#& i thought i somehow was having an allergic reaction and my throat was closing up bc of that. lol.

[orcelito]

OK like I almost died today after eating dinner bc idfk my throat just fucking hated it and I got some goop stuck there and I was Coughing coughing coughing. Not even choking man it just sucked. It's clear now but my throat is still sore from how hard I was coughing. Unpleasant.

But that fic made me COMPLETELY forget about it. I've just been happily buzzing like a little bee thinking about it. THISSSSSSSSS is the weird alien smut I was wanting in my life. A fic truly deserving of the xeno tag. God Bless.

[hidtired]

Poison For Some

(Daryl Dixon x Reader) Masterlist

Description: Your deathly allergic to nuts and dinner in the prison leaves you running for medicine. Your abrupt departure confuses everyone, until your partner Daryl remembers of your allergies. Now it was 24 hours and you were no where to be found.

5.9k words

This runs personally in my life and will be based on my own allergies. It’s different for everyone but, this is mine. [Angst and Fluff]

Carol had made dinner like she did most nights. Winter approached and Rick was trying to put off using the canned goods for as long as he could. So, Carol decided to try and fill in some protein with almonds. She put it in the rice mixing it to whatever meat scraps we last had. Daryl was off in the shower at your demand. He had been hunting a lot more often trying to gather as much meat before winter. Coming back to the prison somehow dirtier than the last, you wouldn’t be surprised if he had rolled around in dirt for how much it cover him.

You sat at the table as Carol handed out portions. Glenn and Maggie were talking about a run they should make for Judith. Little thing needed more appropriate winter clothing. You told them you would go with, so you were just listening to their planning. The steamy bowl placed in front of you sent you happily smiling and thanking Carol for the food. Carol jokingly jabbed at you, “Swear the only way I could ever get a smile like that from you is food.” You scoff digging your spoon into the bowl and shoving it into your mouth. You talk with a mouth full,

“It’s the best way to my heart!”

You chew feeling a unique piece in your mouth. Thinking maybe the rice clumped together. Carol brought you from your thoughts, “That’s why you got yourself a hunter I see.” You chuckle at that, eyes moving to your bowl. You pushed it around spotting what you felt in your mouth, it was something pale. You swallowed the growing saliva in your mouth. Realization hit you like a truck, you sprung up from your seat in a panic. Almond peal off, something in the past you had learned the hard way had nuts in it.

You had never had to use an epiPen before, Benadryl was always what you had to chug before a epiPen was ever thought of. A mental clock started ticking. You didn’t have much time before this nut you just ate starts killing you. You didn’t know you were moving before you were already out the door. Nabbing a set of keys before sprinting to the gate. Other were surprised at the clear shock and outburst you had. You had gone out the door before they even stood to follow. When they got out the door you left the gate to the courtyard open and they saw you sprinting to the exit gate. That brought them into gear yelling and chasing after you. You didn’t have much time. Pill or preferably liquid Benadryl would only work in the early stages of your reaction. You would guess 30 minutes before it was a lost cause.

Considerably to others with the allergy you were lucky. While it was deadly you had more time and didn’t have to pull out a shot of adrenaline every time to fix it. You pulled both gates open not even attempting to close them before getting into one of the run cars. You peeled off before anyone could question you. They all yelled and waved their arms. They couldn’t believe you. The sounds of the tires screeching was emphasis to your haste. They stood at the open gate seeing the car zoom down the road. A few walkers emerged from the woods causing them to try and close the gate as fast as they could.

You white knuckle the steering wheel attempting to take slow breaths. You resisted the urge to scratch at your skin knowing you must have hives by now. A ball seemed to form in your throat. You have been attempting to locate a EpiPen and Benadryl for a while now. You had some before the farm fell and lost it to the herd. You even asked Glenn to keep an eye out for Benadryl on runs. You felt tears prick at your eyes but forced it away knowing crying would only make it harder to breathe. You were scared but you had to think fast in a last ditch effort of survival. If any pharmacy or store you have checked didn’t have it maybe a household was your best bet. You knew you wouldn’t be able to look through many houses so it was a risky gamble. You know of a neighborhood your group has yet to explore. So with a race against time, that’s where you’re headed.

You had mentioned in passing at the beginning of the quarry of your allergy. Only ever talking about it again with Daryl. He hated peanut butter and you said while you’ve never had it because you’ll die, the smell was gross and over powering. Getting a grunt and “Ain’t missing much.” from him. He also may have teased you about how ‘something as simple as a nut could take you down.’ You were always good about your allergies, hence not ever needing an EpiPen. Something your mother was grateful for not wanting to stab you with a shot. It didn’t seem like a big deal at the time. While it could sneak up on you it was always solved somewhat quickly. Maybe you should have made a bigger deal about it.

Daryl POV

He had just gotten a shirt on when he heard rushing and calling for his name. He peaked down from his and your cell to see a worried Beth. As soon as she saw him she was nervous and stammered out, “Y/n! Something… we were just sitting then- she’s gone! She booked it out the prison randomly!” Daryl felt his heart drop and he quickly made his way downstairs to where everyone was now piling back in from outside. Rick ran a hand in his hair as Daryl slid into the room worriedly, “The hells happening?! Where is she?!” He watch as everyone turned to the other not knowing the answer. Hershel tried to calmly tell Daryl, “We’re not to sure but she seemed pretty spooked…”

Daryl looked around about to go into a panic. He spotted a bowl spilt across a table. Maggie followed his eyes and started to explain what happened, “She was sitting there. Joking with Carol and she was fine! Then all the sudden she sprung up and ran for it.” His mind raced, he had to go after you but he couldn’t if he didn’t know where or why you were going in the first place. He turned to Carol a strained expression on his face, “What were you talking about?” Carol just shook her head worriedly and shrugged, “Just food. She was giddy as ever to eat is all.” Daryl looked back to the food sprawled out on the table, “What did you make?” Carol put her hands on her hips, the chatter from the others in the room seemingly felt dense with worry and confusion.

“Just the little bits of squirrel we had left with some rice with almonds.”

He felt the nerves in him burn. His ears flood with blood causing the noisy room to muffle. Understanding why you ran made him light headed. Others around him noticed him pale, and the shocked and panicked look you had before washed over his. He felt frozen, you went off to try and save yourself. Not taking a moment before running off to find Benadryl. Something he knows you, Glenn, and himself struggled to find. He felt like he was going to crash to the floor. He had no clue where you could have gone, and if you would ever come back. The edge of his vision darkened but he felt someone behind him steady him. It was Carl, but his father was the one to drag Daryl’s attention, “What’s happening Daryl? You know why she ran, where is she going?” He turned to look toward Carol,

“She’s allergic to nuts.”

Some gasps rang through the room, some questions flying up in the air. Carol nervously shook, words shakingly coming out of her mouth, “Oh my god, I killed her.” She sunk down to a chair a wave of nausea painted on her face. Hand covering her face as tears broke out, “I didn’t know- I remember peanuts maybe. It’s all m-my fault-t.” Glenn leaned over the table as he looked down, “Is that what Benadryl is for?” He seemed almost sick with himself that he hadn’t tried harder to look for it. The room had slowly grown quiet. A pained expression filled their faces as the gravity of the situation weighed on them.

Rick spoke trying to do what he did best, lead. He needed to control the situation and make a plan. He stood straight with arms crossed, “We need to figure out where she ran off. Then try and find some medicine to save her.” He turned to Hershel, “You have everything if it goes south?” Hershel was mid thought thinking maybe a endotracheal tube they had could keep you breathing long enough for medication. Daryl grunted and shook his head, frustrated but heartbroken, “It’s no use, we been looking for anything for her since the farm. She would have never had a chance if she didn’t ran off like she did.” He was angry at the thought, he could do nothing but hope wherever you go you find anything.

Rick spoke calmly trying not to set him off, “Her best bet is with us-“ much to his attempt Daryl roared in anger, “By the time we even made it anywhere let alone getting it back to her she would have been dead!” He clenched his teeth, “We haven’t even the slightest clue where anything for this is.” He now huffed getting emotional, “She did what she had to, she made the right call.” He looked back to a sobbing Carol, “We just hope she comes back now…” He spun around back to the cell he came. His back turned to everyone, the stone lodged in his heart finally crushed him. Swiping the curtain to the cell he looked through blurred eyes at the place you both shared.

He sank to the bed. The lasts words exchanged between you and him running in his mind. ‘Go shower so I can kiss you.’ You pushed him away into the hall. He smuggled remarked a ‘Always can kiss me in the shower.’ Watching you become coy with him at the implication. Always easy to get blood rushed to your face. You had surprised him growing ever more comfortable around him in there growing relationship. Grabbing his dirty tan shirt and pulling him into a kiss. A smile plastered on your face at his surprised one, you whispered, ‘More for when you’re clean.’ He isn’t sure when the relationship happened.

It was slow to happen but there had been to many times your eyes caught on each other. Then you slept closer to him when you had yet to find the prison. You had kissed him on the cheek before a hunt giving him it for luck. When he came back with a deer good luck kisses happened more. An arm throw around you there and then. You holding onto him while on his bike. Wasn’t til the prison when you nervously suggested sharing the same bed that he caved. That first night on a bed he kissed you. More so devoured you but he would deny that. You had never cuddled before that night either, waking up tangled into each other on the small bed.

The small bed he now cried in over the all to real possibility he had lost you. He was laid back arm across his face. His teeth clenched together to stop any pained noise to release from him. Emotion circling in him, regret, anger, heartbreak, he hadn’t even the chance to tell you how much he loved you. The fear always stopped the word from tumbling from him. He could only wait.

Your POV

It had taken you 10 minutes to reach the neighborhood you sought after. Given that you were driving faster than you normally were ok with. You quickly jump out the car running into one of the near houses. Your hands shook while fumbling with the door. Adrenaline pumping in you mostly likely helping your survival. You pushed through making quick work of any spots you could think of. Kitchen cabinets, bathroom drawers, purses. The fabric of your clothes rubbed your irritated skin any time you moved. You abandon the house and moved to the next. Your quick pace making it harder to breathe. You cough and swallow trying to relieve some of the pressure in your closing throat.

You upturned and ran sacked the next house just as you did with the other. Throwing bottles of random medication behind you as you increasingly became more desperate. You left that house looking through every room but one with a walker in it. Your eyes scanned the line of houses. Your heart ached with fear thinking you were about to asphyxiate to death. You had one more house left in you to search. You picked one that had a small bike in the overgrown grass. You moved as fast as you could while heaving. You couldn’t break down the door with the strength you had so you went through a window. You paused momentarily for any movement, hearing a lack of any you started.

Cabinet, drawers, bathrooms, now you stumbled up the stairs. Tears streaming down your face with a sense of defeat. You looked in the master bedroom knocking things over again finding nothing. You slowly moved down the hall to a kids bedroom. Glow in the dark stars on the roof. Tubs of toys filled the walls. Stuff animals filled the bed. You had removed your shirt due to its unwanted friction on your skin. Looking to the pink painted chipped walls, you shakingly come to terms with defeat. Sinking down to the floor resting against the bed frame. You look to walls covered in kids drawings. Gasping for whatever air you could bring in was the only sound in the still house.

You thought of Daryl, not having been together for long but you felt in your heart he was your everything. You didn’t have much in the world but then you had him. He didn’t have much either and you tried to not lessen that anymore with losing you. You failed but you hope he knew you tried. He was a big factor to why you were fighting this so hard. You looked to the end of the bed spotting a backpack. The little girls room you’ve been in must belong to a 1st grader. Maybe you could find a pencil and paper to right a proper goodbye. You gasped air while fiddling with the zipper. You looked for paper and a pen while you thought of what to say. You were at least glad you had kissed him the last you saw him.

Struggling to look in the back you poured the contents out on the floor in front of you. You couldn’t believe your eyes. A zip lock bag with a bottle of red liquid you were all to familiar with. You rip the back open spotting an old epinephrine pen with it. The bottle was small but was filled all the way. You managed to get the cap off despite struggling with the child lock. The disgusting bronze liquid flowed into your mouth. You resisted the urge to cough it up, it slowly trickled its way down your closing throat. You had downed a good bit of the bottle. It felt as if it numb the pain in your throat. A sense of relief flowed over you. You sat there still stunned as you slowly regained some breath. You lean your head back to rest on the bed behind you. You took it in, you felt shame at almost dying so easily but you were ok.

You looked back to the EpiPen you held not feeling the need to use it. It’s intended users name plastered on it, ‘Penelope Thompson, allergen Bees.’ Your skin still burned to the touch but you managed to flop back onto the small bed. Stuff animals falling to the floor. You held still trying to fully regain air in your lungs. Waiting to see if you had stopped the reaction. You laid sprawled out staring at the ceiling. Resisting the urge to scratch everywhere. The growing itch in your scalp caused you to squeeze your eyes shut.

You don’t know how long you laid there before feeling like you could breathe easily. No lump felt like it blocked your throat. You had decided to get up before it got dark, knowing everyone at the prison was worried sick. When you got up right exhaustion hit you. Benadryl main side effect being drowsiness. Considering you had just consumed a large amount of it, it weighed on you. It wouldn’t be safe to travel if you fell asleep at the wheel. You didn’t need just surviving a near death experience and then crashing the car into another one. You were met on your almost dying quota for one night you think. Moving the door closed and shoving a bookcase slightly to it was the best you’d get. As soon as you lay back down it crashed back into you. Struggling to even keep your eyes open you fell asleep despite the itch of your skin.

Your eyes slowly open. You didn’t move an inch or dream in your sleep. Felt like you blinked and it was pitch black outside. You bounced up to remember what had happened. Your hives seemed to be at a minimum and you felt back to normal. Expect the grogginess. You slept like a rock in your bones and muscles protest at your movement. Even though it was dark you decided to make your way back to the prison. A few walkers could be seen in the darkness but getting back to the car you’d be fine. After getting in the driver seat you rubbed at your eyes. You felt like you had way too long of a nap. You had no clock in the car and you sighed leaning back in the seat.

“I wonder how long I slept?”

Daryl POV

Hour after hour went by. Tension was high in the prison. Darkness started to fall over the prison. Daryl sat in a watch tower looking off to the empty road. He chewed his lips til a copper taste slipped into his mouth. A few hours after no return from you felt like the end of the world. You could very well be dead by now. Maybe you had even turned and started walking aimlessly. He wallow in his bed for those first few hours. Deciding recently just stand watch. Waiting and waiting maybe wasn’t the best thing to do. All the terrible things he could think the only thing keeping him company. A few people attempted throughout the night to talk him down tell him to get some rest. Coming up with any excuses why you were not back yet.

When dawn broke everyone except Herschel, Beth and Judith, were grouped in an attempt to locate you. Looking into possible supermarkets or pharmacies you might have tried finding medication. Every empty building with no sight of you felt like a lost hope. While even in the building, they looked for possible Benadryl or an EpiPen. With no luck to even finding the smallest bit of that. The consensus of you being gone was weighing heavier than that you were still around. Likelihood of you surviving seem to crash. They hope that maybe if they went back to the prison, you would’ve found your way back. That also didn’t happen.

Daryl was in a world of anger and pain. Rick didn’t know how much he cared for you, but he did now. It was becoming dusk again as everybody stood in the courtyard. Another search party would be happening in the morning. Many stopping Daryl from doing anything in the dark. Their main point being that maybe he wouldn’t find something if it wasn’t in the daylight. He sulked in his cell. That's how Carol found him. Deep in thought but she spoke to him either way, “Daryl?” He slowly turned his attention to her. She swallowed her nerves and began again, “I’m so sorry… Her death is on me.” He felt anger rising in him. He knew Carol was remorseful but suggesting that you were already dead? That made him grit his teeth, “Not yer fault, shit happens and you didn’t mean to.” She felt relief until his voice grumbled in displeasure, “An she ain’t dead yet so watch it.” His eyes stare daggers into her, causing her to leave in shame.

He rested his eyes knowing he would sleep a few hour and then go back to the watch tower. Leaning into the side you normally took, he relished in the slightest smell of you in the sheets. He had doubts about having a relationship. Due to past experience and a lack of trust he held with people. When he started to care for you he found he was scared to, not wanting to lose you one day. But he couldn’t deny you after a while. You were to tempting and god did you not give him everything he ever wanted in a partner. He tried to stop his racing thoughts due to not wanting to work himself up.

He tried sleeping, more like sat there with his eyes closed but he got a few minutes in between just laying there. Eventually becoming too restless and going to the watch tower. He knew he should try sleeping more. He would need the energy for the next search but, he couldn’t bring himself to rest with you not beside him.

Your POV

You were driving at a moderate pace, not wanting a walker to step in the road and crash into it. However halfway back you felt it staling. When you saw the gas tank was running on empty you knew you would have to walk eventually. But privy to the luck you had with the medication it soon ran out. You saw a bunch of silhouettes farther into the road. Coming straight at you probably due to your headlights. Then the speed you had been maintaining stopped. You pulled the car over to the side as it sputtered to a stop. Locking the doors and turning the car off. Hopefully the herd you saw wasn’t to big and you could wait for it to pass. You moved to try and crawl into the back crashing to the floor.

You sat there trying to remain calm and quiet when the sound of hundreds of feet shuffled pass you. Some ran into the car making you jump. This horde was a big one but at least now it wasn’t on route to the prison. It felt like ages cramped down between the seats. Your stomach growling at you. What you would do to chug some water. You spaced out looking to the window seeing the occasional shadow pass by outside. Thoughts running through your mind. It suddenly felt like many you had slept a few more hours then you thought. You think it was maybe 3 but then you remembered Benadryl made you fall asleep for at least 12. So the question is, ‘Was I asleep a whole day?’

When the shuffling an smell of rotten meat had stopped. The silence is what brought you from thought. You would wait some more not wanting to run into strays or have the horde turn around because it heard you. You at least sat up in the back. Looking forward you could see a few slower walkers making their way with the crowd. Waiting and watching them until they were a fair distance you got out. Softly closing the door you walked the opposite to them back to the prison. You had wished the car had a working clock in it to tell you if it was close to dawn. But a hour into walking the sky changed the ever so slight difference of blue.

You were hungry and thirsty so the longer you walked the more exhausted you felt. You stepped into the trees close to the road. Electing to sit down and take a break. You watch the sunrise. The cold breeze seeming to warm a little. Maybe you should have found a coat before leaving that house. Granted you thought you’d be in the car. Staring out to the orange sky. Some emotions washed over you. Having a moment to stop and think finally put you back into having to think of what almost happened. This sunrise you sat watching you almost missed. Not only that but you thought about Daryl a little more. Your relationship was slow, almost like you both were afraid to miss step. You couldn’t care about any of that now. You sniffled standing back up. Deciding then and there.

You were going to just love him without restriction.

With such determination, you walked again. Only about 8 more miles left until you get there. The bottom of your feet hurt. You had a pinch in your side. It reminds you of all that ground you used to cover after the farm. Mostly it was driving but there were cases where it was back to walking. Like hunting with Daryl or finding gasoline. Stumbling along the sky was now just blue. Morning birds chirping in trees. You had only walked 3 out of the 8 miles so far. Taking notice that the herd must have cleared a good portion of the walkers because you had yet to see one. You sat down right on the road again. What you would do for some pasta right now. Thought of food making your stomach rumble. Sighing and getting back up again you walked a little slower than you first started. You had to keep going.

You look down to your feet as you walk. A hand pressing into the ache of your side. A distance rumble that wasn’t your stomach caught your ear. The closer it came you realize it was someone using the road! You spotted a car in the distance. The green jeep Glenn and Maggie often used. Sighing in relief, the thought of not having to walk another step was a blessing. You put your hands on your hips stopping in place waiting for them to get closer. But what caught your eye was Daryl’s bike behind them. A smile plastered on your face. You started laughing, it was a way to release some of the emotion bubbled into you. You give a small wave to the now closer jeep. You knew the moment they spotted you because the car seemed to jerk in surprise. The car rolled to a stop next to you. Daryl seemingly lost in thought only slowing seeing the jeep stopped.

By the time you saw him look up and lock eyes he didn’t even let his bike stop fully before jumping off and running to you. You were tired and disheveled looking but oddly so did Daryl. When he reached you he crashed into you lifting you off your feet into an embrace. The cold you had unknowingly gotten used to was replaced by Daryl’s warmth. He was breathing at a fast pace while you melted into him. Tears of relief were in your eyes about to fall when Daryl pulled back and kissed you with desperation. Never before have you been kissed in such a way. With so much… love. This was new to you both loving another like this. So you returned the kiss with just as much heart. Pulling back for air you both huffed staring at each other. The look in his eyes shock you. Never seeing him on the verge of tears made you actually break into your own. Sobbing and clinging to him in desperation with words flooded out of your mouth, “I love *hiccup* you- so much!” Your exhausted state delaying the flood of emotions. You were on survival mode and it wasn’t until feeling safe again that everything hit you.

You felt another hand on your back looking over Daryl’s shoulder to see Maggie with tears of her own with a smiling Glenn behind her. The shock and fear replaced by a laugh that unconditionally rolled out of you. Daryl had his head shoved into your neck, you could feel the dampness of his tears on your skin. You both still keeping a tight hold on the other. Glenn was the one to state in disbelief what mostly all of them had thought, “How the hell you manage to be alive right now is beyond me!” It is what made Daryl pull back to check you for injury’s. You watch as his face scans you. You pulled a hand away to grab the bottle and EpiPen you found with a smile. Looking down to the more then half gone bottle you gave a sheepish smile, “Luck or a refusal of death, I’m not to sure.”

A loud growl in your stomach pushed Daryl into gear, “We gotta get her back.” It’s the first words you’ve heard him say. He was obviously still in protector mode and will fall out of it when he knows you’re ok for real. But you couldn’t disagree with going back home, “How long have I been gone?” You were leaning into Daryl’s side, his arm around you while walking to his bike that had fallen over in his rush to see you. He looked down to you sadly moving away with a grunt to lift his bike up, “Almost two days…” He moved sitting on his bike and holding out his hand to help you on. Your eyes were wide with shock moving closer to him, “Well shit. So much for thinking it was about 12 hours.” You lifted yourself up behind him on the bike. You noticed he was confused at your words but that gave him even more reason to get you back and checked by Hershel.

You dozed off on the ride back. Clinging to Daryl you just couldn’t stop your eyes from wanting to close. You were unaware of how truly malnourished and dehydrated you were. Daryl’s hand would slide back and grab your thigh leading you to perk up from being slumped over him. When the prison came into view you sighed in relief leaning your head in between his shoulder blades. It was Carl who pulled open the gate. When Daryl pulled in you could hear Carl screaming your name as he rushed your way. Using Daryl’s shoulders to get off you waited for Carl to crash into you. He hadn’t show this much emotion since his mom died. You hugged him but eventually pulled back, knocking his hat back in place on his head.

A hand to your back was Daryl’s way of trying to pull you inside. Carl saying he needed to stay at the gate for the others. You didn’t realize everyone was out looking for you. Getting out of the bright light of outside made you realize just how bad of a headache you had, a sign of dehydration. First person you see is Herschel reading his Bible. His face immediately filling with a smile at the sight of you, you sheepishly returning it. His fusing over you getting the attention of Beth with Judith in arm to come rushing out of the cell block. More people fusing over you was becoming overwhelming. Your body seemingly running on whatever fumes it has left.

A bowl seemingly appearing in front of you snapping you back from space. You didn’t even realize you spaced out and you started catching up with Hershel speaking, “Yes, but after she eats she should sleep. She needs to eat again in 6 hours. With as many times we’ve struggled with food I’m worried for her internal organs.” You already started eating what was in front of you. It was filled with more meat than you’ve had since the farm! It was definitely hitting a spot but you struggled with eating it all. Apparently them looking for you always got them checking places that still hadn’t been picked through. You stood up and away from the bowl that was still half full. You grabbed the cup of water from the table and turning to Daryl who had a displeased face. You started walking to the cells,

“Come on grumpy I’m going to bed, if I eat anymore I’ll end up throwing it up.”

You could hear him quietly following you. It wasn’t until you rolled onto the bed with a sigh that you looked over at him. You were confused why you hadn’t felt the bed dip but his face had so much to say. The sheet that covered the door was pulled making the room a little darker. He just stood there seeming to not know what to do. “Daryl…” you were pressed up to the wall having your arms open trying to lure him to you. He lay on his side looking at you. He was tired you were sure. Sighing you scoot yourself closer to him. Running a hand up his arms got him to talk, “M’ sorry, just in my head.” He pulled an arm to wrap around your waist. He gulped looking at you with eyes that could stab a dagger through your heart.

His hand moving from your waist to your face and holding it there, “I didn’t know you were my everything.” You can only look at him with wide eyes and mouth slightly open in shock. Looking on to his glassy eyes while they roamed your being. Sleep was calling you yes… but he was basically screaming for you with his eyes. ‘Everything?’ You could only wonder how he felt thinking you were somewhere dead. His fingers move to bring the hair away from your face. Moving your hand to mirror his you looked him dead in the eyes, “I thought I was going to die, the only reason I didn’t was because of you.” His eyebrows furrowed so you continued,

“My last thoughts were of you. I was going to write you a letter and when I empty a school bag near me for something to write on the meds came falling out with it.”

You could feel him take in a big breath to try and steel himself but you inch closer with determination. ”The only reason I tried so hard was to come back to the one thing I had, you.” You give him a quick peck leaning back for him to come hold you closer to him in a tight grip. He mumbled out something while outstretched over you… “I love you so much it burns.” That's all it took to drift you into sleep with a smile.

When it comes to 'picking your poison.' Daryl will always go to choose you.

Feedback welcome and requests open! [Sorry for lack of posts schedule is back to every other day!]

[burning-academia-if]

Okay, so, I'll send a proper character reaction ask this time!

You may have seen that before, but it seems every IF blog gets that one ask about how would the ROs react, in relationship (but usually early on), if they see a hickey on MC's neck. And every single time that ask comes in, my fluff loving heart has to send a follow up in which I then ask - "but what if, after that hickey stuff, the RO learned (from the MC or otherwise, probably by accident) that this is not a hickey at all, but a mosquito bite to which the MC had some sort of allergic or otherwise strong reaction, which made it look as big and red?"

So this time I thought... why not just ask the whole thing all at once and be done with it? So like, the actual question: "In relationship, how do the ROs react when seeing a hickey on MC's neck... and how do they react when they later learn this was not a hickey but an insect bite (which also means if they didn't outright comment on it, the MC must have been very confused if they reacted badly)?"

PS: feel free to ignore it if it's too long or annoying to answer! Like I said, usually someone else sends the hickey ask, and I send the follow up. But well, if you feel like it, I'd be very curious!

Thanks and have a great day!

"Hickie" + It's just a bite.

Rook:

For the past ten minutes, he’s been staring at your neck. Or rather, trying his best not to. His thoughts are racing and you haven’t noticed as the two of you walk to a nearby place to grab lunch. Your hands are twined together, and you’ve been talking about classes and work and he thinks he’s been responding.

Inside his head, is a symphony of thoughts. He’s marathoned the five stages of grief already. Currently he rests in the center of ‘acceptance’ and ‘grief.’ Mostly, he’s teetering over the edge into a downward spiral of examining himself.

Rook has always been able to see you with anyone else besides him. Still, the fact you somehow still existed in the same space as him for so long, only because the stars kept aligning in his favor, has been one he’s taken for granted.

There are plenty of things he hasn’t been able to give you, and there’s a strangely complicated history spanning between you two, like a stretch of highway flooded to the ankles after rain. It’s why the mere act of you being here, besides him, is all he can ask for.

If you need someone else, he isn’t going to stop you. The fact your beside him at all is enough of a miracle, and he won’t complain even if it makes his heart break. It’s nothing short of what he deserves.

“You’re quieter than usual.” You comment at some point, and he blinks himself back to reality.

“Sorry. Tired. Stayed up too late last night.”

“You stay up late every night.”

“Well, there you go!” He grins and you only raise a brow at him, but mercifully, comment no further. He has to focus, to slip the mask back on. To keep himself steady.

As you both near the place you’d agreed to eat, you tug on his hand, “Wait, can we stop at the corner store real quick?”

“Oh yeah, did you need something.”

You motion towards your neck, directly at the mark Rook has been trying so hard to ignore, “I need to get some hydrocortisone cream for this bite, it’s been bothering me all day.”

He blinks once, then twice. For once, he’s almost at a loss for words, “Oh.”

“…? Is something wrong?”

“No, I just didn’t realize bites could get that bad.” He covers, quickly. You stare at him and he stares back, all previous thoughts wiped from his mind. He had not been starting to think you were better off without him, nor were his thoughts wandering to how much happier you’d be with anyone else.

He eases his expression into a smile, and you only shrug, “If you say so.”

The thick feeling in his throat never quite leaves.

Beck:

Beck is recounting every face of every person he’s ever seen you interact with. Every person you were just a little too close with, or anyone whose every expressed any interest in you.

He’d spotted you earlier, and in any other case he’d have gone to you and try to squeeze in a few minutes of time together before he had to attend class. Instead, he’d seen you rub at your neck and caught the red mark on your neck. Everything had gone blank, and he’d left before you’d seen him.

Now, his thoughts are scattered in every direction. Beck reads people, and he’s good at it. It’s why this is all hard to wrap his head around. There hadn’t been any change in your demeanor or how you acted around him. If he searches through his memories, he really can’t think of any signs. Or maybe he’s lying to himself.

His fingers keep tapping against the counter as he gazes at nothing. His actions had been so annoyingly constant, Rook had snapped at him to stop brooding in the main. With Beck’s mild response, and clear intention of not doing so, he’d left.

It’s why when the door opens now, later, he expects it to just be him coming back. When he turns and sees you, his spinning thoughts once more freeze. He isn’t ready to see you.

“Hi,” you give a small smile, “Rook told me something was wrong.”

“Oh,” He lets his eyes close, trying to decide how to go about this, “Sorry.”

You take the seat next to him, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. There is only concern in your voice, and he can’t understand how you could have cheated on him and still be so full of affection, “What happened? It’s rare to see you like this.”

“Well, I…” It’s also rare for him to not know what to say. He steels himself, sets his jaw and turns to fully face you. It’s when he does this that he sees a newly acquired bandage on your neck. He falters once more, “A band aid?”

You reach up, looking like you’d even forgotten it’s there, “Oh, yeah. Don’t worry about it, I just got bit. But what’s wrong with you—”

He breaths out a laugh as his head falls and his forehead rests on your shoulder. You stiffen for a moment, before you carefully run a hand through his hair. A bite, of course. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Why didn’t he think of that?

“I’m fine,” he says, and you shift a little as his breath fans across your skin, “Especially now that you’re here.”

You look like you want to say more, but he stops it with a feather light kiss. And another, and another. His relief is palpable, and despite your confusion, you kiss him back, fingers gently combing through his hair in comfort.

Rhea:

You’re already in the student government room, bent over paperwork you promised earlier to help out with. Rhea almost smiles at the sight, eyes going soft. You’re pretty much an honorary member of the SGA at this point.

“Good morning.” She says letting the door shut behind her. “You’re early today.”

“So are you.” You sit up straight, sending her a smile. The movement allows her to see your neck, and it’s like the breath was stolen from her. There, on your neck, is an angry red mark. Her eyes narrow as they zero in on it and you, sensing the clear change in demeanor, shift. “Is something wrong?”

It isn’t like this would be the first time, she thinks, as her insides turn. There have always been people who got close to her solely because of her position and not because they actually cared about her. She’s been cheated on before, but it does not stop the knife from digging in deep.

Even if she didn’t think you were capable of it, it isn’t like she’s judged someone wrong before, “If you’ve already grown bored of me, you merely need to tell me.”

You rise, eyebrows knitting together, “I’m not sure what you mean?”

“I think the evidence on your neck is clear enough.” She can feel the burn in her throat, but she doesn’t cry. She retains her mask as well as she can and turns away as you go shell-shocked.

“Wait, you mean my bug bite?” She freezes before turning back to you. You step closer, allowing her a better view of the mark. Now, right in front of her, she can see the bump in the center of the angry red skin, a clear indication it is, in fact, a bite. “It looks pretty bad, right?”

Her face flushes red, and she rushes her words, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“With how bad it looks, I can understand the confusion.”

“Still, I immediately jumped to conclusions and judged the worst of your character. That isn’t any way to start a relationship.” She takes a breath, and tries to steady herself and the flood of old memories that had overtaken her. “I’ll do my best not to jump to conclusions next time.”

Despite how the accusation must have rattled you, you merely take her hand when she offers it and give it a small squeeze. Her heart’s still racing and there is still a buzz running down her skin, but at least she’s assured that it was nothing.

Zoe:

You pause, tilting your head at them, “Is something wrong?”

“That mark—on your neck—”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, something bit me. It’s been itching really bad and I think I irritated it more.” You laugh, your hand moving towards it before stopping yourself at the last second.

Zoe has never felt such a strong mix of both relief and stupidity, “

Lars:

Your eyes are wide and his are cold as he cages you between the table and his body. His jaw is set, pupils dilated, and he wears the threat like a favorite cloak. You search his expression, and he thinks you have a lot of nerve.

“What’s…what’s wrong?”

“I think that should be obvious.” His voice is low, and he knows it best to leave. To turn his back and never look back. But the way you approached him, as if the hickey on your neck wasn’t so obvious, had made him see red.

His fingers coast up your arm, and you swallow hard, “I really don’t know. And this is…a lot. Even for you.”

“Is it?” He stops, hovering just beneath the mark. The fact it came from someone else, someone he doesn’t know, sets his teeth on edge. He doesn’t want to feel this. He’d rather just sleep and not have to deal with the presence of reality. His hand rises, and presses against the mark.

You let out a hiss, “Ow, hey, be careful. That bite really hurts.”

He goes still, his touch easing almost instantly, “Bite?”

“Yeah? There’s no way you didn’t notice…” your voice trails off and you eye him, “You didn’t think it was a bite, did you?”

As the initial rage ebbs away, he takes another look at it again. There isn’t the normal bruising of a hickey, and it is only the red of irritation. His hand slips behind your neck, pressing you even closer, “Maybe I didn’t.”

His head dips down and you let out a small gasp as his lips press against your skin on the opposite side, “Lars—”

“But this one will be.” And his teeth sink down.

???:

You return to your dorm, and you catch the faint, almost translucent figure of The Voice. They’re resting on the couch, which can’t be a comfortable place to sleep. Hesitant, as though they’ll fade away again, you brush a hand across their face and feel the cold.

Their eyes open and you smile at them, “Good morning.”

“Oh, MC…” Their voice trails off as they seem to catch on something. A flicker of something crosses their expression, and they move away from your hand.

You pause, “Is something wrong?”

Instead of a response, they reach out and press their forehead against yours. Again, you feel their presence wrap around you, inside, as though you were both back in the old days of when you two had become bound.

You let them, if only because the stillness that has over taken them is one you know well, although it’s never been directed at you. It’s obvious when they find what they need because they give a soft sight and pull away.

The warmth is back in their eyes, “You can’t leave a bite so severe untreated, my love. What if it gets infected?”

“Is that what bothered you?” They press a kiss against your cheek before they pull away. “Come, let’s disinfect it. I don’t wish it to get worse.”

They pull you up, and lead you towards the bathroom. The strength in their grip tells you that they’re still rattled by something, but you’re not sure what. You know if you question it, they won’t say, so you merely sit on the counter and let do what they wish, watching as their demeanor slowly unwinds.

[butterbeerblurbs]

Fred giving his girlfriend something not knowing she’s allergic and being super lovely dovy after?

haha! this is definitely something fred would do 🤣i see it happening and how he'd be taking care of her so well after. so here it is babes! i hope you enjoy this one 😘

//

a little accident, a whole lotta guilt (f.w.)

💌: fred thought for sure this would be one of the most romantic dates you two have had... until he triggers your allergic reaction. 📝word count: 823 words / fred weasley x muggleborn!reader / 🌸silly fluff 💬: i kinda tried? idk, i like the idea but wanted to make it realistic with what i know with allergic reactions? so hopefully it’s still enjoyable, haha! ✨

with what fred had planned, it would’ve easily been a romantic gesture. a perfect date in hogsmeade, appreciating each other’s company in the courtyard where the sun was out, the well-thought picnic basket fred had packed and... a piece of treat that sent you rushing to the hospital wing (and thank god for angelina in knowing where you kept your epipen in case of emergencies).

he actually forgot you were allergic to peanuts. not just oh, i get itchy but... my throat closes in on itself and i can’t breathe kind of reaction. it slipped his mind when he was too excited with what he had planned. fred was so certain this was it. the date that was gonna make you feel better after long weeks of cramming for o.w.l.s  and now here you were recovering from an allergic reaction he had caused.

it’s only after a moment under madam pomfrey’s inspection, the aid from angelina and her urging him to go see you did he build the courage to visit you in the hospital wing. he stands by one of the pillars, hidden from view as he peeks to see you... looking right at him.

“you’re not exactly tiny, freddie.” you chuckle lightly, causing him to throw his head back with a groan. he reveals himself (as if he was doing so well in hiding before), taking calculated steps towards you. he stops just a couple of steps away, hands behind his back, hanging his head low as he kicks his own feet.

“you look like that time i pulled the triggers on fireworks before you.”

he snaps his head up with a frown, “you said i actually did it!”

“there’s no way you would believe me if george knew it wasn’t you, either.”

his mouth opens to retaliate, but he finds that he can’t. not when you’re laying in bed looking all weak but still so, so strong and loving at the same time. sometimes he doesn’t know how he managed to get with someone like you. whenever he has those doubts, all he has to do is look into your eyes and somehow, someway, those thoughts diminish on their own.

as if you had some sort of power beyond magic.

“you gonna stand there all day, weasley? or are you gonna come here and give me a hug?”

it’s like he can’t resist, either. a force that drives him over to where you are. seated on your bed next to you, his long limbs are already snaking around your figure to pull you into his embrace. he relishes in it, sighing into your neck when he feels you giggling. almost as if he doesn’t deserve this. not after what could’ve transpired if he wasn’t quick enough or if angelina hadn’t been fast to catch on what had happened.

“i’m an idiot,” he mumbles into your hair.

“yeah, but you’re my idiot,” you snicker when he huffs, pulling away to frown at you with his features contorting into a look of distaste. almost like a wounded puppy. the resemblance was... spot on, you would say.

“it’s okay, freddie,” you say, “now you’ll remember this forever and make sure you don’t feed me nuts,”

“remember?” he scoffs, “i think i’ve gotten this tattooed to my brain.”

“good thing it’s not my death then, huh?”

“...”

“...”

“...sorry. too soon?”

“no joking about your death. i’m too fragile for that.”

“okay, okay.”

it’s in the midst of the silence that you feel fred’s lips by the side of your head, murmuring a soft i’m sorry, love. and it’s in the way you kiss the spot on his neck before settling your face there, with a smile he feels on his skin that he knows it’s okay, freddie.

((”are there any nuts in that?”

“freddie,”

“yeah?”

“it’s an omelet.”

“can’t be too careful!”

//

“nuts?”

"freddie,”

"hm?”

“it’s bread.”

“...some pastries have nuts...”

george snickers, flicking a napkin to his face across the table at the great hall, “oi, cool it with the hounding, yeah?”

“oh, sorry mate. just an allergy that can kill my girl but who cares, yeah?”

“we goin’ there?” george scoffs a laugh, “let’s not forget who–”george muffles his jab to fred when you quickly shove a muffin to his mouth. it garners quiet chuckles in your circle of friends before the conversation steers away from the twins’ banter. 

as you eat your breakfast and listen in on katie’s rambles, you peek to fred to see him smiling at you gratefully. how was it that it’s a bad experience for you, but you sheltered him from it? he still doesn’t know how a person like you existed. as your hand reaches beneath the table to hold onto his... he laces his fingers with yours and gives you a smile. knowing that behind that smile, he’s reminded time and time again that yeah, you exist. with him. here, together. and wherever.))

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

Baby Stevie having an allergic reaction and Harry is all paranoid because his baby is all red and puffy and she can’t stop crying and you’re not home so of course Harry is gonna feel like the worst dad ever because this all happened when you were away (can you tell I just watched the game plane lol)

this is definitely not as dramatic as the scene from the game plan, but I hope you like it!

not your fault

warnings: child having an allergic reaction, (not very serious, no use of EpiPens/needles) anxiety

word count: 2.6k

“Wave bye bye!” Harry said, holding up Stevie’s arm and waving it at you. “Bye mommy!”

“Bye H, bye Stevie! I’ll be home soon, don’t cause too much trouble!” You said, laughing as you got in your car.

“I think we can manage that, hm?” He said, looking at the six month old in his arms. “What do you think?”

She babbled in response.

“Yeah?” He said, sounding very interested. “Sorry, Y/N, she says no promises,” he called, smiling.

You rolled your eyes, giving one final wave as you backed out of the driveway.

“Alright, Miss Stevie, we have the house to ourselves. What are we gonna do?”

She didn’t respond.

“Not very talkative today, are we?” He said, bouncing her a bit.

She looked him, eyes scrunching up as she yawned.

“Yawning? What’s this? It’s only 3 in the afternoon, and you’ve already had two naps today! I’m the one who should be tired, carrying you around all day,” he said dramatically. He loosened his grip on her for a fraction of a second, letting her drop less than an inch. She squealed, laughing as she gripped his shirt with her tiny fists.

“You’re an adventurous little one, aren’t you,” he smiled, repeating the motion. His heart swelled when she laughed again. That laugh was probably his favorite noise in the world. Besides yours. Maybe it was a tie.

She babbled up at him again, gesturing with her hands.

“Is that so?” Harry said, getting very involved in the conversation. “No she didn’t,” he gasped when Stevie waved her arms. “I don’t believe her!”

Stevie nodded, babbling some more words.

“What a shocking turn of events,” he said, eyes going wide.

When she was done talking, she sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he walked her to the kitchen.

“What do you say we find a snack?” He said, setting her in her high chair, hushing her when she fussed.

“Here, look at this!” He said, handing her a rubber spoon to distract her while he buckled her in.

She was instantly fascinated, investigating the new object by putting it in her mouth. Harry smiled, stepping away to open the fridge.

“What are we in the mood for today, Stevie?” He asked, turning around to face her. She stared at him with wide eyes, the spoon still in her mouth. “You’re not much help,” he laughed. “Maybe some yogurt,” he decided. 

“This?” He asked when Stevie reached for the container. She made a frustrated noise when he didn’t immediately give her what she wanted. “I have to open it, love!”

She got more upset, growling as she reached again.

“Fine, you can have it,” he said, handing her the yogurt. She looked at it, then back at him. “Right, you can’t get it, because there’s a lid,” he said, settling into the chair next to her. “Would you like me to open it?” He asked.

She allowed him to take the cup from her, watching carefully as he peeled off the tinfoil.

“See, just like that,” he said, handing the container back to her. He opened his own, laughing when Stevie smeared a glob of yogurt on her face. “Missed your mouth there, bug.”

She ignored him, continuing to make a mess. Harry just laughed, shaking his head.

Soon enough, she got bored of her snack. She communicated this by flinging her spoon onto the floor.

“Hey!” He said, leaning down to pick it up. “No throwing.”

She babbled defiantly.

“Don’t sass me!” He said, unable to keep himself from smiling. He already knew she was going to be a handful when she could talk.

Stevie pushed her yogurt away from her, smearing it all over her tray in the process.

“Done?” He asked, beginning to pull the cup away from her. When she didn’t protest, he threw it in the garbage can and reached for a washcloth.

She seemed to know what was coming and began squirming in her seat.

“Not this time, missy,” he said, remembering the other day when he had made the mistake of lifting her down before wiping her face off. The result had been food smeared all over his shirt. All over it.

He reached toward her, trying to wipe her mouth with the cloth. She turned her head every which way, somehow managing to avoid his attempts.

“Stevie,” he sighed, “Please?” He asked in a sing-song tone.

She stopped moving, intrigued by his voice. He used this opportunity to reach in again, but she was quick to turn her head. He groaned, lowering the cloth, before he had an idea.

“Stevie is my princess, my baby girl,” he sang, reaching forward slowly. She was so focused on his singing that she didn’t even flinch when he started wiping her face again. “My Stevie is so pretty, pretty like her mama,” he smiled, cleaning the last of her face. “See? All done,” he said, throwing the cloth back to the sink.

Harry went to remove the tray from her high chair, but stopped when she slapped her hands down on it.

“What?” He said, looking at her in surprise. “What do you want?”

She just looked at him.

“Come on, love, let’s go read a book!” He said, trying to remove the tray again. She fussed, banging her fists on the plastic.

“Alright, alright, you don’t have to be so aggressive about it,” he said, stepping back. “Would you like some berries?”

She babbled, bouncing in her seat.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he laughed, going to the fridge and finding the container of strawberries. “I think you’ve had these before,” he said, inspecting the fruits. “Should be fine, I’ll just cut them up small,” he said, mostly to himself.

He was excessively careful with what food he gave her. He got dozens of pamphlets from the pediatrician, filling the front of the fridge with “can baby have...” and “best foods for infants” and “nutrition tips”. You almost banned him from going to Stevie’s appointments with you, claiming your fridge was running out of room.

He didn’t care that he was probably being a helicopter parent. It was worth constantly hovering if it meant Stevie would be safe and healthy.

He rinsed the berries, patting them dry with a towel before moving them to the cutting board. He hummed along to the song playing out of the speaker. “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, because he wanted Stevie to be introduced to excellent music as soon as possible. It would ensure she had good taste later in life.

Once the strawberries were cut into tiny pieces, he set a few of them on Stevie’s tray. She didn’t hesitate, grabbing a handful and shoving them all into her mouth.

“Good thing I didn’t give you very many,” Harry said, laughing. He closed the container, putting them back in the fridge.

His smile dropped when he closed the door and saw Stevie. She had stopped chewing and her face was turning red. His eyes widened and he rushed over, putting his thumb on her chin to open her mouth. Harry sighed in relief when he saw she had swallowed the fruit and definitely wasn’t choking. Then he started panicking again, because her face was getting brighter and her cheeks were getting puffy. Her face scrunched up and she started crying.

He quickly unbuckled her from the seat, picking her up and patting her back firmly just in case. She cried harder, so she could definitely breathe. This didn’t help Harry’s panic much, because that meant something else was wrong.

His mind was racing as he thought of what this could be. She’s had yogurt before she’s had strawberries before why is this happening what do I do-

He shook his head, thinking of what to do next. Freaking out wouldn’t help him. He had to think clearly and quickly. This was not an easy task with Stevie screaming in his ear. As distracting as it was, he wasn’t annoyed at all, because it meant her throat wasn’t closing and she could still breathe properly.

“I know love, I’m sorry, I’ll fix this, you’ll feel better soon,” he said nervously, bouncing her to try and calm her down. “Just let me... Ah! I know what we need!” He said, running into the bathroom. He opened the medicine cabinet, searching frantically for the bottle he needed.

He sighed in relief when he found the Benadryl, pulling it out along with an empty syringe. He quickly went back to the kitchen, sitting on the floor with Stevie in his lap. He scanned the label for the dose, drawing it up in the syringe and holding it to her mouth.

“Come on Stevie, I know it’s yucky, I’m so sorry, you have to take this, come on,” he encouraged her, trying to get her to stop screaming. She finally quieted, sucking on the syringe as if it were a pacifier. Harry pushed the plunger, making sure she swallowed all of the medicine. As soon as he removed it, she started crying again.

His heart broke as he pulled her against him, rubbing her back.

“It’s ok, bug, I’m so sorry,” he soothed. “You’ll feel better soon, I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

Soon enough, the red started to fade and her cheeks went back to their normal size. Harry slumped back against the cabinets in relief, still holding her securely against his chest.

She was still crying, but thankfully her screaming had quieted and she was mostly just breathing unevenly.

After about ten minutes, he lifted her up to look at her. He inspected her face, making sure it was all back to normal. When he decided everything was good, he stood up and moved over to the living room with her.

He settled back on the recliner, pulling a blanket over them. She was laying on her tummy on his chest, head turned so she could hear his heartbeat. Her crying had all but stopped by now; the only noises he heard from her were a few sniffles every now and then.

Harry rubbed her back, humming softly to soothe her. She fell asleep quickly. All the crying and having an allergic reaction must have tired her out, he thought to himself. He was feeling worse and worse with every minute that passed. He was supposed to protect her. That was literally his job. He was supposed to keep her out of harm’s way. He was supposed to make sure nothing ever hurt her. He was supposed to know what foods she was allergic to, for goodness sake. That was just about the bare minimum of being a father: knowing what food could potentially kill your child and then not giving them that food.

Harry’s eyes welled up with tears. This was all his fault. He gave her those strawberries. He gave her something that caused direct harm. He hurt her.

He would never let you leave him alone with Stevie again. It wasn’t safe.

-----

“Harry, she’ll be ok!” You said, placing your hand on his arm to calm him down.

“No, she can’t be in there alone, please let me move her crib to our room,” he said desperately. His eyes darted around Stevie’s room as if he was looking for potential dangers.

“Harry, it’s alright, we have the baby monitor-“

“No, that’s not enough, she won’t be safe if we can’t see her!” He said, his eyes welling up.

“Ok,” you concede, knowing he’s in no state to argue about this. “But you can’t move her crib by yourself, why don’t we get the playpen and set it up by our bed, she can sleep in there.”

He nodded, moving to the closet and pulling out the large bag. He carried it to your room while you put Stevie’s pajamas on her.

She was totally ok. There was no trace of redness or puffiness on her face, and she had stopped crying before you had even gotten home. She was acting completely normal, her usually silly and bouncy self.

This didn’t seem to make Harry feel any better. He had been miserable since you got home and he explained what happened.

You had reassured him that Stevie had eaten strawberries before and had no problem. You explained that sometimes children just developed allergies. It was strange, and it was unfortunate, but it happened. You told him, multiple times, that this wasn’t his fault. You told him that he did a great job staying calm and getting Stevie the help she needed.

None of this seemed to matter. You could tell he was beating himself up for letting something happen to Stevie on his watch.

He didn’t even want to hold her. “She’ll be safer with you,” he said sadly.

You sighed, picking up your sleepy baby and walking to your room.

“Harry?” You asked softly, pushing open the door.

“Almost done,” he mumbled.

When he straightened up, he wouldn’t even look at you. You tried to hand Stevie to him so he could lay her down, but he quickly stepped aside.

“I’ll- I’m going to get her diffuser,” he said, leaving you and Stevie alone again.

You pressed a kiss to her forehead, setting her down gently in the playpen. You smiled when she flopped over, falling asleep almost right away.

Harry came back carrying the diffuser. He plugged it into the wall, filling the room with the sweet smell of lavender.

“Harry-“

“Don’t. Just... don’t,” he said, avoiding your eyes.

“Harry, come on. Look at me,” you said, stepping closer to him.

He finally complied, looking into your eyes. Your heart broke when you saw how sad he looked.

You opened your arms and he walked into them, holding you tightly. You felt him shaking as he started to cry.

“Harry, please don’t blame yourself for this,” you pleaded. “This exact same thing could have happened to me.”

“But it didn’t,” he said shakily. “It happened while I was watching her. You trusted me to keep her safe and I couldn’t do it,” his words broke off in a sob.

You tightened your arms around him. “Harry, you couldn’t have known. She’s eaten them before, and everything was totally fine. This isn’t your fault.”

“No, but it is!” He said, pulling away. “I fed them to her. I gave her something bad. I basically poisoned her. I can’t- I can’t watch her again. You can’t leave me alone with her again,” he said, getting the same desperate look on his face from earlier.

“Harry, wait,” you said, grabbing his arms so he couldn’t step farther away. “What if it happened to me? What if you had gone shopping and I had been here with her? What if I gave her the strawberries and I was blaming myself? What would you say?”

“I would tell you it wasn’t your fault and that you were a wonderful mother,” he said quietly, looking at the floor.

“Exactly,” you said, leaning in to meet his eyes. “You are an amazing father, H. You’re so good with her, and she loves you. One bad day doesn’t mean you’re just suddenly not a good dad anymore.”

He exhaled, pulling you back into his arms. You listened to his heart pounding as he breathed in and out shakily.

After a few minutes, you pulled back to look at him.

“Think we can go to sleep now? Stevie knocked out pretty fast, you must be tired too,” you smiled.

“Yeah, I am,” he laughed. “Emotional trauma is exhausting.”

He fell onto the bed, pulling you down with him. You both giggled, shushing each other when you remembered there was a baby sleeping next to you.

He pulled you close, tucking the blankets around you.

“Goodnight, my lovely wife,” he murmured.

“Goodnight, my lovely husband.”

[mxvladdy]

wait holy shit youre taking requests???? okay first of all, im in love with your writing skills especially those true forms they are *chefs kiss* magnifique. second, may i request for an angst but fluff ending prompt for barbatos/simeon/solomon (im an absolute simp for them) about MC having a really bad asthma attack and coupled with anxiety attack? (totally not me lmao) please and thank you! sorry for being too specific!

A/N: Oshbagosh! I hope you are good fam! You have excellent taste in simpin ngl Barbatos came out of left field for me, though I am weak for a quick wit and sharp tongue lol. And thank you for liking my works! Sorry, this took so long;.;

I hope my research was good and accurate! 

Barbatos

Does not know what is going on at first. Were you having an allergic reaction to something you ate? Had you gotten into some Devildom spices he hadn’t secured well enough?

Panics internally. He is very ready to spend the exurbanite amount of energy it would take to turn back the clocks before you started wheezing. 

Externally he keeps a level head, glad his gloves hide how sweaty his palms are. He remembers then your human medical file. 

He tends to you quickly grabbing your medication and carrying you away from whatever triggered this attack. 

“Do you need a doctor?” Barbatos asks for the umpteenth time. He runs a gloved hand up and down your back. You shake your head weakly coughing to try and dislodge some phlegm now breakdown in your throat. You take a shaky breath feeling your airways loosen, the fresh air that fills your lungs taste so sweet. 

“I’ll be ok Barb.” You wheeze taking another deep inhale from your inhaler. “Stop hovering and sit please, you are starting to stress me out more.” The demon makes a weird tutting noise in distress but comes to sit next to you. You lean back with a groan. The garden wall was rough on your back but you didn’t care at the moment. It had been so long since you had a flare-up you had almost forgotten what it felt like. You shift over slightly seeking out the heat of your companion's body. Exhausted you flop over to rest your head on his shoulder.

“Here let me.” He pulls out his ornate handkerchief and starts whipping at your nose and eyes. “What triggered this love? Have I missed someplace in my cleaning?” He knew he didn’t, never in all his years had he ever missed a spot. He would retire in shame if he did, but he felt like he had to fill the silence. If you were talking that meant you were alright. Right? He curses at himself. He thought he knew more about humans than this, yet you somehow threw curveball after curveball at him. He needs you to be safe and happy yet he choked on something like this? Perhaps he would suffer more of Solomon’s companionship to pick his brain on human ailments. As long as he could dodge eating any of his cooks.   

You fidget as he cleans your face and fusses over you, but you let him. This was for his benefit more than yours. “No, I think it's pollen. Your plants are not something I’m used to yet, and with the wind, it just hit harder.” He grunts, not pleased with your answer. He could do anything about the plants, and things out of his control were few and far between. You catch the inner argument he was having with his many selves and scoff. “Barb-” You take the cloth from him and tuck it in your pocket. “You and all your selves absolutely cannot control my illness, and that's ok.” He doesn’t look convinced, no doubt looking for a loophole in the webs he weaves. 

“Given the time I-” He stops at your withering look. “I don’t like not being in control.” Your look softens. 

“Who does?” You clear your throat finally feeling a bit more like yourself. Well, at least the garden wasn’t spinning anymore. “There. I think I can manage. Can you help me to the nurses' office? I should get a check-up since it’s been a while since I’ve had an attack. Then I think I’m going to call it a day.” 

Barbatos nods helping you to your shaky feet. His hands locked around your arm like he was afraid you would crumble again. You give him a reassuring look and lean into his weight. You didn’t need it, but it was a nice feeling, being looked after. Besides, it was so rare to get his sole attention. “I’ll inform the young master  that we will be taking the rest of the day off.” 

“We?” 

“Of course.”  He says resolutely. “Unless you wish for me to leave?” He barely contains his smile when he feels your hands squeeze tighter around his bicep. 

“As long as I’m not impeding.” Your words are half-hearted at best. You don’t give a damn if it throws off some super-secret agenda, you were happy to have more time with him. He calmed your nerves. 

Simeon

He hadn’t meant to trigger an attack. The weather outside was simply lovely.  It was dry and warm with a breeze that made grass dance in a mesmerizing way. The track around one of the Devildom’s many bodies of crystalline water was beautiful at this time of the day. He had to share his enthusiasm.

He just wanted to go for a walk with you. He had so much to talk about with you that he forgot how long his legs are compared to yours. He was so excited he didn’t realize how fast his gait is and how much you were struggling to keep up with him. He didn’t realize your troubles until he felt a sweaty palm on his wrist. 

Openingly gets panicked but knows about human medicine and where you store your inhaler. 

Simeon breathes deeply through his nose and out his mouth. One deep inhale and one long exhale- focus just focus. His chest clenches in alarm at your shallow pants, his eyesight narrowing down to pinpricks. Blessedly he keeps a steady hand.

“Slowly now my dear.” He shakes your inhaler before bringing it to your lips. His strong fingers massaging your jaw to loosen it. Squeezing your cheeks he slips the apparatus past your teeth noticing how glassy your eyes were becoming. “Inhale.” He orders thanking his father you understand him enough to comply.  He watches you like a hawk till he hears your heartbeat steady. Once he is sure he could look away he calls Lucifer. He doesn’t remember what he said, but he knew it was a panic-fueled rush.

“Simeon,” He looks up from his phone. “I’m ok…” You wheeze blinking up into the afternoon moons. Simeon shushes you running his warm hands over your cheeks. They were ice-cold despite the heat. He warms his palms with magic watching the fog clear from your gaze. “Thanks.” 

“You shouldn’t thank me.” He pulls away, shaking his head. “This is my fault. I apologize, my dove.” You chuckle breathlessly becoming aware of your surroundings. Last thing you remember was walking up the shoreline. Now the hardwood of the bench pokes at your back. Had you collapsed here? Or did Simeon carry you over? “I should have been more aware of the situation.” He pulls at his hair in frustration. His lower lip turns red as he worries it with his teeth.

You swat his hand away from his hair wincing in sympathy when a few chunks of hair that follow. Linking his dexterous fingers with your clammy ones, you trace the lines in his palm with your thumb. You try to breathe in time with the steady rise and fall of his chest letting your meds take full effect. Your breathing was better, but you still had spots in your vision. “It’s not your fault really. I should have told you when I started feeling bad.” 

“I should have noticed. How can I protect you if I can’t even realize your limitations?” He bemoans. You exhale a jerky laugh. Your lungs throbbing with the sharp movement. It ached for sure, but not enough that you couldn’t get up. Ignoring his protests you get off the bench and pull him up with you.  

“None of that!” You wag a finger in his face. I’m allowed to panic, not you. You try to make light of the situation but your finger trembles in his face.  “You did exactly what you should have so don’t doubt yourself. Sides’-” You clasp yours. hands together playing with your thumbs. “I got horribly distracted too, and pushed myself.” 

“By what?” 

“You.” Your cheeks heat in embarrassment. “ You were so excited to have the day with me I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Simeon blinks. “You-didn’t want to ruin the mood by telling me you were having an asthma attack?” You shrug, a childish smile crossing your face. Unbelievable. Simeon swears under his breath. “I-I am at a loss for words.” He places both his hands on your shoulders squeezing them. “I will find them later and then we'll talk about your amazing lack of self-preservation, but for now, Lucifer is waiting for us at the nurses' office.” Not giving you time to argue he scoops you up, arm holding you under your knees and securely around your shoulders.  Once he knew you were safe, he would make sure to have an eye on you at all times.

Solomon

The dusty old library located in the catacombs of the school was a dead giveaway to be trouble for your lungs. You both knew that. He warns you, the moment you feel ill they are leaving, no questions, no arguments. Very much the calmest of the three. He is human...mostly… so he knows the signs and can catch it much faster than the others. 

Still worried about you though. You aren’t a mage,  just his regular old human. 

When he gets nervous he makes jokes. Not appropriate given the circumstances but they just come out. So while he is dragging you from the school he is making the obligatory joke about him taking your breath away.

He will have whatever medications or potions he can think of at the ready for you to use if you need them. Won’t baby you or hover, you’ve lived with this for long he doesn’t want to insult you in any way. But he will keep close and have his ringer on loud in case you need him.

But now he wants you to rest and recover. He’ll keep you company though.

You gaze sleepily out of the bedroom window propped up on an exorbitant amount of puffs and pillows. You breathe out with caution, testing to see if you were still having any lingering effects from being down in the catacombs. It wasn’t anything too serious this time, thankfully. The moment you started clearing your throat and breathing just a little too hard to be considered normal, Soloman had grabbed both your bags and dragged you from the moldy and dusty space. You were a little put out at how quickly your asthma had acted up. You had just found the book you were looking for too. 

“If you keep squirming out of your blankets I’ll seal you in there with magic.” Your captor friend appears, pulling aside the drapes around his bed to sit next to you. He flashes you a cocky grin placing a tray on his bedside table. Solomon scans your face looking for any inkling of pain that might linger. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m hot.” You lie. In truth, the many blankets he wrapped you in felt marvelous, but you were being cantankerous. You wanted to get up and go back to work. The mage raises a pale brow, not believing a word of it.

“Of course you are, my little scholar.” He tucks you in again a little tighter then props your cocooned feet on his legs. “How are you really?” 

You shrug. Compared to other attacks you’ve had this one was thankfully mild.  Most likely because he had whisked you out the winding maze-like library faster than you thought possible. The jitters from the panic attack that followed took more out of you. Luckily for you, Solomon handled that easily too. “You know I want to go back.” You had your hands on the book you wanted when you started feeling a little breathless.  You wanted to believe it was out of excitement for the tomes. But the back of that section of the library was damp, cool, and dark. The perfect trifecta for your lungs to riot. 

Solomon nodded unfazed. “Yes, I’ve come to realize that whenever danger is present you seem to gravitate towards it.” He smiles fondly at your pout. Your thirst for knowledge was almost as insatiable as his, and both of you seemed to have a knack for attracting danger. He watches you fidget in your confines for a little bit more before sighing. “Alright-alright, I get the drift hold still.”  Leaning over you he loosens the covers around your arms to give you a little bit of freedom. As soon as you were free you pinch his nose hard in retaliation. “Oi!”  He laughs pulling back to rub at his nose. “Such violence! And here I came bearing gifts!” 

“That’s for insulting me!” You huff settling back down. “I hope it’s food, I’m starving.” You eye him expectantly. 

“Feed you? After that assault? My, you are brazing.” He picks up the tray he brought despite himself. The school cafe was serving your favorites today. Placing it on your lap he brushes his lips across your cheek. “Plus, I made tea.” You hum in excitement, eyes lighting up with glee. While he couldn’t cook worth a damn (you chalk it up to him irretrievably destroying his sense of taste and smell tolling over potions for years). He did have amazing luck with blending tea leaves and spices. A skill he severely took for granted. 

You pick up the tea and breath deeply only to have a coughing fit. His warm broad hands are there in an instant pushing you back into the pillows. “Sorry-sorry. Still a bit tender.” You smile through watery eyes. “It smells great!” 

“Does it? What do you smell? I admit, I just picked out things that looked pretty together.” He flushes pink rubbing at the back of his neck. 

You take the cup again and sniff. It had a hint of springtime in it, warm and sharp. Something earthy mixed with fire. You take a sip. “Hmm, spicy. Is that licorice?” Solomon nods. 

“It is indeed, I read that licorice and black pepper can help with asthma symptoms and circulation. I figured it could wash the  taste of your meds away.” He jokes watching you eat and take small sips of the steaming brew. He smiles to himself, glad you could get so comfortable in his room. Perhaps once you were dozing he could slip back into the library and conveniently “borrow” the book you had to leave earlier.

[svnflowervol666]

Ma Petite Chérie: Sweet Creature (Harry Styles x fem!Reader)

Read more from this little universe, Ma Petite Chérie, in my masterlist!

Word Count: 3.8k

Summary: Harry goes out of town and leaves Tallulah with Y/N for the week. 

Author’s Note: Hiiiii. I decided to turn Ma Petite Chérie into it’s own little “thing,” so here’s another look at Harry, Tallulah and Y/N’s life! I’ve found it much easier to write in little blips rather than following a direct plot, so expect random little moments featuring the three of them. Also, this is not proofread and I am going through a period of having full blown insomnia, so I’m praying there aren’t too many mistakes. I hope you all enjoy and send any ideas, asks, or questions you have for them my way and I’ll be happy to respond! Take care and TPWK.

“I left her car seat in the garage. If she starts gettin’ fussy during the day, just put her in her room and turn on the noise machine and let her color - that usually does it. I refilled her medicine the other day, didn’t I-”

“Har-,” she shushed him, “We’ll be fine. I know the drill. Allergy meds and gummy vitamins in the morning, french vocabulary every other day, no tv before bed, and no sugar after six.”

He took a deep breath in and placed his palms on top of Y/N’s that are gripping his shoulders to ground him. He was a mess, but how could he not when one of the only people he trusted with his daughter, his mother, was away on holiday and couldn’t stay with her when he had to go on a week-long business trip? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Y/N, he absolutely did. He just hated feeling like she thought he was using her as a free babysitter rather than the loving girlfriend she actually was. That couldn’t be further from the truth, but his anxieties always had a way of getting the best of him.

“Sorry. Always get nervous leavin’ her. Feel like something bad’s gonna happen every time and I won’t be there t’ help her.”

“It’s just a few days, bubs. She seems to like me, or at least pretends to. I’ll keep her entertained. Take her to the park and go get our nails done or something. It’ll be like one, big sleepover.”

“If yeh take her t’ the park, make sure yeh put sunscreen o-”

“Harry,” she’s stern and it shut Harry up immediately.

“Right,” he paused and took another intense, labored breath in an attempt to stop himself from canceling his plans and just staying home with Y/N and Tallulah for the week.

“She does like yeh. Asks about yeh all the time when you’re gone. Loves yeh a lot, actually. We both do.”

That word used to scare him, love. He realized long ago that he had only ever truly been in love with his daughter, so making himself vulnerable to sharing those same emotions with another person was genuinely terrifying. But each and every time, Y/N does something to remind him that it is well-worth the internal struggle he’s endured. 

The proud smile that adorned Y/N’s face at his words is another one of those moments. It’s full of light and reassurance that his baby will be perfectly safe and healthy while he tended to business an entire continent away.

“I love you both as well. Might have a slight preference towards Lulah, but it’s nothing to worry yourself over.”

“Swear yeh only datin’ me because of her,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“You’re absolutely right,” she scoffed, “I only come over five nights out of the week to watch The Little Mermaid with her and I just tolerate you.”

Harry laughed, a genuine cackle that reared his cavernous dimples and turned the apples of his cheeks a pale shade of pink.

“I’d do the same,” he said with a shrug.

“Harry, you’re stalling. You’re gonna miss your flight if you don’t get on the road soon. I don’t think you want me to kick you out of the door.”

He feigned ponderance and tapped his index finger on his chin.

“I do love it when yeh mean t’ me.”

“Harry, go.”

“Alright, alright. I’m leaving. Just...check in with me every once in a while. Let me know how she’s doin’, yeah? I’ll call every night t’ talk t’ her.”

“Was already expecting you to.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” she repeated.

He cleared his throat, heart weighing heavy in his chest. He knew he was supposed to leave for the airport ten minutes ago, but he couldn’t find himself to wheel his luggage out to the trunk of his car.

“Goodbye, Harry,” Y/N whispers in hushed tones.

She reached up on her tiptoes to plant a chaste kiss on his bright pink lips, which he then took upon himself to deepen by loosely wrapping his fingers around her throat and applying just enough pressure to make her contemplate giving into his obvious hesitance about leaving.

“Tell Lulah I love her when she wakes up, okay? Feel like shit leavin’ her in the middle of the night.”

“I’ll tell her first thing.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too, Harry,” she smiles, “See you in a week.”

//

Their first few days went by smoothly, a little too smoothly, Y/N thinks. She’d let her pick one activity to do each day and it seemed like to Harry and Y/N, she was having the time of her life. 

Monday was the park, an obvious choice for a toddler. Tallulah wore herself out so much that she’d gone to bed that night with no trouble whatsoever.

Tuesday was a pampering day. Y/N had tried to get them into her preferred nail salon for pedicures, but there were no empty slots so she’d made up Harry’s master bathroom to look like a spa. She painted Tallulah’s nails blue (because Tallulah said blue was her dad’s favorite color), ran her a bubble bath with more bubbles than Harry ever allowed, and even let her put on some of her expensive face mask cream (Harry nearly shit himself out of pure adoration when he received a selfie of the two of them with pink goop smeared all over their faces and cucumbers over their eyes).

Tallulah’s request for Wednesday was a trip to the carnival that was in town, in which Y/N spent nearly fifteen dollars trying to win a stuffed bear for her but was unsuccessful. They went home with a real, live goldfish instead that Tallulah named Carrot because she claimed he looked like her favorite vegetable - she told Tallulah not to mention it to Harry and that she’d break the news to him later. She even let Tallulah have sugar after six o’clock (what Harry knew wouldn’t hurt him and besides, she told Y/N that she’d never had cotton candy before and Y/N totally wanted bragging rights for introducing her to basically a two-year-old’s fever dream of eating pink clouds).

She hadn’t asked about Harry once.

It wasn’t until Wednesday night after the carnival and her bath and daily FaceTime call with him that she began to get antsy with Y/N, claiming that she wanted her dad to tuck her in and read her a bedtime story. No matter how many times Y/N told her that Harry couldn’t do that but that he would be home in a few days, Tallulah didn’t understand why her dad wasn’t there to give her cuddles and rub her back until she fell asleep like he often did. Eventually, her exhaustion caught up to her and she gave in to the need for sleep, but Y/N had a feeling that that wouldn’t be the end of her tantrum.

It was nearly eleven o’clock, and Y/N was in the living room enjoying a glass of red wine from Harry’s vast collection of alcohol that he kept in his office (for some reason he had an irrational fear that Tallulah would somehow get into it, so he kept it locked away in a room where she wasn’t allowed in). The fermented concoction had almost lulled her to into a light slumber right there on the couch in the middle of a documentary about how agriculture influenced climate change when she heard the piercing cries of a toddler coming from down the hall.

Y/N rushed towards Tallulah’s room, all effects of the wine immediately dissipating as her mind went to the worst possible scenario. She’d fallen off her bed and hurt herself, she was having an allergic reaction, there was a strange man in her room trying to kidnap her. But there was seemingly nothing wrong with Tallulah when Y/N flung her bedroom door open so quickly she almost broke the knob.

“What’s wrong, Lulah?” she asked as she approached her on the bed that sat low to the ground.

Tallulah was red in the face, covered in a thin layer of sweat, and tears continuously flowed from her bright, green eyes that looked exactly like Harry’s and even shifted a teal blue in the sunlight.

Y/N’s heart sunk when she heard it. Over and over again. Nothing else. Only crying out one word.

“Daddy.”

She didn’t want to overwhelm her, so Y/N laid down next to Tallulah and pulled her close. As she brushed her curls away from where they were matted to her sweaty forehead, Y/N cooed her reptitiously in an attempt to calm her down. After about three minutes of incesant crying and copious amounts of fat, shiny tears, Y/N needed a better idea.

“I know you miss him, bubs. I miss him too. But he’ll be home soon, okay? I know something that might make you feel better. Do you want to come in daddy’s room with me?”

It was quiet and muffled over her blubbery cries, but Y/N heard a tiny, “yes,” escape through her lips and then she was scooping Tallulah up into her arms and carrying her off to the master bedroom.

She placed her in the middle of Harry’s bed and quickly began digging through Harry’s dresser for what she was looking for. When she found it, she ran back to Tallulah’s curled up body on the mattress.

“Okay, whenever I miss your dad, I put on one of his shirts because it smells like him. It always makes me feel like he’s close to me. Do you want try that?” 

The toddler had calmed down dramatically since she’d left her own bed, most likely due to exhaustion from crying so much in such a short period of time. She gave Y/N a gentle nod and let her take off her matching set of pajamas and replace them with the shirt of Harry’s that dropped almost all of the way to her feet. It was a white t-shirt with the words “Dream Boat” screened onto the fabric, which was perhaps a bit controversial for his two-year-old daughter to be wearing, but it was the smallest shirt of his that she could find. Otherwise, it’d be falling off of her shoulders and she wouldn’t be able to move.

“Can you smell it?” Y/N bunches the fabric in her hands and raises it to Tallulah’s nose.

“Smells like daddy, doesn’t it?”

Tallulah inhaled the best she could through her stuffy nose.

“‘mells good,” she whimpered, reaching her short arms to wrap around Y/N’s neck.

“Do you want to lie in daddy’s bed with me for a little bit? You can sleep in here, if you want,” Y/N spoke softly into Tallulah’s hair while she held her.

Y/N felt a nod against her chest and that was all it took for her to climb towards the pillow with Tallulah in her arms. She laid Tallulah on Harry’s side of the bed, hoping that the extra scent he left in the sheets would further will her back to sleep.

And it worked.

After reaffirming what felt like a million times that Harry would cuddle her for an entire day straight when he got home because he missed her just as much as she missed him, her eyes slowly shut and peace took over. Y/N thought the coast was clear and a crisis had been averted, and she also remembered that she hadn’t taken her makeup off yet. So she wriggled Tallulah off of her chest and slipped stealthily out of the bed like a burglar attempting to not get caught and tiptoed away into the bathroom to wash her face.

Right when she was patting her face dry with one of the plush towels on the rack in Harry’s bathroom, she realized that the coast was indeed, not clear, and Tallulah began wailing once again.

“It’s okay, Lulah. I’m right here,” Y/N consoled the small girl that looked even smaller in Harry’s king-sized bed.

But she wasn’t interested in Y/N at all. Her sobbing was louder than the last and it was Harry’s name that fell from her weepy lips like it was the only thing keeping her alive. This time, Y/N knew there was nothing that could soothe her besides Harry himself.

“Here, baby,” Y/N wriggled the toddler out of her arms and reached over to the nightstand to grab her cell phone, “Let’s see if daddy’s awake and maybe you can talk to him again, okay?”

“Okay,” Tallulah huffed, but it sounded more like “o-tay.”

Under any other circumstances, Y/N would be awing at the way she said certain words, but now, she just wanted Tallulah to go back to sleep. She was just as exhausted as Tallulah and was starting to become overwhelmed by the nature of everything that was happening.

Harry picked up her FaceTime on the second ring, eyes wide and concerning even though Y/N could tell that her call had woken him up.

“What’s goin’ on? ‘S she alright?”

Her cries that he heard through his speaker broke his heart, and he wanted nothing more than to jump on the next flight home to hold his sweet little girl until all of the tears had dried from her face.

“She’s been crying for the last hour, Har. She wants you. Maybe talk to her a little and see if she calms down?”

She heard Harry curse under his breath and rub the sleep out of his eyes. There was a sense of relief that washed over him when he realized that everything was alright and his daughter wasn’t in any immediate danger, but he didn’t quite feel better by any means. Y/N tilted the phone down towards Tallulah who had taken to rubbing the corner of Harry’s pillowcase between her thumb and forefinger.

“Lulah, baby. Talk t’ me. What’s the matter?”

“Daddy?” her face lifted from where it was buried in her stuffed elephant that she’d had since she was a baby and looked up to see her father’s face lit up on Y/N’s phone screen.

“Hi, lovie. Why’re yeh cryin’?”

“Want you come home,” she pouted, her bottom lip jutting out in a way that made her look far too adorable for how sad she really was.

“I know yeh do, petal. I’ll be home soon. I promise. Then, we can have a big cuddle. Does that sound good?”

“You come home tomorrow?” she asked, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.

Harry internally cringed when he saw her wipe it on his sheets, but he was obviously not going to scold her for it at the moment.

“Not tomorrow, but soon. I’m not goin’ anywhere for a long time after this so it’ll be just me and you for a bit.”

Tallulah grew upset by this, and understandably so. Her dad always gave her cuddles when she was sad. Why was he telling her that he couldn’t?

He sensed her tears springing back to life, to which he quickly diverted her attention away from.

“Tell me more about what yeh did with Y/N today at the carnival, bug.”

After sucking up a few slobbery breaths, Tallulah was able to speak to Harry again.

“We got a fishy.”

Damnit.

Harry’s ears perked up.

“A fishy? At the carnival? How did yeh do that?”

“Y/N gotted it.”

“She did?”

Y/N knew Harry was not only talking to Tallulah but also to her. A tone that suggested Y/N had some explaining to do, but he wasn’t going to bring that up now.

“Yeah, she winned a game.”

“Does the fishy have a name?”

“Carrot.”

This made Harry snort, as he was not expected that one.

“And did Y/N get Carrot a nice bowl and some food?”

“Mhmm,” Tallulah nodded, “He’s in the kitchen.”

“Well, that sounds lovely. I can’t wait to meet Carrot. Gonna give him cuddles when I get home, too.”

“He said he loves you.”

“That’s very sweet of him. Tell Carrot I love him, too.”

There was a long pause in which Harry, Tallulah, and Y/N all yawned, clearly overtaken by the urge to fall into a deep sleep.

“It’s really late, Lulah. Yeh think yeh can go back t’ bed for me?”

Tallulah brazenly shook her head from side to side, no. 

Harry sighed heavily, his frustration and sadness becoming all too much for him to bear. He was nervous to do what he was about to offer, but he knew it was the last resort in anyone in this scenario getting any sleep whatsoever.

“What if I sing yeh your song? Will that make yeh feel better?”

He watched as her eyes light up with a glint of joy and he knew that that was possibly the cure to everyone’s problems. 

“Peas?”

“Of course, baby. Thank yeh for usin’ yeh manners.”

Y/N laid the phone down so she could reposition Tallulah in her lap as Harry’s melodic voice began to pour from the speakers.

It was her favorite song in the entire world. No matter what was wrong or how upset she was, the second he sang the first few notes and the sound registered in her ears, Tallulah was always able to bring herself back down to earth. 

The first time he sang it to her, she was only ten weeks old, just two weeks after she was brought into his life. He first thought it was a one-off chance that the song had lulled her to sleep, but he quickly found out he was wrong and that she took a genuine liking to it. He’s always assumed it brought on a sense of familiarity and comfort to her whenever she felt like her tiny, two-year-old life was crashing down on her. 

Y/N had never actually seen him sing to her. She’d heard it a time or two through the door of her bedroom when she stayed over, but she’d never asked Harry about it. She had always let their song be just that - their song.

Hopefully, and he genuinely means hopefully, the trick works just as well as it usually does despite him not being there physically. He’s got to be up at five and he refuses to hang up the phone until his baby isn’t sad anymore.

It took a bit longer than usual, but by the second round of the chorus, her eyelids were heavy and the grip she had on Y/N’s lotus pendant had weakened. Hell, the song almost put Y/N to sleep as well. Had she not been worried sick over waking Harry up in the middle of the night and his daughter spilling the beans about the fucking fish, she would have been out well before Tallulah. She loved his singing voice, but she only ever got to hear it when he bopping along to a song on the radio or when he was really, really drunk. 

As the last few notes of the song trailed to silence, both Y/N and Harry took a peek at Tallulah through the phone screen, eager to see if she was fully asleep or just in a state of tranquility. Sure enough, she was out cold.

“I think she’s asleep,” Y/N whispered.

“Thank god,” Harry muttered, “Bloody awful, that was. She’d been cryin’ like that the whole time?”

“Pretty much. Sorry for calling so late, I didn’t know what else to do.”

“‘S alright. Honestly, I was waiting for it. When she stays with mum, I usually get a call or two just like this. By the way, was she wearin’ my ‘Dream Boat’ shirt?”

Y/N starts to chuckle but remembers there is a fragile (both physically and emotionally) child on her chest and she can’t move too much in fear of waking her back up.

“Yeah, she is. I told her I wear your shirts and sleep on your side of the bed when I miss you because they smell like you and thought it would calm her down. It kinda did, but she woke up when I left to go to the bathroom.”

“Christ,” Harry wipes his face with his large, ringed hands.

“What?”

“That’s the cutest shit I’ve ever heard in my life. I love you. A lot.”

“I love you a lot, too,” Y/N grinned.

After a brief moment, Harry talks again.

“So, what’s this about a fish named Carrot?”

Y/N grits her teeth together and sucks in a deep breath.

“Have you seen her face? I know you have. What was I supposed to tell her? No? Got that fucker on the first try after spending seventeen dollars trying to win her a stuffed animal.”

A laugh from deep within Harry’s belly reached the surface and he stifled it with his fist.

“You’ve got a point, princess.”

“I can get rid of him, if you want. I figured she’d get bored and forget about him in a few days, so it wasn’t a big deal.”

“No,” Harry insists, “Keep him. Teach her how t’ take care of him. Give her a responsibility. Maybe she’ll stop harrassin’ me about gettin’ a damn cat.”

“Already done,” Y/N smiles proudly at the camera.

“She knows we feed him in the mornings and she told me she’d help clean his bowl once a week. Even taught her how to say ‘fish’ in french.”

“Have I already told yeh that I love yeh? ‘Cause I do.”

“You did. But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

Harry took a moment to just look at her. Her eyes were bloodshot and he knew she probably felt like she’d just been to hell and back, but there, with his baby girl on her chest, she had never looked more beautiful. He was physically incapable of stopping the words that left his mouth.

“Move in with me.”

“Hmm?” she lifted her head from where it was resting halfway on her pillow and halfway on Harry’s as if to see if he really just said what she thought he said.

“Only if yeh want to. I know it’s a bigger deal because of Lulah, so I get it if yeh still want yeh space. Just...really want yeh around all of the time. And I know she does, too.”

Y/N smiled from ear to ear and placed her free hand that wasn’t holding the phone on top of Tallulah’s curls. She’d been wondering when this conversation would happen, given that she sleeps over at Harry’s more than she does her own apartment and she’d slowly taken over half of the drawers in his bathroom and three shelves in his closet; she just hadn’t expected it to come at midnight, directly after his daughter had the biggest meltdown she’d ever witnessed.

“If I say yes, will you sing to me like that every night?”

Harry blushed beet red as he breathed heavily through his nose.

“If that’s what it takes. Then, yes.”

“Think Lulah’s strong enough to help me carry some boxes?”

[simpsiren]

Drunken guest and a tail

lee jeno x reader

description. you headed over to your comfort space which is Jeno’s apartment, only to have a unexpected guest tagging along with you as you spent the night there.

genre. PURE FLUFF

word count. 1.6k~

warnings. nonees

a/n. i suddenly had the thought of jeno being allargic to cats then i figured how about write a short story about itt

20th December 2020.

You etched this date in your brain as you made your way to the bar. You looked down on your phone, feeling vibrations from it as you see Mark calling you for the fifth time. You were this close to switching off your phone completely if he called you one more time.

A lot went through your head while you walked down the dimly lit streets, trying to get your mind off everything by watching cars pass by or looking at the street lamps that flickered every few seconds. Yet, it wasn’t working.

The thought of your two year relationship with Mark ended in the blink of an eye the moment you saw him with another girl. To be honest, you knew it was going to happen someday when you realise him not contacting you as often, and your dates with him became less and less, moments away till it dissolves into nothing.

Knowing you’re going to have a long night ahead of you, you decided to call Jeno. Your only close friend that you could trust at this point. After hearing Jeno pick up, you gulped and looked up to the sky. “What?” You heard Jeno say in his usual monotone flat voice which he uses whenever he picked up any of your calls.

“Don’t lock the door tonight. I’m going through some shit and I might come to your house.” You heaved a sigh as you bit your bottom lip.

“Why? Did something happen-”

You hung up, way too tired to explain your situation with hope that Jeno would be asleep by the time you got home so he wouldn’t see you in your wrecked state.

You finally arrived at the bar. To your surprise, it wasn’t crowded. You scanned your eyes over your surroundings but decided to just take a seat in front of the bar.

“Vodka, please. And keep it coming.” You said lazily as the bartender appeared in front of you to take your order. Moments later your shot of vodka came. You wasted no time to down it all in one go.

You knew you were very resistant to alcohol but with all these emotions filling up your mind, you bet you wouldn’t even realise anything if you’ve exceeded your limit. But at this point, you didn’t care, wanting to desperately drink your sorrows away for just one night.

You felt your phone vibrating beside you. Not even wondering who called, you switched your phone off immediately.

“Miss, you seem drunk. Do you have anyone I can call to take you home?” You suddenly hear the bartender speak. You looked up with eyes that were half opened. One thing you didn’t notice till now was that he looked extremely good looking. You did a double take before clearing your throat and running a hand through your hair.

“I can go home myself.” You muttered as you rose from your seat, coughing as the alcohol that kicked in moments ago start to settle in with your head spinning and a mind that wasn’t in the right space.

You tried making your way to the front door, staggering your way there as your vision was just slightly beginning to go bad. You felt the bartender hold your arm to assist you, but you quickly pushed it off once you arrived at the door.

“And you cutie...” You said as you tapped a finger on the bartender’s shoulder. “Have a great night. Unlike mine when it got ruined in seconds.”

You pushed the door open and tripped on your way out. You suspire in despair, not even knowing what time it was. You started to walk, to who knows where. You wanted to go anywhere but home, wanting to feel the night breeze against your face as you walked down the streets at are now peacefully empty.

Absentmindedly, you somehow ended up in front of Jeno’s apartment. You squinted your eyes and tilted your head as you tried to read the number on the door. Yup, you were definitely at Jeno’s apartment. This was surely not the first time you’ve done this.

Whenever you have gone through a hard time, you would be standing outside Jeno’s apartment, not even knowing why. You could only assume that it was your feet that unconsciously walked you here. It was weird to feel comfort from just looking at the door of Jeno’s apartment from the first floor, but that became your habit ever since you became friends with Jeno. 

Running a hand down your face, you push the door open and entered, taking off your shoes and throwing them to the side. 

“Hey, I tried calling you so many times why didn’t you reply? Oi-” Jeno instantly got cut off when you pushed him aside and made your way to the living room. Before you could drop yourself onto the couch, you hear Jeno calling out your name.

Irritated, you spun around and glared at Jeno. “The fuck you want? I’m tired.” You growled, dropping your purse on the floor and letting out a whine. 

Jeno narrowed his eyes down on you and pointed down to the floor. You looked down at the direction he was pointing at, suddenly seeing a cat roaming around Jeno. 

“What’s a feline doing here? Did it follow you home?” Jeno asked with the raise of a brow. You huffed and scratched your head. “Does it look like I know?”

The two of you stared at the cat that was rubbing its head against Jeno’s leg for a long minute, not sure what to do with it since it just suddenly somehow showed up. “You wanted to adopt a cat, right? Keep it or something...” You mumbled before finally sitting down on the couch, taking a pillow and getting yourself comfortable while closing your eyes to let them rest.

Jeno glanced at your drunken tired state before fixing his eyes onto the cat once again. “How did you follow her here, cutie?” He whispered under his breath. Though it whisper was louder than he thought, making you open your eyes to see Jeno squatting down beside it and petting its head.

“What are you gonna do with it?” You asked, resting your chin on the palm of your hand as you leaned your body against the arm of the couch. “You tell me.” Jeno stood up and walked to the kitchen, filling a small bowl with water and going back to the cat, placing the bowl in front of it which resulted it to drink almost immediately. 

“Do you think I have the brain power to think?” I asked, shaking my head as I shrugged my shoulders and letting your body sink into the soft couch. 

Jeno sighed and placed a hand on his forehead as he stared down at the cat. The two of heard the cat meowing while it looked up at Jeno with big eyes. Of course, Jeno couldn’t resist, picking it up and holding it in his arms. He made his way over to the couch and sat down beside you, placing the cat on his lap. 

“It doesn’t look like a stray...” Jeno said as he inspected the cat thoroughly. You did the same, noticing how it had beautiful brown fur and big round brown eyes. It didn’t have a name tag or any sign of ownership either. “We can take care of it?” You puckered your lips as the cat moved into your lap, getting comfortable in it and rubbing its head on your hand. You smiled to yourself softly as you started to pet it, running your hand down its body. 

“We?” Jeno asked in confusion. 

You slowly laid your head on Jeno’s shoulder, moving your head around till you found a comfortable spot in the crook of Jeno’s neck. “I broke up with Mark.”

You didn’t hear a reply, only breathing could be heard. You didn’t bother looking up to Jeno to see his reaction to your words, only wanting to keep your eyes on the mysterious cat that seemed to like your presence. You didn’t mind since you felt comfortable with it as well. 

You suddenly felt Jeno’s hand creep up your head, running his hand down to caress your hair and run his fingers through it, untangling small strands of hair here and there. “I already told you to break up with him when you told me about the red flags, didn’t I?” Jeno replied with a light scoff. 

“Stop making me feel worse than I already am.” You begged, your voice muffled from the fact that you had your lips brushing above Jeno’s skin. 

You heard him sigh, placing a light kiss on the crown of your head before whispering, “Move in with me. She can move in as well.” Jeno jerked his head towards the cat that was already sleeping peacefully in your lap.

You didn’t know what came over you. Without you realising, you had your lips on Jeno’s. It was probably the alcohol that controlled you, but maybe perhaps your underlining feelings for Jeno as well.

Not recieving a response, you wanted to pull back, only to have Jeno’s hand cupping your cheek before pulling you back in, kissing you nice and slow. You tried not to move so as to not disturb the cat. Before the kiss could get heated, you were first to pull away, breathing heavily.

“Aren’t you allergic to cat fur?” 

Jeno only shrugged. “I’ll make it work.” He mumbled before connecting his lips with yours once again as the two of you kissed in silence with the cat sitting comfortably on your lap, Jeno unconsciously connected his hand with your that laid lightly on the cat, interlocking his fingers with yours as you allowed him to kiss your sadness and worries away.

[atinybitofau]

S E O N G H W A ⥈ mafia au series

RECAP: you finally have to close the deal with the devil and you meet with Hongjoong one last time before becoming a married woman. you also decide to postpone a honeymoon for another time.

word count: 2010+ , tags: angst

characters: ateez (ensemble), fem!reader

⤩ CHAPTER 2 ⤩

character list . prologue . one

Turns out Jongho had a thing for weeding out the imperfections, flaws in a woman. It was easy for him, arriving no later than 11 in the morning to join both you and San after your dress fitting to do your hair.

“I can fix the hair.” The city turned country gangster’s lips grimace at the dark bags under your drooping eyes. “The makeup.. you’ll have to do on your own, sweetheart.”

You clutch on the silver necklace he’s handed you before he put his hands on your head, the thought of blessing Seonghwa with an engagement gift beyond your intentional rights. You play with the small compass charm between your fingers and gaze at your reflection in the mirror.

So you look like complete shit: lack of sleep, lack of encouragement, lack of pride. This was you in your most pitiful state and the boys could only spare mercy in your absence of excitement. You’ve always dreamed about family and weddings— the trends in modern life you were never entitled to try. Seonghwa was already giving you parts of the world you’ve always wanted and you couldn’t hate him for that. The arrangement however was something you’ll have to hold against him.

“You look beautiful.” Yunho nods in your direction after Jongho fluffs at your curled hair. “Y/n, you do. Now stop frowning and making it worse.”

You let out an upheaval sigh. “Remind me again why I have to dress up for such a casual occasion.”

San scoffs from the side still nitpicking his sleek suit. “This is your wedding, y/n. Have some respect for yourself. It’s the least you can do.”

“It’s a wedding with a man I don’t even want. And he said so himself this was more a partnership than ties of love.” You force yourself to retort in the nicest way possible. “Seonghwa has good intentions and that’s great. But my place in his heart is not something I earned and I’m far from pleased.”

“You rather woo Seonghwa? Then do it, at least, after your wedding.” Yunho charmingly places his chin over your shoulder to face you in the mirror. “This wedding is passed formalities but something he sought good for the both of you. He wants you to feel comfortable and that’s leeway enough to your heart. Accept it as it is and maybe you won’t get shot.”

You hear it so many times, you ponder over thought of maybe wanting to get shot at this point. Why was Seonghwa so prideful? What else was he hiding?

“The day he ever wants to shoot me is the day I end this partnership of his he claims is good for the both of us.”

The trio behind you pause in their movements and let your answer sink in. It’s not everyday they get to see a woman get ready to marry a man they assume to be their best friend. It certainly isn’t every day they get to see a woman as beautiful as you sit in front of them with a personality as fierce as their empty hearted boss. Although they’re intimidated, they feel a particular sense of relief knowing you’re fully aware of your circumstances. They didn’t sign up for meddling in an innocent life though you’re far from innocent.

“We have to meet some of our partners..” San clears his throat as you fumble with the jewelery in your hand. “I’m sure you won’t mind if we leave you with your thoughts for a bit.”

“Not at all.” please.

They hum in response before setting out prompt, your thoughts a little more blind in your head than they think. You look in the mirror after they leave and think to yourself that you’re just a penny of satisfaction. The best way for you to accept all this is to breathe and let it go. It’s gotten you this far.

“I hope I’m not interrupting.” A voice echoes through the slit of the door. “If you haven’t tried killing yourself already.”

Your eyes light up like a child on Christmas Day. “Hongjoong.”

His lips quirk at your tone of admiration. “You look beautiful, babe.”

Your own lips quiver and you’reholding back the years of tears. “Can you hug me please? Just this once?”

He sighs softly before coming over to take you into his arms. The homey embrace of someone you trusted— no someone who trusts you was enough to end some misery. The one thing Seonghwa could grant you that you’d thank him for was this. Hongjoong was far from what you deserve but he’s someone you wished you could have. Life served you another platter and you can’t just complain and ask for a refund.

“Of all the years I’ve known you, y/n, seeing you in a wedding gown would be the last thing I’d ever imagine.”

You roll your eyes at the city mobster before turning in your chair. “I’m surprised he let you imagine let alone show up today.”

Hongjoong presses his lips together and fumbles with his tie. “There’s a lot of things you’d be surprised by.”

You sniffle mostly to undermine all the overwhelming thoughts in your head. Hongjoong sees right through you though.

“I’m sure Seonghwa’s got good intentions. Despite the fact, obviously, I’m not all for the things he does—Beyond what he does, y/n, he’s a good guy.”

You scoff his way, looking elsewhere in your reflection afraid of his words.

“Are you here to patronize the enemy some more or walk me down the aisle?”

He chuckles wholeheartedly, coming over to plant a reassuring kiss on the top of your head. Where your father lacked, Hongjoong picked up. You can’t name a single man— no person on this planet who has made you whole enough as Hongjoong does and maybe why Seonghwa is threatened. Hongjoong is a force no one is reckoned to feel accustomed to. The city monster had ties everywhere. Feeling sorry for your father was one thing; feeling sorry for you was little of what the truth was.

“You are a gem.” He annunciations through a genuine smile. “Be it Seonghwa nor I aren’t lucky to have. You’re a blessing.”

You look into Hongjoong’s eyes with a type of everlasting loyalty you can’t define. “How can you be okay with Seonghwa having me? I was already yours..”

“Your father was mine and I let you have the benefit of the doubt.” His comment sharpens at the end.

“Losing him was nothing but means to end for you. Don’t act like it was more than that.” You try to rebuttal.

“It was something I didn’t like but it sure as hell made you happy. And so I heard.”

Hongjoong’s very casual. He likes to be hands on in a moment and is, trend wise, very different from your future husband. It’s not like you loved Hongjoong romantically or anything. It just felt wrong to need to love someone else that’s all.

“Walk down the aisle.” He whispers again against the crown of your ear, hand hovering over your bare shoulders with hesitance and grace. “I’ll always be right here when you need me the most.”

It’s some misdirection partly. Also partly your fault that you’ve gotten here. Now you’re walking down an aisle with Southside’s very own devil standing at the alter awaiting you. You don’t look back on purpose. That and Hongjoong’s grip right beside is not one on par with a fatherly gesture. Hongjoong probably wanted to wring Seonghwa for what it’s worth too.

“Past formalities?” Hongjoong mumbles when you two get one step closer to the end of your suicide mission.

“Definitely past that.”

“Knock em dead, sweetheart.”

Let the party commence.

There was little shared words between you, your new husband, and the pastor. With what seemed like false devotion and empty promises, the wedding reception began. You two sat together on a podium where it’s pretty obvious Seonghwa’s treated like royalty. You were right in his district and with first impressions comes clear boundaries to be made. He wanted you to know where he stands. You two sat together as husband and wife but complete strangers. It was awkward watching the sight of men come and go to prove that Seonghwa was nothing but a merciless mafia boss. The gifts weren’t even of your benefit either.

Hongjoong left early (something you’ll press against him some other day forward) and you were stuck thinking about when this cursed day was going to end. Somehow someway it did and you were in a car fraternizing with the enemy this time.

“— So you married me instead?”

The air gets thick. It almost gets so thick you think you’re getting some type of allergic reaction to his face in the confinement of his wide vehicle. Staring at him was no gut wrenching eye sore but it’s not something you were used to just yet. Seonghwa’s eyes matched the color of war— red with fury and relent. There was something there that his calm tone didn’t quite express to it’s fullest capability.

“You’d rather be dead?”

His coldness reflected on you. It’s probably your body’s natural mechanism of defense coming to play because you’re sure as hell you’re not gonna let some man control you for the rest of your life. No, you may not get that right to speak up and say something that might as well get you killed but you still aren’t gonna let him walk all over you.

“Are you gonna get out of your dress or did you want me to strip you out of it for you instead?”

His tone persists as he emerges from the bathroom to see you sitting on solemn. You glance up tiredly at the cheeky bastard who’s lips perk at your attention. You look away without a word at all before taking your dress off without further notice.

His throat clams up at the sight, unsure of how long his self constraint would last even for the night. The sight of your broadened narrow shoulders— bare and ready to taste— was something he was definitely not prepared for. His hands tremble as the damp towel between his fingers drops and you glance to look at him.

“Tempted?” You rasp in the most taunting voice you could fabricate. “Mind me, but you asked if I was going to get out of my dress, Seonghwa. I’m showing you that I can follow basic instructions, was that not what you asked of me? Of this partnership.”

He chokes on that, jaw clenched. “Pressing my buttons, honey, is not something I suggest you test.”

You hold your dress up back to your chest as you turn to face him. “I’m just letting you know what kind of wife you gambled to marry, my sweet husband.”

He nearly screams the moment you slam the bathroom door. Not realizing on both sides that either of you were ready to combust. You shower the anger, the resentment away and Seonghwa just lays back on his bed staring at the bathroom door.

He needs to stay away from you at any time possible. Until he learns to control himself at least. Living with a woman, a woman of his absurd dreams, was proving itself difficult. You weren’t just gonna give yourself up to him just like that either.

“Sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow.” Is all he says before turning on his back when you shut the lights off.

You stare at it. Like the night before when he got in bed without even saying a word, feeling cold.

“J-Just me?” You ask propped still on your elbow in the dark.

“I have business to take care of in the city. You’ll have San and Yunho tomorrow.” His voice lulls deeper as he’s getting pulled to his exhaustion. “It’s training you have to endure just in case. Hongjoong informed me you never took part in your father’s extravaganza’s and I need to know my wife is safe while I leave.”

“You want me to learn how to fight?”

“Something like that..”

@atinybitofau

[tundrainafrica]

Title: Trials and Tributes (3/5)

Summary:  

“There were witches who lived among them. Or so that’s what Levi was told. He just could not believe for the life of him that she’d be one of them.”

Levi is a soldier who interrogates witches before they are put on trial and Hange might just be a witch.

Levihan Secret Santa Gift for @cleacourgette

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Link to other chapters: 1 2 3 4 5

They were working late that night. So unusually late that at first, Levi had taken Erwin’s closing the windows as a sign that they should finish for the night. He had started to empty his own desk of paperwork when Erwin spoke up.

“How were the trials?”

“Routine.”

Erwin raised one eyebrow. “The trials for someone so important to you volunteered to facilitate it?”

“Yes, they concluded she was a witch and we’re moving on to the swimming test. It’s in two days.” Levi said as mechanically as possible, not wanting his true emotions to leak out.

“Do you really believe she was the one responsible for the plague in your village? The plague which took your mother I mean?” Erwin did not need to clarify it. Yet, he did and that clarification only made Levi's chest tighten.

“Who else? She murdered a child then she disappeared.”

“I visited Hange after her last trial, had a small chat with her.”

“Of course she wouldn’t admit it.”

“That wasn’t what I asked about. I wanted to understand for myself what happened with that incident back she was a child, when she was accused of murder.”

“She said herself, she didn’t know what happened to him.”

Erwin shook his head. “She didn’t know. But the other people from the town did.”

Levi’s eyes widened in surprise. Suddenly he was self conscious of his disconnect from the happenings of the town as a child. Although he was considered one of the townspeople then. Having had to take care of his sick mother, he never had the chance to go out and meet many people nor discuss what had been happening around the town.

“I checked the reports in the capital library. Tobias’ mother reported that she had found red welts on her son’s back when he got home from playing with the kids then his body started to swell. Within an hour, he started to have a hard time breathing. His throat closed and with no means of breathing, he passed away quickly.”

The circumstances of his death were strange. Strange enough that the townspeople had come together to organize a witch hunt.

“They also recorded the accounts of the witnesses who were playing with Hange and Tobias that day. And when I checked them, they aligned well with the story Hange had given me. She pushed Tobias into a grassy patch. One of the boys who had been left there when Tobi and Hange both went home mentioned that they might have landed on a fire ant mound which explains the itchy red welts on Tobi’s back.”

Levi had been bitten enough times to know ant bites were painful. “But ant bites aren’t fatal.”

“This is where I did some extra research and talked to some more apothecary's and doctors. Apparently it is not completely implausible to infer that Tobias died from something called an allergic reaction. The swelling of his face, the difficulty breathing from an insect bite. It lines up so well with some of the other writings from doctors."

“Then how do you explain the plague?” Levi asked.

Erwin sighed. “I don’t think there’s any better way to tell you this but, I don’t believe the plague that killed your mother was caused by a witch. In fact, I don't believe witches actually exist.

                                     Trials and Tributes

“Levi, I have a theory.”

“You always have theories Hange,” Levi said, not looking up from the book he was reading.

“Humor me! That’s my book so I can get it back from you anytime I want.” Hange put her hand on the page he was reading so suddenly and so rudely that Levi had to resist the urge to slam the book closed on her hands then and there.

“Okay. I’m humoring you," Levi said.

“So, lately I’ve been noticing something about my herb garden. There is a small area where plants tended to die at a faster rate.”

“Uhuh.”

“So I pulled out the dying plants and I noticed something common about all of them. They had these white spots all over the stems and the leaves. They were like spider webs but there were more webs then spiders and you know the plants closest to them started to have those white spots too.”

“Oh, okay so a little discoloration on leaves,” Levi said matter-of-factly.

“So what if those white things are diseases, and being closer to one another, they spread more easily. What if people stuck together in close quarters just end up getting sick with the same disease? Maybe there are these invisible particles that fly through the air and when they get into people, people get sick. Maybe there are special particles which can swim too and when people drink the water they get sick?

Levi went back to the reading as Hange continued to ramble on. Somehow her theory had become too far fetched, not worth the time of day to even listen to anymore

“Didn’t your mother die in a plague? What if those particles are what causes plagues? ”

                                      Trials and Tributes

Levi had to admit that at the moment Erwin had suggested that witches might not exist, he did not feel adamant at all or even indignant at that claim. A wave of relief had rushed through him and he found himself settling back down on the chair in shock, his plans to clear his desk forgotten.

“Hange traced the origin of the dysentery problem to the well at the center of town…” Levi said, mostly too himself. Suddenly the ramblings and the theories Hange had made years ago over tea and book readings were suddenly starting to make more sense. “Erwin, you might be right.”

Erwin and Levi found themselves making their way to the prison cell where Hange was being held to satisfy their own curiosity.

The guard was quick to leave as soon as Erwin and Levi entered. Levi stood by the door, keeping an ear open for any footsteps that might be coming too near, and might possibly hear their conversations.

It was his first time visiting her cell in days but he couldn’t help but notice she had lost weight since he last saw her. He made a mental note to sneak more food next time he came over.

“Hange, sorry to bother you but we have something we wanted to confirm with you,” Erwin started as he settled himself on a chair in front of her cell.

“Ask away. It’s not like I have anything better to do here.”

It’s not like I have anything better to do here. Hange had repeated that line so many times back in the cabin in the woods. The way she had said it then though was softer and alarmingly toneless. Levi snuck a glance at her face or at least what he could make out from his angle. She had bent her head down, not bothering to look up at both him and Erwin. From what he could make out though, her eyes were downcast and the glint was nothing more than a flicker of what it used to be. At that moment, she looked completely disconsolate.

“How did you trace the diseases back to the well?” It was Erwin who spoke up. In that few seconds of silence, it was probably only Erwin who would have had the strength to start the conversation.

“The dysentery problem?” Hange asked.

Erwin nodded. “Yes. The one they discussed in your trial.” An unnecessary clarification but somehow, Levi felt it was needed, to fill the silence in the room and hopefully to get Hange to talk.

“I did my research,” Hange answered. “I was getting more than a dozen patients a day. I asked them where they lived… What they ate…” Hange trailed off.

Once again, the three all waited in silence. As they sat, Levi stood. And as Levi stood, he continued to entertain thoughts in his head. His mind was racing and it felt like it was only getting faster.

Maybe there are these invisible particles that fly through the air and when they get into people, people get sick. Maybe there are special particles which can swim too and when people drink the water they get sick?

“Hange, you told me long ago that you think there are these invisible particles in the air that can swim. And when people accidentally eat them they get sick. Is that what made you think that it could have come from the well in the center of town?”

Hange nodded.

“Do you think that the plague that happened when we were eight was from those same invisible particles?” Levi pressed.

She nodded again.

Erwin looked up at Levi in surprise. Levi remembered then that he never did tell Erwin that Hange was not an enemy but in fact, a childhood friend. Erwin was sharp though and within seconds that look of surprise had shifted to one of understanding. Levi did not need to explain anything.

“Levi, do you believe I’m a witch?”

That was the moment the survivor instinct inside of him decided to make itself known. Witches can compel their victims. Witches can bewitch. It was a battle between that part of him that resisted the urge to believe her and the part of him that wanted to accept her, to trust her.

Hell. We’ve known each other for years. She hadn’t done anything then to break his trust. Actually, he was the one who had broken his promise years ago.

“I don’t know.” was all Levi could let out. Those two sides of him had settled for that as a compromise.

“I for one don’t believe in witchcraft,” Erwin admitted before Levi and Hange could react beyond Levi’s admittance of neutrality. “And I will do what I need to do to make these lynchings end. If I come across anything of interest, anything which can help your case, I’ll pass it on to you. Thank you for your cooperation Hange.”

With that, Erwin stood up and exited the room leaving Levi scrambling to pick up the pieces.

“Levi, let me ask you something.” Hange asked. “If I really were a witch, if I did have malevolent intentions, don’t you think I would have done something a long time ago already?”

What if she did it all to manipulate me. What if she needs me for some end goal.

“Don’t get me wrong Hange. I feel compelled to help you and I probably will anyway,” Levi answered. “I just can’t discount the fact that this could be manipulation on your end.”

Hange looked up at him and for the first time that night, Levi saw her face for what it was. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were red and the lines under her eyes were only more defined than they were before. He only had a split second though to take in those features before they oriented themselves into a familiar expression he had come to know so well.

A simple, maybe even naive smile. “If you believe you’re being manipulated, then I give you permission not to bend over back for me. I’m ready to die.”

That could have easily been interpreted as manipulation. As Hange said that, Levi only felt more determined to find a way to save her. He couldn’t help but note though the Hange he knew was straightforward and not at all manipulative. She had always said what she meant or so that was what he had believed.

Levi found himself questioning those voices in his head instead. Those voices that doubted Hange. Maybe they were the ones manipulating me.

Levi gripped at the bars tightly and leaned closer towards her or as close as he could get at least when they were separated by prison bars “I don't know if this is all a game. If it is, you’re doing good because either way, I’m going to do what I can so you can make it out of this alive."

"Right after saying you believe I'm a witch?"

"You were my best friend. I owe you my younger years." Levi answered. " And as your best friend, I'll find a way out of this for you. And if I need to, I’ll take you out of this country, I’ll bring you down south."

                              Trials and Tributes

It was a very cold night. So cold that Levi wished he could have put it off to another night. Given that Hange would be taking the swimming test the day after tomorrow, he knew he only had that night to test his plan for himself.

As soon as the bible tests were over, Levi had been assigned to find a place to execute the swimming test. Even before he had visited Hange in the dungeon that night with Erwin, the gears in his mind had already been moving to keep Hange alive.

He had done his research from talking to the townspeople about bodies of water, geography and nearby hiding places for criminals. For research. He had said then. Nobody did ask too much of it. He was a soldier after all who kept the peace of their kingdom.

The time he had spent collecting information had given him options. The cost benefit analysis he did given those options was what led him to decide on one particular cliff that overlooked the sea only a thirty minute carriage ride from her prison. The locals had mentioned that it was a good area for cliff diving, the water was of a fair depth that it would be safe to dive.

And that’s what I have to see for myself. It was going to be his job to push Hange into the water in less than 24 hours, the least he could do is try it himself.

It was a risky move. Especially when his cheeks were already turning numb from the cold. Levi had to admit he was probably risking his own life at that moment. As he removed his overcoat and the shirt underneath with the intention of diving into the water head first, Levi had to take multiple breaks. His body was protesting the action and the protest manifested itself as a light shudder every time the cool night breeze brushed passed him.

You’re bewitched. Those voices reminded him. Levi did not need to listen though. Before he could even allow himself a second thought about his decision, before his body and his survival instincts could push him back, Levi jumped headfirst into the black sea below him.

It would be his sense of touch leading him from then on.

From the moment he hit the water and dove deeper, he allowed himself a few minutes with his hands behind his back to simulate what Hange would be going through. He counted thirty seconds and by then, his lungs were starting to ache. He reached his hands out in front of him, relying on his recall of his last view illuminated by the moonlight to guide him where he needed to go.

He turned behind him. The cliff side should be here. He kept his hands in front of him as he swam in the direction where the cliffside should be located. Within seconds he felt it. And with it came a glimmer of hope.

That hope was what he needed badly. His lungs were crying and he knew he would need air soon. He could have easily gone up and breathed it himself. He was constantly reminded though that Hange would not have that same luxury and he pressed on. Holding on to the side of the cliff, he continued to swim.

It should be around here. His lungs were starting to scream and Levi knew he might not last any long. He started to scramble and move quicker. A generally bad idea when his oxygen and his time conscious was limited.

At that moment though, Levi had luck on his side. That empty space in between the cliffside was what he was looking for. Finding that gave him the second wind he needed. Levi only pushed further into the cavern. The path was narrow and consequently, quick and easy to feel his way through.

By the time Levi’s lungs were screaming once again, the energy from his second wind almost completely depleted, Levi had already made it into an open space and with his last burst of strength he shot his hand out above him.

It was as if a weight was lifted off of his shoulders both literally and figuratively. The air was much lighter on his body, especially on his lungs. Levi opened his eyes to see the moon above him.

The cave was generally closed, save for an opening on the roof that illuminated the cave enough for Levi to see where the sky and the walls of the cave meet. As Levi lay on the ground of the cave, he took in the view and focused on watching how the view shifted slightly with the rise and the fall of his chest.

The moon was beautiful. So beautiful that Levi almost considered spending the night in the cave despite the biting cold. Biting? That wasn’t the right word. Numbing maybe.

Numbing. That reminder of his own mortality and the possibility of death was what had Levi sit up and rush out of the cave, despite his subdued sense of touch.

He had to get out of there. He had to stay alive. He still had a job to finish.

                                        Trials and Tributes

The water shall refuse to receive in her bosom those who have shaken off the sacred water of baptism.

In the easiest of words, if Hange were to be proven innocent and completely human, she had to drown. That was how they had explained it to the multiple witch suspects that have died similarly.

“If you do drown, your place in heaven is guaranteed.” The bishop had said, as he explained the history of that trial to the crowd who had gathered by the cliff. Levi kept himself looking only towards Hange who stood next to him while the priest prattled on about their ‘guaranteed heaven.’ Those were the same people who had sold indulgences and places in heaven to the nobility long before.

He had never seen heaven. He had seen scams in action though and somehow that and his own generally negative opinion of the clergymen was all he needed to feel such a distaste for their actions.

Hange was in light garments despite the cool breeze that came with early spring. Levi wore something similar in the form of a cotton shirt and dress pants, a subtle gesture of solidarity on his end.

Hange Zoe. He only found himself looking back at the crowd and at the person in question when her name was mentioned. What followed the announcement of her names were cheers. But Levi knew it wasn’t anything to celebrate for him.

The crowd wanted to see blood. A potato sack was placed on the ground next to Hange and Levi felt his stomach drop as he started to comprehend the risk that came with his plan. Although he had simulated that same escape the night before, Hange would be faced with the extra challenge of cutting through the ropes and the sack before being able to dive and escape to the cave.

To balance it out at least, he had fed her as much information as he possibly could.

When you feel the wall in front of you, keep going left.

Dive when you feel the cliff turn rougher.

You’re going to have to dive down deep to find it.

Levi had racked his head for as much detail as he could as he oriented Hange to the location of the sea cave.

I’ll meet you there at night when it gets dark. I’ll send food. Then just stay in the cave until I can fix your papers and find you a way out of here.

While he helped Hange into the potato sack, he searched for an opening to dig his small dagger in between the tightly woven ropes, in preparation for their plan. As soon as he did, Hange touched the dull part of the blade with her fingers and tapped the side of his finger, a small gesture that she had understood what needed to do. The quick tap was somehow reassuring.

Good luck. Stay alive. He mouthed. She wouldn’t have heard it but he had not wanted to risk anything louder than that. Even with the deafening cheers of the crowd. Levi pulled the sack over her with the help of one of the guards. He had no time to even allow himself one last look at the knife digging into the ropes. He could not risk anyone finding it.

The other guard had offered to help Levi throw the sack over the cliff but Levi declined. He didn’t even trust himself to throw over the cliff. How could he trust anyone else?  Hange wasn’t heavy though. In fact, Levi was sure he had carried weapons much heavier and had shot arrows with draw weights much heavier than her.

Yet, her weight was crushing him  and Levi felt his arms going numb underneath him as he carried the sack towards the edge of the cliff.

The sack was warm, a little too warm. The contents of the sack reacted to every moment. As much as Levi had wanted to pretend that it was just a sack of potatoes or maybe even a dead body. He couldn’t. He closed his eyes for a second and had somehow felt a heartbeat beneath that potato sack. It was a little too fast and maybe even deafening.

Hange. That’s Hange. I’m holding Hange in my arms.

At that rate, Levi could not even tell if it was his own heart or hers. Will this work out? Will this be the last time I hear that heartbeat?

There was no turning back.

“Heave…” Levi pulled the sack behind him to gather some moment.

The heartbeat evolved from a canter to a gallop as he felt the strength quickly spread through his arms. He remembered then, he had an obligation to moderate his strength as well. He didn’t want her landing too far from the cliff either or worse, get seriously hurt on impact.

“Ho!” Levi threw the sack forward, slowing down as he did. All he needed to do was make sure the sack covered enough distance that she wouldn’t hit the cliffside prematurely

It was as if time slowed down when Levi found himself in a good position to let go of the sack. He had found himself peeling his hand from the sack, finger by finger. The heartbeat he had felt in the sack, the warmth were like the threads of a spider web, sticking to him so tenaciously, so desperately.

He didn’t want to let go.

                                    Trials and Tributes

“Wow! I didn’t think there would be this many types of knives. I’ve only ever played with a letter opener.”

“Don’t you have knives around here? How do you do research without them?” Levi asked half heartedly as he continued to polish his saxe knife.

“Well, I make my own. You don’t really need anything too sharp to be able to cut up leaves. Sometimes you can just do it like this.” Hange tore one of the oregano leaves a little more roughly to make her point.

“Well, fighting gets a little complicated apparently.” Levi positioned his knife in front of the window of the cabin and watched as the silver glistened under the sunlight that streamed through the window. “Uncle said this knife is strong enough to parry the blow of a sword. If you can control it…” Just imagining a sword coming down on a knife only a quarter of the size of a sword had Levi shuddering. One miscalculated movement and he could find himself three less fingers.

“Learning to use weapons takes time. And I doubt your uncle is gonna make you fight a swordsman just yet.”

“My uncle said he’ll teach the technique. I just have to do the drills he gives me everyday.”

Hange clumsily spun Levi’s throwing knife in her hand only to end up dropping it on the floor. She let out a disappointed sigh. “Hey Levi, after your uncle teaches you, can you teach me? I wanna learn how to handle a knife too.”

                                   Trials and Tributes

The sack they had pulled out of the water was stained red. And that blood stain covered half the sack.

While the clergymen and the guards were panicking at the missing body. Levi was alarmed for other reasons. Was she alive? Did she make it out safely?

He had hope for the luxury of letting out a tear, or rushing to the side of the cliff, kneeling down and looking closely at the water to maybe search for signs of life like a mad man. It would only be unwise to do such. The most he could allow himself was a catatonic state and maybe a twinge of envy at the clergymen who had the luxury to babble curses at the guard who had probably so incompetently left a hole in the sack to punch through.

Fortunately, no one was blaming him just yet. He didn’t want to give them the opening either. The matter at hand was time sensitive. If Hange wasn’t dead, she might still be flickering between life and death at the moment. He had to get to where she was soon.

He murmured a few words at the guard about wanting to check something and about them being able to go ahead and slowly walked away. Levi couldn’t run just yet, not when he was still within their field of view. To compensate though, his heart and his mind were racing. As he turned the corner and into the path which led to the cove and eventually to the sea cave, he was more quickly able to adjust to a sprint.

Levi had mentally readied himself to dive into the water even before he entered the cave. He had started to unbutton his own cotton shirt as he sprinted in, not wanting to waste any more time.

The rush and the panic that was only consuming him made him clumsy and a little awkward as he moved. The moment his plans and his expectations were subverted by the sight of a very wet and bloodied Hange kneeling on the ground next to the water, Levi ended up losing his balance and tripping on the floor right in front of her.

“You made it here alive… I was worried.” Levi managed to say as he pulled himself back up into a kneeling position. His knees and palms were starting to hurt and Levi was sure he would need to treat his own wounds a little later on.

“Yeah, I ended up cutting my wrist when I cut through the ropes...It bled out a lot but I never really was as coordinated as you are with knives... Sorry for putting that training you gave me to waste.” Hange was only rambling aimlessly. As Levi made eye contact with her, he noticed her eyes were still a little too wide and her smile too unnatural. Levi could not help but think that she had felt the same way he did when he had first arrived in that same cave a few nights before. Her face had shown it all. She was just as surprised to be alive as he was.

But she is alive. That’s all that mattered. Levi would have wanted to hug her then but at the same time he did not want to lose sight of her. He settled for putting his hand on her arm and gripped hard. “At this point Hange, I don’t care if you’re a fucking witch or not. If you are, save yourself. Run away. Go save some other kids. Go discover a plague before it happens. You don't deserve this. Nobody deserves the shit they put you through. I’ll get you out of here if I need to.”

Hange returned his strong grip on her arm by gripping his wrist. For a second, her face was unreadable. Then soon after something took over and that face had morphed into something wild and even primitive. It was as if Hange was possessed. Suddenly she was squeezing his wrist much harder than Levi had ever expected from her. He let out a groan of pain as he recoiled at the sudden attack.

Hange threw his hand back at him and snarled. "Don’t touch me!"

And just like that, it was as if he was talking to a completely different person. Or a completely different creature.

[astraeagreengrass]

French Press

Sam Wilson has a crush on two things: good coffee and you

Pairing: EMT!Sam Wilson x Nurse!Reader 

Word Count:1.981

Warnings: bad words, probably bad descriptions of medical professions and f l u f f

A/N: This is my submission to @sourpatchkidsandacokecan​ @littledarlinhavefaithinme​ "Little Darlin's Mystery AU Challenge". Thank you Clea for hosting this challenge! My prompt was EMT/paramedic featuring Sam Wilson. Many thanks to the only person lovelier than Captain America - Dani @xbuchananbarnes​ who kindly kept up with me rambling on and on about this for weeks. The banner picture was found here. I hope you like it ♡

Sam Wilson was having a really bad day.

He had slept in, having missed his alarm by well over forty minutes, and when his - goddamned, motherfucking, idiotic - roommate Bucky started banging on the door warning that they were going to be late, Sam rose in a flash, tripping on the strewn covers and stubbing his left pinky toe on the foot of the bed. Howling in pain, he half-entered, half-fell in the shower, scrubbing himself as fast as he could while muttering curses under the cold water.

The temperature was just warming up when he got out, only to realize he forgot to get a towel from the clean laundry basket. Trusting that drying himself off with a face towel was less humiliating than asking Bucky for a regular one - even if it meant going over his legs five times - Sam lost even more precious minutes, having to forgo his beloved french-pressed coffee in order to get to the hospital on time. Barnes could be a dick sometimes, but he was the best ambulance driver in the city, and, right now, Sam’s only hope.

Only they were not on the ambulance yet, and New York City's traffic didn't make way for Bucky's old Camaro - "It's vintage!" - the way it did for first responders. So when the tires screeched in front of Brooklyn General and the two friends rushed to the ER, they were greeted by the displeased face of their supervisor, Maria Rambeau.

"Please come in" she said in mock welcome. "I'm sure emergencies can wait for the princesses to get their beauty sleep."

And because anything in life that can go wrong will go wrong, you happened to pass by precisely as Sam was spilling out apology after apology. From the corner of his eye, he saw you stifling a laugh as you ducked behing Maria to get to the women’s rest room.

That was Monday.

Late evening blended into early morning and Sam found himself in the hospital cafeteria, upper body slumped on a chair and legs stretched in another. He always found it funny how healthcare professionals were usually the ones with the most unhealthy habits - like the irregular sleeping habits and the copious amount of bad coffee. Still, over and over again he took refuge on beige walls of the cafeteria, trying to find a modicum of rest between calls.

So far, the night had brought in an amateur archer with a cracked rib and a teenager with a allergic reaction to spiders. All in all, not a bad 24-hour shift.

Sunlight was just beginning to filter through the shutters when you walked in with Carol Danvers, another nurse. Your scrubs were rumpled and there was a dot of smudged mascara under your eyes. A thin line streamed your cheek from where the surgical mask sat and he was sure your hands were dry and scratchy from the latex gloves just like his were. Even so, to Sam, you were as beautiful as you did when you arrived yesterday morning, if only for the twinkled of mischief he could still catch in your gaze.

Next to him, Bucky snickered.

“You’re so whipped.”

That was Tuesday.

The first time you saw each other outside the hospital, it was a coincidence.

Sam turned left at the coffee aisle and there you were - almost unrecognizable in legging pants and a cap, bopping to a song he couldn’t hear on your earphones. You looked worlds away from the capable nurse he knew you were, staring absentmindedly at the rows of grains, weighing different options on each hand.

He couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the familiar white packaging on your right palm or the way the black pants hugged your calves and thighs in a soft curve your scrubs could never achieve. Somehow, finding you in the domestic setting of the local grocery store brought the words out of Sam’s lips, past lungs and vocal cords, toppling the insecurity that lived at the tip of his tongue.

“The Colombian one is great,” he blurted out.

Your removed an earbud, then the other. Your confused frown morphed into the most beautiful stretch of lips when you recognized the tall man at the end of the aisle.

“Hey,” you beamed. “I know you.”

I know you.

I know you.

I know you.

“From the hospital,” you quickly explained yourself, not knowing you didn’t have to. “You're Sam, right?”

On the inside, he was hyperventilating.

Oh my God, she knows me.

“Yeah,” he cleared his throat. “Sam Wilson.”

Two steps forward and he was close enough to extend his arm. The handshake was brief and polite, but thrilling. Sam sensed the gentle caress of your palm on every nerve ending of his body. He was wrong yesterday: your hands were so soft it felt as though you'd never once wore latex gloves.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” you said and damn it sounded so much better coming from your mouth rather than someone else’s. “Since you’re a friend, do you think you can help me understand this coffee?”

Friend. Friend. Cool. Helping a friend at the grocery store. He could do that. Friend. Get it together, Wilson.

Sam cleared his throat again.

“Well, I use a French Press, so if that’s your thing I’d suggest a medium or dark roast. That one is one of my favorites,” he pointed to the small white bag you were still holding in the cradle of your elbow.

“Oh wow, you’re a pro,” you laughed. “I don’t think I can operate anything more complicated than a coffee bag.”

Sam raised his eyebrows.

“A coffee bag? Really? That’s like a crime against coffee!”

You giggled, carefree, melodious and slightly embarrassed, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, still shy and oblivious to her greatness.

“In my defense, I’ve been trying to get better,” you claimed. “I don’t think I can survive much longer with the cafeteria coffee as my standard.”

“You’re right about that,” Sam said. Then, in a push of his good luck, he added. “Hey, if you want you can borrow my book on coffee recipes. When’s your next shift?”

“Tomorrow morning,” you replied. “And thank you! Are you sure you won’t need your book?”

“Not at all!” he shook his head. “Besides, it would a crime to let you keep using those coffee bags.”

And there it was again, the laugh. He could keep hearing it forever.

There was a pause, then. That awkward silence in the middle of a sentence when someone wishes they could say more but they don't know how to. It's child's play all over again, from the itch at the tip of the fingers to the flutter in the stomach. In a few moments of quiet, everything is a lot - emotions are too intense, too noisy and too much, toppling over careful overthought expectations of an infatuated heart.

He saves the memory of your smile, willing it to be good fortune, read from coffee grounds sitting on a an empty cup.

“Ok, then. I’ll see you tomorrow, Sam.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

That was Wednesday.

He found you at the nurses’ station.

Standard green scrubs, hair out of your face, glasses on the bridge of your nose. There was a pink stain on your middle finger from the neon pen you used to highlight patient’s prontuary.

He’d never seen you in glasses before and something about them made his heart beat faster.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, fingers drumming the countertop in a nervous tick disguised as smooth greeting.

“Oh. Hey, Sam, ” you offered. Next to you, Carol Danvers looked like the cat that ate the canary. “How are you?”

“Good, good,” he nodded. “What about you? Committing any coffee sins recently?”

“I’ll let you know my coffee bags are safe and healthy, thank you very much,” you grinned and laughter bubbled from him in easy breaths of adoration.

“Here,” Sam slid a small rectangular to you. “The recipe book I promised you.”

You held it to your chest like a precious gift and he crumbled, tiny pieces of man falling apart in earth-shattering joy.

“Thank you so much,” you said. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Please,” Sam whispered, either to you or to himself, he wasn’t sure. “Please do.”

That was Thursday.

It took Bucky a lot of convincing, but he eventually let Sam take the Camaro.

"Never call her old again, ya hear me?" he complained. "Not when she's helping you get your girl."

Sam was going to call it something a lot worse if he didn’t manage to find a place to park soon.

On it’s defense, it was Friday night on Fulton Street. Chances of finding a parking space were little to none, even if you were a man with a crush and a nice car. So when he finally reaches you, looking pretty in a dress under the artificial light of a café, he’s just a little breathless from racing down three blocks.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed and you beamed, brighter than the signboard, or his headlights or the first twinkling star shining through the foggy city sky.

“Hey,” you said. “I thought you’d bailed on me.”

“Never,” he breathed out. “I just… Idrovemybestfriendscartoimpressyoubuttherewasnoparkingspace.”

“What?”

“I wanted to impress you, so I borrowed my friend’s car,” he admitted. “Only there was no parking space, so I had to go around the block a few times.”

Relief flooded from you and your shoulders visibly relaxed - but not enough.

The text came ungodly early, in an hour that most people would consider impolite, but not you and definitely not him. In your line of work, odd hours were just regular hours.

Hey Sam, it’s Y/N. Y/N L/N. I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from an EMT named Steve. He said he’s your friend. Anyway, there’s this café in Bed-Stuy that’s doing a “French Press Festival”. I don’t know what that means but I thought maybe you’d like to come. With me. Like friends, of course. To honor good coffee.

He said yes of course. Perhaps more than once.

“I have something to confess, too,” you said. “I thought you’d found out about it and that’s why you didn’t show.”

Sam froze.

“I’m not a coffee newbie,” you admitted. “I actually know a lot about it. But when we met at the supermarket you seemed so enthusiastic… And honestly, I’d tried to find so many excuses to talk to you at the hospital but I was embarrassed - you make me nervous!”

And nervous you were, fingers twisting each other in a painful, agitated grip.

“I didn’t want to ruin the first good opportunity I got by saying that I knew the Colombian coffee was awesome, and yes, coffee bags should be banned from the face of the planet.”

There are moments that define a boy's heart. Shape it like more than muscle and blood, with something akin to manhood. Sam Wilson was grown - long limbs, tall frame and brave heart - but something in your presence screamed schoolyard crush and teenage fever at him. Like a toddler learning to walk or a boy tasting love for the first time. Like an adult discovering that some things feel better when they speed through older veins.

Sam’s smile was an earthquake - shattering the ground and dismantling structures in its wake. It rattled the five feet keeping you apart, pushing your bodies forward finally.

“I must say I was a little disappointed when you mentioned coffee bags,” he stated. Then he opened the café door and mentioned you forward. “But not as disappointed as I’ll be if say you’ll prefer Chemex over French Presses.”

You grinned and maybe Sam’s fortune was read before the coffee was poured.

“I guess you’re in luck, Mr. Wilson.”

That was Friday.

That was the beginning.

[thewatermelloncat]

Stupid Surprises

Summary: Loosely based on this prompt from Anonymous:

Your fics are my favorite 😊 I have a prompt if it inspires you! Maybe Klaus brings home a stray cat or dog that he initially wants to keep, and is going to surprise the siblings with it, until Five "mysteriously" can't stop sneezing, and Klaus realizes Five's allergic to the pet and his surprise is about to backfire.

☆ Read the prompt once and then it got muddled around in my head while I formulated the story. Kind of missed the brief on this one, sorry mate. Hope you like it anyway!  ☆

Author’s Note: I chose a cat because I definitely think Klaus is more of a cat person. Also, with Mr Pennycrumb in canon, I doubt that Five would be allergic to dogs.

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Not that they all expected Klaus to walk into the room with his arms flailing to excitedly announce his entrance, but it was certainly suspicious that he stepped in slowly with his arms close to his body. The sight of their brother in his long black coat appearing to be hugging himself would seem like he was cold but the summer night outside didn’t permit that kind of behaviour. Almost at once everyone in the room turned to him as he awkwardly hung by the door.

Seeming to notice all eyes on him he steps forward a little and hesitantly says, “what would you all say if I brought a cat home?”

The reaction was instant, a few scoffs of surprise around the room, a couple of shaken heads, but Allison was the first to speak. “You didn’t!” she crosses her arms in disbelief.

“Oh, but I did” a twinkle of mischief sparks in Klaus’ eyes as he pulls out a black kitten from his coat, not much bigger than his hand.

At the sight of the cat both Allison and Luther’s expressions soften, after all it is undeniably cute. Vanya makes an adoring hum as she sits forward in her chair to get a better look at it.

“How did you catch it?” Diego scoff in wonder, knowing that stray cats tend to run away from strangers. More interested in the story than the cat itself.

“It’s friendly” Klaus chirps as he adjusts the kitten in his hands.

“All right then, why?” Five asks, ever practical.

“Well, we have tons of room and I thought why not?”

“But a stray, Klaus?” Allison asks. “We could just go and buy you one. It’s not like we don’t have the money for it.”

“Where’s the charity in that?” Klaus dismisses.

“Buy you one from a shelter then” Allison corrects.

Klaus hums dismissively and shrugs his shoulders. “Already got this one.”

“How do you know that it’s not diseased?” Luther brings up.

“I’ll get him checked out” Klaus promises, looking down fondly at the kitten in his grasp.

“How do we know it’s a him?” Diego mentions.

“I’ll get that checked out too” Klaus says.

“What are you going to do with it in the meantime?” Vanya asks. “Doubt any vets will be open at this time.

“He can stay in my room but I’m going to show him round first” Klaus says before setting off to do just that.

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

From the minute Klaus walked in with that cat Five knew he was allergic to it. He’d never had any experience with cats before, never owned one and never spent time around one, but somehow, he just knew. Though it wasn’t something he would say. His brother seemed so happy when he had pulled it out of his coat the night before and he didn’t want to get in the way of that. The mansion is a huge place, he’d probably never see the thing anyway.

 Well, firstly, he was wrong. Immediately when he walked into the kitchen for breakfast, he saw the thing on Klaus’ lap. Not wanting to cause a fuss he picked up a piece of toast and poured himself some coffee before sitting over at the other end of the table.

“Does it have a name yet?” Vanya asks.

“Amity” Klaus looks down as he scratches the cat’s head, it purring faintly.

“I thought you were calling it a him?” Diego recalls after hearing the feminine name.

“Well, we don’t know for sure that it isn’t a girl yet. And besides it’s a cat, does it really matter?”

“Guess not” Diego mumbles as he looks back down to his breakfast.

“How old do you think it is?” Luther asks.

“I don’t know, I’m not a cat scientist” Klaus starts rambling as Diego turns toward Five.

“Hey, you’re weirdly uninterested in this.”

“When am I ever interested in anything you talk about?” Five drones.

“You usually have an opinion on everything one way or another” Diego points out before dropping the topic entirely. He seems to leave Five alone but every now and again Five can feel Diego eyeing him suspiciously.

 “When are you taking it to the vet?” Vanya asks Klaus amid another conversation.

“Around lunchtime, I can’t be bothered leaving yet” Klaus reasons.

“In that case should we all head up to the lounge then?” Allison suggests to which they all do, seeing that no one has any complaint.

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

Unfortunately, with the group moving to the lounge in a mass exodus, Five wasn’t able to grab a chair faraway from Klaus. Not that it mattered anyway with his brother allowing the cat to roam around freely. Though he was able to distract himself with a book he’d nabbed from the shelf and was doing his best to ignore the itching in his nose. He wasn’t particularly worried about his cat allergy making an appearance in front of his siblings, he had good self-control.

 “Huppt” Five silently stifles a sneeze that he’d been feeling building up for a while now. He’d been trying to hold it in as long as possible but it could no longer be helped.

The quiet noise went mostly unnoticed, just a few glances his way. People sneeze, it’s nothing to worry about. Though overtime the frequency Five’s sneezing increases. No more than two at a time but to his siblings it becomes concerning.

Luther looks over to Five after he stifles another double and sniffs congestedly, his expression worried. “Are you getting sick?”

For a quick second Five considers lying as saying yes. It would be an easy escape to his problem but it would be harder to uphold when further questions would be asked. “No” he shakes his head.

“You sure, you’re sounding like it?” he checks.

“Trust me, it’s nothing to worry about” Five says and before his brother can open his mouth again, he tells him, “I’m going up to my room.”

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

“Ah, shit!” Five whispers out a curse as he inspects his blazer, finding a strand of black fur imbedded in it already. “AIKx'schoo!” he doesn’t even have time to contemplate how that’s practically impossible seeing he hadn’t gone near enough to the cat for that to happen, before another sneeze tears out of him.

Nonetheless it was only one fur, easily plucked out of the fabric weave and discarded. No point making a fuss of it. After shouldering the blazer back on Five turns around hearing footsteps stop in his doorway.

“The general consensus downstairs is that you’re sick and aren’t admitting it” Diego says coolly as he leans against the frame.

“I’m not sick” Five upholds.

“I never said I agreed with them” Diego tilts his head knowingly.

“Humour me then, Diego. What is it that you think?” Five says smugly.

“I think that your allergic to the cat.”

Five’s smug expression drops and he says nothing because there really isn’t anything that he has prepared to say against that. Though his change in expression is enough of a confirmation.

“Five, you have to tell him” Diego sighs.

“Don’t make a deal of it” Five dismisses. “I’ll barely ever see it.”

“Think harder” Diego prompts. “He’s going to carry that cat around everywhere. It’ll be attached to his hip.”

“That’s exactly why I can’t tell him” Five snaps before he shrugs his shoulders, “it makes him happy.”

“But we can’t have you wondering around miserable” Diego gestures to him. “Will you not tell him?”

Five’s silence serves to answer the question and he reads Diego’s face as his expression changes. Watching his brother draw in a deep breath before he turns back from the door, Five knows what he plans to do.

In an instant he has Diego pressed against the wall with his forearm against his chest. It’s more the surprise that holds Diego there with his strength outweighing Five’s enough to overpower him if he wanted to.

“You will not tell him!” Five whispers harshly.

Diego stares down at him with a defiant look.

“If you tell him” Five pauses to pull a knife out from Diego’s belt and brings it up against his throat. “I’ll take this knife and cut your neck.”

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

His empty threat didn’t work on Diego as he finds out later when Klaus comes up to his room.

“Knock, knock” he says as he raps on the doorframe, his voice sounding far too gentle for Five to expect a normal conversation.

“What do you want?” Five’s distasteful tone aims to scare him away.

“To talk to you” Klaus says, undeterred by Five’s hostile demeanour. He pauses for a second to get his bearings before he says simply, “Diego told me.”

Instantly a grumble winds up in Five’s throat but before he can speak and curse Diego’s existence, Klaus interrupts him.

“Hey, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“I’m not embarrassed by it” Five maybe lies a little. “I just don’t want you to feel bad about it.”

“I’d feel worse if I didn’t know and you suffered in silence” Klaus tells him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

It takes a couple of seconds for Five to answer but when he does, he says, “you seemed so happy.”

Klaus smiles and breathes out a little laugh. “There are other things that make me happy.”

“But it’s not fair to make you give it up and throw it back out on the street” Five reasons.

“Hey, we don’t need to get into all of that” Klaus stops him as he pulls an extra chair up to the desk to sit beside him. “Now, I’ve talked to Vanya” he says with his expression turning more serious. “Her apartment allows them to keep pets, so she’s agreed to take it.”

Five seems to settle a little but he still says, “I don’t want to make you do that, Klaus.”

“It’s no problem” Klaus shakes his head. “Vanya likes Amity and Amity seems to like her.”

“But the cat doesn’t stay with you.”

“No” Klaus shakes his head and Five can see past his smile that there is hurt behind his eyes. “But I can go visit anytime I want.”

Despite Klaus’ expression his words are spoken in a cheerful tone and Five relaxes a little more. Knowing that somehow Klaus will forgive him.

“And this way you can get back to your usual self and Amity doesn’t get thrown back on the street” Klaus continues brightly.

Five purses his lips in half a smile but his hum of recognition is cut short as he suddenly needs to sneeze. “Her’isshh!” he only just manages to lean away from Klaus.

“Ah shit, sorry” Klaus exclaims as he stands out of his chair. “Probably all covered in fur” he identifies before looking down at his clothes, seeing black strands stuck to the fabric.

“It’s all right, Klaus” Five quickly utters before he turns away to sneeze again. “hig’nxxt... nrgtsch!”

“I’ll leave you alone” Klaus hurriedly makes for the door before he turns around once he’d passed through. “Vanya’s about to take the cat back with her, but I doubt you’d want to say goodbye.”

[panda-noosh]

somewhere in the trees {zuko x reader}

Words: 14.4k 

Summary: Rules are rules - other kingdoms are not meant to mingle with the Fire Nation. Zuko knows he’s in trouble when he comes across an Earth Bender hidden deep within the trees just outside his home.

Genre: angst

Warning: panic attacks

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i haven’t written for Zuko in ages and it hurt me. 

---

Zuko listens to the drums.

  Dull, throbbing, making his ears pop every few seconds. He leans his head back against the wall, trying his hardest to catch breath that shouldn't have left him in the first place, because he's been doing this for years – for as long as he can remember, in fact.

  Showing his face to the people of the Fire Nation shouldn't be such a hard task when he was raised in the palace, when his father is king and his mother is queen and the world knows him by name. Showing his power should be easy, but when he stands next to Azula, he can't help feeling inadequate, and he hates that. It makes his heart race with a mixture of horror and embarrassment; Azula stands beside him, shoulders drawn back and head held high, and she just does everything so naturally, like she was made for the stage. In a way, Zuko was also made for the stage – he just hasn't quite mastered how to show that yet.

  This particular show took its toll on him more than it ever has before. Azula was gaining some male attention that quickly turned on Zuko; the three burly men fighting for his sisters affection had taken it upon themselves to chastise Zuko for his limp arms, and his lanky frame, and the scar covering one side of his face. They didn't know the true story – gods forbid someone find out the true story – but they jeered him for it anyway.

  Azula had done nothing to help.

  So Zuko left. He scrambled off stage and darted into the woods, and that's where he finds himself now.

  He presses his head against his knees. Around him, a bird chirps, but Zuko doesn't look towards it. He keeps his head down, inhaling and exhaling, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of his chest. He even presses a hand against his collarbone, trying desperately to feel his pulse, to make sure everything is in order because it really, really feels like something is wrong. Maybe it's a panic attack – Zuko has heard of those only a handful of times, and it's always when his father is laughing about them. He thinks people who can't control their nerves are weak, and Zuko has always laughed along with him because he just wants to please the man, he just wants to prove himself, he just wants to be like him.

  The thought draws Zuko up short. His eyes squeeze closed, and he shakes his head, back and forth, back and forth like an animal in distress. The idea – the thought – of ending up like his father is enough to make his breathing stutter, and he's dragged right back to square one before he can even get a hold on himself.

  “No,” he whispers. “No, no, no, no.” On and on, tiny words escaping his mouth. The birds around him chirp and soar. The grass beneath him tickles his ankles. He wonders if he's allergic, if maybe this is just some kind of medical reaction That would be easier to explain to his father.

  “No.”

  “Bloody hell, I heard you the first time.”

  Zuko yells.

  He scrambles away from the wall, shoving himself into a pile of stray autumn leaves. Nettles stab into his exposed arms, and he cries out again before scrambling away, his eyes darting to and fro for the source of the mysterious voice.

  He sees nothing. Just birds and grass and trees.

  He licks his lips. “H-Hello?”

  “Hello.”

  He flinches back. “This isn't funny. Where are you? Show yourself now!”

  “Oooh, the prince finally found a set of vocal cords.” There's a small titter of laughter. Zuko scowls, clenching his fists in the grass. “I don't really like fire benders in my forest, if I'm being completely honest. Your powers don't really suit this kind of area.”

  “You're in our woods – the Fire Nation belongs to me and my family!” Zuko looks around again. “Where are you?”

    “Your woods? When was the last time you came out here and chased off some meddling fire bending teenagers, huh? 'Cause unless you've slipped past me somehow, I've never seen you here before in my life. I'm only being nice now because you're having a panic attack.”

  Zuko's chest constricts. Again, he rests his hand upon his collarbone, tracking the quick thump of his heart. He can feel his pulse in his throat, is made aware of his weakening legs now that he's stood up. His breathing is still slightly laboured, but his confusion has distracted him long enough for his body to settle down for the time being.

  “Where are you?” He knows he's being repetitive, but there's nothing else he can think to say right now. He's stood in this forest on his own, and yet there's a random voice talking to him from nowhere. He's starting to wish he'd never left Azula's side.

  Another laugh echoes through the trees. Zuko flinches back, tugging his hands into his chest; his palms heat up with the warmth of his powers surging to the surface, but he holds it back – there's no point wasting his energy when he doesn't even know where to use it.

  “You're actually kind of cute, you know,” the voice says. “The young prince of the Fire Nation. An idol. Should I feel honoured that I've seen you so vulnerable?”

  “Stop playing these games!” Zuko snaps. “Show yourself now, or I'll get the guards out here to take you from this forest by force!”

    Another laugh, but it's followed by the crinkle of leaves. Zuko spins around, flames immediately engulfing his hands in preparation for whatever protection he is going to have to give himself.

  But then he sees you.

  A little shorter than him, smiling manically, half-knelt in a pile of leaves. You're wearing riding gear, a thick leather vest with matching trousers that show Zuko you're from the Earth Kingdom. He's struck with confusion – what is someone from the Earth Kingdom doing in the forests of the Fire Nation?

  Slowly you rise. Zuko takes a hesitant step back, but he doesn't feel as threatened as he once did, not now that he can see you.

  “I like to make a dramatic entrance every now and then, even though it messes with my knees,” you say, brushing brambles from your trousers. Zuko notices the vines curled round your wrist, disappearing beneath the sleeves of your leather vest. “How do you do, Prince Zuko?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  You roll your eyes. “Goodness me. Why do you get to ask all the questions and just ignore mine?”

 “Because this is my kingdom, and I'd advice you to cooperate before things take a bad turn.”

  Your smile wavers. What was once a manic, cheshire-like grin trembles at the edges, and Zuko hates that he feels a little guilty for it; you look to be around his age, dirt smeared across one of your cheeks. There's a leaf sticking from your hair, a sign to Zuko that you've been living rough these past few weeks. Weeks? Years? Zuko can only guess as to how long you've been here.

  “Well okay,” you mumble. “Clearly little Prince Flame hasn't taken his afternoon nap.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I live here.” You speak through gritted teeth, the first sign of outward annoyance you've given to Zuko since you first appeared.

  Zuko narrows his eyes. He still holds flames, but you've long since stopped looking at them. Instead, you focus your eyes on Zuko, and he's shocked to see the confidence there, burning behind your irises. He isn't sure whether you see him as a threat or not, but you're certainly not showing any signs of fear.

  Zuko tilts his head. “That isn't possible. We would have known if someone from the Earth Kingdom was living here.”

  You shrug. “Take that up with your men. I've been perfectly content living in my trees.”

  “I wish you wouldn't call them your trees. This is Fire Nation land, and you're currently trespassing.”

  You groan, throwing your head back before you stumble to the side. Zuko takes a step back, holding his hands up a little higher in his attempts to ward you off – in truth, he doesn't even know why he's so fearful. He hasn't seen your power – you might not even be an Earth bender, but there's always a chance.

  “You're so boring,” you say. “I personally think the Fire Nation needs a little bit more diversity, don't you?”

  Zuko stays silent. Something ticks in his jaw. The mere idea of another one of the kingdoms mingling with the Fire Nation nearly makes him laugh – the Fire Nation doesn't make friends outside of the Fire Nation. That's been a rule for as long as Zuko has been born.

  “Of course, it goes both ways,” you continue, lazily waving a hand. You catch a butterfly, uncurl your fingers to reveal it in perfect condition, sitting pleasantly in your palm. “The Fire Nation can come visit the Earth Kingdom whenever they want.” You level a gaze on Zuko. “As long as you're on your best behaviour.”

   Zuko swallows. “My sister will be furious if she finds you here.”

  “Oh, goody!” you exclaim. “Is Azula coming to visit? Should I put on something a little nicer? How does she like her potatoes cooked?”

  Zuko growls. “Do you ever take anything seriously? You do realise you're committing a crime right now, don't you?”

   “I've known that for a very long time,” you reply. “I've just grown to not. . . what's the term? Give a shit?”

  Zuko's eyes widen. His father taught him how to react in a situation like this – when a commoner is disrespecting him, he has every right to punish them however he pleases, because he's prince and that's one of the perks of being a prince.

  But he stares at you now, that smile on your face, the way you walk back and forth in the leaves, and he can't bring himself to say anything. He just watches you closely, hands still engulfed in red hot flames.

  He swallows again, flicking a glance over his shoulder. “Do you have a name?”

  You pause your pacing, tilting your head. “You have an interest in my name?”

  “I have an interest in the names of people who trespass on my land.”

  You smirk. “So you've just admitted to me that you're going to use my name against me? Tout to your father, yeah?”

   Zuko closes his eyes. “I won't tell my father anything. I just want to know-”

  “Y/N.”

  His eyes snap open. “Y/N.”

  “Y/N L/N of the Earth Kingdom,” you clarify. “Eighteen years old, orphan, run-away, all around bad person.” You stretch your arms out and grin. “What a fine pleasure to have your company in my humble abode, Prince Zuko.”

  Zuko silently questions his own sanity when he lowers his hands, dismissing the flames he'd once considered his only protection; now, he doesn't even fully believe you're a threat.

  You smile, letting your own hands drop. “Truce?”

  “How can you actually live here? How can you really make this place your home?”

  “I like nature, Zuko.”

  “And I like fire, but I don't live in flames.”

  “Then how much can you really like fire?”

   Zuko frowns. “You're very weird.”

  You chuckle, and it's a pleasant sound that forces Zuko to halt his grin before it becomes obvious. “So I've been told. I think the death of two parents can do that to a person.”

  “How did they die?” He isn't sure if this is too personal, if he should just back up and leave the conversation at that – he hasn't had the chance to talk to a normal person in quite a while, and his communication skills have become rusty throughout his time locked behind the mahogany doors of the palace. Sure, he enjoys talking to the maids and the cooks, but how real can a conversation be with someone who works for you?

  You continue walking back and forth. You continue to smile. Your voice still holds that humorous edge to it when you say, “The Fire Nation killed them.”

  And in that moment, Zuko wishes he had just kept quiet.

  His stomach reels. His mouth snaps shut, his prepared follow-up question escaping his mind. He stares at you, how you never once waver, how your smile never flickers, and he wonders of your sanity.

  He clenches his fists. “I'm . . . I'm so sorry.”

  “It happened a while ago,” you reply, kicking a stone onto the toe of your boot before burying it beneath the leaves. “I don't remember it all that well. I've been told stories, though.” You look at Zuko and slowly shake your head. “Terrible, terrible stories. Nightmare inducing stories. Stories that include your father-”

  “I'm sorry.”

  You shrug, going back to your pacing. “But what can I do about it now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Y/N...”

  “I don't want pity, either. I just want you to turn and leave me to my own devices, in my own little forest, all on my own.” You stare up at the sky. “This is where I belong, Prince Zuko. I'd appreciate it if you respected that.”

  Zuko knows this is just an excuse, a way to get him out of your sight so you can go back to breaking the law with no consequences. He knows, as prince, he should be dishing out your punishment and taking pride in doing so, but he can't find the strength. He imagines you, a little baby, so innocent and vulnerable, parentless because of the things his people had done out of pure selfishness.

  He bites his lower lip and says no more before backing away. He turns on his heel when it becomes clear you've lost interest in him, slowly making his way back to the palace, back to his life of luxury, back to pretending that everything is fine and the world isn't a corrupt shithole.

  ---

  If there is one thing Firelord Ozai sees as important, it's making his family look as close-knit as possible in the eyes of the Fire Nation.

  Meal times are often practice for this kind of thing, and Zuko hates it. Even when the world is not watching their every move, Ozai likes to make sure his two children are pristine and perfect. He shoves all arguments and all tension out of the way, replacing it with a false sense of happiness.

  Zuko is ruining that image today, and he can't help it.

  It has been three days since he paraded into the woods and found you lurking amongst the brambles. It's been three days since you told him of the happenings that resulted in your parents deaths. It's been three days in which Zuko has been unable to get a grip on his guilt.

  He sits at dinner now, his legs folded beneath the table. His shoulders are slumped, and he's been jabbing at his roast beef since he sat down, having yet to touch a single fine cuisine on his plate; it's an expensive dish, but he can't even bring himself to be grateful for it.

  Azula coughs. “Father. Surely you've noticed Zuko's a little down in the dumps recently?”

  Zuko has to resist the urge to kick his sister. At the head of the table, Ozai frowns, fork lifted halfway to his mouth as his eyes settle on his youngest son, his biggest disappointment. Zuko doesn't even look up from his plate, but instead tries to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible by scooping a pile of peas into his mouth and straightening his shoulders in the most subtle manner he can manage.

  Ozai slowly lays his fork across his plate and forms a tent with his fingers. “Is this true, Zuko?”

  Zuko wants to scream that Ozai doesn't really care, because he doesn't. The Firelord has put him through hell from the moment he was born – he only wants to keep up appearances. He wants to play Happy Families whilst his men and his army go out and destroy real happy families for the sake of rank and reputation.

  The realisation burns bile into the back of Zuko's throat. He swallows it down, looks up at his father and says, “I'm fine. I don't know what Azula's talking about.”

  “Oh, but look!” Azula waves a hand over Zuko's packed dinner plate. “He's barely touched what the chefs have so kindly served him today. Usually he's the first one finished.”

  Only because I want to get away quicker, Zuko thinks.

  Ozai raises a brow. “This is true. Has something been heavy on your mind recently, Zuko?”

  Zuko shakes his head, chewing on a bit of roast beef purely as an excuse to not answer. His voice will break. His father will know.

  But his father knows anyway. Ozai always knows.

  “I don't like it when you lie to me, son.” His voice is low, heavy. “There's too much mistrust in your heart, and it's a problem.”

  “I don't mistrust anyone,” Zuko says. “I'm just not hungry. I've been feeling a little bit ill.”

  Azula snorts, opens her mouth to say something, but Ozai raises a hand and she goes silent immediately.

  “How can you ever expect to rule over the Fire Nation if you can't even handle a simple stomach bug?”

  Zuko's head snaps up. “Father, really. I'm just-”

  “Do you expect me to hand over everything I've worked for to a boy? A boy who is bed-ridden at the first sign of an ache?”

  “I'm fine, father. I just don't feel like-”

   Ozai stands up. Zuko doesn't understand why he is so angry, why the conversation has taken such a sudden and twisted turn. “I am paying people to train you into a Firelord, Zuko, and clearly they are not doing a very good job.”

    Zuko's eyes widen. “They're doing a wonderful job, father. You're right. You're absolutely right. I need to-”

  But Ozai is already clicking his fingers, and servants are already rushing inside the dining hall. Azula stifles her laughter beneath a gloved hand. Zuko's heart thunders in his chest, a million miles per hour, a million thoughts that he cannot bring himself to organise.

  A servant named Beatrice arrives at Ozai's side first. The Firelord doesn't even look at her when he says, “Find Zuko's tutors and kill them. They're not doing their job. They've wasted my hard earned money, and I won't have it.”

   Zuko belches. “Father, no. Please!”

   Beatrice looks between father and son, her eyes wide.

  Ozai clicks his fingers and points to the door. “I've given my orders. Now go, or else you'll be facing the same fate.”

   Beatrice squeaks, bows and scrambles out of the room. Zuko can only stare after her, hands trembling in his lap – that feeling is coming back, that thumping of his heart, the sweat pooling in his palms. His breathing will disappear soon, become some ragged thing that causes physical pain in his chest. Soon, he won't be able to hide it and he'll be back to square one.

  But he can't stop trembling. He can't stop the screams that echo in the back of his mind, the image of his tutors – tutors who have worked so hard to help him become someone he was never meant to be – being brutally slaughtered because Zuko had one bad day.

  Ozai's face is stone. He stares dead ahead, sniffles and says, “Dinner dismissed. Both of you, go to your rooms. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night.”

  Zuko pushes his chair back and darts out of the dining hall, his stomach reeling even though there's barely anything there. Servants ask after him, unaware of the brutalities happening to their co-workers in the next house over. He ignores them, feeling nothing but relief when he finally bursts into his room and locks the door.

  He crumbles to his knees as soon as the door is closed. His body deflates, and a sob erupts. He claps a hand over his mouth, squeezes his eyes closed, says a silent prayer that someone will have mercy on them poor souls, poor, poor souls.

  He knows it's useless.

  It's useless, and he needs something. He needs something, anything to get his mind off it. He can't be in this palace. He can't sit there and listen to the casual chatter of the servants outside the door, the casual patter of footsteps in the hallway coming from people who are either oblivious or just don't care.

  So he gets up and climbs out his window. His legs are too long and his movements are too clumsy, and he ends up kicking the window beneath his own. He quickens his pace when this happens, knowing time is dwindling, knowing it won't be long before whoever occupies that room comes knocking on his door to ask if he's alright – he should probably just climb back inside and feign ignorance. It would be the safer option.

  But as soon as his feet touch the soft brambles, he's running towards the woods and he can't stop even if he tried to. His lungs are burning after only a few seconds, despite his skilled stamina – he's having a panic attack. The running is not helping, but he can feel the stress leaking from his system and he savours that feeling of deflation even as his lungs burn and scream for a mercy he cannot give them because he does not deserve it.

  Lives are being taken because of him. What right does he have to be treated kindly, even by himself?

  Soon, Zuko finds himself surrounded by the familiar greenery he was caged in only three days ago. He falls against the wall, presses his hands into his eyes and says, “No, no, no.”

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

 Zuko doesn't flinch this time, because he knows who it is. He wanted you to appear. He wants to hear your voice.

  He doesn't look up. It takes you a moment, but you finally drop from the canopy and land in front of him; he can't see you, but he feels you staring at him.

  A branch pokes him in the leg.

  “You look a little down, Princeling.”

  Zuko opens his mouth to say something, but words fail him. He instead digs his fingers into his eye sockets a little more, as if this will push all the memories and all the thoughts to the back of his mind – yet another array of horrors he will be forced to deal with later.

  You hum. “Okay, you look a lot down. What happened? Was the steak not medium rare?”

  Zuko doesn't respond. He senses your hesitancy when you slowly kneel down in front of him, gets a shock when your hand rests on his knee.

  “Hey. Look up.”

  Zuko does just that. His eyes meet your own, and he's startled to see you're not smiling. It takes him a minute to even realise you're the same person he spoke to three days ago. You don't quite look the same when you're not grinning from ear to ear, spewing some stupid information that Zuko really doesn't need to know.

  Now, you've got your head tilted and your lips are pursed, and you look genuinely worried for him.

  “Did you know,” you begin, voice a mere mumble, “that people from the Earth Kingdom are actually really, really good listeners?”

  Zuko's heart lifts. His voice is croaky when he replies. “I didn't know that, no.”

  You shift until you're sitting beside him, shoulder pressed against his own. The two of you stare into the forest, the darkness slowly taking shape between the trees as night falls upon the forever glowing Fire Kingdom. Back in the city, people will be lighting lanterns with their hands. His father will be getting ready to address his people – his worshippers – for their good night call.

  “Well we are.” You stretch your legs out in front of you and tap Zuko's knee, gesturing for him to do the same. He hesitates before lowering his legs onto the grass, stretching them out so they surpass your own, exaggerating the height difference between you both.

  You frown. “That's not fair.”

  “I think good height runs in the family.”

  You swat his shoulder. “What do you mean, good height? Do you think being short is bad height?”

  Despite himself, Zuko smiles. “Your words, not mine.”

  You scoff, folding your arms over your chest. “And here I was thinking you were a better man than your father.”

   Zuko's smile collapses. His heart collapses. His fathers words slam back into his mind, and tears are suddenly rising to the surface.

  He looks away, tries to hide them, but you're much quicker than he is. You lean forward, catching his eyes just seconds before the realisation seems to dawn on you. Your own eyes widen, jaw dropping open for a second.

  “Zuko. Woah, okay. What's the matter? Did I say something?”

   Zuko swipes a hand beneath his eyes, shaking his head. “It's nothing.”

  “That's clearly not true.” You move in front of him, knees pressing into the dirt but you don't seem to care. You continue trying to catch his eye, fingers tightening on his knees which are, again, pressed into his chest. “Zuko, why are you here? What happened?”

   “What happened,” Zuko whispers. “What happened, you ask. What happened, Y/N, is what always happens!”

   You flinch back at the steady rise of his voice. “I don't understand.”

   Zuko clenches his jaw. “It's all my fault.”

  “Zuko, you're not making any sense-”

   “They're dead, and it's all my fault!” He isn't sure where it comes from, but a roar of frustration is pulled from his mouth. His hands erupt into flames. You gasp, pulling away from him as he throws the fire against a nearby tree.

  It goes up in flames.

  Zuko's eyes widen. “Oh, sh-”

  You throw your hands out, and immediately the flames are dispelled. You don't even look towards the tree you've just saved, instead keeping your gaze steady on Zuko.

  He looks back at you, eyes wide. “I'm so sorry.”

  “You're angry, is what you are,” you correct, crawling back towards him. “Put those hands away, will you? And take some deep breaths, for the love of god.”

  Zuko trembles. “They're dead, Y/N. Because of me.”

  “You're still not making any sense.”

  “Do I have to? I think I like it more when people can't understand what I'm saying – it makes it less difficult to mess up.”

  You frown. “Well, that's not a very good way to live your life.”

  “It's better than what life is like now.”

   “In what way?”

  You don't tell him he's wrong. You don't call him crazy for thinking like this. You don't look at him like he's got three heads, or like he's some deity, and maybe that's why Zuko's breathing goes back to normal, why he looks you in the eye when he explains the entire situation.

  You nod along to his words, letting him know you're listening even when the story gets hard to tell. Zuko's throat closes up when he describes his fathers voice and the anger, and how he could do nothing about it. He's been trained from such a young age to never defy his father – the scar on his face is enough proof of what will happen to him if he steps out of line.

  When Zuko is finished, he looks away. You go quiet. The only sound is the pleasant chipper of the insects burrowing in the grass; not even the birds are out, having long since taken the darkness as a sign to settle down for the evening.

  Finally, you sigh and say, “Sounds like a tough night.”

  “I should have done more,” Zuko croaks out. “I just wish I knew how to.”

  “You were scared.”

  Zuko flinches. Another thing his father has taught him – it's not right for the future Firelord to be scared of anything. This mindset alone drives Zuko into stupor, a sudden overwhelming urge to defend his own bravery rising to the surface.

  But he looks into your face, and you're smiling a little bit, a little softly, and your head is tilted as you wait for his response. You don't mean any harm by your words – you're just telling the truth.

  Zuko looks back down. “I am. Very scared.”

   “That's alright,” you say. “Ozai is a scary man. Or so I've heard. I haven't really seen him in person, and I don't like to judge people, but he did order the death of my parents, so I think I have a right to say that.”              

       Zuko flinches again. “It's terrible what he's doing, but you can't blame yourself for his evil, Zuko. You're just a boy-”

  “I'm meant to rule this kingdom when he passes on.”

  “Bloody hell, one can only hope that's sooner rather than later, eh?” You nudge Zuko, laughing. He just glares at you. You snap your mouth shut and utter, “Sorry.”

  “What happens if I end up like him?”

  You raise a brow. “What? Killing innocents?”

  Zuko nods, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in his throat. He's never spoken about this to anyone; he isn't sure why he thinks talking about it with you is a good idea, but the words are coming far more easily than they ever have before. He kind of wants to savour it while it lasts.

  “Zuko.” His name is a sigh when you say it. “I know you're upset, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

  His eyes snap up. “Why is it?”

  “Because you're in this state.” You gesture towards him, pointing out his curled form, the tear stains on his cheeks, the way his hair is sticking up in all directions. “If someone else being a monster disturbs you this much, I think you'll be driven to insanity if you were to do it yourself.”

   “But I'm his son-”

  “Don't remind me. I might be forced to wipe you out.”

  Zuko closes his eyes. “It's just a fear of mine. I don't think it's irrational.”

  “No fears are irrational. Some are just . . . more justified than others.”

  Zuko sighs and leans his head back against the wall. It really is getting late, and he knows his disappearance from the palace will soon be noted, that he will be in big trouble when he gets back, but he doesn't want to leave. Your hands are still resting on his knees, and he uses that as his excuse to stay seated on the grassy floor – you're keeping him there. You and you alone, and maybe there's more truth to that statement than he wants to believe.

  Zuko doesn't open his eyes when you start moving around. He feels your back press against his feet when you spread out on the grass, and when he finally looks down, he can't help his flicker of amusement at the sight of you laying on your back in the leaves, looking up at the moon. Only one side of your face is completely illuminated, your hair trickling out around you. Zuko takes a strand of it, curls it around his finger.

  “Whenever you become Firelord,” you begin, voice quiet, “you won't forget me, will you?”

  The question is so startling, but there's a peaceful ring to it that stops Zuko from flinching away. “Whenever I become Firelord,” he replies softly, “you'll come and live in the city. You'll have your own little cottage.”

  “Can I have pets?”

  “As many as you want.”

  “And plants?”

  “Of course.”

  You hum, closing your eyes. “Yes. Let's hope Ozai carks it sooner rather than later.”

  ---

  Zuko's life inside the city does not improve, but at least he's found an escape.

  He doesn't like being driven to the point where he feels he must leave his home to be peaceful. He hates that his chambers are no longer good enough, that the only person who can chase his sour thoughts away is a criminal, living illegally in the woods of the kingdom he is meant to rule over in a few years time.

  It makes him feel so weak, like perhaps he isn't up for the job he's been trained for his entire life.

  This mindset does not stop him, however. Feeling weak and inadequate is nothing in comparison to the haunting helplessness he feels when he's left alone with his own thoughts; you're the only person who can chase those away right now, and Zuko isn't ashamed to admit it.

  He also isn't ashamed to admit that these past few weeks have directed him to feelings he never thought safe to feel. He still doesn't think they're very wise, still thinks he doesn't deserve them. That pleasant little fluttering that springs up in his chest when you laugh – what has he ever done to deserve that? Nothing. He's the prince, and that's it. He's a title, a face to flaunt until his real duties begin, and even then, it will always be the commoners doing the hard work.

  But he can't help it, and he's too tired nowadays to fight it off.

  He walks through the woods once again, leaving the flames behind. The lanterns have been lit earlier than usual tonight, so Zuko has to duck behind carriages and bushes on his way to visit you, lest he be seen by night time dawdlers.

  He gets there eventually, though, and his hardship with getting here in the first place all seems worth it as soon as you hop down from your tree and land in front of him, that manic smile plastered on your face.

  This time, he smiles back.

  “Oh, would you look at that,” you exclaim, poking the corner of his mouth. “You look particularly pleased tonight, Princeling.”

  “I am. And you will be, too.”

  You raise a brow. Zuko tries not to blush under your gaze as he gets to work setting up everything he managed to bring with him tonight – a blanket, stolen from the back of one of the expensive sofas in the lounge room; some fruit cut up into tiny squares; slices of fresh ham, stolen from the kitchens without the cooks even realising Zuko had paid them a visit. He even took the risk of pinching a few of the freshest slices of bread, and he lays them out on the blanket now, his fingers tingling from the cold. A little bit of extra thought sends flames through his bone marrow, warming his hands up enough to allow him to set the food out in a nice array.

  He looks up and grins when he's finished. You look back down at him, one eyebrow still raised, your hands on your hips.

  “And you go on at me for being a criminal.”

  Zuko rolls his eyes, grabs your hand and drags you down beside him. You laugh, knees clashing against the blanket, and Zuko watches you shuffle closer to the basket to get a closer look; so often you pretend this kind of thing does not affect you, but Zuko can see the small smile playing on your face, the way your fingers trace idly over the goods he's brought.

  It warms his heart.

  “You can dig in, you know,” says Zuko. “I brought it for you.”

  “All of it for me?”

  Zuko shrugs. “I was hoping we could have a bit of a midnight picnic. No one will miss this stuff back at the palace.”

  You grunt before grabbing a slice of ham. Zuko joins you, and the two of you chat and joke as you fill your mouths with sandwiches and fruit, vegetables cut into little strips that make you laugh because you feel like a little kid again, pinching carrot sticks from the vegetable platter your mother always had out for guests. Zuko listens to you retelling these stories of your childhood, listening for any sign of sadness in your voice, any sign of resentment, but there is none. You laugh and throw your head back, and your eyes twinkle in amusement; you talk about your parents like they're still alive. You talk to Zuko about your parents, as if he isn't part of the Fire Nation, a crucial cog in the machine that once killed the people you love.

  With a mouthful of apple chunks, you say, “My mum would have loved you, I think.”

  Zuko pauses. “Really?” He can't think of a single reason as to why anyone would love him.

  “Yeah,” you reply. “'Cause you're nice, and you treat me well. Honestly, my mum wasn't hard to impress from what I've heard – all you needed was good manners and a good attitude towards her kids, and she was basically adopting you for herself.”

  Zuko smiles. “She sounds lovely.”

  “I'm sure she was.” You pluck at a piece of lettuce, caught between two slices of bread. “I think I would have liked to know her in person, not just through what other people have told me.”

  Zuko swallows the lump in his throat and looks up at the moon. “She's watching over you.”

  “You think so?”

  He points towards the sky. You tilt your head, following his directions. “My uncle Iroh always tells me to look up at the moon when I miss someone I've lost. He told me that's where all the good souls go – to the moon.”

  You chuckle quietly. “Not the stars?”

  “No. The moon. They're all up there, like little astronauts. Living amongst the rocks and the craters.”

  It goes quiet then. Zuko looks over, his heart thumping a little when he sees you, head tilted towards the sky, eyes closed. He wants to kiss you so badly right now, but he holds himself back. He watches you from afar, and that's good enough.

  You inhale deeply before opening your eyes, a slow flutter of eyelashes, accentuated by the slow pull of a smile forming on your face. You turn to Zuko and say, “Your uncle is a wise man. I'd love to meet him some day. When I'm allowed in the city.”

  Zuko nods. He doesn't know why, because he knows it will be a mighty long time before you can ever step foot in the city walls, before he can ever show you off to his family and friends. He nods, but it's more of a hopeful thing rather than an agreement. You smile sadly and turn back to the food, and Zuko knows you understand.

  ---

  Zuko is smiling.

  Perhaps this is the first red flag that sparks in the back of his uncles head. Perhaps Zuko's happiness is enough to make his uncle – and everyone around him – suspicious.

  But Zuko doesn't even care. It's dark, the city lit up only by the lanterns flickering along the street. A few drunken party-goers stumble along, but the light is too dim and their vision is too skewed for any of them to take notice of the prince walking amongst them – strolling amongst them, shoulders drawn back, a tiny smile playing on his face. His eyes are glittering. His heart is full, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Zuko doesn't feel like curling up and hiding from the world.

  Until he hears Iroh's voice.

  He was made aware of his uncles impending city visit a few days prior, but had been much too distracted by a certain Earth bender to make arrangements. His heart plummets when he hears it, the smooth way his name is spoken from lips withered by age and too much smiling.

  Zuko freezes in the middle of the street, hands stuffed in his pockets. It's such an un-princely way to stand, and maybe that's the second red flag Iroh catches onto. Iroh has always known Zuko better than his own father. Zuko has no doubt in his mind that the old man can see some discrepancies in the way Zuko is carrying himself.

  “It's a bit late to be out, isn't it? You'll catch a cold.”   Iroh slowly emerges from beneath a bridge. He's smiling – as per usual – and his hands are tucked into the oversized sleeves of his grey robe – as per usual.

  Zuko turns his head slightly and says, “Uncle. I think the same could be said for you.”

  “I'm fine,” says Iroh. “I've got an excuse to tell Ozai when I get back. You, however, look like you just plan on throwing caution to the wind.”

   That's exactly what Zuko plans on doing.

  “I was just going for a midnight walk.”

  Iroh narrows his eyes. Zuko shifts under his gaze, suddenly desperate to get away.

  “The palace guards permitted that?”

   Anger edges under Zuko's breastbone. “The palace guards permit whatever I tell them to permit.”

  Iroh hums. “I believe they permit what your father tells them to permit, and Ozai certainly wouldn't permit you free reign of the city in the middle of the night.”   Zuko's shoulders slump. He turns to fully face his uncle. “Don't tell anyone.”

  “Where were you, Zuko?”

 “The – The woods. I was in the woods.”

  Iroh's eyebrows shoot up. “What did you see in the woods that has you smiling so big?”

  There's no going back now – Iroh has noticed his expression. Whatever explanation Zuko gives now will drive him deeper and deeper into the mud, and he isn't sure he can afford that with his status. He looks back at Iroh and hollows out his cheeks – this is the man who knows him better than he knows himself. If he can't trust Iroh, then who on this earth can he trust?

  “I was visiting a friend.”

  Iroh pauses. “Friend? You have friends?”

  “Uncle!”

   “I'm just curious! Why can't this friend of yours see you – oh, I don't know – in the day time?”

  “They're not exactly allowed within the city walls,” Zuko mumbles.

  Iroh, again, pauses. During this stretch of silence, Zuko's stomach turns itself inside out. He clenches his fists at his side, resists the urge to tell his uncle to mind his own business, because that's what the old Zuko would have done. The young Zuko, the one with so much unaccounted for rage. Now, however, Zuko is trying to keep himself calm, taking deep breaths as he waits for his uncle to say something – anything.

  Finally, Iroh says, “Ah.”

  Zuko's eyes snap up. “What? You won't tell my father, will you?”

  “The Firelord will find out eventually. I know my brother well, Zuko, and fugitives living on his land-”

  “Y/N isn't a fugitive,” Zuko insists. “They're not causing any harm. In fact, them woods would be nothing but smithereens by now if they weren't there.”

  “Is that right?”

  “And they're kind, too, Uncle. They have this wonderful way with words. They make me feel so normal, and – and I haven't known what that feels like for so, so long.” Zuko shakes his head. “You have to promise me you won't speak a word of this to. . .”

  Zuko glances down at his uncle and trails off. Iroh is staring up at him, an amused smile pulled tight across his face. His eyes are crinkled into crescents, cheeks flushing red with the effort it takes to suppress a burst of laughter.

  Zuko steps back, folding his arms over his chest. “Don't look at me like that.”

  “I'm not looking at you like that.”

  “Yes you are! You look like you're going to laugh in my face.”

  “Why do you always have to rip the joy out of the worlds greatest things?”

   Zuko groans. “Just promise me-”

  “So this Y/N person makes you happy?”

  Zuko pauses. He isn't sure why the question makes his heart lurch in his throat, why he's suddenly swarmed with embarrassed butterflies. Slowly he lowers his hand against his abdomen, biting his lower lip as he processes how to answer without throwing himself completely into the deep end.

  But then he thinks of your face, and your smile, and the feel of your hands against his because Zuko warms you up when it's just a little bit too chilly for an Earth bender. He counts how many nights he's sat in bed, counting down the seconds until he hears his fathers chamber door close so he can hop out of his own room and see you.

  “Yes.” His voice is a croak, barely there, like he's been screaming into the void for the past ten minutes. “Yes, Y/N makes me very happy.”

  Iroh steps forward, places a heavy hand on Zuko's shoulder. “Get to bed, Zuko. I'll keep this between us.”

  Zuko looks up. “Uncle. . . If anything happens to Y/N, I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself. I don't think I'll be able to come out of that.”

  “I understand. No harm will come to your – what did you call them? Friend?”

  Zuko blushes. “Friend.”

  Iroh smiles, small and subtle. “No harm will come to your friend.”

  ---

  The crowd screams.

  Zuko closes his eyes, trailing a hand through his black hair in any attempt to tame it from the bed-head he's been cursed with this morning. It's eleven am, and Zuko overslept due to his late night endeavours. His father had been furious, his sister had been suspicious, but neither of them had time to chastise him.

  Now, he stands by the balcony and waits for the signal to start.

  Azula stands beside him, fixing her make up using the reflection from an empty platter. Her hair, as per usual, is done to perfection, piled a top her head, kept in place by an abundance of hair pins hidden beneath her dark locks. Zuko looks at her and scowls – he's never been able to pull himself together in quite the same way.

  Ozai stands by the balcony doors, getting ready to present himself to the people screaming his name outside. They all hate him; Zuko knows this for a fact. They hate his cruelty and how they have to tiptoe around their own lives to ensure they don't make him angry – but they show up in their numbers anyway, because there's a chance of them getting slaughtered if they don't.

  “You don't look prepared.”

  Zuko looks towards Azula. “What?”

  She gestures to his clothes. He's wearing his fire robes, though they've shifted a little, revealing a lick of collarbone that he awkwardly stuffs back into his collar. “You look like you've just crawled out of bed, Zuko.”

  “Because I have.”

  “You say that like it's a good thing.” Azula rises to her full height. “Do you go out of your way to embarrass this family, or does it just happen?”

  “I slept in. It was an accident.”

  “Mm.” Azula flicks his ear. “Make sure it doesn't happen again.”

  Before Zuko can reply, the announcer is calling them forward. Ozai does only a single swift check of his shoulder, making sure all his ducks are in a row, before the balcony doors are thrown open and Zuko and his family march in front of the waiting crowd. The screams get impossibly louder. The world shrinks to this moment and this moment only, and Zuko feels his cheeks glowing bright red under the critical gaze of complete strangers.

  He concentrates on his breathing, even as he waves and smiles to the people staring up at him. He has to, or else he'll lose it – he lost it last time. He can't afford to make a fool of himself now.

  Ozai speaks into the microphone, voice booming across the screaming crowd. Zuko stands straight backed, arms behind his back, his breath skipping every few seconds-

  Then his eyes meet yours.

  His smile falls. In one second, the demeanour he's been trying to build up, the charade he's been trying to play is completely wiped out and replaced by terror, confusion, panic, all rolled into one. His breathing leaves him in a single breath. Azula glances at him, raises a brow, hisses a warning under her breath, but Zuko can barely hear her over the sound of his own heartbeat.

  You're stood near the front, hands curled around the barriers. By your side is Iroh. He's leaned in, whispering in your ear, talking to you like you're a good friend. You're no longer wearing the vest and the trousers that made you stick out as an Earth bender, but instead wear a pair of oversized Fire Nation robes. There's still a leaf in your hair. Zuko wants to laugh.

  But he doesn't. Honestly, he can do nothing but stare, the crowd making him feel claustrophobic. He wants to be down there. He wants to be beside you. He wants to know how in the hell Iroh managed to get you past the city guards, why he bothered to get you past the city guards.

  His father continues speaking. Zuko fiddles with his thumbs behind his back, waiting for the moment he can scramble off stage and meet you in the middle; you're looking up at him, a grin on your face as Iroh whispers in your ear. Iroh suddenly turns and points in Zuko's direction, but you're already looking at him and Zuko's eyes meet your own, and it's really like nothing else in the world exists.

  Zuko can't contain his excitement. A slow smile stretches across his lips, one you return almost immediately. You bounce on your heels, grabbing Iroh's sleeve and pointing up at Zuko, and he risks it all by giving you a little wave – you grin even brighter and wave back.

  That's what cracks him.

  He turns to Azula before he can think better of it, leaning in to whisper, “I'll be right back.” There is no chance for her to ask what he is doing, because Zuko has already turned and is speeding back through the palace, making his way through crowds upon crowds of special guards, and cooks who call his name with the same confused tenderness they've always given him. He rushes right past them, darts through the back doors of his home-

  Iroh is already one step ahead.

  At the end of the back alley behind the palace, Iroh ushers you forward. You look up, eyes meeting Zuko's, and then you yelp, sprinting towards him. Zuko laughs when he catches you, arms wrapping round your waist, body moulding into yours like he was made to be in this exact position. You nuzzle your head in his neck, arms wrapped right around his shoulders.

  Nothing else exists. Nothing else in the world.

  “You're here,” Zuko breathes against your neck. “How are you here?”

  “Iroh found me,” you reply. There's something in your voice – not exactly emotion, but something similar, something that tugs at Zuko's heart and makes him tighten his grip. “He said he could – he could disguise me, or something. I'm not gonna lie, Zuko, I thought he was mental.”

  “A lot of people do.” Zuko draws away first, glancing at Iroh who stands to the side. The thing about Iroh is, he never gets awkward. He stands around whilst his nephew and this complete stranger hug and greet each other in a more-than-friendly manner, and he just looks proud. He looks on with a small smile on his face, hands folded in front of him, not a care in the world.

  Zuko clasps him on the shoulder. “How did you know where to go?”

  “Because I know you, Zuko.” And it's such an Iroh response – it doesn't even need a reply.

  Zuko turns back to you. His eyes click with yours, and he can't help it when he reaches forward and brushes a stray strand of hair away from your neck. You close your eyes, a rare and brief moment of vulnerability – it's nice. Zuko feels like he can protect you when you're like this.

  “I want to show you everything,” he says.

  Your eyes flick open. “I want to see everything.”

   “Come on. Before my father finishes his speech.” Zuko grabs your hand and darts back into the palace – there is no shame in his movements, not like he once expected there to be. Now, he parades through the cooks and the cleaners and the royal guards, and he introduces you to each and every one of them. His hand remains in yours, and you do not fight to remove it.

  You instead look on in awe, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Zuko stares at you any chance he can get, marvelling the way such little things take you by surprise – the vase Zuko has seen everyday for the past eighteen years forces a gasp from your lips. You trail your fingers along the mahogany wood that Zuko once believed to be distasteful. You sigh in pleasure when sinking down into the sofa that Zuko thought was getting a little worn out from time and well-use.

  Finally, however, Zuko leads you to his bedroom, and his nerves return.

  He feels stupid for being nervous. He's an eighteen year old man, soon to be the Firelord of his own nation. Bringing someone special – are you someone special? - into his rooms should not be something that fazes him, but it is. The butterflies crawl into his stomach, and he has to drop your hand to disguise the sweat that sheens along his palm. You glance at him, raise a brow.

  “Problem, Princeling?” Zuko purses his lips. You tilt your head. “What's behind that door that's got you so nervous?”

  “I'm not nervous,” Zuko lies. “I was just – uh – this is my bedroom.”

  You nod like it's no big deal, standing there expectantly. Zuko glares at you for a second longer, because he's fully aware that you know exactly why he's nervous – you're just choosing not to say anything, refusing to put him out of his misery in that blunt way you always seem to manage.

  He sighs. “You'll kill me one day.”

  “Shall we go in or do you just want to show me a picture?”

  Zuko pushes the door open. You step inside before him, surprising the prince when you reach back and grab his hand, dragging him in after you. He's been in his room every single day, often locks himself inside just to clear his head, but he's looking at it behind a completely new lens now; he becomes aware of the small mess cluttering the corner, the little bottle of ink on his desk that has fingerprint smudges wrapped round it, the single sandal thrown carelessly to the side as he had no time to put it away this morning.

  And then there's you, standing amongst all of it. Already your fingers are trailing along the dark red wallpaper, eyes scanning the double bed with it's slightly creased sheets and abundance of pillows. There's a tiny smile on your face.

  You turn. “My aunt used to tell me that a bedroom is the window to someone's soul.”

  Zuko blushes. “I think your aunt was mistaken. I haven't had a single say in the running of this room since I was born.”

    “No, no. I think she was right.” You point to the sandal. “Clearly you were in a rush this morning.”

   “My bedhead would have been enough to give that away.”

   You step towards him and run your hands through his dark hair. Zuko scrunches up his nose, glaring, pretending he doesn't love the feel of your fingers scratching against his scalp, pretending he doesn't love your body being so close to his.

  “I like bedhead on you, Princeling,” you say softly. “It makes you look a little less perfect.”

  Zuko raises a brow. “And that's a good thing?”

  “It is when you spend your whole life looking pristine.”

  “I don't look pristine all the time.”

  “That's a lie.”

  “Should I be taking this conversation as a compliment?”

  You grin. It's only then does Zuko realise your fingers are still embedded in his hair, and your body is still dangerously, dangerously close to his own. His fingers twitch, the sudden urge to draw you closer flooding him in two seconds flat. It's difficult to keep himself contained when he can smell the earth and the soil on your clothes – your Fire Nation clothes.

  He looks down and plucks at the red collar of your robes. “Iroh did a good job with this.”

  You pull away. Zuko has to bite his lip to hide his disappointment, though the disappointment dwindles when you twirl for him, robes billowing out around you. “You like them?”

  “You're just the kind of person who suits everything, I think.”

  You scoff. “You know, me calling you perfect wasn't me trying to get a compliment out of you.”

  “I complimented you because I'm a nice person.” He pauses. “And because it's true – you do suit everything.”

  You hum, glancing down at your new wardrobe. “I appreciate it. It doesn't really feel right, though. I kind of miss my Earth Kingdom clothes.”

    “Of course.” Zuko takes your hand. “You won't have to wear Fire Nation robes forever. We can go back to me visiting you, and then-”

  Your head snaps up. “You're not sending me off already, are you?”

  Zuko's eyes widen. “What? No, of course not! I just thought-”

   “You made such a big deal about me coming into your room, and you're already planning my departure.” You pull your hand from his, folding your arms over your chest. “I feel betrayed.”

   Zuko glares; you're doing it again, teasing him. Teasing him because you're you, and that's what you do, but teasing him because he's easily teased, and you know that. You know that, because he's opened up to you in ways he's never opened up to anybody in his entire life.

  He loves you. He knows he loves you. He's known from the moment he realised he couldn't wait to see you again, couldn't wait to risk everything by climbing out his window in the middle of the night just to see if you were still awake somewhere, waiting for him.

  He stares at you now, examines the amused smile on your face as you wait for whatever flustered reply he always gives. You fluster him so easily, and yet Zuko has never been good at that kind of thing.

  He gives it a go now.

  He grabs your hand, draws you forward and kisses you.

  He only meant for it to be a short peck, something to get a feel for the waters. But your response is too quick, and you're melting against him much faster than he expected, and he's plummeting, plummeting, lost in seconds.

  He doesn't register the moment your hands start trailing through his hair. He doesn't register the moment you start pushing against him, guiding him deeper into his own room as if you own the place. He doesn't register the moment he spins and presses you against the wall, his lips still moulding into your own.

   Suddenly it's just happening. Suddenly his stomach is just in knots, and Zuko realises with a start that he's dug himself far, far too deep into this hole, and there's no going back. He's fallen in love with someone from the Earth Kingdom. He's fallen in love with someone he has no chance of ever being with.

  But even as the thought passes through his head, he pushes it away. He's Prince Zuko; he's the shy, easily-embarrassed, anxiety-filled prince that his own nation mocks, but he gets what he wants. Perhaps it's the spoilt rich-kid side of him that has gifted him this drive, or maybe it's just his lips on your own, but he swears to every god that has ever witnessed his life unfold that he will keep you with him. He will not let anything bad happen to you.

  You pull away first, a splutter escaping that you quickly silence by pecking his lips one final time. Zuko laughs against this tiny kiss, chasing your lips when you pull away. You place a hand on his chest and say, “Give me a minute.”

  “Good?”

   “Unexpected.” You fan yourself. For the first time, Zuko has made you flustered. He beams, and you glare at him. “Don't do that! You could have said something first!”

  Zuko curls a strand of your hair around his finger. “That would have ruined the surprise.”

   “Has anyone ever had the nerve to tell you just how much of an ass you are?”

  Zuko grins, slowly leans forward and pecks your lips. “Only you.”

  You open your mouth to respond, but the chance is stolen when Zuko's bedroom door opens and a royal guard steps inside. Zuko scrambles back, running a hand through his mussed-up hair; you stay against the wall, hands curled against your chest, an amused grin forming on your face.

  The royal guard raises a brow, glancing between the two of you. Zuko claps his hands to get his attention back. “What do you want?”

  “Uh...” The guard shakes his head. “Your father's finished his speech and wants to speak with you. As soon as possible, if you will.”

   Zuko's heart thunders, only this time it isn't because he's holding you in his arms. He glances over his shoulder; you meet his eyes, raise a slow brow in a silent offer. You're telling him you'll leave. You're telling him you don't mind going back into those woods, living the rest of your life in the trees you seem so attached to. You're telling him you don't mind, but your hands are trembling against your chest, and then you take a slow step towards him, curling your arm against the small of his back.

  He knows you don't really want to go. He doesn't want you to go, either.

  Zuko turns back to the guard and says, “I'll be there in a minute. Tell him I won't be on my own.”

 The guards eyes widen. “Prince Zuko-”

  “This isn't a debate. Deliver my message, and I'll make my way to the throne room as soon as possible. As requested.”

  The guard swallows, flicks one final gaze in your direction before he bows and exits the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Zuko deflates as soon as he hears the click, slumping back against your warmth. You catch him, curling an arm around his middle, pressing your face into his spine.

  “Don't do anything you'll regret, Zuko. I won't have it.”

  “Do you want to stay here?”

  You pause. “I want to stay with you.”

  Zuko's heart soars. He gently touches the hand you have against his stomach, intertwining fingers. “Then  it's decided. You'll stay with me.”

  ----

  Zuko has never brought someone home to meet his parents. Zuko has never had anyone to bring home.

  A summer fling here and there, a young romance sprouting from the casual touch of fingers, people finding him attractive because he has the word 'prince' tacked on to his name; none of it really meant anything. He never once thought these relationships would grow into something worth flaunting in front of his father.

  Now, he holds your hand and walks into the throne room, unsure how to introduce you, unsure what this is. He's kissed you once. He's felt the affect you have on him, but is that enough for him to label this as a relationship? Will his father even approve?

  Does he need his fathers approval?

  Zuko shakes his head, hollowing out his cheeks as you and him enter the throne room. Ozai has yet to appear, though there are two guards flanking either side of the single throne set upon the dais; there used to be two, but since the death of Zuko's mother, Ozai has removed his mothers throne. More space for his power to radiate.

  You squeeze Zuko's hand, lowering your voice to a whisper when you say, “Is that air conditioning I feel?”

  “You don't have to try and lighten the mood.”

  You frown, pulling away. “Fine. But just so you know, you look like you're going to burst a blood vessel.”

  Zuko opens his mouth to respond, but the door on the other side of the room is thrown open before he gets a chance to. His father says nothing. His face is stone, passive as he approaches his throne and sits down. His hands curl round the curved ends of the arm rests, and he stares directly at Zuko.

  Zuko knows what to do. He's been trained for this his entire life, so it comes naturally to him when he lets go of your hand and steps forward, dropping to one knee. You stare at him with an open mouth, unsure of what to do, but Zuko does not put that burden on you – he lets you stand.

  Ozai says, “Up.”

  Zuko rises. “Father. You requested to see me.”

  “That I did,” says Ozai. Zuko's stomach turns when he notices Ozai's eyes haven't left you. “I asked for my son, and my son alone. Where was the message distorted?”

  “Nowhere,” says Zuko. He takes a step back and wraps an arm around your waist, feeling immediately guilt when your tense body presses against his; he left your side for only a second, but it's clear you're terrified. “I wanted to introduce you to Y/N. I wanted to talk to you about some arrangements.”

  Ozai's left eye twitches. “Zuko, this talk wasn't for you to orchestrate. You left the balcony during the morning announcements. You embarrassed your sister and I, and now people are asking questions. I did not call you in here to discuss what you want.”

  “Part of my explanation for leaving involves Y/N.”

  “That isn't a good thing, Zuko.”

  Zuko's grip tightens – he was prepared for loose threats, but they shake him up nonetheless. You glance at him; Zuko can feel your eyes burning holes into the side of your head, can feel your ribcage expanding and dropping at lightning speed beside him. He rubs a small circle into your hip, and you melt against him a little more.

  “Introduce yourself,” Ozai suddenly says.

  You pause. “Me?”

  Ozai scowls.

  “Oh, me!” You stumble forward, but your hand darts behind you and grabs Zuko's wrist, needing to keep some form of contact. “Uh, good morning, Firelord. Firelord? Your Majesty? I don't – uh...” You turn to Zuko. “Help?”

   Zuko just nods.

  You scowl and turn back to Ozai. “Firelord. My name is Y/N L/N. I'm a – uh – friend of your son. A good friend. Really good friends.” You pause. “I'm in love with your son.”

  Zuko's breath skips. He curls his fingers tighter round your own, a silent message portrayed through nothing more than skinship: I love you too. I love you too. I love you so much.

  Ozai keeps his scowl, but he has not yet dove from his throne, has not yet ordered your death, and Zuko is going to take this as a good sign.

  “In my forty three years ruling this nation,” he says slowly, “I don't think I've ever seen you before.”

  You stiffen. “Really? That's odd. I – uh – pay my taxes and everything, so-”

  “Y/N is from the Earth Kingdom, father.”

  It happens in seconds. Zuko has barely any time to blink before the royal guards are dashing forward, and suddenly you are in their grasp, and your startled cry is echoing off the throne room walls.

  Zuko lurches forward. “Stop!”

  Ozai rises from his throne with a swift calmness that makes Zuko ill; you're thrashing in the guards grip, feet kicking from the ground, but they only hold you tighter. There is a guard at Zuko's elbow, a spear In front of his nose that stops him from getting any closer to you.

  “Father,” Zuko pants. “You must hear me out. You have to give me a chance to explain-”

  “You know the rules, Zuko,” Ozai says calmly. “This little infatuation of yours is a criminal. We do not tolerate criminals here.”

   Zuko shakes his head. He doesn't know why, doesn't know what he's disagreeing to, because his father is technically speaking the truth – you are a criminal, and Zuko knows that, but the rules you have broken are so unfair and so stupid that it makes him angry to hear that label be pinned to your name.

  He looks over. There are tears glistening on your waterline, though you have now gone limp in the guards arms. Your shoulders are pulled back, mouth pulled into a tight line as you try to fight off the rising panic he knows you are feeling – you're trying to seem strong, unthreatened. Zuko remembers the way you had so casually agreed to go back to the woods on your own, how prepared you had been to go back to such a horrendous way of life – was this your way of telling Zuko you were prepared to die, as well?

  Death. Zuko can't even bring himself to think of it. He has to stop this. He promised to keep you safe.

  Slowly, he turns back to his father. “You don't want to do this. Not really.”

  “Now we both know that's not true. I have killed plenty, and I will kill again. That is my job as the protector of this nation.”

   “You're insane if you really believe that.”

  For a second, Ozai pauses. Zuko has never spoken to him like that. “Watch your tongue, boy.”

  “You've always wanted me to be tougher.” Zuko steps forward, fingers curled at his sides. “You're always telling me to be braver, to stop being such a wimp. You've always wanted me to follow in your footsteps, and now I'm prepared to do just that.”

  “Stand down, boy – before you make a fool of yourself.”

  Zuko grits his teeth. His stomach churns, a feeling he's never before experienced slicing through every bit of patience he gathered before walking into this throne room; he prepared himself for hostility, an argument, an explanation his father would never make sense of, but now you're being held by royal guards and Ozai is threatening your life and Zuko can't hold himself back any more.

  He takes another step forward and lets his hands erupt.

  Ozai's eyes widen. Royal guards rush forward, but Zuko is quicker – he sends his hands out in front of him, creating a circle of flames on the ground. Guards jump back, yelping in shock because Zuko – the wimpy little prince – has never shown this side before.

  This wimpy prince turns back to the Firelord and says, “You always thought I was weak, father. The truth is, I just never had anything to fight for. Now that I do, I'm not going to let you destroy it.”

  “Zuko,” you croak out. He closes his eyes. “Zuko, don't do this. Don't-”

  “Shut them up.”

  The royal guard backhands you. Zuko's eyes snap open, and it's reflex when he throws his hands out. He doesn't even think, doesn't will his power to the surface – it's just there, present in a way it's never been before, and the royal guards robes set alight. He screams, letting go of your arms; you crumble to the floor, revealing the slash now embedded in your cheek thanks to the guards ring.

  Zuko darts to your side and grabs your arm. “Are you alright?”

  “Don't do this,” you repeat, clinging to him. “I'll be fine, Zuko. I'll be okay if I have to leave, but I can't see you dead. I won't.”

  Zuko smiles weakly. Tears flood his eyes. “Why do you think I would be any different?”

  “You're the prince,” you whisper.

  Zuko closes his eyes, tracing his thumb along your cheek bone. “So you like to remind me.”

  “Zuko-”

  He spirals up, whirling on his father yet again. His hands spring out, but Ozai is in front of him – much closer than Zuko had once anticipated. The Firelord snatches his sons wrist and twists; Zuko's knees buckle, but he catches himself and forces flames into his palm. Ozai flinches back, giving Zuko just enough time to spin back and throw a fireball against the marble floor. The dais cracks, the throne falling on its side. Flames swallow the plants set up for decoration. The golden doors start to smoke.

  Around him, his throne room crumbles under his sons power, but Ozai stays kneeled on the floor.

  “Come on, father,” Zuko taunts. “You've forced my hand, but now you won't finish it?”

  Ozai licks his bottom lip; blood is pouring from a cut Zuko hadn't even realised he'd made.

   “Look at you,” Zuko spits. “Everybody fears you. You've made everybody fear you, and yet you can't even look me in the eyes right now.”

  “Zuko!” you cry out. “Stop this now!”

  “Listen to your thing, Zuko,” Ozai growls.

  Zuko clenches his fists. “Don't you dare.”

  Slowly, Ozai lifts his head. Blood coats his fingers, his chin, his busted lip the source of it all. His robes are singed, the tan skin beneath bubbling with blisters nobody has ever seen on the Firelord, because nobody can bring themselves to imagine Firelord Ozai losing in a battle involving fire bending; he's the master of it. He is the person every fire bender wants to be.

  But Zuko stands over him now, and his own power is overwhelming him. It mingles with his anger, exaggerated by his dire need to protect you.

  “Is this all it takes?”

  Zuko frowns. Ozai's words do not click.

  “What are you talking about?”

 Ozai slams his hand into the marble and yells, “Is this all it takes?”

  Zuko stumbles back. “I don't – I don't understand-”

  “A single Earth Bender is all it takes to bring your power to the surface.” Ozai laughs, a bitter sound that mingles with the gurgle of blood pouring into his open mouth. “I have raised you from day one, tried to bring this out of you from day one, and all it takes is me threatening your little infatuation for you to finally succumb to it. I feel like a fool.”

   Zuko's breathing quickens. He doesn't know how to reply, having not expected the conversation to take this kind of turn.

  Ozai shakes his head before turning his attention to you. Zuko steps to the side protectively, lowering one of his hands; you reach up from the ground, hooking your index finger through his before you say, “This cut on my cheek feels really deep.”

  Ozai scowls. “How did you ever fall in love with my son?”

  Zuko doesn't need to look at you to know you're smiling through your response. “I really have no idea, Firelord. It just kind of happened.”

  “Y/N is staying with me, father,” Zuko says. Ozai closes his eyes, running a thumb along his bottom lip. “Y/N will stay with me, or I will go with them – whatever happens, we're staying together. You either lose your heir, or you lose your pride and admit this rule you have is wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “I know,” you grumble. “Gods forbid anything you do is wrong.”

   Ozai lurches forward. Zuko's free hand erupts into flames; the Firelord pauses, growling at his son. And Zuko knows he's being treated well here, because he's seen his fathers fury. He's been on the receiving end of his fathers fury, knows that Ozai can hurt him in so many different ways if he so chooses – but he's not. He's staring at his son, contemplating something Zuko can't read.

  It makes him nervous. He tightens his grip on your finger, because that's what soothes him nowadays.

  “I've laid out my conditions,” Zuko growls. “All you have to do now is choose which one you prefer.”

   The room goes eerily quiet. Zuko can hear his heartbeat. He can hear the blood pumping through his body, but louder than anything else, he hears your giggling behind him. It keeps him rooted to the spot. He has to fight off his own grin when you shuffle forward and press a small kiss to his palm – a silent good luck. Or maybe it's a goodbye. Either way, it sends Zuko's heart into bliss.

  Until Ozai looks up and says, “If Y/N is what it takes to make you into the Firelord you're meant to be, then I will only be putting myself at risk by sending them off again.”

  Zuko stares.

  That's all he can do as his brain struggles to process the words his father has just spoken – spoken so easily, with no catch whatsoever. His heart thunders. His hands grow sweaty, to the point where you're scowling up at him, wiping your palm on his robes.

  “You're serious,” Zuko says, some of his previous formality slipping. “You're being serious right now.”

   “Don't make me regret it,” Ozai growls. “And don't think this is the end of anything, son. The way you spoke to me today-”

  “Very bad boy, yes.” You jump up from the ground, sway a little as you wrap your arms around Zuko's shoulders. “I'll make sure he sits in the corner and thinks about what he's done.”

  “You're a curse, Y/N L/N,” Ozai growls. “The Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom aren't meant to mingle; one day, we will burn you out.”

  “Goodness, I hope so,” you reply, before giving the Firelord a cheery thumbs up. Zuko is still in a daze, making it easy to steer him out of the throne room. “Have a good night, Firelord! Thank you very much for this. Thank you!”

  The throne room doors close. Zuko snaps back to himself just seconds before you hop into his arms and squeal in his ear.

  Your legs are wrapped around his waist. His hands are under your thighs. Your fingers are trailing through his hair. It takes a few seconds, but then your lips are on his.

  Everything is happening. It's happening, and it's allowed, and Zuko cannot believe what he's just done actually worked. He can't believe he's actually still alive.

  He kisses you back. You slip down his body, drag Zuko backwards until your back is pressed against the wall and he loses his mind. His hands slip to your waist. He pulls you closer. The royal guards awkwardly look away, but Zuko doesn't even care. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.

  “Gods,” he breathes against your mouth. “Y/N, what have we just done?”

  You snap back, hands curling into Zuko's robes. “Me? I did nothing! It was you that decided to go all bat-shit crazy on the Firelord!”

   “Keep your voice down.” He kisses you again.

  You laugh against his mouth, pushing him away. “This is insane. This isn't right. There's a catch in there somewhere.”

   Zuko groans, slumping his head against your own. “Why can't we just focus on the fact I've just nearly wiped out an entire room of people?”

  You mess with the hairs at the back of his neck. “Is the Princeling tired?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Why don't we go back to your chambers and you can have a nap?”

   Zuko raises a brow. “My chambers?”

  “Your chambers.”

   Zuko scoffs, grabs your hand and says, “Our chambers. And a nap sounds delightful right now.”

  ---

  Zuko remembers days like this.

  More specifically, he remembers his dread.

  The butterflies, how he had to concentrate just to breathe properly. He remembers Azula sneering at him from across the balcony, telling him to straighten up his shoulders and look the part of the prince he was meant to be.

  Now, he stands on the very same balcony, and he feels none of that. Azula is not present. The only person by his side is you, holding his hand, wearing your dark green Earth Bender robes. Your hair is pinned back with a fancy pin in the shape of a leaf, and as Zuko waits for the screaming crowd to die down, he reaches over to touch it.

  You shoot him a glare. “I swear if my hair falls out of place-”

  “You look beautiful,” he says.

  You purse your lips, look away and say, “Okay. Love you.”

  He chuckles. “Love you too.” He turns back to the crowd. They have yet to fully settle, but he starts anyway – if he were to wait for complete silence, he would be stood there all day.

  “Good morning everyone,” he starts, just as he always does. “I know a lot of you are confused as to why I have called an announcement today. I apologise for any inconvenience, but this is not something I can hold onto any more.”

  The crowd murmur. Zuko inhales deeply, his breathing hitching. He squeezes your hand, his form of comfort.

  “As many of you know, Y/N is born from the Earth Kingdom. They wears their Earth Kingdom robes with pride. They practice Earth Bending in the streets. They brings diversity to our streets of fire. My father made it clear before he died that the Fire Nation were to be seen as superior, that any mingling with any of the other kingdoms was forbidden, wrong.” He levels his gaze. “I am making it my goal to change that mindset.”

  The crowd go quiet. They're uncertain, but Zuko had expected nothing different; for years, it has been drilled into their heads that every other nation is doing something wrong. That's all they've known. Zuko is aware he'll have to be patient to get through to them.

  You squeeze his hand, whispering, “You're doing amazing.”

  Because you've said it, Zuko believes it.

  He straightens up his posture and continues. “From now on, the borders of the Fire Nation will be open to people from every kingdom. Security will be put in place to ensure the safety of the people inside the city, but we will no longer be segregated from other kingdoms – it's unhealthy, and it's wrong. We as a nation can only improve when we welcome other cultures into our own. That is the only way we can grow and learn, and we have been stunting that growth with the ridiculous laws my father put in place.”

  The crowd breaks into murmurs. Zuko glances over to see you smiling – a brighter smile than he's seen you wear in quite a while. You've always told him you don't mind, that you don't expect him to change the laws of the Fire Nation just for you – but it's clear to him now that being the only Earth Kingdom citizen has been eating away at you for a while now. It makes him realise that perhaps you've felt a little more lonely that you've let on in the past.

  He turns back to the crowd. “From here on out, the law of no contact with other kingdoms is dropped. I suggest you all start working on your greetings.”   And before anyone can say anything more, Zuko bows to the crowd and walks back into the palace, you following behind him.

  The glass doors shut. Someone tries to talk to him, a voice in the back of his head that doesn't matter, because his one thought is focused purely on you.

  He spins round, cutting the guard off when he grabs your hands and says, excitedly, “Did I do a good job?”

   “A perfect job,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “You're very good at this public speaking thing. It's quite attractive.”

  Zuko rolls his eyes, nibbling your shoulder in warning. You scoff and push him away, and it's then that Zuko gets a good look at your face.

  There are tears in your eyes.

  His expression falls. “Y/N...”

  You swipe your hand beneath your eyes. “What? Don't do that voice. It scares me.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  You groan, throwing your head back. Royal guards awkwardly shuffle round the corners of the room, but Zuko pays them no attention. He reaches forward, pulling you towards him so he can rub your tears away.

  “Did I do something wrong? Was there something else you wanted me to say?”

  “No! Zuko, no. No, you did wonderfully out there.” You shake your head, sniffling. “It's just . . . you did wonderfully. I'm so proud of you. And I was just . . . I was stood there beside you, listening to you speak, and I just. . . It became real, you know?”

   Zuko frowns. “Please explain.”

  “It became real. My aunt can come and see me. My people can come and see me stand beside the Firelord – me. The little orphan who nobody could take in because everyone in my village was too poor to feed another person.”

  “So you are just with me for the title.”

   You roll your eyes. “That's just an added bonus.”

   Zuko chuckles, bundling you against his chest. “We're making a difference, Y/N. That's what we always promised we would do.”

  “It's going to take a while for everyone to get used to it. We're going to have to put extra security in for the first few people who come from other kingdoms.”

  “We'll sort it out. We always do.”

  You hum against his chest. “Yes. We always do.”

[itstheimpossibledream]

Buttons PT.4

You wake up the next morning and roll over. Your phone buzzes,

7:30 not good. You promised Sam you would run with him this morning, but that plan was clearly shot.

You pulled a sweatshirt over your head, stopping to observe yourself in the mirror. It was a good outfit to wear in front of the Winchester boys. Your shorts were short but not underwear , and you didn't have a shirt or bra underneath, so you could see the outline of your nipples depending on how you moved. You made your way to their kitchen. At this point it didn't matter which one of the brothers preferred you, you felt like you had the power now. And to be honest which one you wanted depended on the day. You entered the room and poured yourself a cup of coffee.

"Didn't have as much energy this morning as you thought you would?" Sam joked as he turned from the counter to face the table.

"Guess not." Dean said wryly looking down at his mug, which you would like to think was coffee, but knew better. It was beer,he just poured it into a mug so no one can accuse him of drinking too much.

"So, now that the case is over I guess I should start moving my things out of the bunker." You say calmly as Sam leans against the counter.  It had been three weeks of working side by side with the Winchester’s and while it wasn’t exactly what you had planned for yourself, you knew you had to leave before you found yourself wanting to stay in the polyamorous bunker love bubble permanently.

"Well, actually I found these new cases up-state. I'm pretty sure it's all the same monster. I'm just having trouble pinning down what it is. It seems like some-kind of vampire hybrid." Sam continued talking but you just stared at him. He probably thought you were really interested in whatever subject he was going on about but, really all you were doing was imagining him pushing you up against a wall. God how was he this tall? His hands clenched around the top of the counter, you noticed his knuckles going white, long fingers tapping the underside of the ledge. 

"You're biting your lip." Dean says breaking Sam's stream of information. 

"What?" you snap back into reality and realize you may have let your imagination run a little too wild. 

Sam slowly licks his bottom lip and now you think wow okay so he can tell I'm turned on. And somehow, knowing that makes you want him more. 

"Look you can leave if you want" Dean breaks in "Or......you could stay."he says boldly,looking directly into your eyes. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying not to read too much into it. 

"It means we're brothers…….we're kind of used to sharing everything." Sam says folding his arms across his chest, with a shrug. 

They could not be saying what you think they're saying. It takes you a minute to process it all, the silence deafening as you switch your gaze between the two of them attempting to read their reactions. 

Instead of making a decision, you get up and take your coffee to your room.

You close your door and begin packing. Were they calling you a whore? Was that really what they thought of you? That you would let either of them just use you whenever they wanted? They knew you. They've known you for years and you have never been that type of girl. It's out of character that you had even fucked both of them in the first place. You sat on the bed, frustrated and  trying to make sense of their words, then there was a knock on the door. 

"Y/N." Dean rasped "Can we come in ?" you make your way to the door and open it, expecting some bullshit apology or that they would offer to drop you off wherever you wanted to be left. Bullshit. Dean enters the room first , scratching the back of his neck bent over in what you couldn't make out as embarrassment or amusement. 

" We didn't mean to offend you." Dean gruffs " We just thought since, you didn't seem like you had a clear favorite between either of us maybe you just didn't have to pick ." He says, taking a step toward you. Now Sam steps into the room, posting himself up against the wall crossing his arms and looking down at his feet. 

"You're okay with this?" You turn to Sam, his eyes travel up to meet yours and he lifts his eyebrows, pushing his lower lip up and you notice the small creases on the side of his mouth, god his mouth, how much you would love to just fall into his lips. 

"It was Sam's idea sweetheart" Dean laughs and you notice Sam break into a broad smile. 

"We just want you to feel comfortable.If you want to choose at some point that's okay too. We're just suggesting that you do not have to right now." Sam says, voice even like this is just a regular conversation.

"Have you guys done this before?" you ask timidly.

"Not with a hunter." Dean exhales quickly "Makes things a lot easier I think, safer." 

You laugh at Dean's completely unromantic attempt to sell you on the practicality of the situation.

"I ummm......I think I need some time to think about this." you say trying to read their faces for disappointment. This was too much, too early in the morning. 

"I can respect that." Dean says closing the space between you , lifting your chin and kissing you hard. Dean was passionate, there was no doubt about that. When your lips finally broke apart you looked up into his eyes and he smirked before turning and leaving the room. You stood there for a moment, head swimming a mix of lust and other emotions. Was that a kiss to mark his territory ? Or to prove that you should pick him? Dean leaves and a blanket of quiet falls over the room. Oddly,Sam didn't seem as keen to wait for the result as his older brother. 

"Ya know, we uhhhh- we really didn't mean to upset you ." he said, finally breaking the silence.

"Yeah, well I can't even tell why I'm upset anymore to be honest." you huff stepping back and sitting on the edge of your bed. 

Sam kneels on the ground in front of you.

"Hey- hey you have time to think about it. No rush okay?" He grabs your hand from your lap and looks up at you, with those big green eyes and you know he means it. You notice how funny it is that even on his knees, he's basically eye level with you sitting down and you allow a small smile to play on the corners of your lips. He places a large palm on the side of your face and says, "I didn't think it would be this real either. I just couldn't let us finish that case and not try." he ran his other hand through his hair,"Look this is new for us too. I mean Dean kinda knows that I've liked you for years but, the two of you hooking up ya know that was news to me." you look down at  your hands as he removes his from your face and rubs his palms on his jeans.

"Well you never said anything Sam! You kind of made a habit of fucking me in public and leaving so, how was I supposed to know what you wanted? I probably wouldn't have fucked Dean if I knew you didn't want me to."

 He let out a solid chuckle "Probably ?" he smiled big "We're not allergic to sharing, it's not a problem. We just have to know where we stand." he laughs. He furrows his brow and clears his throat. "But uhh if you want to not share-I'm cool with that too." he winked.  

"So you do want me to choose." 

" I said if you want to." he quickly retorted

" But you want me to." you looked him directly in the eye.

"I want-" his hand tracing his way up your thigh."I want you to feel good." his hand slowly moves up "and" he says cocking his head out the side and looking up at you. "I don't really care who the person is that does that.But, right now I'd like for it to be me." he presses up on your thighs lifting his face to kiss you. You kiss him back biting his bottom lip for a moment, he responds with a low growl and laughs into your lips.

"Does Dean tell you to do that?" he whispers, kissing you again.

"No" you breathe into him, wondering why he would ask. He grabs the hair at the back of your neck and pulls your head back, he kisses your neck under your ear.

"Do you want me to make you feel good right now?"he breathes.Fuck yes you think.

"Yes." you breathe lightly.

"God, that was was easy." he chuckles pulling back."Maybe later though." he pulls back, kissing  you on the cheek.He stands up , and walks  toward the door."I told you I'd give you sometime to think about it."He purses his lips together and leaves.Well that was a complete fucking tease. You flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. This was so unnecessary. You could just leave now,cut your losses and never interact with them again. Unless they specifically requested your assistance on a case. But then again, leaving meant not having sex anymore with these two unbelievably hot men who knew exactly how to make you scream. Or atleast how to cover your mouth while you screamed. It doesn't matter. You shake your head in an attempt to rid yourself of your impure thoughts. Impure thoughts, you might as well just paint that on every wall in your room. That was the only thing keeping you from leaving. But, wouldn't it say more if you chose to stay? If you decided that despite how it makes you look, it makes you feel amazing to know both of them want you, to know you have no family but working with the Winchesters, with Cas you could all be a family. Some sort of makeshift rag-tag group but at least it would be some semblance of the normal American life. Okay, you exhale steadying your breath. Alright, so the options are choose yourself, your happiness or choose to try to live a normal life. Fuck, I mean you're already a hunter and you can't come back from that. Decision made.You walk the few steps to the doorway and slam the door loudly on your way to the library just in case they were talking about you. You quickly did the steps and sure enough there they were, sitting at the table books open, studying the lore. Dean, sitting in the chair with a beer at his side. Sam, sitting in the chair long legs splayed out wide, a book in his lap and the computer on the table in front of him and Cas, tossing his angel blade back and forth between his hands. 

"Cas! didn't hear you fly in." You smile, genuinely excited to see him.

"You're not supposed to. " he stares blankly. Dean looks directly at you and smiles, loving how blank and serious Cas can be coupled with how much you are not used to it. You had heard the angels were weird and in getting used to Cas  your main coping mechanism was to ignore his constant misunderstanding of polite small talk. It simply gave Dean to much pleasure if you were visibly frustrated with trying to bond with him. 

"So, I think I have an answer for you guys." You continue, putting your hands on a stack of books. You look down, running your hand over the seal on the cover and try not to be uncomfortable with the silence. It is really quiet. Like crazy quiet. Shit maybe this was a bad idea. Were they staring at you ? They were definitely staring. You look up and meet Dean's eyes first. He doesn't seem mad, or upset to be honest it doesn't even seem like he is wondering what you're going to say. He sits back in his chair looking almost confident, never breaking eye contact. 

"Well, are you going to share your answer?" Cas says breaking the silence.

"Leave!" Both Dean and Sam say at the same time.You're taken aback by how deep both their voices sound, stern like there could actually be a consequence if he didn't.

"Well I assume you will tell me later." He looks from Dean to Sam, then back to Dean. He turns to you, your eyes get big and you shrug not wanting to explain any part of this to Cas. He rolls his eyes, completely done with trying to figure out what the brothers are up to. He disappears in front of you and for the first time you are relieved by Cas not being present.

"So" Sam says, removing the book from his lap and leaning in. 

"So, I think I'd like to stay. Even if it isn't forever ya know." Your eyes shift between brothers "Just to ummm- to figure out what this is." Dean laughs into his beer,and Sam smiles down at his computer. 

"What?" you ask "Spit it out what's so funny?" you're getting frustrated. Why are they laughing, this is a big deal. They look at each other."Okay I get it I'm a joke."

"NO-no.no.You are not a joke." Dean says peeling the label on his beer bottle with his thumb, he bites down on his bottom lip "In Fact" he slowly tilts his head to the side and you momentarily think he's choosing his words carefully, as if he is having a tough time deciding what to say.

"We're relieved you decided to stay." Sam interjects. Crossing his arms across his chest "It's umm -It's good news that's all." He looks up, a smile playing on his lips. You feel yourself blushing under their gaze and decide to turn away.  

" We weren't laughing at you. It's a laugh of relief, relief that you decided to stay." Sam says running a hand through his hair. He turns himself back towards the computer-

"Hey guys, I think the ghost is part of a pattern" Sam breaks in pointing to something on his computer."The next ghost should appear tonight" he finishes.Dean snaps back into action.

"Suit up." Dean says, standing and pulling his gun from his waistband "I'll call Cas."

You head to your room for a more protective change of clothes and rush to meet them by the impala. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Well, that was an interesting one." Cas said, his angel blade thudding on the seat of the impala as he took his seat in the back.

"Get rid of the car, then text me and we will come get you." Dean said to Sam before he sped off to torch the old, possibly cursed chevy.

"Wait I thought you were going with Sam." you say trying to clarify the plan.

"I was but- Well I'm kind of interested to know what's going on here."Cas retorts.

"Leave." Dean says calmly 

"Ugh come on ! Again ?" Cas's protests fall on deaf ears.

"Leave!" he yells, about two minutes of silent driving pass and then in an immediate flutter, Cas is gone.

"You can't blame him for the intrigue." you say, shooting a smile over to Dean. "I mean, I don't even know what this is." you shake your head looking down at your hands.

"It amazes me, how you are so confident when it comes to killing a demon, or vamp or anything coming at you but, the second we're alone it's all blushing and fidgeting with your fingers." he chuckles.

"Are you bullying me?" you ask, narrowing your eyes toward him. 

"Nooo.nah." he jokes"Bullying you would be talking about how much you want me right now." he Juts his tongue out over his lower lip and slowly reels it in knowing you're watching, wanting him. He was good at this. "You want me to put my hand on your knee, and slowly run it up your thigh. Taking my time to get closer and closer to the place you really want me." He looked at you,raising his eyebrows. you said nothing so he continued. "I'd rub you through your pants for a while, until I could see a puddle starting to form on the outside of your jeans. I would whisper to you how much I love teasing you, how fun it is to watch squirm trying not to acknowledge the wet mess you are making from wanting  me." You readjust yourself in your seat involuntarily and he smirks when he notices.

"Go on." you say eyes focused on the road ahead. He breaks into a full on grin and you notice the gruffness of his voice, the curve of his jaw, the way the muscles in his forearms move while gripping the wheel. God he was a sight. 

"I'd slide my hand down your body,past your stomach, past the top of your panties and between your legs.You'd moan with pleasure as I lightly rub your aching pussy.I'd feel your body responding to my touch,your body tightening around my fingers.But I would continue to slide in and out of you.Faster.Deeper.Pushing into you. Your face would be flushed but not from nerves just from excitement."

You look over to him knowing that your inhibitions do tend to wash away the more turned on you are. He makes a right turn and you see a child riding his bike down the street. You're immediately embarrassed by how you have allowed yourself to let your mind be this sexual in broad daylight. You are also embarrassed that he noticed this about you, getting wet the more he talks about what he wants to do with you. "You'd make that squeaky moan noise you always do, and I'd let you cum all over my fingers, your legs shaking while you shudder on my hand." he exhales "Then, I'd probably take you home, fuck you senseless and send Cas out for more beer, so he doesn't interrupt us." he says abrubtly

"Wait. you can't just rush through it like that." You protest. He cocks a smile your way and you can feel your face heating up. 

"You like it when I talk dirty to you?" he asks

"Yes." you say, setting your jaw firmly and looking him directly in the eye.

"Well, we gotta get you home and take care of this broken lip first." He winks. You had completely forgotten that your upper lip had been busted amongst all the commotion. I didn't hurt but, you imagined it didn't exactly add to your sexual appeal. Maybe it was time for you to think about something other than sex with a Winchester.

"So, you knew Sam liked me ?" you asked . 

"He fucked you at a morgue it was clear he liked something." he chuckled

"No seriously. " you pressed "Do you just have an interest in me to get what you know Sam wants?........Or -or is it just because I'm there and you need a convenient lay?" you questioned as calmly as you could. 

" If I'm being honest" he sighs and takes a second. "I guess I don't really know.I don't hate Sam. I don't want to take away his chance at love or anything. But I don't want to miss mine." he wipes his nose on his sleeve but keeps his eyes on the road. He had a small cut on his nose that was bleeding,you hadn't even noticed it. 

"So it really is just a see how this goes kinda thing ?" you ask looking at him and willing him to  look back.

"It's a I like how it's gone so far kinda thing ?" he smiles and you roll your eyes , playfully accepting his way of looking at this new found relationship.

You pull up to the cemetery parking lot.The plan was to wait to hear from Sam to know if we have to dig up the body or if burning the vehicle was enough. 

"So what do Winchesters normally do to kill time?" you ask, crossing your arms and looking at Dean who was finishing, cleaning his gun on the back of the impala. 

"Well, that depends....usually we're fighting about something so it's not exactly like we're planning on killing time." you chuckle at his honest response and take a step closer to the back of the car.

He slams the trunk, replacing his gun in his waistband and once again shielding his mobile weaponry from the world with a slam. "But you're not a Winchester," he says, reaching out an arm. You take his hand.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?" you ask. He pulls you forward quickly, jerking your arm slightly and you almost fall. He chuckles as you lean into him. 

"What a high school move" you joke.

" I barely graduated high school but,that was my peak. What can I say ?" He looks down and you can tell he's partially ashamed by women being the only thing he truly learned from school. He lightly places a hand on your hip and it slowly makes its way down to your ass. He uses the leverage to pull you in,and you giggle while looking up at him.

"So, I guess you how you want to kill time."you whisper to him 

" Only if you want to kill time the same way" he smiles, idling closer.

" O gee thanks, I get a choice." you joke

"I'm being a gentleman today what can I say ?" He pulls you in, kissing you, laying a hand on cheek and connecting with you showcasing a surprising amount of love and care. You kiss him back, matching his intensity. He moves his hand down from your cheek and rests it on your breast. You silently thank yourself for yourself for the ritual of not wearing a bra during hunts. You just like to feel free if you have to fight. But, Dean was focused on making you feel free in another way. He rubbed your nipples through your T-shirt and they stood at attention to his call. You could feel them pointing straight up and you weren't embarrassed at all. You really wanted him, you thought maybe he'd find a way to pull you into the back seat of the car, or make time for you once you all were safe back at the bunker. It wasn't until he told you to turn around that you realized he planned to fuck you right then and there. You turned and quickly wiggled your jeans down.

"My god you're beautiful draped over the car like that." he whispers to you. You're so caught up in his compliment that you are almost taken off guard as he pushes into you. A rush of air escapes your lungs as he presses you tighter to the trunk. You let out a moan and he lowers himself to your ear saying "I told you you squeak, babe." He pulled out of you slowly and you bit your bottom lip as he snapped into you again. "Fuck, you feel so good." you couldn't hold it in anymore, he felt amazing too. You push back into him and it's his turn to make a noise. He hits into you more and more, thrusting to make you cry out louder. He pulls your hair back, collecting it in one hand and forcing your head up to him . You can see him out of the corner of your eye and he smiles pushing into you harder. 

"Go ahead baby, come for me. Come on that dick." You couldn't deny it this time, you squealed and felt the rush of emotions and wetness leave your body, to be replaced by pure bliss.He lets go of your hair and hooks a hand around your throat, applying a little pressure but, being sure to say "I hope you know I'm not done with you yet." He pushes your legs apart more, moving further into the space between you. He slaps your ass and growls , holding your neck tighter. "God you're so fucking tight, I love it." you're overwhelmed by the pressure of him pushing in and out of you after your orgasm and it just makes you want to scream more. "I can feel you tightening." he laughs "go ahead sweetheart you can come again." Something about him giving you permission was enough to push you over the edge again. "Get on your knees " he commands, they move like jelly but, somehow you're able to get down there anyway. He slams himself into your mouth and you look up at him as he lets out a final growl, pushing himself further down your throat as he pumps thick cum into you. He tastes sweet, and as much as you hate the way he turns you into this dirty toy, you love the way it feels. Dean smiles down at you and you open your mouth showing him the remainders of himself on your tongue. 

"God baby you are so hot." he says putting himself back into his pants, you pull your jeans up and attempt to get yourself together. You swallow what was left of Dean and swing back into the passenger's seat, fixing your hair in the mirror. Dean slams the impala door and stretches his fingers on the steering wheel. 

"I'm- uh I'm not just using you. You know that right ?" you're taken aback by how blunt he is.

"I uh- I didn't think you were." you say , trying to feel out the situation. He turns to you,his face more serious than you had ever seen. Shit, did he think you wanted a real relationship out of this ? He readjusts his gun in his waistband, which had jostled during the hookup.

"No I'm um.....I'm not expecting anything. I know you and Sam have um- different ways of dealing with me and this situation, and that's okay." you say looking down at your hands in your lap. You're not afraid to look up at him as much as you're just embarrassed to have to discuss it. You guys hadn't spoken about the parameters of your open relationship since you decided to stay.

"We have different ways of dealing with you huh ?" he asks chuckling, turning toward you in his seat. 

"Yeah-why is that so funny?" you ask, becoming a little bit self-conscious. 

"You mean we fuck differently." he says breaking into a smile. You freeze for a second , really taking in what he just said. Once it registers, your hands fly up to your face and you cover your eyes. Dean bursts out laughing, reaching for your hands, he pulls them away from your face saying "Look, look there's nothing to be embarrassed about." You fight back until he eventually has to use his arms to force your forearms to your lap. You look at him defeated. 

"(Y/N) listen , I'm not weirded out talking about it. It's funny, we're different in every other way, it's not that shocking that we want different things sexually too." the car was silent for a moment, while you looked at your hands. "Besides" he continued "I'm cool with talking about anything as long as you don't tell me Sam's bigger than me. That's a hit to the ego I don't think I can take." 

You snort at his fragile masculinity "Well, he's taller than you. It's just proportional-" Dean cuts you off covering his ears and yelling La La La like a full-on toddler. Now, it's your turn to double over in laughter. 

Dean & Jensen tags: @akshi8278​

[emotional-blender]

chicken pox. nurse!cal au

a/n: want to be added to my tag list just throw me an ask or a message and i'll add you! feedback is always welcomed and appreciated! the rest of my nuse!calum pieces can be found here.

warnings; none.

length: 1.8k

he has always been a doting partner bht it was always in his own way. sometimes you felt a pang of jealousy as you listened to your friends talk about things that sounded perfect and movie like; how their boyfriends lit them candles for a bath and went on all inclusive tropical vacations with the coupley pictures to post all over social media. cal always looked kind of awkward with an arm around you in front of a camera. he didn't light you candles just for you to get wrinkly and snooze in the tub. but there were other things, things you didn't bother bragging about because bragging about your boyfriend felt weird. the reason you didn't take tropical vacations accumulating credit you didn't have was because when you asked about it, calum had motioned to the tiny apartment you shared and promised that a house with room for activities would be so much better when you had managed to save enough for the downpayment. you didn't go out on proper dates often but when on a rare shared day off, you decided to take duke for a hike and you got bitten by something weird and itchy, he carefully took the bug from you skin with a tissue.

"why are you doing that?" you asked as he stuck it all wrapped up in a plastic bag from you snacks.

"in case you have a worse reaction later and we need to bring you to the hospital or something. we'll be able to show them exactly what bit you so they can help you best," he explained simply, tucking the baggie into his pocket. as he took hold of your arm gently to inspect it more closely, you felt loved.

everytime one of your friends found a new exciting relationship you felt a tinge of jealousy. you both worked a lot. you worked a desk job with predictable hours and weekends off. calum's days off rolled and rotated. sometimes you went to work while he slept all day and sometimes you were home alone all weekend while he worked 12 hour days. he couldn't guarantee being home for christmas or new years eve. neither of your birthdays or valentine's day was sacred. but you were solid; as the same friends you had been jealous of got their hearts broken by cheating partners or couldn't handle the natural fizzle or a relationship settling into normalcy.

he had always doted in you in his own way. when on his first day off after a bout of night shifts, you woke him up at noon, he wasn't even too grumpy about it, noting the discomfort in your voice as you'd shaken him awake.

"wha's wrong?" he asked lazily as he looked up at you, his curls wild from going to sleep with wet hair. you'd held up your arm, with its red raised dots, tour other hand readying up to itch the back of your neck, then your shoulder.

"i think i'm allergic to something," you explain and he reaches up to rub at his eyes before batting your scratching arm down from your shoulder.

"stop itching," his voice is still raspy from sleep but he's more alert as his eyes travel from the arm yoire holding up to him, to your face and down your chest. you're surprised when he reaches for your shirt lifting it and exposing your stomach. then he let's put a laugh that's slightly unrecognizable.

"what?" you demand and he let's his head flop down to the pillow again, smiling up at you amusedly

"haven't you had a chicken pox vaccine?" he asks curiously. you didn't even know that was a thing. you shake your head, eyes narrowing at him.

"no?" your response hangs in midair and he laughs again and this time you recognize the tone of it as disbelief. you reach up to itch again and he's just as quick, batting your arm down.

"no scratching," he acolds you sleepily before pushing himself up to a sitting position, a hand coming up to feel your forehead with the backs or hos fingers.

"fevers starting," he states as he drops his hand from your skin. it doesn't take him long, his naked body pushing up off the bed and out of the blankets. he leaves you there, disappearing put of the room. you hear him rummaging in the kitchen and when he appears a moment later he's got the canister of instant oatmeal.

"what the fuck?" you look at him like he's got two heads and he rolls his eyes at you.

"you promise you didn't have chicken pox as a kid either?" he asks, biting his lip, clearly thijiig but not letting you in on his thought process. you shake your head.

"okay, well. surprise, you gave them now," he sighs a little and you make a face. that can't possibly be true.

"shouldn't you stay away?" you ask and he shakes his head.

"no, me and mali had them at the same time and when i was in nursing school i had to have a tifre test to make sure i was immune," he explains. "but i really wish more people got vaccines, i hear its really miserable to have as an adult,"

you pout and you can't help the way your eyes fill up with tears and the itching you felt on your shoulder spreads everywhere.

"come on, we're gonna get you in an oatmeal bath and get some calamine on you," he reaches a hand out for you to take, leading you to the ensuite bathroom of the house you'd saved so long to gave a downpayment for.

he runs you a warm bath and tosses in the oatmeal. the water gets cloudy as you sit in it, letting him use a fresh cloth to rub over your arms and back, itching but not scratching. you look down at yourself and it's shocking how fast the few spots you'd noticed that morning have have appeared all over, exponentially. you're covered from head to toe. when your bath is done and you're dry he helps you to cover the spots in pink chalky calamine lotion, fanning you and blowing on the spots so it dries before you get into fresh pyjamas.

"baby, you really gotta not itch," he speaks softly as he motions for you to climb into bed. "i know it sucks but you have to try," you pout as ye disappears again. this time he comes back with a handful of pills and a glass of apple juice from the fridge.

"benadryl and tylenol," he explains, "one for the itching, one for the fever and the pain,"

you're confused because it's just itchy. you don't really feel any pain. but the cocktail of medicine he gave you knocks you put not long after and when you wake up, you can't help but whimper. the itching makes it feel like your body is on fire and when you try to move everything aches. you feel like you got hit by a truck.

"hey, you," he's dressed now, sitting up beside you in the bed, back against the headboard, sleepy as star wars plays on the television in your bedroom. "how ya feelin?"

"like i'm on fire," you whine and turn your head to rest it on his thigh. he's gentle as he runs a hand over your hair.

"gonna feel like that for a little bit," his voice is soft. "i went out and got a lot more benadryl and tylenol, plus advil. i think you'll be more comfortable if you switch from tylenol to advil every four hours and do the benadryl every six for the itch. if you want, we can do another bath and the lotion right now. then i'll get you some food but i wanna peek in your throat and make sure your fever isn't too high cause you feel warm again," it's always interesting to watch your calum, the boy who drinks a beer in the shower on his first day off and who normally let's the work ruck roll off his tongue every other word, go into nurse calum mode at home. it doesn't happen that often and the amount he gives in to babying you when you're sick is how you normally gauge how sick you are. take some cold medicine and go to work means you're really just being whiney. a feel of your forehead and your pulse with a good look and feel at whatever you're complaining about usually means get some rest. but this? a whole plan for meds, regular checks of your temperature and bathing? he means business.

"okay," you agree and lay there pathetically for a moment longer before sitting up with a wince. but he's eight there, waiting with the thermometer when you're finally sitting. he takes tour temperature easily and then a moment later a pen light is in his hands and he's instructing you to open your mouth and say ahhhh. you comply and he looks, but he can't keep his wince off of us face or the look of concern that settles there.

"popsicle ice cream diet foe you, chicken," he presses a kiss to your forehead and hugs you for a moment. he rubs his arm up and down your back over your shirt and it's like heaven. a moan falls from your lips and he keeps going, moving from your back to your thighs and where ever his arms can reach, itching but definitely not scratching. he gives you your next dose of medicine from the schedule he's devised with a cold bottle of gatorade and then leads you to the bath for round two.

that's how the next two weeks or your life go. he manages to take three days off, giving him a total of nine days off in a row. it gets worse, more painful as the week goes on. but he bathes you and puts on new calamine lotion multiple times a day, even if it's 2am. he makes sure your fever stays down and somehow his devised schedule of meds keeps you knocked out through the worst of it. by the time he goes back to work you're on the mend. youre itchy but it doesn't feel as bad as it did. he makes sure to set alarms on your phone so you take the meds, tapering them off so it's not such a shock to your system when you're done with them entirely.

he's ways doted on you in his own way. the tinge of jealousy you felt over your friends exciting but short lived relationships was nothing compared to the security you felt with calum; nothing compared to how thoughtful he was, even if he wasn't romantic in the typical ways that movies taught boys to be band taught girls to expect. he was yours and you didn't brag or flaunt his gestures. your birthdays and Valentine's day may not have been sacred holidays, but the moments he showed you just how much he loved you were.

taglist: @calumscalm @thesubtweeter

[lifeofclonewars]

Time to Fix Some Hives

Also available on AO3. Link on my page so this still shows up in tags.

I’m not sure how this got as long as it did. Part 3 of the Pun Wars, but can be read alone.

Summary: “Hey, was Prime allergic to anything?” Fives asked casually.

“I don’t think so," Kix replied, swiping through a datapad. "But if so, the Kaminoans probably engineered it away. Why?”

“Uh, I think I might’ve gotten it.”

“Fives! Vod!" Kix looked like his blood pressure just skyrocketed. He let out a sound that didn’t quite sound human.

-

In which Fives gets some hives and Kix has to fix it.

-----

Food in the GAR was something to be discussed. Or maybe not. Ration sticks were varying degrees of bland and dry. The mess hall meals had some flavor but, after weeks in hyperspace or in orbit, had the same monotony as ration bars. If someone wanted good food, they’d have to wait for leave. Unless, of course, they took the method that involved not-quite regulations breaking.

Somehow, though, every once in a while, a shipment of supplies would bring in something to liven up meals. A small bundle of juicemelons here, some shuuras there. Once, somehow, some varos, which had led to a large celebration and special dessert. Whenever command was able to get some brightness to the meals in shipments, it was a cause to rejoice. However they managed to sort it out, they received eternal thanks for it. 

The latest shipment had included such a treat, if breakfast was anything to go by.  Fives grinned when he saw the options for the day. Stacks of space waffles and various toppings were available. Sitting neatly labeled, easy to grab, was muja sauce. They hadn’t had muja fruit before, so it would be exciting to see how this tasted. 

With a tray full of food, Fives plopped himself down next to Tup. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Tup responded, already digging into his food.

Fives spared a peep at his brother’s plate. “How’s the muja sauce?”

“Pretty good. A tad sweeter than I expected.” 

Fives nodded and set to eating, first eating the bland porridge that was required for vitamins or whatever. He and Tup chatted amicably, recounting the pandemonium that had come from a training game Rex had attempted the previous afternoon. It went well until Focus had— unlike his name suggested— gotten sidetracked and blew up a dummy droid; it was all downhill from there. 

Porridge gone, Fives moved onto the space waffles. Tup hadn’t been kidding: the mujas were the sweetest fruit he’d tasted. 

He must have made a face, as Tup laughed. “See? I wasn’t exaggerating.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Fives said. The waffle itself must’ve been dry; his throat was suddenly a shade scratchy. Eh, so maybe the waffles suffered in favor of the sauce. It wasn’t too big of a deal. A sip of water solved it, anyway. 

He continued his conversation, irritated when the waffles continued to make his throat scratchy. Try as he might, it was hard to ignore. 

“Hey, vod,” he asked in a lull, “are your waffles making your throat scratchy?”

Tup’s eyebrows furrowed. “No. Are yours?”

Grimacing, he answered, “Yeah. I somehow managed to get the one dry one they made. The sauce and some water helped, though.” 

“That sucks.” 

“I’ll live. You know what does suck?” With that, Fives launched into an explanation of what was rumored to be the Captain’s next training exercise. While it was a rumor, you could never be too careful in preparing for them. The less you could avoid feeling like dying while doing them, the better. 

-----

The rumor turned out to be just a rumor. But, that was because the training exercises ended up even more strenuous than the rumor stated. 

Fives took a breather, leaning against a wall. He watched while some shinies seemed to have mental breakdowns, struggling to keep up to pace but still fighting through. 

Faintly, he realized his arms were itchy. Huh, that was odd. Looking down, his arms appeared slightly red. That hit to the mat he'd taken earlier must've given him a burn. It wasn't anything he couldn't fight through; he was an ARC trooper, after all.

"Doing good, Fives?" Rex called over to him.

He straightened off the wall. "Never better, sir."

"Good. You're next." 

A fast-paced but by no means short spar later, Fives found himself admiring the ceiling lights, the Captain standing over him. Exhausted and beginning to catch his breath, the itch in his arms made itself present once again. 

“Still good, Fives?” Rex offered his hand and Fives took it, standing up. 

“Uh, yeah. I think I got a floor burn and definitely some bruises, but it’s nothing I can’t deal with.”

Rex patted him on the back, taking a glance at Fives’ forearms. “Hmm, make sure a medic looks over it when you can, just in case.”

“Yessir.” With that, Rex dismissed him to the cycle of training and called up the next trooper to spar. 

As he made his way over to the next station, which was sure to increase in intensity, Fives checked out his arms himself. The redness appeared to be a scattering of small bumps across his arms. Some of the bumps were larger than the others. But the fact that there were bumps... maybe it wasn’t floor burn after all. That would explain why it was itching more than stinging. But what else could it be? 

He reached the station. The redness-debacle could be solved later. He’d tell Kix later; there was stuff to be done. 

-----

Sometime after lunch, Fives found himself on a patrol shift in the lower levels of the star destroyer. A gaggle of mechanics, squabbling over something or another, were nearby, seemingly working and not working simultaneously. All he had to do was walk the halls. 

With the time available and no obvious threats around, Fives allowed himself to reflect on what was up with his arms. His blaster slung carefully across his back, he took off his left vambrace, gauntlet, and glove then rolled up his blacks to his elbow. 

The bumps stood out brightly against his skin. A floor burn could not have produced them. The ARC trooper had had many before and none of them had ever looked like this. In fact, it almost looked like… a rash. 

Fives thought back to the bit of medical training ARC training had given him. A potential rash with bumps that were itching. And if he counted the scratchy throat he’d had at breakfast as something other than dry space waffles— well, it all added up. 

It looked like Fives had an allergy to muja fruit. 

Interesting. He put his armor back on and continued along with his patrol. That’d be something to tell Kix later. A crash sounded around the corner and Fives pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind. Finally, something marginally exciting was happening. Slinging his blaster around, he took off down the corridor. 

-----

Once off patrol, he headed to the medical bay to talk to Kix. That one crash had led to an action-packed end of patrol involving helping some shinies and forgetting about everything else he’d been thinking about. He remembered he needed to talk to the medic but hadn’t the slightest why. Shrugging to himself, he made his way inside.

Kix was stationed at the front desk for the moment, busy with something Fives couldn’t see over the top of the desk. He paused and looked up as the doors closed behind Fives. “Hey, vod,” he greeted.

“Hey, Kix.”

“You’re not here because you sprained something else, are you?” 

Fives smiled at that. “Not this time. No promises for the future, though.” 

His brother rolled his eyes. “Well, since that’s not the case, feel free to talk about anything. I’m trying to avoid paperwork and also answering Jesse’s comm about how many people a hypothetical stunt he might hypothetically pull he will land in here.”

Fives hummed. Soon enough, the brothers were talking about anything and everything that came to mind. Kix began to flick through some of the datapads stacked high next to him. They talked about the craziest reasons for injuries Kix had encountered recently, what they expected from their upcoming campaign, and more. 

Activity around the bay was low. Out in hyperspace for a few weeks between campaigns had let the majority of the injured to heal. The handful of medics on shift shuffled around between beds, chatting and joking with their patients. One or two visitors sat next to their brother’s beds. For once, the atmosphere was light and easy and not clouded with stress and worry. Fives had no problem leaning against the front desk while talking to his brother. 

With the light conversation and calm, Fives’ thoughts drifted back to what he had discovered on patrol.

“Hey, was Prime allergic to anything?” Fives asked casually.

“I don’t think so," Kix replied, swiping through a datapad. "But if so, the Kaminoans probably engineered it away. Why?”

“Uh, I think I might’ve gotten it.”

“Fives! Vod!" Kix looked like his blood pressure just skyrocketed. He let out a sound that didn’t quite sound human.

“Chill, it only made my throat scratchy for a bit. Plus, I got these little bumps but they’re not that bad. I can deal with it.”

The sound came out again, this time even longer and even less human. Kix shot out of his chair and dove for a nearby container, ruffling through the contents, datapad forgotten. Fives stood and watched idly as his brother began to have a breakdown. “Where are the epi-pens for the nat-born officers? Those are kriffing hives, di’kut!”

Oh. Oops.

Kix found what looked like two hypos. “Finally!” he exclaimed and rushed over to Fives, pushing him by the shoulder to the nearest bed. The few people on the other end of the medbay who had looked over when Kix shouted made themselves look busy when Fives sent them an apprehensive glance. Once seated, the medic set the hypos aside and began removing the cuisse on Fives’ leg. 

Fives jerked away. “What are you doing?!”

His brother scowled. “Stay still! I’m treating your allergic reaction, what do you think I’m doing?” 

Once Fives stilled, Kix finished removing the armor and took one of the hypos. Uncapping it, he took it and shoved it into his thigh. He looked up and scowled at Fives before moving to dispose of the hypo properly and grab a new datapad from a shelf. 

“Now we wait for five minutes to see if you need a second one or not.”

“A second one?”

His response made Kix’s eyebrows somehow furrow even closer. “Yes, a second one. You’re lucky that the reaction didn’t get any worse than that. When you ignore a reaction, the mild symptoms can suddenly spiral and can turn into anaphylaxis. And that can kill you, Fives.” 

Fives grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t know it could get worse. At least it didn’t…?” he attempted to reconcile. 

The medic took a deep breath. He then took off Fives’ vambrace, gauntlet, and glove. Inspecting his forearm while pushing the sleeve up, Kix took another breath. “See here, Fives? These are one hundred percent hives. You really thought hives weren’t a big deal?”

“I thought it was floor burn at first,” he admitted. “I didn’t realize they were bumps until I was busy and then things happened and it wasn’t my top priority.”

Kix inclined his head towards the arm he was still grasping. “If this ever happens again, this is your top priority.” He released Fives’ arm, grabbing the hypo that was still sitting on the bed. “This is an EpiPen, and it’ll help you with any future allergic reactions, tayli'bac? Keep this in your utility belt. And when I say keep it there, I mean always, always have it there. Since you have this allergy, you might have others. We’ll need to do a test sometime soon to check since Kamino didn’t test for them because they normally don’t need to. We’ll have to teach you how to use the EpiPen then as well. You’re going to take this more seriously now, right?”

“Right.” Fives took the hypo and placed it into his utility belt promptly. 

“Okay, so I have to update your health file to reflect your allergy. Hold on a minute.” Fives nodded and Kix started to flick through the datapad in his hands. 

After a minute or so, a little beep sounded. “Alright,” Kix said, placing the datapad down on the bed. “That was the five-minute timer. Arm.” Fives obediently held his arm out. Kix took it, gently twisting it back and forth. “The hives are already swelling down. You won’t need a second one.” 

“Great,” Fives stated tentatively.

“Great,” Kix repeated. “Now either sit here quietly or help me figure out if Prime had an allergy to mujas you somehow got.” He handed Fives a datapad he materialized out of nowhere. 

“Shouldn’t you be watching the front desk?” Fives reminded. 

“Shh,” Kix said. “Coric got it when I went for the EpiPens, anyway.” A quick look over Kix’s shoulder confirmed that, yes, Coric had indeed taken the front desk while Kix treated the ARC. “Now get to work.”

-----

“What’s up, vode?” Fives announced his presence, plopping down first his tray and then himself at the table. “Turns out, I have a mutation.”

“WHAT?!” came from three of the four people gathered around. The only one who didn’t react vocally was Kix, who just rolled his eyes from where he sat next to Jesse. If Fives had credits, he would bet that Kix had been waiting for him to say that since they concluded their research earlier.

“What do you mean you have a mutation?!” Tup asked, fork halted halfway to his mouth. “And how did you just find out?!”

“You know how I had a dry waffle this morning?” Tup nodded and Kix snorted. “Turns out, my waffle wasn’t dry. I was having an allergic reaction.”

Jesse raised an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you scarf down space waffles before. What changed?”

Fives smirked and waited a beat to see if his brothers would figure it out on their own. When no one said anything, he continued, "There was muja sauce today."

Another beat. "Oh!" came the three reactions.

Jesse began to laugh. "Your mutation is a muja fruit allergy? That's gotta suck, dude." 

A shrug. "Eh, now that I know, not too much. The mujas were a bit sweet for my taste, anyway." 

Focus grimaced. "You still suck at lying, Fives." Fives scrunched his nose at the scout but otherwise didn't acknowledge his words, taking a tentative bite of what looked suspiciously like something’s liver.

"Yes, an untreated allergy is something to laugh about," Kix groused. When Jesse laughed at his attitude, Kix shot a glare his way. The lieutenant only laughed harder. 

"What happened?" Jesse prompted, evidently sensing a story to be told.

“I can tell you what happened,” Kix grumbled, stabbing a piece of lettuce. “Kaysh mirsh solus, Jess. I can’t emphasize that enough.”

Jesse doubled over cackling, clutching his stomach. He set his other arm on the table and buried his face in it. He struggled to form words for a moment, then finally spit out, “The allergic reaction must’ve killed the rest of them.”

“Wow, thanks,” Fives deadpanned. “To both of you.”

“Anytime.” Kix stabbed another piece of lettuce, giving Fives an unbreakable glare. “If you pull anything like this again, I will check if you really do only have one brain cell left.”

“I expected nothing less.” 

Jesse composed himself and rested his elbows on the table and his head on his hands— he was by far the most amused by this. He was going to get stuff out of this for weeks if he played his cards right. His grin was quite possibly one of the biggest ones Fives had ever seen on a brother. His food, which he hadn’t touched since Fives sat down, sat ignored in front of him still. 

“Okay, but seriously,” Focus cut in, “how did you not know you had an allergy to muja fruit?”

Fives swiveled towards the scout. “How did you manage to blow up a training dummy when your name implies that shouldn’t have happened?” he quipped back. “It’s not like I had muja fruit before, and it’s not like that’s something that they tested for on Kamino. None of us are supposed to have allergies!”

“It’s not like we’ve seen anyone have an allergic reaction before,” Tup pointed out. 

“Fine. Fair point,” Focus conceded. 

Fives pointed at Tup. "Actually, he's right. I first thought I had a floor burn from sparring with the Captain."

"I still don't get how you thought hives were a floor burn," Kix griped.

"At first, Kix. I said at first. Once I got a closer look, I noticed otherwise. I just got busy."

The medic shook his head, rolling his eyes slightly and taking a sip from his water. 

"Anyway," Fives continued, avoiding the meat and picking at a blob next to it, "our little bit of research told us Prime wasn't allergic to muja fruit so it really is a random mutation."

"Maybe someone in Prime's biological family had it?" Tup offered.

"Just because allergies can be genetic doesn't always mean they are," Kix supplied. "I wouldn't be surprised either way." 

"Either way, I don't care," Fives said. "What I do care about is that now I have to suffer through an allergy test just to be safe."

“K'atini. You’re an ARC trooper, you’ve suffered worse.”

Fives scoffed. “Just because I have doesn’t mean I wanted to suffer. Or suffer more, especially because of you.”

The group descended into bickering the way only siblings could. Little did they know, a new and improved version of their conversation would take place a mere two days later when it was revealed that Fives was also allergic to yot beans and chando peppers and severely so to zherries after Kix ran the allergy test. 

--

Mando’a Translations:

Vod: Brother

Di’kut: Idiot

Tayli'bac: Got it? Okay? Understand? (Often very aggressive.) Basically, the Mando'a version of Capisce

Vode: Brothers. Can refer to the clones as a whole or just a group of them

Kaysh mirsh solus: He’s an idiot. Lit. “His brain cell is lonely”

K'atini: Suck it up! Or: It’s only pain! 

Thanks for reading!