#u come home at seven and he's getting ready for wind down time already IT'S NOT FAIR TO HIM

[theloveinc]

bakugo technically can't stop you from having a job but he can pester you about not working overtime

#bakugo #u refuse to let him financially take care of u but there's literally no reason to work any extra LOL #i have three night classes this semester and i am so . arg #anyway thought abt bakugo behind u on the phone going 'dont agree to overtime dont agree to overtime' #u come home at seven and he's getting ready for wind down time already IT'S NOT FAIR TO HIM #same with night classes #he's in the back corner of your zoom camera looking like a creepy pasta bc he's so annoyed at ur class going on til 9:30 #LMFAO IF YOUR PROFESSOR keeps you late in the classroom he's walking in to come n get u #(bc ofc he picks u up) #and the next time when he gets locked out u see his face pressed up to the little glass window on the door #its a tradeoff #shii posts #gen

[miekasa]

OMG PLEASE DO DAD!JEAN I WOULD CRY IF U DID

Y'all want them to be dilfs so badly...... fortunately, I would be a housewife for Jean, so I will indulge the both of us 😌😌

Jean wants kids so badly, he’s so excited and ready when you guys finally have them. There’s not really any nervousness about it for him; sure, there will be difficulties along the way, but he’s mentally prepared himself for all that already; he’s ready. 

He’s so gentle with his kids and, yeah, sometimes he does borderline on being overprotective of them, but it comes from a place of love. You’re there to make sure he doesn’t smother them too much, and reassure him that they’ll always need him, even when they do grow up a bit. 

I wanna say he wants at least two, and so that’s where you start. Your oldest daughter is about three when you have your second kid, and it turns out to be another girl. You were both perfectly content to stop there, but the minute your second daughter was sent off to pre-k full time, Jean comes into your bed room with puppy dog eyes and a huge pout and a declaration you should have seen coming from a mile away: “I think we should have one more kid.” 

(You swear to stop after the third, a son, who Jean cherishes just as much as his baby girls. You do not, and you have one more son, but hey, they say four kids is supposedly the recipe for a happy family).

They somehow all get Jean’s eyebrows and it’s a little crazy… a bit envying, too. The girls get Jean’s eyes, and your sons get his hair color, face shape, nose, and just about every other distinct feature you can imagine. They are certainly his children, that’s for sure. 

PTA dad that puts all other PTA parents to shame. Every event, every meeting, every fundraiser, Jean is there with a pen and paper in hand. He’s ready to volunteer and make demands and throw out ideas, and he’d not backing down to some passive aggressive gluten-free mom wearing capris. No way. 

Most of his involvement in his kids’ school(s) come from a place of distrust with the administration. You two spent a lot of time discussing where to send your kids to school, but Jean never trusted anything 100%, so he gets himself involved as a sort of reassuring measure. 

You can often catch him essentially hosting a breakfast buffet on Sunday mornings. Everyone gets their own little omelet tailored to their exact liking. When your firstborn gets old enough, she stands on a little stool and helps him cook; Jean holds your first son in his hand while he does it, and the other two sit at the counter, kicking their little legs in anticipation for their favorite breakfast. 

He’s always holding at least one of them whenever you’re out. This usually helps to keep them together, but also just because Jean likes it. He’s happy that they like to crawl on him and essentially use them as a human tower because he loves any and all affection from them. 

Your first kid was the easiest in a sense, or at least, she was according to Jean, because she’s a huge daddy’s girl. All Jean had to do was walk into the room for her to stop crying, I wouldn’t blame you if you were bitter after carrying her for nine months, only for her to look at Jean like he hung the moon in the sky himself. 

You gotta admit, it’s pretty sweet watching him be a first time dad. He’s always wanted this, so he was ready mentally, but he also did his research: parenting books, early-development research, even pregnancy books. And your firstborn was kind of the textbook baby, so she was a breeze.

Then came your second daughter and she knocked the wind out of him. Nothing he did with your first kid seemed to work with her: she didn’t stop crying just because Jean rocked her to sleep, she didn’t like being held or being put down for sleep, and she fucking hated her stroller pls Jean was just a constant state of buffering for, like, four months.

It’s with your second kid that you learn that Jean has a pretty good singing voice, because it turns out that lullabies in combination with him swaying her in his arms was the recipe to get her to settle down after a crying fit. You have a handful of videos on your phone of Jean dancing with the newborn, while your first kid hums an accompanying tune in the background. 

When your first son comes along, the girls are about seven and four respectively, so they’re at the age where they like to essentially be mini-parents to the baby. Jean could cry at the sight of watching his two girls help bottle feed their baby brother, and they’re actually quite helpful when you and Jean are busy at home. 

By this time, you both have mastered the work-home schedule perfectly, and it’s pretty smooth sailing. The only real bump in the road is that the kid hates baby food—the girls didn’t mind it, and ate it until they were old enough to handle solids, but your son spit up anything from a jar. So, Jean also becomes a part-time home chef, and his meal preps consist of blending up fruits and veggies every Sunday night for your baby. 

You guys will be out shopping as a family, and more often than not, your second daughter will be on Jean’s shoulders, you’ll push the baby’s stroller, and your firstborn is at Jean’s side, holding his hand. 

The middle two are the ones who argue the most. They got the… fiery sides of Jean, so they’re the most likely to butt heads with each other. Thankfully, your oldest is usually able to get them to calm down, and you and Jean think it’s quite cute watching them hold little kid-lead family meetings to work through their problems. 

He kinda gets peer pressured by his kids sometimes, and by that I mean he knows he’s not supposed to buy the sugary cereal, or let them stay up too late, but sometimes he can’t help it. They’re very cute and very convincing, so can you really blame him for the Oreo O’s that make it into the shopping cart?—or for letting them snuggle up to him for an extra 15 minutes before bed time? 

When your last kid comes around, Jean is a fucking pro—but he kind of always has been. He can have a baby in his left arm and build a princess tower with his right; he’s got this. 

You gotta admit, it’s quite… attractive to see Jean not only handle your newborn with such ease, but to do it while doing work, and keeping up with your other three kids. He really makes it look like he was born to do this. Almost makes you wanna have one more… almost. 

He gets complimented a lot when he’s out in public with all of them without you, and he tries to be gracious and respectful, but the middle two aren’t having it. (“Daddy is handsome, but he likes mommy.” “Yeah, he likes mommy!”)

He’s got to be careful about what he says around the kids, because they sure do love to gossip. They’ll even rat him out to you accidentally. 

Look, he knows that Connie has been his friend since they were teenagers. That does not mean Jean is willing to trust him with any of your kids. You gotta convince him that, yeah, Connie is a little… wild sometimes, but he wouldn’t let any of your kids get hurt. 

Connie essentially becomes the resident cool uncle, and a little part of Jean is happy and relieved that he turns out to be a reliable babysitter, but he can also admit to being a little jealous whenever the kids come back from Connie’s house and wont shut-up about how “fun and cool” Uncle Connie is. (It’s not coincidence that soon after, Jean usually plans some fun family activity, as if he feels the need to prove himself). 

Nothing drives him crazier than knowing that your first son wants to be “just like Uncle Armin” when he grows up. Armin’s smart and cool and everything, but he’s not that great. (“You don’t wanna grow up to be a nerd, kid—ouch!” “Jean, stop calling Armin a nerd, you’re a grown man.”)

Connie is the cool uncle, and Armin has some favoritism in the house, but Aunt Sasha puts them all to shame. All four of your kids idolize her, even your newborn, you swear you see his eyes sparkle when Sasha holds him. Sasha can do no wrong in their eyes, and they love love love being around her. 

Endless amounts of pictures and videos of you with the kids on his phone. He scrolls through them on his lunch breaks, and even drives to see you when he has a little extra time in the day. He loves having photos of your little family with him always. 

His favorite thing is coming home from work and hearing all the footsteps running to the door to greet him. He swears having you and his kids welcome him home is the best feeling in the world. 

#anonymous #jean kirstein PLEASE let me have your children challenge #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #happy fathers day jean <222

[ginazmemeoir]

IT. IS. STORY. TIME.

and here you go with one of my favorite stories, ever.

tagging @dragonfairy1231 @mango-pickle @momo-all-the-way @the-fault-in-our-inquilab @aadyeah @holding-infinity-and-a-book @weird-u-deactivated20210917 @carmen-riddle @the-actual @taareginn @rebelliousrochelle @catsandbooksandstuff

@ people who i forgot to tag sorry

I can feel his breath on my shoulder, his husky, sweet as honey voice whispering in my ear, “Come. Be my queen Shachi. Become the queen of the devas.” I can feel his fingers leaving marks on my arms as I struggle to break free of his grip. I somehow manage to rip free of his clutches, and turn to face him, my face flush with fury. Nahusha, the temporary King of the Devas, had just crossed a line. But he just looks at me, his gaze making me feel as if I am being stripped naked, and then turns around with a smirk, his robes and ostentatious amount of gold flowing after him.

I stomp back to my palace. Indra had always been an impulsive person, but murdering Trishiras was not an accident – it was a paramount sin to kill a god. And now he has merrily fled away, leaving me and the rest of the devas to deal with his mess. I was actually the one who had voted for Nahusha to rule us while Indra was in exile. He was the most exemplary human being, plus being the son-in-law of Mahadev carried some legitimacy as well. Initially he was a better king than Indra - and then followed the same power that had corrupted the minds of those before him. First, he replaced those favoured by Indra, primarily the Maruts, the gods of wind. Then he disrespected Brihaspati. And then he turned his gaze on me. I wasn’t his paramour or his fancy, indeed I was another object of power for him to seize. I was the one who decided who got the throne. And only the man I was married to could become the true king of the devas. I sit on my divan, ruminating thus, and ask an apsara to fetch some soma for me. As the cooling effects of the liquor wash over me, a plan begins to form in my head. A plan which required the assistance of some of my closest friends.

The following night, I invite Guru Brihaspati over. He looks at me with sympathy and then sits down. “Gurudev, Nahusha has grown to be a menace.” “I agree Your Majesty. The council’s decision has proven to be – disastrous, to put it politely.” He says, wrinkling his nose. “As you know, he has now set his sight on me. You might be familiar with the erotic letters and the incident in the Nandaka Gardens?” Brihaspati averts his gaze, his nostrils flaring in anger. “Don’t worry Gurudev,” I placate him, “for I have a strategy to get rid of him, forever.” Having gained Brihaspati’s attention, I describe my plan to him, his face changing from worry to glee. “Brilliant Devarani! I must admit, your political acumen is frightening.” He admits, his hands glossing over the letter I hand him. Smiling, I stamp it with my seal – an elephant with a flower in its trunk – and instruct him to deliver it to Nahusha.

Brihaspati leaves soon after supper, and as the servants dim the lights in my palace, I lay in my bed, restless in anticipation of what was to follow the next morning. The first rays of sunlight break into my room after what feels like an eternity, and with them arrives Usha, the goddess of dawn, and my dear friend. I get up and hug her, her warmth permeating my being and filling it with hope. Her fair skin and blonde hair are in strike contrast to my own dusky skin and jet-black locks. “Shachi, it has been far too long dear friend” Usha says, holding me at arm’s length. “I need your help Usha, and there’s not much time. Help me find Indra.” “Why what happened?” she asks, oblivious as always. “Seriously? Where are you?” I ask in disbelief. “Sorry, it’s just most sneaky activities are carried out at night and not at dawn. But enough about that, follow me!” she replies sheepishly, then grabs my arm, and we both jump out of the window. I use my powers to cushion our fall as we land on her gleaming gold chariot, drawn by red cows and we gallop away into the horizon. Usha travels at the speed of light, as she brings dawn all over the world, scanning the universe for any trace of Indra. The hours fly by, and Usha begins turning her chariot towards the heavens. “Shachi, there isn’t much time left, I have to go back and let Lord Surya take charge now.” I am about to ask her for just some more time, when my gaze lands on Manasarovar, Mahadev’s sacred lake. I ask Usha to land there, and we land on the surface of the frozen lake, dotted by the occasional lotus. Usha assumes her full form, her rosy glow warming the chilly air and wielding her bow and arrow. I inspect the lake, and feel drawn to a particular lotus. I reach it hesitantly, and then cut open its stalk. And there, in the stalk of a random lotus in the Manasarovar, I find the mighty Indra, cowering in its safety. “Indra, it’s me, Shachi,” I begin, when Indra cuts me off. “Please return beloved. I am not worthy of love or respect. I have killed a god. There’s still a long way for me to atone repentance for my sins.” My anger, which was simmering until then, threatens to boil over. “Repentance. So your own reputation is more important to you than your wife and your subjects?” Indra looks at me, his face stricken. “I have been enduring the harshest of tapas here for eons and you have the gall to…” “YOU LEFT US TO COWER IS WHAT YOU DID. You have already repented by slaying Vritra with your Vajra. What more do you want? Your subjects are suffering, Nahusha lords over us, and he’s hell bent on having me. I married you Indra, and that makes you the rightful Devaraja. Come home now.” I reply. Indra looks at me remorsefully, and says, “I cannot return until the previous king is dethroned Shachi.” “Technically, you can’t take the throne while another king sits on it. But you can indeed return back to Swarga. And if I know Nahusha, my plan should be bearing fruit as we speak.” I interrupt him. “What plan?” asks Usha. “You will see. Now we must hasten Usha, for the wedding of all time.”

I return back to my palace just in time. I hide Indra in the gardens, and then ask my maids and apsaras to ready me. They bedeck me in the finest of fabrics woven out of air and mist, and celestial gold infused with Usha’s energy. Parijata flowers are braided into my hair, and I then wait at my palace gates atop Airavata, Indra’s elephant.

Brihaspati has executed my plan flawlessly. The streets of Amaravati are lined with numerous devis and devatas, apsaras and gandharvas, celebrating the marriage of their king to me. Nahusha rides atop an open palanquin, carried by none other than – the Saptarishis, the seven revered sages. I had told him to approach my palace atop a palanquin carried by the Saptarishis, and the naïve fool had agreed.

I can see the excitement on his face, alternating between his anger at the sages for their slow speed. Agastya’s short stature makes matters worse for the other rishis, resulting in the palanquin tilting towards one side. Some more time passed, and then Nahusha lost his cool. He kicks Agastya on his back, and his shout carries throughout the assembly - “MOVE STUPID OLD CRONE YOU WALK AS SLOW AS A LIZARD!” Everybody stands shocked. The sounds of trumpets and drums and veenas cease, while everybody else is mortified at the disrespect done to a Saptarishi. Agastya’s eyes however, blaze with fury. He slams the palanquin down on the ground, and then turns to face Nahusha, his anger making him seem larger than his height. “Listen, O vain descendant of Chandravansh, false king of the devas! I curse you to return back to earth,” roars Agastya, looking at Nahusha with a sly smile, “and spend the rest of your days as a lowly lizard yourself.” The lizard part was a fun addition, but I was indeed counting on Nahusha’s banishment. Agastya’s curse quickly shows its effect, and where once stood a king, now lay a lizard, quickly scampering its way out of Agastya’s legs, who tries to stomp on him.

I beckon Usha to retrieve Indra, who is brought before us in the same dishevelled state I found him in. And then, I begin. “Here you see Devaraja Indra, your true king. Slayer of Vritra, wielder of the mighty Vajra, absolved of all sins. Bow to your king, my loyal subjects, and bow to your queen!”

#story time #indra #shachi #indrani #indra and shachi #hinduism #hindu mythology #mythology #vasu

[closer-stars]

Heart of Depth (1)

Member: Yeosang Genre: Action, Slice of Life, Fantasy, Fluff Word Count: 8.8k (nice) Requested: I g u ess so,,, Content: Yeosang’s rich but he’s tired but wait there’s More. Genshin Impact AU/Inspired-- I say inspired bec this is more modern than where Genshin is currently set. Food mention. Allusions to death. (there will be fighting in future parts) Note: Hi so... uh,,, this is actually a Months old request that happened at the height of some personal,,, things,,,, so I may have forgotten One aspect of the request and got carried away. i am so Sorry. There’s gonna be fluff eventually. If you would like to be tagged for this, please do tell me~ Thank you also to my beta readers! Also Yes i changed the title to something else, I think this just Fits better. Network: @ateezlovenet Tag List: @barsformars @miniyeo @jeongyunhoed @yeekies @yeotlny @frankenstein852 @shinyddeonghwa @prodbyteez @yeochikin @yeocult

How long has it been since he has mingled with humans? He’s not sure. He’s not quite sure either of how old he is. Sapphire eyes gaze at the scenery from where he stands. Over north, he remembers a battle that has left thousands scarred in years to come, honored and remembered rightfully in generations to come. To the east, he remembers the betrayal of his dear friend for power, how difficult it was to wash away the blood from his hands. It was more difficult to wash away the nightmares. In the west, he can still picture a palace being built, only to be ruined once more by opposing forces who saw potential in his land, how he raised so much chaos to bring order back. Southwards, he remembers his lover, their lively eyes dimming with a promise of seeing them soon. It’s been too long since that promise and not once has he seen them. The memory causes him to fiddle with the pendant hidden beneath his shirt. He tries not to play that memory in his head once more as it would only causehim more pain than necessary. 

He’s seen the world decay and grow. He sees the mountain of which he created eons back to tame a beast that once ravaged the lands. Fortunately, the beast is no more, the area has become a place for people to relax and unwind from the stressors of present day life. He wonders how humans have come this far, little by little gaining independence from a god that led them to safety. The need for a god is ending soon as it is only a matter of time before he passes on the powers to someone else. All his friends have retreated away from their responsibilities, handing the job to those who can continue it for them. He’s the only one from the original seven that is left. 

He wonders: do these people still need a god?

This was a question better left for another day, for today is a full day of routined duties. 

He returns to his living space, spacious but empty. What else can an immortal put into their home without giving away their age? Even if humans can barely understand the concept of immortality, priceless antiques can make him a target of many, so he tries to live simply. He of all people should know that. 

Alas, the key word here is: tries. 

The furniture around his abode are not of cheap quality, but one of longevity, not that his wallet hurts at the price. His clothes are not from everyday brands either, while he does not look down those whose options are limited by currency, his preferences for clothes can make one mistake him to be a regular of luxury brand releases. His palate though was another thing entirely. He misses the food of the past, while there are some areas that have kept the practice to produce the meals he misses alive, the process to acquire them is tedious.

What he wants, he can get with ease. All except someone. The empty feeling in his living space has not changed since his lover’s passing. Since then, he’s never taken an interest in anyone else, holding onto their promise of seeing each other soon. Whenever that will be. He’s gotten used to living on his own but he does not like it. Watching humans below him move at such a pace exhausts him, they live longer than the humans he remembers, but still move as if their lives are shorter. 

Ironic really. 

The sky is a beautiful purple once he’s near his home and rather than cooking something, he opts for take-out. Somewhere along the way of his existence, he eventually has settled for what humans now eat and as a result, he has a small soft spot for fried chicken. He misses seeing the stars though, how they remind him of them and the way they’ve created them to be what they are now. 

Each one carries someone’s destiny. Maybe he should’ve asked them where his star is. 

He buys himself a hearty serving of fried chicken with the various dips to eat for the night. He waits outside of the franchise, watching people come and go, hurrying to bury themselves in the comfort of their own homes. With the years of life on him, he finds no reason to hurry. It doesn’t take too long for the staff to hand his chicken to him, bidding him goodbye as they cater to the next customer. At least he didn’t forget his wallet today. 

Yeosang has been a creature of habit, always wanting to do certain things in a certain order every day. But something about today makes him want to break the sense of familiarity, no harm in it he assumes. He’s been the only god in this region thus far, save for a few other creatures that roam the roads to protect the humans from unexplainable happenings. He spots the new coffee shop down the corner, it’s clear that they’re fairly new. He didn’t have anything waiting at home, he could spare them a visit to support their budding endeavors. 

He enters the empty shop, and already he’s greeted by a light wind chime tinkling as he closes the door, along with a few pastries on display. There were a few flowers sprinkled about in the premises as well. 

“Welcome!”

A bright voice catches his attention and it takes him a few moments to tear his gaze from the curious confectionery treats to shift his attention to the person behind the counter. Something in his chest drops at the sight of you. There’s something about you that stirs a feeling in him and he’s stunned. It’s been awhile since he’s seen eyes that remind him of wine: brewed carefully, poised and intense. 

His gaze on you is unmoving, and it causes you to shift on your feet. You clear your throat to have him snap out of his daze. “Sir? Would you like to order something?” You’re worried your first customer is a creep and you’d have to install more security measures in your shop. A small part of you hopes it’s just the first day exhaustion getting the better of you because there’s no logical explanation as to why this man’s eyes seem to glow. He doesn’t answer again and you speak up a little louder this time. 

“Sir? Would you like to order?”

Your question brings him back to reality and he blinks for a few moments. He’s not on a hill. He’s in a coffee shop, being eyed with confusion by you. He clears his throat and straightens his back. “Apologies for the lapse in attention, what do you recommend?” He asks carefully, eyeing the sweets and the menu that displays various coffees and tea. Truthfully, he would’ve gone for his black tea but what’s the point when he wants to know more of what your shop creates and gives? 

You glance at your menu then at him. “Are you into sweets? If you are, I recommend the iced dark mocha and the caramel macaron. If not, then the Moroccan mint tea latte and the vanilla macaron.” Truthfully, you pegged him as someone who didn’t have a sweet tooth but looks have always been deceiving haven’t they? You watch the man take your options into deep thought as you stand there, waiting for his decision. Should you have described your products? Do they not sound good? Is it too limiting? “I can also rec--”

“I’ll take the mint tea latte and the vanilla macaron.” He says, fishing out his wallet for the second time. Without another word, you ring his order and ask for him to wait for a few moments for you to prepare his order. He takes a seat nearby as he observes the interiors of the new shop. It’s simple, quaint, comfortable, things that remind one of home after a long day. 

You approach his table with the prepared latte and macaron in a small bag for him to carry on the way home. “Here are your orders, Sir.” Your voice brings him out of his musings. The smell of mint laced with the subtle sweetness of vanilla greets him as he returns to reality. 

“Please just call me Yeosang.” He tells you as he stands up, ready to return home. His eyes still bear a heavy weight as he looks at you intently. The request catches you off guard, but you nod regardless. You watch him leave the premises, leaving you alone with the wind chimes tinkling in his wake. Your eyes follow his figure until he’s out of your sight, walking to wherever you assume he’d live. A strange man indeed but at least you had a customer for today. It’s a slow start but it is a start. It would take a while before you can close for the day but no matter, you can clean up whatever must be cleaned until the next customer comes in. 

On the other hand, Yeosang has taken a few sips of the latte, somehow attracted to the subtle creamy texture with the comforting sharpness mint carries. He never had a liking for over sweetened tea with cream, the recent rise of milk tea has left him confused with the palate of humans but this tea fits his taste. He wonders if he can recreate this in the coming days, for now, he wants to be in his home eating his chicken. 

His thoughts return to you, wondering who you are really. Someone that reminds him of years past, before the world is what it is now. For now, he focuses on what’s in front of him: fried chicken, tea latte, and a macaron. Perhaps he’ll drop by your shop again in the days to come. 

---------

Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t have many customers today because your best friend has decided to enter the establishment. “What’s my favorite human doing?” He asks in the most obnoxious way. The volume startles you out of your daydreams and it’s a good thing you had quick reflexes, otherwise you would’ve dropped your glasses. 

“Have you ever heard of an indoor voice, Wooyoung?” You chide, with a wiggle of your finger you conjure a small wisp of icy air against the exposed skin of his ankle. This causes him to yelp in fear, thinking it was an insect. Fortunately, it was just your antics. 

He complains after hearing your snickering. “You know I don’t like insects!” He whines as he sauntered over to the counter. He thought you would’ve kept the pearl back home but he guesses the first day jitters made you want the reassurance of the pearl. 

You lean against your elbows as he eyes your menu with utmost curiosity. “Can I help you?” His complaints don’t faze you, if anything it makes you want to annoy him more. 

“Can’t I worry over my best friend? It is their first day of their new job!” It’s so hard to stay angry at a guy who just knows he’s charming and well intentioned. Also, you’ve known this guy since you were children. 

So you sigh, conceding to his wishes, “It’s a slow day, Wooyoung. I’m actually surprised I got this shop to become a reality. I think you’re my third customer-- speaking of which, what would you like to order?” 

“Do I get a discount?”

“Do I think you should get a cup full of ice poured down your shirt?” 

He pouts at your retort. “Are you at least going to let me buy the strawberry cake?” 

“Do you want coffee with that?” You ask as you start ringing up his order. 

“Iced americano please?” There was no need to add syrup into his order if he uses that tone again. Maybe that’s the perk of having your best friend taste test all your creations, he just knows what to order and it’s clear that he loves your strawberry cake. 

He decides to stay in your shop until closing. There’s really no reason for him to head home when the two of you are sharing an apartment to ease the burden on your respective wallets. Living on your own is expensive. The remaining hours of the shop go by with Wooyoung telling you about his day and his shift at a dance studio. It’s still a little hard to function after the new sickness has ended but life has to keep moving. You fill him in on the new face you saw today, an interesting man, well kept with what looked like high quality clothes, yet the stark contrast of the fried chicken he held was a nice twist you admit. You don’t mention the glowing eyes otherwise Wooyoung would chalk it up to you and your affinity for anything creepy late at night. 

“You just met this guy and you’re already gushing about him. This is why I told you to download that dating app already.” 

“Shut up, Wooyoung, I’m not into him like that. Even if they do an event to boost their sales, I’m not downloading an app just for the sake of dating!” You return with a whine. Eyes shift from the annoying man lounging on the stool across you, to the clock hanging on the wall. Time to clean up and close for the day. “Move your butt, Wooyoung. I have to clean up the place before I close for the day.” Bless his soul though, for he helps you clean up and take out the trash. 

The distance from home isn’t too far, but it isn’t too near either. A few stops away using the train and it doesn’t hurt the wallet for the most part. 

Really this spot is a dream come true for you. 

----------

‘Leave! Take my people with you!’

‘Don’t be foolish! You can’t fight them alone!’

A harsh shove puts him out of harm’s way. The last thing he sees is the confident smile shining against the heavy downpour.

He awakens with a jolt. Eyes glowing brightly only to dim to brown orbs as he tries to regain his bearings, above him is a cream colored ceiling, not the stormy skies that pelt against his window. It’s been thousands of years but the burden still presents itself on his shoulders. Yeosang sits up, brushing his hair up and out of his vision. On his bedside stands an amulet, sewn into it were the visuals of a rare white flower. Never had he found someone to give this too, for the sake of safekeeping. Choi San was considered but he thought better, his lifestyle would have left the amulet in a concerning state. For now, it will stay on his bedside. 

Another day of business meetings. 

Another day of wanting something.

See, while Yeosang found comfort in the luxury of his home and in routine, it still felt stifling. Being a god isn’t as glamorous as modern pop culture makes it out to be. He wonders who gave these humans the idea that being immortal, being powerful would be something good. Perhaps the Order’s influence was a lot stronger than what the Archons had assumed. Though he could ask for help in changing such perception, it is out of his power and field to be able to do such. That is a thought for another day, for today, he has to deal with finding a suitable middle ground of a contract with clients from another country. 

Now, he could just change his top into something presentable and leave his bottoms as just his pajamas as it is through video call but he prefers to be presentable from head to toe. He’s seen enough slip ups from his peers to consider just changing top up. 

Maybe if the weather eases up later in the day, he could give your shop a visit. 

--------

You nearly jump out of your bed when Wooyoung bursts in, saying that it’s time to start the day. Who gave Wooyoung the right to make his yelling your alarm clock? You make a mental note to annoy him later on. First thing on the to-do list is to get out of bed which admittedly takes longer than expected. 

Once you leave your room, you’re greeted by the smell of something cooking. In this friendship, Wooyoung’s in charge of cooking, while you were in charge of baking. Heavens forbid that the two of you don’t eat well. He was also in charge of you staying physically active thanks to his antics. While you had the Cryo vision, he had Electro. Any ‘static’ that you feel from him was admittedly him just wanting to annoy you. 

“How are you so awake this early?” It’s 7AM. You open your shop at 10AM. He on the other hand, his work starts at 2PM today and ends at midnight. If anything, you should be the early bird, while he is the night owl. 

“Because between the two of us, i’m easier to wake up. Now go eat before it gets cold!” He chides you gently as he continues to wash up the pans. You glance at the meal set on the table, he made all of these? All these side dishes and meat? 

“What time did you wake up?”

“5:30?” 

“Jung Wooyoung, what the-- I could’ve just grabbed something from the lady down the street.” You could also make yourself a cup of coffee in your own shop, it’s your own money anyways.

“Relax! I can catch up on sleep before my work starts and mind you, it’s raining so it’s better to get to your shop and be able to dry up before any customer enters. Don’t forget, I packed you some lunch because we all know you’d forget to grab food on the way” 

At the mention of rain, you notice the downpour outside. That probably explains the humidity lately. Time for a change of plans on what to wear today, at least your boots could take on the rain and still make you look good. Your bottom lip juts out as you watch the rain but you decide to change your attention to the food in front of you. Heavens forbid that you don’t eat what Wooyoung makes for you, otherwise you would go back to take out and instant food for a good week. Once finished, you’re about to wash the dishes when Wooyoung shoos you off. “Go, you know how the station can be with this weather.” You don’t force it, so you leave your plate by the sink and go and get ready. 

--------

You arrive outside your shop, unlocking the door while balancing the umbrella on your shoulder. Once you were inside, you let out a sigh of relief. The dry air inside provides you comfort from the humidity outside. The rain isn’t as hard as it was in the morning but it was still a challenge to walk through people who were damp from the downpour. With the current weather, you didn’t need to water your plants too much so that’s one thing off the list. 

You get started on cleaning and setting everything up for the day. Now you weren’t sure if you’d get more customers today but it was better to be safe than sorry. Not long after you cleaned up the place, someone enters the shop. “Hello and welcome!” You greet them warmly from behind the counter. The first thing you notice is his sharp feline features, softened only by his curiosity for the pastries on display. You watch him carefully, wondering if he’ll stay and order something or leave shortly. After all, it is a little too early for sweets, though if that was what he prefers then you shall provide. The mysterious man leans a little closer to the display rack, eyeing the various treats you’re selling. You note the odd streaks of white on his slicked hair, surely this place has their own share of memorable fashion. Maybe in the future you could do something similar to your own hair, you’ve been wanting some sort of a change after all. 

“How much for the smallest cake?” 

There were various voices that you expected to come out of his mouth, his gentle manner of speaking was not one of them. You look at the cake he’s pointing at. Guess he has an eye for the finer things. “Twelve thousand won, sir..” You return a little flustered by his mannerism. 

“Can I ask what’s in it?” 

You stand up a little straighter, hoping to make your first sale for the day. “Dark chocolate and milk. There’s dark chocolate mousse in between the layers as well.” To be honest, this is your favorite creation, not too bitter, not too sweet, still perfectly smooth in your mouth. Well, it wasn’t easy to get all the ingredients for it either. He straightens up and looks at his watch. As he looks at the time, you take note of what he’s wearing: are there really people that have expensive taste that live in this side of the city? His bomber jacket alone looks more expensive that your entire outfit. There’s something about how he carries himself that tells you to stay on his good side, no matter how pleasant he presents himself to you. 

“I’ll come back later today to buy it.” He states and a small part of you deflates. You don’t want to hope too much on his words, people often do choose niceties rather than honesty. His tone leaves no room for you to guess if it was politeness or a genuine promise so you just nod. 

“We’re open until 10 PM, Sir.” You inform him. A part of you doesn’t believe his words but for the sake of making money, you let him know. 

“I promise, I’ll come back later.” He eyes your display again, as if trying not to forget your products then at your face. There’s something in his eyes that you can’t recognize but you let it be. Being a regular folk makes everyone look the same but once you’re out here selling things, you end up noticing all the small details. Maybe it’s just in the first few days.

His effort to reassure you makes you chuckle softly. Maybe he does mean it, with that you nod. “I’ll take your word for it, Sir. Have a nice day.” You can only assume that he flashes a smile from how his eyes curve as he bids you goodbye. When he turns his back to you is when you see a teal orb hanging on his waist. Another Vision holder. Maybe you should take the chance to explore the area one of these days. It’s been a while since you met other Vision holders besides Wooyoung and some of his fellow dancers. 

It’s the silence that follows once he leaves that makes you wish you had some sort of pet or companion in this shop. But that will be a thought for another day, for now, you busy yourself with your own phone. You couldn’t really message Wooyoung at this hour anymore, you know he’s back in bed catching up on sleep before his shift. Hours pass and you end up busying yourself with a book you found online. It becomes a deep dive at that point, the only time you had to put your phone down is when a customer comes in for a drink and even then making their orders doesn’t take too long. 

Your reading takes you to worlds past; how people preserved their memories beyond just the word of mouth and writings. The art that accompanied their memories was a reason as to why certain practices are still being done until present. Through faded colors, the preservations to keep them still visible and intact have brought you to beyond just the materials and methods of the past. It has brought you to the vivid awareness of a working society that had dwindled down then revived to become the society you now live in. 

By the time you snap yourself back to reality, it’s already 3PM. You forgot to eat your lunch. You look outside and the streets weren’t that cramped yet. It won’t be until two hours later when rush hour begins. Wooyoung was right once more, you decided to just eat towards the back. Making sure that people still know that there’s someone inside the shop while still having the comfort of privacy to eat. 

The windchimes ring again, making you cover your food immediately and rush over to the counter. “Hello and welcome!” You say, out of habit.

“Hello again!” The same guy from earlier has returned. This time with Yeosang. It takes a moment for you to get over your surprise, not expecting the two of them to know each other. Really, what were the odds?

Yeosang too looks at you with wide eyes, piercing and unmoving, but it’s the soft curve of his lips that dampens the intensity of his gaze. Only you were not aware of the turmoil inside the other’s body. San was all too aware of it but he says nothing. 

“Hello! Have you decided what to buy?” You ask, tone carrying careful gentleness as you try to keep your gaze on the man with the white streak. 

“Yup! The dark chocolate cake from earlier and two vanilla tea lattes please!” You didn’t really expect this sharp eyed man to carry such a bright tone in his voice. 

You take the chance to glance over at Yeosang. He clearly looked a little embarrassed to be trapped in his peer’s hold. A small smile warms your features, a little amused to see someone who gave you the impression of being so composed turn a little red. “Sure thing, that’s 16,000 won.” You state, ringing up their orders. “To go or dine in?”

“Would dine in be fine?” Yeosang’s friend asks. 

“Perfectly fine.”

“Then dine in please.”

You direct them to sit anywhere as they wait for their orders. The two leave you to it, and once you are out of earshot Yeosang breathes out in relief. “Choi San, you are blessed that I can’t throw you out to sea right now.” He hisses, though without any malice. 

“I can see why you’re affected though, heh.” San snickers, his eyes flickering towards your general direction. He’s unfazed by Yeosang’s eyes glowing into an intense blue. It’s an empty threat, they’ve been through worse and a human reminding them of a dear presence won’t hurt him. “They do have similar energies, and an affinity for plants.” San notes, gesturing to the presence of flowers in your shop. “Especially that one in particular.” He adds. Should he feel alarmed?

You quickly serve their orders, leaving them alone as you try to finish your meal quickly before the smell disturbs them. It’s not too long until you finish your meal, a major factor being that you weren’t reading as you ate. 

You stay behind the counter for the rest of their stay, making sure to stay out of their earshot,as you continue your reading to pass the time as it is only them who have decided to stay in your shop. 

“So you’re saying, the human behind the counter, reminds you of them?” 

Yeosang sighs at the inquiry, he should’ve expected the disbelief. It’s been thousands of years since his lover had made their return to this world since their passing. The edge of the cup grazes the bottom of Yeosang’s lips as he thinks. “Yes, I don’t quite understand why or how, but if my nightmares have returned then that must be something.” Truly, when it comes to his dear lover, his logic tends to be thrown out the window. Not entirely, at least. At the mention of night terrors, his companion raises an eyebrow in surprise. “San, take my word at least at the mere fact that my night terrors have returned.”

San’s features fall slightly at Yeosang’s unwillingness to discuss his nightmares. It’s a reasonable move, they can never tell when the walls listen. “Can we at least talk about this at your place? I remember you clearly choosing that building for their refusal to be affiliated with any organization.” 

“Very well. Once we have finished our meal here, we can return.” 

It’s not until you hear his friend thank you for the food and coffee for the second time that you realize you’ve been in too deep into the reading material. The sight of you trying to regain your surroundings as you blink away the words swimming about in your vision makes Yeosang’s friend chuckle lightly. Yeosang on the other hand eyes you closely. 

“San, can you wait for me outside? I won’t take too long.” 

So that’s his name. You glance at the male who shoots you a bright smile as he leaves the premises, he eventually stays near the door. Once he’s out of ear shot, Yeosang clears his throat to get your attention again. 

“Are you alright? You seem rather dazed. '' Yeosang asks. There’s something in his tone that you couldn’t quite tell if it was concern or not.

Dazed might be an understatement. “Yes I’m fine, I just got too into what I was reading..” You explain a little shyly as you try to regain your bearings. You can still see some words in your vision, it takes a few more blinking for them to melt from your sight.  

He smiles a little at your reaction. “If it’s not too much to ask, what were you reading about? Surely, it must have been an interesting topic?”

You glance at your phone, unsure of how to describe what you had been reading. “It was uh, art history.” This piques his interest, something in his eyes sparkles and it takes a bit of your self control to not chuckle at the obvious enthusiasm.  

“Is that so? Perhaps I can take some of your time in the future so that we can talk about art?” 

Was he asking you out? You stare at him in disbelief. The question is still trying to sink in.

If you weren’t who he thinks you are, a friend would be good enough for him. 

“Of course, if you aren’t interested I won’t take any offense in it.” He follows up upon your silence. He worries if he was a little too forward with such a question. 

“No!” You speak up, surprised by the force in your own voice. “I mean, no… as in, no it’s not that I’m not interested, it’s just, I don’t know you besides your name.” 

You have every right to be wary, he thinks. The current era has birthed plenty of amorality. Even if one seemed harmless, it might be too late when the realization of its true power sets in. His hand comes up to his chin in thought. He genuinely wants your trust, besides his earnest wish of you being his past lover, your interest in something he likes could lead to the two of you being friends. “Would it be alright if I become a regular in your shop though?” 

The question takes you by surprise because in usual circumstances, the customer becoming a regular is a gradual unspoken promise. Maybe it was for your own safety too as his initial question could be understood with some malice. Something in you tells you that you’re safe with him. At that thought, you smile warmly. “I wouldn’t mind. It will take a while before I memorize your order though.” Also, you needed to make money. 

“Good things take time.” 

His words make you laugh lightly. “You should get going, your friend has been waiting for you for quite some time now.” You remind him gently as you tip your head at San’s general direction. He’s already pouting, clearly impatient. 

Yeosang’s cheeks glow in embarrassment for letting his friend wait. “Very well, I’ll see you tomorrow then…?” He trails off, unsure of how to address you. You catch on to the gap and offer him a nickname. 

Yeosang repeats after you thoughtfully, and his eyes warm up when he fixes his gaze to you. “I shall get going then.” 

You watch him leave the shop, greeted by a relieved San by the doorway. The two of them bid you goodbye, and you watch them walk off until you couldn’t see them anymore. 

What an odd day, you thought to yourself. At least you had something to look forward to each day now. 

---------

“What do you think?” San asks by the door of his apartment.

“It may or may not be them.” Yeosang admits. They were always a sensitive topic for him. “Regardless, should it not be them, a human friend might do me some good in this worn world.” 

His wording reminds San of his other plan and it makes his heart drop slightly. “You’re really considering it?” 

A heavy sigh slips from Yeosang’s lips but he nods. “I’m far too old, San. Someone needs to take over soon as much as I would like it to be you, you have your own responsibilities in this world that only you can fulfill.” 

The conversation takes a heavy turn that San wasn’t ready for that he had it turn back to you. “Did you ever get their name? What did you talk about?” 

Yeosang updates the male in your lengthy conversation. San notices the small smile on his friend’s features. “...By tomorrow, I’ll be back in their shop, roughly the same time.” 

“Yeosang, the both of us know that it isn’t roughly the same time, you’ll be there on the dot. What’s going to happen if you get tired of the same drink huh?”

“I will try their other products.” 

“You’re going to spend so much money over them, Yeosang.” 

“If it means building a genuine connection then it’s a small price to pay.” 

--------

It becomes a thing that you wait for everyday now; him coming by your coffee shop at this exact time everyday. Every 5PM you start to await his arrival. At this point, you already know his order by heart: vanilla tea latte with two pieces of dark chocolate macarons. Sometimes, if the two of you were lucky, he stays with you beyond closing time and by then, you could offer to taste test some of your possible new products. 

Today is a lucky day for the two of you. It’s nearing closing time and you’ve told some of your customers that you would be closing up soon, to give them enough time to wrap up and go. Enough time as well for you to clean up everything and if time permits, for Yeosang to taste test some of your creations. You walk up to Yeosang’s table. “Excuse me, Sir? We’re closing in an hour.” You state as professionally friendly as you can-- if that was even possible. 

The male looks up from his book to be greeted by your features and your weak attempt to keep yourself from smiling. He slips the bookmark in between his reading, and from your view point, it looked like a reading on a certain era of history. You don’t get enough time to look at it better as he closes the book gently. “Shall I leave the premises, dear?” He entertains you for a moment, flashing a soft smile once you chuckle softly at his efforts. 

“You can, but that would also mean you won’t be able to taste something I’ve been trying out lately.” Something in his eyes flashes with curiosity and excitement. It honestly reminds you of a cat that’s staring at their favorite toy. 

“Then I shall stay and keep you company.” He returns. By now, the rest of the customers have left. You change the sign to only accepting take out orders for the last hour. “Do you need my assistance?” He offers, looking around the usually spotless place. There were some used plates along with a few mugs that should be washed on some tables, along with the trash. He wonders how you manage to do all of this by yourself. When he approaches the counter, he sees you already cleaning the coffee machines first. He calls your nickname again, and this time you manage to shift your attention to the male standing by the counter. 

“Yes?”

“Would you like some assistance?” He reiterates, waiting for your response. 

You look around the place and you spot the used plates and mugs. “Can you get those for me,please? Just put them by the sink. I’ll wash them.” As soon as he nods and gets to work, you busy yourself again with the coffee machines, making sure everything was spotless before getting yourself to wash everything. It takes a few trips from the man himself to get everything stacked neatly near the sink. 

“Anything else, dear?” 

At this point, you’ve gotten used to Yeosang calling you dear. There was a certain sweetness to how he calls your nickname as well, reminding you of hot tea sweetened slightly by honey. “Just keep me company, and tell me about your day.” You return, pulling him a seat as you start to wash everything. 

He accepts your offer, sitting down across you as he tells you about his day. For him, it was not anything extraordinary: meetings within the morning, visitations within the afternoon, up until the time of him being able to spend the last few hours of the day here with you. But you didn’t let him off that easy, you wanted to know more about this man who decided to befriend you. He entertains your questions with ease. 

“So you’re telling me, you’re part of a board of directors of a museum?” You’ve always wanted to work in one but life had other plans for you. You were thankful your coffee shop was picking up with the people that you were slowly having more than enough money to keep you and Wooyoung above water. Maybe when you manage to make more money, you could buy some simple art works to hang around your shop.

“That is correct. Are you interested in them?” He asks, head tilting to the side as he watches you dry all the plates and mugs before keeping them. While you busy yourself with keeping everything in order, he picks up his book. His fingers fly across the pages, looking for something. 

“I am.” You turn on your heels, drying your hands before pulling a small cake out of the refrigerator. “Always loved going to museums when I had the time. Anything related to art and its history, I loved it.”

He sees the small container, wondering if this is the cake you wanted him to try. “Is this the one you want me to try?” His inquiry is affirmed by your nod. 

“I tried a little something with this one, lavender and blueberry cake. It’s not really something you hear or see on the usual…” You had to admit it was a risk, too much lavender and it risks being potpourri. For you, the amount you put into creating this was just right, but you had to get a third opinion as well. You weren’t selling food for your own taste after all. You ready a glass of water as well, should Yeosang need to wash out any undesired taste. Yeosang’s eyes don’t seem to have any apprehension to your cake. True, it looks a little plain but he does understand the need to not waste on design when the material itself still isn’t of the desired outcome. He takes a small bite out of your cake, just as curious as you are, and if anything he trusts your skills that it wouldn’t be a poor result. 

All of a sudden, his eyes light up and he raises a thumbs up to your cake. “This is actually lovely. Lavender’s subtle, the blueberry adds the sweetness and the cake isn’t too dense and moist. It’s lovely. Can I bring an additional slice home?” There’s a bit of icing that’s left on the corner of his mouth. 

“Y-yeosang, you got a little bit of icing on your mouth..” You say, too focused on the pale purple cream. You watch him flounder about trying to rid of it with his finger, only to fail. At his failed attempts, you laugh softly. “Let me do it for you.” You grab a piece of tissue, and when you shift your attention to him, he’s finally wiped some of the cream off. It’s a bit endearing to see a man so well poised look rather lost and a little frustrated over something as small as icing. “Here.” You tip his chin up for him to stay put as you wipe it off successfully. 

Yeosang feels his heart nearly jump out of his throat at the proximity, especially at your gaze. It’s only when you let go of his chin that he feels himself breathing again. From then on, he ate carefully and slowly. It’s not that he didn’t want that type of closeness. 

While he finishes what’s left of the cake, you pack up the rest of the cake you had offered into a small box. “Keep the rest of it.” You state and Yeosang suddenly perks up in surprise at such offer. “I can recreate the cake anyways, I had Wooyoung taste the first half, so we still have some back home.” You explain. 

Who was he to say no? So, he flashes you a smile, one filled with utmost thanks and gratitude. “Thank you, I’ll try to make sure that San gets a taste of this as well.” He returns. 

He asks you where you live, not for personal wants but out of concern for your safety. It’s late into the night by the time the two of you left the shop and to walk on your own was surely a dangerous thing to do. From how you’ve spent your time with him, you don’t see any malice in his questions. You reassure him that you don’t go home on your own, rather you wait for Wooyoung outside the dance studio. “Would it be alright if I accompanied you to where this Wooyoung is?” 

The walk to the studio has you telling him who Wooyoung is. A best friend who was practically like a brother to you since you could remember. You weren’t quite ready to tell him just yet as to how the two of you became so close. That was left for a better time. You do tell him that both of you are Vision carriers, just like he is, only Wooyoung had the electro vision, while you a cryo vision. “I honestly thought he would get the pyro vision knowing how much he loves to dance but I guess life had other plans for him.” You admit with a bashful laugh. You mention his vision in passing, not out of rudeness but out of curiosity. A hydro vision, you can imagine just how driven and eccentric this man could be. 

He doesn’t correct your assumption on him. He did carry an orb like object on him, just dangling around his waist was a deep blue orb, almost as if it carries the water from the deepest parts of the ocean. He wonders how you got your vision, cryo carriers always had a story to tell that are usually not for the faint of heart. Yet, he understands that there are boundaries one must not cross. 

He climbs up the stairs with you, until he’s assured that you will be safe for the time being. “Stay safe on the way home.” He says, readying himself to leave once the studio’s staff have recognized you. 

“How will I know if you’re safe as well?” You ask, pouting a little at the man you’ve come to appreciate. That was a good question, he paused for a moment, thinking of how he would be able to inform you of his safety. Your eyes brighten at an idea. “I can give you my number?” You offer. 

It was a good thing the offer came from you because should it come from him and the altercations that carries would be too much to bear. He hands you his phone, somehow you weren’t surprised with the model. If he looked like he can buy the entire building your coffee shop stands on, the latest phone model would be nothing. Once you’re done putting in your number, he calls the number and true enough your phone rings. “Rest assured, I’ll be home safely.” He repeats. His gut wants to press a light kiss on your forehead but not now-- not in front of all these people, not when the two of you are still warming up. With that in thought, he decides to pat your head lightly as his goodbye. 

“Who is that?” The man asks after handling the identification process for the students. Your eyes flit to the dancers waiting by the door, they’re probably waiting for the last class of the day. 

“Hm?” You ask a little confused by the question until it dawned on you that Yunho, a friend of Wooyoung, was referring to the stranger who accompanied you. “Oh! Yeosang…” You trail off, unsure of how to define what the two of you had just yet. “I guess, he’s my friend.” You say after a moment. That sounds right, yeah the two of you have grown closer over the past few weeks. It seems to be correct to call him a friend at least. 

“A friend huh?” He repeats with a waggle of his eyebrows, just to tease you.

You roll your eyes, playfully threatening to punch his arm. “Yes he is! Don’t get funny ideas, Yunho or else I’m not bringing cookies anymore.” You say much to his horror. The sight of his features dropping into a pout makes you coo. 

As you wait for Wooyoung’s class to end, you and Yunho catch up on what has happened. The studio seemed to carry more vision carriers than you expected. It made sense though, a dance studio harbors people with various reasons that had kept them pushing in this form of art. Yunho was one of them, a pyro vision carrier. One way or another, a vision carrier manages to know a fighting style or handle a weapon. For Yunho, it was a longsword. Truthfully, you never have seen him handle it but you know for sure he’d be graceful with it. 

You tell Yunho of how you met Yeosang, and admittedly he was an interesting guy with eyes that were so strong when caught in a situation he didn’t expect. Yunho then trades a story of how the studio was going to stay open a little later than usual-- it seemed that a big name had rented the studio after their dance class. It’s a good thing that he was a bit of a nocturnal so he’s going to stay while the studio’s being used. 

“How are you going to stay awake on your own?” You ask, aghast by the idea of staying up that late. 

“No worries. We have coffee in the office so I can make myself a cup. Also Wooyoung gave us some of your white chocolate cookies that were scratch.” He admits with a toothy grin. You let him take the scratch, he pays for your goods whenever he has his cravings anyways. 

“Just make sure that if you want a better version, you’ll pay.” You tease. 

The conversation is cut short when the door opens and the students step out, clearly exhausted but happy with the class. Wooyoung is the last to exit, the other staff rushing in to quickly clean the room before the next class uses it. He’s just as sweaty and tired but the way his face lights up tells you otherwise. You thrust your hands out putting space between the two of you. “If you think of hugging me while you’re drenched in sweat, I will not share the leftovers from today.” You threaten and he whines in rebuttal.

“Is it the strawberry cake?”

“No..?”

“Okay, then come here.” He quickly returns beckoning you to come over to his arms. You quickly scoot away behind Yunho. 

“Hurry up, I’m hungry..” You whine, pouting. Wooyoung looks at you in mild alarm at your statement.

“Did you forget to eat?!”

“I don’t like eating dinner without you, dumbass.” You admit as you follow him into the office, bidding Yunho a goodbye. 

The words make Wooyoung coo this time, squishing your cheeks in his hands. “Just let me wash up real quick then we can eat here.” 

You sit by the couch as you wait for him to return. As you get comfortable, albeit sleepy, your phone vibrates with a message from an unknown message.

[ ??? to You ] I’m back home safe now. :) -Yeosang

It’s Yeosang. The corners of your lips quirk upwards at the realization, while Wooyoung hasn’t returned you quickly type up a reply.

[ You to Yeosang ] That’s great! I hope you get a good night’s sleep ^^

You read his message once more and you feel a little bit of relief knowing that he’s safe. 

Wooyoung comes out looking a little better than earlier. The towel draped over his shoulders. “Let’s eat dumdum.” He says, dragging his chair over to where you are with his meal. 

The two of you share the happenings over the day. Wooyoung being surprised that Yeosang has walked you to the studio especially at this time. “Maybe I should meet him sometime.” He says. It’s not that he’s jealous, he’s been protective of you since day one. Anyone can take an interest to take advantage of anyone nowadays, he felt relief knowing that you had decided to wait for him instead of walking straight home with him. 

“Yeosang-- ah what, Wooyoung! Wooyoung, you don’t have to do that..” You say, clearly confused as to why you had Yeosang’s name instead of Wooyoung’s in your head. 

Wooyoung stares at you dumbfounded by the slip up. “Kid, just say if you’re heads over heels for him. Whatever, I’m keeping an eye on that guy.” You can’t blame his protective nature, until now no one really knows how the Order knew of your family’s whereabouts. Whatever their method was, it had to come from someone who was in close contact with your parents thus resulting in you being the only one still alive. You also know that Wooyoung’s incredibly stubborn so you give in. It was inevitable for anyone who knew you to know Wooyoung and vice versa, the two of you are a package deal. “So he comes to your shop every day? Same time?” He asks. You can already see the gears in his head moving. 

“Wooyoung, if you scare him off, I swear--” You grumble through your food. It’s not that you didn’t like his protective manners, for once you felt a little happy to have a friend who wasn’t from his circle; someone you’ve met on your own. “Listen, I didn’t even tell Yeosang my real name yet for my safety too.” 

That was something he didn’t expect, though a smart move, it was something he understood. Your words make him stop in thought. He still wants to meet him. “Fine but I still want to meet him because he’s someone who’s growing on you.”

You wonder how he didn’t get the geo vision, but you concede to his wishes. “He’s in the shop every 5PM onwards, always with a book.” 

“You’re telling me this guy stays with you.. In the shop.. Until you close?” 

His question makes you shoot him a look. “Did everything I tell you just exit out the other ear?” 

“No, they’re all up in here. I just wanted to get the facts straight….” he trails off, pushing the chair back to where his workspace is to look at his schedule. “Alright, I don’t need to come in tomorrow,” Oh, dear. “Which means, I can meet this friend of yours to make sure he isn’t anyone shady.” 

At his plan, you lean back on the couch. There really is no point in changing his mind. “Fine, let’s finish up and head home. The two of us need a shower.” 

On the way home, you tell him as well that you were going to start selling the lavender cake by next month. “I still got half of the tester cake saved for you.” 

He has a feeling you gave half of it to Yeosang but he spares you from his teasing. Wooyoung flashes an excited smile as the two of you walk out of the station. “Great, while I wait for you to finish showering, I’ll finish the cake.” 

“Jung Wooyoung!”

part 2

#my writings #yeosang fanfic #ateez fanfic #ateez scenario #yeosang scenario #idk what else to tag this as #yeosang x reader

[fluffypeachwriting]

hiyaaa~~

its me, the hitoya and reader getting transported to some unknown place! im rlly happy that u had fun writing it and i enjoyed reading it too! ٩(*•͈ ꇴ •͈*)و ̑̑❀

hehe u mentioned that u would be more than happy to write a sequel and oh my gosh id like to take up on that offer!! huhuu~ im already invested on what would happen to hitoya and the reader, and what theyre gonna do!!

thank you for writing my request and ill be waiting on for the sequel of it! good luck and im wishing you good health now and in the future! (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝)

I’m sorry that you had to wait so long for this, but it’s finally finished! This sequel turned out to be around 3700 words, so I hope you don’t mind that! I had so much fun with this concept, and so I hope you like reading it! Maybe I’ll do more isekai concepts in the future - I’m so happy that you requested this!  (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Let’s get back to what Hitoya and Reader are up to! Maybe they’re alone on the boat, but are they alone in the water?

When you had stopped crying, you and Hitoya tried to investigate this strange boat. The unease of being thrown into a new world slowly morphed into a strong curiosity. It took about an hour for you to find your sea legs. It was surprisingly easy to get used to the swaying. The occasional movements you had to make to counteract that swaying came naturally to you.

An unexpected calm washed over the boat, and it became easier to think. Only for you though, Hitoya hadn’t said much in a while. In a strange change of heart, Hitoya had warmed up to life on a boat, in his own way. Either that or he was bored of complaining about it. There was a rugged-looking crewmate’s jacket folded over one of the seats inside the ship, which he took a liking too right away. It fit him perfectly, and while the pirate-y look wasn’t his usual deal, it certainly did him favours.  

You had also found something – a pocket watch that had been dropped on the top deck. You were keeping an eye on it, checking on it constantly until an hour had passed. At least, the hour hand had moved from six to seven – that was the only change. The sun hadn’t moved, the air was still brisk, and the sea still looked like red wine.

You sighed and put the watch back. Hitoya was looking over into the sea, thought you couldn’t tell if he was searching for something or simply contemplating things. Usually you wouldn’t hesitate to ask him what was wrong, and usually he would smile and pat your head, saying that everything was alright. But things were not like how they usually were. You thought it was best to leave him alone and stay close by.

In your other hand you were still holding that unusual hat, and until now you hadn’t paid it much mind. There wasn’t any need to, until a harsh gust of wind caught you off guard and knocked it out of your hand.

“No!” You instinctively yelled out, reaching to grab the hat.

Inches from sliding into Hitoya’s legs, you fell flat on your stomach and caught the hat.

“That was close,” You said, standing up and putting on the hat without thinking. Then the unease in your stomach vanished. The salty air felt natural to breathe in, like it was cleansing you from the inside out. A sense of purpose filled you, and the boat felt like home.

“Nice hat you got there, captain.” Hitoya said endearingly, though with a hint of sarcasm. “Where’d you find that?”

“I didn’t find it anywhere, it’s just mine,” You said without thinking. That was surely wrong, since you didn’t have a captain’s hat on you at all this morning. Wait, a captain’s hat? You patted it, and sure enough, it was just like a captain’s hat you’d see in a cartoon.

“Makes you look the part.” Hitoya smiled fondly, making the last shred of unease float away. If he had your back, then everything really would be alright, even in this crazy situation.

With the unease gone, your mind was clear enough to realise how exhausted you were. It was only just this morning when you woke up early to buy Hitoya a cake. That cake sounded really good right now. You were hungry too.

“Hungry… I hope the wind doesn’t pick up… don’t wanna eat when the ship is moving too much,” You said to yourself.

However, life wasn’t so kind, apparently. The sails of the ship started flapping quickly, almost enough to make you jump. A box came from nowhere and slid on the deck, lightly hitting your leg. “Geez…” You held onto your hat pre-emptively, expecting wind.

A moment passed, but no wind came.

“Kid, let’s put this back.” Hitoya knelt down to move the box, but stopped. “Hm.”

“What is it?” You bent down to see what he was curious about. It wasn’t a sight that stopped him, but a smell. It took no time to figure out what it was, in your hungry state, “Food!”

Pushing past Hitoya, you opened the box to find it full of yummy-looking snacks and treats, from sweet pastries to homemade bentos. They were all fresh, too.

“Where did this come from?” You asked into the air.

Hitoya didn’t reply. The ship did. You looked up to see the sails flapping again, and the crow’s nest twirling around. The ship was…

“Alive?!” You exclaimed, already munching on a croissant.

“Hey, are you sure that’s safe?”

“Mm!” It tasted like it was fresh out of the oven.

“Alright, I won’t stop you.” Hitoya threw up his hands and stood, not taking anything from the box.

So this was a magic ship with a magic food box. You thought about this, pacing around the ship while munching on more food, until a glimmer of something caught your eye.

Something shiny had been dropped onto the deck. You went to pick it up, and found that the water was also shiny. Flecks of water surrounding the shiny thing, which was sitting in a pool of glitter, though it didn’t look as artificial as plastic glitter. It was a ring, just a plain silver band, with lots of little scuffs and scratches around it. A voice in the back of your mind told you that it was safe to pick it up, so you did. The water was fine to touch, and the ring itself was normal.

Something was also caught on the inside of the ring, something small, thin, flat, and a little bit curved. It took you a moment to get it out without breaking it. Though, when you got it out, none of your questions were answered. It looked like a holographic fish scale. Tinges of blue and purple reflected off it, in such a way that you could have mistaken it for a precious gem. It felt too hard to be from a normal fish, but then again, you were in no normal land – or, water.

A ring and a fish scale. It seemed like the more time you spent here, the more questions needed to be answered. However, it was something to go off. Before you could form a coherent thought, it was all coming back to you, or at least you would be thinking that if you had been here before.

You quickly looked around to relay this exciting development to Hitoya but he was nowhere to be found. After a frantic search, you found him looking through a cabinet inside what was probably a kitchen.

“We have to look for the water that sparkles. That’s right, we’re here to look for something.” The weight of the captain’s hat got a little lighter.

“Huh?” Hitoya looked at you like you had lost your mind. He shut the cabinet (that seemed to have whisky bottles lined up inside) and faced you. “What’re you on about now?”

You held out the ring to him, “This is a clue. It hadn’t been dropped on the deck by someone on the ship – someone in the water threw it on.”

“There’s not gonna be anyone in that water alive. There’s no one for miles. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head or something?”

He wasn’t ready to humour you just yet.

“I’m sure! This ring is totally a clue, you have to believe me! We were sent here for a purpose!” In your other hand, you showed him the scale, “And this is our way out!”

“Haah, I hate to burst your bubble but, are you really sure you didn’t hit your head? What if we go the same way we came, with a candle. It’s crazy but it’s not out the blue like that – wait, let me see that ring.” Hitoya, with his brow suddenly furrowed in concentration, took the ring from you and examined it. “Tch. I hate to say it, but I think I recognise this ring. I dunno if I like what it implies though…”

“What is it what is it what is it?!” Hearing about this was very exciting. “Your captain orders you to tell me!”

“Heh. Don’t get used to that, kid. Well, this ring looks like it belongs to someone we know. I don’t think we’re the only ones out here.”

“Get to the point!”

“You really can be like my kid,” Hitoya mumbled, “Alright. This looks like Kuko’s ring.”

“What?!”

“It’s a shot in the dark but, yeah. It’d be nice to see those two again, rather than bein’ stuck here.” Hitoya rubbed the back of his neck.

“Aww. Maybe you miss them.”

“Hmph. I’m not saying any more on that.” He crossed his arms, then spoke with a little more energy in his voice, clearly wanting to shift the subject: “Any leads on your end, captain?”

“I’ve got no clue. I… I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t fall overboard. I’m not jumpin’ in after you.” Hitoya said, knowing that he actually would jump in.

“Gotcha.” You left, going out to the deck to look around.

The sun was high in the sky, raining down an intense heat – it was about midday. As you stepped out, a gentle breeze blew away the cobwebs. The afternoon air was nice, although it was not helpful. It had been midday for a few hours. But the last time you saw the sky it was still orange, and you were sure that the sun had been setting. None of this made sense.

“Sparkly water, what does that even mean?” You pondered, pacing around the deck.

The ring and the scale sat in your pocket. You closed your eyes and focused on the smooth surface of the scale, trying to figure out what it all meant. As captain, leading the ship to its destination was your job, and it was even more important to keep your crew in check. That was hard to do when you didn’t know what you were here for.

“And a ring was thrown onto the deck. Even if it’s not Kuko’s, that’s pretty weird.”

Waves gently crashed against the side of the ship, which had been smoothly sailing itself for a while. A soft wind pushed the sails forward. The ocean was endless, with no islands in sight. There weren’t even any other ships. The horizon was visible from all angles, and from all sides. All except near the back. There was an odd contraption laying there, and upon further inspection, you had idea what it was. It looked like an old washtub connected to a wooden crane. There were no levers or cranks for a human to work it by, so you left it alone. For now, you stood near the side facing the sun. Watching the sunlight catch the peaks of little waves was mesmerising. You found yourself watching it for a while, forgetting about this whole ordeal.

Among the waves, there was a small patch of bubbling water. You strained to look at it – there was a pair of binoculars inside, but you didn’t want to move in case this anomaly went out of sight.

At first you thought it could have been mist from a whale’s blowhole, but it was too calm for that. The more you considered it, the more you thought it just looked like someone blowing bubbles underwater. Either way, your heart swelled upon seeing it. It struck you that this whole time you were staring out at sea, you hadn’t seen any wildlife at all – whatever this was, it was something that needed to be checked out by the ship’s captain.

“Ship!” You stood up straight and called out.

The ship’s sails flapped excitedly, like they were responding to you calling out them.

“I want to look at that patch of bubbles from the side, can you sail slowly over there?” Going full speed ahead would certainly sound cool, but approaching this with caution was a smarter move.

The ship lurched forward, obeying everything you told it to do, apart from the ‘slowly.’

“What the hell was that?” Hitoya scrambled onto the deck. He looked like a cat that had just had its nap disturbed.

“I’ve found something! Stay alert, matey!” You kept your eyes peeled and focused. The patch of bubbles split into two smaller patches. One was moving fairly quickly away from the other, but the other soon caught up. The ship, somehow defying the weak breeze, matched its pace with the bubbles.

“Stop, ship!” You braced yourself against the edge of the ship as it stopped. Yes! The water here was ever so slightly sparkly. It looked warm and inviting – you had to hold yourself back from jumping in.

“This seems like the place. You got a good eye, kid. Hey, is that a voice? Is someone drowning?!”

Hitoya was right – from the two patches of bubbles, there came two voices. Though you weren’t too far from them, they were barely audible.

You lowered a rope ladder off the side of the ship and took a few steps down it, hanging on just above the water. “Hey, is someone there? Do you need help?” You called out.

The voices stopped, and everything was quiet. With bated breath, you and Hitoya waited for a reply. Even the ship’s sails were still.

You were about to call again, when a long, red mass swam quickly through the water, creating ripples that splashed on your legs. Another mass was following behind it, though it wasn’t as temperamental as the first.

“Captain, it’s just a weird fish. Come back on board before you fall in.” Hitoya said. “I don’t want you gettin’ eaten.

You stayed right where you were: “No, we’ve come this far! And fish don’t let out bubbles.”

“Fine. It’s a tiny whale.”

“No! We’re staying here.”

Hitoya huffed and leant over to look.

“Listen to your captain, Hitoya.” A voice from under you said.

Your head whipped round to meet the source – it was Kuko! Or at least, it was his head that was peeking out of the water.

“Kuko! Come on board – don’t drown!” You held out your hand to help him up, barely registering the ‘how’ or ‘why’ of him being there.

“Nah thanks, I can’t exactly get up.”

You were about to ask what he meant when another familiar face popped up from the water – it was Jyushi!

“Jyushi! Why are you two in the ocean? And why do you look different? Come on board before you drown!”

“Hey, I hear ya.” Kuko rose up to the surface, just past his shoulders, so that he could freely talk with his hands and he spoke. “Yeah, shit’s different about us – we got other things to worry about first.”

Jyushi, however, only let his head come above water. “Aha! I’m so happy to see both of you again, ehe. I can’t wait to get home!”

“Get home? We can’t even get on the boat,” Kuko snapped.

“Uuuu… I know, but still,” Jyushi whined, and dejectedly blew bubbles under the water.

“You two,” Hitoya butted in, “Don’t keep us out of the loop. What’re you hiding from us?”

“Alright alright. Check this out!” Kuko grinned before diving down into the water and holding himself there, showing off his blue and purple… fish tail. In a flash, he righted himself again. “How’d’ya like that, huh? We’re mermaids – me and Jyushi!”

With your free hand, you took out the scale from your pocket and held it up – it was a match. “So this is from you? And your ring… How did that even happen?”

“Haah? We can talk about all that later. Just help us go home. I wanna get back to takin’ a nap.” Kuko was getting more frustrated by the second.

“I thought you were training today?” You innocently asked.

“Whatever.” Kuko frowned and turned his head.

Instead of his grown out shave, Kuko had long flowing hair like he had been growing it out for years. That long mass of red you saw earlier must have been all that hair. Jyushi was the same; he had no mullet anymore, just a waterfall of black hair.

Kuko must have seen you staring, because he called out to you: “Listen, I dunno if mermaid hairdressers exist but I know they’d have a hard time cleanin’ up all the cut hair when they’re floatin’ all about.” Kuko wasn’t too happy about detracting from the real issue, though he mumbled just loud enough for you to hear: “Kinda like it. Maybe one day.”

“It looks good on you!” You said.

“H-hey! Listen, kiddo. There are things more important than this, like how’re we gonna get up there? Figure that out, captain.”

“I don’t know…”

There was no way you could pull them up by hand – neither you nor Hitoya – and they couldn’t climb the rope ladder only by their arms (maybe Kuko could, but definitely not Jyushi).

The ships sails rattled impatiently. The ship… they needed to get on the ship. If only there was something made just for getting mermaids on the ship. But there was, you realised, thinking back over the past few hours: The strange contraption on the ship was made just for this!

“Ship! Lower the… tub thing… into the water!” You commanded the ship, and it answered.

With a few creaks, the ship turned the gears of the crane and lowered the tub into the water. The managed to swim inside and get settled with minimum fuss. Jyushi was having fun splashing his tub-mate with water, and Kuko was holding back from throwing Jyushi over the side. Soon, the two boys were on board, and lounging in the tub as the ship sailed forth.

Or, you would be going forth, but you didn’t know where you were going.

“Oi, Captain,” Hitoya said, “Where are we headed? If you don’t mind, your first mate here is gonna hit the hay.”

You were starting to feel sleepy yourself. “I’ll join you. I’m tired after all that.”

A loud whine came from behind you, which ended as a yawn. Of course, it was Jyushi. “Uuu… don’t leave me out here with Kuko… He might…”

“What?” Kuko butted in, “Worried I’ll make ya train here? In this boat, as mermaids? Nah. I’m gonna take a nap.” He rested his arms on the rim of the tub and let his head lull back. In almost no time, he was snoring.

You looked to Jyushi, preparing to go and comfort him, only to find that he was fast asleep too. Hitoya had already gone to his quarters so you assumed that he was asleep too. The afternoon was warm, so you could understand why everyone dozed off so quickly. Sitting down on the deck with your back resting against a barrel, you soon fell asleep. You didn’t remember if you were there long, but the sounds of the waves and having everyone safe on board made it easy to rest.

Though you were the last to fall asleep, you were the last one to wake up.

The cabinet behind your head, and the carpet you were sitting on… it was familiar. You were in Hitoya’s office.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” Kuko was peering down at you.

“Huh?” You rubbed your eyes and fully woke up, “Was that all a dream? I don’t remember falling asleep.”

“It was real, kid.” Hitoya offered his hand and helped you stand up. “How, or why, did this even happen?”

“M… maybe it was all a freaky dream! That was all had at the same time!” Jyushi said, but his idea was quickly shut down.

“I dunno. I was takin’ a nap, then I fell into the water.” Kuko said, as nonchalantly as if he was telling you what he had for breakfast. “I don’t think worrying about the ‘how’ or ‘why’ will do us any good, guys.”

“Me too… I took a nap… I mean –! I was really tired after band practice and… and…!” Jyushi looked like he was about to make another ocean with his tears, “I wasn’t being lazy… oh… I hope Amanda isn’t lonely without me…”

Kuko clicked his tongue in annoyance as Jyushi whimpered, Hitoya sighing at both of them. Things were well and truly back to normal. Everyone was in their rightful place.

Out on that strange ocean, where time didn’t move in a regular fashion, it would have been so lonely if you were taken there by yourself. You were glad that you weren’t alone, even if the meaning of it all didn’t make sense. You were all back, so why did you have a feeling that you’d left something behind? Was everyone here?

Even without the help of the captain’s hat, you figured out what you left behind: “We never got to find out the ship’s name… It was kinda cute, like a big puppy! Ships all have names, don’t they? Maybe we could name it!”

“Be thankful we all got back in one piece. Don’t go worrying about a boat.” Hitoya sighed, again.

“Right. Um… happy father’s day…?” You weren’t sure if it was still that day.

In the real world, not much time had passed, so it was now around lunch time, despite it feeling like a whole day had passed.  

“Heh. Thanks. What do you all say we go out for food? I’m starving.” A chorus of “Yes!” went around, which made Hitoya crack a smile. “Great. You guys argue and pick something.”

“Hitoya, it’s your day, you pick!” You insisted. It was nice that he didn’t dismiss the whole father’s day thing after all.

“Still hung up over that, huh? Alright. I could go for anything right now. Apart from seafood… huh?” Hitoya apparently noticed something new on his desk. “What’s this? Did you get me this?”

“No, what is it?”

Hitoya picked it up and showed everyone. It was a snow globe, with a tiny model ship sitting in the middle. Around the base, ‘The Chiroptera’ was engraved. The ship was alone in its miniature ocean. When he shook it, little blue flecks flew around, with the occasional fleck of glitter.

And if you looked close enough, the sails were flapping.

#hypmic #bad ass temple #hitoya amaguni #reader insert #mystery prompts #kuko harai #jyushi aimono #hypnosis mic

[settersprouts]

꒦ ikanaide : chapter three ! ꒦

病欠

. . : iwaizumi gets sick and doesn't tell oikawa. oikawa notices he's not at school and skips practice for the first time to take care of him.

or, iwaizumi doesn't like to take medicine and oikawa can cook.

sniffles. coughs. that's all that could be heard through the iwaizumi household at five am, the time hajime iwaizumi was supposed to be getting ready for school. hanako iwaizumi sighed, not ready to deal with a sick hajime. reluctantly making his way out of the bed he shared with aiya, he got a bucket, a couple of rags, and starting the trek to his son's room.

``hey-`` hanako started, but was interrupted by a coughing fit. ``hajime. how you feeling?``

his son smiled up at him grimly, wiping at the snot in his nose. ``like shit.``

``language.``

``sorry.``

hanako let out another sigh, wringing one of the rags out and placing the damp cloth on his forehead. ``symptoms?``

``cough, sneezing, my nose is runny- and my throat hurts,`` iwaizumi managed, his voice dry and scratchy.

``that bad, huh?`` hanako set the bucket down on the floor, pulling out his phone and thumbing at his screen. ``i'll text your coach and teachers to let them know you can't make it.``

iwaizumi nodded, letting out a small groan. his eyes suddenly flung wide open, and he sat up abruptly, scaring hanako a little. ``don't tell oikawa! he's going to try and skip school to take care of me, i'm sure.``

hanako chuckled, giving his son a little thumbs up and pushing him back down. ``i got it. i'll just let him figure it out himself.``

his son sighed in relief, letting his entire body relax. ``thanks, old man.``

``i'm not old. want some oatmeal?``

``that'd be great. thank you.``

a smile pulled at hanako's lips. ``alright, coming right up, kiddo.`` he made his way out of iwaizumi's room, leaving the door open so air could filter through.

``don't make it sweet! i hate it sweet!``

``i know that!``

hanako made his way into the kitchen, almost running into his wife. ``whoa- oh, good morning, love.``

``morning, hanako.`` aiya yawned, her face contorting into an expression of confusion. ``where's hajime? he should be getting his breakfast ready by now.``

``the kid's sick,`` hanako replied, kissing his wife on the cheek. ``i'm getting him some oatmeal for breakfast.``

aiya nodded, opening a drawer and pulling out a thermometer. she handed it to her husband. ``make sure to take his temperature, too. i want to know if i need to have a doctor over.``

hanako deadpanned, letting out a gruff laugh. ``babe, that's a meat thermometer.``

``oh, is it?`` she smiled apologetically, putting it back and switching it with the other thermometer. ``here, take this, then.``

he reached out to grab at the cool metal, letting it sit in his breast pocket as he got iwaizumi's oatmeal ready. ``can you go get him some cough medicine, or something for his throat? hajime says it's sore.``

his wife nodded, and padded over to the fridge, reaching above it to open the medicine cabinet. she sorted through bottles and bottles of over-the-counter medicine, before finally reaching the cough and sore-throat remedies. pouring a little bit into a plastic cup, aiya put the bottle back and closed the cabinet, placing the cup onto the tray with her son's water glass and oatmeal on it. ``there. have you called hajime's school, yet?``

hanako nodded. ``mhm. already done. hajime doesn't want oikawa-kun to know he's sick yet, so don't tell his mother. knowing her, she'll spill the beans somehow.``

aiya let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth as she did so. ``i understand. he'll probably want to skip school and tend to hajime all day.``

``that boy is something else.``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

oikawa tapped his foot impatiently, standing at the intersection where he and iwaizumi usually meet up. they were supposed to get there early so oikawa could grab something from the convenience store- it was his nephew's birthday, after all, and he wanted to buy some red velvet cake mix.

he let out a sigh, pulling out his phone to check the messages he had with the ace.

› Messages with : Iwaizumi, Hajime

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] go to sleep already, you idiot

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] i know you're up watching volleyball matches

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] it's late, get some rest or i'll hit you

¹¹⁻³⁹ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] yeah, yeah, got it iwa-chan ಠ_ಠ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] you don't have to be so rude, you know

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] and why r u so obsessed w hitting me ?

¹¹⁻⁴⁰ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:To Oikawa, Toorū] goodnight

¹¹⁻⁴⁰ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] goodnight, iwa-chan :D

¹¹⁻⁴¹ ᴾᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] morning, iwa (*ﾟｰﾟ)ゞ

⁰⁵⁻³⁰ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] where r u 人´∀｀) i'm @ the intersection

⁰⁶⁻⁰⁴ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] iwa we're gonna be late i need to go to the store φ(。。*)

⁰⁶⁻⁰⁵ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] iwa-chan i'm leaving you >:p

⁰⁶⁻⁰⁷ ᴬᴹ

[Sent:From Oikawa, Toorū] im gonna kill you when i see you

⁰⁶⁻¹³ ᴬᴹ

despite what the messages ensued, he still hadn't left without iwaizumi. he let out another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. he really had to leave, but he didn't want the ace to be mad once he figured out oikawa had went on without him. oikawa inhaled through his nose, and out through his mouth. pushing aside the fear of a very angry iwaizumi showing up to first period with homicide on his mind.

the sun was rising and starting to shine brightly, slightly blinding oikawa as he glanced at the star. if iwaizumi were here, he would've already been geeking out about it to him, trying to annoy the vice. he wasn't really that obsessed with space and extraterrestrial life, oikawa just liked to annoy his best friends.

``hey, oikawa!`` the setter turned at his name being called, and was instantly greeted with someone running straight into him. arms wrapped around his torso in what he thought was a hug, but couldn't be sure, since all the wind was knocked out of him in the process. familiar tufts of pink-brown hair tickled his nose, and his lips pulled into a small, genuine smile. he wrapped his arms around the attacker's torso, too, breathing in the scent he considered a second home.

``hey, makki. morning.`` oikawa smiled, pulling away to see his friend's beaming face.

hanamaki linked arms with oikawa, pulling him along. ``c'mon, we're going to be late for class!``

oikawa looked down at his phone, checking the time. 06:19 AM, it read. ``makki, it's only six twenty. we have plenty of time.``

``but..`` makki groaned, making a big show of rolling his head back and exposing his neck to the sky. whether or not that was an impression of oikawa on one of his days, oikawa may never know. ``we can be early for once.``

``class doesn't start until seven thirty.`` oikawa sang, pulling away from makki's grip and dragging him along. ``plus, i gotta get something from the store for takeru's birthday.``

his companion made an 'o' shape with his mouth, succumbing to oikawa's charms and letting himself be lead to the nearest store. ``nice. what are you getting?``

``cake mix. red velvet.``

``red velvet? holy shit, can i come to the party?`` hanamaki gasped, giving his friend his full attention now. oikawa laughed, and nodded.

``yeah. i was planning on inviting you and mattsun anyways.`` he replied, scratching the back of his neck. ``iwa-chan gets a free pass, since my mom knows him.``

makki gasped in mock offense, holding his free hand to his heart. ``she knows me too! how come i don't get a free pass? does she not like me?``

oikawa shrugged. ``well, you're kind of.. how can i say this. um-`` he laughed nervously, ``-too energetic, for her taste?``

``this is atrocious. i even did her dishes for her, once.``

``key word, once.`` oikawa retorted, eyeing the store up ahead. ``oh hey, look, there's sakanoshita. think we'll find cake mix there?``

hanamaki shrugged.  ``probably. doesn't karasuno's coach work there?``

oikawa nodded. ``hopefully tobio-chan didn't stop by on his way to school. i think i might throw up if i see him.``

``how immature.``

the two of them made their way into the small store, muttering a little "pardon the intrusion!" to the staff, who turned out to be a short, older woman, not karasuno's coach. they both let out a sigh of relief- anything could've happened if it was ukai who was sitting in the little swivel chair behind the counter. possibly just them having to endure the shameless torments from the latter, but who knows.

oikawa and hanamaki glanced at the small signs labeling the aisles, quickly finding the one they were looking for and walked down to the middle, where all the cake mixes lay. the captain sifted through the red velvet mixes while the other eyed the brownie batter with starry eyes. oikawa skimmed the backs of four boxes he settled on, tossing them all into the little basket he had picked up as soon as they walked in. turning to his partner, he couldn't help but let the wide smile overcome his facial features. hanamaki was practically drooling at the pictures of the brownies on the boxes.

he padded over to the wing-spiker and picked up a box, tossing it into the basket as well and waltzed out of the aisle- hanamaki at his heels. ``whoa, are you seriously buying that for me?``

oikawa shook his head. ``for me. to make for you when you come over later.`` he stuck out his tongue at his partner, smiling at the laugh he was able to get out of him.

``sure, whatever you say.``

the captain turned to the lady at the desk, reading the nametag on her shirt. hana sakanoshita. ah. so she was the owner. sakanoshita smiled at him, taking the bag out of his hands and scanning the barcodes on the backs of the boxes. ``find everything okay, honey?``

``yep, great, thank you! could we also get two packs of that strawberry gum?`` he pointed, putting on one of his award-winning smiles. she seemed to melt at this and nodded, quickly bagging up his stuff and handing his credit card back.

``you have a good day, boys.`` she said, waving at them as they exited. the two smiled and waved back, turning towards aoba johsai and resuming their trek.

hanamaki checked his phone, letting out a sharp whistle. ``nice. we didn't take as long as i expected- we have fifteen minutes 'till first period.``

oikawa grinned. ``told you so.``

``yeah, yeah. oh- by the way, where's iwaizumi?`` hanamaki looked around as if he were looking for the teen, turning back to oikawa once he figured out he really wasn't there with them. ``he walks with you, right?``

the latter shrugged, pulling out his own gum pack and popping a strip into his mouth. ``dunno. he didn't show at the intersection where we meet up, so i just went along without him. he didn't answer any of my texts, either.``

``huh.`` hanamaki said, putting his index finger and thumb on his chin in a thinking pose. ``that's weird. maybe he overslept?``

``doubt it. the man sleeps with his phone on so loud, he'll wake up immediately as soon as he hears one of my texts. plus, he has like, fifty alarms back-to-back to wake him up.`` oikawa replied, shutting down makki's theory so fast, he didn't even see it coming.

makki sighed. ``ah. i see.`` he shook his head as to clear his mind of any stray thoughts, and extended his hand. ``i want some gum. hand it over, peasant.``

``yes, my lord.`` oikawa said jokingly, gracefully whipping out the pack of strawberry gum and placing it in his hands. he folded makki's fingers around it, never breaking eye contact with his teammate. ``here it is. do what you wish with it.``

the two snickered at their antics, slinging their arms around one another. ``we're so going to be late.``

``yeah, probably.``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

``oh, yeah, we're so sorry ms. sato. we got stuck in traffic- there was an accident over by my house.`` makki sighed dramatically, shaking his head slightly. ``we would've gotten a late pass, but we didn't think we were going to be so late.``

ms. sato shook her head quickly, smiling at the teen. ``it's okay, hanamaki-kun. just try not to let this happen too much, okay?``

hanamaki nodded. ``yes, ma'am.`` oikawa mentally facepalmed at his antics, and the two walked to the back to sit down in their seats, next to matsukawa, who was struggling to keep a laugh in.

``jesus,`` matsukawa breathed, ``the amount of bullshit in that was immaculate.``

``right?`` he and hanamaki fistbumped, grinning widely like the idiots they were.

oikawa sighed, turning his head slightly to talk to iwaizumi, then stopping himself before he could say anything. iwaizumi's desk stood empty next to his own. the captain frowned, checking his phone for any recent texts from the ace. nothing popped up.

makki slung an arm over oikawa, concern lining his features. ``hey, what's up?``

``he still isn't here.`` he pointed to iwaizumi's desk, the frown growing by the minute. ``and he's not answering. makki, i'm worried.``

a head full of black, unruly hair obscured the view he had of his phone. matsukawa laughed, stepping back. ``so he didn't tell you guys?`` when hanamaki and oikawa looked at him with confused expressions, he chuckled, and continued. ``guys, he's sick. coach was talking about it with ms. sato this morning. if you got here earlier you would've known.``

the captain facepalmed. ``of course, that makes sense. why couldn't he have told me though?``

``dunno.`` mattsun ignored the small pout resting on his captain's lips, shoving at his shoulder a bit. ``lighten up. he probably didn't want you to skip school and take care of him.``

oikawa let out a puff of air. ``yeah, okay. you're probably right.`` he was about to continue but ms. sato had started class, and a comfortable silence fell upon them as they gave the woman their full attention. makki and mattsun glanced at oikawa, worry clearly etched on their faces. perhaps they shouldn't have told him what happened with his best friend.

``oikawa,`` ms. sato supplied, stalking over to his desk and setting two thick packets on the hard wood. ``here's iwaizumi-kun's work. i trust you'll be able to get this to him?``

the latter sighed, looking up towards his sensei with the fakest smile he could muster. ``yes, sato-san, i'll give this to him as soon as i see him.``

ms. sato smiled, patting the boy's head and walking back to the front of the class. ``alright, so, has anyone written down the notes on the board?``

oikawa glanced at the chalkboard, internally groaning as he noticed it was completely filled with notes. where the hell did she find the time to write all that?

he let out the fifth-hundredth sigh that day, picking up his pencil and getting to work. iwaizumi totally owed him.

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

``you want to, what?`` coach irihata stared at his pupil, shock painting his features. oikawa stood before him, fumbling with his practice clothes, a faint blush plastered over his cheeks and nose. ``you want to skip practice?``

``yes.`` oikawa nodded. ``it's only for today, so i can go home and take care of iwa-chan. he has a lot of work to catch up on,`` he added, holding up the many papers he had collected from his professors in each class, since his and iwaizumi's timestables were identical.

irihata stared at him some more, then shook his head quickly, smiling at him. ``alright. i don't see why not.``

oikawa brightened, clearly glad by the news. ``thank you so much! i promise i'll make it up to you!`` he chimed, switching his volleyball shoes for a pair of regular sneakers. ``all your meals this week, on me!``

``you don't have to- and he's out the door.`` irihata sighed, glancing at the now agape gym door. the warm afternoon breeze rushed in, leaving an unpleasant, humid feeling. mizoguchi came up behind him, watching oikawa sprint off into the distance. ``that boy is something else, isn't he?``

``definitely.`` mizoguchi laughed, walking forward to close the doors. ``iwaizumi's lucky to have a good friend like him.``

the older coach nodded. ``we're all glad to know him.``

dammit, someone's talking about me, oikawa thought, as he sneezed for the seventh time since leaving aoba johsai. he rubbed his nose, pissed off at the irritation of his sensitive organ. his legs already burned- he had sprinted all the way to the intersection, and was now leaning on a streetlamp, catching his breath. he probably should've put on his knee brace if he knew he was going to exert a little energy on running home, but he was in a rush.

pulling out his phone, he quickly navigated to his email, frowning at the lack of messages from his dear friend hajime iwaizumi. he hadn't read the texts either, so he probably was really exhausted. slipping the device back into his pocket, he started the rest of his trek home, popping another strip of gum into his mouth.

the grocery bag swinging on his arm contained all the contents oikawa thought iwaizumi would need : some cough and cold medicine, a couple of boxes of tissues, a mask for himself, disposable rags, and a heating pad. the materials cost him about ¥800 each, which wasn't that expensive.

finally, after what had seemed like forever, the captain had arrived at iwaizumi's house. there were no cars in the driveway, which meant his parents weren't home. what were they thinking, leaving poor iwa-chan alone while he's sick? oikawa frowned at this. what a silly idea.

he flipped up the doormat, grabbing the key that was strategically placed underneath and unlocked the door. pushing it open, he let out a little ``yahoo~ anyone home?`` to let iwaizumi know he was there. he wasn't expecting a reaction, so seeing iwaizumi come downstairs to greet him kind of scared him out of his wits a little bit.

``jesus! iwa-chan, can't you warn a dude first?`` oikawa panted, placing a hand over his heart. the ace deadpanned, walking over and snatching the bags out of his hands.

``what the hell do you think you're doing here? i'm sick, go home.`` he retorted, his eyebrows furrowing so much, they looked like they were attached to his eyes. he sifted through the bag, pausing once he realized what the plastic bag contained. ``what is this?``

oikawa rolled his eyes, taking the bag back and setting its' contents on the kitchen counter. ``it's for you. you're sick, so i decided to skip practice to come here and take care of you, and to reteach everything that you missed today.`` he replied nonchalantly, shoving iwaizumi towards the direction of his bedroom. ``go back to bed, i'll cook you some lunch, since i'm sure you didn't eat yet.``

iwaizumi didn't reply, because (a) he was right. and (b) he was shocked that the toorū oikawa skipped volleyball practice for him.

``anyways,`` oikawa said, opening his fridge and scanning its' contents. ``how do you feel about egg?``

``i can eat it. i don't feel nauseous or anything,`` iwa replied, sitting on one of the stools at the kitchen counter. ``and wait- you're going to cook?``

the setter turned around, tying an apron around his waist. ``yeah?``

iwaizumi blinked, shaking his head and leaning down on his forearms. ``nothing. continue. don't burn down my kitchen.``

oikawa grinned, having just been granted permission to make his best friend's food. ``alright! on it, iwa-chan!``

``shut up and start cooking.``

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

``you have to take it, iwa-chan!``

``NO! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME!`` iwaizumi jumped onto his couch, holding a fork towards oikawa like a weapon. ``GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME.``

oikawa let out yet another sigh. ``jeez, if i knew you were going to be this bratty about taking your medicine, i wouldn't have came.`` he took another dangerous step towards iwaizumi, holding out a glass of water and a small cup of liquid cough medicine. ``iwa-chan, if you don't take this, you'll never get better.``

``so? that thing's disgusting.`` iwaizumi fake-retched, the look of disgust on his face almost believable. he should've taken the drama course at school.

another step. ``you seem to have forgotten that i have a kid nephew, who i always got to take his medicine, no matter how big of a tantrum he threw about it.`` another step. ``you're acting like a toddler. just take your medicine and get better.``

``assikawa, if you so as much take one more goddamn step towards me, i'll kill you.`` iwaizumi growled, clenching the fork tighter. of course he wouldn't kill him, he'd just said that to frighten him. somehow, oikawa didn't seemed phased, and took another step.

``hajime iwaizumi. if you don't come down off that couch and take your medicine right now, so help me god, i will bring my mother here and she will be furious when she realizes how much of a tantrum you're putting up right now.`` the setter mused, shaking the glass of water like he was calling him towards him, like a dog. iwaizumi gulped. the aura surrounding oikawa was downright terrifying. his eyes seemed almost lifeless, and it scared the wits out of him. ``on the count of three. if you haven't taken the medicine by then, i'm calling her. one.``

iwaizumi flinched, backing up slightly. could he make it out the front door without oikawa catching him? probably not. his legs were longer, so he'd cover more ground easily.

``two.``

how bad would the punishment be if he just didn't take the medicine? it's not like oikawa would actually call his mother, he wouldn't do that. right?

``three-``

``okay!`` iwaizumi jumped off the couch, grabbing the medicine and pouring it down his throat. he made a face of disgust, snatching the glass of water out of his hand and gulping that down too. he shuddered, trying to force himself to keep the atrocious liquid down. ``there. happy?``

``very.`` oikawa grinned, patting iwaizumi's head. ``good job.``

the ace burned with pride at the praise, letting oikawa's nimble fingers tread through his hair. ``thanks for coming over.``

``of course.`` his friend replied, giving the shorter a warm hug. ``don't mention it. i'll skip practice for you every time.``

``you better not.``

oikawa smiled. ``no promises.``

─── sick day.

chapter 4 !

#oikawa tooru #sickfic #sickness #iwa's sick #iwaizumi hajime #iwaoi #iwaoi fluff

[cullxtheherd]

@oorah22​ asked for: a Nick Rye centric piece! 

Happy Merry JiNgLe yaAy?? here it is! I hope u like it ksdfjksjfdf- also, a song:   [🆇] 

Ducking under the ajar side panel to the motor of his plane, Nick blindly wipes grease laden fingers against his coveralls; they’re a worse-for-wear situation and he isn’t fussed about them anyways- he knows Kim will get the stains out if they aren’t ready to hit the bin. Taking a few steps back he tries to wrap his head around the issue he is having with Carmina: he’s flushed the lines, reseated the new carburetor and still she’d been running like a bucket of bolts.

He isn’t entirely sure what she’s up to but he sure can hear one hell of a ruckus coming from the house, even out here in the hangar. Since the Seed brothers had arrived in town things had steadily gotten worse around these parts- his hometown, to the point he’d taken to keeping a gun and small store of ammunition within reach at all times. Gripping the AR-CL he checks the safety before readying the chamber. 

Rounding Kim’s vintage Mustang he takes his time, not seeing any vehicles in the horseshoe curved driveway gives him no cause for hurry. Setting the safety once he has peered through the window of his front door he leans the rifle in the seat of an adirondack chair. Nick grew up in this home, lived in Hope County all of his life and navigating the floorplan silently is one of his favorite, lesser known talents.

“It has to be here somewhere-” Pulling the drawer out under the stove she curses, “Of all the fucking- NICK!” 

Kim is a strong, reliable, sensible woman, but under the stress of pregnancy and rushing, unruly hormones? She is rash and annoyed and easy to anger and hasn’t seen her feet since John-Fucking-Seed-Knows-When and she is certain that Nicholas Rye- her endearing, annoying, everloving, child of a husband has stolen away the baster. 

It’s God-blasted quarter to FIVE and the guests for their tastefully modest holiday party are set to arrive soon and without a properly browned, basted, SEASONED, T U R K E Y her day will, obviously, be absolutely ruined. 

“What’s-a matter darlin’?” Feeling like he knows his wife pretty well he grips the long, bulbous tool she has set out on the pop-out ledge between the kitchen and living room, “You lose something?

“I-” Ready to turn tail and give him hell she is immediately silenced, hands flying up to her lips to calm the swell of profanity she can feel bubbling up and, for the seventh time this afternoon, she wells up, sobbing into her palms.

Without a word to pass between them he relinquishes the turkey baster to the nearby countertop and rushes to embrace his wife, “You need some help or something, honey?”

“Oh, Nick, I-” She barely manages through hearty, walloping sobs.

“Shh-shh, baby it’s okay,” He can feel her trying to speak, chest heaving against his own and he drags a slow, soothing hand against the top of her partially shaven head. “Whatever it is,” He interrupts himself with his lips against the crest of her fuzzy, prickling scalp, “It don’t matter, not a lick.”

A few, brief moments of whimpering silence pass before he feels the need to say something to try and lift her spirits. “If you want I could always give that turkey a talkin’ to- a real what-for,” Although he can tell she is still upset, shoulders lightly shaking under the brace of his arms, “It’ll baste itself when I’m done, I swear it Kimmi!” The way she smacks at his chest has him chuckling, “What-” She laughs too, “No? Come on, now where’s the fun in that!”

Though she grips tightly to him, laughing as she tries to hold him back, he approaches the oven, “Now listen here, you!”

“Nick, no- don’t ope-” Kim laughs and sobs all at once; happy despite appearances.

Opening the oven door he looks the offender right in it’s asshole, “I heard you been upsettin’ my baby!” Almost too late he tacks on, “AND my wife!”

--

Being out in the world after seven years in a bunker is overtly surreal and, still, many months later Nick shelters his eyes from any particularly strong source of light. Foraging for food wasn’t the worst part of the apocalypse so far; Joseph God Damned Seed held tightly to that title still, somehow, after several nuclear bombs and one hell of an assassination attempt.

Notching an arrow from a set Kimi had helped him whittle down yesterday, Nick holds his breath and dispatches a silent prayer. He’d never been a bad shot with a firearm but? Hunting with a bow- depending on that skill (however meager or great) to feed not only yourself but your family, was an entire bucket of wriggling, foul worms he hated toting around. Releasing his taught lungs the arrow follows suit, hitting its target successfully.

Less than an hour later finds him roaring up the drive, a sidecar full of gutted venison jostling the spot-welded metal plating all the way to the hangar. Having developed a functional routine, Nick goes through the motions: hanging, skinning, cutting, and packing his spoils in the cleanest paper they’ve got. 

A sneaking, hushed gurgle of a giggle alerts him but he doesn’t stray from his task, preferring to be assumed as unaware. It doesn’t take long for his daughter, Carmina to stalk around him and he is careful about securing his tools, a sharpened knife safely snoozing on the opposite side of his patchwork butcher's table. 

When she grips on to the back of his legs he responds in a half startled, monstrous roar, “RaaaAAHH!!” And, stooping he bends, scooping her up, “Oh no buckeroo!” Hauling her onto his shoulder is becoming more difficult as she’s nearing nine years old but? He does it anyways, laughing along, “Swamp monster’s got you!”

Amidst their boisterousness he makes out a familiar tone: Kim. “Shh-shh,” His tickling fingers still, free hand poised and pointer drawn against his lips, “Quiet down, kiddo!” On the breath of a strong wind he manages to decipher what she’s yelling, “That’s your Mama callin’!” Although he isn’t mad his tone does harden into a stern reprimand, “You ain’t- you just left the house without saying nothin’ again?!”

“Daddy!” Carmina protests as he swings her down just-enough to be in view. Partially upside down she meets his gaze with a practiced pout, cheeks reddening.

“Nuh-uh, I won’t hear it- don’t give me that look, neither!” He frowns, “We’ve done talked about this, Carmina: you can’t just-” Setting her down on her own two feet, “It’s a dangerous world we are livin’ in young lady and,” Not one to entirely dampen his daughter- or anyone’s spirits he tries to rouse her lovely smile again, “As your Daddy,” Digits wriggle when he unexpectedly hikes her back up and tickles just-enough for a laugh, “It is my duty to make sure you apologize to your Mama, Ma’am.”

By the time he wrangles his squirming, squealing child out the rear door, Kim is on her way to the garage and he calls ahead into the partial darkness of the mostly-settled sun, “You lose something, darlin’?”

Although her eyes are firmly on the dark haired little girl, safe and secure over her father’s shoulder, Kim can not help herself: her nerves are fraught. “Carmina!” She hollers one last time, voice hovering between worried and a-woman-scorned.

“Sorry Mommy-”

“You could have-!” Kim wants nothing more than to elaborate and although they are mostly honest with Carmina about the state of the world, they have refrained from being gruesome or brutal about it. “Don’t do that ever again, do you hear me young lady?!”

“Makes you feel any better,” Nick nearly starts in the middle of a sentence, hurrying to interrupt the tense and uncomfortable situation, “I could always craft up a leash or somethin’-” The look his wife gives him has his lips curling when he sets his daughter down between them, “What? She’d never leave the yard again- it’s what you want!”

Despite the mixture of rage and relief ravaging every facet of her psyche Kim closes the distance between them, Carmina already a shadow haunting their crumbling dining room. “Thank you,” They both know it is more than about this moment. That she is thankful for his way with her and with their daughter; every stupid thing about him, really. “Thank you, Nick.”

“Anything for you baby,” He is smart enough to let the moment lie, a palm stroking softly against the round of her mostly shaven head. Swaying slightly in the cool, spring breeze he bends pressing his lips to the crest of her forehead. “So,” He says, unable to take it anymore, “No to that baby-chain, huh?”

Needing it too she angles her head back, looking him dead in the eye, “Just.” For effect she pauses, blowing stray strands from her vision, “Make sure she has access to fresh water.”

--

“Ok-okay,” Although there is a certain amount of set determination to his tone, Nick Rye falters- a scant pause in the doorway. “Let’s do this,” With a friend at his side he feels confident enough in their newly mustered camaraderie to push forward, through the side door and into the wide expanse of the living room.

“Carmina?” 

Just the sound of her voice is enough to do him in entirely and he stops, just-adjacent of the door to drink her in silence.

“Do you know where my wire cutters are?” She buzzes around, in a tizzy of a search, keeping herself busy- moving and, more importantly, distracted. It’s not that she doesn’t notice the movement out of the corner of her eye, or the painfully familiar phantom behind her, she’s just? Tired. Ready for a new hallucination to be tormented with- she’s been through it all before, more than enough times.

“Kim.”

This particular poltergeist has the audacity to manifest a nice, little, aural ditty for her as well and she turns away, deepening her tried and true remedy. “I know I put them here somewhere,” Although she can clearly see they are not on top of the stacked supply crates, Kim looks anyways, fingers brushing each item to try and root herself back into reality.

Nick takes pause to apologize to his companion with a look. He isn’t a fan of anything he could possibly deem as too-uncomfortable, or soul-bearing, but this? This moment he has ached for- longing and alone; afraid. Giving another apologetic look he manages, “Hold on.” 

“They were just here, where did I put them-” She cuts herself off with a dismissive and frustrated gesture, shoulders sagging in resolution. Staring down at the meagre, inconsequential items she can feel her eyes begin to burn. ‘Not now, not n o w,’ She tells herself, lips silent and clinging strongly to the image she portrays: hardened, brazen woman and an absolute warrior of a mother. Truly a force to be reckoned with.

Though he is generally a man that is embarrassed of any kind of physical displays of affection in public he reaches out, fingers gentle against her side; 

Kim grips him roughly at first, unsure of her suspected delusion- could it be Rush? He’d already given her quite the salacious look over the fireside last night and she’d turned away, offended and? Blushing. 

“You lose something, darlin’?”

Quick on the balls of her feet she turns, eyes searching a worn and weathered face she has prayed relentlessly for; a man she has begged every star in the sky to return safely.

His tongue fits against the basin of his mouth, voice an emotionally charged stutter, “Hey baby.” When she grips onto him he pulls her in as closely as possible, dying for the touch of her warmth.

“Hi,” She barely manages, expression crumbling under the weighty realization and arms cementing around him. Kim tries to repeat herself more certainly but her voice cracks, pronunciation silent.

“Hey, you know,” Not one to linger in his feelings he tries to make light of the situation even though he is very aware that is it not the time, “If you’re busy I can always come back-” With barely a second to breathe she regrips, tugging him in, “No?”

#far cry 5 #nick rye #kim rye #carmina rye #satan fills requests #okay bye im jshbndsnfdkj #been a long time since i wrote anythuing this soft im gonna go now jbhdfg

[pinkhairedlily]

goodbye to the clearest eyes

pair: kim namjoon/park jimin | minjoon, rating: G

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33675553

dropping a minjoon fic here as well (because why not)! :>

Namjoon glances at his phone for the seventeenth time that night, the digital clock blinking back 23:14 at him, and his screen flashing low battery warning since the 20 percent mark. He waits again for ten more minutes, closing his eyes and losing himself in the muted sound of the club on the street across and the passing honks of ubers. A ping stirs him up.

Disappointed but not surprised. He knows he set himself up for this.

“Joon hi. Hope you thought better - like before. I actually got a ride. Lucky huh. So anyway, please don’t mind my earlier texts. See you later.” Ironically, his phone thinks it’s the most opportune time to shut down, zero percent, no more warning. He softly thumps his head on the steering wheel, but his fingers are tightly gripping around it.

“I should stop this.” This is the same sentence he repeats for every conquest Jin conjures up every Friday of the week. He sighs, enraged but tired, and he starts the ignition.

Then his passenger side opens and comes in an angel.

“Excuse me?”

It’s Namjoon’s first expression. Blonde hair, lopsided smile that reaches his eyes, plump and pouty lips, flushed cheeks, and fair skin. He waves to his friends goodbye and reaches for the seatbelt.

He misses it and he chuckles. He tries again and almost gets it. Again, another hearty chuckle.

“You’re hammered,” Namjoon says. “But this is not an uber.”

The blonde man fits the seatbelt in successfully in his third try. He looks up at Namjoon, and he is disarmed by bright hazelnut irises which disappear in a wide smile. “Look I managed to wear my seatbelt.” His fingers, dainty fingers, meet each other to give himself a small, silent clap.

Namjoon’s heart is thumping. What is this is a new modus of a local gang? Using an angel-faced to lure innocents into their deaths? He clears his throat and tries to capture the blonde’s attention. “I would appreciate it if you get out of my car right now.”

Yeah, especially since I just got my license at 30 years old. Because Jin had his car towed.

The blonde is heaving and Namjoon knows what comes next. He opens the windows and gets ready to give him a paper bag stashed in his glove compartment. It’s actually reserved for Jin, waiting for its purpose for several weeks now, but at least a single piece gets to see the light for tonight.

The passenger waves away his offer of a vomit bag. He just lets his head loll on the side, eyes shut, smile still plastered on his cherubic face. Namjoon rakes his raven locks with his hand, and he decides then to fuck it. He’s in the neighborhood, he has an available car. He will do one kind deed today and bring this angel safely to his home.

But yeah fuck me too because my phone’s basically on coma and I’m geographically challenged. No choice then. “Hey you, I’m sorry but I don’t have the maps on. I can’t drive you.”

The blonde tries to sit up straight with his eyes still closed. “Can you first drive around? I don’t want to go home yet.”

This is a red flag, Namjoon knows. Far too many dreadful things have been happening nowadays and everyone is hardly to be trusted even when they have the most beautiful countenance he has ever seen. But he had too many losses this year, too many times he held out chances for someone who won’t return them back, too many hopes for beginnings but he got indefinite endings instead. Yeah, fuck it.

“Can you move away from the window so I can close it?” Namjoon asks.

“Can you leave my side open? I want to feel the cold air against my face,” the man replies. Now that Namjoon’s looking at him intently, he notices he must be in his early 20s, not more than 25 probably.

He stuffs the paper bag on his passenger’s dainty fingers (which thankfully he holds onto because dry cleaning would be a bitch) and drives towards the road he frequents when he gets stood up.

“It’s kinda cold.” His blonde locks are swaying with the wind.

Namjoon chuckles and checks his monitor. “Well it’s the transition between fall and winter. Do you want me to close it now?”

“No, not really. I love the cold. It makes my cheeks redder. It makes me aware of the blood in my body.”

“I like this season too although I’m not a fan of snowing. I’d rather walk than drive a car when it’s winter.” Namjoon steals a glance. “Looks like you really enjoyed tonight. Flushed and rosy cheeks are also good signs of life. Would you believe it’s a criteria males would look for in females they want for marriage and reproduction? Of course, this was back when patriarchy was still 100 percent practiced.”

Namjoon takes a right turn amid the dense canopy of hickory trees and into the tunnel. Now would be the most advantageous time for his passenger to kill him.

“Yes, I enjoyed tonight,” the blonde remarks. His hazelnut eyes are now open and trained on the road. “My friends and colleagues organized a farewell party.”

“Changing jobs?” Namjoon breathes slowly, waiting for the blonde to pull out a gun or knife.

“Nope, not really. I’m going away.”

Nothing comes for Namjoon’s life, and he feels the bubble of laughter in his throat. “Another city or abroad?”

His hazelnut eyes roll to the ceiling, and he ponders for a whole minute. “Yeah, abroad. That’s what I told them.”

The tunnel is empty, but Namjoon keeps a safe driving speed on the rightmost lane. Occasionally, a sports car would speed past them, the tires screeching with the echoes. He wonders if he should keep up the conversation, but gauging the other person’s responses, it seems like they don’t mind. “Oh that must be fun. I also went abroad after university, straight to Belgium. It felt freeing that time, but I realized just recently that I was probably running away.”

There he goes again, spilling his guts to a stranger at midnight in the middle of a tunnel. Namjoon’s mind now wonders if this blonde isn’t afraid of him. He’s bigger than this passenger, more muscular, and definitely taller. He can easily subdue him and drop him in the ocean.

“It’s somewhere I have to go to,” he replies. “I’ve never been to Belgium. Chocolates must be good there.”

“The roads are very bike friendly, if you’re curious.” Namjoon remembers the awe when he first set foot in Brussels. No annoying car honks, no bulky vehicles on the streets. Just people biking, in tune with nature, giving way to each other, the tiny bells ringing.

“Ah I also never learned how to bike. How disappointing.”

“It’s a nice skill to have, keeps you active, and obviously it decreases your carbon footprint.”

His passenger laughs like it’s a trill of a nightingale. “You have such a weird thought process!”

Namjoon’s voice wavers, part embarrassed, part socially anxious. He’s never good in dealing with extroverts. “Is it bad?”

The blonde shakes his head. “I’m saying it’s unique. Anyway, I won’t worry much about my carbon footprint.”

Namjoon clucks his tongue against his mouth. “You must be a mindful consumer.”

“Hmm, I’m not really sure. I guess I am?” His little pinky finger rests on the side of his lip. “But it gives me comfort that I’m alleviating Mother Earth’s illness somehow.”

They leave the tunnel and the smell of salt air arrests both of their senses. Namjoon opens the window on his side as well and breathes in the ocean. He normally frequents this area during sunsets, a few minutes when twilight sets in before it finally transitions to the night sky. His existence hovers in between those changes, all beautiful and all passing. It dawns on him that he took a plunge when he decided to drive here at this time. “Do you mind some music?”

“No, go ahead!”

Namjoon opens his radio, and the first notes of 400 Lux drifts from the speakers. The blonde lets an arm out on touches the air on the skin of his fingers. Namjoon notices this and mirrors him. The ocean greets them after a few seconds, quiet in its vastness despite the rhythmic buoy of the waves and the sound they make when they crash against the sandy shore.

“I’d like to visit many more places,” his companion continues. “Like Jeju Island. My grandmother plants the sweetest tangerines, and my ex-boyfriend would often come help out during harvest season. But I broke up with him just recently and cut off all ties.”

“Sorry about the ex-boyfriend,” Namjoon interjects. “He must be missing the tangerines a lot.”

“Let’s hope that’s the only thing he’ll be missing. By the time he’d miss me, he must have moved on already.”

The road comes a bit closer to the waters, and the wind drifts over some of the sea spray to them as the waves break against the side of the cliffs. “And here you are, sounding like you already miss him.”

“I won’t deny it.” He pauses and takes a deep breath. “I found that it’s healthy to acknowledge your feelings than keep them all repressed so I’m honoring our bond by honoring the grief.”

“Sounds like good advice.” The guilt creeps up on Namjoon, but he ignores this for a moment. Maybe he can take this bit, store it, and use it in the future. It’s good advice anyway.

“I also want to visit Disneyland. I’ve never been to one. Couldn’t afford it. But I hate roller coasters and pirate ships, anything that has to do with heights. Although, if given the chance, I would try all of them at once even if I vomit after.”

“The lines are freakishly long.”

“How much do you think would it cost if I rent the whole place for a day?”

Namjoon laughs. “Pretty sure it would have at least six zeroes.”

“Oh I thought it would have seven.” They both break into guffaws. After a few seconds, the blonde continues his musing. “I would also love to visit my parents and see them again every day.”

“Can’t you do it now?”

The man stretched his arms in front of him and wiggles in his chair. “I’ll actually drop by tomorrow, spend some time before I truly go.”

Namjoon slowly turns on a blind curve, weighing the last sentence in his mind. “I moved out when I was 18 into the university dorms, and then I got my own apartment after graduation. Most of us go through that linear phase, don’t you think – growing out of our childhood homes and leaving the ‘youth’ behind.”

“You don’t even look like 30 yet.”

“I’m flattered. And you don’t look like you’re over 20s.”

“I get that a lot.” The blonde chuckles, not bothering to hide another set of blush on his cheeks. Under the dim light of the moon, Namjoon briefly notices the redness in his ears.

“But wouldn’t it be nice to come back to it, to that safe bubble when life becomes too overwhelming?” Somehow, Namjoon also feels a hot flush on his skin despite the icy air that has set in their atmosphere.

“We both know there’s no bubble anymore when we go back.”

“I guess it will take you a long time to come back.”

The passenger nods, his hazelnut eyes leaving the road to focus on the ocean. “A very, very, very long time. I may not see them again after I go.”

He must be moving for good, Namjoon thinks. Or he’s cutting off ties. Like I did so many years ago.

“Hey, can we stop over for water? I’m thirsty.”

Namjoon spots the 24/7 convenience store on the side of the road. He remembers this is a junction close to a fishing port hence the all-around operations. He parks on the empty lot and waits for the blonde to finish buying his needs. He comes back with four bottles of water and two bowls of already cooked instant ramen. “Would you like to eat by the shore?”

Sure why not in the middle of almost-winter? Namjoon follows him nonetheless, even sitting on the damp sand cross legged with ramen in between his hands. They slurp the noodles in silence punctuated by the crashing waves and occasional noise of the seagulls and the horn of incoming fishing fleets. They do not talk, too engrossed with the hot food and spicy broth.

Finally finished, they combine their garbage in what was supposed to be the passenger’s vomit bag. Namjoon initially walks to the direction of his car, but the passenger decides to walk along the shore for the minute, barefoot, his black leather mules secured in his other hand.

“Would you look at that? It’s finally used,” Namjoon jokingly remarks about the vomit bag.

The blonde chuckles at his lame attempt to lighten the mood. Namjoon finally notices the muted loss in his startlingly beautiful hazelnut eyes, and the layers of sadness covered up by his songbird laughter, but he knows it’s not his place to ask.

“Have you ever thought about death?” The way he asked it was so blunt, so deadpan, so out of the blue, and so far removed from his lively persona that Namjoon interacted with in the vehicle.

It catches him off guard, of course. He never really delved into it, not when he was too busy running away from his feelings for his college best friend, not when he came back and tried to rekindle that friendship and connection again, not when he was too busy wondering if it was already too late.

He was too busy facing the consequences of his life. “In passing, maybe.”

The blonde walks further into the water, the waves reaching to his knees. “What do you think happens after?”

“I personally don’t believe in afterlife or in God or in heaven.” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck, aware that his being agnostic would sometimes earn an agitated reaction from people. “It just ends. You become food for the detritus, a fertilizer for the plants.”

“Lessening the carbon footprint?” the blonde brings it up again, and this earns a hearty chuckle from Namjoon.

“We could put it like that. You contribute to nutrient cycling.”

“That’s a nice way of describing rotten flesh being eaten by worms.” He turns towards the expanse of the ocean with his eyes closed and that constant smile that seems to hold him together throughout this night. “I….visualize dying as a new birth, a chance of being someone again, a reincarnation. Even if I live as a butterfly with gray wings, a disowned black cat because of superstition, a whale with an alien frequency, a deer hunted in the open season, I’ll welcome it because it gives me another day, another life. It gives me another chance to feel the cold air on my face, the hot flush on my nose and ears, the water between my toes. Another chance to meet people, another chance to fall in love and break and fall all over again, another chance to live.”

The whole monologue untethers Namjoon. It is as if the sand underneath him started shifting.

The blonde turns his attention on the sky, stars invisible behind the fluffy clouds which signal incoming rain. As he silently watches them move across the space, Namjoon follows the change in his expression, the surrender of the smile, and the explosion of dullness in his irises.

“I have a tumor in my brain. Cancer has progressed too far and too deep to consider chemotherapy. Doctor gave me three months at most.”

Namjoon feels like he needs the vomit bag more. He’s tongue tied and numb all over. He feels cold all over, but he doesn’t know if he should blame the season. All the sounds are drowned by a ringing in his head, and he barely hears the blonde come up to him and tap his shoulder with his smile back again.

“I want to go home now. Thank you for driving me tonight.”

---

Now in the safe enclave of his apartment with a fully charged phone, Namjoon composes a long message intended for Jin, his apologies running all the way back since college. An apology for not responding to his confession, an apology for running away, an apology for coming back and expecting everything is the same.

And an ultimatum of a definite conclusion – whether he can let him in or cut him off from his life – because he has spent a long time living in between.

The breakdown comes after he hits send, choking sobs hitched in his throat. A mourning for a blonde stranger.

---

“Have a taste of this.” A grandmother in her 90s offers a peeled tangerine to Namjoon.

He bites through the piece of fruit and the sweetness hits him in full. He relishes the burst of flavor in his mouth with his eyes closed albeit it’s actually a ruse to keep the flood of tears at bay. You were right, they’re the sweetest tangerines. “I think I’ll order a hundred kilos.”

“That’s too much, my son.” The old woman laughs and playfully slaps him on the arm. “So how did you find your orchard tour a while ago?”

“I can’t help but hear a songbird in the area. Must be coming from the nearby forest.”

“Ah, it started singing last year. Since then, we’ve always had a year-round harvest. He must be my lucky charm.”

#bts fic #bts fanfic #minjoon #minimoni #namjoon x jimin

[darkthoughtss]

Don’t Get Too Close

Chae Hyungwon | Chapter Three

pairing: Hyungwon x Reader

genre: angst, smut

warnings: swearing!

word count: 2234

Previous chapters: 1 | 2 

21/3/2020 - 10:35 pm

“I stop and stare, you’re almost there.

The words that leave your lips are the same, they call out my name.

I don’t wish for more, even when my body feels sore.

You’re everything I need baby,” 

You opened your eyes slowly as you finished the song. 

“I think we got it,” your producer said through the mic in the studio.

“Really?” You asked as a smile spread on your face.

“More than that. Now, get out,” he said, returning the smile.

You smiled brightly and took your headphones off before you placed them on the stand.

“Now we just need to put together the last two songs, and you’re ready to sing live on stage,” the producer said, fiddling with the stereo.

“I’m really happy to hear that,” You said. “Is there anything else for today?”

“Other than practicing your vocals for tomorrow, you’re free. I’ll get in touch with you when I’m ready to record,” he said.

You nodded, “Well, then I guess I’ll see you then,” You said, “Great work today!” 

You grabbed your bag and headed towards the exit. 

He nodded his head, “Yeah, you too,” he called.

You went out of the studio and started walking down the hall. That was the last thing on your schedule. The time was now 10:42 pm. You could feel your fight-and-flight response reacting by the thought of your date with Hyungwon. Were you allowed to call it a date? The butterflies filled your stomach as you headed towards Monsta X’s studio. 

You arrived at Monsta X’s studio and peeked inside. You saw Hyungwon sitting by his desk with headphones on. You carefully knocked on the door twice. When his eyes met yours a shy smile appeared on his lips. He gestured you to get inside and you walked in as he took his headphones off. “Y/N,” he said with his warm voice, “You remembered.”

“What? Of course I did,” You said. “Are you still working?” 

“Nah, I’m done for today,” he said and packed his stuff. “Now let’s go grab that much desired drink.” 

21/3/2020 - 11:18 pm

“What is going on? You drink beer too?” He asked.

“Yes, what’s wrong with that?” You asked with a skeptical look.

The both of you were smiling. You went to a bar where they only served drinks to celebrities. It was really private so none of you needed to be concerned for getting leaked pictures or meeting anyone. The bar was really popular among celebrities and you could get a private room which you and Hyungwon also decided to get. 

“I don’t know, girls just don’t usually drink beer. They like cocktails and the sweet stuff,” he said.

“U-huh, is that so? And how would you know that?” You asked with a lifted eyebrow.

“What? No, I just assumed,” he said innocently.

“I bet you dated a ton of girls... Don’t worry, I won’t judge,” you teased.

“Well, I can tell you right now that you lost that bet,” He said and filled your glass with beer. 

The fact that you two were sitting alone at a bar made you feel all ticklish inside. How did you even get to this point? It was only yesterday when you lied to Hyunwoo about saying hi to Hyungwon. You didn’t even have the confidence to say hi to him and now here you were, having a drink with him, just the two of you.

“So, the shoot went well?” He asked. 

“Oh, yes! The director complimented me so much on the part you helped me with, and I really think I wouldn’t have acted it out so well without you,” you said.

“Really?” He smirked, “Does that mean I was on your mind?” He leaned towards you with his chin placed on his hand.

You reached out for your drink and took a gulp. Did it just get hotter in here? 

“What? How couldn’t I?” You asked and made a face.

“You’re blushing,” Hyungwon teased.

“I’m not,” you said, “It’s asian flush.”

He laughed, “Mhmm,” he said and grabbed a bottle of soju.

“Let’s have a toast,” he said and filled a shot glass with soju. “For your comeback,” he continued.

Your heart felt warm. Was he always this caring?

22/3/2020 - 1:03 am

You covered your mouth with your hand as you laughed loudly. You could feel the muscles on your stomach tighten and the tears well up in your eyes. 

“Oh god, I’m crying!” You said in-between laughs.

Hyungwon laughed along with you, “You should have seen Kihyun’s face! It was priceless. If you think the story is funny I can’t even imagine how you’ll react if you saw it in real life,” he said.

“Oh my god, so he just sat there calmly without clothes?” You asked and managed to take a breath.

“Yeah, he tells us it’s only natural for humans to walk around naked,” he said, referring to Changkyun. “And Kihyun has the exact opposite mindset so it’s really fun to see them together,” he said.

“Wauw, it must be so fun at your dorm. I can’t even imagine it,” You said. “You’re like seven people that enjoy each other’s company and love each other even though you get into fights and disagree,” you continued as the both of you calmed down from the laughter.

“I’ll say there is some pros and cons. For example, Kihyun likes to wake up early, and he’ll wake us all. So I can’t sleep in even when our schedule is free. And he always nags at me,” he said, getting annoyed just by the thought of it.

“Aww, poor Hyungwonnie,” you said with a pouted mouth, teasing him.

“Shut up,” He laughed, “How about you? Do you live alone?” He asked, changing the subject.

You nodded. How lonely, you thought. He observed you as your gaze fell to the floor and your smile slowly disappeared. Before any of you said anything your phone rang. You felt your heart sink. It was your dad.

“I’m sorry, I have to take this,” you said. 

“Go on,” he said with a nod.

He grabbed his beer and took a gulp as you got up and walked outside to receive the call. Your dad rarely rung, so you were surprised to see his name. Your dad usually didn’t call unless he wanted something. 

“Dad?” You asked.

“...Hi babygirl,” he said with a hoarse voice.

“It’s been a while,” you said.

“Yeah, how are you?” He asked.

“I’m good. Thanks. How are you and mom?” You asked. 

“We’re holding up. How is your comeback going?” He asked.

“It’s going fine, I guess. How is work?” You asked.

Silence.

“What is it, dad?” You asked.

“...We need money,” he finally admitted.

You closed your eyes tightly. Although, you had seen it coming, it still broke your heart. You took a deep breath. It hadn’t even been that long since the last time you sent him money.

“What about the money I sent you in the beginning of this month?” You asked.

Silence.

“Dad? Please...” You begged.

Your relationship with your parents wasn’t good. You grew up poor. Your dad had an addiction to gambling and your mother struggled to raise you with him. Problems at home were a contributory factor in your struggles at school. You decided to start a singing career at an age of 12 because you loved singing. Luckily, a member, of the company you were under now, had discovered you through your youtube channel. Now, you sent your parents a good amount of money each month and only visited them when they told you to, which they rarely did. You had no idea when they would be at home or else where, so you couldn’t just visit without their permission. 

“It’s urgent,” he said firmly.

“Are you kidding me? Just tell me the truth dad,” you said, angered by his tone.

Silence.

“You’re so pathetic,” you whispered. He always gave you that; Silence. He never gave you any attention even when you were a child. And now, after everything, this is his way of asking for a favour? What the hell would he expect?

“How old are you? Aren’t you supposed to be more stable than I? I can’t manage to send you more than I already do!” You said in frustration.

“Y/N,” he said slowly with an undertone of anger. “You’re supposed to be grateful for what we’ve done for you. Is this how you will treat your dad and your mother? We gave up everything for you. There’s nothing more we could have done for you,” he yelled.

You scoffed in disbelief, “Why would you get me in the first place if you knew you couldn’t manage it? Don’t fucking lie to me. I know I was a mistake. So would you please stop using that excuse?” You yelled. 

“You’re an ungrateful little bitch. Kids are supposed to help their parents when they can! We got you into this world, so you better be grateful!” He yelled back.

“I never asked to be born!” You screamed and hung up. You felt your whole body shake in anger. 

You knew you were going to end up sending them the last bit of money you had anyway. That only meant you had to starve yourself a couple of days. It hadn’t been that long ago since you got your paycheck from your chief. You knew you didn’t earn as much as other celebrities did. But one time when you decided to speak up, he told you very coldly:

“Aren’t you becoming a little too arrogant?” He had given you a stare that sent you shivers up and down your spine just by the thought of it. “We don’t earn shit from you. Look at the amount of money on your paycheck and do the math,” he had told you.

That day had scarred you for life. Before, you had confidence in yourself. You believed you were a great singer, dancer and just generally good at your job. But after what the chief told you, you lost all that confidence in a split second. Your fans’ words suddenly weren’t loud enough to drown the hate comments you received. You had refrained from reading comments since then because you knew it was too much for you to handle. 

You stood outside the bar, the cold wind blew your hair away from your face, and you tried to calm down in vain. It felt like the world crumbled right under your feet. All your problems suddenly came back to you and appeared in your mind one by one. You could feel the anger and frustration getting replaced with sadness and despair. The silence of the streets were soon filled with your sobs.

It’s been a while since your last breakdown. Why were you so problematic? Why couldn’t you just live a proper and good life? It was all your fault, you thought.

You heard the door open as Hyungwon walked out of the bar.  

“Aren’t you cold?” He asked as he walked closer, “I just took the bill, if you don’t mind. I just noticed it’s getting very late,” he said.

He had your bag and jacket in his hands. He froze when he noticed you were crying.

“Y/N?” He asked.

You sniffed and quickly wiped your tears away.

“Are you okay?” He asked worried.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you said and smiled at him, hoping he wouldn’t notice your swollen eyes.

He handed you your jacket.

“Thank you, I owe you,” you said, referring to the bill.

“Don’t worry about it. Let me walk you home,” he said.

You observed him for a moment and saw how serious he was. Something in his eyes made you give in.

“Okay,” you said. 

22/3/2020 - 1:58 am

You dragged your legs across the asphalt. You felt numb and empty. 

“Y/N,” he said after a while.

You were surprised to hear his voice and turned around to look at him. And he noticed your red eyes.

He clenched his jaw.

It somehow felt painful to see you sad. He couldn’t stand it and pulled you into his embrace without a word. The tears suddenly welled up in your eyes again. You hated crying all the time, you were sick of it. This hug would only give you temporary comfort and distract you from reality. You overcame the temptation to stay and pushed him away softly. If he continued like that, it would only get worse once you snapped back to reality again.

“Y/N... Tell me what’s going on. I’ll help you, I’m here,” he said.

Help? And in what way would he be able to do that? You didn’t let yourself think before you spoke.

“Sure! You’re Mr. Perfect, who has everything anyone could ever ask for! Of course, you can help anyone you feel the slighest pity for. But let me tell you something, Hyungwon, this is not the case! I’m no charity work, so save your foolish, hero desires for something else!” You said.

And here you were again; Pushing people away that showed just a little bit of compassion for you. As soon as the words left your lips you regretted it, however, he didn’t flinch. For the first time since your breakdown your attention was else where. You looked at him in surprise.

His gaze looked clouded.

#chae hyungwon #hyungwon #hyungwonnie #turtlehyungwon #turtle #monstax #monsta x fanfic #kpop fanfic #fanfiction #angst #smut #fluff #monsta x angst #shownu #jooheon #joohoney #wonho #minhyuk #changkyun #im #kihyun #modelhyungwon #monbebe #monbebes #monsta x fantasia #hyungwonfanfic #alligator #shootout #follow #fantasia

[gaylotusthatexists]

By The Sea

Virgil's life may be going downhill, but at least he still has his island and he still has the sea. However, when he meets a certain writer staying in the hotel he works at, it appears that something more important has arrived.

Roman's life seems to be going great, but he knows that soon all that may change. He has travelled to this island, along with this two best friends, to focus on his work, but when he meets a certain guy that he's sure he recognises, how can he focus on anything else?

And with only twelve days on the island together, will they be able to make it work?

Pairings: Prinxiety, Logicality, Remile

Word Count: 24160

This was written for the @ts-storytime, and boi did it take a while so I hope that y'all enjoy this. The full fic has been posted onto my ao3 here. You can read the first chapter below but I’m not planning on posting the rest on Tumblr, unless any of y’all really want me too. 

@justisaisfine made some beautiful pieces of artwork for this fic which you can find here, seriously guys go follow them, their art is amazing.

As far as I'm aware, there isn't anything in this that would be particularly triggering, but if y'all spot anything please let me know and I'll put up a warning. At the very worst there is some negative thinking and crying, but it's mostly fluff honestly. It also contains Deceit, who could be viewed as sympathetic or morally-grey, honestly idk. 

There are some bits that are in Spanish and I would like to apologise in advance for the terrible Spanish, I used Google Translate which I don't really trust but I also don't speak Spanish so y'know. If any of y'all are Spanish-speaking and know a better translation, please let me know, I'd really appreciate it.

Anyway, I think that's all I have to say? Hope y'all enjoy it! I certainly enjoyed writing it, haha

<3

DAY ONE

00:09

The sea shimmered in the moonlight, thousands of stars reflecting off its gentle waves. Pulling his hoodie tighter around his body, the boy exhaled. This was his home, his true home - the sky and the ocean and the island. Sat here by the sea, he could feel the wind brushing past his cheeks and the water washing over his feet. He could have stayed there, in that single moment, forever and ever, and he'd never grow tired of the feeling.

But it was late and he had to get back to the apartment. He couldn't stay out here all night, not when he had to be up so early for work in the morning. Sure, the chances of him actually sleeping were slim, but it was better resting inside that out. And he needed rest to be ready for tomorrow.

Glancing up to the sky for one last look before returning to reality, he saw a flashing light moving across the black. All he could do was sigh. That would be a plane, filled with visitors. People who come to the island to catch sun or whatever they do. People who Virgil would have to deal with for a couple weeks before they exit stage left. People who probably won't even notice that Virgil had a life of his own.

But hey, they're also the people who pay the bills, so could Virgil really complain?

This was his life. He had to deal with idiots like that for a while, but at least he had this. He had his island, and he had the sea.

Virgil stood up and started the journey into his future.

6:00

A blaring alarm jolted Roman out of bed and, for a moment, all he wanted in life was death - not specifically his own.

"Who the hell set an alarm?" he groaned, sitting up and rubbing his forehead. The horrendous sound still rung out through the room, hammering into his skull, until it was finally cut off and Roman was able to breath.

"That would be me," Logan said, casually. He was already out of bed and heading into the bathroom. "We've got to get on if we want to get breakfast."

Roman sighed, closing his eyes again. "Logan. We're on holiday. We're supposed to be relaxing. Not getting up at six am."

Logan poked his head out the door. "The restaurant opens at seven, Roman."

"That doesn't mean we have to be there at seven," Roman argued, lying back down and pulling the sheets over his head.

"If we get there first, we're more likely to receive better food, and as you know, breakfast is the most-"

"Yeah, yeah, most important meal, you say this every day," Roman said. "Can't we just, like, grab a quick brunch later on?"

Logan sighed. "No, Roman. That is not how any of this works." He slammed the door shut.

A few moments, maybe minutes, later, Roman peeked out from under the blankets. "Pat?" he whispered.

No response. Patton must have still been asleep. Of course Patton would be the one who got to sleep through the alarm and the argument.

Roman turned onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. It seemed as though he wouldn't be getting back to sleep anytime soon. All whilst Patton was laid there still sound asleep. That was so, so unfair.

He couldn't really do anything, though. Patton has always been a heavy sleeper, unlike Roman. And he supposed that Logan had a point - getting up early would certainly help with this work, since they hadn't just come here for a vacation. Whilst the promise of sun had been one of the deciding factors, the actual reason that the three boys had travelled to the island was to get away from city life and focus on their work - Logan was studying some science mumbo-jumbo that Roman didn't understand, Patton was hoping to work on his photography, and Roman needed to get this goddamn novel finished. A quiet, whilst kind of touristy, place like that seemed like the best place for them to focus, and in the case of the other two actually added to their work.

That didn't mean Roman was okay with getting up so early, though. Not after he spent God-knows-how-long travelling and then only getting around three hours of sleep. Maybe the next day it would've been fine, but he seriously doubted he would be able to focus at all today.

There was no harm in trying, though. If all else failed, he could always take a nap later on. But for now, he had to focus on his plan. He was in for the adventure of a lifetime, and he wasn't going to waste it.

8:09

Virgil stumbled into the kitchen and grabbed his coffee mug, chugging the entire thing in one go. This morning he would be working on pure caffeine and spite, which perhaps wasn't the best idea when he was supposed to look happy for the 'guests', but if it got him through the day then so be it. Upon realising that his cup was empty, he grabbed the one next to it, not bothering to check who's it was, and chugged that too.

"Remy isn't going to appreciate you drinking his coffee," one of Virgil's roommates said, from the other side of the kitchen.

Virgil put the cup back down and looked over at Emile, who was sat crosslegged on top of the counter sipping his cup of hot chocolate. "What a shame." He began pouring out another cup of coffee.

"Are you doing okay, buddy?" Emile asked, jumping down from the counter and stepping towards him. "'Cause, uh, that's an awful lot of coffee."

"If I don't drink this, I'll end up punching a dude, and then I'll lose my job again. Which I can't afford to do."

Before Virgil could drink a third cup, Emile gently pulled it out of his hand. "Virgil, you're going to end up killing yourself."

"Oh no," Virgil said in monotone, trying to get his coffee back but being unable too as Emile held it out of his reach.

A third person came strutting into the room and snatched the coffee out Emile's hand. "Was Virgil trying to steal my coffee again?" he asked.

Emile smirked. "He did steal your coffee. And then made another one."

Remy faked annoyance. "How dare he."

Virgil just sighed.

"Well," Emile said, "I should get off. I've got a client at ten."

Remy smiled and planted a small kiss on Emile's forehead. "Good luck, Em."

"Ew," Virgil said.

"This is our apartment, I'm allowed to kiss my boyfriend," Remy said, as Emile moved away towards the front door.

"I also live here," Virgil reminded him.

"Only because your poor," Remy countered.

"I make more than you."

"And Emile makes more than both of us combined."

Virgil considered that for a moment. "I mean, yeah, I guess."

"When you get yourself a rich significant other, then you can move out and you won't have to watch us be gay." Before Virgil could reply, Remy left the kitchen.

Shaking his head but allowing a small smile to creep out, Virgil grabbed his backpack and left the apartment.

9:32

"Why are we up so early?" Patton moaned, as the three of them walked out of the hotel.

"We've gone over this, Patton," Logan said. "We have to make the most of our time here."

"We have almost two weeks, Logan, surely we can spare a day to rest," Patton argued.

"You're not allowed to complain," Roman chimed in. "Since, y'know, you got an extra hour of sleep."

"Speaking of," Logan continued, "I set an alarm for a reason. It would be great if, in the future, you both got up at the designated time."

Patton sighed. "Alright, Logan."

Logan smiled. "Thank you for understanding, Patton."

9:35

Virgil glanced at a group of three boys making their way out of the hotel as he made his way in. He could tell they were new arrivals from their pale complexity - and from the fact he hadn't seen them around yet. They might have been on last nights plane. But if that were the case, why were they up so early?

Maybe they were the type to get out and do things. Which was good for Virgil, because that just meant less people to slave after. Although, they did seemed to be the loud type, judging by the fact that he could hear their conversation perfectly, which he did not care for at all. Perhaps they would be a problem later on.

Not that any of that mattered. It wasn't as if any of them would talk to him. Properly, he meant. They weren't going to walk up to him and willingly start a conversation. No one ever did. They would just get what they need off him and then leave him be.

"You're late," someone said, as soon as Virgil stepped foot into the lobby.

He sighed. "My shift doesn't even start until ten." He walked up to the counter and leant his arm on the side, looking up to the person who had spoke, the manager. He was wearing a black and yellow suit, with a waistcoat, a bowler hat and a bowtie - over the top, really, for a less-than-fancy hotel in middle of nowhere. Down one side of his face, he had a scar surrounded by burn marks, from some mysterious tragedy he refused to talk about. Virgil had met him a couple years after said tragedy, and had been somewhat-friends with him for some time. Of course, that didn't mean he wasn't still a harsh boss.

The manager - Declan - smiled. "You're meant to arrive at half nine."

"I know, I know." Virgil shrugged. "But five minutes doesn't hurt."

"Sure," Declan dragged out.

"So, what's the deal?" He leant back. "Who we got this week?"

"Not a lot of visitors," Declan admitted. "Mostly people on business."

"Cool." Virgil breathed out. "I'll go get changed."

"Why don't you ever get changed at home?" Declan wondered.

Virgil shrugged. "You have a changing room here. Might as well make use of it."

"Is it because you don't like walking here in uniform?" Declan guessed, sensing that Virgil was lying.

"You got me." Virgil smiled. "See you in twenty."

"It doesn't take that long to-"

Virgil had already left the room before he could hear Declan finish.

19:26

"Can I take your order?"

Roman looked up at the waiter and all words fled from his mind. The man was perfect. His soft, dyed purple hair swooped in front of his deep brown eyes, which were outlined by a thick layer of black eyeshadow, kind of smudged after the long day. He had dark, smooth skin, but chapped lips, and he looked like a mess, actually, but for some reason Roman was drawn to him and only him. Everything else seemed to fade away. It was just him.

Logan nudged Roman.

Roman continued staring.

The man walked away.

Roman's world came back.

"Roman?"

His head shot to the source of the voice - Patton. "Huh?"

"You alright?" Patton asked.

Roman blinked. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You didn't speak when he asked for your order," Logan said.

Roman frowned. "I..."

He breathed in. He had never felt that before. Never lost control over his words.

But... maybe that wasn't bad. Maybe something great was about to happen.

He had to see that man again.

CONTINUE READING HERE

#ts-storytime 2019 submission #sanders sides #thomas sanders #prinxiety #logicality #remile #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #remy sanders #dr emile picani #deceit sanders #nate sanders #fanfiction #my fanfic #my writing

[thewritingginger]

Jumin Han x Reader - One Too Many . . .

NO ONES POV:

It was about 1:30 in the morning when the party goers started to leave one-by-one. But lets starts from the beginning.

Y/n thought it would be a fun idea to throw a small get together at her place, inviting all the RFA members. The party was set to start at around 9 o'clock. a few hours before everyone would arrive Y/n prepared and cleaned the little apartment for her guests. Nothing too fancy, on a small rectangular table she set out some plates, napkins, cups, a meat, cheese & cracker platter she made, and a few different drink choices.

At around 9:15 Y/n comes out of her bedroomed after getting ready. a few minutes passed of her admiring her work when, a knock came from the door. Getting excited, she smoothed down her dress before opening the door with a smile.

Y/N'S POV:

I open the door to be greeted with the warm faces of; Zen, Yoosung, and Jeahee. "Hey guys come on in." I open the door motioning them in. with their thanks they walk in. "if you want you can hang your coats in the closet right there." I offer as I close the door. "Thanks, where can we put these?" I hear Zen question. I turn to see that Zen was holding two-six-packs of beer and jeahee holding a veggie plate.

"Oh, you can put those over there." I point to my small catering table. After Yoosung closes the closet door he walks over to me, "Sorry, I didn't realize we were supposed to bring something." He apologetically says. I shake my head, "Oh, no. Yoosung you didn't need to bring anything." I reassure him, "You being here is all you needed to bring." I smile.

As everyone is getting comfortable I play some music on the TV to have in the background, after picking a station I hear another knock on the door. I open the door to greet the rest of the RFA, "Welcome, come in, make yourself at home!" I exclaim gesturing them inside. "I'm guessing I can put these on that table." Seven said with a big bag of Honey Buddha chips and Dr.Pepper in hand. I nod in agreement as I hear Jumin say my name. "Oh. Hey Jumin, glad you could make it." I greet. "Thank you for inviting me, This is for you." He extends his arms holding a bottle of red wine. I accept the gift, "Thank you Jumin, you didn't have to bring me anything." He shakes his head slightly, "You invited me into your home, bringing you a small token of thanks is the least I can do." He says with a slight curve of his lips. I smile back at him as I go to put the bottle in the kitchen.

NO ONES POV:

A few hours pass by and the party is going great. Everyone is drinking and eating, laughing with each other, having a good time. It got to be around 1 in the morning when V decided he would bow himself out, and from there, within the next hour the others started to leave as well.

Seven was next to go, claiming that "a slaves work is never done".

And at about 1:45 a sober Jeahee helped escort a drunken Yoosung and Zen back home. They left with their slightly slurred and jumbled good byes. The door closes, then leaving none-other than Jumin Han sitting on the couch with Y/n, listening to the soft music still emitting from the television. After some comfortable silence between them, Jumin's voice cuts through the air with, "I hope I'm not intruding by me staying here."

Y/N'S POV:

I look at Jumin's glossy eyes and shake my head, "not at all, you can stay as long as you need to."I say resting further into the couch cushions, with my head resting on my propped arm. "Thank you, I'm afraid I might have drank a bit too much." he confesses. Already knowing that just by looking at him I just respond with a gentle "It's okey."

As we listen to the music I take this moment to really take in Jumin's appearance.

Jumin looks relaxed into the sofa beneath him with legs crossed, his tie coiled onto the coffee table, and a couple buttons undone on his dress shirt. As I'm drinking him in, my buzzed induced trance is broken by Jumin questioning, "Is something wrong?" his brow slightly quirked, I shake my head and smile, "Oh, sorry no." I chuckle, a little embarrassed. Jumin smiles back then releases a yawn. Seeing the tiredness in his eyes I offer, "You know if you're tired, you're more than welcomed to stay over." I say with sympathy in my eyes. "No I shouldn't." He rejects, "No please, I insist. I would rather you rest and sober up a bit before you go home." I retort. He nods his head. "Okey, that sounds reasonable. Mind if I just lay here for a bit." I laughed nodding my head, amused by his state.

Before I know it I feel Jumin lay his head in my lap. I giggle a bit, "What are you doing?" questioning his choice of pillow. "Resting per your request." He drunkenly speaks matter of factly. Instead of fighting it, I just let him rest.

As the minutes passed I started to mindlessly play with the dark strands of Jumin's hair. I feel his slightly leaning into my touch.

With nothing else hanging in the air but relaxing music and the wind blowing threw the open window, my mind starts to wonder about the scene taking place.

A slightly intoxicated Jumin Han is currently in my apartment with his head nuzzled into my lap, with my fingers dancing in his locks. 'What is happening?' I mean, I'm not against the position we are in, just more confused. I consider that the alcohol must have the fault of this, in a sober-mindset I don't believe Jumin would take my lap for a place to rest.

I look down at my lap, a small smile tugging at my lips as I see a sleeping Jumin. Admiring his smooth skin, and high cheekbones my fingers start to lightly trace his cheek. The sound of his slow gentle breathes filling my ears.

I am then met with a pair of fluttering eyes. Sitting in silence staring at each other. The way his stormy grey eyes are seemingly boring into me, it feels as if I'm getting drunk all over again. the way he is looking at me feels like electricity.

My heart starts to skip a bit and I feel a flutter in my tummy. I lick my dry lips, feeling the need for something to drink. I break the staring contest between us and take a sip from my cup. I hear a sigh come from Jumin, and he sits up looks at me.

"I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable." Almost cutting him off, I argue his statement, "N-no, not at all." I say with a sudden coyness coming over me. "Oh, I'm pleased to hear that." He says with a lazy smile that made my face feel warm. Not knowing what to do with this feeling I said up, "Uh, can I get you anything more to drink? Water? Or are you hungry?" I turn to go to the kitchen to get some water. As I'm filling my cup up I hear Jumin accept my offer, "Water would be nice."

Walking back into the living room, Jumin is relaxed into the corner of the couch, legs crossed. I hand him his cup with a nod, "Thank you Y/n." he gingerly smiles again. "it's really nothing. It was just water." I shake my head with a slight humored smile. "No, not just that." his tone different from what I usually hear him use. "I'm appreciative for your hospitality and allowing me to stay here, well past my welcome I'm sure."

He runs a large hand threw his raven locks and sighs. I grab a blanket and curl up on the opposite side of the couch, facing him I say "Like I said before, you're more than welcome to rest here for the night if you don't feel well enough to leave." I offer a soft smile.

NO ONES POV:

And there they are again, just staring in comfortable silence. Both figures finding themselves slowly inching closer together, till they are both occupying the middle cushion. The way both of them are buzzing, unable to decipher if it's due to the alcoholic in their veins or the way their energies started to intertwine with one another. The air between them begins to thicken and fog but feeling light from the slightly inebriated gaze held with each other.

"You're very sweet, Y/n." His voice almost a whisper. Her name fitting comfortably on his lips. Leaning in, only a few breathes away. Jumin's arm resting lazily on the back of the couch, watching his fingers begin to toy with a loose strand of Y/n's hair. Starting to speak as if he were in a daze. "Kind and beautiful, it's powerful combination. And knowing you, I've already had an insight of so much more as well." His eyes drifting to hers, amidst his praise. "You're not like any of the other women I've come into contact with. You don't ever treat people with politeness to gain something or favor people for what they have. And I find that really refreshing to be honest. And forgive me if I'm being too forward but, ~" He pauses and moves closer, noses almost touching. "I would be pleased if you would allow me to kiss you."

Those words left Jumin's lips and it sent a small shiver down Y/n's back. With her breath quickening slightly, she wallowed the saliva that accumulated in her mouth before stuttering the words, "U-uh, Jumin I didn't know you felt this way." Not knowing why she didn't just say yes, Y/n really was curious how or why this is happening. Cause sure, Y/n thought Jumin was attractive and he was always very gentlemanly when they interacted but, she didn't think that really meant anything other than he was raised to be polite.

Her thoughts are broken, "I didn't think I would either but I couldn't ignore how you always seem to catch my eye." His soft and low, glossy eyes gazing into Y/n's with desire. Glancing at her small plump lips, awaiting a response. After a few quiet moments with nothing but their breathe to occupy the space between them, the words "kiss me" is uttered from Y/n's lips in a whisper.

When those two words met with Jumin's ears, one of his hands slide into her hair, cupping her face. Their lips meet in a galvanic burst of passion. Y/n's hands wrap around his neck pulling Jumin closer.

Their hungry breathe fill the air, Y/n gets pulled on Jumin's lap. His long-slim fingers swimming threw her soft locks. Her hands on his chest, tempted to release more of the buttons on his stripped shirt. Wanting to admire more of his lean form.

But before any of that can happen. Jumin pulls away slightly, catching their breathe. With lust hanging in the air, and again in that comfortable silence. The corner of Jumin's pink lips curves up a bit. "Sorry about that, it seems I forgot myself for a moment." he releases an airy laugh. Shaking her head slightly, "No, no you don't have to be sorry for anything." With her bottom lip caught between her teeth, Jumin strokes his thumb on her cheek while looking into her big doe eyes. Not wanting this moment to end, but knowing it should he suggests, "Why don't we table this for later." Feeling a bit embarrasses. by her actions Y/n mutters "y-yeah, you're right." a shy smile on her face.

Slowly climbing off the couch together, they walk to Y/n's door. Jumin places his hand on Y/n's before she opens the door, her eye sparkle as they reach his. "Just so you know I didn't stop because I regretted my actions. I stopped because, I would like to have the opportunity to take you out on a proper date." He leans down, his warm breath mingling with hers, pushing her hair behind her ear. "Before I lost myself in your touch."

His words stoking the fire in Y/n and making her ears burn. mindlessly bitting her lip again Jumin tilts her chin up to press a tender kiss upon her lips. Pulling away with a warm smile Jumin says his good byes, "Thank you for the lovely evening Y/n."

"Yeah~" A entranced smile grazing across her face, feeling like she might float away if he weren't there to hold her down. Y/n opens the door and Jumin, adjusting his tie and buttoning his blazer, Y/n leans on the door watching him turn back towards her.

"Good night, Y/n."

"Good night, Jumin."

#mystic messenger #jumin han #jumin #x reader #jumin x reader #nsfw-ish

[jimlingss]

A Kiss of Poison

➜ Words: 29.2k

➜ Genres: Angst, A Pinch of Fluff, But Still Mostly Angst

➜ Summary: You are the princess of the kingdom, ready to marry the prince/your childhood friend, Jeon Jungkook. But when you visit the forest one last time, an unsightly witch curses you. Now you wait for your prince’s rescue—but someone else might just beat him to the punch instead.

Or alternatively....

In fairytales, the prince saves the princess from the evil witch. No one ever expects the princess and the witch to be the same person.

➜ Warnings: gruesome and horrifying details, curses, lots of sad times, details of deformations, blood.

➜ Notes: this blog has gotten too soft lately. time to bring back the angst...Enjoy!

The mirror shimmers and a smile pulls onto your cheeks as you gaze at your own reflection.   “Why are you so happy, princess?”   “How could I not be?” You turn around from the plush seat at your vanity. With no one else present, you allow your hand to sneak to the back of his neck, tugging him closer. You’re unable to resist and you peck his soft lips with yours, all too quickly and sweetly, making an infectious smile spread across his visage. “Are you even allowed to be in here, Jungkook?”   “I might have slipped a coin into the maid’s pocket.” His grin turns all too cheeky, eyes crinkled in mirth, dark hair swept over to reveal his brow. Yet as cute he is, he still holds onto a princely aura that only acts to compliment his handsome appearance. “I just wanted a moment with you. You’re too busy these days. I missed you.”   You smile at him, all too endeared. “You’ve been busy too.”   “I know.” He sighs. “I can’t wait for this all to be over so I can finally have you for myself.”   You sympathize, petting his head in gentle touches as you whisper, “Aren’t you going to get in trouble for this?”   “It doesn’t matter anyways.” Jungkook is mischievous, making you laugh at how he hasn't changed at all. He’s still the boy you grew up with. “We’re getting married in a week.”   “I still don’t think my parents would be too happy if they knew you were in my chambers. What happens if rumours spread?”   Suddenly, Jungkook leans down and wraps his arms around your waist and the back of your knees. A squeal spills from your lips when he picks you up effortlessly, carrying you in his arms, grinning as you giggle. “It’s mid-day. What could possibly happen, princess? And don’t they want an heir anyways?”   “Jungkook!” you chide him and he laughs boyishly, staring into your eyes, his irises twinkling against the sunlight. He moves near the glass windows, bathing you both in the warmth of the sun rays and you snuggle into his arms, melting in his touch. “I want a chance to rule properly before we have any children. I can’t split my focus like that.”   “You’d make a fine queen even if we had kids running around the place,” he reassures with a soft smile. “If anything it would keep the maids busy and we’d get more time to ourselves.”   It’s peaceful and quiet. The serenity surrounds you both, allowing you a taste of what’s to come. Sometimes it baffles you how fortunate you are — to be so deeply in love with the one you are betrothed to, to have a future that is limitless, for your abilities to stretch so far that your imagination can’t conjure what possibilities can come. You have all you could ever wish for.   But unfortunately, the intimate moment with Jungkook is interrupted by a knock on the door.   “Your Highness? It’s time for you to bathe!”   The prince sighs, exchanging a look with you briefly before setting you back down on your feet. “See what I mean?”   You laugh, a hand placed on his firm chest as you plant a chaste kiss on his plush lips. “We’ll have our time together soon enough. Don’t worry.”   “I’ll look forward to that then.” He reluctantly pulls away, bowing and then taking the back of your hand to press a kiss on it. With one lingering gaze, he moves to open the door.   The maid downcasts her head in respect, stepping aside. Jungkook steals one last glance at you, flashing a smile before he drags his legs off.   You’re so incredibly happy — there isn’t a reason where you shouldn’t be. You’re a blushing bride about to marry your best friend, the love of your life. He’s going to become your partner and companion, and you’ll rule the kingdom together, allowing your tired parents to rest. The kingdom is at peace and prosperous. Your home is warm. Your heart has never been fuller.   This is your happily ever after.

“Your Highness!” There’s a shrill cry that befalls from her lips, eyes big as they watch you scatter around the room, hastily stuffing your belongings into a satchel.   “I will be fine,” you reassure her. “Everyone thinks I’m studying right now. And if they come, just tell them that I’m taking another bath or something and that I’ll be right back.”   “And what time will you come back?” The maid watches as you pluck your cloak from the hanger, draping your body with the thick black fabric and hiding the features of your face from the light.   “Definitely before sundown.” You grin, grabbing her arms, appeasing the worried younger girl. “I’m going to get married in seven days. Then I’ll have my coronation to become queen and I won’t be able to leave the castle freely after that. I just want to go out one last time. It’s not too much to ask, right?”   “Shouldn’t the prince come with you at least?” Her eyes are full of plea, asking you not to go, but you push the stone wall next to the bookcase, revealing the hidden exit. You’re too stubborn for your own good, mind already made up.   “Jungkook is busy and I don’t want to bother him.” You smile at her, casting a final glimpse. “I’ll be fine, trust me.”   The inner passageway leads you to the stables. There, you slip by the boy working, approaching a familiar horse. He resists against your hold until you reveal your face to the light. Immediately he calms down when he recognizes you, nuzzles into your hand that brushes against its muzzle. Before anyone realizes, you’ve burst through the back gates.   Hooves marking in the dirt, galloping away from luxuries handed on silver platters, you ride into the forest hollering at the top of your lungs. It’s not very sophisticated or demure behaviour, but no one here is watching. Not your parents, royal subjects, no dukes or duchesses. You are truly away from prying eyes, sharp judgments, snide comments.   The wind whips through your hair. The gentle breeze caresses against your cheeks, cooling the heat that have risen within them. The entire world is ahead of you. It’s the ultimate freedom.   The canopy of trees above your head is rustling, singing to you. The sunlight filters through the green leaves, warm luminescence painting the land vibrant. The birds swoop over the horizon, chickadees chirping their songs, wildlife peeking out from their homes. You follow the familiar dirt path, eyes sweeping against the flourishing, grassy landscapes. It’s nature in its greatest form. And it welcomes you.   More than the plain stones walls of the castle, the forest feels alive.   You pull the reins of the horse once you’ve made it to your destination. The lake shimmers with the beams of sunlight filtering through the tree leaves. It sparkles like the night sky or jewels spilt on marble flooring, and you hop down, lush grass beneath your feet softening your landing. Your horse rests and you inhale the fresh air, filling your lungs, still exhilarated from the ride here.   Without much thought, your feet approaches the glistening waters and as you lean over, you see your own clear reflection smiling down at you. Your gown drapes along the ground, surely to get in trouble with the other maids when they find grass stains in the expensive material, but you pay little mind to it.   As much as you love your life, sometimes you itch to get away and remember the world outside of the walls.   Baby breaths grow in a heap next to the lake and you reach down, plucking a stem from the ground, twirling the lovely flower between your fingertips. The birds sing together, chirping and tweeting as they—   “Exc...u..se...me...I-I...I need….he..l.p…” A croaking voice interrupts your thoughts. It sends chills to your spine, a hoarse timbre that sounds all too inhumane and you spin around.   An old woman is crouched over. Her spine is bent in half and she staggers, using a stick to walk. She emerges out of nowhere, seemingly past the thickened trees, wearing a black cloak much like yours, but with her hood shields away her face. More importantly, your attention is taken by an arrow pierced straight through her abdomen. Red stains her brown rags, seeping through her clothing, spreading like watercolour on a canvas.   You gasp. She wheezes.   Instantly, you come to stand, about to go over and tend to her wound. But then...a strong gust of wind sweeps through the land, whistling through the trees. It blows back her hood, letting the scrap of fabric flutter away.   Her horrid face is revealed.   Her flesh is thin, skeleton bones exposed, cheekbones and jaw shaven. Her skull is practically visible, every part of it hollow, left eye melted shut, right eye sunken in. The woman’s mouth is lopsided, bleeding gums revealed inside, jagged teeth barely hanging on to their root. Her features appear like they’re melting off of her. Hair stark white, falling out in clumps, her skin is burnt bright red as if she was caught in a fire and the flames imprinted their colour on her flesh.   You scream. Eyes wide, you scramble back on instinct, not realizing what’s behind you.   And you plunge into the lake.   The old woman shrieks in sheer horror. She throws her stick aside and stumbles towards the river, throwing herself near the edge with an arm outstretched. “Gra..b...my...han..d!”   “N-No!” you shout at her in the midst of panic and shock, choking on a mouthful of the water, air sucked out of your lungs. The heavy fabric of your gown drags you down and your arms flail uselessly, gasping above the surface. Still, your eyes remain above the water, pinned onto the monster, scared and frightened. “Do..n’t...t-touch me!”   The darkness begins to close around you. The water suffocates you. But with the fortune of the heavens on your side, your hands grab onto the edge, taking fistfuls of the soil. You push and pull yourself up, clawing your way out of the lake desperately until your fingernails are blackened with dirt.   You choke. Cough. Wheeze. Hyperventilate.   And the monster is collapsed a few feet away, heaving like you are. It petrifies you to look at her and when you’ve regained your sanity, you scramble back on alert, hair and clothes still dripping, bones shivering from the temperature difference. But your mind races, ready to jump onto your horse. Yet, your body remains frozen in spot, legs dead weight.   “Y-You….” She swallows hard, a pained voice croaking out, “...would rather...die...than let me help you?”   “What do you want from me?!” you scream, terrified at the stranger whose face has been mauled into bits now flaking off.   “Am I that monstrous to you?” The woman asks for an answer in a murmur and you realize she’s crying. From her sunken right eye, a tear drops down to her hollow cheek, through the twisting cracks of her peeling skin. “It’s people like you...people like you that my….my enti-..re..life I had to su-...ffer.”   The beast’s syllables are heavy while the red on its clothes begin to spread, staining the grass beneath it, dying in front of you.   “Go away!” you yell at the top of your lungs as if you could scare it away. You don’t know what it wants from you nor do you understand what it’s saying with that growling voice. “Go away! Leave me alone, monster!”   Her lopsided mouth tries to upturn, sad smile forming on her broken visage. “C-child, no one has shown me kindness….not you, not anyone. But...but I want someone to understand my pain...I want someone to empathize…”   Your eyes are shut tight, hands clasped over your ears, not listening, not looking.   “Take away this burden from me,” the woman murmurs on her dying breath, slumped to the ground on her knees, her eye piercing through yours. She sobs with the last of her diminishing energy and the wildlife comes forth from their hiding spots, coming to watch, coming to grieve for her. “You who has had all...bear this cruelty...”   It is chaos. The wind howls and shrieks. You scream, frightened.   “...understand the suffering you have caused me today….n-not even in my last moments...will someone show me pity or compassion…”   The leaves rustle to the hurricane, whispering their woes and eulogies of sympathy. Flowers rip from the ground, caught in the tornado, bouquets that act as tribute to honour her memory. The universe bears witness, pandemonium acting as a prayer, freeing her soul from the confines of her mangled skin.   “......take this curse…” Dark clouds roll over the horizon, shielding away sunlight. The woods become engulfed by a thickened blackness, bleeding through tree trunks and branches, filling the spaces between blades of grass. The shadows reach out, wrapping its fingers around throats to anchor itself down, more suffocating than to drown at the bottom of the lake. “...only then will you learn that beauty is meaningless.”   The forest is alive and it mourns.   The witch collapses, falling over to her side. All at once, your body glows and burns.   Your flesh feels like it’s aflame, sores beginning to split open all over your face, blisters oozing of golden pus. There’s a blood-curdling shriek that echoes throughout the woods, falling on deaf ears, and you realize it’s coming from you. The ear-splitting and discordant scream is tearing from your throat, filled with terror and hatred, agonizing as your bones snap one by one.   Something smells like it’s burning beneath your nose, ashes or embers caught in your lungs — it’s your flesh rotting on your body. Your fingernails claw up your throat, raking against your torso as you heave, face pressed into the dirt. Blood drips from the violent scratches, skin peeling off of you like a snake shedding. Your veins pump, heart erratic with this transformation….   This metamorphosis.   The air vibrates. The earth shakes beneath you. Your frame trembles, crying out. And the baby breaths wither in response.   //   A royal decree is declared across the land. While the family had tried to keep it discreet for fear of rousing concern from the citizens and allowing neighbouring countries to be aware of this vulnerability, far too much time has passed. A sun fall, sunrise, and yet another sun fall has caused news to break out. The princess has gone missing.   The horse had returned but without the girl in sight. Knights, troops, and the prince himself has ridden off as far as the border, searching through homes and meadows, fields and the forest — their efforts proven futile. You are nowhere to be found. You are gone. Disappeared out of thin air.   But no, you haven’t vanished.   You are here, walking, dragging your feet. After so much time, you lugged what remained of your body upwards, yanking yourself out of the forest and into the light, cloak acting as bandages to hide the wounds that have spread across your flesh. When hope is lost, when your pain flares, home is what makes you move forward. Home is where your mom and your dad is. Home is where Jungkook is. Home is where you will figure out how to return to yourself again.   “H...help me…” You tug on a guard’s arm outside the wall, head kept downcast, a croaking voice emanating from your mouth that you cannot discern as your own.   “Who are you?” He is on alert, pushing you back. From the sheer force, you fall down, shocked. No one ever dares to lay a hand on you and to be shoved in such a way, you are about to berate the guard for his audacity.   But what you fail to notice is that your hood has fallen. And the two guards at the front gate are equally disgusted and appalled. “Ugh!”   “How dare you?” you cry, fixing your hood and struggling to get to your feet. “I am the princess!”   Barks of laughter come from both men. “Then I am the king! Scram, monster.”   “No! I’m Y/N, the princess!” You lunge forward, shouting in outright desperation, waiting for your prince to come to your rescue, “Jungkook! Jeon Jungkook! It’s me!”   And you’re shoved back a second time. A sharp spear is pointed at your eyes, the soldier’s face twisting in fury. “How dare you call his majesty without any proper titles?! Who do you think you are?!”   “How dare you point a weapon at me.” Your voice is loud, commanding and your pupils narrow into his. “You will pay dearly for your mistakes.”   He snarls, unafraid of your threats and turns away to the other guards. “Lock this monster up! It dares to be disrespectful to the royal family and steal the identity of the missing princess.”   Two younger men gather, petrified of your outer appearance, but obeying their commands to drag you. Their hands wrap beneath your arms, lugging your legs against the ground. “How dare you?! Jungkook—! Let go of me this instant! Jungkook! Mom! I said let go! Dad! It’s me!”   …   The stone prison is cold, three walls looming over you, spiderwebs gathered in corners and rats scurrying away. You flinch when something scrapes your feet, so you gather your knees, rocking back and forth, surrounded in the darkness.   You won’t be so easily deterred. They’ll see you for who you really are. They’ll recognize your eyes. They’ll know what happened to you and they’ll fix it. Those guards will pay once the curse is removed. You’ll return back to normal, wed to Jungkook, and this event in the future will be seen as a mere mishap. Everything will be okay again. You believe it. You believe it. You believe it.   You know it.   Your thoughts are interrupted by scattering steps. There are faint echoes of voices too familiar from birth until now. You scramble forward, bony knees scraping along the stone flooring, grasping onto the steel bars that cage you inside, ignoring the cysts all along your hands. Your ankle is shackled to the wall, metal links clanging with every movement of yours, but it allows you to stretch yourself out to get closer to the voices.   “She says she is the princess.”   The King and Queen exchange a hopeful look with each other. Jungkook’s eyes widen. The Queen, your mother, smiles. “Take me to her.”   “I must warn you, Your Majesty,….to not get your hopes up.”   “Take me to her,” she repeats firmly and swiftly.   Rapid footsteps ricochet off the cold walls. They run, sprint into the darkness with open arms.   “Be careful,” the guard warns. “It is violent.”   Their shadows are casted on the floor as they approach and you could cry from sheer relief just from seeing their silhouettes. “Mom? Dad?”   “Y/N?” Your mother furrows her brows, unable to recognize the voice she hears.   “Step aside,” your dad commands the guard and after he obeys, the older man brings the light of the torch down towards the cell. The flames of the fire dance, flickering back and forth, warming you as it comes closer. It casts its luminescence down and a sliver of your face is revealed in the darkness.   Immediately, your dad shouts and staggers backwards. Your mother gasps in horror.   “It’s….me…”   Your crying does nothing for them. All they see is the way your eyes are bulging out of your sockets. Your nose is crooked. Your skin looks like it’s melting off of your face. Your scalp is reddened with disease, hair falling out from your scalp, fragile teeth blackened. There are open sores all over your raw flesh, as if maggots are chewing away at the dead parts.   You are monstrous. You are heinous. You no longer look human.   Your mother sobs and your father turns away from you. You gaze at his backside before looking at Jungkook beside them. He is even more horrified. “It’s me….I was cursed...I...I-”   “How does it have her clothes?” your mother begs your father for an answer, unable to rip her stare away.   He grabs onto her arm, harshly whispering, “Don’t look at it.”   “No….mom...dad…!”   Jungkook takes one step forward. “Why did you kill her?”   “What do you mean?” you keen, voice broken and croaking, unrecognizable no matter what you try to do. “I’m right here.”   Jungkook’s fist slams against the wall. You flinch. Your mother shouts in startlement. His arm drops to his side. His hand bleeds, bruises already beginning to form. “How could you?!” He gasps, intense eyes full of hatred. His jaw clenches, muscle in his cheek jumping as if he is ready to tear off your head. You’re scared. Before, he has only looked at you with loving eyes.   “Did you think you could kill her, take her clothes, and pretend to be her?! Did you think you could waltz into this castle so easily and be the princess, you evil monster?!”   Your mother cries and runs off with a hand over her mouth. You are left to defend yourself against these accusations. But they’ve all already made up their minds. “N-..no..no! I was cursed...I was cursed, Jungkook…”   You beg him to look at you — to really look at you.   He doesn’t.   “You’re scum,” Jungkook spits out in rage.   You weep, grasping onto the bars, holding them tightly even when the chain around your ankle threatens to pull you back into the darkness. You scour your mind for ways to get them to believe you and a thought ignites in your mind. The solution is presented on a silver platter, so easy, so simple—   “Kiss me, Jungkook,” you beg, “T-true love’s kiss breaks any curse.”   But the only thing he gives you is scorn. “To kiss you would be a kiss of poison.”   Your best friend, your fiancé, abandons you. He leaves, cape slicing through the air, never to turn around again. The guard doesn’t cast a glance down at you either. “What should we do, Your Highness?”   The King’s shadow hovers over you. You whimper, calling out to him, your father who held you as an infant, who you grew up to look up to, who adored every little thing you did. His eyes no longer hold endearment or mirth — they are blank.   “Execute the witch by morning.”   “Dad! No, wait! Please!” You scream after him until your croaking voice becomes hoarse, until the syllables that spill off your cracked lips are soundless. “I’m your daughter! Please! It’s me! I was cursed! It’s me!”   “Shut up!” The guard yells and turns around, kicking your hands off from gripping the bars. The bottom of his shoe slams on your fingers and a sore bursts. Pus splatters and you cry out in agony, gripping your hand and retreating into the darkness. At the back of the prison cell, you drown in tears.   //   The world that you have known is becoming undone. The happiness you held was so entirely fragile that your tight grip had shattered it completely. No one hears your crying, or notices the way tears have trailed down what is left of your cheeks. Even if they heard or saw, they see nothing but the monstrosity that has come to cover you from head to toe.   Morning comes and your throat cracks from the inside, lips begging for a sip of water that they never give to you. Your wrists are stacked together by metal cuffs. The sunlight burns into the back of your eyeballs. It hurts. You are dizzy. Your vision is blurry. And before you can realize your surroundings, you find yourself center stage.   It’s not a coronation to become queen. It is a march to your death.   There are people in front of you murmuring. You’re a freak to them, a beast they warn their children about. You recognize a few, royal subjects and workers, your maid who is aghast as she is devastated that her princess is gone. They will all cheer when you die.   “Mom...mom…” you call out to her while they shove you past, but instead of sobbing, her gaze is cold. She has no grief in her anymore, only loathing. Your father sits beside her on his throne and he signals with his hand. They both look down at you like you’re a murderer, someone who brutally killed their own daughter.   “Jungkook.”   The prince ignores you. He is your last hope, the one you have not given up on. You are grasping onto everything that you have left, even as it is slipping from your fingertips. But you are too desperate to give up. You love him. He loves you. And he will see past this.   You are pushed onto your knees, head shoved down on a blood-stained wooden table by a guard. The executioner approaches with an axe. It is all too demeaning, to be kneeling in this position in front of the entire world, in front of your family, in front of the citizens you are supposed to rule over.   It soils your status. You are ashamed.   “For the murder of the dearest princess, for stealing her clothes and memories with dark magic—”   But your pride, the words of the man reading out your crimes, don’t matter to you. You twist yourself to look at him and you beg for him to see beneath your horrid skin. “Jungkook.”   “—acting as an impostor and attempting to bewitch the royal family into believing your evil schemes to take over this kingdom—”   “Jungkook.”   “....your crimes are worthy of death itself.”   “Jungkook.” You’ve been taught to hold your head up high, to stand tall, to smile. But here, you are choking on your own tears, gagging over air too thick to swallow. No one offers you pity or compassion. “You s-...said...you would l-love me...y-you promised to marry me...remember?”   He looks at you. The executioner waits for a signal. Jungkook steps forward. The king makes no movements.   A smile tugs on your maimed face, past the cracked, raw flesh. “Y-you’re my best friend...you said it doesn’t matter if we have a daughter or a son...as long as they’re like me…”   “Tell me…” Jungkook speaks to you. He swallows hard. He looks you in the eyes. “...what was her last words?”   “What do you mean?!” you scream and your head is forcibly shoved down again. You struggle against their hold and against your chains, the rush of tears clouding your vision. The blisters on your face begin to pop and bleed, filing between the deep twisting cracks of your face. “It’s me! I’m Y/N. I’m the princess. I’m supposed to marry you! Look at me, Jungkook! LOOK AT ME!”   “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”   He steps back, shaking his head, looking away.   “I love you.”   Your father grits his teeth together, unable to keep watching. His eyes are stern, voice demanding. “Kill the monster!”   “I love you,” you repeat. “I love you.”   You are no longer the princess of the kingdom. You have lost everything — your family, the love of your life, your status, your dignity, your own name. You have been betrayed. Home has been ripped away from you. You have become the enemy.   Your breath staggers. Inhale. Exhale. The sound of the blade whistles in the wind.   It is chaos. The wind howls and shrieks. You shut your eyes tight. It is despicable. It is cruel. You are going to die by the hands of the people you love most, all because they do not believe who you are beneath this skin-deep layer. All because of how you appear, no one will look.   No one will listen.   Don’t look at it — You’re scum — Leave me alone, monster!   You scream, deep within your chest to the pits of your stomach. It is made of hatred. Sorrow has morphed into animosity. The metal chains break from your fury and there are shouts from the crowd, people gasping and running back. The executioner is forcibly thrown away from you by an unseeable force. Your father stands, shouting for the guards. Your mom cries out. Jungkook staggers back.   Sobs tear through your throat, scratching its way out. Your body is aflame. There is a burst of light and each person shields their eyes away too pained to look at it. And when it is gone, they turn to find nothing left but ash.   You have truly vanished into thin air.

The cold nips with the force of a starved animal sinking its teeth into their dead prey. The blackened sky weeps, grieving for your death, having to bear witness to the travesty of your name being laid to rest. The rain is thickened, heavy like curtains of the sky, unable to be seen through.   And you slip.   Your eyes squint. Your feet are slick in the mud. When you collide against the ground, you pick yourself back up, grabbing the dirt, pulling your body upwards. As you shake and tremble in the frigid temperature, your skin splits into deeper grooves, lips cracked, hands chipping away. You follow the only light you’ve seen for miles — the house on the hilltop.   The uphill trek is difficult on your aching legs. But you make it after an hour and you knock on the grandiose front door.   “O-oh. Hello?” After several seconds, a servant is peeking her eye through the gap, parting the door ever so slightly and scanning your shivering frame. “How may I help you?”   “It’s s-so….cold. I’ve been walking for d-days.” What’s left of your teeth is chattering. You can’t control the shivers that have taken over your bent spine, causing the rest of your form to quiver. You’re drenched from head to toe, making a mess on the doorstep, but you keep your head down, pleading with the woman, “can I please stay here? Just for one night.”   “Umm...I can’t let you in without the master’s permission.” She dips her head in apology. “Let me go ask him.”   You nod and the door shuts again. From the glass windows, you can see the fireplace crackling inside, the candlelight flickering. Music seeps out through the bottom crack of the door, laughter from the other side drowning out the sound of the rain pummelling on the planet. The warmth that you so desperately seek is merely past this wall. It’s so close, but out of reach.   You wait. Wait. And wait.   As the outside becomes colder, your breaths become shallow, a cloud seen with every exhale. Something catches in the corner of your eyes and when you turn, you notice underneath the window pane is a rose bush. The red petals spill from the center, flourishing and drinking up the water that falls from the sky, round droplets hugging on the leaves. You stare at it….until the door opens again.   “What is it?”   A man looms over you, standing tall, looking down at your hunched form.   “My name is...I’m—….I’ve been walking for days. It’s so cold outside….can I please stay for one night? I promise I’ll be gone by morning.”   “My home is not an inn where you can come and go as you please,” he hisses in a curt manner, ready to slam the door.   “Wait!” You throw your hand on the edge of the door frame, stopping him. From the small inch that you’ve gotten closer inside, you can begin to feel the warmth melt the numbness from your fingers away.   But you make the mistake of lifting your head.   The baron draws a sharp breath, wavering back, eyes wide. He is repelled by the sight of you. The top layer of your skin is ripping off like a snake halfway through its shedding process. Red sores and blisters throbbing with pus grow all over your raw flesh, scalp stained green, eyeballs bulging from their sockets. It is sickening to even take one glance at you.   “You’re disgusting!” The baron shoos you away like you’re a diseased stray dog. “Get away, get away!”   “Wait, please!” You grab the door and he has no regard, slamming it shut, right on top of your fingers. You cry out, trying to rip your arm back, but it’s stuck. The horrified man opens it again thirty seconds too late when your fingers are now bruised purple and blue, crooked and broken.   “Shoo!” He chases you out with a golden candelabra, waving it around as if he is threatening to hit you with it. “Be gone, creature!”   You’re pushed backwards into the rain, back into the mud. It splatters, staining your cloak brown, your scraped knees stinging in the grime. Your hood falls and the downpour washes down your face acting as the tears you can no longer shed.   “Master!” A plump servant and a thinner one come racing out to bring the baron back inside into warmth. But he stays at the doorstep, shouting at you to scram from his home.   “You vile, disgusting creature! Be gone!”   Again — the stare of hatred. The expression of loathing. Except, this time you don’t beg to be understood, you don’t try to explain yourself, you do not wallow in sadness. You match it.   The wind whistles around you. You stagger back to your feet. The storm becomes heavier, dragging you down, keeping you rooted.   “You should not be deceived by appearances. Beauty is only skin deep. And you…” Your crooked finger swollen and blue points at his face. The hand you lift quivers as you warn him. “...you are uglier than I am.”   “Spoiled.” The syllables shake, vibrating the air surrounding you. It is spoken with the same vigor as swearing an oath. The rain has become silenced in your wrath. “Selfish.” It booms across the land. The croaking voice emanating from your throat hisses. “Unkind.”   But the man doesn’t listen. “Be gone!”   An angered cry tears through your throat. “You are more vile than I am. You are the disgusting creature who will show no mercy to the wretched and poor. All I asked was for warmth and you have turned me away. People like you…..people like you is why I have been abandoned.”   In the midst of the roaring rain, a tear drops from your eyes but is lost in the flood. Your arm extends to him again, but this time the man is taken back. His servants shriek in fear and they all stumble. There is a burst of light that comes from you, one you are only beginning to learn how to control.   You curse him in a single murmur, “let what is unseen by the eyes show.”   There’s a blood-curdling shriek, louder than the thunder rumbling in the horizon. The man crashes to his knees. He grips his burning face, succumbing to his inner self. His servants scream in chaos, shielding away their eyes as he transforms into a hideous beast.   A rose falls from the bush, plunging and rolling right in front of him. The thorns are sharp all around the stem, warning not to be touched. But the flower is overflowing and abundant in red petals, the colour of blood spilled; it acts as a reminder of the beauty that was taken from him.   With your injured hand clutched to your chest, you walk away. The man’s screams still ring into the air, haunting your shadow. You are reminded that you will never find a home if there is someone else there to see you.

When there’s no place left to go, when there is no one to turn to, you still manage to scrape by. The will to live has always been strong within you and maybe it’s from some false sense of hope. Maybe it is from a belief that someday you will find a cure for yourself, that someday there will be a knock at the door and Jungkook will appear. Someday, you will return back home again and they will accept you with open arms.

  It is this very someday, this dream, this vision that drives you forward. You cannot, will not, give up when you see this image when you shut your eyes. And the more you think about it...the more real it becomes.   “I’m sorry.” — Jungkook would whisper while holding onto you, enveloping your frame despite your hideous appearance. You would feel the warmth of his body, the gentle touch of his hand stroking your back to comfort you. You would dig your nose into his shoulder, take in the scent of the sea. Then like always, he would say — “I love you.”   And when you return home, the servants and citizens would clap, your mother would hug you, your father would apologize a thousand times. They wouldn’t care what you looked like. They wouldn’t care about what you’ve become. They would still love you.   It feels so real. Maybe because you’ve dreamt of it so much.   But until that day comes, you will survive.   You find yourself a place, a temporary home. It’s a cottage that’s been abandoned, one that you bought with whatever jewelry and gold bound on your wrists, hidden deep within your pockets. It’s on the outskirts of a far-away village, isolated from others, where you can hide yourself and not cause anyone to become scared. As a cautionary measure, you only emerge at night if need be, making sure to cover your face with your cloak. Often times people’s reaction to your exterior frightens you more than their own terror.   But what you fail to notice is how quickly rumours begin to spread in the village.   “Who is she?” — “I heard that woman is a murderer.” — “Be careful of the outcast.” — “Don’t look her in the eyes or you will turn into stone, alright?”   Even if you have caught wind of the things murmured, you pay no mind. It is harmless and you’ve quickly gotten used to humiliation and slander. They don’t know who you are, they don’t know what your story is. The whispers are meaningless.   But one thing that you do become known for is your garden.   If you’re no longer beautiful, then you can still surround yourself in beauty.   You preoccupy yourself behind the cottage, working throughout the night, using the dim moonlight to tend to it. Never in the palace would you have been able to do such a thing, to put your hands in the soil, to kneel in the dirt. But it makes you feel alive.   The flowers speak to you. Every day, you can see progress, you watch it grow, from the tiny sprout into buds. Your hard work is worth the effort, ripping out weeds by the fistful, watering them. It’s fulfilling to know your time isn’t spent so meaninglessly, even if the labour makes sweat pour from your head.   Tulips. Daffodils. Carnations. Sunflowers. Lilies. Baby’s Breath. Anything that you can get your hands on, you sow into the ground, watching to see what you reap, what blooms. And it’s a peaceful life. You’re content by yourself, simply waiting for the day that Jungkook will arrive.   But as you isolate yourself, your neighbors grow increasingly and increasingly curious. Even when they’re acres away, taking the path towards the forest each morning, they watch the garden flourish. And they come to ask questions as to why the owner of the house never makes an appearance during the daytime.   “Honey.” One night, a woman shakes her husband awake. “Honey…”   “What’s wrong?”   “I can’t sleep.”   “Are you hungry again?”   “No, that’s not it.”   He reaches over to light a candle at the bedside and he helps her sit up, leaning against the headboard of their meager bed. She turns to him, stroking her swollen stomach. Heavily pregnant, the couple have been long awaiting for their child to arrive. “What is it then?”   “Those flowers….from the neighbor’s,” the woman murmurs as if the shadows are listening, “how are they so beautiful?”   “I don’t know.” The man scratches his head in bewilderment, wondering why his wife is bringing this up in the middle of the night.   “They smell so good...I just….want one.”   “What? I’ll just buy you flowers from the florist tomorrow morning.”   “No, it’s not the same.” There’s a crazed look in her eyes, intensified through the light of the flickering candlelight, half her face covered in the darkness. “It’s almost like her’s is…..magic…”   “Don’t say that.” He sighs in exhaustion, unable to understand this nonsense. “Honey, just go back to bed. You’re not making any sense right now. We’ll talk about it later, alright?”   “I can’t stop thinking about it.” She lays down again, staring at the ceiling blankly. “Is it so bad to just take one?”   “Yes. That’s stealing and haven’t you heard all the rumours?”   She rolls her eyes. “Don’t tell me you actually believe those ridiculous things.”   “I just don’t want to upset anyone.” He moves to lay beside her again.   “I want our child to be as beautiful as those flowers,” she wistfully sighs. “I feel like getting one could help us with that, like a blessing.”   “You’re dreaming again,” he chides. “Sleep.”   But the woman was obsessed with it. She cannot stop her fixation of the flowers. The infatuation of them drives her mad and she refuses to eat, to drink, mind absorbed in one thing only. In three days time, the woman becomes sick and bedridden, endangering her child and the man is left helpless, having no other choice.   In the middle of the day, knowing that you won’t come out, he walks across acres and reaches over the white fence, plucking a tulip from the ground, snapping the stem in half. He runs.   It is mystical, the way his wife returns to her full health, the way she is normal and overjoyed again. But in five days, the purple floral withers.   “What’s wrong with you?”   “I need another flower.”   “What?” The man is in distress, following his pregnant wife around as she paces, one hand against her back and the other on her belly. He shakes his head, at wits end. “No, I can’t.”   “I NEED it!” She screams, losing her mind, trembling. “Those flowers, they’re magic. I can feel it.” The woman stops, grabbing her husband and holding onto his arms. She crazily searches his expression. “It makes me sad, but when I touch them, when I smell them, they give me a sense of….hope.”   “What are you talking about?”   “You don’t understand. I need it,” she pleads and begs like there is a scratch beneath her skin she cannot get to. It is as if she has become enchanted and bewitched by the flowers. The woman forces his hand over her swollen stomach. “If not for me, then for our baby. I could feel our baby move every time I was near that flower, but ever since it died...I can’t feel our child stir anymore.”   “...What?”   The woman sobs. “Please….please…”   The man becomes frantic. He steals another, and another. They die quicker than the last, petals and leaves withering away into grey hues. But the man begins to comprehend his wife’s obsession. They are indeed lovely florals, the biggest he’s ever seen, abundant in petals, rich in colour. His heart hurts when he nears the garden, but when he touches a flower, there is a burst of happiness...a burst of faith.   At first, you pay no mind. One or two flowers missing, it could be the wind or an animal or maybe a child wandering into your garden and not knowing better. It angers you, but you push it away. Until —   One night you open the door, watering pot in hand, but nothing remains. Gone. All of your beautiful flowers have been plucked, trampled, encroached. What remains is dirt, weeds, and stems snapped halfway. Everything that you had worked so hard for is stomped on and torn.   Flowers plucked, ripped away, yanked, the garden is pillaged and ransacked like a wild animal had been starved for decades. The most precious part of your horrid life has been stolen. You collapse in what remains. Lost.   But there are petals littering the ground, tiny ones of flowers that haven’t bloomed, of buds that have yet to open. And you follow that way lit by the moonlight, bumbling and stumbling, every step becoming heavier and heavier. Jungkook will never find you. You walk the flowered path, legs quivering in the breeze. Your face will never return to how it was. The grass prickles your bare feet. Your mother loathes you. It smells of soft fragrances that clung onto your bed sheets back home. Your father hates you. The world is silent. Everything is lost.   The door bursts open. The husband and wife scream.   In their home, their tables, chairs, the floor and their laps are filled of your flowers plucked. It coats every object inside of the cottage. The things that you were keeping alive — dead.   They cry and cower in the corner. The man shields his wife away, crouching back at the disgusting sight of you; your burnt flesh tinged in the colour of red roses, melted skin blooming of blisters and bruises, disfigured features arranged like they are falling off.   “You...you stole my flowers?” You drop to the ground, sobbing from your bulging eyes to your hollowed out cheeks. Your croaking voice screeches and bleeds their ears. “You ripped them away! You killed them!”   They were the only things giving you hope. And they’re...gone.   “W-...W-We’re s-...s...s-sorry!” The husband covers his wife with his body. “My-my...my wife is pregnant! P-please don’t harm her...i-if you want...t-take me instead!”   “No!” She wails out, hugging her husband’s backside as if she could anchor him down. “NO!”   “P-please don’t hurt her!” The cowardice man is rubbing his hands together, begging for mercy as he curls up in the corner beside his wife. “S-s-she’s pregnant!”   Your neck cranes. Your eyes narrow. Your arm lifts and you jut out your finger. “I’ve always wanted a little girl,” you tell them with a croaking voice and a soft smile appears on your lopsided mouth.   You always imagined a child, a baby cooing in your arms, bundled up in blankets, sleeping peacefully. He would come behind you, prop his chin on your shoulder, wrap his arms around your body like he so often does and together, you would gaze down at your child. But now you realize it isn’t a dream or a vision of the future that you see. It’s purely imagination.   Delusion.   “Jungkook….he wanted one too…”   “No...no...please.” The father-to-be begs, shaking as he tries to protect his family. “S-spare my child…”   You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away from them and down to the floor. Your fists are full of pink — yellow — blue — indigo petals. Each of them are soft to the touch, silk to your fingertips, pastel colours bleeding from a strong hue to a fainter shade in their teardrop shape.   “Your daughter will be beautiful, but it’s a shame her parents are greedy thieves,” you whisper, looking back at them, cursing the couple in both sadness and wrath. “On her sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger and fall into an endless sleep.”   “NO!” The woman shrieks, crying out loud.   There’s a burst of light. The curse sets into stone. When the light diminishes, you are able to watch sunspots and sparks dance around the room, flickering like fire, moving like fireflies. They weave through the grieving pair, the gaps of your fingers, your little strands of grey hair remaining. The petals are still soft in your hands, but you let them go, staggering up.   They cry and you stop for a moment, gripping the door frame. But you never look behind you, lugging your body back to where it belongs.   //   It’s not long before chaos unravels again. The man becomes furious after he realizes what you’ve done, how you’ve cursed his future child and made his wife fear for her life. He gathers the villagers, revealing what had occurred on that very night, of course leaving out the part that he had stolen from you. He paints you as evil, merciless...and maybe you are.   But the villagers are all appalled, gasping, mothers worried about their own children, fathers stepping up to protect their families. They gather pitchforks and torches, stomping on the land.   “Kill the witch!”   They march together. “Kill the witch!”   “Kill the witch!” They hunt to burn you at the stake.   They holler, parading to the outskirts. “Kill the witch!”   “Kill the witch!” They trample on the dirt of your garden, kicking the loose stems and leaves.   The people surround your house, holding pitchforks high in the air, any knives and kitchen tools that they could defend themselves with. “Kill the witch!”   A brave soul steps forth, knocking down the front of your cottage door. There is silence. No one is there. “The witch isn’t here...?”   That’s right. You aren’t there. Your belongings are in your arms as you’re running, right leg limping behind with the sores that have grown all over your swollen ankles. Your clothes are packed with you, bread that you had left over. “Kill the witch!”   Their voices become closer, echoing through the forest and when you twist around to see them, you trip on a branch. Your broken face meets the dirt, colliding hard enough to dive a few inches away. But you don’t dwell on the pain that shoots up your muscles, ignoring the shock that your body feels. You pick up your bread soiled in the grime, collecting your things again, running, chased...yet again.   “Kill the witch!” — “Kill the witch!” — “Kill the witch!”   Jungkook will never find you. Yes. As long as you look like this. As long as you’re in this state, you are a witch. Y/N has died. Jungkook will never come for you. Your mom and dad will look at you in fear and hatred. Not even will flowers, inanimate objects, be capable of loving you.   “Kill the witch!”   You will always be seen as a monster.

“Hello, excuse me?”   “How may I help you?”   There’s a young man with plump cheeks, a gentle smile. His dark hair shags on his forehead, almost pricking into his cute eyes. His cotton clothes are muted in colour, showing that he is not overabundant in fortune. “Do you know where the inn is?”   “It should be down this market street, towards your left side.”   “Thank you.”   “You’re welcome. Any time.” The older woman behind her booth smiles in return, appreciating the polite young man. She watches as he walks away and then a frown mars her face, lips falling into a neutral position. He drags his foot as he walks, a limp in his left leg and a slight hunch of his back. She sighs in disappointment, turning away. What a shame….   But it wasn’t only those things. If the woman knew, she’d be aware that the boy has a burn mark that stretches from the top of his ribs to the right side of his neck. Like rose veins growing up his body, stretching across his skin in twisting marks, his skin slightly splitted with pink flesh underneath. But his scar is hidden beneath his clothing while his bad leg is on display, letting others stare occasionally — though he still does not mind much.   He walks down the path, looking ahead in the direction that the woman provided. The young man does not notice the other figure on the busy street. He pays no mind. And his shoulder collides with someone else’s, causing them to stumble back a step.   “I’m so sorr—”   “Minah?”   Your eyes are wide, bated breath held in your throat. Jimin’s eyes are big as well, pupils growing, mouth drawing open. He hasn’t heard that name for over a decade. “Y/N?”   You snap out of it, flinching back when you hear your name. “N-no...you’re mistaken.”   Your body turns around and takes flight before your mind can catch up. The young man is frozen, at a standstill. But then he runs. He runs after you - limping - leaping - struggling. Jimin drags his bad leg behind himself, accelerating forward as he shouts your name aloud for all to hear. He makes an absolute ruckus, drawing attention, making strangers turn to watch.   There is no way. No one else calls by that name. He’s sure of it. He knows that it’s you.   Even if you’re oddly shorter. Even if your voice doesn’t sound the same.   Jimin doesn’t need to see you to know it’s you.   “Y/N!” He grabs your arm, pulling you back.   “No!” you cry out, hidden behind your hood, downcasting your head. “Don’t look at me, Jimin. Don’t look at me.” Your hands are quivering, lifting to cover your face with your palms. He notices the red boils all over the back of your hand and he complies, releasing you and stepping back. “DON’T LOOK AT ME!”   //   It is silent. The bustling town becoming subdued into background noise. He approaches a man at a market stand, skimming through the objects laid out on the table brought from foreign countries, fancy souvenirs and little knick-knacks of all sorts of things. Luckily, he finds what he’s searching for and points to it.   “Hi, can I purchase this?”   He pulls out the right amount of coins and what’s left, he uses to buy some food.   Jimin approaches in slow steps. He gazes at your backside draped in the black cloak, oblivious to his arrival, simply staring out at the azure horizon beneath a tree. You’ve calmed down, no longer hysterical and he keeps his promise of not looking at your face. “Here.”   You peek up at him. Jimin is gawking at the clouds, refusing to look down. You take the mask from his hands. It’s painted in a plain seashell white, two holes for the eyes, a place for the nose and the mouth to breathe and speak. You put it on. And Jimin plops down beside you on the grass, finally looking at you.   “You must be hungry.” He hands you the bread with a soft smile.   “Thanks…” You take it, ripping a corner and it melts on your tongue. There’s no need to spit out tiny rocks or cough on dirt and debris. You can’t remember the last time you ate properly and your stomach growls, starved for days. Like an animal, you grip onto the warm bread with dirtied hands, chomping furiously, inhaling it whole.   Between the pair of you, it’s quiet for a long time, perhaps an hour or more. You’re simply accompanied by each other, getting used to the other’s presence first. There are so many questions to be asked, answers to receive, but nothing is spoken. It’s peaceful, serene — something you don’t experience quite often anymore.   “Where’s your father?” you ask.   The young man looks into his lap with a sad smile pulling into his cheeks. “He died.”   “I’m….I’m sorry.”   “It’s alright. He was old anyways.” Jimin takes a large inhale, enough to fill his lungs and brace himself for his first confession. “I fought in the war.”   “The war?”   “Up north. Four years ago. That’s why my leg and back is like this,” he explains and then tugs on his collar slightly, revealing part of the scar and his patchy skin. “That’s where this is from.”   “I…” You don’t know what to say. It’s been so long that the two of you are less like acquaintances and more like strangers with no connection. You don’t know the person he’s become and he most certainly does not know what you have become. “Why didn’t you ever come back?”   The corners of his mouth tugs upwards and he leans back, looking out at the horizon again. “There were so many places to go, so many places to do. I didn’t think you would remember a peasant boy like me. I...didn’t want you to be ashamed of me either.”   “You’re an idiot,” you spit out and he giggles, a squeaky noise that still shows his youth. For the first time in months, you smile as well, laughing with him even if it’s foreign, awkward, and sounds more like cackling. It’s the first time you’re feeling more like yourself.   “We’re friends, Jimin,” you correct him, though you aren’t so sure of if he still is a friend now. He may have been born of a lower class, but you, Jungkook, and Jimin were all childhood friends. You played together until he left with his dad before you turned ten. “I would’ve never been ashamed of you…”   “I’m sorry I didn’t keep in contact.”   “No, it’s okay,” you exhale. If you were frank, you didn’t know what to say or do. You were overwhelmed, sitting here with someone who used to know you, someone who knows your name, believes you beneath this ugly skin; the only person who sees you for who you are.   With his confession, you prepare for your own. “Jungkook and I…...we’re not getting married.”   He turns to you, quiet. Jimin doesn’t prod or dig deeper. He lets you tell him whatever you want, but his shock and confusion isn’t easy to hide. He never expected to run into you here. Even less, he never expected that you would be in such a state. You — the beautiful princess betrothed to the prince, ready to rule the entire kingdom together.   “I was….I was…” A thick lump forms in your throat. You detest the sound of your grating voice, a voice that is not yours. The desire to rip off your entire face is too much. As hideous as you appear, you feel ugly too. Your skin is itchy and cracking, always uncomfortable. There are boils that ooze of pus if you press too hard, raw flesh that makes it impossible to scratch. But some part of you feels better now that you’re fully covered with a mask. “I...was cursed by a witch.”   “And Jungkook?” Jimin seeks an answer, wanting to know.   “He doesn’t believe me. He thinks...he thinks I’m the witch who killed me.”   “That’s ridiculous.” Jimin takes your hand and when you flinch back, he never wavers, preparing to get up, curling his fingers around your wrist despite the rough skin there. It reminds you too much of when you were still children and he dragged you to places. But you’ve grown up long ago. “We need to go to the castle. I’ll help you explain. I’ll tell them who you are.”   “NO!” you shout, withdrawing your hand to your chest. “You don’t understand. They almost killed me!”   “What?!”   “They called for my execution,” you sob out, heart wrenching, full of the agony sewn deep into your chest. “My own parents threw me out! Look at me, Jimin. LOOK at me! Would they ever believe that this is their daughter?! Would Jungkook ever believe it’s me?!”   “But...but—”   “But nothing!” You’re exhausted and you’ve given up. The bottom of your mask drips of your teardrops. “They think I’m the witch who killed the princess, who stole her clothes, her memory, who’s trying to manipulate the kingdom…..and they’re going to believe whatever they want to believe. Just….look at me.”   He says nothing.   You swallow hard, sharing your grief, your anguish, your loss. You don’t even know if Jimin will believe you. He might just turn around, gather people, burn you at the stake. At this point, you wouldn’t run anymore. Your feet are bleeding, calluses forming all over the soles. You won’t make it far even if you tried. Maybe you should just give u—   “Where are you going now?”   “I don’t know.”   “Then let me come with you.”   You’re a burden. Why would he ever want to come with you, you’re unable to understand. “You don’t want that. I—”   “But I do.” He smiles. “I have nowhere else to go either.”   “Jimin…”   “So let me come with you.” He extends his arm, patting the top of your head over the hood once, gently, making you duck down and he retracts it with a small laugh. “Like the old days. We can have those adventures you always talked about.”   “It’s different now.” You’re speechless. “People, they don’t….they…”   “Can I come with you?” Jimin asks you sincerely and he is patient when waiting for your answer.   You’re not sure if he is just the same genuinely kind boy from years ago or maybe it’s just that he has sympathy and pity for you right now. The one thing you’re certain of is that if it is the former reason then he’s an idiot as always. If it’s the latter reason, there will come a day when his pity will run out and you will be abandoned again.   Nevertheless, you gaze at him and he gazes back at you.   You wonder how he can bear smiling at you like that.

There are days when it feels as if you were cursed eons ago. There are days when you forget you didn’t always look like this. There are days when you believe that this has been your entire life.   Those days are the easiest — you don’t remember what you lost.   When you encountered that witch all that time ago, you weren’t just cursed. It was less of a jinx and more of an inheritance. You not only received her legacy of a misfortunate face, but also the witch’s magic.   At first you were only able to channel it through anger and grief, cursing others as she had once done to you. Though as your life began to calm itself and your mind became clear, you began to tap into what was wrongfully bestowed upon you.   “A eucalyptus stem, a dash of peppermint oil,” you mutter, throwing the objects inside the pot, brewing it over the fire. The colour ripples and morphs from an apricot shade into deep plum. It oozes, boiling with thickened bubbles that pop at the surface. You look back to the old pages of the black book falling apart, words faint, drawings faded away in the ancient parchment.   Once it’s completed, you scoop the liquid with a ladle, pouring it into a bowl. It is a bitter scent that overwhelms your senses. But you repress the urge to gag and you brace yourself, taking a drink.   A second passes. You move towards the mirror on the wall. And you wait.   You wait for your skin to bubble, for your features to shift, for your face to return to the way it was. But it remains the same. The frame of your skull is seen, burnt skin thin, flesh raw and reddened. Your cheeks are hollow, eyes bulging out of their sockets, cysts and ulcers protruding in between your cracking skin. Nothing changes.   The mirror shimmers and you shriek.   The image that you see is horrific and your fingernails scratch against your dead flesh, leaving a trail of marks. You launch the bowl towards the clear surface. It smashes on impact. The mirror shatters — grooves separated the sharp pieces — jagged lines twisting into a spider web pattern. The liquid splatters, turning into a silver hue as it’s whipped in the air, the shade of moonlight. It drips down the wallpaper, weeping down into a sad puddle and expanding.   It shimmers with a touch of magic, liquid turning into its own mirror, reflecting the ceiling, mocking you. The one still on the wall is undisturbed, now reflecting your face at different angles, your eyes appearing tens of times, reminiscent to that of a spider. You hyperventilate, inhales and exhales staggering out of your lungs and then you march away, slamming the door open to the next room.   Three strides and you rip down the dusty fabric covering the full-length mirror in the corner. The clean surface is revealed and you grab the clock on the nearby table, hurling it at the glass and it bursts. The shards rush down in a shower, crystals and tiny fragments sparkling like jewels in the sunlight. You rush to the next room, tearing down yet another sheet covering the mirror and the oil lamp you throw crashes into it.   It splinters, cracks, ruined. You destroy every mirror that’s in your reach. Your reflection becomes fractured, splitting like your skin, and you scream.   “Y/N, Y/N!” There’s a call of your name, someone shaking your frame. “Y/N!”   You realize you’ve sunk into the ground, bleeding hands trembling and covering your face. “Don’t look at me, Jimin. Don’t look at me!”   “I won’t,” he promises and repeats, calming your hysteria. “I won’t.”   This is your home now — an abandoned castle found deep within the forest, lost in a siege and to history from decades ago. The stone walls are barely held together, floors damp and molded, the cold wind whistling through the grey bricks, but while the repairs are slow, they are surely being done. Jimin is working hard to make it more comfortable. And it’s your home now — you have to constantly keep reminding yourself.   There is no way you will return to where you grew up. There is no way you can go back to your palace where warmth was so easily found, where walls were white and paintings were hung, where a flicker of your hand could have servants running. There is no possible way you can be a part of that life anymore.   “There’s nothing…..nothing I can do.” You sit on a stool, bandaged hands in your lap, white mask on your face hiding your features. The black hood hides your head and you feel safe again, albeit ashamed. You watch as Jimin crouches down and cleans up your mess.   “I’ve tried everything. Everything that I could get my hands on, all the spells, the potions….but nothing works.”   “It’s okay.” A smile pulls on his features and he glances at you. “You’ll get it next time.”   It’s silent for a moment. Jimin is busy scrubbing the mess on the wall, picking up the glass shards. You feel like you’re a child grounded, all too guilty and every time you want to get up from the stool to help, he sharply inhales and glares. “I’m sorry.”   “It’s okay,” he says. “I’d rather you do this than keep all your feelings pent-up. It’s not healthy when you do that, you know.” Jimin’s lips pull up again, all too kind, and he taps his left temple. “I don’t like it when I can’t tell what you’re thinking up there.”   “....and what about you?” you ask him as he continues to rub the ugly wallpaper. “Aren’t you mad for cleaning up all my messes?”   “No.”   “You don’t ever get mad?” Your brow cocks and you tip your head to the side. “You don’t ever want to throw a tantrum too and then abandon me here?”   “I said no,” Jimin chides with a grin. “I won’t leave you so easily. I have nowhere else to go. And I know you need me too. I’m your henchman, witch.”   You scoff at his pout. “Yeah right.”   The hunched over man hums a low note, returning back to his job at hand. “If anything, I’m worried. You and I don’t know magic. What if it’s dangerous?”   “It would be a good thing if I blew up this place one day and died.” God knows you’ve escaped death enough times.   “It wouldn’t be good to me.” He becomes more serious, tone almost scolding. “I told you not to say things like that.”   “I’m sorry.”   “Then act like it, brat.”   A tiny smile graces your lips, even if he can’t see it behind your mask. You don’t deserve him — he’s the only one who has shown you compassion, and it’s not from pity either. It’s just who Jimin is. “Jimin…”   “Hmm?”   You want to do something for him in return and there’s only one thing you can offer him. “I can fix your leg for you…”   Immediately, his hands halt. His eyes stay in one spot. You continue, “I found a recipe for a curing potion. I made it too. It didn’t do anything for me, but maybe it can help yo—”   “I don’t want that.” The young man looks down, scrubbing the floor from the liquid that you threw earlier. His dark hair covers over his eyes, nearly poking at them. “My injuries….the scar...I don’t want them to disappear.”   “Why not?”   “I got them from the war. They’re my battle scars,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t want them to disappear like that. They’re a part of me now.” Jimin finally looks up at you, meeting your eyes. “Shows what I’ve been through.”   “Are you sure?”   “I’m sure. So, don’t ask me again,” he murmurs with a soft smile.   “Okay, I won’t.”   Jimin moves on with a sharp inhale, hands working harder, almost furiously. “What did you make this time? It solidified on the ground.”   “It...did?”   He sits back on your ankles, taking a moment’s rest. “Your experiments are getting crazier, aren’t they?”   “I’m actually getting better at the whole magic thing, believe it or not,” you mumble, getting up from the stool and walking closer. You lean over to see what he means and when your eyes lay on the object, you gasp, stumbling back with a hand over your mouth.   “What?” Jimin is alarmed. “What is it?”   “I….I see me…”   The potion didn’t alter your outer appearance, it didn’t cure you. Instead, it stiffened into a silver mirror and inside, you see your old self, your true self. A joyous smile appears on your face and you pry off the magic mirror off the floor.   This is how you lead your life for the following years. You never give up on finding a way to reverse the curse, though slowly but surely, you become less obsessed with it. Magic becomes your new preoccupation. It isn’t frightening when you learn how to control it, when you begin to test your capabilities. And the abandoned castle becomes your new home. It’s nothing luxurious like the palace that you grew up in, but it’s comfortable and livable.   Through all of this, Jimin is the companion by your side. When he’s not accompanying you, he’s chopping wood or making repairs, growing plants outside and making sure there’s food on the table.   It’s a peaceful life, even if you’re hidden behind a mask.   “Hey!”   There’s a shout that has you stopping in your tracks. A rounded, golden ball bumps against your feet and you look down at it. The colour is a bright yellow, reminding you of the sun itself. The smooth surface sparkles in the light, glitter embedded into the toy.   “What are you looking at?!” The girl is in a pink ball gown, tiara on her head, on top of the mess of curls. She grips her dress with white gloves, wrinkling the expensive fabric, cheeks puffing out. “Pass me the ball or are you blind?!”   You went out to pick more plants — there’s a basket on your back, herbs and shrubs to make potions filled to the brim. You’re strolling through the forest without your mask, letting yourself breathe properly. But here you are, stopped by a child screaming at you.   “Am I talking to a wall? Do you know who I am?! How dare you ignore me! No one’s allowed to ignore me! Especially not a peasant like you!” The spoiled girl shrieks at you with her high-pitched voice, the shrill noise ringing your ears. She pouts, unruly as she is unbearable. Her arms cross and her eyes narrow.   “Are you dumb? Do you not understand what I’m saying?! Are you deaf?”   “I hear perfectly well,” your voice croaks. You look down at the ball and your legs move back, building momentum. Except, you kick it deep into the forest, as hard as you can, watching it swoop over the horizon and take a dive above the trees.   “HEY!!! What’s wrong with you?!” The brat marches up, ready to throw a tantrum and beat you with her fists. But as she approaches and your face becomes more visible, she slows down and her face twists in disgust. “Ughhhhh!”   She throws herself back dramatically, repulsed by you. “You’re disgusting! Are you an ogre?!”   Your eye twitches. You hand lifts. Your fingers snap.   There’s a poof of air, a cloud that floats away and when you look down, the luxurious gown flutters to the ground. In the middle of the discarded fabric, a frog hops out. It ribbits and you smirk. You hover over it for a moment before marching away. “Who’s the disgusting one now?”   People will always be fearful and repelled by your appearance. But instead of wasting anger and sadness on these measly fools, you’ve learnt to have fun. Though….   Jimin is less than approving of the way you embrace your newfound powers.   “I found it, Hansel!”   They sprint hand-in-hand over the meadow, giggling in excitement, rushing over. “The candy house!”   Soon, their laughter is replaced by crying and cackling that echoes throughout all the woods.   “No, please don’t put my brother in the oven!” The little girl is sobbing, holding onto the hem of your black cloak with her tiny fists. “Eat me instead!”   “Really? How noble of you.” You throw the boy away, lowering yourself down to her. You watch the way tears roll down her chubby cheeks and she sniffles, eyes swollen and red. A sigh is held in your throat. “Don’t you know that the people you care about so easily turn away when you need them most?”   The door bursts open. Sunlight pierces through your eyes. He limps inside. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Jimin looks around, connecting the dots of the open hot oven, the candy house, the crying children with chocolate stains all over their mouths. You slip your mask on before he can see. “Oh my god.”   “I found the ones who were stealing from us,” you gloat. “Did I do a good job?”   Jimin is silent. He is appalled.   “I’m kidding around, Minah.” You stamp your foot, offended he would really think you’d go this far. But your childish antics have no effect, even if you’re pouting behind the mask and trying to appeal to him. “I’m not really going to eat them. It’s only a scare tactic. Don’t be mad.”   He picks you up by the back of your hood, hauling you out. The children run free after grabbing armfuls of candy. You scream at them to never come back, but you know the greedy will never have enough.   There’s nothing to do, but cause trouble. You become better and better at magic. It comes from your fingertips, from mutters and murmurs, distracting you from everything else. And you become quite good at it.   You make a name for yourself. Becoming infamous throughout the land. People whisper about you, rumours spreading far and wide. People put you in stories to warn their children — fairy tales. Except in these fantastical tales, if your story was ever told, it would end with your appearance returning and Jungkook would rescue you from your misery.   And the two of you would live happily ever after together.   But you don’t know if you can bear putting your blind hope into that.   “What in the world are you doing?   The brewing room is small, but a sufficient space to work in. Jimin finally makes you restrain all your magical practices into one part of the castle. It makes less of a mess for him to clean up when it’s contained into a specific place. Though at the moment, he’s not quite sure if it makes any difference.   There are spell books and scrolls of witchcraft opened and stacked on top of each other. You traded and collected them, anything that you could get your hands on. On the shelves are bubbling potions and steaming concoctions, all labeled in a way where only you understand. None of them are the cure you’re searching for, but they do all sorts of things.   Across from the black cauldron is the magic mirror hanging on the wall.   “I just finished making something.” You hold up the palm-sized bottle. The tangerine shade seems to glow and it sloshes against the glass walls. “It can turn you into a fearsome dragon, Minah. You can really defend me now. Think about it — a dragon wrapped around this castle. Makes for a scary affect, huh? We’re really going to become famous. Want to try?”   “No.” He shuts you down and points to the brewing green liquid, as well as your other hand where you’re holding a stick with the other end pierced with a red apple, ready to dip it in. “I’m asking what you’re doing right now.”   “Oh, I’m making poisonous apples.”   “Why the hell would you need that?!”   “Well, I keep seeing this girl in the mirror. She’s asking for my help to escape her evil stepmother or something.” You shrug. “Anyways, she’s pretty happy-go-lucky and quite frankly very annoying with her whining and crying.”   “You’re going to….poison her?”   “You make it sound so much crueler than it needs to be.” You shake your head, keeping your tone light and airy. “I’m simply….teaching her that she shouldn’t keep bothering me.”   The apples immediately become confiscated and he scolds you, “I didn’t put in hard work to grow our fruit for you to use it this way.”   The title of evil witch — you don’t mind it as much as before. It’s sort of a fun pass time to terrorize idiots and the shallow. They deserve it anyways. You would’ve never been allowed to do anything in this manner back in the palace. You’re finally letting loose after an entire lifetime of regal dinners, proper posture, etiquette lessons.   And people can hate you all they want. You aren’t affected anymore. They don’t know you. They don’t know what you’ve been through. Their insults are meaningless.   You stare out at the dusk horizon, the gentle wind grazing against your fingertips. The birds are swooping over the sky, singing their songs and flying freely. The weather is becoming warmer.   If there was one thing you could appreciate the most in your circumstances, it was that you were living in the middle of nature. Every time you peek out the windows, there are trees and fields and meadows at a distance. It’s not dead stone walls — it’s alive. The forest is serene and you find yourself smiling while gazing out, even with your lopsided mouth, even if your skin still itches unbearably beneath the mask.   “Y/N?” Jimin approaches carefully from behind. “I need to talk to you.”   “I didn’t poison anyone,” you sing-song.   “It’s not that.” He comes down to sit beside you, staring out at the view. “I went to town the other day, remember? It was a three-day trip.”   “And?”   “Jungkook is getting married.”   The hunched over boy delivers the news sharp and swiftly. He doesn’t linger, ripping off your bandages instead of prolonging the pain. He turns his neck to stare at your covered up profile. It is silent. You watch a bird flying over top, weaving between the cotton clouds. “When?”   “Soon. Two weeks.”   “I see.”   “Y/N.”   You shift towards him with a smile. Even if he can’t see it, he can hear it in your croaking voice. “What’s for dinner, Minah? I’m starving.”   He nods and as you set the table, he gets the food ready.   The both of you don’t talk about it again.   But when night sets, you slip out of the castle, black cloak slicing the air. A three-day journey on foot takes less than a second for you when you use a teleportation spell. With the town sleeping, you steal a hose in the stables outside the inn. You tame it quickly and while you appear monstrous, it senses your sincerity.   You ride it towards the castle. It’s a full two hours through the forest and dirt roads at top speed, never once stopping or resting. You eventually make it with sweat dripping down your body, hiding yourself in the shadows. You’re invisible to the guards when you murmur jinxes beneath your breath, sneaking past them all too easily. Though while it is simple, every step of yours is pained.   You’re entering your home again as an intruder. While you had wished and imagined to return with a celebration, you’re slinking into the darkness instead, through all the secret passages known throughout your life. You avoid the servants and people inside, avoiding when you hear your parent’s voices, unable to bear looking or thinking about them.   Your steps are quiet, strides calculated, aches forming in your throat. It hurts. You turn down the hallway, eyes trained forward, and you enter the familiar room, standing in the shadows, bated breath held inside your throat. You don’t forget it once — someone else is here in place of you.   But it’s hard to remember when you find him staring out at the balcony. He sighs softly. You gaze. The strands of his brown hair blowing in the breeze, the slope of his nose, dip of his cupid’s bow, brown doe eyes too gentle. You had almost forgotten what he looked like.   “I just wanted a moment with you.” — Cheeky smile — Scent of the sea — Touch of warmth — “I missed you.”   You tremble. “J—”   “Jungkook.” A girl, younger than you are, enters from the other room and stands by his side. Long luscious hair draping her backside, flowing like her white night slip. She is soft-spoken, voice gentle and shy. You don’t know her name, but you know she is beautiful. “What are you thinking about?”   “Nothing,” he murmurs.   You missed the sound of his voice.   “Really? You looked like you were deep in thought.”   Your fists ball up, teeth gritting. You shake, overwhelmed in too many emotions, anger, sadness, hatred, sorrow. The urge to shut your eyes, put your hands over your ears and scream is too much. But you can’t move even if you wanted to. You’re frozen in your spot, soaking up every second, refusing to blink, gaze boring into Jungkook. You memorize his features, the way he smiles, he speaks.   But you shouldn’t.   He abandoned you. He had forsaken you. He left you to die.   “Why did you kill her?” — Eyes of intense with hatred — void of all feelings — a despising and loathing stare — “You’re scum.”   You can imagine it. All it would take is for you to shout and make yourself known. They’d spin around in horror and you wouldn’t waste one second to point and curse the both of them. You can do so much. You can curse their love, ruin their kingdom, destroy their reign. You can turn her into a monster right in front of his eyes and make him realize that it is possible for a princess to become this ugly, this evil.   But—   You can’t.   You love him.   “Trust me, I’m not thinking about anything.” Jungkook pulls her in for a side embrace, arms wrapped around her frame. Her hands wrap around his waist, nuzzling into his chest.   It’s quiet. They hold each other. It’s a perfect sight to behold.   “I wish I could have met her,” the beautiful girl murmurs.   “Why?”   “Just because.” She leans further into his chest, lips graced with a demure smile. “She must’ve been great and beautiful if you loved her so much.”   “You are too.” Jungkook tickles her sides. She giggles, squirming away, but he doesn’t let her out of his grasps, holding her close. After a moment, he presses a kiss to her forehead.   “Do you miss her?”   Jungkook pauses, sighing again. “She would’ve wanted me to move on.”   They talk about you like you’ve died.   Your throat aches to scream his name, to tell him that you’re standing right here, alive, that he never looked for you or at you. But no. To Jeon Jungkook, you are long in the grave, a ghost, a dead girl walking, an old lover that was part of his history. And the more you look at them both, the more you glance at them, it becomes unbearable. Suffocating. Intolerable. The gentle exchange, soft touches, smiles. It makes you feel sick to your stomach.   You fade back into the darkness without a single word spoken. You shouldn’t have come back.   Jungkook doesn’t love you anymore — you can see it as clear as day.   They love each other.   //   “Where are you going?”   Jimin asks, turning around from his seat at the table. You know that he knows. The boy with the hunched back and bad leg is perfectly aware that you left that night. You’re thankful that he doesn’t ask, despite having an inkling of where you went. Though his gaze still lingers with a trace of suspicion, not made from malice, but concern.   “Someone’s begging for my help,” you tell him in a snotty tone, lifting your chin high in the air. “Looks like I should open up a business for everyone’s magical needs.”   He laughs, eased at how you’re not brooding or dejected. But he still shoots you an unsure and doubtful expression. “And you’re going to help them? No tricks, no curses, no poison apples?”   “No poison apples,” you promise. “She’s a mermaid, you know. I thought I should at least meet her. I’ve never seen a mermaid before.”   “Do you want me to come with you?”   “You’d just drag me down.” Your hands are placed on your hips and you quirk your head to one side. “Let me do my own bidding...unless…”   “Unless?”   “You really want to become my henchman? Every witch should have a servant anyways.”   Jimin scoffs. “Come back before dinner.”   Yes,” you drag out the last sound, bidding him farewell.   You transport yourself, partly by magic and the other part by horse. Soon enough, you’re staring out at the blue horizon, the azure shade matching the sea. The water sparkles, glimmering against the sunlight. Your arm lifts and you remove your white mask. As the waves crash against the shore, the mist kisses against your face. The salt water stings against the sores and blisters on your flesh, but you welcome it. Your crooked nose inhales the scent of the sea.   It reminds you of someone that makes your heart ache.   But your thoughts are taken by storm when there’s an unusual splash in the midst of the waves. You turn your head, finding something in the water, and you stand taller.   There’s a gasp. You look down to find a young creature, a girl with big eyes and hair the colour of sweet strawberries. She’s obviously scared of you, mouth drawn open, brows knitted together. But she quickly composes herself, though nervousness still attached to her expression.   You catch her tail flickering out into the air behind her. Frankly, it’s fascinating, and you stare with your head lolled to one side. If you never knew magic or curses like you do now, you would’ve never believed in the existence of mermaids.   “A-a-a….a-are you the witch?”   “I’m a witch.”   In all honesty, you don’t know why you’re here. You don’t know why you’re openly offering yourself to help her. It’s not like you’re necessarily sympathetic to her situation. Maybe you’re doing this to prove to yourself that you can help someone, that you’re not a monster, that your humanity is still here. Perhaps seeing Jungkook has opened you up and made you softer, more vulnerable than you should be….especially in your current skin.   Whatever the case may be, what matters is that you’re standing here, where the sea meets the shore.   “What do you need from me?”   “I…” The mermaid is hesitant. Though as the seconds pass, she becomes more self-assured. Her gentle eyes turn stern and her fear is hidden away, admirable determination coming forth instead. “...want to trade my tail for legs.”   “Because you met someone,” you cut to the chase, unfazed by her surprised expression. You already saw it in the mirror. There’s nothing to hide. “A prince.”   The young girl smiles sheepishly and she is breathless. “I’m in love with him.”   You exhale in exhaustion, rolling your eyes. Now you remember why you didn’t like helping others — their kinds of love were all too shallow for your liking. Still, you lower yourself down to meet her eyes. She wades an inch back, alarmed by your disfigurement, but not letting it get in the way of her goal.   “And does he love you?”   “That-….it doesn’t matter.” She swallows hard. “I just want to see him again. I’m tired of being stuck in the ocean. I want to become human.”   “Becoming human is not all that great, trust me,” you tell her as honestly as you can, “and love…..love isn’t how you imagine it to be. Just because you have legs and you can talk to him doesn’t mean he’ll love you back.”   “I know that.”   “And you’re still willing to trade in who you are for him?”   “Yes.” She nods, all too earnest in her request. “I want...something different from this. I want to experience more. I want to know the world out there.”   She is terribly, terribly foolish. Naive. Innocent. You can’t stop her even if you tried. When it comes to these things, once someone has made their mind, they’re too stubborn to hear. “Well, I can help you, but there are limits to everything. If there wasn’t, I would’ve fixed this.” You point directly to your face and you continue, “If I give you legs, it won’t last forever. You’ll have a time limit.”   “H-how long?”   “I don’t know.” You shrug. “Believe it or not, this is kind of my first time giving a mermaid legs.”   The corners of her mouth upturn. “I’ll take the risk then….as long as I get to see him again.”   “I’ll also need something from you as payment.”   The mermaid is at least wise enough to become wary again. The trust she had amounted in the conversation disperses all at once and she stares as if you are an enemy ready to trick her, rather than help her. “What do you want from me?”   That’s a good question. There’s a lot you want, but nothing she can give to you.   You think hard before coming up with an adequate answer. “Your voice.”   “My voice?”   “Trade in your voice and tail for human legs.” You’re forced to hear your voice all the time, every instance in which you speak or whisper and you hate it. It’s not the same as it was before. It croaks, like you’ve been alive for three centuries, never melodic, never smooth. Your laughter is cackling, timbre squaking, tone husky and rumbling.   You’ve forgotten the sound of your own voice.   She frowns. “How will I talk to him?”   “That’s your problem, not mine.” You shrug again. “What do you think? Still up for this deal? You can take some time if you need to think about it.”   The mermaid contemplates for a minute, licking the seam of her lips, tail flicking the waves behind her. She gazes into your eyes before smiling and shaking her head. “No. I definitely want to do it.”   “Are you sure?” you warn her yet another time. “What happens if he doesn’t love you back?”   “Then at least I got the chance to love him.”   “How noble,” you muse.   Eventually, you’re led into a cave. It’s secluded from any prying eyes or ears. Every step you take echos against the cold walls, peaceful and quiet. The waters glow a sapphire shade, sparkling and enchanting. The mermaid reveals more of herself, propping her upper half onto a rock and you begin the ceremony, starting with an incantation. When you signal towards her, she sings.   It’s a soothing melody, echoing all around you, warm like an embrace. You’re surrounded in her voice, bewitched as if she were a siren. It’s lovely and you shut your eyes, feeling all too nostalgic. You used to sing too.   “You have a beautiful voice,” you whisper as her timbre reverberates around the cave walls.   She is both shy and caught off guard from your compliment. “Thank you.”   It takes a lot out of you to cast the spell. Although you’ve made a name for yourself, you are still no expert in magic or witchcraft. But it works and when she faints, tail morphing into legs, you drape her naked body with your black cloak, collecting her voice in a glass jar.   You cast one more look at the girl before you leave. It’s been a while since you’ve been able to sense such earnestness and you genuinely hope it works out in her favour.   When you return back home, you display the jar on your potion shelf. Jimin asks you what’s inside and after you tell him it’s the mermaid’s voice, he is horrified, but you brush it off with a smile.   From time to time, when things become hard, you crack the lid of the jar slightly. And her beautiful voice always filters into the room, all too sweet and soft. During those moments, you look into the mirror to see yourself smiling — your old self, the skin that you were born with, that your mother and father gave to you. Your hands always lift to touch your skin as if wishing that one of these days, your face would match the reflection, but you’re always left feeling the rough texture of your raw flesh.   Nevertheless, it’s nice to act like you’re listening to your own voice, looking at yourself in the mirror. Like nothing has changed from back then. There’s nothing wrong with playing pretend sometimes.   //   Two months later, Jimin notices the jar is gone from your shelf.   “Oh, I released it.”   “You….released it?” The cowering man frowns, not understanding, especially with your nonchalant expression. In curiosity, he asks, “do you know what ended up happening to that mermaid?”   You make a noncommittal sound in the back of your throat, continuing to stir the pot of soup over the fire. Tonight was your turn to cook. “The prince she loved ended up getting married to another princess. She was going to kill him, but couldn’t do it and threw herself into the sea. She turned into sea bubbles….and he never even found out that she was the one who saved him from drowning.”   “That’s….awful.”   “That’s love for you.”   You say it with so much certainty, like you had expected that outcome, as if there was no other ending to the story. But Jimin knew you well enough to detect your sadness and disappointment.   The magic mirror not only shows your old self or the people who ask for your help, but you also see Jungkook in it. One of the things Jimin doesn’t know is how you check in on Jungkook sporadically, stealing glimpses of his life, even though you know you shouldn’t. You still give in each and every time, too curious, aching to know, always hoping he’s doing well.   If you can’t be by his side, at least you can become a guardian watching over him.   But you know how pathetic it is.   Perhaps you’re as idiotic and naive as that mermaid. You should loathe Jungkook as much as he loathed you after you became this way. But if you force yourself to hate him, you’d be lying to yourself.   So you watch him. You allow yourself to indulge in one thing in your miserable existence and you watch how he lives his life. Occasionally there are special events like his wedding or the coronation. Other times, it’s something mundane like him eating, walking around the garden, or dealing with his royal duties.   And you still love him.   You don’t think they’ll ever come a time when you don’t. You grew up with Jungkook. Most of your loved memories have him in them. He was the person you chose to spend the rest of your life with after all.   But one day, when you call upon his name to the silver surface of the mirror, you don’t see him.   You see something else entirely, something else that is not Jungkook, but still him at the same time.   “A…..baby?”   Tears fill your eyes. An instinctual smile appears on your lopsided mouth. It’s a girl.   No one knows yet, not even his wife who’s carrying the child, but the mirror shows you and it never lies. You see the bouncing child, rosy cheeks, button nose, gooey smile and cooing laugh.   Your heart melts. Your eyes search every inch of the mirror, taking in Jungkook’s child that looks too much like him. And you’re happy. You want to congratulate him, even though it’s not possible and what fills you for once is not jealousy, resentment, or regret — it is the emotion of watching someone you love become happy, you are happy for him.   But your smile falls. The next thing the mirror morphs to makes you stumble back. Horrified.   The door slams open. Jimin’s eyes are wide. You shriek at him, helpless. “She’s going to die!”   “Who’s going to die?”   You’re hysterical, pacing in front of him, not knowing what to do. “I saw it. I saw it, Jimin. I saw it in the mirror!”   He limps after you. “What?”   “S-she’s destined to die at a young age. What should we do? What should we do?!”   Jimin finally catches up and grabs onto your shoulders, hands securing around them, forcing you to a stop. “Who?”   You cry, “Jungkook’s baby!”

In nine months, you work hard to search for an answer. All you know are curses and jinxes, but you begin to teach yourself blessings and charms, anything that will grant her favour for a long, fruitful life. But you don’t know what will work, what won’t, and you don’t want to risk harming the baby or casting a spell for it to backfire.   The blissful couple have no idea. They celebrate the pregnancy. Their joy and ignorance acts as salt on wounds. The rest of the kingdom also commemorates the queen’s upcoming child, completely oblivious that the child will die a young age, that tragedy will strike. You can’t bear the thought of it.   “How can you be so sure?” Jimin asks, concerned with your distress.   “The mirror doesn’t lie, Jimin. I saw it.” You swallow hard. “She’s going to die before she reaches the age of five. It...it was from a sickness and she was laying in bed and I saw her bones and she was coughing blood and it...it was horrible.”   When you shut your eyes, you can still hear the pained screams of the toddler.   “I can warn Jungkook.” The hunched boy meets your eyes. “I can tell him.”   “And do you think he’ll believe you?” You know Jungkook — he was your fiancé. “He doesn’t believe in magic or prophecies or any of that. No one in the castle does.”   “Then what do you want to do? What are you thinking?”   “I….I don’t know.” You’re at wit’s end. “But we have to do something.”   “Y/N.”   “I can’t let her die like that. It’s unfair. It’s...despicable.”   Jimin calls your name again, eyes following your form. “Y/N.”   You whip yourself around. “What?”   His gaze meets yours. His brown irises meet your eyes, locking his stare, the only feature he sees of yours behind the white mask. His mouth is downturned, brows knitted together, a knot made between them. It is silent. Then he murmurs, “Why does it matter so much to you?”   You’re left sputtering. “What?”   “She’s not your daughter.”   “I know that,” you spit out, wondering where this audacity is coming from. Your blood begins to boil beneath your skin and you halt in your spot, staring him down.   “Then why are you so worried? You haven’t been eating or sleeping.”   “We can’t let a child die like this—”   “If it’s her fate...then so be it.”   “Then so be it?!” Your voice booms, rumbling the air as if you were cursing all of humanity. Your fists ball up, bones rattling in your rage. “Then you’re saying I should just accept my own fate? Let my face be this monstrous?! Because it was my fate to be cursed?! To be thrown away?!”   “No—”   “You’ll let a baby die because it’s in her fate?!”   “You’ve let other people die all the time!” Jimin is loud, raising his voice over yours. He is unyielding, steadfast in the face of your anger. He knows there is something deeper to your distraught. “Suddenly, you’re so worried about Jungkook’s baby? Why?”   “Jungkook is your best friend,” you say as if it is enough cause for him to be worried as well. A sharp inhale is stolen through the seams of your lips. “And I…..I love him—”   “She’s not yours,” Jimin repeats.   He is worried about you, having no intentions to bring injury to your wounds. “I know that.” You turn away from the man, crying out your words, whispering the antagonizing syllables, “But I want Jungkook to be happy. Is that so wrong? I want his children to live.”   “I want Jungkook to be happy too.” He takes a step forward, reaching down to take your hand and comforting you in his soothing voice. “He’s my best friend even after all these years, so I know. I know it’s horrible that his daughter will die. I don’t want that either. But there’s nothing we can do. There’s nothing we can do, Y/N, and that’s...okay. It’s okay to let go.”   //   Except, there’s a lot that you can do.   You refuse to stand by, to be a witness, a bystander. You can’t. Knowing what you do, you cannot bring yourself to pretend you are ignorant to the tragedy coming. You refuse to turn a blind eye, to give into helplessness. Not when you can save the baby. If not for Jungkook, then for the innocent child.   She is born on the calends of May. Spring has begun to break through winter, warming the land, melting snow banks and rivers streams. Through word of mouth, you learn it is indeed a baby girl, healthy as a horse, the beautiful princess that one day shall become queen — just as you were.   The king and queen are blissful, rejoicing together without knowing what was coming.   Three days after the birth, an unknown darkness spreads across the kingdom. The door creaks open and a shadow enters. The balcony doors are left slightly ajar, curtains blowing in the breeze. Footsteps approach the cot. A scream ricochets through the room.   The child is gone.   “NO!” Sobs tear from her chest and rip out her throat. She collides onto the ground, on her knees, hair brushed back by the wind, white dress on her body making her ghostly. “Please! Don’t take her away from me.”   “I’m sorry.” Half of your horrific face is illuminated by the milky moonlight, eyes bulging out of their sockets, skin melted and shedding like a snake, mouth lopsided and nose crooked, flesh dead and hair stark white. You hold the sleeping baby close to your chest and after one last glance at the mother, you jump from the balcony.   Your black cloak slices through the air.   A blood-curdling scream wakes the entire palace.   The girl throws herself to the railing, looking over. You’re nowhere to be seen. Gone.   //   When you return, sleep has tinged your vision, making your lids and lashes heavier than before. The cold has made your flesh even redder, the colour of blood beading beneath your thin skin in dotting patterns like you’ve gotten chicken pox. You look down to gain encouragement, taking in the way the living being in your arms is breathing softly, rosy cheeks, long lashes, a tuft of hair at the top, all bundled up.   The warmth is inviting, the fire crackling. You enter with a sigh of relief, room blanked in a comfortable darkness. Jimin turns with a smile, about to ask where you’ve been, but the words die in his throat. His gaze befalls onto what’s in your arms. His expression falls. Despair is in his eyes.   “Y/N.” He speaks softly, disbelief bleeding through his whispers, attempting not to disturb the peace between you both. “What are you holding?”   “Jimin.”   “Y/N…” The man with the hunched back and burn scar limps two strides before stopping completely. “Is that…?”   “Jimin, please,” you plead desperately with a broken timbre, holding the child close to your chest, embracing her, surrounding her in the little warmth your body gives off.   “No, no…” He shakes his head, dead eyes becoming angered by the second. “You can’t do this.”   “Minah…”   “Give her back, Y/N.” Jimin’s jaw clenches. “You can’t take her.”   “I have no choice.”   “You can’t have her!” He screams and you physically flinch back. The baby is startled awake and begins to shriek and cry. You attempt to sooth her, patting her back while attempting to get him to understand why you’re doing this.   “Jimin, please.” You shield her away, stepping back.   “She’s not yours!”   “I know!” you shout back, breathless. The baby cries louder, making your ears want to bleed with the high-pitched wail. “I know that!”   “You think I don’t? She’s not my daughter. I keep telling myself that and I know I’m not qualified to be a mother either. Because of this,” you spit out while pointing at your face, “I can never have the life I always wanted. I will never have a family or children of my own — that’s all been ripped away from me. But….but I still want to save her.”   “How?!”   “I don’t know,” you shriek, sobbing, tears streaming down to the bottom of your white mask. “But I can’t let her die. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect her. I can save her. I know it. I can change the course of her fate if I take it into my own hands.”   He is made speechless.   Jimin runs a hand through his hair. “Y/N…”   “Please, Jimin...please..” You’re sobbing, holding the baby close and never letting go. “I can’t let her die. I can protect her.”

You’re not fit to be a mother. You don’t know how to take care of a baby. You’re ill-equipped to keep the squirming, living bundle alive in your arms. You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re scared. But you can’t let it be. There’s no other choice.   “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you murmur to the crying child, lifting her up in your arms and feeding her with the bottle of milk Jimin prepared. She latches on with closed eyes, becoming silenced and you take a sigh of relief, melting back into the chair.   You watch her, rosy cheeks, long lashes, doe eyes. You’re enamoured.   The chubby child coos, arm lifting tiredly, soft hand opening and it wraps around your finger. Your bated breath holds in your throat, a sharp exhale leaving through the seams of your lips, and you choke out a gentle laugh, brought to tears. Your heart is lighter. The corners of your mouth uplifts.   “I’ll protect you. Don’t worry,” you murmur. “Just grow up healthy, okay?”   The child gives a gooey smile after finishing the bottle and it makes you smile harder.   //   Jimin takes off his cloak, throwing it on the rack. He sets the basket of food down and begins to put it away in the cupboards. “They’re looking for her.” You look up, still holding her. “There was a royal decree and all the guards have been dispatched.”   “It’s okay. I set up protection shields around the perimeter. They won’t find us.”   He puts his things down and without saying much of a word, he walks over and opens his arms. “Here, let me take her.” When you hesitate, he eases you with a smile. “You’ve been holding her all night, let me have a chance too.”   You transfer her to Jimin’s arms. He grins, looking down, cheeks swelling, staring at her face and she giggles with a gummy smile. You smile. “She’s cute, right?”   “Adorable.” He pats her back firmly, smiling at you. “You should go rest. You were up all night taking care of her. From now on, we’ll switch back and forth.”   You blink the sleep away, a burst of happiness erupting in your chest. While Jimin still seems upset with your choices and angered at how you didn’t once ask for his opinion, setting off to do whatever you already set your mind on, he seems to have accepted the circumstances.   “I’m not happy with what you’ve done, Y/N.” He sighs, staring at the baby with a soft smile, head quirking to one side. “But it happened — there’s no point in arguing about it anymore. Let’s try our best to protect her and raise her well so that one day she can return to her rightful parents.”   “Okay.”   “Go sleep.” As he passes, Jimin pats your shoulder. “I’ll take it from here.”   When you worry whether you are inadequate, Jimin’s always here to reassure you. He helps you in more ways than one. But that still doesn’t stop the nightmares — people who you’ve cursed coming back for vengeance, harming the child as you have harmed them. Though when you awaken and rush to the crib, nothing has happened and you breathe sighs of relief.   More and more time goes by without you realizing. The guards come scouring a few miles away, but still nowhere near the abandoned castle where you are. You make sure the protection spells are always casted around the area, concealing the child from harm’s way.   Jimin’s farm flourishes and his trips to town lessen for his own safety. The two of you become increasingly self-sufficient and you also spend less time staring at your former self in the mirror. There are times you forget about the room tucked away in the back, about bubbling cauldrons and bewitching jinxes, the reflection which shows your old self underneath this hideous skin.   When you do use magic, it’s for her. Whether it’s coming up with medicine to cure a common cold or learning about charms to keep her warm, it seems like the days of curses and making poisonous apples have all but disappeared.   Time passes by quicker when she is in your life.   “Look, it’s a teddy bear.” Jimin shakes the stuffed animal in front of her, smiling with crinkled eyes when she grabs hold of the cotton toy. He lowers his voice, pretending to be the bear. “Hello there, little girl. I love you! Your hugs are so warm.”   You stifle back a laugh, watching his childish antics. “Little girl? You sound like a creep or wolf in the woods or something.”   He pouts. “Well, we should probably give her a proper name already instead of calling her the baby.”   You smile, glancing down at the child who looks like a dumpling all wrapped up, rounded cheeks pink and nearly bursting. “They named her Nari.”   “Nari?”   “It means lily.”   “Nari.” He calls her gently, corners of his mouth uplifted. His eyes flicker up to yours. He takes the last syllable of her name and attaches a suffix of ‘ah’ to it. “I guess we can call her Riah since you call me Minah.”   A soft laugh streams out of your mouth. “Okay.”   She grows steadily and gradually. There are countless nights where you are scared to death, when she has a cold or doesn’t feel well, sneezing and coughing. But those nights always pass and during the day, she begins to giggle, opening her eyes more often, making eye contact with you.   Throwing up on Jimin is probably one of the favourite things she does. It never fails to make you laugh.   “Jimin! Jimin!”   “What is it?”   “She’s rolling!” You gasp in amazement and the chubby baby with stuffed cheeks nearly exploding builds momentum in her tiny body and rolls herself to her belly. You know she’s becoming conscious of the world, especially when she stares around with her big eyes, and your heart always swells watching her.   The child sits up by herself. Then you switch to solid foods that she constantly throws across the room. She becomes fussy when teething. Makes trouble when she begins to crawl and mess with the old furniture. She understands the word ‘no’ and pouts when you say it. She points to things, babbling incessantly, tens of sounds leaving her lips like she is stumbling on her own tongue, and you pretend to understand even when you don’t.   Jimin has fun playing with her. Sometimes he throws her a bit too high for your liking, other times putting her on his shoulders and further hurting his back, making you distressed. He also tends to hold her like she’s bread that just came out of the oven, running around and pretending she can fly, making her giggle hard enough to throw up. But he is always gentle, cooing at her, making sure she is safe and happy.   “Say ah!”   She turns the other way, huffing and sulking. “Come on, Riah. Take one more bite for me! It’s good for you! It’s carrots! It’ll make you grow big and strong. Jimin won’t be happy if you don’t eat it. It took a lot of work for him to grow it.”   The toddler finally looks at you. She blinks. Her short arm extends. Her chubby cheeks puff out. Her lashes bat. She points at your face and you’re taken back, startled. “Mama!”   You almost drop your spoon.   You’re sputtering as if she could understand the conflicting emotions brewing in the pits of your stomach, making you all too uncomfortable. “N-No...I’m—….I’m ..not your mom.”   But the child is adamant. “Mama!”   Tears flood your vision, happiness prevailing over sorrow and guilt, and you nod. “Okay, okay. Take one more bite for me.”   You feed her a spoonful while crying. She is confused, staring at you, but you wipe your face with the back of her hand. The child is never once scared of your disfigurement, not in the least bit.   She grows up too fast. There are instances when you turn around and swear she’s gotten taller, she’s caught onto things, learnt a bit more, become smarter, wiser. While she is healthy, the lingering fear only intensifies. You question if you’re doing the right thing, if taking her away from her real parents will do her more harm, but when you gaze upon her, you know there’s no other way.   You will risk everything if it means she’ll be alive in the end.   “Come here!” He encourages her softly. “Come here!”   Slowly, she lifts her arms off the chair and stumbles like a drunkard towards Jimin’s open arms. She staggers, one leg in front of the other, babbling happily as she does so and your mouth draws open in shock. Jimin triumphantly grins, the both of you witnessing her first steps.   “Yay!” He lifts her high in the air when she makes it, making giggles bubble out of her small body. “You did it!”   You never thought the pair of you, ostracized in your own way, would be able to find so much happiness.   “Minah.” Your feet pad after him.   “No.”   “It’ll be safer.”   “Absolutely not.” He twists on his heel, harshly whispering underneath his breath. He didn’t want to wake the toddler who was down for the night after much effort. “We are not going to lock her up in a cold tower. Are you crazy?!”   “We’re not locking her! And it’s for her own protection,” you reason, frustrated to no end while he’s annoyed. You take a deep breath, explaining to him what you’re worried about. “We have to protect her.”   “And we can do it here.” His arms open wide. This time, he doesn’t give in to your pleas. “Where she can roam free.”   “But I can’t watch her all the time.” You shake, swallowing the thick lump in your throat down. “Yesterday, I turned around and she was gone. Gone. Do you know how scared I was? One of these days…...I-.....there’s only so much I can do.”   Jimin approaches calmly and strangely comfortingly. “That’s not true — You have me.”   If you were alone, if it weren’t for Jimin, you don’t know what you would do. For one, you probably would’ve driven yourself insane, paranoid enough to keep the child locked up like some prisoner. He brings you back to reason, calming your overwhelming emotions. It makes you feel better to know there is someone here to lean against, to rely on. You can breathe easier.   “Look at what you did. Your hair’s all tangled!”   “Sorry,” she mumbles, sitting on the small wooden stool as you run a comb through her dark locks, brushing them until they’re silky smooth. “I didn’t mean to.”   You exhale, becoming gentler. “Just be careful next time, okay?”   “Okay.” The four-year old turns around with a big smile, making you sheepish and melt in your spot. It’s dark outside, forest mysterious and the winds knocking against the windows. But here inside, it’s warm — the fire is flickering in the brick hearth, burning the wood that Jimin had cut. He’s gone to bed early, letting the both of you have your own time. You’ve removed your mask.   Yet, as the young girl gazes upon you, there is no fear, hatred or loathing in her eyes. You are not worried that she is ashamed of your appearance, that her tolerance and patience will run thin and someday she will abandon you. Her stare is ever so loving — you’re not used to it.   “Mama…”   “Hmm?”   Her head tilts, having no restraint when her mouth tumbles out the innocent question. “Why is your face different from mine?”   “I didn’t always look like this,” you whisper like you’re revealing a deep secret. No one knows an ugly witch like you would be able to shed such sorrowful tears. “Aren’t you scared?”   Her soft, chubby hands hold your cheeks. Her smooth fingertips brush against the scales, the blisters and ulcers that ooze of pus, burnt flesh rough to the touch, crooked nose and melted features. Her doe eyes glimmer in fascination. “No. I’m not.”   She doesn’t care.   The child is curious if anything. Wonderment has filled her rounded irises, transfixed at how different you are, how unique it is. It’s here that the promise you’ve made in your mind has metamorphosed into an oath — you will protect her with your life. You will protect your daughter.   “Why would I be scared of my mama?”   “That’s right.” Your arms wrap around her, squeezing her into a warm hug. She giggles against your shoulder, sounds playful and muffled. You thank the heavens that she’s here with you.   //   Of course, the day does arrive as the prophecy foresees it.   Right before turning five, the girl is sick and bedridden, coughing blood out and unable to eat or drink. It’s your worst fear come alive, all the nightmares and worries you’ve had to this point flaring to life in one chaotic mess. It’s Jimin who calms you down and gets to work. He assigns himself to food duty, making sure the child has full meals even if she doesn’t want any, keeping her warm in blankets and giving her medication, seeking out the best in the town at any cost.   You focus on the magic aspect, spells and incantations, giving any blessings that it is possible in this universe, utilizing protection charms while murmuring her name. The vision you saw in the mirror all those years ago were of the child in the palace. All you hope for is that this drastic change you’ve taken has altered the course of her life as well.   For seven nights, you hold her through the worst coughing fits, through thundering storms, all while horrifyingly feeling the life drain away from her small frame. It’s miracle after miracle when you make it out after each night; the dawn symbolizing a new day. And it’s a miracle when she shows signs of recovery, albeit body weakened.   She is alive. Even after all the crying and cuddling, she’s alive and that’s all that matters.   You cry tears of joy and you and Jimin embrace each other, overwhelmed in relief.

The girl passes her sixth birthday healthy as a horse, happy as a clam, and that’s when Jimin brings something up, something that you had been avoiding and pushing away for so long.   “Y/N….”   “Hmm?”   “It’s been six years.” He meets your eyes, careful and while you have an inkling of what he’s going to say, you refuse to acknowledge it. “The prophecy said she would meet tragedy before five, right?”   “And?” You look away, continuing to fold her clothes that have been out in the sun all day.   “She…” Jimin blinks away the tears, tilting his head up to the ceiling. He inhales a breath. “She should go home.”   “This is her home.”   “Y/N.”   Your hands stop and you look down to the floor. The shadows seem to expand with the flames dancing back and forth in the fireplace. “You want to send her away? She’s our daughter.”   “She isn’t—”   “We raised her!” your shout echoes throughout the room and it’s only luck that she doesn’t come bumbling out from her bedroom, rubbing her eyes and whining at the noise. Your chest is rising and falling, hyperventilating and you tear your eyes away from his. “We held her when she was sick, we were here throughout all those nights, we fed her, we watched her grow up and now...now you want to send her away?”   As much as it hurts him, he still gently persuades you. “Jungkook is still looking for his daughter. Even after all these years.”   “It’s not right!” you cry out, despite knowing there’s no argument you can make, nothing you can say that would make what you’re doing right. “We can’t!”   “Jungkook and his wife miss her. We took her away from them. It’s not fair to them.”   “But...but...what are we supposed to do without her?”   He swallows the thick lump in his throat and walks, dragging his bad leg over towards you. “We’ll figure something out. It’s not like we won’t see her again.”   “We won’t.” The hunched man hugs you, your croaking voice muffled into his shoulder. “How will we see her again when I look like this?!”   “We’ll watch from afar,” he whispers, “And...we can visit sometimes in secret.”   “Jimin…” You weep, unable to bear the thought of giving your child away. It feels like you’re abandoning her.   “I know.” His back is hunched, but he still pats the top of your head gently, bringing your masked face to his chest, comforting you in spite of his own heartache. “I know it’s hard.”   You didn’t know this day would come so soon.   She is still much too young to send away, to send back, but you know she’s older than you think she is. Your hands can’t help the tremble as you button her up in the nicest jacket, combing her long hair to rest behind her shoulder, making her look as pretty as can be. She’s taller now, doe eyes that remind you too much of Jungkook sometimes, like a deer in headlights that make you laugh.   Except now, you’re crying.   “Mama, what’s wrong?”   “Nothing.” You wipe your face with the back of your hand. As much as Jimin tried to remain strong in his own convictions, he couldn’t do it. You know he’s suffering as much as you are. He simply kissed the top of her forehead, told her to be good and that they’ll see each other soon.   But the brave face he displayed has crumbled. The hunched man is locked in his room, refusing to leave. You’ve taken the liberty to bring her there, spare him of having to watch her walk away.   “Where are we going?”   She lifts her arms, stroking your tears away and you smile. “Somewhere.” The answer you give is vague, though she seems to not prod anymore and you take her small hand that barely wraps around yours. You can still remember when her hand used to wrap entirely around your finger and the memory doesn’t help when you’re trying not to break down into more sobs.   It’s the first time you truly bring her outside. In the past few years, Jimin has taken her to the garden out back, but she’s never been allowed to go beyond the forest line, where the trees begin to thicken. So when you guide her towards them, allowing her to go forth, she is fascinated.   The young girl laughs, giggles, all too giddy. Though when she looks up at you, she is made confused and scared at how quiet you are, simply giving her an endeared smile. You mask your emotions, holding her hand, taking her for a stroll around the forest, your home.   When you’ve collected yourself to say goodbye, you tell her to shut her eyes, murmuring your spell. She grins, loving your magic, and within three heartbeats, you’ve materialized in front of Jungkook’s castle. Even at a distance, standing on a grassy hill with no one watching, the scene in front of you sends pains towards your chest, constricting your breathing and making it hard to think.   The stone walls stand high, towers majestic. Your home….your old home...is still tall in the sky.   “Where are we, mama?”   You lower yourself down onto your knees. You hold her hands again. Your eyes lock into her’s. “Nari, listen to me, okay? That’s going to be your home from now on.” You point towards the castle and her eyes follow, bewildered.   “What about our home?”   “It’ll still be there, but you’re going to stay here from now on,” you calmly explain.   “And what about you?” The young girl searches your expression. “Are you coming with me?”   “No.” You force yourself to speak past the painful lump in your throat, keeping your gaze stern and unyielding. “No, I’m not.”   “You’re….leaving?” Her voice increases in pitch, expression rippling and all at once, her mouth downturns, vision flooded with saltwater, sniffling with her shoulders, legs trembling.   “You’re a good girl, Riah.” You sniffle, bulging eyes burning when you force the tears back. The words spew off your tongue, trying to say everything you want to before it’s too late. “Jimin and I, we love you very much, okay? You were the best thing that happened to the both of us. We’ll visit you again, don’t worry. I...I love you.”   You embrace her, arms wrapped around her small frame, pushing her to your chest. A few years ago, she was only a bundle of blankets. But now she’s a safe little girl with a long life ahead of her, the rightful princess of the kingdom. Her parents have been waiting for over half a decade and while she might forget about you someday, this is all for the best.   “No! D-Don’t...lea..ve...m..e…” Riah cries, wailing as teardrops spill down her cheeks like rain. She hiccups and begs, “Please! I-...I promise I’ll be g-g….ood from now on! So...don’t go! S-stay with me!”   She hangs onto you with all her might. You pry her grip off of you, standing. Your feet move on their own accord, away from her despite your steps being heavy. Eyes shut. Resisting the urge to cover your ears. Heartbeat thundering against your rib cage.   “Mom!” your daughter yells. “Don’t go!”   — “Don’t leave me!” —“Stay!”   //   Jimin sits in his silence. Defeated. He is at the table when the front door creaks open. His eyes are swollen red and he can’t feel his face, numb from the salt that poured down his cheeks.   “Y/N?” His voice is unrecognizable, hoarse from crying, form still shaking.   You enter inside, mask hiding your features, black cloak draping your body and hiding your head. You stand motionlessly in front of him. He asks you with a heavy heart, “y...you...did it?”   Before you can answer, there are padding footsteps behind you. Someone runs, a girl who’s still crying and she has no reservations, launching into his arms. Jimin barely manages to catch her, surprised and standing back with his limp leg. His crouched back aches, but he is wholeheartedly confused. The man looks at you before down at the girl.   She embraces him with an iron grip, scared to be taken again. “Dad!”   “I…” You lower your head, dejected, ashamed. “I couldn’t do it.”   You are weaker than you thought. You couldn’t bear letting her go.   Maybe you’re really evil and selfish after all.   Jimin sighs, not knowing what to do or say. He simply hugs the child back and after a long moment of cooing her, stopping her sobs, he ends up saying, “maybe...maybe next year.”   Next year never comes.   One by one her baby teeth fall out, replaced by an adult tooth, and you tell tales of a tooth witch that gives chocolate in exchange for the fallen tooth. In the morning, she’s bouncing around, showing off her sweet treat to you and Jimin that you had snuck in during the night.   She’s taught reading and writing by you while Jimin takes over lessons in math after he painstakingly watched you struggle to explain how to multiply. He also teaches her plants and natural sciences while you are assigned to history and magic on top of the others.   The child becomes taller, smarter, more independent. She is insisting on doing things on her own, like brushing her hair, and while it makes you sad that she’s growing up so quickly, you begin to let go. She becomes increasingly curious about the outside world as well, asking questions about the universe beyond the stone walls. While sometimes Jimin brings her to town with him, she is usually outside in his small garden or inside her room.   Despite isolating her from the rest of the world, you know it’s for her own protection.   But she’s not the only one who becomes older. Jimin becomes slower in movements, back more hunched, still refusing for you to use magic on him. So you help him using other remedies.   As for you, Riah’s independence allows you to tap back into magic, helping people fulfill their wishes. You watch as their greed destroys themselves — a servant girl who transforms herself for one night, ball gown and glass slippers, fooling a prince into infatuation, only to be left by him when he finds out her true identity. A miller’s daughter willing to sacrifice her newborn to spin straw into gold to get a king’s attention. A woman helped into marrying a bluebeareded man she does not love for his fortune, only to beg for your help again when she wants to be freed and take his riches.   Humans are disgusting. Ugly. You see it clearly now.   “I’m back!”   “Welcome home.” Jimin is at the table as usual and you shut the door, setting down your satchel and hanging up your black cloak.   “Where is she?”   “Oh, you know...around.” He smiles, continuing to chop the carrots, the even rhythm soothing to listen to.   “Everything was okay?’   “Yeah, same old.”   Right as you’re catching up with him, there are quick footsteps and the young woman you were speaking about comes waltzing in with a grin. “Good morning! I missed you!” She rushes over, giving you a quick squeeze with her arms. She pulls away, stealing a carrot slice from Jimin with a giggle and then grabbing an apple from the bowl before skipping back into her room.   It’s so quick. You blink and she’s gone.   “What was that?”   The hunched man laughs. “You tell me.”   Now that you think about it, she’s been so happy lately like she’s walking on clouds. “Did something happen?”   “No.” Jimin tips his head to the side, frowning and trying to think. He can’t come up with anything and shrugs. “It’s at least better than when she used to slam doors and stomp around.”   You laugh in agreeance, brushing past him. But Jimin’s eyes stray off and he immediately brings up his arm, knife dropping on the cutting board, hands curling around your wrist, stopping you. He flips your palm away from him, staring at how a leaf is stuck to your skin. “What happened?”   “Oh, it’s nothing.” You slip out of his grip. “It was from a wolf I encountered on the way back….”   “A wolf?!” His eyes are doubled in worry. “What in the world…”   “I grinded up some herbs that I had so, I’m fine.”   “Sit down,” he orders with a glare. “Right now.”   His command has you complaining, dropping down to the seat across the table. He takes out a small box from the upper shelf, full of bandages and gauzes. Jimin wipes off your makeshift dressing, his brows furrowed slightly, eyes lidded in concentration not to hurt you further.   He is much older now. You notice the longer you stare. His dark hair is marred by grey strands, wrinkles creasing his skin around his eyes and mouth where he usually smiles and laughs. But while he was becoming sluggish and easily tired, he is a calmer force than before.   “I know you think magic’s a good solution for everything, but sometimes all you need is some traditional medicine and a few bandages.” He pours a clear liquid over your split wound, the sting causing you to wince. He hums, acknowledging your reaction and becoming even gentler than he was before. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t scar.”   “It doesn’t matter if it does or not.” You have blisters and boils all over your hands anyways. “Do you think it’ll really make a difference?”   Jimin looks up at you, even if you’re still hidden behind the white mask. “So because you think it doesn’t make a difference, you’re willing to take stab wounds and stand in fire?” He scoffs at your ridiculousness, scolding, “I won’t let you get hurt.”   “Minah…”   “What?”   You gaze at him, eyes softening. “Do you ever want to leave?”   “What?” His hands stop.   “Aren’t you tired of me sometimes?” you murmur, “I mean, I’m tired of me. I want to leave me behind all the time. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to go somewhere else. You’ve already stuck by me for so long.”   “Are you trying to kick me out or something? Is that what you’re trying to say?” The corner of his mouth lifts and he looks down again, bandaging up your wound properly and neatly, skilled hands working.   “When you came with me, you wanted to live out adventures, but we don’t have any adventures anymore.”   “Raising Riah was the best adventure and every day with you is already an adventure. He smiles again, pupils flickering up to lock into yours, still holding your hand. “Pirates, wolves, goblins...there’s always exciting things in our lives.”   “Sorry—”   “I’m not going to leave, Y/N. I don’t want to leave. This is my home. Riah is part of my family. You are part of my family.” Jimin sighs. “I don’t know why even after all these years, you still think I’m going to get tired one day and up and leave you here.”   “It would be understandable if you did.”   “But that’s not what I want, lady!” He laughs, feeling like he’s talking in a circle. “Get it through your thick skull!”   Aren’t you tired of seeing my face? Aren’t you tired of being around something so ugly and unsightly? — You can’t bring yourself to ask the questions on the tip of your tongue.   Even with Jimin’s reassurance sometimes you feel scared. What you have is so fragile. It would take less of a curse, a spell, to have the people you love the most abandon you again.   “I’ll be back in six days.” As usual, now that you were back on your journey, it was time for him to go on his. Jimin is heading to town to stock up on a few necessities. It had been a while since he ventured into the outside world.   “Can you get me those charcoal pencils?” Riah asks with bright eyes.   “Course, I will, sweetheart.” He presses a light kiss to her forehead, smiling, before looking off at you. His eyes melt into a gentler gaze of unspoken affection. You return his smile. “I’ll be back soon.”   “Have a safe trip.”   “Bye!” The young girl waves at the doorway, sunlight hitting her skin, shadow painted across the floor. “Don’t forget!”   It’s underneath your skin — a feeling that it’s not right, that he shouldn’t go. Your heart is heavy, intuition screaming. But you push it back and away, turning around, letting him go anyhow.   “Have you eaten yet?”   “I already did!” Your daughter is chipper, ginormous smile nearly breaking her face. “You should eat if you haven’t. I think I’m going to go back to my room early. I’m in the middle of this book and it’s getting really exciting.”   “Is it now?” You smile. “Did something happen, Riah?”   “Something…?” Her head quirks, another smile, shyer, appearing on her features. Her cheeks deepen in hue and she shakes her head. “Not really.”   “Alright, go on then. But did you finish that homework book I assigned you to read?”   “I did,” she chimes and runs off.   It’s quieter without Jimin around. You eat and wind down by yourself, but you’re unable to shake the unsettled feeling. No matter how much time passes, you’re unable to whisk the emotion away.   In the middle of the night, you throw the covers off of yourself, slam the door to the tucked away room open and you look into the mirror. A reflection of smooth skin and shining eyes greets you. It’s the you before the curse, who smiled at the smallest thing, who was bursting with youth and happiness.   You dispel away the picture with the mutter of Jimin’s name. It shows you the image of him rested in the forest near a riverbank, safe and sound. Yet, the discomfort lingers and you call upon Jungkook’s name, finding him sleeping in his castle. Breaths stagger through your parted lips and you stalk the next thing you think of.   Footsteps pad against the cold floors. You shove open your daughter’s door.   The bed is empty. The window is wide open.   She is gone.   //   You wait patiently. There is nothing you can do but wait and hope for the best. In the back of your mind, you know you’re too scared of going to the mirror, of saying her name and witnessing a horrific image of where she might possibly be. So you wait.   It is the middle of twilight, hours later, that there is the sound of ruffling. There are soft giggles, a rope of yellow hairs thrown up to the open window, latching onto the window hook. She grips it and her hands clutch onto the window pane, pulling her body up. The girl notices the shadow in the corner. Her laughter dies in her throat.   She gasps. “Mom?!”   “Where did you go?” You emerge from the darkness, face twisted with anger. “Who was with you?!”   Your shout booms, causing her to flinch. But you are undeterred, pacing towards the window to get a look, only for her to block you with her body, arms open wide to prevent you. “Mom!”   You catch a silhouette running towards the thick tree lines and your eyes dart back towards her. “Who was that?! Where have you been going?!”   “I...I met someone, okay?”   “Who?”   “He says he’s a prince from the neighboring kingdom.”   “A prince?”   “Yes.” She smiles, breathless, looking up at you. The young girl holds your hand in her’s, and she searches your expression, speaking earnestly, “he’s great, mom. He’s the sweetest and kindest boy I’ve ever met.”   “Where did you even meet him?”   “I met him in town once when I was with dad and then I ran into him in the forest again.”   “You’ve been in the forest without my permission?!”   “Mom…”   “And you think it’s okay to go running back into the forest in the middle of the night like this?! Do you know what’s out there?! There are wolves and humans and horrible—”   “It’s okay.” She exhales, grin swelling into her rosy cheeks. “He said he’s going to protect me.”   “Don’t be so stupid!” You throw her grip off of you and she stumbles back in surprise. “You think he would save you if push comes to shove?! He wouldn’t. How long have you been seeing him?”   “I-I don’t know….for a while now.”   You’re speechless. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to say. You’re in need of someone calmer, who can re-direct you in the midst of your overwhelming emotions and fears — you need Jimin. But he isn’t here.   So, you take a deep breath, finger coming to point towards her.   “You are not to see him again.”   You shove past the girl, closing the windows and locking the latch, drawing the curtains in a rough motion.   “Mom!”   “I don’t know why you ever thought it was a good idea hiding this from us for so long, but we never talk to strangers. What have I taught you? We never believe what someone tells us. We never leave in the middle of the night and go into the forest if we want to stay alive.”   “He’s not a stranger!” The girl pants, chasing after you. “He’s nice and kind and—”   Your heel twists around, eyeing her. “And you believe that?!”   “Yes, I do!” She is too certain in her convictions. “I love him.”   You are shocked, taken back, and you shake your head with a scoff. “Love?”   “I love him.”   “And does he love you?!” You’re shrieking at her in a high-pitched voice worth ringing ears, ready to pull out the remains of your hair, like a true witch driven to madness and wickedness.   “He said he’s going to marry me,” she argues back at you, saddened by your reaction, hurt by your tone.   “He’s a liar.”   “You haven’t even met him yet,” she disputes. “If you just met him, I know you would love him—”   “What did I tell you? We don’t believe in that kind of love,” you plead with the girl, softening your voice to get her to understand. “You don’t put your trust into princes or knights or men for that matter. No one will save you or protect you. They will betray you—”   “I’m not a child anymore!”   “I know that.”   “You’re treating me like I am one.”   “Because you are acting like one.” You’re frustrated and angered beyond belief. No matter what you say, she doesn't listen. You feel like you’ve failed as a parent. “You don’t know anything about the world. You are terribly naive and hopeful and the world out there,” you spit the syllables out, finger coming to point out the window, “it will crush you.”   “M-mom…” She cries, face rippling into tears, mouth downturning, brows knitted together, choking out sobs.   “I don’t know who planted these ideas into your head, these ideas about love…” You whip yourself around, not sparing her another glance. “You are not to see him again, do you understand me? Now get to bed this instant.”   The door slams.   You’re hyperventilating on the other side, back pressed against the wall. You can hear her the sounds of her crying, leaking from the crack of the door. Your tough and stern façade crumbles. It morphs into anguish, anxiousness, doubt, fear. You don’t know what to do.   I love him.   Your worst nightmare has come alive.   //   It is silent between the two of you for the next few days that pass.   You refuse to talk any further on the subject. Riah gives you the cold shoulder. You put her on house arrest, supervising her closely and keeping an eye on the girl without allowing her to take one step outside. It’s drastic measures you’ve taken, but it’s for her own good.   She just doesn’t know it yet. But one day, she’ll thank you.   It’s your job as a mother to protect your child. You’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.   Though the anxiousness you have never dissipates even when you’ve gone this far. Your hair is standing on its end. A sea of goosebumps have never left your flesh. Your intuition still pricks the back of your mind. You spend more time in front of the mirror than you have in the past eighteen years, but it’s to make sure Jimin is safe and sound.   You never monitor him so intently before, though it makes you feel a bit better to see that he’s gotten to town without being harmed. You even catch him splurging on charcoal pencils, making you smile and prepare a lecture. But contrary to your instincts, nothing seems amiss.   You look to see if there’s a new prophecy. After all, you’ve single-handedly changed fate, freeing a child from the grips of death. Altering destiny can create calamity, but when you murmur a spell in front of the shimmering reflection, there is nothing. There are no prophecies. Only conjured images of a cozy cottage that’s been abandoned in the middle of a meadow.   A garden of flowers — Tulips. Daffodils. Carnations. Sunflowers. Lilies. Baby’s Breath.   It serves to confuse you more.   You haven’t grown flowers in decades.   “Riah.” You knock on her door, having given her more space to make her less upset. “Are you going to come for dinner or not? The food’s getting cold.”   There are thirty heartbeats of silence. You knock again.   “Nari, answer me right this instant.”   Nothing. You throw the door open. The windows are left slightly ajar, curtains blowing in the breeze. The ties you made around them are torn to the ground. But instead of the bed being empty like a few nights ago, she is here, sitting on the edge of it, back turned towards you.   “You left again?!” You go berserk, blowing a gasket in your brain, feeling blind sighted.   Yet, she ignores your rage, whispering, “When I was six...where did you bring me?”   “What?” You frown, wondering why she’s suddenly bringing this up. “What’s the matter?”   “Where did you bring me?” she repeats and turns away to face you, tears flooding her vision, hatred burning in her eyes.   “I—...don’t remember what you’re talking about.”   “You were going to leave me!” Her voice increases in volume into a yell and she gets onto her feet, unleashing her rage. “Why didn’t you?!”   You’re confused, in disbelief, mind turning numb. “You asked to stay.”   “Because I didn’t know any better!”   Her screams reverberate, hitting against your ear drums. There’s a moment of quiet.   “Where is this coming from, Riah?” you murmur, “Where did you go?”   “You lied to me,” she spits much to your horror, enunciating every syllable pointedly with a burden attached to them. “You really thought I wouldn't have found out? You really thought you could’ve hid it from me? I’m the lost princess. You...you were the witch that stole me away.”   Silence.   “It’s true, isn’t it?” The girl with the dark hair and doe eyes shakes her head, crying, but less in sorrow and more in angry betrayal. She asks as if you would tell her she’s mistaken. But you don’t say anything. The words have caught in your windpipe. He had told her — the prince or whomever she is meeting with must’ve spoken about this old tale haunting the kingdom. She must remember — you bringing her in front of the castle at six-years old, ready to let go, recalling your conversation with Jimin that she had eavesdropped in without knowing what was going on.   Whatever the case may be, she has grown old enough, smart enough to fit the puzzle pieces together. And you cannot deny the picture she has painted for you — lost princess stolen away by the evil witch.   “It’s true, isn’t it?!”   “Yes.”   Her sobs deepen, heart wrenching, agonizing, and she shakes her head, not wanting to believe it. “When….w-when were you planning to tell me?”   “I don’t know.”   “Were you planning on keeping it a secret forever?!”   “I….don’t know.” You take a step and she backs up into the corner. “Riah…”   “Don’t touch me!” Her eyes narrow, tone sharp, glaring at your monstrous appearance. “You’re disgusting.”   You’re at a loss, calling her name in vain.   “You kept me trapped here. You didn’t let me go outside farther than the forest. You stole me away from my parents!”   “I did it for your own protection—”   “From what?!” She shouts in hysterics, teeth gritted, jaw clenching. “I’m not your prisoner! You can’t manipulate me and lie to me! My entire life….my entire life is a lie!”   “I can explain.” You follow after her when she begins to walk away, putting a distance away from you when your presence is unbearable to her. “I did it to save your life. I had no other choice. You were going to die if it weren’t for me—”   She stops, twisting herself around. “Then you should’ve just let me die!”   “H-how could you say that?!”   “Did you really think you did this all for me? No. It was for you and your selfish wants.”   “Where are you going?” you beg her when she begins to pack her clothes, throwing open her wardrobe and grabbing her satchel in the corner, a birthday gift from Jimin from many years ago.   “Away from you!”   “I never trapped you,” you attempt to reason, feeling too helpless, doing anything you can to get her to stay. “I let you go free. I let you—”   Your daughter shoves you away, out of her proximity. When she faces you, there is only loathing and spite in her expression. “You stole me away from my mother.”   “You think that woman is your mother?” Against your will, tears begin to trickle down your hollowed cheekbones, through the twisting cracks of your reddened flesh. “I was the one who took care of you. I fed you. I clothed you. I bathed you. That woman is only your mother in name, only because she birthed you out. But it was me who did everything else. I was the one who raised you.”   “You stole me away from her!” She shrieks. “She never had a chance to raise me!”   “You are my daughter. And I love you. No one in this world can change that, not even you!”   “I am not your daughter! I don’t have a mother like you! You are nothing more than a witch.” The girl is bitter, stepping back, weeping into her palms, hair shielding away her face when she downcasts her head, refusing to look at you. “You took me away from what was supposed to be mine. The life I was supposed to have. You lied to me! You betrayed me.”   The silence is painful. When she brushes past you, your hand reaches out, grabbing hold of her hand. “You can’t leave. No, Riah, please!”   “Let go of me!”   “If you go with him, do you really think he’ll love you? He won’t.” You’ve seen what happens when people put too much hope in love. You don’t want her to turn into the mermaid who threw herself into the sea after being heartbroken. You don’t want her to become abandoned like you were.   So as she struggles against your hold, you plead with her to stay with you. You drop down to your knees, an iron grip holding her hand, begging her to stay, or at least until Jimin returns and he can get to her, more than you could ever be able to. “Riah...I love you.”   “You don’t!”   “I do. No one….no one can love you more than I do.” This child that you’ve raised for the past eighteen years, that you love so dearly, is a part of your family. You held her when she was an infant, held her when she became sick, brushed her hair, fed her, watched her take her first steps towards you. You will always love and protect this child of yours. “Please...don’t go.”   But she pries your dirty fingers off of you with disdain. “Watch me.”   The door slams shut as she takes another step — your magic lingering in the air.   You can’t let her go.   “I won’t let you leave. I...can’t.”   The door knob does not move. The satchel slides off her shoulder, thumping on the ground. She is trapped with four walls around her, bird in a cage, mouse underneath a box. Her hands lift into her hair, the dark strands filling the gaps between her fingers. She tugs on them and screams at the top of her lungs in suffocation. The girl cowers over, shrieking, blood-curdling at the back of her throat. The cries are more horrific than when you stole her away as a baby.   //   There is incessant banging on the surface of the door.   There are calls out to you, begging to be released. You pace, fragile teeth biting against your molded fingernails, not knowing what to do. If you open the door, she’ll leave, so you can’t. You don’t want to lose her. What you need is Jimin — he’ll know how to talk to her, how to get her to calm down, how to get her to understand.   You wait for him, but the stranger from nights ago comes wandering back, ignorant in his confident strides. Your daughter shouts for him, fists hitting against the window until her skin bruises blue. “I’m here! I’m up here!”   He doesn’t hear her.   Instead, the stranger stumbles back when you step into the sunlight. Your features appear like they’re melting off of your peeling face, eyes bulging out of their socket, mouth lopsided, nose hooked and crooked. Maggots are eating away at your decaying flesh, flaps of it hitting against your muscle tissue, like a snake halfway through shedding. The blisters and open sores are oozing of yellow pus, hair stark white and part of your scalp burnt, turned into shades of purple.   You’re disfigured and he is horrified with your face, sickened to his stomach when he looks at you. Scared. Hateful. Loathing. Nauseated. It’s now that you remember why you’ve isolated yourself, why people are never to be trusted, why your life has so much misfortune.   It’s people like him who made you suffer like this. People who don’t know you. People who don’t spare compassion or pity, even in the moments that you need it the most.   The young prince draws his silver sword. “Stand back, witch!”   “Leave!” Your hands fly into the air, bursts of light coming from your fingertips. You hiss at the man, chasing him away, “Leave! Don’t come back!”   “No!” Your daughter screams from her locked room. “NO!”   But you never curse him. You never use any spells or jinxes.   You simply scare him away, allowing him to stagger back into the forest like a coward. And when you return back, crying fills the abandoned castle that’s been your home for decades.   This is it.   You’re about to lose everything, everything you have created after being abandoned and left.   The home you’ve built and protected is now exposed to outsiders. The daughter you raised and love looks at you with eyes of loathing and hatred. It is silent — and you find yourself alone.   //   The news spreads like wildfire, out of your control. The man you chased away who is indeed a prince, gathers troops and guards to save Riah. Within a day, the rumours have spread that the girl is the lost princess, the lost daughter of the king and queen. It sparks enough hope after so many years of silence that Jungkook gathers his own army and sets out on this promising news. He leaves his wife behind, going to see for himself if the rumours are true or not.   They carry with them torches and swords, bows and arrows, riding on horses, marching through the forest. There are only so many protection spells and barriers you can put up. If your home is revealed and they know the path, they can walk straight through the shields, waltz into your home and spear you with their weapons once and for all.   Jimin catches wind of the town’s murmurs, of the awful witch who had cursed many, who cause people’s eyes to bleed when they look upon her, who ruthlessly kidnapped the child of the kingdom. And he comes running back. You’re sure he’s not going to make it on time, but as you watch him through the reflection of the mirror, you’re glad he’s out of the way.   At least you get to spare him from the tragedy that was to come.   You sit alone in the castle, putting on your mask to keep the last shreds of your dignity. Waiting as the troops advance forward. Waiting for the night to come.   You’ve accepted it. You’ve evaded death enough times and you’re glad that you fought for so long. If you hadn’t, you would’ve never had the opportunity to raise a child, to find so much happiness in someone who accepts you. It’s going to be perfect too. The lost princess will be saved by the prince who’s infatuated by her beauty. The evil witch who took her away will suffer the consequences and be killed.   It’ll be a happily ever after….   The door slams open as your eyes shut. “They’re here! They’re a few miles away!”   “Jimin?” You frown and he throws his body forward, grabbing your hand, forcing you to stand up on your feet again. “What are you doing here? I….I thought you were still far away.”   He looks around in panic. “Where’s Riah?”   “Jimin.”   “Where is she?” When you don’t say anything, he shakes you, hands gripping your shoulders. “Y/N! We need to go, right now!”   You hug him. You lean your weight forward, falling into his arms. Jimin staggers back onto his bad leg, instinctively coming to wrap his arms around you, cradling your frame. You hold him close to you, head on his shoulder, taking in his scent that reminds you of home.   “Riah wants to leave….I...I locked her in her room. They’re coming to save her.”   “What happened?” He catches his breath, heartbeat slowing.   “I don’t know, but you should go.” You swallow hard and release him from your grips, pushing him towards the door. “Thank you for staying with me for so long.”   “I’m not going anywhere.”   “Leave me here.” You turn away from him. “Go before they come.”   “Y/N. I’m not going.”   “LEAVE!”   The roar that escapes the pit of your stomach has the window trembling in their panes. The walls vibrate. The air shifts. But Jimin stands his ground, despite your wrathful command.   “I’m not going anywhere! Let….let me protect you.”   You break down into sobs. Jimin takes three wide strides and holds you again. He wraps himself securely around you, murmuring, “let me protect you this time.”   The two of you wait for them to arrive.   You stop running, reaping what you have sowed, taking the consequences of the crimes that you had committed, while Jimin remains by your side. Soon enough, the eerie silence is replaced by shouts and horses calling from the back. They’re confused by the empty clearing, but as they continue forward, they are stopped by an invisible barrier.   They notice the ripples of the shield, the way the air seems to billow and someone commands them to fight, to break it through sheer force.   Jimin turns and holds you by your shoulders, locking his eyes into yours. “I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t do anything and just stay here.”   You nod and he runs into another room. But with a deep breath, you go against his will. You have to protect her. With a wave of your hand, you allow the prince through. He stumbles past the barrier and despite his soldiers shouting at him not to go forth, he draws his sword and runs.   The prince bursts through the doors with ease and he stares at you, put on guard. “Stand back before I kill you!” You stare at the tip of his weapon, wondering what it’ll feel like to be impaled by it. “Where is she?!”   The barrier outside finally shatters. There are screams of the troops. You point to the room where the girl is still banging on the locked door. “There.”   He rushes over and kicks it down.   “Come on, let’s go!” He shouts at her, dragging her away with little regard for you.   “W-wait!” Riah cranes her head over, looking at you in distress, stare on yours.   But her prince tugs on her arm. “There’s no time!”   “I’m sorry for lying to you.” You watch as she gets pulled away and you gaze at her one last time. You remember — the rosy cheeks, button nose, gooey smile, cooing laugh. The bundle that you held in your arms, the infant that would always cry when you set her down.   The way she rolled over for the first time. The babbling. The crawling.   “Come on, Riah. Take one more bite for me! It’s good for you! It’s carrots! It’ll make you grow big and strong. Jimin won’t be happy if you don’t eat it. It took a lot of work for him to grow it.”   The toddler finally looks at you and points at your face. “Mama!”   The way he encouraged her softly and she lifted her arms off the chair, stumbling like a drunkard towards Jimin’s open arms, one leg in front of the other. “Yay! You did it!”   “Why is your face different from mine?” — “I didn’t always look like this. Aren’t you scared?” — “No. I’m not. Why would I be scared of my mama?”   “Where are we going?” — “Mom! Don’t go!” You remember how Riah cried, wailing as teardrops spilled down her cheeks like rain. She hiccuped and begged. She hanged onto you with all her might. Your daughter yelled out to you. “Don’t leave me!” — “Stay!”   And here you are. Finally. You are letting her go.   But she will always be your daughter that you love, that you will protect. “I love you.”   She is pulled away, out the door without a single word spoken to you. Gone.   Your hand lifts and the doors automatically lock. A few heartbeats later, soldiers are storming the castle, beating down the surface, causing the ceiling to crumble, the walls to shake. The horrible sounds of their destruction ricochet. You shut your eyes and ears until—   “It’s a dragon!”   There are ear-splitting screams. Through the window, you see the magnificent beast. Tangerine scales shimmer all over its body, breathing fire towards the troops, but never harming them, only scaring them away. The rumble of the ancient castle walls cause the mirror in your tucked away room to fall to the ground, shattering into pieces. The rest of your potions spill, glass rolling off the shelves and cracking into fragments.   The empty bottle that Jimin had drunk from bursts into sparkling particles, jewels he could never gift to you.   He fights, not backing down, and with an inhale, you gain his courage, calling upon a storm. Your feet are rooted into the floor, using any spells and jinxes to ward off the men. The windows break with the force of the whistling wind. The debris comes sweeping into your surroundings, a tornado that whips through the remains of your hair and clothing. The furniture of your home is flipped and damaged. The screams sing above the symphony of the pandemonium.   The castle is decaying. Your home is falling apart. You want it to stop.   The doors burst open and the soldiers scour every inch, searching to kill this evil witch and return their world back to peace.   “Enough!” you yell at the top of your lungs, above the winds, voice echoing through the hallways. “Jimin! That’s enough!”   You rip the mask off your face. The old white plastic falls to your feet. You gaze upon the destruction you’ve created, the sins you have committed in this lifetime.   “Stop. this.”   “Kill the witch!” — the soldiers shout at each other — “Kill the witch!” — they stalk the noise of your croaking cries — “Kill the witch!”   One of them finds you first. The victor of the witch hunt sees you, smiling triumphantly as they point their weapon at your defenseless body. And they shoot. The nose is deafening in your ears. The arrow fires, warbling the wind, twirling in the air. It punctures straight through your abdomen.   You gasp for air, stumbling back. Your head downcasts, looking down at the wound. Red stains your brown rags, seeping through your clothing, spreading like watercolour on a canvas. You wheeze.   “Y/N!” Jimin screams, coming through the window and morphing back into human form, feet touching the ground first, transformation reverting, billowing through his body. He limps towards you, catching your body in his arms as it falls.   He has become burnt all along his left side, leg dragged behind him, injured. The colour of carmine drips from his head, staining his skin and the ground beneath you. His head aches, vision fading, but he keeps his grip firm and secure.   “Stop!”   There is a familiar, smooth voice. A hand held in the air prevents the guards around from further attacking. Your neck cranes with the last of your energy and the corners of your mouth lift. He looks older than you remember, though some things never change. Even if the ashes from the battle have pressed into his skin, his dark hair, his brown doe eyes are the same. You missed him.   You missed his warm touch, the scent of the sea, the life you could’ve shared with him.   You missed it.   “It’s you again….”   His arm drops. He remembers.   It is difficult to speak when only shallow breaths can be taken. “J-Jungkook….”   Your home is falling apart. The castle is giving out, the last of its strength being tested. The fires on the roof and all around you is spreading. The warmth of those flames and their smoke are beginning to envelop you. The soldiers stay behind him, having stopped on his command.   Jungkook looks you in your eyes.   Your dying breaths dwindle. Jimin holds you close to him, tired of fighting.   You smile at Jungkook one last time. The corners of your mouth lifting with love and compassion. His sword drops in a clang. And his own lips fall, horrified. This time, it’s not because of your face, but finally, in your last moments, Jungkook finally realizes that it’s you.   You tilt your head up towards Jimin who’s still holding you, embracing your body.   “D...on’t….look...at...m..e...I’m...s-s….o…..ugly….”   “No, you aren’t.” He laughs softly and breathlessly, gazing at you with endearment, stroking your cheek with his hand. “You’re beautiful.”   You smile even wider than before. His hair shags down over his forehead, cheeks swelling with a gentle smile, eyes crinkled into half moons, cute giggles leaving through his throat even in such a situation. You are monstrous. In your life, people have made you suffer when all you wanted was someone to show you kindness, to understand your pain, to empathize.   And Jimin was that person for you.   He’s not the love of your life. Your soulmate. Your one true love.   But that doesn’t change the fact that you love him. You love him not because of any rush of infatuation or any monarch butterflies that have taken refuge in your stomach, not because of any spark that had ignited when you set your sights on him. You love him because he is here by your side, because he has always been here to help you, to support you, for you to lean on.   He had always chosen to stay with you. And you have always chosen to love him.   Your hand trembles as it lifts to hold his cheek and he reaches down, kissing you. It’s a soft brush of the lips, gentle and plush. He chokes out a soft laugh pulling away. It isn’t true love’s kiss. The spell is never broken. You’re still disfigured, but he doesn’t care. He sees far beneath it.   It is difficult to murmur on your dying breath. You are slumped to the ground, eyes piercing into his. You sob with the last of your diminishing energy, the scarlet hues spreading through your clothes and drenching them.   The winds howl and shriek. The leaves outside rustle to the hurricane, whispering their woes and eulogies of sympathy. Flowers rip from the ground, caught in the tornado, bouquets that act as a tribute to honour your memory. The universe bears witness, pandemonium acting as a prayer...   You whisper lowly, making your final curse out of sadness and happiness.   “F-for showing...a witch...so much...undeserving kindness….I curse you...Jimin...to be with me...forever….in an endless sleep….and in..dreams...live...the life...we’ve always wished for…”   He smiles. “It would be my greatest honour.”   There is a burst of light. The soldiers and Jungkook shields their eyes away, too pained to look at it. When the light diminishes, and they look back, sunspots and sparks dance around the room, flickering like fire, moving like fireflies. They weave through you and Jimin, eyes closed, both fallen asleep….   Finally at peace.

… ..   It’s a cozy cottage in the middle of the meadow.   Puffs leave the chimney, a fire crackling inside and keeping the modest and comfortable space toasty. On the outside, there are tulips, daffodils, carnations, lilies, baby’s breath. Seeds are sowed into the ground, waiting to see what is reaped, what blooms.   The lovely florals already rooted deep into the dirt are abundant in petals, rich in colour — pink, yellow, blue, indigo. They are pastels that are strong in hues before fading into a fainter shade in their teardrop shape. The soft fragrances cling onto clothing and bed sheets left hung on the clothesline.   The sunshine is beaming, weather warm and sky azure with the gentlest of breezes kissing against cheeks. It is peaceful, a feeling of contentment bursting through the dreamy atmosphere.   The door opens from the outside.   You’re returned to your old self again, eyes and ears as they should be, hair and skin no longer falling off your body. Even your voice is normal again, not the croaking sound that you weren’t familiar with. But you walk right past the shimmering mirror, not paying it any time of day.   “Jimin! You’re taking up too much space in the garden again!”   Your hands are on your hips, foot tapping in impatience. He’s halfway through eating his soup, sitting at the small round table by the glass windows halfway between the living room and the kitchen. He puts down his spoon. “What is it now, lady?”   “Your carrots are in the way of my tulips!”   “Why do you even plant tulips? We can’t eat them!”   “Flowers are prettier than your radishes,” you argue in a calmer voice, but your tolerance is running thin. “If your garden was just full of your plants, it would just look like shrubs.”   But of course the boy has to sass you back, “if our garden was full of your flowers, we would have nothing to eat.”   “Hey!”   He stands up from his seat with a grin all too amused with the banter and he approached slyly to wrap his arms around your waist. He is not injured, no bad leg or hunched back, no scar twisting up the side of his body. Jimin is healthy as can be and looks less like a henchman and more like your aggravating, stupid husband.   “Fine, fine. I’m sorry, alright?” Jimin plants a kiss on the tip of your nose, his softened gaze dripping of endearment. “Next time, I won’t plant so many carrots. But lower your voice, okay? Or else you’re going to wake up our baby and I just put him down for a nap.”   You pout, giving in. “Fine.”   “That’s my good girl.”   “Psh.” Your hand reaches down, taking his hand and he wears an idiotic grin, happily lacing his fingers through yours. There’s not a single regret he has on being here, being with you like this. And you don’t have a worry that he wants to be somewhere else, that he will leave. “I love you.”   “About time,” he teases. “I know I’m charming, but you were really starting to worry me there with how long it was taking for that confession.”   You scoff, moving to elbow his stomach, but he avoids it swiftly with a laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”   Jimin hums, quirking his head to the side. “I love you too.”   “You better. We have a kid together.”   He giggles and when your banters subside, your head is rested on his shoulder, his arms around your torso. You both stare out the window to the flourishing garden. It’s beautiful and a serene sight and you could relish in this moment endlessly.   It doesn’t matter what you look like. Jimin will be by your side, a comforting presence, someone to lean on, even if he annoys you like crazy sometimes. And it doesn’t matter what he looks like to you, bad leg or no bad leg. As long as you’re together, this place is your heaven.   “Jimin…”   “Hmm?”   “Did you fix that hole in the roof yet? The one that’s been leaking water into the bathroom.”   “......oops.”   “Jimin!” You laugh and he giggles sheepishly.   This is what it should have been. No magic. No curses. It’s plain and mundane, but this is all you could have wished for.   This is your fairy tale ending.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #bts angst #jimin fanfic #jimin angst #OC AS PRINCESS OF THE NATION #JEON JUNGKOOK AS A HANDSOME PRINCE #BTS PARK JIMIN AS THE THIRD CHILDHOOD FRIEND AND WAS A PESANT BOY #IS THIS A LOVE TRIANGLE? GUESS YOU'LL HAVE TO FIND OUT (unless you read it already lol) #oOoooOOOoh #i beat my record - this is the longest oneshot ive written yet #beat Devil's Own Luck by 700 words #oops #i was gonna split it but it just broke the flow so nah #listen if this clogs your dash - that means you're on the app on mobile where the read more thing doesnt work #and i just gotta ask - what the heck are you doing on the trash app??? #IT'S NOT MY FAULT ALRIGHT? #TAKE IT UP WITH TUMBLR

[ddaenggtan]

forever rain | knj - teaser

Being dead isn't anything exciting. Just a lot of walking the same halls of the same apartment day after day after day. Things change when the new tennant arrives, though. Kim Namjoon isn't anything you could have expected; not the way he's so careful and gentle with his plants because he breaks so many other things, not the way his friends joke that he's psychic because you refuse to let him get in the face one time, and certainly not the way he comes home after literal months spent moving things away from table edges for him and announces that he knows he's being haunted and he has some questions for you. You didn't know ghosts could fall in love, but he makes you feel alive again, like you're standing in the rain while thunder crashes around you. You should've known nothing good would come of falling in love with someone living, though. You should've known that heartbreak was the only way this could end...that the rain doesn't last forever. 

part of the Love Yourself Collab, please please please go check out the other fics. Everyone involved is so freaking talented and I have been vibrating out of my skin with how excited I’ve been to read all of these. 

pairing | kim namjoon x reader (unspecified gender, even!)

genre/warnings | ghost!reader, slight fluff, there are a lot more for the actual fic so definitely read those when it comes out, i’m not kidding i definitely want you to come and yell at me in my ask when you finish it, but pls don’t send things about what happens bc ur mad about it bc u didn’t read the warnings, y’all are a smart bunch but i know firsthand how skipping warnings can punch u in the gut so just,,,,,,,read the warnings on the full fic lmao

a/n | this is just a teaser for the full fic which is gonna post,,,,,,,,,,,,at some point lmao who knows i haven’t actually decided yet!!! yay me!!!! hahahaha stress!! it’ll definitely go up on my ao3 as well, so if you have alerts on for me there, you’ll get notified that way! for now, have this! and don’t kill me when the rest comes out!!

The creak of the front door pulls you from your thoughts, and the echo of a voice makes you narrow your eyes. Your first instinct is to slam some windows to scare off whoever's in your apartment, but you repress the urge. You'd die of boredom if you could die again, and whoever this is could provide a few hours' entertainment at the least.

You pop your head through the bathroom wall to see what's going on, and wow, who let an actual giant into your apartment? Fucking with the pipes could definitely wait for this guy.

"I know it's last minute, yeah," He says into the phone that's held carefully between his cheek and shoulder. His arms are loaded down with boxes and he's angled away from you just enough that you can't see his face, but he's tall and broad and wearing what looks like the world's comfiest sweater, and you want to badly to wrap yourself up in him. "But you know Joon needs the help. Don't pretend you aren't constantly willing to put off your thesis, I know for a fact that you went out to look at stationery with Tae last week, and everyone knows that's the most boring thing on the planet."

He's quiet, listening to the soft crackle of a voice from the other end. You slide through the wall completely, hovering as close as you dare to try and hear what the other person is saying. Tall, Broad, and Comfy scoffs.

"He can stare at one sheet of paper for at least ten minutes, Yoongi. Do I need to remind you of the time he spent an entire fucking hour debating which set of holiday scrapbook to buy because, and I quote, 'this one has the really nice rose pattern on it that would look great with the invitations, but, oh, look at the pinstripes in this one!'" His voice morphs into what you guess is an approximation of whoever Tae is, and you laugh at the high-pitched, nasally tone.

Tall and Broad spins, eyes narrowing as he looks around the room, and fuck, he's literally gorgeous. You've never seen someone more attractive in your life or your death and it would probably knock the wind out of you if you actually had breath. Comfy McGorgeous turns back around and sets the stack of boxes in the corner, continuing his tirade about Tae and stationery while simultaneously trying to talk Yoongi into coming, you assume, to help Joon move. You don't know who any of these people are, but they're already proving to be the most entertaining bunch that's ever graced these walls.

The door to your apartment flies open, making both you and Boyfriend Material whip your head around.

"Christ, Jin, you couldn't hold the fucking door open for us?" Someone grunts. Beauty Von Softness - or, Jin, as you should probably refer to him - winces and strides over to do just that as two more guys stagger in with a couch suspended between them. The second they're in the door they drop it to the ground and flop onto it, panting and sweaty.

"Listen, I was busy trying to get our resident hermit out of his cave to help us carry some of this shit," Jin spits back. "And you all know what it's like getting him out and about."

"Did you tell him that there's pizza after we're done? Because I've found that food is the best motivator for him," the guy closest to the door says. His hair is soft-looking and long and you wish you could pet it.

The other guy, the one who cursed Jin out and has the softest pink hair you've ever seen, laughs. "Jeongguk, you always think the best motivator is food."

"Well, yeah, because it is."

"For you, maybe. Other people require actual rewards."

"But food is a reward," Jeongguk mutters into the fabric of the couch. Jin tsks and smacks As Yet Unnamed on the back of the head.

"You're lucky I hung up on him when you bombarded your way into this place, or he'd definitely not come help us," Jin says as he leans against the back of the couch.

Unnamed starts to say something else but is cut off by someone running straight into the end of the couch. They all shoot to their feet, spouting apologies as the three of them maneuver the couch into the apartment properly.

"Sorry, sorry, Jimin distracted us from properly finishing our job," Jeongguk says quickly. He looks to the stranger with a small apologetic smile, and you're pretty sure if it were humanly possible, there would be actual literal stars in his eyes.

"Oh, it's okay, Jeonggukkie. I should've been looking where I was going." New Challenger walks straight towards where you stand, and you realize seconds before it's too late that he is not aware there is a massive stack of boxes in his path. Instinctively, you shove them to the side with your foot. Tall And Oblivious sets his boxes down without any trouble, none the wiser about any of it, and the three near the couch are too busy bickering in hushed whispers to have noticed you doing anything.

The newcomer straightens and turns to look at them all with a bright smile, and you think you might actually see The Light in the way his cheeks dimple. If you thought the other three were beautiful - which they are, no doubt about that, you're seriously wondering why the hell a bunch of supermodels are moving stuff into your apartment - then this guy is easily an Actual Fucking God or something. His brown hair is soft and shiny, his smile is warmer than the sun, and you're fairly positive that for the first time since you died, you feel goosebumps along your arms.

"Seriously, Namjoon, we should've realized you'd be up soon. You stay, start unpacking while we go get the rest of the furniture." Jimin shoves Jeongguk out the door while he's speaking, ignoring the taller's complaints, and Jin just shakes his head at the sight.

"Yoongi'll be here soon, he's finishing up another draft of his thesis. Hobi and Tae are stopping to get the pizzas and then they'll be here, too." Jin's voice is calmer than it was Jimin and Jeongguk, more soothing, and it makes you curious. Not only because of the tone change, but because you know Hobi, he owns the building and is the one who rented you the apartment when you first moved in. One of your favorite things to do is scare him when he comes by to make sure everything’s ready for a viewing.

"What? No, I said I was gonna pay for pizzas!" Namjoon looks distinctly more upset about this than someone should over not having to pay for pizza, at least in your mind, and it only makes you more curious.

"Yeah, but you also just moved out of your old apartment because it was too expensive, and had like an hour to load everything into a truck, so you're gonna let their trust fund asses pay for pizzas. We're seven adult men, and Guk could eat an entire horse and still be hungry. I'm not letting you pay for that."

Silence hangs in the apartment for a while before Namjoon gives a soft thanks to Jin. They share a smile before Jin makes his way back out. You follow each step, shadowing him all the way to the door before you're stopped. You lean your entire body forward, struggling against the invisible barrier keeping you inside, and the force of it nearly slams you back into the wall when you sag in defeat.

You aren't sure why you try anymore, but you know yourself well enough to admit that you're not going to stop until you can at least make it to the hallway.

#namjoon fanfiction #rm fanfiction #bts fanfiction #namjoon smut #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #rm smut #rm angst #rm fluff #namjoon x reader #rm x reader #reader insert #clumsy namjoon #namjoon fanfic #bts fanfic #rm fanfic #unspecified gender reader #love yourself collab #ghost reader #character death #whump #ddaenggtan

[needdl]

NejitenMonth Day 7: Amnesia

Available on FFN and AO3

-----

It had been three weeks now since Tenten’s boyfriend had abruptly dumped her, and now he apparently had already forgotten their entire seven-month relationship.

Tenten watched him dully as he smiled down at the woman he’d been seeing a lot recently- Kumi, she’d heard. And she knew that it could have been her just being jealous, but she knew his stupid signs of romance and flirting, and he was definitely using them on Kumi.

And she’d been dumped before, so what hurt most was that their relationship had been so sweet and serious, and she never would have thought that Neji of all people would dump her so he could immediately initiate a relationship with someone else.

Neji reached out to hold Kumi’s hand, and Tenten hastily left the university cafe before she started crying.

The wind bit at her the second she opened the door, and she ducked her chin into her coat, biting back a shiver. She was only wearing a t-shirt under her coat, which was proving to be a mistake, but the only clean sweatshirt she had right now was- was one Neji had lent to her.

Maybe the wind wasn’t so bad. It meant she could pretend her eyes were watering.

-----

Tenten exited lab with weariness set into her bones. She really hadn’t wanted to have any classes so late, but the only time she could fit everything in her schedule was to have her chem lab from 7:00 PM to 9:00 PM.

It didn’t help that her lab partners were really terrible at chemistry, although they were trying very hard. But it always wound up taking them an extra half an hour or so than most other people, and Tenten was lucky to get out by 9:00 most of the time.

And tonight she still had an hour’s worth of homework for a few other classes, so it was promising to be a late night.

She was rounding the corner with a huge yawn, contemplating stopping by Ino and Sakura’s room for a conversational pick-me-up, and then saw Neji exiting one of his professor’s offices. 

(Well, no, not just “one of his professors”, because Tenten knew for a fact that it was one of his advisors because of course she knew about Neji’s studies, the same way he knew about hers.)

They both froze and stared at each other for several long moments. Tenten felt like she’d been stripped down to her darkest vulnerabilities under his gaze.

Neji finally shifted on his feet, looking uncomfortable, and spoke. “Tenten… I’d forgotten you had lab here.”

Forgotten? He had forgotten, when he used to text her encouragement during lab, when he soothed her complaints about it with head massages, god, when he used to come by every week to walk her back to her apartment, no matter how late it’d been?

Had she meant so little to him?

Tenten couldn’t breathe past the lump in her throat. She ducked her chin and hurried away without speaking to him.

-----

Frustratingly, life continued on.

Tenten continued through her classes and her waitressing job, doing her best to smile at her regulars and her classmates. It was hard. She still felt like there was a big cavern in her chest, and every time she saw Neji- no matter how fleetingly- it was like he was carelessly breaking up with her all over again.

He’d apparently stopped with whatever the Kumi thing had been, but that didn’t mean that Tenten wasn’t furious and upset and devastated and- and-

It was just- Neji had worked his way into her life so quickly and quietly that Tenten didn’t realize how close they were, and how much she depended on him, until he didn’t want her anymore.

Tenten’s manager sent her home early after she screwed up her fourth order of the day, with quiet instructions to get some rest and not come in tomorrow unless she was feeling better, okay? Tenten just nodded blankly as she put her apron away and headed out to the bus stop.

A few days that week had been warmer, but it was cold that night as she waited for the bus. (She used to have a boyfriend that would pick her up after her shift, but he- it- that wouldn’t happen anymore.)

She settled into a bus seat and looked out the window, watching the light of the street lamps flicker past. After a few minutes, she noticed the man across from her staring steadily, and her skin prickled uncomfortably.

He didn’t say anything, just blatantly stared at her for the entire bus ride- she chose to get off early, at the university rather than her apartment block, because he was so creepy.

She felt his eyes track her off the bus and tried not to shiver. It wasn’t the first time some creep had singled her out, and probably wouldn’t be the last, but she hated it.

She’d have to wait for the next bus to stop before she made it to her apartment, which would be about half an hour, so she went to the library and tucked herself into a quiet corner to work through her homework while she waited.

Her phone buzzed ten minutes later- Hinata was texting her, in response to Tenten’s earlier complaint about creeps on buses. 

Hinata Hyuga

Are you okay to call right now?

Tenten didn’t respond, just dialed her.

She picked up right away. “T-Tenten, are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I just got off the bus early so I’m waiting for the next one.”

“Was he… was he that creepy?”

“I- well, yeah. I left my pepper spray in my other bag, and he was being so blatant about staring that I just decided to get off at the university and wait. It’s fine, I’m just in the library.”

“Oh.” The relief in Hinata’s voice was palpable. “I’m- I’m glad.”

“It’s not too bad, actually. Getting in some homework.”

“Will you… b-be okay for th-the next- next bus?”

“Yeah. This one was just rough because there was only one other person in the compartment so I wasn’t sure if- I just didn’t want to risk anything.” She heard the slight tremor in her own voice and hated it. 

“Okay, w-well- call me if… if you need anything, okay?”

“Of course. Thanks, Hina.” They disconnected, and Tenten heaved a sigh and checked her watch. Seventeen minutes till the next bus.

Twelve minutes later, she got up and started packing away her things, then departed from her little nook. Her step faltered slightly as the person at the closest table looked up as she was leaving- it was Neji, of course it was Neji, and they made eye contact for half a second before Tenten jerked her gaze away and kept walking like she hadn’t seen him.

He did like the quietness of the library at night, she remembered with a pang, and hurried on.

The next bus was half-full with other passengers, and the ride passed without incident. 

-----

Her grandmother passed away the next month.

It had been a long time coming, really, but it hurt a lot. The old woman had been sharp-tongued and judgmental, but she loved hard and had taught Tenten everything she knew about cooking.

She missed a few days of classes to fly to China for the funeral, and returned feeling numb and blank-faced. Her distant relatives had given her a very lukewarm welcome, and she had been uncomfortable staying any longer- but she wasn’t ready to get back to her life just yet.

She spent the weekend just curled up in her bed, staring blankly at the walls, the ceilings, the curtains. She ate rarely, and when she did, it was too much. Her showers were just as few and far between.

The low point was when she dug Neji’s sweatshirt out from the back of her closet, pulled it on, and cried the rest of the night with her face buried in it.

The morning after, she woke up with tears streaking down her face and a giant knot in her hair, plus the realization that her room was starting to smell. She ate breakfast and spent an hour untangling her hair before her shower, then somehow managed to keep her momentum going by running a few miles around the park.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Tenten was done. She got back home and pulled out her backpack to do her homework, feeling much better- and immediately hit a mental wall, where even the possibility of studying made her anxious.

She cleaned her room instead. Washing sheets, wiping down walls, dusting, vacuuming- the whole thing. She ate a late lunch afterwards and even managed to send a few emails.

But then she was dawdling again, feeling the weight of her missed classes pressing down on her but physically unable to do them. After half an hour of restless worrying, she texted Ino and Sakura.

Tenten

Need a study buddy, what are you up to?

Ino Yamanaka

BORING stuff that i will gladly skip 4 u my love, where you wanna meet?

Sakura Haruno

I can be there in about 45 mins, just let me know!!

Tenten

Uni cafe?

Ino Yamanka

Yeaaaaaa see you there!

Tenten had a ghost of a smile on her face as she closed her phone and began gathering the contents of her backpack. Ino’s vivaciousness was always catching.

Tenten took ten minutes to change into her favorite burgundy sweater and jeans, then did up her hair into the new twin buns-braid combo she’d been meaning to try. She surprised herself with a broad smile in the mirror- she looked nice, and her pleasure with it shone through into her expression.

Ino was already at the cafe when Tenten got there, looking sleekly professional in her pantsuit. Tenten plopped down in the spot across from her and said, “God, Ino, aren’t you cold in that?”

Ino jerked her head up from where she’d been engrossed in her laptop, looking a little startled at Tenten’s sudden presence, but said without missing a beat, “Can’t be cold in a body this hot!”

Tenten laughed, but tried to stifle it when heads swivelled their way. “Shut up, you idiot.” She pulled out her own laptop and notebook, and asked, “I’m gonna go grab something to drink, you want anything?”

“Oooh, yeah, here-” Ino tossed a handful of bills at Tenten and rattled off her order, which Tenten instantly forgot and had to have her write down.

She came back five minutes later balancing both their cups in her hands, and placed Ino’s neatly beside her. She grinned dazzlingly up at her. “Thanks, Ten, you’re such a babe.”

“Aw, Ino.” Tenten fluttered her eyelashes beguilingly as she took her seat. “Thanks for meeting me, by the way. I was feeling very not-motivated and I need someone to bully me.”

“Well, you sure as hell have come to the right place,” Ino winked. “I’m really digging the hair- is that the style you were talking a while ago?”

“Yeah, I finally tried it out.” Tenten reached up to fiddle with her bangs, then said contemplatively, “I’m thinking about getting my bangs cut, too, so they go across the forehead.”

“Oh, you mean like real bangs, and not your parted floaty nonsense?” Ino grinned savagely. She’d always insisted that Tenten didn’t have bangs, just weird short hair on her forehead.

Tenten pointed her pencil menacingly at Ino. “Hey, don’t mock the bangs, Yamanaka. Sasuke imitated these bad boys for years.”

Ino sighed dramatically. “Ah, Sasuke. So hot, but such an asshole.”

Tenten grinned as she took a sip of her hot chocolate. “But like- really hot.”

“God, so hot,” Ino agreed. They both devolved into giggles.

They completely and cheerfully failed in their efforts to study for the next hour as they idly chatted and worked their way through their drinks. It wasn’t until Sakura arrived in a hurried breeze through the door that they even remembered the whole “study buddy” thing.

Sakura dropped her books down on the table with a bang. Ino and Tenten both smiled up at her as they started chattering at her about measuring spoons- who knew how’d they’d gotten there- but she gave them both a frown and said, “No. Nuh-uh, we came here for some studying and that is what we are doing, nerds! Discipline and self-regulation!” She raised a fist in the air.

“Nooo, Sakura,” Tenten said, wide-eyed. “Spoooooooooooons.”

“Fine,” Sakura said, and plunked down into the seat.

They’d been talking for another half an hour when Ino finally asked the tentative question, her eyes flickering behind Tenten, “So, how are you feeling, Tenten, after- well, your grandma’s funeral?”

Her bluntness on the subject was something of a relief, because it meant that it was easier for Tenten to be honest. “I mean, it sucked.”

They both made noises of sympathy, and Sakura reached out to grasp her hand. Tenten continued, “Her funeral was awful, because I didn’t really know anyone there and they were- polite, but a little exclusive, and when I got home it was like I hadn’t actually been able to reach any catharsis, and I- it was a really bad weekend.”

She took a sip of coffee, somewhat frantically, and added, “But I’m feeling better now. I cried all night, worked out all the emotions-” They were both staring behind her now, apprehensive looks on their faces.

“Guys, what’re you…?” She turned and looked straight into Neji’s eyes.

He was sitting at the table behind them, his own study materials placed neatly around him but going ignored as he stared at her, looking like his legs had been swept out from under him.

Tenten met his gaze for a moment, then said flatly, “Oh.” She turned back to her friends with an eye roll, and asked Ino, “So, then, how’s the psychology- business double major treating you, Ino?”

Sensing Tenten’s desire to push on, Ino was all too happy to launch into a convoluted albeit hilarious story about how both her majors sucked very much but she loved them anyway. Tenten slowly relaxed as the three of them settled back into their conversation- and eventually even got to the studying part.

Tenten wrapped up a few hours later with most of her homework finished, waving goodbye to Ino and Sakura (and ignoring Neji, still sitting behind her) as she started the walk back to her apartment. It was colder out now that the sun had gone down, so she tugged her sweater over her sleeves to prevent her fingers from getting too cold.

Her to-go cup of hot chocolate had cooled by the time she got home. She pouted.

-----

One week later, she knocked on the door of a high-end apartment, nervously shifting the box in her arms as she waited for someone to answer. She didn't want to be here, but this needed to be done sooner or later. 

Light footsteps came from behind the doorway and it swung open.

Neji stopped short at the sight of her, clearly not expecting to see her there. She gave him a twisted smile. “Uh, hi. So, I was cleaning my apartment the other day and found all this, so...“ She reached out and offered the box to him, containing, among other things, some of his books, a pair of headphones, and that stupid sweatshirt.

(She’d washed the sweatshirt, but later had put on perfume while standing near it so it might smell like her, a little. If it did, she hoped it hurt.)

Neji didn’t say anything, just stared at her. He made no move to take the box, so she just awkwardly shoved it into his chest until his arms reached up to take it. 

“Right, so, um, bye.” She turned away and started walking back down the hall, but Neji suddenly spoke behind her.

“No- Tenten, wait.” He grabbed her arm and she stiffened.

He released her immediately, flexing his fingers as his mouth opened and closed. Tenten gave him as neutral a face as she could, brows raised to prompt him on.

Finally, he blurted, “I didn’t want to break up with you.”

What? She stared at him, uncomprehending. He pressed on, “I realize that’s hard to believe-”

She almost snapped at him.

“-but it’s true.” He looked at her like he expected her to ask him more, to go inside and talk things out with him.

Disgust and anger welled in her, and she snarled, “Well, you did it anyway, Neji! You broke up with me.”

He said nothing, just watched her with a hollow look in his eye. 

Satisfaction filled her at the sight. “So it doesn’t fucking matter what your intentions were, what you wanted or didn't want, because you still decided that something else was more important than our relationship.”

She paused to catch her breath, then concluded, “You don’t get to just walk that back.” 

With one last glare- she was so angry- she marched away.

Neji stared after her, clutching the box to his chest, his heart aching.

#ntmonth2019 #nejiten #neji #tenten #I WROTE AAAAAANGST I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE IT #full disclosure tho this will have a follow up and theyre gonna get back together if I have anything to say about it #fanfic #my writing #ALSO uni starts next week for me so fics will come much more sparingly #i also still have 3-4 more pieces for the modern au i've written #2 of which are 90% complete #anyway good bye

[miss-fox116]

Baba’s Night Off

A/N: Hey guys, I know I'm falling behind on updates in my other stories, but I wanted to write this oneshot because it's very close to my heart (seeing that Black Panther radically changed my perspective on my role as an African-American in America). This oneshot follows T'Challa as a workaholic father who simply makes time for what matters most to him. I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, featuring, T’Challa and Nakia’s daughter. 

Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters from Black Panther except for my OC, Natila. Also, the Xhosa language was translated from English using Google Translate so it might not be that accurate. I do not own the Thula Baba lullaby.

Baba's Night Off

The night was young. The wind whistled through the trees and the stars formed an exquisite crescendo in the violet sky. Wakanda's Golden City was winding down for the evening. The citizens were entering into their abodes while various vendors were closing their shops in the marketplace. In the royal palace, Princess Natila, (daughter of King T'Challa and Queen Nakia), was getting ready for bed. Her mother tucked her in under the blanket and began to serenade her until she was ready to sleep.

"Can you sing our song, mama?" Natila asked as she shifted under the massive blanket.

"Alright, usana (baby). I'll sing our song, but after this you need to go to sleep,"Nakia said as she sat down at the foot of the bed.

Natila jumped into her mother's arms, nearly knocking them off of the bed.

"Natila!" Nakia exclaimed as she kept herself from falling.

"Sorry, mama," the young child said as she slowly moved away from the edge.

Nakia gave a small chuckle as she picked up Natila and sat down near the pillows. She placed Natila between her legs and wrapped her arms around the child's tiny shoulders. She started humming while she rocked her daughter from side to side.

"Thula thul, thula baba, thula sana,

Thul'u babuzo ficka, eku seni.

Kukh'in khan-yezi, zi-holel' u baba,

Zim-khan yi-sela indlel'e ziyak-haya,

Sobe sik hona xa bonke be-shoyo,

Be-thi bu-yela u-bu-ye le khaya,

Thula thula thula baba,

Thula thula thula sana,

Thula thula thula baba,

Thula thula thula san."

(Keep quiet my child

Keep quiet my baby

Be quiet, daddy will be home by dawn

There's a star that will lead him home

The star will brighten his way home

The hills and stones are still the same my love

My life has changed, yes my life has changed

The children grow but you don't know my love

The children grew but you don't see them grow).

Natila started to blink slowly at the sound of her mother's melodious voice. She gave a long yawn at the end of the lullaby.

"Alright, my sweet girl. Time for bed," Nakia said as she rested Natila on the pillow and tucked her in once more.

"But I'm not tired, mama!" Natila whined as she gave another yawn.

"Yes, you are, my love. Now go to sleep," Nakia said as she placed a soft kiss on Natila's cheek and headed for the door.

"Mama?" Natila called.

"Yes, Nati," Nakia answered as she turned around to face her daughter.

"Where's Baba?" she asked as she sat up straight in the bed.

Nakia frowned slightly. She walked toward Natila's bed and kneeled down in front of her. "Baba's working tonight," she said.

"Again? This is the fourth night in a row! I've been counting," Natila said with a pout.

"I know, sweetie. Your father has a lot on his plate right now. He has to fulfill his duties as the King of Wakanda. He's trying to do what's best for his people and for us. Do you understand?"

"I do understand, mama. I just miss him so much," Natila said as her eyes began to well up with tears.

Seeing her daughter's moist eyes caused Nakia to blink back some of her own tears. "I'm sure he misses you too, mntana oyimtombazana

(baby girl)."

"I want to see him," Natila demanded as she tried to get out of bed.

"Not tonight, Nati. It's already past your bedtime."

"But, mama-"

"You need your rest, nobusi (honey). You'll see him in the morning, I promise," Nakia said as she gave Natila another kiss and left the room.

An hour passed and Natila was still awake. She turned over and saw that her clock read, 10:00pm. She turned onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She gave a hard sigh as she sat up in the bed. She glanced over at her clock and saw that the time was 10:01pm. She took off the blanket and pushed on her sound-absorbent panther slippers (courtesy of her aunt Shuri). She opened the door with a gentle tug. With the door opened slightly, she pried her head through the small crack of the door and surveyed the hallway.

There was a shuffling of footsteps outside her door. She saw a few Dora Milaje pacing the hall. As soon as the coast was clear, Natila dashed down the hallway and turned the corner. She found her father's office, which was guarded by another set of Dora Milaje. Before she walked up to the door, she hid behind the wall that was on the opposite end of the entrance. She rested her back against the wall and took a deep breath. She walked up to the guards with confidence.

"Nkosazana (princess), how may we help you?" one of the guards asked after she gave Natila the Wakandan salute.

"I want to see my father," she demanded.

"I am sorry, Nkosazana yam (my princess). The king requested that he not be disturbed," the other guard explained.

"Please let me see him," she pleaded.

"I am so sorry. He said-"

"Mvumele umntwana abone uyise (Let the child see her father)," Okoye said as she walked over to the area.

"Kodwa sanikwa imiyalelo, ngokubanzi (But we were given orders, General)," one of the guards protested.

"Ndiqinisekile ukuba akayi kucinga (I'm sure he wouldn't mind)," Okoye said as she sent the two Doras away.

"Thank you, Okoye," Natila said with a bright smile as she gave her a hug.

"No problem. I'll let him know that you're here," she said as she opened the door.

Natila followed behind Okoye. They both entered into the office to find T'Challa sitting at his desk with a mountain of papers on it. He was sifting through the papers, signing them, and sorting them into different piles.

"My king, you have a special guest that wishes to see you," Okoye said with a smile.

T'Challa looked up from his work to see his visitor. His face lit up once he saw his daughter. A huge smile spread across his face as he got up to greet her.

"Mnandi (sweetheart)! How are you?" he asked as he lifted Natila into his arms.

"I am feeling better now that I get to see you!" Natila beamed as she hugged her father.

"I'll leave you two alone," Okoye said as she left the room.

T'Challa made his way back to the desk with Natila in his lap. He put his arm around her and made sure that she was secure. She laid her head on his chest and ran her fingers through his beard. Silence fell over them as T'Challa went back to working on his papers.

"Where have you been, Baba?" Natila asked.

"What do you mean? I was here all day," he said with a smile.

Natila giggled. "That's not what I meant, silly. Why don't you come to see me at night anymore?"

T'Challa gave his daughter a confused look. Natila looked up at her father once she didn't hear a response.

"I check on you every night. You don't know that because you are always asleep when I come."

Natila pouted. "Why don't you try coming a little earlier?" she asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

"I wish I could, but I have to work, usana (baby)," T'Challa said with a frown.

"I know. I just miss you, Baba," she said while the tears streamed down her face.

T'Challa gently rubbed his daughter's back. Her sobs pierced his heart. He hated to see her so upset.

"Hey, hey, don't cry," he said as he wiped her tears with his hand. "Come. I want to show you something," he said.

He carried Natila out of the room and began walking down the hall.

"Where are we going?" she asked in a bewildered tone.

"You'll see," T'Challa said with a sly smile.

"What about your work?" Natila asked as she looked back at the office door.

"I am taking the night off," he said with a wink.

T'Challa brought Natila into a vast field outside of the palace. The moonlight glistened over the plains while the stars shimmered above the horizon. The specs of light were scattered across the sky, giving off a luminous ambiance to the area. Crickets chirped and fireflies danced in the air. 

Natila chased after them once her father put her down. She kept clapping her hands, hoping to catch one of the mystic creatures. T'Challa watched as Natila failed in her pursuit. He walked over to her and held her hands in his.

"You have to be patient, little one," he said as he took her hands and clasped them in the air.

He slowly opened her hands to reveal a firefly glowing in her palms. Natila's eyes were filled with wonder as she saw the firefly hover in her hands. T'Challa opened her hands more in order to release the firefly. He took her by the hand and they both laid down in the grass, gazing at the stars in the sky.

"Baba, what's harder: being king or being the Black Panther?" Natila asked.

"Oooh, that's a good question. I would say that they are both equally hard. The most difficult part for me is being away from my family," he said with a sigh.

Natila moved over and snuggled next to her father. "If I could, I would do all of your work for you," she said with a smile.

T'Challa laughed. "Oh really?"

"Yes! I would make a great Black Panther," Natila said as she put her fists up.

"I bet you could be, but it is a very dangerous job. You can definitely do it when you're older."

"I am seven-years-old, Baba. I am a big girl now. I can handle it," she said with a huff.

T'Challa laughed so hard that he held his stomach. "Trust me, sweetie, you need years of training before you can take the mantle. You'll get there someday," he said.

Natila yawned again. She placed her head on her father's arm and started to doze off.

"You are tired, little one," he said as he caressed her head with his hand.

Natila's eyes popped open. "No I'm not! I want to talk to you," she said as she gave another yawn.

"Shhh. Don't fight it. It's time for bed," he said as he carried her to her room.

He laid her down in the bed, tucked her in, and gave her a soft kiss on the cheek. He watched his daughter sleep soundly. Seeing her at peace warmed his soul. He was grateful for the much-needed night off.

#black panther #t'challa #t'challa parent #black panther fanfiction #nakia #okoye #shuri #love #family #fluff

[crystallized-iron]

Promised Love Chapter Thirty-Two

Masterlist

The sun rose, calming Bucky’s anxiety for now, but he couldn’t get the images out of his mind. “I’m gonna head out,” he murmured to Steve while Tony was in the washroom.

“Sure you don’t want us to accompany you?” Steve asked, concern evident in his voice.

Shaking his head, Bucky told him, “No… Thank you, but I want to be alone for a while.”

“Alright. Do you want to meet up for lunch later?”

“Maybe… maybe later than that. I don’t know.”

“Find us when you’re ready then,” said Steve. “Be careful.”

“I know. Thank you.” Bucky gave him a quick kiss and left the room.

The first mission had been a disaster. Yes, they saved the children. Yes, they made sure Hammer would never be allowed near another ever again. But the way it was done, the lack of care, the willingness to just take the lives of everyone, innocent or not, in a damn blaze right after sinking a blade into the man’s throat was too much.

Yes, Bucky had killed that night, but he was not as vicious, not nearly as cold, as Natasha had shown herself to be. They both left Pierce the same week, but it seemed his teachings and cruelty left more of a mark on her than they had on Bucky. It worried him. It almost seemed like she never really left at all.

James was right to be concerned about her. Bucky didn’t want to listen at first, but now…

Bucky sighed as he went down the stairs. He needed some fresh air, going to the entrance hall and then swiftly out the door, stopping when he saw the carriage parked outside. One of the servants was preparing for a trip, it seemed. Coming up behind him, Bucky casually asked, “Did you ask for permission to leave today?”

The man startled only a little, turning to Bucky, revealing himself to be Aldrich Killian. Didn’t Steve ask about him the night before? “My apologies, I thought since I work in the evenings, a day trip would be fine.”

“You didn’t even work last night… Where were you then?”

“Family emergency.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. He couldn’t remember any mention of a family, but then he couldn’t quite find it completely unbelievable as he rarely spoke with Aldrich. “Alright…”

“By the way…” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the busted remains of the mechanical bird Tony had brought with him and lovingly called U. “I found this while walking the grounds the other night.”

Bucky slowly took U from him. “You found him like this…?” he questioned. Most were familiar with the two mechanical creatures that freely roamed the area.

“Yes,” Aldrich answered, Bucky’s eyes quickly meeting his. Looking away, Aldrich continued, “I don’t know how it happened.”

“You don’t…”

“No, I do not.” The carriage driver nodded to them and Aldrich turned back to Bucky. “Well, time for me to go. I already promised Pepper I’ll be here for the evening, so don’t worry about that.”

“Right… Please leave.”

Aldrich flashed him a grin and then boarded, the carriage riding away. Bucky continued to stand there for a few minutes as he watched it disappear before dropping his gaze down to U, gently brushing his thumb against the delicate wings. He knew this couldn’t have been an easy feat for Tony the first time. And where was Dummy then? Was he safe or…

How was he even going to tell Tony about this?

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

Tony came out of the washroom, his shirt already buttoned up other than the cuffs, looking around the bedroom. “Bucky’s gone?”

“He needed to take a walk,” Steve explained, “clear his head a little.”

“Because of the mission?”

“Yeah…”

Tony nodded, going to the mirror atop the dresser. He made a face at his reflection; he should really stop neglecting his shaving. “Soon my hair may be as long as his…”

Steve lightly chuckled. “That would be a sight.” Tugging at his own, he added, “If you want, we could probably go see a barber before lunch. Mine needs a cut too.”

“You almost look like an elf with the blond hair,” Tony commented as he peeked at his husband.

Meeting his eyes, Steve asked, “Is that a fantasy of yours, husband? Maybe I should keep it longer then.”

“No, simply an observation on your appearance,” Tony replied, finally walking over to sit beside him on the bed. “Besides,” he said as he tugged on the thickening beard Steve was sporting, “I don’t think they have facial hair quite like this.”

“They could…”

“I don’t know, Steve. I think you would need to shave, and grow your hair out more so that it’s flowing gloriously behind your back as the wind hits you.”

“Are you sure that isn’t a fantasy?” Steve asked him again. “Because it sounds like a fantasy.”

“Not one of mine.”

“You’re sure…”

“I am very sure, Steven. I just read a lot.”

“Yes, but I thought it was more… scientific reading. Didn’t think you would be into tales like that.”

With a pout, Tony reminded him, “I was a young child once, I’ve read plenty of fictional stories like that. Besides… they have to be based on something, right? Sometimes it’s nice to think there is a bit of magical unknown out there.”

“Maybe…” Steve softly said, taking Tony’s fingers from his beard. “But you’re certain you wouldn’t leave us for the first elf you see?”

“Only way I would is if they promised to grant any wish I had regardless of nature’s laws, and I don’t believe that’s a thing they do.”

“And what wish would that be?”

Tony shook his head. “No. I’m not saying. I don’t want you feeling bad for me.”

“Why would I -”

“My parents…”

Steve stopped, looking into Tony’s eyes. “You want them back…”

“Wouldn’t you want your father if you had the chance? And your mother, when that time comes?” Tony quietly asked. “I would believe you’re lying if you said no.”

“You have a point there…”

“Of course I do.”

Beginning to massage Tony’s hand, Steve sighed. Things were going so well and then he had to… “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. But… barber. Let’s go to the barber.”

“Of course,” Steve agreed, allowing Tony to pull his hand free.

He watched his husband stand, look around a moment, and then say, “I should probably move my things into here.”

“So you are ready to officially share a room with us?” Steve wondered with a smile.

“I am… I think. I’ve been sleeping in here every night now, so…”

“We’ll see if Bucky wants to help us later.”

With a smile of his own, Tony said, “I would like that.”

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

Aldrich’s carriage finally came to a stop just outside a small home in the next town. He frowned at the simple design, finding it to be a bit too ‘commoner’ for his taste, but this was a temporary stay for his employer until something more permanent could be found, preferably very far away.

Exiting the carriage, he approached the house, rapping on the door. He could almost make out his reflection in the window, trying to fix his hair, but then the door opened.

“What did you learn?”

Aldrich grinned. “I know their next target.”

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

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