#wondering/ knowing i’d be more attractive to her if i lost weight again

[androidboy]

i love my gf dearly. but she is very much often oblivious to things and still not well informed in how to talk to someone who has struggled with eating disorders and body dysmophia for over a decade

[titularkilljoy]

sometimes and always

//a love story in five acts

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: It's hard to resist falling into bed with a cute neighbour, but it turns out it's even harder to resist falling for him. (alternatively- Spencer Reid and the reader struggle to resolve their feelings but make valiant attempts to do so while lying horizontally in each other's beds.)

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, strong language, decidedly non-American spelling conventions

Author's Note: SO. This fic was originally part of a fic swap for the wickedly talented @imagining-in-the-margins, but it is now over six months too late. Thankfully, patience apparently springs eternal in her?? besides all the other amazing things?? Unfair, but good for me. So, Pom, this one is for you. Thanks for being the absolute best and putting up with my rants and not judging me for mocking everything and everyone all the time. Love, Perpetually Tardy.

(i)

This is how it happened the first time.

I was frowning at the pitiful stack of mail in my hands, wondering if the conspicuously missing letters and subscriptions would ever be returned to me. Ever since moving to my new apartment, I had been at the mercy of the Postal System and that was never a good situation to be in. I’d resigned myself to having to take an extra trip back to my old building and do some investigating, when the elevator dinged and I stepped in. Just as the doors slid closed, there was the frantic rumble of footsteps and a hand slipping into the narrowing gap.

The doors sprang apart to let in the harried owner of the appendage, who barely spared me a glance before turning to face the front, eyes briefly darting to the buttons. It took me a second to recognise him. It was the guy from the apartment opposite to mine, although so far that seemed to be only a nominal living arrangement; in my two weeks there, I’d seen him exactly once, merely in passing, and we had exchanged a sum total of zero words.

I followed his lead and stopped blatantly staring at him, though I continued studying him covertly through my peripheral vision. He looked—well, his jawline looked like it could cut glass effortlessly and he had the soft chestnut hair of a male model and I knew I was probably going to develop a very embarrassing crush on him at some point— but besides that, he looked browbeaten, his whole posture seeming to buckle under the invisible weight of the world.

There was an awkward moment when he realised we were both heading in the same direction, and I took it upon myself to break the ice.

“Hi,” I greeted, introducing myself, “I just moved in. I don’t think I’ve seen you around.” I gave him my warmest smile.

His swift assessing glance would have escaped my notice if I hadn’t been paying such close attention; his expression was still shuttered off, but he offered an endearing little quirk of his lips and an introduction. “Spencer Reid. I’ve-uh, I’ve been away on a work thing.”

“Oh? What do you do?” I asked, beginning a leisurely walk down the hallway and fishing my keys out of my bag. I immediately regretted the query when, impossibly, his eyes became even more guarded.

“I’m an FBI agent.”

Well, that clipped admission would have given anyone pause. “Oh, wow. That’s really impressive, dude.”

“Thanks.” He hesitated before adding, “I’m part of the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“So, you’re like a psychologist?”

“I catch serial killers.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was brimming with my insecurities. The alcohol in my blood helped with that, though; the next words were out of my mouth before I even registered the thought.

“Do you want to come in?”

“Oh, uh—”

He was going to say no.

“It’s just that you look like you could use some company. And I think it’s absolutely criminal that we haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

“It’s really late.”

But he was rocking forwards on his toes just the tiniest bit, leading me to believe that some part of him did want to take me up on my offer that night.

“So it is. Come on, Agent Reid. Be a good neighbour.”

“It’s Doctor, actually,” he corrected. “Doctor Reid. I have Ph.Ds. Three of them.”

My eyebrows had risen to my hairline and, sensing the change in the air, he hurried to put me at ease. “But you can just call me Spencer.”

“Huh. You don’t hear that every day.” I chuckled sheepishly. “Well, come on in, Doctor.”

There was a moment when his whole body leaned towards me and his face looked conflicted but slightly enthusiastic, and I was convinced I could turn the night into a very pleasant one for both of us. Then, with a loud clatter, my keys slipped from my hands, startling us. The moment was broken, and I sighed in resignation.

“Let me guess, you’ve decided I’m too drunk and we’re going to go our separate ways.”

At least he had the good grace to look apologetic. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea right now,” he told me slowly as he bent down to pick up my keys and pressed them securely into my outstretched hand, “It’s late and I’ve had a long day. I’ll...see you around?”

“Sure,” I managed to say with a regretful smile, “I’m holding you to that.”

*~*

That, however, turned out to be easier said than done, for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the Herculean feat of unpacking and organising my new place with a mild hangover and a tinge of frustration over lost opportunities looming over me. Once that was dealt with, the bigger challenge turned out to be actually locating the man in question. I knocked on his door a few times, but when the responding silence continued to persist for over a week, I began to think he’d just been a drunken hallucination in the first place. And the longer I went without any follow-up interactions, the more intensely I started overthinking the slightly fuzzy memory of our brief conversation.

Of course I’d managed to make a fool of myself in front of a really cute guy. That was absolutely in character for me. Every time I passed by his door, I convinced myself a little more that I owed him a sincere apology for my poor, inconsiderate conduct.

Beyond the embarrassment, however, work didn’t leave me much time to think about it, and by the time I was trudging to my apartment the next Saturday, the whole encounter had been relegated firmly to the back burner. Naturally, that was when the faint glow of light under his door distracted me from the very passive-aggressive email I was composing. I hesitated.

The deep breaths I sucked in didn’t serve much more purpose than to make me somewhat lightheaded, but I forged on anyway. I knocked on the door, and waited.

There was silence, followed by the sound of reluctantly shuffling feet, and then, finally, I was face to face with Spencer Reid once again.

“Um,” I started, “hi.”

He stared at me wordlessly for a beat, during which I started to wonder if he’d actually forgotten me already.

“So, we met the other day, and I just want to apologise. I didn’t mean to come on to you so strongly, and I get that you weren’t int-”

“Do you want to come inside?”

“..What?”

“Do you want to come inside?” he repeated, enunciating clearly. That didn’t clear up my confusion, though.

“Um. Yes? Sure. I mean, no, shouldn’t we talk about this a bit?”

He let out a tired laugh. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

“Alright,” I said, biting my lip. I followed him inside, and pushed the door closed behind me; it emitted an innocuous little click as it fell shut.

There was something about the weariness behind his eyes and the careful set of his jaw that made me want to study him and understand what was going through his head, but all I could glean that night was that Spencer didn’t seem amenable to much time spent on documentation.

“So,” I began unsurely, shedding my jacket and scanning the contents of the room, the piles upon piles of books and the distinct lack of much else, “tell me about yourself.”

“Didn’t I already do that?”

“Hmm, that’s not the whole story,” I mumbled, running my fingers over a broken-spined, wrinkled copy of Paradise Lost laid open on a heavy wooden desk. A single smudge of blue ink stood out against the yellowing page, and beside it, the print read: This horror will grow mild, this darkness light. “You’re not just an FBI agent.”

“That’s all that’s important,” he asserted, taking a step towards me. He had one eye on my curiously wandering fingers and, sensing that it was making him more antsy than he needed to be, I tucked my hands into my back pockets, facing him with a grin of false bravado. I really wished I was drunk. That would have made things infinitely easier.

“Besides,” he continued, this time meeting my eyes directly, “I don’t know anything about you either.”

“Fair enough,” I conceded, stepping closer to him.

His eyes didn’t leave mine, until my own strayed to the bobbing curve of his throat and the tantalising motion of his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not for the first time that week, I wondered how terrible of an idea it would be to try to kiss my attractive neighbour. I could see my own apprehensions mirrored in his stance, and I saw the exact moment when he identified the focus of my gaze.

I didn’t have to spend much time contemplating. He decided, just as I did, that any consequences of this impulsive decision could be dealt with later.. I lunged for him just as he closed the distance in one long stride, grasping my jaw in both his hands. Then we were firmly attached at the lips, and his arms wrapped around my waist and dragged me closer, seemingly intent on devouring my mouth. Gradually, our actions slowed a bit, the kiss turning softer and more exploratory, our tongues winding around each other gently, my lungs readily accepting his deep, nasal sigh.

His arms around my waist were a steadily spreading band of warmth, and I could feel the growing evidence of his arousal against my thigh. I found myself thinking I could be very happy with just kissing him like this, feeling his breaths tickle my face, letting my hands suffer minute pinpricks from the stubble littering his jaw. But then his grip shifted to my hips and tightened ever so slightly, and it was like I’d been doused with fuel and set alight. My fingers struggled to unbutton his shirt as he pressed distracting kisses along my neck, my soft whimpers breaking the relative silence of the room.

All of a sudden, the ground shifted and my stomach swooped, and it took a second or two before I realised I was now in his arms, being carried towards, presumably, his bedroom. Content, I got to work on undoing the last button and trying to slip the shirt down his arms entirely. He granted me a chuckle for my troubles before laying me down gently on our destination and taking it off himself.

He didn’t waste any time in sinking his knees into the soft mattress on either side of my legs, helping me out of my own clothes and methodically kissing every bit of newly exposed skin, until finally, I was clad only in flimsy cotton and he was nosing at my aching core. With two fingers, he deftly removed the last of my defences and pressed his mouth against me. I moaned, my hands flying to his hair and trying to keep from pulling too hard as he used his tongue to examine every inch of my arousal, evidently experimenting based on the sounds he managed to elicit from me.

“Oh, my God,” I babbled, hips bucking wildly under the iron grip holding them down.

“Tell me,” he demanded, pulling away slightly, “tell me how much you like it.”

“Spencer,” I breathed desperately, “Please. I need- I need more.”

He hummed leisurely against me, frustrating me to no end. My grip in his hair tightened at last, guiding him where I needed him most, and I swear I felt his lips stretch into a smile.

It went on for what felt like hours, but there was no earthly way I could have lasted that long. He took mercy on me eventually, plunging two long fingers deep inside me, closing his lips around the bundle of nerves that, predictably, sent me into a violent, shaking climax. He nursed me patiently through the aftershocks, waiting till my legs had stilled before rising to undo his belt and rid himself of his pants. I was already mourning the loss of his closeness, and I pulled him back on top of me the moment he was within reach.

“Come on, Doctor,” I taunted, “It’s time you made good on your promise and got to the main event.”

“I never promised anything,” he retorted, but the playful glint in his eyes excited me, and while he reached over beside us to the nightstand, I rose to the occasion.

“Oh? Well, if you don’t want to, I guess I’ll just head out, then,” I teased, going so far as to attempt to sit up from underneath him. I felt a low, threatening sound begin in his chest and make its way up his throat as his hands gripped my wrists and brought them down to my sides, pinning me in place.

It was my turn to chuckle at his eagerness, lifting my head to briefly peck him on his lips.

“Don’t worry, Spencer,” I cooed, “I’m not going anywhere. Now fuck me already.”

“With pleasure,” came the response, and while I wondered idly how a smirk could simultaneously be sinister and bashful, there was the sharp sound of crinkling foil, and then he cut off my thoughts by entering me in one fluid motion.

“Fuck!” I cried out, holding him around the shoulders, bringing him impossibly closer.

“That’s it,” he groaned in my ear, “let me hear you.”

He set a torturous rhythm, thrusting into me harshly before pulling out slowly, carefully, making me relish the sensation, anticipation building steadily in the pit of my stomach and spreading until it engulfed me. A ceaseless litany of moans and whimpers filled the air around us, the source of each barely discernible. At last, I could feel myself riding the very precipice, and his name began to fall from my lips like a prayer.

“Spencer,” I called, “Spenc-”

He swallowed the rest of my inconsequential cries, bringing his thumb to where we were joined to guide me over the edge, and as I convulsed around him soundlessly, he reached his own climax, blunt fingernails leaving crescent marks on my hips, his heavy panting breaths stuttering, once, against my clavicle, before calming and slowly evening out.

We stayed that way for a few minutes, my hand combing lightly through his hair, his closed-mouth kisses pressing against my neck like a balm. Eventually, though, we had to move, and it was he who did first. He pulled out and walked away from the bed without looking at me, tossing the tied-up condom in the trash. I sat up, cross-legged, watching him for a bit, pursing my lips when I noticed he was actively avoiding my gaze.

I cleared my throat. “Where’s your bathroom?”

He pointed in a general direction and mumbled something incoherent; sighing in disappointment, I stood up gingerly and went to clean myself up. When I returned, the room still smelled like sex, and Spencer was still evasive, but he was sitting on the edge of the bed now. He looked up when I entered, watching me pick up my clothes.

“Are you alright?” he asked quietly.

I glanced over at him. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”

Nodding, he watched me get dressed, then followed me into the living room and watched me drape my jacket over my arm. Then he watched me walk to the door, all the while not saying a word.

The cool steel of the doorknob in my hand, I looked over my shoulder one more time.

“Well, Spencer. You know where to find me, I guess,” I muttered, shaking my head slightly. Then I left his apartment, and despite the enormity of what had transpired during my visit, the click of the door closing sounded exactly the same.

.

(ii)

Of course, after that, I resolved it would never happen again. The man next door clearly had some issues with what we had done, and I couldn’t be bothered to solve them. It was, frankly, idiotic to jeopardise the prospect of good neighbours in favour of sex, however great it might have been.

It was embarrassing how quickly my resolution packed its bags and jumped out of my third-storey window.

I was awoken the next morning by three firm raps on my door. I think I knew, somehow, who was trying to get my attention, so I took my time, but the reveal of Spencer’s regretful face didn’t surprise me any less. I was wary as I stared at him wordlessly, cycling through all the possible reasons for his visit, and his eyes dropped to the way my arms tightly hugged my midsection. He winced then, meeting my eyes.

“I’m sorry for the way I acted,” he blurted, and it sounded so rehearsed that I had to stifle a guffaw. There was a flicker of something in his eyes that could have been frustration, but he powered through. “I’ve had a pretty terrible week at work and I think I was trying to get something out of my head. But I was awful to you, and it was completely my fault. I’m sorry if I offended you. I had...a great time.”

I’d been watching him carefully throughout his speech, and if he was faking the earnestness in those last couple of lines, he was an extraordinary actor. I concluded, as I studied the apologetic slump of his shoulders and the dark bags into which his eyes had sunken, that I didn’t need to worry about the veracity of his words.

“It’s okay,” I said hesitantly. “I mean, no, it’s not okay, it felt really awful, but thanks for explaining. I get it now.”

“Oh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking off to the side, “that’s great. Thank you.” He shoved his hands deep into his pockets.

“Problem?” I was bemused.

“No!” He was looking back at me, now. “I- well, to be honest, I wasn’t expecting it to be this easy. I thought I’d have to convince you.”

“Huh. Well, you can still convince me, Doctor. Give me a second to get ready. You’re buying me breakfast.”

I quite liked the shy smile that graced his face in response.

*~*

It kept happening. There was no way I could have stopped it, and there was no reason I would have wanted to.

We quickly grew into a familiar rhythm. Each time, it started with one of us having a particularly stressful day. Each time, it started with a knock on the door and some perfunctory shuffling around. Before wasn’t the time for talking. Each time, we’d stumble into whichever surface was closest, and every time it wasn’t the bed, Spencer would make some halfhearted protests about germs and hygiene, before I shut him up very effectively with a manicured hand on his dick. Each time, in the During, I marvelled at how well we fit together, how quickly we’d learned each other’s bodies, and each time, I saw more of him than I had the last.

And I loved every bit of it.

Spencer no longer retreated into his shell in the After. He’d try sometimes, but I knew how to coax him out, now. I’d slip my hand into his, ever so gently, and wait. Or I’d sling one arm around his waist until he returned the embrace. I was getting scarily good at reading him. It was like working on an intricate puzzle, and every new achievement was rewarded with a deeper, longer look into his mind.

I carefully stored away every casual anecdote about someone from work or his godson or his mother, and I loved to watch the life burn bright in his eyes. Of course, they were all happy stories. I could sense the bittersweet aftertaste they left in his mouth, but he never let me inspect it too closely. In turn, I regaled him with tales of my own, of my sister and my parents, of my cat that was perpetually falling asleep on top of me. I told him all the easy, palatable things, holding back just as much as he did, always careful to maintain the wall of superficiality.

But things did slip through the cracks every once in a while, from both of us-- they were bound to, what with the sheer amount of time we spent together in various states of undress. Things that made me burn with curiosity that couldn’t be sated without jeopardising the very foundation of our arrangement. So I turned a blind eye to the jagged scars on his thigh and neck when he failed to maneuver to hide them; in return, he kept mum when I walked into his apartment, on the day of my worst professional disaster, with runny makeup and bloodshot eyes, shivering all over.

If he noticed that I kissed the skin over his scars a little more tenderly, lavishing attention on him the first time I saw them, he didn’t show it. If he liked the way I always nuzzled my face into the one on his neck when we were done, he didn’t show it.

For my part, I tried very hard not to read into the slow, shallow thrusts or the almost reverent way he handled me when my tears still hadn’t dried. I definitely did not read into the arm over my shoulder or the slightly baffled crease in his brow while we sat on his couch with a random episode of The Office.

And if, maybe, the frequency of his visits increased as the months went by, who could blame him? He was an FBI agent. He probably had a lot of bad days.

Sometimes, though, I’d go over when I’d had a good day and I felt like celebrating. Sometimes, I’d knock on his door just because I was bored and I wanted to see him. It wasn’t as if he would know the difference. Our bodies knew how to be around each other, and that was all that mattered.

This was just stress relief, after all.

(“Have you ever been in love?” I asked him once, abruptly, my heart still pounding as the sweat cooled on our skins.

He glanced at me warily, but he must have detected only honest curiosity on my face, not lovesickness or anything else that would have had him running for the hills.

He chewed on his lip for a moment. “Once.”

“What happened?” My finger traced an aimless pattern on his chest.

“She loves me,” he said, “but she isn’t in love with me.”)

We never articulated any feelings we may or may not have about each other or our situation. We dodged sincere conversation like it would kill us. So all the pieces we owned of each other were ones that we had been remiss in guarding diligently. That only made them all the more precious.

But on the heels of every stolen glance, there was a moment where he looked right through me, where I felt blank and insubstantial, like I was a placeholder for something or someone, and that would be enough for the wall to be between us again, rigid and unrelenting.

It was a shame that I was stupid enough to hold on to the scraps that fell through anyway.

.

(iii)

I was an immensely stupid person.

That was the only explanation for why I was leaning against the outer wall of our apartment building at three in the morning, desperately shoving my hands into my coat pockets to brace against the cold.

“You don’t have to be here.”

Can he read minds now? I wondered sullenly. Spencer was sitting on the front steps, with his head in his hands. His hair was dishevelled, and his eyes were the picture of torment. I would have loved to console him, but every attempt so far had been firmly rebuffed.

He had knocked on my door an hour ago and silenced my greeting with a bruising kiss. Of course, I knew how to do that dance, but Spencer had been off his rhythm tonight. When I’d reached for his shirt, he’d pushed my arms away. When I had kissed his jaw, he'd flinched. When I’d finally retreated in concern to ask him what was wrong, he had huffed out that he was perfectly fine, before trying to lift my shirt over my head.

I’d pushed him onto the bed and tried to distract him, and he had responded by clenching the sheets in his fists instead of grabbing my hips. I’d whispered his name in his ear the way he usually loved, and he’d climbed out from under me, sitting up on the bed with his chest heaving. At that point, I’d given up. What had followed was an exercise in patience.

(“Spencer, what’s wrong?” I’d asked again, to no avail.

“It’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it,” he’d gritted out, glaring at me.

I’d sighed. “Okay, which is it? Nothing, or that you don’t want to talk about it?”

Silence.

“Well something is clearly bothering you. Am I just supposed to ignore that?”

“We don’t need to talk about anything.” He’d tried to kiss me again. That time, I was the one who pushed him away.

“No, Spencer, this isn’t working. I don’t think we should do this tonight.”

The glare had intensified. “Fine.” He’d gotten up and tried to put his shirt back on, but his hands were shaking.

Cursing my investment in this man, I’d helped him while he stared daggers at me. When he’d hunted down his shoes and made his way out of my apartment, I’d pulled on my coat and followed, petting my cat briefly when he tried to follow us.)

So now we were outside, experiencing the most awkward silence ever known to man. Every time I attempted to put a hand on his shoulder or sit beside him, he would tense up yet again.

“Yes, Spencer,” I replied at length, “I do. You look like you might accidentally walk into traffic. I’m not leaving.”

“It’s not your problem.” The petulance was beginning to get on my nerves. I hadn’t signed up for sleepless weeknights.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I told him, shrugging.

I pulled out my phone to distract myself with the cute animals in my game. Spencer was still worryingly silent. But if he didn’t want to talk to me and he wouldn’t let me near him, there was little I could do but stand there.

Every now and then, his breathing would hitch, and I would study him out of the corner of my eye. Whether he fully registered my presence or not, I was unsure, but he seemed to be calming down. He looked less on edge, his eyes less wild, and I was about to approach him and try again, when a black car pulled up just ahead of us.

Both our heads jerked to attention, but the petite blonde who exited the car only had eyes for Spencer.

“Spence!” She rushed to him, pulling him into a hug that he slowly reciprocated. “Your phone is off. After what happened, I was so worried,” she murmured into his hair, her eyes shut in relief.

And Spencer-- Spencer’s face was something to behold. His eyes were tightly closed, his lips turned down unhappily, and his face was so naked and open that I almost looked away. Almost. The pain that shone there riveted me. I felt as if I could see every wound he had ever suffered, in that instant. He’d never shown me that before. And he still hadn’t-- this wasn’t for me. The embrace broke, but his face stayed the same while the woman fussed over him.

Something came back to me, a fragment of a memory. She loves me but she isn’t in love with me. Unbidden, a sound of realisation escaped my throat, drawing two pairs of eyes to the dark corner in which I had been so far obscured.

Spencer schooled his face back to some semblance of normalcy, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Uh, JJ, this is--”

“Leaving,” I blurted out, then cleared my throat. “I was just leaving. Work in the morning. Nice to meet you.” I tried to smile at her, but it felt more like a pained grimace.

I brushed past both of them, but hesitated on the top step. “Spencer…”

His gaze was inscrutable, and I was too tired to try to decipher it.

“Feel better,” I mumbled, and then I left them there.

*~*

I was not sulking.

I told myself this as I lounged on the couch in my most comfortable pyjamas, stuffing my face with junk food and watching Michael Scott lament his foot injury.

So what if Spencer was in love with a beautiful blonde while getting him to talk to me was like pulling teeth? It wasn’t like I’d been carrying a torch for him. We were just extremely compatible sexually. And in very close proximity to each other. That put us in the ideal position to hook up whenever we needed it. That was the extent of our relationship. For all I knew, he’d been sleeping with other people this whole time. I hardly had the right to protest it if he had. We hadn’t set up rules. We just fell into bed together as and when we liked.

It was a good, uncomplicated thing.

So I needed to make sense of whatever needless jealousy I was feeling, before I ruined it. I couldn’t sit around being pathetic. I had a life.

There was a knock on the door.

Sighing, I turned off the TV and put the snacks away. Spencer was quiet as I let him in. His eyes roamed the small living room as if he didn’t know his way around my place as well as he did his own. I perched on the arm of the couch and stared at him, hoping my face didn’t betray the rollercoaster of emotions I’d experienced over the last forty-eight hours.

“So,” I started, “you okay?”

He looked a bit startled, as if he hadn’t expected me to address it at all. I tried not to roll my eyes.

“Yeah. I’m alright.”

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I prompted, “It was pretty intense.”

“It-uh, it was a work thing. JJ helped me out.”

Of course she did. “Great,” I said aloud.

We looked at each other for a beat. “She’s the one, isn’t she?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

“What?”

“The one you’re in love with?”

There was a telltale spot of red high on his cheeks, even as he sputtered. “That’s not-- I mean, yes, but that was--”

“It’s fine,” I said cheerily. “I was just curious.”

He frowned at me. “She’s my best friend, it’s not--”

“No, I get it.” My stomach was somewhere near my feet. “So, do you wanna fuck?”

Again, he seemed taken aback. “What?”

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” I directed my gaze at his meticulously polished shoes.

“No.” A pause. “I just wanted to say-- would you look at me for a second?”

I forced myself to comply.

“I, uh, I wanted to thank you. For staying with me the other night.” The sincerity in his eyes was a bit too much to bear at the moment.

I hadn’t done anything, and I told him as much.

“You didn’t have to. Just being there was more than enough.”

“Right,” I said hollowly. “So is that it?”

“Yeah.” He seemed very lost. “Um, are you okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re acting kind of strange.”

“That’s because there isn’t usually this much talking,” I snapped.

I longed to smooth out the lines on his face and make him feel at ease again. This was supposed to be the good, uncomplicated thing. He was apparently making an effort. I could return the favour.

“I’m sorry,” I said, letting out a deep breath and rubbing a hand over my face. “Can I get you something to drink? We can talk about it if you want. Or just hang out.” I tried to squash down the hope that bloomed in my chest.

“Oh. Sure, if that’s okay.” He was chewing on his lip again, and it was unfairly appealing.

And so he stayed. I got two mugs of coffee, and when I came back, he was on my couch reading a well-worn paperback, as if he belonged there. I had to agree with the thought. When he heard me enter the room, he looked up with a smile.

When he left three hours later, I couldn’t remember what we’d talked about or the name of the book he’d abandoned within minutes, but I remembered the way he’d leaned close to me while gesturing wildly with his hands, and I remembered that we hadn’t touched beyond accidental brushes of our fingers the entire time.

He still hadn’t revealed the source of his despair, and I knew there was someone he loved. I knew whatever this was, it would be temporary.

But the smile on my face as I closed the door was real.

.

(v)

Spencer kept coming over. I was never given the chance to initiate contact because it seemed like he was always at my place. Whenever he was in the city, he would be with me. I started to worry about his apartment gathering cobwebs from the disuse. But I couldn’t honestly complain about this new development.

Sometimes we had sex, and sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes he came in sore and tired, other times he was brimming with excitement with a playful grin. Sometimes he was angry at the world and I was allowed to coax him down from his rage. Those nights were in turn infuriating and thrilling.

(“What happened?”

“Work.”

“That’s really helpful, Spencer, care to elucidate?”

“No.”

“Okay, caveman.”

“Shut up and take off your clothes.”

I’d rolled my eyes and complied.)

I enjoyed every bit of him. I wanted to observe and chart every one of his moods and his little quirks. I loved the small pile of his books that had found their way onto the coffee table. I loved introducing him to pop culture that he approached with the same diligence as he would a textbook of quantum physics. He was an eager student, and I attempted to return the favour whenever he launched into his obscure tirades.

Some nights I would drowsily let him in and he would crawl into bed with me, fully clothed. The following mornings, I would wake up with a silly grin on my face, seeing him utterly relaxed and at peace. We’d have breakfast in my kitchen and slowly come awake together over our steaming mugs of coffee.

It was fun, learning him.

In the dead of night, as I was drifting off to sleep, he would tell me bits and pieces of horrible things he’d had to see. All I could offer him then was a tight, protective embrace and a steady gaze as the words clawed their way out of his reluctant throat. It felt like he was giving me some sort of twisted boon, these revelations of his pain. I collected them just as carefully as I did everything else. If it was a part of him that was freely given, I knew I wanted it.

At intervals, I would have to remind myself that he wasn’t truly emotionally available. It wasn’t hard. I only had to picture JJ’s relieved smile and the raw uncloaked expression on his face that I had never seen again. He mentioned her every now and then, and I’d discovered that his godson was her child. He never seemed upset, talking about her family, but he wasn’t the kind of man who would resent another’s happiness, even if it was at the expense of his own. I knew that now. I still remembered the way he would pull away from me and flinch at my touch, and I knew I was playing a losing game. There was no way out of this where I didn’t get hurt. All I could do was try to control it.

Three months after that night outside our building, I knew I’d fallen for him.

I was in trouble and I needed to do something about it, quickly. So I stopped preemptively cancelling plans with my friends and coworkers. I joined a book club. I called in a guy to loudly fix my bathroom sink the day I knew Spencer would be getting home. I even got a gym membership. I tried to be away from home as much as I could.

Whenever Spencer texted me, I would let him know I was unavailable. His texts got progressively more frustrated. Watching the excitement on his face dim when I turned him away at my door was painful. But it was necessary. I convinced myself that when Spencer and I stopped existing in this vacuum without other people, my feelings would weaken and I would be able to get him out of my head.

It didn’t work, of course, and I spent every day missing him. I tried to distract myself with work and my suddenly-full schedule, but the feelings were still there. Try as I might, I couldn’t stop thinking of him every morning and every night, and every time I passed his door and every time I walked by a bookstore.

So when Neil from work asked me out a week later, I said yes.

I wore a nice dress and heels, and he picked me up. We went to a midscale restaurant and talked about boring first-date things, and I knew within the first fifteen minutes that I didn’t want to see him again. I went through the motions, smiled pleasantly at him, and told him I would take a cab home. When I walked dejectedly up to my apartment, it took me a second to realise what I was looking at. My heart leapt and I dropped my keys.

Spencer was sitting on the floor outside my door, and he looked tireder and older than I’d ever seen him. He had looked up at my approach. I froze.

“Spencer.” I hadn’t seen him in a month.

He looked me up and down, and there was an unhappy tilt to his mouth. I wanted to kiss it away. He reached for the keys and rose to his feet.

“Hi.” He held them out to me, and I wanted to laugh and the eerie reflection of our first meeting.

“Hi,” I echoed.

“Were you on a date?”

There was no point in lying to him. “Yes.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

Silently, I unlocked the door and held it open. After a moment’s hesitation, he walked in.

He paced the floor of my living room. I took off my shoes and put my keys on the table, waiting for him to speak. I felt out of sorts and unprepared for what was to come. Even when I heard him come to a halt, I didn’t lift my gaze to meet his.

“Why would you-- I thought we had something.” His tone was heavy with accusation.

I stared back at him in challenge. “Sure. We had something. But I didn’t want to fool myself into thinking it was more than it was.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Us! You. You send me all these mixed signals, and I know you’re still hung up on someone else but I let myself get in too deep anyway. I had to protect myself.”

“I’m not hung up on someone else,” he shouted, raising his hands in frustration.

“Of course you are!” I matched his volume. “You told me so yourself.”

“When did I do that?” He sounded honestly bewildered.

“A few months ago. You said you were in love with someone but she didn’t love you back. And then I saw you with JJ that day. I know it’s her. It’s okay. You didn’t promise me anything.”

Feeling drained, I wrapped my hands around my middle. The tears were threatening to fall, but I tried to hold them at bay. This would be over soon. It all would.

“JJ--” he barked out a laugh, surprising me.

“What about this situation is funny to you?” I demanded.

“No, listen--”

“You’re hot and you’re cold. You kick me out right after our first time and then you’re sweet the next day. How do you want me to feel about that?”

“I’m sorry about-”

“Trying to talk to you is impossible! I want to help you. But you clearly don’t want to talk to me!”

“That’s not--”

“And then you’re over here all the time, and I get that it’s because you want to distract yourself, but you have to know how it would con--”

“God, would you just shut up and listen to me for once?”

I glared up at him. He was undeterred, a strange glint in his eyes.

“I love you,” he informed me, striking me dumb. “It took me a while to realise it, but it’s true. I love you.”

All I could do was gape at him as he walked closer to me and took my tightly clenched fists in his hands. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like I was holding back. I’m trying to be better. And I don’t know what you thought you saw between me and JJ,” he said very slowly, stroking his thumbs gently over my palms, “but all that’s there is a lot of trauma and shared experiences. Yes, I thought I loved her once, but that was a long time ago. We’ve never-- she’s not you.”

Traitorously, that tendril of hope began to coil around my heart again as I searched his face, looking for a trace of a lie.

I found none.

I surged forward, crashing my lips to his with no finesse and too much force, but he was ready for me, releasing my hands and cradling my waist instead. I gripped his hair, letting the tears spill at last, an overjoyed laugh bubbling out of my throat and into his mouth. I let my hands roam the hard plane of his body, the delicious ripple of wiry muscle beneath his shirt, the hidden softness that only I could feel.

“I love you,” I told him when we broke apart for air. “I’m glad I can tell you, I love you, I fucking love you.” Spencer grinned down at me, and the look was so fond I had to kiss him again.

The rest was a blur of hastily discarded clothes and the steadfastly ignored pain of knocking into furniture before we finally found my bed and tumbled into it.

(“All this time, I could have had you,” I groaned into his ear while he thrust his fingers into me, mouthing along my jaw.

“You have me,” he promised into my skin an eternity later, when he was inside me and my nails were scrambling for purchase along his back, my vision going white.)

That night, there were no painful confessions or taunting insecurities. There were just the two of us, blissfully entwined together, and the deepest of dreamless sleeps. Somewhere in the middle of falling out and falling back together, we had found our new rhythm.

.fin.

[chubbology]

Inertia

prompt: a man gains weight trying to get his ex-girlfriend back, but goes way too far and gets addicted to gaining

He hadn’t gone to the gym even once in ages.

After a year of singlehood, he wasn’t ashamed to admit anymore that he’d only really gone in the first place to impress women. Ironic, of course, since his ex had never been more than vaguely dissatisfied about his gym habit.

When they first started dating, he had love handles he hated and his thighs had been too thick. He assumed she dated him despite these flaws. Only after he lost weight to please her did he find out that it was his chub that caught her eye. It was bigger guys she was into. It was a lot of miscommunication. A lot of insecurity on his part, since what her preferences meant was that she wanted him to be a little heavy, and he couldn’t possibly accept that with his society-ingrained doctrines about attractiveness.

But those doctrines meant fuck-all now; he was eating a double cheeseburger in his car, helping it down with an orange soda, thinking about dessert. He was wondering if she’d be proud of him now that he’d gained thirty pounds. He wondered if she’d look at him with half-lidded eyes like she used to, if he put on another thirty. Fifty. Whatever.

His phone buzzes. He sits up straighter, belly swelling a little into his lap. It’s her.

Hey. My friend needs to sell her two tickets. I know it’s your favorite band. Interested?

The next text was a link to an information page about an upcoming concert. He’d been so disconnected lately, he hadn’t even heard about it.

Even though he wasn’t actually all that interested, he replied that he was, and they set a date to meet up the next week. Shit. He looked down at himself. If she were someone else, she might be repelled. But she wasn’t someone else…

He was hit with a brilliant, maybe brilliantly stupid, idea. It’s execution began with going right back through the drive thru.

In the days leading up to seeing his ex again, he ate almost constantly. Since he was only doing freelance online at the moment, his work didn’t get in the way of this. He let himself eat whatever he wanted, in amounts three times what his body craved. He pushed himself to a state of being constantly past full. She liked fat guys? Fine. Even if she still didn’t want anything to do with him, he wanted her to see what he could have been, if he hadn’t been such a gym-rat douchebag. If he’d let himself become a lazy, docile boyfriend like she wanted instead, weak and overweight.

It was hard, gaining a lot of weight in a week. The number on the scale didn’t go up as much as he expected, even though he’d eaten enough calories to gain twenty pounds at least. He compensated by showing up to their meeting spot wearing clothes that tightly hugged his body, which now had a good forty-ish pounds of fat clinging to it. Looking in the mirror before he left, he’d almost seen what she was into. His ass had gotten kind of wide and dumpy, but in a sexy way?

He was all nerves when she showed up looking healthy and cute and indifferent about him, holding the tickets in her hands. Almost indifferent. She definitely gave him a once-over, when she thought he wasn’t looking. He could tell she bit the inside of her lip.

“Well,” she said, meeting his eyes fearlessly. Were her cheeks a little red, or was that wishful thinking? “I’ll see you.”

“Really?” he blurted. “Kinda miss hanging out.”

She smiled and turned to leave. “Maybe.”

He went home and binged hard.

*

In contrast to how he grew too slowly in the week before meeting up with her, in the weeks afterward, he gained weight doubletime. Fat rounded him out as easy as if he were a swiftly filling water balloon, engorging his thighs and belly and ass and hips wide and heavy. He ate compulsively as his appetite skyrocketed, as cravings crushed his will to restrain himself. His budget was thrown out of whack as he spent his savings on pantry loads of unhealthy food. His clothes stretched and seams snapped as he struggled to fit in his largest clothes. He shopped in the plus sized section first for comfort, then by necessity.

All the while he could only think: I wished she was watching.

He started imagining her with him. In the car as he ate fast food. At the store as he bought new clothes. Walking beside him as he forced himself to get exercise.

“Slow down, big guy.” “No, I think you need one size bigger.” “Sweating already? You’re so out of shape.”

Why did he like it? Imagining her mocking him? Teasing him? Eyeing his body, fleshy and overfed.

The next time she texted, it was late at night, and his eyes were glazed watching television, eating huge spoonfuls of that miracle drug called Nutella. His belly swelled out of his shirt. His breasts and face were puffy. According to the numbers he punched into Google, he had long crossed the threshold of obesity.

How was the concert?

He stared at the words. This was it. Maybe his only chance. He replied: Didn’t go after all. Been feeling off lately.

To his (very manly) delight, this prompted more questions, and it became clear she wanted a real conversation. Was she thinking of him? Missing him like he missed her? He thought out every response with the careful focus of a rocket scientist. He wasn’t going to mess this up.

He didn’t seem to, and they texted into the early hours of the morning, catching up. Finally, finally she asked to meet up with him again, and - feeling more eager, a little reckless - he tapped out a disclaimer. Or to her, hopefully: motivation.

Just so you aren’t shocked when you see me, I’ve put on weight since I bought those tickets from you. I’m not sensitive about it or anything, but it’s a lot. So here’s a fair warning.

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. Held his breath. Held it…

Oh. Really?

Like before, they set a time the following week. This time, to get coffee. No big deal.

He knew he had more than fulfilled his little scheme of putting on weight to catch her attention, and he could push the breaks now, but he felt helpless against his inertia. At this point, he’d cultivated half a dozen habits that had his weight steadily rising, and he couldn’t just turn them off. If he so much as thought of eating less, his whole body seized up in fearful anticipation and unhappiness, and he found himself cramming a couple moonpies into his mouth just to calm down.

He gained another six pounds between their text conversation and their coffee date. He felt so out of control, so out of shape, so out of line with the standards of popular society that he felt oddly…free. In a way, he felt free of anxious self-consciousness as he heaved himself out of his car and waved at her through the coffee shop window. She was sitting in a corner at a table for two. Despite his warning, she looked a little shocked.

When he sat down across from her, his huge ass hanging off the ends of the seat, she appeared to inhale deeply. Her expression was inscrutable.

“You weren’t kidding,” she said.

Blushing, he supposed he deserved a bit of tactlessness, for the tactless way he broke up with her. “What? Oh. Yeah, no. I wasn’t.”

She sipped her coffee, eyes flicking between his flabby chest and his flabby face. In a low tone that no one else would hear, she said, “What happened? For you to get fat as fuck.”

He opened his mouth and closed it. This wasn’t how he was expecting this to go. “Well. I’ve been working from home, stressed out. I let myself go and…” He trailed off when he realized her eyes were cold. No - so hot they seemed cold, like his shower water when turned to the highest setting.

“Is this because of me?” she asked, cutting to the chase. She crossed her legs, now openly surveying him. “Did you decide it was okay to gain a hundred pounds because you thought I’d be into it?”

He was speechless. He swallowed.

“Well? Do you want me back that badly? Ever since I saw you last time, all chubbed out, I’ve been thinking maybe I should give you a second chance.”

“Um.”

“But I don’t know…” She shrugged, but a smirk was hiding just behind that indifferent frown, and he wanted. He wanted her forgiveness, whatever that meant. “How about you gain a hundred more and we’ll go on a real date? Sound good? You’re not the only fat guy out there.”

She was full-on grinning now, and he missed her little games like this. He could play them, too.

“Maybe, but I bet I’m the only guy who’s gotten this fat for you,” he said. She was immediately affected by this, and he licked his lips. “You really want to wait to see me a hundred pounds bigger than this, or do you want to stick around to watch?”

Even quieter, she said, “You saying you like gaining weight? How convenient.”

So she still doubted him. He put out his hands for her to see. “Just look. Look at how fat my hands are. I can’t…” And finally his composure cracked a little. “I can’t stop. I couldn’t stop if I wanted. Even if you never talk to me again, I’m gonna gain weight.”

Any playfulness was gone now from her. She looked like she wanted him, too. “Hmm. Maybe we should go before you break that poor chair, huh?”

He blushed again. God, he was getting docile. “I’m not that bad,” he muttered. But she gave him a cruel grin. She hadn’t entirely forgiven him. “You will be.”

And he knew then: he was doomed. He was already a little bit into his own heaviness, and she was going to take that feeling and amplify it tenfold. She was going to enable every bad habit he had, watch him flounder under his increasing size and become weaker under layers and layers of fat until he could barely lift a two pound dumbbell.

He knew she wanted this to happen, and maybe he’d broken up with her before because he’d been afraid.

But he wasn’t anymore.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

*

Thank you to the reader who commissioned this work!

I'd love to write more. Check me out <3 etsy.com/shop/Chubbology

[book-boys-are-my-guilty-pleasure]

A Stark and her Soldier ~ Part 1

Imagine: Reuniting with Bucky when you end up helping Sam with the Flag Smashers.

Warnings: TFATWS SPOILERS! This takes place during the first two episodes of the show.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m saying this but I’M BACK (with a new header lol)!!! AHHHHHHHH! It’s been nearly two years but here I am… posting this makes me SO nervous, so feedback would be highly appreciated! More parts and some information about what I’m planning with this blog to follow soon! 

“You held us together – do it for them,” he paused before adding, “Promise me you’ll do it for them.”

You blinked away the tears, knowing what was coming, “I can’t promise that...”

“Y/N please,” the way he begged you with that shaking voice was nearly enough to push you over the edge.

“I-I promise.” He squeezed your hand before letting you leave.

“You’ve reached James Barnes, sorry I couldn’t take your call, please –” you hung up before the recorded message could continue, face burning with frustration. This was the 9th time you had tried calling him this week, not to mention the countless text messages.

You scoffed thinking of Steve’s last words to you, how were you supposed to hold them together when you barely held yourself together on a good day? It doesn’t make it any easier when the person you’re supposed to be holding together is so keen on letting himself fall apart.  

Every time you tried calling him, you ended up feeling furious, miserable, or like an absolute failure – usually all three. You promised Steve, you promised, and you failed. You groaned and chucked your phone across your bed.

The last time you had seen him, Steve had still been around, and you hadn’t even spoken to him since Tony’s funeral.

 You and Pepper had walked to the lake, each holding one of Morgan’s hands, and you had sat at the dock watching the arc reactor – his heart – float away, the people behind you forgotten in your grief. The weight on your heart was unbelievable, you had already lost your best friend, Natasha, and now your brother was gone.

You promised him that you wouldn’t cry at his funeral – he always knew it was inevitable – and so you sat there, sending him away with a pained smile.

You had no idea how long you had just sat there, staring at the horizon across the lake, trying to make this last moment with your brother last forever.

“Y/N?” You felt a hand squeezing your shoulder, ��You should come back inside.”

“What happens now, Steve?” Your voice was softer than he had ever heard before.

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out together,” he paused for a moment before gesturing to Bucky, waiting outside the house behind him, “He wants to talk to you.”

You gave Bucky a small smile, “Hey.”

He walked over and dropped down next to you, Steve leaving the two of you to chat, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” You nodded solemnly.

He added, “For everything, Y/N… he probably wouldn’t even have wanted me here, but –”

You shook your head and took his hand, heart fluttering at the contact. You had always been attracted to him, and it had only grown with every interaction. “That wasn’t you.”

You knew your brother never blamed Bucky, you all knew how it felt to have people mess with your heads and Bucky had had the worst of it. He was furious at Steve for years, but never at Bucky – you could never bring yourself to be angry with either of them, not after the stories you grew up with. Your father had adored the soldiers and you had been one of their biggest fans, and later one of Steve’s closest friends.

There had come a point after the battle between Tony and Steve when you had become sick of all the back and forth. You were lucky enough to find an escape when T’Challa got in touch with you, offering you a chance to come to Wakanda and learn about their technology – you weren’t ashamed to admit that you were the one who contacted him to beg for it. You hadn’t known that Bucky was already there. Slowly but surely, the two of you found comfort in one another and became good friends.  

He gave you a smile that didn’t reach his eyes, “You should head inside, it’s getting late – I’ll see you again soon.”

He stayed true to that statement, the two of you stood with Sam and Bruce, waiting for Steve to come back after returning the stones – only to have him shatter your hearts.

You only saw Bucky in passing after that, occasionally visiting Steve at the same time – you never said a word to him, beyond a smile or a wave, and then you stopped seeing him all together. You tried, for the sake of your promise to Steve, but he never answered your calls or texts.

“We’ll figure it out together, right, thanks a lot Steve,” You muttered.

You jumped at the sound of your phone ringing, and your shoulders sank a bit when you saw Sam’s name flashing across the screen, “Hey.”

“He’s doing an interview,” You knew exactly who Sam was talking about, “Good Morning America.”

Your stomach turned, “That’s the last thing I want to see.”

“I know, I just thought I’d share my joy with someone,” Sam chuckled, “Any luck with Bucky?”

“I’m just wasting my time at this point,” You could feel the tears returning to your eyes as you said it.

“Hey, come on now, he’ll come around, he just needs some time.”

“Right…”

“Listen, I called because we have a lead, wanna join?”

“Please.”

“I hate it, his stupid face plastered on every wall, it feels like he’s mocking us.”

“Don’t you start, Y/N.”

“Seriously Sam, I get that he’s the new Cap – the fake Cap, but don’t you think that this,” You gestured to the posters around you, “is excessive?”

“It-”

“Shouldn’t have given up the shield.” Your heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice and your face heated up with anger, you hadn’t realized it was possible to feel such contrasting emotions at the same time, but here you were. You noted that his voice was a bit hoarse and wondered if he had been sick.

“Good to see you too, Buck.”

“This is wrong.”

“So is pushing away everyone who cares about you.” He finally looked at you and you saw shame glistening in those steel blue eyes.

He said nothing before turning back to Sam, “You didn’t know that was gonna happen?”

Wow, ignoring your calls was one thing, but outright ignoring you while you stood in front of him, that caused a different kind of hurt.

You stood in silence as Sam explained where the two of you were headed, trying to push away the pounding in your head, and suddenly, you found yourself in a jet sitting next to Bucky.

“You could have answered, even once. Could’ve at least let me know that you were still alive.”

“I know,” Was all he said.

“We were friends once,” Nothing, “and I still care for you.”

“I know.”

“Four months, a full four months and I didn’t hear a single word from you, I’m going to need more than ‘I know’.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry.”

You could tell that he meant it and didn’t know what more to say, so you got up and headed towards the open door of the plane, “I’ll catch you boys on the ground.”

You watched Sam follow, and considered helping Bucky as he fell through the trees, but you decided against it. He hurt your feelings and now you could call it even.

Super soldiers? How on earth were there more super soldiers?! You didn’t have much time to ponder on the thought as you got kicked in the face by one of them and fell off the semi – definitely should have let Tony make you a helmet like he insisted.

You flew back up only to see him dropping out of a helicopter, Fake Cap, fuck.

“Looks like you guys could use some help,” Your blood boiled at the sight of his cocky grin.

You weren’t winning, and you weren’t stupid enough to continue trying, let Steve’s knock-off take care of it.

You flew off just in time to see Bucky lying on top of Sam, the latter groaned in displeasure.

“Hey, can you gentlemen save the PDA for later?” You joked, earning a glare from both of them.

With the adrenaline slowly draining from your system, the pain from the blows you took started to set in, making you dread the trek in front of you. As if on cue, you heard a horn honking and Fake Cap pulled up next to you, “It’s 20 miles to the airport, you guys need a ride.”

“I think we’re good,” You simply stated.

“You won’t make it with that limp.”

You gave him a crude smile, “I’d rather crawl.”  

They stopped and opened the door, you exchanged a look with Sam and Bucky, silently deciding to join them.

You sat between Bucky and Sam, and felt the anger and disgust radiating off of both of them with every word that was exchanged.

“Y/N Stark,” You despised the way he said your last name, like he wanted to devour you, “You are one of the original seven, I trust you know the importance of having a strong team. I’d suggest giving a word or two of advice to your friends here.”

“Did you really just compare being on a team with you two, to being on a team with the Avengers?” You glowered at him, “A word of advice Walker, you’re not Steve, you might be holding that shield, but you will never be half the Captain America that he was. So quit fucking pretending.”  

“I didn’t realize Stark’s sister had such a mouth on her,” He smirked, he knew exactly what he was doing and as much as you hated to admit it, it was working, “Vicious.”

“Go to hell.”

The ride didn’t last very long after that, and you had no complaints when Bucky demanded them to stop the car.

You opened your eyes and rolled over to see Sam still asleep on the seats across from you, and Bucky was sitting on the large crate in the middle of the jet, “Not tired?”

“Nah,” He shook his head.

You pushed yourself to your feet and hopped up next to him, “You’d think they’d make those seats a bit more comfortable considering the amount of time we spend on these things.”

He chuckled and the two of you fell into a comfortable silence. After a considerable pause he turned to you, “Y/N, I meant what I said earlier, I’m sorry.”

The dark bags under his eyes were a stark contrast from the beautiful blue that you were looking into, which you noted which had lost its luster. You noticed that his voice still had a bit of that hoarseness from earlier in the day, and the dots connected. You remembered how hoarse your voice used to get when you’d wake up screaming from the nightmares after particularly rough missions. You understood why he was awake, he didn’t want you and Sam to see him like that.

You nodded, “I know, I just wish – I was worried sick about you. I know it hasn’t been easy for you Buck, but we were good friends once and I miss you.”

“I wanted to call, it’s just been tough,” He admitted, and you reached over to take his hand, only to quickly pull away as Sam woke up.

“You two okay?”

“Yeah,” You both said. You wondered if Bucky’s super soldier ability allowed him to hear the way your heartbeat picked up from that brief touch.

Your mind was racing a million miles a minute, you had barely kept the tears in listening to Isaiah’s story, both out of anger and sadness. How? How did this happen? How was this man tortured, then brushed under the rug? How did no one know about it? Why the hell did Bucky keep this from you?

Sam mirrored your pained expression, but something darker lurked beneath his eyes, you couldn’t even imagine the rage he felt. The sound of a police siren pulled you out of your thoughts.

Your anger only grew at the argument that ensued, “I am calm, what do you want? We’re just standing here talking.”

“Just give him your ID,” You glared at Bucky as the words left his mouth.

“Why the hell should he? He didn’t do anything wrong!” You growled, at the same time Sam said, “I’m not giving him shit, we were just talking.”

“Hey, hey, look, is this guy bothering you?” The officer asked you and Bucky. Your eyes widened, he can’t be serious right now.

“No, he’s not bothering us, do you know who this is?!”

You couldn’t even stand to look at the guy as his jaw dropped in shock upon realizing who Sam was, you felt your body shake with anger, and you didn’t even want to think what would have happened if Sam hadn’t been an Avenger.

The officer returned from his vehicle and turned the tables, announcing that there was a warrant out for Bucky’s arrest.

Watching him being handcuffed and put into the car shattered your heart, if the events of the day hadn’t already left you feeling nauseous, you knew this would be the nail in the coffin. All you could see was Bucky on his knees with a gun to his head nearly seven year ago when Steve barely prevented T’Challa from killing him and the four of you had been arrested – Tony had been furious with you, but it was the shame in Bucky’s eyes that had hurt you the most, and here you were, witnessing it again.

You reached over a grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed as hard as you could, desperate for a lifeline to keep you from sinking into those painful memories.

You maintained that same grip on the poor man’s hand as you sat at the police station waiting for Bucky to be bailed out, “Sam, Y/N, I’ve heard a lot about you two, I’m Dr. Raynor, I’m James’ therapist.”

The two of you shook her hand and Sam thanked her for getting Bucky out.

“That was not me –”

“Christina!” You’d recognize that voice anywhere from the way it made your skin crawl, fuck, “Good to see you again.”

You clenched your jaw to keep yourself from punching the stupid grin off of his face as he pointed to himself when Dr. Raynor asked him who authorized Bucky’s release. You knew you had a problem with constantly wanting to punch people in the face, it was a trait that ran in the family, but Walker’s face was definitely one of the most punchable ones you had seen – a good ol’ pop in the jaw wouldn’t hurt, right? Just one?

“He’s too valuable of an asset to have him tied up –”

That was it, that was all you were willing to hear, you couldn’t stop yourself from getting in his face and hissing, “Call him that again, and I swear to god Walker, I –”

Sam put his arm around you, hand pressed to your stomach and pulled you back, “Y/N.”

Walker simply smirked and turned back to Raynor, “Do what you have to do and send him off to me. Got some unfinished business, him and I, you too Wilson, and bring your guard dog with you.”

It took everything in your power to keep from snarling at him.  

“James, condition of your release, session now,” The doctor ordered, “You two as well.”

“I’m good, I’ve been to enough therapy,” You shook your head, at the same time Sam said, “That’s okay, I’ll be out here with –”

“That wasn’t a request,” You couldn’t help but chuckle, and decided that you liked this woman.

You and Sam sat on either side of Bucky, facing Dr. Raynor as she got started. You couldn’t help but notice the way Bucky’s eyes shifted and jaw clenched as Sam tried to weasel his way out of the session, and your chest tightened. He looked so tired, and not just the ‘hasn’t slept in a few days’ tired, but more like he was tired of trying – he looked broken.

You decided in that moment that you would try, and not just for Steve, but for the man next to you who had held a piece of your heart before he even knew you, and managed steal that piece away when you had met him years later.

You realized how hard you’d have try when Bucky answered Dr. Raynor’s question with, “In my miracle, he would talk less.”

“Exactly what I was gonna say, isn’t that ironic?” You sighed, so hard.

She turned to you, mimicking the expression on your face, “Y/N, can I trust you to give me a proper answer?”

Try, Y/N, try. You saw a glimmer of hope in Raynor’s eyes as they met yours, but you simply shrugged and looked away, unable to bring yourself to open up, and she let her shoulders fall slightly.

“You guys are leaving me with no choice. It’s time for the soul-gazing exercise. Y/N, you can sit this one out, you get along with both of them well enough.”

You rolled your eyes at the reactions from the boys, this’ll be good. You couldn’t help but chuckle as they got closer to one another, maybe I should have taken part in this exercise. They made eye contact and continued to hold it, you realized what they were doing moments before the doctor did and let out a genuine laugh – earning a glare from Raynor, don’t encourage them she seemed to say.

“James, why does Sam aggravate you? And don’t say something childish.” Your head filled with a hundred different ideas about what stupid things Bucky would come up with, only to have them fizzle away at his cheeky grin towards the doctor, followed by the lick of his lip. It left your throat dry. Snap out of it, Y/N, what’s gotten into you?

He paused for a moment, his expression changing, and turned back to Sam, “Why’d you give of that shield?”

You held your breath, you knew this was going to come up, but weren’t expecting it here. You couldn’t take your eyes off of Bucky, noticing every change in his face, it becoming more pained with every word that left his mouth, and your chest tightening alongside it, until finally, “So maybe he was wrong about you. And if he was wrong about you, then he was wrong about me.”

The break in his voice cracked your heart into a million pieces. You looked up, trying to keep the tears swimming in your eyes from falling. You turned your attention towards Sam and noticed the emotion behind his glassy eyes – it was different than anything you had seen in him before, it was almost as though you could see the burden he was carrying on his shoulders, the pressure that was pushing him in every direction.

I have to fix this, you told yourself, you couldn’t stand to see them like this, I have to try.  

Your mind was roaring with thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed that Sam and Bucky had left until Raynor asked, “What would be in your miracle, Y/N?”

You snapped your head towards her, then to the door, you weighed your options and headed towards the latter. You grabbed the handle and stopped, without turning towards her you whispered, “I’d find a home again, and they’d find some happiness.”

You pulled the door open, “Y/N, I don’t think those two things have to be separate.”

Her words swam in your head until you found Bucky and Sam walking outside, Walker and Hoskins storming off in the other direction.

“What’s that all about?”

“Walker being Walker,” Sam shrugged.

“So, what now?”

“Bucky wants to talk to Zemo,” Every memory that you spent years trying to forget came flooding back: Zemo using those words to turn Bucky into the Winter Soldier, who then proceeded to trash the compound and nearly kill you and your friends; watching your family fight each other at the airport and being forced to pick a side; watching the footage of your parents dying; desperately begging your brother and the man who had become your brother not to kill one another.

“You what?!” You gasped.

“Y/N –”

You stepped between the two of them, close enough to Bucky that you had to tilt your head up to look into his eyes, and whispered, “Bucky, no.”

“This might be our only lead, Y/N,” You stared up at him, silently pleading him, he reflected the same in his own, “Please Y/N.”

He took your hand and you instantly melted, “I – fine, but promise me you will be careful.”

“I promise.”

End. 

Read Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 and Part 6

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[palaceofpassion]

Can we get some follow up for that one involving Jaune breeding Nuts and Dolts. Maybe either Ruby’s turn or the Bees getting bred while the three already breed ladies watch.

Part 2 to @dam1994s original ask!  This time its Ruby’s turn, also the reason I didn’t label the first as NTR.

“Ruby.”   

This didn’t feel right, it hadn’t felt right for a while now, but now that he actually got the chance to take a look at Ruby’s face he felt torn up about it.  “I’d let things get too far…”  

“Y...yes…”  

She couldn’t even look him in the eyes, staring lifelessly towards her sheets.  Patting the sheets in front of him he called his young friend over, “Come here.”  He’d have to fix this, “Sorry Penny, we’ll continue later if time allows it.”  He’d have to take control of the situation, things had gotten far too out of hand.  

“No problem, friend Jaune!  Come Ruby it's your turn!  Oh I can’t wait!  I can’t wait till we’re both big and pregnant!  Round bellies with wonderful life in them!”  

Jaune rolled his eyes, but left a pleasant smile on his face, that was till he saw how demure Ruby was.  The once adventurous team leader was disheartened, broken, just sad.  He felt like he’d kicked a puppy, though maybe it was better to say Weiss had.  Who was simply smiling at him, to which he shook his head in disappointment.  “Ruby, sit now.”  

 And like the broken puppy she was, she made her way over to him, slowly meandering forward until she was kneeling a foot away.  “Look at me.”  When she didn’t respond, he simply grasped the bottom of her chin, lifting it slightly so she could shift her gaze to match his.  “Ruby.”  

“I’m ready…”  

He could tell how unready she was, the dark bags under her eyes from crying or with how red her sclera was.  She wasn’t doing well at all.  “Ruby, you’re not, and you’re not okay.”  He took a deep breath as he brought his right hand to her cheek, gently sliding his thumb beneath her eye and clearing the falling tear.  “Ruby, if you didn’t want this, you should have said no.”  

It took her a moment to start speaking, her lip trembling as she did.  “But… but… I would have… everyone would have been disappointed in me.”  

“I would not have!”

Penny spoke up, dancing over next to them, thick droplets of semen dripping from her pussy as she landed next to Ruby.

“I wouldn’t have either.”  

It looked as if Ruby wanted to say something, but Jaune spoke before her.  “She really wouldn’t have.  Weiss is just a…”  He turned towards his wife, who simply smiled at him, like the princess she knew she was.  “A sadist, a very hardcore sadist.”  

“You know it~”  

“But… she said… and…”

“Ruby, if you didn’t want you or I to get pregnant you should have said something!”  

“But…”  

“Ruby, it's okay.  We can stop here, I...”  He scratched the back of his head as an uncomfortable silence followed.  “I’m sorry Ruby.  You shouldn’t be.  I should have noticed you weren’t feeling great.”  

“I should have more so.”  Penny once again chimed in.

“I just… I want Penny to be happy… but watching her being taken by you… and seeing her face… she was…”  

“Oh Ruby!  I’m sorry!  It was just my first experience with a cock and… and it FELT REALLY Good.”

“Penny not helping.”

“And Weiss was saying…”

“Sorry Ruby, I tend to get REALLY into it when Jaune starts to fuck other women.  I do care for you… but it's really hot.”  

Again he rolled his eyes at his wife.  “And… I don’t think you’d want to have sex with me.”  

“Wait no I-”

“HAH!  Jaune not wanting to have sex with you?!  Are you serious!?”

His face started to flash hot as a sudden realization began to dawn on him.  “Weiss, you better not.”  

However, that didn’t stop his wife.  “Ruby!  He’s had a HUGE crush on you for as long as you knew each other!  Did you think he just had a thing for Pyrrha and me?  Ohohohohoho!”  

“What?”  

Jaune felt his face flash really hot.  “Weiss, that's enough.”  

He tried to sound as threatening as he could, but Weiss was having none of it, instead she simply smirked and nodded, “Okay~”  He didn’t like the way she said that.  Either way this was a moment for Ruby, not for his wife, he’d get to dealing with her later… he hoped.

“Right, well… Ruby I think you’re insanely attractive, I actually thought I’d be having sex with you first.”  He couldn’t help but scratch the back of his head as Ruby turned her attention back to him, her eyes widening at the sudden realization.

Gone were her previous fears, the strange sensation she felt in her belly from watching her wife being bred by a man… by her best friend, instead a new strange flitty feeling filled her.  She felt a little woozy as she began to finally take in Jaune’s form for the first time.  She’d known he’d gotten rather muscular back during their adventures but… looking at him now well… she liked what she saw.  And when her eyes fell a little lower?  She found she REALLY liked what she saw.  So much so she had to fight back the urge that pulled her towards reaching out and stroking it, all on her own.  

“Jaune?”  

“Yeah?”  

“Can you… can you go slow?”  

Then he smiled at her, and this time, instead of the rotten feeling that had overwhelmed her earlier, she felt a genuine sense of warmth fill her.  

“Of course Crater Face.”  

“Hah, thanks Vomit Boy.”  

She allowed his fingers to run through her body, gently coasting down her back and curling at the soft swells of her rear.  A small shudder ran through her spine, and a soft gasp escaped through her lips.  A sudden lightness filled her as he drew close, the edge of his p...dick pressed against her already moist sex.  “You sure you want this?”  

“Ye...yes please.”  

“Alright.”  

Her lower body tensed as the sharp pain struck from her crotch, her tight slit began to unfold before the firm strength of his shaft pressing further inside of her.  “O...Oww…”  

“I can stop.”  

“N...no keep going…”  

She did her best to ignore the cheers coming from the side, Penny obviously fully in the mood.  Or the snide smile coming from Weiss as she watched her ‘man’ have his way with another woman.  She knew her friend meant well… but she wasn’t going to concentrate on her wife or Weiss at the moment.  

She wanted to concentrate on the fullness running through her.  Through his hands gently running against the back of her head, stroking through her dark locks.  She wanted to concentrate on the sudden bulge in her belly that slowly rose to the top of her stomach and the new sensation of the tip pushing against her cervix.  She felt fuller than she’d ever felt, her body, finally easing into a pleasurable sensation.  “Oooph~  Okay, I think… I think I’m good.”  

“You sure?”  

“Yeah.”  

She nodded back to Jaune, who pressed forward, his body suddenly towering on top of her.  Her body began to sink into her mattress as he applied all his weight down upon her.  Her legs pulled back as he shifted his thighs to pry them forward.  She… she’d looked it up before, but she realized this was a mating press.  “Sorry Rubes, I may get a little crazy but I re-”

“He wants to breed you so badly Ruby~  He wouldn’t shut up about it all the way here.”  

“Weiss!”  He hissed at his wife.

A fiery blush kissed Ruby’s cheeks as she realized both Weiss and Penny were now surrounding her.  “Nope~  I’m going to tell her all about it… besides, it's not like you can do anything, you’re cocks all nice and warm inside her tight little cunt, you probably don’t want to pull out huh?”  

She looked back upon him, her silver eyes scanning his suddenly reddening chest.  She felt a mighty feed of satisfaction fill her as he simply began to gyrate his hips, grinding their crotches together as he buried his cock deep inside of her tight little hole.  Her pussy tingled, the brustling of his pubic hairs scritching at her entrance was doing funny things to her, and she really liked it.

“Did you know Ruby?  That he used to have a crush on you at Beacon.”

“Wei-s.”  She felt him try to pull out, her body wanting more of him instinctively reached out, her arms wrapping around the tall of his back, her legs tightly winding around his hips pulling him down.  Besides… she kind of wanted to hear the story.  

“Well~  You see, he would tell me about what he thought about you… especially when you wore those cute little pajamas, the ones that hugged your tush.”  

“Wei-”  

Weiss ignored him,  “He’d tell me about how he used to imagine, pushing you down, taking you away, dragging you to some closet far away where Yang couldn’t get to you.  To pull your clothes down, sliding his big ol cock into your cute little slit.  How he wanted to breed that cute little pussy of yours, you REALLY turned him on, you know that?”  

“Re...Really?”  

“Ye...yes…”  She could tell he tried not to admit it, but the twitch inside of her sent little happy feelings through her.  

“Not… not Yang?”

“No…”  

“Yep~  He wanted YOU, wanted to breed you, to pump you full of his seed.  He’d tell me about how many times he just imagined putting a baby into lil old you back in Beacon.”  

“Weis-”  

“Tut tut tut~  Not done.”  

She felt a low growl erupting from within Jaune, his chest vibrating as he suddenly pulled up and then THUMP she felt the air knock from her lungs as he rose up and slammed his massive cock inside of her.  Her body suddenly aching for an all new reason as her insides were split apart, her womb shifting upwards against her stomach.  She felt him pull back again as he prepared to lunge back in once more.  

“You know~  He used to tell me, that when RNJR went out, you guys had food problems sometimes, and well you were a growing girl so-”

“Weiss stop!”  

“He would sometimes cum in your soup, you needed protein after all… that of course didn’t stop even as we went on… sometimes I would help pump his cock, make sure you had all the energy a growing girl needed.”  

She felt REALLY hot all of a sudden, all those tasty meals she had… that salty sweet flavor she used to love… it all made sense, and… and she tried to look back at Jaune, but then his chest pushed down on her, his hips reeled back and- THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. 

Like a wild beast he’d lost control, his hips now jackhammering into her.  Any and all resistance proved futile against his powerful strikes, her rear bounced off the bed, as his heavy balls smashed right into her plump ass.  Her cheeks turned a bright red as the heavy set orbs smashed into her with every lunging thrust.

Her insides churned, and her womb began to beg for more!  A new experience began to overwhelm her.  His arms tightly wrapped around her back, draping downwards as his fingers sunk into her fatty ass.  She gasped again, biting into his musculature as he continued his relentless pace.  

She couldn’t keep a hold of herself anymore, even more so when Weiss began talking again.  “You remember how a few of your panties went missing?” 

 THUD

He slammed into her again forcing her further into her bed, his thrusts having enough force that she was afraid he’d break it!  Or worse, break her at this rate!  

“Well~  He has a collection at home, most of them were used of course.”  

THUD THUD THUD

“AAAAH!”  

She screamed out in pleasure, as he violated her insides, her cervix turning black and blue from the relentless beating he placed upon her.  His nails started to carve into the soft round curves of her bottom, digging into her fleshy exterior as he tried to practically fuse the two of them together.  

She wanted to cry out, a mixture of pleasured pain swirling inside of her.  She wanted to say something, but her throat burned, his aura seeping into her body sending violent chills throughout.  She received no warning as he pushed himself down, pressing ALL of his weight down on her small sleek figure.  She couldn’t tell what was happening at first, her pussy numbed from the sheer force of their sexual escapades, but when her womb began to fill her ovaries hungrily drinking the new found liquid spreading within her.  She knew he’d cum inside, that the reason he was clinging to her so tightly was to make sure that not. A . single. Drip. would. Spill. Out.

Her toes curled as SPLURT SPLURT SPLURT SPLURT SPLURT He unloaded gallons of spunk within her.  Her body shook to its core as a powerful orgasm filled her, the new sensation of being filled, the womanly parts of her finally over joyed to have fulfilled their mission.  She lost it.  “AaaHhHahaha!”  She held on, her fingers sinking into his back, clawing against the strong musculature, holding onto dear life all while her eyes rolled back, her tongue hung out and her everything started to collapse.  

“Oh dear~  She couldn’t handle it…”  

“Ah… dang… damn it Weiss why’d you have to say that.”  

“Oh please!  You WANTED to do that.”  

Jaune rolled his eyes again at his wife, though he didn’t deny her claim.

“Sorry Penny, we may have to wait ti-”

“Breed her more!”

“But sh-”

“She’s stuck to you!  Make sure she’s all nice and knocked up!  Do it!  Do it!”  

Jaune felt a new found fear for the plucky Orangette… maybe there was something up with the color Orange.  

“Fine.”  

Well, he felt bad for Ruby, but he DID have a job to do.  “I’ll go again.”  

THUD THUD THUD 

And so he refused to let up, even as Ruby hung tightly to him on nothing but instinct, her senses frayed and broken.  He’d have to make sure she was nice and knocked up, after all an Arc always kept their promises.

[arvinsescape]

Haz and Harry writes two love letters while they are drunk, one for Tom, and one for Y/n, but they made it seem like they wrote it for each other.

Plot twist, Tom and Y/n are dating in secret.

Love letters.

A/N: So I loved this idea!! Thank you so much for sending it in!! I hope you enjoy and I hope it's what you're looking for!! 💕

Haz and Harry were so drunk as they sat on the couch together, everyone else had retired to bed. The alcohol was buzzing through their systems as they talked, hushing their voices and giggling every now and again.

"No, they have to have fucked though right?" Haz asked as he burst into a fit of giggles.

"Gross man, I don't wanna think about my brother and one of our best friends sleeping with each other." Harry groaned as he ran his hand down his face.

"They are so close though." Haz said and Harry laughed.

"Yeah they are." He agreed. "Wait though, they could just be super close, nothing has to be going on." Harry shrugged.

"Nah," Haz burst into yet another fit of giggles. "They are pining over each other." He added before an idea popped into his head. "Harry, that's it!" He suddenly said, voice a little louder. "We do something, make them realise they are made for each other." He said as he sat upright.

"Like what?" Harry asked, brows furrowed but thoroughly on board.

"We should write them love letters. I'll write Y/N's, you write Tom's!" He said almost excitedly.

"So I write a letter to Tom, pretending to be Y/N? A love letter?" He clarified as Haz jumped up from the couch, quietly disappearing into Tom's office.

"Here." He said handing Harry a piece of paper and a pen. "When you're done, put it in his gym bag, I'll put Y/N's in her bag." He said as he pointed towards your handbag that was by the front door.

"Hang on, why do I get the risky one? Tom's gym bag is in his room." Harry exclaimed.

"Well you're his brother, it'd be fine, besides he sleeps through anything."

"Fine." Harry responded as the two of them got to work.

**

Tom was getting changed after his shower at the gym when he found the letter, addressed to him. He furrowed his brows as he hastily opened it, reading the contents.

Tom,

I want to start off by telling you that I find you really attractive, one of the best looking guys I know. You make me laugh, more than anyone else. You know how to make me feel better when I'm having a bad day.

I love the way you make me tea when I'm sad. Even if you can't make a cup of tea for shit. I love the way you always know what to do to make me feel better, whether that be a hug or just taking me out for the day, it's like you always know what I need and I love that about you.

I love how you always call me and facetime me when you go away to film, how it always seems to be that you're thinking about me. How you always text me emoji's at random times of the day if you have nothing else to say, just so I know you're thinking of me.

I love how much you look after me, even though I'm not yours to look after. You always make me feel like the most beautiful girl on the planet just by looking at me. You make me feel safe when we're out together, always keeping a close eye on me.

I'm too scared to do this in person so I thought I'd write it in a letter. I think I'm in love with you, I don't want to ruin our friendship by saying it to your face. If you don't feel the same way, please, just rip this letter up and never mention it.

All my love,

Y/N.

Tom smiled as he read the letter, stuffing it back into his gym bag as he shook his head with a laugh.

You'd found yours earlier on in the morning, you'd lost something and were rummaging through your bag when you found it, eyes furrowed as you pulled the letter from the envelope addressed to you.

Y/N,

Where do I start? I suppose I should start by telling you how perfect you are. You really really are, everything about you is perfect and I suppose that's the purpose of this letter. I want you to know how incredible you are to me.

I love the way you smile, it's contagious, makes me smile just to see your pretty one grace your lips. I love how you smile even when you're not happy, how you never try and bring the mood down but I want you to know I see through it. I know when you're not okay and it makes me sad.

I hate when you're not okay, I just want to cuddle you, make everything go away for you. I'd take all of the weight off your shoulders, always and carry it myself. Shit, darling, I think I'd do anything for you.

I love how pretty your eyes are, I get lost in them sometimes. Sometimes I just want to kiss you but I can't because we're just friends. I want to be more, I've always wanted to be more.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm in love with you, I want to tell you in person but I always get too afraid because I always think you can do better than me, you deserve the world and I wish I could be the one to make you happy for the rest of your life.

Love you so much darling,

Tom.

You laughed as you read the letter, studying it carefully as you placed it on your bed. Tom came home from the gym and was thankful he didn't see anyone as he made his way upstairs and hastily into your room, shutting the door as he turned to look at you. You had an amused glint in your eyes.

"You were busy last night." You mused as you held the letter up in his direction.

"So were you." He grinned back as he held his own letter up. "Although I appreciate the sentiment, a few things aren't right in here."

"No? Strange that. This letter doesn't quite seem right."

"No?"

"No, darling was a nickname from a while ago." You laughed.

"Yeah, you're usually much more eloquent. Probably drunken rambling this." He mused back. "Do you think we should tell them?"

"What? That their penmanship needs work?" You laughed as you made your way towards him, arms looping round his neck as his found your waist, pulling you in for a kiss.

**

Harry and Haz both looked like shit when they came downstairs. Harry eyeing the letter's carefully as he sat down, he looked at his brother who looked nothing but amused.

"Good night last night?" Tom asked as you sat next to him on the couch, Tom wrapping an arm around your shoulders and bringing you in closer.

"You were there." Harry said as he gulped down the water Tuwaine had brought in for the hungover lads.

"No, I recall you staying up later than we did." Tom laughed and Haz groaned.

"Tom, keep your voice down."

"Sorry, I'll try and be quieter. I mean, I just hate when you're not okay, I just want to cuddle you." Tom teased as Haz furrowed his brows.

"What the hell are you going on about?"

"You don't remember last night?" Tom asked and Haz shook his head. "You left Y/N a lovely letter, made her morning. Although, I probably should have mentioned that I have a new nickname for her, I haven't called her darling for a while, she's been upgraded to Princess."

"Yeah and Harry?" You mused as the curly haired boy looked at you. "Tom always signs my name off in this cute little way. I also very much enjoy his brews, you outed yourself there mate." You laughed.

"What are you two going on about?" Harry grumbled.

"Maybe those will jog your memories." Tom laughed as the boys picked them up reading through them.

"Who's idea was this?" Harry said, brows furrowed. "This looks nothing like Y/N's writing, it's obviously mine."

"Well I wouldn't have come up with something so ridiculous." Haz said, tossing the letter back on the coffee table.

"If you want pointers for next time, I'll happily lend you the letter I actually sent Y/N a couple of months ago." Tom shrugged and the boys narrowed their eyes at the two of you.

"Wait a second, are you two?" Harry cut himself off.

"Yeah, I told her months ago I was in love with her. Nice try though boys, I appreciate the sentiment." Tom grinned as he leant down to capture your lips in his. "Besides, when you went to put that letter in my gym bag did you wonder at all why I wasn't in bed?" Tom teased.

"No! I don't even remember doing it."

"Harry, on what planet would you think that was ever going to work?"

"Me? This has your drunken stupidity written all over it." Harry fired back, completely lost in their own argument as you and Tom were lost in each other.

[jointimeandspace]

Headcannon: What if Alcina and her darling had a baby? Warning: Fluff, fluff, fluff! Mentions of Postpartum.

I Love Your Body, Even If You Don't (SFW)

While growing up you had always wanted children. Despite them being messy, you absolutely adored them and would do anything to see them smile and giggling. You were the oldest out of four children-living conditions weren't easy, but you and your family were happy. Being the oldest sibling sometimes feels like being a second, and/or third parent...just ask Bela; you on the other hand were happy to help your mother and father and were thrilled when they announced your siblings over the years. The love you had for your family only increased, which caused you to want to start one of your own.

After yours and Alcina's union, you discussed it with her. At first Alcina was apprehensive (considering certain things that have happened), but she felt a change was needed to the castle. She wanted to know what it would be like having a baby around since her three oldest ones didn't have much of a childhood, nor did she as a matter of fact. After a few months of planning and discussions with the girls, the decision was final: they would arrange a plan with Mother Miranda.

It took over another year to test out all the necessary medicines and procedures, and there were many failed results. It seemed all hope was lost and you nearly gave up. After about the 100th procedure, a "positive" finally showed itself. You and Alcina were ecstatic and couldn't wait to make the announcement.

"Please do not celebrate so soon," Miranda said. "We still have to monitor you for at least another month so that we may be absolutely sure."

"Of course, Mother, we understand. However, I have a good feeling about this one," Alcina said.

One month turned into three, three turned into five, and your belly was practically about to burst at the end of the eighth month mark. You were overjoyed and a little nervous, but you remembered the love that your parents showered on you and your siblings and it helped eased your mind immensely-only a few weeks left--or a few minutes; the baby was early and ready to go. You were not prepared at all!

Time Skip- Four months later

"Aw, Mama! Annette is so big already. She's probably going to be as tall as mother," Daniela cooed at her baby sister.

"Dear heavens, I hope not! I refuse to be the shortest in the family," you rolled your eyes as you faked annoyance.

Daniela stroked the baby's face, lost in her pretty eyes. "Mama, I really don't think you have a choice. She's already wearing nine month sizes at 4 months, but it will be cute to be able to pick you up," Daniela grinned. "You could be our own little baby."

You laughed. "No, ma'am! As long as I'm the parent, the only babies will be you and your sisters. Now you go and have fun on the hunt. Bela and Cass have been expecting you for some time, I'm sure."

You kissed Daniela on the forehead as you bid her goodnight. She smiled and blew a kiss to the baby, leaving you and baby Annette alone. After feeding her and putting her into bed, you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, and any small glimmer of joy you had had gone out the window. You were always a curvy woman, but after giving birth you gained a bit more weight than you intended. Post-partum hit you like a brick that first week and it was hell. Constant crying, anxiety and depression, thoughts of self harm, maybe two hours of sleep a night, you really went through it all. The birth wasn't traumatic in any sense, but no one prepared you for the emotions and weight fluctuations that followed soon after- on top of that, Alcina unfortunately had meetings out the roof and was hardly home to help. Luckily the girls stepped in this past week for a day or two to help you catch up, but it wasn't enough.

"How are you feeling, draga?"

Alcina came up behind you and gave you a soft kiss on the lips. She looked concerned and wanted to comfort you.

" I'm conflicted, Alci. On one hand I'm so happy to have Annette with us, on the other..." you sighed. "Her birth wasn't traumatic, it was quite peaceful, so why do I feel so helpless, so worn out?"

Alcina kissed you again and led you to bed, wrapping you in her arms.

"I've gained so much weight, Alci. I feel ill and I can't stand to look at myself. When you tried to be romantic with me after Miranda gave us the ok, I thought I was ready, but I couldn't...I just felt...unattractive. I'm so sorry! I was tired and still feel that way. I know it feels like I was rejecting you and it probably made you angry..maybe that's why all those meetings."

"My love, birth is a wonderful and stressful process. I will admit, that it was rather selfish of me to assume that you would be ready to resume the sexual side of our relationship, but I received a reality check: I've never gone through a birthing process. I don't know what it's like to push pounds of a human out of my body, or go through feeling undesirable because my body isn't the same as it used to be. However, please know this: I'm very happy to have had a baby with you. I'd go through it all over again. And I could never be upset with you, especially if you aren't feeling well. As for the meetings, they unfortunately always show up at the worst possible time."

She tilted your chin up to make you look at her.

"You are so strong, so brave to have done this. You are a wonderful lover and a wonderful mother to our girls. That in my eyes makes you very attractive. And although you may not love your body as it is now, I do. It birthed our baby girl and carried her for months. You took your time making her so perfect for us, even though she decided that time was taking too long."

You both laughed. Annette was a stubborn one, but she reminded you of Alcina. She was absolutely perfect!

"Your body is beautiful to me, draga. Those beautiful curves, the roundness of your tummy, those warm, delicious thighs-your breasts are swollen and full with milk that I know you use to satiate our child's hunger. It's beautiful to see you bond with her that way. She adores you as I do. I know you want to get your body back in shape, but for now it must rest. If you decide to wait 3 weeks, 3 months, or 3 years, I will love you all the same. Mental health is just as equally important as body health and I want you to remember that. There is no need to stress your pretty self into a frenzy."

She gave you another kiss to your forehead. For the first time in two months, you actually felt happy. You were grateful to have your family, and you intended to shower them with affection as your parents had done to yours.

"Alci?"

"Yes, pet?"

"I'm so glad you still think I'm hot."

Alcina snorted with laughter, "Yes, yes I do."

"Good!" You kissed her lips and her hands. After settling under the covers and turning out the lights, your turned to her.

"Alcina? You are so warm and such a comfort. This is going to be a long journey for me since motherhood is relatively new, but with you and our girls by my side, I can achieve anything. I'm so ready for the long road ahead, no matter what happens!"

Alcina smiled. "Thank you, iubirea mea! Good night, and may sweet dreams find their way to you."

One final kiss, and the two of you drifted off happily and sleepily under the moonlight, dreaming of your upcoming adventures.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

I know you’ve talked about how all the Cullen pairings are eventually going to implode - glad someone said it - but I was wondering if you wanted to talk a little bit about what you think Meyer INTENDED with the pairings - tropes and whatnot? And what you think would have to change in her narrative to make what was intended what we actually saw on the page? Or — what do you think each cullens’ Perfect Spouse would actually look like?

Anon is referring to this post.

And well, you've certainly given me quite the challenge.

Some Musing Ramblings Before We Begin

Sort of like asking me to make Dramione work, I'm not sure I'm the person to ask this. Anyone who reads my work knows that... well, that's a lie, every story I secretly write is a love story. But it's not Twilight in any way shape or form.

Twilight simply isn't a story I would set out to write. This isn't a good thing or a bad thing, it just is, which means that asking me to make Twilight work the way Meyer intended is probably not your best bet.

But I'll try regardless, it's what we're here for.

Bella/Edward

Meyer intended Bella Swan and Edward Cullen to be the best and brightest of all the pairings in Twilight. They have the love and devotion of Carlisle and Esme, the physicality and sexual attraction of Rosalie and Emmett, and are such a grand love that even depressed Marcus takes note. This is the love story that drives the entire series.

Edward is an improvement upon Carlisle, a Carlisle with even better control, and the most beautiful man you ever did see. He's also a gentleman, a man of his time and from an era where chivalry was alive and men courted women. Bella is one of those disturbingly altruistic people who makes you feel bad about yourself just by being in the same room. She's incredibly selfless, kind, and also quite brave.

Together, despite their ups and downs and the many obstacles in their way, they're disgustingly perfect.

However, that's not what we get. On Edward's end he's... Edward about loving Bella. On Bella's end, she has no idea who Edward even is but she does know he's beautiful and special.

And to get what Meyer actually wanted... Christ, Anon, I'll try.

So, the first problem, if Edward was truly a good person then Twilight would never happen.

Edward would have his first day of Biology, miraculously maintain control, and flee to Alaska as he does in canon. However, he would not return. Edward in canon returns due to his budding obsession as well as his wounded pride, in fleeing Forks he feels he has lost to Bella. When Carlisle later points out that a girl's life is on the line, that Edward is foolishly endangering this girl solely for his ego, Edward refuses to acknowledge this.

A good man would never have returned from Alaska, the Cullens would have moved in short order, and Bella may or may not have died in a parking lot or in Port Angeles.

That said, what if Bella is not, in fact, Edward's singer? Then there's not this constant debate of him eating her or his creepy, budding, obsession with his personal brand of heroin.

Well, the trouble with that is that Edward would then never notice her. Even were Edward not a colossal dismissive dick, required per this ask, Bella is one mortal out of many and someone he shouldn't grow close to. Associating with her just exposes her to unnecessary danger from him and his family. Edward is a guest in our world, nothing more, and a kind Edward might chit chat with her in Biology but even if he had a growing crush he'd keep his distance.

As he tried and failed to do in canon, actually.

Basically, change Edward alone, and it's not enough. The Edward Meyer wanted would never get together with Bella. At least, not without a lot of AU-sauce.

But let's look at Bella for a moment. Bella's character also has to be entirely stripped down. The Bella of the books is extremely depressed and her infatuation with Edward is fueled in part because of this. Edward's obsession with her gives her worth.

Obviously, in this new and improved edition of Twilight, Bella can't use either Edward or Jacob for validation. She has to be able to stand on her own two legs. If she does use either for validation, then the relationship must come to an end, as she and her significant other realize just what it is Bella's doing.

The trouble is, what does this not-depressed Bella have to fall in love with? Yes, Edward's beautiful, and that certainly goes a long way, but in canon he's a dick. Bella even thinks to herself that he's a complete dick (even when he's trying to be charming). Luckily for Edward she later decides that this is cryptic and therefore appealing.

Well, in AU land, Edward might be so damn charming that Bella likes him anyway but we come back to Edward keeping her at a polite distance.

So, what we need is a terrifying villain. Let's call him Angelus (though per Twilight this would probably be James). Angelus is a vampire that will force Edward's hand. For whatever reason, he decides to torment and ruin Bella's life, ending the hunt in either eating her or turning her into his bride. Angelus' existence forces Bella to be in the know and for Edward to have to take extreme action.

The pair become closer, grow through undoubtedly horrific trauma, and through said trauma Bella understands not only the pros of being a vampire but the terrifying cons.

Basically, it'd be this story. Just replace the name "Carlisle" with Edward and "Edward" with James.

Alice/Jasper

Alice and Jasper are supposed to have this ineffable, mystic, connection where they're together because... Alice saw them together. And in a way, that's true, but it's supposed to be a thing of beauty, soulmates if there ever were any, and instead it's this dumpster fire with nothing holding them together.

This one's easier in a way, well, sort of. Alice would have to be a completely different character and we'd have to see a lot more of Jasper.

Alice has a bad habit of treating those around her, even those she loves, as chess pieces. She'll put them in significant danger, court their misery, so long as it gets her the future she wants.

And she's extremely controlling.

Right away in the opening of Midnight Sun we see this and how it affects her and Jasper's relationship. The novel opens with Alice hovering, scanning the future for Japser fucking up, while Jasper just sits there in misery. Due to her obsession on making sure Jasper doesn't eat students, she actually misses Edward's plan to massacre Biology and his many plans to eat Bella Swan.

Even if she wasn't, this isn't good for anyone to live with. Jasper has very little concept of free will, whatever happens to him, whatever he'll do, Alice tells him and the worst possible option is always on the table.

For Jasper/Alice to work either Alice's gift needs to go (and that's... sort of all Alice is) or she has to tell no one any vision ever unless under extreme circumstances.

Which would be devastating for Alice. Rather than this mostly well-adjusted, perky, girl, Alice would be crippled by her gift. The weight of the world, everyone's free will, rests on her shoulders and she has to constantly avoid temptation to simply pick everyone's future for them.

Without the attitude Alice has in canon, I think she'd go mad with such a gift, or else be consumed by the responsibility of it.

Then we get to the mess that is Jasper. Jasper's complicated, and I don't want to get into it here, but his love story would have to be... too large to be put to the side like that. The redemption he'd need is not one that can be shoved into a few paragraphs told to Bella, it's frankly the kind of story that would drive an ordinary story.

So we'd have to see a lot of Jasper and Nouveau Alice. Which, of course, detracts from Bella/Edward which is the main point of the story.

Honestly, I take it back, there's no salvaging this relationship. They would have to be completely different people to the point where they're entirely different characters wearing nametags 'Alice' and 'Jasper'. Alice couldn't have her gift, which informs her entire character, and we'd have to see way too much of Jasper who is ultimately a tertiary character.

Carlisle/Esme

Thoughts on Carlisle/Esme.

Carlisle and Esme is a very 'spiritual' relationship per Meyer. They're... mom-bot and dad-bot. Alright, fine, they're the perfect parents with this deep love for each other and a very parental bond with Edward especially. It's the relationship Edward admires the most in his paired off family.

I don't even know how to fix this one.

Again, they'd have to be such different people. The trouble with Esme and Carlisle is that they share no values and are plagued by massive miscommunication. The Carlisle who is perfect for Esme... No, wait, this Carlisle is perfect for her, but that's because she's in Esme Land.

The Carlisle that would be perfect for a grounded Esme is not the one that exists. She'd want someone who would always put the family first, who would treasure her above all other things, that's not Carlisle.

Carlisle, similarly, would want someone that truly shares his ideals. That's not Esme.

So, we're back to nametag land, because one or both have to completely change for this to work. (Not to mention that Esme's probably not supposed to be Esme).

So, I've got nothing for this.

Rosalie/Emmett

I actually think these two are what Meyer intended. They love each other but are mostly held together by attraction. They're a very physical couple and good for the most part but inherently lesser than Bella/Edward.

Sure, I'd argue that they're the most put together couple in the house, but I think they're meant to have flaws. They work well together, but every other relationship in the Cullens has to be a step up or at least have something more to it.

Something Edward and Bella can be better than.

Conclusion

Dear god. Did I only manage to somewhat address Bella/Edward? Was that it? This was worse than I thought.

[aryareyes]

Title : Happiness

Pairing : Gruvia

Summary : Basically a gruvia family fluff. (Because I really needed to read or write something of them).

Enjoy your reading!

*

If you asked Gray who's his most favorite person in the world, he would've said « Juvia » without an ounce of hesitation. Because, yes, she was his world, his light (even if he won't say that to her). She was the person he loved the most and she'd always be his favorite.

But all these beliefs were crashed down when he realized that he could no more say that Juvia was his absolute favorite, that he could love someone as much as loved her (or a little bit more). And that too before even meeting the said person.

He realized it the day he held his little princess for the first time. She was too tiny that Gray almost flipped that she'll slip through his arms. She was crying and when he carried her in his arms (after Juvia convincing him that he won't drop their baby), he held her gently and delicately too afraid to do any movement.

The crying girl opened wide her deep ocean blue eyes, just like his Juvia and smiled. Actually smiled. The emotion he felt that very instant was nothing like he ever felt in his twenty-five years of existence. He could still feel his knees go wobbly, his arms shaky and tears forming in his eyes as he held the life that he and his wife created together. Their daughter. Their everything. He didn't even mind Juvia liking her more than him, because common how can he be jealous of her? Of his cute little princess? She was so pure and so beautiful and the moment she laid eyes on him, Gray promised himself to always protect her and never let her feel any kind of pain. Yep. As hard as it was to believe, the great Gray Fullbuster was nothing but a total softie around his precious snowflake.

Which is why, Gray was lied on the ground with a big smile as his princess sat on his chest, her little hands gripping his cheeks and hair in a comical way. When she got the grimace she wanted from her father, her musical laugher filled the room and Gray laughed with her, his heart filling with love for his daughter.

He heard a clic and both father and daughter glanced over to find Juvia with a camera lacrima. She removed it from her face with a bright smile as she looked at her loves. Her baby squealed happily raising her arms up expectantly at her mother. (She was four months old and she couldn't crawl). Juvia almost melted at the sight and hurried toward them not minding the toys all over the floor. When she was at Gray's reach, he grinned and pulled her leg making her fall and caught her in an arm as he held the baby in his other arm. Juvia only gasped before she found herself staring at her husband's handsome face.

Even after having a child with her, he's always the handsome young man she met years ago. If so he's become even more handsome, like right now, he'd his hair held back with a band as it was a little bit longer, his eyes held the same warmth and love and his lips were sexier. Juvia was sometimes jealous of him, her body changed a lot with the pregnancy and even after losing weight after the childbirth, she still felt bigger and sensitive—very sensitive. But her Gray-sama was attractive and alluring as usual, any woman would stop and look at him when they walked out on the streets.

- " Boop." She got out of her trance surprised as Gray tapped her nose with a finger, a smirk tugging on his lips as his arms shifted around her.

- " Quite checking me out Wat'drop, even if I'm quite an irresistible sight."

She rolled her eyes with a smile as he placed a kiss on her cheek. Their baby protested, and Gray lifted an eyebrow.

- " See, she doesn't like you checking me out, she wants me all herself."

- " You mean she wants me to herself," she mumbled before smiling at their baby and taking her in her arms, she kissed her cheeks and face. Their little girl giggled, as Juvia lied down on his chest with his princess in her arms.

Juvia glanced up at him again then, a pout on her face. "And you're mine— no ours, right baby? Dad is ours, isn't he?" The little girl nodded her head making her blue curls bounce around her face as if she understood her mother's words.

Gray laughed softly, cupping her cheeks, "Of course, I'm all yours Yuki," he winked at his wife, "Not mama's..." His eyes trailed to Juvia's playful glare and he decided to play along. "She got me enough for years, I'm bored but now that you're finally here, I'm all yours."

With that he took Yuki in his arms and lifted her up with a grin as the little girl squealed and battled her legs asking for him to do it again and again. Juvia, lying on her side, could only watch them with a beautiful smile. Ever since he held her in his arms, her Gray-sama was under the spell of her snowflake. She was kinda proud of her daughter, because she needed three years of chasing to make the man fall for her while Yuki made him fall in an instant, with a simple smile. She sometimes would wonder how would he react when his little snowflake grow up and boys around her.

- " What're you thinking about?" Gray asked as Yuki was now, lying on his chest, eyes closing sleepily. She smiled.

- " You're always so natural with her, Juvia won't get enough of seeing both of you together."

Gray's mouth stretched in a soft smile as his eyes fell on his daughter. Juvia chuckled softly, caressing her daughter's back lovingly . " She's you wrapped around her little finger..." her smile tuned into a pout, " I needed three years to achieve it, not fair."

Gray let out laugh, " Who said you've me wrapped around your finger? Don't dream Juvia." That earned him a smack in ribs. He groaned. He forgot  how strong she was.

- " Sleep on the couch, Gray Fullbuster. Or go and hug your daughter, you've forget about me anyway."

- " Seriously, you're jealous of our daughter?" He teased.

- " No. I can't be jealous of her... she's too cute, I can understand you." She frowned.

- " But?" Gray raised an eyebrow as he knew something was her mind. Juvia just sighed and crossing his eyes briefly. "Nothing Gray-sama." With that she kissed his head and Yuki's head before getting up and making her way to their room.

Gray watched her walk away raising an eyebrow as he decided to carry the sleeping Yuki to her room and talk to his wife after.

...

Juvia came out of the bathroom just as he closed their bedroom, leaving a steam behind her. Gray's eyes lingered on her body for a moment as she was only wearing his t-shirt with her wet hair falling on her back freely. He teared his gaze off her with great difficulty as he reminded himself that they should talk.

Seeing Juvia making her way to the dressing table, he trailed his feet to her. Arms crossed, he leaned on the nearest wall as he watched her brush her hair.

- " Juvia, what's in your mind?" He asked. She caught his gaze on the mirror and opened her mouth to answer but he knew her too well by now. "Don't say nothing."

She closed her mouth without a word and he set his eyes on her.

- " So? "

- " You'll think it's silly." She mumbled after a moment, not meeting his stare.

He rolled his eyes in response, " After all this time, I'd like to think that I'm used to you being you and it's not silly. Nothing about you is silly." She looked up at his honest answer and he gave her a smile.

- " Mind to tell me what's happening in that head of yours?"

She turned to face him, leaned against the dresser. " You look very handsome."

Gray raised a teasing eyebrow with a smirk. " Thanks? I know I'm a knockout."

She huffed.

- " Alright. I'm lost here. I won't understand if you don't explain me, Waterdrop."

She sighed. " Juvia's big and her body's changed a lot since the pregnancy. You're still the same and woman doesn't even have idea that you're a father when you walk in streets. And even if they knew they won't mind."

Gray took a moment to process before he broke the silence.

- " Wow. That's a load of crap." She looked up blinking back the moist of her eyes only to catch his firm, intent gaze.

He closed the distance between them in a few steps and wrapping an arm around her, he looked down at her.

- " From when are you thinking like this? "

She shrugged casting her eyes down.

- " Do you regret being pregnant?" He asked though he knew her answer.

- " No! Why would Gray-sama think that!? Juvia loves her baby and won't ever regret her baby or him!!" She exclaimed tears glistening in her eyes.

Gray smiled, " I know Juvs."

- " Who said you were big and not beautiful? " He placed a chaste kiss on her lips. " If you'd ask me, you're even more beautiful, and sexier now. And I'm sure every male thinks that when you walk on the streets of Magnolia even if I don't like the idea." He murmured.

- " Gray-sama thinks so?" She crossed his eyes, hopeful.

He nodded kissing down her mouth, "Hmm...you were glowing since you were pregnant, and now even after giving birth, you still look stunning."

He looked up giving her the loving smile that he only reserved for her. "You're perfect, Juvia Fullbuster."

She smiled widely at her surname, she loved it when he called her with his name. She felt like she was his—she was his but she loves to be called his and he knew it.

She wrapped her arms around his neck looking up at him lovingly as he kissed her cheek.

- " As for other woman looking at me, you don't have to worry, I'm all yours. I didn't even know that they looked at me until you pointed it out." He mumbled the last part to himself.

She giggled when he lifted her in his strong arms. "You just have to share me with Yuki just like I've to share you with our little princess." He lifted an eyebrow at her smirking, " Is that okay with you? "

She pretended to think, " Juvia doesn't see any objections of sharing you with our baby, Gray-sama."

Gray chuckled, sitting on the bed with her on his lap.

- " But, you stated something about being mine, does it count even when Juvia's old, ugly with stretch marks and grey hair ?"

- " Especially at that time Waterdrop." He kissed her nose as she ran her fingers in his hair.

- " I love you, Gray-sama." He looked up as he heard his favorite words from her. No matter how many times she tells it, his heart will always hammer in his chest.

- " I love you too, Juvia." He was proud that he could finally say those words after years of struggling. The first time he said them to her was after a battle, when she woke up after falling unconscious in his arms during the battle. He could still remember him clutching her tightly to him as he trembled of fear. His fears and nightmares were coming back at him as he was reminded of the memory of her dying form in the battlefield. If there's one thing that he feared the most in his life was to lose his amazing family.

- " Gray-sama?" Juvia held his cheek as he'd tightened his arms around her unconsciously.

He blinked back and shook his head at her reassuringly, he knew she was here with him and now, he'd his daughter and he'd do anything to protect his family. He smiled at his beautiful wife.

- " Can Juvia ask you something and you need to answer honestly?" She asked then.

Gray frowned cutely, " Am I in trouble?" Juvia chuckled softly, caressing his cheekbones.

When he nodded, she trailed,

- " Why haven't you touched Juvia ever since Yuki was born if you think she's beautiful?" Her voice was too low and she almost breathed the last part as her eyes fell on the bed.

Gray blinked, slightly taken aback from the question but decided to give her a honest answer as he promised.

Lifting her face up, he made her look at him as he stared into her blue orbs. " When you were in labor, you were hurting and I had to look at you in pain without doing anything..." she shook her head slightly but he trailed sighing, "And I couldn't help but be guilty that I've put you into this. So, I decided to give you some time for yourself."

She cupped his face smiling at him lovingly. " Gray-sama, having the chance to bear your baby is one of the best things that happened to Juvia, aside from marrying you. Juvia would go through more pain again if she's to be the mother of your child."

Gray looked at his woman and couldn't help but feel lucky to have her, to be able to call her his. Because this amazing woman entered his life and poured her unconditional love on him and managed to make his boring life, worth to live. She gave him her heart and soul and showed him that he can hope a future too. He wanted to punch his younger self for making her wait so long screw his reasons and fears. He loved her and he wanted to grew old with her, spend every second of his life with her.

Without a word he turned, making her fall under him as he hovered over her. " I held myself from jumping you for almost an year. I'm warning you. I'm not holding back this night."

Juvia's eyes darkened in desire as she looked into his eyes, the same way she looked at him in their intense moments. " Don't hold back." Her lips then trailed from his forehead to his eyes. He let her do as her lips traced their way to his cheek and ear which she kissed. " I want you, Gray-sama."

Gray turned his head swiftly and kissed her lips hard, making her gasp at the intensity of his kiss. Damn right, he loved her and he was going to show her just how much he loved her.

...

Waking up from his slumber, Gray watched his beautiful wife curled up against him, face buried in his chest, her breath on his naked chest. He sighed with a smile as his hands found her hair and back caressing it. He kissed her head and pulled her closer to him, chuckling softly when she clung to him like a koala. 

- " You were not joking when you said you won't hold back." Came her muffled voice, he laughed more and couldn't help but to be proud. "Juvia's sore." 

He frowned, "Are you hurt?"

She lifted her head up smiling at him brightly. " Not much, plus it's a good kind of hurt." He smirked at her and he kissed her lips softly when she blushed under his gaze.

- " I missed you." He confessed then.

- " Juvia missed you more."

- " Wanna show me how much you missed me?" He leaned in, hands making her back shiver.

But they were interrupted by a crying sound. Juvia laughed.

- " Looks like your daughter missed her mom more." With a last kiss on his lips, putting on the first thing she found while Gray watched her do with a grin, she headed out of their room.

Few minutes later, she was back with his princess in her arms, clad only in his t-shirt from last night. Their little girl stretched out her arms for him and squealed in delight as soon as she saw him and Gray grinned, crawling to the other side of the bed as his wife sat on the bed.

With a chuckle he watched his snowflake wiggle out of her mother's arms to him and he eagerly held her kissing her chubby cheeks. Juvia tickled her baby as she laughed with her and Gray found himself laughing along with them as he leaned against the headboard. Juvia leaned in his arms soon as their little girl continued to play between them.

His gaze moved from their daughter to his wife, the woman who gave him this amazing life. He looked at her fondly as his entire being screamed his unconditional love for her. She must've felt his eyes on her as she caught his eyes, he just continued to stare at her conveying feelings that can't be described with words and gave her his best happy smile to her. Juvia smiled back her loving smile that she reserved only for him as she intertwined their hands together. He squeezed back and they looked down at their hands as their daughter caught their intertwined hands in her little ones smiling a toothy grin at them.

*

Find more of my fanfics on Wattpad : Arya_Reyes.

https://www.wattpad.com/user/Arya_Reyes

[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.

[wesimpforxiao]

Inception Chapter 2

"Excuse me, may I have your mask?"

It's a strange question to ask an off-duty Fatui agent who was just hoping to go home and get a good-night's rest.  You'd have to admit if it weren't for the fact that he was Fatui, you'd feel bad for the tired expression that was so blatantly obvious through his slouched posture as he walked to his apartment.

It was late at night and since it takes you forever to feel the call of sleep even as you lay in bed, it was the perfect opportunity to put that leftover energy to use.  What better way than to inconvenience the Fatui as their shifts end?

"Excuse me? Why do you wan-" The man turned around, and the familiar voice had your blood boiling.

"Oh, so it's you," you cooed, half mockingly, and half threatening.  This was the man Zhongli had talked about awhile back, and he was more than rude to Zhongli and Aether (who you only met once).  This guy's the perfect target for tonight's mischief.  "Good evening, Kliment.  Let me ask you again.  May I have your mask?"

"What the hell are you on about?  No, you can't 'have' it.  Get lost lady, it's dangerous for small things like you to be walking around alone this late."  He would've turned on his heel and storm away, but hesitated since the petite girl before him was dressed in black and not an inch of your skin or significant features could be seen.  "Wait a second.  You're that bitch that's been--"

"I'd prefer a cooler name than that," you interjected calmly despite the growing heat on your skin.  "Can't you guys come up with better nicknames?  Not all of you lack creativity from what I've seen.  Mask, now."

"Screw off, brat."  Kliment unhooked his mask from his hip and put it on in preparation for a brawl.  "I don't hold back against chicks like you."

"Generic. Cliché.  Uninspiring," you rolled your eyes with a lack of interest.  "Seriously, you have the audacity to be rude towards the people you hire, yet you lack enough common decency to resort to these awful nicknames? Honestly," the clink of your minute dagger unsheathing caught the man's attention.  You had never really needed to use it against anyone, but you displayed it nonetheless--just in case you felt a tad threatened, and you never were.  "All I'm after is your mask."

"You've more than pissed all of us off with your antics.  Go to hell!"  Kliment charged at you with his fist.  You sidestepped and let him fall forward.  Then your elbow landed at the base of his skull, and he crumpled to all fours.

"For a Fatui agent, you're pretty weak," you whispered as you tore the mask from his face.

"You stupid little-!"  Kliment pushed himself to his feet and spun around to swing at you, but he was met with empty space and silence.  How did she even disappear like that?!  Annoyed that his night was ruined, he stormed back the way he came--back to Northland Bank.

Childe was listening to his agent's report in the bank's lobby when someone loudly burst through the doors with such a force, he thought someone had finally become brave enough to pick a fight with him.  But to his disappointment, he was met with yet another pissed-off agent.  He'd seen this guys before...what was his name again? Clyde? Cliff?  

"Master Childe!"  The man stomped towards the harbinger with a reddened face.  "That bi-"

"If you're going to greet me, I suggest you do it properly," the stern look in Childe's eyes was enough to snap Kliment back to his senses and realize just who he was talking to.  The agent that was relaying her report immediately silenced herself.

"M-my apologies, sir."  Kliment bowed--a bit rushed-- before resuming his rant.  "That...That vigilante is still here.  Why aren't you doing anything about her?  We thought you were going to deal with this--"

Another glare, this time enough to silence the entire room.  "Does anyone here have objections to the way I'm choosing to deal with this matter?"

Silence. And it was tense.

Childe slowly scanned the room and made a point to hold eye contact with each agent present.  "You've seem to forgotten that this matter was supposed to be taken care of by your lot.  If it weren't for the disappearances that may or may not be linked, I wouldn't be wasting my time here helping you."

Kliment scoffed, "You've been back for three months and we still haven't made any progress, even with you!"  He half-expected to have angered the harbinger, but to his horror, the man chuckled.

"Is that so?"  Childe walked towards him, head held high and eyes downcast in a condescending manner.  The air around him could've crackled with electricity from how frightening the sight was.  He was eerily calm, steady, balanced--yet the deadly spark in his eyes and the upward twitch of his lips dared Kliment to test him.  "If you truly wish to settle this matter then by all means, come at me.  Fight me man-to-man, and I'll show you a bit of respect.  Your words mean nothing to me unless you've proven yourself in battle."  His hand slapped onto Kliment's shoulder a little too hard, and the man flinched.  

If a pin dropped, everyone would hear it right now.

Childe took it a step further and leaned forward until he was at Kliment's ear.  "But considering you got your ass handed to you by a woman with no proper training or fighting skills, it might be wise to stand back and let me handle the load."

Kliment shrugged the hand off his shoulder and bit his tongue.  As much as he hated it, his superior was right.  He was so tired after a long day, he let a girl get the best out of him.  "Mark my words, I'll catch her."

"Hahaha! I'm sure you will."

.......................

"Annnnnd another one bite's the dust."  The mask was tossed into a bag the second you entered your studio apartment.  Then the bag was lazily kicked back under your bed before you threw yourself onto the mattress.  "Ugh, I'm tired now."

You absently stare at the ceiling as your lids steadily grew heavier.  'Kliment,' huh?  From Zhongli's story, he probably deserved more than an elbow to the back of his head.  Or his mask stolen.  That would be a task for another night. Until then, you'll surrender to the melodies of the crickets outside your window.

....................

"Ajax!"  A high-pitched voice made him look to his right only to be confronted by you.  A wary survey of his surroundings confirmed none of the Fatui were nearby.

He plastered a smile on his face as usual.  "Greetings, Reed!"  The two of you had run into each other a few times by now, occasionally inviting the other on a short walk or to the nearest café before returning to work.  He knew the drill by now.  You'd ask about his day, and he would lie.  You'd ask how his business was going, and he would lie.  You'd ask for stories after you had parted from Snezhnaya, and he would lie.  Slowly but surely digging himself a deeper grave while simultaneously beginning to feel a familiar warmth in his heart for you.

Make no mistake, he constantly reminded himself, this is just a temporary attraction.  It wouldn't work between us.  Yet he still heard that small voice at the back of his that wondered what would happen if he did catch feelings for an old friend, and caught himself looking forward to when he'd see you next.

"How's your week been going?  I've been pushed over the edge with the workload.  Apparently there was an accident west of here and there was a lot of casualties."  Despite the warm smile on you lips, the grief from your eyes bled into it.  

"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that."  Wait.  A lightbulb went off in his head.  Why didn't he think of asking you this sooner?  "Did they happen to be Fatui?"

He caught the subtle twitch in your brow, and your lips curled downward.  "Fatui? No, they're rare customers.  It was a mining accident; a lot of people were injured."  Childe could almost feel your gaze crawl over him, and he couldn't help but think you finally connected the dots.  Had he covered his trail thoroughly enough?  "Why did you suddenly ask about them?"

Surely it wouldn't hurt to test your reaction.  "Hm?  Well, word on the street is some Fatui agents have gone missing recently.  I was just curious if any had turned up dead."

"Really? I haven't heard anything," you shifted your weight and leaned against a wall, lost in deep thought.  I'm usually really good at overhearing these things.  How did I miss such a huge deal?  Maybe Ajax has resources I can use?  "Who told you these things?"

"A few customers of mine have mentioned it off-hand."  Childe watched for any tell on your movements, but he couldn't read you.  Your lying skills were usually terrible from what he remembered, but now you're giving mixed signals.  "Well, that's enough Fatui talk.  I know you hate them."

"Aww, I'm glad you remember that detail about me," you replied with voice dripping in sarcasm.  "Is that the only memorable thing about my presence?"

"Hm, dunno," a cheeky smile prompted you to scrunch your brows.  "If you really want to know my answer, you'll have to fight me for it."

"Ha, yeah right.  Your opinion of me has yet to have any emotional impact on me.  I don't need to waste my energy to serve your...violent tendencies."

"Ouch," Childe grabbed at his chest and feigned offense.  "Are you challenging me?  'Cuz if you are, I'm more than confident in my abilities to make women fall head-over-heels for me."

He had expected you to blush at his remark, but you instead rolled your eyes.  "As if I'd fall for you now."

"'Now?'"  He moved to block your exit with a hand against the wall.  Childe practically towered over you, but then again, who didn't?  You're so petite--  "Well well well, what does that mean, girlie?"

Feeling your face flush, you lightly pushed him out of the way before he could pick up on your fluster.  "Nothing.  Can we change the subject now?"

There was your readable nature; you'd never fool him for long.  "As you wish," he obliged, seemingly satisfied with your supposed lack of an answer.  "So, do you have any plans for the evening?"

"Tonight?"  Your brows and nose scrunched up as you looked up at him.  You had always met up during the day, and even then, it wouldn't be for long.  It'd more or less be set up like Zhongli's meeting with Ajax the day you happened to tag along.  "Not really...Why?"

"How 'bout a dinner date?"

"We're still on this train of thought?  Enough with the jokes, Ajax!"

"Hey now, I'm serious."

It was a bit difficult to avert your eyes when he stared at you with such determination.  "A 'date' sounds premature, don't you think? We've only recently reconnected and even then, we don't know each other very well.  For all I know you could be planning to kill me in my apartment or something."

"Have it your way, then.  How 'bout dinner without the date?"

"Now that, I can agree to."

...............................

Despite your initial hesitance, you were the one that insisted on cooking and eating at your apartment with Ajax.  The two of you met at Liuli Pavilion before walking back to your place that evening, with Childe being sure he was not recognized by the Fatui; they would surely come up to him and his cover would be blown.  He couldn't afford to let you know he was a harbinger or at least, not until after he finds out where his missing men are and learns more about this hobby of yours according to Zhongli.

That was the excuse, anyway.  Deep down he didn't want to lose the girl he called his best friend in his childhood years.  You were the one that were in his precious memories, before he had fallen into the Abyss, when his innocence was in it's prime.  Sure, you were both different now.  Those childish antics were a thing of the past, and a grown woman stood in little Reed's place while a war-thirsty harbinger stood in his.  You were a stranger to him now and it made him all the more determined to learn more about you--outside of his Fatui duties, of course.  But what if you were involved with his men's disappearances?  He'd have no choice but to take you out.  These thoughts turmoiled his mind until you reached the door of your apartment.

"After you," you gestured before following him in.  

"Nice place you got here."  Childe eyed your small but tidy living quarters with care.  A small kitchen lined the left wall, and a couch separated the kitchen area from the living space.  Your bed cuddled the far wall next to the window that overlooked the main street of Liyue from the second floor.  You shouldn't be letting strangers in so easily.

"It's small and cheap, but it gets the job done."  You rummaged through the fridge and brought out a plethora of ingredients.  Carrots, broth, chicken, potatoes--you'd start off with these first.  Despite Childe's insistence that he'd do the cooking, you managed to compromise and cook side-by-side with him.  That said, you weren't nearly as good of a cook as he was; that was probably the reason why he pushed so hard to be the sole chef tonight.  This would be your chance to show how much you've changed over the years.

Childe joined your right and took a knife out from one of your drawers as if he had lived in your apartment with you all your life.  After handing him a cutting board, he began to chop away at the carrots before placing them in a pot on the island counter behind you.  He was secretly making a mental map of this place, trying to figure out where any clues would be hiding about his men.  You spent your time peeling the potatoes before tossing them in with the carrots.  It was quiet with your occasional humming of some tune Childe hadn't heard before and the clacking of knives against cutting boards.

Once the ingredients were set and everything was ready to be cooked, Childe turned to the stove.  "Oh...You don't have any wood?"  Something like this wouldn't do.  How are you supposed to have a meal if you don't have a fire?

"Nope," you answered as if it was the obvious choice.

"Let me get this straight girlie," he moved next to you with his forearm resting on the cupboard above you.  "You invite me over for a homecooked meal, and your stove isn't even functional?  You really haven't changed all these years."  His teasing attitude was almost immediately wiped off his face when he was met with your snarky expression.

"Like I said earlier, we're still getting to know one another."  Your hand drifted down to your cardigan, and for a second, Childe misread what you were planning to do.  You pulled the fabric away from your blouse and a pyro vision glinted from within it's inner pocket.

Something akin to delight lit up in his eyes.  "So you do have a vision.  Do you--"

"--'Do I fight?' No," you slid by him and put your hand against the metal pot.  "I...choose to use it when it comes to food.  Fire isn't something I want to play with."  Childe was quick to notice the pain that flashed in your eyes but you had blinked it away the moment he recognized it.  Your lips curled upward.  "Funny though, isn't it?  We have visions that are the opposite of each other! What're the odds of that?"

"Dunno," he shrugged, watching as the pot came to a boil within seconds of your hand touching it.  You didn't so much as summon a flame.

"It'll be done in a few minutes.  Feel free to make yourself at home."

Will do.  Childe silently slid into the living room portion of your studio apartment, hands in his pockets and eyes narrowed like an eagle searching for its prey. His steps were light but firm, and he'd occasionally tap the hardwood floor with the toe-end of his boots to check for loose floorboards that might be hiding something--anything, really.  Any dirt he can gather on you, he'd have to find it now.  This might be his only chance, but seeing as how friendly and insistent you were to bring him over and show hospitality, it wouldn't be unlikely to be invited again.

He eyed an empty fireplace that sat opposite of the couch.  It was empty and spotless; it's never been used, and you could go without it thanks to your pyro vision.  A couple paintings were leaned up against the wall on top of the fireplace; they were no larger than his hand in size, but whoever the artist was possessed true talent.  Three figures stood in the image: you, your mother whom he remembered meeting at some point, and your father.

If my memory serves me correctly, he died some point after I met Reed, Childe recalled as his fingers lightly trailed over the image.  He doesn't remember you mentioning the man at all, even all those years ago...

Something drew his eyes to your neatly-made bed.  You were an amateur just as Zhongli and the Fatui agents were able to gather.  You wouldn't be hiding something under your bed, would you? He drew closer--

"Alright, dinner's ready."

Guess I'll check later.  Childe smacked his signature smirk onto his face and blinded you with it.

[hazza-bear-care]

First Time

Summary: Every girl fantasizes how to make her first time amazing, but Y/N never got it. That is until Steve Rogers comes to her rescue.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Virgin!Reader 

Warnings: description of panic attack, SMUT, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), some minor swearing. IF YOU ARE UNDER THE AGE OF 18, PLEASE KEEP SCROLLING. YOU DO NOT NEED TO READ THIS!!!

THIS IS A LONG ONE BOYS! BUCKLE UP!

~~~~~~~~

When she was 16, it seemed like everyone in her school was losing their virginities. It had gotten to the point where Y/N thought she was the only girl in her friend group who hadn’t had sex yet. Her two best friends had managed to lose theirs AND keep their boyfriends, so she thought the same would happen to her. But after graduating high school and college (twice), Y/N was still wondering when she was going to get her perfect first time. 

Her job didn’t help to keep her distracted, though. Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D regularly worked with the Avengers, so Y/N interacted with the most attractive people she had ever seen on an almost every day basis.

“Earth to Y/N! What’s got you so distracted today?” Maria Hill asked as the two walked towards the conference room, data pad tucked beneath her arm as Y/N carried paper files for Steve and Bucky. 

“Huh? Oh, nothing really. I was just... thinking.” Y/N replied, hoping that would be enough to make Maria back off just a little bit.  

“Thinking about what?” Well, that worked.

“Um, can I ask you a personal question?” Y/N asked, stopping in the hallway. 

“Sure, what is it?” The look of concern on Maria’s face almost made Y/N reconsider asking. 

“How old were you when you lo... lost your virginity?” Y/N looked at her heels and shook her knees, trying to distract herself even more. 

“I was 17. I lost it on prom night and if I could take it back, I would. Why?” Y/N was silent, her eyes still not meeting Maria’s as she gnawed on her bottom lip. “You’re still a virgin? Y/N how is that possible?!”

“How is what possible?” A deep voice asked from behind them causing Maria and Y/N to jump. Steve stood in his place, a quizzical look on his face as the two girls in front of him tried to gather themselves. 

“Oh, Captain Rogers! Agent Hill and I were just discussing the mission you’re going on in a few days.” Y/N fumbled, handing Steve the mission highlights in his folder as the three continued to make their way to the conference room. 

“Is that one for Bucky?” Steve asked, gesturing to the other folder in Y/N’s grasp. 

“Yes, it is. I know the two of you aren’t comfortable with technology, so I printed the briefings for you.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you, Doll. Thank you.” The pair shared a smile as Steve excused himself into the conference room. Maria glanced at Y/N, a very big smile on her face. 

“What?” Y/N asked as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, anxious for Bucky to arrive so the meeting can start. She tucked her hair behind her ears as she tried to avoid Maria’s staring. 

“You like him! You like Steve!” 

“Will you be quiet?! You don’t even know if that’s true or not, Maria!” The harsh whispering echoed in the almost silent hallway and Y/N feared that Steve had heard Maria’s accusation through the doors that lead to the conference room. 

“You don’t need to try and hide it, Y/N. Steve is a good choice and from what I’ve heard, he’s GREAT in bed.” Maria argued, giddy at the possibility of her best friend shacking up with Captain America. Maria couldn’t hide her grin further as Bucky’s thundering footsteps were heard echoing down the hallway. 

“Afternoon, ladies,” Bucky greeted as Y/N handed him his file. He took it with a smile and held the door open for the girls as they all entered the conference room. 

~~~~~~

The meeting was so long. Y/N usually loved mission briefings, but she couldn’t stay focused. Every time she looked up from her notepad, Steve’s profile just happened to catch her attention: the sharpness of his jawline accentuating the angles of his nose. Maria cleared her throat which caused Steve to turn his head, catching the most recent glance from Y/N as she blushed and looked down at her notepad. Steve smiled a little at her reaction to being caught staring.

Steve had quite a crush on the newest S.H.I.E.L.D agent: her eyes told a story he’d love to listen to, her hair was always ridiculously shiny and looked like it smelled fantastic, and her curvy figure did nothing to stifle his feelings for her. Y/N was always so innocent, keeping to herself and opting to bury her nose in her work rather than going out and partying. She always took his needs as well as Bucky’s into consideration, especially when it came to teaching them how to adjust to the technology that they couldn’t avoid. She recommended books ranging anywhere from Great Gatsby to the Harry Potter series. The three of them (Steve, Bucky, and Y/N) regularly had movie nights and heated arguments about whether the book was better than the movie. 

Y/N showed the two super soldiers everything she could. They were always together, yet it didn’t seem weird. The only thing that she couldn’t stop were her blossoming feelings for Steve. She was bad at hiding her feelings, but she also knew she couldn’t tell Steve how she felt and risk embarrassing herself forever. 

“Alright, dismissed.” Y/N felt her blood rush cold as Fury dismissed the group. She knew Maria was going to escort Bucky out of the room the first chance she got, but Y/N wasn’t sure if she could handle being alone with Steve.  

Maria and Bucky dismissed themselves to discuss the briefing, leaving Y/N and Steve alone together. Trying to keep her focus on cleaning up papers and coffee mugs that were scattered around the table, Y/N attempted to keep her breathing even. 

“Hey, Y/N, are you okay? You seem kind of flustered today.” She froze. 

“I’m good, Steve. Just.. personal things. Lots of stuff on my mind.”

“Like what?” Y/N didn’t want to have this conversation, especially since Steve and Bucky have a mission to go on in less than three days time, but he asked. 

“Um nothing important, I promise.” Steve wasn’t having it. She was usually so open and honest especially about if there was anything going on in her life. Now she wasn’t talking and all Steve wanted to do was help. 

“Y/N if you tell me, I can probably help.” Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the suggestion. “I don’t understand. Why was that funny?” 

“Oh, Steve, I’m sorry. I just don’t think this is something you can help with.” 

“Oh yeah? Try me, Y/N.” The stern look on Steve’s face was enough to make Y/N’s smile drop to the floor. He was serious, and she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. He wasn’t going to help her with this. 

“I... I can’t tell you. I’m sorry.” And with that, Y/N walked out of the conference room and back to her apartment. 

~~~~~

Y/N had tried to avoid both Steve and Bucky for the next few days, the awkwardness eating her from the inside out. She avoided their phone calls and invites to movie night at the compound. Tony had even sent Happy over to make sure Y/N was still alive when she didn’t show up to work for the third day in a row. 

“Y/N, you can’t keep avoiding them! What happened between you guys?” Natasha asked after showing up to Y/N’s apartment unannounced with three bottles of wine, Wanda and Maria following close behind. 

“I just... ugh I’m so stupid! Nothing would have happened if I hadn’t asked Maria a stupid question!” Y/N wanted to scream; bury her face into a pillow and go until her throat was raw. At least then she’d have a reason not to talk to Steve again. 

“It was a reasonable question to ask, Y/N. And trust me, no one will think differently of you just because you’re a virgin.” As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Maria knew she was in trouble. She had just spilled her best friend’s greatest secret and there was no taking it back. If looks could kill, Maria would be dead ten times over with the glare that Y/N was giving her. 

“You’re a virgin?” Wanda asked softly, testing to see if it was safe to talk again. 

“God! Why not just yell it from the rooftop next time, Maria!” Y/N had barely touched her first glass of wine, but she downed it in about three sips out of frustration. “I never should have said anything. I’d rather die a virgin than keep being made fun of it by my so-called friends.”

“Y/N, shut it. We are your friends and we are NOT making fun of you. We just can’t seem to wrap our minds around how you’re 26 years old and still a virgin. You’re gorgeous. You have an amazing body and you are a complete badass with a weapon. How have you managed to stay a virgin for that long and with the history you have?” Natasha clarified their confusion in a more understandable way, which obviously caught Y/N’s attention. 

“I honestly don’t know. My mom scared me out of doing it when I was in school, but that was mostly due to her fears about me growing up. Then I went to college and just opted to focus on school so I could get the job I loved. I guess I just forgot about it. But now I’m here with an extremely obvious crush on America’s Golden Boy and no way to talk to him about this.” Y/N rested her hands on her face and did everything she could to hold back her tears of stress and embarrassment.  Someone put their hand on Y/N’s back in hopes of comforting her, but she wasn’t one to seek comfort through anyone’s touch. She nudged the hand off of her shoulder and left her small kitchen to pout in her bedroom, the other three women left confused in their places. 

~~~

After a quick phone call to Steve from Natasha, the super soldier was standing outside of Y/N’s apartment. The details of the call were fuzzy, seeing as Natasha only said something along the lines of “Y/N is upset and she needs to see you”. Thinking she was in danger, Steve tried asking for more details, the suitcase for his mission left abandoned on his bed. But Natasha could only request that Steve go to Y/N’s apartment to fix this, which confused the super soldier further. 

With a knock on the door, Steve held his breath as he waited for the girl of his dreams to invite him inside. His heart started racing faster as his enhanced hearing pinpointed the quick footfalls of Y/N as she scurried to the door. The locks clicked and the barrier was pulled open, the slight smile on her face falling immediately. 

“What are you doing here, Steve?” Y/N asked, voice coming out no louder than a whisper. 

“Nat called me and said you were upset. I thought something happened, so I came here as fast as I could. Are you okay?” Steve was masking his panic poorly, the words coming out rushed. 

“I’m fine! How many times do I have to tell you people?” Y/N walked away from the door and threw her hands in the air with exasperation. Steve followed, closing the door behind him and turning the deadbolt. He didn’t even feel safe in this neighborhood. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I made the mistake of telling Maria one of my biggest secrets and now the entire team is worried about me! They keep asking me if I’m okay or if I’ll BE okay. Then she brought over Wanda and Natasha as if she KNEW I didn’t want anyone else to hear, but they had already known! I just don’t know what to do anymore!” Y/N’s breath had quickened as she began hyperventilating, her fingers anchoring themselves in her hair. Tears began streaming down her face as her breathing strains and Steve knew what he needed to do. He surged forward and grabbed Y/N by her shoulders, spinning her until her back was against his chest. He slid down the wall until they were sitting, and his next step was to unravel her hands from her hair. While humming a soft unknown tune, he worked on massaging her wrists until her hands fell away from her head and landed on his forearms. Steve wrapped his arms around her as she finished crying, her fat tears falling against his fingers. 

“Better?” Steve questioned after Y/N’s breathing had evened out. She shrugged. “Gimme a color?” 

“Yellow.” Confused and wants to talk about it, just not yet. Steve nodded, and adjusted his grip, smiling slightly when he felt her dig her nails into his skin. 

“Alright, hon. I’ll be here when you want to talk. Let’s get you some water?” He helped her get off the floor as he found his way to the kitchen. He pulled a bottle of water out from the fridge and twisted the top off before walking back to Y/N. He handed the her the bottle as she made her way to the couch while he chose something to watch. 

“You really wanna know what’s wrong?” Her voice made Steve jump, but he nodded once he was situated in his spot. 

“Of course I want to know. I still think I can help.” 

“I’m a virgin. That’s what Maria and I were talking about before the mission briefing. And then she found out I had a crush on you and just.... took it and ran. Granted I wasn’t trying to hide how I felt, but it still wasn’t her business. I didn’t want to know if you or Bucky had found out and I didn’t want to know what you had to say. I don’t want to lose what we have just because I want to sleep with you....” More tears fell from Y/N’s eyes as she confessed her feelings to Steve. Steve sat speechless at the other end of the couch, eyes glued to her shoulder. 

Steve exhaled, his shocked breath coming out like a groan. When he actually looked back to Y/N, he could see how scared she was. His freezing clearly didn’t do anything to make the moment less terrifying. 

“I knew. A-about the crush at least. Tony kind of clued me into it at my birthday party. I must admit, he kind of made me realize MY crush in the moment as well. But, Y/N, are you absolutely positive that you’d want me to take your virginity?”

“You’re the only one I’d want to. It’s the right choice.” And with that, Steve lunged forward and crushed her lips with his, emotions flooding them both. Adoration, devotion, passion, love overwhelmed their senses as their lips continued to move together, their mouths fitting together perfectly like two puzzle pieces. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Steve commented once they pulled away breathless. Y/N smiled at Steve’s comment, a slight blush on her cheeks. Steve leaned in again, but this kiss was calmer and less rushed. He wanted to savor the moment, etch the feeling of her lips into his mind for all eternity. Wanting to escalate the kiss a little further, Steve licked at Y/N’s bottom lip. She froze, the feeling unnatural and foreign; nonetheless she opened her mouth just enough for Steve’s tongue to slip past her teeth. A small moan travelled from her throat to his mouth which prompted the super soldier to smile into the kiss. 

Out of breath, Y/N broke away from the kiss and stood from her seat, a quizzical look on Steve’s face.

“Can we... gotomyroom?” She mumbled quickly. 

“One more time? I didn’t quite hear you, hon.” Steve mocked, a slight smirk on his face.

Exhaling, Y/N prepared herself to speak again. “Can we go to my room?” 

Steve stood and walked over to Y/N, kissing her deeply as his hands cupped her cheeks. “Lead the way, baby.” 

Y/N’s room was small and scarcely decorated, almost as if she didn’t have enough time to finish it before something happened. There weren’t many knickknacks or tchotchkes, but there were three shelves completely overflowing with books. Steve loved how smart she was, but still couldn’t wrap his mind around how scared she seemed to be in the moment. Y/N had sat down on the bed as if waiting for the man in front of her to make a move, but this time it was Steve who was frozen in his place. 

“Steve?”

“Are you sure about this? I need to hear you say it, Y/N.” The commanding tone in his voice wasn’t one she was unfamiliar with, yet it still sent a delicious tingle between her legs. 

“I’m sure. I want this. Come fuck me, Steve.” The confidence in her voice shocked them both, but Steve didn’t need anymore persuasion. Stepping forward, he all but tackled her to the bed, her small frame trapped and mushed underneath the broad expanse of his chest as their lips met once again. Steve’s fingers travelled under her shirt before fiddling with the plain cups of her bra. Y/N’s breathing stuttered slightly, but she made no effort to remove the warm hand from her breast. A surge of tenacity sizzled through Y/N’s veins as she pulled away from Steve and ripped her shirt over her head. When Steve paused to admire her body, practically drooling at the sight, she dipped her head and began wrapping her arms around her torso.

“No. You don’t have to hide from me, Y/N. You’re beautiful, okay?” Y/N nodded, but still made no effort to remove her arms from her chest. With a sigh and another kiss, Steve worked his fingers under her arms and pinned her wrists above her head. “No hiding.” 

Y/N whimpered softly at Steve’s domination, but she didn’t want him to stop. Steve began trailing kisses down her neck as his other hand snuck behind her to pop her bra open, releasing her wrists for a few seconds to rid her body of the undergarment before pinning her to the bed again. Y/N gasped at the nippy air in her room, mentally damning herself for how cold she liked to keep her room. All previous thoughts evacuated as Steve wrapped his soft lips around one of her nipples, the bud pebbling instantly in his mouth. Y/N whined as Steve sucked and flicked his tongue around her nipple, hissing slightly when his teeth brushed against it. He moved to her other breast, smiling slightly at her panting. Once he chose to stop the torment on her chest, Steve slithered down to her waist. Pausing for a moment, he savored the image of the girl beneath him, the fear in her eyes still very prominent. 

“Do you want me to stop?” Steve asked, his attention glued to Y/N’s eyes as if she were still fully clothed. 

“No. Please don’t stop, Steve.” With that, he continued. He let go of her wrists as he worked the button on her pants open, pulling them off inch by inch and throwing them over his shoulder once they were off completely. He smiled softly at the sight of her blue panties seeing as there was absolutely nothing sexy about them at all. Stuff like that never mattered to Steve, of course, but he found her lack of lace amusing. He left her panties alone, though, opting instead to disrobe himself instead. It was only fair that he match her nakedness before continuing. Once he was left in just his boxers, Y/N felt her cheeks flush at the sight of how big his bulge was. She wasn’t completely inexperienced, but he would be the biggest she had ever seen. 

“Hey. Eyes up here, princess.” Steve gestured to his eyes as he slunk back between her legs, his gaze never leaving hers. He placed a few chaste kisses on her left leg, starting at her knee and trailing up her thigh. He skipped her apex entirely as he repeated his movements on her right leg. Smirking at her whine when he went to kiss her thigh again, he gently tugged her panties to the side, moaning at the sight of her bare pussy. Flicking his eyes up to gauge her reaction, Steve leaned forward and kissed her lower lips twice before sliding his tongue through her folds. Y/N flinched and gasped at the foreign feeling, yet brought one hand down to tangle her fingers in Steve’s blonde hair. Captain America smirked at her reaction and repeated his previous motion with more pressure each time. He isolated her clit between his lips and swirled his tongue around the sensitive nub, causing Y/N to throw her head back in pleasure. He chuckled, the vibrations sending a shiver up her spine as she felt a tightness in her stomach. Steve took advantage of her distraction and slipped a finger inside her tight entrance, his tongue still working furiously on her clit. Once he decided that she could handle it, he pushed another finger into her entrance, a slight sting radiating around her pussy. He pumped his fingers in time to his movements on her clit, curling his fingers upwards twice before Y/N came with a yelp. Steve stayed put, riding her through her high before pulling himself away. 

He stood once more and discarded her panties along with his boxers and crawled back over her body, his face hovering over hers. Y/N could feel his stiff member poking into her thigh as she tried to focus her attention on the man above her and not on the thoughts running through her mind. 

“Y/N, you’ll be okay. Do you trust me?” 

Making eye contact with Steve, Y/N could see that worry was more prominent than lust, his baby blue eyes swimming with conflict. 

“We wouldn’t be here if I didn’t trust you, Steve.” She lifted her head off the mattress and pressed her lips to his, mostly to ease her own nerves rather than his. While they were kissing, Steve’s hand dipped between them to position himself at her entrance, sliding the tip into her tight heat. He resisted the urge to moan at the feeling, opting to focus his attention on her comfort. Y/N had hissed slightly at the feeling, but didn’t break away from the kiss seeing as it was the only thing that was truly distracting her from the pain. Steve’s thumb began circling around her clit as he continued to thrust inch by inch, sheathing himself inside her wet heat entirely. He let her adjust to the foreign feeling before pulling away from the kiss and moving his hips slightly, watching her face the entire time. 

Her eyes were pinched shut and her eyebrows furrowed. Her nostrils flared as she regulated her breathing, slowly but surely relaxing at the feeling of Steve inside her. 

“More.” She whispered as Steve slid out of her pussy almost entirely. He snapped his hips forward and watched as her eyes fluttered and her jaw dropped into a perfect ‘O’. He kept a slow but steady pace, allowing himself to get lost in the feeling of just how tight she was while keeping an ear open for any sounds of discomfort. His strokes hit that spot deep inside her pussy, causing her legs to shake and wrap around Steve’s waist, a loud moan falling from her lips. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” Steve groaned as he picked up his pace slightly, not wanting to break Y/N her first night. Y/N was too blissed out to scold Steve for his language, but it truly seemed as if neither of them cared in the moment. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps, nails digging sharply into his skin which Steve took as a sign to speed up once more. The headboard to Y/N’s bed started knocking against the wall as Steve’s brutal pace took her breath away. 

“Fuck, Steve, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Y/N yelled, her head thrown back in pleasure and bliss. The super soldier took advantage of how open her neck was and splayed his warm lips across the column of her throat, kissing and sucking until a very dark mark was left behind. He trailed hickeys and love bites down to her chest, scattering the marks wherever his lips could reach. His fingers dug into her hips as his pace seemed to get ever faster. 

Before she had a moment to process how good she was feeling, Y/N was flipped onto her stomach and one of Steve’s hands wrapped in her hair, pulling slightly. She moaned at the new sensation as Steve growled in his throat. The hand that wasn’t in her hair wrapped around her waist, allowing his fingers to toy with her clit. Another moan filled the air, along with the sinful sounds her pussy was making. Steve was dizzy; the feeling of being inside her, the wonderful sounds she was making, the smell of sex in the air all contributed to his rising orgasm. 

“Fuck, Steve! I-I’m close!” Y/N whined from underneath him, her face buried in her pillow and her fingers gripping the sheets tightly. 

“Me too. Let go, Y/N. I’ve got you, baby.” Steve muttered close to her ear, his hips stuttering slightly. With Steve’s permission, Y/N’s body started to shake as her climax washed over her. Steve’s eyes rolled in the back of his head as she clenched around his dick, the super soldier not being able to hold back his own climax as he pumped her full of his cum. They both collapsed onto the bed, panting. 

Y/N seemed to come to her senses faster than Steve did as she ran to the bathroom to clean herself up. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and the girl she saw was almost unrecognizable: dark purple bruises covered her pale skin, her hair was a tangled mess, and there were noticeable marks from where Steve’s hand had been on her hip. A strange quietness took over her mind and it was almost like her body was running on autopilot. She grabbed her bathrobe off the hook by the door and secured it around her body tightly, hiding the marks that she knew she should cherish. Once she entered her room, Steve was completely dressed again and sitting on the edge of her bed. 

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, worry very prominent in his voice. With a nod, Y/N sat next to him, but opted to keep some space between them. She didn’t regret what happened, she just needed time to process it. “Can I have a color?” 

“Yellow, but it’ll be red if you ask again, Steve.” He smiled sadly and stood, leaving his place on the bed to kneel in front of Y/N. Her eyes seemed dull, but bright at the same time. Her gaze was everywhere except Steve, and once again she was chewing on her bottom lip. Steve reached up to tuck some hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead when he stood up again. 

“We can talk about this later, if you want to. Just know that you’re not going to lose me because of this, okay?” Y/N nodded. Steve lifted her chin and gave her a brief kiss on the lips. It was soft and timid, almost as if he believed he was overstepping his boundaries. “Text me if you need anything. I’ll be back in a week; two at the latest. We can talk then.” With one more soft kiss to her lips, Steve left. 

She wasn’t a virgin anymore, and she owed that to her friends. She just couldn’t understand why she felt so guilty about it. 

Steve had just gotten back to his apartment by the time he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. His heart almost broke at the text message in front of him:

“Come back. I need you.”

[anonymousbaev]

RFA cheating on Mc (Zen ver.)

Zen: RFA + Minor Duo’s reaction to Mc living her new life after they cheated on her and she left RFA.

In reference to this post, return to masterlist. *Warning: profanity*

🎤 Zen/Hyun 🎤 

If the sudden windy breeze hitting her exposed shoulder didn't wake her up, the loud rustling next to her certainly did. Mc rubbed her eyes and woke to the shadowed view of Zen sitting on the edge of the bed as if lost in thought. She smiled at the sight of him and hummed in a low voice, "Zen...baby is everything okay?" He was quiet, no answer. So, with a tired yawn she forced herself to sit up, wrapping her hands around his waist, "Sweetheart, it's still early, come back to bed."

Zen jumped at the sudden sensation on his bare skin as he looked back at her with wide eyes. But he saw it was only her and calmed with a soft smile and tired voice, "Sorry did I wake you up princess? I'm going to rehearsal a bit early today, I'll be home earlier though."

She watched him, still half-awake as he gently placed her hands away and began to pull on a grey shirt from what she could tell in the darkness of the dim room. Rubbing her eyes, a little more in her mind now, she spoke up again, "You're really busy these days." Mc knew how hard Zen was working... early in the morning, late in the night. Wishing there was more she could do for him, recognizing the hard work he did for her and their future, the least she could do for him was apologize, "I'm sorry Zen, I wish there was more I could do for you- for us."

Clutching onto the pillow in her arms, she watched the emotions on his face change from surprised to tired and a bit...guilty? Shaking his head, he looked away, no longer sharing the eye contact he had with her. He spoke with his hand fisting so hard it worried her thinking it might leave a bruise, "No, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Mc. I should've done better, I'm not going to do this to you anymore... I'm ending this today."

None of his words came into her ears, but the last part, 'I'm ending this today?' What did he mean by that, he wasn't thinking of doing something... bad, right? Or ending things, as in breaking up with her? The situation, sure it was bad, money was tight but they got so far... they went through so much! She desperately pulled on the corner of his shirt as she looked with pleading eyes, "What do you mean? What does ending things mean?"

With the realization of how his words could be misinterpreted, he pulled her in for a hug as he reassured her, "No I didn't mean it like that! I promise... Should we get some lunch together later? It's been a while." She nods in response, the sudden heavy weight lifted from her heart with the brief misunderstanding gone.

Later that afternoon, Mc hummed through the theatre's halls, the pleasant scent of red roses in her hand enough to attract everyone in the room. She stopped at the backstage door, Zen's name imprinted in front like a proper star. That was a delighting sight. Feeling giddy, for their first date in centuries, she took one deep breath before entering with a grin, ear to ear.

But the moment she entered, she wished she could take everything back. Absolutely everything.

The sight of her loved one enjoying the embrace of another, that was enough to break her.

Zen was quick to notice her presence, immediately pushing himself off of the other woman, but the evidence of their affair so painfully obvious. He stood still, angrily watching the woman he really loves breaking down into pieces, because of him. He had never hated himself anymore than in that moment, but Mc hated him more than he could ever hate himself. Because she wholly despised him at that moment. Her hands trembling, heart aching, lips quivering and a small strand of tear falling...

The sight of her disheveled lover left Mc in so much pain, frustration, and heartbreak. And then it hit her, that morning. What he had said to her, 'I'm sorry' so this was what he'd meant. It all made sense to her now. While she was worried, he was overworking himself, feeling sorry she felt so helpless. She was just one grand old fool. And the thought of that?

It destroyed her.

Hands shaking with anxiety, it frantically moved to wipe the tears that have uncontrollably started to stream down her face.

A strong pair of hands stopped her frantic movement as she looked up to Zen, his brows knitted in concern. Only then did she notice the stinging pain on her cheeks. But it was nothing compared to the burning sting in her heart. Slapping away his hands as her eyes stared in at his like daggers, he spoke up, "It's a misunderstanding... I was going to end things with her today. But I got shaken again I'm sorry. I shouldn't have, and I was wrong."

"And when you did, no... if you did end things with her. Would you've kept me in the dark, brought this affair secret to your grave? I could've never guessed, I would've never dreamed of it! How long has it been going on... this affair?"

She looked up to meet his gaze again, but now his eyes wandered, avoiding to meet hers, "A few months..."

She laughed out loud, her heart thumping at a rapid speed as she started to tremble, her voice and soft sobs echoing against the walls, "You really had be fooled Zen. You came home for several nights, crawled into bed, made love and in the end you've been doing the same stuff with her behind my back. So, work was just basically hours fooling around with her?"

Stomping out in agony, her tears wouldn't stop coming. He followed her in a desperate urge to stop her, to tell her how much he'd loved her, that this was just a mistake...

He held her back, hands firmly gripping onto her wrist. But she pulled away, face pale as she screamed, "You're a filthy beast! We're over, you broke us Zen."

She knew that was enough to stop him, she heard nobody longer behind her. Desperately wanting to empty herself from these emotions, she had a sick feeling in her stomach with a light headache that followed. In a fit of anger, and concern she might call Zen during the night with a desperate longing for his love, she deleted him off her contacts. Just...temporarily, of course she would have to see him for the RFA eventually. Even though she hated the thought of that.

All she had with her at the moment was her phone and wallet, she was lost, not knowing where she would go. Mc would have to pick her stuff up from Zen's apartment. But that was also, going to be eventually happening in the future. In the end with much thought, she decided to take a cab to her parents apartment, that being the best solution she could think of.

By night, she lay on her old bed filled with teenage memories. And as she had expected, she longed for Zen. Mc was glad she'd decided to remove him from her contacts.

All her emotions stolen, she numbly cried like an empty and broken doll for months, all contacts with the RFA and everything related to that, shut out of her life. She needed time to think. Time to move on. Time to heal. Knowing your lover has been having a affair is one thing, but directly running into the scene is another. She still loved him, despite everything. Hating him was a mere lie she used to convince herself and the words she said that may have wounded him, she wished she could take it back. Zen was an wonderful person, this was one of his biggest mistakes, but she hoped he'd learned from them and avoid hurting the next person he would be with.

But one thing she knew, she would never be able to trust him again. Already jealous of all his co-actors he kissed and embraced on camera, but now who knows? He could be doing that off camera. Trust was now a forgotten word in her dictionary, and she was aware of how insecure she would become if she'd returned to him. A daily life of suspicion and accusation, it would be unhealthy. This was for the best, for her, and for him.

After much consideration, she turned on her phone. Already, text messages stacked from the day she had sealed herself away started to buzz in. She read through each one, starting out with questions with where she was, what'd happened, now just being a bunch of words to cheer up, and expressed disappointment for Zen. He must've confessed, of what'd happened and why they were no longer together.

Her heart sting a little, eyes reddening again as she look up at the blinding light in an attempt to stop herself.

Just then, she noticed Jumin active in the chatroom. It was awkward, and she didn't know what to say. After ditching all her responsibilities for the RFA, she was ashamed, she truly was. Jumin was the first to talk, "It's good to see you, Mc." His message tugged the corners of her mouth corners, just slightly. Although not the best at expressing himself, Jumin was oddly the best source of comfort to her when she felt sad.

"Yeah, you too." She replied, and with a moment of thought she sent another, "Jumin I'm sorry, I left without any words. That was irresponsible of me."

"To be quite honest, yes it was. But I suppose it is alright if you were able to get better." She chuckled a little to that, and she felt so much joy at his next message, "We're planning our next party, it would be helpful if we had our party organizer back."

"I'd be more than happy to return!"

Even more months passed, fully becoming an year since she last saw Zen. It would be a lie if she said she no longer had lingering feelings for him, but she was able to recover. She waited in the main hall, waiting for her new boyfriend as her date to the party.

A few minutes later, he arrived and her heart thumped at the sight of him. Her boyfriend pat her head as she jokingly pulled on his ear. Mc assumed Zen hadn't come. She heard he was busy and although she had never personally looked him up, she knew his name got big. She was happy for him, and he deserved it.

Little did she know, Zen was watching her from the moment she'd entered. He might've seemed fine. He might've looked happy with his new found success in his dream career. But did it all really matter when he no longer had the person he truly wanted? He was aware, years could past, and all the trophies, money, success could never fill the empty void in his heart. When it only longed for her...

She glowed in the room, it felt like they were the only people in the huge ballroom. And was it only his desperate imagination or... was she also longing for Zen? Her new boyfriend had blonde hair, looked different, different vibes but the one thing... his scarlet eyes like Zen's. Zen recalled the happy memories when Mc would compliment his eyes, saying they were the favorite parts about him, "Did you really move on Mc?..."

[snelbz]

What Happens In Vegas... {7}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

@snelbz​ / @tacmc​ collab

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

My Ask Box

Warm hands pushed up my tank top as the sun rose. Next came hot kisses down my back, sending a shiver up my spine. My body came to immediate attention, despite the truly horrid time of day.

“Feyre, baby, roll over.” Rhysand whispered in my ear.

I grumbled, “What time is it?”

We’d all gone downstairs to the recording studio after dinner for a quick look. At midnight, Miryam had bailed, saying Drakon could call her when they were done. No one anticipated that being anytime soon, since they’d opened a bottle of bourbon.

I’d stretched out on the big couch down there while Rhys and Drakon messed around, moving between the control room and the studio. I’d wanted to be close to Rhysand, to listen to him play guitar and sing snippets of songs.

He had a beautiful voice. What he could do with a six-string in his hands blew my mind. His eyes would take on this faraway look and he was gone. It was like nothing else existed. Sometimes, I actually felt a little lonely, lying there watching him. Then the song would end and he’d shake his head, stretch his fingers, returning to earth. His gaze would find me and he’d smile. He was back.

At some stage I’d dozed off. How I’d gotten up to bed I had no idea. Rhys must have carried me.

One thing was certain: I could smell booze.

“It’s almost five in the morning,” he said. “Roll over.”

“Tired,” I mumbled, staying right where I was. The mattress shifted as he straddled my hips and put an arm either side of my head, bending down over me, covering my body with his.

“Guess what?” he asked.

I hummed quietly, hoping he understood that meant I was listening.

Gently, he pushed my hair back off my face. Then he licked my ear. I squirmed, ticklish. “I wrote two songs,” he said, his voice a little slurred, soft around the edges.

“That’s great,” I muttered, with a yawn. “Congrats. Let’s sleep.”

“No, you don’t understand. I haven’t written anything in over two years. This is fucking amazing.” He nuzzled my neck, his breath hot against my ear.

“Lovely,” I mumbled. At least, I think I did. I was so tired that I couldn’t figure out if I had said it out loud or had just thought it.

“Don’t you wanna know what they’re about?” he asked, his words coated with liquor.

“Mm?”

His lips were right at my ear as he breathed, “They’re about you.”

“Your songs?” I asked, stunned. And still dazed. “Really?”

“Yeah, I just…” He breathed deep and nipped my shoulder, making my eyes finally open wide.

I gasped, “Hey!”

He leaned over so I could see his face, his dark hair hanging down. He was smiling broadly. Honestly, it was unfair how attractive he looked at five in the morning. “There you are. So, I think of you and suddenly I have something to say. I haven’t had anything I wanted to say in a long time. I didn’t give a fuck. It was all just more of the same. But you changed things. You fixed me.”

I blinked at him. “Rhys, I’m glad you got your mojo back, but you’re incredibly talented. You were never broken. Maybe you just needed some time off.”

“No.” From upside down, he frowned at me. “Roll over. I can’t talk to you like this.” I hesitated and he slapped my butt. The non-tattooed cheek, lucky for him. “Come on, baby.”

I grumbled, “Watch it with the biting and spanking, buddy.”

“So move already,” he growled, playfully.

“Okay, okay.”

He climbed off me onto the other side of the mammoth mattress and I sat, drawing my knees up to my chest. The man was shirtless, staring back at me with only a pair of jeans on. How the hell did he keep losing his shirt? The sight of his bare, tattooed chest brought me to the dribble point. The jeans pushed me right over. No one wore jeans like Rhysand. And having caught a glimpse of him without them only made it worse. My imagination went into some sort of sexual overload. The pictures that filled my head… I have no idea where they all came from. The images were surprisingly raw and detailed. I was quite certain I wasn’t flexible enough to achieve some of them. All of the air left the room.

Truth was, I wanted him. All of him. The good and the bad and the bits in between. I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything before in my life.

But not when he’d been drinking. We’d already been there, made that mistake. I didn’t quite know what was going on between us, but I didn’t want to mess it up.

So, right. No sex. Bad. I had to stop looking at him. So I took a deep breath and studied my knees. My bare knees.

I’d gone to sleep wearing jeans. Now I had only panties and my tank top on. My bra had also mysteriously disappeared. “What happened to the rest of my clothes?”

“They left,” he said, face serious.

“You took them off?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t think you would’ve been comfortable sleeping in them.”

“How on earth did you manage to get my bra off without waking me?”

He gave me a sly smile. “I’m good with my fingers, baby. I didn’t do anything else. I swear. I just…removed it for safety reasons. Underwire is dangerous.”

“Right,” I said, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded. “I didn’t even look.”

I narrowed my eyes on him.

“That’s a lie,” he admitted, rolling his shoulders. “I had to look. But we are still married, so looking is okay.”

“It is, huh?” It was pretty much impossible to be mad at him when he looked at me like that. My foolish girl parts got giddy.

No. Sex.

”Oh, absolutely,” Rhysand murmured, perfectly amused. “Your cheeks are turning red.”

“Are they?” I asked, trying to push all thoughts of sex out of my mind.

It didn’t work.

“Yeah,” He said, amused, his violet eyes still heavily glazed over. “What are you doing up that end of the bed? That’s not going to work,” he said, totally unaware of my awakening hormones and distress at the same time. Faster than I’d have thought possible given the amount of booze on his breath, he grabbed my feet and dragged me down the bed. My back hit the mattress and my head bounced off the pillow. Rhys sprawled out on top of me before I could attempt any more evasive maneuvers. His weight pressed me into the mattress in the best possible way. Saying no under these conditions was going to be asking a lot of my self control.

“I don’t think we should have sex now,” I blurted out before anything else could happen.

The side of his mouth kicked up. “Relax. There’s no way we’re fucking right now.”

“No?” Damn it, I actually whined. My patheticness knew no end.

“No. When we do it the first time, we’ll both be stone-cold sober. Trust me on that. I’m not waking up in the morning again to find you’re freaking out because you don’t remember or you’ve changed your mind or something. I’m done being the asshole here.”

“I never thought you were an asshole, Rhys.”

Or at least, not exactly. A jerk maybe, and definitely a bra thief, but not an asshole.

“No?”

“No.”

“Not even in Vegas when I started swearing at you and slamming doors?” His fingers slid into my hair, rubbing at my scalp. Impossible not to push into his touch like a happy kitty. He had magic hands. He even made mornings bearable. Though five o’clock was pushing it.

“That wasn’t a good morning for either of us,” I said.

“I’ll give you that,” hemurmured. “How about in LA with that girl hanging off me?”

I tilted my head. “You planned that?”

He shut one eye and looked down at me. “Maybe I needed some armor against you.”

I didn’t know what to say. At first. “It’s none of my business who you have hanging off you.”

His smile was one of immense self-satisfaction. “You were jealous.”

“Do we have to do this right now?” I pushed against his hard body, getting nowhere.

He asked, “Can’t own up to it, can you?”

I didn’t reply.

He leaned down, just a little closer. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “I couldn’t bring myself to touch her. Not with you there.”

“You didn’t?” I calmed down a lot at that statement. My heart palpitations eased. “I wondered what happened. You came back so fast.”

He grunted, his arms tightened slightly. “Seeing you with Tamlin…”

I quickly said, “Nothing was going on. I swear.”

He shook his head. “No, I know. I’m sorry about that. I was out of line.”

My pushing hands turned to petting. Funny that. They slid over his shoulders, around his neck to slip into his hair. I just wanted to feel the heat of his skin and keep him near. He made for an emotional landslide, turning me from sleep deprived and cranky to adoring in under eight seconds. “It’s great that you wrote some songs.”

He ignored my compliment. “How about when I left you with Hybern and the lawyers? Were you mad at me then?”

I huffed out a breath. “Fine. I might admit to being a bit upset about that.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving mine. “When I got back and they told me what had happened, that you’d taken off with Cass, I lost it. Trashed my favorite guitar, used it to take apart Cassian’s kit. Still can’t believe I did that. I was just angry and so fucking jealous and mad at myself.”

I could feel my face scrunch up in disbelief. “You did?”

“Yeah.” His eyes were stark, wide. “I did.”

I was quiet for a minute. “Why are you telling me this now, Rhys?”

“I don’t want you hearing it from someone else.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple jumping. “Listen, I’m not like that, Feyre. It won’t happen again, I promise. I’m just not used to this. You get to me. This whole situation does. I don’t know, I’m fucking rambling. Do you understand?”

Later, he might not even remember any of this. But right now, he looked so sincere. My heart hurt for him. I looked into his bloodshot eyes and smiled. “I think so. It definitely won’t happen again?”

“No. I swear.” The relief in his voice was palpable. “We’re okay?”

“Yes. Are you going to play the songs for me later?” I asked. “I’d love to hear them.”

“They’re not done yet. When they’re done, I will. I want them perfect for you.”

““Okay,” I said.

He’d written songs about me. How incredible, unless they were the uncomplimentary kind, in which case we needed to talk. “They’re not about how much I annoy you sometimes, are they?”

He seesawed his hand in the air. “A little. In a good way, though.”

“What?” I cried.

“Trust me,” he sighed.

I blinked. “Do you actually state what a pain in the ass I am in these songs?”

“Not those words exactly. No.” He chuckled, his good humor returned. “You don’t want me to lie and say everything’s always fucking unicorns and rainbows, do you?”

I hesitated. “Maybe. Yes. People are going to know these are about me. I have a reputation as a constant delight to protect.”

He groaned. “Feyre, look at me.” I did as he asked. “You are a constant fucking delight. I don’t think anyone could ever doubt that.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re awful pretty when you lie.”

“Am I, now?” His eyes left mine, and for a second I thought he may have been about to kiss me again. Instead, he licked his lips and said, “They’re love songs, baby. Love isn’t always smooth or straightforward. It can be messy and painful. Doesn’t mean it isn’t still the most incredible thing that can ever happen to you. Doesn’t mean I’m not crazy about you.”

“You are?” I asked, my voice tight with emotion.

“Of course I am,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’m crazy about you too. You’re beautiful, inside and out, Rhysand Lunasa.”

He laid his forehead against mine, closing his eyes for a moment. “You’re so fucking sweet. But, you know, I like that you can bite, too. Like you did in Vegas with those assholes. I like that you cared, standing up for that girl. I even kind of like it when you piss me off. Not all the time, though. Shit. I’m rambling again…”

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I like you rambling.”

“So you’re not angry at me for losing my temper?” He asked, softly.

“No, Rhys. I’m not angry at you.”

Without another word, he crawled off me and lay at my side. He pulled me into his arms, arranging an arm beneath me and another over my hip. “Feyre?”

“Hmm?”

“Take your shirt off. I wanna be skin to skin,” he said. “Please? Nothing more, I promise.”

I almost hesitated but the sincerity in his voice… “Okay.”

I sat up and pulled the tank top off over my head, then snuggled back down against him. Topless had a lot going for it. He tucked me in beneath his chin, and the feel of his warm chest was perfect, thrilling and calming all at once. I had to resist the urge to bury my face in his chest. Every inch of my skin seemed alive with sensation. But being like this with him soothed the savage storm within or something. Never mind the lingering scent of booze on his skin, I just wanted to be close to him.

“I like sleeping with you,” he said, his hand stroking over my back. “Didn’t think I’d be able to sleep with someone else in the bed, but with you it’s okay.”

I looked up at him. “You’ve never slept with anyone before?”

He chuckled, “Of course I have. But not in a long time. I’ve always needed my space.” His fingers toyed with the band on my panties, making me squirm.

I didn’t know what to say. “Oh.”

“This with you is torture, but it’s good torture.”

Everything fell quiet for a few minutes and I thought he might have fallen asleep. But he hadn’t. “Talk to me, I like hearing your voice.”

I hesitated, not sure what he wanted me to talk about. “I had a nice time with Miryam, she’s lovely.”

“Yeah, she is.” His fingers trailed up and down along my spine. “They’re good people.”

I nodded, my nose skimming against his neck. He smelled amazing. “It was really nice of them to bring us dinner.”

“Yeah, it was,” he said, hand still stroking my back softly.

I didn’t know what to say. I wasn’t ready to confess I’d been thinking about what he’d said about my becoming an architect. That I’d started questioning the almighty plan. Saying I was scared I’d mess up and somehow ruin things between us didn’t seem smart either. Maybe the fates would be listening and screw me over the first chance they got. God, I hoped not. So instead I chose to talk trivial. “I love how you can hear the ocean here.”

“Mm,” he hummed his agreement. “Baby, I don’t want to sign those papers on Monday.”

I held perfectly still, my heart pounding. “You don’t?”

“No.” His hand crept up, fingers stroking below my breast, tracing the line of my rib cage. I had to remind myself to breathe. But he didn’t even seem to be aware he did it, like he was just doodling on my skin the same way you would on paper. His arms tightened around me. “There’s no reason it can’t wait. We could spend some time together, see how things go.”

Hope rushed through me, hot and thrilling. “Rhys, are you serious about this?”

“Yeah, I am.” He sighed. “I know I’ve been drinking. But I’ve been thinking it over. I don’t… shit, I didn’t even like having you out of my sight the last few hours, but you looked like you needed to sleep. I don’t want to sign those papers.”

I squeezed my eyes tight and sent up a silent prayer. “Then we won’t.”

“You sure?” He asked, giving me one last out.

There was no hesitation this time. “Yes.”

He pulled me in tight against him. “Okay. Okay, that’s good.”

“We’re going to be fine.” I sighed happily. The relief made me weak.

Suddenly he sniffed at his shoulder and underarms. “Shit, I stink like bourbon. I’m going to have a shower.” He gave me a quick kiss and rolled out of the bed. “Kick me out of bed next time I try to come in smelling like this. Don’t let me cuddle up to you.”

I loved that he was talking about our being together like it would be an everyday thing. I loved it so much, I didn’t even care how bad he smelled.

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

The gong of the doorbell echoed through the house just after ten. Rhys slept on against my back. He didn’t stir at all. With a couple more hours’ sleep I felt happily half human. I crawled out from beneath his arm, trying not to disturb him. I pulled my top and jeans back on and dashed down the stairs, doing my best not to break my neck in the process. In all likelihood it would be more deliveries.

“Child bride! Let me in!” Cassian hollered from the other side of the door. He followed it up with an impressive percussive performance, banging his hands against the solid wood. Definitely the drummer. “Fairy!”

No one called me Fairy. I’d stamped out that nickname years ago. However, it might be better than child bride.

I opened the door and Cassian barreled in, Drakon dragging himself along after, followed by a young man in all black I hadn’t met before. Considering Drakon had sat up drinking and playing music with Rhys until the wee small hours, I wasn’t really surprised at his condition. The poor man clearly suffered from a hangover from hell. He looked like he’d been punched in both eyes, the bruises from lack of sleep were so bad. An energy drink was attached to his lips.

“Cassian. What are you doing here?” I stopped, rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Wake-up call, it wasn’t even my house. “Sorry, that was rude. It’s just a surprise to see you.”

I’d been hoping to have my husband to myself today, but apparently it wasn’t meant to be. Cassian dropped my backpack at my feet. He was so busy looking around the place he didn’t even seem to have heard my question, rude or not.

“Rhys is still asleep,” I said, and rifled through the contents of my bag. Oh, my stuff. My wonderful stuff. My purse and phone in particular were a delight to lay eyes on. Many text messages from Joey, plus a few from my dad. I hadn’t even known he could text. “Thank you for bringing this.”

He shrugged. “Rhys left me a voicemail in the middle of the night and said he’d written some new stuff. Figured you’d like your stuff while I came to check the new shit out.” He was standing at the floor-length windows, admiring the view of the beach. “I hate this house. It’s too nice and the view is outstanding.”

“Right?” Drakon mumbled, still sipping religiously from his energy drink. “Wait until you see the studio.”

The man dressed in black was watching me, and when I met his gaze, his cheeks reddened, just a little bit, and he cleared his throat. “Sorry. I’m Azriel.”

“Our Az is a little shy,” Cassian chimed in, still standing in front of the windows.

I smiled. “Hi. I’m Feyre.”

He nodded, although I’m already sure he knew my name. My name, and far too many things about me that I was certain I didn’t want him to know, but he most likely already knew, anyways.

Cassian was turning around and heading toward the bottom of the stairs. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Rhysand!” I didn’t think I’d ever heard Cassian use Rhys’ real name. “Get your ass downstairs!”

“Hi, sweetie.” Miryam wandered in, twirling a set of keys on her finger. “I tried to make them leave it a few more hours, but as you can see, I lost. Sorry.”

“Never mind,” I said. I’m not much of a hugger normally. We didn’t do a lot of it in my family. My parents preferred a more hands-free method. But Miryam was so nice that I couldn’t help but hug her back when she threw her arms around me.

We’d talked for hours the night before down in the recording studio. It had been illuminating. Married to a popular session player and producer, she’d lived the lifestyle for over twenty years. Touring, recording, groupies… She’d had the whole rock ’n’ roll experience. She and Drakon had attended a music festival and fallen in love with Velaris with its gorgeous landscape and, of course, the stars.

“The couch and another couple of beds are on their way, should be here soon. Cassian, Drakon, Azriel, help move the boxes. We’ll stack them against the fireplace.” Suddenly, Miryam stopped, giving me a cautious smile. “Hang on. You’re the woman of the house. You give the orders here.”

“Oh, against the fireplace sounds great, thanks,” I said.

She clapped her hands together, beaming at me. “You heard her, boys. Get moving.”

Drakon grumbled but put down his can and bent down to pick up a box, muttering under his breath.

“Hold up.” Cassian pouted his lips at Miryam and me. “I haven’t gotten my hello kisses yet.”

He caught Miryam up in a bear hug, lifting her off her feet and twirling her around until she laughed. Arms wide, he stepped toward me next. “Come to daddy, bed-head girl.”

I put a hand out to halt him, laughing. “Referring to yourself as daddy might be the creepiest thing you’ve ever done, and you kidnapped me.”

Azriel snorted from where he’d been quietly sipped on his coffee in the corner.

He wiggled his fingers that were spread wide. He sang, “Come to daddy.”

“Leave her alone.” Rhys was at the top of the stairs, rubbing his eyes, his hair wild from sleep. His chest was bare, his jeans hanging low on his hips. My knees actually wobbled at the sight of him.

I had no idea if we were married or not, thanks to the alcohol he’d consumed the night before. The alcohol, and the fact that our track record wasn’t exactly steady at this point.

“The fuck are you doing here so early?” Rhysand mumbled, slowly stomping down the stairs.

“I’m here for the new music, I want to hear it,” Cassian announced.

“And I’m here because Cassian made me come,” Azriel chimed.

Cassian only grinned. “What can I say? I get excited about new music.” Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as he remembered. Cassian stared up at him, his jaw set in a hard line. “I should beat the living crap out of you. Fuck, man. That was my favorite kit!”

Body rigid, Rhys paused on the stairs. “I said I’m sorry. I meant it.”

“Maybe. But it’s still time to pay, you dickwad.”

For a moment, Rhys didn’t reply. Tension lined his face but there was a look of inevitability in his weary eyes. “All right. What?”

“It’s gotta hurt. Bad.”

“Worse than you turning up when Feyre and me are having time alone?”

Cassian actually looked a little shamefaced.

Rhys stopped at the foot of the steps, waiting. “You wanna take this outside?”

Miryam and Drakon said nothing, just watched the byplay. Azriel looked like a father watching his children fight. I got the feeling this wasn’t the first time these two had faced off. Boys will be boys and all that. But I stood beside Cassian, every muscle tensed. If he took one step toward Rhys, I’d jump him. Pull his hair or something. I didn’t know how, but I’d stop him.

Cassian gave him a measuring look. “I’m not hitting you. I don’t want to mess up my hands when we’ve got work to do.”

Rhys crossed his arms over his muscular chest. “What, then?”

“You already trashed your favorite guitar. So it’s going to have to be something else.” Cassian rubbed his hands together. “Something money can’t buy.”

“What?” asked Rhys, his eyes suddenly wary.

“Hi, Fairy.” Cassian grinned, and slung an arm around my shoulder, pulling me in against him.

“Uh, hey,” I replied slowly.

In the next moment, his mouth covered mine, entirely unwelcome. Rhys shouted a protest. An arm wrapped around my back and Cassian dipped me, kissing me hard, bruising my lips. I grabbed at his shoulders, afraid I’d hit the floor. When he tried to put his tongue in my mouth, however, I didn’t hesitate to bite him.

The idiot howled.

Take that.

Just as fast as he’d dipped me, he set me to rights. My head spun. I put a hand to the wall to stop from falling on my ass. I rubbed at my mouth, trying to get rid of the taste of him, while Cassian gave me a wounded look.

“Damn it. That hurt.” He carefully touched his tongue, searching for damage. “I’m bleeding!”

I crossed my arms. “Good.

Miryam and Drakon chuckled, highly amused. Azriel was shaking his head and looking like he needed much more coffee before he could handle the amount of fuckery his friends caused.

Arms wrapped around me from behind and Rhys whispered in my ear, “Nice work.”

“Did you know he was going to do that?” I asked, sounding distinctly pissy.

“Fuck no.” He rubbed his face against the side of my head, tousling my already messy hair. “I don’t want anyone else touching you.”

It was the right answer. My anger melted away. I put my hands on top of his, and the grip on me tightened.

“You want me to kick his ass?” Rhysand muttered, into my ear. “Just say the word.”

I made a show of considering it, but eventually, I just laughed, quietly. “No, I guess you better not.”

He chuckled as I turned into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. I couldn’t believe I was there, holding him, this man, who was only just a stranger. Yet, it felt so natural, so right. It definitely felt like we were together, but I didn’t trust my own judgment, not anymore, not after everything I had endured with him.

If I assumed we were together, I was afraid my assumption would only cause me to look more like an idiot.

“Cass and Az are joining you on your honeymoon?” Miryam’s voice was heavy with disbelief.

Azriel looked extremely uncomfortable, while Cass winked at Rhys.

Rhys chuckled. “No, this isn’t our honeymoon. If we have a honeymoon it’ll be somewhere far away from everyone. Sure as hell, they won’t be there.”

“If?” she asked, a dark eyebrow raised. I really did love Miryam.

“When,” he corrected, holding me tight.

“This is all real cute, but I came to make music,” Cassian announced.

“Then you’re just going to have to fucking wait,” said Rhys. “Feyre and I have plans this morning.”

Even Azriel spoke up, which I got the impression wasn’t a common occurrence. “We’ve been waiting two years to come up with something new.”

“Tough shit. You can wait a few more hours.” Rhys took my hand and led me back toward the stairs. Excitement ran rife through me. He’d chosen me and it felt wonderful.

“Fairy, sorry about the mouth mauling,” Cassian said, sitting himself down on the nearest box.

“You’re forgiven,” I said with a little more pep in my step as we headed up the stairs.

“You going to apologize for biting me?” Cassian hollered.

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s not very nice,” he called out after us.

Rhys snorted.

“Okay, people, we need to move boxes.” I heard Miryam say.

Rhys rushed us down the hallway, then closed and locked the bedroom door behind us.

[haberdashing]

A Kindred Soul

An asexual Martin struggles with his identity and learns that he and Jon have it in common.

on AO3

Nothing about Martin’s identity has ever been simple, ever been easy to explain to others. Not that it was a surprise, really; nothing in Martin’s life ever seemed to be simple or easy, so why should this be any different?

First off, there was him being a boy--a man, really, but he’d started as a boy, and it had taken some years for him to figure even that much out after being told otherwise all his life. Coming out to his mother had been... a struggle, but she did call him Martin now at least, even if there always seemed to be a sneer on her face when she said it, even if her eyes went cold every time she looked over him.

And not only that, Martin was a boy who loved other boys, and soon enough a man who loved other men. Before any of it came out, it was easy enough for him to talk to others about his crushes, to be assumed just another schoolgirl with a crush on some boy that was probably out of her (out of his) league, but after... after was more difficult. Martin never discussed that part of his life with his mother, never had her meet any of the men he dated, though sometimes he feared she knew his orientation all the same and was judging him all the more for it.

Just that would have been tricky enough. Just that was tricky enough, really. It was hard enough navigating his love life with that information in mind, remembering what he could and couldn’t tell his one remaining relative about any relationships he might have, trying to find other men who would see him as one of them and love him just the same for it.

But that wasn’t all that made Martin’s love life difficult, truth be told.

There was... something else going on there. Something he was missing that everybody else seemed to have: being drawn to others on a physical level, wanting to end a perfect date by going to bed with the other person. Something about the idea of himself having sex made Martin’s stomach queasy, though he had no problem with it when it was anyone else involved. Even kissing was hit or miss for him--what was the appeal of French kissing supposed to be, anyway, were you supposed to like swapping saliva, potentially exchanging diseases, rubbing tongue against tongue and tasting the scraps and tartar in the other person’s mouth?

Was he broken? He must be, right? Part of him was gone, missing, lost to the abyss, and that part seemed to be so important to most of the men he dated that Martin began to feel its absence by proxy himself. Maybe it was because he hadn’t been loved properly as a child, because his mother had never talked to him about bedroom matters, because he didn’t see how anybody could fancy him that way... or maybe he’d just always been broken, from the day he was born, and nothing anybody did could fix it.

Martin’s mother probably wouldn’t mind that part of him so much, but he never dared to breach the subject, not when he could barely understand it himself.

When Martin got a crush on Jon, a crush that proved to be a lot more long-lasting and resilient than he had expected, that missing piece was just another reason Martin knew it would never work out. Even if Jon was up for dating an employee, dating another man, dating a trans man, dating Martin... he’d want what all Martin’s past crushes ended up wanting, and that was something that he just couldn’t bring himself to supply.

When Martin began to fall to the Lonely, he wondered if perhaps the Lonely had always been a part of him, deep down inside, that perhaps it had taken the place of that missing piece before it could ever form in the first place. At least that was one less thing to lose along the way, he supposed...

And then Jon saved him from the Lonely, brought him to the safehouse, and he seemed interested in Martin, interested in a way that wasn’t simply platonic, and Martin knew, Martin knew that that interest would lead to a discussion that would break his heart all over again...

That discussion came soon enough, five nights into their time at the safehouse. Martin and Jon were together in the place’s lone bed, ostensibly trying to get to sleep but both more focused on furtively glancing at one another when each thought the other wasn’t looking. They weren’t quite touching, but they were close, and Martin kept wondering when the other shoe would drop, when Jon would bring up the elephant in the room, when he would ask for something Martin couldn’t give him...

“Martin, I... there’s something I want to tell you.” Jon’s voice was barely above a whisper, but Martin heard it clear as day, his heart sinking as he processed the statement and its implications.

“R-right. Go ahead.”

“And it’s not your fault, you didn’t do anything wrong or anything like that-”

Oh. That talk. Well. At least they were getting it out of the way now, Martin supposed. At least Jon was breaking things off before Martin could mess them up any further.

“It’s alright, Jon. I... I understand.”

“No, I...” Jon let out a sharp huff, the warm air from his nose tickling Martin’s chin. “Not like that... hopefully not like that, anyway, that’s, that’s up to you I suppose...”

Martin tried to unclench the pit that had formed in his stomach, but with little success. “What is it, then?”

“I, er. I’m not interested in sex. Not with you, not with anyone. I’m asexual.”

The pit in Martin’s stomach evaporated without him even noticing it, replaced with butterflies and a faint, fervent hope.

“Asexual?” Martin echoed.

“Right. It means not feeling sexual attraction, not being interested in that kind of physicality... but that doesn’t mean I’m not romantically interested in, in you, because I very much am, I’ve just always been this way, and I don’t want you to-”

“There’s a word for it?”

Martin’s voice was under his breath, but he could tell that Jon heard it just the same, could feel the weight of Jon’s gaze falling upon him.

“There is, yes. So you, uh...?”

Martin let out a soft, shaky laugh. “Yeah, I never heard the term before but I, I think I must be asexual too. That all sounds like- like me.”

“Oh!” Another soft, warm exhale from Jon. “I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t either. About you, I mean. Or the term, I suppose, but I’d never known anyone else who was...” Broken? No, Martin could accept that word for himself, but not for Jon, not for the man he loved. “...like me in that way.”

Jon shot Martin a small smile. “Well, now you do.”

“Now I do.” Martin said with a nod.

A brief pause, then: “...tell me more?”

Jon nodded, his grin growing as he began to speak.

[wistfulcynic]

shelter from the storm

For the endlessly brilliant brainstormers @thesschesthair and @winterbythesea, a rainy interlude in Neverland and a very warm coat. (To Mandy in particular, I hope it brightens your day.) 

summary: Neverland. An unexpected storm, a cave, a bottle of rum. Emma and Hook, alone together, one of them wearing his coat. 

words: 2.1k rating: T tags: Neverland, stranded together, bedsharing, UST, the coat. 

AO3

-

The rain came without warning. 

Nothing more than the faintest breeze stirred the air before heavy drops were falling, hard and thick, in sheets that made it impossible to see much more than a foot or two ahead. Emma was drenched in a moment, her thin tank top moulding to her body and her hair plastered to her scalp. She shivered; the rain was cold and the sudden shift from steamy jungle to icy deluge came as a shock. 

The next shock came when warmth enveloped her, heavy, leathery, rum-scented warmth. Hook’s coat, flung over her shoulders. It did nothing to impede the sharp drops pounding against her skull but it stopped her shivering and kept most of the rain off her, especially after Hook flipped up the collar to shield her face and tugged at the lapels to wrap the coat snugly around her. 

Emma slipped her arms through the sleeves and took hold of the lapels herself, casting a glance up at Hook as she did. He was as drenched as she, more so now, with water running in rivulets down his face and concern in his blue eyes as he released the lapels, then frowned at the sky. 

“We should find shelter,” he said. “There’s no telling how long this will last.” 

He took her hand and she made no protest, using one of hers to hold the coat closed while the other curled around his fingers and held tight. His hand was warm despite the cold rain, large and slightly rough. Emma shivered again, and not from cold this time. She could still remember the feel of that hand in her hair, its rough skin catching on the soft strands... his thumb stroking across her cheek... the hitch in his breath... the look in his eyes…

Not the time, Emma, she reminded herself. Not now. 

Possibly not ever. 

He led her through the jungle, his stride sure and unfaltering in defiance of the blinding downpour. When they came to a copse of trees even denser than the rest he plunged into it with no hesitation, shoving the branches aside and tugging her forward, and when he let the branches go again their thick foliage muffled the deafening thrum of the rain and Emma felt herself relax. 

They were in a cave, she realised. One not that different from Neal’s, if somewhat smaller and surprisingly snug, with a lone torch on the wall and no drawings. She felt Hook move behind her, felt a slight tug on the coat as he reached into its pocket and withdrew his piece of flint. With that and his hook he managed to light the torch after only a few tries, and Emma bit back a quip about how much easier it would have been to use the lighter except oh, yeah, he’d lost it in the Dark Hollow by being an asshole. 

It was probably not the time for that either, she reflected. Not when they were stuck here together, trapped by a furious storm. Instead she watched as he stepped close to her again to slip the flint back in his pocket, watched the play of the soft torchlight across his features and the flex of muscle beneath his clinging shirt. She and Hook, alone in this small space, together, drenched to the skin. For who even knew how long. Emma swallowed hard and looked away. 

“What is this place?” she asked. 

“It’s a cave, Swan,” he replied, and she could hear the smirk in his voice. She rolled her eyes. 

“I know that. But what cave? Who lived here?” 

“No one.” 

“Hook, there’s a torch on the wall and a bed over there. Someone lived here.” She turned back to him, took in his guarded expression and tense posture, and then she understood. “It was you, wasn’t it? This was your place.” 

He gave a shrug. “I remained on my ship for most of my time in this land. But there were occasions when, yes, I stayed here. Stayed, not lived. It was… a haven of sorts. But never a home.” 

Like Tinkerbell’s tree house, thought Emma. Like her mother’s hollow log. Like so many of the foster homes and alleyways and back seats of cars where she’d once spent her own nights. She nodded. 

“Yeah. I get it.” 

Once again that connection flashed between them, as it had on the beanstalk, after the Dark Hollow, before that kiss... Hook’s shoulders relaxed and his lips curled into a smile. A softer smile than she’d ever seen from him, open and earnest and with no hint of flirtation in it. A smile that dimpled his cheeks and crinkled the corners of his eyes in a way that should not be as attractive as it was. His voice was soft as well, and low, sending warmth tingling across her skin. “We might as well settle in,” he said. “Storms like this one have been known to last for days.” 

Emma shook herself from her reverie. “Days!” she exclaimed. 

“Aye. Not always, though. Let’s hope this is one of the shorter ones.” 

“How long do the shorter ones last?” 

“Hours. Like I said, settle in.” 

He gestured to the mattress set against the back wall, atop a sort of platform made of stones and rough-hewn wooden boards. Emma hesitated for only a moment before striding over, prodding it experimentally with her finger, then gingerly sitting down. It was soft and springy, and when she shifted her weight it released a faint, dusty smell of hay. 

Her boots were so wet that her toes within them made a squelching noise, so she pulled them off, followed by her socks. These she draped over the end of one of the boards, then curled up with her bare feet tucked beneath her and made herself as comfortable as she could, leaning against the wall and burrowing deep into the warmth of Hook’s coat. 

She could sense his gaze on her, focused and intent, and when she glanced up the look in his eyes set her heartbeat racing and her brain scrambling to think of something—anything—to say that might distract them both from the reality of where they were, the intimacy of it, how little space there was and how long they might have to stay there, alone together. 

“It smells really good,” she blurted, then immediately wanted to kick herself. “I mean, um, I haven’t been in a lot of caves but I guess I would have expected them to be, I don’t know, mustier? Does that make sense?” 

Stop babbling, you idiot. 

She had no idea how caves were supposed to smell and cared even less, but she’d die before she let Hook find out that her muddled brain had not actually meant the cave smelled good at all. The warm, spicy scent tickling her nose was the same one she remembered clinging to his skin during their kiss. It clung to his coat as well, of course, stronger now that the rain was no longer washing it away, and made her light-headed as she fought the urge to bury her face in the leather and just breathe. 

Hook, fortunately, gave no indication that he noticed her discomfiture. “I expect it’s just the island,” he said. “Whatever keeps its inhabitants young also seems to hold other things in a sort of stasis. Despite all the rain there’s not actually much decay here.”

“Oh,” she said. “Wow. That’s... actually a bit creepy.” 

“Neverland, love. Creepy is its byword. Although, now, I wonder...” His eyes lit with speculation and he strode across the small space to the wall opposite the bed where a small pile of rocks lay. She couldn’t see what he was doing but she could hear his muttered curses and the shifting of the rocks and then he said “Aha. Here it is.” 

“Here what is?” 

Hook turned to her with a triumphant grin. “Something to keep us warm,” he replied, holding up a bottle. 

“Rum, I’m guessing,” snorted Emma. 

“Naturally.” He smirked at her. “But also this.” 

He crossed the cave again sat down next to her on the mattress, tucking the rum between his knees and handing her a small parcel wrapped in oilcloth. She unwrapped it and frowned at the contents. 

“What is this? Beef jerky?” 

“Is that what you call beef that’s been salted, smoked, and dried?” 

“Um. I think so?” 

“Then yes, this is beef jerky. I’ve always known it as boucan.” 

“Huh.” Emma poked at the dark brown strips of meat. “How long has it been here?” 

“Oh, a good forty years I’d reckon.” He grinned at her. “But that’s a mere blink of the eye in Neverland. It’s fine. Here, look.” He took a piece and bit into it. Emma watched him as he chewed, watched his jaw work and his throat flex as he swallowed, and felt her own throat go dry. “See?” he said. “It’s perfectly fine. Try some.” 

Gingerly, she selected a piece and took a tiny bite. It was intensely smoky and very salty, but so good and she realised to her surprise that she was starving. Her stomach gave a loud, gurgling rumble and Hook laughed, the cords in his neck straining beneath skin still damp from the rain, illuminated by the torchlight’s glow. Emma stuffed the rest of the jerky into her mouth and concentrated on chewing it.

When she dared look at Hook again, he was watching her with another of his looks, this one soft and indulgent, the corners of his mouth quirked in a faint smile. Her belly clenched. 

“So what do you think?” he asked. 

“Hmm?” 

“About the boucan?” 

“Oh. It’s, um, it’s good. Salty though.” 

He picked up the rum bottle and pulled its cork out with his teeth. “Quench your thirst, love?” he asked. 

Emma looked at the bottle, then the pirate, then the bottle again, listened to the pounding of the rain outside and the felt the equally intense pounding of her heart. She weighed it all in the balance, then threw her caution to the wind. 

“Why the hell not?” she muttered, grabbed the rum, and drank. 

—

When she awoke the next morning the rain had stopped. Emma vaguely registered the absence of the dull roar of rushing water and was grateful for its lack. Her head was throbbing and her mouth cotton-dry, and she wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep for another hundred years or so. She burrowed deeper into her pillow with a groan. 

“Ahem.” 

The sound of a very pointed throat-clearing penetrated her sluggish brain and the realisation that she was not alone had her eyes flying open. Only then did she realise that her head was resting not on a pillow at all but on Hook’s bare chest as they lay together on the narrow bed, she curled up on her side still swathed in his coat and his arm around her waist, fingers curled over her hip, holding her close. 

Their clothes, she was relieved to note, were still on. 

 From the look on David’s face though, they may as well have been naked. 

“What the hell is this?” her father seethed. Emma jolted backwards, scrambling out of Hook’s embrace and wrapping the coat more tightly around her. Behind David, she noted with dismay, stood Mary Margaret and Neal—she looking disappointed and he incredulous—with Tinkerbell bringing up the rear, smirking at Hook. 

Hook sat up and ran his hand over his face. “Relax, Dave,” he said. “No need for the tone. We got caught in the rain, came here for shelter, drank some rum to keep warm, and fell asleep. I don’t think pistols at dawn or the business end of your sword will be required.”

“And that’s all?” demanded Neal. “You just slept?”

Hook’s eyes flashed dangerously but he held his temper. “That’s all,” he confirmed. “I may be a pirate but I am always a gentleman. Not that it’s really any of your concern. ” 

Neal’s cheeks flushed red and opened his mouth to reply, but David spoke first. “Let’s get out of here, then,” he said. “Pan showed up this morning with a new message about Henry and we’ve got to act fast.” 

Emma scrambled to her feet then realised they were still bare and sat down again to tug on her socks. “What was it?” she demanded. “What was the message?”

“Let’s get back to camp and we’ll show you,” said David grimly. Emma nodded and shoved on her boots as quickly as she could before following her father out of the cave. She didn’t look back. 

It wasn’t until much, much later, after many reproachful looks from her mother and wounded ones from Neal, speculative ones from Tinkerbell and an amused one from Pan himself that she realised she was still wearing Hook’s coat. 

—

NOW WITH AMAZING ART by @cocohook38​