#DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG? and god that is exhausting. that's my biggest fear about relationships

[eliounora]

most of the time I'm sure I'll never find a relationship but then sometimes I get this idea in my head that maybe there is someone out there for me and it's like WHOA WHOA WHOA. where is this ounce of hope coming from. get it off me

[aboutapeachparty]

Stray Kids | bringing your child to the doctor for the first time

reaction | hyung line

genre ➸ romance, fluff, husband & dad! au

disclaimer ➸ This is a work of fiction. I don't own any famous character(s) - like idols - and my writings are in no way meant to show these people’s real nature and/or offend them in any way.

chan.

You have just been out of town because you and your friends agreed to go on a little girl trip. You have been very busy with motherhood since you and Chan had your baby girl. Your friends were last for a long time. But for your birthday they gave you a weekend at a spa and you were really looking forward to it. But it was also the first weekend for Chan alone with your daughter. And that night the little girl got a fever. High fever. At first, Chan thought that she couldn't sleep because you weren't there. After all, she was most used to you. But her face grew redder and redder and her body glowed. "Do you have a fever?" Chan stood in front of her bed in a panic and talked more to himself because the little girl just cried more and more. "Okay, where was the temperature monitor?" He would love to call you, but he didn't want to ruin your weekend. When he looked in the corner, he saw a box on the shelf that was labeled "Medicines". Immediately he ran over there and rummaged around and found something. "Thank God your mother is a neat freak," he said with a grin and went to his daughter with the temperature monitor. And as he had feared, she had a fever. The display read 39.5 degrees Celsius, but Chan couldn't do anything with it. Was it high or just increased? When does a baby have a fever? Slowly he panicked and didn't quite know what to do anymore. His daughter kept screaming loudly and he couldn't just leave her here. "Okay, come to Daddy," he said then gently and put his girl over his shoulder. But she didn't calm down. He picked up his phone and looked for the symptoms and found that this temperature is relatively high for a 6-month-old child and immediately decides to take her to the hospital. He dressed his daughter even when she was hot because he was still afraid that she would catch a cold. But that makes her scream even louder. She was hot from the fever and the jacket didn't make it any better. He took it off again and tried to put her in the child car seat.

"Hold on. We're going to the hospital in a moment." He tried to calm her down, but the little girl was too sick to notice her daddy. Chan drove off and he was glad that the nearest pediatric hospital was close by. After parking, he grabbed his daughter, held her tight to his chest, and ran. "I need a pediatrician, right now!" Chan was out of breath when he arrived at the reception and the receptionist looked at him in surprise but smiled gently when she saw his daughter. She was quiet now because she was so exhausted. She tried to cry now and then and to cling to her father, but she was already very weak. After all, she hadn't slept in hours and the fever was exhausting her. "Oh dear, is she sick?" Asked the woman and smiled. "She has a high fever. I read on the Internet that it is dangerous and I don't know ... my wife is not there and ... What do you do when a baby has a fever?" Chan was in a panic and hoped to be able to help his daughter soon. The woman nodded gently and smiled. "Everything is fine. I'll call a pediatrician right away." Chan thanked her and stood aside. Again and again, he stroked his daughter's back gently and hummed something to her. The girl became calmer, but she kept whimpering. Chan saw how exhausted she was, but she still fought so hard. "Christopher Bang?" He heard a voice and immediately turned around. A doctor had come and Chan immediately approached him. "My daughter, she has a high fever," he said immediately and the doctor immediately looked at his girl. But he could see right away that it wasn't anything serious. "At first, come in," he said with a soft smile and led the two of them into the practice. The pediatrician examined the child and he quickly came to his conclusion. "Fever is relatively normal for children. It can happen sometimes. It doesn't seem serious. She now needs special care and attention, bed rest and let the child drink about every half hour." The doctor smiled and Chan took his daughter back onto his lap. "Not more?" He was quite surprised. "It's all good. But please don't wrap your daughter so tightly in warm clothes." The doctor pointed to the jacket that Chan also had in his hand. "Oh, I didn't know ..." Chan was completely mistaken, that was all quite a lot. "The first child?" Asked the pediatrician and Chan nodded. "You learn with time. Everything is fine, but if the fever persists, just come back tomorrow." "Thank you, doctor," said Chan and let out a sigh of relief. Then he said goodbye and went out of the room. "Mummy will be proud of us when she comes home that we did it so well," said Chan and kissed his daughter on the hot forehead, who slowly closed her eyes.

minho.

"Y/N." Minho came into the bedroom with your daughter in his arms and looked at you seriously. "Mhmm?" You actually wanted your peace and quiet because your day was incredibly stressful. All-day you had been waiting to watch your favorite series and were glad that Minho put your daughter to bed. "We have to take her to the hospital. Her rash is getting bigger and bigger." "It's not serious," you say and look at Minho, shaking your head. Then you look back to the television and turn up the volume. "Can't you stand behind us? Our daughter is sick!" Minho looked at you in disbelief and didn't believe how indifferent you could be. But the truth was, your girl had rashes many times, and you've told Minho a hundred times not to worry. "Good, then take her to the hospital," you say with a shrug and make yourself comfortable in bed again. "Unbelievable," said Minho with a sigh and walked out of the bedroom. He was always very overprotective with his daughter. So he drove off and rushed to the hospital. When Minho arrived at the hospital, he was immediately sent to the nearest pediatrician. Probably more because he caused stress to the whole workforce. But after a short examination, the pediatrician was able to give him a diagnosis. "She has no fever and the rash seems to have subsided again. I'll prescribe an ointment for her and it should be fine again." The doctor started to write something on a pad, but Minho was not satisfied with it. "Just a rash? Look at it? Look how red it is." Minho pointed to the red spots on his daughter. "Yes, that happens a lot with toddlers." The doctor smiled but Minho immediately dressed his daughter and pulled her to him. "Have you even studied? Are you a doctor at all?" Minho was a little too worried about his daughter. That was exactly why you didn't come with them. "Excuse me?" The pediatrician was really perplexed by the cheeky answer. But Minho already had his daughter in his arms and ran out of the room. He had to find another solution, but it was quite late now. Then it occurred to him that his cousin, whom he didn't like, was also a doctor. Actually, he avoided him, because his mother always wanted him to send his daughter to him and he thought that he was annoying. But now his daughter's health was more important. After a long phone call, Minho persuaded his cousin that he could come over with his daughter. However, he reluctantly agreed. "I know I called you late at night and threatened to kill your dog, but thanks for coming," Minho said and walked into the apartment. "It's not like a doctor needs sleep," said Minoh's cousin annoyed, and sat down on the sofa. "She has a rash and the idiot in the hospital said it is nothing." Minho gently removed his daughter's shirt to show his cousin the rash. He examined everything, took her temperature, and listened to her breathing. But he had to say the same as the doctor said in the hospital. "She has a harmless rash. Many children of that age have that." The cousin could no more determine. "I knew you were an idiot," said Minho, taking his daughter back. His cousin sighed but was too tired to say anything. Minho immediately ran out of the apartment and got back in the car with his daughter. Even though he was angry that no one was taking his baby's symptoms seriously, he decided to go home. "How was it?" You ask when they were back in your bedroom. "The doctor was an idiot, then I went to my idiot cousin, but he's an idiot too," Minho said defiantly, looking at your daughter. "You were with your cousin?" You ask him with a laugh. "Biggest mistake of my life. He will accuse me of that until his death." Minho rolled his eyes and leaned back into the bed. After all, he was pretty tired after the whole tour. "You're a good dad," you say with a smile and give him a kiss. Then you grab a cream from your drawer and start applying it on your daughter's rash. "Look, that helps her," you say and look at your daughter, who is now fast asleep. But when you don't hear any more reaction, you look over at Minho and see that he was asleep too.

changbin.

"Daddyyyyyyyy." Changbin heard his son crying from his room. It was still early in the morning and actually, he was usually still sleeping at that time. "What's wrong?" He asked when he saw him come into the kitchen. The little boy had glassy eyes. "Ouch." The boy pointed in his mouth and Changbin crouched down to take a closer look. "Oh, it's all red." He felt his son's neck and found that it was completely swollen. "It hurts so much, Daddy," said the boy and started to sob. He wiped away his tears with the palm of his hand and tried to be brave. "Well, let's call Mummy then." To be honest, Changbin didn't know what to do. So he immediately picked up his phone to call you. But you've already been to work and in an important meeting. So you couldn't answer immediately. In the meantime, your son sat on the floor and cried silently. He held his small hands to his neck and he looked at the floor. Changbin looked at him and took a deep breath. "Good. She's got the pediatrician's number somewhere here." Changbin went through the apartment and searched everything. "Daddyyyyy," the little boy continued whimpering. Changbin was starting to get stressed and he knew he had to react quickly. "Yes, yes. Daddy is already looking for a solution." He looks desperately through the apartment, but then there was a glimmer of hope. There was a note on the refrigerator that said "Emergency". Immediately he went up to it and could already see the number from the pediatrician. "Yes, this is it," he said happily and immediately typed the number. "Daddyyyyyy," the boy continued to whimper, and Changbin sat down with him and let his head rest on his lap. He continued to cry softly and Changbin gently stroked his back. "Practice Doctor Yen." A female voice answered. "Hello, my son is in pain and has a red throat. Do you still have an appointment?" Changbin found himself using his rapper voice and talking way too fast. "Yes, of course, you can come over right now," said the woman kindly and Changbin breathed a sigh of relief. After he hung up, he looked at his son. "We'll get you dressed now and then we'll go to the doctor," Changbin said quietly, but the little boy didn't want that. "No doctor," he said and cried even more. "But you are in pain and the doctor will help you," he tried to explain. "But the doctor stings," said the little boy, sobbing again. "No, he doesn't sting. You won't get a vaccination. He just looks into your mouth," Changbin told his son and gave him an encouraging smile. The boy nodded and so the two were ready to go to the doctor. Changbin became more and more nervous along the way. He wrote you a message so you would know and hoped that he would manage it all. At the doctor's, the little boy was almost braver than his father. While Changbin almost fell off his chair because of his nervousness, his son was very calm when the doctor examined him. "His tonsils are swollen and sore. I'll prescribe something and everything should be fine." The pediatrician smiled and stroked the child's head. The little boy smiled, and Changbin was so proud of him that he was so brave. Almost braver than himself. "And because you were so good, there is a reward," said the doctor and took something out. "LOLLIPOP!" The boy yelled excitedly, his eyes sparkling when he saw the candy. "It's for you." The pediatrician handed him the lollipop and the little boy grinned. As if his pain was completely forgotten and Changbin was just glad that everything went well.

masterlist.

[mirobami]

Hey hey heyyy! I really love your writing skills and how you write the characters so accurately! I was just wondering if I can request the Kakegurui girls ( Yumeko, Mary, Yumemi, and Kirari ) having an idol S/O that's so popular? if that's fine? Thank you!

↳ onstage | idol!reader

♥ CHARACTER(S): y. yumemite, k. manyuda, r. batsubami, r. momobami, t. totobami, i. sumeragi, r. yomozuki

♥ NOTE: Hi! I did Yumeko, Mary, and Kirari already and here it is! I’ve been wanting to do a part three with more characters, so I added them in this request. I really hope you don’t mind! Let's get started!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Fan!Reader

━ YUMEMI YUMEMITE ;

Obviously she wants to be a Hollywood actress but in order to get that famous, she had to become at least a little bit known

You were her inspiration from the get go

As the leader of your girl group, you didn't just stop there, you ensured that you wrote the songs and composed the music to them, sometimes directed your own music videos and people said that you had been offered a ton of positions everywhere within the industry

She's just a massive fan of your work and what you do as well as how you do it, she wants to be an actress and just be like you too

Whenever she needs inspiration for something, she finds herself going back to her Spotify playlist where it's just your songs; it seems like you can never do any wrong

So when she finds out you're going on tour, she ensures to get tickets in the front row and her manager decides to go along with her

During the concert, you can hear her screaming along with the lyrics and just cheering you on, the stars in her eyes are so much brighter than normal

You realize who she is and you’ve wanted to collaborate with her for the longest time so when Yumemi sticks around, you immediately jump at the chance to talk to her

To summarize, Yumemi went home that day with the possibility of a collaboration, a sore throat, and the sheer joy of the day

━ KAEDE MANYUDA ; 

He's already dealt with Yumemi so he kind of knows what's going on within the idol industry

However, when he sees you, he completely blanks because while you’re technically an idol, he did not see you as one, he just thought you were on your own level

This man probably has a twitter all about you and things you do so yes, he calls himself your biggest fan 

Yumemi found his Twitter and he’s mortified but what he doesn’t know is that Yumemi has connections for you; after all, most of his playlists have your songs in them so it’ll be out in public 

Friday comes along and he’s exhausted but there’s a swarm of students chattering and circling around something or someone

This time, Yumemi’s going over to Manyuda and dragging him along and oh my God, he could feel his heart drop to his knees because you were right in front of him with the same smile that caught his heart so long ago and-

You started to speak and he could’ve passed away right then and there

Props to Yumemi for getting him into the same room with you but then again, he’s also cursing her out because he literally cannot talk and he has the lightest blush on his cheeks 

It’s worth it to see you laugh and smile at him, he will never forget that day and yes, he will begrudgingly thank Yumemi 

━ RIRIKA MOMOBAMI ; 

She loves your songs because it matches with what she likes and what’s on her playlists a lot of the time

You usually have soft songs or songs that reflect on what she feels her position in the clan is, sometimes it makes her think that maybe you’ve been through something bad too and that’s when she feels the actual connection between the both of you

What she did worry about for a while was that you were like Yumemi; Yumemi had two sides to her: the one onstage and the one backstage

There was always that lingering fear that maybe you weren’t who you really were onstage

But Ririka knew how to see through lies and while focusing on you, she notices that you aren’t lying when you say that you love your fans, not even at the meet and greets

She resigns to wanting to meet you desperate and lo and behold, Kirari coincidentally has VIP tickets to your newest concert 

Ririka is so ecstatic, but the entire time, she’s panicking about what to wear and what to say and do

All you can see when you meet her is a girl who is passionate about things and the fact that she loves you absolutely endears you to her 

After the show, you make sure to talk to her and some sort of understanding comes between the both of you and you two are now friends

Ririka has never been more elated in her entire life 

━ REI BATSUBAMI ; 

Most of the time, she's too busy doing other things to listen to music but when she gets the chance, she finds new music

And then she finds you

You're a soloist with a variety of genres that you sing to and she finds herself liking them every day

A bunch of her liked songs are from you and you’re now her comfort artist, she turns to you whenever she’s sad or feeling like she’s not enough

Now she knows that never in her life will she be able to meet you, until the election comes along and she finds herself liberated from the chains of the clan, it seems like her life is turning a different direction

Sure enough, it is, because she won tickets to go and see you at the concert that was coincidentally happening near you

In truth, Yumeko used her connections to get you in the city so that Rei could anonymously receive tickets

Once she’s at your concert, her eyes are literally sparkling because you’re so much better in person for one, two you are actually just as genuine as she’s seen; after all, you’re the one that’s helped her during her dark times

It’s also fortunate that she got a chance to stay at the meet and greet and you recognized her name from Yumeko

In short, Rei is now astounded that you two have now become friends and that she’s actually gotten to meet you

Maybe her life truly is coming together and it’s all thanks to you

━ TERANO TOTOBAMI ; 

She isn't here for the music that actually has lyrics; she mostly listens to classical music 

That is, until she can hear Yumi screaming at the top of her lungs to a song and while she’d usually be slightly annoyed and grab her headphones, there was something about the lyrics

She needed to find out who it was and so, that’s where her tiny fan crush on you started

Once she finds you online, she starts going through all of your albums and she’s pleasantly surprised that all of your songs are genuinely good, nothing like a lot of the songs with lyrics she’s heard

So when Yumi finds her humming along to one of your songs, she’s over the moon about it because now they can both talk about you (however, Terano knows almost everything about your albums from melody to lyrics, literally everything)

She won’t call herself your biggest fan to not sound pretentious, but she absolutely is

The way she meets you is by Sumika, you both are the same in the sense that you hide yourself among the public; you’re literally an idol at school and no one around you has seen it

Meeting you and actually getting a chance to talk with you, you’re surprised that someone noticed but you happily oblige, because this girl is super excited while talking to you even though she’s part of the Hundred Devouring Families

You’ve now become the closest of friends and Terano cannot WAIT for your next concert

━ ITSUKI SUMERAGI ; 

Absolutely your biggest fan from the START

She has all your merch, she’s bought everything from your limited edition photocards to the only poster ever made of you only 

Name anything, she probably has it

Her playlists are mostly made up of your songs because she loves how you can switch from soft to catchy and bright within just a click of her phone

She has your songs memorized and she is your number one fan, trust me on this, she will also FIGHT for that position on Twitter because any news about you will first travel to Itsuki and she’s going to be screaming about it on all of her social media

Her dream is to win VIP tickets because she genuinely wants to meet you and so Manyuda definitely didn’t buy tickets had tickets on hand for her

Poor Manyuda could not hear anything much that day from Itsuki’s screaming and amount of “thank you’s”

When she goes to your concert, her ticket allows her to stay afterwards to talk to you and throughout your songs, she is screaming along to your lyrics and dancing with the rest of the audience

After the show, you can just see this bubbly girl excited to talk to you and it is so easy to talk to her that you find yourself wanting to talk to her more

Needless to say, Itsuki went home with you following her and the biggest smile ever

━ RUNA YOMOZUKI ; 

Do you see this girl? She's got a music taste that varies WILDLY so when she came across one of your albums, she just clicked on shuffle but didn't expect to be so invested in your songs

That's when she becomes probably your biggest fan, with a massive Twitter and Instagram fan account and she's known to have your limited edition merch, even the hardest ones to find

She likes to make a lot of playlists and all of them are guaranteed to have at least one song from you; she will occasionally annoy the other student council members by blasting it on a miniature speaker she has

Her goal right now is to be able to see you and she actually gets that because Kirari and Ririka both won tickets to see you (and they were the good ones at the front too) but Kirari didn't want to go so she gave it to Runa

Runa literally went with all your merch so that she would be noticeable (and she was) and she bought so much stuff there, from photocards to your brand of hoodies, she even got Ririka stuff because she needed to experience the glory that was you as an artist

An incredible audience just on her own, she's screaming along with the lyrics and dancing and yelling answers when you're asking random questions

Every time she sees your costume change, her heart stops for a second and she feels like she's going to pass out but it's quite literally the greatest day of her life

She stays long after the show and the meet and greet to be able to talk to you with Ririka and you're excited to talk to her because you saw her in the front row

Honestly, when Runa woke up the next morning to you following her on all her social media accounts, she went back to sleep, thinking it was a dream she never wanted to wake up from

[staticscreenwriting]

Where the heart is // B. B.

Summary: Bucky and (Y/N) are getting a divorce because they are silly and both love the other so damn much. (Happy Ending!)

TW: Talk of divorce. Talk of potential pregnancy and babies.

A/N: Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.] 

TAGLIST: Find the link to join my taglist in my bio. Will reblog this post with the taglist attached seperately. 

Waking up from this nightmare How's your life, what's it like there? Is it all what you want it to be? Does it hurt when you think about me? And how broken my heart is

The apartment is deadly quiet as Bucky steps inside, only the rattling of his keys echoing through the halls that once seemed so warm and inviting are now but a cold reminder of what used to be.

People never really talk about these moments. The after. The wreckage. The ruins of what used to be. Sure there are movies and books and countless songs but they take the feeling and they wrap it up in beautiful words and prose and make something beautiful of it.

There’s nothing beautiful in the way Bucky feels as his feet drag him towards what used to be his bedroom, which is now hers. There’s nothing beautiful in the way he feels as his eyes wander over to the closed door behind which lays an empty room. One that is empty not because of choice but because of the shitty cards life has dealt both him and her.

There is nothing beautiful about the way he feels. Only sadness. Only hurt.

When he turns the corner and steps into the bedroom, his heart drops for a second. He hadn’t expected her to be here, not with how quiet the place is. But sure enough, there she is. Sitting on the fluffy comforter they bought together, legs tucked underneath herself. She said that comforter was the exact same shade of blue as his eyes. Now she doesn’t even lift her head to look at him, focusing only on the box resting on the bed before her.

“Hey uh — I didn’t expect to run into you.”  

“ I live here. Sorry to disappoint.“

“ I know, that’s not what I meant. It’s just so quiet. “

She shrugs but still doesn’t look up. There’s so much resentment there, dripping from every word. He can’t fault her for it. Not even a little. If he was her, he’d hate himself too. Maybe this will make it easier for them. If she hates him, that’s a straight cut. Right? Hating is easy. It’s loving that’s hard.

“ It’s like that now. You here to get some of your stuff?” she asks, looking up at him for the first time. Her eyes are red and tired. Not like they were when he left, filled with tears and sorrow. Now they’re just infinitely sad and exhausted. Like all the life and all the warmth and all the passion that he fell so deeply in love with, has been sucked out of her. He hates knowing it’s partially his fault.

“ If that’s okay with you.”

“ sure. “

The movies and the poems and the books and the songs, they never talk about this. The after. The limbo. The “will you keep this or shall I take it?”

They don’t talk about the fact that you’re supposed to pack 5 years of relationship into a bunch of boxes and figure out what to do with it.

He quietly walks into the closet, as if making any noise would break whatever bubble is currently surrounding the two of them. Sometimes he wonders if things would be different had they been different people. Had they been able to express their feelings differently. Sometimes, in the most secret part of his heart, Bucky wishes there would’ve been screaming. Maybe screaming would’ve been helpful. Sure, it’s not the most eloquent way of communication but at least it is communication. But there was no screaming. Only silence. Only feelings swallowed up to never be spoken about. To suffocate them from the inside out.

Making as little noise as possible, Bucky grabs some of his clothes and stuffs them into the duffle bag Sam gave him. He had that look on his face, the pitiful one. The one that says “sorry, man”. There’s no reason to feel sorry for Bucky. This is his fault after all.

There’s a sound coming from behind him, and for a second he really believes it’s his mind playing tricks on him. But then he hears it again, louder this time, more clearly.

She’s laughing. Maybe not a full-on laugh but a chuckle. It’s been a while since he’s heard that sound.

“ What’s got you laughing like that ? “ Bucky asks as he turns back around only to be greeted by her smiling face. God how much he misses that smile.

She looks back down towards the box in front of her and the picture in her hand.

“ It’s uh — it’s a picture of the first time you stayed over. “

His legs carry him towards the bed as if they work on autopilot. As he sits down next to he can just about make out the scent of her shampoo. The one he bought for himself last week, not because he necessarily likes to use it. He bought it because he misses the scent. Because he misses her. And if he can keep her close like this, even for a small moment, he’ll buy an entire store's worth of shampoo.

Her fingers gently grip the picture so as to not rip or crumble it. He can’t hold back the smile that pulls at the corner of his lips as he recognizes the picture. It’s a slightly less gloomy version of him, in love and asleep. Curled up on her old tiny couch in her old tiny apartment with her dog Yoda sleeping soundly on his chest. He was so nervous to stay over at her place the first time he did. Nervous about so many different things but mostly about doing something to hurt her. Physically but also emotionally. To think that now his biggest fear came true, crushes his heart even further.

“ I miss Yoda. He was a good dog,” she says as she puts the photo back into the box. Truth be told, Bucky misses him too. He was grumpy and lazy and he didn’t ever really listen to them. But he was loyal and cuddly and all in all, he was the perfect dog for the two of them. And he had accepted Bucky into his and her life immediately. As if he knew that Bucky of all people needed nothing more than a chance to prove himself to be something other than a killer.

There are more pictures in the box, alongside other clutter that Bucky can’t quite make out. One of the other pictures he can see clearly, is one of the two of them on their first Halloween. The Halloween that Bucky didn’t want to dress up for. The one he promised himself he would spend curled up on his couch watching a scary movie and not open the door to anyone, Trick or Treaters or otherwise.

He ended up going out anyway. With her. FOR her. And it was one of the best nights of his life even if it meant he had to dress up like a skeleton.

“ What is all this? “ he asks though, by the way his heart starts beating faster, Bucky isn’t sure he even wants to know the answer to that question. “ You getting rid of our pictures? “

He doesn’t want it to sound so accusatory. They’re broken up. Separated. In the early process of a divorce. She has every right to get rid of their pictures. Get rid of him. Bury the memories. Just because he can’t let go doesn’t mean that she’s grieving in the same way.

“ No, “ she scoffs and pulls out a small scrap of paper, “ this is a memory box I started when we first got together. It’s things I didn’t know where to put but that I wanted to hold on to. I had planned to give it to you for our 10 year anniversary but … well “

She doesn’t have to say it. He knows.

“ Then after the — seperation I put some other stuff in there. Memories.” 

“ Can I see what else is in there? “ he asks “ since I won’t get to see it on our 10 year anniversary.”

Bucks isn’t quite sure why he adds that to the end of his sentence. It makes him sound spiteful and mean and he can tell, by the look on her face, that it hurts her. And he’s done enough of that in the past. Isn’t that exactly the reason they are here in the first place?

She considers it for a moment and Buck can only guess the different kinds of emotions running through her then. He feels them too. All of them. They are confusing and most of them are negative. She has no reason to let him see this, relish in sweet nostalgia with him as if everything is okay and they’re not getting a fucking divorce.

“ Sure, I guess. I —  yeah.”

She scoots more to the middle of the bed, making more space for Bucky to sit down properly. He’s perched on the side that was his. The side he fell asleep on and woke up on so many times. And she was there next to him. Always there and warm and soft. And she’d smile at him through sleepy eyes and a hazy mind and she’d rival the sun. And then she’d gently comb her fingers through his hair and say good morning and he knew it would be — a good morning.

He hasn’t had a good morning since he left.

She moves the box to sit between them on the bed and motions for Bucky to start digging in.

There’s a pile of what he realizes are old movie tickets. It's something they used to do when they first started dating. Thursdays were movie days. But while everyone went to see the new blockbusters, the two of them would pick the movies that sounded the weirdest and they’d buy a big bucket of popcorn and blue raspberry slushies and just relish in the grandeur that is bad cinema. Most of the time they were the only ones at the cinema. Sometimes things got — R rated.

“ Why did we stop doing this? “ she asks as Bucky looks up from the tickets “ going to the movies I mean. It was always my favorite day of the week. “

He tries to remember. Tries to pinpoint the moment when life changed and their Thursdays weren’t their Thursdays anymore. He can’t. He comes up empty.

Sometimes life changes in little ways, ones you don’t realize at that moment and they don’t seem significant either. It’s a broken tradition. A missed movie night. It’s slow and creeping but at some point, you stop and look at your life now and it doesn’t resemble your life then anymore. Everything has changed and you didn’t even notice. Not for one single second.

“ I have —  I have no idea. “ he has to confess.

“ Remember that movie with the killer florist ? “ she asks and her voice is laced with laughter. Something sparks up in his heart. A tiny flicker of something he’s missed. Something he hasn’t felt in a while. He can’t help but laugh along.

“ I do! Or the one where the woman fell in love with the Koi in her neighbor's pond? ”

“ Oh god! That was terrible. “

“ It was.”

She looks wistful for a moment as if her thoughts wander off to some long-forgotten memory.

“ What are you thinking about? “

He never usually had to ask her. He’d either know or she’d tell him on her own accord. It’s like there’s an invisible wall between them. One he wants to break down or climb over so badly. But does she want him there? After everything?

“ The day we saw that movie was the first time you said I love you. “

It’s true. Now that she mentions it he remembers it so clearly. It’s like he’s suddenly faced with a scene from a movie he’s forgotten about a long time ago but once someone mentions it, he remembers it in great detail. Knows every word. Every line.

“ I still don’t quite know what it was about that moment that made you say it but — “ she trails off, a smile playing on her lips.

Bucky knows. It wasn’t a groundbreaking realization back then. He’d been feeling it for months. Fell deeper in love with her with every glance, every smile, every silly movie he got to watch with her. They went to some dingy diner after the movie to grab a burger and some fries. The leather seats were old and the filling was spilling out, the air smelled of grease and air freshener, and the laminated menu cards were sticky with undefinable stains. All things considered, it should’ve been a bad date. It wasn’t though. Nothing was ever bad with her. She smiled. All she did was smile and hum along to some song Bucky didn’t know as it spilled from the jukebox. And it occurred to him then, that there was no need for a big gesture or a special moment. Every moment with her was special. Life couldn’t get any better than this. Existing was enough if only she was there.

“ Nothing. “

“ Hm? “

“ There was nothing special about that moment. I just realized that I would be okay with anything if only you are there. You — that’s all I need in life. “

She looks at him then and for a second he thinks that maybe she’ll kiss him. Tell him that they are making a mistake and ask him to come back. Tell him that she doesn’t blame him. That she forgives him. That she wants him anyway. Despite — everything. She doesn’t though. Just sighs and pulls another picture from the box.

It’s a picture of the two of them cuddled up on the couch with a tiny white ball of fluff resting on her chest.

“ Our first picture with Alpine. “

“ That was taken on the day we found him. Look, you can clearly see the scratches on my face from crawling around the dumpsters to rescue him. “ Bucky points out.

He had never thought of himself as a cat person. Really he wasn’t so much an anything-person anymore, after Hydra. But somehow that little cat had wormed his way into his heart and refused to leave.

“ Was worth it though! “

Bucky nods his head in agreement “ it was. “

“ You should — you should take him. He’s really more your cat than mine.”

“ He’s our cat.” he points out.

“ Bucky there won’t be an ours anymore. Soon.”

It breaks his heart. Over and over again. He just got used to being himself. The version he was when he was with her. How is he gonna deal with doing it all over again? He doesn’t want to be a version of himself after her.

“ I don’t have a place yet and Sam’s allergic. “

“ He can stay here until then, of course. I love him. “

There’s a lot of love there that’s being given up on, Bucky realizes. And he hates every part of it.

“ Shit, remember this? “ she chimes up again as her hand holds onto a thin receipt, the black ink bleached away and thinned out from years of being stuck in a box. From years of memories fading.

“ Is that from the —”

“ The tattoo place, yeah. “

The patch of skin on the inside of his arm grows hot as if he is suddenly aware of what is there. Something long forgotten. A small letter forever etched into his skin in black ink like the way she’s forever etched into his heart. Always there. Forever. Just like the delicate lines that write his own name onto her collar bone. James. Not Bucky. Not Winter Soldier. James.

“ Oh god, I can’t believe you kept these,” Buck exclaims as he picks a pair of bright blue knitted socks from the box. They’re made from scratchy wool and there are a million and one holes in them. It’s so her. So quintessentially her. To keep them. With their holes and their scratchy wool and all. Even if they’re a mess. Even if they’re broken. She holds onto things no matter how bad. No matter how lost and sad and broken and useless. She holds on tight and doesn’t let go. Unless you make her. Unless you force her to. Unless you break her heart.

“ Umm … you made them for me. Like you literally learned how to knit to make me a pair of socks to keep my feet warm. That is the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me, Buck. Of course, I kept them. “

Bucky bashfully shrugs his shoulders, a tint of red dusting his cheeks. “ I’m glad you liked them. Even if they’re scratchy. “

“ I like you and Alpine and you guys are the scratchiest,” she points out. She’s not wrong.

“ Was I a good boyfriend? “ Bucky asks and while in the grand scheme of things it really doesn’t matter, he wants to know anyway. Wants to know he did something right.

“ You were the best boyfriend. “

“ I’m sorry I was a shit husband. “

She stays quiet for a moment and with every second that passes by he breaks more and more. He wonders how much of him is left at this point. How much there’s still to lose. Then again, what does it matter? He lost her and that’s all that really matters.

“ You weren’t a shit husband, Bucky. “

It’s like the world suddenly moves in slow motion as they both grab the 2 things left in the box.

Bucky holds onto the blue velvet box knowing exactly what’s inside. The last time he held it, got on his knees in front of her, put the ring on her finger, that was one of the best days of his life. A sign that the Winter Soldier was his past and that he could finally truly move on. They were younger, in love. Happy. Now he hardly remembers what happiness feels like.

“ I was so nervous to give this to you. Not because I thought you’d say no or anything. I just — I just wanted to be enough. The ring and the proposal and — me. “

“ You were always enough. “ she says and he can hear the tears in her voice. It’s thick and heavy and he knows that if he looks at her now, there will be tears in her eyes too.

But he doesn’t look at her then. His eyes fall onto the piece of fabric in her hands. It’s so small. Soft peached colored with a little bunny embroidered on the front. It’s tiny and cute and it belongs to no one. It’s tiny and it should’ve been theirs. But it isn’t.

“ No, I wasn’t. He says and shakes his head. You deserve more than I can give you. “

She throws the baby romper back into the box and gets off the bed as if someone has set it on fire.

“ What’s wrong? “ he asks as if he doesn’t know. Everything. Everything about this situation is wrong. They’re supposed to make love on this bed, not cry over memories long gone. Push away thoughts of their looming divorce.

“ I don’t know, Bucky. Maybe you can tell me. “ She calls out to him as she pulls the rest of his shirts from the closet and throws them into the bedroom. Colors of fabric flying through the air like wings of a bird flapping through the winds. Some of them she lops at him, passion and anger and wrath and sadness filling her eyes. “ Maybe you can tell me why the fuck we’re doing this. Why we’re putting ourselves through all this pain and suffering and this bullshit divorce. Maybe you can tell me why you left me to have a fucking breakdown every time I walk into my closet and see this goddamn dress, “ she cries while holding up the hanger over which her beautiful white wedding dress is draped. God, she looked so beautiful that day. Like a goddess. Like an angel. Like his redemption.

“ We were happy. We were trying to have a family. And then what — it doesn’t work and you leave? You just gave up. “

“ I didn’t give up. “

“ Yes, you fucking did! You gave up and you served me divorce papers and you didn’t even give me a fucking choice. “

“ You agreed! “

“ Because I love you and if you don’t want to be with me, then I am not keeping you. I love you enough to let you be happy even if it’s without me.”

Those words send a shock through his heart. Like an icicle. Cold and sharp and unforgiving.

“ You think I don’t love you? You think YOU are the reason?,” Bucky questions before grabbing the romper from the box and holding it up “ this is the reason. This is my fault and mine alone. It’s my fault that this belongs to no one. It’s my fault that there’s an empty room in this apartment that you can’t walk into because it hurts you too much to see it empty. You deserve to be a mother and clearly, I can’t give that to you. That’s the burden I carry but it’s not one that should be put on you. I can’t give you this but you deserve it and you should have it. So this is me letting you go so you can find someone that can give you a baby. Someone who isn’t broken. Someone who doesn't have a body that doesn’t work anymore. Not in the way it should. “

“ James, “ her words a but a whisper as his name tumbles from her lips and she lets her wedding dress fall to the floor to sit next to him and hold his face in between her hands. “ That wasn’t your fault and you are not broken. I want a family, yes. I want a child. But with you. I want a family with you and it doesn’t matter if it’s my blood or not. It’s our family whichever way we decide to do this. And if we — if we stay just us and Alpine that’s fine too. I just want you and whatever else we decide on. Together. I love you, James. I love you and I miss you and I don’t want a baby if it’s not with you. A family means nothing if it doesn’t include you. Whatever the consequences of the serum are, they are not your fault. You are not broken, James. You are you. You’re a hero. A husband. And maybe one day a father but above all, you are James Buchanan Barnes, a survivor and you are not broken.  “

He knows he should be saying so many things right then but all his thoughts get tangled up and won't find the way to his lips.

Instead, he says the only other thing he can think about right then.

“ You looked so beautiful in your wedding dress. “

She laughs through the flood of tears that leak from her eyes and trail down her face.

“ I mean you always look beautiful but that day. My god. I honestly couldn’t believe you said yes to me — of all people. 106 year old me. Wouldn’t believe it until the moment you walked down the aisle. Then I knew that this was really the start of my new life. Of my forever. “

“ I miss you Bucky. “

“ I miss you too. “

“ I don’t want to divorce you. I want to be your wife and I want you to be my husband.”

“ Even without the babies? “

“ Yes, “ she nods and brushes her fingers through his short hair. “ You are my family James and you are enough for me. Always”

“ I love you. “ he says because really, it’s the only thing he can think of. The thing he wants most. The only thing that matters.

Without another word, he pulls the ring from the box and delicately slips it back onto her finger. Where it belongs. Where it always belonged.

“ I’m sorry I was ever this stupid. I should’ve just talked to you “

“ Yeah you should have but right now can you — can you just kiss me? “

She doesn’t need to ask him twice. He kisses her once, then twice, then once again. It’s been a long long time since the last time he’s kissed her. Too long. Way too long.

He’s not gonna stop anytime soon. Never again. Never ever again.

“ Hey, “ he says “ how about you slip into your wedding dress I think for all my stupid decisions I owe you a dance. “

“ I think you might be right. “

And she’s smiling, so bright and radiant. Like the sun. Like all the stars. Like his own personal light in the darkness.

“ Don’t expect too much though. I just cried, my hair is a mess — I won’t look the way you remember me looking in this dress. “

“ You’ll look gorgeous.”

And he’s right. She looks breathtaking. She looks like a wonderful, wonderful dream. Like love captured in a person. Like a second chance. Like his home.

There are a lot of thoughts racing through Bucky’s mind as he pulls her close and they sway to the melodic tunes of their wedding song as it sounds from the speakers of her cellphone. But above all there’s love. And the knowledge that he is enough. That they are enough. Their tiny little family. Perfect and not broken or missing anything. It’s good as it is.

They don’t have to think about who gets to keep the decorative throw pillows, the records they used to collect together, the plates that were a wedding gift, the cat. Because it’s theirs. Together. Shared.

And forever.

[theminecraftbee]

i am on my knees and holding your hands in my own shaking ones and im trying to kiss ur knuckles but i cant see shit through the tears. im so happy. im so so happy im gonna be freaking out for literally months. you dont Know how happy i am theres literally no way to describe this happiness god. god. good god god god i love you i love your work. your thoughts. black box has my whole heart you don't get it im gonna cry. fuck

also i would love to know why its never getting finished if u dont mind talking abt it. which u dont cause u alluded to asking abt it in the tags but yk.

augdhsgdjdhr

i am so glad you are happy. honestly a bit worth it to post the scary unfinished thing to post for the fact that a few people are happy about it (and getting to hear a few friends ramble at me about it one last time, hahaha.)

as for why i won't finish it... the easy answer is "sometimes i just stall out on writing/doing something and often when that happens i cannot get the machine to start again". however there are also several like... concrete reasons. reasons i'm going to put under the cut with a warning of "there are a few fandom salt-y things that are happening here so if you don't want to see that, look away".

so the easiest to identify reason this won't be long? yeah it'd have to be WAY longer than black box. you saw how glacial the early pacing is, and there was still a lot i needed to get through. the length started getting daunting and like... that chilled me a bit on writing it, especially as i started getting distracted by other things.

the next reason is... hm. i don't know if i like how it plays next to the actual prison arc. something something, i played it dead straight and dark in ways that the actual prison arc did not... which is wild, given that the prison arc is one of the darkest arcs of the dsmp. but you know, somehow i did. and i knew i was doing it when i wrote it! i knew it would be way darker than the dsmp itself would actually play! but at the same time, the combination of "i am taking this really seriously" and "but the character who was actually in the prison is the villain of this fic" makes it all play... weirdly. it's weird. i have mixed emotions.

i have mixed emotions about some of my writing too that i won't get into just know "i like parts a lot i don't like parts a lot". i will say that i am still the only person who can write techno's chat even reading this now,

but also... honestly? the tommy stuff.

so i like c!tommy. i also like c!techno. i am aware black box is mostly popular with techno enjoyers. i know tommy is not currently well-liked by a lot of techno enjoyers. i know i couldn't write some of techno and tommy's relationship here - ESPECIALLY the argument they have when tommy leaves, in which both of them are meant to be wrong to some extent - without having a few people yell at me for it. and like... maybe no one would have yelled at me. lord knows that my fears of people yelling at me for daring to put character death in stuffed bird have not come to pass. but at the same time... the way the fandom acts around tommy and techno is exhausting.

and the only way to rectify that would have been to gut something kinda core to what i was writing, which is to say, that everyone's messy, fucked-up relationships as a result of what had happened were core and tommy and techno's was one of them. and that their relationship is messy. and neither of them are wrong, they're just messy, a thing that i don't trust people to like, get. so that... soured me on writing it, a little bit.

(god i wish c!techno wasn't the single biggest lynchpin of controversy on the dsmp. god i wish that my funny little blorbo was someone i could talk about in this fandom without it becoming a lightningrod of. whatever the hell techno discourse has become at this point. alas. ...you may be getting a sense for why i'm not super interested in the dsmp anymore, alongside the fact that i flat out do not believe them when they say they're going to do things anymore.)

uh, other than that, some of the other ones include "i disagree with what wilbur did with ghostbur and was going to just ignore that and am still just going to ignore that into the future, but that was important", "sbi in general is sure a thing", "i have some mixed emotions about the fact that parts of the ending of this universe arguably end up better than the dsmp does given the catalyst for it", and "canon after i started writing suggests ranboo should be somewhere but hell if i know where".

anyway that's all probably STILL secondary to "this thing would probably need at least another 30k words and that's probably what ultimately stalled me out in the end, glacial pacing and the needed length". but as you can see, there are also... other things.

ultimately i did end up taking your anon suggestion, i think sharing what i had was a good idea and i'm glad people liked it (and seem to like what i was planning on doing with it), even if i can't really bring myself to finish writing it anymore! so that's good.

(finally, disclaimer: please don't use this to bounce off and ask me any dsmp discourse-y questions, because i just won't answer them on this blog. lol. i just figured i could give this answer and explain a bit of where my dsmp stuff went.)

[13uswntimagines]

Just In Case (Emily x Reader)

Request: Emily x reader where the reader is deployed in to the military and got permission to video call Emily while she is at camp and something happens to the base while on the call and it ends the call with no goodbye and then like the team seeing news articles and trying to get in contact with reader but they can’t and Emily eventually gets notified that’s she’s in the hospital

There was nothing quite like waiting for the little green dot to appear next to your Skype name. The way excitement mixed with anxiety and impatience. How your wife never knew exactly what state you would be in, only that you would greet her with a wide (probably exhausted) smile. 

It was rare that Emily actually got to call you while you were deployed. You were the assigned medic to a forward operating special ops unit, meaning you spent more time in the middle of nowhere doing dangerous missions than you did on base. She was excited she’d get to see your smiling face after almost a month (a year since she’d actually seen you in person). 

She jumped when the little dot appeared on the screen (much to Lindsey and Kelley’s enjoyment) and clicked on your little icon. 

The screen blinked, and your wide smile greeted her. “Hey darling, how’s champ camp?” Your little southern twang came through the computer. 

Emily mirrored your smile (your accent always made her swoon just a little), Turning the camera so you could see your two best friends also waving at you. “Super fun. Me and Linds beat Kelley during the scrimmage,” 

You smirked at your wife, shaking your head. You knew how competitive they all were (it had led to some very fun game nights at your house- especially with your wife who adamantly refused to be competitive off the pitch). “Bet the squirrel loved that,”

Emily shrugged. “She’s not taking it so well,” 

She again pointed the camera towards your pouting sister. You cracked a smile at the woman.

“I’ll get her next time, don’t worry,” Kelley winked at the screen. 

You looked off to the side for a second, nodding to whoever was talking to you behind your computer.

Emily wasn’t upset, hell she was more than used to the two of you never really being alone (you were the team leader after all). Instead, she took the opportunity to take in your features. Every new wrinkle of your forehead or dark circle under your eye (that looked more like a bruise or black eye at this point). Was that a new scar you kept rubbing under your chin?

Emily shook her head. She didn’t even want to think about how you got that until you were back safe in her arms. Your job was dangerous, she didn’t need any reminders. 

“How are you holding up?” She asked, drawing your attention back towards her. It was a safe question, one she knew she could ask over a live feed. One that didn’t cross any “clearance” lines you had warned her about (though she was sure that your superiors knew you told her many stories deemed classified over the years in the safety of your bedroom). 

You shrugged, your crooked smile not quite meeting your eyes. “I’m alright. Super tired. We just got to base a little while ago,” 

Your vague answer didn’t surprise her. You didn’t like to worry her, and half of your missions were pretty secretive anyway. It was one thing to share your darkest stories, the things you had seen that you couldn’t un-see, while the two of you were pressed together, and another to try and explain from a million miles away. 

Your wife knew how your job weighed on you. 

“But you’re ok?” She pressed, unwilling to let you deflect the question. She needed to know. You ran a hand through your tousled hair (one of your biggest tells), leaning forward just a bit. “Just some bruises. Promise.” You paused, leaning forward, your fake playful smile reappearing with a wiggle of your eyebrows, “What about you? Kelley’s a beast on the field,” 

Emily cracked a smile, despite her worry. “I’m good babe, but Lindsey’s got a nice one,”

“Ooo let me see,” you said, leaning closer to the screen like a little kid. Emily turned the computer so you could harass Lindsey instead of her. 

“No,” the midfielder pouted, crossing her arms. 

“Come on, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” You wined dramatically as Emily turned the computer around and Kelley butted into the frame. 

“That sounds like some teenage boy-...” She started, only to be cut off by a loud crash and the blaring of an alarm. 

“Fuck,” you hissed, looking off-screen, as more yelling started, and the screen shook. 

“Babe-“ Emily said, and you glanced back at the screen as if suddenly realizing your wife was still there. 

“I love you Em. I’m sorry I gotta go,” you said quickly, looking directly in the camera. 

Then the call ended. The screen went blank and the three women sat frozen. Emily very slowly placed her hand over where your face had been mere seconds ago. “Love you too, be safe,” 

The “please,” was softer, almost breathless. And the sound broke Kelley and Lindsey’s hearts. All they could do was hope you would be alright. 

****

Emily had learned to not read the news reports a long, long time ago, on your first deployment (back when the two of you had only been dating for six months). 

As it turned out, most of the time they had no real information about what was going on. They just reported on the overarching bad thing that was happening, or whatever appeared to be happening, and tended to ignore the boots on the ground (your words not Emily’s). 

But still, she couldn’t help but stare at the articles rolling in about an attack on one of the bases near where she knew you were stationed. Especially after the abrupt end to your semi-distracted phone call. 

“Em, reading it repeatedly isn’t going to change the words,” Kelley said softly, prying the phone from her grasp and sticking it on the chair beside her. 

Emily sighed heavily. “It’s just hard,” she mumbled, scrubbing a hand over her eyes. 

Lindsey, Kelley, and the rest of the table nodded understandingly. They may not have the same relationship with you that Emily did, but they loved you all the same. 

It was terrifying to not know where you were, or if you were alright, but they had to be strong for Emily right now. 

“She didn’t answer your text yet?” Lindsey asked, reaching across the table to grasp Emily’s hand tightly. You might not be able to call, but texting was usually a good way to get a hold of you.

Emily bit her lip, shaking her head tightly. “Nah uh,” 

She pinched the bridge of her nose. It wasn’t uncommon for you to go radio silent, especially when you were on a mission, but it had been 4 days since your phone call and You always sent her a little a-ok when you were finished with whatever you were doing. She was starting to get worried. 

“What about Kara, she’s always with her,” Kelley asked gently, rubbing her back, mentioning your best friend. 

The two of you were practically attached at the hip, but as you always said, experience in a war zone will do that go people. Kara was your right-hand man and always answered Emily, especially when you weren’t. 

“She hasn’t answered either,” Emily mumbled, shaking her head. The women at the table all shared a look. The last time Kara hadn’t responded while the two of you were away, you had been stuck doing emergency surgery on one of your guys in the field after an IED blew up one of the hummers in your convoy. 

“I’m sure they’re just busy. You know the news likes to make a big deal out of nothing. They always do,” Lindsey said reassuringly. 

“Yeah, and no news is good news right?” Kelley added, with a half-smile. 

A dark look crossed Emily’s features. She knew (and feared) what happened when things went wrong. She dreaded that phone call or god forbid an officer showing up with your “just in case” letter (one she knew you always carried with you, but she had never physically seen).

 “Only until it isn’t,” she said softly, her voice deadly serious. The women at the table sobered and nodded, equally as somber. It was a terrifying truth that was easier to ignore than confront. 

“I’m sure she’s just busy being a hero,” Lindsey said softly, leaning over to grab Emily’s hand tightly, as Kelley squeezed the woman comfortingly. 

“I hope you’re right,” Emily sighed. 

“She promised Em, and she never breaks her promises,” Kelley said, equally as serious, trying to hide just how worried she was. You swore you’d always come back to them, and she would kick your ass if you didn’t. 

*****

It felt like Emily’s heart was going to beat out of her chest. It was hammering harder than it ever had, even after a full ninety. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the receptionist to find your room and clear her with the MP’s apparently stationed outside your room.

The second she got the 3 am call, it had been a mad dash to get here. The drive from Orlando to the hospital at the Jacksonville Air Force base was a blur, but she was pretty sure Kelley had broken just about every speed law there was to get her here faster (and to get herself here too, she was your sister after all). 

“I’m her wife. I have permission to see her,” Emily growled at the poor receptionist, who continued to rapidly type on her computer. 

“I’m sorry miss, but due to the circumstances I have to check,” She clicked her tongue, leaning forward to get a better look at the screen, apparently oblivious to Emily’s growing rage. 

Kelley placed a careful hand on Emily’s arm, trying to quell the brewing storm before the receptionist took the brunt of it. 

“Fuck the circumstances. Let me see my wife,”  Emily hissed, completely ignoring Kelley’s “calm down Sonnett,” (your older sister was worried too, but flipping out at a receptionist wasn’t going to help their cause). 

“I’m trying ma’am. We have protocols too, especially after a Rescue and Evacuation,” the woman behind the counter sighed, more frustrated than sympathetic. Emily’s eyes widened. Kara hadn’t said anything about a rescue mission over the phone, only that you were hurt and being transferred to Florida from a hospital in London. 

“A what?!!” Emily screeched, and Kelley grabbed the back of her hoodie to prevent her from launching herself over the counter at the frightened-looking receptionist. 

Before the woman behind the counter could respond, your very tired-looking best friend appeared around the corner. 

“Hey, Em. She’s back this way,” Kara smiled tightly at your wife, nodding towards the receptionist and gesturing down a hallway to her left. 

“Oh thank god,” Kelley sighed, practically shoving Emily into Kara’s arms. Kara caught her, and held her hand out to your older sister, carefully beginning to guide them down the maze of hallways. 

“I have to warn you, she’s in pretty rough shape,” Kara said softly as they approached the door, her hand pausing on the handle to look both women in the eyes. Emily and Kelley both nodded solemnly, steeling themselves as Kara gently pushed the door open. 

“Damn,” Emily and Kelley gasped as they stepped through the threshold and took in your sleeping form. 

Your normally strong form looked so small under the mass of tubes and wires surrounding you (but Kelley notes that you were very much breathing on your own). The whole left side of your face was bruised, and the left half of your chest and arm was wrapped tightly in gauze. 

Emily very carefully approached the bed, her fingers hovering over your right side, afraid to touch you and cause you more pain. 

“Oh baby,” She breathed out, settling into the chair beside your bed, finally grabbing your uninsured hand very gently and pulling it to her lips. 

She heard Kelley ask “What happened?”, but her eyes never left your face. 

Kara blew out a long breath, seemingly trying to steady herself. “Our base got attacked- retaliation for freeing a village probably,” 

Kelley raised her eyebrow at the woman. She wanted to know everything, not the edited version. 

Kara swallowed hard before continuing. “We split into teams. One to pull security and one to evacuate the hospital. We lost communication after one of our own went Rogue. In the chaos, an intruder slipped through us and went to attack the hospital wing. Y/n got ambushed trying to get an injured private to the helicopter,” 

Silence stretched between them as the soccer stars tried to take in the story. It was so you to do everything in your power to help someone else, even if it was dangerous or detrimental to you. 

“How bad is it,” The words left Emily’s mouth barely above a whisper, muffled slightly by your hand still at her lips. 

“She got hit 3 times. One was a through and through to the shoulder. It chipped her collar bone, but mostly just got some soft tissue. The other two were worse. The through and through in her leg nicked an artery, and the other one in her chest did some damage. Luckily she was able to drag herself back to the hospital wing and they could get her stable. The PJ’s got her to London and they did emergency surgery,” Kara listed off, rubbing the back of her neck and closing her eyes tightly. 

Emily didn’t doubt that seeing you like that was probably one of the most difficult things Kara ever had to do, and she felt bad for making her relive that.  

“Is she gonna be alright?” Kelley asked after a few seconds, cracking with emotion. 

Kara nodded. “Yeah, Lena looked over the X-rays. Said that she would need a lot of rehab, but she should make a pretty full recovery. Right now she’s just sedated to help with the pain,” 

Emily felt her heart unclench at the news, made even sweeter by the mention of Kara’s own wife. Lena was a straight shooter, someone who was brutally honest and equally deft at her job (which was part of the reason the two of you got on so well). She wouldn’t bullshit them and give them false hope. 

“Thank you,” Emily croaked. Kara snorted and shook her head. 

“Wasn’t me. She promised you she’d make it and she wasn’t about to let you down,” 

You had dragged yourself nearly 800 yards to the hospital wing, and the only thing they said you said was that you couldn’t die because you swore to your wife you’d come home. Kara was convinced that you had survived purely on adrenaline and stubbornness (that and dumb luck). At least she hadn’t had to deliver your just in case letter. 

Emily smiled softly at your sleeping form, allowing the steady beep of your heart and your warm hand to comfort her “I know,” 

It was easy to relax now that you were here safe in her arms. Sure, you would have a long road to recovery (and getting you to actually follow the doctor's orders was bound to be a fight), but you were alive with no imminent threat hanging above your head. 

She would be there for you every step of the way.

[villainousshakespeare]

Bobby’s Playdate Part 3

Part 1, Part 2

The pandemic is keeping Tom idling in London by himself. One positive is that wearing the mask helps him avoid recognition, allowing him to wander in the park with his dog, Bobby. On one of their walks, Bobby becomes smitten with a dog named Lulu and Tom is equally enchanted by her human. Can the Hiddleston men manage to find a way to see the lovely ladies again?

Tom Hiddleston/OFC

Chapter 2 of4

Rated M - Pandemic, Fluff, Quarantine, Masks, Adorable Puppies, Meet Cute, Fourth and Final Part Will Contain Smut

@yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @hopelessromanticspoonie @wine-and-whines @arch-venus25 @caffiend-queen @devilish–doll @enchantedbyhiddles @hiddlesholic @i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman @kellatron55 @ladyoftheteaandblood @latent-thoughts @gorgeous1974 @maryxglz @myoxisbroken @nuggsmum @nildespirandum @pedeka @redfoxwritesstuff @sinfully-lustful-darling @vodka-and-some-sass @wrathkitty @kingtwhiddleston @wolfsmom1 @poetic-fiasco @shiningloki @dangertoozmanykids101 @bookworm-christina @thecutestlittlebunbunfairy @amwolowicz @delightfulheartdream @frostbitten-written @what-a-flammable-heart @tom-hlover @nonsensicalobsessions @myraiswack @loki-yoursaviourishere, from-hel-i-with-love, @sweetsigyn, @fictiondoesitbetter, @ms-cellanies @evieplease @viviennes-tears @turniptitaness @cynic-spirit @spooky1980 @ghostypau @viviennes-tears @lady-loki-ren @loki-laufeyson965 @ohhhhmarkiloosecontrol @ghostypau @queeftheif @mousee555 @isimpforeveryonee @preferredrealty​

He was being a right arse, and what was worse he knew it.

Tom grimaced as he stirred his bolognaise sauce. So, she knew who he was, and had all along – what did that really change? Why did it make him so uncomfortable that she hadn’t said anything? After all, he had known as well and he certainly hadn’t brought it up. Was he upset that she had known and hadn’t fawned all over him? Could he really be that shallow? He had liked that she was just herself, allowing him to be himself as well. What was it then that was bothering him?

The timer rang for the pasta and he reached over to grab the oven mitt that usually hung by his stove and grimaced. Of course, he had put it away in the closet because it had a big, red Avengers logo on it. All of that running around he had done, stressing out Bobby and working up a sweat, and it had all been entirely pointless. He felt like the biggest idiot of all time.

Which was the problem, of course. Tom was used to being multiple steps ahead of everyone. He wasn’t conceited about it, well, not exactly, but he was quite often the smartest person in the room. He credited his teachers and a topnotch education, as well as his family of course, more than his own keen powers of observation. He had simply been taught from a young age how to think. It was an invaluable tool as an actor. It also meant that he was often left waiting for others to catch up. He was not, decidedly not, used to being the one feeling foolish for being wrong.

Yup. He was a complete and total arse.

Here he had a beautiful woman in his home, when he had begun to despair of such a thing ever being allowed again, much less happening. She was smart, charming, funny, and kind enough to realize that being a celebrity must be exhausting and discussing it could get tedious. And how had he repaid her for her consideration? By running out of the room and leaving her doubtless wondering at his manners, if not his sanity.

Tom dipped a spoon in and tasted the sauce. This had better be the best meal he had ever made if he wanted to make up for the mess he had made of things so far!

“Everything okay in here?” Leia’s voice asked from the kitchen doorway as Tom was using a tea towel to carry the pasta pot to the strainer in the sink.

“Aside from you spending the evening with a complete prat, everything is fine,” he said with a self-depreciating laugh.

“You know, there are things called oven mitts,” she grinned at him. “Maybe we should go online and order you some.”

“I have them,” he sighed. “I put them away for tonight.”

“So you could experiment with first degree burns? Is that research for a role or something?”

“They were… branded.”

“Like a cow?” she blinked at him.

“No… like Marvel. Avengers branded. So, I hid them.”

“Tom,” Leia was obviously trying to hide a grin that tugged at the edges of her mouth, “did you hide all your movie memorabilia before I came over? Is that why your house looks like the display room from an upscale furniture store rather than a lived-in home?”

“Maybe,” he mumbled, face turning red as he looked back at the stove.

“That must have been a lot of work. How long did it take you?”

“Most of the day. What are you doing?” he asked at the strange contortions her face was making.

“Trying to visualize the reverse scavenger hunt. Hold on…” she scrunched up her nose and he could see her picturing his lunacy in her mind. “Okay, that was fun!”

“Glad I could amuse you,” he grumbled.

“As every good host would be!” she grinned at him. “And then Lulu went and ruined it by digging up the Loki toy. Well, leave it to the Trickster God to upset the best laid plans. But really, is it such a big deal that I know?”

Tom closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She really was being sweet about the whole fiasco of his running into the house. Perhaps, if he could regain some of his own composure, it didn’t have to be the biggest fumble in the history of first dates. He just had to take a cue from her and try to find the situation amusing rather than humiliating.

“It is not,” he said at last. “Thank you for taking it all so well. Now, dinner is almost ready, I just need to put it on the plates.”

“My I use the loo then?” she asked.

“Of course. Second door on your right.”

“Thanks. I’ll meet you back outside. Oh, and be careful – Lulu may look innocent, but she will steal any food off your plate if you turn your back on her!”

“Wonderful, then she and Bobby will have even more to bond over,” he remarked, rolling his eyes.

“Between the two of them we’ll be lucky if there’s any food left for us.”

“Good thing I made extra then.”

“Oh, before I go – there are still hand towels in the bathroom, right? They didn’t get squirreled away for having horns on them or something?”

“No, the hand towels are purely Only Lovers Left Alive, and I assumed that was enough of a deep dive to keep any but the most ardent fan in the dark.”

“You’d be surprised, people love a good vampire flick!” she teased, as she headed off down the hall.

Tom took another steadying breath. So, she not only knew of him from the Avengers franchise, and from the London stage, but she had seen at least one of his indie films as well. Which meant, he suddenly realized, that she had seen more of him than he had realized. Squirming a bit, he plated the food and carried it outside. He would be sure not to bring up high rise, he decided. He had heard rumors about people pausing the playback on a certain scene, and he preferred to stay in the dark about her exposure to that.

By the time Leia joined him out at the table, Tom had managed to calm down a bit. He would have needed to tell her about his job eventually any way; at least now he could enjoy the rest of the evening without the fear of her reaction hanging over his head. The food had served up nicely, and he poured a friendly serving of wine into each of their glasses. Bobby and Lulu were already sniffing around at his feet, hoping for clumsy hands to drop offerings to their greedy mouths.

“Back off you two hellions,” he told them good naturedly. “Haven’t you already done enough damage tonight to the possibility of my getting a second date?”

***

Leia froze in the doorway, eyes going large. Had she heard that right? Had Tom just used the word date to describe the evening?

She had hoped it was a date, of course. She had even called it one to herself and her dog as she was getting ready. Still, she had not quite been able to convince herself that it was anything more than what he had sold it as – a playdate opportunity for their canine companions. After all, a handsome, charming, world famous movie star such as him could date anyone. Why would he want to be with her when the entire glamourous world was his for the taking?

Looking down, she realized that her hands were shaking. His befuddlement at the discovery of his identity had been charmingly adorable, and it had the wonderful side affect of allowing her to feel less awkward herself to see him so out to sea. It gave her back a modicum of power. That was gone now with one word from him that she was not even meant to hear.

“Oh, hi!” he smiled, seeing her in the door and standing up like the perfect gentleman he was despite their outside, casual location. “Dinner’s served.”

“It smells divine,” she told him, and rolled her eyes inwardly at the gushing word.

“Well, I am a God you know,” he smirked, and then blushed and looked embarrassed.

What was happening? They had been so comfortable outside in the park! Just two regular adults enjoying each other’s company and the relatively fresh air of suburban London. Now though, now that she knew he meant it as a date, and he knew she knew he was an actor it was all awkward.

“So, do you have any mischief in mind for tonight?” she asked.

“I suppose that depends on how the night goes,” he gave her a devastating wink.

Wait, was he flirting with her now? Ack! She didn’t know what to think, but her body certainly responded to that comment. Wanting a distraction, she shoved a forkful of pasta in her mouth and let out an involuntary moan of pleasure at the delicious taste.

“Is it okay?” he asked, despite her clear approval of his efforts.

“It’s amazing!” she told him, as soon as her mouth was empty. “Jesus Tom, on top of everything else you can cook too?”

“Eh heh heh heh,” he laughed, obviously delighted. “I’m afraid I am full of flaws, but I will do my best to hide them from you for as long as possible. I’m glad you like it.”

“You’ll have to give me the recipe!” she demanded, taking a long drink of the wine that paired perfectly with it.

“Ah no. If I do that, what incentive will there be for you to come back?”

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she looked up at him over her wine glass. “After all, Lulu is having such a good time, she would never forgive me if I deprived her of more free time with Bobby.”

“Right. Yes. Lulu and Bobby.”

“It’s why we’re here, after all,” she shrugged, not knowing why she was pushing it so hard.

“Oh, I almost forgot!”

Tom shot out of his chair, startling the dogs who both started yipping in irritation. He jogged into the house, and a moment later came out with a beat’s pill speaker in hand. Placing it on the table, he fiddled with it until music straight out of a café in Venice started crooning out of it.

“The perfect final touch!” he said proudly.

“I can almost see the canal in the distance!” she told him with a laugh.

“I would pole you out, but I’m afraid my boat is not handy.”

He suddenly blushed again, and Leia had a quick flash of where his mind had gone. They both turned crimson and occupied themselves with the food for a few minutes in charged silence.

Leia could feel the tension sparking between them, but she had no idea how to act upon it. She could not think of any time in her past where she had been in a similar situation. How could she have been, when she had never met a man in her life like the one sitting across from her.

The song switched to a slower song, still Italian, and she noticed that Tom was tapping his fork against his plate in rhythm with it. He noticed her gaze and chuckled, eyes twinkling.

“You should see me with spoons,” he told her.

A moment later, he was on his feet again (really, he seemed incapable of sitting still tonight) and placing his napkin on his chair. Holding out one hand to her he raised his eyebrows in question.

“May I have this dance?”

As Leia hesitated, he face fell. Stepping back, Tom put his hands behind his back and dropped his head apologetically.

“I am so sorry,” he rushed to say. “I completely forgot. Of course, we are in the middle of a pandemic. The last thing we should be doing is dancing. Hands touching, standing close together. I am so, so sorry.”

“Tom, Tom!” Leia interrupted his contrition. “Stop apologizing! If I was concerned about catching the virus from you, I wouldn’t be eating the food you cooked! We both got tested, remember?”

“Are you sure, because you didn’t look –“

“I was worried about crushing your feet,” she admitted, stepping towards him. “I am not exactly what you would call graceful.”

“Well, I am hardly Baryshnikov,” he demurred. “But if you’ll allow me…”

He offered his hand again, and this time Leia took it. It was the first time they had touched, and she almost jumped at the spark that passed from his fingers to hers. His grip was firm, and he drew her in so that she was held firm against his chest. His other arm came around to rest his hand on her lower back, and she had to remind herself to breath as she was held in his embrace.

“Look at me,” he said as she obeyed instantly. In part it was because it was what she wanted to do, but it was also a reaction to the note of command in his voice. Even though it was soft, there was a note in it that was to be obeyed. “Good girl.”

As he led her around the little yard in what she realized was a waltz, Leia felt her last bit of restraint melting away. She wanted this man desperately and there was no denying it. His hips moving against her, his hand burning a hole through her dress, his low singing along with the song, it all had her ready to drop to her knees and beg him to take her.

“I love dancing,” he said, stating the obvious. “Especially with the right partner.”

“Sorry you’re missing that,” she tried for humor.

“Quite the contrary,” he didn’t rise to the bait, looking her straight in the eye and keeping his voice serious. “I can think of no one else I would rather be dancing with. You must know that you are all that has made the last month bearable. I look forward to our afternoon walks more than I can say.”

“Me too,” she whispered, tongue swiping over her lips. She saw his eyes flicker to them and then return to hers slightly darker.

Her breath caught and she was certain that he was going to kiss her when a loud crashing noise brought them both up short. Spinning around, they saw Tom’s plate laying on the ground, Lulu and Bobby shamelessly sharing the spoils of their raid like a modern day Lady and Tramp.

“Bobby! Bad dog!” Tom barked, advancing on them.

“Oh, Lulu! You naughty girl!” Leia scolded at the same time.

As Tom advanced on them, the dogs took off in the direction of the tree, trailing sauce in their wake. Tom stomped after them, eyes narrowed while Leia picked up the plate and mopped up some of the mess with his napkin.

“Bobby, stay!” Tom snapped, snapping his fingers.

Bobby dropped to his haunches with a whimper while Lulu headed back towards Leia and the remaining food.

“You too, sit girl!”

He snapped again and Leia, on sheer instinct, set the plate down with a clatter and sat on the chair, hands folding in her lap and eyes looking up towards him, Lulu sitting at her feet.

Tom’s face, facing her, went completely still for one long moment. Leia could feel a nervous energy rise in her stomach until a slow, Cheshire cat smile spread across his face. The dogs forgotten, he looked at her with a sparking intensity that made her weak as he crossed to where she sat.

“Well,” he drawled, “isn’t that interesting.”

[pastelwitchling]

Alex had both palms braced on the console, breathing deeply, and trying not to spiral into the hurricane of questions and horrifying scenarios his brain was making. He had to stay focused.

“What about the security cameras?” Liz said somewhere behind him.

“We checked them, there’s no hint where he could be,” Max said with a little edge. “Whoever did this knew exactly where to stand to keep hidden.”

“It was Mr. Jones,” Alex muttered, thinking. “It had to be.”

“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Liz was starting, but Alex cut her off.

“Not alone, but he did do this,” he said. “This is how my dad works. He uses people, whoever he needs to. He used Michael when he’d taken me, and now he’s used Mr. Jones.”

It wasn’t right, not completely, Alex knew. Something about this whole plan to take Michael and leave Mr. Jones behind felt off, it felt sloppy. His dad was many things, but not sloppy. The finer details though didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Michael was gone, and Alex was on the verge of losing his mind. Maybe he already had. That didn’t matter either.

“I want to talk to him,” Alex demanded. “See what he knows.”

“Alex,” Max started to shake his head, “we don’t know what he’s capable of, even under the pollen, he could be too dangerous to –”

“I’ve seen things that would give you nightmares, Max Evans,” Alex hissed, and the room fell silent. “Right now, the only danger you have to worry about is me. None of you know anything about interrogation, I’m taking over.”

It was not a request, and Max and Isobel didn’t hear it that way. They took Alex back to Max’s house, through his large living room, into the guest bedroom where Mr. Jones was being kept.

Alex had expected him to look like Max’s twin, but there was something unhinged in the darkness of his eyes that Max definitely didn’t have, a twisted curl to his mouth that said he knew Max and Alex were vibrating with fear for Michael, and that it made him happy.

“Well, well,” he said slowly, his voice hoarse despite the upward quirk of his lips. “Aren’t you a pretty one? I was wondering when I’d get to see you here, Jesse Manes Jr.”

“It’s Alex, actually,” Alex said, kneeling in front of Mr. Jones and peering up at him. There were dark circles around his eyes, his cheeks were hollow, his shoulders slumped with an undeniable exhaustion. There was a single needle wound in his neck.

“You took someone that belongs to me,” Alex said quietly, and Mr. Jones tilted his head, his eyes locked on Alex’s. “And I want him back.”

Mr. Jones started to laugh. It was breathy, his voice cracked, and it faded into a fit of coughs, but he was clearly amused, nonetheless.

“That’s sweet,” he murmured. “You’re sweet. I kinda like you.”

“Enough with your stupid games,” Max warned. “Tell us where my brother is, or you’re going to wish you were never born.”

Mr. Jones gasped mockingly. “Goodness me, brother. What’re you gonna do? Lecture me to death?” His laughs grew louder, stronger. “I know you too well. You put on the villain face, but in the end, you ‘aint got the nerve.” He looked down at Alex, and sneered, like his next words were the most insulting he could think of. “You’re heroes. You see the good in everyone, even a lunatic like Jesse Manes. Now that man is dark. View’s too limited though, too narrow-minded. Can’t see the big picture.”

Alex stared. “You won’t tell us where Michael is? That’s your final answer?” Mr. Jones opened his mouth to retort, but Alex coldly cut him off. “Keep in mind that this is your last chance to talk.”

Mr. Jones’ smile widened and he tilted his head. In a singsong voice, he responded, “Michael’s gonna diiii—eeee.”

Alex’s eye twitched. “Max,” he said, his voice unfamiliar to his own ears. “Can I have a minute please?”

Max must’ve known something bad was about to happen because he quietly responded, “Sure, Alex. Just don’t kill him.”

Alex clenched his jaw, his eyes unmoving from Mr. Jones. He wouldn’t kill him. Dead men couldn’t talk.

*

Max regretted leaving the second the door closed behind him. Isobel, Liz, and Kyle looked up from where they sat on the couch, waiting for an answer.

“Did you find out where Michael is?” Isobel demanded.

Max shook his head. “He won’t talk, no matter what I say.” He punched the wall. “He’s having too much fun.”

“I don’t get it,” Kyle shook his head. “Jesse Manes left him to get caught. How could he still be defending him?”

Max didn’t say his biggest fear; Mr. Jones didn’t care if Jesse had left him so long as he was killing Michael and the rest of them were suffering for it. He would have fun watching no matter what.

Kyle was staring at the guest bedroom door from his seat on the armrest, his arms crossed. “Why’s Alex still in there? Shouldn’t you help him? You’re the one with the powers.”

“Alex wanted a minute alone with him,” Max said, avoiding their eyes.

Liz, of course, noticed right away. “Max,” she said, “what aren’t you telling us?”

Max shook his head. Alex was just worried, they were all worried. He was fine. He opened his mouth to say that when Mr. Jones suddenly screamed.

The others shot to their feet, Isobel’s hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” Liz breathed.

Oh my god was right, Max thought. That wasn’t any normal scream. It was one of pure and utter agony, like the scream of a man having his limbs slowly torn off.

Max took two long steps to the room when the screams suddenly cut off, and the door opened. Alex was wiping his bloody hand off on his jacket. Max stared. He was not the only one. That blood, they knew, was not Alex’s, but it covered his entire forearm like paint.

“Alex,” Kyle breathed, “what the hell –”

“Caulfield,” Alex said at once, already heading to the door. “He’s at Caulfield.”

It was too late to hide the look in his eyes. Max had seen something in Alex shatter, something dark, something frightening.

*

“Drive faster,” Alex said through clenched teeth.

“This is as fast as it’ll go, Alex,” Max said. Alex could feel him glancing. “If anything happened to Michael –”

“Don’t.”

“—We’d know,” he finished. “Okay? Isobel and I would’ve felt it. I would’ve felt it.”

Alex felt the smallest bit of reassurance. It was nothing compared to the overwhelming fear and discomfort at not having Michael in his arms, safe and sound. His hand, his fingers, his wrist and forearm, they were still stained with Mr. Jones’ blood. He could still feel the meat of the alien’s flesh as he dug his fingers into the needle wound at his neck, opening up the cut to fit his fingers, until Mr. Jones was screaming. His eyes wide, as though he’d never expected Alex to raise so much as a finger at him. He’d been wrong. He’d taken Michael.

He had no idea what he’d unleashed.

As if hearing his thoughts, Max quietly asked, “What’d you do to him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” was all Alex said, not wanting to linger on the familiar chill of his own voice.

When they reached Caulfield, they were careful to come in the same way they’d come when it had just been Michael, Alex, and Kyle. Alex held his gun up, as did Max. Kyle stayed on Alex’s other side, a taser in his and Liz’s hands while Isobel held her hands up in case of a sudden attack.

Getting in was difficult. It felt like every few feet, a guard came out to stop them. Alex knew these people were trying to keep Michael away from them, and wanted nothing more than to tear into them with his bare hands, but they needed to hurry. He shot each one in the shoulder or leg. There was more than one spot in the human body that rendered the rest of it paralyzed. He didn’t care if they screamed, if they bled out. As far as he was concerned, they’d signed their death warrants when they helped Jesse hide Michael from him. He was being merciful not doing worse.

They moved deeper and deeper into the facility, and by the end of it, it was him and Max with the most stains on their clothes and the more bruises. Better that way. They made it into a long, dark hallway that took them to a sealed room.

Through a small window, Alex could see Michael in a steel chair, his head dropping between his shoulders as an IV strip pumped something that looked a lot like the pollen’s serum and something else into his veins.

There was a keypad next to the door. Without missing a beat, Alex held his gun for Max to take and pulled out his phone.

“Michael!” Isobel called through the window, panicked, but it was no use. He wouldn’t be answering anybody.

“Can’t we break the door down?” Liz demanded.

“It’s reinforced steel and set up to self-destruct,” Alex muttered, typing rapidly on his phone. He knew that hacking software he’d created would come in handy sometime. “Look around you. This place is already falling apart from the last time someone tried to break in.”

“But you can get him out, right?” Max asked Alex.

“Yeah,” Kyle said without missing a beat. Alex could feel him staring. “Yeah, he can do it.”

A second. Two. Three. Four seconds of Alex hearing nothing but the blood rushing in his own ears and the held breaths of everyone around him. The keypad beeped, the steel hinges clicked, and the door swung open. Alex pushed it enough to run in and fall to his knees in front of Michael, yanking the strips out of his arm while Max and Isobel set to work on the cuffs that kept him in the chair.

“Hey,” Alex whispered, lifting his chin gently. “Hey, baby, can you hear me? Michael, look at me, can you hear me?”

Michael’s eyes were half-lidded and hazed. Michael made a soft “Hmm?,” and his gaze focused for a split second. He smiled sleepily.

“You,” he breathed, “you look . . . just like my Alex.”

A small cry escaped Isobel’s lips before she quickly stifled it. Liz put a hand on her back as Kyle undid the rope around Michael’s waist. Jesse was nowhere in sight. He must’ve run the second he heard them arrive, knowing the guards would do nothing but stall for time. None of it mattered.

Alex smiled at Michael. “I am,” he huffed a chuckle, his eyes burning. “I am your Alex. Okay, come on, give me your arm, lean on me.”

“Alex,” Kyle tried, “if your leg hurts, I can –”

Alex cut him a glare so sharp Kyle turned silent at once. He’d apologize for it later. Right now, he needed to feel Michael against him, and he trusted no one but himself to help get him out of this hellhole.

Michael was able to stand, though he leaned most of his weight on Alex, his other arm around Max. His face was in Alex’s hair and he inhaled.

He murmured, “You smell like him, too.”

“Come on, baby,” Alex encouraged, unwilling to ever let go again. “Come on, you can do it, just hold onto me.”

 Alex’s fingers and toes had turned numb from the lack of movement in the last two hours, but he didn’t dare stand and walk around. He didn’t dare take his eyes off Michael until he woke up. He’d collapsed almost the second they’d gotten him into Max’s car, but Alex had kept a tight hold on him.

Max’s healing was useless against the pollen, and technically, Michael didn’t need a hospital, but Alex wanted Kyle to have access to whatever he needed to help him.

So they were pumping acetone into his veins instead of saline, they were monitoring his heart rate, even as, by the minute, it was getting better and better. And still, Alex kept close, kept watch, made sure no one but Kyle came in, no one but Kyle changed his IV bag and cleaned his wounds.

At one point, Kyle came in and put a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Dude, you need to rest.”

“I’ll rest when he’s awake.”

“Alex –”

“Kyle,” Alex said, his voice clipped. “I’m not leaving him.”

A moment of silence, then, “Are you okay?”

“The man I love was kidnapped by my father, what do you think?”

“Alex.”

Alex glanced at Kyle, and the lump that had been in his throat since he first discovered Michael had gone missing lodged itself firmly in place now, forbidding him to breath steadily. His eyes burned and his lower lip trembled as a horrifying realization that he’d been keeping at bay surfaced now.

He whispered, “I’m just like him.”

“No,” Kyle said immediately. His voice was calm. “You’re not.”

“What I did to Mr. Jones,” he shook his head. “I would’ve killed every single guard in that prison without batting an eye.”

“No, you wouldn’t have.”

“Kyle –”

“You wouldn’t have.” Kyle sat down next to him. “Alex, you’re not your dad. All he ever thought about was himself. You did what you had to do to get Guerin back. Mr. Jones never would’ve told us where he was if you hadn’t – if you hadn’t done what you’d done.”

“I’d do anything for him,” Alex whispered, watching the way Michael’s chest rose and fell with his breaths. “Isn’t that a bad thing?”

“Maybe for some people,” Kyle shrugged a shoulder. “Not for you.”

Alex clenched his jaw. “I’m scared of what I’d become for him.”

“Who you always are is Alex,” Kyle said, and stood, ruffling Alex’s hair. “No matter what you become, that doesn’t change.”

With that, Kyle left them to be alone, and still Alex would not look away from Michael. He sniffled and reached out, taking Michael’s hand in both of his and holding tight.

The lump, the weight on his chest, the pain in his leg, he knew, wouldn’t go away until he got to see Michael was awake and safe. With the knowledge that he would be here all night, Alex squeezed Michael’s hand, and waited.

*

Michael opened his eyes to a white ceiling, white walls, and white sheets. A steady beep beep beep went on somewhere behind him, there was a warm weight on his left hand and hip, and he realized that he was in a hospital. Before he could start to question why though, he caught the source of the weight.

Alex had his head rested against Michael’s hip, sleeping with pinched brows as his hands clung to Michael’s. Michael stared. It took him a minute to process what he was seeing.

He heard himself breathe slowly, carefully. If this was a dream, he hoped he never woke up. Alex looked so real, his dark, straight hair splayed against the white sheets, his long lashes curled against rosy cheeks, his warm breathing against Michael’s hand as his lips brushed Michael’s fingers.

Michael reached up his thumb to touch Alex’s cheek, to see if it was as soft and warm as it looked (it was), and Alex started awake. His eyes followed Michael’s thumb to his face, and he sat up, a grin splitting his lips.

“Guerin!” he breathed. He stood and cupped Michael’s face. Michael did not miss the way he winced, but his eyes were filling with tears that begged to fall and his smile was so beautiful and happy that Michael couldn’t find it in him to do anything but cling to Alex’s hands just as tightly.

“You’re okay,” he sighed with relief, his fingers gentle on Michael’s jaw. “You’re okay. I’m going to – I should go get Kyle, I –”

“No,” Michael croaked, his throat dry, as he tried to sit up. “No, stay here.”

“Be careful,” Alex said, setting up his pillows and helping him lie down against them. “There you go, careful.” He stood back, looking Michael over for any open wounds. “Do you – uh – what do you need?”

Michael watched him. His fingers were trembling, his eyes twitching, his jaw clenched so tightly Michael feared he was drawing blood. He wordlessly held his arms out, and Alex eyed him a moment before his expression revealed the grief behind it, a sob escaped his lips, and he fell into Michael’s embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” he cried, and Michael’s heart broke. His hold on Alex tightened.

“Don’t,” he growled. “That wasn’t your fault. Got it? It wasn’t your fault, Alex. You’re my hero.”

“I’m not,” Alex whimpered. “You don’t know what I did.”

“I don’t care,” Michael breathed, his hold unbearably, painfully tight now. “I don’t care. You’re always my hero, Private.”

Alex burrowed deeper into his side. He kissed Michael’s shoulder, his neck, his jaw, his cheek, and held his face as he kissed his lips. Michael didn’t care if they weren’t officially together or hadn’t really spoken about their feelings since Alex and Forrest had ended things. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Alex.

He held Alex back just as desperately, and kissed him again and again and again, until all Alex could do was laugh through his tears.

“I’m sorry,” Alex swallowed, straightening. “I should – I should be more careful. You’re still hurt. Uh –” he wiped his face roughly “—do you want me to get you some water? Juice? Anything you want.”

“You,” was all Michael said, taking hold of Alex’s hand and pulling him onto the bed.

Alex looked startled, but went where Michael guided him until they were both lying on their sides, pressed close together.

“Guerin,” Alex whispered as Michael wrapped an arm around his waist, his forehead against Alex’s. “We can’t do this now, you – you need –”

“You,” Michael whispered back. With his other hand, he traced Alex’s jaw, his lips, down his neck. He couldn’t remember anything after his bunker had been broken into, but he’d been sure of one thing; Alex would bring hell to the doorstep of anyone who dared hurt him.

“All I’ve ever wanted and needed is you,” Michael said into the small space between their lips. Alex’s eyes fluttered, his chin raising so that his lips met Michael’s, as if he couldn’t help himself. Michael was so in love, it hurt him.

Before he closed the distance between them, he whispered, “My Alex.”

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

taglist: @reddriot @thicmitten @katsuhera @novvabeam @patt-writes-stuff @axther @tspice283  @bonitoge @mysticalchocolate @yanfeisrose @mowestruc @tokyosrevenge @jaegerverse @hu-tao-main @midnightangelfox​ (add yourself to the taglist up above!)

[writingtoforgetreality]

Time To Trust - The Devil´s Daughter Chapter Five (Lucifer Morningstar x Daugther!Reader)

[Lucifer-Masterlist], [The Devil´s Daughter-Masterlist]

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

Summary: Arriving at the precinct made you more nervous than you would have liked to admit. Dan only meant well & you trusted him, right? So why were you so damn anxious? Maybe because you knew you had to give him some answers sooner rather than later & you were not ready to do that just yet.

Words: 1,402

Warnings: (thank you for sticking around even after months of radio silence), pretty much a filler to get back into writing (I do have a lot of stuff planned though, things will start happening soon), fear of not being enough, awful cliffhanger, language (the usual), mentions of anxiety

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The ride gave you the chance to actually take in the beauty of the city. Yes, when you wandered around the other day you managed to see a few parts but now, sitting in a car, made everything way realer to you. Neither of you talked during the ride, enjoying the comfortable silence between the both of you. It kind of scared you. How could you trust a stranger after such a short time? Dan might not be a stranger anymore but it was not like you knew him well either. The radio was quietly emanating some tunes you did not know but soon, you found yourself humming with the beat. Dan took a look at you & smiled at your actions. You seemed way more comfortable & fearless looking out of the window. He just hoped he could help you find an actual place to stay. Not that he minded having you with him but he just assumed that you would get bored rather quickly. Besides, he knew there had to be more behind your façade. Something you clearly had not shown just yet. For a second, he debated bringing up the conversation you had last night, but decided against it. Maybe you would feel better at the L.A.P.D., with professionals around. Yes, he was a professional himself but right now he was not working. Just a few more minutes & he would find out.

As the car came to a stop, you noticed that you had zoned out for a bit. The sound of Dan’s car door shutting made you look at him. Before you could move to open your door, Dan beat you to it & helped you out. Not that you needed help but it still felt good to have someone who looked out for you. Like Michael when you were in heaven…No! Stop that! No more thinking about heaven & the angels. THIS was your new life, you had other things to worry about. For example, handling the questions you were sure you were about to get as soon as you walked into the precinct.

“You ready to do this?” Dan asked.

“Do what, exactly?” you uncomfortably chuckled. Your eyes met his briefly but before he could actually comment on the look you gave him, you quickly made your way to the entrance & tried to hide your anxiety with a witty remark.

“Climbing stairs to get to the door or opening the door to enter?” a sarcastic smirk was plastered on your face and Dan looked like he bought it. All he did was shaking his head, chuckling & following after you. Before you could push the door open, Dan’s hand was placed beside you & he opened it for you.

“Actually, this door is rather heavy, I got it. No need for you to exhaust yourself first thing in the morning.” you knew he was joking but you could not help but let your thoughts wander to a dark place again. That was one of your biggest insecurities. Feeling like you cannot accomplish simple tasks on your own. God had told you that you were too fragile. So most of the times you ended up feeling like you were not good enough. That no matter what you tried, nobody appreciated it because in the end, there was always someone who could do it better than you. Trying to push down your feelings, you shot a polite smile Dan’s way & entered without saying anything else. Dan stopped briefly, looked after you & wondered if he had said anything wrong. He expected another sarcastic comment from you, just like you had acted the entire morning with him. It did not come, though. He figured you were just nervous about what expected you inside. Yeah, that had to be it.

You felt another presence on your left & without looking up, you knew it was Dan. Slowing down a little bit, you let him lead you through the precinct. Surprisingly, there were not a lot of people at work. You blamed the time, even though it was not that early. Not that you cared much anyway. A door came into view & Dan approached it. You assumed that it would be where his coworkers asked you the so dreaded questions. What were you supposed to say? Should you make up a story? Should you make up a fake last name? A fake family? That way your possibilities of being left alone would be higher. But wait a minute…Did you even want to be left alone? It did not work out well for you last time & you kind of liked Dan. He was nice. On the other hand, though, you knew you could not stay with him. It would end up in you bothering the shit out of him & obviously, that was not your intention.

You fell behind a few steps because your thoughts consumed you once again. Before Dan could open the door, you jogged up to him & beat him to it.

“See? That door is much heavier & I’m doing just fine.” you turned around so your back was against the door, holding it open. Your arms crossed over your chest & you popped your hip out, signaling that you were mocking him & his previous actions. He laughed at you once more & walked past you into the rather cold looking room. Pushing yourself off the door, you took a look at the desk in the middle of the room. There was one single chair & …handcuffs? Wait, Dan would never hold you hostage, right? He was a cop, that was probably just one of the interrogation rooms. Or so you hoped. Maybe you were too naïve & you would face your death more sooner than later. STOP! Just stop thinking…

“No need to be scared, these are for the bad guys, not you.” Dan spoke up after you eyed the handcuffs a little too long & your face turned into one of pure concern.

“Kinky.” was your only answer, you even managed to keep a straight face.

“You’re something else, do you know that?” he was amused by your behavior but he liked you that way. It was like another girl was standing in front of him if he had to compare you to last night.

“Oh, I’ve heard that line a billion times, trust me.” you faked a smile. It was not like there were any happy memories connected to those words but Dan did not need to know that just yet. Or ever, for that matter.

“Hey, how about you take a seat & I’ll be right back, okay?” his words made you look up to him & you gave a simple nod as answer. After Dan took off, you decided against sitting down. Your anxiety was on edge & you could not even explain why. You were an angel, for fuck’s sake, why could you not chill? Pacing the room seemed like a good enough distraction, at least until Dan showed up again. Would he be alone or with his coworkers? That thought made you even more anxious. Yes, you were comfortable around Dan but the idea of another person asking you weird questions left you uneasy. Well, you could request to talk to Dan alone, right? There was nothing wrong with that. Besides, you were in an interrogation room, you were probably being observed right now, pacing like a crazy person. Ugh, just stop already…

The fact that someone could be watching you right now made you take a deep breath. Calming yourself would be convenient in your situation. You were fine, Dan would not have brought you here if he were not sure it would help you. After another deep breath, you finally sat down on the chair & began playing with the handcuffs so your hands were not shaking as much. Having something to play with helped distracting you & a distraction was very much needed.

You looked up as soon as you heard the door opening. The first person you saw was Dan but you could tell that there was another one right behind him. He moved aside a little & you found yourself staring at someone you would have never thought to meet so soon.

“Hello there, (Y/N), right?” the voice simply stated but you were too shocked to answer right away.

 ~to be continued~

Next Chapter

Published (03/15/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @fandomqueen2003, @natashaashleymarvelromanoff, @severewobblerlightdragon, @tenderlyunlikelyexpert, @zoseph, @suffering-canucks-fan, @dad-ee-drea, @xbarrjallenx, @marvelofwitch, @aceofspace95, @julessbrown, @thevelvetseries, @kotkaniemi-caufield-mom, @crumpets-are-better-with-jam, @strangewhovian-blog, @officialfictionalwreck (let me know if you wanna be tagged <3)

[marvels-writings]

Love is Trust

Maria Hill Masterlist

Requested by Anon: 22, 34, 35 with Maria hill. Preferably from hills POV where r breaks up with her. maybe a few time skips in there. heavy angst

22:  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m never going to do this again!” 

34: “I don’t want to fight anymore.”

35:“Our time here is over.”

Word Count: 2,559 (long and angsty)

A/N: I could have written a simple, 1k word fic for this. But no, my imagination had to go wild and make me spend an entire two days writing this, was it worth it? Of course. 

Daydreaming is an almost thing. You never know what different reality you might imagine. For Maria, a reality she was imagining was better than the one she was living in. Being distracted from that reality almost made her angry until she noticed who had brought her out of the daydream.

Natasha ran her thumb over the back of her palm as it rested on the coffee table. Green eyes scanned her features sympathetically. The brunette had no doubt she could see the exhaustion and hurt written on her face.

The sunlight from the windows in the kitchen hit her back, keeping her warm. But she still shivered, feeling cold all the time. Chest heavy, almost like she was carrying it around like a weight.

“What’s going on?” Natasha asked, pulling over a chair and sitting down in front of her, elbows leaning on the table. The redhead’s hand had slipped out of hers, waiting for her to speak.

“As if you don’t know.” Maria scoffed, leaning back in her chair, the hoodie sleeves over her hands. The hoodie she wore, navy blue and oversized, still smelled like you. It was almost the last thing she had left to remind her of you, except for the ring in the hoodie pocket.

“I only know what you’ve told me,” Natasha stated, watching the brunette and sighing. Maria didn’t respond, staring into the space ahead of her blankly.

“Which is that you and Y/n decided to end your relationship after almost 3 years.”

Three years, three years often sounded like a long time. It was a long time for most people, but it felt so short. The three years of happiness and being with you all over. Maybe if she could turn back time, it would be easier than trying to make things right.

“Natasha, this isn’t your business,” Maria said, inhaling sharply and beginning to get up, the rin gin her pocket heavier than ever. The redhead glared at Maria, gesturing to the seat, the brunette sat back down.

“As your chosen family, it is.” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms.

“What happened?” Natasha asked, waiting for the story to spill from Maria.

To Maria, it didn’t feel like a story anymore. It was like a dream, a nightmare almost. Her worst fears playing into her reality and destroying her life. How she wished it was a bad dream, and she could wake up in your arms, safe and loved. It was a hope she was past having.

————

“I don’t want to fight anymore,” Maria said, running her hands through her hair, leaning back against the couch in your shared apartment. You sighed and propped your elbows against the kitchen counter, leveling your girlfriend with a glare.

“You think I do?” You spat, watching the brunette wince at your harsh tone. It wasn’t a tone you used often, it was the kind of tone you used when you were annoyed with someone or you hated them. Maria was neither of them, but it was starting to seem like it.

“Where do you keep going?” Maria asked, forcing her eyes to stay open.

Exhaustion was creeping into her, but she refused to fall asleep. It was well past one in the morning, Maria had started asking you where you had been almost all night. But you refused to tell her, making her even more adamant and irritated.

“What, what do you mean?” You stuttered when you noticed her say ‘keep’. Maria was surprised you hadn’t expected her to see you take your car and head out into the city, almost every week. The way you hid your phone and kept a few more secrets from her.

“I mean, where do you keep going once a week without telling anyone?” Maria asked, stepping forwards and meeting your gaze in front of the kitchen counter. Your eyes left hers, darting nervously around the kitchen as you stepped back.

“It’s not important.” You waved her off, licking your lips.

“It is if you don’t tell me,” Maria said, watching you from the front of the kitchen counter. The first time she had asked you about this, you had easily distracted her from it. But she needed to know, your hidden secret was always in the back of her mind, feeding off of her insecurities.

“Maria,” You sighed, walking back to the counter and taking her hands in yours. “it’s not important.”

Your touch distracted her almost instantly, your warm fingers dancing along hers intoxicating her. Maria knew far too well what you were trying to do, you were trying to distract her from this, again. Her insecurities threatened to spill forth, maybe it was time she told you why she was so scared.

“Are you,” Maria licked her lips, pulling away from you. “are you cheating on me?”

“NO!” You shouted, voice loud and eyes wide in shock.

The way you denied it made her almost believe you. There could be other reasons you kept sneaking away, none came to mind. The most obvious one was that she wasn’t enough for you. There was something in her hoping that was the case, so it wouldn’t be entirely her fault you left eventually.

“God, no, I couldn’t.” You ran your hand through your hair in disbelief before moving forwards to take her hands. Maria slid away, watching you carefully.

“You know I could never do that.” You said, pleading for her to believe you. One hand remained in your trouser pocket, fidgeting with a small box. Maria assumed it was a small gift for her since you’d been gone too much, she didn’t think much of it.

“Do I know?” Maria asked, almost lying through her teeth. Of course, she knew you would never cheat on her. Her insecurities had gotten the best of her.

“Why are you doubting me?” You asked, tilting your head to the side slightly.

Maria’s eyes widened minimally as she stepped back, stuttering over her reply. She tried to compose herself. To try to get any sort of semblance to lie to you. It wasn’t working, you were seeing right through her.

“Maria,” You caught her attention, blue eyes barely meeting your gaze. “what aren’t you telling me?”

The brunette fidgeted under your scrutiny, deciding her biggest regret might not be her mistake, it might be telling you. At least she could be happy about being honest, even if there was nothing else to be happy about.

“About 2 weeks ago, I thought you were cheating on me.” Maria began, sighing as the events ran through her mind, wincing as her regrets flashed through her. “I went to a bar by myself.”

Shutting her eyes tightly, willing the memories away, wishing they weren’t true. More than anything she wanted her worst regret to be wrong, maybe a bad dream, anything else but a reality. There was nothing she could do to undo this, to undo her worst regret.

“I got drunk, too drunk,” Maria said, eyes flitting up to you. Your eyes watched her intently, betraying no emotion. “I wanted you to feel how I was feeling.”

Maria went quiet, fear filling her, eyes boring into yours. Her eyes were somewhere you could easily get lost, they were familiar and known. Now, they felt strange, unknown, almost as if they were betraying you.

“What did you do?” You asked, fear dripping into your voice.

“I cheated on you,” Maria confessed, almost like an apology. An apology for betraying your trust and doubting you. Though, she doubted anything she said could make you feel better.

If anything, she remembered the long nights you spent talking together about your worst fears. She had confessed she was terrified she was going to die alone, you had easily assured her that would never happen if she trusted you. You had confessed your worst fear was not being enough for someone, your worst fear was that the person you trusted most decided you weren’t enough for them.

Maria expected you to yell at her, throw things, cry, anything but what happened next. Eyes wide and teary, you chuckled and pulled the box you had been fidgeting with out of your pocket. The box was navy blue and velvet, her name engraved in an elaborate cursive font on the front.

You chuckled, there was no humor in you anymore. It was pained, breaking you to make any sort of reaction. Maria wanted to rush forwards to apologize, to try to fix what she had broken. But you didn’t give her a chance as you fidgeted with the box.

You had been planning to propose to her, her insecurity about being cheated on was because you’d been trying to surprise her by proposing, by putting her worst fears to rest. Instead, Maria had made your worst fear come true.

“And here I was,” You set the box down on the counter, a single tear falling from your cheek onto the box. “wanting to spend the rest of my life with the woman I wasn’t enough for.”

Pain filled your words, enveloping Maria and suffocating her, weighing down on her chest like weights.

“I’m sorry,” Maria whispered, rushing over to your side of the counter.

You backed away from her quietly as she reached out for you. Tears continued to slip out of your eyes as you made no motion to stop them. Every single tear showing how badly you were hurt, how badly Maria had hurt you.

“I’m sorry!” She shouted, almost begging for you to forgive her. But she knew there was nothing she could do to make you forgive her.

“I’m never going to do this again!”

“You never should have in the first place.” You murmured, still backing away from her. Your back hit the countertop as you cowered into yourself even further. Maria winced and backed away, trying to give you some space.

“Y/n, I never would have if I didn’t think you were cheating on me,” Maria said, trying to make an excuse, say anything to try to make less of her mistake.

“This is my fault now?” You scoffed, crossing your arms defensively. Wiping the tears away from your face in vain as more tears began to slip down.

“No,” Maria sighed, reaching forwards to take hold of your hands, to bring your comforting touch back. “that’s not what I meant.”

You pulled away, hurt as you shuffled to the other side of the kitchen. Feeling less cornered, your tone rose angrily. Your face hardened, despite the tears clinging to your skin like oil, you looked furious.

“I don’t care what you meant Maria.” You hissed, voice beginning to rise. It was almost as if the gravity of the situation came back to you when the brunette looked at you. Your voice softened and more tears fell.

“I gave you everything I had and I still wasn’t enough for you.” You said, shutting your eyes and turning to face away from her, steadying your breathing. The truth in your tone hitting Maria in the chest, pain flooding her, washing away any hope of reconciliation she had.

“You might as well take the ring,” You reached forwards and took her hand, slamming the velvet box into it. Your hand slipped away from hers, maybe for the last time. Confusion was clouding your features like you didn’t know what the right thing to do was anymore.

“my life was something I was willing to give to you.” You stated, moving towards the door and grabbing your coat. The apartment was yours, yet Maria was the reason you were leaving.

“Y/n, no,” Maria reached forwards to take your hand, but you were already out the door and running into the rain outside. You turned around, a sliver of hope-filled Maria, maybe you would let her apologize and bring you inside.

The rain-soaked your clothes and hair as Maria still stood in the doorway, unsure if you wanted her close. The water mingled with your tears, washing them away, making you wish it could wash your pain away too.

“Our time here is over.” You stated, sniffling as you turned on your heel and went towards your car. Shoulders drooped as rain-soaked your clothes, half expecting Maria to chase after you.

Which she did, the brunette ran after you, she still wasn’t fast enough to catch you. By the time she finally caught up to you, you were in your car and driving off. Maria was left, the rain drenching her clothes, mixing with the tears that were starting to slip down her face.

You left her because of what she had done. The mistakes she had made caused you to leave, you were ready to spend the rest of your life with her. If only you would come back, she could tell you that the answer would have been yes, it would always be yes.

Walking inside, she picked up the ring set down on the kitchen counter and picked it up, examining it. The velvet was soft to the touch, the engraving perfect and elaborate. She opened the box to reveal a silver ring with a sapphire stone in the center, surrounded by smaller sapphires weaved into it.

The light glinted off awkwardly from the inside of the band, causing her to pick it up and look on the inside. There was a small engraving, it read 

“Love is trust, I love you”

Her mind betrayed her, showing her the memories of when you’d asked her what love meant to her, just before she told you. To Maria, love had always been trust, to trust the person with every single part of you and trust them not to leave.

She loved you, more than anyone she had ever loved before. Now, after breaking your trust in her, she wasn’t sure if you loved her anymore.

————

“What are you planning to do now?” Natasha asked, watching the brunette play with the box in front of her. She hadn’t opened it after that, hoping she could find you and make things right again. But it was as if you’d disappeared, no one could find you. Not even her, and she had spent days trying.

Almost a week had passed since she had last seen you, felt your touch dancing across her skin like a flame. The warmth she missed, more than anything, it always felt too cold now. Even when she was in your shared bed, comforted by all the blankets around her, she felt vulnerable and cold.

“I don’t know,” Maria said, clenching her jaw as her fingers ran over the engraving again.

“Do you want her back?” Natasha asked, knowing the answer before the question left her lips.

“More than anything,” Maria answered instantly, she sighed and put her hands around the ring box, her hands getting warmer the more she held the box, she hadn’t let go of it even after you left.

“But I broke her trust.” She mumbled, opening the box as a tear slipped down her cheek. A small gasp left Natasha at the sight of the ring.

The brunette pulled it out, playing with it, running her fingers over the smooth stones resembling her eyes. Marriage is a promise to spend the rest of your life with someone, it must have been terrifying for you to get this ring made knowing she might say no.

“But love is trust,” Maria read the inscription with a sigh, fingers turning cold as more tears fell. “she doesn’t trust me anymore.”

A/N: Please don’t let my sanity go to waste and comment/reblog/send me an ask!

Tag List: @capcarolsdanver​, @versdan​, @lesbian-girls-wayhaught​, @lovebotlarson​, @dhengkt​, @hstoria​, @natasha-danvers​, @veryfunnyal​, @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ , @ophelias-heart​  , @never-didbefore​ , @justarandomhumanhere​, @the-most-unicorn-of-them-all , @thatssocamryn​ , @lesbian-x-blackwidow​ , @wlw-imaginesss​ , @hcartbyheart​​ , @summergeezburr​​ , @imnotasuperhero​   , @a-stressedstudent​ , @aaron-despair​ , @rooskaya-yelena​ , @thewitchandtheassassin​ , @wannabe-fic-reader​ , @izalesbean​, @higherfurther-romanova​   let me know if you’d like to be in any of my tag lists!

[bangtae-sohotddaeng]

we’ll be counting stars | k.th. | 3

(^ gif cred: ON THE VOYAGE | pinterest)

pairing: idol!Taehyung x publisher!Reader

rating: nc-17 (for language and themes)

summary: You’d sworn off love and relationships forever. You were here to do your job - work with the biggest boyband of the world. Not forge friendships and...and whatever it was that you and Taehyung were building up with these sneaky glances. It was, to be very fair, your Chief Editor’s fault that you’d landed in this mess. Maybe you should quit your job? Maybe you should quit life -

Oh, he was staring again, and did he freaking lick his lips?

warnings: swearing (reader’s got a potty mouth) + this is set like 5 years in the future + reader has emotional issues, she's a relationship phobe + mentions of weed

genre: so much ANGST ugh + fluff + comedy + some crack

words: 5 k

note: hey, y'all. so last month i went on a new year's trip to my boyfriend's city (yes, covid has forced us into an ldr, fml) and got too occupied in all the celebrations and reunions, and this got delayed. also, you might have noticed how the chapters progressively grow wordier, lmao i'd been confused. but i think i've found the perfectly comfortable number now. expect this length from now on. thank you for reading~💜

< prev | next >

series masterlist

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

You were, to be very honest, a complete mess at this point.

You hadn’t been quite certain as to what to expect when you’d picked Jungkook’s name out of the bowl in your office, but you could say with certainty that it hadn’t been even close to this. 

This boy was brimming with ideas! You hadn’t been able to get a single sentence in the midst of his own enthusiastic chatter, with words and ideas folding and layering all over each other. All you had done was nod, mumble words of agreement and appreciation—that you were pretty sure he didn’t even hear—and type it all. Freaking typing. So much typing.

So basically, the entirety of yesterday spent fussing over the repertoires to ensure that the list of tasks for the first set of three weeks were well-constructed had led to this—not being able to so much as tell him about the questions your team had so meticulously framed! You felt irked, amused, exasperated, exhausted, and at the same time, really fucking lost. 

How were you supposed to interrupt him without disrespecting him? You didn’t have a great amount of tact and usually just cut to the chase. Which was generally an appreciated quality in your profession, because no writer wanted to be just lathered with compliments to later find out his work was actually bullshit that no one wanted to read. But this situation was different. You felt pressured, nervous and out of your element. Because you really had no idea how to respectfully stop this guy from making a mess of all your hard work.

He was Jeon freaking Jungkook of BTS, for God’s sake!

How could you shut him up?

You were both in Jungkook’s personal studio in the BTS dorm. The boy was seated on a couch across the coffee table from your own, literally swimming in a trillion size bigger t-shirt and some loose sweatpants. His hair floof-ed all over the place as he spoke, bubbling and bursting with enthusiasm. Which he was doing a lot of. Speaking, that is.

For the better part of two hours now, you’d been listening to him go on and on about what all he wanted to include in the book. Your fingers were nearly cramping with all the typing, but you’d promised the guys no recorders and you didn’t wanna miss anything he said. But it was freaking difficult with the speed he was going at! 

And also with the mess and reluctance in your own head. You were used to pulling the reins with writers. This situation was making you feel incompetent.

You hadn’t even touched your list, yet. What would your teammates think of you if their very team leader failed to finish with the assigned data collection and messed up the team’s hard work? Ugh!

Currently, Jungkook was having you make a list of all the people he needed to talk about in the book.

“And there was this boy my age, Ji-Hyun, he was so much better than me at everything! It is him, truly, that I credit my overachieving traits to. I had to work so, so hard—oh! Please also note down Mun-Hee’s name! She was the best dancer in my entire school. So… wait, where was I?” He looked up at you with wide big, round eyes.

You opened your mouth to speak—was this when you asked him to shut up? It had to be, right, because this was the first time he’d actually prompted you to speak. 

You meant to take your shot, but then stopped. You blinked. Looked back at your laptop. Blinked again. 

You were so confused, right now. “Uh, Ji-Hyun was better than you—”

“Oh yes!” Jungkook exclaimed, launching off into a detailed story about how and in what respects, exactly, this guy was better than Jungkook.

You shut your eyes. This had gone beyond “taking notes” and was quickly turning into Jungkook enthusiastically reminiscing his childhood and freaking telling you tales about it. And he seemed to be enjoying himself so thoroughly, looking so adorable, that it felt very wrong to ask him to stop even when you tried to avoid the added pressure of him being a whole ass idol.

But you had actual work to do. And you were leading a team. You couldn’t act so unprofessionally.

In hindsight, maybe you shouldn’t have told the boys that this was going to be like “making friends.” Jungkook seemed to have taken it too literally.

Biting down on your lip, you cleared your throat. He didn’t acknowledge it. Sighing, you shut your laptop. “Jungkook?”

This time, he stopped mid-word, looking at you with his lips rounded in a pout, sparkling eyes turning into saucers. 

Now, you were in no way attracted to the guy, but you really could not deny how freaking cute he looked in the moment. 

“All okay?” he asked, looking at you and then the shut laptop on your lap.

You took a deep breath, winced a little, and then shook your head. “No, Jungkook. We need to pause…” You had to stop speaking when his face crumpled. “Whoa…um?”

Jungkook slumped in his place, shoulders sinking. “I’ve been giving horrible ideas, haven’t I?”

Your eyes widened. “What? No! Absolutely not! That isn’t the case, I was…”

He wiped his face with both his hands before looking at you with really sad eyes, all enthusiasm from some time ago washed away. “Then what? You can tell me, it’s okay.”

Now. You prided yourself to be a practical human being who strived to be as straightforward in her life as possible. But right now, you really could not stop yourself from lying your way out of this one. You decided to blame it on the fear of upsetting a client, and not the impossible-to-control empathy that Jungkook’s doe eyes seemed to naturally draw out of people. 

“I just need a coffee. It’s been a while, my hands need a break. And my brain’s kinda overwhelmed, too,” you expertly lied, relaxing when Jungkook’s eyebrows lifted.

“We’ve been sitting here for long, haven’t we?” he said in an almost guilty tone before standing up. “And I didn’t even show you around the dorm!”

You tried to tell him how it was really not necessary, not to mention a bit too personal and…not what you were here for? But he was already moving towards the door and beckoning you along.

“Come on, let’s drop by the kitchen and then we’ll take a walk around the property!” he enthusiastically announced.

You stood up and followed him out of the room, awkwardly trying to ignore the two bodyguards that had stood as still as mannequins while you were in the room and then started to follow Jungkook wordlessly as you left.

The walk to the kitchen was a short one, and the place was, unsurprisingly, not empty.

Your team members along with their partnered BTS members had been assigned one particular space in the dorm, each. According to the email you received last evening, the kitchen was supposed to be used by Simon and— 

“Taehyungie-hyung! Are those chicken burgers?” Jungkook excitedly rounded the kitchen island to peek into the paper bag Taehyung was fiddling with. “They smell so good…”

You looked from Jungkook’s face that was awash with childlike excitement to Taehyung’s, and your breath caught when you found his eyes already trained on you. While you struggled to formulate a coherent thought at the intensity his eyes seemed to be emanating, yet again, his lips slipped into an easy smile.

“Hello!” he greeted you cheerily, bowing his head.

You, dazedly, bowed back and dragged your feet up to the island, standing across from the two guys. “Hey,” you mumbled in English.

His smile widened further to show his teeth. “Food?” he asked you in English, nodding at the burger Jungkook was pulling out of the bag.

You shook your head. “No, coffee,” you responded in Korean, earning raised eyebrows from him.

“I hate coffee.”

You smiled, this time. “You’re missing out.”

“Can I call you by your name?” he asked out of the blue, and you did a double take.

“Uh…yes?” you stammered. “Yes, of course Taehyung-ssi.”

“You should call me Tae.”

You swallowed, continually nodding your head like a damn puppet. “Yes. Tae. Sure.”

“I’m bac—boss?” 

You twisted on your heels at the familiar squeak. “Simon, hi,” you mumbled, professionalism slipping over you in the blink of an eye at having a member of your team in your vicinity. “Where did you wander off to?”

Simon seemed to be sweating a bit, and you really couldn’t really tell why. You’d just asked a simple question. 

Maybe you’d become too scary…

“Just the loo,” Simon responded with a forced giggle. 

You nodded, giving him a long look and observing how his smile grew progressively weirder. Then you turned back to the island. And nearly choked.

Taehyung’s fringe hung over his eyes, making his eyes look that much more hooded. His lips were twisted up as he watched you.

Oh, dear God, did this guy have a crush on you or something? But how? Why? 

He was a bonafide Greek God, and you were…well. Not.  

And needless to say, he was literally not allowed to have a crush on you. Or anybody else, for that matter. It was against BigHit’s policies. According to what you’d read, the boys were to wait out one more year, as of now, before indulging in any sort of romance.

You were, by contract, also bound to not encourage any such advancements. Not that smiling at you could be considered one, to be honest. He could very well be trying to make friends, and you could be reading too much into it.

You decided to stop thinking so much.

“You want to eat something?” Jungkook asked as he handed you a cup of brew.

You smiled and shook your head. “I don’t eat at work. None of us do.” You eyed Simon and he nodded with his gaze wide. “Disturbs the momentum.”

“Hey, you shouldn’t consider this strictly work,” Taehyung spoke up in that deep ass voice of his, startling you. “We’re also making friends, here. This is also not your office, but our home.”

And then he grinned at you with all of his teeth. You felt your cheeks heating up.

This was not going according to plan. 

You were panicking.

Flashing Taehyung a close-lipped smile, you stepped away from the counter. “Um, Jungkook?” you mumbled. “D’you guys have a pool in the house?” 

Jungkook looked surprised but as enthusiastic as ever. He nodded, his hair bouncing all over. “Come on!”

Throughout your walk around the house, you had tried to slip in ideas from your first three week’s layout to Jungkook that would fascinate him enough to make him at least want to hear them out. And, you’d proudly like to claim, it had worked.

Jungkook had heard your plans and had even asked you to pull the list up on your laptop to have a look at it. And henceforth, you’d made tremendous progress.

And now, at nearly nine o’clock of the night, you and your team were taking your leave for the day. 

You had exchanged brief words with all the members to see how they found their partners. Currently, you were conversing with Yoongi.

“ARMYs know a lot about all of that,” the guy said, referring to his life before BTS. “But there’s still a lot that they don’t. I talked to Nathan about all of it, we made notes. I’m really excited about the book.”

You gave him a professional grin. “I couldn’t be happier! Nathan’s got a really innovative mind. I’m sure he’ll make this a good experience for you.”

Nodding, Yoongi wished you a good night and bowed. You bowed back, moving away from the building and towards the vans waiting to drive you back to your hotel.

Jimin flashed you a wide grin as you got into the car. “Have a good night,” he wished you, shutting the door like a gentleman. Then he peeked and waved at Areum, your team member assigned to him. “See you tomorrow, Areum-ssi!”

Namjoon followed suit with a hand forwarded through the window for you to shake. “How did today go for you?” he asked you in English, causing Hoseok to elbow Jungkook, probably asking the younger to eavesdrop. Jungkook’s eyes met yours, though, and the two of you shared a covert giggle. “Did we meet your expectations?”

You smiled, formally. “It was… a good introduction of sorts, I’d say. Highly informative. Moderately productive. And we didn’t have any expectations, per se, but my team really loved you guys. We’re super excited to be working with you.”

You looked around yourself, prompting the three team members seated with you to nod in agreement. “Likewise!” Namjoon nodded at you, his smile turning his eyes to crescent moons.

“Thank you. How was your experience with Sana?” you asked him, nudging the girl sitting next to you.

Namjoon grinned with his teeth. “Amazing! She’s really compassionate and driven. Today’s session was interesting and felt comfortable. I’m eagerly looking forward to more.”

You secretly exhaled in relief. Sana had been the one person on your team that you’d been the most worried about. It was good to learn that she’d managed to impress Namjoon despite her initial nerves.

Next to you, she gave a short, very professional chuckle, and leant by you to nod at Namjoon. “Thank you, Namjoon-ssi.”

“Have a safe journey and a good night,” Namjoon wished you before peeking into the car. “Bye, Sana! See you tomorrow!”

You waved at the boys and their manager as your van started to move. You looked behind to check that the other one, carrying the remaining three members of your team, was following closely behind.

“What a day!” Simon exclaimed from his seat opposite you.

“You can say that again,” you mumbled, massaging your temples. “And what was up with you? You looked really wound up when I saw you in the kitchen.”

Simon took his glasses off and rested his head against the back of the van’s seat. “Let’s just wait it out, boss. I’ll tell you later if I absolutely have to. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

You frowned, but let him be. 

Today was just the first day. If you stuck to your schedule, you would have a hundred and twenty five more of these before this project was done.

You could do it.

Right?

You, as it turned out by the end of the first week, could do it. The same couldn’t be said about Simon, though.

On Saturday night, barely an hour after you’d all retired to your rooms after dinner, Simon sent an SOS to the group chat. The six of you were in his room within a minute.

“You look physically okay,” Nathan, the only other guy on the team, mumbled as he squinted at the bespectacled nervous wreck. “What’s up?”

“I can’t do this anymore!” Simon blurted out.

All eyes immediately landed on you.

You did a double take. “Come again? You can’t do what anymore?”

He sighed, shrinking into himself as Riya, another member of your team, sleepily sat on one corner of his bed. “You can’t quit the project, Si,” she mumbled, patting his shoulder. “You signed a contract.”

Simon’s wide eyes met yours. You raised your eyebrows.

“Then—then I need a different partner.”

Sana clicked her tongue. “No can do. We’ve all worked on our homeworks. No one’s gonna sacrifice theirs for you.”

You agreed, so you stayed quiet when Simon looked at you in hopes of a counter.

“I can’t go into another week, please! It’s…” Simon trailed off with a helpless expression on his face.

You sighed. “Everyone, out.”

Your team trickled out of the room, tossing curious glances and hushed whispers your way.

“What is it?” you questioned Simon when it was just the two of you.

“He’s too intense. I have a huge crush on him.”

Your jaw fell open. “Dude… I… what? You have a fiance!”

He exhaled. “Yeah, he cheated on me.”

You drew a sharp breath, shocked. “Oh. Oh, my God, what? What the hell’s been going on with you, I’m so sorry, Simon. Are you…okay? When did you find out?”

“I’d been suspicious for a whole week, hoping it’d turn out to be a lie.” He sighed. “Guess not. But, don’t worry.” He waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll deal with it, no big deal. It’s happened before. I’ve done it before, too, that’s not the issue. The problem is that, right now, this is all making me wanna kiss Taheyung. What the fuck do I do, boss?”

You sympathised with the guy and felt responsible, in a way. After all, you’d been the one that forced him to propose to his boyfriend so that you could bring him with you on this project. If only you knew what kind of a toxic pair these two were! Goddammit. 

But, this guy was really telling you he couldn’t focus on work properly because he wanted to kiss Taehyung? For real?

What a guy.

“Get a fucking grip, Simon, what else?” you exclaimed, throwing your arms up. 

“No, I can’t. Don’t you think I have tried, already? Please take me off this project before I fuck things up for all of us and the company.” He shut his eyes, rubbing his face with both his palms. “And I’ve also, technically, broken the contract, so… Ask Boss to send someone else in.”

Was this happening for real? You were caught between wanting to smash the glass vase kept next to you over Simon’s head, and hurling yourself over the balcony.

You inhaled deeply, then exhaled. You could, realistically, do neither of the above. So you thought clinically and professionally, and made the sound decision to burden your boss with this mess instead of trying to sweep it under the rug by yourself.

“Fine.” You cleared your throat. “Take a break tomorrow. I’ll have a word with Manager Woo, he’ll talk to Taehyung. Tomorrow’s a Sunday, so I’ll be calling Boss for the first weekly check-in. I’ll ask her if something can be done to replace you on the team.”

Simon nodded with a grimace, which may have been his attempt at trying to smile.

You retired to your room on heavy feet. How could things go south in a week? You had barely begun and a buckload of bullshit was on you already.

Exhaling, you opened your laptop to leave a mail for Manager Woo. Quoting a personal emergency, you drafted an apologetic letter stating Simon’s absence tomorrow and asked the man to forward your apologies to Taehyung as well. At the same time, you were also mentally seasoning yourself for a possible confrontation with Taehyung when you went in tomorrow. 

You’d just put your laptop away when your phone rang. Frowning, you lifted it up, only to silent the ring with a groan.

Ever since you landed in Seoul, your best-friend cum roommate back at home had taken to giving you a call every single night. Even when you didn’t pick up. Ever.

Every morning you would text him an apology, and every night he would call again. It’d been a week to this pattern, now.

Why was he doing this? You’d made it abundantly clear that you weren’t going to get roped into any kind of affair with him—emotional or physical. What did he want, now?

For a second, you wondered if he was maybe only just concerned about your well-being in a foreign country? But then you dismissed it, immediately. Why would he? What had you ever done to deserve his—or anyone’s, really—concern? You were a bitch to the majority of people in your life, without trying and even meaning to. Why would anyone give a fuck about you without ulterior motives, right? 

Lying back on your pillows, you looked at the ceiling.

You’d been absolutely horrible at treating people with compassion and care for the majority of your life. You were always labelled either too prudish, too selfish, too career-oriented, or plainly, too narcissistic by people around you.

And, strangely enough, it never bothered you. 

But that didn’t mean you had not cared about anyone, ever. You had. Too much too, once upon a time. But what had that left you with? Expectations and hurt. 

So then, wasn’t it better to not care at all, and not expect at all? You never got hurt, this way.

Sighing, you rolled over to your side, tugging the covers up to your chin. Lifting up your phone from the nightstand, you turned it to silent.

An unread message was displayed on the locked screen:

Looks like you went to bed early again, lol. Hope you’re safe, warm and relaxed. Have a good day at work tomorrow xo

You sighed, yet again. You did not need anyone’s hugs and kisses for your day to be good. Why couldn’t people take a hint?

Shutting your eyes, you tried to get some sleep.

You were absolutely not surprised when, barely an hour into a fierce discussion about his school life, you and Jungkook were disturbed by a knock on the door. But Jungkook was, and jumped at the loud rapping, his wide eyes flashing to the door.

Your back being to the doorway, you looked at the boy expectantly to inform you of the intruder. Not that you didn’t already know.

Jungkook didn’t say anything, though, and simply kept looking behind you with raised eyebrows and rounded eyes. You sat very tightly wound up, contemplating whether to peek around the sofa’s high back or to stand up, when a deep, heavy voice enunciated your name. 

You stood up, slowly, pulling on a professional frown of very minute concern on your face. You willed yourself to act surprised when your eyes met a timid looking Taehyung’s. And, you actually slightly were, too. Why did he seem so shifty and nervous?

“Hello, Tae,” you wished, formally bowing to greet him.

He bowed back, licking his lips as he stood back straight up. “May I please borrow you for a few minutes?”

You twisted on your heels to look at Jungkook. It took him a few seconds to focus on your stare and recognise the question. “Oh! Sure! Of course! I’ll be here, I’ll wait.”

Nodding in gratitude, you stepped out of the studio to join Taehyung in the lounge area attached to the kitchen.

“I know what you would ask—”

“Have I not been cooperating well with Simon?” Taehyung cut you off with a question you were not expecting.

You frowned. “What makes you say that? He had a personal emergency today, Tae, that’s all! I’m sure he must be having a great time working with you.”

Taehyung sighed. “You think, or you know?”

How were you supposed to answer that? You bit your lip, trying to read Taehyung’s eyes, but the collar-bones peeking above the wide neckline of his oversized, brown t-shirt kept distracting you. On some level, you could understand what Simon must have been facing. But! You were all supposed to be professional adults and quell any unprofessional thoughts and not foster them!

You turned your face to your feet, not missing the wide-legged, knee-length shorts Taehyung wore. You mentally cursed yourself.

His sigh floated over to you. “I hope it isn’t something I did. I know I can seem a bit overwhelming sometimes and uninterested at other times, but… I am excited for this project and I really want to give it my best, too.” His eyes looked pained when you met them again. You softened. “Please tell me the truth.”

You drew in a breath. “It’s just as I told you, Tae. Simon has to sort some issues out in his personal life. And what makes you think you’re too overwhelming or uninterested? Did Simon say something?”

“No, no!” Taehyung immediately shook his head. “I just…speak from previous experiences. I don’t collaborate with people that well. I tire them out. And Simon… I don’t think we like each other’s approach very much. I feel like he doesn’t really agree with my ideas, just goes along out of courtesy.”

Your lips turned downwards. “I’m sure it’s none of that, Tae. Absolutely positive. And if worse comes to worst and the two of you actually aren’t able to work together, we will arrange for a switch-up so that you’re able to work comfortably.”

Taehyung seemed to perk up at that. “Switch-up? Will you work with me?”

You narrowed your eyes. He seemed a bit too keen about wanting to work with you, didn’t he? You could very clearly recall your first meeting and how he’d seemed to wane when you told him you were paired up with Jungkook.

Curious.

“We’ll see how it unfolds. But as of now, I am partnered up with Jungkook and you’re fretting over nothing. Simon will be back tomorrow, and things will get back on track. I promise.”

You hoped.

Taehyung nodded, excusing himself to visit the kitchen and you took your leave and came back to an eagerly waiting Jungkook.

He stood up the moment you entered the room. “Is everything okay? Hyung looked sad.”

You honestly had zero idea as to what to tell Jungkook. Pursing your lips, you slowly nodded in contemplation as you made your way to your seat. “He’s not working well with Simon,” you honestly told him.

“Oh.” Jungkook’s lips rounded, forming an adorable pout. “Taehyung hyung has a very artistic soul,” he said, taking you by surprise. You leant forward to listen in with interest. “He tends to get awkward and insecure about his ideas and conceptualizations. They’re usually off-beat and hard to work with, but they’re amazingly creative if you look at them like an artist. Not everybody has the right vision for those things, though. Maybe that is why Simon is…” Jungkook trailed off with a shrug.

You bit your lip in consideration. Taehyung’s words echoed in your head. 

‘I don’t think we like each other’s approach very much.’

Maybe they really were mismatched, outside of Simon’s immature, unprofessional, god-awful behaviour, too.

“Hey, could we add him to our group?” Jungkook suddenly asked, confusing you.

“Huh?” you very eloquently responded. 

He gave a small giggle. “Hyung. Could he work with us? We have been pretty efficient, and you certainly seem to have an artistic vision.”

You smiled. “Thank you, Jungkook, that’s really flattering. But also, no, I don’t think we can do that. The contract we’ve all drawn has a couple of strict clauses and one-on-one sessions is one of them.”

Frowning, Jungkook nodded in acceptance.

The two of you resumed your discussions from before, but the vigour and drive was now lessened to a great extent. You, especially, couldn’t stop worrying. You were the leader of the team, after all.

Sunday night brought in the awaited conference call with your boss. 

Looking at her excited, smiling face on your computer screen, you couldn’t help but dread the news you were about to break to her.

“So. How is it going?” Your boss rubbed her hands together, wiggling her eyebrows. “How is Sana doing? You were quite wound up about her, if I remember correctly.”

“You do remember correctly. There’s good news and bad news,” you responded with a grimace. “Which one first?”

Your boss pursed her lips. “Don’t wanna immediately spoil my mood, so, the good one please.”

“Sana has been doing fantastic. She’s been nothing short of professional, and according to what I’ve seen and heard, Namjoon is really pleased with her,” you relayed, smiling when your boss sighed in relief.

“Okay, so that’s out of the way. What’s wrong?”

You sighed. Better rip the band-aid straight off. “Simon has a huge crush on Taehyung and feels like he broke the contract. He wants to leave.”

You watched quietly as your boss choked on an inhale, coughed, had some water, and sat back down to blink at you with a blank face. “These words must not leave your room. Or Simon’s. None of the BigHit staff must catch a wind of it.”

You groaned. “Please don’t ask me to work through this, boss, please—”

“Work through it, Y/N!” your boss cruelly cut you off. “This is such a tiny, little, manageable thing! Resolve it.”

You gawked. “You literally just choked—how is this little, boss?”

“Counsel Simon. Ask him to push through. Threaten his employment with us, if necessary.”

It was your turn to blink at her, owlishly. “And? That’s it?”

Your boss shrugged. “And if it doesn’t work out, swap him with someone else on your team.”

You sighed. “This is all such high school, teen flick bullshit. What the hell.”

“I know, hun. Which is why I’m asking you to manage it. And I know you can. You’re my favourite, Y/N.” Your boss nodded at you with a solemn look. “I have believed in your capabilities since day one. It’s time to make them shine.”

You nodded, dumbly. The back of your mind was hinting at an inkling that you were being manipulated by flattery, but the forefront was basking in all the praise and could really not be bothered.

All you had to do was keep the whole thing hush-hush from the BigHit people and keep Simon in line, right? You could manage that.

Bidding your boss goodbye, you rung up Simon.

“Hey, boss.”

“You’re coming with us tomorrow and you’re gonna be a fucking professional like you’re supposed to!” you barked into the phone. “Bottle up your feelings, or eat them—I don’t care. You’ll do the job you were here for, and you’ll do it right.”

There was a long, suspended silence at the other end. And then a sigh escaped Simon. “I don’t think I have a choice. Fine, I’ll try.”

You put your phone to silent and shut your eyes, knowing you’d receive another call tonight and that you won’t pick up tonight, either.

You lay back in the bed, gearing up for tomorrow.

If worse actually did come to worst, and Simon sent everything down the rabbit hole, who would you make him swap places with? All of you had built really amazing rapports with your assigned partners in just a week. No one would be willing to start over.

If it came to it, would you have to? Would you be able to?

You could maintain professionalism a hundred times better than Simon, that much was certain. But you and Jungkook had been working so well! And who was to say Simon wouldn’t cause trouble with Jungkook, too? 

You let out a whine, beyond mad at the situation this guy had landed you in.

But you’d have to navigate out of it, somehow. This was the biggest project of your life so far—the first ever you were heading. You would ensure everything worked out at the end.

You would tie all the loose ends and make it all work. You would.

(You literally had no choice.)

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

< prev | next >

series masterlist

Tags: @tangledsparkles​ @hoefortaeshands​ @getmemyfries

[acebladespades]

Can I have 5. Comfort Item with Solaire and Oscar? A modern AU is preferred, but canon is fine as well.

Title: To act like a true knight

Fandom: Dark Souls

Characters: Oscar fo Astora, Solaire of Astora.

Word-Count: 5770

AO3-Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34015300

Summary: On a winter's night, Solaire loses his equipment.

Author's note: It is going to be 1k words, I said. It will be a comedy fic, I said. And now... look at this almost 6k angst fest haha. I hope you like it :D

Prompt: Comfort item.

@sicktember

“Look, there’s the idiot.”

“By the sweet tits of Lady Gwynevere, what the farmer said is true!”

“Ah, our favorite buffoon never fails to put a smile on my face.”

“Astora would be a far duller place to live in without him. But...shouldn’t we stop him? That fool will freeze to death at this rate.”

“Ha! Solaire’s head is thicker than a bowl of oatmeal. You’ll get frostbite on your toes and nose before he even considers listening to a word you say. That wouldn’t be very smart of you, would it? Besides, you are already ugly as sin. Frostbite will do no favors to your hideous mug.”

“Shut your hole, bastard. Your features are hardly what I would call carved by the gods themselves. It is a blessing our helmets keep me from gazing at it too often. On second thought, I was wrong. Lord Nito really outdid himself when he made you in his image.”

“Aye, aye, keep talking.”

The two elite knights turned their backs on the frozen field and walked away, laughing and mocking each other. Their minds were too clouded with drink for either of them to notice the presence of a third elite knight nearby.

He had followed them outside.

He had remained quiet as his two fellow knights mocked Solaire, and he continued to do so until the drunk men were once again inside the tavern.

“Pathetic.” Oscar said under his breath before returning his attention to Solaire “All of you.”

Solaire was too far away from him to listen to his derisive mutterings. Even if he had heard him, Oscar doubted Solaire would have dared to say something in return.

Oscar was an elite knight.

Solaire was a lowly upstart, just freshly knighted in the battlefield a few months ago.

As foolish as he was, Solaire was well aware of his place in the world and he acted accordingly.

But he still has much to learn.

“Curses.” Oscar said in resignation, the falling snow starting to form small mounds on the top of his helmet and on his pauldrons.

Yet, when he started walking, he did so towards Solaire and not the rowdy tavern.

I knew I should have stayed out of this. If I catch a cold, you’ll answer for it, Solaire.

The snow and the cold slowed Oscar’s pace. It took him a moment to reach Solaire’s side.

The lower knight failed to notice Oscar at first, too focused on trying to pull some carrots out of the frozen field.

Underneath his helmet, Oscar frowned.

He would not be so easily ignored, especially not by Solaire.

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed, but the ground is frozen. You’ll never manage to harvest these crops.”

Solaire gasped and jolted in surprise. In his shock, he pulled the carrots’ stems too strongly and ripped them from their roots.

Solaire straightened his back and looked at Oscar. His face was hidden behind a thick piece of cloth wrapped around his head and neck, leaving only a small slit between the folds for his eyes.

At least you had the common sense of protecting your face from the cold. Hardly an achievement, but worth mentioning.

“See? What did I tell you?” Oscar pointed at the stems on Solaire’s hand. “It was bound to happen. I don’t know what else you were expecting.”

Solaire looked down at the stems he was holding. Disappointment quickly showed in his eyes.

He let go of the destroyed leaves, ashamed, as if he had been defeated in a duel before his lord and a royal court.

Ridiculous.

Still, Solaire’s regret was genuine. His actions had been foolish and improper of a knight, but his heart had been in the right place. That alone deserved some acknowledgement, even if just a little.

“Well, now you know this little quest of yours was a fool’s errand all along. ” Oscar folded his arms on his chest. More than to look severe and imposing, he did so to keep himself from trembling. How Solaire had endured so many hours out in that sheer cold he couldn’t comprehend. “You should have known better from the start. Don’t forget you are a knight now, Solaire. It’s time you started acting like one.”

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” Solaire replied harshly.  He dedicated a quick glare to Oscar before grabbing a new bunch of frozen stems and repeating the process. “Now, if you are done talking, please leave. I need to get back to it. The pleasure was all mine, sir.”

Oscar was speechless.

Had Solaire, foolish and gullible Solaire, really talked back to him?

Was he willingly ignoring him?

Had he ordered him to go away?

With his entire body burning with anger, Oscar forgot about the cold simmering in his bones and grabbed Solaire by his forearm. With a violent pull, he forced him to stand up.

“I told you to stop! You are making a fool out of yourself.”

Even more so than usual.

Oscar had to bite his tongue to keep those words from escaping him. They were too cruel. Furious as he was, he wasn’t as heartless as to mock Solaire in that manner.

“Knights do not harvest crops for the farmers, help milkmaids make butter, cut lumber for the blacksmiths or shoe other men’s horses. You looked ridiculous enough when you did all these errands when you were a soldier, but back then, it was only your own reputation you were tainting. Things have changed now. Your actions affect us all, Solaire. A knight’s actions are every knight’s responsibility. Make a fool out of yourself and you make a fool out of us all.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong!” Solaire broke free from Oscar’s grip easily, more easily than Oscar had expected. For a moment, Oscar feared Solaire would retaliate with an attack, but all Solaire did was to glare at him again. “So what if I am a knight? This farmer’s crops will die if they don’t get harvested soon. How will he feed his family if this happens? Did any of this ever cross your mind or that of your friends, or were you three too busy laughing at me? Don’t think I didn't see you. Don't think I didn't hear all you said.”

Shame almost found its way into Oscar’s heart. He fought against it, unwilling to bear the faults of others as his own.

I did nothing wrong. It’s not my duty to speak up for upstart knights. Those who can't defend themselves shouldn’t be knights at all.

“You are wrong.” He said sternly. “They mocked you, but I did not. Bold of you to assume I would waste my breath on you, Solaire. By the lords, knight a peasant and suddenly he grows prideful and defiant. Maybe this too was inevitable. But what else could I have expected from Astora’s biggest buffoon? ”

Oscar had not intended to say the last sentence out loud, but Solaire’s impertinence and stubbornness had depleted his patience.

He had tried to be kind to him, he had genuinely attempted to save Solaire from the cold and from further humiliation, and in return, Solaire had confronted him.

It wasn’t fair.

Without warning, Solaire took a violent step toward Oscar.

Against his will, Oscar took a step back.

They stared at each other, with nothing but the winter winds breaking the silence.

Though the visor of his helmet kept Solaire from noticing, it was Oscar who looked away first.

He had known that insulting Solaire wouldn't be amusing or satisfying, but neither had he expected it to fill his chest with guilt.

“Just leave.” Solaire said under his breath. There was no anger in his voice, only exhaustion.

He turned his back on Oscar and focused once more on the frozen crops.

Soon, it was as if he had forgotten about Oscar’s presence completely.

Stubborn fool.

Oscar thought of walking away and conceding Solaire his wish.

His arms and feet were already getting numb inside the gelid confines of his armor. His nose was stuffed and his throat was starting to get sore.

A fever and a cold by tomorrow's morning were mandatory.

Perfect, what a wonderful way to end the day and start the next. Was it worth it? Lords, I knew I should have stayed in the godforsaken tavern.

“Do as you wish, then.” Oscar turned his back on Solaire. “Don’t be shocked when everyone mocks you tomorrow for allowing some farmer to trick you into doing his work while he gets drunk.”

“What?”

Oscar ignored Solaire at first, decided not to dignify him with an answer, but the honest disbelief in his voice prevented Oscar from leaving him to his fate.

With a heavy sigh, he turned around.

“That downtrodden and sick farmer that so much begged for your help didn’t look so sick to me. He is healthy enough to be dancing around and singing in the tavern about how you fell for his lie.”

“No.” Very slowly, as if his arms and legs had turned into stone, Solaire stood up. “That’s not true. He… he is very sick, you see. He can’t dance. He has a bad leg, a childhood injury that never truly healed. It never stops hurting, but it gets worse during winter. That’s why he...he asked for my help. His family...”

“I doubt his imaginary wife and children will starve to death any time soon. He seemed rather proud of his bachelorhood, now that I think about it. A jolly and happy life, free of brats and a nagging wife , or so he called it.”

“Oh my, what a misunderstanding. No, no, you got it all wrong.” With a trembling hand, Solaire pointed at the small house and the other end of the field. “His family is over there. They can’t leave the house in this weather. The… the children, they would get sick. They can’t help their father harvest these crops in this cold… and that’s why I...I...”

The silence that followed was uncomfortable even for Oscar. Had his fellow elite knights been there to witness Solaire’s moment of realization, they would have laughed at him without any regard for Solaire himself.

Oscar, perhaps, would have laughed too.

Yet, at that moment, he felt no desire to laugh at all. His anger, so incensed just a moment ago, vanished from his heart.

“I’m a fool.” Solaire said with what sounded like a drowned laugh. He dropped to his knees as a blow of wind snatched the cloth wrapped around his head and took it away, exposing Solaire’s face to the freezing cold. “What did you call me? Astora’s biggest buffoon… well, you aren’t too far off.”

He laughed again, but it was a hollow sound.

“It’s always the same.” Solaire lamented. “Always.”

“I see.” Oscar did not know what else he could say, but he knew that neither he nor Solaire would benefit from staying out in the cold any longer. Gentler than before, he helped Solaire back on his feet. “We’ve no business here. Let’s get back to the tavern before we freeze to death. I’ll see that the farmer receives a proper punishment for his impertinence.”

“No.” Solaire refused to move when Oscar pulled him. “Don’t. What good would any of that do?”

“Plenty. He’ll never dare to trick a knight again, and he’ll be a good example of what happens to those who think they can get away with such insolence. Do not worry, his punishment shall be harsh, not lethal.”

“No.”

“Solaire, you can’t possibly allow this to---”

“I said no.”

“Are you trying to impress me by being stupidly kind and forgiving? If so, let me tell you that it isn’t working. Now, if you are done with this little act of yours, let’s get moving. Hurry; I won't carry you if you pass out. I’ll just leave you here, so you can become a giant snowman for the children to play with.”

“Go where? To the tavern, so that the others can mock me?” Solaire took a step away from Oscar. “Haven’t they mocked me enough? No, I won’t do it. I may be an idiot, but even an idiot has pride. I’d rather stay here and be a snowman by tomorrow’s morning than be everyone’s laughing stock any longer.”

“That would be futile. They are still going to mock regardless of what you do, so might as well be warm and out of danger as they laugh at you. You cannot blame them for it, Solaire. If you don't want to be treated like an idiot, you shouldn't act like one.”

It was the truth. After the stunt he had pulled, Solaire would receive little else than mockery and laughter from knights, merchants and peasants alike for the days to come.

What else does he expect?

What else does he deserve?

Why does he...

Solaire fixed a weary gaze on Oscar. He said nothing, and there was no need, for it was enough to make Oscar’s thoughts come to a halt.

Concealing his regret under a neutral tone, Oscar reached out for Solaire’s arm a third time.

“I won’t allow it.” He said. “If anyone dares to laugh at you, they’ll answer to me. If you are worried about my fellow elite knights, don’t be. I’ll keep them in check too, you have my word.”

Rather than grateful, Solaire seemed baffled, as if Oscar had promised him to make him an elite knight first thing in the morning.

“Why?” Solaire said. It was then Oscar noticed how pale he was, and how loudly his teeth chattered. “Why would you do that? We are nothing to each other. I don't even know your name.”

“By the Lords, you are never satisfied, are you? I didn't offer you to be your friend and my name is none of your business. I want to help you, that's all. Of all people, you should understand, Solaire.”

“And I want to. I want to believe you mean what you say, but for all I know, it’s all a trick, just another one of the elite’s jests against me.”

“That would be a rather poorly executed jest, and I would be the victim of it, not you. By staying here with you, I’ve already caught a cold. My head hurts, I can't feel my hands, my nose is stuffed and it will be a miracle if the snow hasn’t rusted my pauldrons and greaves. Do you think I’d endure all these mishaps just to trick you into some ridiculous situation?”

Solaire’s expression softened, but suspicion and wariness remained in his eyes. Oscar was already starting to consider knocking Solaire unconscious and dragging him to the tavern by one of his legs when the lower knight finally gave him an answer.

“No, I don’t think you would.” Solaire said. He spoke so lowly that Oscar could barely hear him. “Forgive me for not trusting you. I did not intend to be rude, I just…”

“Oh, Solaire.” Oscar rested a hand on his shoulder on what Solaire interpreted as an understanding gesture. Sadly, he was quickly proven wrong. “You talk too much. I’ll listen to your apologetic speeches all you want, but only once we are back to the tavern. Understood?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” Oscar said with relief. “Let’s go then.”

“Wait!” Solaire exclaimed. “Just give me a moment to retrieve my equipment and then we--”

He looked around in all directions. Oscar did the same, but all he saw was a thick blanket of pure-white snow.

“I left them here.” Solaire pointed at a spot a few steps away from his feet. After a brief moment of pondering, he pointed at a more distant spot on his left. “No, I left them there. My helmet, my talisman, my sword and my shield. Or was it over there? No, it was here!”

“That doesn't matter.” Oscar snapped at him. “We don't have time for this. You’ll retrieve your equipment tomorrow.”

“I can’t leave it behind.” Solaire got on his knees and began digging with his hands. “My shield and sword will rust… my talisman will get destroyed too...and my helmet…. No, no, what a dreadful thought. I cannot leave it behind!”

It didn't take long for droplets of blood to start splattering around Solaire’s hands, but that wasn’t enough for him to stop digging.

“It’s not here.” Solaire admitted reluctantly. He stood up, no longer bothering to hide his desperation. He looked around restlessly, his panting creating small clouds in the freezing air. “I… I don’t remember. I--”

He turned around and faced Oscar, as if he could give him an answer, but there was nothing Oscar could do other than look at him in sympathy from under his helmet.

Disappointed and tired, Solaire looked down at his bleeding hands.

“Let’s go.” Oscar said as gently as he could, though it still came out like stern order rather than a kind offer. “There’s nothing left to be done here.”

Solaire did not answer.

Oscar was starting to fear he would once again refuse when he finally muttered a low, “Yes.”

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

Oscar did not have to carry Solaire. There was no need, as he only passed out after they entered the tavern. They were received by a jolly crowd. Some mocked Solaire loudly as soon as they saw him, whistling and applauding at him as if he was returning victorious from a duel; others were more discreet and simply gossiped among each other, covering their smiles with their pints and hands.

Before Oscar could order them all to be quiet, Solaire collapsed on the floor. He fell flat on his chest, as if a wayward arrow had pierced his heart and lungs.

A silence colder than the wind outside spread across the tavern.

“By the Lords, is the idiot going to die?” an elite knight said to his friend as he stopped leaning his ear against the closed door.

He spoke of Solaire as if he was a horse with a broken leg and not a man agonizing on a bed.

“How should I know? You’re the one listening to the whole thing, you stupid sod!” The other elite knight answered. Behind them, a small and curious crowd had gathered. Among them, there was the farmer responsible for that whole mess.

He was crying like a criminal sentenced to be beheaded publicly by tomorrow’s morning.

“I never meant for this to happen.” He muttered in between his sobbing. “It was a jest…”

“Quiet, you!” One of the elite knights exclaimed. He shooed the peasants away, threatening violence upon them if they did not disperse and returned to their own business that instant.

They all obeyed, even the farmer, though he was still crying when he left.

“That was a bit harsh.” The other elite knight told his partner. “They were doing nothing wrong.”

“Perhaps, but I couldn't hear a damn thing with their blabbering and that farmer’s cursed sobbing. “ The elite knight rested his helmeted ear against the door and closed one of his eyes as if that sharpened his hearing. “Now you shut up too so that I--”

The door opened.

The elite knight sprung backwards like a scared cat. He crashed against his partner’s chest, and together, they watched a third elite knight emerge from the room.

“By the Lords, Oscar! You almost scared me to death!” The elite knight exclaimed. His anger soon waned, overtaken by his curiosity. “Speaking of death... Tell us what happened! Hurry, before the peasants come again like chickens hungry for breadcrumbs of gossip. What will happen to the idiot? Is he going to die?”

The last word came distorted with an amused snort.

“Hey now, ” the second elite knight said to his partner. “I may find Solaire’s antics fun and entertaining, but you shouldn’t laugh at him right now…not in his current state.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve had too many drinks and… Nah, to hell with it! I am not sorry at all!” The drunk elite knight exclaimed, no longer bothering to repress his laughter. “Why should I be sorry? Why should we pretend this is not what Solaire deserves? Serves him right for allowing some peasant to deceive him. In fact, where is that farmer? Bring him before me so I can kiss him on both cheeks for granting me some joy on a stressful day! Where are you, you magnificent bastard? Come here! Now now, don’t be shy--”

The elite knight never got to finish, for his helmet was forcefully removed from his head by Oscar. Before he could react or understand what was happening, a gauntlet shaped like a fist crashed on his mouth.

He fell on his back, blood dripping from his mouth and busted lip.

“Oscar! Have you gone mad?!” The second elite knight asked in distress as he went to his partner’s side and helped him sit down.

“You damn bastard.” The injured elite knight stuttered, touching his bloodied mouth tenderly with his fingers. “You loosened my front teeth. You won’t get away with this, you’ll see! Once I’m done with you, you won’t be knight enough to guard the public muck pit!”

“You talk too much but you say so little. Typical of a fool.” Oscar said,unaffected by the other’s threats. “How about you stop wasting your nasty breath and do something good for a change? Guard this room, the both of you. Do not let anyone enter, and should the healer need anything, make sure you get it for her.”

“What, are we the guardians of the idiot out of a sudden? As if!” The drunk elite knight stood up, despite his friend doing his best to keep him quiet and on the floor. He spat a bloodied phlegm on Oscar’s tunic. “Look at you, acting so smug, trying to put yourself above everyone elsr, like you always do! Take your selfrightouness and cram it up your ass, Oscar. As if you cared about the idiot at all… as if you didn’t hate the way he makes all of us Astoran knights look like fools! What is that you always say? If he didn’t want to be treated like an idiot, he wouldn’t act like one. Well, you are absolutely right! And if he didn’t want to be at death’s doorstep, he shouldn’t have stayed out in the sheer cold for hours like an absolute nitwit!”

“Well, aren't you fond of my sayings. Here's a new one for you.” Oscar said calmly before pulling his fellow elite knight closer to him and landing another punch on his lips. The other fell to the floor again, and this time, he spat out not only blood, but two teeth. “If you didn’t want to get your mouth torn apart, you wouldn’t have opened it so much.”

The injured elite knight couldn’t answer. A sudden rush of vomit, mostly caused by the amount of drink in his stomach, finally came gushing from his mouth.

“Make sure this fool stays down and doesn’t cause any more ruckus.” Oscar said to the second elite knight, who looked at him as if he was a scolded child. “And please, do as I told you. Guard this door and make sure the healer has all she needs while I’m gone.”

“I.. I…” The elite knight looked at his almost passed out partner and then at Oscar again. He sighed, almost as exhausted as Oscar was. “Very well. But, where are you going?”

“I won’t take long.” It was the only answer Oscar gave him.

As he left the tavern, the curious crowd looked at him as if they had just witnessed a murder. They all stepped out of his way as Oscar passed them by.

All except for a farmer with red and swollen eyes.

“Sir.” He muttered to Oscar. “Sir, I’m so sorry. You have to believe me, this is not what I wanted. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Oscar stopped and glared at him from under his helmet, but his expression soon softened.

If he did this, it is because he is following our example. This is what we elite knights have allowed.

“Sir.” The farmer kneeled next to Oscar and tried to hold his hand. “Please.”

Oscar backed away from him as if he had been burned and left the tavern without saying a word.

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

He felt unreasonably disappointed.

Perhaps, it was because of it that he refused to stop digging.

They’re not here.

The rational side of his mind whispered

They’re not anywhere.

A more fantasious but no less persistent side added.

“They are here. Somewhere.” Oscar replied to himself. If anyone saw him talking to his own mind, they would think of him as a madman clad in stolen armor, not as a rightful knight.

It would not be a baseless supposition, for an elite knight did not dig into the snow like some mutt in search of a lost bone.

Thankfully, or perhaps regrettably, there was no one around to look at him and laugh. Or, in a more idlilic scenario, to offer him a much needed hand.

You know who would be perfect for that? Solaire! But no… Lords, no. He had to go and get himself sick! And by doing so, he left this cursed task all to me! Who does he think I am? Some pig trained to search truffles for him? Some squire he can send to find his ridiculous equipment?

“They’re not here!” Oscar exclaimed, unable to state otherwise any longer. Snow had leaked through his gauntlets, freezing his fingers and lacerating his skin with dozens of sharp and small cuts.

He retrieved them from the snow and tried to stand up, but his knees and ankles were numb with cold and pain. After a long moment of effort, Oscar got back on his shaky legs. He turned around and looked at the many holes he had dug on the frozen field. Some of them were starting to get filled again with fresh falling snow.

Disappointment and anger faded and gave way to despair.

The helmet, the talisman, the sword and the shield.

If he didn’t find them soon, it wouldn’t take long before he lost track of the place where he had already searched.

And then…

So what if that happens? All I’d have to do next is go back to the tavern and forget about this whole thing. I’d owe no explanations to no one, especially not Solaire. That is if he isn’t already dead by then.

Oscar stopped thinking as he had been struck by an invisible hand.

Truth was that Solaire had not asked him to go find his equipment for him; he had been too moribund to do anything else other than rave like a lunatic about how much he needed to go back and retrieve his possessions before they got ruined under the snow.

Oscar didn’t understand why. The helmet was nothing special, the talisman was little more than an old rag and the shield was a mockery of what a knight’s shield should look like, with that foolish sun painted all over its surface.

The only piece with some value to it was the sword, and even that was highly arguable.

But even so…

“Dammit.” Oscar slowly walked to a new position and knelt down.

He repeated the process again.

Even if I am looking for nothing else than a bunch of scrap metal whose value is strictly sentimental, I will not give up. I will not be defeated by Solaire’s simple task! Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am?

He dug and dug.

Blood leaking from his gauntlets painted the red snow.

He kept digging, but he found nothing.

He moved to another spot, then another.

The result was the same.

My hands, my legs. I’m tired, I want to go back… no, no! Solaire stayed out in this cold for hours! Does he think I can’t do the same? Who does he think I am? An upstart knight, best an elite? Never!

Anger fueled his movements, but Solaire was not the reason behind it.

Why did he do it? What was he trying to prove? I don't get it… I don't… What am I…?

Oscar’s sight became blurry and his thoughts began to scatter.

Amidst his fever, he looked at me. He said…

His fingers scratched a solid surface.

"Please."

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

He had survived the night.

His recovery would take a while, but his life was not in danger. The healer had done her job well.

Solaire had wanted to thank her, but she had left without waking him up.

Had she taken care of him for free out of the kindness of her heart, or had someone else paid her in Solaire’s stead?

Solaire could only wonder, but he knew the latter was more likely. He wanted to care more about the matter, but he had too little strength of body and spirit to focus his thoughts on anything beyond the room and bed he occupied.

The mere idea of going outside and facing the world was disheartening.

He was not naive enough to think his close encounter with death would soften the people’s hearts, especially not after he had survived.

He would be everyone’s laughing stock for the days to come. If he had managed to earn some respect from other knights since being knighted on the battlefield months ago, all of it would have been lost last night.

All his efforts had been wasted in an instant.

But I cannot stay here forever… I have to go back to my life. I have to live among my people, eat in their company, protect them and fight by their side. I have to face them with my head high.

The thought was meant to be comforting, perhaps even wise, but it only discouraged him further.

Solaire covered his eyes with his forearm and breathed out a bitter chuckle.

"But such is the life I've built for myself." Solaire muttered with a hollow smile as the silk of his shirt absorbed his tears. "Such is the life of Astora's biggest buffoon."

He wallowed in his self-pity for longer than he had done in his life. Eventually, realizing the futility of it and disgusted at his own weakness, Solaire stopped

Crying had solved nothing. The world outside  and its people remained unchanged.

Perhaps it would be best if I face it now .

Slowly, Solaire got himself out of bed. The taverner and the few people in the tavern at that time in the morning were as good a start as any.

Or perhaps…

The idea that so often fluttered around his mind became so vivid that it felt almost like an order towards himself.

Why not go through with it?

Lately, Solaire often considered it.

Why not attempt to become an Undead and leave Astora for good?

Could he really say he had something dear enough to him in his homeland to be bound to it any longer?

Friends and family he had none. His achievements were seldom recognized, his missteps were always remembered. He had believed things would change for the better after becoming a rightful knight, but last night, he had discovered he had thought wrong.

I love Astora. I love my people.

Solaire thought once he was done putting his armor on. It was too heavy for his tired body, but he was a knight. It was time he started acting like one.

But I can’t —

The sight of his equipment disrupted his thoughts. Solaire didn’t believe his eyes at first.

His helmet, his talisman, his sword and his shield.

Someone had found them and returned them to him. Solaire had not wanted to think about his lost equipment. He was sure they were lost for good, he was convinced that he would find them ruined by the snow once he went to retrieve them later that day.

But there they were, right before his eyes. Solaire promptly knelt down to inspect each piece. The feather of his helmet was gone, but the helmet itself was undamaged. His talisman was dry; whoever had found it must have hung it in the tavern’s hearth. His sword and shield would require a blacksmith’s care, but they were perfectly salvageable.

“But…” Solaire stuttered, relieved and confused in equal doses. “Who?”

Then, he remembered he knew the answer.

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

Oscar lifted his visor just enough to release his sneeze. He had not slept well, and the fever from last night had not disappeared yet.

But last night was gone and a new day had dawned.

There were duties he had to tend to, and they cared not if he was sick or healthy.

Such was the life of an elite knight.

“Look.” His fellow elite knight said to Oscar, bumping him strongly on the arm. Without his front teeth, he sounded like a completely different man, but the venom and resentment in his voice was palpable. “Your lady has come to bid you farewell.”

Oscar didn’t understand what the other meant at first, but everything became clear when Solaire’s voice reached his ears.

“Wait!” Solaire exclaimed. He had followed them outside the tavern.

Oscar saw how the two other elite knights walked away from Solaire and ignored him as if he was ridden with disease. They said nothing in derision to him, they simply turned their backs to him and left.

Oscar tried to do the same, but Solaire approached him before he could escape.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Solaire asked.

Oscar answered by turning his back to him, but he didn’t walk away. He supposed Solaire still had something to say.

He was not wrong.

“Thank you.”

Oscar remained still for a little while, but he left without saying anything in return.

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

Solaire watched the three elite knights go.

As they became lost in the distance, he could no longer distinguish the one that had helped him from the other two.

He stayed outside for a moment. Eventually, Solaire went back inside the tavern.

The idea from before never faded from his mind, and it gained strength whenever he heard a distant chuckle or insult thrown at him.

But when Solaire returned to the room and looked at his beloved equipment, he decided he would not go trough with it.

Perhaps, one day, he would.

But not today.

Now properly dressed and with his shield, his sword, his talisman and helmet in place, he left the room to face the world with his head high.

Not today.

[thedumpsterqueen]

Standards of Performance, Chapter 6: Buckshot and Tequila

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5

AO3 Link

Finally, I write most of the chapter before the day I’m supposed to post it. This was mostly done on my laptop (which I’m not used to) as we just moved and my PC is barely set up, so forgive anything that looks weird or wonky. As always, I hope you enjoy. I love getting all your kind messages <3 (Also message me if you want to be on the taglist - I suppose I should be better about that!)

Summary:  You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter: 6, Buckshot and Tequila

Chapter Summary: Events during a new case test your ability to keep your feelings hidden, and a night out takes an unforeseen turn. 

Words: 3736

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

Turns out, lying to Hotch was easier than you thought.

It helped that you were lying to yourself too, of course - that you pretended your gaze didn't linger on his form whenever he was in your vicinity, that the swell of pride in your chest when he agreed with something you said was purely professional. There were times, though, that the facade was much harder to maintain. The most recent case had been one of those times.

You had been tracking down an unsub abducting children in a rural Iowa town. Three kids had gone missing in the span of two weeks, and after Garcia matched the victimology and MO with neighboring states, it looked to be close to a dozen in the years before that. The case started off rough enough - locals refused to believe it could be one of their own, police resisted the BAU’s guidance, the usual - but it came to a head when a fourth child went missing during the investigation.

Thankfully, the team figured out the identity of the unsub relatively quickly. Reid did a geographical profile of all the locations where victims were taken and found a public health clinic that had branches in each area. Garcia cross-checked the employee records to find that only one doctor had done travel shifts at each clinic during the time the children were taken, and within minutes, you were rushing to his address.

The SUV carrying Hotch, Rossi, and Prentiss arrived long enough before yours that by the time you pulled up, they were already kicking down the door and entering the home. The first thing you heard after you flung the car door open was the deafening crack of a weapon firing, and despite your lack of training with firearms, it was apparent that it was not an FBI-issue pistol.

You would never describe yourself as fragile - you couldn't be, not in this line of work. But when you registered the implications of that sound, your knees buckled, instantly bringing you down onto the dusty ground outside the farmhouse. The rest of the team sprinted in, guns drawn. You faintly registered Prentiss yelling inside, then more gunshots, but your head was ringing so loudly from the visceral panic that you couldn’t make out anything specific.

When Hotch burst back out onto the porch, you thought you might honestly sob with relief. That is, until you caught the glint of the sun in the slick, dark blood dripping down the sleeve of his suit.

That was when you puked.

Something about the sight of Aaron Hotchner bleeding felt so wrong that even as you struggled to your feet and stepped over the pile of sick you left in the dirt, even as you got closer and saw the rivulets of blood drip down to his fingertips and dot the wooden floors of the porch, you felt like you were in a dream. Your mind couldn’t grasp the sudden shock of his mortality, that he could bleed, that he could die, even, and he very well might, depending on what vessels were hit. You made it up the steps, only managing to call out his name - his first name - your throat still burning from bile. Despite the chaos of the current moment, he still whipped his head around at the sound of that, as if hearing the name Aaron desperately falling from your lips was more attention-grabbing than the rest of the team gathering around him trying to stem the bleeding.

“It looks worse than it is,” said Rossi, peering through the holes in Hotch’s mangled sleeve. “It was just buckshot, and he barely hit you. Nothing a few stitches won’t fix.”

He turned out to be right, thank god, and later that afternoon, Hotch was freshly bandaged and sitting across from you on the return flight to Quantico.

So, yeah, the “lying to yourself” thing wasn’t going so well at that moment. Hotch was absorbed in paperwork while the rest of the team napped - because of course he was; even being shot didn’t sway his apparently relentless refusal to relax - and each time he winced at the movement of his arm, your vice grip around your chest tightened a little more.

He must have sensed you staring, because he looked up, frown softening slightly as he saw the concern on your face.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine,” he assured you with a half smile.

Teetering on an emotional precipice, too scared to respond for fear of falling over the edge, you went back to your reading. After a few minutes of listening to him write while not turning a single page in your book, he set his pen down and took a breath.

“You were screaming my name,” he said, quietly, despite you two being the only ones awake.

“What?”

“Earlier,” he clarified, “when we went into the house. I could hear you outside, yelling my name.”

You looked at him, incredulous. “Of course I did. I heard the shotgun go off. Clearly,” you gestured at his arm, “I had a reason to be worried.”

He shook his head and cleared his throat, as if you didn’t understand the question. “Dave and Emily were with me. Any of us could have gotten hit. You only yelled for me.”

Oh.

You shrugged. “You’re the team leader. It’s my instinct to call for you when something goes wrong."

It was a lie, and a bad one at that, but Hotch gave you an unreadable look and let the subject drop.

The rest of the flight was uneventful, and when you finally made it back to your apartment, you had no plans other than to sleep off the stress of the case and the embarrassment of Hotch calling your actions into question. Garcia, however, wasn't about to let that happen.

BAU-tiful People Group Chat

Garcia: *added You to the conversation*

Garcia: Ok, my lovely children, I know you’re all tired, but I miss your faces, so I’ll see u at Whimsy tonight at 9! Notice I didn’t use a question mark bc it is NOT a question!

You knew from overhearing the team talk that Whimsy was a bar downtown they liked to frequent, but you’d never been invited before. Despite your overwhelming exhaustion, the idea of going out with the team, of finally feeling accepted by them, was enough to make you amenable to the concept. It may have seemed insignificant on the surface, but Garcia adding you to their group chat was the biggest welcome gesture you’d received yet.

Morgan: Only if you wear that dress you know I like ;)

You lived for the day they would realize they were actually flirting with each other instead of just pretending to.

Prentiss: Garcia… you’re killing me… but you know I’ll be there.

JJ: Contacting the babysitter as we speak.

Morgan: Fuck yeah!!! Pretty Boy, you in?

Reid: Can’t we ever go somewhere quiet?

As the group chimed in with various iterations of, “Shut up, Reid,” you hesitantly typed out a text to confirm your attendance. You were excited, of course, but nervous to be the new kid at their favorite hangout. After today's events, though, the desire not to be sober won out over nerves.

You: I’ll be there! Thanks for the invite!

Rossi: Hope you kids are ready for me to drink you under the table, as usual.

Morgan: Eyyy, you KNOW we party hard! See y’all tonight.

____________

Turns out, Morgan was not exaggerating. Not even a little bit. By the time you arrived, 15 minutes late, everyone looked to be at least 3 shots deep. Garcia ran over to greet you, squealing, and wrapped you in a suffocating hug.

“I’m so glad you came! What do you drink? Tequila? I’ll grab the next round!”

You laughed and confirmed that tequila sounded great, and as she scurried off to the bar with Morgan on her heels, you had a chance to look around.

The atmosphere of the club surprised you - it was all glass and steel and modernity, packed with people dancing to something with intense bass - not the low-key joint you’d pictured the team wanting to unwind at. But as you watched JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi cheer on Reid as he threw back a shot, doubling over in hysterics as he coughed and sputtered at the taste, you realized that this place was just loud and energetic enough to keep them from thinking about anything other than work. In that way, you definitely saw the appeal.

“I come bearing shots!” Garcia yelled as her and Morgan made it back to the table. “Grab yours… here we go- whoops! Alright, everyone got theirs?”

She turned to you, grinning behind a pair of hot pink spectacles. “Cheers not ONLY to rescuing four kidnapped children alive, but also to our lovely intern and her first Whimsy outing!”

The team erupted in cheers and you smiled back, downing the tequila. You chatted with the group while Garcia ordered more drinks, and then more drinks, and soon you felt a pleasant buzz filling your head.

“Morgan, you better ask me to dance right now before I go find another man to do the job,” Garcia said with a wink in his direction.

Morgan grinned and mock-bowed, holding out a hand for her to take, and led her off to the dancefloor.

“Should we join them?” JJ asked around the table.

“Someone’s gotta make sure they don’t do anything worth getting kicked out for,” Prentiss shot back. You giggled and followed the girls, leaving Rossi and Reid behind at the table in the midst of a heated debate about childhood brain development that you couldn’t even hope to comprehend.

Not long after you started dancing, you felt a gentle tap on your shoulder and turned around, looking up into the stunning green eyes of a man who looked to be about your age. It was hard to really tell what he looked like in the dim lighting, but by the way Prentiss was giving you a thumbs up and mouthing, “Go for it,” from your side, he was good enough for you.

“Do you want to dance?” he asked above the music. You smiled and nodded in confirmation, letting him wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to his hips.

He knew how to move, that was for certain. He ground against your backside lightly, snaking his hands around your stomach. You weren’t used to this kind of thing - dancing with random men at bars, letting them touch you like this - but the combination of the music and the booze and the relief at the last case being over was making you feel more free than you had in recent memory.

You exchanged grins with Morgan, who was dancing a few feet away in a much more R-rated manner with Garcia. The man behind you (whose name you didn’t know, but who cared?) leaned down to kiss your neck and you arched against him in response, reaching up to run your hand through his hair.

Throughout the song, you had rotated back to facing the table where the rest of your team was sitting. You glanced over, saw Reid and Rossi still deep in discussion, along with another man in a black button-up with a very familiar side profile and-

Hotch.

Hotch was here, and as if the powers that be were insistent upon proving to you that the opposite of serendipity existed, at the exact moment you had that realization, he turned and made direct eye contact with you. Drunk, wearing a skintight dress, a random man grinding on your ass, and staring right back at your Unit Chief at the motherfucking Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and if you had been drunker, you might have hurled tequila all over the dancefloor. Instead, you pulled away from the mystery man behind you, ignoring his shocked, “Wait!” and beelined to the bar.

“Tequila. Shot. Please, I’m sorry, just saw someone I didn’t expect to,” you blurted out to the bartender, swearing you could feel Hotch’s eyes on your back from across the club.

The bartender, probably having seen much worse, nodded in understanding and poured your drink. You gulped it down, wiped your mouth, and leaned on the bar to get your bearings.

It’s not weird. It’s not. It’s a bar, it’s outside of work hours, it’s perfectly fine that you’re buzzed and dancing and having fun. Everyone else is!

Really, it wasn’t that you were worried about your job, or even that he would judge you (he probably would, but that was unavoidable regardless of the setting), it was just that you hadn’t mentally prepared yourself for the possibility that he would come. He was in the group chat - obviously, if he had seen Garcia’s invite - but had never struck you as the social type, the kind of boss that would interact with his team outside of work.

“Did you see that Hotch is here?” Prentiss asked breathlessly, appearing at the bar beside you.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one surprised.

“I did,” you whispered back, despite the thumping music and the rowdy patrons making it logically impossible for your words to reach the table 20 feet away. “Does he usually join you guys?”

“Never,” she said, before thinking and correcting herself, “Not in years, anyways. When Haley… we used to drag him out, but we stopped after a while.”

“Why do you think he came tonight?"

She shrugged. “Who knows? Far be it from me to explain why Hotch does anything.” An idea seemed to pop in her head, and she grinned. “Maybe it’s because of you!”

“M-me?” Your reaction to the suggestion wasn’t nearly as nonchalant as you’d tried for, but Prentiss was too drunk to notice.

“Yeah, gotta help initiate the intern on her first night out, right?” She grinned and clapped you on the shoulder, then turned away to head back to the dancefloor, leaving you alone. You sighed, gathered yourself as much as you could considering the effects of the tequila, and turned around to go greet him.

“Hey, Agent Hotchner. Didn’t expect to see you tonight!”

“Yes, well. Thought I’d show up for a bit; it’s been a while.” He gave you a tight lipped smile then looked back down at his glass of whisky, the awkward energy palpable.

Probably because he just saw you basically dry-humping some random dude.

“Well, I’m glad you came! Feel free to, uh, come dance if you want! Morgan and Garcia are showing us all up,” you said, gesturing to where Morgan and Garcia were in fact drawing the attention of several onlookers.

He chuckled at that. “They’re certainly a sight to behold, aren’t they?”

You nodded in agreement and headed back to the bar, the brief conversation pointing you towards yet another drink. Talking to him was so easy , sometimes, and others it was like pulling teeth to get a human response out of him. Could you blame him, though? Your last one-on-one interaction was you basically inviting yourself over to his apartment with takeout and listening to him spill his guts about his dead wife and kid, and he probably felt uncomfortable with you after that, and then you went right to this case without any chance for things to go back to normal, and then he got shot, and oh my god, you didn’t even ask him how his arm was doing, how fucking rude can you be, dumbass? and-

“Whoops! Shit, I’m sorry!”

You looked at the person you’d just bumped into in the midst of your internal crisis.

“Hey, it’s you!”

The man you’d been dancing with earlier, now much more obviously handsome in the brighter lights of the bar area, grinned in recognition.

“Hey, I thought I’d scared you off there!”

You laughed and shook your head. “No, I’m sorry. Just saw my boss and freaked out a little bit.”

“Oh shit, your boss is here?” he asked. “That’s uncomfortable, damn. I’m sorry.”

“No worries, it’s just… yeah. Anyways. Wanna pick up where we left off?” you asked, more desperate than ever to get Hotch out of your head. If he didn’t want to see you having a wild night, he shouldn’t have come to the club.

He took your hand, looking pleased. “Lead the way.”

It really was so much easier, you thought, to let yourself feel attraction for guys like this. Uncomplicated, willing to take what you give them, no backstory to speak of. They weren’t riddled with tragic history, unattainable in both position and personality, not to mention impossible to even imagine ever returning your feelings. Guys like Cooper (you’d finally learned his name somewhere amid the grinding and groping) were easy and fun and they didn’t keep you up at night agonizing over whether that thing you said at work was impressive enough.

But then again, they didn’t give you the roller-coaster feeling in your stomach that Aaron Hotchner did every time you locked eyes.

And lock eyes you did - an increasingly frequent number of times, actually. It seemed like whenever you turned to face his direction, he was staring you down. He always went back to his conversation with Rossi and Reid, but you noticed that he seemed to get more and more pissed off with every song that played. His frown was deepened, his expression dark, and you could tell even from a distance that his knuckles were white from gripping his glass.

You shrugged it off as Hotch being Hotch - who knew what that man was thinking? And besides, you were trying to forget him, damn it. At least, that was until a particularly raunchy song came on and you were in the middle of getting your ass felt up, when you felt a hand squeeze your shoulder and whip you around, bringing you face-to-face with your boss himself.

“Hey, what’s going on? Is something wrong?” you asked, utterly bewildered as to why he was interrupting you.

He ignored you, instead staring down Cooper, who very quickly decided Hotch wasn’t one to fuck with and walked away.

“Hotch! Is there a case? Should I grab the others?”

He shook his head. “Can you come with me, please?”

Perplexed, you acquiesced (not that you had much of a choice, with the way he was gripping your elbow) and followed him through the crowd, out the back door, and into an alley. He let go of you then, sighing and crossing his arms.

Your mind was wild with questions - did you do something you shouldn’t have? Get too drunk? Everyone was drunk, though, and you weren’t even half as wasted as some of the others. Did Reid or Rossi tell him something bad about you? Were you about to somehow get yourself fired off the clock?

“The boy you were dancing with was bad news,” he said, after an uncomfortably long period of silence.

What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” you repeated, this time out loud, and you knew you shouldn’t be talking to him like this, but you were too caught off guard to conduct yourself more appropriately.

“He was a drug user,” Hotch said, as if that would explain everything.

“A drug user,” you repeated back, no less confused.

“Cocaine,” he continued. “He was high - his pupils were dilated, he was rubbing his nose, and he's been to the bathroom several times.”

“So… you’re going to arrest him? For doing cocaine?” you asked, still baffled as to what he was insinuating.

“What? No,” he said, “I’m trying to warn you not to get involved.”

You had entered some parallel universe, you decided. There was no other explanation for your boss, a man you’d known all of four months, dragging you outside a bar on a Friday night and telling you not to dance with a hot stranger because he was on cocaine.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself before you really did get yourself fired. “Sir, I appreciate the concern, but I don’t think it’s really any of your business.”

His face hardened at that. “It is exactly my business,” he said, eyes boring a hole through your skull, “to watch out for things that may compromise my team.”

“Compromise your team?” you repeated his words again. “I was dancing, not getting engaged to the guy.”

“Should I allow you to dance with a sexual sadist if it’s just dancing?” he pressed, using the stern voice that usually caused any sort of dissent to whither and die right in your throat.

It didn’t work this time, probably because he was acting fucking insane. “Are you seriously comparing a sexual sadist to a guy who does cocaine while he’s out partying?”

“It’s not just while he’s out partying, by the way he conducted himself, he was a chronic-”

“It doesn’t matter!” you said, nearly yelling now. “You had no right! I'm sorry, what are you, my dad?!”

His eyes flashed at that. “If I hadn’t already had to sit through an 8 hour surgery not knowing if Garcia was going to make it out alive because her date shot her, then perhaps I would have no right. But as it stands, I do. Please be more careful with who you associate with, even if it’s just dancing.”

He spat that last part out, more vitriolic than you’d ever seen him, and stalked back inside. You were left outside in the alley, alone, reeling from confusion surrounding the entire interaction and shock at the emotional charge he’d leveled at you.

Reentering the bar, you saw that Hotch’s seat had been vacated and his jacket was gone. You rolled your eyes, and on your way to the bathroom, nearly ran into Cooper again.

“Hey!” he said. “What was that all about? You good?”

You looked up at his face and for the first time, noticed faint traces of white dust around his nose. He looked keyed up, jumpy - his pulse racing and visible on his carotid. You sighed.

“I’m good. Just not in the mood right now, sorry,” and pushed past him into the bathroom.

Hotch was an emotionally stunted asshole with a control complex, but he was also never fucking wrong.

[ivyglow]

Thinking ‘bout you | Mat Barzal NYI

A/n: Hey, guys! This request was from the song prompt list that @with-the-words-all-wrong​ tagged me, you can check it on her profile <3. I’m sorry I took too long, but I decided to write a whole ass piece and here it is (and guess what? I hated it lmao). 

- Btw if someone wants to proof read my pieces it would be great, just dm me if you’re interested! 

Word count: 3.3k 

Requested prompt:  10 “Can I see you again and not feel bad about it” & 13 “I liked when you cared about me too”

Summary: Y/n and Mat met through mutual friends and it’s not long before they start hooking up. She’s has a wild spirit, he’s looking for someone to settle down. Is it possible to meet the right person at the wrong time?

Flashbacks in Italic! 

Things started slowly but surely people knew it was coming. Since the first time y/n was introduced to Mat’s circle of friends, everyone noticed the way his eyes sparkled with interest and the way she seemed to reciprocate it. They were both young, reckless and any slight chance of love or affection sounded good to Barzal at that time. He was living on his own, and sure most of his time was at practice or out with his friends, but the home-alone time made him think about some things such as settling or at least going for something more serious than the eventual hookups that he would have. 

Y/n was funny and beautiful. God, was she beautiful.

The first thing he noticed about her was the eyes. On that low lighted bar, her eyes were glowing green in contrast with her skin. She was wearing jeans and sneakers, outstanding everyone. She was so simple, and maybe that was the thing that drew him towards her. The feeling of not caring about what people would think, not being open to doing everything as expected but doing it as you wanted to. 

And maybe, just maybe, it was this exact feeling that made y/n choose Mathew. 

Everyone in her family was expecting her to get into a serious relationship as soon as she landed in New York, but as her friend, Kayla would say “New York it’s not the place to find a lover”, and she was well aware of being on the age of glory. Her early twenties and the freedom of living on her own, paying her own bills something she dreamed of since she turned fourteen. 

She wanted to have fun and Mathew Barzal was definitely a funny guy.

They went to many friends’ meetings before finally taking a step on the obvious sexual tension. That did not mean it was time enough to become best friends, it was time enough to become mutuals. He knew some things about her and she knew some about him. He knew, for example, that she hated when people tried to make decisions for her, she liked independence in every way and damn was y/n mad when their friends tried to pair her with Mat before she could make her mind about it. 

The thing she knew about him was that he liked her and she knew it because he was an obvious guy or at least he was obvious when it came to her. Not in the sweet romantic way, but in a cute and affectionate way. 

Or at least that’s what she tried to remember while things started to escalate quickly with movie nights and nights in, or morning sex. They were getting attached, but it wasn’t what y/n planned at all and she knew she had a short amount of time before she would get attached herself. 

It was a Friday night, she had an average day at work and the guys were celebrating friendship, just the possibility of having their small and closed group whenever they needed. These kinds of celebrations started with Kayla, she was the one always wondering and getting the best of life, pulling her focus towards the small details of life that usually made it better. Her biggest fear was to die without enjoying life, y/n was always down for her ideas and shared a fear that looked a lot like Kayla’s.

They were chilling in Tito’s balcony, drinks in hand, enjoying the feeling of the cold New York air hitting their faces and the noises of the city that never sleeps being drowned by the many floors below. Kayla was telling one of her stories while Mat, Joe, Katy, and Isabela listened carefully. Tito was sitting by them but seemed lost on his own little world, the reason why y/n would sometimes call him ‘dreamy boy’. A random song was playing low on the speakers, but everyone heard when y/n finally arrived.

“Why you always late?” Joe asked before swinging the rest of his beer in a long sip. 

“I’m never late…” she faked confusion before going for the wine bottle. “You guys just always early.” 

Mat chuckled and Kayla rolled her eyes slightly, he liked her so much he even found her shitty jokes funny. Or maybe it was just Mathew, he usually was the first one to laugh, anything was fun to him, almost like he didn’t curse or lost his mind every 5 minutes on the ice.

“That one is old, y/n” Tito finally left his dreamy thoughts and provoked his friend. He loved to joke around with y/n, it was like she had an answer for everything and she also happened to be a great listener whenever he needed a sincere opinion that wasn’t from Barzal. 

“You’re getting old too and I’m not saying that in your face...and Mathew laughed, I would say my jokes are aging well” y/n walked over greeting everyone properly. Barzal was the last one and kiss she left too close to his mouth wasn’t unnoticed by  Anthony. 

“Wanna sit with me?” He asked still holding her by the hand. All the available surfaces to sit already occupied. 

“You mean to say ‘sit on you’?!” 

Isabela that was sitting closer to Mat laughed out loud, “You guys are so obvious…” 

“Are you drunk?” y/n replied back trying to sound nonchalant and sitting on Mat’s tights. 

His hands found its way on her waist and she was a bit impressed at how comfortable it felt to be that close. He was wearing his cargo pants and a grey sweatshirt, hair an aesthetic mess at the top of his head and lips glowing from his beer. 

It was short before Kayla went back to her story and y/n start sipping her wine. 

Mat’s hand would travel up and down her waistline under the soft blouse she was wearing and eventually her left hand found his neck hair. It seemed natural, almost as if the exchange of physical affection were something they did every day, and considering their friends were not chirping or making a huge deal out of the situation it seemed even more common. 

“Are you driving home?” y/n asked when Mat finished his second beer bottle and she was still on her first wine glass. 

He turned to look at her, a slightly confused and curious frown on his face. 

“You’re drinking...I know you handle your alcohol just fine, but drink and drive it’s no good” she explains being more detailed than usual. 

Barzal chuckles before pressing a kiss in her cheekbone, “You look cute when you’re worried.”

“It’s not-” she starts but the look on his face says it all, he already knew. He had her figured out so easily sometimes it was scary. “I just wanna sleep in peace knowing all my friends are fine… I care about you.”

“You wouldn’t have this problem if you sleep with me tonight.” 

And indeed, that was the first night they spent together and it was far to be the last. 

Usually, she would be gonna by the sunrise, but this time y/n was exhausted with work and school and having to deal with her family constantly asking about plans they had for her, besides the physical weariness of a whole sex night with Mat. That morning she woke up not to a silent house, but to a shirtless Mat cooking breakfast while blasting her playlist of favorite songs. 

“Normally I woke up without feeling like it, but Frank Ocean is playing and you’re doing pancakes...although I’m not really sure about how the food is going to turn out” y/n walked in the kitchen catching Mathew’s attention. 

“Good morning to you too” he mocked her, glancing at his oversized shirt that hung her body in a baggy way but still so beautiful. 

“You need help there?” she asked going to the water bottle sitting on the counter.

“This is the last pancake, everything’s ready” he walked away from the stove just to wrap one arm around y/n’s middle. 

She thought to herself that Mat was the whole package, he knew her so well, he even put effort into cooking in the mornings they spent together -which were few, but still- and he was a great listener, although he liked to talk just as much. He was funny and hot, and he could do both so easily it was painful sometimes. But instead of voicing her thoughts, she kept to herself and left their silence to hug their bodies together. His face resting on the crook of her neck and her hands brushing his long locks. 

As soon as the song switched to Lost, y/n’s lips left a loud gasp. Mat would be surprised or confused, but it wasn’t his first time seeing her enjoy her favorites Frank Ocean songs, some he knew the entire lyrics. It was funny to see her wildly dancing and singing as if the world would end anytime soon. And it was those same eyes that made him leave breakfast for good and join her private show. They spent almost thirty minutes stuck on the dance-sing-perform-y/n’s-favorites.

These were the moments where they would be more friends than ever. Sharing the intimacy of the voice of each other and the awkward dance moves, getting to know the songs’ preference, and almost getting a noisy complaint by the neighbors.

And so when Mat started to miss her in the mornings and wish her by his side at night he realized that the intimacy of the moments they spent together could fit as a relationship intimacy as well. Y/n was so easy to be around and she would always have her own way of seeing random everyday things. She liked to go straight to the point too, she hated to lie and hated to left people read one thing when she was trying to say another. That’s why when they started to hookup she told Mathew she wasn’t looking for a lover, she liked him for sure, but being in the years of glory and living in New York wasn’t something she wanted to leave for a relationship. 

After almost four months going on like they used to, Mat thought maybe y/n changed her mind. Maybe she liked him as much as he liked her. 

And she was point-blank when Barzal brought the subject, “I like you a lot, but I love my freedom.” She didn’t try to put much into it, telling him about her problems would only make him built hope, and she knew that maybe by the time she was fine with the idea of a serious relationship she could be in love with someone else or even he could be. Y/n liked Mathew indeed and that’s why she left him. 

Keep it up would only hurt him. 

And so they said their goodbyes without a huge fight, but the silence still hurt just as much.

Mat shifted his focus to the season that was about to start, the travel around and games non-stop would take his mind away from how complicated feelings could be sometimes. Y/n, on the other hand, dived into work and school, however, still gets herself wondering about Barzal and how things would turn out if she said yes to his proposition. She missed him in the simple tasks of the day and had to constantly remind that they were not texting each other anymore and no, he definitely did not want to know about the funny dog that ran to her at the park. 

Nevertheless, they had the same group of friends and when the season ended and so did midterms, it was crystal clear that they would need to face each other again. 

It was a Friday night, just like the first time they spent the night together, and she had an awful day at work, still, Kayle was able to drag her to Tito’s apartment where the small group where reunited. This time it was not one of her best friend random celebrations, it was actually because they spent too long without meeting. 

When they finally reached Anthony’s floor y/n still had no idea how she would talk with Mat. She was nervous. They went from 2 a.m calls to zero communication and the lack of it was the reason why she had no idea how he was feeling, if he was doing fine, if he hated her, if he was ok with keeping the friendship etc. 

Everyone was in the living room surrounded by bottles and snacks while a random pop song was playing on the tv. He was the first face she searched for but was nowhere to be found, and so y/n settled for greeting each of her friends with a warm and tight hug. 

Except for Tito, he was the last one on the sofa line, “where’s my wine, Beau?” 

“Kitchen counter” he rolled his eyes playfully. 

“Alright, now I can give you a hug” y/n joked before lowering herself and draping her arms around Anthony’s shoulders.

“Bring me another water bottle too, please” Joe requested when she was making her way towards the other room.

The hardwood floor felt cold against her feet and she enjoyed the feeling, trying to switch her thoughts to something other than why Mathew wasn’t there. But before she was able to, she reached the kitchen and there he was sitting on the stool while working in one of his drinks.

It was like the cold from her feet reached her whole body suddenly and she was nervous again.

Mathew made y/n nervous.

It was new to her and she was torn between trying to figure out more about the unknown feeling or ignoring it by shoving it down her pocket. 

“Hey!” she tried to sound cheerful, but only got a nod as the response.

Y/n couldn’t read him with his eyes away from her, but he seemed a little out of tune. His hair the usual aesthetic mess at the top of his head and his so friendly white sweatshirt. 

She walked over to the freezer reaching the water bottle Joe asked for and then going for the glasses and pouring her so loved wine. 

“For a moment when I walked in and didn’t saw my wine at the coffee table, I thought Tito had forgotten about me” her remark did not bother Mathew that kept working with the lemon and vodka in front of him. The pang on her heart now so much vivid. Maybe he hated her indeed, maybe he was heartbroken after everything they went through. And she couldn’t help but finally let some kind of guilty sink at the top of her stomach. “Can I see you again and not feel bad about it?” 

The thirty seconds of silence were filled with Mat’s breath since y/n was holding hers. 

“What do you mean?” Mat sounded genuinely confused. 

“I mean you ignoring me...I never intended to hurt you, you know?” 

“I’m sorry. I’m not ignoring you, I’m just out of the area today, my sleep schedule is all fucked up and I’ve been a little grumpy lately, there’s nothing to do with you.” 

She wanted to ask how he was doing, if he were hurt when things didn’t go as planned, she even wished to ask about hockey so he would smile bright and big and keep talking for the next two hours. But instead, she took the wine glass and water bottle, making her away to the living room while holding her heart in her hands too. 

Joe started a conversation about vacation and so it was the main topic for two hours straight, and even though Mat knew a lot about the subject he kept his mouth shut, mainly just listening to everyone while sipping his drink. It was unusual considering Barzal was usually the one who couldn’t shut up, you would always hear him on the friends’ get-together either his loud voice or his laugh. 

Y/n found herself looking at Mat right across her, but she was still able to miss him, cause it didn’t felt like he was there. He was far away in all meanings. 

“There’s something I can do to help?” y/n asked while walking to sit beside Mat in the bed they were, certainly, going to share that night, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to make you feel better, I guess you know by now that it wasn’t your fault.”

Mat was moping since he got home, the islanders had lost and the cherry to the cake was the fact that they lost a home game, and y/n was by his side time enough to know that he absolutely hated to lose this way, but she wasn’t time enough to know how she was supposed to deal with it. She wasn’t in the mood for sex and he sure wasn’t too, however she couldn’t stand the pouty lips and the moody Mat, it gave her heart a little pain.

“You don’t need to say anything” he mumbled underneath the covers. 

“But I want to. I care about you, Mathew.” she insisted. “What can I do?”

Mat had this soft smile in the corner of his lips watching y/n sitting by his side and looking at him as if he was the most important thing to her at that moment. ‘I care about you’ wasn’t an ‘I love you’, but it meant something deep and they both knew it. 

“You can just lay with me.” He gave up scooting to the side and opening his arms for her to lay on top of him. “And stay the night.” 

“I wasn’t planning on going anywhere,” y/n’s lips found Mat’s in a slow and sweet kiss that last only some seconds before her face was on the crook of his neck. 

Everyone was too caught up on the conversation to notice y/n walk to the balcony and sit in one of the big cold chairs, everyone except Mat and it didn’t take long for him to grab a blanket and follow. He knew she was barefoot and she usually was cold at night. Mat knew a lot of things he never thought he would when they first started going out. Yes, he was looking for a lover, and yes he wished with all his willpower to be y/n, but she left him dazed, living each day by its time - as it’s supposed to be -. Maybe that was the reason why in the middle of it all he didn’t stop too much to think about how things were turning in an unknown road...and when he did, it took them to the mess they were living. 

Barzal said nothing as he dropped the blanket around y/n’s body and lowered himself to sit by her side. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled a bit dizzy. 

“No need to thank me, I just still care about you, that’s all.” His voice was low but firm. He didn’t sound spiteful, it was as if he was letting himself to be soft after every solid thing that hit both of them. 

And y/n took the time to process that information. 

Mat still care!!!, her insides screaming in pure joy and confusion, and she felt as unsteady as ever. All the ‘what if’s’ making room inside her thoughts. But ‘What if he still cares, but don’t want anything?' ‘What if things don’t work out?’

“I liked when you cared about me too…” Mat voiced taking y/n’s silence as an answer itself. . 

“Mat, I’m just…” she thought for some seconds more, her head still bubbling with doubts. “I still care about you.”

His head was still low, fingers playing with a random bracelet, he was deep in his thoughts just as y/n. 

“I wasn’t ready to commit, I have so much shit going on and it’s a whole package. A relationship is different from how we were working before. It demands a lot more…I also needed these months to think again and again about it.” She ranted while staring at the building in front of them. “But I still do. I still care about you.”

“I wanna give it a try, the whole package, and everything. I like you, y/n.” He whispered, his voice drowned by the noise of the city, but she was still able to hear him, the soft tone, the truth underneath each word. “Just text me and let me know when you’re ready.” 

She nodded while they exchanged a meaningful look. Truth dripping from each other’s eyes along with affection and a new kind of feeling.

They sat there in silence for some minutes, just listening to the city’s noise and feeling the cold air hit their faces before y/n took her phone typing a simple message and sending it to Mat. He looked at her, a hint of amusement and happiness, and she shook her head yes.

[alexhogh7137]

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven: "..what on earth are you doing here...?"

Word Count 2.8k

Warnings: none

A week has passed since Asta was born. Your week was hectic, painful and long but your daughter made it all a bit easier. Your people celebrated her birth with a huge feast that you attended to, of course. You remember thinking to yourself, 'now I can have some ale.' Ivar made it known that Asta was his child and everyone basked in his magnificence because he is indeed a cripple. Hvitserk bit his tongue and played along as you did the same. Ivar has his ways and it is easier to obey him than to argue and cause heartache. All you want is for Asta to be happy, that is of utmost importance. Today, you have to write to Daario Naharis. Time has slipped your mind and it has come to your attention that you have yet to write to him. 

Ivar "Would you like me to take her while you write?" You look up at him, "I don't mind." He offers a smile, "I do not think that you will be able to write a proper letter with her wiggling in your arms-" you two start to giggle. 

"Thank you. I won't be long." You hand her to him and he puts her on his hip. 

Ivar "Take your time, my sweet. I want to spend some quality time with her." You nod, "I love you."

"And I love you." He bends down and kisses your lips before crunching his way out of the chamber doors. You sigh and stretch your arms in the air, trying to ease the soreness from holding her for so long. But you long her so much, that when she is not in your arms, you feel as if something is missing. Nonetheless, you appreciate the help from your beloved while Hvitserk is out hunting with Ubbe. 

You pick up your writing instrument and began to write: 

To the Commander of Wessex,

I have to apologize for not writing to you sooner, but I have some wonderful news. I am now a mother to a healthy daughter. I shall return to Wessex when she is old enough to travel with me so that my people can meet her, as well as you Naharis. I wish to hear of all the things concerning my people and their wellbeing. I hope all is well, including yourself. I am doing alright, given my circumstances during my daughter's birth but I am indeed alright. Looking forward to your letter,

Y/n Lothbrok 

You stamp the letter and rise from your seat, to give this to your news carrier. 

"Thank you."

He bows, "My queen." You watch him get on his horse and ride off into the distance. You look up at your dragon's, feasting on their animals and of course, fighting over the biggest carcass. You chuckled to yourself but you get startled from your name being called.

"My queen!" You turn to face the woman. 

"Yes? Is something wrong?" 

"No, thank the gods." You nod, "I just wanted to personally ask you if you are alright?"

"Oh yes, I am quite well." 

"Are you certain, my queen?" She asked, "because you look quite exhausted.."

"Mm, the beginning stages of motherhood is not easy, madame-"

"Of course-"

"I am tired, but I am very happy."

"That is good to hear. I know of the things you went through..I only wish the best for you my queen."

"I appreciate your kind words, ma'am. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Would you like to come in?" You look where she points as she points toward her home in the village. 

"Oh thank you, but I must find Ivar. He is caring for Asta while I take care of some matters." 

"Oh, I see. Thank you for talking with me Y/n." 

You place your hand on her shoulder, "Any time. If you need me, you know where to find me." She nods and you two part ways. 

…

When you reach the throne room, you see Ivar chatting up a storm: boasting about Asta. At first, you get annoyed but then you overhear Ivar telling his people how proud he is to call her his own. Then your heart turned into mush. You make your way up to him and he notices you right away. 

Ivar "My love, there you are." You sit down beside him on your throne. 

"My queen, she is simply beautiful."

"Thank you. She is very-"

Ivar "Perfect. She isn't just beautiful, she is perfect. A real blessing from the gods." You smile and reach over and caress her rosy cheeks while she is still in his arms. 

"I would have to agree. I am surprised that she is here." Ivar looks up at the man from looking down at Asta and makes direct eye contact. 

Ivar "What did you just say?" The man gulps. 

"I said that I was surprised that Asta is here..it is a real miracle."

Ivar "Are you referring to Y/n?"

"She...she went through a lot, my king. Many of us doubted that she wou-"

"I suggest you bite your tongue.." the man looks at you and takes a step back. 

Ivar "Sweetheart, can you hold Asta for a moment?" You do not answer, only quickly grabbing her from his arms before he loses control. Ivar gets off of his throne and walks towards the man who was suggesting that you were weak. 

Ivar "What is it? Huh..what were you all doubting?" The man did not respond out of fear. Ivar took out his dagger and grabbed the man by his throat, "What were you all doubting?"

"We did not think that she would be strong enough to deliver! Many women parish during child birth..we were expecting it." You knew that was a fact. But to hear your people think that you were too weak to survive, saddened you. 

Ivar points the blade towards the man's eye, "How dare you, huh?! How dare you question my wife?"

"We were wrong, she was strong-"

Ivar "That should never be questioned, she is your queen!" The man nods, "Look at her," the man looks at you, "that woman right there, is stronger than any woman that you could ever meet. Do not ever question her strength."

"Ivar, just let him go-"

Ubbe "What is going on in here, aye?!" Hvitserk and Ubbe come into the building from a successful hunt.

"Just having a discussion, Ubbe."

"I shouldn't have said anything-"

Hvitserk "You said what?"

"I told the Ivar.. that Asta is a miracle child."

Hvitserk "She is-"

Ivar "He said that he amongst others have doubted Y/n's ability to have her." Hvitserk's jaw clenches immediately. 

Hvitserk "Is that so?" The man does not respond. "Well she proved you all wrong, did she not?" 

"Yes, yes of course! My queen, you have my full respect."

"If you'll excuse me." You walk out of the room and into your daughter's nursery. You place her down into her bassinet. She coos and reaches for you, so you lean down and kiss her entire face. 

"My sweet Asta, sleep now." You watch her close her beautiful eyes and fall into a light slumber. You sigh when it is silent in the room. Reflecting on your life, who you are and what you have become as a person, as a woman. In everyone else's eyes, you have achieved it all: you've won battles, you overthrown your father and took back your kingdom, you are married and now have a daughter. To you, you feel lucky and blessed but at the same time, you feel lost. If Ivar's people loved and respected you like they should, then you would feel wanted here in Kattegat. But today, that feeling is nonexistent. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wessex England a day later..

Daario has been working nonstop: making absolute sure that the people of Wessex are safe, fed and doing their duties. Helga has been working as well, and keeping Daario company. 

Daario "Helga.."

Helga "Yes?"

Daario "Have you heard any news from Y/n?" 

Helga sighs, "I'm afraid not." He hangs his head, "I am sure that she is fine, Naharis."

Daario "She didn't look good Helga. You saw her when she left."

Helga "She was in labor, Daario. It is very painful-"

Daario "I know that. But she fell-"

Helga "What? Why was I not informed of this-"

Daario "It slipped my mind. All I cared about was her, not informing her people." She nods, "But yes, she fell. Not too long before she went into active labor-"

Helga "Well that makes sense now. If something happens to the mother when she is that far along during her pregnancy, that can cause the child to come quicker. Much quicker."

Daario "I just hope that she is alright. She has gone through too much Helga, she can't be gone now. She can't be." Helga takes a rapid and deep breath, "She fought too long and too hard to lose her battle now. Especially right when her life got brighter with this miracle child." 

Helga "I don't think that she is gone. If she was, I would be able to tell."

Daario looks up at her glaring at the floor, "What? How?"

Helga "She is like a daughter to me Daario. If she was gone, I would just know." He sighs and looks back down to the floor. 

Daario "Helga, could you leave me for a moment? I would like to pray in peace please." He says standing up. 

Helga "Of course sir." She walks out of the door, closing it behind her. He wipes a stray tear that has fallen on to his cheek from the sense of fear of losing you. So he gets down on his knees, in front of a cross that he has hung up on his wall in his chambers and prays.

Daario "Please Lord, be with Y/n. I have not heard from her in days, and I cannot stop worrying, my Lord. Be with her and keep her strong. If her child is in this world, keep her safe and strong as well, my Lord. Be with them all, keep them safe and...alive. In Jesus's name I pray, amen." As he stood up, he got a knock on his door. 

Daario sighs, "Yes?"

"A letter, sir." He rushes over to the man and grabs the letter from his hands. He breathes out loudly when he sees your name on the envelope. 

Daario "Thank you, you may go." Once the man leaves, he looks up and whispers, "well that was fast."

After he read your letter, he wanted to travel to Kattegat to see you and the baby. He did not know how he would be able to do so, but he did not quite care about anything else but you and the child. So he left Helga in charge and set off to Kattegat.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It is now nightfall in Kattegat and things are happy as can be. Hvitserk has been spending quality time with Asta all day and Ivar has been spending quality time with you. Ubbe and Torvi have been spoiling Asta and she's only a few days old. It has been joyus to say the least. 

Ivar "How is she doing huh?" He asks his brother once he sits down next to him. 

Hvitserk "Y/n or Asta?"

Ivar "Asta, of course."

Hvitserk "She's perfect."

Ivar "Yes, she is." He looks at you holding her while talking to Torvi. "They both are true perfection."

Hvitserk "Yes they are. And yet we are the lucky one aye?" He says, nudging Ivar. 

Ivar chuckles but it soon fades when he hears the gates to his kingdom opening. 

Ivar "Did you just hear-"

Hvitserk "The gates? Yes, I did." 

Ivar "We are not expecting anyone.." You see the double doors opening and your grip on your daughter tightens. You did not expect to see the man come through the door that did. 

Daario "King Ivar-"

"Naharis?!" His eyes met yours and his expression turned to pure joy. He sees the beautiful daughter in your arm's. 

Daario "Y/n!"

"What on earth are you doing here?! My kingdom-"

Daario "Is in good hands."

"Who's hands?!"

Daario "Helga's."

"An old woman." You look at Ivar in complete disbelief. Ivar's eyebrows scrunch down to his eyes and his mouth is closed tightly. "So you are telling me, that you left my kingdom, which is filled with women..in an old woman's care?"

Daario "I had to see you."

"I told you when I left, that I would come to you. I left you in charge of my people for a reason. I did not want you to leave Wessex!"

Daario "I'm sorry, I-"

"Torvi, give her to Hvitserk please." She takes Asta from your arms and walks Asta to Hvitserk and you slap Daario in the mouth. Ivar immediately tenses every muscle in his body. 

"How dare you defy me!"

Daario "I did no such thing."

"You left my kingdom, when I told you not to! You are in charge because you are capable, Helga is in no way capable of keeping my people safe."

Daario "I just had to see you. I was worried about you." 

"I appreciate your concern Naharis, but I sent you a letter."

Daario "I wanted to meet her.." you realize that fighting with him is no use. You can't do anything about his actions now. All you can do is pray to the gods that nothing bad happens. 

"Fine, come with me." You walk towards Ivar and Hvitserk, who are sitting next to each other. "Her name is Asta."

Daario "Wow..she is beautiful."

"Thank you."

Daario "May I hold her?"

Ivar "I don't think so." 

Daario "Why not?"

Ivar "Because I said no, so the answer is no. You came here..into my kingdom, unannounced, at night, and thinking that you can hold my daughter?" Daario takes a step back, "I don't think that you are in the position to do so."

Daario "I shouldn't have come here."

Ivar "No, you shouldn't have. But nonetheless, you are here..hmm?" He nods, "And you came all this way to..what exactly?"

Daario "Check on Y/n, make sure that she was safe, and okay after having Asta."

Ivar "You came here to make sure that she was safe..in her own home? Did I hear that correctly, Hvitserk?"

Hvitserk "You did, my brother."

Ivar "mm."

Daario "She is my queen and I was worried about her. She did not look very well when she left, and she wrote in her letter that there were complications during Asta's..arrival and I came here to make sure that she was indeed alright."

"I understand your worry, but I wrote to you that I was okay. You did not have to come."

Daario "No one has to do anything Y/n. It's what feels right in their hearts is what they end up doin-"

Ubbe "You have got to be joking, aye?" He said coming inside from checking on the village. "What are you doing here?!"

Daario "I came to check on her."

Ubbe "Y/n or Asta?"

Daario "Both, I suppose."

Ubbe "Y/n wrote to you, no?" He said, taking a bite of food. 

Daario "Yes but I wanted to meet her daughter." 

Ivar "Why did you want to meet her so badly, huh?" He said, getting up from his seat and walking towards him. "It couldn't wait until she got back to Wessex?"

Daario "I acted too quickly. I should go."

"You can stay the night here, but must leave by morning. Wessex is unsafe while you are here. I cannot allow you to stay longer than the night."

Daario "I accept that. And I appreciate that. I am sorry for coming."

"I am not mad at you, I am upset about the fact that at any given moment, I can lose my kingdom and my people. I fought too long and too hard to lose it now."

Ivar "You won't, my sweet."

"Well, if I do, you will lose your life..are we clear?"

Daario "Yes, my queen."

"Good, my maiden will find you a room." He thanks you and walks off. You sit down on Ivar's lap and sighed, "Well, we were having a peaceful day."

Ivar "We still are-"

"No we are not."

Ivar "Think of it this way, if anything were to happen, we can use his body as a sacrifice to the gods huh?!" He says in a high pitched voice to add drama, making you laugh. 

"But I would lose it all, and my people."

Ivar "I think that you are forgetting that these are your people, my love. Everything I have is yours."

"I love you."

Ivar "I love you most."

@hvitserkmarcosource @youbloodymadgenius @ivarsgoddess @heavenly1927 @saldelys @krissydclayton93 @conaionaru