#Oh whats this? another fic? tis a miracle | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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Ties That Bind

Charles Leclerc x royal!Reader + Max Verstappen x sister!Reader

Summary: life as Princess of the Netherlands is pretty perfect but when health issues become a (literal) royal pain, you discover a familial connection that will change your life forever

Warnings: struggles with infertility, child abandonment, serious health issues, medical procedures and treatments

This is what happens when I’m insane enough to try juggling writing an 8k+ word fic with studying in medical school

The night was a cascade of ethereal snowflakes, each one glistening under the pale moonlight, landing gracefully upon the earth. The silver car glided along the road, its headlights illuminating the path through the thick curtain of snow, like two piercing eyes navigating through sorrow.

Inside, Prince Frederik of the Netherlands drove in silent contemplation, the weight of the day’s news pressing heavily on his heart. Beside him, Princess Marianne stared out of the frosted window, her reflection capturing swollen eyes that glistened with fresh tears. Her fingers trembled slightly, crumpling yet another now irrelevant medical report indicating one more failed IVF attempt.

“I thought this time would be different,” Marianne whispered, her voice quivering. “I truly believed it.”

Frederik’s grip on the wheel tightened. He turned to his wife, pain evident in his eyes. “I know, my love. I know.”

As they drove, Frederik’s eyes caught a glimpse of something unusual by the side of the road. “What’s that?�� He murmured, slowing the car.

Marianne followed his gaze. “It looks like a bundle ... stop the car!”

Frederik brought the vehicle to a halt. They both jumped out and hurried over to the mysterious object. As they approached, Marianne gasped. “Oh my God, Frederik ... it’s a baby!”

She quickly bent down to scoop the tiny, shivering form into her arms. The baby’s skin was cold, blue lips barely parting for shallow breaths as the thin pink blanket wrapped around it did little to fight the chill. “Who could do such a thing?” Marianne cried, holding the child close for warmth.

Frederik’s face hardened. “We need to get her to a hospital. Now.”

Back in the car, Marianne cradled the baby, trying to transfer her warmth. “Stay with us,” she murmured, tears spilling. “Please, stay with us.”

As they sped towards the hospital, Frederik reached over and held Marianne’s free hand. “It'’s a sign,” he whispered. “After everything we’ve been through today ... finding her like this ... it’s fate.”

Marianne looked down at the baby, her fingers gently brushing the soft wisps of hair on the child’s head. “Our little miracle in the snow,” she whispered back.

Frederik smiled faintly, squeezing Marianne's hand. “Yes, our snow angel. We’ll take care of her and she’ll take care of us.”

***

“You know, every time it snows, it feels like the world is celebrating the day we found you,” your father, now King Frederik, remarks, gazing out of the vast palace windows at the flurries descending from the sky.

You smile, reaching for a delicate pastry from the breakfast spread laid out before you. “And every snowflake reminds me of the warmth of this family that saved me from the cold.”

Your mother, Queen Marianne, hair now threaded with silver, gives you a loving glance. “Our snow angel, right when we needed you most.”

“Speaking of snow,” you muse, “I’m thinking of wearing the ice-blue gown for tonight’s gala. Thoughts?”

Your father raises an eyebrow, “For the Children’s Foundation event? Perfect choice. It complements the theme and matches the tiara your mother has picked for you to wear.”

You grin, “Who knew you had such a fashion sense?”

Your mother chuckles, “It’s a king thing. But he’s right. And with your sapphire necklace, you will be the talk of the gala.”

You take a sip of your tea, thinking of the evening ahead. “I want to ensure my speech captures the essence of our foundation’s work. It’s more than just another royal event, this is about making a real difference.”

Your father nods, “It always is for you. That genuine desire to impact lives, it’s how I know you will be a great Queen one day.”

You blush slightly, “I learned from the best.”

Your mother, with a hint of mischief, remarks, “And speaking of learning, have you decided on a dance partner for the first waltz? There’s quite a line-up available.”

You laugh, “Oh, Mom! Let’s not start matchmaking before breakfast is over.”

Your father joins in the mirth, “Give her a break, Marianne. Our snow angel must not melt.”

***

The regal hallways echo with the gentle patter of your heeled footsteps. Lately, the palace, your lifelong sanctuary, feels more like a maze. A sudden wave of dizziness makes you pause, leaning against a gilded wall for support.

“You okay there?” a soft voice calls. It’s your mother, her face etched with worry.

“Just a bit dizzy,” you mumble, attempting a reassuring smile.

She hurries over, her gown flowing. “You’ve been looking pale these past few days.”

Before you can reply, a sharp sensation pricks your nose. Touching it, you’re shocked to see blood on your fingertips. “Oh no,” you whisper, panic creeping into your voice.

Your mother’s eyes widen. “We need to see a doctor.”

“But the gala—”

“Forget the gala!” She interrupts. “Your health comes first.”

***

Inside the royal clinic, the room is a tense silence. Your father paces while your mother sits beside you, holding your hand tightly.

The family physician finally arrives, his expression somber. “Your Highness, Your Majesties,” he begins, “we’ve run several tests.”

“And?” Your father demands, halting his restless walk.

You take a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself.

The doctor hesitates for a split second. “You have aplastic anemia.”

The room seems to close in. The words hang heavily, turning the opulent clinic cold.

Your mother’s voice trembles, “What does that mean?”

“It’s a condition where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells. This leads to fatigue, higher risk of infections, and uncontrolled bleeding,” the doctor explains.

Your mind races. The symptoms make sense now — the fatigue, dizziness, the nosebleed.

Your father’s face hardens, searching for hope. “What’s the treatment?”

The doctor looks grim, “The most effective treatment at this severity is a bone marrow transplant. We will need to find a matching donor.”

Your mother’s grip tightens on your hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “We’ll find one. We have to.”

Your father nods. “We will move mountains if we have to.”

You muster a small smile, drawing strength from your parents. “One snowstorm at a time.”

***

“How long does it usually take to find a match?” Youu inquire, voice trembling ever so slightly.

Dr. Van der Meer, the lead hematologist on your case, sighs, “It varies, Your Highness. Some find a match within their family, others from the global database. It can take days or even months.”

Your mother breaks in desperately, “But surely, with our resources, we can expedite the process?”

Your father adds, “Every avenue, every connection we have at our disposal is yours to use, Doctor.”

Dr. Van der Meer nods, “I understand the urgency, Your Majesties. We’ve already started to search within the national database. Meanwhile, we advise immediate family to get tested first.”

You interject, a sense of realization dawning, “But I’m adopted. Our genetic makeup differs.”

Your father and mother exchange a heavy look, the weight of your situation pressing down on them.

“We still have a vast network, a whole nation even,” your father muses. ��Surely someone out there is a match.”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates then says, “Actually, there has already been a hit from the database. A potential match.”

Your heart skips a beat. “Who?”

“We maintain confidentiality, Your Highness,” he replies. “But once we confirm the match and receive their consent, you will be informed.”

Your mother’s voice is tinged with hope. “So there’s a chance? A real chance?”

You lean forward eagerly. “When will we know more?”

Dr. Van der Meer offers a comforting smile. “Soon, Your Highness. For now, patience is our ally.”

***

“It’s been weeks, Doctor. Why haven’t we heard from the potential donor?” The frustration is clear in your mother’s voice.

Dr. Van der Meer looks up, choosing his words carefully. “The potential donor ... has some reservations.”

Your father’s brow furrows. “Reservations? Isn’t saving a life more important?”

The doctor clears his throat, “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Your Majesty. The potential donor is someone you’re familiar with.”

You lean forward, your curiosity piqued. “Who is it?”

There’s a momentary pause, the silence thickening. “Max Verstappen.”

Shock ripples through the room. The name isn’t just any name. It’s a name known to every Dutch citizen, celebrated in every corner of the nation.

Your mother blinks in disbelief. “The Formula 1 racer? We’ve met him multiple times at the Grand Prix. But why would he have reservations?”

Dr. Van der Meer hesitates, “There’s more to it. We ran some further genetic tests, customary for close matches. The results were ... unexpected.”

Your father leans forward in anticipation. “Go on.”

The doctor takes a deep breath, “Max Verstappen is not just a match. He’s ... he’s your half-brother.”

The room goes still. The revelation hangs in the air, too staggering to fully comprehend.

You feel your world tilt. “That’s impossible.”

Your mother’s voice is a whisper, “How can that be?”

Dr. Van der Meer clears his throat. “The genetic markers were unmistakable. Given the rare degree of compatibility and the markers we found, there is no doubt.”

Your father runs a hand through his hair, trying to process the news. “So all these years, at every Grand Prix, we’ve been cheering for ... family?”

You chime in, a flurry of emotions whirling inside, “And he doesn’t know, does he?”

The doctor shakes his head, “No, not yet. That’s the reservation. Revealing this ... it changes everything for him too.”

Your mother is contemplative. “We’ve celebrated his victories, felt the pride of having him represent our country. And now, knowing he’s family ...”

You interject, “And now, we need him more than ever. Not as a driver, not as a national icon, but as family.”

Your father’s resolve strengthens. “We need to tell him. He deserves to know.”

***

“How do you even begin a conversation like this?” You wonder aloud, staring at the blank screen of your laptop.

Your father, deep in thought, answers, “Honestly, directly, and with sensitivity. It’s uncharted territory for all of us.”

Your mothers adds, “Perhaps start by expressing your genuine feelings, without the weight of our titles or his fame."

You nod slowly, fingers hovering over the keyboard. “Dear Max,” you repeat out loud as you begin typing, then pause. “Too formal?”

Your father shrugs, “It’s sincere. And that’s what matters.”

Taking a deep breath, you continue:

Dear Max,

This isn’t a typical letter and I struggle to find the right words. By now, you might have been informed by the medical team about our unexpected connection. I wanted to reach out personally, not as the Princess of Orange, but simply as ... family.

Your mother reads over your shoulder, “That’s a good start.”

I cannot imagine how jarring this news must be. It was for me too. All these years, our paths crossed, shared smiles exchanged, never knowing the deeper bond we shared.

“Maybe mention the Grand Prix, how it has been a tradition for us,” your father suggests.

Every year at the Dutch Grand Prix, my parents and I cheered for you, felt immense pride in your victories. The realization that those cheers were for family adds a layer of emotion I can’t quite put into words.

I understand if you need time to process this. But I want you to know that this revelation changes nothing about the respect and admiration I hold for you. However, it does add a depth of connection, a newfound kinship.

Your mother, her voice choked with emotion, suggests, “Maybe let him know why it’s important now, about your condition.”

The reason I am reaching out now is not just about our newfound connection but also because of a pressing health concern I am facing. I need a bone marrow transplant, and as it turns out, you are my best match.

“Reassure him,” your father adds. “It’s a big ask.”

I understand the weight of this request. There is no obligation, only hope. No matter your decision, I want you to know that discovering this bond, this link between us, is a gift in itself.

Please take all the time you need. Whatever you decide, I respect and cherish the connection we have discovered. Wishing you all the best on and off the track.

Sincerely,

Y/N

Your father, visibly moved, murmurs, “It’s perfect.”

Your mother nods in agreement, tears shimmering. “It’s from the heart. Now, we wait.”

***

The roaring engines on the racetrack outside fade as the door to the private lounge close behind you. Max Verstappen stands there, his usual confident demeanor replaced with apprehension. The weight of the recent revelations is thick in the air.

“You look different without the crown,” Max remarks, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

You chuckle softly, “And you without the helmet.”

The initial ice broken, the two of you sit. A beat of silence passes. Then Max, eyes searching yours, asks, “Why now?”

You take a deep breath. “I’ve always known I was adopted. Every snowy day, my parents would recount the tale of how they found their snow angel. I grew up surrounded by love and privilege, never lacking anything.” Your voice trembles slightly, “But there were nights ... nights I’d wonder about the person who left me there, in the snow. Why didn’t they want me? Why did they abandon me to the whims of a storm?”

Max’s expression softens, his own memories surfacing. “I grew up with my father’s strict guidance. Racing wasn’t just a passion, it was life. There was little room for anything else. I always thought I understood my family but this ...” He sighs, looking away. “It makes me question everything.”

You nod, shared uncertainty bringing you closer. “But through all this confusion, one thing is clear: we’re family. Blood, it seems, has a way of revealing itself.”

Max smiles ruefully, “You know, I have a sister, a full sister. Growing up, we were close but our paths divided. Racing consumed me. Now, discovering I have another sister, you, it’s ... overwhelming.”

You chuckle, “Two sisters. Lucky you.”

He grins, “Twice the protective instincts.”

The humor fades, replaced by raw emotion. “You know,” you whisper, tears brimming, “Despite everything, I’m grateful for our paths crossing like this. Even if it took a lifetime.”

Max reaches out, taking your hand. “Me too.”

The weight of the moment presses on both of you. You look at each other, eyes brimming with tears, souls bared.

In a sudden rush of emotion, you step forward, collapsing into Max’s embrace. He holds you tightly, as if trying to shield you from all the past hurts, regrets, and questions. The warmth of the hug contrasts sharply with the cold memory of that snowy night. In his embrace, the years of wondering, the pain of abandonment, seem to melt away.

Pulling back slightly, you look up into Max’s eyes. With a tearful smile, you whisper, “Brother.”

He grins back, “Sister. How would you feel about attending the next race, not as royalty but as my guest?”

You hesitate, the memories of previous races filled with formalities and protocols. “It will be different.”

Max wraps an arm around you shoulders, “Very. But I promise, you will see the world of racing like never before.”

***

The roar of the engines, the excitement of the crowd — it was all distantly familiar. Yet, standing beside Max, everything feels different.

As you walk through the paddock, Max’s pride is evident. “Guys,” he calls out to his mechanics, “Meet my sister.”

They look up, surprised, then smiles break out across their faces. “It’s an honor, Your Highness,” one of them greets.

Max nudges him, “Just call her by her name.”

You laugh in agreement, “It’s nice to meet you all without the formalities.”

Max continues his introductions, his enthusiasm infectious. When you reach Christian Horner, he looks pleasantly surprised. “It’s been a while,” he remarks, “Though our meetings were always, well, more formal.”

You nod, “It’s a different world from this side of the track.”

Max beams, “And she’s getting the full experience today.”

When the race starts, every moment feels magnified, more personal.

And then, the checkered flag waves for Max.

The Red Bull garage erupts in jubilation. During the celebration, Max, still in his car, locks eyes with you from across parc fermé. You can see the moisture, the emotion in his eyes. The moment he is out of his car, he races over, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“This win,” he whispers hoarsely, “it’s not just for me this time. It’s for us. For family.”

As the Dutch anthem plays during the podium ceremony, tears fill your eyes. The anthem, a proud symbol of your country and kingdom, now also symbolizes the new, ever-growing bond with your brother.

Max, standing tall on the podium, catches your eye and winks. And as the ceremony concludes, he suddenly turns, aiming his bottle of champagne right at you. The spray catches you off guard, laughter bubbling up as the cold liquid soaks you.

“You had to, didn’t you?” You laugh, wiping away the liquid before it can sting your eyes.

Max ruffles your hair, “It’s my new duty as your older brother!”

***

“Hey, there’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Max says, pulling you towards the thrumming heart of the afterparty.

The vibrant lights and chatter fill the room but everything seems to slow as you’re introduced to a lean figure with tousled hair and hypnotizing eyes. “This is Charles Leclerc,” Max grins, “One of the toughest guys I’ve raced against.”

Charles offers a charming smile, “Pleasure to meet you. Max speaks highly of you.”

You raise your glass in a mock toast to your brother. “Glad to hear that my bribe has been paying off.”

Charles laughs, “Well, considering today’s win, you might just be his favorite person.”

The two of you share a laugh, an effortless ease settling between you as you barely notice Max walking off with a wink shot your way.

“You’ve been to several races, haven’t you?” Charles asks, sipping his drink.

“In a more official capacity, yes. But today was ... different.”

He nods, his gaze intense, “Being family changes the perspective.”

Charles leans in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Now that you’ve seen me on the track maybe I should show you some of my other talents?”

You raise an eyebrow, the thrill of the night’s excitement mixing with his words. “Oh? What other hidden skills do you possess?”

His voice drops to a sultry murmur. “Well, I make a mean pasta carbonara. Maybe I’ll whip it up for you someday.”

You laugh, the warmth of the moment spreading through you. “I’ll definitely hold you to that.”

Max, watching from a distance, nudges Carlos, “Look at them. Told you they’d hit it off.”

“You know, I’ve always been curious about the life of a princess,” Charles muses, a playful glint in his eye. “Is it all tiaras and tea parties?”

You smirk. “It’s more boring than you would think. But for a driver like you, every day’s a thrill, right? Speeding cars, roaring crowds, adoring fans?”

He grins, leaning closer, the proximity making your heart race. “Most days. But some nights, the thrill is ... elsewhere,” his gaze deepening, locked onto yours.

The two of you are drawn into a world of your own, the party’s noise fading into the background.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer. “Have you ever considered doing a hot lap? It’s quite the rush.”

You laugh, feeling the warmth of his touch. “I don’t know about getting in a race car but I can think of something else I’d love to ride right now.”

As the club’s pulsating music envelops you, Charles leans in, his voice husky over the beat, “Care for a dance?”

You accept, and as you both move to the rhythm, the world around seems to disappear. The close proximity, the electric energy on the dance floor, and the feeling of his body moving against yours is intoxicating.

“Right now,” Charles murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear to be heard above the music, “I feel like the winner tonight.”

You smile, your gaze locked onto his, “The night is still young. Let’s see where it takes us.”

***

“I’ve noticed you’re attending more races lately,” Max comments, a teasing glint in his eyes as you both walk through the paddock.

You shrug, feigning innocence. “Well, I’ve developed quite an appreciation for the sport.”

Max chuckles, “Or for a certain Ferrari driver?”

Blushing, you retort, “Can’t it be both?”

Before Max can respond, Charles approaches, his smile brightening as he spots you. “Good to see you again,” he greets, though his eyes convey a warmth that words can’t.

“You too,” you reply in a voice softer than intended.

The three of you share some casual banter before Max excuses himself, leaving you alone with Charles.

“You know,” Charles starts, “it’s become the highlight of my race weekends, seeing you here.”

You smile, “I’ve come to realize that there’s more to F1 than just the thrill of the race. There are ... other attractions.”

Charles grins, “Is that so? Any attraction in particular?”

You playfully nudge him, “Don’t get too confident, Leclerc.”

Weekends spent at circuits become a regular fixture in your life. While you’re initially there for Max, the increasing time spent with Charles deepens your bond. The stolen glances during press conferences, the private moments away from the limelight, and the late-night conversations make the connection undeniable.

One evening, after a particularly intense race, Charles pulls you aside, his face flushed from the adrenaline. “Every time I cross the finish line and look towards the other garages, I hope to catch a glimpse of you.”

Your heart skips a beat. “And if you do?”

He smiles, “It either makes victory all the more sweet or the sting of defeat not quite as painful.”

***

“You’ve made the front page again,” Max remarks dryly, handing you a tabloid during breakfast.

You glance at the headline, The Princess and the Racer: F1’s Fairytale Romance accompanied by a candid shot of you and Charles out to dinner.

Charles groans, “They make it sound like a soap opera.”

You sigh, “It’s the price we pay, I guess.”

As weeks go by, the media scrutiny intensifies. Every public appearance and every minuscule gesture, is analyzed, often blown out of proportion. The weight of the world’s eyes strains the joy of your newfound relationship.

One evening, after a particularly invasive article speculating about a rushed engagement, Charles pulls you aside, his face drawn with concern. “I noticed you’ve been pale lately, more tired. Is it the stress from all this media attention?”

You hesitate, biting your lip. The truth is, it’s more than just the media. Your health has been deteriorating and you’ve been trying to hide it.

“It’s not just the media,” you admit.

His eyes are filled with worry. “What is it?”

Max, overhearing the conversation, interjects, “It’s her health. She didn't want to worry you.”

Charles looks at you in disbelief. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

You take a deep breath, “I didn’t want to add to the pressures of the season, to be another burden.”

He reaches out, holding you close, “You’re never a burden. We’re in this together.”

You take a shaky breath, drawing strength from his words. “I’ve been diagnosed with aplastic anemia. It’s a condition where my bone marrow doesn’t produce enough new blood cells.”

Charles pales, “That’s ... serious.”

You nod, “After this race, I’m starting chemotherapy to destroy the dysfunctional bone marrow in preparation for a transplant.”

Silence envelops the room. Charles processes the weight of the revelation, the enormity of the situation sinking in. “Why now?” He finally asks.

“Timing is crucial,” Max chimes in, “She’s been putting it off, not wanting to disrupt the season. But we can’t wait much longer.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I just wish you had told me sooner.”

You reach out, touching his arm, “I didn’t know how. Everything was happening so fast — our relationship, the media attention. I didn’t want to add more stress.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his voice choked with emotion. “Promise me, no more secrets.”

You nod, tears streaming down your face, “I promise.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here for this?” You ask Charles as you both sit in the sterile hospital room, awaiting the doctor who would be overseeing your chemotherapy treatments.

Charles takes your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “Every step of the way.”

The door opens and the doctor walks in, a gentle but serious look on her face. “Before we begin, there’s something important we need to discuss. The chemotherapy might affect your fertility. It’s not certain but there is a significant risk.”

You freeze. You had expected side effects, the potential hair loss, the fatigue. But this? This was unanticipated. This ripped your heart out of your chest.

Charles tightens his grip on your hand, his face pale. “Is there ... any way to mitigate that risk?”

The doctor nods, “We can retrieve and store your eggs. It’s a procedure done before chemotherapy in some cases. You will need hormone injections for about 10 to 12 days to stimulate the ovaries.”

You look at Charles, your eyes filled with tears, “It’s another delay.”

Charles brushes a tear from your cheek, “We face this together. I am here for you no matter what you decide.”

The days that follow are a whirlwind. Charles is by your side every step of the way, providing both emotional support and administering the daily injections.

Each evening, he carefully prepares the hormone shot. “Ready?” He asks, looking into your eyes.

You nod, trying to put on a brave face. But the physical discomfort is nothing compared to the emotional toll. Still, with Charles by your side, each day becomes bearable.

One evening, as he administers the injection, he whispers, “I’m so proud of you. Your strength amazes me every day.”

Tears spring to your eyes. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping you. “You’ll never have to.”

***

“Are you sure about this?” Charles asks, his fingers brushing yours as you lay on the hospital bed.

You take a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “I am. It’s a step towards preserving a potential future, one I hope to share with you.”

His eyes soften. “Every step, I’m here.”

The medical staff move around in the background, preparing for the procedure. The hum of machines and the sterile environment contrast starkly with the intimate bubble you and Charles share.

As the procedure begins, Charles holds your hand, his thumb drawing comforting circles on your skin. “Remember our trip to Monaco?” He murmurs, attempting to distract you. “The sea, the laughter, the little café by the pier?”

A smile tugs at your lips, even as you nod for the OBGYN to proceed. “The one with the overly sweet pastries?”

Charles chuckles, “That’s the one. Imagine us there, a decade from now, two kids in tow, arguing over whether chocolate or vanilla is better.”

The image he paints eases your tension, providing a temporary escape from the clinical room. The retrieval is swift but the emotional weight lingers.

“You did great,” Charles murmurs, brushing a stray hair away from your face.

You smile weakly, “One hurdle crossed.”

The next phase comes swiftly the following day: chemotherapy. The treatment center is full of artificial warmth — the walls painted a deep yellow and the heater working overtime to keep patients as comfortable as possible — but it does nothing to counteract the chill of fear that has taken over your body.

When the nurse enters with the IV bag for your chemotherapy, Charles stands up, his stance protective. “How does this work?”

She explains the process, her voice soft, “The medication will enter her bloodstream and target the rapidly growing cells. There might be some side effects but we will monitor her closely.”

You feel a pinch as the needle is inserted and soon the clear liquid starts making its way into your veins. You blink rapidly, willing the tears away before Charles can see them.

Attempting to lighten the mood, he starts recounting some of his funniest moments from racing. You chuckle at his anecdotes, grateful for the distraction.

Hours pass. The room is filled with a mix of medical beeps and Charles’ voice, offering a counterbalance of cold reality and warm comfort.

As the IV bag nears empty, you feel a wave of fatigue. Charles notices. “Rest,” he urges softly, his thumb caressing your hand.

You nod, closing your eyes, “Thank you for being my anchor.”

He leans in, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Always, for every challenge, every step. Always.”

***

“I still can’t believe you made him go,” your mother murmurs from the chair next to you. The hum of machines and the sterile scent of the hospital room are in stark contrast to the roaring engines and burning rubber of the track that you can almost sense through the television screen.

You manage a weak smile. “He belongs on the track, Mom. This race is crucial for the championship.”

“He wanted to stay,” your father adds. “He’s racing with a heavy heart.”

“I know,” you whisper, a tear trickling down. “But he’s strong. And I want him to win, for both of us.”

The room falls silent, save for the rhythmic beeping of the machines. You can feel the potent cocktail of drugs coursing through your veins, sapping your strength but a necessary step to fight the disease within.

The TV in the corner broadcasts the race. You hear the commentator’s voice, “... Charles Leclerc, giving it his all today. You have to wonder where he’s drawing this intensity from.”

You know the answer.

The laps go by. With each turn, each overtake Charles makes, you can sense his determination, his desire to win not just for the title but for something else … someone else.

“You should rest,” your father advises, noticing your drooping eyelids.

But you resist, wanting to witness Charles cross the finish line.

The final laps are intense. Charles battles fiercely, and as he takes the checkered flag, the room bursts into subdued cheers.

“He did it!” Your mother exclaims.

You feel a swell of pride. “For us,” you whisper, before fatigue takes over and you drift into a deep sleep.

As consciousness slowly returns not too long after, the first thing you notice is the gentle vibration of your phone on the bedside table. Groggily reaching for it, you see a new message notification from a group chat with Charles and Max.

It’s a photo of Charles and Max, still in their race suits, grinning ear to ear. Charles holds up his first-place trophy while Max proudly displays his second. They’re both covered in champagne, evidence of the post-race celebrations.

These are for you. For our champion.

With shaky fingers, you type back:

My heroes. Thank you for being my strength. So proud of you both. Can’t wait to see you again.

Your mother, noticing your reaction, peers over your shoulder. “Those boys,” she says with a fond smile, “they really adore you.”

You nod, wiping away a tear. “I’m so lucky.”

***

“Hey, sis,” Max’s voice is soft, tinged with a mix of worry and hope as he sits beside you in the pre-op room, “Ready to share a bit more than just DNA?”

You manage a small smile, despite the anxiety. “As long as you don’t start claiming we share driving skills.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hand. “Promise.”

The doctor enters, clipboard in hand. “Both of you understand the procedure, correct? Max, we will be extracting bone marrow from your pelvic bone. It’s a relatively straightforward process but you might feel some discomfort.”

Max nods resolutely. “Anything for her.”

You swallow hard, emotions swirling. “Thank you, Max. This ... it means everything.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with a brotherly love that’s grown exponentially over the past few months. “We’re family. We look out for each other.”

As Max is wheeled away for his extraction, he offers a brave smile. “See you on the other side.”

Hours later, as you sit by his bedside, watching him slowly come around post-procedure, you squeeze his hand. “You okay?”

He groans, “Feels like I’ve done a doubleheader race without any breaks. But it’s worth it.”

Then comes your turn. Max, despite his exhaustion, insists on being present. The stem cells he donated are infused into you through a central line. It’s a simple procedure but one filled with so much hope and emotion.

Max watches closely, gripping your hand. “You got this,” he murmurs as the life-saving cells flow into your body.

You try to show a convincing smile before closing your eyes and praying to whoever’s listening that this works.

***

The pale blue walls of the hospital room have become all too familiar, the rhythmic beep of machines a constant in the background. You’re reclined on the bed, an IV line dripping nutrients and much-needed blood transfusions into your system. As your body adjusts to the new bone marrow, these are crucial.

Max is seated beside you, a crossword puzzle in hand. The chairs aren’t particularly comfortable but he’s still rarely left your side.

Max taps his pen against the paper thoughtfully. “Alright, here’s one for you. Seven letters: someone who is always there, no matter what.”

You raise an eyebrow, pondering. “Is it brother?”

He grins, “You’re getting good at this.”

You chuckle, “Well, I can’t help it when the answer is so obvious …”

He leans in closer, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I snuck in some of those chocolates you like from that little shop in town.”

Your eyes widen in mock horror. “You rebel. We’ll be banished from the kingdom.”

He winks, producing a small box from his bag. “Worth it.”

As you both indulge in the illicit treat, you realize just how much these little moments, these shared smiles and inside jokes, make the ordeal bearable.

Max notices your contemplative expression. “Hey, what’s on your mind?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am to have a brother who sneaks chocolates into a hospital for me.”

He extends his pinky towards you, “Always. Until the end of the race.”

You intertwine your own pinky with his to immortalize the promise, “And beyond.”

Just as the two of you are finishing the last of the chocolates, the door swings open quietly. Charles steps in, his eyes immediately seeking you out. There’s a bouquet of fresh flowers in his hand, their vibrant colors standing out against the sterile environment.

“You two conspiring without me?” Charles teases, setting the flowers on the bedside table.

Max smirks, “Just ensuring she gets her daily dose of chocolate, doctor’s orders.”

Charles moves to your side and presses a soft kiss on your forehead. “How are you feeling today?”

“Better now that my two favorite racers are here,” you reply with a smile.

Charles laughs, “I see. Well, the doctor outside told me your blood counts are improving. Seems the new bone marrow is getting to work.”

You nod hopefully. “One day at a time.”

Charles moves closer, taking your free hand. “Every day is a step closer to getting you out of here.”

Max, sensing the intimate moment, stands up, stretching. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it. Need to grab a coffee and give that crossword another go.”

Charles smiles gratefully at him, and as Max exits the room, you’re left in a bubble of comfort and warmth with your boyfriend.

***

“Grant our daughter strength and good news,” your mother’s prayer weaves through the tense atmosphere of the room.

Charles’ grip on your hand tightens and he whispers, “Whatever the news, we face it together.”

“Guide the hands of the doctors, let their knowledge lead to healing.”

Max, on your other side, offers a comforting squeeze, his face betraying his own anxiety. “You’ve come so far already.”

“And bless our family with your grace and protection.”

The prayer lingers in the air just as the door opens.

“Grant her the strength, the health, the life she deserves ...”

The doctor steps in, a manila envelope in hand. Everyone’s gaze immediately fixes on him, the room heavy with bated breath.

He looks around the room, making eye contact with each one of you, then finally says, “The results are in.”

You feel Charles’ hand tremble slightly … Max’s grip tighten … your father barely breathing behind you … a silent prayer still on your mother’s lips.

“The bone marrow has taken exceptionally well. All indicators and markers are positive.” The doctor smiles. “You’re officially in remission. You’re cured.”

A tidal wave of emotion crashes over the room. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, happiness and relief mingling in each drop.

Your mother’s whispered prayer crescendos into a heartfelt “thank you,” choked with emotion.

Your father, the ever-composed king, has moisture in his eyes as he holds you close, “Our snow angel, our miracle.”

Charles pulls you into a tight embrace next, his voice a shaky whisper, “You did it.”

Max is grinning from ear to ear. “Told you, sis. Until the end of the race and beyond.”

***

“Look at them,” Max says, nudging you as the camera pans over the pit crews, each member prominently sporting a bright red ribbon. “All in solidarity.”

Charles beams, joining the conversation. “It was Max’s idea. The ribbons. Both teams were eager to join in.”

You’re touched, tears threatening to spill. “It’s incredible. Both of you, your teams ... I’m speechless.”

The commentator on the screen picks up on the theme. “For those just tuning in, both the Ferrari and Red Bull teams are wearing red ribbons today in support of aplastic anemia awareness, a personal cause for them given the recent battle of the Princess of Orange with the condition.”

Mid-race, Max’s voice crackles over the team radio, “This one’s for you, sis.”

Charles, not to be outdone, pushes his car to the limit, the red ribbon painted on his helmet clearly visible every time the camera focuses on him.

Later, as you walk back out through the paddock, fans approach, many sporting red ribbons of their own. One young girl looks at you with stars in her eyes, “I wear this for my mom. She’s fighting too, just like you did.”

You pull her into a gentle hug. “She’s got this. I know she does.”

***

As soon as the statement goes live on the official website of the Netherlands Royal Family, the internet erupts.

The Royal House of the Netherlands is pleased to announce that Her Royal Highness, Y/N the Princess of Orange, and Mr. Charles Leclerc are officially courting.

Your phone buzzes incessantly with notifications. Charles, seated beside you, chuckles, “Well, there’s no going back now.”

Your father enters the room, a smile playing on his lips. “The people seem to be taking the news ... enthusiastically.”

Your mother, scrolling through her own device, adds, “And overwhelmingly positively. Listen to this: We’ve seen them together. Their chemistry is undeniable. Wishing them all the best!”

You exhale, a weight lifting off your shoulders. “I was so nervous about the reaction.”

Charles brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, “We’re in this together, remember?”

Max bursts into the room with his usual energy, “You two are trending. The fans are loving it!”

Screens across the nation flash images of you and Charles — at the racetrack, during hospital visits, candid moments captured by keen-eyed photographers. Talk shows and news channels dive deep into analyzing your relationship, piecing together any crumbs of insight they might have.

A popular racing pundit remarks on a live broadcast, “Their bond is evident, both on and off the track. Charles’ performance has been exceptional since they've been together. It’s clear that they draw strength from each other.”

The public’s fascination is insatiable. Magazines are splashed with titles like Love in the Fast Lane. But despite the media frenzy, what touches you most are the personal messages. Fans share artwork, write songs, and pen heartfelt letters, celebrating love and the winding path that brought you both to this moment.

One evening, as you and Charles sit on the palace balcony overlooking the city, he turns to you, “They’re acting like we’re some sort of fairytale.”

You lean into him, “Maybe we are. It’s our story and I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

***

“You know,” your father begins, a playful glint in his eye as he slices into his steak, “I had an amusing conversation with Prince Albert the other day.”

Charles, taking a sip of his wine, raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Your father chuckles, “He said Monaco might need to extend an invitation for our next state visit given that we seem to have shared interests now.”

The table erupts in laughter. Your mother adds, teasingly, “And here I thought we were simply bonding over diplomatic ties.”

“So,” Max leans forward eagerly. “Any embarrassing stories about Y/N? I have to make up for all of the childhood adventures I’ve missed.”

“Oh, there are plenty! Remember the time she tried to drive a lawnmower and ended up in the rose bushes?” Your father says, trying to look serious.

Marianne chuckles, “Don’t remind me! Those were my favorite roses.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I was eight! And I thought it was a car!”

Charles grins, squeezing your hand under the table. “I can only imagine a mini version of you so determined behind the wheel.”

“And at her sixth birthday party,” your father recounts with a smirk, “she declared that she’d be ruling the kingdom by sundown and tried to hold a mock council meeting with her stuffed toys.”

Charles nudges you playfully, “Planning coups at six? Should I be worried?”

You swat him lightly, “It was a phase.”

As dessert is served, your mother turns contemplative. “You know, I’ve always believed in destiny. And seeing all of you here, witnessing the bonds and the love, it reaffirms that belief.”

Charles nods his agreement, “Life has a way of bringing the right people together.”

Your father raises his glass, “To family, in all its forms. To the journeys we embark on and the memories we create.”

The clinking of glasses has never sounded sweeter.

***

Charles, his face flushed with the victory of the 2025 World Championship, stands on the podium, trophy in hand. The cheering of the crowd is deafening but as he signals for a microphone, a hush descends.

“I’ve never done this before,” he starts emotionally, “naming my car, I mean. I watched Seb do it year after year and I always wondered what that felt like, to have such a connection.” He takes a deep breath, his gaze scanning the audience until it lands on you. “This season, I finally understood. My car, the one that just secured this championship, I named it after the most important person in my life.”

The crowd waits with bated breath.

“I named it,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly as he keeps his eyes locked on yours, “after you. After the woman who has been my anchor, my strength.”

You feel tears prickling your eyes as the sheer intensity of his words hits you.

Charles signals and you’re gently nudged forward, guided up to the podium. The world seems to blur, the noise, the people, everything fading until it’s just you and him.

“Every race, every lap, I had two goals: to win for the team and to make you proud,” he confesses, his eyes never leaving yours. “You are my world. And today, in front of everyone here, in front of the world, I want to ask you one thing.”

He gets down on one knee and your hands move of their own volition to cover your mouth. Producing a gorgeous ring, Charles looks up at you, his eyes shimmering. “Will you marry me?”

The world stops.

The deafening cheers of the crowd seem quiet compared to the beating of your heart.

Tears stream down your face as you nod. “Yes. A thousand times yes.”

No sooner have the words left your mouth than Max and Lando, the other two podium finishers, gleefully seize the moment. With mischievous grins, they uncork their champagne bottles, dousing both you and Charles in a bubbly shower. The liquid gold sparkles in the sunlight, adding to the magic of the moment.

Charles pulls you close, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss as you both get soaked.

***

The grand cathedral, bathed in the soft glow of a thousand candles, echoes with the hushed whispers of eagerly waiting guests. Roses, lilies, and orchids cascade down the pillars, their fragrance mingling with the scent of incense.

Behind the doors of the bridal suite, Max stands beside you, dressed impeccably in a classic tux. There’s a brotherly tenderness in his eyes as he reaches out, smoothing the delicate lace of your dress to ensure that every detail is perfect.

“You look breathtaking,” he murmurs, the emotion of the day making his voice waver.

“You clean up pretty well yourself, Man of Honor,” you reply, squeezing his hand.

As the first strains of the bridal march begin, the doors open, revealing the grand aisle, lined with well-wishers from all corners of the globe. Your father steps up and offers you his arm, his eyes glassy with pride and a hint of melancholy. “Ready, my snow angel?”

You nod, tears of happiness already blurring your vision. The world narrows down to the altar, where Charles stands, back straight in his crisp full dress uniform. As you make your way down the aisle, your eyes lock with his and the universe contracts to that singular point of connection.

Charles’ normally composed features give way as he takes in the sight of you. His eyes, also glistening with tears, convey a depth of feeling that words could never capture. Love, gratitude, wonder — all interwoven in that magnetic gaze.

His voice breaks as he whispers just for you, “You are my dream, my reality, my forever.”

Your own voice is thick with emotion, “And you are my heart, my soul, my love.”

As vows are exchanged and promises made, the world bears witness to a love that defied odds, overcame challenges, and brought together not just two souls but two worlds.

And as you both seal your commitment with a kiss, there is not a single dry eye in the cathedral. Because love, true love, is a force to be reckoned with, and today, it reigns supreme.

***

The soft whimpers of a newborn fill the air of the private birthing suite. Nestled in your arms, wrapped in a royal blue blanket, the baby prince stirs, his tiny fingers curling around one of yours.

Charles, sitting beside you, gazes down at your son with sheer wonder. “He’s perfect,” he says in a teary whisper.

You nod, tears streaming down your face. “Our little miracle.” The journey, the IVF treatments with your frozen eggs , the hope, the fear — everything culminated in this singular, beautiful moment.

The door opens gently, revealing Max, his eyes wide as they take in the sight before him, and your parents, their faces a canvas of joy and pride.

Max approaches tentatively, his usual confidence replaced by an awe-inspired reverence. “May I?” He asks softly.

You nod, handing over the precious bundle. As Max holds the baby, a bond forms instantly. “Hey there, little one,” he coos, “Your godfather is here.”

Your mother, tears in her eyes, leans in, planting a gentle kiss on your son’s forehead. “Welcome to the world, our precious grandchild.”

Your father, hoarse with emotion, simply murmurs, “An angel for our snow angel.”

And you know what? You decide that the fans were right. Your life really is a fairytale.

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expecto-kedavra · 1 year ago

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Hey buddyyyy I was wondering if you could write about Slytherin male MC discovering their healing powers and healing Ominis of his blindness and Anne of her curse. I’ve read fics of those individually but never together

Keep up the good work 👍🏼

Hey! I love this idea. Fun fact, the first ask I ever sent on Tumblr was to the ever talented @hogwartslegacyreactions and it was how the HL characters would react to Ominis being cured of his blindness. Be sure to check her out! Scarlet is a lovely writer and I adore her blog. I owe much of my inspiration to her This was originally a bit long all together, so I'm going to split it into multiple parts. ONWARD!

Pt. 2

Pt. 3

Pt. 4

The Healer, pt 1

Ominis was definitely frustrated. He was having a lovely night's sleep when the Margaret the Diricawl landed on his chest. I was going to send a Niffler, but I didn't trust any of them to deliver a message swiftly and efficiently. Especially Ricky. I rescued him from a particularly grouchy vendor in Irondale, said he "pilfered the town and should be sent away to Azkaban." The last thing I needed was detention for the little stinker stealing Professor Ronan's hat, or Weasley's glasses. So I sent Margaret with a note tied to her- "Come to the Room please. I have something to show you." She was the sweetest of my Diricawls, one who wouldn't peck my dear friend's eyes out. They were very important to my plan. Anyways, the grumpy Gaunt stumbled into the Room of Requirement, muttering and cursing. "What? This could not possibly be more important than my rest." I laughed. I wasn't sure if it was really early or really late. I had been working for hours. "Oh trust me my friend. It is." I stared at the small vial that was the reason behind all this. A clear liquid glowed inside, occasionally flashing a brilliant blue. "Go sit on the couch." I ordered, and Ominis agreed. I had definitely piqued his interest.

"You told me that your childhood healers tried Phoenix tears and it didn't work." My heart was in my throat. This had to work. For him, for Anne..for everyone. "Right." He replied. "They thought that if that couldn't give me sight, nothing could." He was very stoic, I knew he had long accepted his condition and made it work. "Well. They didn't try everything. Mainly because this didn't exist until now." I brandished the small vial. He blinked slowly. "Wow. How incredible. I am in awe." He said flatly. Oops. "Oh right. Sorry. I call it Miracle Tears." I was tired. Naming stuff is hard, why do you think two of my pets are named Margaret and Ricky? Being creative was hard enough while not sleep deprived, Miracle Tears was going to have to cut it. "And who's tears might they be?" Ominis laughed. It was good to hear his tone shift from sleepy grouch to his usual sarcastic drawl. "Mine. Helios shared some. So did Diana." I replied. Ominis had met my phoenix, and my herd of Unicorns, so he recognized the names. "What? They cried for you?" He sounded shocked. "Yes, they are my bestest friends and they were much nicer when I woke them up." I shot back. "I thought of every healing substance I could think of. Phoenix tears, of course. Then Unicorn blood, but I knew that was out of the question. I consulted with Poppy, and we theorized that the tears could be used to a similar effect. We tested our theory, and we were correct." I didn't mention that our method involved jumping off of the balcony in the Room. "However, it wasn't as powerful, only healing partially." I said sheepishly. "Wait. Was that why Poppy was in the Hospital Wing for three days?!" Ominis more so sounded disappointed in me rather than upset. "You're getting off topic." I was glad he couldn't see my face reddening. "The last healing power I could think of was my own. Isidora went insane by removing pain and absorbing it. I did not want to risk that, so I thought up another way to bottle this power." He was quiet, I could tell he was thinking. "Listen. MC. I know you want to help me and Anne. But we've both made peace with our lives. As hard as it may be to hear, I don't need this." He was right. I knew he didn't. "I know. Sebastian does." I said softly. He was silent. Since the end of last year, Sebastian had fallen into a funk. His punishment of losing his twin sister was wearing too hard on him. He rarely spoke, and ate even less. I worried for him, and I knew Ominis did as well. "If it doesn't work, you can say you told me so and I will forget about it. But he's our friend, and he's slipping. We are losing him." That was enough for Ominis. "Alright. For Sebastian." I handed him the vial and he drank.

Ominis fell to the floor, writhing in pain and clutching his face. Shit. I didn't know what to do, or what to say. "My eyes! They burn!" He screamed. I ran into my potion room, frantically looking for something...anything. Dittany maybe, I can brew a Wiggenweld...I tried to focus, but my friends pained screams were throwing me off. As soon as I was about to scream for Deek, he stopped. He picked himself up off the floor, blinking. "I...can see." Ominis looked up at me. His normally pale eyes had turned into a deeper shade of blue. It worked. "Sorry my ragged mug is the first thing you saw." I laughed. He tackled me with a hug. "This is the world...the real world!" It was quite adorable seeing him staring at everything, his smile lit up the room. "We need to find Sebastian."

#Hogwarts legacy fanfic #Hogwarts legacy oc #x reader #Sebastian sallow #Ominis gaunt #healing #harry potter #hogwarts #gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #slytherin #hogwarts houses #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts oc

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naavispider · 2 years ago

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Chapter 14 - If you playing me that mean my home aint home

The support on this fic has been so amazing I'm a puddle of gratitude 😭 I never, ever expected it to take off the way it has, and have really become attached to it.

There he lay, dead on the ground, eyes open and blood gently seeping from his chest.

"Get over here, now!" Quaritch called, anger like venom in his voice.

Spider couldn't breathe. He couldn't do anything, only stare. Quaritch was shouting furiously but Spider couldn't hear him. Next thing he knew, Quaritch was on him, pulling him away from the body towards the other recoms, where Mansk was lying on the ground, panting heavily to control the pain in his leg.

"No!" Spider shouted, pushing and pulling against Quaritch's grip. There was no way he was going anywhere with him. "Get off me!" he screamed, a sob finally breaking through his shock. "You killed him- You killed him-" he fought desperately to run from Quaritch's grip. He needed to be anywhere but here. Quaritch didn't say anything - he wasn't defending himself as he grabbed Spider's hands in one of his and roughly slapped on the red bindings again.

Spider sobbed in misery, falling to the floor - there was nothing else he could do.

The rest of the recoms were gathered over Mansk, anxiously assessing the situation and trying to help. Savine looked dead herself as she rummaged through the trauma kit, looking for something to stem the bleeding. Wainfleet was tying a tourniquet around Mansk's thigh, and Fike was injecting some kind of liquid into the skin around the wound. Quaritch left Spider on the ground and called into his communicator.

"Delta one, this is Romeo troop, over."

"Romeo troop, send your traffic," Spider heard in his earpiece.

"We require an immediate medical extraction. Mansk is down with a class 4 penetrative stab wound."

"What's your pos?"

"Sector 21, 51.5033° N, 0.1196° W."

"Stand by for extraction."

Quaritch moved over to Mansk and Spider panicked. Were they going back to base? No. He wouldn't.

He rose slowly, not caring about being seen, not caring if he'd get far. All he knew was that he couldn't stand another minute with the RDA. With Quaritch.

He bolted.

He had never ran so fast in his life. His breath burned as he flew through the forest, leaping over fallen logs, octoshrooms, boulders, roots and vines, pitcher plants; all of it a blur. He almost lost his balance with his hands tied but by some miracle managed to keep himself upright and travelling forwards at a pace he was sure he'd never reached before. It felt like his body was going too fast for his brain to keep up - surely he'd stumble soon? The recoms would catch up and he'd be shipped off back to the General and her death machine. It wasn't happening. Ignoring the raging stitch in his side he screamed as he pushed himself on.

He had no idea where he was going. He arrived suddenly at a creek which was too wide for him to jump, and too steep on the other side to scramble up. He veered right and started running parallel along its bank.

Terror tore at his insides as he heard shouting from behind him. His scream caught in his throat - it was Quaritch, in pursuit. How far behind him he was, Spider had no idea. His legs burned as he leapt over the forest debris; stones, rocks, spines and roots all abused his bare feet as he ducked under branches and vines, running through them without time to properly avoid them.

"Spider!"

Oh my God Oh my God Oh my God. Quaritch must be 30 or 40 yards behind. Spider knew he would eventually out-run him. He was only human. Sheer panic drove him on. He looked around as he ran, eyes wild, desperately searching for somewhere to hide. He was too terrified to stop though. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Seconds later, the creek seemed to widen and the bank on the other side looked less steep - now was his chance. Jumping the 10 or so feet down into the stream without caring whether he hurt himself, he landed in the wet, immediately screwing his ankle.

He couldn't hear anyone calling him anymore - had Quaritch given up? As soon as he thought it, Spider knew that was crazy. Blinded by his terror, he dragged his body up the other side of the bank and all pain from his ankle radiated away with renewed adrenaline. He was still going. It was difficult with his hands tied but he managed to clear the bank and then he was up, only now he realised how painful his breathing was becoming, how his legs ached - they could barely support him anymore.

Spider thought of the Na'vi man's face just before he died - the resolute way he had understood and agreed to help him - and Spider cried out again as he pushed his screaming body on. Over a boulder, across a log, and then he didn't know what came first.

"You dumb kid," a voice terrifyingly close behind him shouted in his ear, a hand closed down on his shoulder, he tripped and fell under the pressure, and then Quaritch's other hand was on his arm, grabbing him, holding him down. He cried out as he fought to get up, crawling forward as if he still had a chance. He would die before he gave up. The weight bearing down became too much and Quaritch had him pinned down. Spider gasped for air, already oxygen deprived as tears fell freely inside his mask. He reached one arm forward, clawing at the soil, still trying to escape.

"It's over." Quaritch was panting heavily on top of him. He flipped Spider over and Spider struggled with all his might. He couldn't face this. He wouldn't.

"It's over Spider," Quaritch puffed.

"Get off me!" Spider screamed.

The recom didn't reply, just held Spider's hands down in one of his, while speaking into his communicator with the other.

"You killed him! You killed- He didn't do anything!" Spider shouted, hissing and resorting back to Na'vi when English failed him.

Quaritch was ignoring him however, instead talking over the communicator words that Spider was uninterested in listening to. After several minutes of this, Spider felt his energy fading. A sob escaped him again and he realised there was no way out of this. He'd been so close. Twice.

"Did you forget about the tracker?" Quaritch demanded, turning his attention back down to Spider. "What did you think was gonna happen exactly? You'd run off to your little forest friends and get them to sacrifice themselves in the vain hope of getting you back?"

Spider closed his eyes, trying to roll away from Quaritch.

Quaritch shook his head, appraising the boy. "You just ruined my day."

Spider tried again unsuccessfully to pull his hands free.

"Colonel this is Delta One, standing by for extraction," came a voice from the communicator.

"Stand by, we are ten minutes inbound."

No. No. "Please," Spider tried, as Quaritch roughly lifted him up and dragged him into standing.

"Walk." Quaritch commanded.

"Fuck you."

Quaritch growled. Spider stood defiant. He wasn't going anywhere willingly. The recom pulled his AR around from its position slung across his back, and pointed it at Spider's leg.

The Colonel stared him down. "Let's try again, you walk your ass back to the clearing, or I'll put a hole through your leg. "

Spider stared. He looked from the rifle that was only inches away from his thigh, to Quaritch's face above, which was set completely in stone. Would you really do it? Spider didn't know. He had never seen Quaritch as pissed as he was now. He'd just killed a man. Quaritch's eyes were black, deep and filled with fury.

Spider jumped as Quaritch fired a round of bullets at a spot only a foot away from Spider's leg.

"I ain't kidding, kid."

With no choice, Spider gasped as he turned around, trying to work out the direction back to the squad. Quaritch shoved his shoulder with the end of his gun.

"Move," he growled.

And so Spider did.

He walked in a dream-like haze back through the forest, having no idea which direction to take and relying only on Quaritch's shoves to guide him. The adrenaline had started to wear off now, and he started shivering from the thick layer of sweat that covered his body. He could put less and less weight on his ankle the longer they walked. His mask beeped, warning him that his oxygen was below 20%. Neither of them said anything.

What would happen now? Spider felt like he was walking towards his death. He had to accept whatever would come. Making peace with his fate was the only way he could get through this.

"Delta one, stand by, we are one minute to arrival," Quaritch spoke into the silence.

"Received, ready and waiting, over," came the response.

Spider closed his eyes as he stepped over an octoshroom, accepting this would probably mean the Death Machine again. He tried to calm his heartbeat, to savour every breath of filtered forest air before- well, before he might never see the daylight again. He focused on the feel of the forest floor under his feet, the soft moss, even the stones that caused so much pain under his already bloody feet were a welcome distraction from thinking about going back to the RDA as a prisoner.

Eventually, the sounds of the aircraft filtered through the canopy and they reached the area where two ropes were already dangling from high above. Spider looked up, unsure he could go through with it. One of the ropes had a harness attached.

"Put it on," Quaritch instructed, his rifle still trained on Spider. Spider unclipped the main buckle and fastened it back around his waist. He did the same for the straps around his thighs, and Quaritch clipped the harness he was already wearing on. Then they were away.

Spider gasped and clung to the rope that was lifting him up, higher and higher, away from the forest floor, until they were clear of the dense trees. The wind from the aircraft engines was deafening, and Spider's body convulsed with shivers he knew had nothing to do with the cold. Then they were inside the belly of the Dragon Gunship and doors slid closed beneath them. Humans in masks swarmed on top of Spider, grabbing his hands and unclipping him from the harness. They pulled him away in the direction of the left side airlock, and he could see on the right hand side of the hanger a large group of people - humans and Na'vi - huddled around what looked like the injured Mansk.

"Take him to a cell," Quaritch spat to the humans who were gripping Spider.

Spider caught Quaritch's eye as the recom watched them drag him away. Disgust was plastered over Quaritch's face, and his eyes betrayed... could it be disappointment?

Spider hissed at Quaritch as his final parting words, before summoning his last remaining strength to punch the nearest human in the face, managing to damage their mask and give them a bloody nose, as he was pulled through the airlock to await his uncertain fate.

#colonel quaritch #miles quaritch #spider socorro #spider sully #miles spider socorro #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water #fanfic #I found this chapter so much easier to write #because I was clearer on what would happen #and it's more angsty which is far more my style 😳

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j0kers-light · 2 years ago

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His Lighthouse: Playing Cards (LedgerJoker x f!reader)

Playing Cards - Oneshot

KEEP IN MIND THIS IS NOT A STORY UPDATE!

Author’s note:

Hey hi! This is part one of two (?) of the Playing Cards oneshot. I really had fun writing this short story and decided to break it up so it has its moment to shine! I never wrote an obsession to lover fic before so this is a little experiment for me. I like how Joker is all soft and lovey dovey from the jump for Y/n. Meanwhile she's trying to get out of dodge lol. Yeah I'm gonna have fun with this spin off story.

Do enjoy!

Taglist!

@blackreaderatrisk @twinkledinkle @clemdango04 @l3ejm @tears-of-amber @what-an-angell @kaidennnnn @darthjokerisyourfather @thatsnoteii @nanalover00

The breaking news reel on your tv was just background noise at this point. Another crime reported in this crime infested city; you paid it no mind and continued to get dressed. Little did you know...

It was a rare day that it didn't rain in Gotham so you capitalized on the miracle and busted out your new kicks and skinny jeans for your trip to the bookstore.

You snagged your phone from the charger, ignoring the excessive amount of text messages from Barbara urging you to stay in, and made your way towards your front door. However you rounded back to grab your prized headphones.

Noise cancellation was a requirement in a noisy city like Gotham City. Now granted it wasn't the smartest move since you wouldn't hear any nearby gunshots or someone about to rob you, but you survived far worse in your hometown. Your tote bag was just a prop; your phone was glued to your hand and your ID and cash/credit card was tucked in your bra. You knew better.

Your favorite bookstore was in the same building as a popular coffee shop and conveniently across the street from a national bank.

This side of the intersection didn't get much foot traffic since most people used the coffee shop door instead of the bookstore entrance. Either way, the tiny bell above the door announced your arrival, although you didn't hear it. The cashier did and raised her head in greeting but decided to save her breath when she spotted your signature headphones walking by.

Darcy knew you by now. You didn't mean to be rude, you just weren't a socialist.

You would spend two, maybe three hours inside the bookstore browsing around, sipping coffee, or reading the first few chapters of a book before buying it. Some days you brought your laptop and bunkered down at one of the tables scattered about the store to work.

She never asked what it was you worked on and you hardly spoke to her except when it came time to pay. You tipped well and didn't cause any problems with the other customers. That's all she cared about.

You kept your playlist volume up high while you browsed through the vast romance and YA section. Your fingers would brush the spines of a book before you removed it from its home to read the blurb on the back or take a peek at the cover.

If it captured your interest, it was placed in the crook of your arm as you continued down the aisle, head tilted sideways. You'd have a stiff neck later but 'tis the life of a booknerd. This process could go on for hours.

If you didn't have (favorite artist)'s latest song blasting in your ear, you would've heard the startled screams from the other patrons and the ear splitting sound of glass breaking. The entire row of windows facing the street was suddenly shot out. Unfortunately you were none the wiser.

You placed a reverse harem novel back on the shelf and was turning around the corner when a body slammed into your side. The stack of books in your arm went crashing to the ground.

A "Oh my gosh! I'm sorry!" immediately left your mouth as you bent down to pick up your fallen selections.

"Ugh I truly am sorry. I'm such a huge klutz..." Your apology died on your lips when a hand dragged you back down for cover.

The grip was too rough, the hands too cold, so your eyes traveled from the purple gloved holding you to the face it was connected to. Your soul floated up to the ceiling at the sight.

The Joker, Gotham City's worst criminal, (who was supposed to be imprisoned on Arkham Island mind you) was gesturing for you to keep quiet as he looked over your head and through the bookshelves.

Your entire body was shaking. Screw the books. You wouldn't be leaving this store alive. His deadly eyes took a moment to roam your features, silently admiring your beauty but quickly returned to the front of the store. Now was not the time to get distracted.

Joker fled the bank across the street a few minutes ago and he would admit the bookstore wasn't the best hideout. It was too close to the scene and there was no unmarked back entrance to use. Soooo his next idea was a good ol' fashioned hostage and getaway. That's where you came along!

The coffee addicts ran the moment he shattered the window. Everyone else took off when he fired off a few warning shots into the ceiling before ducking for cover himself.

He could hear sirens from here confirming that GCPD was nearing the scene of the crime. In seconds Gotham's finest would be hot on his tail. He needed to blend in or get out of dodge and fast.

Joker was not expecting anyone to still be in the aisles, especially this far into the store, but then he caught sight of your bright colored headphones hidden in your delicate curls and put the puzzle pieces together.

A loner, a true kindred spirit like himself. You were lost in your own world, nodding along to whatever beat drowned out the chaos around you. Apparently you were more invested in the book in your hand– okay perhaps not. Joker watched you push it back onto the shelf and he decided to bomb rush you at that exact moment. Right as he tackled you, an officer spotted him.

"Over here!"

Your heart threatened to jump out of your chest as a clip of bullets rang out over your music and rained books down from the shelves above straight into your lap. One hardcover fell and knocked your headphones clean off but the dull ache was the least of your worries.

You finally heard everything and it was utter chaos. You slapped your hands over your ears to muffle the sensory overload. The loud popping noise, the blaring sirens, and the approaching shouts was jarring but so was the feeling of Joker shielding you from wayward bullets. Over the commotion, you heard his low raspy voice speak up.

"I uh like that one." You blinked in shock and stared at the deranged clown protecting you. The fact that he went out his way to do so had you so confused.

His eyes were fixated on the random book that fell into your lap. On TV Joker's eyes appeared darker than the night, but up close you discovered they were a unique shade of green. He caught your eye, forcing your line of sight to your lap.

You averted your attention to the book and read the title, Distracted By Her Justice by some up and coming YA author. It was on your tbr list but not on today's purchase list. You had to enforce a limit or you would spend all of your rent money.

'If I ever make it out of this alive I am totally moving to a better apartment.' You thought wryly.

You already had four books well within your budget to purchase. "I-I can't afford this." You blurted out. Somehow your outcry was absolutely funny to Joker.

GCPD officers had stopped firing to actually comb the maze of bookshelves for Joker but that didn't stop him from bursting out laughing. His jovial, yet sinister laugh was like ice in your veins. There was an edge to it that terrified you. It was something straight out of a horror film.

He reached out and patted your face twice. Each sting brought tears to your eyes. He made sure to lower his voice so only you and him could hear.

"You should get it. And ahhhhh.." He fished around inside of his pockets for something. You frowned hearing metal clink against metal and wondered what he had hidden inside. "Here's my, uh, card."

He showed you an average Joker from a deck of cards. You eyed it and then his haunting green eyes staring straight into your soul. Surely this was a joke.

He nodded eagerly at you; like he was urging you to take it. If you looked more closely you would've seen his lips mouthing, 'take it' over and over. You hesitated.

"You can't be serious." His red grin quickly fell.

Great, now you made The Joker mad. You signed your death warrant right then and there but much to your shock, Joker simply leaned in closer as if he wasn't already pressed up against you.

His personal brand of cologne consisting of gasoline, something acidic, and cigarettes quickly overwhelmed your senses. You tried leaning away but the hard surface of the bookshelf dug into your back halted your escape.

Joker made sure to invade the last of your personal space with his nose nearly touching yours and his breath fanning over your skin. "I'm always serious. Take. It." You held back tears and took the card from his grasp.

The cops searching the bookstore and the loose pages of books still floating in the air didn't matter. Right now Joker's focus on you took center stage.

Your hand brushed against his during the exchange and the contact churned your stomach. He thought otherwise. Your touch was like electricity shocking him back to life. If Joker thought he was interested in you before then was absolutely obsessed with you now.

Joker admired the frightened look on your face and studied every flicker of emotion that swirled within your e/c orbs. All in all, Joker stared at you like were his next meal.

Gotham City had its fair share of cannibals so you wouldn't be surprised if you actually were.

You felt way too exposed in your halter top and high waisted jeans. Those eyes of his were bottomless pits, unnerving and unrelenting watching its prey. Cornered by a ferocious lion, you became aware of the intimate position Joker put you in. You always joked about finding the love of your life in a bookstore. This was not how it was supposed to go.

You hated your mind for even thinking about The Joker in a romantic way but he was rather attractive up close...

But he's a literal psychopath Y/n. Stand uppp.

Your subconscious had a valid point. You bit your lips and looked off to the side ashamed of your own lustful thoughts. Joker's eyes followed your pink tongue darting out and mirrored the motion with his own. You were such a tease, it was maddening.

Thankfully you didn't see Joker practically drooling over you and even better, you would never know about the disturbing thoughts swarming inside his head. His current thoughts could make a prostitute blush. You could help Joker out of the pickle he found himself in and serve as a form of entertainment while doing so. That is if you cooperated.

Your eyes eventually flickered back to Joker only to find that he was still staring at you. His green eyes would haunt your dreams after today.

You couldn't stomach the awkward silence anymore. "Um.. they've stopped shooting now. You can get off of me."

His lithe body felt too good pressed up against yours. His body ran like a furnace and the heat from him was wearing down your resolve.

Joker raised an eyebrow at your labored breathing and made a show of looking out from the hiding hole he made for the two of you. No one ever ventured this deep into the bookstore and it seemed like the GCPD gave up trying to find Joker within the shelves of literature. It was so quiet you could hear your own heart pounding.

In your mind you thought the madness was over. Joker on the other hand knew better. Gordon and his men were some persistent little piggies. They wouldn't give up the chase just because they were too lazy to search every aisle. No. Joker knew they were waiting for him to make the next move. And boy did he have a trick up his sleeve.

"Is that all you're getting?"

It took you a minute but Joker was talking about the few books you had picked out. With his recommendation, it rounded out to five. You nodded.

"Go~od. Let's go check out, shall we?" You knew he was brewing up something evil.

His frightening smile confirmed it.

Jim Gordon sealed off the back entrance and assigned his men to guard the main and side door that connected from inside the coffee shop. No eye witnesses reported seeing Joker fleeing the scene so that meant the freak was still inside.

All employee personnel had been evacuated safely but the book clerk on duty was quick to notify the authorities that you were unaccounted for. Apparently you were a regular and entered the store with headphones on. If that were the case, you were oblivious to the psychopath barricaded inside with you.

Gordon decided to wait and see what The Joker would do. There wasn't any moment inside the building but sure enough, Joker emerged from the bookshelves, dragging you in front of him as his human shield.

Of course he used you as a hostage. Jim noticed you were oddly calm for someone being held at knifepoint but thought nothing of it.

It had been over an hour since his men first responded to the scene. Joker could have blackmailed you into cooperating by now. Jim was surprised at the things people would do when their lives were at stake. That didn't matter. If everything worked out, you would walk out of this situation alive and well. Batman was en route and would be hauling Joker back to Arkham Asylum right where the clown belonged.

But right now things were tense and anything could happen.

Joker knew when he had an audience and you were the perfect leading lady for his performance. He bent down to whisper more instructions into your ear as you clutched your books for dear life. Ever since Joker ordered you up off the floor back in the romance section he kept a knife to your jugular.

He reassured you that you would be paying for your books and leaving.

"Ya just gotta walk with me to the front. Can ya do that for me doll?" You chose to ignore the way his voice calling you doll made butterflies flutter inside your stomach.

The longer you stayed in Joker's presence, the harder it became to fight against his charms. He was winning and he knew it.

Your eyes wandered over towards the heavy police presence at the front of the store. By the looks of it, the whole precinct was here. Your wet sob caught in your throat when you saw them raise their weapons at you and Joker.

"Hold your fire! He's got a hostage!" You heard the commissioner shout. Thank goodness someone had some common sense around here.

Joker pushed you to a stop right at the entrance to the cashier line before he glanced around. His greasy hair tickled your cheek with each of his erratic movements.

"The uh.. customer service here is, well, severely lacking. We'd like to checK out now." He taunted the police force blocking his escape.

Gordon wasn't here to play games. He just had to stall until Batman arrived. "Lower your weapon and let her go!"

You heard Joker smack his lips before glancing down at you. "Now... why would I do thaT, Commissioner?" He mocked. "She's a valued customer or so I heard. Isn't that right uh.."

It dawned on Joker that he didn't catch your name. Not like it mattered for his escape plan but he found himself wanting to know.

"Doll?" The nickname would have to do for now. You seemed to respond to it well enough.

You nodded along hoping that the Commissioner saw the desperation in your eyes. Joker dug the knife deeper into your skin making you realize that you forgot your cue.

"Yes! Y-Yes! I just... I just wanna purchase my books and g-go home. That's all."

Jim weighed out his options. Allowing another potential hostage back into the scene was insane yet the longer he stalled the knife at your throat dug in deeper. You whined when it finally punctured your skin and Joker was quick to calm you down. His callous, shh shhh's, only made the pain worse.

"Ma'am wait, it's not safe!!"

Jim and Joker turned towards the main entrance where an officer failed to hold back the bookstore clerk. Darcy ducked under the caution tape and ran behind the counter much to Gordon's shock.

"Ma'am get out of here! It's—"

"I can help the next guest." Her voice wavered and Joker chuckled seeing that he now had two actresses for his show.

"Now that.. thaT is customer service! You heard her toots. We're next." He walked you backwards towards the register and you dropped your books on the counter for Darcy to ring up.

In the corner of your eye you saw the Commissioner signal something to his men. Unfortunately Joker figured out their plan and flipped you around so his back faced the checkout counter instead. You were stuck in his embrace still protecting him from any bullets should the cops try to shoot.

Joker was clever as he was dangerous.

"Go on doll." Joker murmured and kissed the crown of your head. You locked eyes with the Dary as she blushed but began her job. You stayed perfectly still in your bear hug with Joker knowing that all eyes were on you.

Darcy cleared her throat, "D-Did you find everything okay? We.. we um moved the genres around over the weekend and.."

You didn't mean to. Honestly you didn't. But when Joker began planting small kisses on your neck, you moaned. You didn't know if he was just screwing around or actually trying to calm your nerves, regardless it didn't help the situation.

"Y-Yeah! I like the new layout. Much ah.. easier." You yelped.

On a regular day this exchange would just be an overly affectionate boyfriend waiting for his girlfriend to pay. Far too much PDA, but acceptable. Yet Darcy saw the tears in your eyes and the green haired monster cuddling up to you was anything but affectionate or boyfriend material. She was crazy for coming back in here but you needed her support right now.

So with a tight smile she continued scanning your books and pulled up your account. "Y-You have some store points available, Y/n." Her eyes shifted to Joker who stiffened up after hearing your name.

He presented his profile to her. Locking eyes with his dark glare terrified Darcy to the core. Her hands froze waiting on his next move. He silently thanked the cashier for introducing your name into the conversation.

So your name was Y/n. Oh you lived up to the name and then some! It was perfect for a beauty like you. Joker faced the storefront again with this newfound information but not without leaving another unnerving kiss to the back of your neck.

Your head was fuzzy at this point. You shook your head to try and clear it. "Whah?" You stuttered.

"Do ya wanna use your uh points Y/n? I'm paying so why don't ya... preserve those for next time, hmm?" Joker suggested in your ear.

Your eyelids fluttered at his hot breath dancing on your skin and nodded at Darcy, "Yeah that. That's fine."

When would this madness be over? Meanwhile Gordon was outside briefing his men on the situation.

"I have a shot Gordon!" The sharpshooter yelled over the earpiece.

Batman was still delayed with another crime in progress. The situation wasn't getting any better and to make matters worse Joker was showing off his control over the scene right in their faces.

"We are not shooting an innocent civilian! Unless it's a clean shot, your orders remain the same!" Jim replied into his radio.

Sometimes he questioned the morals of his own men. He shook his head and glanced inside the bookstore. He could see Joker holding you tightly and the clown had the audacity to kiss and love all over you.

His gestures kept the both of you moving and there was no way GCPD'S marksmen could get a clear shot and not hurt you in the process. Your back was shielding Joker's front and once it was time to make a payment, there would be no opportunity to pull the trigger.

They fell right into Joker's trap. Gordon cursed and demanded another ETA on their masked vigilante. This was out of their control now.

Back inside you were about to reach for your debit card when Joker stopped you.

"Aht ahtttt. I. Told. You." He tipped your head back with a gloved finger. Once again the knife found a place against your skin, this time on your lower lip.

"I'm paying." He growled.

He flicked his card towards Darcy who scrambled to catch it before it fell behind the counter. Much to her confusion it was just a playing card.

You shared a look with her. 'I know. Just play along.'

Right as she was going to ask for a legit payment method, the ceiling caved in, announcing Batman's dramatic entrance. Darcy screamed and ducked for cover. You wished you could do the same. Joker simply spun you around and laughed at his bestie.

"Well look who decided to finally show up! You're very,, very late bats!" Joker shifted and quickly sealed a kiss on your lips. "Time for you to skedaddle, doll."

You were numb even as Joker shoved you out the way right as Batman raised his fist to strike. You didn't think; you got to your feet and ran to the front of the store where the Commissioner was urging you towards safety.

"Are you alright? Did he hurt you?" Jim and another cop asked you questions a mile a minute but you were in total shock. You heard nothing except the pounding of your own heart.

"H-He kissed me."

#ledger joker #ledger joker x reader #heath joker #joker x y/n #reader insert #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on AO3 #Heath Ledger Joker #heath ledger #ledger!joker #ledger!joker x reader #heath ledger!joker #joker x reader #joker x you #joker x black!reader #chaos universe

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heartshapedskittles · 2 years ago

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i may,,,or may Not…,,,have written a fic of kaveh realizing that alhaitham does in fact have bitches (it is me im bitches) (it is under the cut)

There's very few things that Alhaitham and Kaveh think similarly about. One of them is that neither of them could ever imagine Alhaitham with a partner.

Oh how they were both proven wrong. However, they were proven wrong at very different times. For Alhaitham, it was when he first came to terms with his feelings of affection towards his now partner. Kaveh, on the other hand…Well, that time is right now.

“They’re what!?” If Alhaitham didn’t know him any better he’d assume Kaveh was on the verge of fainting. Though considering how new this situation is to both of them, maybe he is. “It was a miracle the one time you brought friends over, but this? Do you seriously believe I’m going to believe that you, out of all people, found someone that tolerates- no, likes you enough to be in a relationship with!?”

“You’re making some bold claims there buddy.” The person that’s the cause of the blonde’s disbelief cut in before the scribe could even open his mouth, causing him to sigh. “Will you please hold off on the sarcasm for a bit so that he doesn’t think I’m holding you hostage.”

”You’re not?” “He’s WHAT!?”

“I’m not.” Alhaitham let out another sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose as he closed the book he was reading before his roommate barged in, coming home earlier than he expected. “I’ll admit, I’m just as surprised as you are, seeing as I didn’t expect you to not find out for nearly five months.”

“Nearly HOW LONG?!” If Kaveh wasn’t about to faint earlier he certainly is now, the disbelief of the situation causing him to sit down. “Just how long were you planning on keeping this from me?!”

The Scribe raised a brow, “I wasn’t planning on keeping this from you, you just never saw us together, let alone put the pieces together.”

The disbelief on Kaveh’s face turned into annoyance, “Even so, you didn’t think about telling me, your roommate, that you’re with someone!? Just how have you been spending time with them without me finding out anyway?”

“It’s simple, really. You were never home when they came over and we never ran into you when we went out. Now, as for me not telling you…Well, you never asked.”

If Alhaitham wasn’t annoyed at his alone time (well, he wasn’t exactly alone) being interrupted, he would’ve laughed to himself at the look of shock and offense on his roommate’s face. “Why on earth would I ever ask YOU if you’re in a relationship!?”

”I assumed you possessed basic thinking skills and would connect the dots overtime, but it appears that I was wrong.”

“YOU ARE SO-“ The architect let out a breath of frustration and turned to the person that’s, apparently, his roommate’s partner, “Just what do you see in him?”

They were sat next to Alhaitham and considerably shorter than both men, hair messily tied up and glasses so thick Kaveh wondered if their vision was so bad that it miraculously prevented them from seeing the Scribe’s arrogance. They sat in silence for a bit, pondering their answer, “…Do you want the actual reason or the answer I’m willing to give?”

The blonde’s brows furrowed in confusion as he sat down across from them, not expecting that as their response, “willing…to give..?”

”I refuse to say anything nice about this man to his face.”

“So you’re…aware of what he’s like?” They nodded in response. “And yet…you’re willingly in a relationship with him?” The look on Kaveh’s face made him seem like he was handed a math problem that was entirely unsolvable as they gave him another nod in response. “W..why?”

”You essentially just asked the same question.” “I take it back, it’s starting to make sense.” Kaveh’s gaze made its way back to Alhaitham. “But still, I’m surprised that you, of all people, are in a relationship. Personality problems aside, you just never seemed like the type.”

Alhaitham shrugged before taking his partner’s hand in his own, “I also never thought I would be in a relationship, especially since I prefer being alone, but being around Riven is…easy, I suppose.”

“Riven…? Oh!” Kaveh flushed in embarrassment, so caught up in his own shock that he forgot to even introduce himself, “My apologies, I completely forgot to ask for your name. I’m Kaveh.”

“Oh I know.” “…Just what did you tell them about me?”

Alhaitham leaned back further against the couch as a smirk plastered his face, “All good things, no need to worry.” “They were in fact not good things.”

“YOU-“ Kaveh let out a sigh in defeat as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration, “You know what, forget it. I’m heading back out, you two love birds go back to enjoying your time together or whatever it was you were doing.”

Alhaitham called out to his roommate as he walked out the door, “Take your time, no need to hurry back.”

An unnecessarily loud slam was met with silence before Alhaitham let out a breath in relief, “I was hoping he would leave again.” He turned to his lover next to him, a hint of concern showing on his face, “Are you alright? His shouting wasn’t too much for you, was it?”

They gave him a reassuring grin, “I’m fine, he’s funny.”

”…You need a better sense of humor.” They scoffed, “Yeah, because yours is so great.”

Alhaitham let out a slight laugh before comfortable silence filled the room, until-

“We need to get married soon so that I can kick him out.”

”What?” “What.”

#I need a writing tag uuuuh #skittles scribbles #<- there we go #r:alhaitham #self ship

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pastellepastary · 3 years ago

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Just throwing up a small draft of a fic i was making last year, i don’t think i’ll ever finish it but it looked too good to just be stuck in my notes for all eternity 😭

TAKE ME TO CHURCH

yan!selfaware!venti x reader

In which venti would do anything for his windblume.

My lover’s got humor,

Things were calm at first. Nothing out of the ordinary. You two weren’t really anything more than a happy couple if you ignored the fact that one was the hero of mond and the other was it’s archon.

She’s the giggle at the funeral, knows everybody’s disapproval

You are the legendary traveler of Teyvat, capable of turning the tides of ti-

Oh, let’s stop kidding ourselves….

You’re (Y/N). Just an ordinary student absolutely obsessed with Genshin Impact, your current fixation. Things felt a lot slower in your life due to the current situation, pandemic and all and so you decoded to try your hand at the game that your friends have all been chattering about. They were right, it was addictive, the story was beautifully crafted and the characters were all so well made!

You started the game around the windblume festival, sadly, you couldn’t participate in said event and so you just ended up watching youtube playthroughs of it.

Your first five star caught you completely off-guard, Venti came home as you tried to wish on the event banner for the first time since starting the game and from then on, he had become your main and your favorite character. To you, this was nothing but a game. To venti though…

Should’ve worshiped her sooner~

Celestia itself must have blessed him with your arrival. Your sweet voice talking to him, your gentle touch guiding him to where you want him to walk, and what you wanted him to do.

The first time he saw you, it was in the strange traveler’s eyes, a foreign light shining through as you looked around through the outlander, you looked around with uncertainty and curiosity. Everyone you talked to was greeted with a soft politeness that he’d only really seen with you.

The next time he saw you was through the cavalry captain, he thought it was odd how he ran around so responsibly but then he saw his eyes. A small sparkle of your soft kindness showing through the captain’s infamously calculating star-like pupils and it all seemed to fall into place.

If the the heavens ever did speak, she’s the last true mouthpiece

The first time he felt you put him on your team and ran around mondstadt in his form, he couldn’t be happier. And so every time you wished, he answered. He could hear your noises of bewilderment echoing softly as you activated another of his constellations.

Despite having almost no control under your guidance, he had never felt more free. The soft touch of your gentle hand that brought both tragedy and miracles alike, gently guiding him to where you wanted him to shoot. From the first moment he felt your hand, he pledged his bow to you, to follow your every command and to destroy anything that would get in your way.

Every Sunday's getting more bleak,

A fresh poison each week

The world of Teyvat was so welcoming, the characters all interesting and lovable in their own right.

But, something felt… off.

Getting Venti over and over again- you could excuse that, chalk it up to extremely god-teir luck. But it didn’t end there, you somehow unlocked even more overworld dialogue for Venti, ones that even your friends hadn’t heard of. Okay… maybe it’s one of those thing where the devs accidentally unlocked beta dialogue! You tell yourself, after all, you yourself know that thinking too hard about it might make you explode. The last straw for you was when you started receiving odd letters in your mailbox, confessions and proclamations of love and adoration from your favorite little bard, and when you had taken a week-long break from the game, letters begging you to just please, come back.

we were born sick, you heard them say it~

My church offers no absolutes,

~~~ aaand that’s all i had in my notes! thanks for reading <33

#this is VERY unfinished im so sorry #sagau #sagau venti x reader #yandere venti #yandere genshin x reader #yandere venti x reader #loml <33 #genshin x reader #genshin venti x reader

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everlastingdreams · 2 years ago

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Weeping Monk x Reader : The Forbidden Apple Chapter 2

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Story Summary: Father Carden begins to notice how his Weeping Monk starts to question all he was raised to believe in. In an effort to distract him, he has his Red Brothers bring him a 'gift.' The Monk is skeptical when he hears of this, Father never just gave him gifts. But when the Monk enters his tent in the evening he understood what Father had meant by 'gift'. You, a fey girl, were the gift.

Chapter Title: Our Daily Bread

Notes: Putting the warnings again. Also, I wrote this whole thing in a writing program and posting it to tumblr changes the way the text looks so :/ This is the best I could get it to look.

Warnings: There's a list of warnings for this story: Stockholm syndrome (?), lima syndrom (?). Rape threats, sexual assault, murder and violence. Angst. Sexism. Strong Language. Trauma. Childhood trauma. Survivor's guilt. Mentions of child maltreatment.

Other warnings: ! Smut ! . Jealousy. Enemies to lovers (?). Romance. Pining. Thigh grinding.

Word count of this fic: +100K

Chapter: 2 / 26

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You woke up from the sound of footsteps moving around inside of the tent. It was a miracle that you even woke up at all, you had thought you would be dead by now.

The Monk completely ignored you as he got ready to leave again.

He left at dawn, convinced that you would be gone when he would return that evening.

Certain that Father would command his red brothers to take you away again today while he was away.

You heard him leave and after what felt like an hour, someone stepped into the tent.

This was not the Monk, their footsteps where heavier and loud. The unfamiliar person loosened the ropes so your arms were no longer bound behind your back. You felt something land in your lap and you jumped a little.

“Here’s your meal, wench.” The paladin lifted his sword to your cheek, letting the cold steel touch it “Eat. And don’t try anything stupid or I’ll cut that pretty face of yours.”

You felt the cold steel against your cheek and slowly reached for what had been tossed in your lap.

Bread.

You lifted it to your nose and smelled it for a second. It was anything but fresh and when you took a bite it tasted very stale, almost inedible. The chances were high that this was going to be your last or only meal so you ate it before the paladin would tie you up again.

The second you finished the last crumb, he roughly tied your hands behind the beam again.

You felt him check the ropes and how his hand rested on your shoulder as he did, the touch felt unnecessary for what he was doing…

“Aw look at you. Poor little Fey whore having to please a man like our weeping brother.” He grabbed your chin roughly and made you face him.

The blindfold made you unable to see his face or you had known he was starring down at your chest.

Both anger and fear coursed through you, anger at the insult and fear for what the insult implied.

“Tell me. What did he do with you last night ? I bet he touched you like this…” He moved his hand from your shoulder to your chest.

You knew you were defenseless like this but it did not stop you from snapping loudly at him “Don’t touch me !!!”

The paladin had removed his hand, not expecting you to speak up and especially not so loud.

Then he laughed at you “Oh, you stupid girl, we’ll do more than just touch you.”

Another person stepped into the tent “Brother Alban, Father is asking for us.”

Brother Alban hummed annoyed and left you alone as he went with the other paladin.

OooOOooOoooOOooOOo

Your hands had been bound for the whole day, only unbound by paladins for when nature called, the ropes were cutting into your skin.

The cloth of the tent rustled and you feared for who had entered this time.

It took a moment before they actually stepped inside and you could hear the sound of boots quietly hitting the ground.

With the lack of your vision, you were left to use only your ears to determine whether or not they were getting closer to you.

Patient quite footsteps was how you figured out that it was the Monk who had returned.

The tired Monk had believed you would be gone by now, yet here you were, still sitting on the ground inside his tent.

Last night he had practically ignored your presence, seeing no reason to seek conversation with someone who would soon be gone.

This time he walked over to you upon seeing how the ropes were starting to break your skin. He leaned down to loosen the rope from the beam so that you could move your arms freely and they were no longer bound behind your back. Still leaving an end of the rope tied to the wood to prevent you from escaping. It was just one Fey woman, he could handle it if you would try to run.

“Do you have a name ?” His voice sounded further away.

You could hear him walk around the tent “y/n.”

He nodded before he remembered that you were still blindfolded and couldn’t actually see him do it.

“Do you ?” You didn’t know if it was wise to even ask questions, but it is almost a reflex to ask someone for their name as well.

You waited but he did not reply, confirming that it was perhaps a bad idea to ask questions.

Then you heard him approach and when he spoke you realized he must have been kneeling in front of you as his voice sounded rather close “Have you eaten ?”

“Yes. Some bread.” You had eaten not long after he had left, hours and hours ago. They had given you a stale piece of bread that was almost too hard to chew.

“When ?” He inquired, doubting that his red brothers would bother feeding a Fey captive.

Your brows drew together, why was he interested in hearing about that ?

“Right after you left.” You told him the truth.

He knew he had left at dawn and it was past midnight now, you had barely eaten in almost a day. And he doubted you had eaten much before you were captured. Father was ordering them to burn all the food resources of the Fey such as mills…

He stood again and grabbed the plate of food a red brother had left for him, after today he had lost his appetite. Father had asked him to inspect a caravan passing them by on the road. One caravan, one Fey, five other unfortunate souls that were transporting the Fey to safety.

A poor decision. A given order. A waste of life.

The Monk approached, kneeling before you again “Take this.”

You did not move a muscle, not knowing what to do, you couldn’t see a damn thing.

The Monk sighed quietly, contemplating on what he would do for a moment.

Then he reached out and untied your blindfold. You could have done it as well, but you did not know how he would react to it so you chose to keep it on until you knew it was ‘allowed’.

After blinking a couple of times your vision began to adjust and your eyes finally met those of the Monk.

You had not expected the notorious Weeping Monk to look like this. Blue eyes like a restless ocean studied your face, watching your reaction to regaining your sight.

Then your eyes fell on the plate in his hand, there were some pieces of potatoes, some vegetables and a piece of meat on it.

“Eat.” He put the plate in your hands and rose to his feet, then went ahead and sat on his cot.

He was oblivious at how you were staring at him, you hadn’t eaten a real meal in days, almost weeks and now he just handed you his plate as if it was nothing.

“Thank you…” You quietly said in his direction.

Almost did he look at you, you must have been the first Fey to say those words to him for as far as he could remember.

You knew you were hungry, of course you were. But the events of the day made it a struggle to take a proper bite of the food. You felt filthy after having that paladin grope you.

It didn’t take the Monk long to notice how slow you ate, did you think it was poisoned ?

He put his attention on his long sword and thoroughly cleaned the blood off of it, but he had a curious nature which led him to inquire “Are you not hungry ?”

Your eyes remained on the plate in your hands, the last thing you wanted was to look ungrateful for the food he had given you. He could have let you starve.

Never did you look up at him as you told him what you had heard about “The paladin that gave me the bread said I was here to…please you.”

The Monk faced away from you, knowing what that implied.

You forced yourself to ask the question that had haunted you since the paladin had touched you “Am I being kept alive to please others here too ?”

A deep frown creased his forehead, the question rattling him, instinct telling him that there was a reason for asking him this.

This time he answered “You were brought to me. To my tent, and you will remain here until Father orders otherwise.”

It didn’t really give you a definitive answer and you put your attention on the plate in your hands.

The Monk picked up the sudden shift in your mood and looked in your direction, saw how your expression was filled with sorrow as you ate in silence.

He had done many horrible things in his life, but even he had a limit in his cruelty.

“I believe Father brought you to me and for me exclusively.” It was an attempt to take some of your fear away.

Leaving you in the dark about something such as this was unnecessary cruel to him.

Enemy or not. Some things were unforgivable.

Part of you still held on to the foolish hope that you were misunderstanding the situation, it was why you asked for a clarification “How am I supposed to ‘please’ you ? Are monks not-”

You missed the look of discomfort in the eyes of the Monk when something distracted you from your question.

The plate nearly fell from your hands when you saw the cloth of the tent move open slightly and Brother Alban’s face appeared.

The paladin must have heard there was a conversation happening and barely announced himself “Brother, Father has asked for you.”

Was it your imagination or did the Monk look agitated by the news ?

The Monk gave a barely noticeable tilt of his head and the paladin left again.

You could already guess that your time to eat was over and placed the half full plate of food down.

To your surprise the Monk offered you some water, giving you just enough time to drink from the tankard before he proceeded to tie your hands behind your back again, your arms at each side of the beam making it impossible to escape.

At least this time he left the blindfold off when he left you behind alone, leaving you without an answer to the question that haunted you.

An hour must have past and the Monk had not returned. It was strange to admit how you had felt safer in his presence. Now you were alone, in the night, tied to a wooden beam in the middle of an enemy camp. What if that paladin returned now and tried to hurt you ?

That fear was what led to you decide and to try and escape, you began to look around to try and find a way.

When you looked up you noticed a rusted nail on the side of the beam. You pushed yourself to your feet and out of your sitting position, you began to drag the ropes that bound you to the beam against the rusted nail again and again until it finally cut through the last strand.

OooOOoooOooOoOOo

Later that night, upon his return the Monk’s heartbeat spiked when he approached his tent, the Fey scent seemed to be fading. Upon entering he found his tent abandoned. He marched to the beam, stunned that you had managed to free yourself. And then he saw some strands of the rope dangling from the rusted nail and figured out how it had happened.

Not a second later he was outside in the dark again to track you down before someone else would.

oooOOoOOOoOOOOo

You were free, but now you were faced with a different problem.

Where would you go ?

As you stood in the dark forest reality came down on you. You could not go home, there was no home to return to. The paladins had undoubtedly burned your camp to the ground.

Spending time in the warm tent had made you forget for just a moment how cold it could be outside.

You crossed your arms over your chest and tried to rub them warm.

The forest was so dark that you could barely see. The more you wandered the more you realized that you had no real destination.

Your family had turned their backs on you since you were a child. You survived only because the other Feys felt sorry for you and gave you the basic necessities like food and worn down clothing.

Walking in the forest forced you to be alone with your thoughts.

Why did your parents not want you ? What had you done wrong ?

You had grown to believe it must have been something in your character or appearance that had made them discard and treat you like this.

And now after all these years someone like Father Carden had picked you for his Weeping Monk. Perhaps your parents knew bad things would come for you and they had treated you so badly because of it.

The wet leaves brushed against your bare arms while you walked between the trees, it had rained and you could only hope it would not rain again before you found some form of shelter.

It was strange to miss the warmth of the tent you had escaped from, the Monk seemed civil but his red brothers would not leave you alone while he was gone. It wasn’t safe for you there, but neither was this forest.

By the time you realized that you were not alone, it was too late to react.

You felt your arm and wrist being grabbed, your body turned and your front pushed into an oak tree.

Immediately you tried to break free, but your arm was being held into an iron grip.

“I told you not to run.” The Monk’s voice was close to your ear.

When he had discovered that you had escaped he feared how Father would react, he would have seen this as a failure, believed that he wouldn’t even be able to stop or find an unarmed Fey girl.

You felt panic rise in you, how was he able to find you so quickly in the dark forest ???

You tried to break free from his grip only for him to push you against the tree more firmly. Only then did you stop your attempts.

“Had it been one of my brothers, you would have suffered greatly at their hands.” There was anger and frustration laced in his voice.

If another had found you, a Fey woman, here and now…

In the dark…

When the forest was being patrolled by groups of paladins at night…

“Father would have you burned if they had found you !” Where he had wished to reason with you, it came out sounding more like a scolding.

Your voice cracked as you spoke in anger “And you won’t ?! You’ll burn me alive the second that Red Priest tells you to ! "

For a moment he was quiet, then gripped your shoulder and harshly turned you around. With a hand on your throat he kept you pinned against the tree.

He tried to make it sound reasonable “He has not. Not yet, until then you are my responsibility ! I know you are afraid but running will cost you your life !”

You glared at him, he was no better than those paladins of his.

The Monk avoided direct eye contact and stated the facts “Come with me and live. Run and they will find you.”

You did not give him a verbal answer. No.

You spat in his face and watched how he did not even flinch. As if it had happened to him a thousand times before.

“You’re a monster just like them !” How could he expect you to trust him ?

Again you struggled against him while knowing that he could hurt you far worse than you could harm him. From the corner of your eyes, you could see his other hand move. By reflex you flinched and waited for the hit to come.

It never did…

The hand was placed on your shoulder to keep you still.

Even he had seen how you stilled completely, how you had flinched…

Seen how you had shut your eyes and assumed you would be struck…

Only then did he make eye contact, needing you to listen closely “At this time of night, the wolves come out to hunt. Either my brothers find you, or they will. Believe me, neither death would be painless.”

You felt a chill go down your spine at his warning.

Something in his voice sounded different, almost like a plea hidden beneath a layer of ice “Come with me.”

Then you felt how the Monk’s grip on your throat slowly loosened.

Your mind was a mess, eyes darting around the dark forest. Where would you even run ? How long before Carden’s paladins had you tied to a cross and burned alive when they found you ?

Lastly your eyes landed on his, cold yet calm as he waited for you to make the decision.

He could hurt or kill you so easily and still he was almost asking you politely.

The hand on your shoulder remained while he waited for your decision.

Tears were brimming in your eyes from frustration and the hopelessness of your situation.

You looked around you, the dark forest seemingly mocking you for even trying to escape and survive on your own.

A sudden breeze caused fallen leaves to fly up into the air, it would have been a normal thing if not for the whispers it seemed to carry to you.

This could not be… you were not a summoner, The Hidden would rarely speak to those who were not. And yet, they carried one word to you…

~Stay.~

Why were they speaking to you ?

And most importantly, why on earth were they telling you to stay with the Weeping Monk ????

It brought a small comfort to know that at least The Hidden had not abandoned you.

There was nothing out there for you anymore, you could either trust The Hidden and spend your last days with a small amount of comfort. Or freeze and starve to death alone in the forest while being chased by those who sought to kill your kind.

Once you had made up your mind you answered him with a shaky hum and a nod.

And just like that his hand left your throat completely but his eyes remained fixed on you. His distrust for you as strong as your own for him.

The Monk watched you shiver as he wrapped his hand around your arm and began to guide you back to the paladin camp before anyone else would notice your absence.

The walk back held you in an uncomfortable silence.

Keeping up with the Monk proved difficult, his pace much quicker than yours combined with the fact that he walked like he could actually see a damn thing in the darkness was what caused you to trip.

Your hands shot out to catch your fall, you landed on hands and knees instead of your face.

The Monk halted and reached for you to get you back on your feet, arm around your back as he pulled you from the ground hastily. It almost made you fall again but his hand wrapped around your arm again while he pulled you along with him. He held you so close to him that your elbow was against his side, anchoring you to him.

A paladin crossed your path and he greeted his superior “Brother.”

The Monk flat out ignored him, had the paladin not taken a step aside he might have actually walked into him.

Some of his red brothers were watching and he moved you into his tent rougher than he would have done otherwise.

He ignored you when he tied the opening of the tent closed for the night.

He still ignored you when he took one of his daggers from his belt, using it to remove the rusted nail from the wooden beam right before your eyes. The nail was cast aside in a far corner of the tent.

A silent statement.

With scuffed stinging hands you were back in the tent you had tried to escape from.

The Monk grabbed a cloth and gestured for you to show him your hands but you stubbornly refused.

Ignoring your protests, he took hold of each hand to wipe the blood and dirt off, balancing on the thin line of being rough as he did this.

Then he tossed the cloth aside, if you refused his help than he would not make an effort now, not after this.

His roughness now was the last drop to fill your bucket of sorrow, the Monk had not been the worst part of this experience but what if he decided to treat you like his red brothers had been treating you ?

Even he could feel that the rush of adrenaline was making him unpleasant, the fear of Father’s judgment making him frustrated. He had to turn away from you, needing a moment to calm himself down.

With slow cautious steps you stepped further into the tent and sat down against the wooden beam, already guessing that he would tie your hands again after this.

It was how you were taught to respond by your parents, submit yourself to the punishment that awaited you or suffer worse.

They had often made you sit on your knees for hours and hours in a corner, if you retreated to the corner before they had to tell you to, the punishment was often less harsh.

The Monk watched it happen from the corner of his eyes and was hit with a strange feeling…

After a moment you watched him approach you, the familiar rope in his hand. He bound you again with ease, betraying his excessive expertise in it. Still, he didn’t tie them behind your back as his brothers had done. He simply bound your wrists together, then tied the other end of the rope to the beam. If you were to try and free yourself, it would take you a long time to do so and it would be impossible to do it without him noticing.

Besides, he would find you easily. Your scent was now familiar to him.

Only then did he remove his swords, putting them up against the side of his cot, he wished he could just ignore your presence. Telling himself that this would only be temporary.

You sniffled quietly, not letting your eyes focus anywhere else but the ground.

The Monk had believed he had grown immune to the cries of others. But the cries of those he had to kill and those of one Fey woman forced to stay in the small space of his tent were two very different things.

If he did nothing than this could continue for the rest of the night, maybe even longer. And he needed his rest.

The Monk caught himself thinking of a way to calm you down, he was not strong with words when it came to this. Instead he grabbed the small withered blanket, that he rarely used, off his cot.

When he approached, you pulled your knees to your chest, fearing his anger at what you had done.

With an uncertainty that matched your own, he placed the blanket on your knees, draping it over your form.

With wide teary eyes you stared at him, one moment he was dragging you back here and the next he was covering you with a blanket.

He knelt before you, eyes directed at the ground at your feet “I understand why you ran. You fear for your life. It is instinct.”

You turned your face away, how could he understand the fear you felt ? He was the one send to hunt your kind.

His gaze rose from the ground to your face, watching how you refused to acknowledge his presence now.

Again a sob fell from you, no matter how much you tried to remain calm, it felt impossible.

Death would have been merciful… for your life to end like those of the people in your Fey camp…

“Kill me.” You forced the words out, throat hurting from trying to hold back tears.

The Monk could not believe what you had just asked of him and he truly thought he had misheard you “What ?”

You locked eyes on him “This…” you tilted your chin and let your eyes wander around the tent “This is only temporary. You’ll kill me soon enough. Or Carden will have me burned. Keeping me alive knowing that I will die here anyway is torture. You must know this.”

There was truth to your words, he knew this. And to hear that truth made him realize that he was indeed still a monster and no small act of kindness could change that. Did he even know what kindness was ?

He refused to act on your request and rose from the ground.

“You can’t just keep me here like an animal !” The anger spilled from your words.

“I would not do this to an animal !” The statement fell from him and he regretted it almost instantly.

This sounded to you like you were worth even less than an animal…that you were nothing to him. Nothing other than something he had come to own.

You did not lift your gaze from the ground as a tear rolled it’s path down your cheek.

The Monk realized his poor choice of words, how degrading it must have sounded to you “I find no joy in doing this to any living being. I have to do this. If it was my decision to make, I would spare you this torment.”

The damage of his words was done, you refused to look at him any longer and continued to cry quietly.

Why did it bother him so much to hear you cry ? As if the sound clawed at the conscience he believed he no longer had.

The Monk picked up the cloth he had used on your hands, too roughly to be a kindness, from where he had tossed it aside.

He submerged it into the bucket of water again, squeezing out the overflow of water before approaching you.

If those cuts got infected, you would die a slow and painful death.

Once more he gestured to your injured hands, hoping that you would meet him halfway in this.

Neither of you looked confident in that moment, he risked your rejection of his help again and you battled your inner anger that was perhaps aimed at the wrong person.

The Weeping Monk.

Executioner, but no judge or jury.

The Red Priest’s weapon to wield.

In silence you presented him your wounded palms and tried to ignore how this time he was far more gentle than he had been the previous time.

An unspoken apology, for a spoken one would not reach the surface of his lips.

It stung less when he was done, the only pain felt was when you opened or closed your hands.

The stained cloth was discarded far into a corner of the tent by him.

This man was an enigma, what was his true character ? One minute he was cold, the next he was almost caring towards you.

Was it just to pacify you ? To make you stop crying so he could sleep ?

Well, it worked. You were too busy staring at him instead.

The Monk however avoided meeting your eyes “This camp will be moving tomorrow. We will be traveling.”

Odd, you didn’t think he would bother to inform you of this. It didn’t go unnoticed by you how he said ‘we’ “I will be traveling along ?”

With a tilt of his head, the Monk confirmed it. He was as unprepared for this as you were, not even he had thought that you would still be alive now “Yes.”

When he started to rummage through what looked to be a saddle bag, you watched him curiously.

A moment later he was handing you a chunk of bread that looked rather fresh and an apple.

You began to believe that the Monk was one of the few among the paladins that had privileges when it came to food, if he was Father Carden’s greatest weapon then it made sense that he would get the better choices. A sick or weakened weapon would be useless.

After so many days without food, none other than the Weeping Monk was the one making sure you would not starve to death, it felt surreal “For me ?”

The Monk acted like it was a normal thing “Eat. The journey will take a day.” the last thing he needed was to have you faint from an empty stomach if it would be a very warm day tomorrow.

The piece of bread was so big, surely he didn’t mean that you could have it all ?

“All of it ?” There was skepticism in your voice.

He paused at the question. ‘All of it’ ? It was just some bread and an apple…

Your words were proof that the Fey were indeed struggling to find food.

There it was again, that scratching at his conscience… brief but sharp.

This time he did look at you, seeing the uncertainty present in your eyes somehow reminded him of himself.

A young child staring up at a priest dressed in red, wondering whether or not he was truly allowed to eat or go hungry for yet another day.

Discipline was taught to him in various ways, hunger was just one of them.

He became lost in thought and walked to his cot “Yes.”

The order to burn all mills the Fey were known to use had come weeks ago, seeing the results before his eyes was not something he was prepared for. To see the person on the other side of the war he fought…

With small bites you enjoyed the food, savoring every moment of it. Your hunger was strong and it made the bread taste like a king’s meal.

The Monk tried not to stare and fixed his eyes on his boots, that night he went to sleep with questions that would haunt him. Questions that should not be his concern and yet they disrupted his sleep.

How many others were out there, slowly dying of hunger ?

What of the Fey children, how long before the hunger would weaken their bodies until they succumbed to it ?

Taglist:

@ourlazydetectivekitten @the-great-adventures-of-me @linkpk88 @mixedchicaq @fxrchxldws @elenaoftheturks @slytherlight @beananacake @lancelotapricot @captainbucky-yt @crystallizedtime @thesneakylittleminx @moonlightaura03 @gracelongstreth @atani-chan296 @angrygardendeer @have-aheart @oh–its-just-me @5am-cigarette @arcanenature @yeboi-0418 @cheezecrisps @thewinterskywalker @notyourwildestdream @coloursforyourportrait @koressecretidentity @nike90 @n1ghtlux @rachlovesactors @luckyzipperscissorsbat @morena-doing-stuff @the-fangirl-diaries @gipsydanger17 @heavenly1927 @phantasmalbeiing

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#weeping monk reader #weeping monk x reader #cursed weeping monk #cursed lancelot #Cursed Netflix #netflix cursed #cursed lancelot fic #lancelot x reader #lancelot x you #the weeping monk x you #weeping monk x you #daniel sharman #weeping monk / reader #weeping monk / you

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kass-storycorner · 3 years ago

Text

An unpleasant surprise

I should definitely do my coursework instead of writing this fic, however the idea just came into my head and I couldn’t focus until I wrote this down. Writing this took waaaay longer than I anticpiated and it was way more spontanious... so it’s not proof read or anything, still hope you’ll enjoy it.

The idea/prompt: character is secretly in love with you, but won’t tell you because you are already in a relationship with someone else. Character however finds out that your partner is cheating on you – this is how they would react/act upon finding it out

Word count: 3637 Words (I’m sorry)

Character: Kaeya x gn!reader (in this it’s still very platonic and one sided love) Genre: Angst (?), Hurt, Comfort, even a bit of humour but maybe not, idk haha

Content warnings: cheating, threats, mention of blood and a major injury, mentioning of Dilucs and Kaeyas past, but nothing to explicit (tried to avoid the major spoilers)

Format: The first part / backstory is written in bullet points, but at the end you’ll find a fic written in the normal text format

He just wanted to drown his sorrows in peace at the Angel’s Share, but no. He had to be witness to that disgusting display of infidelity of your (hopefully soon to be ex-) boyfriend

Kaeya has known you for several years now, both of you started around the same time in the Knights of Favonius. The early years of your training were some of the most fun times Kaeya had- thinking about it always made him smile. Both of you were known from the beginning as rule benders, mostly breakers, within the Knights and if it weren’t for the influence of Kaeyas adoptive family none of you both would’ve gotten that many chances to stay until each of you proved their own worth without familiar ties.

However, in the last few years you both grew a bit more distant. Kaeya blamed himself entirely for it, after Crepus death he knew he should not have any emotional ties to anyone in Mondstadt, at first he ruined the relationship with his brother by telling him the truth. He then just tried to avoid you more and more, which wasn’t easy, because after Diluc quit his position as a Cavalry Captain Kaeya rose up to his position – only to have you as his subordinate.

It was not until you were on a mission with Kaeya that went horribly wrong, that Kaeya realised his feelings for you never were platonic, he was in love with you since the early days of training.You are his first love.

That mission was more of a secretive one, a few months after Diluc had left Mond and Crepus died, and one of the first bigger outings Kaeya had to lead as a Cavalry Captain. And the first mission without his brother by his side. The dragon Ursa resurfaced and continued to cause harm to the people of Mond, so Grand Master Varka gave Kaeya the responsibility to find that Dragons lair.

Instead of finding the hiding spot of Ursa, Kaeyas troop stumbled into a hiding spot of the, at that point not known as, Abyss order. That was the last time Kaeya went into a mission without information he himself collected and checked, because looking back it was so obviously a trap. How did he not notice it back then?

The fight was brutal and exhausting – somehow it was a miracle that the only Knight dangerously wounded was you. At least that is what the other Knights who were on that mission too would say, thankful that the worst they had to suffer from back then were a few scars at most. Hearing anyone talk about it enraged Kaeya, though he would never show it. It was because you were the most skilled fighter in that troop, even without a Vision Kaeya was sure that at your peak back then you could’ve bested him even now. But because of one of his mistakes, he did not care to watch his own back, maybe because he knew you would protect him, it was you who was injured and not him.

In that moment, seeing you unconscious on the floor laying in your own blood because you protected him, Kaeya understood his feelings for you.

After bringing you back safely to Mondstadt, and you thankfully not dying because of the injuries, Kaeya became even more distant. At first he wished to be able to tell you his true feelings after you’ve woken up, but he just couldn’t. When the healers and doctors gave the news that the injury was so severe that you would never be able to fight again, or even walk down the streets of Mond without being in pain – Kaeya thought the guilt of keeping that secret from Diluc and Crepus for years was unbearable, but the guilt he felt from being responsible for this? It pained him even more.

You stayed in the Knights, taking over administrative tasks and helping every other department of the Knights in the best ways you possibly could.

What surprised Kaeya is that you were never bitter about it. You never said it was Kaeyas fault, even went out of your way to constantly reassure him after you got the news that he shouldn’t blame himself for it (until this day he refuses to listen to you). Your smile and laughter didn’t stop after it, which he never could understand.

How were you able to be so happy and kind when your dream of leading your own troop just – vanished. To travel around Teyvat, see the world. When you weren’t able to do the things, you loved on your own, like going to Windrise to pick some of your favourite flowers.

Somehow, Kaeya thought, it was because of that guy. He never liked your boyfriend to begin with, but Kaeya thought maybe it was his jealousy that clouded his judgement.

He came into your life shortly after the incident and Kaeya remembered the first time he saw you two together – holding hands, you looked so smitten and the way you laughed when he leaned down to whisper something into your ear. After seeing that Kaeya knew he could never have something like this in his life. Not if its not with you.

Kaeya didn’t spend much time with you outside of the Knights anymore, though he would always have a conversation with you when you came up to him or he had to visit your office. Whenever he saw you outside of the Knights, you were always with your boyfriend, sometimes stopping and having a quick chat with Kaeya. Sometimes he wished you would stop being so nice to him.

Now seeing that disgusting piece of shit of a boyfriend sit in the corner of the Angel’s Share, with his hands all over some young thing made Kaeyas blood boil.

How dared he, the man who should be so lucky to have you, have his eyes and hands on another woman.

Also it’s a good thing that Diluc is not at Angel’s Share today, he was also a close friend of you back in the day and even though the friendship with Diluc didn’t survive his three years absence, Diluc would definitely throw that bastard out

Kaeya was astounded by the audacity your boyfriend had. He never had a high opinion of him but seeing that man openly flirt and make out with a woman that was not you, so obvious for everyone to see… in a bar that was frequently visited by your colleagues and friends. If it weren’t for the fact that he was cheating on you Kaeya could maybe muster up some respect for a man who had so clearly a death wish. Eyeing him from the corner of his eye, Kaeya kept observing that situation. How the hands that always held yours in public were touching all over the body of that unknown woman. How the mouth that told you sweet nothings over and over, told you that he loved you, was occupied with kissing the neck of another woman. That whole display just filled Kaeya with disgust. The loud giggles of that woman in his lap filled the Tavern and that was the moment Kaeya decided he had enough. Calmy, he finished his drink, stood up from the bar and made his way over to the table. “You surely don’t mind if I join you two”, Kaeya said in a nonchalant manner, sitting down opposite to the couple. “Oh, Sir Kaeya!”, the young woman giggled, clearly intoxicated, and embarrassed by the way Kaeya eyed the two. Quickly they both shifted, so the woman sat now besides your boyfriend. The way the cheater looked at Kaeya, it was quite amusing. A mix of fear, shock and uneasiness filled the eyes of him. It filled Kaeya with a weird sense of pride, knowing that being caught by him was something that scared him. “Seemed like you two had quite some fun back here”, Kaeya smugly started his interrogation. It was not unusual for Kaeya to use the Angel’s Share as his interrogation room – the casual setting and the alcohol made it so much easier sometimes for people to spill all their secrets. Especially when Kaeya could just be so charming. What Kaeya interested the most was if this was the first offense of the cheater or if that behaviour was a more… regular occurrence. It was at least for him the first time he caught that man red handed. Getting some information out of the girl was quite easy, she was so eager to tell the Cavalry Captain all about the two. Though from what Kaeya gathered the whole thing between her and your boyfriend was quite fresh. “You two really seem like a fitting pair”, Kaeya replied after a long ramble of that woman on how she was just so in love with your boyfriend. His voice sweet and smooth as silk, not showing how the anger inside him grew. It was just not fair, not fair to you. “Hey,” Kaeya began and eyed the empty glasses on the table, looking then back at the woman. “How about another round of drinks, it’s on me. Would you be so kind and go to Charles and order a few?”, again his voice was charming as ever. “No, no, Sir Kaeya, that’s too kind, but another drink won’t be necessary. It is quite late; don’t you think flower? We should get going”, the cheater chimed in and Kaeya nearly lost his cool when he heard him call the woman ‘flower’. Whenever Kaeya met you and him on his patrols around Mondstadt he always heard him call you ‘flower’. Fucking bastard, is all Kaeya could think before the voice of the woman protested the cheaters concerns. “Nooo, just one more round. How can you turn down Sir Kaeya, love? Just one more, please”, she looked at him with pleading eyes and he just sighted. “Fine”, he said and with that the woman was on her way to the bar. Kaeya now hoped that Charles would keep her occupied long enough so he could find out everything he wants to know from that cheater. His eye shifted from the woman who made her way to the bar to your boyfriend who sat directly across Kaeya. Now completely alone and vulnerable, for his shield left his side. The tension in the air seemed to be unbearable, Kaeya could see how uncomfortable the silence and his curious glance made the cheater. But Kaeya knew – sometimes saying nothing says it all. Helplessly your boyfriend looked over to the bar only to see that the woman he was with was now totally engrossed in a conversation with Charles. After a few minutes, that might have felt like hours to that cheater, he broke the silence. “So,” he tried to start a conversation, clearly not knowing that he fell right into Kaeyas trap. “What gives us the honour to be invited by the Cavalry Captain?”. “Oh, I think you might be smart enough to come up with an answer yourself,” Kaeya replied, keeping up a smile. Though the look in Kaeyas eye was just as cold as the top of Dragonspine, causing the other man to shiver. “As much as it honours me that you think of me this highly, I sadly have no idea what would make the renowned Sir Kaeya sit down at my table tonight.” “Oh, so this is how you want have this conversation”, now his voice was just as cold as his look. “I don’t understand what you mean.” ‘Bullshit’, Kaeya thought. “I’ve been just curious about that woman that just sat so prominently on your lap earlier this evening, she seems to be not the same I saw you hold hands with earlier this day.” “As nice at it is that the Cavalry Captain seems concerned for me, it isn’t one of the Knights duties to pry into the lives of citizens, now, is it?” Oh, how confident the cheater now sounded, thinking he was winning that conversation. Kaeya couldn’t deny that the entire situation made him furious and that he handled it a bit differently than he usually would if he were to talk with drunk treasure hoarders. “Oh, we’re awfully bold now, are we? Believe me the Knights don’t care about your infidelity, though I guess a certain one might find it awfully interesting to know how you spend your nights.” There was a short moment of silences between the two men, the tension just rising. “Well, they wouldn’t believe you. But if you want to go and be a telltale go, I won’t stop you”, the man gave as an answer. His words did not fit his body language – bold words, but his body was tense and Kaeya could see the fear behind the eyes of the man. But it was not fear of losing you, no he seemed to be quite confident that this would not happen. Kaeya said nothing, he just looked at that man, piercing him with his ice cold look. “You see”, he continued, “I wouldn’t be sitting here in Angle’s Share with that lovely company if I thought they might believe the words of any low-rank Knight coming in their office, believing their lies. Quite sad what pranks some people want to play on them, don’t you think?” Slowly, but surely, Kaeya understood that this tonight was definitely not the first offense of that man. And he now understood why most of the Knights here tonight just looked away from the scene, not batting an eye at what was going on. Kaeya could kick himself in the ass, how did he not notice the behaviour of that rodent before him earlier? If he was so open about cheating on you that even most of the other Knights knew, how come that he did not? “And I think its just so sad, that one of the people they hold in such high regards would join in on those baseless accusations, don’t you think Sir Kaeya? I mean it would be so disappointing for them to find out that you tell them such a lie, only because you just don’t like me.” If Kaeya wasn’t a Knight, if he weren’t Kaeya right now, if he hadn’t to uphold a certain image… the floor of the Tavern would be painted with the blood of this absolute bastard. Oh, how Kaeya wished he could lose his cool. “If you say it like that, then I guess I won’t tell them a word,” Kaeya replied. “I’m glad you understand”, the cheater smiled, the fear in his eyes now subsided and he seemed to relax a bit. At that Kaeya just leaned forward, his look cold and his voice even colder. “You are telling them.” The man just scoffed, looking confused at Kaeya. “Why should I?” Kaeya now coming closer, his voice more threatening than before. “Do you really want to find out, if you don’t?”. Kaeya leaned back, smiling and at that moment the woman came back with the drinks. The face of the man was just pale as snow, the fear back in his eyes. “Oh, thank you dear”, Kaeya said when she places his drink before him, and he took a sip. If your boyfriend is smarter than he seemed to be after fooling around with that woman in public, it would do him good to do as Kaeya said.

Dealing with the pain in your leg was something you were used to now for a few years, but the pain in your heart today… you somehow would prefer a broken leg over your shattered heart. Your eyes were fixated on the documents before you, though trough the tears in your eyes you could barley make out what they said. What they were even for. How could you ignore it for so long, that he cheated. That he fooled around with any woman in Mondstadt willing to be with him. This sleezy asshole. The tears fell down on the paper, you couldn’t care right now what important piece of documents you ruined with your tears. How, how, how??? Why were you so stupid to believe him when he always said that all the people that came to you with their concerns must have been mistaken. Why did you believe him over and over again. You couldn’t stop thinking about how the first person coming to you was Outrider Amber, so nervous to even say anything. How you just laughed her worries away, saying she definitely was mistaken. How after Amber again and again told you how sure she was. Had you just listened to her. Then maybe you wouldn’t feel so humiliated. If you just hadn’t listened to that damn liar. In that moment you heard a knock on the door. Quickly you wiped your tears away with your sleeves, clearing your throat. “Come in,” you said, though you were shocked at how hoarse you sounded. Stepping into your office was Kaeya, but when he saw your red eyes and tear stained face, he quickly closed the door behind him. “Are you alright?”, he asked in such a soft and kind voice. Since you woke up in the infirmary all those years ago you hadn’t heard him talk in that voice. You couldn’t help it, it made you immediately tear up again. Throwing your head into your hands you just couldn’t stop the uncontrollably sobs that took over you. You didn’t even notice that Kaeya was kneeling beside your chair until he felt his hand on your back. “Hey,” you heard him say, again in this soft voice. “It’s alright, let it out.” And you did. For a while you just sat there, crying and sobbing until you ran empty. The whole time Kaeya was on your side, saying nothing. He was just there and somehow, even after you two grew apart in the past years, after all that happened – Crepus death, Dilucs disappearance and return, your injury. Even after all it did not feel awkward to just cry and look for comfort at his side. After all, you still were friends. Slowly you calmed down, looking up to him. “I was so stupid, Kaeya. So many people came to me, told me what they saw, who he was and I- I just ignored it. I ignored it all, my feelings and-“, you felt the lump in your throat, making you stop speaking. It was just too much. “You’re not stupid,” he said, taking you in his arms. It felt so good to just melt into the hug. Just trying to forget the pain for a few seconds, slipping back into the familiarity of Kaeya you haven’t felt in such a long time.

Kaeya on the other hand couldn’t stop asking himself if what he’s doing here was alright. Was it okay to comfort you, he asked. If he hadn’t basically threatened your, obviously now, ex-boyfriend last night to tell you the truth, he might have been met with your bright smile today and not that painful expression. But it was the right thing to do, you deserved to know. You deserved for that guy to tell you, although he should have told you the truth out of his own free will. Not because Kaeya got involved. “Thank you”, he heard you mumble into his chest. “For what?” he asked, both of you now parting from the hug. “For just… for being here. And for being a friend”, you answered, again wiping tears away. Kaeya couldn’t help himself and chuckled at that statement. A friend, yeah. That is what he was and what he must be fine with. However, he didn’t really expect you to view him as one, after all that happened and how much he tried to avoid you in the past. “Well, I have been an awful friend the last years, haven’t I?”. Your eyes shot up, looking directly into his eye. “No, what makes you think that?”. You genuinely looked surprised at his statement. “Well,” he gestured towards your leg. Before he could even say anything, he felt your hands cup his face and looking at him sternly. “Kaeya Alberich, how often do I have to tell you this. What happened to my leg is not your fault, please stop taking blame for it. It was my choice to join you on that mission.” For a short while you both just looked into each other’s eyes until Kaeya couldn’t stand it anymore, a sigh leaving him, and he looked away. “How come that I want to comfort you and you just end up telling me something I just can’t seem to learn.” He stood up and then he saw it. You smiled at him. A sad smile, but a smile, nonetheless. “One day you’ll hopefully learn it”, you said. “Now, to make up for this”, pointing at your leg, trying to joke, “and for threatening a Mondstadt citizen, I think you should get me something from Good Hunter.” Kaeya was surprised. How did you know? He couldn’t even ask you, you already gave him the answer to the question that was so clearly written all over his face. “He literally begged me, after telling me the truth and breaking up with me, that I made sure you wouldn’t hurt him.” Now Kaeya gave out a small laugh, partially because he felt a bit embarrassed by you knowing, but also the thought of that arrogant asshole being so afraid of him amused Kaeya. “And, what did you tell him”, he asked, now back with his more playful tone. “Mmmmmh, I told him I’ll think about it.”

#genshin impact fan fiction #genshin #genshin fan fiction #kaeya x reader #kaeya fanfiction #genshin angst #kaeya angst #genshin hurt #genshin comfort #how do you tag fan fiction help #reader insert #gender-neutral reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #angst #hurt #comfort #kaeya alberich

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strawwritesfic · 3 years ago

Text

Loki Laufeyson x Female!Midgardian!Reader: A Bird in the Hand

Summary: …is surely not worth its asking price.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (some foul language; not Thor Ragnarok compliant)

Fic Trade Prompt: “Please, I don’t want to lose you, too.”

A Bird in the Hand

Once upon a time in a realm known as Midgard, there lived a girl. This girl, of course, was you, and you lived as many young women at the time did during that Age of Miracles. None of these miracles ever happened to you. There were no fish oil transformations on your horizon, nor were there any divine calls to adventure. Just like all New Yorkers, you grew use to your daily commute being interrupted by superheroes, to calling insurance companies to argue over their decision to not pay for alien invasion damage to your apartment, and even to carrying an umbrella around with you even on the driest of days in case certain Asgardians decided to visit. Life went on. You had stopped looking for a real miracle years ago.

As well you should have, because there was nothing miraculous about your wedding day. Outside, a seemingly endless mass of dark gray clouds let loose bucket after bucket of rain. Thunder rolled across the sky; lightning flashed–and that, really, was all you could see through the window you had stationed yourself in front of to sulk. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have blamed the city’s resident thunder god for the disastrous timing of this storm front. As it was, all you could blame was your string of bad luck.

Speaking of bad luck, the door to your parlor snapped open and in stepped the dripping figure of your best friend. Aliyah paused only long enough to adjust her sodden pink hijab before plopping soggily onto an overstuffed loveseat.

“Well, the gazebo is flooded,” she announced, “the food is soaked through, and the caterer won’t bring more to replace it. Your flower arrangements are in pieces, and the band already ran off. I don’t think there’s anything left of your wedding ceremony.”

You did not bother to leave the window, though you did turn just far enough to throw her a sour look. “Do you have any good news to impart?” you asked.

Aliyah grinned. “Your maid of honor hasn’t walked out yet. At least there will be one person here to witness this fiasco.”

“Gonna need a groom for anything to be witnessed.”

Most close friends would offer sympathy when their friend’s fiancé of a year and a half decided to just not show up for the actual wedding. Most acquaintances would feel bad enough when the carefully planned event got rained out. Not your Aliyah. She simply let out a sharp breath and leaned her head back against the couch cushion.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said.

You glared at her, which of course she didn’t see, having shut her eyes to listen to the water tumble from the roof to the street outside.

“Thank you. So much,” you said.

“What?” she asked, forcing her eyes open again. “I told you Jared wasn’t good enough for you. Besides, you should keep all the gifts even if he doesn’t stop by. I saw, like, nine blenders in that pile. You’re better off this way, if you ask me.”

“You’re just saying that because you want a free blender,” you said.

“I wouldn’t say no. But, really, you should count your lucky stars. Free stuff and free of your jackass boyfriend. What better start to a weekend?”

“I’d rather be married to my jackass boyfriend.”

Aliyah’s disdain for Jared was nothing new or surprising. He’d fallen from grace in her eyes when he’d got jealous over your fondness for an injured pigeon you’d rescued only a few months after you started dating Jared. Even releasing the bird hadn’t entirely put an end to his complaints about how you spent your free time. On the other hand, you knew one thing that neither Aliyah nor Jared did: Jared’s jealousy wasn’t entirely misplaced.

But that was years ago. This was now. And that bird had always been bad news.

“Are you going to cry about it?” Aliyah asked, peering over at your perch by the parlor’s bay window. “Because, if not, I’d hate to have dragged Habib all the way to America for nothing.”

At the mention of her long-distance boyfriend, you motioned for Aliyah to go on. You preferred to do your moping alone, and Aliyah knew it. She stood and crossed the room to give you a quick hug before she left without another word. Probably you did owe your maid of honor at a least a blender for all the trouble she’d been through on your behalf.

Sighing, you lifted one hand, dug your fingers into your hair, and tore out what was holding it in its elaborate design. Who cared what you looked like now? Even if stupid Jared had shown up, the storm would have ruined your appearance before you made it down the aisle. Now Aliyah had free rein to spend the rest of her afternoon cuddling with Habib, and you had no one else to bother looking pretty for.

Outside your empty room, you could hear the indistinct muttering of your remaining guests. Family, mostly, who had already given up trying to convince you to let them in. What the rest of them were waiting for before they left, you couldn’t guess. Perhaps for you to come out and make an official announcement: The wedding has been called off. Party’s over. You don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here. And thanks for all the blenders.

The shame of your situation suddenly threatened to crash down upon you. It would have, if you had remained sitting where you were. Instead, you got up, white dress rustling as you stalked across the room. A quiet shriek of rage was stifled only by your gloved hand pressed to your colored lips. Of all the pathetic, idiotic, insane things you had done in your life! Now you didn’t even have the courage to face your friends and family with the truth.

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Hail began to hit the glass behind you, soft and hesitant. Since you had no plans to leave the building any time soon, you ignored this weather development.

Jared hadn’t even called to say he’d changed his mind. You should have known when he hadn’t come home after his stag party the night before. He was probably laughing it up over your stupidity with some blonde bikini babe by the beach that you were supposed to go to for your honeymoon. The thought caused you to kick out angrily at the coffee table, and you heard a quiet rip issue from your skirt in response when it caught on a corner.

You swore.

”Tap. Tap. Tap.”

Now that you thought about it, the sound wasn’t regular enough to be hail. It wasn’t very hesitant anymore either. Still, you ignored the noise as you yanked off your veil, your gloves, and your garter. You were mentally preparing to rip them all to shreds with your fingernails when you heard it again:

“Tap. Tap. Tap.”

That time you did not suppress your shriek. As it faded into the overstuffed furniture surrounding you, you marched over to the window and shoved it open. The wind whistled through the empty space, sending anything in the room not tied down into the air and splattering your face with water. If ever there was a time to reasonably expect an Asgardian thunder god to step inside, it was then. No one was there, though, save for a single bedraggled pigeon.

“Oh, hello,” you said when it hopped onto the sill, and automatically you held out your cupped hands toward it.

The poor thing shivered once, then stepped onto your warm palms. Only when it looked up into your face did you see that it had bright green, very un-pigeon-ish eyes.

Before you could stuff the bird back outside, it lifted itself into the air to half-flutter, half-fly over to the loveseat Aliyah had been sitting on. A flash of light that had nothing to do with the lightning outside filled the room. When you had blinked and cleared your vision enough that you could see again, the pigeon was gone, and in its place reclined a tall, dark-haired, beautiful man, dressed to the nines in Asgardian fashion.

“Hello, darling,” said Loki Laufeyson. “Don’t you look ravishing?”

You were too shocked to contradict him. No mention of your torn dress, mussed hair, or smeared makeup escaped your lips. Instead, you said the only thing you could in that sort of situation: “What are you doing here?”

“Why, I’m here to offer you my congratulations, of course,” he answered, examining one perfectly manicured nail. “Or should it be my condolences?”

“Really?” Your tone dripped with enough sarcasm that it could be heard over the protesting window as you forced it shut. “You disappear for two years, never write, never visit, and then you just happen to pop by to celebrate my wedding to another man?”

“What kind of secret lover would I be if I did not?”

“We are not secret lovers.”

“Well, no, we haven’t been for quite some time. I see no reason why that should stop us from picking up right where we left off, however.”

“We were never secret lovers.”

“Really?” he said, mocking the tone of your earlier question. “That’s not what it seemed like to me. Of course, I had the brain of a pigeon most of the time, but at night when your beau had to work and leave you so very alone–”

“You can’t just show up out of the blue and expect me to want you again,” you interrupted. “And on my wedding day to boot.”

To his credit, Loki looked genuinely confused by your behavior–like he’d expected you to jump straight into his arms, marriage or no. Obviously, they did things differently in Asgard. You were not Asgardian.

“Fine,” he said. “If that’s the way you want it. I was only trying to thank you for helping me, you know.”

“All I did was take in a pigeon that got injured when Thor threw a bunch of peanuts at a flock. It didn’t really deserve that sort of thanking.”

“Ah, but you enjoyed it anyway.” That wasn’t the point. He knew it wasn’t the point just as well as you did, because once he made it, he got fluidly up to his feet to and walked over to stand in front of you. “If you are that disinclined to see me, I suppose I had better get going. If you ever grow tired of being lonely again–oh, that’s right. You don’t know how to contact me.”

You opened your mouth to remind Loki that you didn’t want to contact him, but then something about Loki’s words rang strange.

“Alone?” you echoed.

“Yes, alone. Or do you expect your Prince Charming to come riding up on a horse of white any second now? Better late than never?”

Without thinking, without warning, you slapped him straight across the face.

“Ow!” he snapped, pressing one of his hands to the mark on his face. “What was that for?”

“What did you do?” You lifted your hand for another blow. “What did you do to Jared?”

“Me? Do something to Jared? What should I have to do with that ponderous ass?”

“Did you kill him, Loki?” you asked, voice quavering. Loki could do it. Easily. He was a god, and Jared just…well, just a ponderous ass.

Loki let out a single bark of laughter. “Oh, please. I just got out of Asgardian prison. As if I’d risk going back over the murder of a petty moral such as he.”

That brought you up short. Frowning, you deigned to look at him again. “Prison?”

“Yes, prison. Did you think my absence was due to taking a pleasure cruise?”

“I thought you’d escaped prison when I found you the first time.”

“But you sent me back to Asgard when I started causing trouble,“ he reminded you. "Odin does not forget his son’s crimes easily, nor is he inclined to forgive them. Luckily my brother is far easier to manipulate.”

He had not, you noticed, made any real move to leave. Loki still stood in front of you, looking down as the pink handprint faded from his cheek.

“So…you didn’t kill my fiancé?” you asked uncertainly.

He shook his head. “If he isn’t here, it is because he is a dunce, not because I tricked him in any way.”

“Oh.” All the problems of your appearance seemed at once apparent and embarrassing. To think that this man would see you in such a state, and only because he’d wanted to see you after his release from jail. “Why did you really come, then? Since you knew he wasn’t here. To gloat?”

“The thought did occur to me,” Loki confessed. “I am not often in the position of being the more desirable choice. But,” here his voice turned oddly sincere, “I actually came to ask you to come with me.”

Your mouth fell open. Some of Loki’s usual acerbic amusement returned as he watched you flounder; you could see the faint outlines of his familiar smirk at the corners of his mouth. Finally, you managed a short, “go with you where?”

He shrugged, and started to twist the curtain in between his long, pale fingers. “I don’t know, really.”

“You want me to go somewhere with you without anywhere in mind?”

“I thought we’d figure it out as we went along,” he said. “Travel the galaxies. I cannot return to Asgard and Midgard, of course, is out of the question so long as I do not rule it.”

“You want me to follow you into outerspace?”

Only his silence could tip you off that Loki was actually nervous. He clearly had no idea how you would respond to his suggestion–which was by falling into a nearby chair to gape at him.

“You want me to leave my family?” you asked.

“They live far away and hardly talk to you.”

“And my job?”

“That you’ve never liked. We’re both aware.”

“And my best friend?”

“She spends most of her time visiting mosques in India with her boyfriend,” Loki said with a dismissive flick of his hand. “Besides, there’s no rule to say we can’t come back to visit her every so often. I have no objection. She seems a sensible enough woman.”

“And you want me to leave them all,” you went on as though you couldn’t hear him, “for you, a man I haven’t seen in years because he was in prison.”

Once more, Loki said nothing. His green eyes peered into yours with unreadable depths, just as they had the unfortunate day you had returned home after to work to find your injured pigeon friend gone and a strange man eating all of the meat out of your fridge in its place. You could remember, too, the feel of that man’s skin against yours, the heat of his lips on your neck, the sound of his low voice in your ear–and Jared complaining, always complaining, about how much time you spent with that damn bird.

You buried your face in your hands. “I can’t do it, Loki. I can’t.”

You waited to hear him leave again, to hear the glass move and the rush of the storm and the flutter of wings. None came. All that did was one soft word:

“Please.”

“Huh?”

When you looked up, Loki was right above you. His hands gripped the chair arms at your sides with enough force to make them whiter than ever–but his eyes were not on yours anymore.

“Please,” he said, “I don’t want to lose you, too.”

Another move without thinking or warning: You gently touched his other cheek.

Loki’s eyes closed for a half second before he moved one hand to hold your wrist there. “I have already lost my father, my mother, my home. My own brother has thrust me unceremoniously from both realms I sought to rule. And then to hear that I would lose you, too, to an oaf like that Jared.”

No one could say that Loki losing all of this wasn’t entirely his fault. He had decided to lead an alien invasion into Earth, to try murdering several members of his mentioned family, and to seduce young Earth women under the guise of hurt animals. But part of Loki’s charm was that he never failed to make one doubt that he could be better, maybe, if you only let him try.

“I’m sorry,” you said sincerely. A sincere apology didn’t mean your mind was changed, however, and this, also, Loki knew.

“Do you want me to beg?” he asked. “I am no longer a stranger to begging.”

With that, Loki slid to the wooden floor before you. Stranger or no, it was positive it wasn’t a position he relished being in, what with how stiff his hands were around yours when he made to hold them. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and began:

“I know I am asking a lot. But I, too, have lost a family, a job, and my closest friends. I would not ask you to come with me if I did not intend on paying you pack ten times in kind. If you will allow me to take you with me, I know I can make you happier than you would be here. Together we will find some place to call our own, and you shall be my queen. So please,” he said, “please let me keep one last thing that I love. Don’t make me leave you behind, too.”

It wasn’t the prettiest speech you had ever heard come out of his mouth, but it was probably the most honest. You gave him a tiny smile as you squeezed his hands in return. “A queen, huh?”

Loki smirked. “Or a comfortable, quiet living, depending on what we find, and how thorough Thor is in seeking me out. At least we could be comfortable and quiet for a little while.”

“Can’t imagine that’s going to last long with you around.”

“With you around to look after me, though…”

That got you to laugh. “Oh, yes, I’m sure I’d do a wonderful job making sure you didn’t get into any trouble. I did such a good job before.”

Some of the color returned to Loki’s features. He was starting to hope. Against your better judgement, so were you. A couple of things, however, remained to bother you:

“What if you came here and Jared and I were married?” you asked.

“Then I would have had to resort to kidnapping.”

“And how did you even know I was getting married today to begin with?”

He smiled his Cheshire smile, and that was when you knew you were truly lost. “You really ought to stop talking to the birds on your fire escape. You never know which one would be willing to pass information off in exchange for a couple of peanuts.”

“Oh, and you stalk me. What part of this deal doesn’t sound good?”

“None of it, I should hope.” Standing, Loki kept one hand firmly around one of yours. “We should go, you realize. Unless you want to say your goodbyes?”

You thought of your parents blustering about how you dared to invite both of them to your wedding. You thought of the forlorn apartment you shared with a man that had never really loved you for you. You thought of Aliyah and her instance that Jared would never be good enough for you. You thought of the awkward explanation that would be expected as soon you set foot outside that door–and you grinned.

“Not a chance.”

“Then I believe,” he said, and abruptly pulled you into his arms in an obvious parody of carrying a bride before pushing the window open with his boot, “we have a few errands to go on before we get on our way.”

“Like what?”

“Unless you plan to live the rest of our lives with nothing but multiple blenders,” he began, but was not able to finish over your sudden laughter and the return of the torrent outside.

You latched your hands behind his neck as he dove back into the rain. There were stars somewhere above those clouds, and you would be visiting them soon enough–them and endless other realms. Maybe eloping with a man that could turn into a pigeon wasn’t the best miracle there ever was on Midgard, but it pulled off the most important trick of them all: Against all odds, you lived happily ever after.

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whump-a-la-mode · 3 years ago

Note

I request fluffy fluffity fluff with feverish, injured villain, hero caretaker, painkillers and a kitten. Please.

This is so cute ヾ(•ω•`)o I don’t write a lot of fluff, but this is some cute cute sick fic. Hero caretaker? Check. Painkillers? Check. A kitten? You know it! Thanks so much for the ask!!

CW//Fevers, injury mention, intoxicated/feverish character, painkillers

The text had been unexpected, to say the least.

That wasn’t to say that Hero wasn’t unused to receiving messages, especially strange messages. Half of the time, a buzz on their phone indicated that they were about to have the record for ‘weirdest thing they’ve ever seen’ broken.

Yet, this text said nothing of giant lizards attacking downtown, or a mad scientist’s experiment gone wrong. So, perhaps, to a normal civilian, it would have been quite a normal message to receive.

“Hey, Hero? I have a really big favor to ask.”

From another hero, it would have been quite the daunting request. But, it was not from another hero. At least, not in the traditional sense.

Hero had known Doctor for quite some time-- hell, every powered person in the city knew Doctor. In some ways, they were more of a hero than the rest of them, put together. While most hospitals flinched and scurried away from the world of villains and vigilantes, Doctor embraced them wholeheartedly.

A particularly egregious wound, carved in the heat of battle? A power malfunction? Any one of these things could result in the doctor being awoken in the middle of the night, an exhausted, limping hero upon their doorstep.

Or, a villain. Doctor insisted upon making their policy for such things very, very clear. Adamantly, they refused to involve themself in the matters of heroes and villains. Their battles, their allegiances, to the doctor were all naught. As they explained it, no matter one’s actions, no matter their beliefs, no one deserved to have their wounds go untreated.

Thus, their home had quickly become a neutral ground. Lifelong sworn nemeses could have their injuries wrapped mere feet from one another, and not one glare would be shot. In Doctor’s presence, there were no heroes or villains. Only patients. Only those who needed aid.

But, it was the first time that Hero had been on the receiving end of such a request. Of course, they were not about to refuse the doctor. With how much help they had given them, it would only be right to return the favor.

“What is it?” Hero tapped in reply.

Given the length of the doctor’s response, the three dancing progress buttons hung on Hero’s screen for far too long.

“Do you know Villain?”

It wasn’t a name they’d ever expect to hear in a conversation so casual. Villain. Though Hero did not consider themself to truly have a nemesis, if they had to define one, it was Villain who would be on the very tippy top of their list.

That was, especially after their battle the day prior. Their wounds still screamed at them, no matter how they tried to quiet them with painkillers and icepacks.

“I know Villain.” Hero replied simply.

“Okay. Do you think you could take care of them for a few hours?”

Instantly, the conversation shot up to the top of their list of ‘strangest possible talks to have over the phone.’

Take care of them? Take care of Villain? What cold they have possibly gotten themself into that required Hero, of all people, to aid them?

Then again, they had looked quite rough after their battle...

They had no need to question, as Doctor continued on their own:

“They’re sick. I need to go to work, but they shouldn’t be left alone, right now. I know it’s a big favor, but they need this, Hero.”

They bit their lip.

As a protector of the city, they had a very, very long list of priorities, and upon that list, helping Villain in any way, shape, or form was at the very bottom. Helping Doctor, on the other hand...

“Okay.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

It was only upon arriving to front door of Doctor’s home that Hero had a rather odd realization: Never before had they been to that place in a completely stable state of mind.

If they had made the decision to bother the doctor, it meant that, whatever injuries or illness had befallen them, they could not manage it on their own. Thus, far more often than not, when they stood in front of this home’s door, they did so with a head full of cotton and legs formed of gelatin.

Now, however, their mind was not clouded by any malease. Instead, it was clouded by the stark realization that they had, perhaps, just made a terrible decision.

By the time they had arrived at the house, however, it was already far too late. When Doctor opened their front door, Hero knew full well that there was no turning back.

The doctor looked terribly bedraggled, and they could not help but wonder if it was wise for them to even go to work in such a condition. Yet, every powered person in the city knew far better than to distrust Doctor’s judgement.

“Thank you.” The medic began, a warm smile creeping onto their cracked lips. “I know this was awfully short notice, but I couldn’t think of anyone else who would know Villain as well as you.”

Well, Hero certainly knew what Villain’s fist felt like, crashing into their face, though that was about it.

“Okay, come on, come on.” The doctor rushed. “I need to be heading out soon.”

The hero nodded, hurrying after them into the building. It wasn’t exactly a sprawling thing-- certainly not large enough to house all the equipment that it did-- but, nonetheless, it functioned, through some miracle.

Against their prediction, Doctor did not lead them to the home’s makeshift infirmary. Instead, they moved to the cramped dining room, which, truly, consisted of little more than a table with just enough chairs to seat a guest or two. The house itself was not impressive, its owner only made it so.

But, Hero had seen that dining room, barren table and all, more times than they could count. There was nothing unusual to be seen about it. No. The strangeness of the hour came in the form of who, exactly, was seated there.

Villain.

Oddly enough, either they had forgotten to take off their ostentatious garb, or they had simply not had the time. The villain’s cape draped over their shoulders as they hunched over, forehead pressed to the table’s surface. A full glass of water and a small pile of crackers sat near them, untouched.

Hero bit their lip. Seeing their nemesis was never a good thing, of course, but something about this simply made their heart stutter.

“What’s wrong with them?” They began, before their voice took on a more panicked pitch. “They’re okay, right? They’re gonna make it?”

Doctor snorted.

“Hero, they’re fine. They say they had a fight, overexerted themself a bit.”

A fight? Oh, god, was this all their fault?

“But... They look terrible.”

“They just have a fever.” Doctor reassured. “Power exertion is nothing to scoff at, but I promise, they’re not in any serious danger.”

Hero hummed. “Then, why did you bring me here?”

“Because we need to make sure they stay out of serious danger. They can hear you, by the way, so don’t be an ass, please. But, yes, I’m confident this fever will break, so long as it stays down.”

“You’re putting them in my hands?”

“Yes. I trust you. Seriously, Hero, you look like a deer in the headlights. I’m not asking you to perform open heart surgery, here.” They smiled playfully. “All you need to do is keep them cool and keep them comfortable.”

“What does that entail?” Nervously, they chewed the inside of their cheek.

“Not a lot. Keep a wet washcloth on their head, make sure they drink water.” As the doctor glanced to the nearest clock, they began to hurry their words. “There’s a thermometer on the counter. If their fever goes over 103, call an ambulance. But, as long as its below that, you’re safe.”

“And... keeping them comfortable?”

“Just... try to get them to sleep. It won’t be easy for them, in this state. But if you can manage it, it’ll be a lot better. Oh, and, there’s Advil in the drawer. Give them some if they’re uncomfortable, okay? Okay, I really need to go, so, you got all that?”

“Uh- I think so?”

“Good. Okay, bye! Remember, above 103, call an ambulance. What temperature is dangerous?”

“103.”

“Great. Thank you so, so much! I’ll get you like, some chocolates or something. Bye!”

By the end of their speech, Doctor’s words had sped to the point of blending into one long stream of syllables. They tossed a coat over their shoulders, shoving their feet into their already-tied shoes.

“Oh, and try not to kill each other, okay?”

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Hero was alone.

They supposed that wasn’t entirely true. In fact, it was quite far from the truth. The house was anything but empty-- their nervous glances to the dinner table’s current guest ensured them of that. But, that did not help the chord of nerves that wrapped itself about their stomach.

Power exertion was nothing to be scoffed at.

Though they weren’t alone, they were the only one in the situation who could be described as responsible. It was they who had to keep their nemesis alive. And, worse... comfortable.

How were they supposed to rock their sworn enemy to sleep? Maybe, a good place to start would be stopping staring at them like some kind of creep.

Yeah. They should probably do that.

The hero inhaled through their nose, letting out a long exhale from their mouth, before approaching the table. Throughout the whole conversation, the villain had not so much as raised their head-- their movements coming only in the slightest of twitches.

Standing at the stalled villain’s side, Hero could not help but feel to have walked into the den of a lion. Yet, not the slightest movement was made. In an attempt to gently draw their attention, they ghosted their hand over their nemesis’s shoulder.

“Hey, Villain?”

There was a twitch, and a groan, but nothing that could be described as words.

“Um, Doctor is gonna have me take care of you now, okay? Can you look at me? I think I’m supposed to take your temperature.”

If the villain had been listening before that point, there was little indication. Had they already been asleep? Had Hero already ruined everything? Either way, blearily, Villain lifted their head, unfocused eyes fixing on the wall before their face.

Placing their hand to their forehead, Hero nearly jerked their palm away. Their skin felt like the burner of a hot stove. But, if Doctor said they were okay...

“How are you feeling?” As they spoke, they felt the slightest bit of the doctor’s voice slip into theirs. That soft, coaxing tone that all medical providers seemed to be able to imitate. “You haven’t touched your water.”

“Mmm...” The fevered villain murmured. “Can’t...Swallow.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Mmm.” They were unsure if that was an affirmation or not.

“Okay. Um, well, the doctor says you need water. Let’s get you some water, then... What do you need, Villain?”

The villain blinked, seeming, by all accounts to be on another planet.

“I’m cold...” At last, they muttered a pair of coherent words. “And hot...” Well, maybe not so much on the coherent part.

What was it that Doctor had said? Something about keeping their head cool. That was it, right?

“Okay, um. I’ll cool you down, and warm you up, okay?”

“Hero!” It was an excited cry, even with the way the syllables all blurred into one another. “Hero...”

“Yeah, Villain?”

“Hero, I looooove you.”

Oh.

No, they were just feverish. Delusional, they probably didn’t even know where they were. They had no clue what they were saying, just making sounds.

“I’m gonna go get you a blanket.” Hero spoke hurriedly, rushing off to do just that. For a few moment, they dashed about the house, gathering supplies and, hopefully, not rummaging too much through Doctor’s things. When, at last, they returned to the kitchen, it was with a dripping-wet washcloth and a bottle of tylonel.

Villain, so it seemed, had fallen back into their half-restful state, head on the table. With a gentle hand, Hero tipped their chin up, brushing the washcloth over their forehead.

“You want something to help with the pain, bud?”

“Head hurty.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

They placed down the washcloth, and, in an exercise in tedium, coaxed a pair of white pills down the villain’s throat, alongside a wash of water. Hopefully, it would be enough, as a snowball would make it too the depths of hell before any more water went down.

“I have everything set up on the couch. Can you walk?”

“Mmm... Carry me... I love you!”

“Y- Yeah, alright.”

Despite the feverish villain’s words filling Hero’s chest with an odd sensation, they obliged, plucking them from the chair and draping the washcloth over their forehead, taking care to ensure that no water would drip its way to their eyes.

The couch, as opposed to most of the furniture in the house, had seen some serious use. With only one bed in the building, when a hero was wounded with such severity that an overnight visit was necessitated, it was upon the couch that they slept. Though, luckily, use had not worn away any of the seat’s comfort.

A large, white, puffy comforter had been draped over the seats, and, upon laying Villain down, Hero secured the blanket around their body, tucking it in in the corners and ensuring that no draft would disturb them.

It was all medically necessary, of course.

Though, they couldn’t help but giggle at just how ridiculous their nemesis appeared, dwarfed by the fluffy comforter, face half covered by a rag.

“Alright.” Hero smoothed a hand over Villain’s hair-- to make sure they weren’t sweating excessively, of course. “Are you alright? Comfortable?”

“I love you! Love you...”

“Okay. Well, do you need anything?”

“Sleep...”

“You’re tired?”

“Sleepytime.”

“Alright, bud. Sleepytime.”

They couldn’t help but smile.

With a few more strokes through their hair, the fevered person soon let their muscles go limp, sacrificing themself to the whims of the blanket they were half-submerged in. The sight alone was enough to make Hero’s own eyelids droop.

It wasn’t like they could disturb the villain while they slept-- no, they needed their rest far too much for that-- and, there wasn’t anything else threatening the city...

What would a nap hurt?

Though there was no certainly no room on the seat for another full-grown human, that was a problem easily solved. In a blink of white light, Hero’s bleary form was replaced by that of a feline, with a countenance just as exhausted.

The felidae-turned hero leapt onto the couch, settling themself near the edge, before shifting themself against Villain’s feet.

To know if they woke up.

After all, it was very medically necessary.

#villain whumpee #villain whump #sickfic #fluff #fluff fic #hero caretaker #whumpblr #whump community #ask

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years ago

Text

Gifts

Read on AO3

Prompt

Summary: Wild tells of the gifts the past Champions have given him. All that's left is for the others to witness these gifts.

Warnings: Descriptions of injury, temporary character death.

Notes: Finally got a prompt done. Y'all proud of me? If you are, then know I wrote this instead of Chapter 2 of Succumb because I'm an awful creature who has a solid idea for the entire fic except Chapter 2 and I'm avoiding it. Stop being proud of me now.

---

“How about you, Champ?”

Wild blinks from the daze he's fallen into and looks up to see eight pairs of eyes all looking right at him. The moon hangs lazily above them, nothing more than a C-shape tied to the stars to watch them all talk themselves to sleep. Wild’s zoned out of this one, for reasons he can’t really explain why. It’s not that what they’re talking about tonight is particularly dull or offensive. It’s just… well… they’re talking about magic and discussing the common theme that seems most sources of magic that they know has been given to them.

Time and Great Fairies. Hyrule and wise men in caves. Wild’s sure the others all have similar stories, he’s just decided to not listen to them tonight.

“About me?” He asks hopefully. Maybe they have changed topics while he was trying to decide what the woodchip by his boot resembles.

Four leans forward on his knees, wiggling his eyebrows. “Any magical gifts that you’ve been holding out on us?”

Wild tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. “Ah.” He curls his fingers around the hem of his tunic before they could nervously knit with each other on his lap. “Nothing that’s important.”

Besides him, Twilight scoffs. “Nothing that’s important? Cub, either you really are holding out on us or you’re being humble.”

“Wild? Humble?” Warriors snorts. “Perish the thought.”

Wild sighs. “Really, I don’t have any cool stories to tell tonight. I’d much rather listen to you all.”

“Listen, huh?” Four challenges, grinning like an imp. “Who taught Hyrule how to shoot fire from his sword?”

Wild rolls his eyes. “Some old guy in a cave.”

“Actually,” Hyrule says with a soft, apologetic smile, “it was an old man in a basement.”

“What is up with you and old men?”

“Anyway,” Twilight says, giving Wild a hard look, “you’re obviously not listening. Is something wrong? You’re usually more talkative.”

Does Twilight have to be a doting old mother in front of everyone? Wild can feel himself bristling. “Maybe I just don’t feel like talking tonight. Vet isn’t talking and you’re not pestering him.”

“That’s because Vet never talks about himself,” Warriors says, foiling Wild’s entire argument. Legend has a smug look on his face. “Not unless he’s trying to heighten his own ego.” Legend’s smug look falls into a glare.

“Fine,” Legend says. “I’ll tell one. Then Champ can tell one, so that you all will get off both of our backs.”

“It has to be serious, Leg,” Wind butts in, completely oblivious to Wild’s dying hope of getting out of this conversation. “No ‘I got my magic from being super cooler than everyone else’ bull.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Legend snaps. “Besides, I don’t have magic. I have magical items. Which is just as useful.”

“Then what’s that one?” Sky points at the small clay ocarina in Legend’s hands. “You’ve been holding it all night.”

Legend stills and his face softens, and immediately the whole group can tell that whatever that ocarina is, Legend has feelings attached to it. He takes a deep breath. “It’s not very magic,” he says, his fingers rubbing over the holes reverently. “It used to be able to summon a gust of wind to take me wherever I needed to go. It could also awaken the dead under specific circumstances… now it’s nothing but clay. It doesn’t work anymore.”

“Where’d you get it?” Wind asked, and not unkindly. He, like the rest of the group, knows that Legend wouldn’t be holding an item so tenderly if it only didn’t work anymore.

Legend stays silent for a moment, allowing the crickets in the forests to sing uninterrupted. Then, his shoulders fall. “The most beautiful woman I ever met gave it to me. She had the most lovely voice. This… after… after I lost her, I woke up stranded at sea. It was around my neck on a string… it’s all the proof I have that she ever existed.”

Silence hangs over the group like a heavy blanket. Wild can’t help but feel a lob of guilt get stuck in his chest. All he can do is sit and watch Sky lean over and place a hand on Legend’s knee.

“Love is one of the most powerful magics an item can hold, even if it’s just a good memory.”

Legend brings a sleeve to his eye, holding the ocarina tightly with his other hand. “Oh shut it, you sap,” he says through a smile. Sky smiles back, and Wild curls his arms across his chest.

Besides him, Twilight looks at him. Not expectantly, though, but with understanding. Perhaps he knows now why sometimes someone would wish to stay silent during these kinds of nights. Not everyone got magical gifts from old men in caves. Or basements.

But the guilt sits, and no one is saying it’s Wild’s turn to spill some beans. Not even Legend. But how could he stay silent after Legend told something so personal and sad? It’s not fair, even if he’s the only one who thinks so.

He bites the arrow and takes a breath.

“I don’t have magic. I have… blessings. From friends I had before the Calamity.”

For the second time that night, eight pairs of eyes fall onto him.

“I don’t use them much anymore,” Wild continues; somehow his hands have made it to his lap anyways, knitting his fingers together like string on needles, “they gave me everything they had so I could defeat Calamity Ganon. Now that he’s gone, I don’t want to abuse their gifts any longer.”

“I don’t mean to pry…” Four says, “but maybe they gave you everything they had to help you. Maybe they didn’t consider it abuse.”

And somehow, Wild doesn’t feel like Four is prying at all. In fact, it startles a chuckle out of him. “Maybe. But not Revali, that’s for sure. He and I got along worse than Vet and Cap.”

“Not an easy feat,” Warriors says to the others while nudging Legend with his elbow. Legend rolls his eyes. “I’m impressed.”

“What blessing did he give you?” Wild asks. There’s stars in his eyes that always get there when he gets too interested in a story. Though, Wild supposes any story involving a rival-ship greater than their very own Legend and Warriors is something to be interested in.

“It was the power to call upon the gusts of wind he used to command with his powerful wings. He was a Rito, the best there ever was. He could fly into the air without having to jump off of ledges. The wind would carry him up itself, like it belonged to him.”

-o-o-o-o-

Agony is a poison pulsing through Hyrule’s leg. The fall had been great, and it’s a miracle Wild had been there to dive down and at least try to lesson the fall with his paraglider. The ground was weak in these desert-y canyons, and maybe Hyrule shouldn’t have gotten so close to the ledge to warrant his boot’s slipping, but at least Wild was there.

Hyrule’s ankle is broken, or at least badly sprained. Either way, it’s painful enough that he can’t even stand up as Wild paces the bottom of the crevasse they have found themselves in like a pair of cornered animals. The others… they’re close to an hour’s worth of time away. He and Wild were exploring and gathering whatever they could find that might be used as firewood as the sun began to set. It’s been a terribly awful day of traveling in the desert heat, and he and Wild were excited to experience the sunset’s breeze while the others set up camp.

They got too excited. Too far away. There’s no way anyone will hear them if they call. No one will come looking until the sky is black.

And who knows, maybe they won't consider that maybe they fell. Maybe, if they come looking, they won't look down the right scar in the land, and they will burn to death in tomorrow's sun.

“What do we do?” Hyrule asks through an embarrassingly choked voice. He’s been fighting tears since the moment his ankle bent wrongly in their crash landing. He knows Wild will not judge him for sobs, but it doesn’t make it any easier for him to allow any to escape.

Wild sighs and glares up at the lip of the cliff they’ve fallen from. “Any trinkets?” he asks back.

Hyrule bites his lip. He wishes he were like the others and had a trinket for every situation. Legend had promised to give him an old grappling hook he had hoarded away the next time they end up at his and Ravio’s place. “No.”

“Okay,” Wild says. Not angrily. “Okay.”

Determined?

“Champ?”

Wild takes a deep breath and looks down at Hyrule with… fire in his eyes. “I won’t be long. Will you be okay while I fetch the others?”

Hyrule licks his lips and looks down at his leg, already braced with brush twigs and the wrappings that usually decorate Wild’s arms. A cold breeze blows suddenly, making Hyrule shiver and remember the desert only takes what it’s given when it comes to heat. When the sun’s up, it thrives, and when it’s gone…

“Don’t take long,” he replies, even though he doesn’t really know what Wild’s about to do.

Wild nods, shrugging off the cloak he usually always wears and gives it to Hyrule. Hyrule nods his thanks and takes the warm accessory, placing it over his head and wrapping the caped section around his shoulders.

He watches as Wild walks towards the edge of the cliff facing where the others are with camp. Hyrule wonders what he’s about to do as he clings to the edge of the cloak. Wild unfolds his paraglider from his back, baffling Hyrule even more, and widens his stance.

A moment passes. Then another.

Then a gust of wind appears seemingly out from the floor, powerful enough to blow dust back and almost get in Hyrule’s eye if he hadn’t instinctively covered his eyes. There’s a flash of teal through his fingers… then an unfamiliar voice snorts.

“About time, runt.”

By the time Hyrule deems it safe enough to uncover his eyes without getting dust in them, Wild is already high in the air. The miracle gust of wind cyclones in the spot his friend used to be, growing weaker and weaker by the second before it’s gone completely. There’s no sign of whoever made that flash of teal… nor who spoke, but Hyrule doesn’t think too into it as Wild drops his paraglider and grabs onto the upper ledge of the cliff.

Far above him, Wild climbs to safety and looks over the edge. He waves, and Hyrule cannot help the giggle that climbs through his throat as he waves back.

Pain in his ankle be damned, whatever Wild just did was cool, and as Wild turns and runs towards the others he knows he won't be in pain for long.

Not much longer than an hour passes before the others come with their ropes and grappling hooks and worried voices. Wild glides down to him to help carry him up. There’s something about the way he stands that gives Hyrule the feeling that he… realized something today. He gives Hyrule a bottle of health, then helps tie a rope around his waist as his ankle begins to hurt a little less.

As he’s lifted off the ground towards the top of the cliff by his friends, he looks at Wild who is clinging tight to Hyrule’s body like a stronger lifeline than any rope or chain.

“Was that Revali?” He asks, without really thinking.

Wild looks at him with wide eyes, and then a wider smile. “Yeah.”

Hyrule smiles back. “He sounded like an asshole.”

A startled laugh bursts from Wild’s mouth as he throws his head back. “He is an asshole,” he agrees in good nature.

They reach the top. They reach the others. Twilight scolds their ears off the entire way back towards camp, and Hyrule can't stop grinning for his own safety… and for whatever mended in Wild’s heart tonight.

-o-o-o-o-

“What about the others?”

“Well… ah… there’s Daruk. He was one of my oldest friends. The strongest Goron there ever was, though he was a little fearful of dogs.” Wild laughs, as do the others politely; probably imagining the biggest Goron they could be scared of a small fluffy animal. “He had the strength to block anything, and he was always ready to take a blow for the team. Even after… even after… he still protected me. He gave me the ability to call upon even a fraction of that power, that way nothing could hurt me in case my own shield failed. Without him… I would not be here, I’m confident in that.”

-o-o-o-o-

They honestly should have expected an ambush before Warriors was the one to call it out. Four likes to consider himself lucky for coming from a comparatively peaceful time, relatively speaking, but even he should have expected the top of the hill to be lined with determined monsters with big rocks.

The first few moments of watching the boulders come down feels almost like Four is stuck in time. There’s nowhere to run, the expanse of the monsters at the top is too great. Left or right would bring more chances of being hit. They can’t run back down the hill and outrun the danger either. Their only option is to dodge through the rocks until they can get to the top and take out the danger.

Distantly, as time spreads up, Four is aware of Time and Wild each releasing arrows towards the top of the hill, igniting various monsters on fire, but soon it becomes pure chaos. He can only focus on himself as he does his best to jump out of the way of rocks that are much bigger than him. The colors in his brain scream as he tries to remain calm and collected. No Blue, he can’t just jump over the boulders because it will look cool. Red please calm down you’re screaming too loudly. He knows to go left, Green!

It’s a miracle he’s managed to last this long with the confusion. Which is why he’s not surprised when something finally hits its mark. He’s just glad that when the agony of a shattered bone shoots through his body, it’s only his right shoulder that took the brunt of the hit.

Not that he has time to be thankful for that. After the boulder hits into his side, his balance is knocked right out of him. He ends up crashing to the tilted floor in a jumble of limbs and dust. There’s tears in his eyes, and he can barely focus enough to lift himself back up. His entire arm feels like he’s stuck it into the mouth of a dragon—teeth and all. His chest feels tight and his hip all bruised. He wouldn’t be surprised if he’s broken a few ribs as well.

He barely has enough time to look ahead of him from where he lies on the ground. There’s another boulder bouncing right towards him. If… if he doesn’t move now… he will surely die.

But he cannot move. He cannot move because his entire side hurts too badly for him to go at a speed that matters. He closes his eyes and tries to make himself smaller. Maybe, if the goddess decides she likes him today, she will allow the boulder to bounce over him… or something as unlikely.

Either way, he accepts whatever fate he’s about to meet, even as he hears Sky scream his name.

And maybe it’s because he’s a coward and he’s scared, but he opens his eyes to look at his approaching doom. Only… that’s not all that he sees. What he sees is Wild jump out right in front of him with a ball of orange energy surrounding his entire body. A surge of horror swells inside of his belly the moment he sees this. Is Wild serious?!

Then, a heartbeat passes, and the boulder rams right into Wild. What happens next, though, Four would never have guessed. The orange energy explodes in shatters around him. Standing over Wild, however, is a ghostly Goron that’s bigger than anything Four’s ever seen. He shouts as the boulder stops in its tracks, crumbling before his mighty fists.

“I got you, little buddy,” Daruk’s spirit says. Then, the teal spirit disappears with the orange energy, leaving Wild standing there with the shattered remains of the boulder at his feet. Up the hill, Warriors, Legend, Time, and Sky take out the remaining monsters before they can release any more rocks.

Wild turns towards Four with a crazed, adrenaline fueled gaze. There’s a grin on his face though, one that Four finds himself matching.

Next thing he knows, Twilight, Hyrule, and Wild are rushing to his form and shoving various medicine bottles into his face; of which he takes gratefully.

“Thank you, Wild,” Four makes sure to say once he’s finally back on his feet with a makeshift sling over his only slightly aching arm. Wild turns towards him to give a blushing smile. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

“I couldn’t just watch you die. It’s the least I could do.”

Four hums. “I’m still thankful. Though… your Goron friend looked big enough to squish me between his fingers.”

Wild grins. “Daruk wouldn’t do that. It’s his hugs you have to watch out for.”

Four’s sure that if Daruk’s hugs are anything like Wild’s, then those hugs would be very tight indeed.

“I will take your word for it, then.”

-o-o-o-o-

“And then there’s Urbosa. She… if you think you’ve met a scary Gerudo, then you haven’t met her.” Wild waves his hands in the air, only slightly aware that he’s getting too invested in this story now. He didn't mean to spill his guts on his past friends tonight, but here he is, living their memory. Passing on their stories to his new friends. He finds he doesn’t mind it as much as he did several minutes ago. He doesn’t know why he was afraid. “She was the leader of her people, and she could summon lightning onto anyone who's ever defied her. She fought armies of Yiga all on her own and came out without a scratch. She’s blessed me with the ability to summon lighting as well. It’s my most powerful attack, and it’s saved my ass more times than I can count.”

-o-o-o-o-

This is bad. Very bad. Time can’t even properly express how bad this is.

An ambush of monsters? That’s manageable. He has confidence in himself and his companions to be able to handle a meager ambush. However, this? This is a whole army of monsters. Lizalfos, apparently, like to group up in camps when they’re not scrambling around in ancient dungeons and temples.

There’s enough to outnumber the heroes five-to-one. It’s not impossible to take them down if they had stuck to the outer edges of the camp and took a good portion of them out with long ranged attacks… however what happened was much less graceful. They walked into the forest, intending to make a camp for the night, just to wander right into a community of Lizalfos armed to the tails.

So now? They’re running; the monsters in an excited chase. Like Time said: This. Is. Bad.

“We lead them to the river,” Warriors suggests, ever thinking of solutions. “We can push them in and weaken their numbers.”

“I say we turn and fight!” Wind shouts. He looks too excited. He pulls a bomb out from his satchel and before Time can say anything, the boy turns around and throws it at their pursuers. There’s a blast, a few screeches, but nothing significant happens. The numbers are too great. Wind is pulling out another bomb.

“The river,” Time says, nodding at Warriors. Wind cheers as another explosion erupts. He leaves the boy to it. As long as he keeps up. “It’s the best bet.”

Time turns his head to tell the others about the makeshift plan, but before he can say a thing Wild looks him straight in the eye. “Have everyone get as far as you can away, I know what to do.”

“What?” Time asks, baffled.

Wild doesn’t explain. He just turns heel and runs the other way towards the enemy.

“Cub?!” Twilight shouts, turning around as well to grab his wayward protégé, but Time grabs his shoulder and keeps him running in the opposite direction. Twilight gives him a panicked look.

“I don’t know what he plans,” Time explains, “but he seems confident. Trust him.”

Twilight swallows and nods. Time shouts at the others to pick up the pace.

Behind him, the Lizalfos screech in delight, a sign they and Wild have now met face-to-face.

Whatever you’re about to do, wild one, do it now.

He doesn’t have to wait long. The smell of ozone becomes intoxicating all within a heartbeat. The hairs at the back of his neck rise as the sky goes impossibly dark for the time of dusk that it is. Then, light flashes all around him in thunderous claps. He can barely hear the sound of screaming monsters over the bolts. Time can’t help but stop in his tracks and turn, lifting a hand above his brow to see green lighting like he’s never seen before attacking the earth through the trees.

As soon as it begins, it ends, and the sky brightens with silence.

Time doesn’t waste time running forward. What he finds when he runs towards the small clearing Wild had met the monsters in is something he will never forget. Static energy seems to curl around his hand, raised into the air and on the end of a snap. Beside him stands a tall Gerudo woman, cloaked in a ghostly aura, her back towards the others and her hand on Wild’s shoulder in triumph and fierce protection. There’s nothing but black, charred corpses of monsters around them.

Time watches, as do the others, transfixed as Urbosa looks down at Wild and smirks.

“You should have called earlier, my desert flower.”

-o-o-o-o-

Everyone looks so transfixed, that Wild almost moves on without really thinking about it. Only… the words catch in his throat. He finishes telling of Urbosa, and just… freezes. His hands are back in his lap, wringing each other out.

He was so engrossed with his own stories that he’s forgotten that while he loves each of his past friends equally… not all are so easy to talk about.

The others must sense his inner struggle, as none of them call out his sudden silence. He knows that if he decided to stop now and not tell them of his last blessing… they would not argue. They must know this pause is similar to when Twilight stops talking about his adventure when he reaches the point where he meets a mysterious companion. Similar to when Time pauses in his magical tales of his childhood. Similar to when Sky looks off in the distance with his voice trailing off as he tells of special places in the sky.

It’s a pause of loss. A pause of something cherished. A pause of something that you fought so hard for, but will never come back.

A hand falls on top of his own. He recognizes the shape of Twilight’s calluses without having to look up at him. “You do not have to force yourself to continue,” he says.

Wild shakes his head. “I’m alright. I can continue…”

A beat of silence. Wild takes a breath.

“Last is… Mipha. Not only was she the most beautiful Zora I’ve ever met, but also the most beautiful soul. She… would always be there for me… whenever I got hurt. She could heal my wounds better than any potion. I…” his throat bobs, the words are no longer coming. “I cannot bring myself to tell of her gift. It’s too special. I pray I never have to use it again, nor must any of you witness it.”

-o-o-o-o-

Twilight didn’t know what to think when the attack had begun. It didn’t start with a shout. It didn’t start with the enemy running screaming out from the shadows of the trees with swords raised. It didn’t start like any kind of monster attack that Twilight had grown so used to.

It’s probably why they were unprepared for an attack by something smarter than monsters. Something that has no problem sitting quietly in the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He’s heard that there’s a group of former Sheikah in Wild’s world who have it in for the hero’s life, he just never really expected to meet them.

That’s probably why the arrow met it’s mark too. They’ve all grown accustomed to the sloppy ambushes put together by monsters. It’s the only thing Twilight can think of to justify how none of them saw it coming until there was a thwip of a feathered arrow flying through the air… and landing with a thunk in Wild’s stomach.

Wild fell to the ground, and with a flash of cards and light appeared several Yiga Clan members. Nobody stopped to stare. It was pure rage from the heroes at that point, and as soon as it began the Clan members all put their hands together and retreated into seemingly thin air. It all ended about as soon as it began.

And the only thing he could think about now is Wild laying there on the ground in a growing pool of his own blood. The arrow still sticks out of his midsection, undoubtedly having hit something important judging by the trail of red going down the corners of his mouth.

Twilight is the first to run up to his side, but thanks to the quick thinking of Warriors, he’s not the first to offer a way of healing.

However, by the time the bottle of the red potion reaches his life stained lips… it’s too late. Twilight can only stare in horror as the light leaves Wild’s eyes.

The Yiga Clan… they’ve succeeded… and everyone knows it when Warriors falls backwards in defeat to sit on his heels, looking down at the full bottle of healing in his hands. Sky falls to his knees. Hyrule chokes a cry. Twilight's sure the rest of them are feeling their own reactions of grief, but he can no longer pay attention to anything but his own.

He’s… he’s failed. The one person he swore he would protect… pass on his ways… his stories… his teachings… it’s all for nothing. All it is now is a gaping hole in his heart. His cheeks are wet with tears that came too quickly.

Suddenly, something happens. There’s a flash of teal, and somewhere behind him someone gasps. Twilight can only watch with wide, tear-drowned eyes, as the teal swirls around into the glowing form of a beautiful Zora.

All eyes are on her, but hers are on Wild. There’s a fondness to her face that could be mistaken for sadness. Her hand brushes his cheek, and to Twilight's surprise Wild blinks and breathes in a soft breath. The hole in his stomach glows bright blue… and the arrow dissipates in shining bubbles.

“I will always heal you when you need me, my love.”

Then, she’s gone before anyone, including Wild, can respond.

Wild slowly raises himself to his elbows, blinking and smiling sheepishly like he’s never gotten even a scratch.

“I’m sorry you all had to-” he begins, but Twilight cuts him off by launching himself forward and wrapping the idiot in his arms. Mipha’s gift, the one he wouldn’t tell them about because it was too special, the one he never wanted them to witness…

He’s such an idiot.

“Shut up,” Twilight says through a tight breath. “Thank the spirits… just let me hold you.”

Wild doesn’t say anything, he just returns the embrace and the hold just as tightly.

Thank Hylia and all of the goddesses for this miracle. Wild clearly has friends that care so much about him that they would protect him fiercely even after their deaths. Twilight knows that from now on, he will spend his nights praying thankfulness to them. Wild is a formidable hero, one of the best in fact, yet Twilight can only imagine where he would be without these gifts. Imagining it makes his gut twist, however, so he squeezes his hold just once before letting go.

He smiles at the younger boy, and Wild smiles back, everything that needs to be said being translated there alone. You scared me. I’m sorry. Don’t apologize, just be more careful. No promises… but I will try.

The wordless conversation passes between them in a moment, and the moment is broken by Wind pouncing onto Wild. Wild, the poor boy, is shoved straight onto his back from the force of the tackle, yet he’s laughing as Wind calls him an idiot over and over. Everyone else gathers as well, to tell him they’re glad he’s alive in their own ways. Time places a hand on Twilight’s shoulder and shares a knowing look.

“Let’s set up camp early tonight,” he says, and Twilight cannot help but agree.

As Time announces the plan to the others, separating the others and telling them to give Wild some space, Twilight lets his heart calm. Wild always says he was alone in his adventures, but now he knows that that wasn’t all true. He also knows now why Wild doesn’t abuse the abilities his friends gave him.

With a silent vow, he promises Revali, Daruk, Urbosa, and Mipha that he will work harder to protect their boy. For now, Wild has been barred from making dinner tonight, and Twilight has to be sure that Hyrule gets nowhere near the cooking pot.

#linked universe #hero of the wild #jin writes #fanfiction #violence tw #temporary character death #ficlet #blood tw

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me-myself-and-my-fos · 3 years ago

Text

The Confession

Pairing: Snotlout Jorgenson x Nic Blake

A/N: This happens a few months after the second movie. It was supposed to be a lot fluffier than it ended up being but I love me some angst! Also I’m sorry if this fic feels a little off or awkward, I wrote this while sick and my brain is still a little fuzzy.

Tag List: @sable-myers @fangedwife @hyperionshipping @victorvampir @the-dark-fae-and-her-fos @belcanto-selfships @licensedcrime

Cece purred and shivered as Nic finished scrubbing the red and orange paint from her wings. She shook her body and water sprayed across the walls of the stable and onto Nic, who let out a groan.

“Cece!” She scolded the dragon, but Cece let out a guttural sound, a laugh. “I told you not to do that!” The Changewing continued to laugh, nuzzling against Nic’s stomach with her snout. Nic sighed, scratching under Cece’s chin. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Nic!” Came a voice, and she looked over to see Snotlout walking over to her in the stable. “That was a, uh, a really good race! Congrats on winning.”

Dragon racing. It was something Nic participated in regularly with her friends, but she rarely won. It was by some miracle that she managed to win that day, and as a result Cece was given many honey combs to snack on while Nic washed off the paint.

“Thanks, Snotlout,” Nic replied, looking back to Cece.

“Yeah, we never saw you coming,” he joked, laughing a little halfheartedly at his own humor. When she didn’t laugh he cleared his throat. “Get it? Cause Cece’s a Changewing?” She looked over unamused before focusing back on her dragon. Snotlout shifted on his feet. “Can we talk?” He asked, honestly a bit nervous. She wasn’t paying attention enough to notice though.

He didn’t know when he’d get another shot like this. Nic didn’t make herself easily available for one on one time. In all honesty, he was desperate enough to just blurt out what he wanted to say. But then all that planning a speech was for nothing.

“Sorry but I can’t right now.” She fixed the saddle on Cece, not looking at Snotlout. “I have to get to work.”

“Oh, okay. Well maybe later then?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Maybe, if I have time,” Nic told him. She mounted onto Cece. “I have to get the bakery. Come on, Cece.”

The Changewing grunted and her winds spread out before she started for the exit of the stables. As she was taking off, Snotlout called out.

“That’s cool! Maybe I’ll see you there!” He wasn’t sure if she heard him as she gave no indication that she did.

Hookfang huffed, pushing Snotlout slightly. He glared over at the Monstrous Nightmare.

“What?” He asked, arms crossed. Hookfang only rolled his eyes and began to walk away. “What, do you think I said something wrong? Hookfang. Hookfang!”

Cece landed in front of the bakery and Nic jumped off the saddle. She scratched under Cece’s chin.

“Let’s hope mom isn’t too upset I’m late. For the fifth time this week,” Nic mumble to her dragon.

Cece purred in response, obviously amused to see the outcome.

Stepping into the small bakery, Nic pulled an apron off the wall and put it on. She tied it behind her back as Cece followed her into the room.

“There you are,” her mother, Greta, greeted, pulling some freshly baked bread from the oven.

“I’m late, I know,” Nic huffed, kicking a pillow shaped like dough from under the table against the far wall. Cece pounced on it, laying on the pillow as Nic set up her station. The four headed Snaptrapper napped in the far corner. They were Petunia, Tulip, Rose, and Daisy in that order. But Nic had come to affectionately know them as Garden. “Hey Garden,” she smiled at tired dragons. They let out grunts of acknowledgment but didn’t open their eyes.

As Nic started to knead at the dough, Cece watched this before beginning to knead on the pillow she had been laying on. Nic quickly discovered how much Cece loved to mimic her while baking. Kneading was her favorite thing, so naturally one night she made something for Cece to knead.

“I heard you won the race. That’s great. It’s ‘bout time, honestly,” her mother said, putting two loaves in the oven to bake.

“Yeah, I won. It wasn’t easy though,” Nic replied.

Behind her, her mother glanced over and noticed something was off with her daughter. Any other day she would’ve been over the moon to have won a race. The more she thought about it, the more she realized Nic had woken up in a sour mood.

Clearing her throat, Greta began to pack loaves of bread into a basket. “Is there anything you want to talk about?”

“No,” Nic shook her head, glancing in confusion over her shoulder at her mother.

“But you do know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“I know, mom.”

There was a pregnant pause as her mother waited for her to take the hint. But Nic stayed silent as she worked the dough, so Greta sighed.

“So… Snotlout, huh?” Greta watched Nic who froze in place at the mention of him. Nic was glad her mother couldn’t see her growing blush. Once she got over the surprise, Nic shook her head and continued to knead.

“What about him?” She asked.

“When are you going to tell him you like him?“ Greta asked her, and Nic immediately shook her head.

“Absolutely not. Never.” She grew more aggressive with her kneading. “He likes Ruffnut, and I’ve accepted he’ll never see me the way I see him. So I’m moving on with my life, keeping him at arms length to get rid of the feelings.”

“Are you sure that’s what’s best?” There was no reply from Nic, and her mother sighed. “I’ll be honest, no boy is worth this much trouble, especially not a Jorgenson. But you like him, and I think you should tell him.”

“Mom,” Nic warned. Boys and relationships weren’t a topic they talked about often. “I’m an adult. I can handle my own problems.”

“I know.” Greta sighed. “I just worry. I want you to be happy, and it’s obvious Snotlout makes you happy.”

“He also makes me irritated, and angry, and exasperated and–”

“Yes, yes,” her mother nodded. “Jorgenson men will do that. You forget how many years I spent meditating the arguments between Spitelout and Stoick.”

“But if he irritates me so badly then why do I like him?” Nic asked, completely at a loss. She looked back to her mother who shrugged.

“Maybe you see something in him that you don’t recognize yet. Or maybe you just have bad taste in men.”

“Oh jeez, thanks mom.” Nic rolled her eyes.

Greta chuckled as she finished packing the basket of bread. “Enough boy talk for now. I need you to deliver these. I’ve got the list for you so you know who to go to.”

Nic wiped her hands on the apron and stepped over to her mother. She took the list and the basket. Cece, noticing her rider was finished kneading, paused her movements and watched.

“And when you’re delivering to Silent Sven, please try and keep Cece well behaved. We both remember what happened last time,” her mother warned.

Nic nodded, recalling how long it took to fix the fence to the sheep pen after Cece got overexcited at the sight of a lamb. Acid got all over the fence and it took forever to collect the sheep and get them back in the pen.

“I will, mom, promise. Right, Cece?” Nic looked over at her dragon who grinned without remorse. Nic rolled her eyes, knowing her dragon didn’t share the same sentiment. “I’ll deliver these and be right back.” She took the basket from her mother. “Come on, Cece. Let’s go.”

The Changewing followed Nic out of the bakery, and once outside Nic strapped the basket to the side of the saddle. She mounted Cece and they took to the air.

It went smoothly as usual. Nic made sure to keep Cece far away from the sheep or lambs at Sven’s farm. There were only a few names on the list left before she could go back to the bakery and finish for the day. Easy peasy.

“Nic!”

Or not.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she heard Snotlout call out to her. He approached on Hookfang, grinning at her.

“Snotlout, hey,” she said monotoned. Honestly she wasn’t in the mood to talk to him. Not for a while. It would simply be counter productive. And as much as it killed her to be cold and snappish with him, she felt it was best.

“Hey, glad I caught you. I wanted to talk to you–”

“I’m sure whatever you want to talk to me about is important but can’t it wait? I’m working.”

“I just figured since we’re up here all alone it would be a good time to talk!” He said.

“What part about we can talk later didn’t you understand?” She asked him.

“Well, technically it is later…”

Hookfang rolled his eyes.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Nic sighed. “Snotlout, I cannot talk. I need to finish these deliveries and get back to the bakery.”

“I know, but I swear this will only take a minute–”

“Seriously, Snotlout, I have to go. Why don’t you go flirt with Ruffnut? It’s all you’ve been doing the past year,” she snapped.

Before he could respond or even see the hurt in her eyes, Nic directed Cece to the next place they had to deliver to. He watched her leave, and after a few moments he had Hookfang land on a nearby rooftop. He kept watch for her, and when Nic came back to the bakery, he watched her and Cece go inside. He stayed up there for the next few hours waiting for her to leave.

And eventually, when the sun was starting to get low and the sky was changing from blue to orange and pink, she left the bakery.

Snotlout had watched her and Cece fly from the bakery to the stables. This was his chance. She was alone. But she was upset with him. She was going to need time to calm down before he talked to her. The last time she was angry at him and he talked to her before she calmed down he ended up being stranded on an isle not too far from Berk with only the clothes on his back. Hookfang came and rescued him. Eventually.

He grimaced at the memory and decided to be cautious this time. Last thing he needed was a dagger thrown his way while he was trying to tell her how he felt. He still had half a mind to announce it in the Great Hall during dinner, but Astrid stressed to him multiple times that if he did that then Nic would never speak to him again.

When he finally found her, she was busy cleaning Cece’s claws and feet, just like she did every two days right before dinner. Hookfang nudged him as he stayed close to the wall, hidden from her view. He glared at his dragon.

“Not yet. I need to make sure she won’t kill me first,” Snotlout shushed Hookfang.

His attention was drawn back to Nic when he heard a cry, which both confused and worried him. He had never seen her cry before. Tear up, yes. But her crying was something she always did in private, even back on Dragon’s Edge. It also made him feel a little guilty. He didn’t mean to upset her or make her cry.

“What’s wrong with me, Cece?” Nic sniffled.

The Changewing chittered sadly as her rider wiped away tears on her shoulder. Nic continued to use the cloth wrapped dagger to clean between Cece’s toes as she continued.

“I mean first Snotlout had a thing for Astrid. It was always Astrid this, Astrid that. He was always trying to impress Astrid and win her over!” Nic used the back of her hand to wipe away more tears. “And then he moved on to Heather, and then— this is the one that kills me. He goes for Ruffnut!” She shook her head, dipping the clothed dagger into the soapy water before bringing it back to finish cleaning between the claws. “He’d rather settle for Ruffnut before he’d ever glance at me.” She tossed the dagger into the bucket and shook her head. “Am I really that undesirable?”

“What are you talking about?” Snotlout asked as he stepped from behind the corner. “Of course you’re desirable.”

Nic gasped, looking over at him. Cece watched them, and so did Hookfang. When neither of them said anything, Cece used her tail to lift Nic to her feet. Hookfang looked to Snotlout who stayed frozen in place.

“Snotlout— how long have you been standing there?”

Rolling his eyes, Hookfang pushed Snotlout forward towards Nic. He cleared his throat.

“I kind of… heard the whole thing.”

Nic’s cheek grew red and she looked to her feet. “Oh.”

“Hear me out.” He took a breath. “I’m an idiot. I should’ve been honest with you from the beginning. But I… I like you too. A lot, actually.” He sighed, rubbing neck. “Trying to impress Astrid, Heather, trying to become Mala’s king, trying to compete with Fishlegs for Ruffnut… it was all an act. It was my stupid attempt to try and get over my feelings for you. I figured if I pretended to like them long enough, I’d be able to stop having feelings for you and convince myself I do like them. But I was wrong.”

There was no reply from Nic, and Cece— in an attempt to encourage her rider —nudged her closer to him. They were a foot apart at most by this point. After a moment, Nic wiped away the mostly dried tears and looked up at him.

“Why didn’t you just tell me from the start? Did you hate having feelings for me so much you’d rather pretend they don’t exist?” She asked, voice breaking as she spoke.

Snotlout’s heart immediately shattered at hearing that. He shook his head vigorously and took her hands gently. “No, no, absolutely not. It was the hardest thing in the world to pretend I didn’t like you. But I thought it was what I needed to do.”

“Why?”

“Because—” he gestured to her and Cece, “—you’re the first person to train a Changewing. Not just that but you’re an amazing person. You deserve the best, you deserve the world. I don’t feel worthy enough for you.”

Nic shook her head. “How long have you felt this way?”

“I didn’t realize I liked you until we got to Dragon’s Edge. I saw you more, we were alone more. And the more we spent time together the more I fell for you, and the less worthy I felt. But I like you, Nic.”

“Snotlout, you’re an idiot,” she told him bluntly. But before he could reply, she took hold of his fur vest and closed the gap between them, pulling him into a kiss. It caught him by surprise, and by the time he began to respond to the kiss it was over. Nic smiled at him as she pulled away. “But you’re my idiot.”

He smiled back at her as his hands settled on her waist. “I’m very lucky to be your idiot.”

“And I’m sorry too, about today. I convinced myself if I pushed you away then it would be easier for me to stop liking you. I’m sorry I was so short with you.”

“It’s fine. I kind of started it so in a way, it’s my fault too.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but in her excitement, Cece roared and bounded towards the pair. The Changewing pushed them, and they fell back onto Hookfang who pushed them up and forwards. They laughed as they got steady on their feet.

“I guess Cece’s happy for us,” Snotlout commented as Cece purred, nuzzling into Nic’s side.

“She sure is, a little excited too,” Nic replied, reaching down to rub Cece’s head.

“So, Nic… what are you doing after this?” He asked.

“I was planning on heading to the Great Hall for dinner and then sit on the highest cliff I can find and watch the sunset.” She gently tugged on the fur vest and pulled him down until their faces were barely an inch apart. She was smirking. “Care to join me, Jorgenson?”

Snotlout chuckled nervously, face growing red. “Would I? Of course.”

“Good. But if I’m honest, I don’t think a lot of sunset watching is going to happen,” she told him playfully, pecking him on the lips.

“I don’t mind!”

“I don’t mind either,” she smiled, pulling him in for another kiss.

#otp: stubborn vikings #my viking #mywriting

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rebelliouslala · 3 years ago

Text

A Man Who Plays Volleyball.

happy birthday my beloved little anime boy, Ushijima Wakatoshi!

summary and warnings!: OC!Yuri-Chan (they are there as you, the reader!) x Wakatoshi, fix it fic! Shiratorizawa wins to go to the Nationals; angst, descriptions of parental abuse, descriptions of anxiety, flashbacks, a form of s/lf h/rm, accidental cause to injury, unwanted touching, a creepy guy, divorce drama, this story describes the suppression of men’s mental health, a good spoonful of fluff at the end

word count; ~10k words

a/n: this was SUPER rushed. but, i love him. you have no idea how much i saw myself in satori. in wakatoshi. i love shiratorizawa. may this alternate universe make the original ushijima wakatoshi smile :)

The Shiratorizawa volleyball player, Ushijima Wakatoshi walked home. He carried his volleyball clothes in a duffel bag. He wore a white hoodie with a purple outline. It said, printed, “Ushijima #1” on the back. He walked in silence. Because he preferred it. He felt tired.

The Miracle Boy felt tired. The crickets in the warm farm fields began to buzz with the swift wind that came from behind. He closed his eyes and stopped. He softly smiled as he looked up at the cloudy autumn sky. The sun was setting.

How long has he waited for this day; His eyes, to anyone else, would be dull. But that day, after his battle against Karasuno, they sparkled like freshly oiled olives. His hairdo was gently ruffled as a train passed by to his left, and he took a deep breath. He pumped his fist as a tear went down his cheek.

“I won.”

Once the Miracle Boy arrived home; He placed away his uniform in a laundry machine, and gently sucked on a popsicle. He blinked a few times, watching the machine churn and churn and churn and churn and churn and churn and- His lower back ached. He leaned against the wall, continuing to gently bite the tip. Satori once called him insane for biting ice cream.

“Doesn’t it hurt?!” Satori cried during their summer training. Wakatoshi had offered his land to use for training. Coach Washijo had taken the offer with happiness. He had bit his thick popsicle in response. “No.”

Wakatoshi turned to a sob from the threshold. There sat on its diaper ass one of the Ushijima twins, Kazane, who blinked. She had a straight bob and palm green eyes. She whined.

The boy sighed. He gently bent down and picked her up. She babbled stupidly and gripped at his hair, then whined more for his popsicle. “No.” He continued to bite it and he frowned as Kazane started to whimper. Wakatoshi now began to bounce her and he looked at his uniform as it continued to wash. She stopped making noises and instead clung onto him.

“Wakatoshi? Wakatoshi have you seen—?” He let his mother find him as she sighed. She had straight black hair, one that was in a messy bun since she gave birth to the twins.

“Hello Oka-san.”

“Wakatoshi, you know she can’t have ice cream!” She said, exasperated.

“I know that. She is trying to take it.” He continued biting it.

“Here, gimme,” Ms. Ushijima took Kazane, and let her soft cry in her neck. Wakatoshi simply continued to look at the swirl of his clothes. “I called your father.”

Wakatoshi turned, and he blinked. Once. Twice. His eyebrows furrowed, but he straightened himself up. “Is he not busy?”

“Yeah, but you know, it’s nice because you‘re going to Nationals-, isn’t that what you wanted, Wakatoshi?”

The boy sucked on the stick as the machine stopped. He went down to take the uniform, and began to fold. “Yes.”

She sighed, “Stop acting dramatic. I know you’re happy. Oh- I also invited your girlfriend over.” Wakatoshi now walked past his mother, and his baby sister as he went to his room. He hung his shirt and pants. Ms. Ushijima followed him, “I suggest you wear some nice formal wear, got it? And I want you both in the family room.”

“I was thinking of a nice berry bush, a purely platonic meeting. In the back—?”

“Ugh, fine. Whatever. Sure. Remember to change Mayumi’s diapers.”

Yuri had met Wakatoshi at the side door of his house. Yuri hopped up and gave him a kiss to his jawline. “Good afternoon, ‘Toshi-Chan!”

Wakatoshi blushed. He held his cheek. “Afternoon, my flower.”

The wind that messed up Yuri’s hair passed, and Wakatoshi with no hesitation helped them fix it, after a soft question if he could. He gently petted their hair back.

The couple sat peacefully in the bushes. Yuri, after the wind, then went to the strawberry bushes and started to pick. They hummed as they put them in a small bucket, as Wakatoshi instructed them to, and rinsed them in a bucket his Grandfather made. After that, they handed the small fat berry to his hand, as he cut off the top part of the berry.

“The leaves are edible, but are annoying to the throat. It’s better to mush them together, since they have good properties for the body.” Wakatoshi explained. Yuri giggled in response, continuing to pick a few more, with a here and there bite to the smallest one.

Yuri might even turn around, and coo, “Look at this, ‘Toshi-Chan! Aw, it’s no bigger than my thumb!” At which Wakatoshi leaned over, uncomfortably on the small blanket his Mother gave him, before nodding. “Do you want to name it? Like a child?”

“Oh great idea! How about, hmm, Plate!”

“Hm?”

“Because strawberries, and plate berries!”

“Ah.” Wakatoshi nodded, and he gave them a small side of the mushed leaves. “This should be enough for both of us. Do you think so?”

“Mhm! Oh, how are the twins?”

Wakatoshi leaned back and took a deep breath. Kazane cried so much he had to wake up Grandmother Nijiko for it. She complained loudly, but went over and in a few hours the silence was gone. Mayumi singlehandedly ate the rest of the prepared milk bottles his Mother made. Wakatoshi lost approximately 3.26 hours of sleep. “They are well.” He said.

“Oh! They’re the cutest!! With their little soft lettuce cheeks-! I can’t wait until I can feed them little berries!” Yuri popped one in their mouth.

“Mayumi-tan loves blueberries. Especially playing with them. Kazane-tan prefers spitting the strawberry seeds in my hair.”

“No wonder you take so many showers, Wakatoshi-Chan!” He ate a bit of the mush, and he looked above at the clouds. Yuri laid next to him, and dipped their finger in the mush.

“Satori-kun told me- you- uh, you got mad. I was wondering where you were after the game.”

“We had to celebrate. Besides that, I could not charge my phone. The TV crew took up all the outlets.”

“Aw, bummer! But still, Wakatoshi-Chan~,” Yuri poked his side. He twitched in response. “You got mad. It was a close game.”

Wakatoshi ate another strawberry dipped in mush. “I won. Do not worry. I am okay.” Yuri laid on their stomach and pouted. “Promise?”

“I would never lie to you, Yuri-Chan.”

“Good. Then critique me on my violin, okay!”

He nodded, as Yuri brought out their violin case. Being best friends with Satori, all sorts of little stickers were on it, especially a large Pokémon one. Wakatoshi crossed his legs as Yuri took their violin out, and their bow. They hummed quietly, tuning the violin and hastily rubbing rosin on the bow. They used the bow on the violin, once- twice -the first made Wakatoshi fear the twins would wake up from their nap- before Yuri played.

The Swan.

Wakatoshi laid back. Yuri closed their eyes, leaning into their instrument, and played. The wind picked up again. And Wakatoshi closed his eyes.

Yuri and he met in freshman year. Wakatoshi saw Yuri come in, shy.

“I am so sorry! I thought this was the auditorium.” Wakatoshi had just worked out. He assumed in their vision, this would be attractive and more romantic. To him he felt more comfortable and relaxed.

“It’s a few more blocks down. But I believe the Coach will not allow music.” Seeing Yuri’s jolt of embarrassment, Wakatoshi added, “But I believe outside is a perfect place to play. I would help you, but I know the plants shall tell you what to do.”

And here, as the wind guided Yuri’s fingers, their bow, the soft and intimate touches to the strings, did Wakatoshi hear how his advice had really counted. From Day 1 to Day Now, their improvement let him smile quietly in pride. They were perfect.

After a few days of waiting for a response from Wakatoshi’s father, it was settled and official. He would join them that night for dinner.

Yuri held onto Wakatoshi’s arm, their middle finger writing characters he could not decipher. He looked around at Grandmother Nijiko holding the twins. Kazane was in a little blue robe and Mayumi in red. His mother opened the door to the wardrobe for Wakatoshi. He wore a tight white shirt, and black sleek pants. He observed a royal purple kimono.

Yuri gulped as they watched his mother gently pinch his ear, “Nuh uh, do the Atlantic Blue.”

“I believe it is Pacific Blue.” Wakatoshi responded as he took that instead, and dawned it. He helped Yuri with their kimono.

“Wow, your family is like, really traditional, Wakatoshi,” they said quietly, looking at Wakatoshi.

“It’s my father’s arrival. Oka-san likes it like this.” He paused, before he continued to help them put it on, “and Oba-san, of course.”

Wakatoshi could not admit it, but he did appreciate it too. The clan was well, they just valued the importance of continuing to be perfect. It was only in their strict rules he did not want his new siblings to be subjected to. Wakatoshi glanced at his left hand. as he tied Yuri’s pink clothes together.

“‘Toshi, remember to smile.” Ms. Ushijima reminded him.

Wakatoshi grimaced. “Yes Oka-san.”

Yuri squeezed his hand, and looked up at him. He gently smiled back.

“Yuri-kun, make sure Wakatoshi doesn’t go on about volleyball again!” Grandmother Nijiko said. His smile faded.

His mother went from the twins, to going to him and attacking his stance.

Ms. Ushijima went on her tippy toes, muttering and complaining about his height, then how his hair was so dry, how he needed to use lotion more, and how filthy he was.

Yuri only stared at their feet. The Ushijimas stared at Wakatoshi, having his mother flick his ear and pinch at his stomach. “Stop eating so much rice! Obviously this sport isn’t putting off enough weight, eh?”

The doorbell rang. Finally, Wakatoshi took a gulp of fresh air as his mother went to the door.

It opened. Wakatoshi couldn’t stop smiling.

Everything seemed to blur and fade into each other. Wakatoshi took his coat. Yuri was taken away. The twins began to cry and whine for food. Ms. Ushijima said nothing.

The dining room in the Ushijima home was tiny. The dinner table was small, made of driftwood from Wakatoshi’s great grandfather. The clinking of dishes were mixed in with the twins crying. Yuri sat uncomfortably. Wakatoshi only ate as he looked at his father.

Mr. Utsui Takashi barely had hair- he was balding. He had a curly like stubble though, and he had developed an annoying, wheezing-like cough after inhaling any sort of food. It seemed his vision got worse, since he had thought the twins were identical. He had to take a double take to Yuri and Wakatoshi before laughing and embracing him tightly. His hands were disgusting. He smelled of fish and B.O.

But Wakatoshi put his face in his neck, and embraced him thrice as tightly once he had seen him minutes ago. Wakatoshi nearly lifted his father from the ground. Now, as Wakatoshi picked at his small serving of possibly 382 pieces of rice and steak, he watched his father talk to Yuri.

“Ah, Wakatoshi, she is so cute! Ooh~,” he pinched Yuri’s cheek who giggled and thanked him, a little awkward. Wakatoshi ate his steak, a little curve on his lips from their interaction.

“Utsui-san, I am so excited! I cannot believe you came all this way, because ‘Toshi-chan is going to nationals!” Yuri smiled.

Wakatoshi’s grandmother stopped feeding the twins and sighed. “It’s not why he came.”

The young man felt the steak he swallowed start to froth in his mouth. He forced it down, and turned to his father. “What is the news that you have?”

“I got fired from my job.” Mr. Utsui said, a little weak. “Well, they laid us off—,”

Ms. Ushijima stood up and gathered the plates. “Your father is coming back to live with us until he finds something good. Hopefully in Tokyo so he can move out again.”

“Y-yes...” Mr. Utsui slouched, but he continued to eat his rice.

Wakatoshi ate his steak, and he quietly let his mother take it as he looked at Yuri’s hand. “Will you be taking care of the twins, then?” he said.

Mr. Utsui opened his mouth, a little confused, but he only sighed, “Ah- well yes. I will. I am also discussing that matter with your mother.”

“Do you need to go to court for it?” Wakatoshi continued to sit as Yuri held onto him, adjusting their feet from the long period of sitting on them.

“No, Oba-san will handle the matters.”

Wakatoshi nodded, and quietly asked his grandmother to be excused. Once she nodded, she eyed his left hand as he helped Yuri up.

“Your lover cannot go. I need to ask them some things as well.”

“Oba-san.” Wakatoshi bowed his head, “they need to stretch out their feet.”

“I don’t care. Sit by me, Yuri-tan.” Yuri looked back, and shooed Wakatoshi off. He bowed, only slightly, before sliding open the doors, and going outside.

The Ushijima Land stretched for only a couple of square acres. Wakatoshi sat down awkwardly by the lake.

It was technically a marsh but his mother never liked him calling it that. He fondly remembered how he invited his team here to train. Goshiki nearly passed out in the fields further West, if Grandmother Nijiko had not taken care of him. Wakatoshi smiled remembering how she pinched his cheeks and cooed, “Goshiki-Bo.”

“Wakatoshi.” He turned, slightly, and Mr. Utsui sat down next to him with a bit of difficulty. “Ah, what a nice night, hm?” he tried to hide his cough.

“Yes.” the young man said.

Mr. Utsui sighed, tapping his fingers and looking off at the side, towards the stars. “H-How is Shiratorizawa?”

“We won against Karasuno a few days ago. My team and I are going to nationals.”

Mr. Utsui smiled. “Ah, perfect, perfect, good for you. I’m happy that it makes you happy.” Wakatoshi looked down. He did not feel anything. The dream that had woken him up this morning has scared him. He had no idea why. “You trained hard for this, hm?”

“Yes.”

“I’m glad my son has come all this way. You’ve gotten so big and strong! Tell me, do the twins bother you? I hope the farm work isn't too much either. But you’re 18 now, and-,”

Wakatoshi stood up. He took a deep breath. He simply took off his kimono.

Mr. Utsui blinked. “‘Toshi?”

“I’m going for a run.” The boy ran without a word to his father. He was glad Mr. Utsui didn’t follow. Because Wakatoshi began to cry.

After a good ten minute run, Wakatoshi took yet another shower once he got back. He now wore his pajamas. A big shirt he had been gifted once from Mr. Utsui, and Pokemon themed pants he got from Satori a year ago.

Wakatoshi went to the entrance of his home, holding Yuri’s hands. It was time to say goodbye to Yuri-Chan. “Your Grandma is so weird.” they giggled, trying to hush their voice. That made no sense to him, really. Grandmother Nijiko heard everything.

“She is my blood. I got it from her.” Yuri giggled and kissed him softly, and he did in return. “You’re so weird~,”

“Yes.” He wanted to go inside already. He needed to think of what the matter was with his father. But he needed to also stall for Yuri to feel safe.

“Heh, okay, tomorrow is my practice.” They pulled him close and cooed, “I’ll see you?”

“Of course.” He stared at their features. He remembered hearing a few opposing volleyball players try to bully Yuri. He made sure they lost within two sets. For Yuri was like a flower to Wakatoshi- they had a timeless beauty. He loved staring at the shape of their eyes, how their nose scrunched ever so slightly when they smiled, and especially, when their irises dilated. He never felt such an intense feeling pull himself toward her.

They hugged him tightly. “Love you, ‘Toshi-Chan.”

“I love you too.”

After another kiss, Yuri-Chan’s aunt pulled up in her car. With another wave, Yuri had disappeared from his grasp. Wakatoshi was all alone.

☆彡

The Last Set. Wakatoshi took his stance as one of the outer blockers. He watched the ball be served by the Karasuno Crows. The Samurai Crow, Asahi, paused before spiking, causing Wakatoshi to miss his timing on the block. On the next turn, when Kenjiro sets, Wakatoshi returns his point as he spikes against the block. In games, he lets Satori do the blocking, since he is better. Wakatoshi is smart, he has no doubt about that in this sport, but he knows his teammate’s instinctual guess is better than anything. When Satori went left, Wakatoshi followed and blocked it correctly. He quietly nodded as Satori beamed with pride.

After another few more scores, Wakatoshi blinked at the sudden point Karasuno took. His eyebrows were raised as he drank his water. He was surprised by the new attack Karasuno made. Never in his years of volleyball research, of play, did he believe it could work against his strong team, or actually score. They were extremely fearless.

Wakatoshi frowned at himself when Reon missed. But now he can make a point to honor him, and also win back the lead. As he spiked, he spotted the little short Libero, the Lightning Bolt Crow Yu. He frowned, and he spiked quickly to his left. It was quick, causing a jolt of pain to his shoulder, but it did the trick for them to get a point.

Despite that, the Blond Crow, Kei, tried to go against him. Which made him annoyed. This tiny blocker, tried to go against his immeasurable strength? Wakatoshi huffed quietly.

Wakatoshi hated how Kei knew how to one touch, how to time his spikes perfectly. But he didn’t even have the strength like Satori did. He was just a wannabe Satori. And no one is like Satori. And such thoughts, that the young man had, made his strength greater with the stress of the Blond Crow. Kei made a grave mistake. Pissing off the Miracle Boy.

With the next point to be made, and with his new power up that Kei unknowingly gave Wakatoshi, the Miracle Boy then, out of pure anger, made sure he could not play. Using his entire body weight, he made sure that Kei was out. Against Kei’s perfect block, Wakatoshi had spiked so hard to Kei’s right fingers, he heard the crack.

As Wakatoshi landed, he turned away. He had scored. And Kei would be gone.

After Karasuno’s kerfuffle of Kei’s condition, now Wakatoshi could serve. Now that the Blond Crow was gone, just a few more points were made by him and Wakatoshi could see Father.

“Bring it!” Karasuno yelled.

Bring it? Wakatoshi thought. How amusing. He will. He threw the ball up, jumped, and struck it hard. The Samurai Crow hit it in the air, his skin turning red from impact. Typical. Karasuno was playing yet another synchronized attack. But Wakatoshi saw how Satori eyed Sugawara’s shoes, and jumped immediately. The Captain relaxed at seeing Satori’s correct guess, and watched. He watched Satori glare down at the boy, a blush blooming on his pale cheeks. Wakatoshi could not help but smirk to himself as well.

The Eagles were soaring far above the Crows.

The Last Set. Wakatoshi, being a not loud person, clapped for Satori as the rest of his team screamed. Satori’s blocks were always one to be celebrated. His skills were amazing, and were an important asset to the team.

After switching sides, Wakatoshi served. But he can feel himself getting tired, as he jumped he got a blurry vision and hit the ball to the net. He makes a genuine apology, deciding to let his team do some more of the heavy lifting. After all, the Blond Crow was gone.

But seeing the Chibi-Chan, Shoyo Hinata, Wakatoshi stood taller. He scowled at the boy. Kenjiro sensed his anger, and set the ball to the Ace. Now he spiked it down. But no. As if the boy was blessed only with his speed, he saw, in awe, how the boy caught the damn ball with his face. Satori missed his spike, the two comrades tched at the boy. Wakatoshi could feel his and Satori’s hatred at the boy’s talentless smile. Even more so, what made Wakatoshi steam further was that Shoyo still scored points. Not only was he reckless, he always just went for his head. It made the Ace sick to his stomach. Ungrateful runt.

Wakatoshi had not doubted he wouldn’t win, but now he wanted to crush the small boy. He wanted to win just as bad as he did.

After the next loss, due to Satori’s overthinking, Wakatoshi tried not to chuckle at seeing Satori get yelled at by the Coach. Despite the hilarity, now the Captain had to make up for Satori’s lost concentration. Right now he couldn’t depend on him. Right now he needs to win. Even if Satori can’t pick up his slack.

The first years’ reckless quick attack. Wakatoshi hated it. Speed was all he had. Nothing like the great rival Wakatoshi had expected him to be; no, just Stupid, Small, Sly Shoyo.

Wakatoshi can hear Yuri-Chan cheer loudly from the bleachers with his school. He heard his school cheer proudly after Eita’s no touch serve, only to find Karasuno's ridiculous cheering. Now he turned around, to his team, and he furrowed his brows. He looked upon their glistening faces. “We Shall Finish This.” Now all of Shiratorizawa sang aloud. Perfect. A traditional song. A traditional strength of his. He will beat all of Karasuno, if he has to, to the ground.

Wakatoshi watched as Shoyo reflected his spike, and made what should’ve been his point, theirs. He never wanted anything more than to crush Shoyo as he did to Kei. He clenched his fists and turned away.

Goshiki talked. Gushed about the Shrimp. “Can you believe it, Wakatoshi? It’s like his speed can power through your strength!” The Ace said nothing in response.

Stupid Shoyo....he shouldn’t have done that at all.

Goshiki was trying to prove himself, to help Wakatoshi’s previous loss- Wakatoshi felt like he was trying to watch paint dry.

In retaliation, Wakatoshi hit hard against the New Crow despite the Samurai Crow’s time block that he copied from the Blond Crow. But now he felt his arm throb. Store. He would need to wait until he can use all of his strength to beat them. To finish this. But first, Wakatoshi needed to calm himself down.

He needed a replacement.

Wakatoshi turned to the smaller, youngest member. He put his hand on his shoulder, and made strong eye contact. “Goshiki. Do not panic, you have much talent. Let us finish this.”

Wakatoshi moved out of the way, and he caught his breath. Goshiki made a great point. As he planned. As he should. So he can finish beautifully. It was often like the paintings his Uncle Hideaki would make, little colors mixing in, adding up to the pine forests next to the Ushijima Acres. What Goshiki did was pure art. With a serve to get them back in the lead. With Goshiki’s now flared ego, Wakatoshi knew he could lead this. He had successfully stored up enough energy, and calmed himself down-

A tie.

He noticed Coach staring at him. As Captain, as Ace, as a Volleyball Player. He needed to win for him as well. He lowered his stance. Kenjiro made the set to, The Traditional Wakatoshi, The Traditional Strength, The God, spiked hard to the Libero Crow. The ball flew past.

One More Point. Wakatoshi heard. One More Point. Because they are stronger.

But who came running back? Just as they were winning, for one more point. The Blond Crow had flown back to the game.

The Last Set. 15 Shiratorizawa. 14 Karasuno.

Wakatoshi wanted to crush his dreams, and now his other fingers. Yunohama came in, but Satori read failed on a part of the play against Tobio. Wakatoshi wanted to say something to the Blond Crow. But he realized he did not despise him like Shoyo. Only found him as an obstacle to crush.

Wakatoshi reminded Kenjiro. “Use me mercilessly.” He had enough stamina. He needed to be ready to beat the dreams of these foolish crows. As Reon made the ball go up, Wakatoshi struck Kenjiro’s fake set, right at Kei. He stared him down during their fall. He felt himself puff out his chest. He talked with his glowing eyes, as if saying, I can beat you.

Wakatoshi needed to serve again, but at the stupid Libero. He felt his thighs shake as he readied himself. He leaped up high, and hit the net to fool them.

But it didn’t work.

Satori couldn’t block the return attack. And now Karasuno was in the lead. Despite how hard Wakatoshi used his strength to get through the Blond Crow. During Coach’s timeout, Wakatoshi squeezed the pouches the twins had packed for him. Every game. Every practice. The twins packed him a little juice pouch.

He relaxed. His legs really needed to sit. A lot. Despite how tired he was from that run, he caught his breath. Kenjiro asked if he can still be used. He saw his teammate’s red, exhausted faces. This game was worrying them. Karasuno was in the lead.

Wakatoshi agreed with a warm smile. Because now he can win, with real, strong teamwork. Everyone depended on him. “Use me.”

On the court, the Libero saved it from the Samurai crow’s attack. Meaning he can serve, and he- It didn’t count. He tried to push it far. But his shoulder ached. Stupid Shoyo. Too late. He was too quick. Wakatoshi felt his muscles ache, like quiet screams.

This time, he spiked inside. Stupid Shoyo.

Wakatoshi was breathing heavily. But, he looked up, and grunted out of happiness. Stupid Shoyo!! He thought to himself.

Reon served. But, Shoyo made the next point.

Stupid Shoyo.

Wakatoshi smiled though, when Shoyo tried to quick attack, and Satori blocked it. But he didn’t grimace out of disappointment. He only kept thinking.

Stupid Shoyo.

Wakatoshi watched the ball on the next attack. He watched Hinata not jump. His legs froze. Stupid Shoyo. He congratulated Goshiki on the new point, with a nod as he went to the net.

He watched the ball slowly fall as a new play began. Another point-

The Libero. Wakatoshi felt the ball slip through his block. He hated the feeling as he grimaced at the passing and quick sting to his pinky. Wakatoshi stood and watched the Blond Crow figure out their attacks, he couldn’t help but now feel the same sense of annoyance as with Shoyo. He needed to truly show them who was going to win.

The Last Set. Hinata served. They do a minus tempo back attack. Shoyo spiked at Taichi. When he failed, Wakatoshi picked it up and yelled at his server. It’s time. Merciless Attack.

He wanted to hit. He wanted to hit Stupid Shoyo’s face so hard. Kenjiro noted Wakatoshi’s burning fury. Goshiki whimpered under his breath as he ran. But Wakatoshi flew up, and he spiked it to three blockers. But he spiked it right at their setter.

No point. The ball went up.

His nose flared, and he grunted underneath his breath.

Those crows.

Those.

Those damn crows.

THOSE BASTARD CROWS DARED DEFY HIM. HE HAD NEVER FELT SUCH HEAT IN HIS BODY; AS IF LAVA HAD BEEN SPURTING OUT OF HIM IN RAGE. SUCH ANGER INSIDE HIM AS HE SAW THE KARASUNO CROWS WEAKLY FIGHT; SUCH ANGER INSIDE HIM AS HE SAW THE KARASUNO WEAKLY TRY AND CONTINUE TO FIGHT AGAINST HIS STRENGTH. HE WAS PINNING THEM DOWN.

THE BALD CROW PICKED IT UP. CHANCE BALL.

WAKATOSHI COULDN’T STOP. HE NEEDED TO FIGHT.

STUPID SHOYO NEEDED TO LOSE!

This time, Shoyo flew up in the all out quick attack. Wakatoshi saw the ball. Where it went. Down. On his side. He felt his throat being choked, by someone.

Beneath him.

Wakatoshi saw it. He shook Shoyo’s hand and walked away. His face was grim. He saw Coach;s face staring at Shoyo. He noted how Satori was painted, with a tear falling down his face. How Goshiki sobbed. Reon staring at his hand. The Libero panting, his face a bright red.

Wakatoshi heard it. A flat thanks. No one spoke. Except the single mutter, “I thought we couldn’t lose.”

Wakatoshi smelled the salt, he saw the youngest shake and cry, hugging his broad body. A single, disappointed turn from the Coach. A flat, “hit 100 serves when we get back.”

“Wakatoshi, didn’t you get mad?” Satori asked.

Wakatoshi felt his body relax. His inner thigh was being stretched out. He paused. “I wanted to say I am stronger than them. Isn’t that childish? I wanted to say it.”

“Childish reasons are what drives us. What a great game.” A pause. “I’m quitting volleyball. I’m going to watch you on TV and brag about how we were best friends.” Satori giggled. “It’ll be fun to be interviewed about you when you get big and famous!”

21 Karasuno. 19 Shiratorizawa.

He turned away to the bright smiles of the first year duo. The Great Eagles had lost their feathers.

Wakatoshi woke up with a gasp as he held his throat. He panted, beads of sweat dripping down his bare chest. He groaned quietly, and he held his head.

It was a dream. A Dream.

Stupid Shoyo...he had invaded his dreams. And Wakatoshi looked at his left hand. He held the trophy.

He had held the trophy. Not the Karasuno Crows. He did. He touched it. And no one else could ever take that feeling away from him.

Wakatoshi turned on the bath again in his personal restroom, and got in. He sat in complete silence, and he filled the bucket with water. He dumped it upon himself. It was cold. He let his body shiver. He let himself sink as he weakly washed himself.

He heard his dad snore a few rooms down. But the worst thing that Wakatoshi did that night was cry.

☆彡

Wakatoshi knocked on the door to Coach Washijo’s room. “Wakatoshi-kun, come in.”

The boy walked inside, and blinked softly. He wore his school uniform, freshly ironed. “Coach Washijo. May I sit down?”

“Of course.” Wakatoshi pulled out the chair, and sat, he looked at his feet. Coach Washijo sighed, and he looked to the windows. “You know it, hm?”

Wakatoshi nodded. “We do not deserve this trophy.”

“I am already surprised you finished your punishment. I am extremely disappointed by the fact you brought the Chibi-Chan on our school grounds before. And for the game itself, Captain.”

Wakatoshi moved the chairs aside and he got on his knees, bowing his head. “I do not deserve the title as Captain.”

“Neither does anyone else on the team, son. But, I was the one who called you in here,” Coach Washijo went to him, and tapped his back. Wakatoshi slowly got up, and looked down. “I am proud. Don’t tell the others this, Wakatoshi-kun. That was a close game. I need you to practice with everyone. Get everyone ready for the Nationals. You deserve it.”

Wakatoshi bowed. “Thank you, Coach.”

As he left, his mind became fogged. How, how could he have even let himself be seen like that? Coach knew. Coach and he are the only ones, only ones who know the Karasunos were so, so so close to becoming the winners.

So.

Close.

Wakatoshi turned to the restroom quickly, and he began to breathe heavily. He loosened his tie as he stared into the sink. That close. Two points away from his dreams, his father, everything he had known into the sink, washed away because of Shoyo.

“STUPID SHOYO!”

With the force of thunder, he punched the mirror. He panted, and looked at his reflection. The mirror didn’t shatter. The boy sighed as he turned on the sink, and washed his face. He rinsed it, as the water turned hot. Hot. Hot. Hot-

He held onto the sink, gasping for air. He remembered it. He remembered his mother scrubbing him fiercely with a wood scrubber. “Wakatoshi you need to start scrubbing!” She picked at his hair. “You need to start getting off those dead skin cells!” She ripped off anything that came off him. “Or else no one will like you! You wanna end up like your Dad? I married him out of pity! He was supposed to give me money!”

Wakatoshi held onto the sink, panting again as he washed his face. No. No he did not want to be like his father. Injured. No, that's why he ate well. He treated his body well. Run no less than five laps around the acres. Avoid the tree stump to the right. He could never, ever end up like his dad.

He threw his head up and panted as he stared at himself. His skin was pink. He felt nothing on his skin. He only sighed. He grabbed the paper towels and wiped his face. He started to cry.

He was so close to ending up like his Dad. Like Tooru. No. He is strong. He got to Nationals.

He’s living his true, and only dream.

Then why is The Miracle Boy panicking?

☆彡

The lunch room was bustled, filled with happy and chattering students from the game that happened a week ago. The chefs served sushi today. Yuri was away in the auditorium for practice.

Wakatoshi ate with his team. Satori smiled. “Wow! Did Yuri give you good luck concerts for their concert, Wakatoshi-kun?”

“No.” he responded, eating a salmon roll after.

Eita sighed, “Well, I hear they’re playing with that new transfer, Choboyo-kun.”

Wakatoshi looked up, and scowled. “Oh.”

“Ooh, Eita-kun you’re going to get Wakatoshi-kun so angry!!” Satori laughed.

Wakatoshi continued to eat, and he frowned as he looked down. It was one of his worst flaws. Jealousy. Shoyo. Tooru. Despite how they collapsed, how they looked up in anger, he knew they still probably had nice days. Tooru probably was nice with his nephew. Shoyo had hugged his best friends. Wakatoshi had his teammates and the twins. Yuri and he had been dating for a year, four months, and 27 days. The thought of Yuri being with another boy, of course it was rational he would get upset.

Besides, Yuri never told him of anything remotely close to the concert for that night. He continued to eat. He would tell them later.

☆彡

Wakatoshi slammed the ball against the ball in a beat. One two, one two three. He remembered the beat from a lullaby his Uncle Ushijima Hideaki sang to him. He threw the ball up, and ran, staring at the ball. He wanted nothing more, like Left Handing Hideaki, than to show his strength. He hit the other side of the net.

Satori, Goshiki, and Kenjiro were across Wakatoshi. Taichi and Eita were with Wakatoshi. He watched as Satori took the first hit, giving Kenjiro time to serve to Goshiki. Wakatoshi moved with Taichi to go for a block. Wakatoshi jumped early, but blocked Goshiki’s spike.

“One touch!” Taichi yelled. He jumped down, as Wakatoshi quickly caught the ball and moved it up. Eita made a pretty decent set. Wakatoshi did not want to upset him by saying it was much too far from the net, but he jumped.

Satori jumped perfectly. A great timing block.

Wakatoshi froze. He saw Satori’s crazy blood red eyes flash into the Blond Crow. Wakatoshi smacked down the ball.

“FUCK!”

The game stopped, and everyone went to Satori’s hand. He winced quietly, and he flexed his middle finger. His comrades gasped out of grotesque. “Wakatoshi-kun! Shit-, you do scare me!”

“Sorry.” Wakatoshi panted. He was sweaty. He was sticky and sweaty. He wanted to shower.

“Is everything—?” Coach Saito started.

“Let’s put Hayato in while we practice.” Wakatoshi grabbed the ball, walking over. “We need to make sure we win the next game.”

“Captain, we did win.” Goshiki gently took Satori close, wrapping his fingers with a tape.

Wakatoshi scowled. He didn’t want to admit to his comrades they barely won. Stupid Shoyo almost took away their name of the Great Eagles. But he turned away. “One more game, then Eita and I shall take Satori to Nurse Yui.”

Everyone gave a hesitant agreement. Wakatoshi sighed, he banged the ball against the wooden ground. He looked across the net.

Six players in black and orange uniforms. Goshiki’s hair had faded to the Captain Crow. The foolish Lightning Libero Crow. Kenjiro looked so much like Tobio.

Wakatoshi twitched. He threw the ball up. Not again. Not again. He leaped into the air, and he felt- no he saw Goshiki move. Shoyo. He spiked hard, past Hayato, past Goshiki’s defense, so hard the ball had flown to the ceiling, and had gotten stuck in a beam.

Wakatoshi panted, his muscles spasming, and he looked at Goshiki with anger. He showed him. He showed him he is the strongest. He showed him no matter how hard he would train like Tooru he would not—

Satori gripped his arm. Wakatoshi stopped breathing. His best friend frowned. “Wakatoshi. You won.”

☆彡

Yuri smiled and they held Wakatoshi’s hand. They had been wandering the neighborhood for awhile, and now Yuri was just beginning to look at the music stores and babbling about their new deep desire for something about a gem. They said it would make the music sound crystal clear.

“Is it not clear already?” The boy asked.

“Silly! No!! It needs to be perfect for the concert!”

The concert. Wakatoshi followed them around, and after the eighth story about how they loved little stuffed animals, he asked, “Who is Choboyo?”

“And- huh? Oh! Choboyo-Senpai! He’s in university, so he offered to play with me! He’s a little bit much though...”

Wakatoshi went closer as Yuri continued in telling their story. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Yuri looked over and sighed. “Because look at you! Wakatoshi-Chan, you’re slouching. Don’t worry, he’s only in the background of my performance for tomorrow. Now come on! Chin up~! I need to pick out a good outfit for tomorrow! I wanted you to help!”

Wakatoshi was too tired to disagree, despite him having promised his mother to babysit the twins. That morning. He knew Grandmother Nijiko would tell Ms. Ushijima, and he knew he would be subjected to the marsh cleaning, but, seeing Yuri’s smile as they picked out a strawberry shirt for their suit, was enough for him to think;

“Who cares?”

Wakatoshi was benched. Coach Saito had explained to Wakatoshi that he had to maintain his speed before he could be put back on the court. Which was perfect. During lunch, privately, he practiced. It was better for him then.

No more Karasuno Crows.

But tonight, the concert hall had changed. However, Wakatoshi's face was non wipeable of his scowl. He wore a hand me down of Mr. Utsui’s suit. It smelled horrible. It was stiff.

“Ah~, Yuri-kun!” Choboyo was indeed a young man, with a stubble, messy and sleek white hair, his eyes a never-ending black.

Wakatoshi scowled as he watched Yuri hug him. Yuri wore a lovely green suit, their hair pulled back.

They were so beautiful.

“Choboyo! This is my boyfriend, Ushijima Wakatoshi. He’s a volleyball player- He’s going to the National Championship!”

The young men stared at each other. Wakatoshi nodded. “Good luck.”

“We say break a leg, actually.” He only despised him even more, now. “Come on, Yuri,” Wakatoshi eyed his hand. His right hand lingered on Yuri’s waist, on their shoulders, and on their hands.

Wakatoshi sighed to himself.

Yuri turned. “Is something wrong?” Choboyo also looked, raising a white eyebrow of his. Wakatoshi gripped his fists and he scowled at Choboyo.

“You like Yuri-Chan. My partner.”

“Wakatoshi—!”

“I won’t lie.” Choboyo took his hands off Yuri, “They’re very attractive.”

Wakatoshi widened his eyes. He didn’t expect the man to just admit it. It was almost like he was trying to be a pervert.

“E-excuse us,” Yuri put a hand to Choboyo’s chest. “I-I’ll be right there.” Yuri sighed as Choboyo smirked to himself, kissed their hand, and walked away.

Wakatoshi stepped closer. “Do you not see this? He’s a pervert.”

“It’s one performance,” Yuri said, rubbing their arm. “Don’t you realize this is why I’ve been asking you to be with me? W-why I’ve been playing more around you, and not practicing here? I know.”

He blinked. He wanted to say something. Anything. He gulped. He blinked. “Yuri-Chan. I do not think you should play with him.”

Yuri looked up with teary eyes. “If you’re not going to be here to support me right now, I-I want you to leave. I can’t do this right now, ‘Toshi. I want to take a break.”

He gulped. “Yuri, perhaps you should think straight. D-don’t—.”

“I’ll see you around.” They turned around, and just like that, Wakatoshi again, was alone.

☆彡

Wakatoshi locked the door behind him. He sat on his bed. It creaked. Across the hall, he heard the twins.

The twins.

He got up as fast as he could, and he went to their room. Everything in the room was painted pink, and had little birds that twittered happily with the characters of bird songs next to their beaks. The room was split into Mayumi’s play space, and then Kazane’s.

Wakatoshi squatted down.

The twins were on the floor, Mayumi’s foot was in her mouth. Kazane was trying to climb back in her crib. Her left hand was on the crib. Wakatoshi picked up Kazane, and started to hum.

Before he had heard his mother and father fight, he actually wanted to sing. He remembered seeing his father’s sisters all perform and sing. It made him stare in awe. The twirling of their batons, of their voices, their silks. Wakatoshi adored it. He once thought of himself there, dancing.

It was Grandfather Ushijima Touma who frowned at catching him. “Nijiko.” he had stated firmly. “He is pretending to be a daughter.” Wakatoshi had never felt such pain as he did that evening.

But being an artist was worse. That was when they discovered he had a tendency to write with his left hand. Just like the exiled Uncle Hideaki. He was supposedly in Germany.

“You had let him draw?!” cried Ms. Ushijima. Her parents stood next to her. She gripped his hand. “Does this look right to you? Huh, Takashi?!”

It was only his father. Little, nothing for brains, Mr. Utsui, who stood in front of his son. “He’s just a boy! He’ll use it for-for something great! You just wait!”

Wakatoshi picked up Mayumi as well, and began to hum. He began to quietly sing the lullaby. An old song. It was about change. About the discovery of an island. About how the tide changed with each roll onto the warm sand. Yes, everything to the nude eye was the same, but change happened. With tradition, came slow, but sure, change.

He lifted his baby sisters above him. He teared up. “This forbidden, new world, on a summer day we meet.” Mayumi was the only one awake now. He hummed as he knelt beside her. “On a summer day, we will meet again, Imoto-san.”

“Wakatoshi?” The boy turned, with teary eyes as Mayumi drifted into sleep. Mr. Utsui stood there, his mouth slack open. He closed it. “I didn’t know you sang.”

“Me either.” Wakatoshi stood up.

Mr. Utsui looked away, “Ah- well, Wakatoshi, why don’t we go outside?” He nodded and stood, awkwardly following him outside.

The sun was setting to the west of the Ushijima Acres. Wakatoshi sat on an old swing. Mr. Utsui sat next to him. Wakatoshi made sure not to look at his father; for he smelled horribly.

“Son, I- well, I have some news about you and your sisters.” Wakatoshi looked at him. Mr. Utsui had gained many splotches of white on his face, and wrinkles.

“Yes?”

“I got a job out of Miyagi Prefecture. I’m taking the twins with me. You will continue to live with your mother.”

Wakatoshi paused. He looked out at the sunset. “No.”

Mr. Utsui wheezed out of his age, “I beg your pardon?”

“You have not been here for the divorce. You were not there for Oka-san when she gave birth. You were not there to take care of the girls. You were not even here for me.” Wakatoshi looked at the sun, and it disappeared.

“You do not deserve the twins.”

The boy got up, before he stopped. His shirt was caught on something. He tugged. To no avail. He tugged and he- Wakatoshi had stumbled, back, he was trying to regain himself.

But everything flashed.

Yuri.

Kazane.

Mayumi.

Mr. Utsui.

Ms. Ushijima.

Grandmother Nijiko

Grandfather Touma.

Kei.

Shoyo.

Himself.

Wakatoshi had fallen into the marsh, and he had passed out into the water.

☆彡

Wakatoshi awoke, to Kazane biting his finger. He gasped, and he groaned. He began to gently flex his body, and groan again. “O-oka-san-?”

“Hold still.” Ms. Ushijima scrubbed his body. “You nearly drowned in the lake. Ugh, look at the water! Oka-san!” she cried. She wore a bra- she never wore such things. Sweatpants?

Were Satori’s theories true? Did alternate universes exist?

“Oka-san- agh- I-I cannot-,”

Ms. Ushijima smacked his face. Satori was wrong, alternate universes did not exist. “Still, I said! You banged up your knee pretty badly.”

Wakatoshi sat up, practically leapt up, but he moaned loudly in pain. “N-No, no. No- O-oka-san- please- I can’t-!”

“Shut up, you’ll heal if you sit still!”

Wakatoshi looked up, and started to cry. “I-I won’t win. Oka-san,” he hugged her, he cried in her neck. “I-I won't a-able to play! I’ll fail at nationals! Tell me!!” He held her tightly as he looked at her.

Ms. Ushijima stared down at her son.

Wakatoshi had clear snot on his upper lip. His tears were salty, and stained his cheeks as they dripped down into the tub. He was only in his bare underwear. The water was marshy. He had a rose colored bruise blossom on his knee.

Ms. Ushijima took his chin. “Listen to me, Wakatoshi. If you sit absolutely still, I’ll see what I can do. Just,” she heard the baby whimper.

“O-oni. . .” one of the twins started to cry.

Wakatoshi sniffled, and he looked at Kazane. Ms. Ushijima gave the baby to him. “Kazane-kun, go comfort your Oni-tan.”

“Oni~!” Kazane wrapped her chubby arms around him, then Mayumi as Ms. Ushijima placed her on him. Mayumi, adorably, finished her sister’s sentence, “tan!”

Wakatoshi smiled, and he softly cried, as Ms. Ushijima lifted up his right leg. “It’s alright, Wakatoshi-tan, I’m here.” She held it with care, and repeated, quietly as she wet some rags, “I’m here.”

☆彡

It was the night of the concert. Wakatoshi wore his school outfit, despite it being the weekend. He told his parents it’s on school grounds. They did not argue.

Goshiki found out about his injury. He had gotten the word out. Wakatoshi had been numb the entire night. He went to bed the night before, sleeping with his sisters in their room. He had awoken to their stuffed animals on his face.

Mr. Utsui chuckled about how their first word was for their elder brother. Grandmother Nijiko spoke nothing as she ate breakfast with him.

Satori sat next to Wakatoshi, wearing a hoodie, and he smiled. “Yuri-kun looks awfully pretty today, huh Wakatoshi-kun~?”

Wakatoshi said nothing. He only looked down. Strangely, he did not want to get up this morning. He did not want to do anything. He felt as if he should retire from life.

The Miracle Boy was supposed to be strong.

Never to get hurt.

And yet, here he was. Pathetically existing next to his family. He did not even mention to them that Yuri did not love him anymore. He did not tell anyone, either, of his sisters moving away from him.

They sat on his lap though, pacifiers in their mouths.

“Wakatoshi-kun, your sisters are so so so cute!” Satori laughed as he picked up Mayumi. She began to whine, aher pigtails bouncing as her blue eyes stared at Satori in fury. She fussed before Wakatoshi gently put her on his lap.

“She does not like to be held from under the arms. Only by her stomach, Despite her being ticklish there, she loves it.”

Satori smiled softly. “You love them a lot. Were they there for you when-?”

Wakatoshi nodded. “Yes. They were born right after. Oka-san was tired. They kept me company.” He paused. “I do not know what to do without them.”

Satori sighed softly, “I understand.”

The lights dimmed. A hush over the audience. The auditorium was huge and packed.

Yuri, and Choboyo came out. Yuri was so uncomfortable. Their eyes looked down at the ground. Choboyo grabbed the microphone. “Thank you, everyone, for our performance tonight! I gotta say- Yuri has something great planned out!”

The two turned to the middle of the stage. Yuri nodded. They held a different violin. It was not theirs.

Choboyo went to his grand piano proudly, and he looked at Yuri’s body, then at their eyes. They both looked at each other, finally, nodded and looked away. After a few seconds, Choboyo started off.

Wakatoshi hated it. He pounded a key, then followed it as if he was trying to sing a love song for Yuri.

Despite the famous classical song, it was still the one Yuri had played what seemed like eons ago. The Swan.

Here it went by the Carnival of Animals.

But Wakatoshi knew what Yuri was trying to replicate. But their music, their bow, the sound made Wakatoshi cringe.

It was not the joy, peaceful, calm song Yuri played in the land. Here, mixed in with Choboyo’s romantic noise; was their song of sorrow. They focused, as if on the music, and not on their own play.

Wakatoshi looked down. Two birds. One defeated. Another attack for more.

The song ended.

Wakatoshi clapped, his hands smacking like thunder, and Yuri looked at him, just for a moment. They went backstage, and the next duo came out. The song was the infamous Clair De Lune.

“Wakatoshi?”

He looked at his dad beside him. Mr. Utsui showered the night before due to falling in the marsh to save Wakatoshi. He had done his hair. He had also shaved.

“Your mother and I talked, we decided that I’ll live here. After my first paycheck I’ll get a good car, so I can drive in and out of the Prefecture. And, son?” Mr. Utsui moved in closer.

Wakatoshi suddenly teared up. When he was little, he remembered exactly how his father smelled when he protected him from the traditional rules that had ached his once frail bones.

Like hot sand.

Mr. Utsui, in that moment, murmured into Wakatoshi’s ear, as the song had ended, “I am so proud you got into Nationals. Keep working hard. Keep getting stronger for us.”

As Wakatoshi’s hot tears fell, he whispered, looking at his father, “T-Thank you, Oto-san.”

☆彡

Wakatoshi had bounced the ball. He stood firmly on his right leg. He breathed in deeply. He eyed his friend across from him, and Mr. Utsui who held the twins. Mayumi was on the sand, babbling and trying to eat it.

“Imoto-san, do not try to eat the sand, okay?” Wakatoshi looked across to his sister.

“Oni~!” Kazane cried with a laugh.

Wakatoshi chuckled, and he gently bounced the ball. The sand underneath his sneakers. His deep and panting breath. He looked at his friend with a soft smile.

Satori panted himself, his red hair sticking to his forehead. He only smiled widely with happiness.

Wakatoshi breathed deeply, and calmed himself.

Satori and he, underneath the midnight moon.

Wakatoshi served. Satori dived under and threw the ball up, before spiking. Wakatoshi, with great speed, blocked and Satori read him. Satori gathered himself again to throw the ball, set, then spike. Now Wakatoshi served it to himself, and he quickly set it. He now went to the left, and spiked hard right. Satori tried to follow for a moment, before he watched the ball slam beside him. Satori, however, blocked enough to make a dump. Wakatoshi nodded.

A great defense.

Satori smiled with a small breath of relief, “Wakatoshi-kun, I love playing with you, but you scare me.”

The young man smiled as he went underneath the net to get it. “I try my best to be a Strong Monster as well.”

“How scary!” Satori gasped, and Wakatoshi took the ball. He spun the ball as Mr. Utsui cheered happily.

“Go Wakatoshi-kun!”

“Are you okay? I know your dad is back.” Satori said quietly.

Wakatoshi turned around. “It’s okay. I-I’m not happy he is back.”

Satori widened his eyes. “Oh?”

Wakatoshi sat beside him against the barn. The Ushijima space was so peaceful now. Not in a flash as he usually saw it. Wakatoshi took a deep breath again. “He came to announce he lost his job. He told me he was happy and I was happy. Not that he was proud.” Wakatoshi began to practice throwing the ball up and setting, as if it was instinct. “I was thinking. I am not happy. We nearly lost, Satori.”

His friend looked up at the stars. “I wanted to quit after that game.”

Wakatoshi stopped. He looked at his friend. “But you have so much—,”

“Those memories won’t stop flowing. Once we win nationals, Wakatoshi-kun, that’s when I’ll stop. Seeing your smile hold that big, big trophy, that’s when I’ll quit. Because then you won’t need me, and I won’t need you anymore.” Satori smiled. “I love you.”

Wakatoshi opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He closed it. He closed his eyes, before he looked at Satori. “I love you too, Satori. Thank you for being by my side.”

They both, slowly, turned to gaze at the stars.

“So, you’ll recommend me for a movie interview, right Wakatoshi-kun?”

“Perhaps.”

☆彡

Snow drifted down. It fell against Yuri’s umbrella.

“Wait!”

Yuri stopped walking, and took out their earbuds as they turned around. They widened their eyes. “Wakatoshi-ch-? What are you- Why are you running?” Yuri started.

Wakatoshi winced, and he sighed. He hid a huge dandelion bouquet behind his back, with a small box.

“Yuri-Chan.” the young man panted, “I-I am not the strongest. I lost a lot of things in the past few days. I gained some of them back.” He showed the bouquet, and the box.

“I should have focused on you, my flower. On your music. I went to your concert. You did not practice, did you? It is alright. I do not want to jump back to our relationship if you are not ready. I believe we should go back to the beginning, Yuri-Chan. If you like, we can go back to my farm, and I can listen to you play, and play, and play until we fall asleep.”

Wakatoshi, after a moment, opened the box. There was Yuri’s dream sapphire blue rosin. One swipe, said the ad on it, and the bow is brand new.

“I will always love you. But I was not okay. Now, if you take me back, I will be. Then I will never break that promise.”

Yuri looked at his big tearful eyes. “I love you, stupid!” Yuri cried and they jumped on him, tackling him. The couple held each other, with laughter and deep chuckles as they cuddled close in the soft winter wind. In an act of warmth, Yuri hugged. In an act of love, Wakatoshi kissed.

The couple was late for their classes that morning.

☆彡

Wakatoshi rinsed his face in the sink, lightly with cold water. Goshiki stood beside him by making faces. Reon patted the youngster’s back, and laughed. Eita instructed, but also listened to Kenjiro. Satori sang to himself.

The clinking of the lights above the young man began to go into a rhythm. His eyes tilted up, and he blinked. Once. Twice. And again.

He, and his teammates, were in a full purple volleyball outfit. The Number One on his shirt was bold white. His muscles flexed gently when he looked at his short olive hair. His eyes glimmered seeing where he was. How he was there.

The young man smiled to himself.

“Great Eagles.” The young man who played volleyball said, “Let’s finish this.”

#haikyu!!#haikyu x reader #haikyu angst #shiratorizawa #Shiratorizawa angst #ushijima angst #ushijima x y/n #hq ushijima #Shiratorizawa Nationals au #ushijima wakatoshi #dee writes #ushijima fluff #anime scenarios #haikyu scenarios #happy birthday Ushijima #:)

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