#<- last two tags added later for clarity

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Doey X Reader Ch 1

Update: Now on ao3, updates will be posted there (and linked via tumblr) -> https://archiveofourown.org/works/63346465/chapters/162287860

So uh. Decided to do this. I'll put it up on ao3 eventually (with slightly more editing maybe), probably sometime after I get chapter 2 written. And after I figure out a title.

Summary: After the destruction of the Playtime Co factory, Doey finds what little remains of himself falling through the cave systems and into a river, where he's brought practically to your door.

----

Doey had been so sure he’d been killed.

He’s died three times after all. It’s a familiar feeling.

Darkness. Numbness. A chilling cold that reaches through his body and wraps around his very consciousness, pulling him down…down…down……

Surely this time he won’t be pulled back. Who’s left to even try? The Doctor’s dead, Doey’s family at Safe Haven are all dead…whatever few remain alive in the factory’s underbelly are probably close behind, if Poppy has anything to say about it.

Doey’s not sure how much time passes between that thought and the explosion. A minute? An hour? A week? A year?

He’s not formed enough to see, nor to hear. But he feels the depths of the factory, of the very caves themselves, shudder and then quake as a fierce explosion rips through the labs. Fire and smoke rush through the lab, then the prison, then Playcare, and finally the factory proper, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake.

Not everything is burned. Much of the lower levels are made of steel and rock, after all. The heat that does pass over the puddle of dough that had once been Doey is intense, and would probably leave humans and plush toys singed, but it only serves to dry Doey out ever so slightly. Not enough to make much difference though. He’s still too weak and liquified to pull himself together, assuming he could even care to try such a thing.

Silence settles over the factory and the caverns below. Once again Doey is not sure how much time passes before the peace, if it can be called that, is broken.

Something, some support or load bearing wall, finally gives way somewhere in depths, starting a chain reaction, and the whole wretched place begins collapsing in on itself, just as Poppy had wanted. What the fire had spared the collapse does not, and the floor below Doey slants, causing him to slide along it as gravity takes hold.

He doesn’t even try to stop himself from spilling down through the caverns, the bits of dough that still contain hints of who he used to be rolling and tumbling down the crevices. Even the unpleasant sensation of sliding into a frigid underground river can’t motivate him to try and re-form his body.

Doey fades in and out of consciousness, each time wondering if he’s fading in and out of existence. The water eventually warms, and Doey’s aware of occasional glimpses of light as the river carries him out of the underground.

After awhile, the rushing river fades into a shallow, trickling creek. Doey’s dough bumps numbly along the smooth pebbles of the creek bed for a time until getting caught on a fallen log.

He can almost muster the strength to be surprised that he’s made it out of the factory. Almost. But he can’t imagine he’s meant to survive much longer.

So he waits. Waits to sink just a little bit further into the cold, to sink far enough that he won’t be pulled back ever again.

Time continues to pass. Several days, maybe even several weeks. He still can’t bring himself to stay conscious long enough to mark time, but it goes from dark to light and back again more times than he can count.

He lets the days pass, feeling the creek wash over him. He begins to hear again, just a bit. It’s muted from where he is beneath the water, but he can still make out some noises. So he contents himself with listening to the babbling of the creek, the chirping of birds, and the wind through the leaves. He thinks he’s in some kind of forest. How far from the factory he is, how far away from anything he is, he can only guess.

Maybe this is what death is. A drifting, vague awareness…barely aware of his own body, his own senses, but just feeling the world pass by around him.

It’s not terrible. Certainly not the worst thing he’s been through.

Doey has just enough time to adjust to his new existence when he hears something he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

Voices.

*

Hiking through nature is always the first thing people seem to want to recommend to you when they sense you’re dealing with some kind of struggle. Especially those who realize you live on a few acres of mostly forested land.

To be fair, they aren’t entirely wrong…though admittedly you do find it a bit tedious to be recommended the same thing over and over when it’s already been a habit of yours for a few years.

Especially when you hadn’t asked.

But what are you to do when your main source of stress actively--physically--follows you on said hikes?

Ethan Barlowe, who owns the acreage just to the west of yours. You’re not sure how long he’s owned it, but it’s at least a few years more than your family’s owned your plot of land.

He’s roughly middle-aged, a bit older than your parents would have been, you think. He’s taller than you and decently fit, usually wearing some combination of flannel and denim. His face has the slightly weathered look of one who’s spent most of their life outdoors.

“They can even divide up the plot so you can keep your house right where it is,” he’s saying. “You don’t even have to move!”

A sales pitch you’ve heard dozens of times before…and it’s no more compelling today than it had been six months ago.

“Ethan, I said no,” you say for what feels like the millionth time. 

“Oh come on! It’s not good for a kid your age to be living alone, without even any neighbors,” he protests.

You give him a deadpan look. Do you point out that, at twenty-four, you’re not exactly a “kid” anymore? Or tell him he’s currently doing a terrible job of selling you on the idea of neighbors in general?

“Look, I’m sure your dad would have rather the house itself stayed with you, even if the land doesn’t.”

That’s a new one.

You stop so abruptly he almost crashes into you. “I think I knew him better than you, Ethan,” you say tightly.

“In some ways, but--”

“In every way!” you shout, actually causing his eyes to widen for a brief second as he takes a step back.

It’s that shout that attracts Doey’s attention. He’s so used to intervening in fights in the Playcare as Matthew, then in Safe Haven as Doey, that it doesn’t even occur to him to do differently now. He immediately begins re-forming his body, listening closely to the conversation as he does.

You suck in a shaky breath. “Get off my property. Don’t ever come here again,” you say coldly.

Ethan stares at you in stunned silence for a moment before scoffing and shaking his head. “You can’t do that. Your dad and I had an agreement about the pond--”

“Yeah, and that’s done,” you say tersely. “Now leave, or I’ll be calling the cops.”

Ethan scoffs. “Right, because you have such a great track record with them,” he sneers.

Doey’s body reforms, and he realizes with a surge of dread that there’s not nearly as much left of him as he’d been assuming.

He’s barely six inches tall!

He’s not sure what he’s going to do now…although, in retrospect, he’s also not sure what he would have done before. You and Ethan would have been too shocked by the nine-hundred pound dough creature for Doey to have done anything in the way of mediating or intervention.

…Though it definitely would have ended the argument.

You and Ethan are a few feet away, on some kind of dirt path. The type that seems to be formed from repeated hikes rather than a deliberate attempt at making a pathway. The path runs alongside the creek, and Doey currently stands hidden in some tall grass and reeds that grow at the edges of the water.

The surrounding area is dominated by the rusty browns of late autumn, the yellows and oranges have faded away as the leaves begin to fall.

Doey’d been down in the factory for so long he’d nearly forgotten that seasons even exist.

“Th-That doesn’t matter!” you protest, though the uncertainty in your tone is clear.

“Doesn’t it? You really think they’ll believe some hooligan kid over me? I got a clean slate, kid,” Ethan smirks, stepping towards you.

Your eyes widen at his menacing tone, and now it’s your turn to step back.

Doey can’t help but glower at the implied threat. He generally tries to not pick sides, but if he were to pick a side, it certainly wouldn’t be Ethan’s.

Ethan grabs your wrist, pulling you towards himself as he glares down at you, and you’re suddenly very aware that you’re out in the woods alone. The only nearby houses are yours and Ethan’s, and you left your cellphone at home.

It’s all Doey can do to keep silent as he tries to come up with a plan. If he were his proper size, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself rushing forward and putting himself between you and Ethan.

“Now listen, kid. There’s no way you’re making enough to keep this place. You think you’re fine to coast along on that little nest egg your dad left, but it’ll be gone before you know it. Trust me. I know how the world works. I’m doing you a favor.”

“L-Let go…” you finally manage to utter a meek protest.

Ethan’s gaze hardens, his grip only tightening when you try to pull away.

Doey’s eyes narrow as he resists the urge to let a low, angry growl at how this man’s treating you. If he thought running at the man only to be effortlessly kicked back into the creek would somehow help you, he’d certainly do it, but…he’s not convinced such a gesture would help.

In a split second, the solution comes to him. Well, a solution, anyway.

He steps back into the tall grass, hiding himself.

“Hey, what was that?” he calls out. He pitches his voice up slightly, hoping it sounds convincing as a second person, and answers, “Dunno, sounded like yelling?”

Ethan blanches and quickly drops your hand, taking a few hasty steps back.

Doey grins. The plan’s working! Switching back to his normal voice, he calls out, “Hey, everyone okay over there?”

“Perfectly fine!” Ethan quickly calls out. He clears his throat awkwardly, his eyes darting to you. His brow lowers in a warning glare. “Think about it, kid,” he says quietly.

With that, he turns on his heel and leaves, heading down the dirt path while you stare after him.

Doey pumps his fist in a silent cheer. That went perfectly! Better than he thought it would, in fact. He’d been hoping Ethan would simply cool it with the intimidation if he’d thought there could be witnesses. Him leaving entirely had been but a distant hope.

Once Ethan rounds the corner and disappears from view among the trees, your gaze snaps towards the voices. They’d sounded close…so close you’re surprised you don’t see any sign of the ones who’d spoken.

“Hello?” you call out, walking towards the creek.

Doey’s smile vanishes and he tenses. He hadn’t considered the possibility that you or Ethan would try to find the source of the voices.

“Who’s there?” you call. You walk forward, the edge of the shallow creek lapping at your boots as you stand only inches from Doey’s hiding spot. “N-Not that it’s…a big deal, but…whoever you are, you…you do know this is private property?” you call out timidly, only to wince at how meek you sound. You’re not exactly feeling confident about protecting your land from intruders at the moment…

Doey flinches. Shoot. Maybe tricking you into thinking there were two more people wandering your property without your knowledge or permission hadn’t been the greatest idea.

“Um, we um, won’t be staying long!” he calls out hastily.

You frown. Why did they sound so much more nervous now? Are they up to something? Or just fretting over their (presumably accidental) trespassing?

And why did their voice sound so close…and so low to the ground? Sound can carry oddly in the forest sometimes, but usually people sound further than they are, not closer…

“You’re not…lost or something, are you…?” you ask.

Something about the simple question tugs at his heart--or whatever mass of clay in his chest serves as such.

Because, he realizes, he is lost. In every sense of the word. More than he’s ever been in his entire life.

He lifts his gaze to you, watching as you continue to glance around for the source of the voice, your brow knit in worry. Worry for yourself, at the prospect of unknown strangers wandering around on your property? Or worry for said strangers, lost in the woods?

Doey could show himself and ease both worries, but that might just cause a whole new set of problems. Not for Doey, of course…unless you have some freezing gas on you, it isn’t as if you can really hurt him. So whatever your reaction, he’ll be no worse off than he already is.

He doesn’t want to frighten you…Many children in the factory, and even adults sometimes, had been frightened of him, especially at first glance. While his height is about average as far as Bigger Bodies go, he’s one of the more stoutly build ones, and his lack of fluff and fur make him a bit less approachable than many of the other Bigger Bodies.

There’s a reason Doey the Doughman was usually portrayed as tiny in the commercials.

…Actually, that’s about the height he is now. So maybe the sight of him won’t be that startling to you after all.

“H-Hello?” you call out, pulling Doey from his thoughts as he realizes he’s been silent for several moments.

“Yeah! I-I’m here!” he says quickly.

“Where?” you ask, still glancing around, clearly looking for someone closer to your own height.

Well. Time to see if he’s going to be punted into the creek. “D-Down here.”

You glance down, seeing the tall grass part. A small blue figure peeks out. You don’t for a minute assume this little thing is the owner of the deep, resonant voice you’d been hearing. You don’t think the figure itself has any sort of voice…it just looks like a little toy made of colored dough. It looks familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

You crouch down for a closer look and Doey scoots back nervously. He’s…really not used to being towered over like this. But he forces a small, awkward smile, lifting a hand in the wave. “H-Hiya!”

You hadn’t expected the figure to move so fluidly. Even his face and eyes change shape as he speaks, and there’s a slight wobble to his round belly and big arms as he moves that a mere remote-controlled toy wouldn’t have.

He’s REAL.

The abrupt realization causes you to squeak in surprise, stumbling back. Your boot catches on a rock and you fall sideways into the creek. As you try to catch yourself, your hand hits the pebbly creek bed, causing a bolt of pain in your wrist.

The creek’s only about four inches deep, but falling onto your side and then thrashing about as you try to scramble away from the creature has left you completely soaked.

Doey winces. Evidently the sight of him is still shocking, even at this size.

But…he supposes you’d’ve never seen anything like him. Unless maybe you’d gone on a tour of the Playtime Co factory as a kid, but even then…grownups almost always dismissed the living toys as some kind of animatronics, sophisticated puppetry, or other such illusion.

Did anyone outside of the factory even realize that living toys had been in existence for…decades now?

“S-Sorry, pal…didn’t mean to scare ya,” he says, holding up his hands. He slowly approaches you, much the way he would have a frightened child in Playcare…despite you being well over ten times his size. Not to mention an adult.

“Wh-What…a-are you?” you manage to stammer out. Your eyes are locked onto him as he moves towards you, but manage to resist the urge to scramble back any further.

“The name’s Doey!” he says, puffing his chest out slightly. He reaches up to remove his hat, only to find it missing. Of course, there’s no way it would have stayed with him on his involuntary journey. Pity…he liked that hat.

But the problem is easily remedied.

He forms a new hat in his hand, this one the same light blue clay as his upper body instead of the darker blue plastic of his old accessory. Hat in hand, he brightens and takes a bow. “Doey the Doughman!” he finishes, placing the clay hat atop his head.

Doey grins up at you, watching your look of fear fade to curiosity. He can almost see the tension--some of it, at least--leave your shoulders as you relax ever so slightly. You clutch your injured wrist to your chest, canting your head as you regard him.

His kind tone and jovial nature seem to be winning you over, just as they’ve won over so many orphans and factory visitors (and even a few staff) before.

“Doey the Doughman…?” you repeat. You suddenly double take, blinking rapidly as you finally place both the name and his appearance. “A-As in…Doey-Dough?”

“Yep! That’s me!” he says proudly. “And what’s your name?” he asks in the gentle yet exaggeratedly eager tone of an adult trying to get an answer from a very shy child.

“Um.”  You’re still reeling from being in the presence of some kind of…talking clay creature, so it actually takes a moment to process and answer the question. But, after a moment, you manage to speak your own name, mostly without fumbling. Mostly.

“That’s a nice name!” he says kindly, his eyes closing into happy crescents as beams up at you. His smile fades slightly, his expression growing concerned. “But that looked like a nasty fall. You alright?” he asks gently.

“Y-Yeah, I um…just tweaked my wrist a bit…” you say distantly.

“Can I see?”

You hesitate. He’s so small…not to mention being made of sculpting clay. It’s hard to imagine such a creature is even capable of doing you harm, and he’s certainly not acting like he wants to.

You’re just about to extend your arm to him when he lets out an embarrassed laugh, shaking his head. “Oh, but you’d probably wanna get out of that creek first, huh?”

Despite your shock, you manage a small laugh at the quip. Not only because you’d managed to forget you were even sitting in a creek, but…well, Doey’s laugh is more than a little infectious.

“R-Right…” you manage. You pull yourself out the creek, taking a few steps to find one of the larger, flat rocks beside the creek to sit on. You don’t take your eyes off Doey for even a second. Not because you think he’d do anything, but…this whole thing feels so surreal, you can’t help but wonder if he’d disappear entirely if he left your line of sight.

You’re debating if you should offer him a hand up, but to your surprise he stretches his arms high above his head (nearly a whole two feet) and grabs onto the edge of the rock, pulling himself up effortlessly.

“Now, let’s have a look, huh?” he asks, holding out his hands.

“I-I think it’s just a sprain…and not even a very bad one…” you say, holding out your wrist to let him examine it.

“Well that’s good!” he says earnestly, taking your wrist in his hands. Holding a human wrist that’s almost as big around as him is a bit jarring, but he doesn’t let that show as he checks over your injury.

You’re surprised that his hands actually give off a bit of warmth. Not much, but more than you’d expect from clay that’s been sitting out in the autumn chill. It also has a bit more give than you’d expected. Not quite as soft as human hands, but just slightly squishy, similar to putty or clay that’s been worked for awhile.

He holds your wrist in one hand, using the other to carefully move your hand up and down, watching you closely for any signs of pain.

“S-So um, where’s the other one?” you finally ask.

He glances up at you blankly. “Other? Oh!” He laughs, shaking his head. “Just me,” he says. “Figured one witness might not be enough to drive the guy off, but two probably would be.” He releases your wrist, giving your hand a light pat. “You’re all set! Just be careful with it for a couple days.”

You’d been too surprised at just the existence of this creature that you hadn’t had time to ponder the reasoning for what he’d been doing. But as you do, you cant your head in confusion. “Why’d you want to drive him off?”

Doey seems surprised at the question, mimicking your head tilt as he looks up at you. “Because he was bothering you.” He pauses, wondering if perhaps he’d misread the situation. “...Wasn’t he?”

You grip your sore wrist, lightly rubbing at it. “Well…yeah, but…you just…decided to help me? A stranger? For no reason?”

Once again he meets your confusion with his own. “It’s not for no reason…I don’t like seeing people get picked on…”

“But isn’t it dangerous for you? What if he’d seen you?”

He blinks, momentarily surprised at your concern, but then grins up at you playfully. “Worried about me? A stranger?”

You pause a moment, then give a slightly sheepish laugh. “Heh…point taken…”

“Besides…I’m pretty durable,” he says, placing a hand on each side of his head and briefly squishing it like a bouncy ball.

You don’t find the action as amusing as Doey’d hoped you would. You blanch slightly, giving a slight shake of your head that looks more like a shudder. “This…This is impossible…” you say in a small voice.

His grin falters a bit. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that the wonder and whimsy of a living toy is easy to accept as a kid in a toy factory…less so as an adult out in the woods.

“Where did you come from? And why are you just…out in the woods like this?” you ask. Despite the situation, there’s a note of concern in your voice at the thought of the little guy out here alone. Even if he does insist he’s quite durable.

Some fragments of Kevin and Jack stir unpleasantly at the questioning, but Doey manages to quickly still them. He’s not sure how much he should tell you…how much he could even stand to tell you. But he’s not partial to lying, and some amount of explanation would probably put you at ease.

The slight pause before he speaks is barely noticeable. “I’m from the Playtime Co factory, of course!” he announces cheerfully.

You frown. “The one that was demolished?”

His face falls. “...Demolished?”

Not demolished! Lies. Destroyed. By mean Poppy, mean Doctor, mean employee…HURTS. HURTS US.

Doey shudders, staggering back and wrapping his arms around himself. “We’re okay…you’re okay…” he mumbles to himself. To all the pieces of himself.

His pained expression pulls at your heart, pushing aside the impossibility of the situation. You suddenly realize that whatever journey he’d taken from the now-demolished factory to way out here was probably not a pleasant one.

“I-I’m sorry!” you say quickly. You reach forward, cupping a hand beside him to steady him, though not touching him. “I…I shouldn’t pry…you don’t have to tell me if…it’s painful…”

To your surprise, he slumps against your hand, a dejected look on his face. He’d seemed so bright and cheerful a moment ago…you guess you’d bumped up against quite the wound to have his mood do such a turn.

Well…you can certainly relate to that.

Doey’s not even looking at you as he stays slouched against your hand, hugging himself and occasionally muttering things you can’t quite hear.

He’d managed to slip into his old role of protector and caretaker when he’d stepped in to help you. Calming you down and easing your apprehension had been much like his time before the Hour of Joy, when he’d play with the kids of Playcare. He’d always been good at making kids feel safe…and he’d been relieved to see those techniques could work on you, even if you’re an adult.

He could almost pretend it was the old days. The setting had changed a bit…and you may not be a child, but you still needed protection from bullies and comfort for only minor, very manageable injuries.

Nothing perilous.

Nothing life threatening.

He could still be the protector, the caretaker…just as he had back when the crown had been lighter.

“Um…Doey?” you prompt gently, pulling him out of his spiral and causing him to blink up at you in confusion.

He pulls away from your hand, his own hands fidgeting awkwardly as a halfhearted smile returns to his face. “Yes?”

“You don’t have to answer if you’d rather not, but…is…is there somewhere you’re going? Somewhere I can help you get to?”

Doey’s eyes widen slightly as he’s caught off guard at the question. He laughs, waving a hand. “Oh, no no, pal, you…you don’t gotta do anything for me!”

“You didn’t have to do anything for me,” you counter. “Besides, maybe it’s…none of my business, but…the woods doesn’t seem like a great place for a little guy like you…” As you speak, a poorly-timed (or well-timed, perhaps) gust of wind cuts through the trees, making your already chilled, wet clothes positively frigid. You shiver, puffing warm air on your hands and rubbing them together. “And I think it’s going to be cold tonight…they say it’ll snow this weekend…”

Doey’s not technically capable of changing color, but you swear the blue clay of his face gets a couple shades paler as a look of pure dread crosses his face. “Well I’m…I’m not…heading anywhere…” he finally says.

“Then…would you like to come with me?” you ask, holding out your hand again.

“With you? To where?”

You laugh awkwardly. Maybe you could have phrased your offer a bit more directly. “My house,” you say.

Doey sputters in surprise, at a loss for words. “Y-Your…house?” he finally manages. “I…you’d…take me in? Just like that?”

“You did help me,” you say. “And I wouldn’t feel right leaving you out here all alone…” you add, your expression softening.

His hands fidget nervously as he glances at your open palm beside him. “If it’s…really not too much trouble…” he says, resting his hand atop one of your fingers.

You smile, shaking your head. “It’s really not,” you say kindly.

He hesitates once more, then finally climbs onto your hand. “Th-Thank you…” he says softly…almost somberly, in fact.

You slowly lift your hand, cupping your free hand near him protectively. You carefully slide off the rock and begin the walk home. 

Doey’s a bit of an enigma--in more ways than one. You should be reeling from his mere existence. Maybe you’re just in shock or something, and the staggering reality of a living clay toy will hit you like a brick wall later on.

You suppose you’ll just have to hope it’s a bit gentler than that.

But what’s mainly on your mind at the moment is his behavior. He’d seemed so at ease when you’d first encountered him. Almost more concerned about you than himself. But mentioning the demolition of the factory had shattered that.

You reach the same conclusion you had earlier--whatever circumstances had led a lone, sapient toy to be lost in the woods--so lost and alone he can’t even suggest a place for you to take him--can’t be good.

You keep the hand he’s seated in close to your body, cupping the other hand near it to keep him from falling. Not that you’re walking anywhere near quick enough for that to be a real concern. He’s actually a little surprised at just how carefully you hold him, even after being told he can’t be hurt.

“So um,” he begins hesitantly, wanting to fill the silence. “Does that guy bother you…often?”

“Ethan?” you ask. “It uh…depends on your definition of ‘often’, I guess, but more often than I’d like. He’s my neighbor. He’s been coming by during my walks to try to talk me into selling my land…I guess I’ll just have to change what time I go for walks.”

You’ve already tried that three times now. The first time had brought you a couple weeks of peace. The second had brought one week. The third had brought even less.

“He wants to buy your land?”

You shake your head. “Not exactly. He has some…housing developer or something that he’s in touch with. He wants us both to sell our properties together for a subdivision. I guess they’ll pay more if they know they can get both properties? I don’t…really know all the details,” you admit. “I haven’t been interested in finding out. I just know that I want to keep this place.”

“Is there anyone you can ask for help? A parent or a counselor, maybe?”

You quirk a brow at the “counselor” suggestion…but if he was in the factory, maybe he’s just more used to talking to children? He probably just doesn’t know what options adults out in the real world have at their disposal.

“Well, I don’t have a counselor, and both my parents passed away,” you say simply.

“Oh…you’re an orphan?” he asks, looking up at you sadly, gently resting a hand against one of your fingers in what you assume must be meant as a comforting gesture.

“Er, not exactly? Dad only died a few years ago…I was an adult,” you clarify. “People usually only say ‘orphan’ if you’re still a kid.”

“Do they? I…I hadn’t realized…” he admits thoughtfully. “Still, though…” he adds, looking up at you worriedly, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

It’s the same unspoken question that always seems to hang after you tell people your parents are dead. A question you usually brush off with some platitude about being fine and just trying to live a life that would make them proud before steering the conversation away.

But…Doey’s sadness seems so genuine. Not that you think other people fake it per se, but a lot of them seem more awkward about the potential landmines they might step on or just at a loss for words, but…Doey seems like he’s actually more concerned about you rather than any sort of social etiquette.

He’s probably worked with orphans before, you realize. There was some sort of adoption program or orphanage associated with Playtime Co. You don’t know all the details, but maybe Doey had worked with those kids?

You smile sadly. “I’m alright. They’re at peace. And I’m um…getting there,” you say. Usually you just say you are at peace, but something about his earnest sympathy invites honesty. “I just um…try to do right by their memories, y’know?” you add.

Doey’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “They’d be very proud of you. You’re very brave, you know,” he says. It’s a line he’d repeated hundreds of times to hundreds of orphans in the Playcare, and then in Safe Haven. And he’s meant it every time, including now.

You, though, are not used to being spoken to so warmly, so soothingly about the matter. Even your grief counselor had been…well, not cold but…she’d had a job to do, you suppose, so her tone and manner had seemed more…distant, than the way Doey’s been speaking to you.

It catches you off guard, to put it mildly.

You glance away, clearing your throat and pretending to scratch at a spot on your cheek so you could wipe away a stray tear without Doey noticing. “R-Right, th-thanks…” you mumble hoarsely.

It’s been years since you’ve gone to pieces in front of anyone, and you’re not going to break that streak now.

Doey frowns at your reaction. It hadn’t been quite the one he’d hoped for.

You force a smile at him, not wanting him to think you’re upset with him. “Sorry. It’s just…been a busy day. I’m a bit…um…tense right now, I guess,” you say in a flimsy attempt waving off your reaction.

“You don’t gotta apologize, pal!” he says easily, patting your hand.

You emerge from the forest and begin crossing the small patch of grass that surrounds your house, serving as the lawn. You tilt your head towards your home and Doey follows your gaze.

“We’re just about here,” you say.

Doey peeks over your fingers, following your gaze towards the house. It’s one story tall, and…well, it’s hard for Doey to guess much more of that. He thinks it’s slightly bigger than Matthew’s old home but slightly smaller than Jack’s, but between his new size and how hazy those old memories are, even that rough guess is hard to put much stock in.

You enter through a small side door that opens into a mudroom. You kick off your boots and step onto the kitchen. “Do you mind waiting here while I change? I can show you around a bit more once I get into some dry clothes,” you say.

“Of course!” he says easily.

You make as if to set him on the counter, only to pause. “Um, would you rather be on the counter or the floor?” you ask.

He looks amused at the question, chuckling. “Eh, you can just toss me wherever,” he says playfully, waving a hand.

You laugh, shaking your head as you set him carefully on the countertop. “I’m not going to toss you, Doey!”

Once again, something in him warms as you take far more care with him than you need to.

“I’ll be back in a minute,” you say, heading to your room on the other side of the house. You lift your hand in a small wave, which Doey returns with his usual large grin.

Once you’re gone, he glances around the kitchen. It doesn’t look much different from any of the kitchens Matthew, Jack, and Kevin had glimpsed in their time before coming to Playcare. Off-white laminate countertops and floors, brown wooden cabinets, flowery wallpaper that’s peeling in a couple places, and the usual assortment of appliances.

You change quickly, not wanting to leave Doey alone for too long. You’re still pulling on your hoodie when you re-enter the kitchen. “Are you cold at all?” you ask. “Do you need like…a blanket or anything? Something to eat?” You pause. “Erm, do you eat?”

Doey’s expression goes slack for a moment and you’re not sure what to make of the reaction, but clearly the question has struck something in him.

“I um! YES--NO!!” He cuts himself off so abruptly it almost sounds like he’s being silenced by someone else. “YES--SOMETIMES!!” He clutches at his head, clenching his eyes shut. After a moment he seems to relax, running his hands down his face to reveal an utterly exhausted expression. Somehow it even looks like he has bags under his eyes.

“Hey, it’s alright…just relax…” you say gently. You reach out to put a hand against him, only to pull back without touching him. You’re not sure if being patted by a hand nearly as long as him would really help with the whole relaxing thing.

“S-Sorry…” he mumbles, looking away shamefully at his outburst. “I um. I…I forgot how hungry I am. I…I usually just…try not to think about it.”

“So you do eat…” you say. “And it sounds like you haven’t in awhile…?”

“I…don’t have to. I’ve gone months without eating. It doesn’t seem to matter. The hunger is…it’s just a feeling. I can tune it out most of the time,” he says, not meeting your eye as he wrings his hands.

You pull back in surprise. “Doey, I’m…I’m not going to make you go hungry!” you protest, aghast.

“But…it’s just…food’s not free, right?” he asks hesitantly, finally lifting his gaze to you.

“Well, no…” you admit. “But it’s not gold bars and diamonds, either.” You smile gently. “Besides, you’re six inches tall…I doubt you eat more than I do,” you say lightly.

He gives a sheepish smile and nervous laugh, which you chalk up to general nervousness. “Heh…right…”

“I was about to make dinner…I usually make enough for a couple meals, so it’d be no trouble to fix you a plate. Whatever you don’t finish can be breakfast tomorrow. Anything in particular you like?”

Doey briefly pulls a face as if he’s literally biting his tongue to keep from speaking…though you’re not sure if he actually has a tongue. “Um. Wh-Whatever you’re eating is fine. Doesn’t have to be anything special, I…I can eat just about anything…”

He hasn’t liked any of the “food” he’s had in years. Not since Hoppy found that last box of candy up in Playcare…and even then, it had expired years before she’d found it. But easing the hunger, even for a moment, had always been such a relief that he’d actually started to forget that flavor is even a factor in food.

You rest against the counter, debating whether to press the issue. After a moment you decide not to. “Mac and cheese?” you offer.

He gives a sigh of longing that sounds halfway like a sob. “Y-Yes. That…that sounds wonderful.”

“Then mac and cheese it is,” you say warmly.

You begin the prep work, letting the conversation lapse as you wonder at your strange new guest. You’ve barely scratched the surface of who and what he is, but it still breaks your heart how reluctant he is to accept any sort of hospitality from you…especially with how readily he’d stepped in to help with Ethan.

It’s possible he just naturally has a very giving and self-sufficient personality, but you can’t help but wonder if someone, or several someones, in his past had made him feel just…undeserving.

The boxed mac and cheese you make is a family-sized meal, so even scooping out two full portions for yourself and Doey leaves plenty for tomorrow’s leftovers.

Doey’s eyes widen at the sight of the full bowl. He tries to utter a protest--you don’t need to give him that much, that just half a bowl would be more than enough, but fragments of Kevin and Jack bubble to the surface, silencing him as their hunger roars within him.

You take the bowls to the table before returning for the silverware. You’re not completely oblivious to Doey’s inner turmoil, but you don’t even come close to guessing the extent of it, assuming he’s just a bit shy about accepting your hospitality.

As you’re reaching for forks, you pause. The forks are longer than Doey himself…would he be able to use one? You open the other drawer, grabbing the smallest measuring spoon you have. It’s still a bit big--but trying to eat mac and cheese with a garden trowel is still easier than eating it with a pitchfork, you suppose.

You set the silverware on the table and return to the counter to get Doey. Before you can, however, he leaps from the countertop, causing you to let out a wordless cry of protest, scrambling to catch him.

He lands with a splat, his lower body flattening against the floor. But before you can even wonder if such an act is painful, he bounces back up, his lower body rounding back out so quickly his feet actually leave the floor for a second.

Doey gives a sheepish giggle at your fretful look. “Eheh…sorry pal, didn’t mean to scare you.” He winks, waggling a finger at you playfully. “I did tell you I’m durable, though,” he reminds you in a slightly teasing tone.

You feel your cheeks warming with embarrassment. “R-Right…it’s um…just a bit jarring to see, is all…”

“Well, I’ll be sure to warn ya next time then,” he chuckles.

You hold out a hand, assuming he’ll still need help getting onto the table. He laughs again, shaking his head as he walks past you. “You don’t need to carry me around either, much as I appreciate the offer,” he says.

Not that he’d minded being held, but…well, it’s probably not something you’d choose to do if you were aware of just how mobile Doey is, even at his smaller size.

You get to your feet as he walks past you. “Oh um, alright…” you say, figuring he knows what he’s talking about.

And indeed he does, for he stretches his arms upward, gripping the side of the table. He then lifts himself so quickly that his momentum carries him over the edge. He rolls as he lands, ending up sitting atop the table facing you. He grins widely, giving you a thumbs up.

“Heh,” you laugh weakly, returning the thumbs up before taking your seat. He’s more physically adept than you’d initially assumed…maybe his time in the forest hadn’t been as harrowing as you’d thought.

Doey manages to keep the more impulsive fragments within him in check. It’s incredibly difficult to pick up the little measuring spoon and eat with anything resembling decorum, but Doey manages to convince Jack and even Kevin that good manners will get them more meals. You’re not going to want to keep making him food if he splatters it all over the table and walls, or even if he just grosses you out with poor mealtime etiquette.

Jack is pretty easily swayed by this argument, as it matches up with his childhood memories from home. Kevin is less convinced--he wants to take all he can before you change your mind, but he’s overruled, and even he can’t completely discount how readily you offered the meal even knowing Doey doesn’t technically need it.

Still, while his manners are far more polite than not, he doesn’t even come close to hiding how much he’s relishing the meal. Each bite causes him to emit a happy little hum at the delicious flavor--oh how he’s missed flavor--and occasionally do a little bounce or kick his feet as he savors the taste.

You try not to react at first, not wanting to make him self-conscious, but eventually a small giggle escapes you, causing him to flinch sheepishly, giving you an apologetic smile.

“S-Sorry, it’s…it’s just very good!” he says with an awkward giggle.

“No sorries!” you say quickly, waving a hand. “I’ve just never had anyone enjoy my cooking nearly that much. If anything, it’s flattering!” you assure him lightly.

Well, that’s a relief, though Doey’s still not convinced flattery would be the first thing on your mind if he allowed himself to eat as greedily as he wants to.

He only eats a little more than half his portion. Not quite enough to fully quiet his long hunger, but enough to appease the fragments of Kevin and Jack. He doesn’t want to appear greedy, and despite your earlier comments, he can’t help but feel he’ll quickly wear out his welcome if he eats as much as a human, especially at his small size.

It’s still a far better meal than he’s had in over a decade, though.

“Mmm…that hit the spot,” he sighs contentedly, laying back on the table. His belly is noticeably distended, to a degree that would be concerning for a human. You debate asking him about it, but decide against it. He seems happy and content, and despite how jovial and even playful he seems a lot of the time, you’ve also seen how quickly that can turn.

Again, you can relate.

“Thank you, by the way,” he says in a more somber tone as he lays back, staring up at the kitchen ceiling. “F-For dinner, and…e-everything…”

“Thank you for helping with Ethan.”

He gives a vague hum of affirmation. “Didn’t do much…Should help with…the dishes…” he mumbles.

You quickly stash the leftovers in the fridge and return to the table. “Doey? Are you alright?” you ask, letting a bit of urgency slip into your tone.

His eyes are closed, his hands folded atop his belly. “Hmm?” he mumbles tiredly.

“You’re…um, you’re just falling asleep, right? Do you…need anything?”

“Mm-mm,” he mumbles. “Just sleepy. Haven’t really…slept in awhile…”

Your brow knits at the statement. Does he mean that literally? Or just that he hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in awhile? Or is sleep “optional” for him the same way food seems to be?

“Well, why don’t we get you somewhere more comfortable, then?” you offer.

He doesn’t answer, but you faintly hear the sound of the slow, steady breathing of someone fast asleep.

You don’t want to leave him on the table. You’re not sure how much ergonomics matter to a little dough man, but…surely a bed would be more comfortable? If only mentally.

You gently scoop him up, cradling him in both hands. He stirs slightly, but gives no indication he’s really awake or aware of what you’re doing.

He feels slightly heavier than he did before. Or maybe your mind is playing tricks on you, and you just expect him to feel heavier after that meal.

You carry him to the rarely-used guest room, gently setting him down on one of the pillows. You pull the blanket up slightly, covering him up to his waist. Covered enough that if he gets cold at night he can find the blanket and tuck himself in more, but not so covered that he’s liable to get lost in the (to him) huge blanket. 

You lean against the wall beside the bed, watching him for a moment. You can barely believe he’s even real. Part of you thinks you’ll just wake up tomorrow and realize it was all some silly dream.

But…you hope not.

“Goodnight, Doey,” you say softly, finally heading out of the room, turning off the light on your way out.

You wonder if taking him in like this, letting yourself get attached, is really a good idea. You don’t know much about who he is, and you probably know even less about what he is. You don’t know what he might want or need, or what he might do. What he could do.

Then again…he’s a six inch toy made of dough. How much trouble could he really cause?

[night-lie]

so while i was making this gif for my deathnotetober entry for "chess" i noticed something... weird. i mentioned it in the tags but i can't not elaborate.

do you see it too? the side closest to us has TWELVE squares. that's not a standard grid size. there are EIGHT squares going in the other direction, which IS standard.

"surely that can't be right," i said.

well. buckle up.

here’s a quick edit with a neon green outline for the edge of the board and the vertical row that's easiest to count. it really is that size. can this be anything but an error?

EDIT: just for clarity, here's another sc with brightened colors so you can see that the surface in the gap between his face and shoulders is the floor, not the board.

what if the animators were just copying what obata drew? i went to find the corresponding scene in the manga. volume 11, chapter 90.

6x6. not a chessboard size, but heaps more normal than the anime one, even without half of the squares colored in. (they are colored in the color version of the manga.)

the board has some... noneuclidean properties, though.

these are from the same page. on the right it still looks like 6x6 at least from the horizontal row i can see, but the left seems much bigger to me. or maybe i'm starting to lose it?

the board makes another appearance in chapter 93 with this being the best angle of it. unfortunately it's impossible to say how far behind the speech bubble the grid extends.

it's also difficult to count how many squares the rows we do see are. the third row from the left with misa looks like it 7 squares? because why the hell not.

it shows up one last time in chapter 94, after which near stops using it. probably got tired of it changing sizes.

let's check for more apperances in the anime, since we've looked at episode 33 already.

episode 34 and it's. it's freaking 6x6 like in the manga!

the noneuclidean properties strike again. peep the blue arrow pointing to another white square. the row is at least 7 squares.

LUCKILY the board makes no futher appeances after this. the 12x8 scene has not been fixed in ReLight 2.

*deep breath*

so. we've established it's not a chess board, or if it is, there's an error with it. (i'm not gonna blame animators who probably had someone breathing down their neck to work faster. errors happen. obata drew it wrong originally, too, if it's supposed to be a chess board).

but i'm still not fully satisfied. is there anything this could be, diagetically?

my best guess, a checkers board (though i suppose the wammy's kids would call it a draughts board). i have a reason for that, other than the 8x8 boards being interchangeable between the two games.

this quick moment of near knocking down the kira legos with a cork gun.

both in the in the manga and anime he fires two shots BUT it looks like the cork bounces from kira to x-kira, knocking them over. with one move, near knocks over two figurines.

this is called jumping. you've probably seen a cartoon where someone comically jumps over all of someone else's pieces and cinches the win. i would have put a gif of that here but i couldn't remember any.

checkers is often seen as a more juvenile version of chess, like how near is younger than L. L plays chess, near plays checkers. checkers is the "easier" game. it's not a fair comparison, though. they use the same base concept, they have pawns and a king (/queen, depending on language), but the differences are too big to really claim they're the same.

just like L and near.

checkers is, in fact, older than chess. they played a variation of checkers in ur. freaking UR. ancient mesopotamia. 3000 BC. a variation of chess can be tracked back to only the seventh century. that's AD. did you know that?? i wouldn't have if i didn't look it up.

so, now i just need to find a variation of checkers with a 12x8 grid on the board from the wikipedia list. be right back. shouldn't take long.

*genuenly, a two hour long rabbit hole later*

so. bad news.

there's no 12x8 board. there's ARE 12x12 boards which is great, but not what i was after. there's only ONE variant with an uneven grid, a 6x4, in a game called tobit. it looks like this.

...i give up.

post cancelled. thanks for reading.

i'm gonna go mahjong.

[not-freyja]

Hi! :D

I heard a lot of good things about your fic and it's been hanging in my 'for later' list for ever. I'm trying to avoid spoilers and am increadibly curious about the plot, but!

I see it's tagged with MCD and seeing (absolutely increadible) fanarts I think I know who that is for.

Here's the question:

Is it temporary main character death or permanent?

I know some authors tag deaths but not temporary deaths and I understand if you don’t want to say because of spoilers. It’s also tagged with "Tags May Change", so there's where my uncertainty comes from.

I know form experience I don’t do well with permanent MCD, even if I love a good whump, so sadly if it’s permanent I will have to pass on your fic, no matter how curious I am about it.

So I was just wondering if you could clarify it for me?

Sorry I'm so awkward about it 😅

Okay, two things:

1. MCD means that they die. Permanently, and least for the course of the fic. If it was temporary, I would elaborate in the tags. The “tags may change” is because it was being posted as a WIP, and I didn’t want to lie to someone if I ended up adding or removing a scene. I see where the ambiguity might be read there, but that tag is coming off any day now, when the last chapter goes up.

2. This fic is not whump. It is not angst, and it is not hurt/no comfort. I believe the level of pain has been greatly exaggerated by someone and now everyone thinks the fic is full of torture porn.

Adjuration is a tragedy, in the classic literature sense. Like Hamlet. Like the Count of Monte Cristo. As in, the bad things that happen are inevitable and entirely able to be seen coming, and the characters’ own fault.

Tragedy does not equal misery all the way down. In fact, the majority of the word count in there is comedy. Most of the time spent reading the fic is spent laughing, because half of the cast deals with stress via humor.

So yes, people (more than one of them) die. Of course they do. Adjuration is, put simply, a story where the premise of Link as a character is taken seriously. That means seriously. Send 14 people on a high stakes action mission, not all of them are making it out alive. That would be unrealistic. People die in action stories.

And with a main cast of fourteen Links, it’s an inevitability that one of those deaths would be one of them.

(Clarity: you have done nothing wrong, and I am not yelling at you. This is me elaborating on the issue because I keep being asked about all the whump and angst that just… isn’t there outside of three specific scenes in a 300k work. It’s like acting all of LOTR is whump cause you heard about Boromir. Like, that is literally how out of proportion this has been blown.)

[magicshopaholic]

Zandvoort (Taehyung x OC)

Summary: Somewhere in the dead of night, in a small town in Europe, Taehyung and Dilara succumb to their feelings.

Pairing: Taehyung x OC

Genre: Angst, smut

Word count: 13.3 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, heartbreak, mentions of minor (as in not very major) assault, masturbation, kissing, fingering, nipple play, blowjobs, oral sex, sex, rough sex, implication of injury (consensual)

A/N: This may be the last Taehyung fic for a bit so enjoy! Not going to say much else, but hope you guys like it. It starts a couple of days after So Many Signs.

Tagging: @bbl32 @quarter-life-crisis2 @dreaming-with-happiness @kflixnet (drop a message if you want to be added)

Listen to: “every other freckle” by alt-j

taehyung masterlist | main masterlist

There’s no Dutch Grand Prix this year. It’s disappointing for everyone in Red Bull, especially since Max was a sure shot winner, just like every year. In a move to seemingly placate everyone, a shoot has been scheduled in the Zandvoort circuit in the week between the Portuguese and Russian races to ensure that even if they aren’t racing in the Netherlands, they’re at least getting photographed there.

Dilara wakes up on Tuesday, feeling like a gentle monster that’s been slumbering for years and has finally awoken. She reaches for her phone on the nightstand to see three phone calls she’s slept through, and the local time to be a respectable half past nine. The curtains she made sure to open last night allow nice, soft rays of sunlight to stream in while giving her a peek of some clear blue Netherlands sky.

She stretches and bends her legs again, when she feels something sticky between her thighs. Eyes widening in horror and mind instantly doing some math, she shoves a hand down to her bare thighs under her oversized t-shirt and brings it back out, frowning. No blood. She rubs her thighs together once more, slowly, and like a light that’s been switched on, the dream comes back with a movie-like clarity.

Dilara sighs and drops her head back down on her pillow. Even a momentary recall of it makes her core throb. Before she knows it, her hand travels down her body again and into her underwear this time, another sigh escaping her lips when she dips two fingers to nudge her clit, already swollen and soaking. She shuts her eyes, grudgingly allowing more moments of the dream to come forward: Taehyung’s mouth on her neck, his hands on her breasts, his cock stretching her out… 

She starts moving her fingers faster, forcing herself to keep her moans as quiet as possible until she feels herself nearing that sweet, sweet high. She grabs the pillow and gasps when she feels it, arching her back and dropping her head when the orgasm takes rein, a breathless whisper of a name falling from her mouth.

Truthfully, Dilara isn’t all that surprised. Annoyed, yes, but ever since she kissed him three days ago, all she’s been able to think about is how much more she knows is there but can’t get. Strictly speaking, she’s quite sure she can if she asks, but no matter how sexually frustrated she is, she knows it’s a line she can’t cross right now. 

It’s a tough pill to swallow, so she washes up and heads to the kitchen, hoping that the presence of other people might help her forget. There isn’t a soul there, though, so she heads outside to the private stretch of beach and, with an enviable view of the North Sea on Zandvoort beach, she stretches. By the time she returns inside half an hour later, Seokjin, Yoongi and Jungkook are bustling around the kitchen. An incredible aroma of ramen fills the room and her stomach immediately rumbles.

“Pork belly?” Yoongi asks by way of greeting, brandishing a large slice of pink meat between a pair of metallic tongs.

“Uh, no, thank you,” she answers, taken a little off guard. “I’ll just have cereal.” Dilara intends to do just that but when Jungkook arrives to sit next to her at the table with a humongous serving of mouth-watering ramen, she’s forced to abandon her sad little breakfast and dives for his bowl with a pair of chopsticks.

While he’s initially rather generous, eventually he starts getting annoyed, whining for her to go get her own, elbowing her out of the way while she mutters at him not to be such a baby.

“Suga hyung will make more,” he insists, eyes wide and pained as he tries to wrestle a tiny piece of pork from between her chopsticks. “Get your - ugh, you’re strong - go get your own bowl -”

“I can’t,” she implores again, trying to avoid his giant arms and dip the meat in the soup. “I have a race this weekend, I can’t eat red meat - Jesus, Jungkook, are you serious?”

“It’s mine, and you’ve already had half of -”

“I had two bites, JK, don’t exaggerate -”

“You did not have -”

“What are we having?” Taehyung’s voice comes out from nowhere just when a hand appears from in between them. The familiar scent of lotion, a freshly laundered shirt and sleep overwhelms her and Dilara drops her chopsticks, the piece of pork falling into the bowl with a tiny splash. Jungkook takes this opportunity to snatch the bowl and bolt to the other side of the table, but not before Taehyung manages to snag the aforementioned piece of meat and pop it into his mouth.

“Gwaenchanha?” he asks her nonchalantly as he swallows. She nods and averts her eyes, not trusting herself to speak, and hoping he can’t tell how her heart is now racing faster than her car. Her dream featuring a naked Taehyung doing unspeakable things to her flits through her mind again and she automatically squeezes her legs together, wondering when on earth she became this pathetic about her ex-boyfriend.

It’s been like this for a while, unfortunately, ever since the kiss. The day after, which was race day, felt more exciting than it had in a long time. Dilara had also managed her first win of the year and the second of her career, and while she’d been hugged by every member of the Red Bull team and, later, all other members of BTS, Taehyung was the only one she realised she’d been looking for.

Dilara and the team had celebrated into the late hours of Sunday, followed by a couple of hours of sleep in total before she and the group had to wake up for their early morning flight to Paris, and then a train to Amsterdam. It was exhausting, to say the least, and since she was made to travel separately to Paris in order to not be photographed with the group, she’d hoped for some sleep on the flight, only to be thwarted by not one but two crying babies. 

The train ride, albeit with BTS, was bumpy as shit for some reason and the only sleep she’d managed to get was a half an hour nap with her head on Seokjin’s shoulder, the only member other than Yoongi who managed to sit still for longer than five minutes.

The entire time, though, a good fifty percent of her attention remained fixated on Taehyung sitting opposite her, how they caught each other sneaking glances before immediately turning away, how he offered to share the last remaining brownie with her, how when she woke up, she spotted him staring at his phone and started wondering if his lockscreen was still a picture of her. 

Now, when Dilara watches him saunter into the kitchen and peer over Jin’s shoulder at a pot on the stove, she can’t help but think about how nice their kiss was, how familiar and comforting it felt. It was tentative, hesitant - neither of them were sure of what was happening. But the underlying passion was there, she knows it was. It’s insane; she hasn’t been this physically attracted to him in months, where it feels like a world of pleasure is just out of her reach.

“Lara, your phone is ringing.” 

The name falls so effortlessly from his lips that it takes her a moment to understand why her heart is zooming. She walks up to the kitchen island in a trance, looking anywhere but at him. Out of the other three inhabitants of the room, only Yoongi seems to have picked up on it, if his amused frown at Taehyung is anything to go by.

Hurriedly, she picks up her phone to see Max’s name flash. “Guten tag. What’s up?” 

“What time are you reaching the circuit?”

“Um…” Dilara turns to look at a clock. “In about an hour?” She avoids Taehyung’s eyes. “You?”

“An hour?”

“Yeah, this house isn’t that close to the circuit. Why?”

“Still. An hour? Are you a racing driver or what?” he asks scathingly.

“Fuck you, Verstappen. I need longer to get ready,” she snaps, rolling her eyes when he grunts his approval. “Why are you in such a hurry anyway?”

“I’m not in a hurry,” he disagrees, and she can hear voices in the background. “I just don’t want to be the only one there. I can pick you up,” he offers.

“That’s… generous. Why?”

Max is quiet for a moment. “Because I need to avoid a meeting in Amsterdam?”

There it is. “And you’re hoping that if you show up with me, you can claim you have work and ditch.”

“I knew you’d understand. I’ll buy you a coffee, too. See you in forty-five.” The line goes dead.

Slowly placing her phone down, Dilara sighs. “Well, looks like I’m driving down to Amsterdam later today. Anyone want to come with me?” 

“We have to work today,” mumbles Jungkook forlornly, looking up with his huge doe eyes.

“We can go after,” suggests Hoseok, who’s also joined them. “Or tomorrow - Namjoon is going tomorrow,” he adds, pointing at the leader who’s trailing inside behind him.

“What?” Namjoon shakes his bangs out of his eyes, bleary-eyed. “Yeah, I’m going tomorrow. Kaya’s coming back from Brussels so I’ll probably stay the night at her place.”

“Kaya?” Taehyung’s eyes widen in surprise. “Bring her here!”

“Maybe the day after.”

“Yeah, they haven’t seen each other in months,” reminds Seokjin, grinning. “She won’t want to hang out with us tomorrow.”

“Wait, hang on, do I finally get to meet the famous Kaya?” Dilara asks, looking up at Namjoon, who shrugs.

“Depends. Can you stay back till Thursday?”

She deflates. “Unfortunately, my job gets in the way of that,” she mutters. “Guess I’ll just have to come down to Amsterdam by myself someday and meet her.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Dilara leaves soon after that, taking a quick shower and waving to the guys, all of whom are awake now and in the kitchen, prowling around like hungry animals when they see her go. 

It’s a long day of pure F1 PR, filming crazy sketches and doing a bunch of interviews with the AlphaTauri guys. By the end of it, after their detour into Amsterdam when Max drops her close to the house, the sky is already overcast. It’s nearly five pm when she reaches, frowning when she notices a crowd of people in the sandy backyard that extends further into the beach itself. She walks towards it, getting an inkling of what’s going on when she inches closer to hear a lot of laughter and chatter - in Korean.

Dilara stops some distance behind who she now identifies as BTS staff, around ten people behind a bunch of cameras to see the group. They’re dressed in colourful beachwear, playing what looks like some warped version of football with a beachball along with, for some reason, tennis balls also being flung and caught in the air. All the boys are shrieking and tripping over themselves before collapsing into laughter every ten seconds. 

She gives up instantly on figuring out the rules - the ludicrousness and the language both prevent her from doing so - but when Namjoon kicks the ball through the air with force and Taehyung lunges for it only to fall and take Jimin and Hoseok down with him, even she can’t control her laughter.

She stifles it immediately but a couple of staff members do end up spotting her. On the other side of the camera, Jungkook catches her eye and grins and when Seokjin yells at him to pay attention, she slinks away, still taken off guard at seeing Run BTS being filmed live.

Since this means the house is empty, Dilara opts for a nap in the quiet and sleeps like the dead, waking up only when the sky is dark and she hears voices in the house. The members are back - or at least Yoongi, Hoseok and Namjoon are in the kitchen. Taking this as her cue (and the gigantic lunch she had today), she goes to the home gym for a workout, emerging no less than two hours later, adequately sweaty and full of adrenaline.

She takes the long way round to the house; down by the beach with only the white suds visible where the waves crash on the sand. The sound is the most soothing one she’s heard in ages; before she knows it, she has halted on the spot, feeling the salty breeze on her cool skin and thanking the fact that it hasn’t rained today at all. She doesn’t open her eyes until she hears footsteps; turning to her right, she spots Jeon Jungkook jogging towards her, a headband holding his messy hair back.

“Lara!” he calls gleefully, giggling when she gives him a look. “What? Taehyung hyung’s calling you that, you know.”

“I do know,” she says shortly, trying not to let on how her heart skips a beat. “I told him he could. When you punch my ex for me, you can call me Lara, too.”

He grins. “Does Taehyung hyung count?”

“I’ll give you a hundred pounds to punch Tae in the face.”

Jungkook’s face twists into a forcefully suppressed smile. “You’re calling him ‘Tae’ too, I see.”

Cheeks feeling hot, she kicks some sand at him. “Shut up. It’s a force of habit.” When all he does is laugh, Dilara looks around at the lone volleyball net just for something to distract him. “What the hell were you guys playing anyway? I mean, that was for Run, right?”

He nods. “We had to kick the big ball to the other team and in between the rally, the person who caught the most tennis balls got extra points, but only if they caught it from the other team.”

“What if they caught it from their own?”

He considers it for a moment. “Then it’s points for the team.”

“But why would you throw it to the other team at all, then?”

“Because if they miss, you get a point.”

Dilara stares at him. “Are you sure about this?”

Jungkook scoffs. “I wasn’t even sure about this while we were filming. By the end of it, Namjoon hyung was just trying not to injure anyone while me and Jimin were seeing how many times we could make Jin hyung trip.”

“He’s so lucky to have you.”

“He is. No one else compliments his cooking like I do.”

“By eating it.”

“That’s right.”

Dilara chuckles. “He does cook well. As someone who can’t cook to save her life, I can appreciate it,” she says generously. Catching his raised eyebrow, she rolls her eyes. “Do not tell me that Tae and I make so much sense together. I must have heard it, like, fifty times.”

“You do, though,” agrees Jungkook anyway, sounding somewhat relieved that he isn’t the first one to think it. “For example, I’m sure you would’ve been just as frus- pissed off with today’s game as he was. Although you would’ve been better at it,” he amends.

“I’m sure I would have. In fact, I might just be better than you,” she provokes, smirking when he grins.

“I dare you.” Reaching for the portable shed a few feet away, he retrieves the beachball. “It’s just the two of us so we have to stick to this.” He throws the ball to her and she catches it easily.

“Alright, then. Let’s see if I can figure out this ridiculous game.” 

They move to opposite sides of the net and start kicking and knocking the ball over, but it becomes apparent fairly quickly that they can’t give a shit about the rules; they’re just rallying to see who drops the balls first, their common competitiveness emerging with gusto.

It’s not long before they’re joined by other people, though. About fifteen minutes into their make-believe volleyball, Dilara hears a familiar tinkling laugh and turns to see Jimin and Taehyung arrive, looking amused yet unsurprised at what they’re doing. She can empathise: she and Jungkook must look ridiculous, sweaty in workout gear, running around barefoot on the beach at night and tossing around a beachball like they’re in the Olympics.

Taehyung asks something in Korean and Jungkook nods, grinning. 

“Where are the tennis balls?” Jimin asks, still laughing. 

“There.” Jungkook points at the shed. “Oh, now we can play in teams!”

“Fine.” Dilara turns to Jimin and Taehyung. “JK’s better than me for now so whoever sucks more between you two can join him.”

“Oh, that’s Taehyung,” says Jimin automatically, clapping his shoulder before skipping over to her. She grins and gives him a high-five as she watches Taehyung saunter over to Jungkook, hands in the pockets of his tracks, face smooth and unimpressed.

“Okay, so it’s tall people against the rest,” declares Jungkook, making Taehyung laugh - and Dilara’s stomach does a backflip. They restart the game; if Dilara thought that the game between her and Jungkook was mindless, this one is on a whole new level. It’s hard enough to understand even the basics of this random game without the darkness making it harder to see and the lack of a referee to make impartial decisions. There’s a lot of insane running around and shrieks, mostly from Jimin, while Taehyung just stands around looking gorgeous and amused at how Jungkook and Dilara don’t let a single point go without arguing it to death. 

“Go, go, get it!” Jimin yells as a tennis ball bounces and rolls away into the darkness behind them and she sees Taehyung already running towards it. Not fully sure why, she runs, too, the sand making it harder - but she’s determined to stay in front of Taehyung. 

The makeshift volleyball court is no longer visible by the time the fluorescent green tennis ball comes to a stop. Dilara trips in the sand at the same time Taehyung lunges for the ball, and they tumble to the ground together. Desperate not to let him get at the ball, she pushes him down and straddles him.

Barely a second passes before her lips are on his and they’re snogging on Zandvoort beach, nothing but the night surrounding them. She threads her fingers through his hair, long and thick, shivering slightly when she feels his hands slowly run down her sides, his touch light and floaty. A cool breeze blows and his hands grab her hips, making her sigh involuntarily into his mouth, just before he flips them over.

Dilara gasps as she’s slammed into the soft sand and opens her eyes to see Taehyung hovering over her where he’s situated between her legs, gaze on her mouth as he bites his lower lip. Then, to her horror, he gets to his feet in one swift motion and winks at her, smirking as he shows off the tennis ball in his hand before running away.

By the time she reaches the backyard, it looks like the game is over. There’s some chatter, some in English and some in Korean, about the possibility of rain and sand on everyone’s clothes. Dilara can’t bring herself to pay attention; all she can concentrate on right now is how her heart is racing, how winded she feels, and how just the knowledge that Kim Taehyung is a few feet away is making her abdomen burn in a way it hasn’t in months.

Dilara can feel him looking at her, but for the sake of her own sanity and self-respect, she resists the urge to return his gaze. Her lips are still tingling when she steps into the shower and rinses the sand off her hair, watching the granules wash down her body and into the drain. 

The last time she and Taehyung were in a shower together was… last December, in Italy. He’d snuck up behind her while she washed her hair and had silently begun soaping her while she got hot and bothered all by herself, finally having to whisper to him to please, please put her out of her agony. 

She knew he enjoyed it, watching the effect he had on her, seeing how long it took her to succumb to him and beg him to make her feel good. It aroused him to no end, the feeling of being that desired. As for her, all it took was Taehyung.

It takes all her inner strength to resist fingering herself in the shower. Just before she’s about to step out, she turns the settings down so the water immediately changes in temperature from warm and steamy to lukewarm to positively chilly. It takes care of her problem for the time being, so she gets dressed and heads out to the kitchen.

Dilara runs her fingers through her wet hair, rummaging through the cabinets for some dinner, but mostly just to distract herself. She retrieves a box of cereal, contemplating.

“That’s your dinner?”

Like the chopsticks this morning, the box slips out of her hand in shock, spilling bits of cornflakes on the counter. “Christ, don’t - don’t sneak up on me like that,” she mutters, hating how her pulse has been on high alert all day.

Taehyung raises his eyebrows. “I walked into the kitchen. I’m standing, like, five feet away from you,” he points out, annoyingly correct.

The fact that he’s affecting her this much even from five feet away isn’t lost on Dilara, and it only gets worse when he casually walks up behind her to reach for a bottle of water and the smell of his lotion and shampoo engulfs her. 

“Fucking hell,” she whispers, putting a hand to her forehead. 

“Are you okay?”

“M-hm.” Dilara turns around to face him, leaning back against the counter. “I’m great. What about you?”

Taehyung smirks, and she knows all pretence is dropped. “Not bad. Did you have fun? At the game?”

“So much fun. Jungkook’s really good.” She pauses, waiting for him to slowly nod. “You’re not bad either.”

“Thanks. What time is your flight tomorrow?” This time, the playfulness dims slightly and she’s suddenly transported back to last year, to every time they had to leave each other.

“Um, six pm.”

“So you need to leave around… three?”

“Two… just to be safe.” Dilara fights a smile at his automatic pout which he immediately tries to hide. “Right after the shoot.”

Taehyung nods, not looking at her. “And, uh… Max is going with you, right?”

She gives him a look. “You know I travel all the time, right? I can take care of myself.”

His head snaps up. “What? No, of course, I - I know. I know you can,” he repeats, eyes softening slightly. “Just… you know, I’m concerned. As a - as a friend.”

“As a friend,” repeats Dilara, eyes widening, grinning when he chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re worried about me as a friend?”

“Okay, a little more than a friend,” he concedes, stepping closer and dropping his gaze to her mouth. The inadvertent admission makes her heart pound, becoming harder when he brings a hand up to her hair and grips a wet strand near her neck with two fingers. A bead of water squeezes out and lands on her thin t-shirt, just above her breast, immediately soaking through.

It’s slower but fully, unabashedly mutual this time, how they gravitate towards each other and their mouths meet. It’s more frantic, however, with their hands grabbing at each other - but it only lasts about five seconds until they’re interrupted once again.

“Should we have ramen?” Jungkook announces his arrival with an important question. “I can make some.”

Taehyung clears his throat as he steps away from Dilara, running a hand through his wet hair and looking appropriately frustrated. She gives him a warning look before turning to Jungkook, who’s now peering into the rice cooker. 

“Um… yeah, sounds good. Is it just us?” she asks, suddenly realising that she hasn’t seen the other four in hours.

“Hoseok hyung and Suga hyung went out for drinks,” explains Jimin, also appearing and smelling overwhelmingly of citrus, “and Namjoon hyung and Jin hyung went to Amsterdam so they’ll be late.”

“Kaya’s back?”

“No, she’s coming tomorrow. If she was here I don’t think Jin hyung would’ve gone…”

“Yeah, even he knows not to interrupt them after three months…”

The conversation continues as the smell of ramen fills the kitchen. Midway during the meal, Jimin gets a call from Hoseok, claiming that he and Yoongi are drunk and need a ride back. Dilara volunteers immediately, only to get drowned out by all three scoffing before she can even get all the words out.

“Excuse me?” 

“It’s the middle of the night. It’s not safe for you to go by yourself,” says Taehyung calmly, leaning back in his chair.

“It’s literally ten o’clock,” she points out, ignoring the sudden whoosh in her stomach. 

“Still late,” agrees Jungkook. “Just because you walked back this late on Saturday night doesn’t mean it’s always -”

“Wait - Saturday night?” Taehyung frowns. “When were you -”

“It’s not important,” she interrupts quickly, standing up and walking over to the bowl of keys on top of the fridge. It doesn’t seem important to tell him that the only way she could unwind from the whole Jaden incident was to go play FIFA with Charles and Lando at their hotel.

“I’m the only one out of us that hasn’t had anything to drink,” she reminds them. “And if it’s really bothering you that much, you can come with me, JK,” she offers, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt and pulling him up.

“Good idea,” pipes Jimin from his seat, not even pretending to get up. “I think both Hobi hyung and Suga hyung will have forgotten their English when they’re this drunk anyway.”

“Cool. We’ll see you in a bit,” she tells them, meeting Taehyung’s smooth, cold stare before the door closes behind her.

It doesn’t take too long to find them once Jungkook puts them on speaker, despite the screaming and giggling instructions from Yoongi and Hoseok respectively in Korean, just as Jimin predicted. The entire trip takes about an hour; by the time they get back to the house, Namjoon and Seokjin are back as well, both looking tired after a night out.

Jimin takes charge of Hoseok, in hysterics the whole time, while Namjoon volunteers for Yoongi, rolling his eyes. Seokjin follows them, cackling with Jungkook who’s holding up a camera and filming them. To no surprise of hers, Taehyung hangs back, leaning against the kitchen island.

“Hoseok and Suga have been very nice to me,” she explains after a few seconds. “I figured I could give them a ride.”

“You snuck out on Saturday night?” he asks, but doesn’t sound annoyed, just mildly exasperated.

“I didn’t sneak out, I went out,” she corrects him. “And, yeah. I went to hang out with Lando and Charles for a bit. In case you don’t remember, it was a pretty stressful night.” She stops a couple of feet away from him.

“Still not safe,” he murmurs, and she notices his fingers twitch at his sides.

“No,” she agrees. “Why? Were you worried about me? As a friend?”

Taehyung laughs self-consciously and lowers his head before meeting her eyes. “Little more than a friend,” he repeats.

The unexpected emotion in his voice catches Dilara off guard. She suspects their kiss on Saturday started it all, but kissing him on the beach today might have opened the floodgates to the heaps of unresolved feelings between them - starting with the most primal ones.

There’s no point thinking about it now, though, especially not when the house is bustling with drunk, unpredictable people who, as she remembers from Monterey last year, seem to have a thing for calling out PDA. Right on cue, Namjoon and Jimin appear and the moment’s gone, and eventually she mutters a goodnight and heads back into her room to pack for her flight to Sochi tomorrow. It’s not the best way to leave, she reflects as she zips up her suitcase, wondering if she’ll have to resort to her fingers and vibrator for the rest of the week.

Sleep is harder to come by than expected, especially when her mind seems stuck on one Kim Taehyung in bed elsewhere in the house, possibly in nothing but pajama bottoms and messy hair, mindlessly scrolling through his phone with long fingers that are capable of so much more. 

Dilara’s mind goes back to Saturday again, how they’d managed to sneak in a few moments of privacy because they’d bumped into each other in the middle of the night. It’s too much to hope for such a coincidence to occur again but given how sleep is evading her anyway, she climbs out of bed to at least take a sleeping pill, if nothing else.

She’s at the kitchen island, a half-full bottle of water in front of her, with no idea what the time is - she’s guessing late. 

“Did you drink all that?”

“Jesus!” Dilara whispers loudly, clutching her chest as she spots a tall figure come up behind her. “What are you - waiting for me?” When all she hears is a quiet snicker, she huffs. “For fuck’s sake, Tae, stop doing that.” 

She half-expects him to say doing what, but instead he’s silent for a moment. Then, she hears his voice right at her shoulder.

“Say that again.” Taehyung’s voice is soft, and Dilara shivers. Slowly, he places his hands on either side of her, his chest just brushing her back.

“Stop doing that?” she ventures, hearing her own breath hitch.

He shakes his head, his long hair grazing the side of her face. “No,” he says softly, lowering his head so she can feel his breath on her shoulder. “Say my name.”

Dilara closes her eyes, her hands curling into fists where they’re gripping the granite. The familiar scent of lotion and something that’s just so Taehyung is overwhelming to the point where her knees feel weak even with no physical contact, and she finds herself succumbing to her impulses, just like she had two years ago.

Cornered between him and the kitchen island, she leans back into his chest and feels him stiffen behind me. “Tae.” It comes out almost like a plea.

Taehyung lowers his head again onto her shoulder, his warm breath against the side of her neck. He softly presses his lips to her skin, in the hollow between her collarbone and her shoulder. He trails his kisses slowly upwards, warm and open-mouthed, until he reaches her earlobe. Grazing his teeth against the soft skin, he sighs.

“Your skin tastes like silk, you know,” he whispers, brushing her hair away, long fingers lingering on her shoulder. Dilara tilts her head to give him better access and he pulls at her earlobe with his teeth, making her gasp. “I’d almost forgotten…” 

He tugs the collar of her thin t-shirt away slightly, kisses becoming more fervent now. It’s like he’s revelling in torturing her, taking his time and ignoring how she’s breathing slow and deep.

As he sucks a mark above her collarbone, his left hand moves from her shoulder down to her chest and he pauses before gently squeezing her breast. Dilara gasps at the sensation and without thinking about it, she moves her hand up to cover his, encouraging him to go on. He hardens behind her, his erection resting firm against the small of her back. His lips don’t leave her neck as he moves his hand down and up her t-shirt, cupping her bra-covered breast.

“You’ll tell me to stop?” Taehyung asks, lips against the shell of her ear. He sounds breathless, raw - like he’s just about holding himself back with all his restraint.

Dilara nods, sinking back further into him. “Please don’t stop, Tae,” she whispers faintly, and at the sound of his name, his mouth finally finds hers. She snakes her arm around his neck to hold him in place, kissing him back with everything she’s got, pressing her tongue to his, tasting him, addicted to his flavour. His hips buckle slightly and she’s pressed up against the kitchen island and he yanks the cup of her bra down with a hiss before his fingers find her hard, erect nipple.

She moans into his mouth as he pinches it between his fingers, twisting it until she pulls away from the kiss to catch her breath. Her head resting back against his shoulders, she can feel his lips trail down her jaw eagerly before he finally drops his other hand from the counter and places it on her hip, gripping it and holding her pelvis against his.

Dilara reaches behind her to palm the tent in his pajamas and he groans softly, his left hand now moving across her chest and pulling the other cup down, too, massaging her breast. His right hand snakes down her hips and directly to between her legs, palming her suddenly. She whimpers out loud and he immediately pinches her nipple in warning.

“Shh,” he murmurs, voice deep and tight and velvety all at once. “Someone might hear you. What if they come out to see what I’m doing to you?” The way his erection twitches against her back, she can tell the prospect turns him on just as much as it does her.

“What if they see your fingers inside me?” Dilara prompts softly, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Let them see… I don’t care.”

With a quiet growl against her neck, Taehyung squeezes her core again and this time she bites down on her lip to keep from moaning out loud. “I can feel you soaking through your shorts, love,” he murmurs, pushing two fingers against her clothed clit. “How wet have you been getting for me all night?”

“So fucking wet…” Dilara answers in defeat, wanting more than anything to feel him inside her. “You’ve got me so fucking wet, Tae… please don’t make me wait any longer, baby…”

“You’re going to kill me, Lara,” he groans, slipping his hand straight into her underwear and into her dripping cunt, two fingers entering her straight away. She gasps and moves to fall forward but he holds her against him, and she can feel him watching her, watching her face as she comes unravelled. His thumb moves up to find her clit, swollen and pulsing for his touch. It takes everything in her to not cry out loud as his fingers move faster, slipping a third finger inside of her and stretching me out.

“Tae, I’m so close,” she whispers, and he moves his other hand from under her shirt to wrap around her waist and hold her steady. “Oh, God, I’m so close… don’t stop…”

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Lara…” Taehyung murmurs against her temple, his fingers speeding up now. Her knees tremble as her orgasm washes over me, and his fingers slow down slightly to help her ride it out. She sinks back against him, her breath still coming out ragged as she vaguely registers how sub-standard her own fingers have been this whole time.

Taehyung’s lips brush against her cheek as he retrieves his hand and Dilara turns around on the spot, immediately capturing his lips in hers, kissing him like she hasn’t in ages. His arms are tight around her, holding her to him as they let their impulses take over. 

She reaches for the waistband of his pajamas and tugs them down before getting down on her knees, ignoring the sudden chill of the tile floor on her bare knees. Pulling his pajamas and boxers down slightly, she helps him slip his erection out, the tip already glistening with precum, making her silently groan at the sight.

Grasping him firmly and stroking him once, Dilara bites her lips when his breath hitches and his hands snap forward to grasp the kitchen counter. She reaches out with her tongue first, taking just his tip in her mouth before pulling away and spreading the precum down his shaft to lubricate it. Taehyung lets out another guttural groan, looking unbelievably beautiful from where she’s looking up at him, his neck long with two veins popping as he struggles to stay quiet. She has to consciously look away and back down at him, stroking him once more before taking him in her mouth. She takes him in as much as she can, running her lips along his length slowly as she holds his thigh with her other hand for support.

One of his hands reaches for her head and he buries his fingers in her hair, groaning softly when she moans around him. Mouth still on him, Dilara trains her eyes up to look at him and immediately freezes, an image tugging at her mind that makes her stomach drop. No. No. No, not now, please. But it’s too late; the image is there and she  knows she only has seconds before her mind takes over and the moment is ruined. She pulls away and drops his cock from her hand, registering vaguely how he looks down at her.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse, but the concern sounds genuine. 

Dilara stands up and meets his eyes for a moment, and she thinks he can tell what’s on her mind because the passion in his expression starts to fade. Without thinking about it, she reaches up and kisses him, opening her mouth and pressing her body against his, silently begging him to make her forget. Taehyung takes a moment to catch on before he pulls her to him, brushing her hair back and devouring her, letting his hands run down her side and to her arse, squeezing it and pressing her pelvis to his as thunder roars outside.

Her core is starting to throb again; clutching his shirt and pulling him even closer, she nips at his bottom lip before she turns them around and starts walking backwards. Her back touches the door and he pushes it open, not breaking contact with each other for even a moment. Taking off her own t-shirt, she ignores his quiet groan and tugs on the bottom of his to make him take it off, before pushing him back down on the bed just as the rain starts pouring.

“Oof,” he groans softly, but makes no move to get up. “Where are you going?” he asks, propping himself up on his elbows; with his tousled blond hair, bare torso and visible erection in his boxers, he looks like the ultimate wet dream. 

Dilara strides over to her suitcase anyway, unzipping it to retrieve her toiletry kit perched on top, rummaging to find what she was looking for. Making her way back to Taehyung, she wordlessly tosses the condom packet on the bed before climbing on top of him.

She scrapes her fingernails down his torso, hearing him hiss and feeling his hand squeeze her arse. Rolling her hips forward, the friction of his bulge against her core is almost too much to bear, but she forces herself to rally. She moves down from his lips briefly down to his jaw, to his collarbones and the middle of his chest before shuffling lower and tugging his pajamas and boxers down his legs and tossing them on the floor.

“Lara, you don’t have to -” Taehyung’s voice is hoarse, a tight combination of desire and apprehension, but he’s cut off when she grasps him again and his words are replaced by a groan. His eyes find hers just before they flutter shut, and she can tell he knows that this is bigger than him, bigger than his preference for dominance; this is a challenge she cannot back down from.

This time when Dilara takes him in her mouth, she doesn’t hold back. She’s wet and sloppy, her tongue swirling around his head and touching the tip to the back of her throat. She knows it’s how he likes it and his raspy moans are enough to assure her that she hasn’t forgotten. It’s something else to see Taehyung in the throes of passion; he’s beautiful in the most ethereal way possible and Dilara is determined not to let a pathetic memory that isn’t even hers deprive her of it, because if there’s one thing she isn’t wired to do, it’s lose.

“Fuck, I’m -” 

Taehyung’s fingers tangle around her hair and he clutches at it. His hips buckle at the last moment and he spills into her mouth with a drawn out groan, and just the sound of it makes her stomach flip. Dilara swallows and releases him, leaving him semi-erect and straddling him again to see him breathlessly opening his eyes to look up at her. 

It’s almost as though he’s seeing someone else… or someone after a long time. She lowers her head to kiss him and he responds at once, running his hands up her sides and down her hips and thighs, grabbing at the flesh hard enough to leave bruises. She breaks away momentarily to sit up halfway and unhook her bra, barely tossing it aside before he rises to kiss her with a low growl. He slips one hand under the fabric of her shorts and squeezes her arse before spanking it.

Dilara gasps into his mouth and the next thing she knows, Taehyung’s flipped them over again just like he had at the beach a million years ago. In the momentary brightness from a crack of lightning, she sees his eyes dark and full of lust, his expression almost feral. The heat between her legs becomes unbearable as she pictures the things he’s about to do, as he cups the side of her face and tilts it up so he can suck a harsh mark right above her collarbone. She can’t help but moan out loud, especially when she feels his naked chest against hers and her soaked core against his pelvic bone. 

Mouth still at her neck, Taehyung brings one hand to her breast, massaging it and running his fingers over the hardened peak of her nipple. She bites down on her lip to keep from being too loud but it’s so hard when he’s teasing her like this; without thinking, she brings her own hand up to do what he won’t when he grabs it reflexively and pins it to the pillow next to her head. 

Taking care to meet her gaze, he moves his lips down her neck and chest, agonizingly slow before he finally reaches her nipple. He brushes his tongue over it and lets his teeth graze it until she squirms and blurts out, whimpering, “God, please, Tae!”

Dilara feels him groan against her skin. “I love hearing you beg,” he mutters, before finally taking her nipple into his mouth and sucking on it. Her back arches and she moans again, louder when his other hand squeezes her hip. He eventually lets it go, kissing every inch of her sternum with wet, open-mouthed kisses until he reaches the waistband of her shorts. Straightening up, he pulls them down along with her underwear in one swift movement, exposing her to the cool night and making her shiver in anticipation.

Taehyung groans as he lowers himself to come between her legs, holding her thighs apart as he views her dripping pussy for the first time in nearly a year. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he murmurs, a note of victory in his voice. He presses a kiss to her left knee before trailing his lips up her inner thigh, sucking small marks into the skin and taking his own sweet time until he finally, finally reaches her core. She knows what’s coming; how he’s going to drag this out until she’s a writhing, screaming mess, begging for him to make her cum. 

“So eager,” he observes, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from her arousal. Dilara can feel his breath on her and her toes curl on the bed, her hands clutch at the sheets. Taehyung kisses her outer lips and she whimpers again, but he barely seems to hear her. “God, I’ve missed how you taste,” he murmurs wistfully before running his tongue up her slit. She moans and drops her head back on her pillow as he, now unleashed, continues his assault on her pussy. 

Taehyung’s down there for what feels like forever, alternating between her clit and her core, using his lips, his tongue and his fingers to take her all the way to the edge before just bringing her back. “Tae, I wanna cum,” she cries eventually, pulling at his blond hair between her legs and running her foot down his bare back. “Fuck, Tae, you feel so good, I wanna cum, baby, please…”

Coming up slightly to suck on her clit again while one of his hands pumps two fingers in and out of her, Taehyung hums into her, and she hopes it’s a sign of agreement. The heat is bordering on painful now but she’s finally nearing her high and it’s so close - and then it washes over her and she shudders in an earth-shattering orgasm. He patiently lets her ride it out, slowing his lips but not detaching completely, helping her along until she’s in danger of being overstimulated.

“Tae…” 

She says his name and he crawls up, mouth and chin slick with her juices. Taehyung kisses her, his naked body completely covering hers as the rain continues to pour outside. Their hands are everywhere and Dilara can feel his erection come back, stiff against her hip. 

She knows Taehyung can go on for hours if he wants, changing positions, alternating between being on top and the bottom, going from gentle to ravaging depending on the mood. Dilara doesn’t know how long ago he fingered her in the kitchen - it feels like a lifetime away. Here, alone with him in the most raw, primal form as her hands shamelessly roam all over his torso, nails digging into his back as he sucks another mark above her breast, she’s lost all sense of time and space.

“Where’s the condom?” he whispers, lips right under her ear, voice so deep and calm that at first she isn’t even sure what he’s said. “Lara,” he says, slightly louder this time, nipping at her earlobe to get her attention. “Where’s the condom, jagiya?”

“It’s, um -” Dilara can’t form the words, so she reaches out with her right hand and pats the bed, hoping to feel the cold, metallic packet. 

“Got it.” Taehyung’s body disappears from on top of her and she opens her eyes to see him sit up with the blue packet in his hand. He rips it open and massages his length once before slipping on the condom. Dilara doesn’t know how much more her body can handle but she knows she wants this, so bad. 

“God, I can’t get enough of you, Lara,” he half-whines, bending to kiss her again as one hand snakes down her front between her legs to cup her. Her swollen clit brushes against his palm and she moans into his mouth, pulling away to catch her breath.

“I - I need -” But Dilara can’t find the words, even less so when Taehyung bites his lip above her, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and absolute, unbridled desire. He bends to kiss her passionately before gripping her hip and flipping her over. 

Taehyung stifles a low groan before pressing a kiss to her arse cheek, kneading the flesh before spanking it again. The suddenness of it makes her gasp and she clenches her walls just as he dips a finger into her folds.

Dilara muffles her groan into the pillow but Taehyung does no such thing, muttering "Fuck" as he moves his fingers up to her clit, already sore. His other hand runs up her body soothingly, coming under her to gently cup her breast and massage it until she’s soaking again.

"Tell me what you want, baby." 

She whimpers at Taehyung's classic question during sex, his power play, his insurance and her consent. He whispers it into her ear, lips brushing the silver ring piercing her helix and his chest pressed against her back, both damp and sweaty by now.

"I want you to fuck me, Tae," she murmurs, partly out of breath, knowing how much he'll love hearing that. "Please, please fuck me, baby…"

Taehyung’s fingers disappear abruptly and she whines into the pillow. A moment later she feels another hard spank on her arse cheek before he gently strokes the stinging area, groaning softly. Dilara pictures him stroking himself before she feels him grab her hips with both hands and raise it an inch off the bed.

“Spread your legs,” he commands softly, and the low, deep voice makes her shiver. She obeys and opens wider as far as her legs will allow her to, just before he slams into her. This time, she can’t bother stifling the sound of her moan and it doesn’t even seem as though Taehyung cares; his low, throaty grunts only get her wetter as he pounds into her and she props herself up on her forearms, vaguely aware of how her long hair is tangled down her shoulders and over her face.

“You’re so - God, you’re so… so fucking tight,” he murmurs, squeezing her arse as his rhythm increases. Taehyung’s big, probably the biggest she’s been with and even though she’s never expressly told him that, she’s sure he’s aware for every single time they’ve ever fucked since Japan, he finds a way to remind her. She whimpers as he stretches out her walls almost painfully, her arms giving out eventually so her front falls against the pillow.

Dilara feels him pull out and she wants to protest but she doesn’t think she can ever speak again. She feels his warm hand stroke her arm before he turns her around onto her back. Bending down to press a sweet kiss to her lips, Taehyung brushes her sweaty bangs off her forehead. “Sure you can keep going?” he asks quietly, his other hand resting on her hip.

Dilara can’t imagine saying no. Pulling him down to kiss him again, she nods frantically. “Yeah,” she whispers, catching her breath, “yeah, I want…”

Taehyung’s beautiful mouth curves into a smile and morphs into an expression of ecstasy as he sinks into her again. They groan together as he bottoms out, his balls brushing against her skin as he goes deep into her. She wraps her legs around his waist as he rolls his hips into hers, and she knows she’s close; she has about a minute, tops, before she comes undone once again tonight. 

“Harder, Tae…” Dilara gasps as he complies immediately, fucking her with all his strength. Her walls clench automatically and he groans loudly.

“Fuck, Lara, you’re gonna make me come so hard, baby…”

Her back arches and her sounds grow louder. She clutches at his shoulders, sinking her nails into the lean muscle. “Don’t stop, Tae, don’t stop…”

“You’re doing so well, Lara…” Taehyung’s grunts are louder now, mixing with her whimpers. “Fuck, Lara, I want to… fuck, I love you, I love you so much -” He lifts her right leg up and pushes her thigh into her chest, hitting her g-spot so sweetly that she knows she only has seconds. He goes faster now, apparently unaware of what he’s doing, what he’s saying…

“Tae, I’m -” Dilara’s words are cut off by an explosion again and she shudders, feeling every last speck of energy leave her. This orgasm lasts a bit longer; Taehyung slows down slightly and presses an open-mouthed kiss to her exposed neck. Dilara falls back against the covers, thoroughly exhausted and when she nudges his hip with her foot, he takes it as permission to resume.

“Lara, I’m close,” he mutters, thrusting into her once again before rapidly speeding up. He lifts his torso up to give himself more support and continues before finally groaning deep inside her. A couple more thrusts later, he drops his head onto her shoulder, turning slowly to kiss the side of her neck.

Taehyung’s weight feels so familiar, so comforting, so protective. Dilara brings her hand to the back of his head, exhaling silently at his low hum of contentment. He looks up then, face inches above hers. It’s overwhelming, this feeling. It’s just them; there’s absolutely nobody else in this moment, in this private, intimate moment. 

Dilara’s mind is still hazy and all she can focus on is Taehyung, his gaze, his large, soft eyes. She moves her hand slightly to finger the long, blond locks at the base of his neck, thick and damp, just as he lowers his head to kiss her once more.

It’s a short yet passionate kiss and when they pull apart, he rests his forehead against hers for a moment. “You’re incredible,” he murmurs, almost shyly, as he lifts his head up. 

Dilara nods, a little self-conscious with the way he’s looking at her. “Um, I need to…” She glances in the direction she’s talking about and her heart flutters at the hint of a smile playing on his lips. Taehyung nods and pulls out of her slowly before rolling off onto his side. She clambers off the bed awkwardly, trying not to wince when she brings her legs together. 

Noticing the pile of discarded clothes on the floor, she decides against it, at the last moment opting to take the rumpled sheet off the bed and wrap it around her as she heads to the bathroom. She turns around to look at him before shutting the door to see him sitting up against the headboard, completely naked, watching her leave. When he notices her turn, he tilts his head back and smirks, making her stomach flip.

During her routine post-sex bathroom break, Dilara can’t help but finally acknowledge how much pain she’s in already - and how sore she’s sure to be tomorrow. Dully, she counts the number of hours she has left before she needs to get into the car again. It’s the wee hours of Wednesday by now, surely; that gives her a little over forty-eight hours to recover - which doesn’t seem impossible. When she stands up and faces the mirror, her silhouette is enough to tell her that her hair is tangled and messy beyond repair which means she has no recourse but to wash and condition it before the shoot tomorrow.

Sighing, Dilara picks up the sheet and loosely wraps it around herself before opening the door to see Taehyung sitting on the edge of the bed, just his pajamas on, elbow resting on his thigh as he scrolls though his phone. When he hears her, he looks up and a shy smile spreads across his face as he stands up to walk over to her. The rain has stopped and the sky has lightened marginally; it must be nearly dawn, she realises.

“Are you okay?” he asks, stopping a decent couple of feet away from her. Despite the intense, long-lasting sex, the thought of his honey-coloured torso within arm’s reach does things to her. She forces herself to look up at his face, and her heart stutters. She remembers then that he’s asked her something.

“What? Oh, uh, yeah.” Dilara shrugs awkwardly. “It’s just… you know. It’s been a while.” She bites her lip, trying to suppress a small smile. “You haven’t changed. Still got the stamina of an athlete.”

Taehyung grins. “Thanks. You haven’t changed either. Flexible as always,” he adds, winking when she rolls her eyes. He looks incredible; in the faint light from the window, his face is illuminated in a silvery blue glow. Draped in nothing but a sheet she’s clutching to her chest, she suddenly feels very small in front of him.

“Is your hand okay?”

He glances at the back of his right hand, his knuckles still an angry red. “A lot better. I tried to use this one as less as possible.”

“You messed up my hair,” she chides softly, nudging his shoulder. 

Taehyung shrugs, reaching up to smooth her hair. “You still look beautiful. And it didn’t seem like you were complaining,” he adds after a moment, smirking slightly. “Or is that what all the noise was?”

“Shut up,” she mutters, feeling her cheeks heat up. “Shit, I’m sure everyone heard us,” she groans, falling against the doorframe before straightening up.

“Maybe,” he says, sounding rather indifferent. He takes a small step closer. “I don’t really care.”

Dilara says nothing to that, knowing he’s just being honest. There are some things that would embarrass most people, but Taehyung genuinely does not care about them. Being loud during sex is one. She wonders if confessions during sex is another. His gaze is too intense, too adoring for her to believe he said it in the heat of the moment. He meant it, she’s sure, and while there’s a part of her that’s ecstatic, there’s also the part that’s more wary than ever, for she isn’t sure she can give him what he wants this time.

He’s close enough now that the kiss is no surprise. It’s soft and gentle - the complete opposite of what just transpired on the bed. He raises one hand to lightly rest on the side of her face, but otherwise they stay where they are. His lips mould so perfectly with hers; there’s none of that hesitance that was present the night she kissed him in Portugal. It’s comfortable and familiar, to the point where she can’t fathom how she went so long without it, and worse, how she can continue without it.

They break apart mutually. Taehyung drops his hand and swallows. “Do you want me to stay?” he asks hesitantly. 

Dilara can tell now that this has been on his mind since the moment they were done. Evidently he wasn’t able to decide if she’d want him to stay or leave and he presumably didn’t want to pressure her either way, which was why he got half-dressed. She also appreciates that he asked her if she wants him to stay and not if she wants him to leave, knowing it’s harder to answer the latter than the former.

She bites her lip, continuing to meet his gaze. “I’m not ready,” she admits finally.

Taehyung nods, looking as though he’d expected this. He brushes her cheekbone with his injured knuckle before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. She tries not to lean into it too much and resists the urge to turn her head and kiss him back. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lara,” he murmurs, stepping back. “Sleep well.”

Dilara nods as he steps further back and slips on his t-shirt before ruffling his hair. Giving her a small, reassuring smile, Taehyung exits her room, shutting the door quietly behind him.

—

Dilara limps into the kitchen the next morning, hoping to be completely invisible. She doesn't make eye contact with anyone, fortunately sidling in in the middle of a joke being told in Korean. Jimin, who's the one doing the narrating, seamlessly greets her mid-sentence before delving back into his story. She isn’t even sure who else is in the room; it's only some of them… but Taehyung is definitely one of them.

She bustles around as quietly as she can, procuring milk and cereal. When she turns around to retrieve a bowl, she sees Jimin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Jungkook and Taehyung in the room, all laughing at whatever story Jimin is relaying. She hears her name then and it takes her a second to realise Jungkook is speaking to her because he automatically starts off in Korean.

"Huh?"

"Sorry - are you okay?" Jungkook frowns, looking concerned.

Dilara smooths down her hair as a reflex. "Yeah… why wouldn't I be?"

"You're limping," he points out innocently and she instantly wants to die. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Dilara almost chokes. "No, it's just… uh, period cramps," she lies, knowing that it's a topic uncomfortable enough that Jungkook won't probe. 

Predictably, Jungkook goes red. "Oh, you can - I mean, I have -" He stutters, looking around at his older members desperately. "... Ibuprofen," he mutters eventually.

"Thanks, Jungkook." She hopes the topic dies there but unfortunately, she catches Hoseok frowning as well. "What?"

"It looks like an injury," he states, tilting his head. "You were opening up your hips just now," he says and she realises in horror that he's right. "Did you go to the gym yesterday?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. It's possible I could've… yeah, maybe." Dilara deliberately doesn't look in Taehyung’s direction, mostly because she’s quite sure what he looks like. Pride and concern would be the top expressions, mixed with just a bit of wariness at the questioning.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows in an expression that indicates he believes her, but it’s taking him a hell of an effort to do so. Her eyes finally go to Taehyung, who’s sitting cross legged on the floor, fiddling with what looks like one of Jungkook’s action figures. His mouth twitches for a moment before it goes blank.

“Namjoon hyung,” he calls, interrupting Hoseok who was surely about to ask another question. “What time do we have to be at the location?”

“A couple of hours, actually. Jimin and Jungkook - you two need to go live before that,” he reminds them. This is followed by Jimin whining in Korean and additional chatter, successfully taking the attention away from Dilara as she’s left alone to finish her breakfast. Namjoon must have told them all to get ready, for they mill around the kitchen and eventually start trudging inside one by one.

Breathing a silent sigh of relief, Dilara washes her bowl and spoon when Taehyung joins her. “I can do that,” he says softly, holding up a dry cloth and taking the bowl from her. She lets him, watching as he dries it and stacks it inside the cabinet.

“Thanks.”

He gives her a small smile that holds far more than it should. She’s reminded of his inadvertent confession last night, how he’d said it loud and clear, and averts her gaze.

“Are you okay?” Taehyung asks, lightly touching the small of her back. It sounds different from the way Jungkook asked her.

Dilara nods. “It’s not too bad. I’ll be fine,” she adds. “Are you okay?” she asks after a moment, part playfully.

“Me? I’ll be fine,” he says seriously. He touches a wavy strand of hair that’s fallen out of her makeshift bun. “Do you need to wash your hair?”

“Wash, detangle, brush,” she informs him, giving him a look. “It’s going to be a pain.”

“Mhm. Does that mean you regret it?” he asks, his voice a bit smaller. “Last night?”

Anyone with half a brain cell could tell he isn’t asking about her hair. Dilara considers it, images of last night flashing through her mind. Every touch had been electric and their spark had gone nowhere. Despite everything, he elicited feelings of pleasure and ecstasy like no one else ever could, and still made her feel like she was the only person in the world after it.

“No,” she admits, a bit hesitant. “I don’t.” A moment passes where she doesn’t look at him. “What about you? Do you regret it?”

Taehyung exhales softly. “A little bit.”

Dilara’s heart drops. Swallowing, she looks up at him, wondering why, after everything, he would… He returns her gaze with the same smooth, impassive expression. It takes her another moment of observing his face before her own relaxes, and she smacks his shoulder with the back of her hand.

Taehyung winces and grabs his arm, laughing as she walks away in a huff. “What? You know my answer,” he calls after her, still chuckling when she doesn’t respond. “I’ll see you at the shoot?”

“Shut up, Kim,” comes her voice from inside, just before she shuts her bedroom door behind her.

The shoot is located close to the house; yet, they still only make it in the nick of time. Dilara, who had been requested to travel separately so as to not attract attention by arriving with BTS, is already at the location, getting  a coffee with Max.

“Someone looks happier,” comments Max, gesturing towards the group as they trundle in.

Dilara follows his gaze, predictably landing straight on Taehyung, looking unreadable as ever, with half his face hidden behind gigantic sunglasses. “Does he look happier?” she asks, frowning.

“Well, he looks less depressed than he has since September.”

It’s true; she watches as he saunters in, hands in his pockets, and surveying the location coolly. Then he takes off his sunglasses and squints slightly before looking right at Dilara, and his face breaks into a smile. Dilara averts her gaze immediately, suppressing a smile of her own, and ends up facing Max.

“Ah,” he says deliberately after a moment. “I see.”

“Don’t,” she warns him.

“We’ve really come a long way from the fashion show, huh.”

“Max.”

“No more of that responsibility to get you nice and drunk so you can forget,” he remembers fondly.

“Shut up.”

“Not when you have all the privacy to rekindle that Suzuka romance - not to mention do whatever you -”

“Max Emilian Verstappen!” Dilara exclaims, loud enough that a few people turn to look at her while Max guffaws into his coffee cup. “Are you done?” she hisses. “This is a work setting. There are professionals here - can we save the teasing for the long-ass flight to Sochi?”

Max waits patiently for her to finish. “You have a hickey the size of a rock on your neck.” With that, he waves to her and walks away.

Predictably, Dilara’s first stop from there is hair and make-up, determined to have the incriminating mark covered up before anyone else sees it, especially one of the guys. She doesn’t believe Taehyung would tell them about last night - bragging has never been his style - but with the embarrassing questioning this morning and the hickey? It would be obvious as hell and Dilara doesn’t think she can take Jimin’s reaction to it today.

Thankfully, there’s no one in there. She snags a bottle of concealer and does a rather shoddy job of covering up the hickey, but she doesn’t care. It’s better than the looks the make-up artists are sure to give each other and she’s just thankful that none of the other hickeys on her body are in visible places.

Fortunately, no one else spots the hickey. The shoot commences, everyone in AlphaTauri sporting gear and posing around cars and bikes and other equipment. Dilara is so relieved at the normalcy that even being the only person in a sports bra in the chilly weather, while the others pose in jackets and t-shirts, can’t dampen her mood. 

By the end of it, an old familiar feeling starts creeping back, a disappointment she later identifies as not wanting to leave. BTS aren’t flying to Russia with her and Max and while that had seemed like the highlight of the calendar back in August, it feels like the dark spot in the improving relationship between her and Taehyung.

He feels it, too, she knows. He approaches her when she’s at the food cart, longingly looking at the tray of doughnuts and resisting the urge to scarf one down. 

“They won’t kill you,” comes Taehyung’s voice, and he stops next to her. “The blueberry one is the best.”

Dilara raises an eyebrow. “You’ve had it?”

“Oh, no,” he says, shaking his head. “It looks like it would be the best. Besides, you like blueberry, no?”

“Yeah, but…” She sighs. “It’s way too much sugar. Is there such a thing as a sugar-free doughnut?”

“Yes, it’s called sadness.”

Dilara laughs, biting her lip and looking up at him. Fuck, he looks incredible. “Split one?”

Taehyung frowns, considering it, before looking out at where the stylists are. “As long as they don’t rat me out.”

“To who? Your staff?”

“No, Namjoon hyung.”

She stifles another laugh, her gaze going straight to where Namjoon is sitting on the grass with Jungkook and - to her mild surprise - Max. 

“So? You want to split it? We’ll have to be smart about it, though.”

Dilara looks back up at him, contemplating. His eyes twinkle, and she fights a smile. Reaching over, she grabs the doughnut and breaks it into rough halves while Taehyung grabs a couple of napkins. Like school kids sharing a secret, they turn their backs on the shoot and, silently acquiescing, they start walking away.

Start, being the operative word. Before they’ve taken maybe five steps, two stylists come bounding up to them. “Oh, Tae, they need you for another shot,” says the one with the blue tips in her hair. Before Dilara can register the Tae, her eyes drop to his hands and her eyes widen. “You said you couldn’t eat sugar!” she exclaims, lunging for it as Tae moves it out of her reach, grinning.

“I’m sorry, what’s your name?” Dilara interrupts. She ignores Taehyung’s frown as the girl looks at her, as though she’s just noticed he’s not alone.

“Oh, it’s Rhiannon. Like the song?” she prompts.

“Yeah, I know Fleetwood Mac. Listen, Rhiannon, do you mind -”

“Oh, look, they’re calling you again,” she says loudly, turning back to Taehyung and pointing over his shoulder to the photographer.

“I’ll take that.” Seokjin’s hand appears out of nowhere and grabs Taehyung’s doughnut, making him groan, but the director calls out his name this time so he has no choice but to leave. As Seokjin swallows the doughnut whole before sauntering away, Dilara feels a pit of rage in her stomach. 

“Are you going to eat that?”

She jumps, turning around to see Min Yoongi behind her, looking irritatingly knowing. “Where did you come from?” she demands, clutching at her chest. “Oh, you brought Jimin, too,” she notes, as the younger member comes into view, grinning, in her opinion, for no reason at all.

Suddenly conscious of how annoyed she must be looking, Dilara makes an excuse and hurries away, taking care to stay away from all members for the rest of the shoot. It’s just as well, she thinks, for she doesn’t want anyone getting the wrong idea - least of all, herself.

It’s the reason she goes back to her changing room alone at the end of the shoot, considering simply texting Taehyung goodbye. A verbal goodbye could be too much and would very much be in the wrong idea category, not to mention would haunt her for the rest of the weekend, a time when her focus should be nothing but the race. Her suitcases are already in the car, as is Max, who’s begun texting her to hurry up.

Dilara is packing up her bag when a sound, once again, almost makes her jump. When she spots the speaker in the corner of the trailer, she relaxes, guessing it must just be one of the microphones causing a disturbance. 

“... really good shots,” comes a male voice, crackling through the speaker. “Campaign’s going to look epic.”

“Great for your resume,” replies another, a girl this time. “Although it’s greatest for whoever shot this guy,” she adds.

Someone else whistles and there’s some snickering. “That would be me,” says a second guy. “He’s fantastic - it’s the least direction I’ve ever had to give talent. He’s a dream to work with.”

“Who are we talking about?” This voice is familiar. Rhiannon. Like the song?

“The dude in the red jacket.”

Dilara pauses, for there was only one dreamy dude in the red jacket - and she’d spent the night with him. It’s clear that one of the microphones has been accidentally left switched on and if she can hear everything in her trailer, the group can definitely hear it in their much larger trailer. She pauses to listen, already amused as she pictures Taehyung’s bashful smile as the others tease him.

“Oh, yeah. I checked out his Instagram,” says Rhiannon. “Some really aesthetic shit. Whoever’s taking pictures of him has the easiest job in the world.”

“Hey!”

“No, I’m just saying. He looks unreal. Whether it’s his girlfriend or whoever - she kind of hit a jackpot. Wait, Jack - what are you doing?”

“Checking out who this lucky person might be,” answers Jack, presumably. “There’s no way someone who looks like that is single.”

Something creeps through Dilara’s stomach, a feeling of foreboding. This isn’t going the way it’s supposed to.

“Knew it. Jennie Kim. Dating BTS V,” says Jack after a moment.

“Rumoured to be dating him,” pipes up someone else. “And the article is six months old.”

“So? Seems pretty plausible to me. I mean… look at her.” Jack exhales. “She looks like a natural. Damn, do you know who’s representing her?”

“Wait - Jennie Kim,” says one of the girls. “Says here she’s - oh, man, I knew I’d seen her somewhere. She’s brand ambassador for Chanel.”

There’s some noise as everyone presumably looks at a picture. The self-preserving part of Dilara tells her to leave, now, but her feet stay rooted to the ground.

“Makes sense,” confirms Rhiannon. “Jesus Christ, they’d make some gorgeous babies.”

“Jumping the gun a bit?” The first guy says. “It’s a rumour from a million years ago. Personally, I think he has a thing for Komyshan?”

“Dilara Komyshan? From today? Really?”

“Yeah, he kept looking over at her. Why? What’s wrong with her?”

“Dilara’s hot,” says the second girl. “She drives cars, dude.”

“Nothing is wrong with her!” Rhiannon exclaims. “She’s my favourite driver. I’ve been rooting for her all season - I screamed all over Twitter on Sunday when she won in Portugal. She’s just…”

There’s a snicker. “This should be good.”

“She’s more… real. Natural.” Rhiannon audibly hesitates. “And he’s…”

There’s a few seconds when no one can come up with an unoffensive word, while everyone including Dilara knows exactly what Rhiannon means.

“K-pop,” finishes Jack, sounding somewhat apologetic. “They’re kind of a different league,” he adds.

“A Jennie Kim kind of league. Do you know if your friend - what’s his face -” Someone clicks their fingers. “Damien. Do you know if he’s still on contract with Chanel?”

“Doubt it. That was a year ago. I can still check, though…”

Dilara can’t hear anything else. There’s a roaring in her ears and her chest feels as though it’s about to constrict, cutting off all air supply. It’s too much, too many words, too many truthful, honest words that have lived in her mind for the better part of a year… words that haven’t ceased to be true, no matter how desperate she’s been to repress them.

Her eyes land on the speaker again and she knows she has to leave immediately because if she can hear everything in her trailer… Taehyung can definitely hear everything in his much larger trailer.

The car is just outside the gate. Dilara hurries as fast as her feet will take her, her chest painfully heavy with humiliation and shame. Last night had felt like stepping back into a time machine to a less complicated time; there was doubt and hesitation, but the passion made up for it. Now, it fills her with disgust, the memory of it, how openly and fervently she’d given herself to him, how after everything, she’d still let herself be that vulnerable before him.

Dilara is surprised to hear herself sniffle but less so when she hears footsteps behind her. She doesn’t bother turning around; it doesn’t matter who it is, even if it is Taehyung, even if he is coming back to explain himself once again, like every other -

“Lara -”

“Don’t touch me,” she snaps, yanking her hand out of his. Her anger wavers for a moment when she sees his face change, first from apology to confusion, and then to shock. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting her to react this way. “Just - just leave me alone,” she says tightly. She turns to leave, not trusting herself to speak any longer.

“Lara, no.” Taehyung stops her, shuffling to stand in front of her. Over his shoulder, she spots the car that’s supposed to take her to the airport. “No, no , no…” He searches her face frantically, the fear spreading across his beautiful features. 

Dilara says nothing. It’s too much, everything she’s heard, everything she's starting to remember. Max’s words come back: We’ve come a long way from the fashion show. The fashion show, where she’d thrown up in the bathroom at the sight of him, cried tears of frustration to Max and done everything in her power to avoid Taehyung.

“Lara, please. You - you can’t listen to them. You can’t possibly believe what they’re saying -“

“Oh, my God,” she whispers, dropping her head in her hands. “Oh, God, what have I done?” She takes a shaky step back, her stomach churning painfully. “We had sex - oh, my God!”

“Baby, listen to me -“

“Do not call me that,” she interrupts him. “Why should I listen to you? Huh? So you can fucking charm your way into my life again?” she demands, pushing him back. “You just - you just look pretty and say the right things and I just… forget everything you did?” Because that’s exactly what I did.

“No! God, Lara - they’re strangers!” Taehyung exclaims desperately. “They have no idea what they’re talking about! They don’t know us! Come on, please - please don’t let them ruin everything. Please.”

“They didn’t ruin everything,” she snarls, turning to walk past him when he stops her again.

“I love you,” he blurts, and Dilara freezes. “I - I love you, Lara. I do, so much,” he repeats, his voice trembling. It’s not an accident this time. “We’ve made it so far, baby,” he says urgently, pulling her closer by the arms. “Please don’t do this.”

Dilara swallows, her heart hurting. Taehyung looks… he looks anguished. Somewhere, she knows how he feels, the thought of every single shaky piece they’ve built up crashing down around them again. A part of her wants to agree with him, just to have those moments back; the laughing and the flirting and the feel of his naked body against hers.

But she can’t. It would be tainted, and she would spend every minute second-guessing herself, reliving those awful weeks she’d spent comparing herself to another woman, imagining all the things she’d probably done wrong to deserve this. She meets his gaze again, wishing she could go back to this morning again.

“Lara?”

He loves her. That much she believes. But it’s nowhere near enough right now.

Dilara sniffs and pulls out of his grip, gentler this time. “I - I need to go to Russia. My flight is in a couple of hours.”

“What about -“

“I don’t know. I have no idea, Taehyung,” she says quietly. “I think…” Dilara sighs as she realises it’s finally the time to do what she’s been considering for a while now. “I need space. We need space.”

Taehyung swallows. “Just space?” he asks, and even through the hurt, she can hear the skepticism in his tone.

“Yeah, I - I can’t be around you. For a while,” she adds when his face drops. “You know I’ll see you in Tuscany anyway,” she says in a low voice.

He nods silently, biting his lip. 

Dilara exhales shakily and hitches her bag higher on her shoulder. “It’s just too hard, Tae. This… this might be a good thing,” she says, taking a step backwards.

Taehyung looks at the ground, seeming resigned. “Fly safe,” he says hoarsely.

She nods and starts to turn away, when he speaks again.

“Can I -” He sniffs, still looking beautiful in his sadness. He’s a dream. “Can I call you?”

Dilara wishes he wasn’t making her say this. Stay strong, Komyshan. 

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

—

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[babyjamiebarnes]

Build-A-Bear

Part Twelve

Featuring: Bucky x Stark!reader, dad!Tony, Steve, Sam, bff!Peter Parker

Warnings: language, mentions of smut/sex tapes, blackmail/threatening

Summary: With Tony now on your side, you and Bucky are able to take steps toward stopping your blackmailer — until things take a dark turn.

Author’s Note: Ugh, it’s not as long as I’d like it to be but it’s a good lead-up to the final chapter and I won’t feel so bad about taking forever if I finally get something out there 😖 I haven’t been in the best headspace lately but things are kind of looking up so hopefully I get the conclusion out faster 😞

Series Masterlist

Tags: @amourmarvel @fangirlvoice @kennedywxlsh @devilswaldorf @what-the-hap-is-fuckning @alyispunk @fredweasleysbitchh @wearegroot @sunflowerbebe107 @prestigious-tea @brckenmemories @angelbabymed @charmedbysarge @cruelsummer-s @fandomlovver @ahahafudge @thebivirgin

You thanked every deity in existence that there wasn’t enough room for you and four grown men in the Jeep because your dad had to drive separately from you, Bucky, Steve, and Sam. Once the doors shut, however, there was one question lingering in the air.

“So… how’d it go?” Sam asked.

Bucky let out a sigh.

“I’m still alive,” he deadpanned.

“Are you gonna… you know… stay that way?” Sam asked slowly.

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips at the question. And when Bucky glanced over at you, he laughed quietly too. Which led to Steve chuckling at him and Sam smiling at the way he (unintentionally) relieved some of the gravity of the situation.

Bucky’s shoulders relaxed a bit for the rest of the drive, but you caught him growing tense again when you all met your dad in the underground parking garage. It was the only place in your apartment building with no windows and no audio, but you knew there was video surveillance. There was a chance your stalker had access to the video, most likely through hacking the system, but they wouldn’t know what was being said. As you approached your father, he pulled what looked like two sniper rifles out of the backseat.

“Barnes, Wilson. You’re coming with me,” he said.

“Dad,” you chastised, assuming he was only taking Bucky with him to keep him from you.

“He was a World War II sniper, [Y/N]. It makes sense to have him using a scope to check where this psycho was watching you.”

You were silent in response, mostly because you knew he was right. And you’d still have Steve with you in your apartment, so it’s not like you’d be left alone.

Bucky immediately checked the safety and pulled back the bolt handle to make sure it was fully unloaded. He didn’t expect it to have anything in the chamber since there was no magazine, but he learned to take extra precaution. And just like when he cleared your apartment all those months ago, something about seeing him wield the power of a firearm made you shiver. How very American of you.

“These are all connected to a secure line,” Tony continued as he handed everyone the type of flip phone you had in middle school. “I hope you all remember how to text the old fashioned way because we’re not calling unless absolutely necessary. Considering what was in the video,” his jaw clenched as his eyes shot daggers at Bucky, “there are probably audio and video devices all over the apartment.”

“We scanned for that when we first started staying with her,” Sam said. “I just figured the video was taken before her identity was released.”

What he said just solidified Steve’s assumption. You definitely knew who was blackmailing you.

“It was after,” you said. “It was… that night was shortly after the…” you hesitated. Everyone looked at you patiently, but you could see Bucky take a subtle step away from your dad. He knew when the video was taken. “Um, it was shortly after the, uh, the pregnancy scare.”

All eyes moved to Bucky and Tony. The emotions that flickered across your dad’s face clearly showed his thoughts: shock, confusion, realization... You wouldn’t be surprised if this was the straw that broke the camel’s back; Bucky must’ve had the same thought as he darted to stand behind you.

“The what?!” Tony barked. “You — Barnes! I’m gonna —” He cut himself off and just huffed out a heavy breath, his hands curled into fists by his side and his jaw tight in an attempt to calm himself down.

“Not to make things worse but it takes two,” you said. “I was a willing participant.”

“But did it have to be with him?!”

“Dad!”

“I’m just saying, pumpkin, it could’ve been Parker!”

“He’s a kid!”

“And he,” your dad countered, pointing at Bucky, “is a senior citizen!”

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “I’m not having this conversation now. We’ll argue about my taste in men later. Go check out the buildings.”

You twisted on your heel and pulled Bucky down for a very unnecessary kiss. You knew it pissed your dad off, but he was being so frustrating! With a snap of his fingers, Tony got Sam and Bucky to follow him out the doors to the street where they would split up and check out the buildings within view of your kitchen and bedroom to see which one the photos were taken from.

Steve led you up to your apartment so you two could stand in the kitchen for everyone to look for from their respective buildings. You hopped up onto the counter while Steve leaned against the fridge across from you, arms crossed and brow furrowed as your eyes met.

“I think you’re right,” you said plainly. Steve held his finger up to his lips and pulled out the flip phone. You were kind of shocked he knew how pre-smart phone texting worked, but he continued to surprise you.

What makes you say that?

It’s not easy to get in this building. It’s even harder to get in my apartment.

Right as you hit send, a familiar jolt of realization shot up your spine. There was one major thing all of you were forgetting. You leaped off the counter and ran to your bedroom with Steve hot on your heels. In your earlier panic, none of you thought to look for a camera in the bedroom. There’s only one angle that video could’ve been taken from and it would’ve had to be inside your room.

If your memory served you correctly, the camera would’ve been set up somewhere on or near your bookshelf. Steve stood in the doorway while you scanned through all your books. You practically knew your setup by heart, so catching the skinny book that was out of place didn’t take long.

You turned to face Steve as you said, “I don’t have a hard cover copy of ‘Romeo and Juliet.’” You turned back to glare at the book and mumbled, “I actually hate ‘Romeo and Juliet’.”

The book was pretty thin, making it stand out even more in your extensive collection, but the title was written in a clear, elegant script along the spine. It almost made you question your own memory — until you noticed the ballpoint-sized hole near the bottom. The black background made it almost indistinguishable, but when you pulled it from the shelf, the hole was evident. And when you pulled it open, you found wires inside the cut-out pages and a small camera tucked against the hole in the spine.

“That fucker didn’t even clean up after himself,” you spat, throwing the pseudo-book onto your mattress. Steve picked it up and checked it out before calling Peter.

“Hey, if I send you a camera, can you see if it’s being wirelessly streamed to a separate device?” Your head snapped back to Steve at those words. When did the old man become so well-versed with tech? The last you knew, he struggled to take an iPhone video. Just a few months ago, he asked what the difference was between a flash drive and a hard drive.

While Steve talked to Peter, you walked back to the kitchen to see if the other boys were all in place. You didn’t have the scopes and binoculars they did, but you could still take a guess at which building your stalker took the photos from.

There weren’t many buildings high and close enough for that kind of angle and clarity, but the one you eyed most was just a bit to your left and a couple stories above where your apartment sat in your building. It wouldn’t be cheap to get a place like that, which made you start to doubt Steve’s assumption.

As you stood in the floor-to-ceiling window frame of your kitchen, your flip phone started buzzing in your hand.

“Yeah?” you answered.

“Don’t say anything that might give us away, in case there’s a recording device in your apartment,” Tony said. “I’m in the building right across from you but the angle doesn’t feel right. I think your boy toy is in the right place.”

As if on cue, Steve stepped beside you and answered his phone.

“Hey, Buck.”

“Sounds like you’re right,” you said to your dad. “He just called Steve.”

“We’ll meet you in the parking garage.” With that, your line went dead.

“Okay, meet us downstairs,” Steve said before ending his own call. “Buck’s pretty sure he found the apartment the photos were taken from. Sent the address to Parker so we should get contact info soon.”

You just nodded and headed downstairs again. Things were finally starting to look up. You had two new leads on top of anything Peter, Pepper, and Happy had found and prayed they somehow linked back to Steve’s accused.

Unfortunately, your optimism was shattered when everyone met back up in the garage. Before anyone could say a word, your personal cell started ringing, but the caller ID was... Bucky.

No one said a word as you all met beside the Jeep and you showed everyone the “James 🐻” ringing on your screen, resulting in a lot of confused looks. Bucky pulled his phone out of his pocket and proved he wasn’t accidentally butt-dialing you, freezing your blood in your veins.

“They’re spoofing,” Tony concluded.

“Answer it,” Steve said.

“Put it on speaker,” Sam added quickly.

You nodded as you pressed “accept,” doing your best to keep your voice steady and unbothered.

“Hello?”

“You’ve really done it now, [Y/N].” The voice on the other end said slowly. They were clearly distorting the sound and you’d bet they couldn’t be traced. They’d never be that stupid. “Have your boyfriend search your name.”

You looked up at Bucky who was scrambling to search your name on his phone… and immediately paled. He almost looked like he had seen a ghost, though you’d argue what he actually saw was so much worse.

“They released the video.”

Your throat constricted as you tried to not literally throw up at those four words. And when Bucky shuffled beside you to show you the top results under your name, you weren’t sure how long you could hold it back. The first page of results was just news articles about your sex tape even though it had been released only 20 minutes ago. You snatched Bucky’s phone and clicked the link to the video and sure enough, it was you and Bucky. Two hours of you and Bucky.

“You son of a bitch,” you practically growled into the phone. “That wasn’t part of your fucking deal.”

“You took away my first bargaining chip so I played my second. And believe me, I’ve got plenty more videos. You two are quite the pair,” the unnaturally deep voice snarked. “But now you also know lives will be lost if you don’t listen. You now have three days or that man and his family die.”

The line cut out then, leaving everyone standing in stunned silence.

“I’ll get Pep on taking down the video,” Tony muttered before pulling his phone out to text Pepper. “We’ll have to swing by a couple banks and pull out the money.”

“Dad, I don’t want you to bail me out,” you practically whined.

“We don’t have any other option, [Y/N],” he snapped. “You don’t have to give a shit about him releasing sex tapes of you and the Vibranium Vibrator,” Bucky cringed at that nickname, “but I know you won’t let that other kid’s family die. We’ll keep trying to track them down, but we have to be prepared.”

You sighed. You knew he was right. If you ended up finding the culprit, if Steve was right, you could just put the money back. Plus, two million out of your father’s billions wasn’t enough to break him.

“Okay, fine. Let’s get ready,” you mumbled.

Steve interjected before anyone moved too far.

“I have a plan.”

[chocosvt]

just a couple updates!!

update one: inactivity :-(

last year, i kinda took an unplanned hiatus for like six months LOL. that wasn’t my intention! since i had moved into the city, i spent some time adjusting to the changes (i was just a simple country girl beforehand ;_;) n also there was a lot more to juggle just in terms of individual responsibility! sprinkle in some hefty uni homework and I FOLDED! my apologies!! if i sense another hiatus incoming then i will try to be more proactive so ppl don’t think i evaporated or smth.

update two: i’m still busy :-(

i’m attempting to figure out how to balance everything + writing!! it’s become so much harder for me to delegate time to write. i know that’s what most ppl follow me for AND SO MY DEAREST APOLOGIES! i haven’t been posting much of anything and that makes me ache but i gotta put myself first (self-care alert)

update three: ACTUAL GOOD NEWS

last may, i posted a preview to best friend’s brother 2.0. WELLL, LIKE 8-ISH MONTHS LATER, I FINISHED IT. pls keep in mind the word count jumped from gosh darn 13k (original ver) TO 37K. I AM SO SORRY. THAT’S WHY IT TOOK ME FOREVER AND EVER. now, i’m in the proofreading stage! there isn’t much i have to do, but i am considering some touch ups here n there.  

ALSO, I’M CONSIDERING A TAG LIST? so if you would like to added for when the fic drops, pls send me an ask or a dm or anything along those lines! 

(here’s a link to the preview)

again, sorry for the lack of clarity these days!! 

[lavandernova]

We’re all a little bit crazy (6)

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

therapsit! Izuku x Patient! Bakugou x Patient! Todoroki x Patient! Shinsou x Patient! Reader

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Chapter 6 trigger warnings- mentions of Tourette's (i don't think that’s an ACTUAL trigger but it couldn’t be hurt to mention) mentions of self harm (thinking they're indestructible.) And mentions of counting/taking pills + medications. 

I’m gonna need you guys to bare with me! I really don’t know what a mental hospital is like and so i tried my best with the information a friend gave me :) 

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5             «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

Walking through the dining hall, Izuku kept his head up and tried to remain tall and strong to the other patients when he heard a squeal and watched the tuff of h/c go up into the air. Immediately Izuku was on a high alert. As he sped up his pace the same as Bakugou, who immediately started yelling

“Gah dammit shitty hair! I don’t you to stay-”

The blonde's voice was easily cut off through the laughter of a red head, and another blonde. 

“Oh chill it Baku-” the blonde's head threw itself backwards as the end of his sentence  “gOU-” escaped his lips. The red head was immediately making sure he was okay, even with Y/N in his arms. Rubbing his neck and asking about cramps

Izuku smiled softly and watched them all interact, being able to tell that they were all best friends. He hummed as Y/N bounced her way over to him and hung on his arm with a smile “YOU CAME” they yelled in excitement making everyone smile softly. 

The red head was the first to make a move as he smiled to the greenette “Hey! I’m Ejirou Kirishima!” he smiled as he pounded his fist together mushing together already forming scars, and bruises against his knuckles. 

It caused Izuku to check out all of his other scars that littered his body, his hands and arms mostly, Y/N must’ve seen him looking Kirishima over and hummed softly whispering into his ear “he thinks he’s indestructible..” Izuku nodded in understanding

“I’m D-” his sentence once again was cut short by a scrunching of his shoulders and a yell of “ENK” before he returned to his previous stance and said “Denki Kaminari!” he smiled softly and waved. Izuku waved back, he decided he would look at their files later after he laid Y/N down for bed. 

“What’s dinner today?” Y/N looked to their friends as they ushered Izuku to the table that they sat at, the setting arrangement a little squishier than normal due to the extra body that was added, On one side Kirishima, Denki, and Shinsou sat together and on the other side sat Izuku, Y/N, Todoroki and Bakugou. 

Bakuou was the first to respond “they have beef stroganoff… and steamed carrots...” Y/N pouted and nodded “I’m not surprised Katsu..” 

The group let out a little disappointed groan collectively. The cafeteria wasn’t the MOST delightful place to have their dinner, but they didn’t have the choice, especially on beef stroganoff night. 

Izuku thought their food opinions were interesting as he let them all engage in conversation quietly observing each of them with a smile. They all looked so happy and content when they were together. 

Bakugou's attitude was calm, Shinsou was engaging in conversation. Shoto was speaking more than Izuku thought was possible for him, Denki’s tics, at least that’s what Izuku had deemed them to be, had calmed down and Kirishima wasn’t hitting anything at all. 

Each of them were so content with each other, he wondered why they were kept apart. Y/N finished her food and each of the boys told her that they were proud of her. Which made bright blushes rise across her whole body with a smile. 

Eventually their dishes were taken from them and they were all sent down to the nurses station for their nightly meds before they would be sent upstairs for the night, Izuku followed after the group seeing as they were ready for the nightly meds.

Checking the time and seeing it was 9:00 pm on the dot, he waited patiently for them to receive their meds and come back. He quietly heard the mutter from Y/N as they counted which meds were there, “..seroquel and gabitril.. For sleep.. And Abilify for depression.`` They took their meds and smiled at Izuku, motioning him to follow them as they bounded up the stairs.

Izuku hummed softly following them back up the stairs placing his clipboard on a bedside table as he watched them get ready for bed as he smiled softly, when Y/N finally laid down humming into their mountain of pillows, all doctors approved.

“Good night… thank you for hanging out with me..” Izuku smiled as your voice echoed quietly in the small room causing his heart to flutter with how soft and sleepy you sounded. 

“Of course. I hope you sleep well Y/N” he hummed softly as he exited the room hearing your snores. Shortly after his words slipped past his lips, he exited and saw all the other boys' doors were closed. Figuring they were asleep too. He headed down to the staff room to put away his clipboard when he remembered that he wanted to check on Kirishima’s and Kaminaris files. 

He slowly searched through the last names, conveniently the two names were placed right together making sure that he wouldn’t forget about the other. With a soft hum he pulled out Kirishima’s file first. 

   F I L E   26

(Patient Name) Ejirou Kirishima  (Patient #785)

 (Date admitted) 10-25-2015

 (Patient age) 22

 (Patient disorder) Psychosis, Congenital insensitivity to pain. 

(History/cause)  Patient has seemed to believe that he is indestructible. He walks into walls and punches glass things, often resulting in scars and bleeding around his body, his mother has stated that he’s done this since he was little but always assumed he would grow out of it. He never did.

(Has patient...)

-attempted suicide? 

-attempted homicide?

-attempted any act of self-harm? 

-attempted violence on past employees?

-attempted escape?

 (Other). He’s very affectionate to those around him but often tries to prove his manliness to those around him. He always smashes his fists together declaring the manliness/womanlyness of those around him. 

(Danger level) 7/10

Izuku let out a breath as he quietly looked at the file over one more time before placing it back. He felt sorry for the red head but it explained the scar littered on his body. It also explained why he was calling everything manly.

 F I L E   27

(Patient Name) Denki Kaminari  (Patient #786)

 (Date admitted) 4-20-12

 (Patient age) 21

 (Patient disorder) Tourette Syndrome, depression, anxiety

(History/cause)  Patient was diagnosed with Tourettes around 6 years old, but his parents have said he’s always displayed symptoms of it even from toddler age. He stuck his finger in an electrical socket when he was 7 and it caused the scars going up his arms. 

(Has patient...)

-attempted suicide? 

-attempted homicide?

-attempted any act of self-harm? 

-attempted violence on past employees?

-attempted escape?

 (Other). He’s very cheeking, loves telling jokes and is relativity an easy going guy, he rarely has attacks but when he does i advise all employees to watch out because he gets urges to touch electricity, and mess with electrical setups 

(Danger level) 5/10

Izuku carefully placed the file back into the cabinet as he let out a breath. No wonder they all saw something in each other. They all had such similar stories, even if they weren’t exactly the same they all found solace in each other.

Y/N was missing a mother, father and brother figure in her life, which is why she pursued a relationship with Todoroki, Bakugou and Kirishima. Who all gave off the vibes that the poor younger needed to thrive. 

Todoroki was missing his sister and brother, which is why he connected so well with Denki and Y/N, they both held similar qualities to the two he had lost.. 

 Bakugou needed stable, but fun people to help him realize what a calm world this really was.. And that’s why he bonded with Todoroki, Shinsou. Kirishima, Denki and Y/N. They were all as equally calm as they were cheeky, meaning they could help Bakugou with whatever problem was needed. 

Shinsou was missing his parents and his little baby sister, so while he still had the parents to bond with during visiting hours. He treated each of these people as if they were a little sibling to him.

Kaminari finally felt accepted because none of them batted an eye when his tics happened, and it made him feel like he finally had a family, and he was finally happy.. 

Kirishima felt protected. While he enjoyed feeling power and being manly.. Sometimes it was nice to feel protected. None of them ever questioned how manly he was.. So he felt at peace 

Nothing could separate them. Nothing at all, Izuku was sure of it. He placed everything back before he finally headed back up to his own room. Finishing his nightly routine as he thought of the group he’d met today as he started falling into dream land. «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────» @buckyneedsplums @lazywriterfullofideas09 @notchittatenn @psycho-101  @toodarktoseethelight @unlogical-ella  if you’re crossed out that’s because it wouldn’t let me tag you :( «────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

a/n: HI GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM THE DEAD!! In a moment of clarity i finally decided to work on this chapter. It’s been hard for me but you know i finally did it! Like i stated earlier I've never been to a mental hospital so i don’t know what it’s like in there. I tried my best using the information  friend had given me. Thank you guys for sticking with the story for as long as you have! 

[babyboywilson]

Tinsel and Tourists - Chapter Fourteen

Word Count: 1,383 (chapter continued under the Read More)

Dean’s POV

Link to ao3 / Link to masterpost

As soon as the words were in the air, Dean realized he’d truly said them out loud. That it wasn’t just a mantra floating around in his head anymore. He’d said it; put the words out there between them. And God, he meant it. Cas was literally devastatingly gorgeous. Every time Cas was around him, he found himself speechless and breathless.

And here Cas was, completely oblivious to how stunning he was. As if he had no idea how just his presence alone had Dean’s heart racing in his chest. Cas had gone and turned everything on its head. For the first time, Dean didn’t just want a hot and heavy hook-up that burned bright for one night. He yearned for Cas so strongly it actually ached in his chest. It wasn’t just that Cas was handsome, because God he was, but that everything about him radiated this pure beauty that had Dean desperate for more.

Looking up, Dean caught Cas’ expression as the words he’d said hovered in the air between them. If anything, Cas looked stunned. As if no one had ever told him before. And shit, maybe no one had. Oh God. Did he really not know?

“Cas-” Dean started to say.

But he was cut off when Cas lurched forward and crashed their lips together. Dean scrambled, one hand latching onto the handrail to keep them upright while the other moved from Cas’ jaw to the back of his neck. Cas kissed him eagerly, and Dean all but melted into the kiss; humming in the back of his throat as Cas’ tongue darted out across his lower lip before he pulled away. Then, as if he were unsatisfied, Cas leaned back in and placed one, two, three more pecks against Dean’s mouth before tipping their foreheads together.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath, fingers tangling into the hairs at the nape of Cas’ neck. “What was that for?” Dean finally managed to ask when he found the ability to speak again.

Cas shook his head, rubbing his forehead against Dean’s with the movement. “Nothing. I just- you’re utterly- you take my breath away, Dean.”

Dean didn’t blush often, but he felt his cheeks heat up and he moved to shift his head into the crook of Cas’ shoulder to hide the flush in his cheeks. They remained that way for a few blissful seconds, with Cas’ arms looped around his waist, before Dean asked, “Are you going to teach me to skate like that?”

Cas shifted back slightly, tilting his head innocently as he looked at Dean. “Like what?”

God, Dean had never met someone so humble in his entire life. “You’re- I don’t know, you looked magical. As if you were one with the ice.”

Cas shrugged, ducking his head again. “I’m not that good,” he mumbled, before darting his gaze back up to Dean. “But yeah, I’ll teach you.”

With a pained look as if he hated to break the contact, Cas pulled away slightly until he was leaning against Dean’s side. “Alright, we’re gonna start slow. Just a couple steps forward, without massively picking your feet up off the ice. Knees bent a little, and lean in towards the inner part of the blade. Push off more with the tip of your right foot, and let yourself glide on your left before switching. Does that make sense?” Cas explained.

Dean ran through the logistics in his head, before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I think so.” Carefully, Dean shifted his weight off of the handrail into Cas. “If I fall-”

“You won’t,” Cas reassured, voice soft and sweet. “If, for some reason, you do fall, you’ll be taking me down with you.”

“That’s not reassuring,” Dean muttered, yet his brain latched onto the words and he felt his stomach flip-flop. Because while maybe the idea of falling onto the ice wasn’t very alluring, Dean realized with startling clarity he might just be falling for Cas. And the implication he’d be taking Cas down with him was both reassuring and terrifying.

Shaking the thoughts from his head to dwell on them later, Dean followed Cas’ instructions of bending his knees a little and pushing off with the inside tip of his right skate. He glided a couple of feet before wobbling on the ice.

Cas’ hand held tightly to his arm, steadying him. Instinctively, Dean gripped hold of Cas’ arm for support, and when he glanced over, Cas was blushing again.

“See, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” Cas said, looking over at Dean and chewing on his lower lip.

“No, not too bad,” Dean responded with a smile.

“Alright, let’s try gliding like that again. Except this time instead of stopping, transition into pushing off with your left skate after you bring your feet back together to keep the momentum going,” Cas instructed.

For the next fifteen minutes, they slowly made their way around the rink, sticking to the handrail as Cas coached Dean how to move further and further each time.

By the third circuit around, Cas patted Dean on the arm. “I think you’ve got the hang of it. You don’t need me anymore.”

Those words sent a sharp bolt of panic down Dean’s spine, and he could barely process the feeling before Cas was letting go and skating a few feet away.

“No!” Dean said quickly, reaching out for Cas; instantly missing the warmth and comfort of Cas’ presence plastered to his side. When he realized Cas was a little too far out of reach, he grabbed hold of the handrail again as he felt himself wobble.

“Dean, it’s okay. I haven’t gone anywhere. I just want you to skate to me,” Cas encouraged.

“What? And leave the handrail? No, I don’t think so,” Dean said, shaking his head firmly. What the hell was Cas thinking? Without his support, the second Dean let go of the handrail he was going to fall flat on his ass.

“You’re doing much better than you think you are, Dean. I’m just a few feet away. Just push off the handrail and glide. You don’t even need to switch from one foot to another. Just a simple glide,” Cas said, a humorous smile gracing his lips.

“I hate you. You’re lucky you’re hot, Cas,” Dean muttered, looking down at the ice and measuring the distance between them with a careful eye.

“You think I’m hot, huh?” Cas asked, smile morphing into a smirk.

“Shut up.”

Cas hummed, motioning for Dean to come to him. “How about a little incentive? Come here, and I’ll kiss you.”

Damn. That actually was a good incentive. Dean had to admit to himself that on their last circuit around the rink, he’d found himself staring more and more frequently at Cas’ lips’, wondering if he could get away with stealing another kiss from Cas.

“You’ll kiss me if I skate out to you?” Dean asked again, partly to reaffirm he’d get kissed again and partly to see Cas’ flush.

Cas nodded, tongue flicking out across his lower lip as his cheeks tinged red. “No need for mistletoe. But you gotta come to me. So it depends on how much you want me to kiss you?” Cas said, and Dean caught the hint of doubt in the question, as if Cas wasn’t sure Dean wanted it.

Well crap. Now he had to skate out to Cas, because he absolutely and utterly wanted Cas to kiss him. “Alright, fine. But only because I happen to like kissing you,” Dean huffed.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed himself off of the handrail and felt himself gliding across the ice towards Cas.

But there was a problem. Cas hadn’t taught him how to stop. And the realization seemed to cross Cas’ expression at the same time the thought flickered through Dean’s head.

Cas put his hands out to try and grab him, but he’d stupidly pushed off the handrail with more force than necessary.

He barrelled into Cas’ arms with enough force that they both wobbled precariously for half a second. It all happened so fast. One second Cas’ hands were on him, trying to slow him down, and the next they were in a heap on the ice; falling with a hard thunk onto the cold ground.

Tag List Part 1 Below- (please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed from the list!)

Tag List: @cas-deserved-so-much-more @hello-x-sunshine​ @bibelphegor​ @likepurplemuses​ @expectingtofly​ @neo-neo-neo​ @shadowywerewolfqueen​ @a-sweet-indisposition​ @feraladoration​ @xojo​

@oganizediguana​ @paintdriesfaster​ @adsp-destielcockles​ @destielangst​ @im-your-huckle-berry @justa-crayon​ @dea-stiel​ @superduckbatrebel​ @destielfactory​ @miluiel-erynion​

@y-yo-a-ti-cas67 @cockleslovesdestiel​ @toxic-nebula​ @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover @enchantinghairdoherringwombat​ @proudace​ @galaxymysteryelephant​ @aelysianmuse​ @ramennoodles-dean-cas @you-changedmedean

@gmos-winter-wonderland @deansotherotherblog​ @trekkie24 @geo-val​ @dizzypinwheel​ @hermionevaldez9​ @gimmeprozac @iamsherlockedondoctorwho​ @dickspeightjrs​ @imbiowaresbitch​

@destielle​ @hopefuldreamers-world​ @organicpurplepants​ @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you​ @shut-up-dean​ @sapphirecobalt-1​ @eshaninjer​ @spnobsessed50​ @mishka​ @holygoddessofvictory​​

@jayus-fandom-writer​​ @2musiclover2​​ @rainbowscas @bennedict​ @cassiecasyl​ @jensenacklesruinedmylife​ @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner​ @chaoticdean​ @destiel-trash-asf​ @tlakhtwritesdestiel​

@bri-winchester​ @50shadesofcockles @trasherasswood​ @spittingpagan @castielstolemyheart @becky-srs @phoenix13 @jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets @deancasology @top13zepptraxx

@love-neve-dies @good-things-do-happen-dean @tearsofgrace @thedirtytrenchcoat @a-porno-with-the-russian-mafia @on-a-bender @moi-the-bard @one-more-offbeat-anthem @naturallyathief @queen-rowenas

[dirt-cup-draco]

Twins x Friend!Reader- Two Stars and The Sky

Hello!! Could u do stargazing with the twins? Just pure fluff. One where they sneak out of their own bday party with y/n and stargaze with them? Thank you

There was no doubt in your mind that Katie Bell could throw a party. Streamers were everywhere, the iconic red and gold of your best friends’ house were present but so were oranges and yellows, and you even think you saw a corner full of pink. You giggled as you watched Lee poke a balloon until it popped, the inebriated boy falling from the couch he was standing on with the shock of his toy self destructing before his eyes. 

Fred helped him up with a dazzling grin and a “Watch yourself mate, next time you topple over like that you might turn my birthday into your deathday,” 

You let their conversation bleed into the background noise of all the cheerful fifth years who were dancing about and mingling. You sipped at your drink and wrinkled your nose at it. You hadn’t even finished your first cup of firewhisky and you doubted you would. 

Drinking was a part of every party in Gryffindor, and you didn’t mind the way it made you feel warm, didn’t hate the way it made your shoulders sag in relaxation. But you absolutely detested the taste. It was worse than drinking any potion Madam Pomfrey shoved down your throat after a nasty fall during a quidditch game or a prank gone terribly wrong. 

“Not enjoying yourself?” Angie teased as you scowled into your cup. 

“This is amazing, Katie should be proud of herself,” You said instead, handing her your half filled drink which she happily took and knocked back. Angelina beamed at you, her eyes sparkling and bright. No one loved a party like she did. 

“She’d be proud if she wasn’t already asleep with her head in the toilet,” 

“No! Is she really?” You giggled, going to follow Angie and see for yourself the state your friend was in but two sets of hands grabbed one arm each and you were pulled back. 

“Sorry Ang-” Fred apologized. 

“We need to borrow her,” George explained. 

Angelina just rolled her eyes as the corner of her lips tugged up, grabbing Lee by the arm to show him Katie and maybe get some help in dragging her up to her dorm room. 

“Where are we headed?” You whispered as you ducked your head through the hole in the wall, the Fat Lady muttering sleepy protests and you apologized gently to her- knowing it was well past midnight. 

“Outside-” 

“-want some air,” 

You tsked at them but linked your arms with theirs as George took the lead in your chain, moving you all towards the passage that would lead you out of the castle and near the black lake. “Leaving your own party boys? For shame,” You teased a bit louder as you took the last few steps from the cold stone passage and into the chill night air. 

Fred just shrugged but grinned, plopping down into the dewed grass, a content smile on his face and a flush to his cheeks from a long night of drinking, smiling, and laughing with his friends and much of the gryffindors in your year. 

“Just want to spend some time with our favorite person,” George answered more honestly, squeezing your hand and tugging you down into the grass too so you were shoulder to shoulder between each boy, hands linked. Fred was soon to follow in interlacing his fingers with yours.

You found in the passing years that the twins were affectionate with everyone, they loved being near the ones they loved and you found it only more endearing as time went on. You also discovered that when they found something they truly liked, or someone in your case, you couldn’t be separated from them. 

Lee had started the joke that you were their triplet and sitting there with them in the grass, stars twinkling above you, you thought he might be right. You were closer to them than you’d ever intended to be but you were immensely grateful for the boys. You were a found family even if you weren’t connected by blood. 

“Penny for ‘em?” George asked, nudging his thigh against yours and it was only then you realized your skin had become ice and you had been outside, eyes glued to the stars, for much longer than you thought. 

A misconception that many had of Fred and George was that they always had to be speaking, moving, clowning around. You got to see them in quiet moments that they used to only share with each other. Another misconception that had begun to circulate was that you were romantically involved with one or both (depending on which gossip you asked) of the twins. 

However, you felt nothing but kinship and contentment as you sat between them. They were your dearest friends, not to discount the great love you felt for Katie, Angelina, and Lee. Growing up with your friends just meant that you were most often together rather than apart and it was something you never wanted to end and no romantic relationship could compare in your eyes, if anything you felt as if a romantic relationship with anyone in your friend group would dampen what you had now and you were more than content to stargaze with the twins and feel the familial and familiar weight of their hands in yours. 

“Just happy I’ve got you two in my life,” You smiled at each twin, taking note of your favorite freckle on George’s nose and the funny cowlick that made Fred’s hair stick up in an odd spot on his head. “The universe planned you two very carefully I think, and no matter what anyone says you are both perfect to me and I couldn’t ask for better friends,” 

“Can I have my penny back?” 

“A little sappy Y/N, I feel I need to wash my hands now lest I feel sticky later,” 

“Oh bugger off,” You snorted, trying to sit up in retaliation, as if you would actually leave, before Fred was pulling you back down and pressing a caring kiss to your temple. 

“Nobody could be as perfect as us, but you come pretty close I suppose,” George played and Fred looked mock-thoughtful. 

“If we are the stars, you’d be the sky that makes us shine brighter,” Fred tried to tease but as the words fell from his lips he realized with stark clarity that it was true and he felt his chest swell with appreciation for you. 

George seemed to agree, swallowing a lump in his throat and tearing his eyes away from you. You were sat comfortably in the grass, hands now cold with the lack of shared heat but now folded over your stomach. You looked completely at peace and George was glad to see it. He never wanted he or his brother to drive you away. 

“You two do that all on your own, now settle down and watch the stars with me,” You commanded with a bright smile that rivaled the gleaming full moon in radiance. 

With an in sync, “Yes ma’am,” The boys were back to laying beside you, all three of you watching the stars blink against the inky veil of night that was slowly growing lighter as the time passed you by. 

The three of you didn’t leave until the sun made her presence known, a sliver of gold on the horizon. 

Tag List: @stuckysdaughter​ @thehumanistsdiary​  **I’m sorry I’ve forgotten all that were previously on my tag list, if you wish to be added/taken off just send me a dm and I’ll get that fixed!**

[roqueamadi]

Planning for a LotR Regency AU (Boromir/OFC)

I'm not going to tag this because it's going to make me look completely insane, but I thought @scyllas-revenge and @trenko-heart you guys might be interested... I have spent way too much time on this (ngl it was fun though xD )

The challenge: How to convert the LotR characters into Jane Austen-style regency characters? I've watched the entire Ellie Dashwood YouTube series to try to ensure I correctly understand how titles and lineages work. Here were my problems and the ways I've decided to tackle them as I plan this fic - some of this may change once I actually start writing, but this is my thought process!

Problem 1: In the regency, people (ie peers/gentry) didn't refer to others by their first names. I had to choose between either: ignoring this historical fact and letting my characters use other characters' first names; making their 'known names' into their titles (eg Lord Boromir is the 'Duke of Boromir'); or, assigning them surnames and having characters refer to each other by names unfamiliar to readers.

I decided to go with the last option which is more historically accurate, principally because if I tried the second option, I would still run into trouble with siblings and parent-children relationships (Faramir is the brother of the Duke of Boromir?? No) - therefore, I'll need to accept that it might be hard for readers to follow who is who in this fic, at first. Eg (as explained below) most other characters will call Boromir 'Lord Ithilien', 'the Lord of Ithilien' or 'Coloniel Hurin'. And to be honest, now that I've stared at this for a few hours I'm actually starting to not mind it that much. I also think it feels more 'Jane Austen-y' for characters to have lots of confusing titles :p However, I think I'll at least let my protagonist 'think of people' by their first names in the narrative, which will assist with clarity.

Problem 2: Most of the characters don't have last names.

Problem 1 leads to this. My answer: I made them up. I tried to pick names from their lineage or alternative names that sounded right. For Denethor's line, I picked 'Hurin'; Aragorn's = 'Telcontar'; Elrond's = 'Peredhel'; Theoden's = 'Eorl' and Eomer+Eowyn's = 'Steelsheen'. I also gave Sauron a first name ('Mairon') and picked a random surname for my protag Cin ('Eradan').

Problem 3: It's extremely unlikely a Steward would be ruling in place of a King.

The more likely scenario (as seen in the regency period itself) is that a Prince Regent rules in place of a King because of illness, absence or minority. I decided to go with the latter - so my idea is that Aragorn's parents died when he was not yet of age and so a Prince Regent took over. This would most likely be his closest living relative - so I decided to make Denethor related to him (I've ended up making Denethor Aragorn's first cousin once removed - any closer and Aragorn would share a surname with Boromir and Faramir, which I didn't want).

Problem 4: Leading on from problem 3... I don't want Boromir to be too closely related to my protag Cin (for obvious reasons!)

I was originally going to make her Aragorn's younger sister, but that would make her and Boromir second cousins. That's a bit too close! So I made her Aragorn's first cousin on his mother's side - so Cin and Boromir are both cousins to Aragorn but have no blood connection to each other. Whew!

Problem 5: I wanted to somehow convert the main conflict of Sauron versus the West into the 'Jane Austen' realm - ie the 'battles' occur mostly during conversations.

I decided to include a plot point like this: Denethor has done something to disgrace himself and get kicked out of the role of Prince Regent (this feeds into Boromir's feelings of inadequacy regarding his line). The next closest relative steps into the role - Sauron! Oh no! This will be the main world conflict of the fic and is the prompt for Aragorn, who is now of age, to return and take up his role, and save his people from the ravages of this unqualified leader. I squeezed Sauron into the family tree as Aragorn's first cousin twice removed.

Problem 6: But, I still want some battles, if not 'on screen' then at least referenced.

This is straight from Sharpe, but my idea is that there is a war going on and many peers' sons have commissions in the Army. Boromir is a Colonel (the highest rank you could purchase), Faramir is a Major (because there's no way in hell Denethor would fork out for a higher rank than that), Theodred was also a Major before he died, Eomer and Legolas are both Captains. And they all go off to fight together, mainly so that Boromir can get injured and give us the opportunity for some h/c xD

Problem 7: So, what happened to Aragorn (and Cin) after his parents died, then? How come Sauron is able to step in and take over?

Sticking reasonably closely to the canon storyline, I decided to make it that Elrond (ALSO a distant relation of Aragorn - second cousin once removed, making Arwen Aragorn's third cousin, which is far enough removed to be okay, I think) stepped in to take care of Aragorn. My idea is that his parents were killed in the same 'accident' as Cin's, so Elrond takes both in as wards. He hides them from society in order to protect them both.

Problem 8: If Aragorn is the Prince, Denethor must be a sufficiently senior peer in order to hold the Prince Regent position (for a time, at least) - even though in Jane Austen most characters are not this senior in rank.

I mean, there's Lady Catherine de Bourgh and a few other mentions of Knights and Earls, etc. But I'm okay with adding peerage titles into this fic because it's fun and I think it fits - the various families must be sufficiently senior otherwise it's not realistic that they're all hanging out together. So I've made Denethor a Duke, which is the most senior rank in the peerage without being actually royal (I went with 'Duke of Osgiliath'). Dukes normally have secondary titles which they lend to their son and heir, so for Boromir I picked 'Earl of Ithilien' (as I mentioned above). I made Elrond a Marquess, and his heir Elladan a Baron, and I made Theoden a Viscount. So all those characters get to be referred to by weird titles!

So, this is becoming a crazy long post, but here's the result of my work:

I think this is going to be too small to see in one image, so I've broken it down. Here is the key and a helpful 'cousin chart', because this gets complex:

And here are the segments.

Here is the line of kings, including Aragorn and Cin (my protag) plus Sauron:

Here is Denethor's line, with our main love interest:

Here is Elrond's line - things are getting a bit awkward for anyone who really deeply knows the canon family trees, but I'm saying that Dior was the younger brother of Argonui (who was Aragorn's great grandfather):

And finally, here is Theoden's line, separate from the rest at the start of the fic, but obviously they ultimately join up in two places (Eowyn = Faramir and later Eomer = Lothiriel:

So that's it. Let me know what you think guys, I had fun thinking through all this. Now I just need to actually write it :p

[cupcakemolotov]

Our Bones are Iron

Synopsis: When Mikael starts a war with the Throne over his wife's execution, Caroline's world is thrown into chaos. Two years later, and she finds herself facing her ex-betrothed from opposite sides of the war. Klaus has defeated her father for the King, and now she must find a way to strike a deal with him to save the people her father nearly destroyed to aid Mikael's rage.

Tags: Alternate Universe × Alternate; Universe - Fantasy; Alternate Universe - Magic; Knight!Klaus; Lady!Caroline; Broken Engagement; Family Drama; Dark Magic; Magic; Light Angst; Angst and Feels; Implied/Referenced Torture; Aftermath of Torture; all non con elements are not the main characters and referenced only; Esther is not a nice person in this fic; magical rituals gone bad; Post-War

I wrote this after being inspired so, so long ago by this post. If you would prefer you can read it here on A03.

                                                             -

It  was the clink of armor that left her heart in her throat. Caroline’s fingers tightened on the satchel she carried with her, and she forced herself to breathe. Six steps below, and she could see the light flickering from the soft mage lights and the movement of a shadow just visible beneath the heavy wood. For a single moment, she allowed herself the fantasy of fleeing back up the darkening staircase to the safety of her room but  she was no longer a child. At twenty-four years of age, she should have already been wed and looking after a home of her own, but the Civil War had put many dreams on hold. They had been boxed up and tossed as easily aside as a servant cleaning a room. 

But now the war was over and her family had lost. 

By every tradition, it should have been her mother walking these steps. But Elizabeth Forbes had retired hours before the army had arrived on their doorstep, and she had made no move to rise once it had become clear that they would be occupied for the evening. Caroline had long since learned that no amount of pleading would stir her mother once she’d taken to her room. She tried not to resent her for it. Something had broken in her mother when her father had turned his back on the kingdom, and no amount of wishing or magic could fix it. But tonight, it would have been the worst of slights to leave this Knight to his own bath. And rudeness wasn’t something she could afford. Not when the lives of everyone in her household depended on her. And they would continue to depend on her as they walked the tightrope her father had left them on. 

Caroline had little hope that they would be rid of the Knight and his men anytime soon, and it’d been made abundantly clear that they were being evaluated for weaknesses. Her father’s surviving Senschels had been requested for dinner that night, and the exquisitely polite note sent along requesting that the household to keep to their rooms had been a request she’d been more than willing to keep. 

Except for this one thing.

Her fingers shook, and she closed her eyes, forcing herself to take a slow breath. Caroline had known this was coming the moment she’d seen the banner cross the ridge. She’d been tending her mother when word of the soldier’s approach had reached them, and she’d paced at the window waiting for the first glimpse of who approached. Somehow, she’d known what she would see before the first banner had crept over the ridge. The Black Knight’s banner had been easily recognizable as the crossed the ridge, and unavoidable proof of who had won. The King’s grasp had held firm, and they were now on their own. No remaining allies would offer them aid as long as this Knight occupied their castle. 

It had taken most of the day, the long arm of evening shadowing the courtyard before they’d reached the gates. Caroline had already given the order that they would offer no resistance. The remaining lives of the young boys and elderly left behind would not be sacrificed on the ashes of her father’s arrogance. 

Now she just had to ensure their futures.

In that one regard, Caroline knew she was the better advocate for her people than her mother. With her father gone for the last two years, the duty of caring for her people had fallen to her. She knew the lands, the people, their lives. Tonight, alone with their conqueror, it was her duty to advocate for those who remained. 

And she would. 

Caroline just... needed a moment. 

Her nails dug tightly into her palm and she struggled to find the composure that had been missing since she’d seen the first clear view of his banner. It had been two years since she had last seen Lord Niklaus Mikaelson, and nearly as long since he had broken their bethroment. All her life, she’d grown up under the weight of that marriage. Klaus had been the third son of William’s closest friend, and he and Mikael had looked forward to combining their bloodlines. 

Klaus had still been mostly a boy then.

Freshly knighted with long bones and a face he hadn’t yet grown into. But even then, only a fool had ignored the raw violence of his magic, the way he seemed to hunger for the world. Once, she would have called him something like her friend. Their relationship had always been a bit contentious, the families expectations an unrelenting pressure between them, but she’d found herself learning to trust him. He was rough around the edges, darkly cynical and had a temper that was so very easily pricked but he’d never deliberately hurt her. In a world where she was her father’s daughter first, his betrothed second and Caroline third, she’d always appreciated that. Quietly, in the secret corners of her heart, she’d let herself like him. 

Then a year to nearly the day before their marriage, on her twentieth birthday, everything had gone to hell. Esther had been executed by the Crown for magical treason, and Elijah and Klaus had denounced their parentage, taking their younger siblings with them. Her father had taken her silence as he’d announced the end of her bethrothment as agreement, but it had been shock that held her tongue. In the span of three days, all her expectations, all of her plans, had been upended violently and she’d been left clutching bloody shards of a life where she couldn’t find her footing. 

But the worst had been yet to come. 

Her  family had been banished to their country estates in sudden disfavor from the crown when her father chose to side with Mikael and all his rage, and nearly all Caroline’s court friends and acquaintances dried up like a spring stream. Her mother had disappeared to her bedroom, her father fell into drink, and she’d been left trying to hold together their estate and people with a grim determination. For weeks, she waited for Klaus to send her word. Something. Anything that could explain why he hadn’t warned her of his plans, given her time to shore up her defenses before he’d abandoned her. 

It’d been a bitter, angry pill to swallow when he sent nothing. 

Two years later, her father and Mikael had instigated a Civil War that had split the kingdom nearly in half. And now her father was likely dead, killed by the man he’d once viewed as the future of his family. By right of conquest, everything her family had owned for generations, everything she had worked so hard to preserve now belonged to Klaus. 

Caroline let out another shaky breath, sudden exhaustion leaving her winded. She couldn’t afford to let it show. Tonight was her only real chance of finding mercy for those who had been left behind by her father’s armies. She couldn’t let the memories of the boy he’d once been interfere with her negotiations with the man Klaus had become.  Becoming a Knight, earning the Black Banner for his own? It was proof that Klaus had grown into his strength, that he was considered worthy by the King. No easy feat, when his parents were both traitors to the crown. 

And now he was here. 

She didn’t know how she wanted to feel. 

Sometimes, in the dark of her chambers, she’d let herself wonder if things had been just a little different between what might have gone differently. What would her life have been like? Would she have been brave enough to make a similar decision if she’d seen what her father had become before it was too late? Did it matter? In the end, those were nothing but foolish, girlish thoughts. She would never abandon her mother or her people to her father’s capricious whims and Mikael’s unquenchable thirst for vengeance. 

And so while the heart that Klaus had bruised had healed, it hadn’t forgotten. 

And knowing that if she stepped through those doors and she’d see him for the first time in years, that she would be close enough to touch him, left her breathless. And she couldn’t afford that kind of weakness. Klaus who might have been hers once was gone. Lord Klaus Mikaelson thought her the enemy. Squeezing her trembling hands tightly together, Caroline took another bracing breath and squared her shoulders. Avoiding Klaus any longer wouldn’t give her any more clarity of thought than hours of waiting hadn’t already wrought. Jaw set, she set her palm flat on the bath door and pushed it open. 

It was a little like stepping into a different world, and she could almost taste the magic that layered the walls and windows, an unsubtle reminder that he was now the power here. For a moment the humidity from the steam made it difficult to adjust to the low lights, and she let the door shut quietly behind her. Klaus stood with his back to her, gaze directed through the windows that were kept were usually cracked open to let out the worst of the steam, but he had left closed. She didn’t know how he stood the heat in the heavy armor he wore.  

Still, he said nothing, and so she took the time to study him. To absorb the changes time had wrought in an attempt to shore her heart against them. The lanky youth she’d known was gone, and the man was built on lean but powerful lines. The armor added a layer of bulk, but it was clear that there was solid muscle beneath it. The short curls were familiar, for all that the steam had turned them riotous. 

Finally he made a soft sound, nearly a sigh, and turned. His gaze locked on hers immediately and the hard line of his jaw softened as he was clearly caught off guard by her presence. For a long moment they simply stared at each other, and Caroline tasted blood as she struggled to contain her reaction to the impact of him. 

“Caroline,” he said finally, slowly. He drew out the consonants and vowels of her name as if he was remembering how to say them. “I expected your mother.”

Caroline dipped in a quick curtsy, refusing to allow his casual use of her name rattle her even though it had. The flush on her cheeks could easily be mistaken for the heat. For a heartbeat, she allowed herself to wonder what he could possibly have wished to speak to her mother about that required this level of spell work to maintain their privacy. She supposed she’d find out, and dread filled her stomach. “My Lady Mother is unwell, Lord Mikaelson.”

Something hard flickered through his gaze, the fullness of his mouth tightening. “I am sorry to hear that.”

She sincerely doubted that. But there was something about the way he stood, the slightest hint of his magic between them that warned her to be cautious. Lifting her chin, she nodded. “Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards before his eyes skimmed down her body, and it took teeth gritting composure to keep from reacting to the edge in his gaze when it returned to hers. “You’ve lost weight.”

The familiarity of his words had her spine stiffening. “I cannot imagine that is any of your concern.”

An arch of his brow, something undeniably arrogant behind his gaze. “No?”

Caroline lifted her chin. She would not let him make this personal. “No.”

Klaus studied her face. “You’ll find that there are very few things that are not of my concern, Caroline. Particularly now.”

His refusal to use her surname and title left her stomach churning, but to give an inch now would mean being at a disadvantage later. Her people couldn’t afford her to be weak, no matter her tangled feelings. Tongue sliding briefly between her teeth, she took a deep breath. This particular conversation would get them nowhere. “Should I take your words to mean my father is no longer alive?”

Something jumped at the base of his jaw, a muscle pulled too tight. “Your father chose death over a trial. I am sorry for that, Caroline.”

Something inside her chest cracked open at the acknowledgement, and her next inhale was shaky. It shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, the acknowledgement of her father’s fate when she’d already known the likelihood of it. Her father had never intended anything but victory, had allowed no plan for failure to be brought to his attention. A more charitable person would perhaps attribute such a decision to choose death as not wanting to drag his family though the pain and horror such a trial would bring, but Caroline knew better. Her father had finally seen the consequences of his actions before him and chosen to abandon his family to their fates, again. 

And it hurt. 

Her father had done so many terrible things in the name of friendship, had allowed Mikael’s rage to feed his own, but once he’d been a father who had cared for his daughter and people, a man who had honored his wife. But that pain, that mourning for the man he’d once been, that was a private grief and she would not let Klaus see it. Setting her teeth, Caroline clawed her emotions into place, and when she spoke, her voice only shook a little. 

“You cannot be comfortable in that armor in this steam.” She motioned for him to turn. She would do her duty. When she had nothing else, there was always duty. 

Caroline did not expect him to catch her hand, palms and fingers warm and calloused against her skin. Her gaze snapped to his and he studied her with a familiar intensity that left her mouth dry. “It is your mother who should be here, now, Caroline. There are a number of things she and I need to discuss. Why did she send you?”

“As I have told you, she is not well.” She repeated, voice sounding hard and flat to her own ears. He sighed, mouth tightening as he looked at the door behind her, and then those blue eyes touched with gold returned to hers and nothing there was comforting in the depths. Iron and fire, a hint of the power that clung to him like a shield. A sort of resolution that left her shoulder tight with strain.

Klaus had always been powerful, but she had never feared that power. Even then, with the weight of it sitting behind his eyes like judgement, the strength of it tangible between them, it did not frighten her. It should have. He had never hidden what he was and how terrible he could become, though as a girl she’d foolishly thought he’d never have cause to use such strength against her family. How wrong she had been. 

When he spoke, his words were measured, pulled taut by an emotion she could not name.

“Yes, I imagine she is. Defying a geas is never easy, but she has done it before and as all of the holders are now dead, it should be gone.” His words pounded in her ears like blows, and she stared at him, not comprehending his words. “She should have found the strength to finish what she started, not offer her daughter as a sacrificial lamb.”

She jerked against his grip, shock replacing the hard knot of grief. “Do you jest?” she rasped, shaking her head. “That is impossible. My mother could not…”  Her words died as he continued to watch her, expression unyielding. “A geas is blood magic.”

“So it is.”

Anger flashed hot and potent through her veins. “You are accusing my father of blood magic. Is it not enough that he is dead? That all that he worked for is now laid to waste?”

“No, Caroline. Not your father, though we will always wonder what part he played in my mother’s schemes as he chose his sword instead of confessing his part to the courts.” He set his jaw, and she almost didn’t recognize the judgement he wore on his face. “Though I am sure we will find bits and pieces of the scheme as we go through his things and question his remaining people. But the blame, the magic that built the conspiracy that lies at the feet of Esther.”

Caroline opened her mouth and closed it, something hard fisting around her lungs. Shaking her head, she curled her fingers tightly against her palms. “Esther is dead these two years past,” she pointed out around a throat gone tight. “Powerful she might have been, but even she cannot perform magic beyond the grave.”

Blood magic did not linger, after its holder died. 

“If it was only so easy,” Klaus returned, a hint of bitterness in his voice. “To cut the head off of the snake, and everything ends. But my mother schemed far better than anyone realized, Mikael upheld his part of them, until the very end.”

She didn’t want to ask,  but she needed to know. “My  mother would never have willingly committed to aiding black magic.”

He shook his head. “I cannot speak for the motivations of your mother, Caroline, only of the actions she took to protect you. Esther was many things, but trusting? Never. Your mother was her confidant for many years. There were secrets shared between them that she would allow no one to spill. How do you think she survived so many years practicing forbidden magic?”

She couldn’t breathe. Of all the terrible things that she had imagined Esther to have committed to receive a King’s Execution, she had not once thought of this. That Klaus thought her mother had been a victim? That Mikael had willingly helped her do these terrible things and that her father had fought at his side. Had he known? Had he also been a victim. Did it matter? 

Emotions carening, she took a shuddering breath. He said her mother had protected her. Not abandoned her to her duty, to the fate that her father had chosen for all of them. He said she was weak for not doing this duty instead of Caroline. She didn’t know what to think. 

“Turn around.”

His head tipped, brows lifting. “I beg pardon?”

Caroline gestured impatiently, her lungs stretched too tight. “You lay serious accusations at the feet of ghosts, while damning my mother for her lack of strength in nearly the same breath. I need to think, and if you insist on having this conversation here, I will not be accused of failing to show you the full kindness of my house. Turn. Around.”

She needed him to look somewhere else than at her, needed a moment to drag back a little of her shattered composure. A hint of something like understanding softened the look behind his eyes and he obligingly turned, giving her access to the ties and buckles that would loosen his chest plate and arms. Her next inhale was shaky, and not something he could miss, but at least she wouldn’t have to deal withhim facing her while she refitted her mental armor. 

“I would never dare lay such an accusation of a lack of manners at your feet.” Klaus said after a moment, and his words were light, nearly teasing, and she made a noise of disagreement. 

“You toss words such as blood magic and geas about quite easily,” she rebuked as she set to work, her fingers strangely steady. Such a duty should have been merely practical, the duty of a Lady for a visiting Knight, an old tradition that built a formality between them, and yet. She had never done this for him before, had never seen him in less than fully armed or in the many layers of court garb. The sudden pounding of her pulse was not merely from her temper. Forcing herself to ignore the strange intimacy, she kept her eyes on his armor. “Let us not pretend that you believe manners to be important when speaking of such things.”

“I would never be so foolish as to forget their importance, particularly after having been taken to task regarding them by you, more than once.” Now she could hear the smile in his voice and it annoyed her. That he would remind her of what he had walked away from so many years ago now and just how well he had once known her. “Manners, the correct way to fold a tablecloth and the proper way to curtsy to cut someone from your social circle. Were those not the skills you informed me in these very halls that should not be underestimated for their importance?”

She paused, gaze flicking to the nape of his neck, eyes narrowed. “Now you jest.”

“About the importance of how to fold a tablecloth? I would never.” 

Annoyed, because his words were helping her steady, she tugged the first piece of his armor away from his left arm and set it on the bench to her right. It was a struggle, not to study the shape of him so clearly defined by the thin cloth that ran down the length of his arm. The hard muscle she could have felt beneath her fingertips if she fumbled a buckle even a little. 

She could not let her mind wander in those directions or to allow him to distract her from the hard truths, if it was the truth, that he spoke. “Do you have proof?”

“Of what?”

Caroline rolled her eyes now that he could not see and started on the ties for the other arm. “What do you mean of what? You have declared my mother was under a geas, that she kept Esther’s secrets because of magic. What else could I possibly wonder about?”

There was a long pause and she had finished his arms and was working on the complicated buckles for his chest piece when he finally spoke. “Did you ever wonder why I never sent you a single message in all the years since we last saw each other? We did not part on harsh terms, indeed, we both rather looked forward to upcoming nuptials the following year. 

She bit down hard on the side of her tongue as she tried to steady herself from his question. They had looked forward to the wedding, to the future they were building together. Those curious, heated promises Klaus had made as they had danced carefully around the discussion of the marriage bed. It was why his silence had hurt. She had trusted him. 

Caroline found that she didn’t want to admit to that now, of how much his silence had cost her. She also couldn’t lie convincingly, not with his magic still tangible in the air between them. He would know the moment she tried. It was a particular quirk to his magic he did not advertise, but one he had once admitted to her. 

“No.” 

A shift of his weight, the slightest shake of his head, but he did not call her on the lie. “The bargain I struck with your mother - her condition was that I not contact you until after we had won.”

The back of the chest piece slipped from her fingers and clamored loudly between them, barely missing her toes. He spun and she took a hasty step back, eyes wide. He impatiently removed the rest of the amor and for a long moment, they stared at each other. Klaus, stripped to his waist of his armor and suddenly so touchable her hands trembled with it, but his words were a sudden, intangible barrier between them. 

“Bargain? What possible bargain could you have made with my mother?” Caroline demanded, reeling. That was impossible. What he said should have been impossible. Her mother...

“She knew the identity of my father.” His eyes were steady, and he started to move and stopped himself at her careful step back, his chest rising in a careful breath. “Once my mother was executed, it gave Lady Elizabeth a window of opportunity and she took it. But she had conditions.”

“Your father? That isn’t a hard question to answer.” Caroline retorted, hiding her shaking hands in her skirts. “Mikael.”

A laugh, bitter and harsh. “Did you ever wonder why Henrik died?”

She paused, staring at him. Henrik had been the heart of that family, the tiny, pestering glue that had brought them all together. Even Finn, with his remote manners and unbending distaste for those he considered beneath him had smiled around Henrik. “He caught a wasting sickness.”

“My mother liked to accomplish her plot in threes. For every two children Esther gave Mikael, she birthed one to another man.” Klaus’ eyes shimmered with magic, the rage beneath his words palpable. “I was the first child born out of wedlock. Henrik was the next. The magic he was born with was not what my mother had hoped for, so she considered him expendable. She drained him dry. She planned to use the magic in her play to take the throne, and she nearly got away with it, except for Kol.”

Caroline swallowed hard. “Kol was always in places he didn’t belong.”

He tipped his head in agreement. “It almost cost him his life. Elijah and I did not understand what he had found until weeks after we had buried our brother, the evidence he stole from Esther’s hidden chambers, until weeks later. It was by his testimony that Ester was executed.”

Mikael would never have forgiven Kol for it.  

“It was your mother who warned us that we had to cut ties with Mikael immediately, that returning home would cost us more than we could bear. She is who told us the truth of Esther’s and Mikael’s ambitions, though we had little other than her word for what it meant.”

“But that’s…” she stared at him, aghast. “What could my mother have known? She has so little magic and no use for it.”

“My father’s name is Ansel,” he said bluntly. “He was thought to be dead, but your mother not only knew his name, but how to find him. But her information had a price. She wanted us to cut ties with Mikael publicly, and she wanted my promise that I would not attempt to take you with me.”

Her own laugh bubbled in her throat, hysterical and disbelieving. “And why should I believe you? What purpose could such a bargain have served either of us? I am not so dear to either of you that such a thing should make any sense.”

His mouth tightened into a slash of anger, but his words were cool. “Ansel is the King’s brother, Caroline.”

Her lips parted, and she stared at him in shock. “What?”

“My father is the King’s youngest brother. Esther planned to kill him, to kill everyone in the royal family, and then place me upon the throne as a puppet. But my magic was too strong, too violent to be easily bent, so she tried again with Henrik. And while his magic bred true for the royal line, it wasn’t a magic that would easily see him put on the throne. I imagine she had other plans, but Kol caught her in her act and her schemes started to unravel.”

“And so your mother was executed for blood magic, and what? My mother told you how to save yourself?” Caroline crossed her arms and stared him down. “Why should I believe you? To do as you have said when she would have to have known how my father, how Mikael, would have reacted to such a move by the Throne. Neither would have easily given up power, and our family was tied too closely to yours to do anything but suffer from your mother’s death. And I am supposed to believe that she let us suffer? That she helped instigate the Civil War that would leave so many of our people dead?”

“Yes.”

The room went from warm to stifling and she swallowed. Throat closing, she tried to find the words to rebuke him, to tell him to speak truly and not whatever this was and she couldn’t find them. She didn’t want to believe him. She wished she didn’t. But Klaus had never lied to her before, and she couldn’t see any gain for him to do it now.

Not looking at him, she sat down on a bench, staring at the glass panes in front of her. “Why?’

Klaus moved carefully and knelt beside her. The steam had turned his clothing opaque, and it clung shockingly to the line of his shoulders and the breadth of his chest. Seeing Klaus nearly bare from the waist up was a sight she shouldn’t have appreciated even in her shock, but there was a strength to him that she had missed. 

“I do not know, Caroline, but before we spoke tonight, I thought you did.”

Caroline looked at him, suddenly exhausted. “Why would I know?”

“Because that was part of my bargain with her,” he said, words gentle. “That if I were to walk away from you, if I was to leave you to your father’s whims while I worked to destroy Mikael and Ester’s legacies, that she would tell you why. That she would explain. And when I walked back into this castle, she would meet me here as tradition demanded so that we could finalize the rest of our agreement before protocol and the King’s will complicated matters.”

Shoving a riotous curl away from her eyes, she laughed bitterly “And what could you two possibly have to discuss that would be so important?” She flung her hand out in the direction of the courtyard, where his men were camped and her people were sleeping in their homes. “My people are close to starving, my father’s men have stripped this land of everything of value, and only the very young and the old have survived this grab for power. All in the name of a woman who schemed to destroy the Throne and killed innocents. My mother has told me nothing, Lord Mikaelson, and if what you say is true about her being bound by a geas and then a bargain with you, she could be suffering from any number of magical ailments. Such magic is not kind to its hosts, willing or not. So tell me, what could possibly be so important that she should drag herself down several flights of stairs to meet you in person? What could you have to discuss?”

He caught her hand, eyes cautious as he tangled his fingers with hers. She blinked, but couldn’t bring herself to protest. Her emotional equilibrium was a disaster and the conversation she thought they would be having, how best to save her people, had fluttered away at the first mention of the word geas. Thumb tracing the line of her knuckles, he leaned his head forward and spoke with a quiet determination. “My forthcoming marriage to you.”

Caroline’s lips parted on a sharp inhale, eyes wide. “What?” 

Not even a flicker of a smile crossed his mouth and her breath turned harsh in her throat at the set look behind his eyes. “Our marriage, Caroline.” She shook her head, words failing her, and his fingers tightened around hers. “Did you think I would abandon you?”

“You did abandon me,” she snapped back, her temper rousing with her words. The hurt she’d tucked away into the quiet parts of her heart burning. “No promise to my mother could have been worth the silence between us if what you say is true and you have wished to marry me all these years.”

A short nod, as he accepted her rebuke, but the steeled determination did not falter behind his eyes. “Be as that may, I am set on this course Caroline. The King’s messenger will be here in three days time, and I plan on us to be wed before their arrival. The King will be angry, certainly, but he owes me a great boone, and Ansel is awake. I may have failed you, unintentionally or not, but I will not do so again.”

“Boone or not, you could insight war,” she rasped. “My bloodline…”

“Is of no consequence. I am who I am, Caroline. Every man here belongs to me, and if the King wishes to incite a second war over the daughter of his enemy, he is welcome to do so, though I do not believe it will come to that. Now when he becomes aware of your mother’s sacrifices.”

She wanted to say no on principle, to rage against him, her mother, everything she hadn’t been told. But she had walked into the bath house desperate for a way to save her people, to find a way to survive. Klaus was offering her more than survival. For her people, she would say yes. 

For herself...

Caroline lifted her chin. “This may save my people, but it does not absolve you of my anger.”

“I would expect nothing less.” Klaus murmured. He brought her hand to his mouth, kissing her cold fingers. “But I will still marry you tomorrow at sunset before our people, and I will have you as my wife.”

She forced herself to stand, to tug her fingers free. Klaus stood with her, those blue eyes burning. “If I am to be married to you tomorrow, arrangements must be made. I will leave you to finish.”

He tipped his head. “Sleep well, love.”

Caroline sucked in a breath once she was outside, shivering in the cooler air. Eyes squeezing shut, she pressed her hand to her pounding heart. Tomorrow, she was to be married, her mother had not truely abandoned her, and Klaus was the bastard nephew of the King. So many things to digest, not enough time. 

Squaring her shoulders, she headed for the stairs. She would wake her maid and dig through her closet for something appropriate for tomorrow. The cook would need to be alerted. Her mother told. The mental list grew until she knew the sleep Klaus had wished her would be hard to find. But underneath the rage and confusion, the pain of her abandonment and two years of loneliness was the smallest kernel of hope. 

Klaus had come for her. Had fought her father and his father’s armies, had brought his people here. Tomorrow they would be married. She wasn’t sure what she felt about him, his bargain with her mom, or anything he’d said. 

But that small bit of hope was stubborn. 

But none of that made her any less angry. Curling her fingers into her palms, Caroline squared her shoulders. She would protect her people, but whatever this was between her and Klaus? If he thought a hasty marriage and an apology were enough to cool her temper, he find himself quite surprised. She had no intention of making things easy between them just yet. Cheered at the though, she picked up her space.

Everything was changing, and this time, she was determined to have a say.

[kyoshialone]

I posted 2,490 times in 2021

474 posts created (19%)

2016 posts reblogged (81%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 4.3 posts.

I added 782 tags in 2021

#sokka - 160 posts

#zuko - 157 posts

#image described - 95 posts

#zukka - 79 posts

#katara - 72 posts

#gaang - 58 posts

#aang - 47 posts

#suki - 40 posts

#prev tags - 38 posts

#toph - 36 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#and i think that’s another reason he leans so hard into being a warrior bc it’s like the water tribe is benders or warriors are the useful

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

[Image ID: A triangle with a picture of Aang from Avatar: The Last Airbender at the top smiling sheepishly, with Appa behind him. A picture of Sokka is on the left corner; he looks thoughtful with his arms crossed and is holding his boomerang, dressed in furs with an iceberg behind him. A picture of Zuko is on the right corner, looking confused with an Earth Kingdom town behind him. Above the picture of Aang is a caption that says “You’re telling me a shrimp fried this rice?” Below the picture of Sokka is a caption that says “Apartment “complex” …really? I find it quite simple.” Below the picture of Zuko is a caption that says “‘Based’? Based on what?” End ID.]

151 notes • Posted 2021-07-03 02:19:40 GMT

#4

one thing i did not expect from reading the kyoshi novels that happened was getting so much sadder about the loss of the air nomads. in both books air nomads are described as so giving and looked upon as incredible, worldly, wise honored guests by everyone in the other 3 nations. their traditions are so alive, like finding the avatar with the toys from past lives. i even found myself missing their losses - how they respond to tragedy, like kelsang’s reaction to being somewhat shunned for his actions. and the richness of their culture - jinpa’s struggle between his commitment to his beliefs as an air nomad and those he agreed to in the white lotus and how he’s able to express that to kyoshi. the small amounts of organization we get like knowing that kelsang would have been in line to be abbott of his temple if not for what he did. even the fact that yangchen, who’s not the most recent avatar but is looked upon as the greatest, people literally saying “thank yangchen”. just the way that their society is detailed and enriched in the books made me even sadder at the later genocide. so much was lost forever.

184 notes • Posted 2021-05-31 02:35:16 GMT

#3

are we gonna talk about how toph sent two men to their death by leaving them trapped on an isolated road in a metal box she had bent so that no key could ever open it with no food or water

263 notes • Posted 2021-09-29 09:44:52 GMT

#2

ok but i love the idea of some benders needing an accessory or assistance device to help them bend like kyoshi with her fans! like glasses or hearing aids for benders! kyoshi at first can only bend massive quantities of rock, but she learns to use her fans to help her control small amounts of earth with more finesse. fans become quite popular in the earth kingdom after kyoshi’s methods are widely known and they’re incorporated into common earth bending training curriculum, just for everyone to try and bend the best they can (though when the kyoshi warriors get more established, benders start shifting over to items like wooden carvings or small lengths of metal chain, just for the sake of clarity). or think about a little baby firebender who needs a magnifying glass to graduate from sparks to flame, or a waterbender who’s like ten and thinks they can’t bend but then the first time they go on a hunt and hold a spear the ice cracks in front of them and they’re like Ohhhhh…. did i do that?? in the air temples it’s a bit more widely known and accepted that some benders need certain devices and they range a lot in what they are (which is part of how gliders became so popular) - because of the avatar test and the importance of fun to their community, a lot of new airbenders use their first toy or stuffed sky bison plushie to help send their first gust of wind, and eventually they often no longer need it but those toys are treated with great care and honor, and it’s never looked down upon when a bender needs to pick it back up and even just keep it in their pocket to help them fly or bend. the airbenders, in their nomadic travels, often even spread these bending techniques to more remote parts of the three other nations with less access to bending technology, and share the items they use to help magnify and control their own bending. it’s a strategy that ebbs and flows with time - it increases in popularity during kyoshi’s era, but sozin starts treating it as a sign of weakness to be looked down upon. then aang brings it back some after the hundred year war, and when it becomes known that korra carries a plush polar rabbits foot in her boot after she’s poisoned to gain back her bending strength, it’s destigmatized further. i just love this detail about kyoshi and it’s so fun to imagine how else it could be applied

299 notes • Posted 2021-09-15 05:29:07 GMT

#1

ok but it’s like in season 1 when they’re penguin sledding and katara says “i haven’t done this since i was a kid!” and aang goes “you still ARE a kid!” and zuko tells him “you’re the avatar? but you’re just a child!” and aang responds “well you’re just a teenager” and then in season 3 aang is like “there were plenty of dragons when i was a kid” referring to one hundred years ago before the genocide of his people and now apparently the dragons because he not only is no longer a child in his own mind but in the last few months alone has come to feel the weight of the past hundred years and everything he still blames himself for and this is just another way he has failed the world and the world has failed him, failed to match up to his memory of it

6096 notes • Posted 2021-10-22 07:41:43 GMT

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[autumnleaves1991-blog]

Day 2: Wind - Din Djarin

November Writing Challenge 

Day 2: Wind - Din Djarin 

Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 1 (if you haven’t seen it, WATCH IT!) 

Originally I was going to write this for Frankie Morales but after watching the Mandalorian again (for the tenth time) this idea came to me. Enjoy! 

Let me know if you want to be added to a tag list. :)

Day 1: Heartbeat - Agent Whiskey 

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The razor crest broke through the atmosphere of Tatooine and you took a deep shuddering breath. Deserts always gave you anxiety, especially after meeting the Mandalorian. Your ship had crash landed on Jakku and with only a few rations of water, and protein packs you made the trek through the desert to find help. On the fifth day when the water was long gone, and you felt the cool grasp of death on your hand did you find salvation in the form of beskar armor and a tiny green child. 

The Mandalorian was on Jakku for a bounty and just like with the child he didn’t have it in his heart to leave you for death. He scooped you up and nursed you back to health, with every intent on dropping you off on the nearest habitable planet. But, when the time to part finally came, and you grabbed your small knapsack and walked towards the open hatch. Something stopped you, a feeling too great to ignore and when you turned a questioning look in your eyes, your gaze landed on the small green child. Reaching his hand out towards you, eyes closed, and when you looked up to meet the visor of the Mandalorian you knew that there was never a choice. So you stayed. 

That was ten months ago. Since then the three of you had been on a variety of missions and traveled across the galaxy, never staying in one place for too long. You helped make repairs, took care of the child, cooked, and even assisted on a few bounties. This latest mission was a quest to find another Mandalorian on Tatooine and this included meeting up with an ally from a previous mission. 

The crest began its descent into the mechanics workshop and you rushed from your seat with the child trailing close behind and down the ramp towards Peli. The older woman squealed and rushed towards you but at the last moment sidestepped you and dropped to the ground clutching the tiny green child to her chest. 

“Oh I have been so worried about you!” she shouts and you can only see the tip of the child's ears as she smothers him in hugs. 

You smile to yourself as Mando comes down from the ship. Peli shouts at the droids moving towards the crest, “Hey! Don’t you remember he hates droids!” 

“Actually the crest could use a once over, it’s okay,” Mando tells her. 

Peli rolls her eyes, muttering under her breath, “oh he likes droids now…” 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes at the woman’s antics and she draws around to look at you, “Oh sweetie I am so glad to see you too. Hope this one,” she gestures with her thumb to Mando, “has been keeping you out of too much trouble.” 

You smile brightly, “No more than I would have been in naturally, it’s nice to have someone to have your back though.” 

“We need your help, we're looking for a Mandalorian and a place called Mos Pelgo, do you know where that is?” Mando asks, cutting right to the chase. 

“The only Mandalorian I know of is you, and Mos Pelgo was wiped out by bandits but, I can show you on the map where it would be if it was still around,” Peli calls forward an old R2 unit that pulls up a map. But Peli warns him off of using the crest to go find it, saying the ship would spook everyone. 

“Do you still have that speeder bike?” he asks. 

Your heart rate jumps thinking of the last time Mando took off on a speeder bike and left you and the child alone with Peli. “Does that mean I get to keep this little womp rat with me?” Peli coo’s at the child. 

“No...he comes with me...they both do,” he takes off towards the bike to prepare. 

Your head snaps up at this comment and you take off after him. “Mando...what do you mean? There is only one bike and it’s a least a two day ride…” you leave the rest unspoken. 

He stops for a moment, the visor raising to meet your eyes, “I know but I need your help to look after the child, it’s been quiet with Moff Gideon for months, I don't want to leave you both here unguarded, this is the best action,” he continues fussing with the bike and getting it powered on. “Can you please go to the crest and get your things and the kid’s ready to go?” 

You don’t respond, only nodding. Thirty minutes later and you're all ready to go, Mando puts the child in a bag on the side of the speeder before mounting it himself. You move to get on behind him when Peli lightly touches your shoulder handing you a pair of goggles, and a scarf.

“To protect your face from the sand,” she tells you. You smile and thank her quietly before placing the goggles on your head, and wrapping the scarf over your nose and mouth. 

You reach forward and place your hand right on Mandos shoulder, before swinging your left leg  over the speeder. Mando’s left hand comes around his back and grasps your hand pulling it around his waist. He held it for a moment longer than he should have before kicking the speeder to life, your right hand coming to grasp his waist. You slide your body forward slightly and press your front to his beskar covered back. You hear a faint grunt when your thighs tighten around his legs. 

He turns slightly, his voice sounding huskier than normal, “Hold tight to me, I don’t want you sliding off,” and with that he revs the speeder and you take off across the desert. 

In that moment you feel elation. The warm body of your mandalorian close to your own, your hands wrapped tightly across his armored waist, and the feeling of the wind on your face. You can’t help the laugh that escapes you as you the landscape rushes by. 

Riding on the back of the speeder is the most liberating thing you have done in years. You glance behind you to see the baby with a large grin on his face. He was loving this as much as you. 

After several hours you make camp for the night. Mando makes a fire, and sits the child down between his legs. A noise startles you from over the ridge and to your horror two sand people are behind you weapons raised. What you weren’t expecting was the sound that came from the Mandalorian who came to stand in front of you. He spoke with his hands and the sand people lowered their weapons greeting them warmly. You ate with them at the fire, and when it came time to rest, you laid out your cots with them nearby. 

Mando sat with his back against a rock, your bedroll laid out next to him, the child already sleeping against his chest. His head lay gently over the beskar chest plate. 

You can’t help but feel slightly envious of the child being so close to him. You try to sleep, but end up tossing and turning. Your mind restless, thinking of the last time you were in the desert alone. 

“Come,” a voice quietly pulls you from your fitful sleep. 

Your eyes open and you look up at the Mandalorian who is gesturing with his hand for you to move forward. You sit up quietly, careful not to disturb the sleeping child. Mandos arm wraps around your shoulder and pulls you into his chest. The cool beskar feels nice against your cheek and his arm rubs designs into your arm. Your arm wraps around his waist tightly. 

You let out a shallow breath, “thank you Mando,” you whisper. 

“Din…” his voice barely above a whisper. 

Your head lifts up to look into the visor, “what?” you whisper back. 

“My name is Din,” he tells you. 

You repeat the name over and over again to yourself before trying it out on your tongue, “Din...I like it.” 

Through the modulator you can hear him release the breath he was holding in. He pulls you closer and your head lays back against his chest. His gloved fingers tracing patterns into your back.

 “Goodnight Din.” 

Day 3: Clarity - Maxwell Lord 

[gloriainalbis]

Strangers

Part 1 - Losers (S1E1)

Nathan Young x Reader  Words: 4.4k Warnings: Swearing, mentions of sex, drugs  Songs:  Strangers - The Kinks  Bad Reputation - Joan Jett 

“So you've been where I've just come From the land that brings losers on”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Masterlist | Ao3

--

    As bad days go, you’re having a pretty horrible one when you arrive at the Wertham Community Center. It’s the first of many to come, part of the court-mandated service that goes along with your ASBO. Your dad keeps telling you that you’re lucky the judge had been so lenient and should be grateful that he’s allowing you to stay with him and your stepmum again– even though you have no one to stay with and nowhere else to go. And he’s your dad. “In the future,” you tell him while getting out of the car, “I think I’ll walk.” 

     Striding through the frosted glass of the front doors, you continue on to the locker rooms to change into the orange jumpsuits you find waiting for you. You choose a locker on the far wall and dump your stuff there. You decide to leave your t-shirt on underneath, zipping the suit up most, but not all, of the way. Finished, you lean back to take a look at your designated companions for the 200 hours to be dispersed across the next few months. One girl has chosen her locker to be in front of the mirror. Her hair is short, curly, and pinned back on the side to form some cute bangs-like fringe. You notice an ankle monitor adorning her lower leg as she strips down to a pink lace pushup bra and panties and steps into her jumpsuit, rolling up the sleeves and bottom cuffs and adding a gold belt around her waist to complete the ensemble. The color of her earrings and bangle bracelets– both large, round, pink, and plastic– match her underwear. She steps back to take a look at herself and smiles. Another girl brushes her hair back into a high and tight ponytail. She looks curvier than the first girl, but just as confident, pairing smoky black eye makeup with shiny, pale pink lip gloss and gold hoop earrings. The guy who’d taken a locker near yours fishes a cigarette out of his pocket and sticks it between his lips. He looks equal parts cute and odd, tall and lanky with a mop unruly, curly hair framing his face. He wears a red and black checkered shirt and an air of swaggering cockiness radiates from him with a pungency usually reserved for uncommonly offensive odors. He smirks at you slyly. The guy with the locker across from the two girls looks vaguely familiar to you. He has two gold chains, one with a cross, and a grey tank top. His jumpsuit is only zipped up halfway, with the arms tied around his waist. He looks remarkably fit, and, not having much of an affinity for sports, you wonder where you recognize him from. The last person you see in the locker room is shadowy and reserved. His hair is short and neatly combed and his jumpsuit is buttoned up all the way to the very last button. He holds a small, black camera phone in his hand and shifts his gaze between people nervously. As you start to file out, one last person stomps in front of you, looking you up and down as he nearly bowls you over. You grimace as he winks. The first thing you notice about him is the immaculate green flat-brimmed baseball cap. You suspect that this hat and others like it are a large part of his personality. Once you’re all together, a man introducing himself as your probation worker, Tony, leads you outside and has you line up against some railing as he gives what you believe is supposed to be a rousing speech. From left to right is Curtis, Gary, Nathan, you, Kelly, Alisha, and Simon. You would learn their names later, but for the purposes of clarity, we’ll start using them now. Tony paces before you, attempting to assume the macho, fear-inducing demeanor of a boot camp officer. “This is it,” he barks. “This is your chance to do something positive. Give something back. You can help people, you can really make a difference to people’s lives. That’s what community service is all about. There are people out there who think you’re scum. You have an opportunity to show them they’re wrong.” He has the tone of someone who has given this speech before and is just barely holding onto their faith in its underlying message. The girl to your left, Kelly, looks mildly offended at the word “scum,” as if Tony had been speaking directly to her. “Yeah, but what if they’re right?” Nathan interrupts on your right. He looks around at the rest of you, “No offense, but I’m thinking some people are just born criminals.” You smile to yourself and try to hold back a chuckle as a look of anger flashes over suspected-douchebag-Gary’s eyes and he bursts out with “Are you looking to get stabbed?” “You see my point there?” Nathan asks, turning back to Tony. A phone rings and Alisha answers with a casual “Hey,” while twirling a curl between her manicured fingers. Tony tries to continue, but he’s becoming increasingly exasperated. “Doesn’t matter what you’ve done in the past-” “Doin’ my community service,” Alisha speaks to her phone. “Hey!” He tries and fails to catch her attention. “Boring as fuck,” she continues. It was getting harder not to laugh and you glance at Nathan out of the corner of your eye, amused at the part he had to play in the deterioration of Tony’s speech. “Excuse me!” He tries again. “Hello, I’m still talking here.” “What, I thought you’d finished?” She didn’t care, evidently. “You see my lips still moving, that means I’m still talking.” He tries to assert something akin to authority but clearly doesn’t realize how poorly that approach tends to work on rag-tag groups of rebellious young offenders. “Yeah, but you could have been yawning, or chewing,” Nathan points out facetiously in a drawling tone. Tony ignores him, but you are full-on laughing at this point. “End the call! Hang up!” He shouts at Alisha to no avail. “My probation worker,” she explains to the person on the other line. “You all right there, weird kid?” Nathan leans past you to point at Simon, who stood alone at the far end of your lineup. Tony fumed. “Don’t be disgusting. I’ll call you later.” She finally hangs up, looking over at Nathan, who was approaching Gary and making kissing noises at him. “I’ll rip out your throat and shit down your neck,” Gary snaps back. He looks amusingly short in comparison, you now realize. Curtis grimaces and leans away from the touchy ball of anger standing next to him. “I shouldn’t be here, man.” Kelly gapes at his arrogance as Gary starts to scuffle with Nathan, grabbing at his jumpsuit. “We need to work as a team here. Hey, that’s enough!” Tony takes a few steps forward. “Can I move to a different group? This isn’t going to work for me,” Curtis continues, even though Tony is clearly otherwise engaged. You lean back, nearly bumping into Kelly as she steps to Cutis’ indirect insults. “Um… What makes you think that you’re better than us?” “What is that accent?” Nathan comments, drawn out of his conflict by the way her “us” sounded a lot more like “oss” “Is that for real?” Curtis scoffs, rolling his eyes. “What, are you tryna’ say something or yeah?” She speaks, the latter half her sentence mostly lost due to her lack of enunciation. “Its- you- that’s just a noise! Are we supposed to be able to understand her?” Nathan exclaims. You shake your head and raise your eyebrows at their audacity and Kelly’s incoherence. She sticks her hand out and flips him off, “Do you understand that?” Things escalate again when Nathan puts an arm around a violently unwilling Gary who responds by grabbing him and preparing to punch. “Hey, pack it in!” Tony lunges forward to separate them “It’s love, man!” Nathan yells. You double over, stepping back to get out of the way. Kelly meets your gaze and smirks at the growing scene before you. Alisha laughs, a high-pitched giggle. Tony stood between them now, pulling Gary further and further away from Nathan, who assumed a boxer’s stance and put up his fists comically. “Do it man! Do it! You’re a prick, man, look at you!” Gary calls, trying to push past Tony. “What the fuck are they doin’?” You say to everyone behind you as Kelly looks between you and Alisha. Simon looks like he’d rather be elsewhere, as does Curtis, but for different reasons. Nathan had taken to punch the air, which only served to further aggravate Gary. “You’re a fuckin’ pussy, bruv! He’s takin’ the piss, come here!” Cue the intro music. --     Tony eventually diffuses the conflict between Nathan and Gary and finally leads everyone to some benches by the lake, which you are told to paint white. Paint drips everywhere, from your shoes to the concrete sidewalk, but you hardly care. How different is this from the reason you were here in the first place? You were reprimanded for painting on someone else’s property and were told to instead paint on someone else’s property to pay for it, how is that supposed to work? The only difference is that the first time had been art, and this was largely pointless. They wanted to cover up the graffiti on these benches, but the new paint job would only make future acts of vandalism easier to see. You did it anyway, though, happy to peel off with Nathan and Kelly as Curtis and Alisha and Simon and Gary pair off to the benches on either side of you. You watch as Gary leans down to pick up more paint on his brush, his hat brushing dangerously close to the fresh paint before it finally touches, leaving a stark white smear on the brim. You poke Nathan’s shoulder and point as Gary notices, ripping off his hat in horror and stomping off in a huff, kicking a bucket of paint into the lake and leaving behind a violent burst of white. “Oh, man! There’s paint on my cap, this is bullshit!” “Ooh!” Alisha whistles as he walks past. Everyone turns and stares as he struggles with a shopping cart that’s in his way, kicking it at first before trying and failing to shove it into the lake as well when it simply falls in front of him, still blocking the path. “I know you,” you hear Alisha say to Curtis, perking up due to your own curiosity. “No, you don’t,” he brushes her off. “Yes, I do,” She continues, unphased. “You’re that runner guy. You screwed up big time.” That’s it. You’d seen him years ago at your secondary school’s track meets and races, and later in the news for his accomplishments and subsequent arrest. “You noticed, yeah? Thanks for reminding me.” He grew increasingly annoyed, and it was abundantly clear. Overhearing, Nathan glances up at Kelly and tries to strike up a conversation, “So I’m guessing shoplifting?” She ignores him. “No?” He was about to speak again when she cuts him off, “Don’t act like you know me, ‘cuz you don’t.” “I’m just makin’ conversation!” He motions to you and Kelly, “This is a chance to network with other young offenders. We should be swapping tips. Brainstorming!” He looks at you to continue, but you stay silent, also curious about Kelly’s infraction. You shrug and he looks back at her. “Come on, what did you do?” “This girl called me a slag so I just got into a fight,” she admits, slapping her paintbrush to the bench in annoyance. “Was this on the Jeremy Kyle show?” He jokes. “No, it was at Argos.” “Argos?” you ask, finding the store an odd place to get into fights. “You know what you should’ve done? You should have got one of them little pens and jabbed it in her eye.” He was referring to the pens for filling out the catalog cards at Argos and you smirk at the image, but Kelly just stares at him incredulously. It’s an odd thing to say to someone you barely knew. He turns to look at you, “And you? I need to know what we’re workin’ with here.” “Ah…” You glance between Nathan and Kelly before continuing, “Graffiti, mostly, and throwing a party that bugged my neighbors, breaking the peace.” You had broken the law, technically, but it was nothing compared to punching someone and getting into a fight in the middle of Argos. He raises his eyebrows curiously, “Is there a story behind it or was it just mindless vandalism?” “It was on the wall of my apartment, my landlord saw it when he went to break up a party that my friends were throwing and he said he’d report me.” “Oh, what a wanker!” Nathan exclaims. “The worst part is I lost the apartment and now I’ve gotta live with my dad and stepmum again and it’s a living nightmare.” You don’t want to exaggerate or sound like too much of a cliche, but your stepmother is one of the meanest people you have ever encountered. You could understand it to some extent, as she has two young children and you aren’t the greatest of influences. You call these siblings stepfuck and stepcunt respectively, case in point. “Well, I can sympathize with that. But at least yours is a stepmum, they’re, like, inherently kinda hot, amirite?” You glare at him and begin to understand some of Kelly’s annoyance. He redirects, turning his attention to Simon, who is now painting his bench all alone after Gary’s outburst. “What about you, weird kid? Don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but you look like a panty-sniffer.” He holds his hands up beside his face, mocking a disgusting sniff of some invisible panties. “I’m not a panty-sniffer,” he responds. “I’m not a pervert.” He tries to return to painting the bench, but Nathan begins walking towards him, pretending to jack off with his paintbrush still in his hand, grunting disgustingly. You sigh and roll your eyes, glancing at Kelly. He could be funny, sure, but you were quickly learning about his tendency to take things too far. Kelly shrugs at you. “I tried to burn someone’s house down,” Simon blurts out to get Nathan to stop. Everyone who’d heard snapped to attention, as arson seems considerably more serious than vandalism or a few punches. “Fire?” Nathan laughs and walks back. Kelly looks up at him, “What did you do?” You were still curious about the fire and arson, but you let the conversation move on regardless. “Me? I was done for eatin’ some pick ‘n’ mix.” “Yeah, right,” you scoff. “Bollocks,” Kelly agrees. “What is goin’ on with this weather,” Nathan muses, distracted, as thunder rolls down from overhead and you quickly noticed the growing dark storm clouds in the sky just across the lake. Huh, odd. That hadn’t been there just a few minutes ago. “How did that happen?” you hear behind you, looking around to see Tony returning, an angry look instantly plastered to his face. He points to the overturned paint can, part of Gary’s carnage, and holds his arms up in exasperation. “I mean, you’ve been here five minutes. It’s painting benches. How’d you screw that up? You tell me, because I’ve got no idea.” From out of nowhere, a giant white ball of something smashes down on the car behind Tony, completely caving in the roof and sending the car alarm blaring. Shocked, you jump back and duck amid the various screams and cries of “What the hell was that?” and “Oh, Jesus!” Nathan’s smug grin immediately falls and transforms into fear and wonderment. Alisha shrieks, crying out in a warbling tone, “What’s goin’ on?” Tony turns around slowly in disbelief and gasps, “That’s my car!” “Oh, fuck,” you mutter under your breath. But Nathan isn’t taking it as seriously. “Classic,” he chuckles, thinking it to be some sort of prank. But then another thing falls from the sky into the lake behind you, whizzing past your heads and spraying you, Nathan, and Kelly in an onslaught of lake-water. “Okay, so I’m a little bit freaked out!” he admits. “No fucking shit!” you agree. “What is that?” Alisha asks, turning your attention to the storm Nathan had pointed out just moments ago. It had grown, somehow, turning dark and dangerous as it travels at an unnervingly fast pace towards your group. Simon holds his phone up to film the storm and its effects just as another ball crashes into the dumpster beside him, knocking over the heavy, metal container and spewing ice at him as he ducks and runs from it. More and more ice falls from the sky, huge blocks larger than your head, and you don’t want to think of what could happen if one of them hit you. “Right, let’s get everyone inside,” Tony instructs as more and more of them fall all around you. “Move! Move! Run!” You sprint back to the community center at top speed, holding your head as ice shards rain down on you, pelting and stinging your face and arms. Your heart practically beats out of your chest. One ball of ice pummels into the sidewalk in front of you, breaking a concrete tile. Another falls into a phonebooth, and the glass shatters to the ground around your feet. The storm seems to get thicker as you near the center, and your hair is plastered to your face from the mixture of sweat and water that you were drenched in. You could barely hear Tony yell “Keep going!” over the crashes and booms that fill your ears as you run for your life. Curtis reaches the door first, pulling on the handles and banging on the glass before stepping back and yelling over the din to Tony, “It’s locked! Open it!” Tony groans, “Come on…” and fumbles with the keys. You throw yourself against the wall, as far away as possible from the mega hail storm, and scream, “Just fuckin’ unlock it!” “What is happening?” Kelly shrieks as another massive ball of ice falls onto the pavement beside her. “Open the door, come on!” Nathan yells as Tony grows increasingly frustrated. “I’m finding the right key!” he bellows back “Open the door!” Curtis yells again, and Alisha agreed. “Open the fucking door!” Tony whips around in a burst of anger, “Don’t speak to me like that!” You were about to berate him for his poor priorities when a bright white burst of cold lightning cracks in front of you and sends you flying backward in a chorus of screams. Time slows as you fly through the air and the electricity transforms from a chilling shock to a burning flare, searing and snaking through you as you soar and tumble backward onto the hard pavement. You hit the ground with a sickening thud, from which groans and cries of pain follow. A few remaining snowballs hit the ground around you, but the storm appears to have passed. “I feel really weird,” you hear Kelly say. Your vision is still black, which has you worried until you realize it’s only because your eyes are still closed. You open them and sit up, rubbing the back of your head, which is still screaming in pain. “That’ll be the lightning,” Curtis says to try and explain what just happened. “We should be dead,” Simon points out. “Well, that’s comforting,” you snap back. “A little reassurance might be nice, you know,” Nathan agrees, instead directing his comment to Tony, who is sprawled before the door of the center and has just started to sit up. “‘You’re fine!’ ‘Looking good!’” he elaborates. “Wanker…” Tony groans, pushing himself up onto his elbows. “Did he just call me a wanker?” Nathan asks, indignantly glancing at you and everyone else. He snaps his fingers at Tony, “Hey? Hello?” You see a quick look of anger flash across Tony’s face before he grumbles, “Is everyone alright?” “We could have died, you dick,” Alisha adds. “Are you alright?” Kelly asks tentatively as Tony shakes his head and coughs out a growl. “You’re actin’ like a freak.” He ignores her, “Maybe we should call it a day.” --     Tony finally manages to unlock the door, and you return to the locker rooms to gather your things. You feel like you should be annoyed, leaving early only means you’ll have to spend another day here, but you are too exhausted to feel anything. That was probably the closest you’d ever been to death. You can still feel your heart beating, a deep, steady drumbeat, and your lungs ache from the running and adrenaline. Beside you, Nathan closes his locker and leans against it before turning to you, “Do you think we’ll stick together now, bonded by our shared experiences?” “Dunno. I’d rather spend as little time here as possible,” you explain, closing your locker and stepping away to put on your hoodie. “Oh, you’re one of those types, are you?” Nathan smiles. “What type?” You glare at him. “The I’m-too-cool-for-this type.” “No, that’s Curtis,” you quip, knowing that he’d already left the room. “I just happen to not like community service.” Or any of these morons, all the other girls are total slags. “Hey!” Kelly snaps, swinging around to glare at you suddenly. “Oookay?” You turn away awkwardly and leave, you can’t imagine anything you’d said having offended her. Maybe she just really loves community service or something, but that is decidedly not the impression you’ve gotten from her so far. You walk out to the waiting area by the vending machines, where you find Curtis and Simon standing around in heavy silence. Nathan follows after you moments later. “Do we just go, then?” Curtis asks, clearly annoyed. “Where’s the probation worker?” “I think there’s something wrong with him,” Simon speaks up. “It’s like he was having a spasm.” “He was probably just faking it, trying to get some compensation. Cheap bastard,” Nathan scoffs. “I don’t think he was faking it,” Simon insists, looking back down at his phone. “And you know all about being… mental.” Nathan takes a few steps forward as he talks, leering at Simon and lowering his voice. Then he pretends to convulse and yells “Wanker!” You punch him in the shoulder. “Ow, what the hell was that for?” He sticks his head out at you almost comically. You stick your head out back at him. “Stop being such a prick, he might have a point.” Alisha walks in, already looking bored. “Are we waiting for something?” “Probation worker,” Curtis explains. She scrunches up her face in disgust. “I’m not hanging around for that dickhead.” She turns on her heel and leaves, which everyone else seems to take as their cue to leave as well. You can’t be bothered to be the only one waiting around, so you follow suit. Once outside, everyone pretty much goes their separate ways. Nathan, however, trots after you. “What’re you doin’?” You ask. “Thought you looked a little lonely, and, well, I’d like to recommend my own company as recompense.” He motions to himself like he’s all that, which honestly has you snorting to hold back your laughter. “You can’t be serious.” You raise your eyebrows. “Fine, I happen to live along this way, alright? I’m Nathan, by the way.” “Y/n.” You smile at him. “And I’ll have you know that to date, I haven’t had a single complaint.” He says it like you should be impressed or something. “Can’t have complaints if you haven’t been with anybody,” you joke, smirking. His jaw drops in mock surprise, “Oy! I have, too!” He keeps trying to impress upon you the depth of his sexual prowess, offering many stories as proof, all of which have you in stitches. He peels off when you were about halfway home. You say your goodbyes and wave as he walks away, grateful for the company. A few houses down from your own, though, you stop walking, contemplating what to do next. Home doesn’t seem like a particularly fun place to be right now, but it’s not like you have anywhere else to go. It’s still the early afternoon, so it would probably be only your stepmum at home, with your dad at work and your step siblings at school. It’s practically a worst-case scenario, as you doubt she would believe that they let you go early. You wish this day had gone differently. As you’re musing and trying to work up the courage to walk the thirty or so meters left to your front door, the skies begin to darken. You look up to see if a cloud had rolled in overhead, not exactly trusting the weather as of late, but as soon as you do so, it disappears and the sky goes back to normal. You think nothing of it, which is probably a poor choice on your part, but you are too burned out to care. You finally reach the front door, closing it gingerly behind you, but to no avail. “Y/n? Is that you?” You hear from the other room. “Yup.” You stand in the doorway to the kitchen, knowing you need to address this, but desperately wanting to leave. “They let us go early today.” She eyes you quizzically, “Really?” Now here’s the thing, the truth isn’t even remotely believable– There was a freak hail storm and everyone in our group got hit by lightning or something but now we’re all okay and our probation officer did too, he let us go early and then disappeared– so you have to lie. “Yeah, ‘cuz it’s the first day. They mostly showed us the ropes, got us started on something, and then let us go.” You wait, holding your breath. “Oh.” She looks disappointed. “I thought you’d be out today.” “Yeah, well I did, too,” you mumble as you walk away, not really caring whether or not she heard. “What’d you say?!” she calls after you. “Nothing!” you yell back as you walk as quickly as possible to your room. Once inside, you sigh and collapse onto your bed. You feel like a teenager again and it’s horrible, being forced to be somewhere where you’re treated like immature crap every day, living at home again, constantly having a row with your stepmum. You hope, but doubt, that the next day will be better.

[commander-orca]

Wait for me  —  children of the whales fanfiction

Tags: Rochalizo x Suoh, Suoh x Rochalizo, Parrot Soul, Princeshipping, fluff, a teaspoon of angst, jealousy, repressed desires, forbidden relationship, healthy dynamics, look at them they love each other so much, mention of friends to lovers, lovers to established

Walking away from the plight of the heavy sun to go through the dark, pleasantly quiet corridor felt, as Suoh went down the plainly carved stone stairs, much like a tranquil descent to a new, underground world. A world which for a few moments did not belong to the Mud Whale and made who he was slip his mind, freed of roles and of everything. Almost an indistinguishable relief alongside the long passageway of adjacent dwellings, the door to their little house had been left ajar. Only this door invoked in him feelings of calmness; which was new, as it had not always been the case with his coming home late at night, his muscles sore, head still full of the daily tasks and no joyous inconvenience to come and stop those thoughts from running. He was glad that had come to change. No, he thought to himself, eyes catching the loveliest sight of the day, he felt beyond grateful. Peeking through the small gap, he could see the small silhouette of a boy who sat on the one-sized bed, his back turned. He lay there quietly, slightly bent forwar and so focused, Suoh imagined fondly he was reading.

His hair hung forward loose, nonchalantly and his tight black long-sleeved shirt had lifted up to his backbone, baring his lumbars. This was also hard to spot but he could make out, in the dim bistre light of the bedroom which reflected the muffled clarity escaping the window through the thin brown curtains, the streak of sand which stuck to the upper half of his high baggy pants. Suoh kept watching for a little while more, almost upset that he would have to disturb this scene of utter domestical delight. He wanted to stay forever and watch him just be, breathing unawarely and enjoying his peace, his defensive walls low and no one to impress nor to fight against. He couldn’t figure exactly what it was about this monotonous sight which was so touching and made his heart throb a little in his chest, but it was at times like these where he acknowledged his luck the most and contemplated how the past hardships and terrors had in the end been worth paying the price. Trailing eyes a last time on Rochalizo’s precious back, he announced himself by pushing the door open and uttering a single:

“Hello!”

Before he even talked, Rochalizo turned around swiftly, mildly panicked. It seemed Suoh had assumed wrong as a pen dropped from his hand and he rushed to cover a piece of paper.

“You- You’re back already!”, he blurted out in embarrassement, cheeks red.

Suoh, who had already moved to the entrance’s cupboard and was hanging his apron on a hanger, stopped in track, returning a curious look.

“Were you busy...? Do you want me to come back later?”

“No no, I wasn’t, I wasn’t”, protested the other, a bit awkwardly as he shoved the piece of paper and pen in his large pants’ pockets.

Rochalizo looped around on the bed until he was facing him. Suoh noticed he had little ink spots on his face, just under the two loveable moles.

“Are you dumb?”, said the other, still a bit bewildered, “This is your house, I can’t throw you out. Nonsense, Suoh!”

The young chief chuckled, removing his coat on hanging it on another hanger. The door craked as he closed it and creaked again as he locked it, so that it wouldn’t reopen on itself.

“I know! I just think it’s nice to enjoy some intimacy alone. From time to time, even our own spaces don’t feel like the ideal place and there are too few in my opinion to only allow people to be themselves in those same spaces”.

Rochalizo didn’t reply immediately, reflecting on the words. Then, he sighed, shrugging as he lay back on the bed headboard. Cracking a match, he lit up a few candles.

“You don’t have to give a deep meaning to everything, y’know. Anyway, how was it? We didn’t meet at all today”.

Smiling all the while, Suoh arranged the flower pots he had brought back from the infirmary, kneeled to pick up the water can stocked in the corner of the room and proceeded to water the plants. The heat had been barely tolerable for humans, as it had been for them; the plants drank the entirety of the container until their thirst reached satietion. He was finding it hard to reply; the words were snarling in his mind and his limp mouth hardly followed.

“I am exhausted”, Suoh admitted, gratting his fingers on the desk, his back facing Rochalizo. 

He felt often uneasy avowing to his tiredness. His efforts didn’t have much of an impact and he systematically came back with the feeling he could have done more.

“What about you? I thought you were helping with the festivities tonight?”

“Yes, I was supposed to, however...”

His face took on another few shades of red and he struggled a moment to find his words, in vain, which led him to renounce.

“Although you say you are exhausted, you’re still up on your feet”, bluntly remarked Rochalizo, but he added then, in a softer tone, patting the empty space on the bed besides him, “Come here. Let me take care of you”.

The moment these words were uttered, the young chief felt a wave of relief and relaxation travel through his body. He turned around and smiled. He didn’t need much to wind down and ease his hurting body and mind. And despite his personal motto which consisted of enjoying the present moment as much as possible, he had found himself awaiting for this moment all day. Carefully settling on the bed, Suoh watched as he started putting weight on the mattress and caused Rochalizo to slip a little closer to him. Comfortably sat, he peered at the short distance between them. 

The thought of placing his head on his shoulder crossed his mind, and as they had often done so these days, it wasn’t much of a bold thing anymore. The candlelights flickered, illuminating the nearest objects in a halo and left all other places in the almost darkness. Being still in the dark made Suoh feel like he wanted to be closer and so, he was about to act on his wish, but Rochalizo was faster. He suddenly felt this warm and most welcomed load on his shoulder. It wasn’t him uniquely pressing his cheek, it was him falling back with his cheek and jawline and upper neck and with such good faith, trusting Suoh enough to bear the heaviness. 

Suoh’s heart jumped happily and kept pounding fast nonetheless a long while afterwards. In this position, he earned a closeup of the Prince’s thick blond and ginger eyelashes which tremulated faintly as he breathed. Suoh’s head fell on top of Rochalizo’s, his nose buried in the thin mass of hair. His scalp felt warm and soft and seemed like an inevitable invitation to sound sleep. Grasping gently Rochalizo’s opposite hand in his, he brought it about a few inches down his own opposite shoulder, making the Prince turn from the side until the top of his chest was touching half of his. Rochalizo warpped his arms around him tightly and emitted a small sound. In this atmosphere, the troubles of the day melted away. It was only them, entangled into each other’s embrace and breathing the soft scent of their hairs.

These displays of affection were in no way inherently romantic, as they were merely relying on each other to regain the lost energy throughtout the day. But somehow, Suoh wished that they were and were that only. Romantic. Rochalizo’s friendship was eternally precious to him and in no way he desired risking altering it in any fashion. He would not bear to lose it for the sake of love and attraction. But that was straying far from the point, for there was little need to worry about this; that love was reciprocated.

He had known from the day they were, just them two, studying maps in the deserted meeting room, which ambiance that night, felt close to the one they were in right now; candles on desks, tables and on the floor surrounding them, an almost complete obscurity. But what made tonight different was the special guest which had added on this special night: wine. A full jar of wine disposed between the two as they faced each other. Suoh’s first time drinking it. The first sips had tasted bitter and too rich, but despite being in good company, the matters at hand could get tiresome as well as convoluted and so, he had drank more each passing minute, accompanying the Prince in the premices of drunken eloquence and joy. Spread out on the pavement, the space between them had grown thinr and thiner, until even the wine jar had been tossed aside and they were chatting about everything but maps, in drunken silliness.

Those were the days Suoh remembered thinking highly of the Prince, admitting easily that he was a really pretty person and whose odd temper quick to anger, his straightforward words and kindness he hid behind pretend-mercy were traits he actually appreciated or found amusing. And amusing Rochalizo was too, which had led them to get closer, regardless of their numerous interactions due to both their political positions. Because they simply liked being around each other and because Suoh lacked opportunities to laugh and that meant he had felt good in his presence.

And so, from then, everything had speeded up. The wine, the jokes and how they leaned in into each other to laugh, the playful teasings, the brave compliments which made you feel warm in your body and that physical promiscuity which had you gazing at their lips or noticing eyes looking a little too low on your face, everything had guided to the foreseeable unfolding of them kissing. The important percentage of alcohol they were under had prevented things from going any further and had certainly collapsed at some point since it was how they had woken up. 

But Suoh had had to tell the cruel truth; he couldn’t be Rochalizo’s lover. The law which conducted the leader of the Mud Whale’s personal life were strict. The dire incidents which had occured in the distant past had been caused by a few determined factors: a lack of monitoring of the chief’s powers and left unchecked, their strong temper and arrogance, bonds too close with their family and finally, the disturbance of a lover who had come between the leader and its responsabilities.

The kiss they had shared had not meant nothing and Suoh had been made well aware of that as he had looked into Rochalizo’s eyes, accidentally - according to the Prince - filled with tears. The view had brought Suoh close to crying too. This, as he had realised had been the first time he had wished something deeply for himself and the more he had looked, the more he had felt his previous convictions on the verge of crumbling down. He had never really questioned the laws, thinking the perennity of their people came first. Each reconsidering of the laws hurt. For a moment, he had forgotten who he was and to whom his loyalty went. His desire to go against the rules had clashed so hard with his desire to protect his people his mind hurt as if both feelings fought with nails and teeth. 

Rochalizo’s pride hadn’t allowed him to be shedding tears, therefore anger had taken over. He had shouted at Suoh, bared his fists at him, insulted him. In those terrible words, he had said Suoh had been playing him and ultimately had fulfilled his desire to mock and ridicule him, along with the rest of that cursed ship. Suoh had seen through his anger; it was obvious, they were both in pain and striving to find a way to cope with the sadness. They had calmed down and apologised but the emptiness remained. Eventually, Suoh had told him:

“We are not a cursed boat. We are only wary of the mistakes of our kin. But since the Empire’s attacks, our rules have softened or have changed. A new era has come for the Mud Whale and when we’ll settle in new lands, I will pass the title of leader to Ohni. I don’t think I’ll be suited anymore”.

“I thought you weren’t serious”, had replied Rochalizo, afraid to hope.

Suoh hadn’t answered that question but the look in his eyes was so solemn, the Prince understood it was futile to mistrust those words. He had shaken and Suoh had reached out to take both his hands in his.

“Wait for me”, he had said.

And that had been the last of their talk.

Had they not been on the brink of finding a new home, lands which would reshape the whole system they had adhered to until now, the young leader would have yielded to despair. However, they were moving at a fast space, navigating towards unhabited islands. This was why he was wiling to wait. This was how he was able to wake up in the morning and hope and greet Rochalizo naturally. Of course, he got excited, imagining the life of his people in the new lands and prayed that for their sake, they would all arrive very soon. But he had never had a personal hope to look forward to and the perspective was exhilarating. 

Frank with himself, because at some point of another you needed to be, Suoh felt at times like he wasn’t in position to complain about his situation. His people loved him and he loved them and asking for more could be seen as borderline selfish and greedy, at least, how he saw it. Also, Rochalizo and him and known each other for several months, a period of time which was little compared to the separation or impossibilties for certain lovers to be together.

It was surely only puppy love, and teenagers’ hearts changed so fast and yearned for many others in a short timeframe. And yet to dismiss it so rationaly and harshly would have bee wrong; Suoh couldn’t help advocating in favour of this idea. The idea that, in spite of this love being “puppy love”, as some liked to call it, it couldn’t be reduced to to this only. It could never encompass the variety of feelings and affections he felt. And even so, if it really was just that, - because who knows, there too few chances of this being last and true love (considering the right and true kind of love could be found in only one person) - couldn’t he also get the chance to experience love, as silly and as immature as it could turn out to be?

He deemed this as a just judgement. However if the day they landed never came, there was no knowing as to how he would act... He preferred to avoid that thought for the time being. 

And as for now... They were still waiting.

Rochalizo’s faint voice crept up to his ear, warm and meek.

“Your skin smells good...”

Suoh’s grin lightened up his entire face and he positioned more comfortably against the pillows, laying down a little more backwards, bringing the Prince along.

“You too... You smell like clementines and honey”.

He could feel him smile against his skin which made Suoh even happier. Silence fell back on the room again and they stayed in each other’s arms, eyes closed, content. After some time, his neck a bit sore from the position, Suoh lowered his head away from the Prince and crashed on the pillow. Rochalizo shifted and replaced his head on Suoh’s chest as Suoh’s arms wrapped gently but narrowly around his middle. A few minutes later, they shifted again, Rochalizo climbing up the other’s body and as he moved, Suoh stared at him longingly.

To be this beautiful... That couldn’t possibly be a human sight.

Next thing, he was leaning in and peppering a few kisses on his cheeks. Rochalizo jumped a bit, but did not retreat; his cheeks aflamed, lowered down his face, allowing a wider access. The Prince bit his lips, probably thinking that if “this” felt pleasurable, so much more could feel heavenly. Could... A snarky smile carved his lips.

“Say Suoh, kissing like this, that’s a weird way to be friends, don’t you think?”

That comment earned a giggle from the young chief. His fingers brushed against a strand of a ginger strand of hair behind his ear.

“That would be okay, since I already do those things with a lot of other friends”, he said, half teasing, half stating, leaving his remark open for interpretation.

“Take that back!”, vociferated Rochalizo, obviously taking this as teasing and he rushed to give him kicks in the stomach with his knee. 

Wailing in pain, Suoh raised his own as well as his hands in an attempt to protect his assailed stomach.

“Ouch... Ah... Please stop, I take it back... I take it back!”

Rochalizo grined and, making sure he hadn’t really hurt Suoh - he was right to check in, he could be pretty sensitive - he lay down again to give him a hug. Suoh’s hand found his way to his hair and began stroking it slowly. Curling the hair through his fingers, he was reminded of the times he thought his hair was naturally this curly. Arosing again, Rochalizo’s voice sounded suddenly a lot more troubled.

“I know you already do all this with the others but... There’s a difference... Isn’t it? We do those things with another kind of intent... Don’t we?”

“Undeniably”, assured Suoh, holding him a bit more tighter.

He knew that was a topic that had often been brought on the table, for they had different perspectives on what it meant to be friends and where to draw the line between those and lovers. Suoh’s upfront affections resulted in his borders being looser than Rochalizo’s whereas the latter preferably saved most of his gentle touches for lovers, enforcing a clear division. This rarely manifested in fights, but rather in the form of jealousy. Not much could be done to counteract it, except giving reassurance and affection.

“It IS different. I am crazy about you. And tired of waiting too for the simple joy of kissing you in public”, he confessed.

The covers were clenched around them as Rochalizo hid his face under them, overwhelmed by embarrassement. A muffled sound emerged which sounded much like “how can you say things like that that easily”. Suoh smiled, but he rapidly added, more gravely.

“I’m sorry, it would’ve been best for you if I had been born in Amonlogia”.

Emerging from the sheets, the scarlet red face of the Prince, crushed between his cerulean fingers looked as though he was about to go a little bonkers. The long soft groan he was uttering was enough proof. Moving his head up to the ceiling as his fingers squashed their way down his face, he sighed, trying to regain his composure, stil trying to recover from the tenderness of this small speech.

“L-Look, I think you should be just a tiny bit ashamed of what you gab about sometimes, alright? In- In any case, I... What are you saying? I wouldn’t want you to be from Amonlogia! At all!”

Kneeling next to Suoh’s head and forcing their eye contact, he grasped the tip of the other’s chin and locked eyes with him. The threat in his gaze was subtle, it blended together with strong feelings of love, fear and sadness. Suoh’s breath hitched.

“It is because you are not from this damned place that I like you”

They had uttered those words before, but never as passionately as the context in this moment implied they were. Suoh’s gaze filled with immediate steadfast affection. Rochalizo’s voice trembled.

“Who knows who you could have turned out to be, in this country of mine? Your morals, your kindness, I... Everything... You must not wish to be someone else or to have been from elsewhere. This island and you... You and this island, you feed on each other’s benevolence, blossom when you can exchange acts of charity. I understand that both of you are tied to each other and that I can’t enjoy the sight of one without thanking the other. It is because you are from here, that you have lived peacefully here... That you are... Well... I think you are fine that way”.

Suoh did not know when he had began to smile but he could not stop. Rochalizo was right. The character of unfairness that was of the rules was a heavy burden to bear, but if it meant they had found each other and lived according to healthy values, it could not be so bad. However, he didn’t quite understand anymore if the point of his rhetoric was to alleviate the pain of the Mud Whale’s regulation or if he was simply praising him. He was too tired to ponder either way and not able to keep the conversation going but, went through the care of signifying how powerfully he felt the same with a look.

As the young chief was gradually dozing off, Rochalizo’s voice filled the silence once again at some point.

“You know I believe in what I just said, but on the other hand... Isn’t it hilarious how I’m the biggest danger to your people now?”

The mention of danger combined with the topic of his people was enough to get Suoh to focus a little more.

“I’m a bit proud of that, if I must say”, carried on Rochalizo’s voice, helding palavers arrogantly, “I’m immensely powerful. Just us walking as lovers could apparently turn you mad and, done in a snap, you’d mess up the whole political system and forget your people even exist! Just because of me!”

The other shook his head, a small laugh coming out of his sigh. Such senselessness and a joke a bit too dark for his taste. But nonetheless, he didn’t reproached it to the other. And how it had been described was a bit entertaining.

“I know... That rule isn’t right, it’s only bound to make leaders transgress it... But...”, he added, “I’m glad you’re my little chaos enabler!”

Rochalizo’s expression turned even more presumptuous.

“Chaos enabler will suffice”.

“But you still are a bit small”.

The Prince growled, offended. His hands slipped to Suoh’s belly in order to tickle him to death.

“Not as small as your monkey-brain!”, he exclaimed, as an evilly satisfied smile stretched his lips, hearing Suoh begging for him to stop between bits of laughter.

Getting his steady breathing back, the young chief hid his face an instant behind the back of his hand, relaxing a moment, burrowed into the thick pillow up to his ears. Through the fabric, he heard Rochalizo’s voice keep the conversation. 

“Don’t you think it’s strange though, this sort of abstinence they make you and made the previous mayors go through?”

While Suoh loved Rochalizo’s talks and thought he often made very good points, he still hoped to get some rest somehow. Perhaps a few more chats and he would ask for him to let him sleep, albeit he could not pretend not to be interested. Especially since those matters affected them as a pair. Furthermore, yes, undoubtedly most of these were jokes, however he knew the Prince find it difficult to speak plainly and instead, was far likelier to turn to backdoor policies.

“It is similar to those stories of people being restrained by forbidden love... The issue about this is that they are made total strangers to themselves by society and hate what they are supposed to love while also fearing it. And they can’t talk about it. It becomes a taboo and it kills them from the inside. They even get scared touching others, as if they’d become incontrollable”.

Suoh nodded, approving with virulence.

“I don’t like those stories. Keeping things silent doesn’t solve anything - if it doesn’t exacerbate the issue in the first place. Don’t fret, we are still going to talk about it. And we can still touch. I’m not afraid of any of us...”

Rochalizo simply smiled, although he now looked all the most embarrassed after spending just a few seconds deep in thoughts.

“B-by abstinence what I meant was... U-um, not just... Intercourse. I was including many other things! I’d just like to kiss and... Have others know”.

“Of course, but that would be okay, we are teenagers after all,”, Suoh replied, chuckling.

-Do you think they know?

-It’s hard to keep a secret here, but...

-Oh I know, you all are filthy town-gossipers...

-They possibly have light suspicions, but I don’t suppose so”, mumbled the other, as he couldn’t refrain a huge yawn.

They spent another few minutes not talking. Rochalizo now lay back on top of Suoh’s chest. Apart from the candles, whose flames had devoured a fairly good portion of the wax, there wasn’t a single other light outside. Nightime encompassed the Mud Whale, pitch black and not a single star visible through the mass of dark clouds. But most shocking was this silence, so defeaningly profound. To Rochalizo’s heart, it felt quite lonely and unconsciously omnious, accustomed as he was to the noise and the traffic flow of his urban hometown. But it was also in a sense, soothingly liberating, as this worry of avoiding intrusive eyes dissipated. In this moment, they could have been the only citizens of this island. The only people in the world.

“I don’t think I’ll ever grow used to this place”, he said, in a low voice, nostalgic for something he couldn’t understand, “We would usually hear people. Tonight, they’re all on the opposite side on the ship, busy with party preparations. Wanna go, Suoh?”

Getting no answer, the Prince shifted until his eyes fell on the sight of Suoh sleeping soundly. Feeling tenderly amused, he extended his arm to brush away the little strands of hair fallen of the beautiful face.

“Look at us! I talk inapropriately too much, and you couldn’t tell me you’d soon collapse...”

He carefully got out of bed, landing on his tiptoes. Getting close again, on the white, momentarily non-frowning forehead, he lay a soft hand. Only displays of affection which could also be those of friends for the time being, they had said and agreed to. As time moved slowly, it also grew short on his patience, but, gazing at the sight of his lovely flame, all thoughts of frustration evaporated into thin air and all he could feel was pride. Love. And the hopeful certitude that waiting was, in spite of his disastrous existence being filled with lifelong ruinous choices, the best choice he had ever made.

                                                      OoOoO

When Suoh woke up, the calm he had come home to could no longer be found. Rubbing his eyes lazily and wiping up the little drool on his lip, he approached the window and pulled the dusty curtains open. A cold breeze blowed in his face and he breathed in long and slow, charging his lungs in fresh air again. Having leaned onto both his elbows on the edge of the window, he could hear and see more of the gleeful turmoil which was bubbling in the streets. The alleys overflowed with flower ornaments and white ivy, golden sparkles and confettis had been scattered on the ground, stomped by children who ran by, laughing. If he squinted, he could make out the hot lights of a huge bonfire, he assumed, as the rest was hidden by another few houses, trailing rays of lights along some facades. Screams of joy and general excitement stirred up from that peculiar spot of the island. But, as a smile crept up to Suoh’s mouth, a loud boom made him jump and almost had him falling out the window. Grasping the ledge fearfully, his eyes followed a trail of red light rise high in the sky and explode. Upon that sight, Suoh automatically crouched under the window, securing himself behind the wall. As no immediate threat nor any screams followed, he got up on his feet again to look outside, searching for the bits of whatever had just blown up before his eyes.

“What the hell?!?!?!”, exclaimed a loud, authoritative voice below him.

A voice he only knew too well. Suoh bent forward at the window, looking for him, his heart compressed in his chest. If he had been hurt, if even the slightiest thing had happened to him he-

“What the hell, seriously! I told them to wait! The bastards!”

The young chief’s eyes finally found Rochalizo. He stood in a nearby garden discussing vehemently with Kuchiba. He did not seem hurt, nor did Kuchiba and the scenery around them did not show signs of damage. Another trail of light rose up in a sizzling sound this time, and Suoh followed it, less afraid now but nonetheless crouching a bit, only keeping his eye at the right level to witness the explosion. As it did, the trail parted in several other golden petals, looking much like a rose. The remains silently fell back on the village, fading out into the air.

“I’m gonna kill them! I’m gonna kill them!”

Suoh repositioned on the edge, looking down at him, not comprehending in the least what was going on. The Prince finally took notice of him and covered his mouth in shocked guilt.

“I’m so sorry Suoh”, he cried from afar, “Did I wake you up? Well, I guess you can’t sleep with all this racket!”

The other nodded awkwardly, waving his hand vaguely.

“What was that?!”, he shouted in response.

Rochalizo looked angry again. He swelled his cheeks, as if trying his best not to start cursing.

“That was... Well... I... I told them to wait until you woke up to light them up. But hopefully or not, you woke up just in time!”

Kuchiba shook his head in major disaprovement and folded his arms. Rochalizo smiled pretentiously at him, then redirected his attention on Suoh:

“I was coming to wake you up and bring you along, but it seems”, he winced through another smile, “I was outstripped and I no longer have to deal with the moral dilemma about letting you sleep or not.

-But what are them?

-Come down quickly! I’m meeting with you halfway from here! If we don’t hurry those idiots will run through the last of my stock!”

                                                       OoOoO

They ran through the sparkly streets, shining of the hot lights of torches on wood staffs. Rochalizo’s hair fluttered before his eyes in a fiery haze and his hand which held Suoh’s tightly, not letting go, was warm and spongy. The young chief’s breath ran short, despite them having ran just a few dozens of meters, but he didn’t want to stop running, ever. In this instant, his heart beat fast and running through the night with the one he wished most to be with made him ecstatic, the lights bordering the path as though they were casting their blessing upon their wild adventure.

“Look Suoh!”, screamed Rochalizo, as they were reaching the central place in which gathered the general crowd. 

He pointed at something Suoh missed but he then caught sight of the shimmering explosion of another of those sparkly fires, An emerald one, shaped in the form of a palm tree.

“I don’t understand, but that’s beautiful”, Suoh said, huddling against Rochalizo’s arm.

“They’re fireworks. I found them in my stuff and your people went mad with excitement. And... I wanted you to see them...”

Rochalizo gazed at him silently, his tender eyes expressing a childlike excitement as well as admirative affection, lots of it. Suoh returned the gaze. They walked together hand in hand to the central place, tacking between the people who drank festive beverages, ate, sang along with those playing local instruments, talked with spice and joy. Pointing at a spot lifted up above the crowd, Suoh guided towards the edge of an old passageway which stairs had broke. They sat there, nestling against each other, watching the festivities for a moment. To the left, a group of people danced to a contry dance song, some on their own or with friends, bouncing their heads and arms to the rythm, some of them, much closer to where they had settled, danced in pairs with lovers, exchanging when the tempo slowed down, a few hugs and kisses. Rochalizo’s eyes were fixed on them, insistant. When the other asked him what he was thinking of, he gave that answer:

“Oh... Sorry, I’ve spaced out”, he said, seeking to look more cheerful, but Suoh had grasped the envy and jealousy in his eyes and those feelings somewhat stuck to his face, even as he put in some good-will.

Suoh gave him a little nudge, not buying that excuse. He knew him too well.

“Do you want to dance?”, he inquired, offering his hand.

Uneasy, the Prince shifted a bit awkwardly. But it didn’t take long for him to make up his mind and he accepted timidly. Walking through the crowd anew, they took place for the following dance, one of Rochalizo’s hand on Suoh’s shoulder and one of Suoh’s around his waist. Starting to dance, the young chief realised his partner wouldn’t know how to follow the rythm of this one and because it was swift and vigorous, they were rapidly lost and were giggling at each other’s bad synchronisation and clumsiness, trying many times but ending up failing and shouting a few “we suck!” and “this is so hard!” at each other through the loud music. The next dance played slower than the previous ones, calmer, which in consequence had many single people leaving. Rochalizo’s hands had come to rest around Suoh’s neck up to his elbows and Suoh’s hands had slipped around his hips. They stood so close to each other it had become hard to breathe and to even pay attention to the music. And how could they?, when the other’s face reflected the lights of the bonfire and was flushed from the exercise and stamina.

However, as he looked outside of their carefree bubble, Suoh could feel his stomach form knots, being under the most unpleasant impression that all eyes were upon them, silently judging or wondering. And he noticed that Rochalizo felt it too, as his hands clutched slightly at his white tunic. Their bodies seemed suddenly heavy and not much moveable to keep up with the music, as relaxed as it was.

“Rochalizo, I...

-Yeah...

-Do you want to go get a drink instead? I’m sorry.

-No, no, of course. Don’t apologise”, the Prince shrugged, wincing awkwardly but with resignation.

But even hearing those words hurt Suoh. It was sad that they couldn’t dance and have a good time like the others did, but he feared on top of that Rochalizo’s feelings. He never wanted him to believe he was ashamed of him, he thought, as the other dragged him to the drinks stalls. They bought fizzy drinks and moved to a place more hidden from the public eye. Suoh opened his mouth to apologise again, but Rochalizo silenced him with a look.

“Don’t, it’s not necessary. Can I... Can I show you something?”

Suoh blinked a few times and nodded, smiling in wait. The Prince searched for something in his pockets, going through both of them. His face took on a scary air when he thought he had lost whatever he was looking for, but he found it, as he checked twice. His entire face blushed, even his ears - and Suoh didn’t know that was possible - as he handed him a small piece of paper. The paper he had been writing on earlier. Suoh unfolded it slowly, watching Rochalizo as he turned his head away. On the sheet, there were only few small words, but reading them, it made his heart burst with joy. A joy so strong he did not know how to exteriorise it.

Suoh’s hands gave small wrinkles to it, trembling in excitement, but took care as not to tear it. Biting his lips, he closed the piece of paper, replaying the moment he had read it for the first time again and again. Those words, “I love you”. Rochalizo hid his head in his palms, still looking away, talking fast and a lot as if trying to fill the silence which overwhelmed him with uneasiness.

“I’m so sorry, this isn’t fancy of anything and I... I could’ve done something much better. I didn’t want to leave behind something big that could expose you and... I just... I just wanted to say it now and not wait a long time again, but I couldn’t make myself say it... I...-

He was suddenly cut by the weight of someone throwing himself in his arms. Arms strongly wrapping around him and a small face, buried into his shoulder, and then, he felt something wet rolling down his shoulder. Suoh moved back, eyelashes filled with tears and his cheeks wet. The glee in his eyes was so dizzying Rochalizo got almost knocked down. It was an otherwordly vision.

“I love you! I love you”, exclaimed Suoh, sniffing and pressing his hands to his beloved’s upper arms.

Suoh smiled through the tears. In this situation, he felt the need to touch him and he did, cupping his cheeks into his hands and pressing their foreheads together. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to kiss him for hours and cherish him, maybe even biting those lips. Rochalizo’s eyes were also on his mouth. 

Suoh sighed, this could not go on like this. It hurt both of them. An end must be put to this, but yet, there were still no close in landing to new lands... On a whim, Suoh, took hold of Rochalizo’s hand and dragged him back to the crowd, where people still danced and partied and sang. 

“What are you doing?”, the other said, squeezing his hand, puzzled.

“I told you to wait for me and you have...”, he began, searching for his words in the middle of a sea of people and lights, feeling strongly unrational.

“But I’m afraid”, Suoh continued, shaking his head slowly, “I’ve come to realise it is cruel of me to ask you that and by the way... I cannot wait for you any longer...”

Rochalizo’s eyes flickered, unsure of what this meant and if he should be bracing himself for a heartache too great for him to handle. Suoh’s eyes were still sad and gave away some clues, he had made a decision and he didn’t like what he had just decided on, his hair flapping around him miserably. 

“What are you trying to say...?”

His chest tightened all the more and suddenly he didn’t want an answer although he had just asked. He wanted to stay in the miserable state of doubt because nothing would hurt more if Suoh chose to leave him.

But once again, unexpectedly, Suoh crashed into his arms, scooting closer and they made eyecontact in a fuzzy mess of feelings of love mixed with excrutiating uncertainty. Suoh’s face leaned towards Rochalizo until they were a few inches apart of each other, their noses brushing and they breathed the same air. Rochalizo’s rested both his hands on the other’s cheeks. Suoh could feel them this time, more than a sole impression, he was certain everyone had stopped to watch them, because he was hearing every sound of the island slowly fade away into inaudibleness, one by one, until he could not hear anything else but the buzzing sound in his own ears. The stress was building in his chest but mightier was the adrenaline he experienced for being this close to Rochalizo and on top of that, where everyone could see them, proudly unhidden. He had had enough and he had enough. They had showed many times they cared about each other, but at the same time, had never really dared. It was high time he caught up with time and that they loved, loved each other in any way they could imagine and put to into acts. 

Rochalizo’s lips came closer tentatively, glinting in saliva and swollen, as his hands clutched at Suoh’s hair, almost desperate for affection. Suoh looked at them, probing how much he had desired to kiss him and have everyone know and how many times he had resisted. No more of that. Closing the gap between them, he met with Rochalizo’s mouth and kissed his lips passionately, pouring all his love into the ways he moved against him. And almost simultaneously, the other kissed back with an unmatched urgence and fever. Their mouths were sealed for a long time and for the Gods knew how long, they could not part from each other. It was when the sound of a glass shattering to the ground reached their ears that they both came to stop, both looking in the same direction, meeting the crowd’s eyes.

From the many people which composed it, every face expressed either shock, disapprouval or happiness. They endured the silence, not moving, waiting for whatever punishment would be ordered. But then a voice rose up from the crowd, loud and clear, overjoyed.

“Hell yeah! You go, Suoh!”

Followed by one, then ten, fifty and finally, perhaps half the crowd, hundreds of cries of joy elevated, cheering for them. People clapped, shouted in support, jumped in excitement for them, threw fists in the air, looked all “I knew it”. Some just stood where they were, smiling warmly at them in silent approbation. Oh, there were others, way less supportive but it did not matter now. It was truly something to be acclaimed by hundreds of souls, almost an entire island for what you were, to be declared defensible and worthy of acceptance. Suoh found himself lost in the cries of the crowd, submerged by overall what you could call love, the love of a family who didn’t delude itself and embraced what he chose at core and made him feel alive. Turning to Rochalizo, he gave him a long loving look which the prince reciprocated, grabbing and holding his hand in his. It would be fine in the end.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

His Blood Runs Gold I

Percy is a God: Part I

Masterlist for the next part and more of my stuff

Y’all already know what this is!!!!!!!! But if you don’t then click this to find out. And i hope you enjoy Percy as a god cause i definitely do ;) *shivers*

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We were warm and shivering,

and young and ancient,

and alive.

-We Were Liars, E. Lockhart

Time is non-existent anymore. Percy should be twenty this year but now that he has ichor flowing through his veins, he can be 102 or 5. He has done things Homer would write epic poems about. If he were around at the dawn of time Ovid would have happily dedicated the Metamorphoses to him. But today Percy Jackson has been a god for three years and he has never felt more mortal in his life.

“Percy my boy, what are you doing here?”

“Hello Father, Camp Half-Blood is throwing a campfire in my honour and I thought it’d be rude not to show my face.”

“Very noble of you son. I remember back in my day the Greeks–“

Percy zoned out, tired of hearing how people bowed down to all these stuffy Olympians. The camp threw a celebration every year on the day he got immortalized and in return he reinforced the borders and blessed every demigod before they leave at the end of summer. He doesn’t know if he’s doing a good job, he doesn’t even know if what he does is making a difference, but he doesn’t know how else to give back to the camp and the people that saved his life again and again; who loved him and fought next to him and oh gods followed him into battle.

He’s never had the chance to talk to Chiron, who’s always busy with this demi-god and that satyr, and this nymph. He barely gets the chance to talk to all his old friends– between the new campers wanting to hear his stories and the general chaos of end of summer camp-life. He thanked the powers that be–what a jarring thought that he was one of those powers now– that he managed to find days in-between to see Annabeth and Grover.

He smiled to himself as he remembered the last time he saw Annabeth. She had been moving into her own apartment to start her third year at the University of New Rome. To his unsurprised delight she had chosen archaeology as her major but somehow slipped Latin and Ancient Histories into her schedule. He had helped carry bags and bags filled with books up to her room and they spent the day setting her up and making sure everything was in its place before she started the year.

Their relationship had progressed so softly, so slowly, Percy sometimes felt like he had imagined the year they had as a romantic couple. After he became a god they managed to go on a few dates, some interrupted by hothead immortals and revengeful monsters, and some blissfully alone. But once Annabeth started university and Percy was called again and again to help with this problem and that, it became a hassle to set up dates and figure out when to meet. They didn’t grow apart, so much as grow between. And although he missed the softness of Annabeth, he had gained a friend who knew him more deeply than any being alive– he was eternally grateful for that, and he couldn’t hate what they lost out on.

“Son, are you listening?” Poseidon pulled him from his thoughts.

“Yes father, it really was a great time for you. I have to go now, but Iris message if you need me.” And without waiting for a reply Percy strode out of Olympus and into the streets below.

He considered snagging a car but decided against it, since you couldn’t very well drive into Camp Half-Blood. Instead he walked into the ocean and let the current take him all the way to Long-Island, till he could smell the strawberries on the ocean wind and hear the echoes of camp games and reedpipes.

He stepped onto the beach, loving the soft sinking impressions he made in the sand. After his blood turned gold he realized he could walk on the sand and make no footprints whatsoever. The idea scared him so much he sunk under water and cried for three hours. How could he leave nothing behind? How could he have no imprint? It was Tyson, riding on his rainbow hippocampi who found him and showed him how to balance his weight; showed him how to step into the sand and not on it. When his footprints reappeared once more, he hugged his brother so hard if Tyson weren’t a cyclops his ribs might have cracked.

So Percy walked up the beach and through the strawberry fields, taking the time to breathe in the forest air, the fruit breezes, and ah the smell of chaos.

“JACKSON!” Connor Stoll yelled.

And with that single announcement Percy was home.

The day was spent in good spirits: racing with various campers up the wall and avoiding every deadly thing it spat at you– even if he couldn’t really die; then eating in the dining hall and getting to travel between tables without getting glares from various houses or Chiron; laughing as all the food turned blue just for him.

When it was time Percy walked with some of his friends; Clarisse who grew to be a steady, if raging fire, by his side, and Connor Stoll who is now the oldest of the Hermes kids since Travis left for college, and of course Will who above everyone reserves the right to make sure his friends were protected.

In a moment of vulnerability, he broke down on Percy’s immortal shoulder and wept. I don’t want to bury anymore of my friends Percy. I don’t want to be tending to them as they die in my infirmary. I can’t do it anymore. For him, Percy double, sometimes in moments of obsessiveness, triple checked his border defenses.

Now the little group walks around the perimeter of the camp and talks softly and contentedly as Percy knocks against the shimmering force, leaking power into the hollow spots.

“How is everyone at camp?” He asked.

“Fine, nothing has changed much. Ever since the Giant War it feels as if everything has calmed down to a lull. I’m wary it’s the eye before the storm but gods-dammit we deserve a break.” Connor answered.

Percy hid the rage of that truth but let the ache of those words settle in his bones. He simply nodded at Connor and turned to Clarisse.

“Are there any new campers who need to be protected?”

“Only a few, a lot have moved to New Rome over the last years.” There was a bitter edge to her words, caused by the sting of loss.

“You cannot blame them for wanting a life that is not concentrated to three months of safety.”

“I know,” Her nostrils flared, she kicked the rock in front of her. “I know. It just sucks that there’s so few of us now.”

“Maybe we can see about hosting annual games at each camp over the summer?” He suggested, careful to not step where the cracks spidered underneath him– even if the labyrinth had collapsed there was still the chance something tunneled beneath.

“I think that’s a great idea.” Will piped up, “Maybe then I can convince Nico to stay for more than one week.” He rolled his eyes, but the glimmer of happiness in them gave away his annoyed pretense.

“I will talk to the Praetors over there and let you know.”

“Thank you, Percy.”

They turned to face him.

He stared at them for a moment, studying their faces. Even now, all these years later it was jarring to see the signs of growth in their make-ups. He couldn’t say aging, they were barely hitting their twenties, gods Will was still a teenager, albeit not for much longer; but it was weird to watch as they grew up, watch as time changed their features, changed them.

Clarisse, who used to be a spitfire of rage and fierce protectiveness was now, more a well-kept hearth. She was still full of flame, but it was contained, and her fierce was warm instead of scorching.

And Connor, who had been attached to his brother at the hip, was all grown up. Travis was three years into a degree and Connor, although a prospective honours student, had forfeited college until he could figure out what he wanted to do. He was the sole head of the Hermes cabin, but somehow, he kept up the mischief as if the two were still together. The shenanigans are some of Percy’s favourites to hear around the campfire.

And Will, who is dating Nico di Angelo. The two were often running between the camps, though Nico more than the child of Apollo. It was Will, Percy thought, who brought the camp together, more than anyone. And Will, who in the process had lost the most. For him, Percy would continue to be here every year, would continue to help if they called when they were in trouble. Because he too was tired of seeing his friends die. Tired of seeing his friends mourn.

“It’s almost time for me to go but I wanted to say,” He fought to choke back the rising wave of emotions, “I wanted to say thank you. For keeping my home safe. And thank you for being my friends.”

Their hug lasted many moments, ribbons of friendship passing between them. And when Percy walked back into the sea, he was glad no-one could tell the difference between tears and ocean.

Friends, the word echoed in his head. So few and far between since he became a God. It was not that people feared him, they just became… wary. They fell into that space in-between, where one wrong move could plunge them into fear. When he first turned divine, he counted on his fingers how many friends he had, and if he didn’t have enough digits, he deemed it a good day. Now he can count with aching clarity all the people who loved him, and still have fingers to spare.

Annabeth asked him once if he regretted taking up Zeus’ offer, if he regretted turning his red blood gold.

He hadn’t answered her till three weeks later, over a three am phone call.

I don’t regret it, he had said, because I know I can help this way. I know I can protect my family and friends better this way. And when the phone had gone dark, he had whispered into the void of his room– an alcove of coral far, far, far underwater– I don’t regret it, but I’m so lonely. The tears at that admission did not stop flowing for many hours.

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How are you feeling?? Cause i got 6K words for this fic and i don’t see myself stopping any time soon. Give me your thoughts young ones!!!!