at each other. At least he caught it too.

"Say goodbye to mister Zhongli children." Your mom ordered, patting your backs. "And remember to thank him."

You looked into his eyes once again and a chill ran through your whole body. His cold gaze was fixated into your mom's touch for barely a second before turning to you two. When he caught your gaze his mood changed so suddenly that it left you wandering if you imagined the previous hostility. He now smiled warmly and offered a shy wave of his hand. His expression was one of pure bliss at your acknowledgement of him.

"Goodbye mister Zhongli. Thank you." You shyly waved at him, hiding behind your mother due to the sudden weird feeling you were getting from him.

"Bye-bye. Thanks." Your brother imitated your action and ran to grab your father's hand.

The hand of your mother rested on your head, giving you a slight ruffle. You all started walking away from the market heading for home. Purely by curiosity both your brother and you looked behind you and had to quickly advert your eyes with a shiver running down your spines.

That man, Zhongli, was still looking at you two.

And the look he had was one of pure madness.

.

The curtain in the bedroom did nothing to stop the moonlight from barely illuminating the room. It was still pretty dark, the dim light only served to highlight the outline of the furniture, the walls and, most importantly, the two small figures resting in one bed.

The sight of the two kids hugging each other while sleeping made his heart ache with longing. It brought forth a deep sadness that was hurting his chest. He was staring right at them and he still couldn't believe he was seeing them.

Morax reached with his left hand and moved a wild strand of hair off your brother's face; all the while with the other he cupped your cheek and ran his thumb alongside with nothing but delicacy and love.

Oh, how he had missed them. His children.

It had to be fate, right? There was no other explanation for this.

He thanked Celestia time and time again, repeating it like a silent prayer. It must've been thanks to the kingdom in the sky that his children were allowed to reincarnate, albeit human but another life nonetheless. His mind wandered briefly to the memory of his long lost family, and especially to his late lover. How disappointed he was to find that neither your father nor your mother held her spirit. But it was okay, he told himself. There was still time. If his kids were given another chance at life then that meant he would see her again someday.

Until that happened he would make sure to properly protect you this time.

Your lazily opened your eyes. Even half asleep, you still had that uncomfortable feeling of being watched. You quickly scanned your room, finding nothing out of the ordinary and certainly no human, ghost or spirit watching you while you were sleeping. Your brother gave a soft groan and turned around, continuing his dream.

You must've imagined it then.

Your hand reached out to touch your cheek. For some reason it felt warm.

.

"Remember not to wander too far, okay kids?"

"Yes 妈!"

The two siblings ran along the busy street, chasing each other and laughing all the while. A group of kids passed by playing among themselves too. Your brother took notice of them and immediately approached what seemed to be the leader, asking for you both to join their game of tag. None of the children had any problem with it, they even seemed happy to have a few more people to play with. Giving a hand gesture to your parents indicating that you would be with them, the both of you started to follow the other kids.

A couple of hours passed. In the middle of the fun the game changed a few times, ultimately deciding to play a few rounds of hide and seek before having to return to their homes. It was your turn to hide. You took your brother's hand and made him follow you, going inside an alleyway to sit behind a few wooden crates. You giggled at each other, thinking that this was the perfect hiding spot. You were sure the girl counting wouldn't be able to find you-

"Found you!" A voice above startled you both.

Your brother stood up with a jump. You turned around, confused as to why it wasn't that girl's voice what you heard.

Gold filled your vision.

You were staring again at the gleaming eyes of the same man that helped you yesterday.

"It's... you again." You muttered. He brightened up at the thought of you recognizing him.

"Go away! We're playing hide and seek! You're going to give away our hiding spot!"

Even though your brother rudely tried to shoo him he remained in his place, a gentle smile resting on his face.

"Are you playing, then? Can I join?

Your brother and you stared at each other.

"We'd have to ask the others... I don't think adults are allowed to join."

He seemed to ponder over this.

"Don't mind the other kids. Let's play just the three of us."

Even though your brother was about to refuse something made him stop right in his tracks. You followed his line of vision and found yourself entranced by the dim glow of Zhongli's eyes. Suddenly they felt very familiar. It was exactly like those times that by cleaning your room you ended up finding a toy you really treasured but didn't know you had lost at one point. A sense of longing and love, the sensation of reuniting with something you believed was lost to time.

Overwhelmed by this strange feeling, you ended up giving in to his demand. "I... I- Sure..."

It was clear that at your side your brother was feeling the same way, for he didn't refuse a second time.

Two gloved hands extended in front of you. You hesitated momentarily, thinking that this wasn't a really good idea. The sudden memory of the first meeting with Zhongli flashed through your mind.

"I think that-"

"Yeah, let's go."

Your brother was quick to take one of the hands, letting the man pull him closer to him like your father would do.

They both turned to look at you. "Are you coming, 妹妹?"

If your brother thought that it was fine then it should be, right? You nodded slowly and decided to also take Zhongli's hand.

.

"兒子! 女儿! Where are you?"

Zhongli stopped walking. The distressed voice of your mortal mother managed to miraculously sour his whole mood. He was having such a good time with his children, how dare that woman interrupt him!

Your sleeping figure in his arms started to wake up at the familiar sound sound of her shouting. You looked above his shoulder, waking up even more once you recognized her figure wandering along the street. "妈!" You called for her.

Your brother, who was walking alongside Zhongli and being guided by his hand, also turned to look at her. He rubbed the sleepiness off his eyes and waved to get her attention.

"Kids! There you are!"

It took all of Morax's willpower not to turn and smite her right there and then. He wanted nothing more than to take his children away, hide them where no one could find them ever again. It was bad luck that he was found by that woman as he was planning to leave the city; Morax believed that he wasn't such a violent god, now that the war was over. His displays of power were limited to deities and other mystical beings, never a human was a victim to his wrath. It would reflect badly on him if he decided to eliminate this human in front of his children. It could frighten them, make them scared of his power.

The last thing he wanted was the two of you fearing him.

"Thank you for looking after them!" She exclaimed, running up to him and taking you from his arms onto hers. Rage flashed through his eyes. He stilled his right hand that ached for the blood of the person that dares take his kid from him. Be calm, he told himself. He needed to be calm.

"It was no problem, madam." He forced a smile at her. "It was getting late and I found them wandering again, I just wanted to make sure nothing bad happened to them until we found you."

She seemed to believe that he was helping you again just like yesterday. This would do. The boy let go of his hand and ran up to his mother, hugging her from the waist. His fist clenched tightly.

"We played all day, mom!" Your brother said with enthusiasm.

She gave a soft laugh. "Is that why you two are falling asleep standing?"

Morax faked a laugh. She turned to him.

"I have no words of gratitude. I was getting really worried when I saw that they weren't coming home once their curfew arrived!"

Such an irresponsible mother. If it were him he wouldn't take his eyes off his kids. He would make sure to stay besides them all day, forever...

"It's my pleasure to help." He gave a small bow. "They're lovely kids."

"Why, thank you!" She smiled brightly at his kind words. Your brother tugged her cheongsam to get her attention. She immediately got the massage and bowed to Morax. "It was a pleasure, mister Zhongli. Thank you again for your help."

She turned around and started walking heading for her home. Morax didn't bother to responder her goodbye. He only looked at her fading figure, one child in her arms and the other walking besides her.

It was okay.

He has waited all this time for them. He could wait a little more before bringing his children home.

.

A week had passed since then.

Your parents made sure to keep you both close to them or at least, somewhere they could keep an eye on you. During all this time you didn't encounter Zhongli, at least not directly. There were moments where you would spot his golden eyes in the middle of the crowd, or see his figure leaning against the wall, completely in silence with his gaze fixed on your brother or yourself. It would be for merely a few seconds; as soon as your mother or father got close to you he would disappear.

Those strange sightings plus the uncomfortable sensation of being watched all the time were starting to make you pretty nervous. It didn't feel like you two were actually in danger, but the hazard was still there nonetheless. It made you anxious not know where the danger actually was.

You eventually stopped going outside to play, preferring to stay and home with the company of your parents. They didn't complain, of course not, but you knew they were worried by the sudden change of attitude. Could have something happened?

Clouds covered the entire sky. It wasn't raining yet, but it was obvious that it would rain pretty soon.

You looked at the sky trough your bedroom's window, letting out a sigh.

"Feeling sad, 妹妹?" Your brother asked from the door before approaching you and standing at your side.

"Well, we weren't planning on going outside and play anyways. Maybe we could just read something?"

"We've been reading all week! Let's do some other thing. What about drawing?"

You pondered over that.

"Sure! Let's grab some paper from dad's study and-"

Your next words died in your throat. The ground started to shake violently, making your whole house vibrate with it. Stuff started to fall all around you, and parts of the ceiling crumbled before crashing to the floor.

"It's an earthquake!" You shouted, hugging your brother instantly.

"We have to get out!"

Nodding at his words, you quickly ran out of the bedroom. You clashed with your father while crossing the door, undoubtedly he was rushing in to help you. He grabbed you both from your arms and ran out of the house, your mother following just behind you.

Outside it was pure chaos. Not only buildings were crumbling on themselves, there were two dragons fighting as high as the clouds were. The adepti tried to guide the crowd as well as they could, signaling where to evacuate to escape from all the destruction.

You tried to hold onto your father's hand, but the swarm of panicked people didn't stop crashing against you, eventually weakening his hold and forcing him to release you with a horrified gasp. You both heard him call your names and try to reach you but the people didn't stop pushing you away from him.

You two just hoped you would be able to escape to reunite with your parents once you were safe.

.

Oh, how good it felt to quell his thirst of blood.

He looked at the inert body of the other god, watching as the blood flowed from where his polearm was thrusted in his back. This wouldn't kill him, no, but how good it still felt to try.

He briefly looked up to the mountains, glazing over the enormous hole the tallest had. He always knew that that evil god would break free from his seal, that all this time feigning sleep were only for the sole purpose of gaining his strength back.

But Morax had an advantage. The god had power that didn't belong to him, thus every time he tried to use it he would become unstable, open to attacks. It was a hard battle that's true, but it didn't matter to the Geo Lord. He would take him down as many times as it was needed.

He would protect his children this time. This and all the upcoming ones.

With one look around, all his adepti started working right away. A group of them focused on restraining the fallen god before he awakened, while the other, the physically stronger, helped the humans trapped below the rubble and destruction that was left behind.

Morax turned on his heels and started walking away. None of the presents said anything to him. Their master was emanating an ominous aura, a warning for them to stay away from him and just focus on their task ahead.

The streets that were once full of life now served as a cemetery for all the corpses laying everywhere. A few of them were barely clinging onto life, crying out due to their wounds or the fallen debris that imprisoned them against the floor.

But Morax didn't have time to waste with them. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. If he concentrated enough, the earth beneath him would answer his demands. He felt each pulsation like a beating heart; the earth was always carrying life, and if he tuned with it he could feel any being connected to it. Be it plants, animals or humans.

Two particular beats made his body tingle and suddenly Morax could breathe again. They were alive. They were safe. He protected them this time.

As soon as he mentally followed their life force located away from the city he was ready to go to them, but the sudden tug of the fabric of his torn hanfu made him look down.

A delicate hand was trying to get his attention; the woman trapped below a cart was weakly tugging his clothes, and he couldn't help but smile with nothing but insanity.

That was your mother right there, bleeding profusely from the head. The body of her husband laid barely a meter away from her. He didn't need to check his pulse or try to hear his breathing to know that that man was already dead.

This couldn't be better.

"Mis... Zhong... help..." She only managed to say, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

He crouched in front of her, tilting his head as he assessed her wound.

"Poor thing. You would surely die if left alone in such condition."

His smile surely didn't convey the fake empathy from his words. A chill went down from the woman's spine, who just by looking at his eyes immediately knew that she wouldn't be getting out of there alive.

"You... them..."

"Ah, yes, them." He shrugged nonchalantly. "You don't have to worry about them. You can go in peace knowing that my children will be in safe hands, right where they belong."

He stood up as she started to trash around to try to break free. He only walked a few steps before a thud behind him made him look for a second. Her wound finally caught up to her and fell unconscious. How happy he was; he didn't even have to get his hands dirty to get rid of the false parents of his children. They were just... sad casualties of war.

He walked on.

.

A faraway temple was serving as a refuge for all the people running away from the city.

Alongside your brother, the two of you remained in a secluded group with all the other lost children, one of the locals comforting you and assuring all the kids that they were doing everything in their power to find their relatives. Your brother gripped your hand tightly, and you rested your head against his shoulder, numbly watching ahead for any sign of your mother or father.

You were expecting the gentle smile of your mom or the soft eyes of your father, but what instead stood before you two was gold.

Morax saluted the woman in charge of the group, and from where you were sitting you couldn't exactly hear what they were saying. She let out a relieved sigh and let him enter, following him with her gaze as he approached you two. He crouched to look at you in the eyes and extended his hand.

"Let's go home, my dears."

You both hesitated. It should be okay, you thought shyly. Mister Zhongli wouldn't do anything to hurt neither of you.

You looked at each other before accepting the hand that was offered. Morax let a small laugh. He helped you stand up before giving a nod to the woman as a thanks, exiting the temple shortly after.

With each step you moved farther and farther away from your village. You glanced at it as it smaller and smaller, feeling like this would be the last time you would look at your home.

[leclsrc]

CONGRATS ON 2K!!!i have a request for carlos- Resting their head on their partner's shoulder. Maybe they're tired, they need comfort for some reason, or they're just craving closeness to someone.

i knew you – cs55

genre: fluff...., 2k celebration, title from this

resting their head on their partner's shoulder. Maybe they're tired, they need comfort for some reason, or they're just craving closeness to someone.

Carlos has been singing slurred lyrics of a Luis Miguel song for the past ten minutes.

You should’ve expected this—it’s the effect of him getting a few too many cocktails into his system. You’d spotted him at the bar with Zhou taste-testing a few glasses that quickly evolved into several shots, and the rest is history. No, the rest is a Luis Miguel song, actually. 

His head’s been on your bare shoulder the whole time, voice occasionally thinning out into a whisper, signaling he’s getting sleepy. Then he starts all over again with renewed vigor, words leaving him in passionate Spanish. And it wasn’t for lack of trying, in your defense—many attempts to push him off or quiet him were made, became successful for just a minute, and then he was back.

The driver you’d called to pick you both up and drive you to the hotel is stuck in traffic, slowing his arrival by a few minutes at the least, which means the valet officers at the waiting area have become the not-so-willing spectators to the free concert. Your hell is short-lived when you see it pulling up right in front of you.

“Carlos,” you whisper. “Come on, get up.”

“Ay,” he says, words jagged and garbled. “Aún no. Dame—dame un beso borracho primero.”

You don’t understand it, but you’re in Ibiza, so the valet officers do, a light wave of giggles floating amongst them. You shrug it off and clutch his hand, guiding him to the car. “Come on,” you urge again. “Please, Carlos, I—just get in.”

He nods, still drunk, but heeding your orders and collapsing into the backseat. He refuses to let go of your hand, even after his fuzzy brain seems to have registered your irritance at having to tote him around like a child. He squeezes it, not too tight, a silent apology. You recite the hotel name.

“Could you hurry, a bit, too?” You ask, rechecking the texts you’d sent. “Please. Somebody’s waiting for us, is all.”

The driver hums in polite acknowledgement, and Ibiza becomes a blurry mess through the glass. A chill creeps up your back at Carlos’ hand holding yours so tightly, electricity coursing through the rest of you. He’s stopped singing—he did ever since he entered the car—but he’s lucid still, eyes darting around the landscape. 

Spurred by the tipsiness, his head comes crashing on your shoulder again. Then, “I think of you when I sing that song.”

You pretend not to hear, but your silence is permissive. “I don’t know how to say it properly. But I miss you all the time. I miss you right now. You’re just right beside me. It—it, what do you call it, quemar? Oh, it burns me.”

Still you’re quiet. It’s the alcohol, you tell yourself. The alcohol, the party lights, the Ibiza of it all. He’s speaking nonsense. You’re okay. You squeeze his hand, to quell his words.

“I love you,” he says. 

“We’re here,” you respond, letting go. You push the heavy door open and this time, you don’t offer a helping hand, walking into the lobby and listening for his wobbly, following footsteps. And you think, with a damning pain—whatever happened, the inkling of something; all that’s over now.

You look up, and his girlfriend is the first to see you, face etched with concern.

“Oh, God. Carlos!” She clasps a hand over her mouth and jogs to him, passing you by and bringing him into her arms. She kisses his cheek, asks if he’s okay, what the hell did he drink? They exchange words in Spanish, and you pause, eyeing them. The way he nods, says he loves her, the way her hands cup his neck. You watch quietly, meekly, you tell yourself.

But you know longingly is the better word.

“Thank you for taking care of him,” she says, approaching you, Carlos’ arm slung over her shoulders. You don’t meet his eyes.

“It’s no problem,” you croak. “Sorry for the bother.”

“Nonsense.” She beams. “You’re a great friend.”

[dr-foster]

Stepping back or shrinking away would let Loki know that he was getting to her. That he was something that she could feel fear for. Did feel fear for. But Jane did not want to give him the satisfaction. Plus, she trusted in what SHEILD told her about the god's restraints. Maybe the institution could not be trusted on much, but this was something they were more than likely competent at.

And since Loki had in fact become slightly more compliant, Jane decided to answer his question. Why not? After all, explaining these simple procedures seemed to help quell the doctor's urge to cower while in the same room with somebody so predator-like. "When doctors take blood we use it to run tests for certain diseases, conditions, even contaminants." There may have been the slightest hint of nerves in her voice as she spoke, but Jane was still proud her her level of composure in the face of a madman who was glaring like he wanted her dead. He did not strike her as possibly scared any longer. "We use a needle like this to collect it." Jane held up a needle and a glass vial so that Loki could see. "Feels like a bee sting."

Instead of taking the blood, Jane put the utensils down. Loki had not given her permission to take it so she wouldn't. "Your choice of course." Jane set about making sure Loki's visible injuries were cleaned and bandaged, as he allowed, keeping her expression indifferent as he spoke.

"No, I don't suppose many want to keep you alive after you killed all those people. But I don't think it will be just yet since they asked me to check on you." Not that anyone consulted Jane or roped her in on this sort of thing.

"And I don't know if Thor would have just left you here to be executed right away." Jane's hand stilled for an instant, betraying her as the words slipped out without thought. Thor hadn't even bothered to try to see her. How could Jane even try to interpret his intentions? After all she thought he intended to come see her again. Oh, and of course Jane had promised herself not to mention the other Asgardian before coming in here; not knowing how his brother would react. Well shit

There was no reason for his heart to be pounding so - on a superficial level, he knew this. He knew that this woman was just a mere mortal, one of those mayflies that he, in that haze of zealous confusion, had smeared away from the surface of this rotting world. And yet… he couldn’t calm his heart, couldn’t swallow down the tight feeling in his throat now keep dampness from his eyes. A slow breath in and out, forcing a mask over his features and shutting all he could into a well guarded and closed off section of his soul and mind.

It almost worked. Turning back to her helped, glaring daggers into her eyes with an intensity that would make most shrink back. “What need have you for my blood?” All that came to mind were rituals he thought beyond the skills of Midgardian healers, and none of them pleasant for him. Perhaps humanity still thought the letting of blood to be an effective means of treatment for everything from a minor case of boils to, in this instance, being used to break tile.

“You may clean and bind my wounds, nothing more. They will heal soon enough,” some of the smaller ones had already closed over, the new skin red and tender. With magic, he had been able to set his bones, to tend battered organs, before that ability had been closed off to him by these binds. “‘Help’ me, if you wish, but do not delude yourself into thinking you are saving my life. Your people will not keep me alive, dissection or no.”

[angstydisaster02]

Bakudeku quotes - manga spoilers

“I’m the deku who always does his best” - Izuku to Katsuki, chapter 8

“Are you okay ? Can you get up ?” - Izuku Midoriya to Katsuki Bakugo, Chapter 9, (Deku Vs Kacchan)

“Kacchan it’s because you’re amazing that I wanna win” - Izuku Midoriya, chapter 9 (Deku Vs Kacchan)

“My secret that is, I haven’t even told my mom” Izuku Midoriya, chapter 10

“This is all I think I need to tell you..! I obtained this quirk from somebody else “Izuku Midoriya to Katsuki Bakugo, chapter 10

“From kindergarten to elementary school, to middle school and high school. The two of us have been together as long as I can remember, and yet... we've never exposed our true feelings and talked things out... not even once.”— Midoriya Izuku, Chapter 119.

“It's okay if it's you.”— Midoriya Izuku, My Hero Academia : Heroes Rising

“I chased after you my entire life”— Midoriya Izuku's feelings about Bakugou Katsuki

“Deku knew well that he and Kacchan are polar opposites. But even so, Deku couldn't imagine a world in which Kacchan doesn't exist. ”— Midoriya Izuku, Chapter 4 of MHA Light Novel "Celebrations"

“Deku had a presence that Bakugou doesn't understand, which frustrates him ”— Bakugou Katsuki Chapter 3 of MHA Light Novel "Cherry Blossoms"

“I think, maybe, he only wanted to fight in order to somehow quell those feelings he couldn’t control. But even so… It’s not like I could just go and refuse him. ”— Midoriya Izuku, Chapter 119

“When the urge to win is stronger than the desire to save, I tend to run my mouth a little more without thinking. You'd think I'd hate myself for that, but… somewhere deep inside… It's because you're who I picture when I think of ‘victory.’”— Midoriya Izuku, Chapter 120

“Keep your eyes on me, Deku, you dweeb!”— Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 206

“During these exciting times, sometimes I find myself stopping to reflect. I’m really here at U.A. I never imagined I’d have All Might watching out for me. Or that the day would come when Kacchan and I could have a normal-ish conversation. I… I’m so blessed.”— Midoriya Izuku, Chapter 257

“He just… deep down, he doesn't take himself into account, y'know? He's always been like that. And now that he can do so much more… Something doesn't feel right. It makes me wanna keep him at arm's length. Back then, I ignored my own weakness…so I ended up bullying him  ”— Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 284

“Because I’m worried for him, you are too” - All might to Bakugo katsuki, chapter 284 

“But now you’re sincerely helping out with his training, that’s your way of trying to atone.. right ? Though I’m sure he doesn’t see it that way” All might and Bakugo katsuki, chapter 284 

“As much as I hate to admit it, I have my complete trust in deku.. “ - Bakugo Katsuki, chapter 284

“At that moment… there were no thoughts in my head. My body just moved on its own.”- Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 285

“Stop trying… to win this… on your own!”— Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 286

“He’s dead meat if he thinks he can die on me.”— Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 298

“I found him guys / he’s here guys” - Bakugo Katsuki, Chapter 318 ( Depends about the translation but the meaning is the same ) 

“But you don't know… the first thing about Deku...”— Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 319

“I know Deku and All Might... better than anyone.” — Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 319

“Deku…! There’s so many things I want to..no ! There’s so many things I have to say to you !” -  Bakugo katsuki, chapter 321

“There's nothing wrong with the path you've been walking down since inheriting One For All and following All Might's lead. But now… you're barely standing. And those ideas alone ain't enough to get you over the wall you're facing.”— Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 322

“ I’m sorry for everything I’ve done until now” - Bakugo katsuki to Izuku Midoriya, chapter 322

“ De-- Izuku! “— Bakugou Katsuki, Chapter 327

Might update later :) 

---------

Source : https://shipping.fandom.com/wiki/BakuDeku#Quotes + some underrated quotes to show their relationship and the way izuku immediately trusted katsuki about the ofa when he could just lie, but he preferred to tell the truth to the person he trusted the most instead of hurt him..*sigh* idiots in love 

[sweeterthanthis]

Prompt: “Pin me down, kiss me hard, look me in the eyes and fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before.”

Requested by: @friendlyneighborhood-fangirl ✨

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 993

Warnings: Explicit language, a little smut, praise kink, fluff, 18+.

Being with Bucky Barnes was amazing.

He was the perfect, doting Boyfriend.

Kind, funny, smart, brave, and completely fucking gorgeous. That, of course, caused a problem or two from time to time.

You hated watching other women flirt with him, despised when they laid their hands on his bicep or fawned over his Vibranium appendage. He, naturally, was always too polite to walk away. And it drove you fucking crazy.

It was the Stark Foundation Gala, so you could hardly make a scene; instead, sitting back and sipping Martini after Martini and scowling in the direction of your handsome Boyfriend and his gaggle of admirers.

You had to roll your eyes and turn away when one of them visibly swooned over something he said.

You’d had enough of a show for one night.

It wasn’t jealousy you felt, and you found that odd considering he had no end of offers from beautiful women on a daily basis.

It was a strange sensation, a primal urge to protect your relationship.

Territorial.

You wanted to make it clear once and for all that he belonged to you. Just as you belonged to him.

You took his hand at the end of the night, accepted the soft kiss he pressed to your rouged lips on the way to your waiting car, and smiled at him as he told you about the conversations he’d had that night.

But Bucky wasn’t stupid. Intuitive may as well have been his middle name.

He waited until you were both back at your shared apartment, watched idly as you kicked off your heels and threw your purse down on the couch. 

He said nothing when you gulped down a pint of water to quell your pending morning headache from one too many Martini’s.

“Can you help me unzip?” You asked him, walking towards the bedroom, and removing the necklace from around your throat.

Bucky followed, settling behind you and gently pulling down the zipper on your cocktail dress; such a simple sight, the curve of your spine, yet he couldn’t help but trace the dip with the tip of his index finger.

“Somethin’ the matter, Doll? You seem a little tense.” He murmured, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“M’fine. Just tired is all.”

As you moved to walk away, he caught your wrist, pulling you back towards him and cupping your cheek softly.

“Tell me.” He urged, his thumb feathering against the hinge of your jaw – a look of concern on his face. “Did somebody upset you tonight?”

You sighed, shaking your head incredulously and feeling your heart swell at his obliviousness. He really had no clue, because he simply didn’t see how you could possibly think he’d ever be interested in someone else’s advances.

“I hate how naïve you can be sometimes. Do you have any idea how many women wanted to take you home tonight?”

Bucky looked at you with wide eyes, taken aback by your words as he they settled in. You felt foolish for even bringing it up, knowing that it didn’t matter who wanted to take him home, because he would always, always come home to you.

“Doll—”

“No, please don’t. I’m being stupid.” Your fingers entwined with his, one hand raking through his gorgeous locks, you forced a smile. “Come on, lets go to bed.”

His hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing softly against the corners of your mouth, holding you in place and forcing you to look up at him.

“I’m not naïve. I know when a Dame is flirting with me.” You blinked, waiting for him to continue as your eyes darted towards his lips. “But guess what?”

“What?” You whispered, the intensity of his stare quickening your heartbeat and sending a rush of warmth to your core.

“I could give two shits about any one of those women. How could I ever even think of anyone else when I have you right here?”

Bucky pulled you close, pushing the straps of your dress down over your shoulders and letting it fall, pooling at your feet. You shivered, nipples pebbling at the slight chill of the room, hands roaming the bare flesh of your back.

“Tell me what to do to make it better, Doll.” He leant down then, the tip of his nose feathering against yours. “Anything, and I’ll do it.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you soaked in his adoration for you, completely enamoured with the sincerity in his words. He really would. You had no doubt.

“Pin me down, kiss me hard, look me in the eyes and fuck me like you’ve never fucked anyone before.”

The words dripped from your lips, and the fire in his eyes nearly knocked you for six.

“Now that, Doll, that I can do.”

The way he fucked you that night, moulded his body against yours – a perfect fit – had you sobbing with pleasure. He worshipped every inch of your body, took his time making sure you knew just how beautiful you were to him. All the while reminding you of how good your naked flesh felt beneath his.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous, Baby.”

“Can’t think of any place I’d rather be than wrapped up in his sweet, little pussy.”

“Taste like heaven, like a fuckin’ angel.”

“Make the prettiest noises for me, gonna fuck you until you realise how perfect you are.”

“Come for me, Doll. God, I love you so much.”

“Gonna fill you up, keep you full of me. You’re mine, Doll. You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

By the end of the night, the evenings events were the furthest thing from your mind. Wrapped up in his warmth, your limbs tangled with his, you basked in the afterglow of your shared bliss.

“Gonna marry you someday, Bucky Barnes.”

“I’m counting on it.”

4K Drabble Tag List: @thefallenbibliophilequote @stargazingfangirl18 @donutloverxo @lookiamtrying @doozywoozy @ozarkthedog @white-wolf1940

Let me know if you want me to add you to the tag list, as I won’t be reblogging the shorter ones with tags ✨

[blahkugo]

Sleepless

Shouta Aizawa X Reader (BNHA)

Warnings: 18+, bondage, bratty rc, over-stimulation, umm it’s just pure filth sandwiched between some fluff 

Word Count: 3.9k

A good night’s rest? You’ve never heard of her! 

“At least take off your heels before you throw yourself into bed,” your boyfriend’s voice rings out, still deeply agitated from a long night of feigned smiles and interest. You know that tone well— the exasperated sigh typically saved for his students at U.A— but the room is spinning too fast for you to take heed of his reprimand. 

“M’too tired,” you slur your words, face down against your mattress. 

The two of you had been at a pro-hero gala, or as Shouta called it, a “gaudy show of riches for politicians and government dickheads.” It had taken almost all of your energy, and a lot of homemade dishes, to persuade him to accept the invitation; however, he had followed through. He behaved properly all night, smiled and socialized with every partygoer that approached you, and even ensured the vicious insults on the tip of his tongue were whispered into your ears only after each person had turned away. You deemed the night a success, despite waving off Shouta’s warnings about that fourth glass of champagne you downed. 

“You’re going to get our covers dirty, idiot.” You can’t help but feel your heart flutter at that word— our. Be it the hundredth or thousandth time, you don’t think you’ll ever get over hearing him refer to the two of you as one. It had taken years for him to warm up to you, after all. While he considers it endearing now, you’re positive Shouta had initially found your constant laughter and positive nature unbearable, thinking of you as simply another nuisance to avoid; never had he met someone who reduced his usual threatening tone to something playful or entertaining. And little did either of you know, he would slowly come to adore the way his scolding amused you. 

No amount of persuasion from his students or other heroes can convince you Shouta is actually intimidating. If anything, his constant stoicism only compels you to misbehave more. You love pressing his buttons, take pleasure in watching him get riled up and lose his calm demeanor. But as of this very moment, you’re simply too tired, and a bit too tipsy, to play along. You wave off his words with a flick of your wrist, only to feel a tug at your ankle. 

“Wha–” 

“Stop squirming. I’m trying to take them off,” he struggles with the straps woven intricately up your calves, “damned things are more tangled than my cloth.” When he finally removes them, you feel the pads of his fingertips graze your legs softly. Shocks travel your entire body as he pays special attention to the indents adorning your skin— drawbacks of the tight laces that are quite easy to disregard when they urge him to touch you so sweetly. 

Shouta stalks away for a moment, only to return with a cotton pad and makeup remover. You’re surprised he even knows what products to use, though you know you shouldn’t be. He has spent countless minutes watching you complete your night routine intently, though usually his stare is paired with a sleepy grumble to hurry up and join him in bed. 

He shifts you into a sitting position, wiping tenderly at your cheek while you pull off your false lashes.

“Those are fake?” He snorts, baffled. 

“Mhhm, I’m prettier without them, right?” You poke fun at him, knowing he’ll ignore the cheesy question. A faint heat rises on his cheeks. 

“Shut up and put this on,” he nudges one of his t-shirts into your arms before he slides your strapless dress down your body. Even with your eyes half-shut, you can feel his charged stare ogling every hill and valley of your naked form. His fingers barely skim you— a purposeful maneuver to focus on the task at hand— but your body jerks into his grasp, keen for more. Sleepy or not, you’d never waste an opportunity for a quickie. You know just how swiftly a few words and caresses on his part could have you bucking and sobbing, like putty in his han– “(Y/N), stop. You’re drunk and half-asleep.” 

“Only tipsy and a quarter asleep, thank you very much.” Your eyes flutter open to see the beginnings of a smile touch his lips, but he just barely holds it back. He’s trying his damn hardest to remain stern, how cute. “Shou,” you mewl, elongating his name in the hopes that he’ll budge.

“Don’t pout at me,” he taps a chiding finger against your bottom lip, “the answer is no. I still have work to do.” Ignoring your whined protests, Shouta walks out of the bedroom. Seconds later, you hear his office door shut, a sign that he’ll be in there long into the night. 

Any inkling of sleepiness your body possessed is gone without a trace, now feeling nothing but an intense heat coursing the skin your boyfriend brushed, and the alcohol left running through your veins only intensifies that warmth. You turn yourself over in bed, naively will yourself to succumb to sleep and deal with the ache tomorrow; however, your body has other plans. Your thighs press together on their own, desperate for any sort of relief to quell the throbbing between your legs, but it’s no use. Looks like you’re getting up. 

With each step towards his office, you find yourself more impassioned. Who does Shou think he is anyways, leaving you alone in such a needy state? It’s not fair. He gives you the slightest taste of his touch and then cruelly rips it away. So if anything, it’s his fault that your body won’t rest until completely appeased— until he soothes the burn. Besides, you’ll be damned if you’re going to allow him the pleasure of hearing your moans through the thin walls knowing he goaded you into touching yourself.

Upon walking through the door of his workspace, you’re greeted with the sight of your boyfriend, the stealthy pro-hero, seated ever-so casually at his desk. He has a hand pressed adamantly against his temple and his hair up in a messy half-bun. So badly do you want to run your hands through it, tug the clip off so you can watch those beautiful, dark locks tumble down his shoulders. You always catch yourself silently hoping for a piece to fall in his eyes so that you can reach out and tuck it behind his ear, delighted when you have any excuse to stroke the soft waves between your fingertips.

“Shou,” you mumble, one hand rubbing at lidded eyes. The white glow of the computer screen washes over him as he turns to you, and you feel your breath hitch again at the Adonis in front of you. 

He’s opted out of wearing any sort of top. Instead, gray joggers hang low on his hips, allowing you to feast your eyes on his lean chest and softly sculpted v-lines. A dark line of hair trails down into his pants, and you feel your mouth water at the idea of licking a long stripe up his navel. 

“Can’t sleep.” You’re aware it comes out a whine, don’t care to correct your tone because it may just convince him to join you in bed. He rolls his eyes, your name flowing off his tongue with a low sigh— music to your ears. 

“I have work to catch up on since somebody forced me to go to that stupid gala,” the accusation is probably sincere, but you smile anyways. 

“Please,” there’s that whine again, “just five minutes.” This time your words are accompanied by a quick yank at the hem of your t-shirt. Your cleavage makes an appearance, and when you see his eyes wander up towards the supple globes— tongue just barely poking out to slide across his bottom lip— you know you’ve got him beat. He mutters under his breath, but the only words you catch are something along the lines of ‘pampered brat’. 

Well, spoiled or not your methods work, and he’s the one indulging your whims anyways. Being curled up against Shouta’s sturdy chest, you find the fatigue of a long night creeping up on you once again. His close proximity is enough to relax you; all of your senses are engulfed in his presence, saturated with him. Your body gladly welcomes his scent with every inhale— clean laundry, aftershave, and something a bit woodier that can only be described as ‘Shouta’. Though he shaved this morning, newly grown stubble scruffs against you every time you nuzzle against his jaw. Slender fingers tangle in your hair, smoothing lazy circles into your scalp. And with your ear pressed to his chest, you realize the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat just might actually lull you into a deep sleep. 

But that’s all before you hitch a leg around his hip to pull him closer. At the sensation of your heat nudged tightly against him, you feel his heartbeat rise rapidly. If any thoughts of sleep linger in your mind, the prospect of riling Shouta up— and perhaps securing an orgasm or two in the process— throws them out the window once again. 

Your fingertips begin to caress his shoulders subtly, ear still pressed to his chest to listen for any jumps in his rhythm. The less he notices your movements, the easier it’ll be to overwhelm him all at once. When your fingers don’t incite any noticeable response, you run them through his hair instead. At the same time, you feign discomfort at the position you’re in and twist your hips slightly, making sure to press your core against him harder. You feel his breath hitch under you, and then your hair being jerked harshly. 

“I know what you’re trying to do,” he forces you to look up at his cloudy eyes, always ringed with darkness no matter how much rest he receives. Caught. You flash him your sweetest pout, gazing up at him through dainty lashes. A slight ‘hm?’ leaves your lips, but within seconds, they’re attached to his neck, shamelessly kissing and nibbling at the sweet spot near his jaw. “If you’re not going to behave on your own, I’ll make you.” Your thighs tighten around his hips, goosebumps trailing your arms at the clear-cut threat.

“Do it then,” you urge between kisses, now peppering them up his jaw. Your teeth kiss the shell of his ear before you whisper, “or I’ll just keep misbehaving, daddy.” 

In an instant, your face is shoved into the mattress, arms crossed behind your back with Shouta’s cock straining against you through his pants. Rigid cotton brushes against your folds and you realize that perhaps he was expecting this turn of events more than he let on, because the fucker never bothered giving you a change of underwear. 

“You’re such a needy slut,” he spits, heated breath fanning your neck while he tightens his grasp around your wrists. “Can’t go one night without getting me worked up, huh?” His free hand darts under your shirt, now kneading and pinching at your ass. 

“Nope,” you bite back, always ecstatic to provide sassy retorts, especially when he’s seething like this. 

A stinging pain travels your body when he slaps the globe of your ass. Once, twice, five times, each spanking invoking a louder gasp until tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

“Are you done acting up?” Shouta’s tone is slow and composed, almost disinterested. If not for his heaving chest pressed against your back, you would believe him unaffected by the punishment. 

You, on the other hand, are very obviously flustered. Tears stream down your face freely now, and you’re positive the spanking has left a blazing handprint on your cheek as a reminder for days to come. Shouta gives you a final, petty love tap to shake you out of your thoughts. “I don’t have all night.” 

But you’re left unsatisfied, the throbbing between your thighs only worsened by his harsh welts and complete neglect of your clit. He hasn’t made a single motion towards your glistening cunt, probably won’t ever if you simply take his discipline lying down. 

“What if I’m not?” The words leave your mouth hesitantly, face turning to stare back at him with wide, unblinking eyes. He doesn’t say a word, his own eyes narrowing and lips quivering into a disgusted scowl. Even though you’ve asked for this, know exactly what situation you’ve gotten yourself into, your heart quickens at the thrill of seeing your partner so worked up. He may not be outwardly angry— Shouta has always been a man who prefers quick, biting remarks over piercing screams and smashing glass— but his mannerisms tell you everything you need to know. It’s going to be a long, sleepless night.

You feel the tight, unforgiving fabric knotted around your body before you’re even aware of what’s happening. Nimble fingers quickly wrap your arms in place. Then, your legs are bent at the knees and tied securely to your wrists. Only your taut midriff and breasts touch the mattress, leaving your sopping core exposed, no way to flail or deny him entrance. You’re his to do whatever he pleases with.

“Behave.” He wraps your hair around his wide palm and yanks hard, a pained cry leaving you at the prickling in your scalp. His fingers graze your slit, but never touch you where you need him. It’s absolutely maddening. You buck into him to no avail— the cloth wraps too firmly around your limbs. 

“Shou, I– I, please,” you’re practically sobbing, his name leaving your lips over and over like a prayer. But it doesn’t matter, you’ve angered him. 

“Who said you could speak?” He tugs harder on your locks. The motion rocks your skull, all nerves standing on end. It fucking hurts, but the action has your slit quivering all the same. “Are you going to be a good little whore now?” 

“Yes, Shou.” The response wins you a sharp slap to the ass, the sore cheek. You suppress a loud wail, correcting yourself quickly. “Y-Yes daddy, I’ll behave.” He doesn’t respond, only lets out a low growl and loosens his grip on your hair. 

Then, his presence is gone. He’s moved off the bed, and your cunt pulsates at the number of delicious things he may do next. 

A slam rings out from your bedside dresser and he’s back within seconds. Something foreign, hard and long,  is pressed against your tight hole. No stretching, no warning, he simply sinks the toy into your slick cunt. After a few merciless thrusts you’re whimpering softly, choking back pleas. If he wanted you to beg, you’d know it. 

“Is this what you wanted?” The dildo is driven into you faster. “Is this what you were grinding like a bitch in heat for?” His words are spit like venom, tone disappointed— appalled— with you, but it only fuels your steady ascension to orgasm. You’re teetering closer and closer to the edge, but you just need a bit more. His cock, a finger on your clit, anything. 

“Yes, yes, yes.” You can’t help the onslaught of moans that spill from your lips in between pants. His hands begin kneading at your ass again, right cheek still flaming with every touch. If he’d only remove the bindings, now digging tightly into your wrists and ankles, you’d be able to hump back onto the toy as you so desperately wish to. 

He stills all at once, leaving you distraught and gasping. If you cry out, you’ll only be met with harsh reprimands. You want to sob— for his touch, for a break, for anything to soothe the ache in your core. 

You hear it before you feel it.

A small buzzing noise as something is clicked on. Then, vibrations wracking your insides, your clit— a slew of pleasure as the dildo pulses. You sigh loudly, that stubborn itch finally being appeased by the pressure of the toy. 

“Is my pretty little slut enjoying herself?” Shouta laughs behind you, voice still cold and filled with loathing. It’s as though he’s repulsed by your desire, your ceaseless need for him. You mewl loudly at the thought. “Mhm, and you’re going to continue enjoying yourself,” you feel the bed dip as he steps away, “until I finish my work.”

The fucking bastard. He’s leaving you tied up and helpless with a sex toy on the highest setting. He knows you’ll be a drooling mess for him, probably only half-conscious, by the time he’s back.

“N- no Shou, please.” Your protests do nothing to sway him. He simply snickers and walks out of the bedroom, leaving you to writhe and wail on your own. And God, does it feel good. Your stomach pulls taut as you rut against the bed like– like an animal. In a constant cycle of edging and ebbing, your orgasms build and build and build until you’re hit full force, only to begin all over again. It’s equal parts satisfying and unfulfilling, because fuck, do you just want your boyfriend’s cock inside you. It’s all you can think of— his warmth, his hands roaming your body, sweet, degrading nothings whispered into your ear while he pounds into you.

You lose track of time, aren’t even sure at this point whether your body is spasming or simply attempting to dispel the thick length inside you. The pleasure has turned to an entirely different ache, swollen clit now abused by the constant vibrations. Your voice is run hoarse, face carved into a permanent wince. And despite your attempts to stay quiet, chokes and gasps still rip through your throat. Even Shouta’s cloth is soaked through with the scorching sweat enveloping your body.  

Though absolutely exhausted, you’re conscious enough to hear his quick steps as he makes his way to the bedroom. You can sense the smirk plastered across his face without even seeing it. 

“Tired out?” Fingertips ghost over the cloth and across your painfully numb calves, nerves jumping at the feeling. “Ah’, you’ve soaked the bedspread.” A fierce blush runs across your skin, humiliated at the sight you must seem to him— a drooling, high-strung mess. He either doesn’t notice or chooses to ignore the way your body shakes at every prod. 

All you can do is let out a meager ‘Mmph’, your brain too scrambled to form anything close to words, let alone coherent sentences. “If you use your words, I’ll consider taking the toy out.” Shouta’s ruthless; he knows every inch of your body, your reactions, like the back of his hand. Of course he’d ask you to use your words. He lives to watch you come undone, thrives off the pain etched onto your features. 

“Please,” the request is drawn out— paused midway to let loose another gasp— and dripping in desperation. “I can’t– I just-”  It’s all you can manage in your state. 

“Seems you’ve been fucked stupid,” he chuckles darkly, though the vibrations wracking your cunt finally come to a halt and the dildo is swiftly removed. Your core clenches at the emptiness. “But I haven’t had the chance to stuff this tight little pussy full,” he slaps a harsh palm against your slit, making sure to wipe the slick that now coats his palm all across your cheek. If you weren’t aware of how soaked you were before, Shouta makes damn sure that you do now. The most you can work out in response is a feeble squeak. 

One of Shouta’s hands strokes at your matted hair from behind, agile fingers tidying the disheveled strands. The other rubs harsh circles on your clit; you twitch incessantly, sparks running through every inch of your body. “There’s that pained little face I love,” he grabs at your cheeks roughly, forcing your lips into a ‘o’ while grinding into your calf. “Fuck.”

Your legs and arms slump onto the mattress as soon as the cloth is unbound. Every muscle in your body aches with overuse; numbness buzzes through the limbs that were strung together for God knows how long. 

Your boyfriend— sadist that he fucking is— thrusts himself into you without warning. Sure, you’ve been stretched by the toy, but your poor slit is so overworked by previous orgasms that even the slightest hint of friction invokes senseless blubbering, your tongue lolling to the side in defeat. Wet, harsh slaps of skin against skin sweep the room, mixed with cries of ‘daddy,’ ‘please,’ and senseless nothings.

“Wanna see you cum.” It’s an order more than a request, grunted into the crook of your neck. His chest flattens against your back. It should feel suffocating, should feel disgusting, considering your body is gleaming with hours worth of perspiration, but you’re enamored with the warmth— engrossed by the way your skin sizzles at his touch. His fingers are secured at your hips, propping your ass in the air and pulling it against him with every piercing thrust. 

“N- no, can’t,” cheek still buried into the mattress, you muster whatever strength you have left and grip at his slick bicep behind you. He simply swats your hand away, takes your wrist between his slender fingers, and presses it into the bed. His thumb caresses the marks left by the cloth, savoring the aftermath of the punishment he inflicted. 

“You can and you will.” Despite the rasp in his voice, the command still holds authority over your forlorn frame and sends prickles down your spine. You feel yourself, yet again, creeping to the edge of an orgasm. “Cum for me.” 

It’s those three, simple words that have you seeing white. Breathless, your brows scrunch together and lips open into a wide ‘o’, but no sound comes out. Your whole body tenses, all senses overwhelmed by this final tidal wave of pleasure, and then finally goes slack. 

You’re officially done, body worked to the point of no return. A couple more snaps of his hips and Shouta follows, your name grunted loudly as he spills into you. 

For a long time you simply lay together silently, chests heaving with his body still splayed over yours. You know that eventually he’ll roll out of bed and make sure you’re all cleaned up. You always revel in the way he pampers you, taking his time to ensure he doesn’t miss a single inch of skin. If you weren’t so exhausted, he’d probably run a bath as well. 

Right now, the heat is finally proving too much for you, so you tap at his hip and he slides himself out of your raw core. 

“Ouch,” you wince at the friction, the ability to speak returning to you at last. The whole bottom half of your body is tender. It’ll be a miracle if you’re able to sit comfortably for the next few days. 

“Surprised you actually behaved,” he chuckles, flipping you over to hold you. His fingers rub lazy circles into your back and he presses a kiss to your forehead, “You were so good for me.” 

“Not like you had me tied up or anything,” you poke a finger at his chest. “And to do paperwork at that.” 

“Oh,” a slow, smug smile inches across his face, “I didn’t get any work done.” You might just slap him.

“Shouta,” your voice is even, but your eyes pierce his, narrowed in disbelief, “what do you mean you didn’t get any work done?” His laugh rumbles through his chest. 

“Do you think I could really focus, hearing your screeching through the walls like that?” 

-

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[periminkle]

blazes of deceit

this fic is a part of the disney collab hosted by @btswritingcafe​!! please go check out all the other talented writers and their works 💕

+ summary. When the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide.

+ pairing. jungkook x reader

+ genre. fluff, angst. tangled!au.

+ word count. 26.052

+ rating. 18+

+ warnings. threats against a baby’s life, unwarranted death, mom problems, trespassing, pan violence, hiding a (not dead) body, tying people up with hair, curse words, drinking, thievery, deadly chase, sword/pan fight, recklessly jumping from a great height, graphic descriptions of wounds and blood, general violence, dark family matters (it’s pretty twisted!), orchestrated infidelity.

+ author’s note. happy early birthday to golden baby jungkook!! this fic took me wAY too long to write but she’s finally here! HUGE thank you to my big brain frenemy @guklvr​ for beta reading and hyping me up by boosting my confidence level +2000 even tho she’s on vacation and should be relaxing LMAO i would’ve postponed this until next year if u didn’t push me so TY ILY LOADS CARL 💘 i also wanted to shoutout #1 jk ryder supporter @dewykth​ and wofe @yeojaa​ for encouraging me every step along the way, y’all are the best n ily both to pieces 💝💕

You are positively ravenous.

Flurries of people scurry past the towering bars of your crib, yet none spare a glance in your direction despite your boisterous wailing. Like moths to a flame, they’re all huddled in one corner, surrounding a panting woman that clutches her rotund abdomen in one hand while tightly clasping onto a bejewelled crown in the other.

“What are you waiting for?” she spits out, hardened orbs narrowed in on your pathetic form.

“Your Royal Majesty, it’s only been an hour since you have given birth, please reconsider—”

Her glower is redirected onto the younger woman’s trembling form. “Are you questioning your Queen? Shall we reconsider your life as well?”

“No,” she begs, her tone quivering with anguish, “please spare my ignorant self.”

Your facial muscles begin to cramp and the walls of your throat feel like sandpaper, which only serves to exacerbate your violent sobs. The insistent suckling on your thumb is doing nothing to quell your raging stomach.

Her lips peel back to reveal two rows of pearly white, dazzling teeth framed by a nasty snarl. “Somebody slit that brat’s throat!”

Another midwife adorned in the bloody rags of childbirth darts across the cramped space with a weeping bundle of rough canvas in her arms. As she scrambles to deliver the shuddering newborn into his counterfeit mother’s arms, the clumsy woman trips over thin air, flying across her enraged Queen’s lap. Without a second thought, her backside is pierced by a shiny steel sword, sullied in a crimson liquid when it reappears.

The introduction of another babe deters your cries for attention. Instead, you distract yourself with a dull glimmer that you catch in your peripheral. Your chubby fingers hopelessly extend toward the dingy stars dangling above your head, just out of reach, reflecting the bright orange tiger lily printed onto the high ceiling of your cage.

“Not a soul shall speak of today's treachery.”

You’re well aware that your short arms could never stretch the distance required to satiate your unending curiosity; but they stay aloft, searching for the reassuring warmth of your mother’s embrace.

“Our blood will remain on the throne.”

Screams of agony overwhelm your developing eardrums as your tiny hands come to cradle your head, willing the pain to end.

Every inch of your walls is covered with abstract paintings, doodles of twisting branches snaking around the edges, dainty birds in every colour under the sun, and a joyous little girl dancing in her own brilliant freedom. No matter where you look, bespeckled tiger lilies are buried within the intricate linework like easter eggs, waiting to be found.

Your favourite by far is the uncanny depiction of the image stashed deep inside the crevices of your memory, a sight your heart desires to view most from up close. The miniature illustration captures your longing gaze pinned on the multitudinous lights ascending from a foreign location, golden hair streaming down your back and flowing over the fireplace in your determination to capture its vast length.

You attempt to steel your nerves for the umpteenth time, but you can’t help your nervous pacing across the minuscule length of your room. The entire tower is spotless as a result of your mindless cleaning—floors scrubbed twice, nonexistent dust wiped away, and trinkets set at the perfect angle to encourage your mother to comply with your outrageous request.

Today is the day, after all. The day that you’ll finally convince the stubborn woman to bring you out to watch the masses of floating lanterns disappear into the night sky.

The pitter-patter of your bare feet scuttling against the concrete floors nearly drown out the melodic appellations from outside your window.

“—down your hair!”

You dash over to the aperture, hastily gathering the ends of your mane to fling down while fixing the bulk of it onto the hook above your head. When the figure enshrouded in a black cloak snatches up your tresses, looping it around to create a foothold and carefully wedges one leg inside, you haul them up through the makeshift pulley.

By the time both of their feet are safely planted on the ground next to yours, sweat is beginning to form by your temples and the perpetual ache in your arms flares from consistently being forced to heave another grown adult up the stretch of the colossal tower.

“Welcome home, Mother.” You pull the rest of your hair inside and turn to face the stunning woman who lowers her excessively long hood, the extra length of fabric intentionally stitched on to keep her identity obscure as she travels.

Your mother sweeps you up into her comforting embrace and you allow yourself to relax in her arms, resting your cheek on her chest while your digits tightly clasp on to one another around her middle. Her chin settles onto the crown of your head.

“You would think that lifting me up all these years would give you some more upper body strength,” she says, her disappointment practically tangible. Placing both manicured hands upon each of your shoulders with a light squeeze, she pushes you back to examine your body from head to toe. “But look at you! My poor, delicate, little flower.”

Your forehead creases from your raised brows as a tense smile completes your agitated countenance.

“Oh, darling, what’s wrong? Come, come with Mother.” The adamant woman latches onto your forearm, dragging you over to the rustic fireplace and pressing down on your shoulders. Ever the obedient child, you kneel down onto the thick rug below.

Your mother delicately takes a seat on the antique chair beside you, a weary sigh slipping past her lips before she starts sweeping a brush through your golden strands. As per tradition, you sing the incantation that’s essentially engraved in the back of your mind at this point.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

A gleaming shimmer races across your tresses at the verse and from the corner of your vision you watch the light creases marring your mother’s features fade in rapt attention. She hums along to the tune with a detached, distant look in her eyes.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

You allow your lids to slide closed, gathering all the courage you can muster for the following conversation.

“What once was mine.”

Once the last note fades and a deafening silence reigns, she gently urges, “Tell Mother everything.”

This is it, it’s now or never.

“Uh, well, as you know,” you mumble, clearing your throat, “my eighteenth birthday is tomorrow.”

“Mhm, and I’ve already gotten your present as well,” she hums, steadily working her way down your mass of hair.

You falter at the information she casually reveals, guilt eating away at your conscience for preparing to ruin her good mood. “Yes, I know you’re always thinking of me, but, uh, well—”

“You can tell me, darling.” You register your mother’s heavy palm stroking your head, coaxing the words to tumble out of your mouth.

So you lay it on her. “I was just wondering if you would take me to see the lanterns this year.”

“What was that?” she questions, rightfully so when the garbled words blurt out quicker than you can process.

Before you can second guess yourself, you stammer, “C-can we please go see the lanterns?”

The brush suddenly halts in its path, suspended within the waves and dips of your many strands. Although you can’t see her, you know your mother well enough to feel her stiffen up, peeved at the topic you’ve brought up many times before.

“Petal—”

You interrupt, desperate to plead your case, “Mother, please, I’ve been waiting for—”

“Zip it.” You instantly clamp up at her hissing.

Your mother takes her time to stand, stalking over to halt directly in front of your hunched form. Her daunting figure looms above you, fierce orbs evoking a filthy shame that sinks its claws into your spine, and you lower your stare to her ankles from its intense weight. “Enough. I don’t understand why you keep asking this idiotic question when you already know what my answer is going to be.”

Her spontaneous refusal dampens your spirit, but you press on. “I just, uh, thought that I could see them once for my birthday a-and then I’d never ask to leave the tower again.”  

With a scowl as cold as an executioner’s axe, her arms come to cross beneath her bust. “I’ve already told you time and time again that they’re to celebrate the healthy birth of the Prince, any special ‘connection’ you feel to these lights is simply misguided and naive.”

You scramble to gather the scraps of bravery she shredded in order to sputter out, “But it’s my b-birthday too. Even if it’s just a coincidence, I wanna see them with my own two eyes.”

“How many times do I have to explain to you how dangerous the world is outside these walls? Do you know how many people are jumping at the chance to use your magic for themselves?” She rolls her eyes, chiding at you as if you’re a petulant child who disobeyed their elders one too many times. “If your little heart wants some adventure, you can go downstairs and explore the living room, besides darling, you should be thankful that nothing has happened all these years.”

“How am I supposed to be thankful for anything when you keep coddling me like this!” you lash out, frustration bubbling over at her usual response and refusing to toe the line any longer. Any notion of gently swaying her judgement or prompting her to consider your point of view is thrown out the window.

But your mother is nothing if not resolute.

“What?” Her words turn to ice—syllables forming razor-sharp blades that figuratively line your throat, poised to strike the second you step out of place. “Do you want to repeat that?”

Your breaths quicken, deathly afraid of the repercussions that will follow if you decide to continue your rebellious act. It wouldn’t be the first time that she punished you for begging to leave the tower.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, head hanging low and voice laced with resignation, “I didn’t mean that. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Aw, my precious petal,” she coos, her mood drastically flipping one hundred and eighty degrees as the edges of her lips subtly point upwards at your obedience. “That’s why Mother is here, to guide you in the right direction. You know that I’m only looking out for you, right?”

“Of course, Mother.”

Evidently content with the outcome of the conversation, she turns back to continue brushing through your tresses.

By the time her ebony cloak rests upon her thin shoulders, hood draping over her face, your hair is already hanging by the hook above the window and she hops through the opening to lower herself to the ground below. You watch as her figure shrinks with the increasing distance, only turning back once to give a short wave before disappearing through the lush greenery.

And then you’re alone once again.

In the hours that pass after your mother’s departure, you become well acquainted with the five stages of grief. Of course, your requests to leave have been denied more times than you can count on both hands, but you foolishly believed that mentioning the eighteen years you spent cooped up in one place, fending off boredom, would hit a soft spot.

You forgot that your mother doesn’t have any of those.

Obviously, she anticipated your attempt to convince her by throwing yourself a pity party, as she deliberately mentioned purchasing a gift in advance. Out of all your celebrations, you couldn’t recall a single time where she prepared—much less remembered—your birthday.

Utterly absorbed within your final stage of acceptance, you lose yourself within your thoughts. That’s why the steady, rhythmic tapping on the cobblestone metres below makes you jump, mind wiped clean of everything except questioning the origin of the sound. Goosebumps manifest across the length of your arms, already slick with cold sweat.

Initially, you believe that your mother may have misplaced something, but your doubt accumulates when you don’t hear her usual jingle follow the rapping. You wonder if she is harbouring acrimony at your earlier outburst—even though she seemed quite pleased as she left.

Thus, like the loving daughter you are, you gather the ends of your hair, about to throw the lump over the aperture when you take notice of the stranger’s bulky frame and lack of disguise. Last time you checked, Mother certainly hadn’t chopped all her curls off either.

You can feel your heart thumping in your head, chest rising and falling expeditiously to compensate for the sudden rush of adrenaline surging through your veins. In your distress, her words come back to bite you, echoing within your mind that he must be after your magic.

Mother knows best, after all.

Discreetly glancing back down, you spot the man scaling the wall using two arrows, a feat which you’re sure he wouldn’t be capable of performing without those well-defined muscles, attractively outlined through his thin clothing. Realizing that you’re wasting time ogling at the intruder, you spin back to survey your room, scanning the area for any weapons you can use to defend yourself.

You disregard any prospect of overpowering him and decide to approach the confrontation by taking advantage of your ability to startle him. Before long, the sounds of the rigid arrowheads wedging into the spaces between the stones are no more than a couple of metres away, and you grab the nearest object in a blind panic.

All too soon, his large hands are gripping the window sill, and you scurry to press your body against the wall directly next to the opening. You grip the handle of metal tighter, struggling to keep your heavy breaths silent as you watch his fit form effortlessly raise himself up past the open window.

When he lands inside, you’re transfixed by the way his shirt hangs on his brawny body, the veins in his arms enlarged from the physical exertion of carrying his weight up the tower. Just for that moment, you let your eyes roam his lean figure in unadulterated fascination.

“Hah! Stupid guards, thinking they could catch me after—”

And then that moment ends.

A loud clang resounds throughout the cramped space as a result of the pan in your hand bashing into the back of his head. For a split second, you worry if the force behind your swing is enough to knock him out cold, but then he meets the floor headfirst. You wince for him.

With the substitute weapon in hand, you circle around his seemingly unconscious form up to his head, which is turned away from your prying stare. In order to decipher his level of cognizance, you crouch down and bow over him to get a better look at his face.

Long, dark locks that were perfectly mussed before his fall now cover nearly half his countenance, so you push them to the side to reveal his closed lids and strong brows. Following the curve of his cheekbones, you pass his cupid’s bow to gaze upon his thin lips, a tiny beauty mark laying directly underneath—an intimate detail that you feel uncomfortable knowing.

A faint blush colours your cheeks as you comprehend how utterly breathtaking the stranger is, drastically disparate to the stories your mother told you as a child, where men resembled ogres that lived under bridges, grotesque and unkempt.

He is nothing like that. Not at all.

He reminds you of the princes you read about in picture books—dashing and strong, willing to go to extreme lengths to find their Princess, their one true love. You know you’re taking it too far when you begin to fantasize about his personality purely based on his, admittedly, strikingly handsome appearance. With a vigorous shake of your head, you force yourself out of your reverie and get back to your task.

You stretch two fingers out to rest just beneath his nostrils, feeling the warm air that leaves his body at constant intervals, a good sign that he was not only alive but knocked out cold.

You prod at his shoulder, whispering, “Are you awake?”

No reaction.

With this confirmation, you take hold of one of his wrists with both hands and clench your jaw while leaning back, trying to use your body weight to help drag him. He proves to be much heavier than you initially believed, though you feel him moving inch by inch. Rather than another human being, you simply think of him as a heavy sack of potatoes for the sake of your conscience as you shuffle backwards, heading for the wardrobe on the other side of the room.

By the time you reach said armoire, you collapse on the ground next to him, gulping in as much air as you can. Now, there was simply the problem of shoving him inside. You turn your head to face the stranger, pouting at the prospect of having to lift his bulky self.

After much pushing and rearranging, the doors finally close behind him, although, as you predicted, stuffing him in there took much longer than you would like to admit. You aren’t sure how comfortable he is in the disfigured pretzel position you left him in, but his contentment is not at the top of your list of priorities right now.

Rubbing your palms together, you go to pick up the frying pan that lay discarded on the floor near the window when you take notice of the brown satchel that sat next to it. You have no use for any kind of travelling equipment, obviously, what with your whole life existing in this tall building, and your mother only carries a quaint, woven basket around. She is insistent on living as modestly as possible, and that includes whatever goodies she brings back from her adventures.

That rules out everyone but the stranger. The bag does look more masculine, anyway. Grabbing the strap, you raise the object in question up to have a closer inspection and find the leather to be heavier than expected. There are odd bumps protruding from its exterior, filling you with a tenuous curiosity.

Carefully, you lift the flap open to expose a heavily jewelled crown. Perplexity is written within the creases of your brows as you reach to grab the item within and drop the empty satchel. From your inexperienced eyes, the thing is as real as it gets, a shimmering gold decorated with the finest jewels in the kingdom. The different colours of each gem catch the light, reflecting the brilliant rays onto the walls of your room.

Your impromptu analysis concludes with an inexplicable pull towards the diadem, which you’re uncertain how to act upon until you involuntarily place the crown on your head. You turn to face the mirror leaning against the wall and it feels so right, as though two matching puzzle pieces have finally been brought together. The reflection staring back at you seems complete in ways you have never been before.

Yet, you can’t begin to fathom the reasoning behind all these strange epiphanies, unfamiliar with the tranquillity that quiets the constant buzzing in your head. Overwhelmed, you remove the crown and not a moment too soon, for a familiar, shrill shriek meets your ears.

“Petal!”

Your stomach lurches. Eyes darting to the wardrobe, you’re reminded of the man inside. You know if Mother saw him, she would definitely freak out, maybe even refuse to visit for the next week to drive you insane with solitude. But, then again, you could use him as an example to show that you could handle yourself out in that dangerous world she was always going on and on about.

“Let down your hair!”

You stuff the diadem back in the bag and stow it in an empty flower pot.

Giddy at the prospect of having a legitimate argument to reinforce your reasoning to leave the tower, you dash to the window sill and fling your hair over without a second glance outside. The rush of excitement blinds you from the sensitivity of your sore muscles as you haul her up.

“Petal,” your mother grits out, staggering inside due to your rushed actions, “what did I tell you about checking who’s calling before letting your hair down?”

“Hello, Mother!” you brush off her question, practically bouncing on the balls of your feet. ���I have something really important to show you!”

“Don’t change the subject.” She squints her eyes at you, lips pursed with frustration. “You're getting more and more reckless. One of these days, a crook will make their way up here and you’ll be foolish enough to invite them inside, maybe pour them a cup of tea while you’re at it?”

“I’m truly sorry.” You decide to humour her to prevent her temperament from flaring, throwing out a meaningless apology—one you’re used to blurting out left and right.

“Now that’s what I like to hear,” she says, as smug and haughty as always. Your mother removes her coat, handing it off to you. “But today’s your lucky day! Just as I was about to visit, I remembered to bring your present!”

Your heart warms at your mother’s unusual thoughtfulness, although you’re much too eager to prove your strength first. “Ah, thank you, Mother. But I really want to show you—”

“Something more important than your mother’s present?”

“Of course not! I just wanted to get it out of the way so that I could enjoy your present later.” She seems unconvinced, so you add, “Y’know how they always say to leave the best for last?”

The older woman heaves an exasperated sigh, shoving you out of the way as she heads for the armchair in the corner. She slumps her tired form on the rickety seat as it creaks its refusal, then waves her hand, gesticulating that you get on with whatever it is you have up your sleeves.

Perspiration gathers within your palms and you fight to ward off the minuscule smile that plays on your lips while you gradually make your way back to the wooden armoire, “So, you’re always going on about how weak and fragile I am…”

“Yes.” She rests her chin in her hand, scrutinizing every hair on your head as though the answers to your ridiculous behaviour are buried within the multitudinous strands. “And what of it?”

“Well, I just thought that I should show you,” you start as your back hits the old furniture and your fingertips graze its rough texture. “That I’m more than capable of handling myself when we go out to—”

“When we go out?” she interrupts, irritation hardening her sharp features as she fixes you with an enraged scowl. “And where do you suppose we’re going exactly?”

You hesitate as your earlier confidence slips and you scramble to correct your word choice before she completely blows you off. “Uh, I just meant that this will show you how strong I am, and, uh…”

An eerie silence occupies the room when you find yourself at a loss for words. You know that your blabbering will get you absolutely nowhere, so you tighten your grip on the handles of the wardrobe, counting on your actions to speak louder than your words ever could.

“How old are you turning again, Y/N? It was eighteen, was it not?”

You shrink under her abrupt question, choosing to play along to pacify the shreds of annoyance flickering in her orbs. “Yes, Mother.”

“And for how long are we going to play this game?” she asks, standing with her basket in tow. Your mother rounds closer to you and your gaze automatically flies to the floor.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“What’re you hiding this time? Did you find another mouse? A rat?” she mocks, resting one hand on her hip. “Ooh, did a raccoon find its way inside?” Once her face is a mere couple of inches from your nose, you allow your eyes to meet her own, dreadfully empty ones. The sight sends a chill down your spine.

You release your hold on the furniture, dejection seeping from your tone. “Two mice this time.”

Her boisterous cackle echoes off the stone walls and she clutches her stomach in an attempt to quell the onslaught of laughter. The gesture reminds you of the countless other times you tried to ‘prove yourself’ through similar methods when you were younger, catching rodents that occasionally found their way into the nooks and crannies of the tower.

The first time you caught a mouse, you’d been ecstatic, rushing to show it off to the only person you knew. Although at that age, rather than a ticket to freedom, you were simply seeking your mother’s approval and perhaps a few praises here and there. You wanted to prove that despite your lonely upbringing—with your mother lounging around the tower for only a few hours every other day—you could handle yourself. She wouldn’t have to worry.

Evidently, you were too young to understand your mother’s rash nature, and she immediately assumed the worst—that you had somehow managed to sneak outside and wanted to prove your calibre by hunting down a nearby animal. The harsh scolding you received that day still lingers as a scar on your wrist, a painful reminder to never cross your mother.

“The outside world is not a simple matter of ‘two mice’ darling. You should know better than to think I’ll ever be impressed by these foolish displays of strength.” She swoops you up into her arms and you automatically bring your hands to circle her lithe waist. “That’s why you’ll always need Mother to protect you.”

Your chin rests on her shoulder, stare unfocused as you dismally state, “Yes, Mother.”

“Now, onto more exciting matters.” A couple of light, successive pats strike your back and you’re released from her hold. She is quick to open her wooden basket and rummage through the contents, reaching inside for what you assume to be your birthday present. The vegetables in her hand don’t excite you, but you put on a fake grin for her anyway. “I’m making your favourite soup!”

She scurries away from your static form to head past the doorway, but you stop her in her tracks with a low voice. “I’m not really feeling up for soup today.”

“You know how far the journey is to get some of these vegetables, let alone how expensive each one is!” she exclaims, waving said produce in her hand as she spins to face you.

“I’m really sorry, Mother,” you mumble, flashing her your best puppy-dog eyes. “But I ran out of paint recently and I’m feeling kind of down about it.”

She tuts. “That’s a three-day journey, Petal.”

“I know, it’s just that when I can’t distract myself with painting, I get these horrible thoughts of leaving the tower.” Doing your best to reason with her, you shift your weight to the other foot and fiddle around with your fingernails, attempting to appear as innocent as possible. “And I think those paints are a much better idea than going out to see the lights.”

A few seconds pass before a groan escapes your mother’s lips. “You’re lucky Mother loves you dearly.”

You stumble into her torso, grateful that she is unintentionally following along with your plan—a tedious scheme that you were saving as a last resort. She strokes the crown of your head, allowing you to nuzzle your cheek into the comfort of your mother’s embrace before her immediate departure.

Goodbyes are exchanged with some more reprimands sprinkled into the conversation, then she scales down the building and is no longer in your line of sight. You rub the nape of your neck, inching towards the armoire as you ponder whether a trip to indulge in your greatest desires is worth it when weighed against the lifelong bond you have with your own blood.

While navigating through your moral dilemma, you twist open the knob and watch as the scruffy man’s body slumps down to the floor without the support of the door to hold him upright. You refrain from cringing at his reddened nose.

Prioritizing your safety first, you retrieve your trusty pan and manhandle his body onto a chair, the seat still warm from your mother’s presence. This time around, you won’t be able to attain the upper hand by catching him off guard, so you settle on tying him up.

The question is: with what? You have no reason to keep ropes casually lying around the tower and one glance at his bulging biceps assures you that sewing thread will not be enough either.

As you’re thinking about stuffing him back into the wardrobe until you come up with a better idea, the blond strands at the edge of your peripheral catch your eye. For the first time in your life, your excessively long hair proves to be of use.

When he is tightly restrained to the armchair, your tresses acting like a straitjacket around his torso and snaking around his legs, you step back to appreciate your work. Your eyes drift over his corded muscles and roam over his face once again.

Before you let yourself get lost in his model-like features, your free hand reaches out, palm outstretched, to slap him across the face.

You nurse the stinging pain ebbing atop your outermost layer of skin, cradling the appendage to your chest as you hiss out a low whine, although the sound is masked by the low timbre of a groan. Your body stiffens while you gawk at the stranger, watching him gather his surroundings, whipping his head back and forth before his chestnut orbs land on you.

Your grip on the handle of the pot tightens.

“Wha—”

“No! Uh, I mean, hush!” you exclaim, deepening your voice for a rather weak, intimidating effect. “I’m doing the talking here.”

Your breath gets caught in your throat before you can utter another word. His doe eyes bore into yours and you step back, instantly feeling threatened by the intensity of his gaze. He wriggles around in his restraints, testing his extremely limited range of motion.

A prolonged, slightly awkward, silence stretches in the air as you attempt to recall the interrogation questions you practiced while tying him up. Regrettably, you come up blank.

He rolls his eyes at your lack of speech, raising a single brow.

“Well?” he questions, seemingly accepting his lack of free movement and slouching comfortably against the back of the chair. “I thought you said you were gonna do the talking?”

You grit your teeth at his impertinence, shaking off the nerves of talking to another human being that was not your mother as you adorn a superficial, bold facade. Striving to exude the same persuading tone that all those mystery books depicted, you mimic the slow strides you’ve read detectives take around their suspects.

“How did you find me?” You round the corner to escape his unimpressed glare, circling around him.

In turn, he cranes his neck to peer over at you, bewilderment written in the slack of his jaw. “Find you? Who says I was looking for you?” He whistles lowly catching sight of your mane, “That’s some hair you got there. Is that what’ve you tied me up with?”

A scoff escapes your lips, unconvinced at his act.

“Oh yeah?” you challenge, marching back to the front of the chair to dramatically slam your hands down onto his bound wrists, effectively halting his faint wriggling. “Then why did you come all the way up here, huh?”

The dashingly handsome stranger’s tongue prods at his cheek, serving to rile you up further. Taking his sweet time, he inspects the space around him before his focus comes back to you, and he leans in, smirking devilishly. “Sure as hell wasn’t for you, Princess.”

At the odd nickname combined with the close proximity, a flush tints your cheeks and you take a few steps back. He chuckles at his small victory—a deep, melodic sound that sends your flustered state into a muddled craze of butterflies, threatening to burst from within. You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at the man, more so to collect yourself than to unnerve him.

“Got something in your eye?”

You tilt your head back and grumble, exasperated at his lack of cooperation followed by his audacity to tease you further. “For your information, my eyes are working perfectly fine.”

“Good for you. Now, if you’ll just untangle me and give me back my bag, I’ll be out of your hair. Literally.” He grins at his joke, which you don’t find quite as funny.

“Like I’ll believe that.” You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. “I’ll ask you again. How exactly did you find me?”

“As I said, Princess,” he jeers, his impatience made visible by the bulging veins lining his neck, “why would anybody be after your poor ass? I mean, just looking at the place, doesn’t look like you’ve got much else other than a bunch of hidden property and a shitty old tower.”

“Shitty?” You repeat, accosted at the stranger’s portrayal of the place you grew up.

He takes another look around the place as if to confirm his accusations before curtly nodding his head.

You glower at his blunt words, taking personal offence for the many hours you spent decorating, cleaning and doting over the building. “Well, I didn’t know we were expecting a rude guest. Then again, guests are invited inside, aren’t they?”

“Listen, you seem like the ditzy type, so I’ll keep this short and sweet. I got into a bit of a scuffle with some scoundrels and before I knew it, I was outnumbered!” he recounts slowly and melodramatically as if he is presenting a bedtime story to a child. “Then I stumble through some vines and find this gigantic tower!

“And to my surprise, rather than hidden treasure, this place has some naive, pan-wielding maniac at the top,” he concludes with a sigh, soundlessly implying that you should pity the unfortunate situation he stumbled upon—the unfortunate bit caused by your interference. All you feel is a burning itch to sock him across the face again, although that wouldn’t be too helpful in discovering his real objective.

His whole story sounds like pure bologna to you, but you feed into his obvious lies with a hum of acknowledgement. “Must’ve been so hard for you.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he whines, a pout forming on his pink lips.

You flash a close-lipped smile and thrust the metal weapon centimetres from his nose with more force than intended, though it seems to do the job when you catch his eyes widen slightly before reverting to the same relaxed stare as before. His posture is evidently tenser than a few seconds ago, which builds your pliant determination.

“Either some truths are gonna come out of that smart mouth or you’re gonna take another nap,” You threaten, waving the pan back and forth.

“Okay, easy now.” The stranger bends his hands upwards by the wrists, waving his fingers down slowly, as though he were calming a raging bull. “There’s no violence needed in this okay? We can make a deal.”

The sound of his cooperation piques your interest, so you inquire, “What kind of deal?”

“First of all, can you lower that?” You comply with his request, although you keep the skillet in the air, ready to strike at a moment's notice if he tries anything funny. “Okay, Princess, how about you give me the satchel, let me go without any trouble and I won’t tell anyone about your little hideout here, hm?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m the one with the upper hand here.” If you two are to come to a compromise, you’re going to need more from the stranger than his word to keep quiet. “And I need you to take me to see the lanterns at the capital.”

A hacking cough morphs into a distorted chuckle in his throat. “Hm, you see, that would be a bit difficult considering the rocky relationship I have with the royals.”

You cock your head to the side, raising the metal menacingly.

His fists curl into balls as a strained grin stretches across his face. “But I guess we could make it work.”

Pleased with his compliance, you continue with your conditions, “You take me to see the lanterns tomorrow night, bring me back home in one piece and I’ll give your bag back. Then you can jump out of the window for all I care, just keep your mouth shut about this place.”

“Do I even have a choice in the matter?”

“Nope.” His lack of protest makes you giddy, and you allow yourself to credulously overestimate your influence over the man. It has to be that or your frightening frying pan, right?

“Then what’re we waiting for?”

A childlike wonder brightens your countenance as you speedily unravel your locks from around the stranger, whipping the bulk of it over the hook and out the window. With his newfound freedom, you catch him combing through miscellaneous trinkets and in fear of him identifying the location of his bag, you call out, “There’s no use, you could ransack the whole tower and never find your precious satchel. You’re better off fulfilling our agreement.”

Fitting your trusty skillet under your arm, you don’t spare him another glance and hope that your bluff is enough to deter his scouring. Thankfully, the clattering of objects ceases and he saunters past the vase with his dear bag inside. Your attention flits to the verdant scenery below.

You allow an exuberant screech to rip through your vocal cords while you effortlessly fly down, your body wrapped around your hair as though the strands have solidified into a firepole and land on the plush, vibrant grass with a bounce. The prickly sensation on your bare skin is not what you imagined the spindly plant to feel like, yet you revel in its oddities nonetheless.

Your companion follows along with less flair, steadily climbing down using the two arrows that were left between the stones. By the time he reaches the ground, you’re already feeling the consequences of sticking your bare feet in the mud by a river.

He rolls his eyes at your antics and darts off while you tread toward the water to wash off the muck between your toes. You swish your foot back and forth, watching the current run off with the dirt and avoiding the miniature fish that gather around you. Their bright orange bodies are stark against the rocks underneath, easy to spot due to the clear, crystalline stream that you’re splashing around in.

When one of them decides to start nipping at your ankles and the rest of his posse tag along, you wade deeper—searching for a grassy area to withdraw from their persistent suckling. As you’re scouring the landscape, enjoying the slight breeze blowing through your hair, you find yourself alone.

This doesn’t bother you at first, used to the notion of having only your own inner thoughts as company. You’re preoccupied with rinsing the brown stains that mark one section of your tresses and gather the clean, soaked mass into your arms before you realize that the tour guide you recruited has gone missing.

At first, you can’t believe he abandoned the precious crown that he appeared to cherish so greatly, but before you can think too deeply about it, a light smack meets the nape of your neck.

“Looking for me, Princess?”

“Stop calling me that,” you whip around, a glare directed at his triumphant smirk. “And where were you anyway? Not trying to run off already, are we?”

He raises his hands up as though he has been caught red-handed, although his digits are curled around what looks to be strips of tree bark and long strands of weeds. Just as you’re about to question him further, he crouches down and grabs one of your ankles, lifting your leg out of the water and closer to him. You yelp and shift your weight to rest on your other foot.

“What?” He secures a few layers of the rough wood to the sole of your foot, wrapping the flexible plants around the bark and expertly tying it at the top. “This is what I get for being considerate isn’t it?”

“Is considerate even part of your vocabulary?” you tease, the relief at his presence causing you to lower your guard.

He freezes halfway through fastening the second makeshift shoe onto your other foot when the orbs staring up at you light up with mischief. Changing position, he folds forwards then rocks back to stand up to his full height. “Ah, I see how it is. Then I would never do something so thoughtful, right?”

“I take it back! I take it back, just finish it up,” you beseech.

“That’s what I thought, Princess.” He bends over to complete the second knot then scampers off to the forest as soon as the job is complete.

As you test out the peculiar slippers—inwardly marvelling at the barrier they provide against the elements of nature—you vocalize your displeasure with the nickname he has taken to calling you, “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

His strides ease up from his hurried pace, shortening to compensate for your smaller steps. “Aw, does Princess dislike being reminded of who she is?”

“I’ve never heard of a Princess living outside of a castle before.”

He hums, tilting his head in wonder. “Is your tower not considered a castle?”

“Not when I’m the only one living there,” you mutter under your breath, although you’re not sure if he catches it or not based on his silence. Regardless, you change the subject before he has a chance to respond. “So are you gonna tell me your name or what?”

Sneaking a peek at his side profile, you catch the endearing crinkle that appears by his eyes when he grins. “What’s with the sudden interest? I mean, I understand the enthusiasm but—”

You strike his elbow with the bottom of the skillet and he whines like a kicked puppy.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I just thought we should be on a first-name basis if we’re going to be travelling all this way together.” You amuse yourself by twirling the skillet around in your grip, acting as though there’s a gigantic pancake that you professionally flip onto its other side. “I would prefer my name over ‘Princess.’”

“I kinda like the ring of it though.” He winks at you, but you’re too invested in your cooking charades to notice. “You can call me Geum.”

“Geum? Like ‘gold’? What kind of name is that?”

“Ooh, someone’s judgemental.” Snatching the pan, he brandishes it around like a deadly cutlass in a seasoned pirate’s hand, bounding around you. He ends his show with the tip aimed straight at your heart.

“Just saying. You’ve got to admit it’s a bit… unique.” You halfheartedly brush him off, fighting to keep your grin from showing. As a side note, you announce your name.

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

Before he can prance off, you pluck the skillet out of his grasp and tear through the dense bushes with your treasure. His war cry echoes throughout the expansive woodlands as he rushes after you, untangling your hair from lone branches as he goes.

To claim that your feet are about to fall off is a gross understatement.

You have been travelling alongside Geum for hours now without a single break. Despite the high spirits that you two kicked your trip off with, the elation from brushing against the silky plants, cooing at the wildlife that crossed your path, and inhaling the fresh scent of damp moss and wet tree trunks from yesterday’s showers wore off quickly.

You’re inclined to believe that your enthusiasm began to subside when Geum yanked you away from running your finger along one set of rich emerald leaves—narrowly avoiding what he explained to be poison ivy. Your curious hands have been cemented to your sides ever since that close encounter.

After your lively bickering dies down, rather than a peaceful, quiet walk, listening to the whispers of the wind and the pleasant chirping of the birds, the antsy man beside you puts you on edge. He can’t stop looking from side to side, trying to peer past the endless birches and elms that obscure your view.

Is Geum expecting someone?

Perhaps some parts of his story are true. Perhaps having a ruffian with other delinquents hunting him is not the best partner to accompany you on this journey—not that you have much of a choice in the matter, it’s either him or no one. You’re unsure which option is worse.

Any conversation you strike is met with teasing remarks, so you give up on prodding him for any substantial information. But with the sky darkening and the breeze turning brisk, you’re about to mention camping out somewhere when Geum says, “We should settle down for the night.”

“I never thought I would agree with something that came out of your mouth.”

“That’s why you’re wrong most of the time.” And there it was, another snotty retort that practically begs you to deck him with the pan you keep tucked in your underarm.

The quibble ignites a fire under your skin, the flames licking at your sides and providing some warmth amidst the chill in the air. “Most of the time? So you’re saying that you’re wrong sometimes?”

“Yeah, nobody can always be right.” He flashes a lazy smirk your way, adjusting the bundle of your locks in his arms. “Like when I said that your hair isn’t an inconvenience.”

You take a second to process his snarky words. With your mind occupied, stuck in a whirlwind of potential reprisals, you unintentionally head towards the distant outline of the castle when you approach a crossroad branching in two opposite directions.

Just as you’re about to let loose a nasty quip, his warm hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from the faraway mansion. You overheat at the source of the touch, thoughts going haywire.

“Hey, hey!” In hopes of snapping him out of his reverie, you raise your voice. “You can’t blow off our deal now, don’t you want your precious satchel back?”

When he offers no explanation for his cryptic actions, you attempt to pry off his fingers with your other hand—making sure not to trip over your own two feet while you’re at it. Your wriggling is all for nought because Geum’s iron grip is too durable to be outmatched by your fumbling digits.

“Geum, please just,” you plead, ceasing your struggle when the delicate skin in his grasp begins to sting from his strength, “let’s talk about this, okay?”

You’re so preoccupied with regaining your freedom that you don’t notice the dingy sign you two pass; a rubber duck with the words The Snuggly Duckling etched onto the wood. “Shut up and hurry.”

Your jaw drops at his insolent tone, astounded at his change in demeanour. There’s no playful spirit behind his words this time, only a sharp annoyance accompanied by his sudden haste that you feel all too strongly in your wrist. You stumble after him and duck your head through a small doorway, your mind caught up in formulating a coherent response that consists of sounds other than your outraged sputtering.

“Don’t tell me to—”

You’re cut off by the ruckus inside the establishment. Burly men surround the two of you, drinking, howling in laughter, practicing their aim with throwing knives—there’s even a large group of people fighting in one corner. The amount of blood streaked across the walls, their clothes, and pouring out of their open wounds is concerning. You can smell the metallic tang from the entrance.

When the hand around your wrist disappears, you find yourself yearning for the physical connection, serving as some kind of reassurance that he is not leaving you to the metaphorical, and sort of literal, wolves before you. In order not to lose Geum as he wades through the crowds, you latch on to the thin hem of his shirt. He pays you no mind and continues onward.

Skillfully slipping through the giants while you bumble behind him, you two arrive at a row of vacant barstools. You loosen your grip at the unexpectedly tranquil space, such a drastic contrast to the commotion in the background that it’s like you’ve been transported to another place altogether.

You’re brought back to reality from the loud grunt that booms throughout the joint, although you tune out again when you hear a punch being thrown, then a crack that you can only hope isn’t a bone. Or two.

“Uh, Geum?” you ask, although he pays your appellation no mind. His attention is focused on the intimidating, tattooed man behind the counter.

“Joon.” Your unofficial tour guide takes a seat. “A mead?”

Determined to stick close to the only familiar face in the building, you slide onto the seat next to Geum. The overwhelming scent of liquor hits you hard, causing you to crinkle your nose the exact moment that your narrowed eyes spot the bartender, Joon, awkwardly cough into his fist, trying to stifle his snickers for your sake.

“Just a water for her.”

While Joon confirms Geum’s order with a slight nod, you cast your head down to stare at your twiddling fingers. Your mind is still reeling from the abrupt change in scenery, unsure how to carry yourself in this new setting. It was no problem in the dense forest, with only Geum to judge you—but it isn’t like you’re trying to impress him anyway.

In here where hordes of broad men are gathered, drunk out of their minds with crimson staining their attire, you’re scared. Everything is too raucous, too rancid, too overwhelming. You’re uncertain whether the trip to the capital will play out as you’ve imagined and you turn towards Geum to tell him as much when—

“Was this from me?” You instinctively flinch at his tug on your elbow, although regret rushes down your back, clawing against your spine like ice-cold water when hurt flashes across his shadowed orbs. Before you can blink, it’s gone.

As a feeble apology, you offer a tightlipped smile. Referring back to his words, you examine your arm and grimace when you spot the blooming scarlet streaks encircling your wrist, taking the shape of Geum’s slender digits. “Oh, uh, don’t worry. It’ll fade.”

It’s not a lie since the marks will eventually fade. You hope it doesn’t turn black and blue before that though.

A clear glass is thrust your way, which you’re overjoyed to snatch from Joon’s hand, noting Geum’s copper liquor from the corner of your eye. Hours of travelling without any form of hydration definitely took its toll on you, evident by your severely chapped lips that you can’t help but swipe your tongue over every minute—not that the dried saliva is doing you any favours.

Before you have a chance to sip from heaven in liquid form, you’re halted by a gentle finger tracing the length of your forearm. Thankfully, you’re not as skittish this time around, remaining frozen until Geums pulls back; the pale, discoloured scar he was following having tapered off into your natural skin. “Where’s that one from?”

His strange inquiry confuses you with its unusually intrusive nature considering his inability to chat seriously five minutes ago. You pause for a second to debate on revealing the truth or constructing a comical narrative for the sake of avoiding a sombre turn to the light conversation. Despite your decision, your lips rebel, taking on a mind of their own. “A punishment.”

Bronze orbs snap up to yours, boring into the deepest parts of your soul and uncovering each of your secrets one by one as if they’re gems, buried within the layers of your lonely childhood. You’re transfixed. “Mother said it would remind me to never leave the tower.”

The condensation running down the side of the chilled cup meets the edge of your palm, sliding down your index finger and becoming a stark reminder of your parched mouth. You lift the glass to take a sip, but a taste renders your control inoperative as you guzzle down the rest, leaving not a single drop inside.

Your famished stomach makes itself known with a growl when your thirst is quenched. Attracting the attention of the bartender with a small wave, you ask, “Is there any chance you’ve got some food here?”

“We’ve got anything as long as you’ve got the coin for it, blondie.”

You shudder in alarm at the introduction of another patron in the bar. Leaning away from the repulsive drawl to your left, you shift over to position yourself as far away as possible. Seeing your discomfort, the stranger takes a few steps forward to invade your personal space once more and you recoil back with a jerk of your torso.

The abrupt motion messes with your centre of gravity, tipping you over the edge of the barstool. Just as you’re about to have an unpleasant meeting with the floor, a palm darts out to the small of your waist and steadies you. You follow the arm up to Geum’s clenched jaw.

“She’s not looking for anything that you guys can offer.”

Your throat tightens at your companion’s harsh answer, wary of how the other men will react. The burly man to your other side bursts out in obnoxious laughter and a glint of light reflecting off of his silver teeth catches your eye, which you recognize from earlier. He’s one of the goons that was involved in the fistfight near the entrance.

“As if you’re packing anything better.” He nudges his lackeys behind them and they chuckle along like they’re all in on one big joke.

“It’s not hard to top a baby carrot.”

Panicked at his provocation, you glimpse at the challenging smirk plastered across Geum’s lips. You aren’t sure why he’s trying to pick a fight or if there’s any logical reasoning behind his actions at all, but you tap on the arm still attached to your torso, conveying your opinion on his moronic pride with your widened eyes.

Of course, men will be men, and the little posse arranged behind the silver toothed boss riles their leader up, encouraging him with disgruntled yells and unintelligible speech to prove their dominance. With you in between the two blockheads, you’re sure that you’re not going to like how this plays out.

Dismissing your distress, Geum takes a sip of his drink. He seems unbothered by the commotion surrounding him and you envy his nonchalant demeanour.

“You got any bite behind your bark, pretty boy?” His lackeys change tactics, switching over to goading Geum on. You assume their greater numbers spark their courage, reassured that they could overpower one man. “Or are we just trying to impress this little miss right here?”

“I’m not sure if it’ll be very fair for you guys,” Geum says cockily, scrutinizing each member from head to toe then returning to his sweet mead. “I mean, just looking at you boys, doesn’t look too impressive if you ask me.”

If the atmosphere didn’t thicken with a fatal tension, you would have giggled at his smart mouth. But the other man’s nostrils flare in resentment, beginning to surge forward before he’s interrupted by a spindly boy who thrusts a paper below his nose. “Boss, you were right, it’s him.”

His unsightly features twist upwards in joy, displaying his horrendous set of chompers once more as he chuckles. That’s when you realize that a sinister smile can be much more frightening than any bellow of rage. “Looks like you’ve got quite the bounty on your head there, Geum.”

At the snarl of his name, your eyes dart to the wrinkled sheet in his hand which he graciously flips to face your direction. An uncanny depiction of Geum’s face is drawn, a sum containing many zeroes painted underneath his name. What appalls you the most is the red, bolded letters at the very top, distinctly spelling out wanted.

Geum is a wanted criminal.

While your mind is reeling, sight blurring and breath quickening from the influx of information, the man in question unabashedly finishes off the last of his alcoholic beverage and proceeds to slam the glass onto the counter. Through all of the clamour, you pick up Joon’s exasperated sigh in the background.

The door to the establishment flings open, hinges creaking as the wood bounces back from the sheer force of the blow. While everyone is distracted by the bustle, Geum stealthily hops off his seat, slipping an arm around your waist to soundlessly lead you to the other side of the counter. Although you’re reluctant to follow, you refrain from squabbling with him in order not to attract any unwanted attention.

“We’ve received a report that a well-known thief has been spotted in the premises—”

Geum kneels in front of the shelves lined with drinks of all shapes and colours, fiddling with something you can’t see from your position behind him. Following his lead, you crouch behind him, softly muttering in disbelief, “You really think they won’t find us hiding here?”

A click is heard as a few of the racks cave in on themselves, revealing a concealed passageway. Geum shakes his head towards the opening, silently directing you to enter first. You’re hesitant to accompany him any farther but you’re pushed forwards by Joon’s calf on your back and you understand that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter anymore.

If you’re caught now, you’ll be accused of being an accomplice to whatever crimes Geum committed.

You spare a thankful nod to Joon, stealing a glance at the guards blocking the entrance while you’re at it. Their white uniforms are decorated with accents of bright oranges and reds, a familiar flower fastened to the right side of their chest. One of them holds another copy of Geum’s wanted poster which you tear your gaze from, willing yourself to escape from this mess before thinking about anything else.

Geum shoves you through the opening, and you crawl through the underground passage as fast as you can in order to keep his pinching fingers away from your ankles. You two are far enough to safely whisper short phrases to one another, but he insists on being a nuisance as he urges you to pick up the pace.

It’s pitch black when the trapdoor shuts behind Geum, and you’re unable to make out your own hands in front of your face; with no other path in sight, you blindly head forward. As you continue, you pass torches burning with a bright fire that provide light, illuminating the stones around you and the shadows following you. You wonder how often this underground system is used to have fire running at all times.

Eventually, the tunnel’s height expands enough for the two of you to comfortably tread through on your feet. If you weren’t tired enough from walking for hours on end, the brutal jog which Geum sets is more than enough to tire you out within mere minutes.

“Geum,” you heave, unable to catch your breath with your chest fruitlessly rising and falling, never passing enough air for you to gather your senses. He’s too far to catch, effortlessly sprinting ahead, yet you still uselessly reach out to capture his attention. “Geum.”

You push yourself to the limit, another few minutes passing by before your powerless body can no longer handle the stress of the strenuous activity, and you slow down, coming to a full stop. One hand on the rocky wall steadies your dizzying sight as you hunch over, throat burning and stomach aching. Even though you try to remain standing, your legs involuntarily give out and you end up on the floor.

As you try to regain your breath, hands grasp your shoulders and gently shake you back to reality. Geum’s intense gaze is only centimetres away, torso bent to level with you. “You can do this, come on. We have to lose them.”

“I,” you huff, “I can’t… It’s… too much.”

Geum’s arms return to his sides, his brows furrowing as you watch the gears whirring in his head through your blurry vision. When he spins around to face the exit, you cry out in a hoarse voice, believing that he’s leaving your pathetic, crumpled form to fend for yourself—but instead of running off, he crouches to the ground with his backside to you. “Get on.”

In spite of your resolute will to arise from your folded position, your legs can’t seem to extend outwards in order to climb onto his back, which you convey by tapping his shoulder and pitifully shaking your head. Geum’s lips pry apart to respond, but his words are drowned out by the pounding footsteps that echo throughout the tunnel walls. He curses under his breath as he turns and scoops your fetal form into his arms.

All you can register is his natural woody scent enveloped in the sweaty musk that drenches his frame, your body clutched tightly to his torso as he races to the end of the tunnel. You grip his thin shirt in one fist, unfamiliar with the warmth fluttering in your chest, so you brush it off as another side effect from the arduous sprinting.

A bright light can be seen at the very end, but your eyes are locked on the well-defined jaw of the man carrying you as if you were as light as a feather, running as if your lives depended on it—which they kind of do.

You couldn’t differentiate the pounding of Geum’s shoes from the mob of guards pursuing you two. As you slowly recover from your exhausted state, the guilt of becoming a burden settles into the creases of your face, worrying lines etching onto your features from thinking about your impending fate.

Your thoughts wander to the reasoning behind this violent chase. By the fancier uniforms they sport, you suspect their position to be rather high, perhaps palace guards or ones belonging to the royal family. Reminded of the wanted poster clutched within one of their hands, the image stirs unease within the depths of your stomach that’s already stinging from the massive amounts of cardio you’ve done today.

Before you can connect any dots, you’re out in the wilderness again, although instead of the sun’s blazing rays on your face, the moon’s tender beams spill over your surroundings. The sort of serenity that accompanies the stillness of the later hours are interrupted by your rapidly beating heart, which is amplified by the pulse felt on your left side.

After a few more strides, Geum comes to a sudden halt.

“What’s wrong?” You tilt your neck to look at his face in curiosity. Although he doesn’t appear fatigued, his cheeks only slightly flushed from exertion and a few sweat droplets racing down his temples, you ask anyway, “Are you tired?”

The grip under your legs lower you to the ground and you stand in front of Geum, beginning to worry about losing your advantage over your pursuers. He doesn’t provide a verbal response to your questions, simply shaking his head and causing the tips of his hair to sway back and forth with the motion. The strands cover his eyes when he stops, but he doesn’t bother to brush them aside.

Geum’s shoulders slouch, heavy from the weight of defeat. You’re unnerved at his strange actions, turning to look ahead at the obstacle that’s forcing him to give up all hope.

You two are standing at the edge of a cliff.

Your knees buckle at the length of the drop, which seems never ending from your viewpoint. The tenebrous shadows of the night obscure the bottom, painting the jagged walls with uncertainty at any chance for survival. Your heart constricts as the despondency emanating off of Geum slithers its way into your rapidly diminishing resolution.

“When they get here,” he announces, bravery shining through his firm tone, “I need you to run as fast as you can. I’ll distract them, just focus on getting back to the bar. Tell Joon to take you somewhere safe and trust no one but him.”

You’re baffled at his complete change in attitude as well as his idiotic plan. There’s no trace of humour in his piercing orbs though, simply an obstinate determination that implores you to obey his orders. But you aren’t about to abandon the first friend you’ve ever made. “Are you insane? What do you think you can do against trained soldiers?”

“There’s no other choice.” He nudges your torso to position yourself behind him, both your backs to the cliff, watching the guards get closer and closer. Dread weighs ponderously on your limbs, the adrenaline pumping in your veins with every footstep marching to surround you two. You’re cornered.

The soldier closest to Geum unsheathes his sword and steadily approaches. You slip the rusty pan into his hand and he inconspicuously reaches back to pat your thigh, reminding you of his reckless scheme.

Seeing your defensive stance, the guard rushes forward, thrusting his sword forward to slice through layers of skin. Instead, the clang of metal against metal resounds throughout the empty cliff and your apprehension increases tenfold with your front row seat to Geum’s doomed duel, fending off a glinting sword with your rickety skillet.

Although he’s fighting well considering his enormous handicap, you spot more soldiers creeping their way into the skirmish, unable to stand and watch one of their own be bested in battle. Overall, the odds weren’t looking too great for your pan-wielding knight.

You have to do something. With Geum’s plan off the table, you can’t think of anything other than taking your chances with the cliff. You gather all your faith in the landscape, Geum, and yourself while taking a deep breath. Waiting for an opening within the clash, you cautiously inch towards Geum and when one particularly hard blow jolts both men back a few steps, you snatch up the opportunity.

Before another guard can take his ally’s place, you rush over to snake an arm around Geum’s lithe waist, tugging his back to meet your chest. During this process, he nearly elbows you in the face, writhing around in your tight hold until he recognizes your delicate hands on his stomach.

With the enemy frozen in confusion at your ostensibly desultory actions, you take advantage of their shock to stumble backwards, proving harder than necessary due to Geum’s long legs tangling with your own as you head towards the edge. You’re nearly there when one of the guards pick up on your plan to escape, jumping into action with his razor-sharp sword and waving it in a deadly arc that nearly slices both of your heads off clean.

Thankfully, you lose your footing on a slippery rock and tip over.

While airborne, any air is momentarily robbed from the heavy drop in your gut and a terrified shriek rips past your mouth as you lose your tight grip on Geum, utterly absorbed in your fear. The distance between you two grows, but because of his quick reflexes, Geum is able to fist a clump of your clothes in his hands and pull you into his chest with one hand resting on the nape of your neck.

You don’t have enough time to react to the new position before both your bodies are enveloped in gelid water. All of your nerves fire off, enraged at the sudden change in temperature. A violent shiver overtakes your limbs in a weak attempt to warm yourself up.

Although Geum’s palm on your neck withdraws to wade your bodies back up to surface, the grip around your middle only tightens.

The stream parts as you two float back up to meet the chilly air, greedily filling your lungs as you unravel from one another in order to paddle your way to shore. The current sweeps you along, aiding your furious efforts to reach the ground again.

Geum arrives at the muddy grass before you, swiftly lifting himself out and turning to fish for your soaked form. White puffs of your breath escape your mouths because of the low temperature, yet they dissipate as quickly as they’re formed.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You close your eyes and nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

The fire crackles alongside the chirping crickets, forming a peculiar orchestra with the breeze blowing through the rustling leaves. You extend your frigid digits as close to the flames as you dare, desperate for its warmth, yet recoiling from the sting of its heat all the same.

“Might as well stick your whole hand in there while you’re at it.” Geum emerges from the tenebrous thickets of the forest, making his way into the dull glow of the bonfire with a bundle of skinny twigs in his arms.

You’re drained from the day’s events, but you flash him a smile brimming with gratitude, appreciative that he’s intent on keeping the fire alive despite his inevitably numb appendages. You insisted on swapping turns, allowing his body to warm up a bit while you scavenged for wood, although he dismissed your offer multiple times, claiming that moving around was much more effective for him than any flames.

You’d have to disagree with him there. The burning fire feels incredible heating up your skin from the outside in.  

“If you take a second to come and enjoy the warmth, then maybe you wouldn’t be so moody,” You jest, rotating the fish skewers that Geum expertly caught in the river with a sharpened branch. By the slightly burnt edges, you suppose it’s ready. “C’mon, let’s eat before you head off again.”

He grunts his affirmation, depositing his findings on top of the ever-growing pile of wood and taking a seat on a fallen log located a couple of feet away from you. You allow the meat to cool down before separating the fish from the stick it’s impaled on and passing it to him.

“Is your hair dry yet?” He’s too preoccupied with forcibly ripping the fish in half to avoid scaling it, so he doesn’t catch your affectionate, lingering gaze.

You hum, grabbing a lock of your wet strands. “Not quite.”

He places his meal next to him on the log and leans over to take the bulk of your tresses in his grasp. You watch as he lays the blonde strands near the fire, quietly giggling at his strange logic.

“You think the heat is going to make it dry faster?” The appearance of his wide grin elicits the return of the bizarre tightening in your chest, a crushing pain that makes it difficult to breathe. You haven’t had a bite of the fish but nausea swirls in your stomach as your hands turn clammy and you rip your eyes away from Geum in hopes of collecting yourself.

Seeing your doubt towards his surely infallible rationale, his brows scrunch together and he pauses his movements in his perplexity, a distant look swirling in his eyes. He should be completely unaware of the turmoil raging within you, yet all your previous worries dissipate with the smoke of the fire as his face becomes increasingly wrinkled, flashing an expression more ludicrous than the last.

After you beg and plead with him to stop, cheeks aching from smiles and belly throbbing from laughter, he breaks out into his own set of snickers. More than satisfied, Geum grabs his fish again and begins to nibble on the meat inside. “You never considered getting a trim?” he asks between bites.

A few seconds pass as you calm yourself down from your hysterical state. “Never allowed to,” you answer, short and vague to keep the pleasant atmosphere.

“Allowed to?” His voice is laced with his astonishment. “Who’s telling you what to do at your age?”

Fidgeting with your own skewer, you ponder over an answer that’s precise enough to satisfy his curiosity, yet obscure enough to conceal your identity at the same time. Your eyes dart from side to side, following the light of the fire as it illuminates a wet, crimson stain on the sleeve of Geum’s jacket.

“What’s that?” you question, scuttling over to his log and sitting down next to him. To get a better look, you grab his elbow and pull it towards you.

“Nothing. Don’t change the subject.” He tries to shrug off both your concern and your hand that’s clutching onto his arm, which only makes you tighten your grip. At the increase in pressure, a low groan slips past his lips and you instantly release your hold at the sound.

“Does it hurt?” The memory of the guard wildly slashing his sword in the air comes to mind and you realize that although the blow didn’t cost either of your lives, his upper arm must have borne the brunt of the force instead.

“It’s fine.” He attempts to brush you off again, but you’re as clingy as a leech and refuse to budge from his side.

You latch on to the lapel of his jacket and tug. “Take it off.”

Despite your solemnity, his low chuckle sends an involuntary shiver down your spine. “Already asking me to strip? I’m not that easy, Princess. How about you take me on a date first and I’ll think about your offer?”

“You know what I mean,” you grumble, exasperated that he persists on maintaining his incessant teasing while injured.

When he finishes cleaning off one half of his meal, about to reach for the other, you move to stand in front of him. You dismiss the wild pounding of your heart to focus on slipping his jacket off of his opposite arm.

He puts forth no effort to stop you, although he’s definitely not helping much with his limp, bulky appendages that are a lot heavier than expected. Slowly but surely, you tenderly thread his injured arm out of his sleeve with careful hands.

The white, short-sleeved shirt he’s sporting underneath makes it easy to spot the splotches of crimson dyeing the hem of his sleeve through the dim, orange light. You approach his laceration delicately, treating him like a frightened animal. He snorts at your earnest actions.

Lifting the fabric covering the entirety of the gash, you gasp softly at the depth of the wound, grimacing as though it’s your own limb that’s been hurt. “You shouldn’t be moving around with this, you’re not letting it heal.”

“I’ll endure any pain to keep you close,” he whispers, sweet honey dripping from his words as he loops his other arm around your waist, effectively pulling you in between his open legs.

His chin is a mere few centimetres from your belly button, gazing up at you with a flirtatious wink as he perches his hand onto your lower back. You hold your breath, worried that he can hear the utter chaos erupting within your chest due to the close proximity.

Flustered, you push at his broad shoulders, desperate for some room to breathe. Geum flinches at your touch and you instantly regret your thoughtless behaviour. Your concern at the severity of his wound multiplies tenfold, feeding into a disquiet that nestles into every cell in your body. “I’m serious, it doesn’t look good.”

One hand falls into his lap while the other comes up to ruffle his damp locks. “Don’t get shy now, Princess.”

Taking in the defeated slouch to his back, the distant glaze that darkens his bronze orbs, you think about your hair. You think about how much younger your mother appears after she detangles each strand. You think about all the scars you’ve avoided throughout the years by singing a simple tune.

This man saved your life, and it’s time for you to repay the favour. You consider waiting until he’s asleep to heal his arm, plagued by the distress of being mistaken as a witch. Mother warned you about those kinds of people, who are ready to ruin your life in order to improve their own—anything ranging from taking advantage of your unworldly qualities to selling you for a pretty penny.

Mother always knows best. Right?

You peer into his expressionless eyes that stare holes into the dancing flames, the other uneaten half of the fish still laying untouched. From the limited time you’ve spent together, you shouldn’t feel this distraught at his pain, as though a chunk of your heart is bleeding out with him and leaving you in a puddle of your own misery.

But one look at Geum’s laceration and even a child could tell that the relentless stream would end his life before long. No matter how well he can conceal his shallow, rapid breathing, you begin to make sense of his sweaty, pallid countenance that shreds any remaining skepticism you hold against him—dismissing the wariness brought about by those wanted posters.

“Geum.”

His eyelids shut close at your grave tone. “I know. It’s fine.”

At your hesitant tone, he sluggishly spares you a placid, tame smile. You hate it.

The Geum you’ve come to know is exuberant, taking all his hardships in stride with a sly smirk to boot. He’s brilliant, craftier than any artist, and resourceful even in the face of despondency. He’s compassionate, extending his own neck to save yours, always sympathetic to your plight.

This Geum is hollow, a shell of the person you knew.

The crushed downturn of his doe eyes doesn’t belong to his captivating features. You yearn to watch that classic, mischievous glint sparkle in his irises as he taunts you endlessly, testing how high your pulse can spark when he invades your personal space yet again.

You take a seat next to him. “No, uh,” you stammer, “I got a solution. You just can’t scream or freak out or anything, okay? Most importantly, you can’t tell anyone. Not a single soul.”

Before he can react to your cryptic warnings, you separate a lock of your hair, wrapping it around his wounded bicep. He raises a single brow at your strange antics but provides no further opposition. You’re pleased with the amount of trust he’s placed in you.

You close your eyes, and then you sing.

“Flower, gleam and glow Let your power shine,”

Starting from your roots, a golden glimmer races across the tresses of your hair. Bewildered, Geum recoils in his state of shock but remains rooted in his spot nonetheless.

“Make the clock reverse Bring back what once was mine,”

He follows the scintillating shimmer in your strands until he reaches the portion wrapped around his bicep. You absentmindedly wonder if he can feel his flesh reconstructing, cells dividing at a rapid rate to close the smooth gash.

“Heal what has been hurt Change the Fates' design Save what has been lost Bring back what once was mine,”

Your lids slide open to stare at his wide eyes, his jaw hanging ever so slightly. You’re glad to see that his previously pale complexion has given way to his natural, lively undertone.

“What once was mine.”

When the last notes fade out, eventually overpowered by the lone hoot of an owl, you gingerly untangle your hair from the shell-shocked man. Geum slaps his other hand over the healed skin, his head rapidly darting between examining his arm and making absurd facial expressions that convey his amazement. From his naturally cool composure, you treasure this rare moment of awe.

“Wha—”

Your stressed squeak halts him in his speech. “Please don’t freak out.”

“I’m not freaking out.” He looks like he’s trying to convince himself more so than you when he continues, “Not freaking out. What’s there to freak out about? I mean, magical healing hair? Completely normal.”

Your grin is filled with mirth at his nervous tone, and you lift his prodding digits from the site of the wound. Or at least where it used to be. “You feel okay?”

With all of your attention directed towards analyzing his healthy appendage, ensuring that your magic had not screwed up somewhere along the process, you miss Geum’s tender gaze roaming over every inch of your countenance. “Yeah, I guess I’m more than okay now.”

“I promise I’m not some kind of witch or anything like that. Just, uh, was just born with it,” you try to explain despite being in the dark about many of the nitty-gritty details yourself.

“Born with magical hair?”

You giggle at the absurdity of his question, although the validity remains true, it’s rather peculiar to hear it out loud. “Some of us are born with more talent than others. But that’s also why I can’t cut it,” you smile sheepishly, deciding to answer his earlier question now that your secret is out in the open.

“It turns brown and loses its magic.” You gather all your strands into one fist, pulling the mass to the side to expose the short, chestnut coloured strands underneath. You feel vulnerable and exposed with your neck out on display, sharing the fragility of your powers with a man you’ve known for less than twenty-four hours.

But it’s Geum, and he doesn’t feel like a stranger to you. “An overbearing mother is also part of the reason, but that’s a story for another time. Carrying it around can be heavy and the tangles can be brutal, but I guess it has its perks.”

He hums, stretching his torso to throw some twigs into the fire in hopes of enlarging the dwindling flames. “Yeah, I, uh…”

You stay silent, neither dismissing nor pressuring him into voicing his thoughts.

“My name isn’t actually Geum.”

A teasing smirk lifts the corner of your lips as you lean closer and nudge his arm. “You don’t say?”

He scoffs at your playful demeanour and pushes you back with one finger on your forehead. When your upper body is tilted away from him and your head is facing the starry night sky, he retracts his digit and speaks so softly that the noise is almost carried away by the wind. “It’s Jungkook.”

“Jungkook,” you test it out, matching the syllables to the face. It’s a bit strange after getting accustomed to associating him with the name ‘Geum,’ but in a way, it complements him better.

“Yeah.” He pauses and you shift your body to study him, memorizing the slopes and angles of his side profile. His orbs reflect the flickering fire, engulfing the newly added branches in its blaze. “I just thought somebody should know.”

“Is Geum your alias... for when you’re being a criminal?” Although you’re hesitant to delve into the subject, especially right after he’s begun to unveil his true identity, your curiosity outweighs reason and you can’t contain yourself. You can’t say that you’ve never questioned the diadem hidden in his satchel.

Crowns don’t belong to convicts who run from justice.

You wait for his answer with bated breath, unintentionally trapping your lower lip between your teeth in anticipation. Please, Jungkook.

“If you’re trying to ask what I did,” he hisses, knuckles turning white from his clenched fists, “Yeah, I stole it. Those assholes don’t deserve their riches.”

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, his anger radiating off him in waves. You wish you could eat your previous words because of how furious he’s become, but you’re committed to finishing the job. “Are you talking about the King and Queen?” Your brows pinch together in your discomfort. “Was that their crown?”

“This is your first time out of that tower, right?” You confirm his inquiry with a quick nod of your head. “How much do you know about the kingdom?”

“Jungkook—”

He tuts, fixing you with a strict glare. “Answer the question.”

“Well…” While recalling all the knowledge you picked up from your mother and the few historical books within your collection, you fiddle with a strand of your hair and organize your thoughts. “The castle is located in the middle of the capital, said to loom over the entire kingdom with its height. After it was rebuilt to accommodate more space for the Prince, everyone, from poets to milliners, cried over the beauty carved within those walls.”

He expels a deep sigh, causing you to question the legitimacy written in those pages you recited. “I asked about the kingdom, not the castle.”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. The information you collected over the years is limited to everything inside that grandiose, opulent building. There was nothing about the land, animals or even the common folk.

A gust blows the smoke of your little bonfire towards you, and you blink rapidly to avoid any soot from lodging itself into your eyes. Jungkook plucks a large leaf from one of the plants nearby, lazily fanning the fumes away. “That cozy castle and the royal family sitting on top of it all couldn’t care less about their people. They rake their luxuries from our hard work when even one jewel off that crown could feed hundreds.”

You process the cold truth in silence, a shiver overtaking your limbs in spite of the heat in front of you. “Is that why you stole it?”

“I don’t care if they want to plaster my face all over the kingdom and put a bounty on my head, I’m not going to stand around and watch people die from their greedy hands,” he states, proud and resolute.

You’re torn between the anguish nipping at your heels and the relief washing over your head. Living sheltered in that tower, you had no clue about the perils outside your own stone walls, is this what Mother was trying to protect you from?

However, discovering the true nature behind Jungkook’s crimes restores your faith in him, and your shoulders relax as you crane your neck to peer at the stars again. With your curiosity quenched, you move on to another question. “So, how many people get to call you Jungkook?”

He follows your example, leaning back and revelling in the breathtaking sight. “Nobody knows my real name, everyone calls me Geum.”

Your jaw drops a fraction from the admittance, feeling rather privileged that he chose to share it with you. “Your family calls you that too?”

“Don’t have any,” he brushes off your sympathetic gaze with a shrug.

“Why the name Geum?”

You catch his tiny, forlorn smile in your peripheral. “I grew up hearing all about the royal family’s massive parties, overflowing with family, friends—people. They were never lonely. And since they were parading their money around, I thought that was it, that was the secret.”

The dejected tone in his voice clogs your airways and makes it difficult to breathe, stunning your motionless form into remaining as still as a statue, the magnitude of his sorrow sweeping over you in fatal waves.

“And I hoped that maybe naming myself ‘gold’ might give me some luck with that.” With his shoulders downcast, his eyes flicker over to you, gauging your reaction.

You desperately wish you could turn back time to console the young boy whose heart was too big to fit inside his tiny body. Although he’s grown into it now, you strive to ease his suffering by even the slightest fraction. “I think ‘Jungkook’ is even better for making friends.”

The edges of his lips flip upwards as he navigates his face to halt directly right in front of your own, pressing one hand to the other side of your farthest thigh and caging you in. “Would you be my friend, Princess?”

All your blood rushes to your head, warming your cheeks. In a futile attempt to preserve any of your remaining dignity, you shrink back to maintain some distance. But his smirk grows at the sight of your shy response to his advances, his orbs flitting down to your pink lips before returning to your eyes. He looks absolutely ecstatic over your flustered state.

His hot breath fans over your lips and you gather any rational sense you have left inside your muddled brain to push him back, missing the split second his confident facade cracks and a sliver of insecurity shines through. It’s instantly replaced by a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No matter what you decide to call yourself, I’ll always be your friend.”

Seconds seem like hours as the two of you stare at each other, seeking to uncover the words left unsaid. Jungkook’s palms press against his knees, pushing off of them to come to a standing position and effectively ending your little moment. “I’m gonna go get some more wood.”

You nod, staring at his retreating backside that ventures into the adumbral forest once more. Even though the perpetrator of all these complex emotions is no longer within sight, you feel unsettled from the mere thought of him, yet your heart yearns for him all the same.

“Oh, Petal, I thought he would never leave!” A distinctly high-pitched cry rings out in the empty space, a voice which you didn’t expect to hear until at least tomorrow night.

Your head whips to the side to confirm your suspicions. “Mother?” Her dark figure emerges from the shadows and your heart drops to your stomach. You fumble for the right words, at a loss from her unexpected appearance. “How did you—”

“The better question is how could you, Petal?” she corrects, continuing to step into the light provided by the fire. The once comforting flames turn harsh, sharp pops bursting forth from the aggressive combustion. She lowers her hood to reveal the disappointment etched into her youthful features—and without fail, the sting of upsetting her burns through your conscience. “Really, how could you betray your own mother like this?”

You stand, determined to explain yourself, “Mother, he’s different from the monsters you told me about. If you get to know him, he’s sweet and caring and kind an-and he isn’t after my magic!”

“And that’s where you’re wrong, my naive, little Petal.” She tilts her chin up slightly, peering down at you. “Everyone is the same out here, all looking after themselves.”

You approach her within a few strides. “Mother, please listen to me, he’s different! Even though he puts on a tough front at times, he’s really considerate on the inside.” You fiddle with the tips of your fingers as you whisper the next part, “And I, uh, I think he might like me.”

The reaction you least expect is her startling outburst of laughter, powerful enough to fold her in half, and you wait for her giggles to quiet down before warily stepping forward. Your mother is acting awfully strange. “You think he likes you? And what makes you think that?”

You blanch at her ruthless words, wincing as though they assumed a physical form and punched you repeatedly in the gut.

Her maniacal snickers abruptly cease and a frown mars her lovely face once again, her expression one you recognized from previous reprimands, whether it was shattering a vase or begging to go outside. Your chin falls down to meet your chest, unable to muster up your faux bravery for any longer.

“I’m asking what gave you the idea that he would like some insolent, unsightly brat like you?”

You can’t open your mouth to respond, frozen in fear.

“Hm, what’s with the silence? You seemed so certain earlier, Petal. This is why you never should have left, look at this pitiful romance you’ve created,” she mocks, rounding your nervous form like a predator playing with their prey. “Let’s put him to the test then, shall we?”

Your head snaps up at her odd suggestion, eyes widening at the satchel she uncovers from behind her slim form. “You found it?”

She tosses the bag to you and you outstretch your arms—only to catch it a second too late. The bag drops to the floor and the flap flips open. You race to collect the sparkling crown that tumbles out, hastily shoving the diadem back inside before Jungkook wanders back, even turning towards the fire to ensure his continued absence.

“Why so scared?” your mother questions smugly, “I thought you said that he’s different from the rest of them?”

“He is!” you exclaim, rushing to defend him.

“Then give it to him, let’s see if he stays once he has the crown back in his hands. But don’t come crying back to Mother when he runs for the hills,” she snarls, lifting her hood over her short curls and withdrawing into the woods.

Your mind reels from your mother’s visit, but your concern lies with where to stash the leather satchel in your grasp. Dead leaves crunch under approaching footsteps and you examine your body, contemplating the best area for your idea.

Hiking the hem of your dress up to your stomach, you loop the strap of the bag through your left foot, twisting and repeating until it’s coiled around your ankle and the pouch snugly rests against your skin. You shimmy the satchel until the middle of your thigh where it refuses to go any higher.

Satisfied, you release your dress, smoothing the fabric down and confirming that nothing is suspiciously sticking out. You violently shake your leg back and forth to ensure there would be no future problems and sure enough, the straps tenaciously cling onto your thigh throughout all your testing.

“Hey, look what I found! He’ll definitely save us some travelling time tomorrow, but I don’t think he likes me much.”

Jungkook appears from the area your mother disappeared with an overwhelming pile of lumber in his arms. You stroll over to lessen the load, but he brushes you off and bypasses you to drop it beside the fire.

A white horse tromps along after him, trying to nip at the crown of his head while he shoos it away with a waving hand. The comical sight distracts you from the dreary thoughts of your mother, although the stiff strap wrapped around your leg forbids you from forgetting about it.

When you snap out of your reverie, Jungkook is cocking his head to the side at your unusually spacey behaviour.

You spare him a weak smile and shake your head.

Rather than sore feet, the next day your entire crotch is painfully numb from riding Maximus, the quirky horse who holds an obnoxious grudge against Jungkook for reasons unknown to you. While Max allows you to rub his cheeks, scratch his neck and run your fingers through his mane, he huffs if Jungkook so much as breathes too loudly.

Oddly enough, the stallion follows Jungkook around like a lost puppy despite his cold attitude. What is with males and their inability to show their appreciation for one another?

Jungkook insisted on being in front and taking hold of the reins even though Max refused to let him mount his back at first. After some caresses and loving words with the sweet animal, Max permitted you to hop on—which Jungkook was not pleased with. It was a nice change of pace to watch the ordinarily suave man lose his cool over a horse’s favouritism.

In the end, the only way Jungkook was allowed on was by sitting behind you, latching onto you for stability. The animosity growing between the two males adds to your amusement, so you remain unbothered by the hostile glares you can feel Jungkook throwing over your shoulder and the aggressive puffs of air that blow through Max’s nostrils every once in a while.

“Tell me how you found Max again?” Skepticism leaks into your tone, courtesy of Jungkook’s thieving habits.

You could practically feel his eyes roll back into his head as his arms tighten around your waist. His built torso is glued to your back, which repeatedly distracts you from the path ahead. “I told you that I was collecting some twigs off of the ground when this guy appeared out of nowhere! I was scared shitless.”

“You mean to say that someone accidentally lost their horse in the middle of the woods?” You glance sideways to peek at his chin, lodged into the crook of your neck. His face is merely a couple of millimetres from your own.

When he insisted on resting his head there, you had thoroughly embarrassed yourself with a flaming face, resembling a ripe tomato ready for the picking, coupled with your inability to enunciate any word properly. But after hours of his head smooshed against the side of your face or leaning against your upper back, you finally relax into his hold, finding comfort and safety in the appendages coiled tightly around you.

“Sounds plausible, doesn’t it?”

You scoff at the impish grin stretching across his cheeks at his own horrible excuse.

The castle comes into view in the ensuing half-hour, the imposing building no longer obstructed by the towering trees of the forest. Your spirits are dampened slightly by the cruel secrets Jungkook revealed yesterday night, although your giddiness at the prospect of living out your dreams makes you vibrate in excitement. You remind yourself that you’re here for the magical lights, not the castle.

The faint pounding against your back picks up speed for a reason drastically different to your own. He is essentially walking right into his own imprisonment—his wanted posters more than likely plastered across every flat surface inside the marketplace with soldiers littered around the premises. You gather the sturdy reins into one hand, freeing the other to hold Jungkook’s conjoined digits over your stomach.

Completely engrossed in Jungkook’s dilemma, neither of you notice Max racing into town until a screech pierces your ears. You apologize profusely for the spilled legumes that begin rolling away from the young woman, and you whip Max into trodding off before she curses you out.

Once you’re satisfied with the amount of space between yourselves and the unlucky woman, you tie Max’s reins to a nearby fence and race to join the festivities carrying on all around you. Spotting Jungkook’s unsure form lagging behind, you dart back to tug on his wrist, flashing him an encouraging smile before lugging him from one stall to another.

You don’t get far before you experience a sharp pain on your scalp. With the large amounts of people bustling around the tiny square, your hair is a tripping hazard that you try to quickly bunch up into your arms. Your hair is way too long to carry by yourself, so you turn to ask Jungkook for help, though he’s nowhere to be found.

Your mind races to the worst-case scenario. The guards must have caught sight of him, capturing him off guard while you were none the wiser and now he’s going to be hanged for his crimes all because you were too stupid to—

A couple of little girls with flowers decorating their braids physically yank you out of your trance, their tiny hands gathering your multitudinous strands and dragging you off to the side. You’re about to protest against their actions, more concerned over Jungkook’s whereabouts than anything, but after catching a glance of said man playfully waving at you from a few feet away, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

The three girls deftly move from left to right, taking locks of your hair with them as they knot it all into one humongous five strand braid. When you stand up to your full height, you’re amazed to see that none of your hair touches the ground. Considering the hefty weight that pulls at the back of your head, you know this solution can’t last too long.

They scatter various fresh flowers all over, the scent of the blossoms wafting around your figure. As you’re appreciating their handiwork, an arm wraps itself around the curve of your lower back, drawing you into a herculean chest while you blow air kisses filled with your gratitude to the snickering girls.

Jungkook maneuvers you into a narrow alleyway, and you get a chance to admire his glittering irises from up close.

“Guards?”

He only grins.

You’re certain to keep an eye out for any wandering soldiers from that point on, with you pulling Jungkook behind crowds or him dragging you into the gaps between small buildings. Despite the situation being rather stressful with your lives at stake, your escapade is thrilling nonetheless and you enjoy being pressed up against his lean frame, carelessly giggling to yourselves.

Although neither of you carries any silver, window shopping proves to be equally as amusing—browsing through homemade accessories, toys and masks that you play around with, flashing ridiculous faces at one another.

The delicious smell of baked goods drifts through the streets and prompts your mouths to fill with saliva. You appreciate the artistry behind their beautifully decorated exteriors, adorned with colourful frosting and sprinkles. One booth catches your attention and you latch onto Jungkook’s hand to drag him along.

Rows and rows of shiny green bottles are positioned in perfect rows on a table inside the booth and plushies hang from the sides, acting as bait to any passerby. You tug on the hem of Jungkook’s dark vest, gesticulating towards the game with awe.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a few silver coins that glint in the sunlight. Your eyes widen into saucers at his mischievous grin and you smack his arm, chiding him for his wandering hands as he assures you that he found them on the ground. When he goes as far as to insist that he saved them from being trampled on, you can’t help your tinkling laughter from escaping.

Perhaps it’s karma that prevents your rings from landing on top of any bottle, but the exhilaration of watching the rings soar in midair with a flick of your wrist as Jungkook’s chants fill your ears is priceless. Certainly more precious than any stuffed animal.

You two amble about the streets again, side by side. Long fingers intertwine with your own and your heart flips in your chest, suppressing the raging flush that threatens to colour your cheeks whenever Jungkook is involved. You look around your surroundings, trying to conceal the cheeky grin on your face, resembling that of a toddler with their favourite candy.

Before long, your travelling gaze takes notice of the people hunched over on the ground, concentrated on the stones below them. With a closer look, you discover the sketches littered across the stone pathways—some spanning the entire street and some smaller than your palm.

You bolt over to join them with Jungkook in tow. This whole hand-holding business is proving to be more useful than you thought.

There are pieces of different coloured chalk dispersed throughout the streets, and you pick up an orange one, urging Jungkook to do the same. He searches around for a bit until he decides on a white coloured chalk.

By the time you’re finalizing the tiny drawing you sketched onto the uneven stones, the stub in your hand is half the size of your pinky. Your joints ache from kneeling for so long, but you’re more than satisfied with the bright tiger lily staring back at you.

You stand up, brushing off of any stray rocks that have embedded themselves onto the bare skin of your legs and nudge Jungkook’s arm with your foot. He grumbles under his breath that you ruined the white blob he claims to be a bunny, but you jest that it was doomed the moment he picked up the chalk.

The retort silences him and you stretch your hand out to help him stand, grinning sheepishly at the pout on his pink lips. He accepts your peace offering, although rather than using your aid to get up, he yanks you downwards and your unstable body lands right into his lap. You squeak at his retaliation and wriggle violently in his hold as he curls himself around you, his chin resting onto your shoulder and arms wrapping around your torso to quell your futile efforts of escape.

“You like the nation’s flower?” He questions, nuzzling his face into your upper back.

“Nation’s flower?”

He hums his confirmation and you feel the pleasant vibrations on your neck before he’s nodding towards the purple pennants that dangle off of thin strings, stretching between buildings. Now that you’re actively inspecting the marketplace for the flower, you notice the continuous motif of the orange lily sprouting everywhere from decorations to paintings.

Jungkook seems to have abandoned all hope on his own masterpiece, for he lifts you up by your underarms and leads you away.

As you venture through the rest of the market, grazing through the various stalls, you examine all the knick-knacks depicting the famous tiger lily. It soothes you slightly, recognizing the flower decorating your walls back at the tower.

Lost in your trance, you don’t catch Jungkook slinking away, disappearing into the crowds.

As you turn the corner to browse the next stall’s wares, a massive stained glass window depicting a family of three catches your eye. The man appears stern with his furrowed brows and deep-set frown, and the woman’s forced smile fits awkwardly onto her face. She’s holding a tight bundle of canvas, a tiny face peeking through the layers of fabric in her arms.

Rays of the setting sun pierce through the coloured, translucent material and surround the art piece with an ethereal glow. You’re transfixed by the woman, reminded of your own mother’s delicate features.

You shake off the unpleasant feeling of your last encounter with her and analyze the three squares dedicated to the child’s crumpled face. The only noticeable detail you can make out is his chubby cheeks.

“Interested in the Prince?” A warm breath whispers into your ear, “Am I not good enough for you anymore, Princess?”

You spin around to face Jungkook, barely able to contain your delight as you examine the playful glint in his eyes. “Bold of you to assume there was ever a point where you were good enough for me.”

He scoffs, hands automatically coming to loop around your middle. “I know you’re not suggesting that I’m anything less than stellar company.”

You hum aloud, feigning contemplation by rubbing at your chin and a wide grin breaks his irked performance. He tries to hide his little slip by burrowing his face into the crook of your neck.

His soft cheeks on your bare skin along with his large hands squeezing at your sides elicit all your muffled giggles to burst past your lips. Pure, unadulterated glee bounces around your stomach.

Some of the lilies lodged within your golden strands fall loose and flutter onto the ground with the movement. You intercept one that drops from near your temple, plucking it out of the air and slotting the stem just above Jungkook’s ear.

He pulls away from subjecting your clavicle with his tiny nips in order to rest his forehead against yours. Your head is cradled by one of his palms and you watch as his heated gaze roams down to your lips. Entranced by his overwhelming presence, your eyelids slide shut as he leans forward slightly, tilting his head to the side before a meaty hand encloses around the circumference of your upper arm, yanking you away from him.

Panic seizes your muscles. Your heart threatens to shatter your rib cage with its fierce pounding. The soldiers. You extend your other arm to reach out for Jungkook—the same alarm piercing your flesh is reflected in his blazing orbs. Before he has the chance to rush after you, a dainty woman clothed in a primrose dress sweeps him away as well.

Barely a whole day has passed since you began running away from the soldiers, yet you’re more than certain that the soldier’s attire solely consisted of their royal uniforms, which did not include any flowy, pink garments. You whip back to your own abductor; a stout, jolly man with a cheshire grin stretching from one ear to the other.

He releases you in the middle of a swarming mass of people, moving their bodies left and right to the beat being pounded out on tabors and the sweet melody spilling from a nearby flute.

The man spins you around, encouraging you to let loose and sway your hips to the upbeat song as you’re handed off from one partner to the next. Somewhere within the chaos, you spot Jungkook’s longing stare and you subconsciously inch closer to his side.

The second that you two are within reach of one another, you dart into his arms. Just as you’re about to slip into his comforting embrace, a scrawny boy takes your place while an older woman wraps her arms around your shoulders. She wastes no time before guiding you into a dip, her palms supporting your back.

Upside down, Jungkook’s annoyed countenance is an amusing sight that you gleefully chortle at. Knowing that he is similarly distraught at the prospect of being unable to dance together soothes your aching desire and you savour the thrilling experience of moving as one part of a greater whole.

You prance and twirl your heart out as if it’s your last time. And you’re sure that it will be.

Eventually, both of you are able to slither your way out of the dancing crowds, and the cheers die down the farther you get from the main square. The sun is rapidly falling past the horizon and the capital is shrouded in the deepening twilight. You assumed that he would lead you to see the lanterns about now, but you’re clueless as to why you two are heading away from the castle.

“Jungkook?”

He turns back to you with a breathtaking smile resting on his lips, the dwindling light casting an otherworldly radiance around him. Reaching for your hand, he intertwines your fingers with his own as he leans down to softly bump his forehead against yours. “You’ll see.”

Jungkook directs you towards the moat that surrounds the marketplace, ushering you into one of the many gondolas lined up against the dock. You narrow your eyes at him and he attempts to reassure you with a simple, “We’ll bring it back.”

This man will truly corrupt all your morals.

But you’re so entranced in his spell that you follow along without more than a tiny squeeze at your interlaced digits. You release his hands before he jumps into the boat, the wood swaying back and forth under his weight, worrying you instead of the unbothered man a few feet away. As you take a sharp inhale, about to follow in his footsteps, Jungkook grips the sides of your hips and lifts you into the gondola with him.

You fix him with a reproachful glare at his unexpected actions yet the silent scolding doesn’t last long, for you’re hopeless to the sight of his elation, sticking to him like a second skin. Powerless against his charms, you sit on the thin wooden seat on the other side of the boat and watch him grab an oar, dipping it into the water and propelling you two forward.

You want to admire the unobstructed view of the sparkling night sky, but nothing can beat the galaxies hidden within Jungkook’s eyes, thus you try to seem as inconspicuous as possible in ogling him from your peripheral. However, your futile efforts are rather pointless considering your position, facing the handsome thief rowing the boat at the other end.

You think the title is fitting since he’s stolen your heart without a problem as well.

Once he deems your spot satisfactory, Jungkook strolls over to your side, taking a seat on the bench across from you. His legs slot in between the spaces of your own.

“Now that I think about it, it’s the Prince’s eighteenth birthday too,” he states. “He must be pretty excited, taking over the throne and everything.”

You perk up at the news. “He’s succeeding the King?”

“Mm,” he affirms, wetting his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “King announced an early retirement or something because they’d already found the Prince’s betrothed. His coronation is today.”

You nod your understanding, thinking about the responsibilities bearing down on the poor boy. “It’s kind of weird to think about, y’know, being the same age and even sharing the same birthday but leading completely different lives. He’s about to get married, lead a country and me...” you falter, pausing to string your thoughts into a coherent sentence. “Well, this is my entire dream. Seeing these lights is everything to me.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders. “You’re living your own life, on your own journey. Comparing yourself to others does nothing but rob yourself of your own happiness.”

You hum with a teasing lilt to your tone. “Suddenly the boy who named himself ‘gold’ in the hopes of attracting some friends is giving me advice?”

He breaks out into a chuckle, doubling over and laying his forehead on your shoulder. His hands reach out for the locks of hair resting on your lap, plucking one of the flowers swimming in your strands. Like Hansel and his bread crumbs, many of the blossoms that fell off throughout your time in the marketplace left tracks of your whereabouts. Only a few flowers remain with you.

With the delicate daisy between his thumb and index finger, he rolls the pads of his fingers against each other, spinning the white petals so fast that they blur together into a splotchy circle surrounding the yellow centre. Once he becomes bored with the flower, he lifts his head and stretches his arm out with a classic smirk that heightens his flirtatious nature. “For you, my lady.”

You huff at the offering. “You act as if it wasn’t already mine in the first place.” Despite your sharp words, you gingerly pluck the stem out of his grasp, fingers brushing against his own. When you raise the daisy up to your nose, the invigorating floral scent startles your senses once more.

With not much else to occupy your time, you decide that now is a better time than ever to dislodge the wilting buds from your tresses. You face the side of the gondola overlooking the water, grabbing onto the ledge and leaning forward.

You muster all the grace you have within your bones to place the ivory daisy onto the water’s surface. The flower drifts along the calm current, painting the atmosphere with a tranquil serenity.

Despite your best efforts to suppress them, your clumsy tendencies shine through when you tip your torso over a smidge too far, losing your balance and diving headfirst for the water. Jungkook is quick to latch on to your wrist, steadying you before you accidentally throw yourself overboard.

You’re sheepish in both your apology and thanks. To avoid any further mishaps, one of his hands remain on your lower back and the other collects the remaining blossoms in your tresses, handing them off to you.

A slow rhythm develops between you two and your raging thoughts come to a standstill, a red light halting the traffic within your mind. In front of you, a garden of assorted blossoms assembles, floating gently towards the ornate castle. One sprout catches your eye.

A tiger lily.

Directly below its long petals, a flash of bright red catches your eye in the reflection of the water. Jungkook’s deep voice cleaves through the soft sloshing of the water. “The lanterns.”

“It’s…” You struggle to piece together proper words to describe the sight before you. One lantern lightens the dark sky, drifting alone in the expansive space before a bunch of others race to join the first. Their warm, yellow glow overpowers that of the moon, painting the landscape in an orange tint that seems to welcome you into its embrace.

“Beautiful.”

You’re too distracted by the enchanting sight before you to notice his eyes trained on your profile, and so you soundlessly agree with a nod of your head. It’s as if time has ceased in its endless ticking, halting in its tracks for another world to open where only you and Jungkook exist.

You don’t mind the idea as much as you think you would.

“I have a surprise.”

You turn over to face him, head tilting in curiosity. He carries a paper lantern in his open palms and your brows furrow at his attentive, considerate behaviour. “Jungkook?”

“We should join in on all the fun, right?” A genuine smile illuminates his soft features instead of the usual smirks he casually throws your way. Oddly enough, despite your inability to operate in front of his flirty personality, you adore both sides equally.

“Kook, wait.”

He perks up at the nickname, reminding you of a dog with its tail violently wagging back and forth—you can’t help but be enamoured by him. You raise the hem of your dress up to the middle of your left thigh and he sputters, looking away. “Hey, hey! I know I’m pretty irresistible but this boat is not the place to—”

“No, you idiot.” You snicker at his unexpected timidity, shimmying the coiled strap down your leg and covering your decency once again with the fabric. “I have something for you too.”

He peeks at you, ensuring that you’re sufficiently clothed before turning to face you. A cold sweat settles over the outer layer of your skin as you watch his brows raise at his satchel in your hands. Keeping the lantern in one hand, and his steady gaze focused on your eyes, he gently pushes the bag down to the floor of the boat, the metal of the crown banging against the wood.

“All I need is you,” he whispers the words into the empty space of the night, the syllables getting lost somewhere within the mellow breeze blowing by. Your heart constricts at the reassurance that this time, Mother is wrong. You fight back the tears gathering at your waterline and grab the other edge of the lantern after he lights the candle inside.

“Ready?” he asks.

You nod and the two of you slowly lift your arms to release the lantern with the masses drifting above you. After a bit, you lose sight of your paper lantern and you glance back at Jungkook to ask whether he was able to keep track of its location, but your voice gets stuck in your throat when you become captivated with the childlike wonder buried within his orbs, roaming over the sky and examining every single lantern at once.

His scouring eventually leads him back to you. He catches you staring, but neither of you care enough to break the moment. His eyes soften and you two shuffle forward on your seats, being pulled toward one another like magnets. Your legs entangle with his in the cramped area and you lean forward until your lips are millimetres from one another.

From this close, you have a perfect view of your reflection within his brilliant irises, the shallow scar that runs along his cheek, the cute birthmark right under his mouth. His eyes are locked on your mouth and you take that as the go-ahead signal to close the gap and slot your lips against his soft ones.

With your evident lack of experience, Jungkook takes control immediately, a hand flying to the back of your head, threading through your hair to keep you in place as he sucks at your lower lip. His tongue swipes at the closed seam that blocks him from your mouth, and you instantly open up to clash tongues, although you shrink back soon after, letting him explore your hot cavern.

You sneak a peek at him every time you two separate for air, confirming that this is indeed reality and not some product of your wild imagination. He invades all your senses and keeps you locked to him like an addict desperate for their fix, his other palm searing through your clothing with its heat and burning a hole through the thin fabric of your dress.

When you finally pull away, you feel feverish and dizzy as a raging blush colours your cheeks. You can’t find it in yourself to look directly into his eyes, but he reaches for your chin and forces you to study the haze of passion in his gaze.

Every part of your body is lit aflame from his touch. Hooked on the feeling of his plush lips pressing against yours with your tongues swirling in tandem with one another, you’re about to lean in for more when his eyes dart off to the side and he abruptly jerks away as if you burned him with your embrace.

His startling jolt snaps you out of your dazed state. With your head out of the clouds, you notice that the lanterns have already moved onto the next town over, taking their warmth with them. The fire within you, kindled by Jungkook, dwindles with the uncertainty of your future together.

Without so much as another word, Jungkook snatches the oar from the bottom of the boat and jumps back to his position at the front of the gondola. He urgently paddles the two of you back to land and you fumble for words. “Jungkook, I—”

“It’s not you.” His statement is reassuring in writing, although his tone is detached, distant in a way that crushes the passages to your lungs. Lost in your dejection, you’re powerless to prod him for any more information than that.

Before the boat can hit the edge of the dock, Jungkook springs out with his leather satchel tucked under his arm, pausing to mutter, “I just—I have to take care of something. Please believe me when I say I’ll be back.” His anguish leaks into his voice and you will yourself to nod, a forced smile on your lips. “Wait for me.”

He dashes off with your heart in his hands. You steady your shaky breath and place your faith in him, the man you have come to trust with your life.

You spend the next half hour struggling to get out of the gondola, craving the flat land to ground yourself. By the time you manage to clamber out, there are a couple of discoloured blotches on the length of your dress that put your many failed attempts on full display. You fan one of the bigger spots to help it dry faster, but the fabric becomes chilly with the extra wind and a shiver slips down your spine from its icy temperature.

Languid footsteps approach your frigid frame and you brighten up, forgetting about the cold. “Took you long enough. Y’know, for a second there I was worried you’d actually lef—”

You pick up more than one pair of feet advancing on you and your eyes widen at the lanky, redheaded twins that stop in front of your path. Cursing your quivering limbs, you cringe at the tremor in your voice when you ask, “What did you do to him?”

They simultaneously snort at your question and the one on the left replies, “Sorry about this, lass, but you’re gonna have to come with us.”

The blood drains from your face and you repeat, louder, “What did you do to him?”

“Aw, don’t get all riled up now. But don’t worry your pretty little head, we’re going to take you right to him.” They corner you back to the dock and you scramble to locate a weapon to defend yourself with. At your wit’s end, you prepare to jump into the murky waters.

However, before you get the chance to move another muscle, an intense pain blooms at the back of your skull, wrapping around to your temples accompanied by a flash of light exploding behind your eyes. Then everything goes black.

Your head pounds as a dull ache nestles itself deep within your bones. Your vision is nothing but a blurry, indecipherable mess of colours, so you opt to keep your eyes closed instead. You’re kneeling on cold tiles that rub your knees raw when you subtly shift into a more comfortable position, discovering the existence of the shackles around your wrists and ankles.

“—nd the girl. We expect you to keep your end of the deal.” The rugged tone that speaks is one that you recognize from before your blackout—one of the redheads.

“Yes, yes, all the charges laid against you have been cleared,” a high-pitched voice meets your ears and you subconsciously grimace, physically recoiling from the sound. Thankfully, your sharp motions go unnoticed. “You’re free to go.”

“What?” You hear shuffling nearby, the rustling of clothes getting farther away from you. The distinct, metallic sheen of a couple of swords being unsheathed follow and the footsteps come to a sudden stop. “You promised us gold.”

The woman scoffs, “Now why would I give you crooked-nosed knaves anything more than a death sentence?”

Many polished boots clamber against the ground with such force that the vibrations can be felt through the flesh of your folded calves. The grunts and garbled screams that ensue are silenced within seconds and two hefty weights hit the floor with a limp, lifeless thud.

“A pleasure working with you boys.”

There’s more shuffling, then something is dragged past your crumpled form. The throbbing across your cranium worsens and you’re incapable of fending off the blissful oblivion of desolation any longer, thus you surrender to the darkness once more.

The next time you open your eyes a harsh light coats your surroundings and the blocks of colour are clearer, sharp enough to decipher the intricate detailing painted on the tiles beneath your knees. Someone chokes on a wet cough, and your eyelids snap shut once more. Your nose crinkles in disgust as well.

“Her tiny skull should have been rolling through these halls eighteen years ago.” The woman’s wretched tone fills your ears, words full of deadly poison.

You remain chained, kneeling against the ground with your head lowered. A numbing sensation lingers no matter how much you fidget in place, bearing down your limbs with the weight of your useless nerves that refuse to fire off.

Another, deeper, voice responds, “Tone it down. Her magic is powerful, the advantage we hold over the other kingdoms is colossal with this kind of sorcery on our side. If she falls, the whole empire will fall with her.”

Sorcery? Although you can count the number of people you met on one hand, you’ve studied heaps of books and drilled your mother with enough questions to know that your magic is unique and rare—a product of alchemy that occurs merely once every millennium.

“I see no point in keeping her around when we cannot access her magic at our will, she is as good as worthless to us. That halfwit of a sister was incapable of locking this churl in a tower for long enough, and look at her now, running around, wreaking havoc with a criminal.”

Your mind swirls with the sudden barrage of information, unsure as to why these two strangers hold deep insights into your life, as well as the knowledge about your unusual hair.

“There is nothing to worry about, Jimin is on the throne. We will simply send her away once again,” the gruff voice states, exasperation clear in his tone.

A deafening thud reverberates throughout the spacious room. Helpless to the dreadful fear swimming in your veins, your body shudders in response to the noise.

The woman shrieks, clearly at her wits’ end, “I want her dead! Guillotine, hang, drown, burn, I could care less. She poses a threat to Jimin’s throne with her existence, and we have gone through too much to have our plans foiled by this knave. We were merciful enough in having my imbecilic sister continue to meet with Jimin throughout the years.”

There’s a long, drawn-out sigh before the man answers, “Have some heart, darling, that is her son you speak of.”

“In the eyes of the people, he is my son and the King,” she seethes. Her enmity is strangely familiar, yet you fail to identify the woman through her voice. “Quit acting as if I am the only sinner here and remember how much we both sacrificed for our blood to inherit the King’s throne.”

“It is not your blood though, is it, dear wife?”

The tension within the room is thick, palpable in the dense air in the way that makes breathing difficult. “You must have enjoyed sleeping with my sister more than I believed. Do you want to call her back here? Play a good husband and wife for the counterfeit King?”

You couldn’t keep the tremours from breaking out over your body as your breaths quicken and an abundance of liquid races to your eyes. It was all beginning to come together, but you wait for the two to confirm your suspicions.

The man chuckles with hollow intent. “Do you fail to recall your own words, pleading with me to follow this foolish scheme of yours? I would have much rather preferred a foreigner rule the kingdom alongside our daughter.”

“Funny, that’s not what you said eighteen years ago.”

You let out a choked sob, unable to repress the sounds of anguish that tears at your skin to brutal shreds. Enraged rivulets stream down your cheeks, and you lift your torso to stare at your legitimate parents. They turn to you, the man distraught and the woman with pure disgust.

“How—” you stammer through your heavy wails, “how could you?”

“So the Princess found out.” Your biological mother raises from her royal seat, storming over the short distance to your trembling form. “Fine, we can strike an agreement.”

She reaches behind your head to grab a handful of your hair, yanking your head up to peer up at the exquisitely decorated ceiling. When you yelp in pain, she crouches down to your level, baring her pearly white teeth as she threatens, “Leave. Be a good little girl and go hole yourself back up in that tower. Don’t worry, Mommy will come get you if we ever need that magic of yours, hm?”

You desperately wriggle around to loosen her hold, but she only grips your strands tighter, pulling downwards to introduce more pain to your scalp. “That thief will stay right here to ensure you keep up your end of the deal, alright?”

At the mention of Jungkook, your heart stutters and your expression morphs to that of despair, momentarily forgetting about the strain to the sensitive skin of your head. “Where is he?”

She smirks and snaps her fingers. The door to the throne room is pulled open with a loud clack, and Jungkook’s weak, bloody form stumbles through the grand entrance, hanging upright with the help of two sturdy guards.

“Kook,” you achingly howl.

“Mopping all his blood off the floor would be terribly tiresome for the maids.” She jerks your head down to bear witness to the sneer stretching across her lips. “It’s all up to you, really.”

“Let me heal him!” you agonize, sobs ripping through your chest, burning through every tissue to the outermost layer of your skin. “Pl-please, please let me heal him. I’ll leave, I won’t say a word, I’ll do anything you want—I’m b-begging you, please.”

The wicked smirk playing on her lips grows wider at your pleading. She shoves your head away, the momentum of the push throwing your whole torso over to the side, bringing about a harsh meeting with the floor. With Jungkook occupying every crevice of your mind, there’s no space to register the pain pulsing through your groggy body.

“That’s what I like to hear.”

You scramble to your hands and knees, disregarding the scrapes and bruises littering your limbs. Despite your tunnel vision directed towards reaching Jungkook, your movements are sluggish from the extended period of time spent kneeling in one position.

The guards supporting him release their hold on his arms, and you scramble to catch his limp frame in your arms, but your depleted muscles can only manage to soften his fall with your body. You detangle yourself from him and hurriedly begin wrapping your hair around his torso.

Your jaw trembles at his damp locks, sodden with sweat and stuck to the side of his head dripping in crimson. The vicious colour oozes out of the deep gashes you locate across his back, peeking through the tears in his shirt and stains the bloody spit drooling from the corners of his cracked lips. Great purple welts fill the rest of his exposed skin, completing the heart-wrenching picture before you.

You pick up the weak croak of your name, and you hiccup from your fierce laments at his red-rimmed eyes. “Guess I was right all along, Princess.”

Your mother’s cruel words follow the nasty glower she shoots his way. “Shut up or we’ll end your pitiful life now, you filthy criminal.”

“Jungkook, I’m here,” you reassure him, beginning to wrap your excess strands around his arms before he stops you with a stained hand. “Jungkook let me—”

“Stop,” he mutters, gripping his side in pain.  

“No! I can’t—I can’t let you die.” You grit your teeth, disobeying his words and going to wrap your tresses around his broken body once more.

“If you go back there,” he coughs, an alarming amount of blood spurting out, “then you’ll—”

“It’s fine, everything will be alright, okay?” You press your palm over his hand and the icy bite that greets you hardens your resolve. “We’ll figure it out.”

You take a deep breath, readying yourself to sing the incantation engraved into the back of your mind when Jungkook’s fingers graze your cheek. You unconsciously lean into his touch, examining every crimson stain marring his delicate features.

His doe eyes soften at your orbs roaming his face and when your gaze settles on his thin lips, he snatches the chance to land a peck against your mouth. The fleeting kiss fills you with greed, and your eyes flutter shut despite your rationale as you dip towards him for another.

You halt, gasping at the gut-wrenching sound of your tresses being severed from the base of your neck, the noise snapping you back to reality. Your eyes widen at Jungkook’s relieved countenance as his torso reclines to the ground, the sharp dagger in his hand rattling onto the tiles beside him. When you reach back to assess the damage, your hand grips onto the short strands that reach no further than your shoulder.

You glance back at the heaps of dead, brown hair sprawled across the palace floor and your mind wipes clean of any coherent thought. Instead, your chest caves in on itself, breathing made impossible because of your collapsed airways and you choke out, “Jungkook, what did you—”

“What an absolute halfwit, does he think he did anyone a favour with that little stunt of his? Without your hair, we have no need for either of you.” Your biological mother laughs, the notes turning ominously maniacal towards the end. “Kill them.”

Guards immediately surround you two, and in a weak attempt to protect him from their pointed swords, you cradle Jungkook’s powerless form to your chest. You prepare yourself to bear the end of their piercing blades.

“What do you roaches think you’re doing?” she seethes, blazing orbs flashing with white-hot fury. “I said, kill them!”

The gigantic doors burst open again, but this time, a lean man strides forward. His blond strands are neatly styled away from his forehead and the regal red robe hanging upon his shoulders elegantly sway after him. The soldiers part ways to make room for the intimidating man and one of his retainers at the door announces, “The King is here!”

You struggle to even out your frantic breaths, thankful for the distraction that grants you a break to rack your brain for a method to escape the dreadful situation you two have found yourselves in. Debating whether you should fight back, sneak away or plead for forgiveness, your eyes dart wildly around the room. A woman donned in a black cloak lingers slightly behind the King, gazing at you with a murderous glare that sends pin needles into the thin lining of your stomach.

“That’s enough,” the King states.

“Jimin.” The former Queen races up to him but is stopped by the retainers that encircle the King.  “What business do you have here? There are more important matters for you to attend to.” Her eyes narrow at the sight of the woman behind him.

“No, I think this has gone on long enough.” He sweeps his gaze over to the two of you, Jungkook barely clinging onto life, nestled within your protective embrace. The woman latches onto his bicep, her head vigorously shaking back and forth, yet you’re uncertain whether her disagreement will relieve your anguish or worsen it.

Despite her insistence, his head nods in your direction and the woman that raised you begrudgingly marches up to you, barely acknowledging your presence in favour of pressing her palms against Jungkook’s open lacerations. He winces at the pressure and just as you’re about to tell her off, you discern the thick gauze that rests between her hand and Jungkook’s side, the sterile white shade expeditiously being replaced by a bloody crimson.

“What are you talking about, dear?” the former Queen asks, a hard edge to her tone. “These two are hedge-born lowlives, simply not worth your time.”

He crinkles his nose in disgust, flicking his hand towards the former King and Queen. “Lock them up in the dungeons.”

Both their eyes widen comically, jaws dropping to the floor. However, you can’t find joy within their despair when Jungkook’s survival is still up in the air.

The woman sputters, recklessly thrashing her body to escape the soldiers’ grip. The man simply lowers his head, seemingly having accepted his fate as he follows the guards without another word.

“Did you forget who put you in that throne, Park Jimin?” the woman screeches, the blood vessels lining her neck about to implode. “How dare you disrespect your pare—”

“How could I ever forget your treacherous actions?” he spits out, disgust lacing his voice, “How could I ever forget how many lives you’ve ruined, dear aunt.”

“We did it all for you!”

“You did it for yourselves,” he hisses. Relief trickles through the tips of your fingers, spreading across your body like wildfire from the King’s aid. “Get them out of my sight.”

“You worthless—” Her shrieks echo throughout the halls, though you’ve long lost focus in their conversation after watching the two wretched souls being punished and put in their rightful place.

Your aunt passes some thick bandages from inside the bell sleeve of her cloak. You gratefully accept the offering, pressing it against his lower back—wishing that it’s not too late, that Jungkook has not lost too much blood yet. The passive stare that your aunt fixes you with crams your head with doubt and you begin to panic, bringing one of your hands up to cradle his face.

Although you’re convinced that you wailed through an entire year’s worth of sobs, the tears sliding down your face refuse to stop, dripping down and landing onto the dirtied skin of Jungkook’s cheek. You press your forehead against his, hoping against hope that some magic remains within your body, that the tiniest bit will reveal itself like a bag trick and heal his wounds.

But your magical hair was extraordinary enough, and this is no fairytale.

“Get those two to the physician’s,” the King orders.

Guards scramble to action, ripping you apart from Jungkook as you unsuccessfully attempt to resist being separated again. You’re absolutely spent from the tiring events of the past couple of days and your weary legs give out as the soldiers lift your drained form into a standing position.

Jungkook is moved onto a sturdy sheet, then carried away past the double doors and out of sight. Your flimsy arms wrap around the shoulders of two guards as they assist you in following Jungkook to the physician, passing the King on your way.

His plush lips stretch into a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile, but the adrenaline from earlier wears off and the sting of your own wounds drains you of your manners, uncaring that you’re facing the King. Thankfully, he dismisses your discourtesy instead of beheading you, and you’re hauled away from the gracious man.

On the way, you’re close enough to overhear what he mutters under his breath. A garbled scream rips through your throat in protest, and you shoot the King the deadliest glare you can muster. He releases a deep sigh at your childish antics, waving as you turn the corner.

“Poor guy doesn’t look like he’s going to make it.”

You spend the next few, rather tedious, days in a luxurious bed, being fretted over by everyone from the maids to the chefs. It was difficult to indulge in the extravagance that the castle had to offer when you were anxiously awaiting news regarding Jungkook, which they refused to disclose until your own condition improved.

After all the pampering, you were permitted access past the confines of the expansive room you were forced to recover in. Your injuries were minor in comparison to Jungkook, thus you were granted freedom much earlier than him.

Not like he was capable of stepping outside of his room anyway.

Although his body is repairing his torn flesh incrementally, he shows no signs of consciousness—not the twitch of a finger, the flutter of an eyelash, nothing. Doubt claws a bit higher up your torso each day, waiting for the moment that the disquiet slithers up your esophagus and suffocates you.

Despite the crushing news of his coma-like state, you work diligently to ensure that neither you nor Jungkook becomes a burden to the castle by picking up various duties. Jimin continuously waves off your attempts to help, but you’re restless and desperate for a distraction from wondering about Jungkook’s condition all the time.

Jimin banned you from performing some of the maid’s tasks once, then sorely regretted it when he had to tend to your nervous breakdown in the afternoon. Since then he has kept his comments on your excessive working habits to himself.

Today you’re in Jungkook’s room, dusting off the spotless shelves that house the many herbs being grounded into powders and rubbed as a salve onto his injuries daily. You organize the rolled bandages for the second time in the past hour and mop every inch of the floor.

You can’t devote yourself to lingering by the unconscious man’s side for too long, otherwise your mind gradually begins to spiral into every possible worst-case scenario and you simply can’t handle the reality of a future without him. It sounds overly dramatic—many of the maids you have grown close to over the months claimed as much when you brought up your journey together.

But they didn’t hear his melodic laughter that followed his teasing smirks when he said something flirtatious, effectively making your heart skip a beat. They didn’t feel his hand always reaching out to make contact with you in some way, craving your touch to ground him to reality. They didn’t see his eyes softening when he gazed at you as though you were holding his entire world in your eyes.

They didn’t know Jungkook the way you did.

You strain the mop of its excess dirtied water before stowing the tool away in the storage room. When you return, a draft filters in through the open window and you race over to close it, worried that Jungkook may catch a bothersome cold that will delay his healing process.

You take a seat on the lavish mattress adjacent from his thighs as you stare out the window in front of you. The air remains stale in spite of the fresh breeze that blew into the room seconds prior, and the dull atmosphere persists due to the lifeless man inhabiting its space.

You’re uncertain how many more times you can handle walking into this room with his weak body lying motionless on these pristine sheets, but you will endure it all without complaint for him. A knock at the door catches your attention, and you twist around to meet Jimin’s friendly beam. “How is he?”

“Same as he always is,” you state, allowing yourself to take in Jungkook’s sunken cheeks and pale face. “Unresponsive.”

“You wanna join me in the gardens for some fresh air?” At your unsure raise of a brow, he convinces you with, “You’ve been cooped up in the castle the whole day.”

The both of you head out to view the lush scenery outside, seated amongst the blooming tulips, although your eyes are drawn to the lilies that border the lilac cosmos. You trace the familiar shape of the orange flower with your pupils, reminiscing on the doodles decorating your room’s walls back at the tower. That seems like forever ago now.

Other than his lack of consciousness, Jungkook’s condition remains relatively stable and yet you still find it burdensome to stray too far from his side. The staff is under orders to instantly notify you should he arise while you’re away, but that doesn’t ease the disquiet that rouses whenever you leave the castle walls.

You’re convinced that the second you wander off, he will wake up without you there; a thought too unbearable to consider. You crave to lose yourself within his molten ember orbs once more, exploring the undiscovered galaxies in his gaze.

“These past few months must seem unfathomable,” he starts, pressing his lips together to ponder over his next words before continuing. “I don’t know how my mom treated you in the tower but, knowing her, I’m guessing it wasn’t too great.”

His casual mention of the affectionate term you pleaded to call your mother for ages—the topic she despised almost as much as you begging to venture outside the tower—stung the slightest bit. From her actions, it was evident that she never cared for you as much as her own, biological son, but it was difficult to dismiss the joyful memories you shared with her, no matter how few and far between they were.

“She started visiting me a few years back, explaining all their horrendous crimes and insisting that she was the only one I could trust. She told me about you, too. Your mother ordered her to lock you away in that tower and ensure that nobody ever found out the truth in exchange for my seat on the throne. ”

Your head lowers at the information, brows furrowing as you contemplate your true relationship with the woman that raised you from birth.

“When my mom caught word of you travelling with the thief, she returned the crown in hopes that Jungkook would run for the hills, and you would be left to come back with her. Her goal was to overtake the kingdom from your mother.” His eyes gloss over with a distant sheen and you sympathize with him; the boy was used as a tool, just like you.

“It’s reassuring in a way.” His strange admittance prompts you to glance up at him, confusion swirling within your orbs. “At least we’re both suffering from our family’s despicable actions.”

Our family.

His optimistic viewpoint hits you like a wave crashing against the shore, sharing his vast fortitude and washing away a fraction of the sombre agony tormenting your heart. Although Jimin’s life was no doubt disparate from your own, you two are connected through the blood running through your veins. Even if those same bonds brought you to a tragic meeting with your own wicked parents, at least you could rely on one person within your family.

The edges of your lips curl into a tiny smile aimed at the blond man across from you, your own short, chestnut coloured hair providing a stark contrast. “I’m glad I can rely on you, Jimin.”

He readjusts his weight on the green, iron chair and leans forward to rest his elbows on the metal table between the two of you. “I think this is the first time you’ve called me by my name without me having to remind you.”

You quietly giggle at the memories flooding your mind, from the hostile attitude you first approached him with, then the days he comforted you over Jungkook’s motionless form, to Jimin demanding that you call him by his first name. You consider yourself extremely lucky to have someone as gracious and compassionate as Jimin to be your half-brother.

“I know we’ve already gone over this,” he starts with a serious edge to his tone, “but this is your last chance.”

You rip your gaze away from the plants to lay a couple of light pats to his hand. Despite the lack of context, the topic is familiar to you, as he has gone over this with you many times. “No, I don’t want the throne. You trained for this position your whole life, so I’m entrusting the kingdom to your capable hands. All I ask is for you to fulfill my request.”

Jimin releases a heavy sigh. “If you really want him free of all his crimes, there’s no way you two can live within the capital.”

“That’s fine with me.” You shrug your shoulders, unconcerned about the prospect of having to leave the busy city. “I don’t think I could live somewhere like this anyway.”

You don’t expand on your reasoning, and he doesn’t question you further, simply sparing you a solemn, understanding gaze. Supposedly, you aren’t supposed to pick favourites within your family, but Jimin is definitely golden in your eyes.

“Deeply sorry to intrude, Your Royal Majesty, but your betrothed is at the door and wishes to meet with you.” A guard inches his way towards your table with his head bowed, hands respectfully gathered behind his back.

Jimin looks to you with an apology on his tongue, but you wave him off before any explanations can spill from his plump lips. “Go get your girl.”

A bright smile enlightens his features as he springs up from his seat, dusting off his uniform before bounding after the guard. When he quirks his head back, you demonstrate your encouragement through a thumbs-up that you wave from side to side until he is satisfied, facing forward with a gleeful snicker.

You inhale the outdoor air, about to head inside yourself to rearrange Jungkook’s bandages again when your eyes wander back to the tiger lilies that caught your eye earlier. Within a few strides, you reach the vibrant buds, stretching your hand out to pluck a few stems. The sweet smell invades your senses.

With a tiny bouquet in hand, you make your way back inside, the metaphorical load on your shoulders a bit lighter than it was before. You expertly maneuver your way through the halls towards Jungkook’s room with the dwindling hope that today will be the day that his honey orbs reflect the sun’s light filtering in the window, filled with the mischief and tenderness that you remember.

When you’re met with his unmoving form instead, another sliver of that faith shatters into tiny shards.

You shake it off and head back to the windowsill, where an empty flower vase rests. The lilies within your grasp are carefully inserted inside and you place the bouquet back onto the tiny platform. Their floral scent wafts throughout the space as you take your place beside his legs.

As part of your usual routine, you use this time to relax. Just for a moment, you give yourself the room to breathe, giving your brain free rein to feel the emotions raging within you and fantasize about your future with Jungkook. You imagine yourself in a tiny cottage, craving a quaint place to live after the immense tower you were raised in.

The two of you would settle down there, adopting a pet to keep you company before you inevitably brought a few children into the world. Their genders didn’t matter, as long as you could raise them with Jungkook, forming a tight-knit family that shared all the love the both of you lacked growing up.

A warm hand wraps around your wrist. Your head snaps to follow the direction of his arm, curving into his broad shoulders, and past his sharp jaw with your heart in your throat. Tears gather at your waterline, spilling over onto your cheeks as you hiccup from the sudden sobs that overtake your body.

The doe eyes that stare back at you carry your whole world in their weight.

+ epilogue.

Tiny footsteps scuttle around the wooden floors, screaming in delight from being chased by a much larger, yet still very childlike, man. “Betchya can’t catch me, daddy!”

Your husband playfully roars at the taunt, speeding up his strides to snatch the little girl up into his arms. She shrieks at the hand that comes up to tickle her little torso.

“Okay, okay, enough playing you two,” you command, calming the baby boy in your arms that becomes far too excited from the chaotic energy erupting within your cottage. “It’s dinnertime!”

“Dinnertime!” your oldest repeats, violently wriggling around in her father’s grip to force him in lowering her back to the ground so that she can run to her spot at the table. She looks from side to side, doe eyes flitting back to you with a pout on her lips. “But where’s Pascal, Mommy?”

You pass the baby to Jungkook, freeing your hands in order to bring the steaming hot food from the stove to the table. The beige chameleon fades back into his natural emerald colour once you grab him by his scaly torso, dropping him into your daughter’s awaiting hands.

Her squeaky voice chides, “You can’t hide from Mommy.”

A boisterous, yet melodic neigh notifies you of Max’s presence in your backyard, and you shamble past the wooden door to hand the carrots you prepared for him. He snorts in delight as he lowers his head to the floor and begins chomping away. At the sight of his dirtied mane, you take a mental note to give him a thorough wash and brush later on.

Before you head inside, you catch sight of a blond man making his way towards you. “Jimin!”

His eyes reduce to two crescents from the wide grin that occupies his face. He swapped out his imposing robe for a commoner’s shirt and slacks, and they strangely suit his lithe form better than his bulky uniform.

“And where’s our lovely Queen?” You tease, elbowing him when he reaches out to ruffle the top of your head.

“Taking care of things that I don’t want to do.” You two snicker, ecstatic to see one another, and you step aside to let him coddle your children. The slight breeze in the air gingerly kisses your face, rustling the leaves on the trees surrounding your tiny house, and you close your lids to relish in the tranquillity of nature.

A pair of familiar arms curl around the shape of your waist and a smile creeps onto your lips as you open your eyes to examine Jungkook’s face, inches away from your own. He brushes your brown strands over your shoulder, leaning in for a quick peck as a loud chorus of disgust is vocalized behind you.

Both of you break out into giggles at your daughter’s behaviour and turn to face your family waiting for you inside. With your hand tangled with his, you walk to a brighter future together.

[secretsickysideblog]

repentance & rest-oration

“I didn’t know you got migraines,” is what he decides on. “I didn’t either,” Fugo scoffs. “Started after... well .”

“Yeah,” Mista nods, “after, well. Yeah.”

while struck with the misfortune of a migraine, fugo receives a visitor. (post-purple haze feedback)

(sicktember day 4 - headaches/migraines)

  The first time Fugo had developed a migraine, only days after parting ways from the rest of his gang and Passione entirely, he had decided it was some form of karma. He’d laughed, bitterly, before realizing that only worsened the pulsing in his head. And then he’d managed to fall into a fitful rest in an alleyway between a bar and a restaurant.

Now, six months and change later and waking up in a bed with a familiar pounding in his head, Fugo would like to say the pain is lessened by the comfort of an actual apartment. But it isn’t. It’s always just about as bad as he remembers, and even though he’s repented for his poor choices as evidenced by the scars permanently brandished on his cheeks, the poor luck of regular migraines hasn’t seemed to leave him.

 Fugo groans softly, rolling over and shoving his face as far into his pillow as he can manage. Even with the curtains drawn shut, the light only serves to worsen the pounding in his head. He takes a deep breath to quell the roiling nausea in the pit of his gut. It does little to help, and Fugo tangles his fingers in his hair as he fights the urge to crawl under his bed and die there. 

 There’s a knock, distantly, and at first Fugo thinks he’s started hallucinating; when it comes louder, he pieces together that somebody is knocking on his front door. Which means that he is, unfortunately, obligated to haul ass out of bed and answer. He huffs and slowly, carefully rolls out of bed, and he takes his time in standing to avoid having the world spin too much. 

 A third series of knocks, and if there’s a fourth, Fugo’s certain he might go berserk and stab something. (Or himself. He’s survived it once, what’s another knife to the gut going to do?) 

 With as much aggravation as he can manage through how disgustingly weak he feels, Fugo throws open the front door. And standing there is none other than Guido Mista, dressed formally in his new-and-improved business garb; it’s been about two weeks since he swore fealty to Giorno, and he still isn’t used to the new colors on the two of them. 

 Fugo blinks, confused. The last time he saw Mista approach him in-person on his own volition was when he was getting a revolver aimed at his head in point-blank range. 

 “If you’re here to kill me, do it quickly. Quietly, please,” Fugo croaks, stepping away from the front door to allow Mista entry. He leans against his table, squeezing his eyes shut and gingerly massaging his temples with the pads of his fingertips. “Oh, death sounds great.” 

 “Woah,” Mista puts his hands up in mock surrender, gun tucked safely in the crotch of his pants, as usual. “I come in peace. I just came ‘cause it’s almost three and Giorno and I haven’t heard from you all day.”

 “Wasn’t aware you were anticipating hearing from me,” Fugo snarks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. It’s true; usually, he hears from Giorno over Mista and it’s about a lead to follow. He works alone now, for the most part, with the exception of Sheila E. If Fugo ever contacts Giorno or Mista outside of seeing them personally, it’s brief.

 “Well, no, but you didn’t come by or bother to call.”

“Usually, if I’m needed, you call for me,” Fugo takes a couple of shaky breaths before standing up straight and opting to curl up on the couch instead with a quiet, “I need to sit down,” mumbled beneath his breath. 

 “I guess I was just used to you taking initiative to interact and had a nagging feeling something was wrong, okay? Sue me,” Mista shakes his head. “I was right though, obviously. What’s up with you?”

 “Migraine,” Fugo buries his face in his hands. “I think I might vomit. Or pass out. Or both, and then subsequently choke on my vomit and die.” 

 “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” Mista rolls his eyes. The two lapse into silence, and usually, this wouldn’t matter, but usual for them is seven months ago before the fall of any normalcy they’d come to build up together. Mista, honestly, isn’t sure why he decided to check in on Fugo--the two of them have taken careful efforts to do the opposite of what they’re doing right now.

 Admittedly, Mista may have come to reconcile. It’s been two weeks. It’s about time the two have a conversation that isn’t about dead bodies, be it of friends or foes. But now is, obviously, not the time, and Mista’s not exactly sure what to do other than stand here and try and tuck away everything he’d intended on saying in favor of saying something more useful (which, in this case, might just be nothing at all.) 

 “I didn’t know you got migraines,” is what he decides on. “I didn’t either,” Fugo scoffs. “Started after... well.” 

“Yeah,” Mista nods, “after, well. Yeah.” 

 He considers leaving, which is probably what Fugo wants him to do. But briefly, he considers that maybe Fugo could use a friend. Ex-friend. Colleague. Whatever the hell they are now--some sort of company, some sort of support. Fugo had gotten his family ripped out from under him just like Mista had whether the latter enjoys admitting that fact to himself or not.

 So after a moment of hesitance and a long exhale, Mista approaches the couch and sits on the opposite end from Fugo. Not close to him, but closer than the doorway. 

 “Stress, probably,” Mista suggests. “I try not to be stressed, so I wouldn’t know. But Gio gets headaches sometimes when he’s overworked.”

 “I’m not overworked, ” Fugo snaps, but he immediately regrets it. He bites back the rest of his statement--’ I don’t do enough anymore’-- in part because he doesn’t have the energy to argue it, but equally because he fears Mista would agree. And although he knows, in his heart, that it’s true, he dislikes the idea of hearing someone else say it. With the severity of the throbbing pain bouncing along the walls of his skull, Fugo is about to cry for reasons entirely unrelated. He does not need a reason to cry tears of sadness. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” 

 “You’re good,” Mista shrugs, “well, clearly not good, but. You know...what I mean.” 

 “Yeah.” Fugo would laugh if he had it in him to. “I know what you mean.”

 “Do you want me to, erm…” Mista scratches the back of his neck. “Do you want painkillers or something? A cup of tea?”

 Fugo picks his head up, eyes narrowing in Mista’s direction, and not in defense towards the light hitting them. “Am I hallucinating? Are you offering me help?” 

 “Oh, don’t be an assbag. I’m packin’ a gun, y’know.”

 “I am well aware, thank you,” Fugo chuckles breathily. And then he sighs. “Do you mean it?” “I wouldn’t offer it if I wasn’t serious. That’s a pretty lame joke, if you ask me.”

Fugo considers it--considers, mostly, saying no and shooing Mista out of his apartment to continue to keep him and all of the grief he reminds him of away. But he is freshly out of painkillers and if he were to stand long enough to make a cup of tea he might keel over. A harsh wave of pain nearly constricts the back of his throat into a gag, and Fugo decides that he really does not have a choice in the matter. 

 “...Alright,” he agrees, reluctance clear in his tone. “If you really don’t mind.”

 Mista makes a move to stand, but he lingers for a moment. He looks Fugo over with this odd seriousness to his expression, though this goes unnoticed by Fugo himself who has buried his face back into his hands. And gingerly, with the tender cautiousness of touching fragile old china, he cards his fingers through Fugo’s hair--just twice. 

 Fugo doesn’t want to admit the way it seemed to curb the intensity, for just a moment. He tells himself it’s a fluke. 

 “I’ll be back, okay?” Mista goes through the effort to whisper. 

 “Okay,” Fugo whispers back. 

 As he hears Mista's footsteps recede, mindfully quieted, Fugo dares to think that maybe karma isn’t so black-and-white.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

The World is Better Now

Peeta Mellark x Reader

Words: 2503

Summary: Nearly a year since the fall of the Capitol, the reader and Peeta have lived happily together in peace. They have helped each other through the darkest nights and the worst nightmares. Now, the reader feels a new kind of fear. 

Notes: I rewatched the Hunger games series and I forgot how adorable Peeta is. So here goes nothing. As always, let me know what you think! (So this is an AU where the reader was in the Quarter Quell, just in case anyone was confused. Katniss is just a friend in this one.)

-

You thought you knew what life was like. You thought that you would die in the Games and be just another fallen Tribute. When you won, you thought you were safe. When President Snow announced that the Quarter Quell would select from a pool of Victors, your hope for a better life was gone. But then he happened. Even after everything he had been through, he still had this light. A light that you thought you had lost forever. Somehow, he brought it back. So yeah, you thought you knew what life was like. But this was so much more than that. 

“Y/N!” Peeta called from your little house on the hill as you seemingly searched the meadow for something. His voice was like a distant murmur. You weren’t sure what you were looking for, but you could feel it. Before you could think too much on it, you felt arms wrap around your middle and a puff of breath against your neck, blowing through the few strands of hair that had fallen from the hairpins you had put in that morning. You couldn’t help but jump, flinching away from the sudden contact. You turned to see your husband, clearly trying to hide the hurt in this eyes. 

“Sorry.” You muttered, feeling the shame turn your face slightly pink. Now he felt bad. You hated it when you made him feel guilty. He deserved the sun, if you only had the power to give it to him. 

“Hey,” He just smiled, quickly putting your mind at ease as he took your face in his hands. “I shouldn’t have snuck up on you. I thought you heard me calling. I’m sorry.” He placed a gentle kiss on your lips, reassuring you that he wasn’t in any way upset before taking your hand. “Come on, dinner’s ready.” 

With the exception of Katniss and Haymitch, the two of you were alone out here. You weren’t part of the new society after the fall of the Capitol. Instead, you sought refuge in the rolling fields outside what was once District 12. Due to your isolation, there was technically no legality to your marriage. In fact, the only ones there to witness your vows were Katniss, Haymitch, and even Effie, who insisted on bringing endless yards of fabric with her to help you make a dress. You exchanged rings and vows, promising to love each other through everything and to never forget what you’d been through together. You didn’t need anything official. You were his and he was yours and that’s all you could have ever hoped for.

He, of course, was far better at cooking than you were so he often made dinner. Tonight, he made fresh bread and some seared fish from the lake nearby. You hardly touched any of it, feeling your stomach twist and turn, suddenly feeling ill. Your face had grown pale and Peeta’s expression morphed with concern. 

“Are you okay?” He stood from his seat across the table to move closer, examining the sweat that now glistened across your forehead. You nodded, but you quickly pushed away from him, burying your head in the sink and losing what little you had eaten. You felt Peeta’s hand on your back, rubbing up and down your skin trying to comfort you. When you slid down against the cabinet, he sat with you, grabbing a towel to wipe your lips. 

“Sorry.” You muttered through heavy breaths. “I-I don’t know where that came from.” You stood on shaky legs, but after a moment, you felt fine again. Strange, but fine. There was nothing in the meal that would have made you sick and you hadn’t been feeling ill at all that day. Deep in your gut, you started to worry. 

-

You spent the morning wandering the woods with Katniss. It was a weekly ritual for the two of you. Some time away from the guys. You liked to think that she opened up a little more when it was just the two of you. As if you had been friends since you were little girls. Growing up in District 5, you had a much cushier life than both her and Peeta, but you’d grown accustomed to the quieter, simpler life outside the New Panem. 

“Peeta said that you were sick last night.” Katniss started, looking up into the trees. You grimaced. Of course he did. There were few secrets between the four of you since you all lived out here by yourselves. 

“Yeah, but I feel fine.” You debated whether or not you should share your fears. That your illness was anything but random. That it meant something far more frightening than an upset stomach. Katniss noticed your uneasy expression and put a hand on your shoulder. 

“What’s wrong?” You took a deep breath. You needed to tell somebody.

“I’m worried that I might be…” You couldn’t even bring yourself to say it, but she understood. Her hand slipped off your shoulder and she crossed her arms, trying to process. 

“Oh.” She just stared at you for a moment, barely even blinking. Katniss was never really one with words. You exhaled deeply and explained to her your suspicions. This wasn’t the first time you had been sick. This wasn’t even the third. On top of that, every time you looked into the meadow, you felt like something was coming. You could search and search, but you never figured out what. When you finished talking, Katniss sighed. “Follow me.” 

She took you back to her house and found a small box she had hidden in the back of her kitchen cabinet. Handing you the box, she gave you a very uncomfortable smile. You dumped a small bottle into the palm of your hand. 

“What are these?” You shook the bottle gently, hearing pills rattle around inside. 

“Effie made me promise to give them to you when you and Peeta started thinking about... you know.” She rocked back on her heels. “It’s some kind of test from the Capitol.” You gave her a look. 

“Why’d she give them to you?” 

“She didn’t want you guys to think she was pressuring you or something.” She shrugged. “And it’s not like she could give them to Haymitch.” You both chuckled, breaking up some of the awkwardness. 

“Thanks.” You stuffed the bottle into your pocket, the small item somehow making your hand feel heavy. You started to leave, but you paused. “Don’t tell him about this, okay?” Katniss gave you a crooked smile and nodded. And just like that, everything changed. 

-

A day passed and you didn’t tell a soul. The test was positive. You were pregnant. In just a few short months you would be bringing life into a world that had taken so many lives from you. And that never seemed clearer than when you got letters from Annie. Sweet, loving Annie whose son would never meet his father. As Peeta read her encouraging words, all you could hear was Finnick. His laugh, his smug little jokes to cheer you up. Even though you’d only been a Victor for two years longer than Katniss and Peeta, Finnick was the one to help you adjust to the new lifestyle. He was really the closest thing you had to a brother. You winced, his laugh replaced by his dying screams in your head. 

“Love, Annie.” Peeta finished reading with a small smile and tucked the letter into the picnic basket beside him. “I’m glad she’s been able to somewhat adjust.” You nodded in agreement. You had barely said two words to him since you found out. Maybe you were afraid that you’d let it slip. Peeta had noticed your silence, but he chose not to press you. He knew that sometimes you would just let your thoughts wander without saying a word. But there was something different about the way you looked at him. 

“Peeta,” You said his name so quietly he almost didn’t hear it. You took his hand in yours, bringing it slowly up to your lips to place gentle kisses on his fingertips. You didn’t want anything to change. Peeta held your hand in between his own, his eyes shining with both admiration and concern. You had to tell him. 

“Y/N, are you sure that everything is- what, what is it?” He noticed your eyes grow wide, staring at his hand. His gaze followed yours and his breathing quickened with panic. A wasp crawled across the back of his hand, it’s bright yellow exterior providing little comfort. It wasn’t a tracker jacker, but it didn’t matter. 

“Peeta, it’s just a wasp.” You assured him, hoping he would look at you and not the insect. 

“I-I know.” He said, but his voice was shaky and his hands started to tremble slightly as he strained to keep still. You’d never actually had to encounter the mutt insects, but you knew that he had in his games. Tracker jacker venom was also what they used on him to try and distort his memories to turn him against the rebels and even you. His hand jerked away, but he only aggravated it more. He yelped as it stung him, flying away to safety. Though the pain was brief and minimal, it was the memories you feared more. 

Peeta tried to hold it back, but his mind swirled between the present and the past, mixing with all the horrors he had seen. You took his face in your hands, urging those beautiful hazel eyes to focus on you.

“Peeta, it’s okay. Look at me. It’s okay.” You pulled him close to you, his head resting on your chest, hoping that the sound of your heartbeat would calm him. It usually did, despite how rapidly it was beating now. You ran one hand up and down his back while you gently stroked his blonde hair with the other. “It’s okay.” Sitting there, holding him, you knew more than ever that you couldn’t do it. How could you bring a child into a world that had done such cruel things to such a kind person? A world that had broken him in ways you would never understand. It had broken you. 

-

After his episode, Peeta decided to spend the rest of the day relaxing inside. He settled in front of his easel, using a mix of blacks and greys to replicate the storm clouds gathering overhead. In contrast, he painted the yellow flowers beneath them, their brightness only slightly dulled by the gloomy atmosphere. He looked out the window, watching you walk slowly through the patches of primrose. 

“It’s beautiful.” Katniss said from behind him. He turned and gave her a small smile. 

“I want it to remind her that there’s brightness growing out of the dark.” He’d noticed that you had had a hard time adjusting to a life of peace after the horrors that you’d all been through. Sometimes, he was sure you were still trying to escape the games in your mind. 

“She should probably get inside.” Katniss noted, looking out to the flowers, but you weren’t there anymore. “It looks like it’s going to storm.” As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot across the sky, followed by a loud roll of thunder. There was another sound; a faint cry muffled by the closed window. 

“What was that?” Peeta slid the window up and listened closer. Another boom was followed by another scream. “Y/N.” Your names left his lips in a panic as he ran down the stairs and out into the rain. 

“Y/N!” Katniss shouted, the rain starting to pour down, pounding against the pavement. She might have been more scared than Peeta. She knew the truth. It wasn’t just you in danger anymore. Peeta’s eyes swept the trees while Katniss checked around the houses. After the loudest crash of thunder yet, the screams became words. 

“No! Finnick!” You were running through the trees, looking up at the sky where you saw the faces flash in your head. Each boom of thunder was another canon, another death. Haymitch, Annie, Katniss… Peeta. “Peeta!” You shrieked, falling to your knees in the mud. “Peeta!” 

“Y/N!” He knew those cries. You often screamed like that when you had a nightmare, clawing up at the air as if he was flying away from you. 

You curled up on the forest floor, not caring that mud covered your cheek or that the rain pelted against your back. You wrapped your arms around your stomach, wishing that you could make it go away. You knew that the next canon was for your baby. 

“No!” You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t raise a child in this never ending storm. 

“Y/N! I found her!” Peeta’s voice was barely audible over your own screaming and the rain. You flinched away from his touch as another canon sounded in your head. You felt his strong arms wrap around you and lift you up, holding you close to his chest. 

“Peeta…” You whimpered, weakly tugging at his shirt. “T-the canons.” 

“It’s okay. We’ll be home soon.” Katniss found him and he quickly took you back to the house, rain still pounding against your skin. You looked up at the sky one last time, seeing Finnick’s face once again flashing against the clouds. Peeta put you down on the sofa and wrapped as many blankets as he could around you while Katniss went to grab some dry clothes. 

“I can’t do this.” You cried, trembling violently from the cold. “Everything is so dark and cold and cruel. I can’t curse someone else to live through what we did.” 

“What do you mean?” Peeta pushed your wet hair out of your face. 

“The… baby.” He froze. 

“What?” 

“Peeta, I’m pregnant.” You felt more tears cascading down your cheeks, your hands clutching your stomach. “And I don’t want to bring a child into this place.” Despite your distress, Peeta could barely contain his smile. 

“We’re going to have a baby?” 

“Peeta… what about everything we’ve been through? Can we really condemn another person to that, let alone our child?” He put his hand on top of yours, looking deeply into your eyes. 

“Y/N, the world is better now.” He gave you a comforting smile. “We can raise our children in peace knowing that they will have a better life.” Your smile was still unsure so he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I will never, ever let anything happen to them.” You lifted your hand to rest on his cheek. 

“You’re going to be a great dad.” His face lit up and he scooped you up in his arms, causing both of you to laugh. 

“And you are going to be the best mother.” He pressed his forehead to yours, letting his words sink in. Cradled in his arms you felt like nothing would ever harm you. Maybe it was possible, after all this time and through all of the fears, to be truly happy.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination

[alpacaparkaseok]

7 Secrets <pt. 5>

GENRE: Soulmate!au BTS!

WARNINGS: none woohoo

WORD COUNT: 5594 lol sorry there was a lot to get through here but at the same time I'm not sorry

Part 5!!!! You guys I had so much fun writing this part. We are getting down to it. I’m literally so excited. Let me know what you guys think! Thanks for all the support! Also, if you guys have any requests for future stories regarding our boys, hit me up! <3

Minsuh is already waiting for me by the time I exit the building, and I slide into the passenger seat as quickly as possible.

“What’s going on? I have a missed call from Mr. Bang. Should I call him back right now?”

Minsuh looks over at me, and I pause at the look in her eyes. My stomach drops as I expect the worst. Even in the dim interior lighting of her car, I can see just how pale her face is.

“Beth…”

We’re still idling in front of the building, but I feel the whole world spinning around me too quickly.

“Minsuh, what’s going on? Did something happen?” I take a shaky breath. “Are the boys alright?”

Minsuh is quick to reach out and grab my hand, and I notice the tremor in her hand as I cling tightly to her.

“They’re fine, I’m so sorry, I should have clarified sooner.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. If something were to happen to the boys...I can’t finish that thought.

“Then what’s going on?”

Minsuh shakes her head, turning to face forward again before beginning to drive. Even though I feel immense relief knowing that the boys are alright, now I’m beginning to imagine other scenarios. Why would Mr. Bang call me? He never does unless it’s a schedule call to update me on something.

“Bang wanted to call us tonight, but it was a last minute thing. So he did, and we talked.” I wait for her to continue, and she looks like she’s struggling to even speak right now. “We wanted to wait for you, so he didn’t say much…”

“Well, what did he say? Does he want me to call him?”

“No, he’s still on Facetime with everybody. That’s why I came to get you, though. He said it’s really important and that everybody needs to be present.”

I run a hand through my hair, ignoring how it shakes. This morning when I felt so calm and happy seems like years ago.

“Wait, what did he say though?” I realize that Minsuh has done an excellent job at avoiding the question, which does nothing to quell my fears.

She simply shakes her head, focusing on the road. “I don’t think it’s my place to say, but I swear it’s good news. I’m just shaken up. That’s all.”

Good news? I highly doubt it’s that good if Minsuh looks like she’s about to pass out. In fact, she probably shouldn’t even be driving.

What on earth could Mr. Bang want? And so suddenly?

Of course, my mind wants to scream out at me it’s time it’s finally time, but I shove that voice down. I’ve been through too many close calls thinking that I was finally going to come face to face with my soulmate only to be shut down. That kind of thinking only ends up in heartache.

The drive that should have taken much longer than it did (Minsuh is definitely speeding), is suddenly coming to an end as I recognize the Udon place we ate at last night just a couple of blocks away from the apartment. With every passing second I feel like I’m speeding closer and closer to fate. My right foot reacts instinctively as it pumps the brakes only to realize that I can’t.

I realize for the second time in my life that I cannot control fate when it comes knocking. The only thing that I can control is myself.

By the time we park I’ve been practicing my breathing exercises, trying to get my rapid heart rate under control. The street is peaceful, the evening stars just peeking through the bright lights of the city.

Standing there just outside my apartment, I gaze up at the night sky and breathe. In and out, deeply. I cling to the sliver of peace that settles upon me, promising myself that no matter what happens tonight, the stars will still be there. Tonight, tomorrow, and beyond. Fate may toss whatever it wants at me, but the stars will not fail me.

A soft touch at my elbow alerts me to Minsuh’s presence, and she looks at me for a moment before wrapping her arms around me in a hug. I return the embrace, absorbing the unspoken love and support.

“Shall we?” I ask. Minsuh nods, linking her arm through mine as we enter the apartment.

I’m not sure what I expect to see when I go inside, but I know it wasn’t Bang PD’s face staring out at me from our television. Somebody must have connected their phone to the tv to make it easier for all seven of us to take the call.

“Ah, Bethany, how kind of you to stop by.” Mr. Bang’s warm tone carries the innocent-sounding sarcasm we often use with each other. I smirk up at him and I take off my shoes and hurry over to the couch, taking a place between Minsuh and Himari.

“I saw you called me. Sorry I missed it, some of us have work to do.” Mr. Bang grins down at me, and I hear Seohyun give out a strained chuckle. A quick observation shows everybody to be in a similar state to Minsuh. In fact, it looks like Minsuh is better off than most of them. Probably the reason why they sent her to pick me up in the first place.

Mr. Bang clears his throat, drawing my attention back to him. He’s looking beyond his screen, and my heart stutters as I wonder who else is in the room with him.

Please not Namjoon, please not Namjoon.

“So what’s going on? You don’t tend to call without scheduling it first.”

Himari slowly moves her arm until it’s linked through mine, her hand gently squeezing my forearm. I glance at her but her eyes remain glued to the tv.

“Well, remember that conversation we had a little while back, when you requested that I give you a 48 hour notice before meeting your soulmate so you could have enough time to catch a flight to Antarctica?”

I swear I hear a surprised laugh in the background of the call, but the pounding of my heart in my ears overpowers any other sound at the moment.

Breathe, now is not the time to pass out. Remember, that’s Aera’s job.

“Uh-huh,” I mumble out, then remind myself to not look like a zombie. “Yeah, I remember. Why do I get the feeling that I’m once again the last person to know about something important?”

When a few of the girls come out of their trances enough to chuckle knowingly, I suddenly lose the ability to move. Instead I sit there completely still, awaiting Mr. Bang.

Awaiting fate.

Which, in most cases, Mr. Bang and fate are pretty synonymous for me.

“Yeah, sorry about that. You’re just hard to get a hold of sometimes.” When I have no snarky reply for him, he continues. “Ok, Bethany. Consider this your 48 hour notice.”

It takes about five seconds for the weight of that sentence to really sink in.

I always thought that when I was given the long awaited news that I would shortly meet my soulmate, the world would slip away from under me and I would feel like I was floating among the stars. I would be happy, shocked, I don’t know. I would just float there and Namjoon would be the only one to bring me back to earth. Him, and only him. It would be beautiful, and that would be the beginning of everything.

Instead, the world suddenly comes into focus.

I’m blatantly aware of everything surrounding me. It’s like I’m seeing the living room for the first time, seeing the girls for the first time as they turn to assess my reaction. Everything is so tangible, so real.

I can’t tell if it makes me feel small or empowered or just extremely human. Whatever it is, I pull through the shock settling into my bones just enough to slip back into that sarcastic charm I’ve relied so heavily upon all my life.

“Alrighty then,” I mumble, frowning slightly when it comes out in English. Mr. Bang simply grins again. I get up from the couch, the sudden urge to move and feel the ground beneath me impossible to resist. “48 hours? I could probably pull some strings, make it to Antarctica in time. You don’t happen to have any pilot friends, do you?”

Tension that I didn’t know what there before fades from Mr. Bang’s face as he laughs at my ridiculous question. Again, his eyes trail away to look beyond his screen. Who is he looking at? I can’t muster up the courage to ask. Instead, I slip into professional mode. It’s easy enough, seeing as I was just in my meeting this afternoon, slipping into the same persona.

Right. This is just a meeting. We need to hash out the date and time, location. Just like any other meeting. Make it through this meeting, Beth, and then you can do whatever you need to do.

“Ok, I’m assuming that you already told everybody else all of this before I got here?”

“Yes, I did. Sorry, I couldn’t wait.”

“That’s fine. Did you already go over what time? Where?”

Mr. Bang straightens up at my tone, a flicker of an emotion similar to respect in his eyes. “No, I haven’t yet. Would you like to now?”

I nod, then scurry off to where I dropped my bag when I entered. Grabbing my phone from my purse and pulling up the notes app, I settle back down on the couch beside Himari.

“How are you not losing your mind right now?” Himari whispers beside me, so quietly that I almost don’t hear her.

I shoot her an amused look. “Because I think I already died.” I whisper back, and it’s enough to get her to laugh, some of the icy nerves retreating a bit. (and then returning as I remember that we’ve still got our microphones on for the documentary and they caught every word)

I shrug it off, bringing my attention back to the matter at hand.“Alright, let’s hear it.”

↔

The rest of the call passes by in a blur, with Mr. Bang sending us an email with all the needed details. He carefully goes through each point, giving an outline of what awaits the seven of us the day after tomorrow.

Which, as I notice that it’s already nearly 11 pm, is going to be here sooner than I think I want.

“So just go ahead and come up to my office on Thursday, and I’ll be there to help you out with everything else. Sounds good?”

Everybody numbly nods, the emotional exhaustion setting in. I can’t help but grin as I realize with a start that I was given the news about having a soulmate on a Thursday three years ago, and now I’ll finally meet him on a Thursday.

It would appear that fate has a thing for Thursdays.

“Are you sure you don’t want us to just drive there? It’s not that far from here.” I ask the question for the second time. It’s nice that he wants to send a van from the BigHit building, but it just makes me feel a little silly. Like we’re famous or something. Which, when I see Ichika sitting at her usual spot on the floor with a bowl of cereal at her feet, I note that we are anything but famous. I don’t even know when she got up to get cereal.

At least she’s eating. I’m not sure I can stomach anything right now.

“Don’t worry about it, please. I know that it��s going to be a stressful day for everybody, the last thing you need to worry about is driving. The van will be there at 5 pm sharp, just be ready.”

I nod, letting it go. It will be nice to not have to worry about driving, even though it’s only a half hour drive from here. I’ll just have to find something productive to do all day so I’m not losing my mind.

“Ok. That’s fine. Is there anything else?” I hide behind a yawn that quickly passes to Himari at my side.

“That should be everything. Double check the email in the morning after you’ve all rested, and let me know if you need anything.” Mr. Bang sighs, clearly as worn out as we are. “We’re all excited to see you.”

We. “By we you mean you and the staff, right?” I jokingly ask, earning a laugh.

“Obviously. And maybe a few other people as well. See you Thursday?”

“See you Thursday.”

He cuts the call, leaving the seven of us alone in the dimly lit room. I stand up, prepared to pace, but find that I’m too tired to even try. I end up laying down on the ground, staring up at the ceiling.

“Ok,” I start, running my hands through my hair for the fourteenth time tonight. “Can someone please explain to me what just happened?”

The others grunt in agreement, each of us just as much in shock as the other.

It’s silent for a couple of minutes as each of us try to process our thoughts. I close my eyes, mind going a million miles a minute as I try to fathom that after all this waiting, I’m finally going to meet my soulmate.

A sniffle breaks the silence, and my head shoots up as I see Minsuh with her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she quietly sobs.

Everybody is quick to move, all of us surrounding her in a matter of seconds. Aera gently massages her shoulders before leaning forward and nuzzling her face into her neck.

“What’s wrong, Min?” Aera questions, and we exchange knowing glances.

“It’s just,” Minsuh continues crying into her sweater paws, the sight making my heart ache. “What if h-he’s disappointed? I just don-don’t want to disappoint him. I thought I would h-have more time…” Her sobs cut off the rest of her sentence, and my heart cracks on her behalf.

“Oh, Minsuh.”

“You’re not going to disappoint him, I promise.”

“Minsuh, you’re the best of us,” Ichika softly whispers, brushing the hair out of her face. “There’s no way Jungkook could be disappointed. Why do you think Bang PD called so suddenly? I bet Jungkook found out about you and couldn’t wait a second longer to have you in his life.”

Minsuh slowly looks up at Ichika, her eyes red and puffy. “You think so? I don’t think so. Do you think they even know about us yet? Maybe Mr. Bang hasn’t told them yet, a-and we’re just going to be an unwelcome surprise.”

I wince at her words, her fears similar to my own.

Ichika shakes her head firmly, her hand resting just beneath Minsuh’s chin as she looks into her eyes.

“Absolutely not. Minsuh, that’s not going to happen. You know what’s going to happen?” Minsuh shakes her head ‘no’, her eyes wide. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. We’re going to meet our boys,” Ichika’s voice wavers with emotion, but she continues on. “And it’s going to be the best, most memorable day of our lives. We are going to go together, because we’re sisters and we have each other’s backs through thick and thin. We’re going to walk in there and see them and you know what’s going to happen? Aera’s going to pass out, Soon is going to lose the ability to speak,” Soon chuckles, nodding her head in agreement. “Himari is probably going to trip over her own feet, I’m going to spill something on Taehyung, I’m certain about that. I’m not sure what Beth is going to do, but I can guarantee it’s going to be something embarrassing. Very, very embarrassing.” I gasp, pinching her. “Ow! And Seohyun is going to burst into song or something and not be able to stop.” Minsuh bites her lip, a little smile gracing her features. “But you know what? You’re probably going to waltz in there like a freaking princess, and Jungkook is going to be in absolute shock. You’ll make up for all of our clumsiness, and you’ll be so amazing because you already are.”

The seven of us stay like that for a long time, Minsuh’s quiet sobs finally subsiding some time later. At some point she falls asleep, and Aera curls up on the couch next to her, quickly following suit.

Seohyun gets up to go make some tea, Ichika offering to help.

“I’m making chamomile, to help me sleep. Anybody else want some?” The rest of us request it, knowing that we won’t be able to fall asleep as easily as Minsuh and Aera. Not when I keep startling myself every five seconds as I suddenly remember that I’m meeting my soulmate in less than two days.

Himari pats the cushion next to her, and I settle down with a grunt. She flops her head onto my shoulder, and we both stare out the far window into the street. Kyung-soon takes up a spot on the floor at our feet.

“I don’t think I’ll really be able to believe it’s happening until we’re there, actually meeting them,” Himari says.

“Me neither,” Kyung-soon fiddles with her blanket. “Do you think they’re freaking out as much as we are?”

“Oh definitely,” Himari chuckles.

The thought of the boys sitting together and talking like we are now warms me up like hot chocolate.

“Oh, no. What am I going to wear?” I wonder aloud. Everybody else groans in agreement. “Anybody down to go shopping tomorrow?” I ask, already mentally planning an outfit. Everybody is quick to agree.

By the time Ichika and Seohyun arrive with the tea, Aera has roused from her sleep, rubbing her neck.

“Were you guys talking about going shopping?”

Slowly but surely, the heavy shock begins to lift and a lighter feeling replaces it. As I look around the room at my soul sisters, a little pang of nostalgia strikes me. This is one of the last times we’ll be like this. Just the seven of us, with so much uncertainty hanging over us. I wonder how many times I’ll revisit this memory of us sitting together in the middle of the night, entertaining ideas about the boys, outfits, and all the possibilities life has yet to offer us. Future nostalgia indeed.

By the time we actually do decide to go to bed, it’s already 4:30 in the morning. The conversation had taken many different turns throughout the night, including all of us eventually talking about our concerns. We’re excited, yet so afraid.

Aera and I sneak up the stairs as quietly as possible, careful to not wake Minsuh who’s still sleeping on the couch.

“Hey,” Aera whispers before I slip into the darkness of my room. “You didn’t really say a lot about how you’re feeling with everything. Are you sure you’re ok?”

I nod slowly, exhaustion painting itself over my features. “I’m fine, I think. To be honest I think I’m so tired and shocked still that I don’t even know what to feel at this point.” Aera nods along, understanding perfectly. “Maybe I’ll know after I sleep. I think I’m happy, though. And terrified.”

“A great combination.”

“Yep. See you at breakfast.”

Aera raises her eyebrows at me. “Breakfast? I don’t think so. I’ll see you at lunch.”

↔

For the second day in a row I wake up after 10. I blearily open my eyes, checking the time and grunting in indifference. I roll over again, trying to talk myself into sleeping in a little longer. I deserve it. Jet-lag, emotional exhaustion, and staying up until nearly 5 in the morning have done quite the number on me.

I’m nearly asleep again when I sit up straight in my bed, my brain remembering the reason why I was up so late last night.

“Holy freak, holy freak.”

Was that real? I’m still so tired that it feels like a dream.

I scramble to my bedside table again, pulling up my emails on my phone. Sure enough, the email Bang PD sent last night is still there. My eyes drink in the information as quickly as possible, triple checking the date before I finally allow myself to breathe again.

Oh yeah, it’s real. And it’s tomorrow.

The need to get up and move around is suffocating me, my heart already pounding like I’m running a marathon. I slip into the nearest clothes I can get my hands on, the blouse and jeans making me look way more put together than I feel, and I rush to the bathroom to throw my hair back into a ponytail and slap the bare minimum of makeup on my face.

I'm in such a rush that I nearly forget to brush my teeth, and before I know it I’m tiptoeing down the stairs and past Minsuh’s sleeping form still on the couch. I have no idea how she’s been able to sleep this long, I definitely envy her.

Before my brain even catches up with my body, I’ve grabbed my purse and shoes by the front door and slipped out into the morning. The second the door clicks shut behind me, I breathe in deep, closing my eyes as the sun warms me up.

It’s much easier to process everything once I’m outside of the apartment and back in the real world. My feet make their way about three blocks away, to a street vendor that I frequent on the days I have morning meetings.

There are a couple of free benches on the sidewalk, and I sit there as I eat my breakfast. I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, and my stomach is probably what really took control this morning. However, it’s still not enough to make me finish all of my food. I eat about half before I stop, my brain grinding its gears again now that I have some food in me.

As I watch the hustle and bustle of the city all around me, I feel like I’m in some sort of limbo. Everybody is going about their normal business, oblivious to the fact that my life is at a hinge-point and I’m not sure which way it's about to swing.

Try as I might, I’m still restless. There’s not much I can do to help that, I’m sure I’ll be like this until I’ve met my soulmate and put my worries to rest. I wonder if Namjoon is up and as restless and me right now.

Minsuh’s words from last night come back to haunt me. What if they don’t even know about us yet? I can’t decide which one is worse, them knowing and anticipating us, or a surprise visit.

I eventually muster up the strength to order six more meals before beginning the trek back to the apartment. The burn in my arms as I carry a heavy bag on each side brings me a sense of satisfaction, the energy I’m using acting as an excellent distraction.

It’s already noon when I walk through the door, and I see Seohyun talking quietly with a half-asleep Minsuh. “I’m back, and I brought food!”

Seohyun smiles readily at me, her smile contagious. “You left? I swear, we need to put a bell on you or something.”

“Do you want my food or not?”

It doesn’t take long before Seohyun is in the kitchen, divvying up the food to Minsuh and Kyung-soon, who’s still got a towel on her head from the shower.

“Is anybody else up?” I ask, and everybody shrugs in response.

“I thought I heard Himari get up not that long ago,” Kyung-soon offers, and I set off in search of my friend.

I follow my hunch, climbing the stairs as I make my way to the top floor of the apartment. I ponder waking Aera as I pass our floor, but go against it and continue up the stairs. There’s two bedrooms up here, which belong to Ichika and Himari. I knock on Ichika’s door and tell her that there’s food downstairs. Her response is a groan and a thud that sounds suspiciously like her body hitting the floor. I suppress a giggle and continue on my journey to the upper balcony.

Sure enough, Himari is lounging in a chair with her face turned up toward the sun. Her eyes jump open as soon as she hears me opening up the sliding door and sidling out.

“Hey Himi,” I greet.

“Hey. Is everybody else up?” Her voice sounds like she just woke up.

“Yeah, except for Aera. Who knows when she’ll get up. Probably not for another hour or so.” Himari nods, closing her eyes again. She has dark circles under her eyes. “Did you get any sleep?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

“No, not for more than sixty seconds at a time. You?”

I nod a little, grateful for the good five hours I got. “Yeah, a bit. I went out and bought food for everyone if you’re hungry.”

Himari hums in acknowledgement, not making any move to get up. Instead I settle down on the chair beside her, propping my feet up on the railing.

We stay like that for a while, basking in the companionable silence. There’s so much to say, and yet I’m at a loss for words. What does one say in these kinds of situations? ‘Hey, don’t screw up meeting your soulmate tomorrow! Go, fight, win!’

It’s Himari who breaks the silence nearly ten minutes later, and I wonder if she dozed off for some of that time.

“I...I don’t know what to feel.”

I wait, knowing that more is coming. When she doesn’t speak for a while I prompt her. “What are you feeling right now?”

Himari sighs, sitting up and stretching. I notice that she’s wearing the same clothes as last night. She must have just came straight out here last night.

“I feel so tired that I can’t hardly think straight, but I’m so wired right now that I can’t sleep. I feel like I’m drowning, and like I won’t stop until tomorrow. And tomorrow feels so far away but at the same time it’s way too soon. I keep thinking that Hoseok must be feeling something similar, but what if he doesn’t even care? I think, more than anything…” she turns to look at me, and I wince at the fear I see in her eyes. “I keep imagining what he’s going to say when he finds out that his soulmate isn’t even Korean. Not that I think he would hold that against me, but I can’t help but think that he might be a little let down or uncomfortable knowing that his soulmate is from Japan.”

She settles back down with a huff, and I do too. It’s something we’ve talked about a lot, the fact that we’re not from here. Neither one of us care that our soulmates don’t share our nationality, but it’s something that I’ve worried about a lot, imagining what Namjoon will feel when it turns out his soulmate is very much an American.

Sitting here, looking at one of my best friends in the world, I can’t imagine Hoseok being anything less than elated. Himari is amazing. Loyal, hilarious, smart as a whip and one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever seen in real life.

I’ve told her as much every time we’ve had this conversation. There’s not a lot left to say. It’s a hopeless feeling, knowing that even the most honest statement will do little to mend another. So I choose a different approach.

“Well, if Hoseok is sad that you’re Japanese and not Korean, I’ll just tell everybody that Trump is my uncle or something and he’ll be so grateful to have you that it won’t even matter anymore.”

Himari looks at me like I have horns coming out of my head before she bursts out into laughter.

“Oh my gosh that’s the best idea you’ve ever had!” Her cackles fill up the street, and I find myself laughing alongside her. “Sounds good. Deal.”

↔

Nearly three hours later finds the seven of us piling out of two cars as we arrive at the shop Aera picked out. She finally stumbled down the stairs around 1, exhausted but ready to go shopping. It took some convincing to get her to eat first, but it paid off in the end.

I can’t help but gawk at the as we enter the store apparently owned by one of Aera’s friends within the designer circle.

“Holy cow,” I mutter under my breath. My friends chuckle at the English phrase, it always makes them laugh. “Are we even allowed to be in here?”

Aera laughs at my bewilderment even as Minsuh drags her away into the depths of the store. “Of course!”

Time seems to stand still as we spend hours in the shop, trying on different outfits and each of us vying for the attention of Aera as we trust her opinion the most. We bicker back and forth about how casual or formal we should dress, until Aera finally texts Bang PD to ask. He responds with “wear whatever you want” which does little to help.

“Ok,” Aera rounds us up like a preschool class. I munch on a churro that I snuck out and bought a few minutes ago, Himari eyeing me suspiciously. “Let’s just follow Mr. Bang’s advice and go for something we each feel comfortable in. I would advise a casual-nice outfit, we’re trying to make a good first impression after all. At the end of the day, though, I want you guys to stay true to what you like. I know you all very, very well, so I will know if you’re lying.”

Ichika salutes her before heading back into the mess of clothes she’s picked out. The clock above her has me dropping my chin to the floor.

“Um, what time does the store close?”

A worker pipes up from the cash register. “Don’t worry, we’re open until midnight.”

I sigh in relief, glad that we won’t be in too much of a rush even though we’ve already been in here for hours. My stomach protests staying in here without proper food for much longer, and I promise it that I’ll be done within the hour.

↔

An hour and a half later five of us waddle out of the store clutching our bags as we make our way to the nearest restaurant. Minsuh opted to stay behind with Aera, who had been so busy helping everybody else that she hadn’t even hardly begun looking for herself. She assured us with a wink that she wouldn’t take long. Apparently her professional eye had already picked out a few outfits throughout the day.

The five of us order food, settling our things into a corner booth as we complain about our feet hurting and discuss our outfits.

“We’re going to look so good.” Himari smiles, and I’m glad to see that her confidence has taken a boost since this morning.

“We need to make sure we get enough sleep tonight, though.” I add, giving her a knowing look.

“Ay ay, captain.”

The rest of the night passes in a blur, Aera staying true to her word and showing up with Minsuh only thirty minutes later. When she shows us her outfit, we all agree on it.

“How are you so good at these kinds of things?” Seohyun asks, bewildered. Seohyun has a reputation for being indecisive when it comes to her clothes, she relies heavily upon Aera’s expertise.

“Practice, practice, practice.”

“Speaking of practice,” Ichika interjects, “We need to practice not losing our minds tomorrow.”

People glance at us from their booths, clearly wondering what we’re talking about as we bounce ridiculous ideas off of each other. At one point Kyung-soon says she’s going to run laps around the BigHit building in order to burn off some steam before going in.

“Jin’s going to look outside the window and see you in your new outfit running laps around the building.”

“Yeah, and he’ll probably just say, ‘screw it, I’m joining her.’”

“Actually, that would totally happen.”

“Meanwhile the rest of us are hiding in the van.”

“Eating churros.”

“Oh, definitely eating churros.”

“Do they sell churros here? Now I’ve got a craving.”

By the time we make it back home we’ve eaten our fair share of churros (my second one of the day), Seohyun bought earrings, and we’ve come up with a code word for Aera when she feels like she’s about to pass out. (the code word is ‘holy cow’. Yes, in English. I’m dying for her to use it.)

We all go our separate ways, Ichika behind me as I climb the stairs to my room. She pauses to hug me goodnight before continuing up to the next level. It’s late enough for me to not even bother checking the time before I slip into my pajamas and fall into my bed. Who knew shopping could be so draining.

Fate is kind to me tonight, as I fall asleep in no time. The final thought on my mind is the fact that tomorrow is Thursday, and my life is going to change forever.

Previous - Next

Ok! I’m so excited for our girls to finally meet the boys! I’ll upload pictures of the outfits I was thinking of for everybody. I hope you enjoy! If you want to join the taglist, let me know! :)

taglist:  @heartblackerthancoffee @mae-musicbitch​ @taylorroe3​

[a-lil-perspective]

Hunter x Reader

A/N: What nobody asked for. I didn’t think a title would be appropriate for this particular piece of work. It really doesn’t coincide with any Star Wars themes, save for everybody’s favorite Sergeant making his debut within. It’s more of a Lil perspective. (Lol I’m sorry my last two brain cells have no sense of humor) For context: I have been absolutely suffocating lately, in every sense of the word. It’s almost indescribably oppressive, so I wrote this in desperately seeking comfort and therapy. Just a fragmented depiction, addresses underlying mental health issues and sensory disorders—in carrying my own subtle semblance of it, I love exploring those complexities with Hunter. It turns out soft. I think. Also, if you squint hard enough, you will see some song lyrics scattered throughout the fic in the form of thoughts. I wrote this in the format of Reader, though it’s practically a self-insert, I’m just not brave enough for those particular pronouns. :) Sorry in advance if this doesn’t apply to you...

▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️

Isn’t anyone trying to find me... Won’t somebody come take me home...

The silence was prodding. Hunter’s gaze darted to your tense form numerous times over the span of several painfully long, anticipating minutes. Each time, your lips remained pulled into a tight line while your extremities fidgeted in repetition. Agitation hung thick in the air. A terse statement of Y/N’s mystics echoed off the walls, to no-one in particular.

“I think... I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Hunter’s eyes incredulously searched you. “What do you mean?”

You see me standing, but I’m dying on the floor...

Your fists reflexively clench in grabbing at any semblance of weight to prevent your form from being dragged down into the mental abyss. You could feel it’s foreboding pull. It’s impending chaos.

It’s coming.

“Talk to me, Y/N...”

Your grip slackens, and you slip right over the edge. Hunter is too late to grab you.

I only want to die alive...

Your broken, unbridled guttural cries in response to the months of overwhelming emotional suppression caused Hunter to wince, and his own sensory receptors gain enough momentum to inwardly complain. He instinctively stuffs it down before kicking into action.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m here—”

Electric. The touch. His touch. It pricked, and the very fine hairs adorning the skin along your arms instantly retaliated to the calloused padding of Hunter’s fingertips caressing. It exacerbated your state of distress and just like that, your neurons overloaded. Sharp, stale air seeped in between your grit teeth and inhalation of insecurity.

Your sudden intake of breath and harsh flinch caused Hunter to cease in brushing up and down the outer region of your upper arms. His eyes narrowed slightly and quickly picked apart your stance. It greeted him like an old adversary with the remnants of a longstanding history, and a discomfiture swirled around Hunter at it’s painful familiarity.

“I can’t do this...” You breathe out despair.

The existing in general? The physical connection itself?

The latter wasn’t your fault. But it sure as hell felt like it. It certainly wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, somehow, the glint in Hunter’s shifting irises reassured you that he was privy to your suffering, to some degree; he knew. He understood.

Of course he did.

For who to better understand heightened tactile sensitivity than Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99? He was neither confounded nor dissuaded by your particularity in the slightest.

It had always been an inherence of yours; a rather obnoxious caricature within the conundrum, some obscure accessory buried in your already heavily packed bags. An extra ingredient that completely screwed up the recipe. Constituted as awkward, plain and simple; the dramatized detail never became easier to address with age, and the thick lump of disdain in your throat only grew.

You set your jaw in frustration. How to even begin picking up and putting together the pieces of a person who’s constantly missing one, or several. You were never satiated, equanimity never extended it’s stay for long; simply just renting. There was always something, someone, leaving a smoking hole in your chest, forcing every euphoric guest out.

I seek to cure what’s deep inside... frightened of this thing that I’ve become...

Your features twisted in agony and discomfort that accompanied the stoked episodes. It made you bitter. It threw you to the streets and dubbed you a martyr before satirically exposing, taunting at the misfortune of your dealt deck of cards. It was downright embarrassing, obtruding. Trepidations instantaneously trampled your meager, sensory overloaded form each and every time. Your bitter, corrosive laugh was all the evidence in that moment; a feeble reminder of your hypocrisy.

Because how, pray tell, does one’s physicality simultaneously experience both a revulsion for tactility and desperate craving for touch itself? You never understood exactly the way the two collided and contradicted themselves. Your teeth clamped your tongue in quelling the deprivation and plea for more rising in your throat, while your neurons worked to whisk your form as far away from the man as possible—away to the repetition of obsolete emptiness and desolation awaiting to greet you. As always.

“Let me help, cyare.” Begging... the man was hurting for you.

Don’t want to say yes, don’t want to say no...

Your mind ached. You can’t stop the pendulum in your head. Forced to look through a kaleidoscope of melancholy. Pleas echoed in a cavernous empty shell, but fell on deaf ears. Tears cancelled their appointment, and the well currently ran dry. There was... nothingness. And you fought the growing complaisance with the notion. Numbness was terrifying, and being terrified was numbing. You didn’t do well with attitudinal changes, seeking restitution more than ever while you wholly acknowledged the aspect of a ginger touch; the literal power within one’s fingertips to effectively mitigate your suffering. An opportune moment standing before you, his brows furrowed in sympathy and the corner of his lips angled in assuring you of his patience.

But the sharp pang and quick successions of staccato rhythm reverberated deep in your chest and only exaggerated your pain. Curse your heavy heart. A huff of breath incited subtle movement in the loose strands hanging over your profile, to which Hunter borrowed a moment in reaching out to sweep the curtain back.

Your head was under water, yet... you were breathing just fine. You just had yet to find the damned drain to expel the pernicious and suffocating sea of psychological terror into.

I just need to clear my head... don’t let it go to your head...

You quiver under Hunter’s intense appraisal, and shame swirls thickly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. Please.” He immediately interjects, his palm turns upright and opens invitingly. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

Just tell him what you need.

“I... I don’t know.” Your admission speaks in a whisper of loss and uncertainty. You roll the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, the lump returns to your throat, and it’s crawling. Your gaze flickers.

“Just focus on me, cyare.”

Another catch: you can’t maintain eye contact to save your life. Kriff your soul. “That won’t work.” Your eyes anchor to the cold floor as sheer panic and the sturdy walls themself began to rise around your trembling self.

I can’t come alive... I want the room to take me under... Feel myself fading away...

“Okay—it’s okay,” he soothes. Hunter fervently wracks his brain—the way he decompresses and approaches his own form of stimming is slightly different; it’s different for everybody with a hyperactive response to stimuli. It took the Sergeant years to cultivate those particular penchants and even longer to tailor and perfect them to his predilection. If anything, he felt slightly apprehensive in the success of his methods.

Your hands that now wrap tightly around your rigid form are currently the only familiar pair of hands granted permission to access the area. You give a brief squeeze and teeter on the balls of your feet.

Hunter didn’t require a sniper’s nonpareil eyesight to see right through your peculiarity, even if he was briefly taken aback at it’s sudden effervescing. Truthfully, he should’ve picked up on it days ago: at your fierce denial and subtle panic over Hunter’s harmless offer of a massage after you had worked out a particularly stubborn knot kinking his lower back—a simple requite of mutuality, or so he thought. At the time, the Sergeant found himself shrouded in enigma over your reaction; seriously, who—other than him who barely tolerates it—doesn’t enjoy massages? It now made perfect sense. He fought the urge to self-deprecate over his ignorance.

“I’m suffocating, Hunter.” You choke, and the cadence of your voice is like a knife twisting into his heart; he gleans vicarious pain from your own.

Clarity suddenly lights up the Sergeant’s features, and you’re briefly hyper-fixated with the way the inky but slightly faded outline of his shadowy tattoo fluctuates in natural contortion with his many facial expressions. Just behind his eyes he beholds his brothers—

‘I’m suffocating, ori’vod’...

Hunter remembers...

Of the exact way he presses against Tech in order to smother his vod’ika’s fleeting bouts of anxiousness—the pressure nearly breaking the kid’s goggles on more than one occasion, and the way he compresses Crosshair’s shoulders in squeezing out the pent up anger to placate amidst the sniper’s wavering, and the position of which Hunter managed to encompass his brawny brother in a comforting embrace whenever the big guy experienced despondency—that is until Wrecker quickly outgrew his ori’vod and began flaunting his own prowess of overpowering hugs.

The difference between the scenarios was minimal. Hunter knew exactly what to do. Like second-nature to him, his nurturing instincts fully kicked in and determination spread through every fiber of his being, quashing the previous buzz of his own nerves.

Hunter didn’t know how well he could alleviate your emotional pain, but there was something he could do for the neurological aspect, and hopefully, one could ease the other...

Hunter ambles up to you and in one swift motion, secures the length of his arms around your upper back, noting the delineate contour of toned muscles and shoulder blades poking into his forearms that now drape across before his hands encircle and come to firmly rest on each shoulder. Firmness. Pressure—for your state, this depiction is key. He determinedly pulls you to him, unrelenting in a tight grip. The position of the crown of your head settled neatly under his chin, and stray hair peppered his textured features with tickling kisses as Hunter dips his head to softly press his lips to your roots.

I wish that I could bring you back to me...

With your face suddenly buried in the man’s chest, you come to distinctly acknowledge two immediate sensations. One; the man is warm. Not the muggy, stuffy warmth of Tatooine that is unpleasantly abrasive and dry; but a soft warmth that permeates, stoking memories of baked goods within the cushion of a heated oven warmly enveloping you each time it’s doors open, and seeking to melt the hardened encasing that is your tense muscles. It eases you towards a serenity. You have a ways to go before you can make out the sign in the distance, but Hunter himself is one step forward along the path.

Two; he smells amazing. A faint smoky sultry, an obscurely mesquite scent, slightly tangy and reminiscent of raw timber that is both luxurious and intoxicating; a sweet smell you’d classify as anything but cloying. Like he bathes with suds of fresh mountain air and luscious forests. It’s soothing, and your mind immediately associates the tangibility with a daydream and mercifully blesses you with the glimpse; of your husband having just entered your cozy homestead from a day of hard but fruitful labor in his intricate works of carpentry within the serene seclusion of temperate countryside enveloping your favorite planet—

Handle with care... say you’ll be there...

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, cyare—is this okay?” Hunter momentarily shifts and the rich baritone of the Sergeant’s voice resounding through his broad chest reels you back while he briefly tenses at your pending answer.

It was okay—your head was still swimming in an infinitely deep ocean of thoughts, but the way his hand slips from it’s position on your shoulder to cradle the back of your head before curling around the soft locks equates to the physical manifestation of a life preserver cast to your drowning form.

Your muffled confirmation and sheepish thanks warmly enveloped Hunter, as did your hands shifting to wrap around his broad frame in reciprocation. His grip tightened, and he patiently waits for you.

Hold.... Hold on... Hold on to me, ‘cause I’m a little unsteady...

Hunter refrains from trailing to stroke further along your back; the sneaking suspicion that the sensation might further tip off your nerves. So he remained stationary, and deciphered the way you seemingly favored a firm, weighted grasp and a grounding touch over ghosting fingertips and light, feathery textures. He could relate to that.

But Hunter couldn’t stop the hum of contentment that escaped his lips at your fingers having absentmindedly wandered up to twirl at his ebony tresses. He, personally, loved your soft, well-placed strokes full of deliberation and meaning, and only you were allowed to grace him with them.

Hunter could feel your heart hammering against the veil of his blacks, and his ears hearkened to the rhythm of your burdened breaths. He shifted his weight and began to gently sway with you, unsure of the words to say.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” your conscience suddenly prods.

A snort fills the air. “Oh, I would’ve figured it out soon enough. I’m kinda smart like that,” Hunter cringes at his corny sense of humor, but he swore the faintest of chortles rumbled beneath him.

He grants a final squeeze to your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive areas along your arms, before pulling back to address your face. Trouble and distress still graced you, and Hunter laced his fingers with your own. He thumbed at the worn flesh encasing your defined knuckles, a relic indicative of steadfast manual labor. You slowly exhaled at the touch; pressure along the palms and backside of your hands was soothing to you. You often wrung them to keep preoccupied when there was no warmth to solidify the muscle, fingertips drummed erratic tempos along your thighs whenever the mood struck, and loud cracking of the stiff joints in transient tics was a regularly becoming thing.

Take me by the hand, take me somewhere new...

Hunter tugged lightly in ushering you to the cot, firmly planting himself on the worn, creaking edge before his gaze met yours in awaiting approval. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible nod of your head in confirmation. Hunter leaned back on his full weight in gesturing you with him, and your form followed suit as you found yourself abruptly layered directly atop the rugged plains of his chest. The quirk of his lips told you he didn’t mind being used as a body pillow. Hunter’s arms suddenly turned up empty to rest above his head.

“I want you to be comfortable. No brushing. Just tell me where to put my hands.” He clarified, and appreciation bubbled in your chest. You contemplated for a moment.

“Just... hold me close.” You began to guide his hands to the exact position. “Please.”

His limbs obeyed by wrapping snugly as a hand found rest at the small of your back, and the other nestled itself slightly higher up the expanse, fingers splayed. Hunter solidified the closed space, and not even a muted ray of light could pass between the two forms.

You found solace within the cage of well-endowed muscle, slowly suppressing your nerves on each side and physically shielding you from the works of mental oppression. But his touch left you hyperaware; from an overtly suffocating insecurity towards every part of your body now lingering against his own, to the precise and tranquil thrum of his heartbeat in contrast with your racing one. Your stimuli sparks again in response to the stress.

“Y/N.” Hunter cuts through your tension, his voice laced with concern—you cannot calm yourself down, and you’re certain your mind absolutely loathes you. “Everything will be alright, I promise—don’t tense up, baby. Relax against me.” You angle your head so that one side of your face plants to his chest; you wish to better hear his sturdy heartbeat. You suddenly remember your own. It’s still beating. Resounding; indicative of purpose. Your breaths; symbolizing life.

Just keep breathing... my air...

“That’s it. Just breathe.” Hunter encourages. He reaches up to press against your temple in stroking at the hairline. Unbound locks cascaded around each other, a mixture of two colors softly tangled on either sides of the furniture. You lost count of your numbered breaths in the midst of solitude when a question unveils from your thoughts.

“How do you do it?” Your words trump the stagnant silence, a desperate inquiry that peaks through the fibers. You tilt your chin to better regard the man.

Confusion tugs at the corner of Hunter’s lips. “Do, what?”

“Anything...” you unload, and there’s a crackle to your voice. “The stress, the sensory... how do you manage? What’s your anchor in this wretched, kriffing life?”

A smile creeps up Hunter’s features, and his deep, reflective pools burn through you. “I’m looking at my anchor. And she helps me manage just fine.”

Your eyes blow protuberant and you manage to stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Honey, you are it.” His satisfied smirk grows wider, digging into his cheeks.

Something twitches at the corners of your lip and pulls into an upward curve; the feeling is tight, foreign. Your cheek muscles are unsure of how to compensate for the expression. You can’t remember the last time a smile has naturally graced your features. Now, it’s genuine. It’s... nice, and the hot rivulets currently streaming down your face are in a unanimous agreement.

Hunter moves to cup your face and thumb below your eyes, and his lips kiss the salt away. You grab hold of his forearms and shut your eyes.

“You want to know how I manage?” He croons in determination, “When my visual is overstimulated, I close my eyes and focus on the features of your face ingrained in my memory. When certain auditory has me weak at the knees, I remember the lull of your voice, comforting. When my nerves are on fire and I want nothing more than to be physically desensitized, it’s your soft touch that acts as a blanket, covering, making it easier for me. You make it better. Me better. Life better.” Hunter finishes his declaration in lovingly swiping at your face once more, expunging your pain. Words make a prompt exit along with it.

Your lips find purchase at the stubble along his jaw, in response. You love being able to fully make out the intricacy of his irises, now that you’re lovingly gazing into them. When you exit your captivated trance—his eyes are beautiful—you vaguely note with a twinge of pride that the encounter was indefinitely your longest standing record for maintaining eye contact. Another gentle smile fills your features. You remove your weight from him.

“Take this off?” You shyly tug at the collar of his blacks, seeking his consent, respectful of his own sensory receptors and their boundaries.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hunter sits to quickly shed the upper article of clothing. He pulls you on top once again, and you are relishing in his bare skin. Your fingers map out a path of their own volition along the various textures and scars dotting the pectoral flesh.

“You never told me what you were thinking about earlier,” Hunter nonchalantly called you out. Your brows furrow in confusion. “There was something different on your face when I first held you. Just a flicker. But you looked... happy. Content, even.” Hunter smirked. “Hope you’re not planning to keep all that happiness to yourself.”

You certainly weren’t planning to. You recalled the picturesque and beckoned it forth... there was your sign of serenity. Just the shape of it, but solid, and clear. Hopeful, and promising, just on the horizon. It made your chest flutter, and ebbed away at the heartache. You realized Hunter’s brow arched in anticipation.

“How would you feel about working in carpentry?” A chuckle. Hunter was thoroughly humored, and surprisal was briefly evident on his features.

“So I can build you and I a house? To fill a bunch of babies with? Gladly.” He chased the daydream alongside you, and it was your turn to borrow the surprise; your mouth hung agape as heat crept through the apples of your cheeks. Hunter’s laugh boomed as a hand fit under your chin to close your parted lips. He wished to use his own to do the trick, but, another time.

“I’m with you.”

[let-love-run-red]

Adventures of a Single Father-5

Tag List: @sincereleygmg, @0hour9am, @siobhanlovesfilm, @thefandomzoneisdangerous​, @darthseph​, @alyssah430 (I’m so sorry some of the tags didn’t work loves)

Adam woke with a start when he felt something moving on his chest. He glanced down to see Cody shuffling on his chest. Adam let out a sigh and rested his hand on his son's back, thankful Cody hadn't fallen off while Adam slept. He turned his head to glance at the clock on his bedside table. 6:00, he should have been making dinner for himself, and Cody was no doubt hungry. Adam stood while holding Cody against his chest and remembering what Dr. Garcia had said about trying to move Cody away from formula. He thought he'd gotten some jars of baby food on a sale at the store but looking in the pantry they were nowhere to be found. He sighed and reached for the can of formula. Solid foods would have to wait.

He opened the can to find it empty. He dropped it in the garbage can in the corner, before reaching for the second can only to grasp empty air. He dug around in the pantry, silently cursing in his head before shutting the door with more force than necessary. He grumbled under his breath before walking to where he'd dropped the chest carrier, laying Cody on the couch before fastening the carrier to his own chest. He picked up Cody, walking to the bedroom and dressing him in a light jacket and mittens. He would be close enough to Adam's chest to stay warm. Cody squirmed and grumbled when Adam put his mittens on his hands before slowly waking with a start.

Adam shushed him quietly, lifting Cody so his head was resting on Adam's shoulder. Cody reached up to grab Adam's hair and Adam winced as he tugged sharply. Adam set Cody in the carrier, lowering his head with his son to avoid losing a lock of his hair. He gently freed his hair from his son's grip, talking softly to Cody while making his way to the bathroom. He dug around in the drawers before finding what he was looking for, a black elastic band. He gathered the hair that Cody could reach from the carrier and pulled his hair back into the elastic, resulting in a half ponytail. He made a mental note to get his hair trimmed.

Adam walked to the couch, lifting his jacket in his arms and sliding it on as Cody waved his hands around in an attempt to remove the mittens that Adam had tied to his coat sleeves. Cody let out an indignant squeal as Adam zipped his jacket around Cody.

"Dada!" Cody screeched as he swung his tiny angry fists out to the side. Adam let out a sigh, taking Cody's hands.

"I know you don't like it kid, but you've gotta wear 'em." He said as he released one of Cody's hands to smooth his hand over the soft black hair on Cody's head.

Adam double checked he had his keys and wallet before walking out the door, locking it behind him and venturing down the hall. He stuck his hands in his pockets as he thumped down the stairs. He heard a similar thumping sound, just much lighter, and looked down the stairwell to see you making your way up the stairs. Your hair was awry as you gripped the handrail tightly.

"(y/n)!" Adam called delightedly. You snapped your head up, a smile breaking across your face when you spotted him.

"Hey Adam!" You replied. Adam quickly made his way down the stairs and pulled you into a hug, careful not to crush Cody. You were slightly taken aback, yes you and Adam had touched, but it was nothing more than a high five or handshake. He pulled away and held onto your shoulders.

"I got a job." He said, his voice at a whisper, almost as if he believed it would turn to dust if he said it too loud. Your smile grew before you hugged him again with a delighted squeal. Cody huffed in protest at the proximity and you pulled away before running your hand gently through Cody's soft black locks.

"That's great Adam!" You said joyously. He nodded happily, and the two of you stood in a not so awkward silence for a few moments before you spoke. 

"Where are you headed?" You asked, glancing between his face and the back of Cody's head just poling out from under Adam's jacket.

"Oh, the store. I'm out of formula and baby food, I should've checked sooner." He said with a chuckle. You remembered that you were out of batteries, and a little low on milk for your taste. normally Laura would grocery shop, but she was lactose intolerant and nearly always forgot the milk, and cheese, and nearly every dairy item. You never made a list, so it was forgivable, she just never thought about it.

"Mind if I tag along?" You said, turning to face down the stairs. You had been looking forward to a warm shower but you would much rather spend time with Adam. You wanted to get to know him past just his fatherhood. That couldn't be all that defined him.

"Not at all, M'lady." Adam offered his arm to you and you took it. He helped steady you as you walked down the stairs on your sore feet.

The two of you walked to the store in a comfortable silence. You had kept your arm linked with his as you walked, not quite wanting to pull yourself away from his warmth. Occasionally you would glance over to him, watching him as he walked, counting the beauty marks on his face or examining his hair. You didn't mind it pulled back, but you much preferred it loose. 

When you reached the store Adam grabbed a cart and unzipped his jacket, laying it atop the children's seat. You unbuttoned your coat before quickly pulling it back closed and shivering. It was too cold for your taste.

"So, the job, where's it at?" You asked. He had seemed so excited about it, you figured that was a good opening topic before you asked him your burning question.

"Oh, it's at that pub downtown, it's called Valhalla. The owner seems, nice. He's a little intimidating. I start tomorrow." Adam said as he pushed the cart into the store with you in step beside him. The two of you chatted about his job as he made a B-line for the infant section. You glanced to the back of the store to the dairy section before breaking away from Adam with a quick explanation.

Adam watched with a smile as you walked away, before continuing down the aisle. He picked up a few more cans of formula, and jars of baby food. He also picked up a new toy that Cody seemed to be particularly interested in and looked at a few of the baby walkers they had stocked. He wrinkled his nose and shook his head, remembering what Dr. Garcia said about how dangerous the walkers could be. Besides, Cody was learning to move on his own.

Adam roamed through the aisles a bit more before running his grocery list in his head and deciding now was as good a time as any to pick up some of the more urgent things on his list. He made his way to the toilet paper section, parking the cart at the far end of the crowded aisle before weaving his way through the swarm of people. Adam reached to one of the taller shelves to grab a pack of toilet paper when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to look behind him to see a rather short, elderly woman shyly wringing her hands.

"I'm so sorry to bother you sir, but would you mind grabbing me a pack?" She asked gently. Adam flashed a smile and handed her the pack he had just grabbed down before turning to grab another for himself. He felt another tap on his shoulder and let out a sigh before holding the pack behind him. He felt somebody take it from his hands before grabbing another, and feeling another tap. He froze, trying to quell his frustration. He cursed his genetics for making him tall and cursed the fact that nobody in this aisle was even as tall as his shoulder. He turned wordlessly, holding the pack of toilet paper.

"Oh! How cute is he?" The middle-aged woman behind him cooed over Cody who was looking around curiously in the chest carrier. She reached to touch Cody and Adam felt the urge to curl himself around Cody. Instead he sharply cleared his throat and the woman withdrew her hand. Adam glanced behind her to see a bored looking teenager leaning on a basket that was pressed against the shelves across from Adam, which was funneling people much too close to him for comfort.

"I was going to ask if you would grab me a pack, but this little man is so cute!" The woman cooed at Cody. Adam held out the pack in his hand to her. She took it and called to the teenager before he looked up just in time to catch the pack of toilet paper in the chest. Adam suppressed a chuckle as the boy tried to catch it before just giving up and letting it fall to the floor. The woman turned back towards Adam, looking up to his face for the first time.

"I see where he got his handsome looks." She said, holding her hand out to Cody. Cody pulled his arms inside the chest carrier, pressing his face against Adam's chest as Adam rested a large hand over Cody through the carrier.

"Are you having fun with daddy on his week little man?" She asked. Adam felt a fire in his chest and suppressed a loud growl. His weekend? As if he was incapable of having Cody full time? As if he couldn't take care of his own child?

"My week?" He said quietly, his brows knitted together tightly.

"Well yes I can't imagine any court taking a baby away from their momma for longer than a week. She said, oblivious to the anger rising in Adam's chest. He heard a faint "mom" from behind him and glanced towards her teenager to see him paying full attention now and trying to pull his mother back to the cart.

"Especially one so young and absolutely precious, what did you do to momma anyway?" She asked with a chuckle, looking up to Adam's face.

"His fucking momma," Adam seethed, "was starving him and walked out on us when he was four fucking months old." Adam snarled. She stood straight, the smile falling from her face.

"I snuck out of the house every night to feed him so he wouldn't starve. So I hope to god that if we had to go to court, they'd keep his mother away from him." Adam said sharply before grabbing the fourth packet of toilet paper, and storming from the aisle. He heard a faint "how rude" from the aisle before hearing the woman ranting, most likely to her son, as Adam walked back to his cart. He dropped the toilet paper in the basket and grumbled to himself as he walked. He glanced down to Cody to see his son looking up at him with a happy smile. Adam thanked his luck that Cody was too young to understand what had just happened. He looked up to see you walking towards him, holding two gallons of milk and a few packs of batteries.

"Sorry Adam I had to track down an employee to help me find the batteries." You set them in the cart away from his things.

"They were in the office supply section," You said with a chuckle. "honestly why there?" Adam let out a small huff of a laugh from his nose and felt a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

"Got anything else you need?" You asked, cooing to Cody in the carrier when he turned to look at you. Adam shook his head. He just wanted to leave the store, and hopefully avoid any comments about his fatherhood and how it must be "his week." Honestly, who did she think she was? The two of you walked towards the self-checkout section, splitting off and going to the two open stands across the space from each other.

Adam began scanning his items, watching Cody startle at each loud beep. He continued scanning items until he got to the formula can. For some reason the system decided it didn't like that can and let out a loud beep before blocking the screen and blaring the message "Please Wait for assistance" repeatedly. Cody started crying in distress at the sound, causing Adam's stress levels to skyrocket. He pulled Cody from the carrier, cradling him against his shoulder and bouncing while he searched for an associate to make the loud noises stop. Each time the message played Cody started crying again. Adam gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut against the piercing gazes of the other shoppers.

Finally, an associate appeared. An older man who walked with a slight limp. He gave Adam a tight-lipped smile before scanning his ID card and scanning the formula again. The machine started flashing again and the two men sighed. The associate scanned his card again, before typing in the item number manually. Finally, the machine accepted the can of formula. Adam let out a breath of relief both at the machine and the fact that Cody was no longer crying. Adam thanked the associate, who hung close by in case Adam's kiosk decided to have problems again. Adam reached for his wallet and pulled it out, digging for his credit card to pay.

It wasn't there. His credit card was missing.

Adam set his wallet on the small top next to the machine, leafing through it with one hand while cursing quietly. His card wasn't there. He didn't have enough cash to pay for any of the items and his credit card wasn't in his wallet. Cody started fussing again and Adam felt tears pricking at his eyes as his anxiety swelled. He started breathing heavily and fumbling through his wallet. He tried to check it again, dropping it on the ground with a rather loud Fuck.

He heard bags rustling beside him and turned to watch you set the two gallons of milk and small bag of batteries down next to him before you pulled your own card out and slid it into the card reader. You gave Adam a gentle smile before bending down to pick up his wallet and handing it back to him. Adam took a deep breath and pressed his cheek against Cody's head both in an attempt to comfort himself and his son.

You finished the transaction, replacing your own card in your wallet and sliding it into your purse before helping Adam load his bags onto his free arm, picking up your own and walking out of the store with him.

"Thank you." Adam said quietly after a few minutes of silence. You turned to him with a smile.

"No need, it's what friends are for." You said gently. Adam quirked a smile and looked down to see Cody sleeping soundly against Adam's shoulder. You were both quiet for a moment, before you spoke.

"So, today at work I had a group of girls come in." You said, gauging his reaction. He was watching you carefully as you walked.

"And I think they knew you." You said. You watched Adam fumble one of the bags and curse quietly.

"One of them was talking about her kid, I think her name was Hannah?" You said. Adam let out a groan.

"Yeah, I knew them. Jessa Marnie and Shoshanna were there too right?" He asked. You recognized two of the names but Shoshanna was unfamiliar.

"Yeah Jessa and Marnie, but I don't recognize Shoshanna." You said.

"Super quiet kind of shy and a little fuckin' weird?" Adam said with a chuckle. Yep that was the third girl. You nodded with a giggle.

"Yeah, they were there." You said.

"Anyway, she was saying she wanted you to help her raise her baby?" She continued. Adam groaned.

"She's still going on about that?" He said before shifting Cody and the bags around in his arms.

"I guess, what's up with that?" You asked. He sighed as you pressed the buzzer for your apartment, knowing Laura would be home to unlock the door. You heard the automatic latch click and pushed the door open, holding it open for Adam to follow.

"We were dating a while ago. God I was cringy, and she was a fucking weirdo." Adam said as he walked up the stairs with you following.

"We broke up and got back together a few times, all her idea, and then I started dating the British one, Jessa." Adam cleared his throat as you watched him.

"I guess Hannah got knocked up sometime during that, the guy didn't want to be a father and I guess she figured because I always talked about having kids that meant I could be." You hesitated outside your apartment door.

"Oh?" You urged him to continue.

"Do you want to come inside?" He asked softly. You nodded and pulled yourself away from your apartment, approaching his door. He pulled out his keys to unlock it, pushing the door open and setting the bags on the floor beside the door to walk to his room and place Cody in his crib.

"I mean, I kind of offered once I heard. But I was just so caught up in what could have been, I eventually realized it wasn't going to work and we called it off. I went back to Jessa and broke up with her after she found out what I offered." He said, removing his jacket and Cody's chest carrier before beginning to put the groceries away. You set the gallons of milk and bag of batteries on the counter, glancing into the pantry when he opened it. There wasn't much other than ramen noodles.

"After a few months I met Hayley. Hannah showed back up and begged me to help her raise her kid, but Hayley was pregnant and I could not leave her." Adam said as he balled up the bags and tossed them in the cupboard under the sink.

"She was pissed. But I mean I had my own family," Adam trailed off. "and then she left." He said, staring at the floor. You had been listening quietly to his story.

"I was so stupid then." He said softly. You took a step towards him, rubbing his bicep gently through his jacket. He looked down into your (e/c) eyes with tears pricking at his own. You leaned against his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist in a hug. He hugged you back and rested his chin on your head.

The two of you stood in the kitchen for what seemed like hours. You felt the need to comfort Adam, he'd been through so much. So much that somebody trying so hard like he was didn't deserve to go through. Your phone buzzed and you finally pulled away as Adam cleared his throat. You checked your phone to see a text from Laura asking if you were alright.

"I should let you get going." Adam said gently. You nodded silently, picking up the milk and the batteries.

"I should too, you've got work tomorrow." You said, your voice matching his. It felt too intimate to talk normally, as if this required a gentle voice and soft words.

"Yeah, I've still got to find a sitter." Adam said with a chuckle. You tilted your head.

"What time?" You asked him. He shrugged.

"Around 6:30 ish." He said. You rolled your options over in your head before speaking.

"I could watch him, if you want." You said. Adam lifted his head with a smile. Currently, you were the only other person he could completely trust around Cody. Since Hayley had left, he'd had trouble letting his son out of his sight longer than a few hours for a nap, but you, he would trust you with his life.

"You wouldn't mind?" He asked. You shook your head with a grin.

"Not at all." 

[carolmaximoffs]

THE GOOD DOCTOR

CHAPTER SEVEN

Ch. Summary: The past haunts Thea in sleep and in reality as the team comes to a decision about Herstellerin, and Thea comes to a private decision of her own.

Warnings: swearing, dead bodies, flashbacks, brief mention of stillbirth

Pairings: Sam Wilson x OFC

Taglist: @marvelousmrstark

A/N: as usual, flashbacks are in italics.

    SHE WAKES TO THE SAME grey ceiling she’s been staring at for a handful of years now. As always, she tries to picture her parents faces, but can’t.She’d been taken young and they’d too easily been pushed from her mind. She quells the anger at the thought as she listens to the grating stone on stone of her door opening, lies still as they enter.

    “Get up,” commands an empty voice. Thea keeps her face carefully void as she rises to her feet. Habitually, she holds her arms out, wrists touching, for the cuffs. Trying to run had proved futile, and she wonders dimly if she’d ever feel that fire again. The one that burned for freedom. To her shock, the cuffs don’t come. Instead, a calloused hand wraps around each bicep, and the pair of Hydra cronies march her down a dark corridor. It has been years since she was truly worried, for even young she could tell they would not kill her, not on purpose. They needed her, even if she didn’t know what for.

    The fear does not truly register until she is shoved into a small room containing only a table, two chairs, and a lone woman. Thea is guided to sit on one side, the metal so cold it bites through her thin linen jumpsuit. The guards release her but do not step away, hovering at her shoulders. One clears their throat.

    “Herstellerin,” it grunts, evidently addressing the woman, and Thea feels her stomach lurch. She flinches, an aborted attempt to run, but her body knows better. Whispered stories rattle through her head from before she’d been moved, kept away from everyone. Herstellerin. Creator. Producer. To them, somebody says in Thea’s brain, to them we are just projects.

    The woman turns slowly, a serene smile on her face. Her face, too, is blank, but it might not be intentional, with her skin stretched over angular cheeks and pale eyes. Her hair is pulled back into a tight, no-nonsense sort of bun. When the chair scrapes against the floor, Thea winces again, and the woman’s smile seems almost empathetic.

    “Good morning.” Herstellerin folds her hands together on the table in front of her. This is where Thea focuses her gaze. “Did you sleep well?”

    Thea thinks this is a joke - she has not fallen asleep naturally since the nights she used to scream. Now, no matter where she is kept, it is needles that make her sleep, but she nods regardless. Herstellerin nods as well.

   “I am glad to hear it, because I do not know how well you will be sleeping for awhile.” With this, Herstellerin gets to her feet. A small flick of her hand, and the guards are once more gripping Thea’s biceps. Thea feels like she’s floating, watching Herstellerin’s white coat flutter behind her. The older woman knocks thrice on a solid metal door, much like Thea’s own. Thea recognizes this for sure though, with it’s small window, and the gloved lab assistant that peers through. She begins to thrash as the guards lead her over the threshold.

“Child,” Herstellerin croons, and Thea bites at the fingers that reach to touch her face. Herstellerin’s smile grows amused as Thea is strapped into a chair. She knows it’s useless, knows she can go nowhere, but it does not stop her straining. “Still so strong-willed...we are going to make you stronger.”

    She honestly doesn’t mean to hit Wanda. 

    Thea wakes to hands on her, shaking her, and her instinct is escape, run, get away. The dream clings to her even after she follows Wanda, launching herself from bed to help the young witch to her feet.

    “Wanda, I’m so, so sorry. Did I...did I wake you?” Thea asks, guilt twisting in her gut. She hadn’t had night terrors in a very long time - hadn’t woken anyone else in even longer. She pushes that thought away for later as Wanda blushes.

   “I was...up,” Wanda blushes, and the implication doesn’t make Thea feel any better. Only the hallway provides any light, the clock on her bedside table flashing an accusatory 2:00 AM. She sits on the edge of her bed, head in her hands.

    “I’m so, so sorry. You can go I...I’ll be fine.” The bed dips, and Wanda’s familiar shampoo floods Thea’s nose as she hugs her. 

    “Don’t worry about it,” Wanda urges. “Vis doesn’t mind, and I certainly don’t. I would take them away if I could.”

     The last sentence is murmured, almost embarrassed, and Thea lifts her head. Wanda has pulled back enough that Thea can more or less make out her face, eyes downcast. Thea reaches up to hold the hand resting on her shoulder. 

    “Thank you, Wanda,” Thea whispers, pressing every ounce of sincerity into the words. “It’s nothing I haven’t been through before. It’s just dreams, right?” 

    Wanda makes a noise in her throat like she doesn’t quite agree, but she rises to her feet anyways. Thea’s a little relieved as she watches her friend stretch with a yawn, but also a little nervous. Wanda reaches to squeeze her hand one more time. 

    “Even dreams are not easy,” She replies. As soon as Wanda’s door closes, the hall light clicks off. Despite her excuses, Thea doesn’t return to sleep.

                                            -

    Originally, Thea wasn’t supposed to be part of the mission briefing. Had it been more routine, she’d be in the med-bay this morning, and the Avengers would be filling out paperwork. Instead, she’s nursing her second cup off coffee as Tony lays into Nat.

    “I don’t care if it can’t be connected to us, Natasha! You blew up a third of fucking Berlin!” He gestures wildly at the screen behind him. On mute, news feeds show a sunken city, smoke and dust billowing. Natasha has the good grace to look a little ashamed, but sends Thea a wink when Tony rounds on the others.

    “And you-” He starts, but he seems to have lost his fire. It’s the first Thea’s seen of any such thing, but he melts into the chair at the head of the table so abruptly she thinks he’s passed out. “I don’t have anything to say to you. Romanoff should’ve left you at the motel. You are so...so stupid lucky that psychotic bitch didn’t do anything to you. It’s taken a whole new round of tech just to keep her from escaping.”

    Thea shares a guilty look with Bucky at the implication, though his guilt does not come from the same place hers does. She regrets bringing Herstellerin back to the Compound, being to weak to deal with her there and then. Bucky regrets that his first instinct was to kill; he and Thea had already discussed this on the way home. She made sure he knew she would not have thought less of him if he had done it, but they both knew in their guts that Thea was not quite ready to be rid of the monster.

    “Tony,” she says, keeping her voice even, “I’ll take care of it. I don’t think she has any Hydra intel, Fury told me she’d been working solo for years. Just...just let me talk to her, and then you guys can hand her over to the Raft.”

    Tony sighs, still slumped against the tabletop. His reply is muffled. “Do whatever you want, kid. Just fill out the papers and get back to work.”

    She nods, and the group of them take it as a dismissal. Tony stays where he is, Thea ruffling his hair affectionately as she passes him. On her way to the door, her knees give. Thea reaches blindly for leverage, muffled exclamations of her name meeting her ears. She gasps, feeling suddenly like she can’t get enough air into her lungs.

    “I am glad to see it worked,” drawls a voice that’s haunted Thea for a week now. “I almost was not sure it would take...but I worked so hard on this version, I am glad it did not go to waste.”

    Thea stands on shaking legs. She doesn’t remember getting off the table. She doesn’t know when she fell. She watches the body closest to her thrum with gold light for another half second before it fades; she sees the same light fading from her fingers. She whirls, and Herstellerin is there, as she is always there now.

    “What did you do?” She cries, and Herstellerin, as always, seems genuinely amused by her cluelessness. Her crooked smile never falters as she raises her eyebrows, a silent challenge.

    “You did this, dear.”

    Another shuddering gasp, hands pulling her to stand. Her own hand, shaking, clawing at her throat before settling on the locket. She still hasn’t taken it off. It grounds her as her head whips about. The pseudo-operating room has disappeared as quickly as it came. The nausea of seeing so much death remains, however, even as she allows herself to lean heavily into Bucky. Tony has risen to his feet, Rhodey and Steve reappeared by the conference room door. Natasha has Thea’s face encased in her hands, forcing her to make eye contact. Her full lips make out Thea’s name a few times before Thea actually hears it.

    “What the hell is happening to me?” She whimpers. Not for the first time since coming to the compound, Thea feels weak, but never before has it been so overwhelming. Memories she’d long pushed back resurface faster than she can brace herself for them, and not just in dreams, evidently. Tony curses, making his way over to shoo the others away away. He grips Thea’s forearms to steady her.

    “I told you you shouldn’t have gone,” He sasses, but there’s no true bite behind the words. “Listen, kid, I’ll have Fury send out a medic for Wanda and Sam’s recon later, just in case. Take the day off. Hell, take the week off. And I’m gonna send you the number of my therapist.”

    He’s rambling, something Thea had only been privy to a couple of times. It usually occurred when he was close to a eureka! moment in the lab, or when he was truly nervous. She feels a warmth in her chest at the idea that Tony might care about her enough to worry over her, but it doesn’t make her guilt subside. “Tony, I don’t need-”

    “Ah b-b-b-bup, bup, no. People who don’t need therapists don’t collapse in their meetings talking about how sorry they are,” Tony states bluntly. Thea‘s face burns, but she nods in resignation. The rest of the team had taken their leave, all except Nat, who walks with Thea to the kitchen.

    “I can take you to see Herstellerin, if you’re gonna avoid that therapist,” the redhead offers after a few beats of comfortable silence. Thea tightens her grip on the knife she’s just pulled out, practically mutilating the poor kiwi before her on the counter.

    “You heard what Tony said. He didn’t even want me going on the mission, no way in hell is he still gonna let me talk to her.” Thea tosses the knife in the sink and turns to face Natasha just as she shrugs.

    “I’m just saying I know the entrance code. If you still needed closure.” She reaches over to steal a chunk of green from Thea’s bowl before stalking out of the kitchen. Thea knows she’s still in earshot, so she groans in frustration before calling out. Nat reappears, smiling knowingly. The only response she gets is a light punch to the arm before she leads Thea to the elevator.

                                                                  -

    Herstellerin is currently located in a completely separate building. Thea remarks on the stupidity of the access code into the level where Herstellerin is kept (“His birthday? I thought Stark said this was high tech.”) but all jokes die in her throat quickly after. Natasha hangs back as Thea enters, offering only the knowledge that Herstellerin was sedated.

     The woman in question is strapped to a chair eerily similar to the one that had given Thea her abilities many moons ago. True to Nat’s word, in one arm an IV administers unknown fluid, and Herstellerin’s watery eyes are half-lidded. She’s lucid enough to smile, however, when she recognizes Thea.

    “My little manipulator,” She coos in German, blinking lazily. “Come to kill me at last.”

    Thea shakes her head, swallowing the bitter taste in her mouth. “You would only be so lucky. But I’ve broken my oath enough for you.”

    Herstellerin cackles, but it turns into a choked cough. Thea stops at the foot of the chair, feeling almost detached from the moment as she reaches for the locket around her neck. Something sparks in the pale eyes across from her.

    “First do no harm,” Herstellerin mocks, in English this time. “Shame. Shame, shame...”

    She trails off, but her eyes never leave Thea’s hands as the latter opens the locket. Between them, the heart within pitter-patters like anyone else’s. In the three years since her son’s subsequent birth and death, it had never felt unnatural to Thea. Now, she thought it an oddity, knows that this heart was never intended to beat. And she had decided with Antoine she would not play God beyond an operating room.

    “You said I couldn’t stop this heart if my life depended on it,” Thea remarks, focusing her dark eyes on the object in question. “You said it stayed alive because I truly cared for my son, and I believed in what I was doing when I did it. I don’t know that there’s science to support that, but we won’t ever be able to find out, so I’ll go with it because it’s so damn sweet.”

    Thea feels her eyes sting, but she doesn’t stop. “You destroyed my life. You took me from my family. You gave me powers I never asked for. You tried to turn me into a killer, and I was a child. This...this was mine. S.H.I.E.L.D. gave me a new family. Antoine gave me hope. Being a doctor gave me purpose. But this...I made this. This was mine, and mine alone. My life does not depend on it...it depends on me. I love my son, I always will. But it’s time.”

    Herstellerin lurches forward as much as her restraints allow, mouth open in a silent protest. Thea wraps her fingers tighter around the locket, so her fingers brush over the smooth muscle within. She steps back as Herstellerin kicks out, focusing all her energy onto the heart. She scarcely notices the tears as she whispers a prayer, more for herself than anything, and watches the heart still. Thea turns to leave as Herstellerin splutters.

    “You foolish child. You...what a waste-”

    Natasha shuts the door on the old woman’s complaints. She rests a hand on Thea’s back; Thea is standing with her eyes screwed shut.

    “Hey,” Nat mutters, the second time in 2 days now that Thea has heard this uncharacteristically gentle tone. She opens her eyes but stares straight ahead. “You’re alright. She can’t do anything to you.”

    Thea realizes that Natasha must not have heard the conversation. She did not realize the true gravity of what had taken place. Thea had let go of an enormous chunk of her past, all at once, and she felt...empty. Doing her best to give Natasha a grateful smile, she began hurrying out of the building. The redhead is hot on her heels as Thea urgently presses elevator buttons with one hand, other hand clenched in a fist around the re-sealed locket.

    “I have somewhere I’ve got to go!” Thea offers as explanation. Natasha is left gaping as Thea waves down Happy, on his way to the garage, and all but throws herself into the passenger seat.

                                                                  -

    The cemetery is quiet, almost empty save for a handful of people further downhill. Happy politely nodded and agreed to wait for her by the entrance, so it’s alone that Thea makes her way through the headstones. Her heart still aches like the very first time she visited as she sits cross legged beside one stone in particular.

   “Hey, Ant.” She whispers to the Earth. The only reply is the wind, like always, so she continues. As much as she is able, she tells her brother everything since the last time she’d seen him. It was routine, when he was alive. He’d get back from a mission, they’d fill each other in. It made up for the time not together. Or it used to.

    Thea still feels a little incomplete even when she’s done talking, still feels like there’s a piece of her that she must’ve dropped somewhere, but she suspects it’ll be like that for a while. The first signs of spring make themselves known in little wood violets that sprout at the base of Antoine’s stone. Thea traces her fingers over them absently.

    “I brought it with me, Philip’s heart.” She says, pulling the locket in question from her pocket. It too seems hollow, now, no longer humming with her energy or pumping invisible blood. “You were right. It wasn’t...it wasn’t fair. To me or him, to keep him like that. It was selfish.”

    As she talks, she begins digging a little with her fingers, nails run ragged by the action. She’s far enough into the cemetery that nobody notices, or maybe nobody cares.

    “After Grant...I needed something to hold on to. Proof that it wasn’t worthless. And then when you...when you died, Ant, for a long time Philip was all I had.”

    She’s created a shallow hole now, barely as big as her palm. She presses the locket into the ground and makes herself busy covering it. “I’ve got a new life now. New friends. New family. New...boyfriend, I guess. Something like that.”

    Thea smiles shyly at the thought of Sam, thinks a little bitterly of how he and Antoine might get along. She knows her brother would be hard on him, especially after Grant, but (and a little surprisingly) knows that she trusts Sam enough to not be swayed by it. She voices this to the empty air as she gets to her feet.

    “I trust them. Tony, Wanda, Sam, Bucky...Nat and Steve...even Rhodey and Vision. It’s not...it’s not where I thought I would be, Ant. Not by a long shot. But I...I’m happy.”

    Thea repeats the words to herself as her eyes well up once more. She presses a kiss to her fingertips before touching them to the words ‘Antoine ‘Trip’ Triplett’, and does it again to the small mound of dirt just below. Happy doesn’t mention her tears or the dirt under her fingernails on the drive back to the compound, and she’s grateful.

[flywolfwriting]

Ok hi, I love your stuff! I was wondering if you could write a fic where teen Dean is being protective of little Sam (no incest!). Like, Sam came back to the hotel that they were staying at after school and he was all sad and stuff, and Dean managed get him to tell him why, and Sam told him it was stupid, but Sam admits that some kids were messing with him. John thinks that it's a normal part of life and laughs. But Dean got mad and protective. I would also love if you'd put some fluff in there!

Hi, and thank you, both for the compliment and the prompt! Also agreed, incest is not my shtick.  Hope you enjoy!

It had been a long day.  Sometimes Dean regretted dropping out of school; it wasn’t that he didn’t like learning, but dealing with all the normal people and watching them live out their lives completely oblivious to what was out there took it’s toll. It got worse after his stint in the boy’s home, when John abandoned him there.  Leaving was hard, but he couldn’t let Sammy grow up with their dad alone.

Now that he wasn’t in school anymore though, John would either drag him around hunting or leave him to babysit Sam. The latter usually meant he was at the library, staring at books until the words floated off the page – and then a little bit more.

At least at school he got breaks in his reading.

By the time Dean got back to the motel John had chosen for the boys he was bone tired and wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower, drink some stolen beer, and pass out.  Before he could do any of those things, however, the motel room door opened and Sam slipped in. His backpack thunked to the floor and he shuffled into the kitchen to rifle through the fridge.

“Hey Sammy,” Dean greeted, immediately putting on a smile for his younger brother.

“Hey,” Sam grunted.

“How was school? Did you pass your test?”

Sam dragged a soda and leftover mac ‘n cheese from the fridge and shrugged. “We won’t get them back until Friday.”

Dean’s alarm bells started going off.  Sam was refusing to make eye contact, instead staring at the floor while he heated up his dinner and kicked off his shoes. Rather than tuck them under the table he left them sitting in the middle of the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Dean asked, dropping onto the couch next to Sam.

“Nothing,” Sam said.

The older Winchester nudged him. “C’mon, Sammy.  I know something’s up. Did you miss an assignment or something?”

Sam shook his head.

Dean waited another moment before poking him. “C’mon,” he urged.

Sam wavered for another moment before slumping back.  “Some kids at school were giving me a hard time.  It’s not really a big deal though.  I can handle it.”

“What, were they hitting on you? You know how to fight.”

“No,” Sam said, still not looking up.

“What was it?”

Sam stayed quiet, poking at his food and twitching one shoulder. “They were just saying some stuff.  It’s stupid. I’ll be okay.”

“You know you can tell me,” Dean hedged, but Sam finally looked up only to glare at him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.  I can deal with it.”

Dean held his hands up in surrender.  “Okay, okay. But if you want to, you can talk to me.”

“I know,” Sam said.  He turned the TV on and sat back to eat his dinner in sullen silence while Scooby Doo played in the background.

His own day now far from his mind, Dean made an excuse and slipped outside to find a payphone.

“Hello?” John’s gruff voice answered after the second ring.

“Hey Dad,” Dean said, relieved their father had answered for once.

His voice instantly tightened. “What’s wrong? Do you need me to come back?”

“No, we’re okay, it’s just-”

“You know not to call unless it’s an emergency, Dean,” John scolded, and Dean flinched even though his father wasn’t there. “I’m trying to work.”

“I know, Dad, but Sam-”

“Is he okay?”

Irritation prickled up Dean’s spine.  He wanted to snap that if John would let him finish his damn sentence he would find out so much sooner, but years of drilling obedience and respect shut that thought down.  “He’s having some trouble with kids at school.”

“He knows how to fight.  He can take care of himself.”

“They didn’t beat him up; they’re picking on him. He won’t tell me what they said but he’s pretty upset.”

John snorted.  “You called me for a couple of middle school bullies? Dean, bullies are part of growing up. Sam’s fine.”

“But-”

“Enough, Dean,” John said, voice returning to drill-sergeant mode. “Don’t call me again unless somebody’s dying.”

The line went dead and Dean grumpily slammed the phone back on the hook.  “Not like you’d pick up if we were,” he muttered.

Sam was at the tiny desk scribbling in a workbook when Dean got back.

“I got ice cream,” Dean held up a grocery bag. “Your favorite!”

Sam glanced up and offered him a weak smile. “Thanks.”

Dean peeled the lid off and snagged a pair of spoons before leaning against the wall by the desk and offering his brother the carton and a spoon. Sam accepted, and the pair shared the ice cream in silence for a while.

“I was thinking maybe I can walk you to school tomorrow,” Dean said, going for nonchalant.  “I could use the break from research, and-”

“I don’t need you to look after me, Dean,” Sam said irritably without looking up from his homework.

“’Course you don’t,” Dean said, “but I’m still going to.”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“Hey,” Dean lightly thumped the side of his brother’s head with his spoon. “Don’t give me that attitude.  I’m your brother.  It’s my job.”

“Yeah yeah,” Sam leaned back in his chair with a sigh and met Dean’s gaze.  “I’m just being stupid.  I can deal with it.”

The brothers stared at each other for a few more moments before Dean shrugged and dropped his spoon on the table.  “If you say so.” He pushed off the wall, ruffled Sam’s hair around the younger boy’s attempts to ward him off, and headed for the bathroom. “I’m going to shower and go to bed.  Wake me up before you leave.”

“Yeah. Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Sammy.”

 ----------

Dean waited just long enough for Sam to get around the corner before throwing on the first set of clothes he could find and following him.  He was careful not to let his little brother catch wind of him, but close enough to hear Sam saying good morning to a little old lady sitting at a bus stop.

“Hey!”

Dean flung himself against a brick building, hiding behind a trash can, but the voice wasn’t talking to him.

“I said hey! Samantha!”

Dean ground his teeth and forced himself to wait.  He peeked around the garbage and saw Sam at the far corner of the building, shoulders hunched and head down as he picked up his pace. Three kids surrounded him, coming from the side of the building Dean couldn’t see.

“Where’s your mommy, Samantha?” One of the boys taunted, jabbing him in the ribs.

Sam said nothing.

“Don’t you know?” another boy, the one who’d called out first, sneered.

Sam still didn’t reply.

“Bet his daddy’s downtown getting’ drunk while she’s off screwing an entire-” the kid didn’t get to finish his sentence, since Sam’s fist got in the way.

There was suddenly a lot of shouting and scrambling and Sam’s backpack ended up in the middle of the street while the first boy pinned Sam against the sidewalk and the other two started kicking him.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, sprinting down the sidewalk.

The kids scrambled back before he even got there, their leader kicking Sam once more in the head as a parting blow.

Dean managed to catch him and twisted his arm behind his back so he couldn’t escape while he helped Sam up.  “You okay Sammy?”

“Sammy?” one of the other boys, who were both standing a safe distance down the sidewalk, snickered.  

Dean pulled his captive’s arm a little tighter and the boy cried out.

“I’m fine,” Sam sniffed, wiping blood off his face and avoiding his older brother’s gaze.

“What are you kids doing ganging up on my brother?” Dean asked his captive, twisting his arm.

“Ow ow ow!” he shrieked, standing on tip-toe and leaning forward to try and escape.

“I said,” Dean pressed harder and the kid screamed, “why are you picking on my brother?”

“He started it!” the boy wailed.

“Try again.”

“Let him go!” one of the other boys shouted, taking a brave few steps back towards them.

Dean only had to shoot him a glare to quell the moment of bravado and the kid shrank back.

“Mighty brave of you, taking on a small kid three vs one,” Dean said.  “Don’t think you can beat him on your own?”

The kid squirmed.  “I can take him with my eyes shut!”

Dean surveyed the group.  All three bullies were sporting bloody faces and it looked like the first one Sam punched had a broken nose. He smirked.

“Let him go, Dean,” Sam pleaded. “We’re going to be late for school.”

“No,” Dean said.  “I have a better idea.”

He spun his captive around and shoved him towards Sam.  “You can take him with your eyes shut, huh? Go ahead and do it, then.  Just you two.”

The boy rubbed his arm, glaring at Dean and his brother. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Prove it then.”

“Dean…” Sam said.

Dean took his brother’s backpack.  “They’ve gotta learn not to mess with you,” he said.

Sam grimaced but lifted his hands into a half-hearted fighting stance.

The bully snickered and lunged forward.  Sam danced to the side and caught the other boy in the shin.  He yelped but spun around and swung a fist at Sam’s head. Sam easily blocked it and landed a firm blow to the kid’s ribs.  Dean heard a distinct crack.

The boy’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head as he doubled over, wheezing and cursing.

“Bryan!” One of the other boys shouted. “Kick his ass!”

Sam looked up at Dean, who shrugged. This was up to the kid now.

“Get over here and help me!” the bully Bryan snarled.

The other two boys charged, and Dean folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Sam smoothly ducked around their attack, tripping one and sending the other careening into his downed friend. They bounced up and came again. Sam’s face set in determination, and within a few swift jabs and no small amount of crying, the bullies were backing off, trying to catch their breath and one holding the side of his face.

“Freak,” Bryan called over his shoulder as they ducked around the corner and vanished.

Sam slumped. “I’m going to get in trouble,” he said as he shook out his hand.

“Let me see that,” Dean said instead, snagging his brother’s hand and examining his knuckles. One had split and was oozing blood.  “Not bad,” he smiled.  “Why didn’t you lead with moves like that?”

The younger Winchester tugged his hand out of his brother’s grip.  “They insulted Mom,” he said.

“I heard.”

“The school is going to be mad.”

“Why? We’re not on school property, are we?”

Sam shook his head.

“Then they can suck it. Dad will be back soon and we can move again. Besides, those kids had it coming.”

“Yeah.” Sam picked up his backpack and brushed it off.  “I gotta go.”

“Hey,” Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulder.  “You did good, Sammy.  I’m proud of you.”

A smile tugged at the corner of Sam’s lips.  “Thanks Dean.”

Dean pulled Sam into a hug.  “Any time, Sammy. See you tonight.”

“Yeah,” Sam said again, waiting one more moment before pulling away and waving as he ran off.

“Love you kid,” Dean murmured as he watched him go, then headed off to find those kids and teach them a lesson of his own.

AO3

[prorevenge]

How I got revenge on my cheating ex!

TL;DR at bottom.

This story takes place almost 12 years ago so I'll do my best with the dialog and details but admittedly some things are a little fuzzy. Most of my life I've had a problem with picking men that were not good for me, so much so that I even had a phrase for it "saving the world, one moron at a time". One of my more spectacularly bad choices was a guy by the name of "Bob" (obviously not his real name). I met Bob when I was working one of my 2 jobs at the local mall, he worked somewhere else in the mall so we hit it off and soon enough we were in a relationship. Within a few months my lease was up and we ended up moving in together which obviously in hindsight was a huge mistake but I was dumb and lonely.

Soon enough red flags began to fly, he would say things in common conversation that were simply incorrect (like there's only 4 continents and the rest are actually owned by the martian government and thus don't count etc. ) and when challenged would circular talk until you either agreed with him or dropped the subject. He would also make claims that seemed entirely unbelievable such as when I asked where he had been staying prior to his mom's house he said he "camped in the woods" when I asked how he did that for months on end and without any gear he simply gestured to himself and said "this is all the gear I need". The worst trait though by far was his epic LAZINESS! I have never witnessed someone so lazy in my life.

Bob was unemployed for over a third of our relationship and would simply sit in the apartment watching netflix or playing some war game on "his" computer AKA my spare computer typing away in the group chat. He would never clean up after himself leaving dirty dishes in the sink and filth on every surface while only taking a shower MAYBE once a week. The smell that permeated my apartment could only be described as revolting and could easily gag a maggot. I would inquire a few times a week on his "job hunt" only to be dismissed or given a growing amount of excuses such as "but I don't have a car, how would I get there"... "the bus doesn't run in that area"... "the internet went down so I couldn't apply"... etc. etc. Meanwhile I am working double and triple shifts at my job to try to make up the lost income and running him all over town in my off time getting applications and helping him fill them out and turn them in. Keep in mind he doesn't have a cell phone so all of these apps have my contact info on them. Thus begins the era of him "holding my phone" while I'm at work so he can make calls or schedule interviews as well as I can get a hold of him from my store phone if I needed to.

Things began getting weird, he began staying up later and later on this group chat, sometimes till almost dawn. Sometimes we would hang out all evening until it was time for bed. Then he would always make some excuse on why he needed to check the game before bed and he'd be right there.... hours would pass... no Bob. I began to get suspicious but nothing incriminating seemed to be taking place so I just shrugged it off as me being insecure. Then he started asking to use my car to go see his best friend "Ben", now I wasn't super comfortable with this but I did know Ben pretty well and we got along almost better than Bob and I did so I guess to a degree I trusted Ben more than Bob and agreed to it. This happened a few times while I was working the evening shift and he was always back at the allotted time with my car and my phone and relatively grateful for the opportunity to hang with his buds. Suspicious... umm yes, but I'm the kind of person that is loyal and trusting to a fault and don't assume anything without proof and from every angle all seemed to be on the up and u so I took it at face value.

So one day he asks to borrow my car and go with his friends to a card gaming tournament, he put on a great show telling me how the prize money would help us out and with the deck he had there was no way he could loose. I just had to let him use my car and phone this one last time and he would be able to buy himself a phone with the prize money. I wasn't a huge fan of the idea but nothing untoward had occurred in the previous instances and I didn't feel like spending my only day off at a card game convention that I literally couldn't care less about so I acquiesced. I bought myself a couple green monsters and some vodka and had my own little personal drunk party. Hours tick by and no Bob... Eventually I pass out only to wake up at the crack of dawn VIOLENTLY sick, this went way beyond a hangover. I start retching in the bathroom until there was nothing left but bile but the retching wouldn't stop. Hours ticked by and I lay in my bathroom floor sweating and convulsing with no phone, no car and no Bob. I eventually was able to crawl to my room and wrap myself in a bath robe before crawling down my apartment building stairs and began knocking on the closest doors. It took 3 apartments before someone opened the door and allowed me to use their phone to call my mom. My mother was at my apt in 6 minutes flat and rushed me to the ER where I was diagnosed with an aggressive and antibiotic-resistant strain of C-Dif. Bob finally showed up later that afternoon phone and car keys in hand looking very concerned and claiming to be deeply apologetic but my mom hated him from that point on. I was out of the hospital and back to work within a few days but it was the beginning of the end.

During these last months we were constantly scraping by due to his lack of consistent income and poor spending habits. There were jobs gotten and there were jobs lost for various reasons throughout our relationship but the final job was one I helped him get literally 3 buildings down from my own workplace. This company rents furniture and electronics on a weekly/monthly basis and I happen to know most of the employees and the hiring manager as they are regular customers at my coffee establishment . I was able to use what little sway I had to get him on there and he accepted a job as a delivery man.

Within a few weeks I come home from work to find a brand new TV and entertainment system and him grinning like an idiot. I tell him we can't afford this, we can barely afford to eat and are surviving off scraps I bring home from work. He talks about his amazing employee discount and assures me it's no big deal that the rental fee will just come out of his check etc. I was pissed! Not only had he not consulted me, he also had me on the account as well (my info had been taken from the credit app I filled out as a favor to help their numbers) so if HE flaked I was liable. Fast forward another few weeks the rent is late and we are receiving eviction notices on our door, I come home from work and the tv is mysteriously gone. "Thank goodness" I think, "he finally realized we can't afford it and took it back"... he gets paid, rent gets paid and all is as good as it can be. Until I found a pawn slip for the TV in his pocket as I was doing laundry and went ballistic! He assured me he had plans to get it back in the works and to not worry about it, it will be taken care of soon and no one will be the wiser? I was too pissed to catch on to the secrecy aspect of the situation.

A few more tense weeks go by with him working mornings and myself working evenings while we shared one phone and car... Until that fateful day arrived! I woke up that morning with a migraine headache and opted to let Bob take the car but leave me the phone so I can call someone later on for a ride to work. A few hours of uncomfortable sleep go by before I am awoken by my phone.... I answer the phone still groggy "Hello?"

There is a long pause on the other end of the line until a female voice asks "Umm is Bob there?"

I felt a sickening feeling in my gut and began to shake.... is this real? Am I dreaming?

"No, he's at work right now this is his wife (total lie but hey) is there something I can help you with?" I wasn't rude, I phrased it as a genuine question rather than an accusation.

Another long pause before she began to stammer about maybe she had the wrong number but it was obvious she just wanted to get off the phone with me as quickly as possible and I realized in that moment that I desperately needed her.

"Please" I said with an edge of desperation in my voice.. "I don't know what's going on but I just really need somebody to tell me the truth" the last word came out in a sob and I sat there for a moment in silence trying to quell the urge to just cry uncontrollably.

"Listen" the voice on the other end was almost gentle "I need to make a few phone calls but I promise you I WILL call you back". She said it calmly and with so much conviction that I really wanted to believe her...

"Please, you promise?" I almost begged.

"I promise" she replied

"Ok" I took a deep breath and released it, "I'll talk to you soon" and hung up.

I then proceeded to aggressively pace my living room floor staring at my phone while chain smoking and muttering to myself like a crazy person. I knew who she was calling... I was replaying all those little red flag moments in my head from the last few months, pinning down dates or behavior I'd found suspect when the phone rings again. It's her. I froze for a moment... shocked she followed through and called me back, terrified of what this meant... I answered the phone and what followed was about the most soul crushing 45 min of my life

After initial introductions June (again not the real name) and I began comparing stories and it became glaringly obvious what was happening... They had actually been in a relationship several years prior and had run back into each other on the aforementioned war game where they began to flirt on group chat. All those nights he'd been on the computer he'd been chatting with her. All those times he'd go hang out with his "friend's" he been using my car to take her out and my phone to communicate with her. The time I was sick and alone with NO resources... you guessed it... he was with her! Oh but it get's better...

"Do you have a little silver hummingbird necklace?" she inquired. "Yes, my mother gave it to me for my 27th birthday actually I love it"

"Really?" she said "Cause he gave me one for mother's day"

"OMG" I almost yelled into the phone as I ran to my room and tore through my jewelry box... it wasn't in there... it was around her neck.

From there we discovered not only had he been giving her my property as gifts but he'd had her over to our apartment passing it off as his own. I didn't want to believe him capable of doing something so cruel and disrespectful when I have allowed him to sponge off me for the better part of 3 years. Unfortunately as in confirmation she began describing my apartment to a T, all the way down to my bed sheets. June said he even pulled my "secret box" from beneath my bed and offered to use my adult items on her. She said she found it weird and didn't partake but I threw them away due to the sheer ick factor. Finally she uttered the words I didn't know I wanted to hear"

"You know what we should do? We should bust him together."

My mind immediately started racing, indeed we should! I was a mix of fury, adrenaline and despair so my thinking wasn't exactly strait and details begin to get hazy here. We arrange to meet up at my work and find a way to lure Bob over there but unfortunately she lived about 40 min away whereas I only live about 6 miles from our destination so if I got there first I'd need to stall him (assuming he wasn't out on a delivery). I called a trusted coworker of mine at work sobbing and begging for a ride... to his everlasting credit he got somebody to cover and LEFT WORK to come get me and bring me to my car. When I got to Bob's workplace I went inside to retrieve my keys (this isn't uncommon as they know the car is mine) and was stopped half way through store by Bob's manager wanting to talk about the payment due on "our account".

I don't remember the exact dialog but I said something along the lines of "Look, I don't know when you are going to get your payment." I looked utterly defeated and told him we could never afford the TV in the first place and how I had begged Bob to take it back and now we don't have it anymore as Bob has pawned it and I don't have the money to get it out let alone pay him. I was full on blubbering at this point when he stopped me to clarify that his EMPLOYEE pawned a rental TV under contract. I confirmed that this was indeed true and presented him with the pawn ticket. HE WAS MAD! Apparently such an act is illegal and is terms for immediate termination but he assured me that if I could get the TV back to him there would be no harm no foul and he would terminate my contract without any penalties. I thanked him for his understanding and told him to let Bob know I would be over at my workplace.

My heart is pounding in my chest and blood is roaring in my ears... what was I going to say? What was HE going to say? Would June make it here before he did?? My heart sinks when I see Bob's hulking form making it's way in my direction, I frantically scan the parking lot for June's car... she's not here yet and I'm out of time. He hits the door looking out of breath and guilty as hell and I just stare at him stone faced. I walk outside silently to light a cigarette unsure of exactly what to say and he follows me wordlessly outside.

He starts in with the "it's not what it seems" and "it's all just a terrible misunderstanding" and I just let him dig himself deeper into his hole of lies. I listen, I nod, I pretend to understand until a particular car pulls into view. June parks in the space directly next to where we were standing and gets out of the car... "Hey Bob, how ya' doing?" Bob has gone visibly pale, he hangs his head and sits down on the curb saying nothing to either of us. June and I greet each other and awkwardly shake hands before again returning our attention to Bob. June begins berating him on his lies and deceit, unveiling all of our mutual info and subsequent conclusions while I stood mostly in silence agreeing at the appropriate times but mostly still in shock. After 20 minutes of this I finally mustered up the courage to take my stand.

"We are done, I don't want to see you ever again. I'll pack up your things (only 2 boxes worth) and your sister can contact me in a few days to pick them up. Now I want your key." I held out my hand and looked at him. "Not until I get my stuff out, then you get your key" he replied. I tried to argue but he continued to refuse and used his large stature to his advantage knowing I'd have no chance in a physical altercation. He turned and walked away heading back toward his workplace, June and I talked a little more before she handed me my hummingbird necklace and left. I stood there alone staring at nothing trying to wrap my head around what had just transpired and then I cried... oh how I cried.

With nowhere else to turn I had only one call to make... to my mom. The moment she answered I unleashed this deluge of words at her that were half sobs and half rant. "Stay right there, I'm coming" she said. God Bless my mother! Soon enough both of my parents pull up in my dad's truck and my mom gets out to comfort me and give me hugs. I look at the driver's seat and see my father with his jaw is clenched and a death grip on the steering wheel while staring strait ahead... OH Crap! They take me to the pawn shop and my parents write a check for more than $500 to get the TV out, we then drive strait over to Bob's workplace and return the TV to the manager. As the manager finishes up the cancellation paperwork my dad spots Bob pacing around the back of the parking lot talking frantically on the phone. Unfortunately I didn't get to hear the ensuing conversation but my dad returns within a few minutes holding my house key and looking victorious.

"I believe this is yours" he says as he hands me the key and then pulls me into a hug and I cried a little into his shoulder. My dad gave me a squeeze, kissed my temple and whispered into my ear "They're firing him." I leaned back to look at my dad and he just smirked and said "Now he's jobless and homeless." I thought about it for a second before I said in my most sarcastic tone "Ohhh I'm sooo soorrryyy to hear that" We laughed about it a little and my parents gave me some words of wisdom before leaving me to drive myself home where my best friend was already waiting to keep me company.

Bob and his sister showed up a few days later for his pitiful boxes of stuff, he tried to talk to me, to explain... but my best friend descended on him like a harpy if he muttered more than a few syllables in my direction so he was shut down almost immediately. He left that night and I have never heard from him since, I blocked him on social media but there was really no need as he made no effort to contact me on any level. That's Bob... ever lazy, ever deluded and always an a**hole.

So here I am many years later happily married to my high school sweetheart and the mother of two beautiful little boys and grateful to have moved on when I did. The experience with Bob certainly took its toll I lost a lot of weight due to lack of appetite but had a myriad of trust issues moving forward but the point is I moved forward. I have grown leaps and bounds as a person since this experience and am truly content with where my life is now but every now and then when I'm drifting off to sleep I can't help but wonder... what ever happened to good ol' Bob? Is he out there somewhere... in the woods with a stick and his wits as his only gear... waiting for a martian government to make its move.

Ah well, a girl can dream ;)

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it. Feel free to message me with any questions or comments :)

TL;DR: I discovered my boyfriend was cheating so I organized a sting operation with the other woman. Boyfriend ended up chickless, jobless and homeless within a matter of hours.

(source) story by (/u/Jenabear7897)