#also rise from the grave has NO REASON to go THAT FUCKING HARD

[kaijuree]

best phighting tracks in order (my opinion)

1. RISE FROM THE GRAVE

2. IRON HORSE

3. SENSORY OVERLOAD

4. TIX BLASTERZ

5. THE FLIPSIDE

[absurdthirst]

Dieter's Daughter {Dieter Bravo x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Dad!Dieter, mentions of drug use, unplanned pregnancies, freaking out, mentions of foster care, anxiety, lactation kink, babies, domestic bliss, falling in love, sudden marriage proposals, Dieter being a sap, adult breast feeding, oral sex (female receiving), face riding, vaginal sex, pregnancy

Comments: When a baby is dropped off on Dieter's doorstep, he is completely out of his element and doesn't know what to do. Attending a single mother support group meeting, he finds you. Begging you to become a nanny to his daughter.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dieter Bravo MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

It takes several minutes for the sounds of the doorbell peeling insistently to break through Dieter’s nearly catatonic state. Too much booze and too many pills are the result of another day of discontent and wishing that there was something other than numbness of life for him. Leaving him grumbling when one eye pops open and he groans when the cotton mouth and headache hits him. “Go away.” He huffs, knowing that there is no way that whoever is at the damn door would hear him all the way in his bedroom. Hell, the only reason he hears the doorbell is because it’s wired to the sound system in the house. Again the bell rings and like the dead rising from the grave, Dieter drags himself out of the safety and comfort of his bed. “Fuck! I’m coming! I’m coming!” The bathrobe he had tossed down last night is put over his boxers and he shuffles towards the stairs as fast as his lethargic body can go.

When Dieter opens the door, he’s shocked to see a woman standing there holding a baby. “Can I help you?” He asks, rubbing his eyes, and she snorts.

“You don’t remember me, do you?” She asks and Dieter squints, “am I supposed to?” 

She laughs humorlessly, “I shouldn’t be surprised, you could barely remember my name that night. I was just amazed that a big actor wanted to fuck me. Remember me? That cocktail waitress from the club you took home about ten months ago?” She says and Dieter scratches his neck. 

“Listen lady, I sleep with a lot of people. It’s hard to remember them all.” He admits with zero qualms. 

“Wow. You’re a fucking asshole. Anyway, I guess the condom broke because congrats, you’re a daddy. It’s a girl. Her name is Rosie. Her birth certificate is in the bag.” She holds the baby out towards him and his eyes widen, looking down at the baby bag in the ground.

”What? I- what the fuck?” He looks bewildered before he starts to laugh. “Good one. Real funny. What do you want? Money?” He scoffs and she shakes her head, tears in her eyes. 

“No. No. I need you to take her. I can’t afford her and I- I didn’t want her. When I found out - I was fucking eight months pregnant so it was too late to get rid of her and I can’t work so I can’t pay for my place. I can’t keep her. You gotta take her. She will be better off with you.” She says and pushes the baby into Dieter’s arms. 

He scrambles to hold the baby, not wanting to drop her and the woman immediately sprints off towards her car. “Hey! Wait! You can’t just- I don’t know how to look after a baby! I need you to - hey. Where the fuck- get back here!” He yells as she squeals off of his driveway and he curses himself for not fixing the gate yet. “Shit.” He hisses. He didn’t even get her name. Looking down at the baby, he sighs and knows he has to find her mom. He can’t be a daddy. He can barely look after himself. 

No, first thing is a damn DNA test and then he’s gonna find that bitch and give her back her baby. He’s gotta call the police after he cleans up his counters from the coke powder. “Fuckkkkk.” He groans, knowing his quiet day just got a whole lot busier.

****

“If we take her, Mr. Bravo, she’s just going to go into a state home. An orphanage.” Dieter frowns and wraps his arms around his chest, nervous for having the fucking cops in his house. Paranoid they were going to find the baggie of Coke he just remembered was in the little box next to his car keys. “You are listed on the birth certificate.” 

Snatching the paper from the officer he squints at it. “How the fuck is that legal?” He demands. “That means anyone could put me down as the father of their kid.” 

The officer shuffles, clearly uncomfortable and slightly in awe of being in the actor’s presence. “That’s for the courts to decide. Look,” he lowers his voice and looks around. “I don’t think you understand how bad the system is for babies.” He tells Dieter seriously. “Just- keep the baby with you, at least until the DNA tests come back. That way you don’t have to fight to get her back when she is yours. You already said you might have slept with this woman. Stranger things have happened.” 

Dieter huffs, upset by the idea of the tiny little human being in an orphanage. Even if she doesn’t look anything like him. He had found diapers and a can of formula in the bag that the mother had left with him but that’s it. He has nothing to take care of a child. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know shit about kids.” He demands, making the officer chuckle. 

“Hire a nanny.” The officer suggests, smirking. “Isn’t that what you Hollywood types do?”

Dieter knows he can’t just ship the kid off. She’s so tiny and vulnerable. He can’t do it, even he’s not that big of an asshole. He will call his assistant to get a nanny in today. “Listen, do you, uh, know how much formula to use?” He asks the cop who nods and walks over to the counter to show Dieter. 

“One scoop for every two ounces of water. Get baby water but bottled will have to work for today. So four ounces, two scoops. And shake. After she is finished, shift her to your shoulder and gently pat her back to get her to burp.” He says and Dieter nods. 

“How much does she need?” Dieter asks and the cop chuckles, “she’s gonna be hungry a lot. I remember mine at that age. Endless bottles. Be sure to wash them thoroughly.” He says and pats Dieter on the shoulder and makes his way towards the front door of the Sherman Oaks mansion.

“Fuck.” Dieter groans, rubbing his cheek when the police leave and the baby starts to cry. He knows she must be hungry so he fumbles to open the container, grabbing the bottle to fill it with bottled water and putting two scoops in. “I’m coming.” He says, struggling to do the bottle up, and he curses again as he walks over to carefully scoop the baby up. “How do I-?” He struggles to get her to suck on the bottle and sighs in relief when she stops wailing and gulps down the milk.

Dieter holds the baby awkwardly, trying to remember how from that role a few years ago. The baby had been a prop doll, but they had shown him how to hold it. “Your name’s Rosie, huh?” He asks, looking down at the infant. According to the birth certificate, she’s only two months old. “I’m Dieter, but you don’t talk so why am I telling you that?” He huffs, but the baby gurgles around the nipple of the bottle and it makes him grin. “Did you like that?” He asks, lifting a brow. Apparently he’s a natural with kids. 

The baby grunts and the grin immediately slides into a frown. “What’s that?” He asks, feeling something moving. “What are you doing?” Instead of sucking down the milk, the baby is grunting and straining and Dieter stares in horror as the smell starts to reach his nose. “Oh shit! You shit!” He groans in disgust.

The baby starts to cry, unhappy with a full diaper, and Dieter is reaching for his phone. 

“Hello?” His assistant answers and Dieter is panicking. 

“I need you here right now. I need help.” 

Johan, his assistant, frowns, “is that- is that a baby?” He asks and Dieter groans, “get here now. And call a nanny service!” He demands and hangs up. “What do I do?” He asks the baby, shifting to lay her down on a towel so she doesn’t get shit on his expensive rug. “I- shit. You - fuck. That’s disgusting.” He groans and pulls his phone out. “YouTube! I’ll try YouTube.” He looks up ‘how to change a diaper’ and grabs the baby bag.

Dieter watches the video, studying it intently as he keeps a hand on the baby’s stomach. “Looks easy.” He frowns at the squirming baby. “But the doll wasn’t moving.” He sets the phone down beside the bag so he can see it and bites his lip as he tries to figure out the snaps on the onesie she’s in. “Holy shit.” He huffs, amazed at how easy it unsnaps. “I need this in a fucking adult version.” Wrinkling his nose when the smell gets even worse, he groans. “Wheeeeew, God you stink.” He nearly gags and pulls his shirt up over his nose. “What did you eat?”

Trying to plug his nose, he follows the YouTube video, wiping the poop off of her skin after rolling up the dirty diaper and putting it in the diaper bag. Anyone watching would think Dieter is dealing with a bomb. He gags when he pushes the wipes into the bag after cleaning her up and he grabs the rash cream, placing some on her bottom where the video details he should. He curses the new diaper, trying to figure out what way is the front until he sees it says “back” on it and he pulls it tight on her tiny body before he clips her onesies back into place. “Shit. That - that wasn’t too bad.” He murmurs, breathing in the fresh air and she hiccups, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“You’re kind of cute.” Dieter murmurs. “In a weird, ‘you don’t look like me’ kind of way.” He frowns when she grins at him, kicking her feet. “You’re weird.” He huffs, but she just waves her arms at him and squeals. Is she his? After all this time, did he finally fuck up and procreate? His mind spins and he wishes he remembers what the woman looks like better than he does but it had been early (for him) and he had just woken up. “We will have to find you someone who knows what they are doing kiddo.”

**** 

“What did you do?” Johan accuses Dieter who shakes his head, holding the baby in his arms and he looks at her, unable to deny that she looks a little like Dieter. 

“I don’t know man. Some woman, I- Jesus. She said I fucked her and don’t even remember her. I’m waiting for the nurse to come for the DNA test.” Dieter confesses, knowing he has to be sure before he does anything.

“Oh my God, Dieter.” She rolls her eyes and immediately steps closer to the baby, unable to resist seeing her up close. “This is why you said you needed a nanny?” 

Dieter nods and rocks his body as the baby’s eyes start to drift closed. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He huff, looking around the house that is definitely not baby proof. “I don’t have anything. I need-” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what the fuck I need. More diapers? That formula?” He nods towards the diaper bag. “She didn’t leave me shit for this baby.” He growls, pissed off at the poor planning of that woman. Who just abandons their baby with someone they didn’t know? 

“Let me make a list and we can get what we need for her.” Johan says, knowing Dieter will not know anything that he will need. 

“I need help. And stuff. Like now.” Dieter says, feeling the need to use but he can’t since he’s responsible for a fucking baby now.

Johan nods and bites his lip. “I’ve got a call into a nanny service. They are going to send someone over today.” He knows Dieter will be relieved. “Maybe she can help us with what we need.”

“Let’s get her. I need help. I- shit. I don’t even have a crib or anything. I need you to go out. Take my card and get all the baby shit from the best store there is in town.” He orders, wanting the baby to have the best even if she isn’t his. She’s cute and she deserves a good start in this world. “I need - shit - I have no idea what I’m doing. Please help me.” Dieter begs, the baby falling asleep against his chest and he looks down at her, her lips pouting as she sucks on the pacifier he found in the bag.

Johan grimaces and nods, aware that he has even less experience with babies than Dieter does. “I’ll be back.” The other man promises, quickly making his way towards the door and out of the house. He had no clue what the hell to do for his boss, he’s gotten himself in a mess this time. As much as he wants to claim he doesn’t know that baby is his, it is. Dieter Bravo is a father.

****

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ve always been such a fan of your work.” The woman gushes. Dieter can barely remember her name. Violet, Vivian, or something like that. She seems nice enough and her qualifications from the service are good. He doesn’t really know what he’s looking for in a nanny except he desperately needs help. He’s waiting on the DNA results to come in but the little baby is cute and she listens to him rambling without complaints.

Viola looks around the house and wonders how the hell Dieter Bravo became an overnight father. “You must attend parenting classes.” She insists after Dieter finally runs out of steam and shuts up. “There is one I can sign you up for. It’s for new parents and you qualify.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “They have a meeting in two days, I can see about getting you halfway set up.

“What? No. I don’t need a parenting group.” Dieter scoffs and Viola raises her eyebrows. 

“Respectful sir, I think you do.” She offers him a wry smile when the baby starts to cry in his arms. 

“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” He sighs, trying to rock Rosie and he is struggling to calm her. 

“Here. Can I-?” Viola asks and Dieter practically shoves the baby into her arms. 

“You’re hired.” He declares when Rosie calms down and the crying stops. He can’t do this alone.

“Mr. Bravo,” Viola frowns and shakes her head. “I’m sorry if you misunderstood. I am here temporarily.” She explains. “I have already signed a contract with another family. I came today because it was an emergency.” She wonders if he had heard anything she had said when she arrived, he had looked frazzled but she thought she had been clear. 

“What? No! You seem like such a nice lady and Rosie likes you. Please. I’ll pay more. I’ll do anything to get you to stay.” He pleads, “name your price. I’ll fucking pay it. Please!” He pouts, eyes wide and pleading. 

Viola shakes her head, “I’m so sorry. I can’t get out of the contract. I��ll help you as much as I can. Johan said you need help learning the basics so I’ll show you the basics and take care of Rosie while I can but you’re going to have to learn what to do.” She says, knowing it’s going to be tough.

“I can’t do this.” Dieter wails, knowing life as he knows it is over. Without someone here, he going to fuck it up. “Please, please, you have to stay.” He begs, making Viola shake her head. 

“I am here for one week, Mr. Bravo. Then it will be up to you to find someone to help you care for Rosie. Now, let me show you how to bathe your daughter.”

****

“She’s yours.” Dieter exhales shakily as Johan announces the DNA results. 

“Shit. I- I have a daughter.” He shakes his head and looks over at Rosie who is asleep in her bassinet. “What am I gonna do?” Dieter asks as reality sets in. He has a child that he’s responsible for and Viola is only here for two more days. “She’s - she’s so tiny and I’m gonna fuck it up. She’s gonna get fucked up because of me.” He starts to panic now that reality has hit.

“You are going to go to the parenting class tonight and we are going to continue to look for a nanny.” Johan tells Dieter practically. He’s been surprised that Dieter hasn’t done as many drugs as he normally does, even smoking weed outside because of the baby. “So far all the services I’ve called don’t have anyone available until next year.” He shakes his head. “Apparently it was baby season this year.”

Dieter groans, covering his face with his hands and dragging them down his cheeks. “I have pre-production for the movie coming up in a few weeks. I can’t take her with me to a table read.” He whines and Rosie shifts in her sleep, making Dieter’s heart melt when the movement catches his attention and he looks over. “Fine. I’ll go to the parenting class. Maybe…maybe someone can help me find a nanny there.” He says, determined to find help. 

****

Dieter walks into the church hall, surprised he hasn’t burst into flames. He hasn’t been to church since he was a kid. His mama used to drag him on a Sunday and when he became famous at ten years old, he managed to bail on church because he was working. He sits down in a seat, noticing how all the other attendees are women. Rosie is asleep in her carrier for now and he has the diaper bag at his feet. “Welcome ladies and - oh. Hi, we have a new member.” An older woman smiles at Dieter, “welcome to the single mom support group.”

“Oh, uh, I thought it was-“ Dieter falters for a moment, panicking about being kicked out of the group. “I thought this was a single parent support group.” He explains, shuffling. “I just- uh, the mother of the child- my child- I just got the DNA test back, dropped her off on my door with no warning.” He rambles, trying to explain why he needs to stay. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.” He confesses, nearly sounding defeated.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You can stay.” A few of the moms recognize Dieter and he looks exhausted. Rosie had kept him up half of the night since Viola has been weaning him off of her help, and he glances around. 

“I’m sorry to - shit. I can go.” He says and you are sitting next to him. 

“No, stay. It’s okay. We are all here to help each other.” Your own son, three months old, is whining and you sigh, pulling your tank top down and unclipping your bra to breastfeed him.

Dieter’s eyes widen at the sight of your breast and he can’t deny his cock twitches a little at the idea of drinking down some milk. Shit, when did that kink happen? “I appreciate it. I have no clue what I’m doing.” He admits again and all the women laugh, “none of us do. It’s instinct and a lot of books.” One giggles, “and Google.”

“I didn’t even know.” Dieter moans, shaking his head. “It was- it was a one night stand.” He feels bad about that, not even able to tell Rosie about his relationship with her mom when she gets older. “I’m trying to hire a nanny but all of them are booked up.” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to fuck her up. She’s so tiny. Two months old.”

“What’s her name?” You ask him, looking at the little girl asleep in her carrier. 

“Rosie.” He says with a soft smile, it’s hard to not love the little girl now that he knows she’s his. He wants the best for her, even if she’s stuck with a manic mess like him. “This is Oliver.” You gesture to the baby now asleep on your breast.

Dieter smiles and tries not to notice the grunting sounds the kid is making. Feeling guilty because he knows that he would be making the exact same sounds the kid is if he was sucking down milk from your tit. “That’s nice.” He offers. 

“So what is your name?” The woman in charge smiles fondly at him and he’s surprised no one recognizes him. 

“Uh, Dieter.” He offers, curling his shoulders slightly. “Dieter Bravo.”

“Welcome Dieter.” Several of the women say to him with a smile. 

“So do you have any questions?” Julia, the group leader asks. 

“Where the fuck do I begin?” He replies dramatically, making all the women chuckle. 

“Well, we are here to help each other so might as well start.”

“So my first question. So is their shit always gonna be that black color?” Dieter shakes his head, making a face as he remembers the last diaper he had changed. 

All the women laugh. “No that won’t last for much longer since she’s three months old.” 

Dieter rolls his eyes gratefully. “Oh thank God.” He chuckles. Looking over at you again. “You said your son is two months old? Is he sleeping all night? Is that something that she has to get used to?”

You shake your head, “he isn’t sleeping through the night yet. I breastfeed so he wakes me up every couple of hours. It takes a while for them to sleep through the night. Like six months or so. Have you read any baby books?” You ask and he shakes his head. “Oh you must read - you know what. I’ll send you a list. What’s your number?” You ask and the women all giggle, making you fluster. “I mean, to help. We have babies close in age. It’s good to have help.”

“Do you need a job?” Dieter blurts out, wondering why he hadn’t thought of it before. “I mean- if your husband doesn’t mind.” He corrects himself, forgetting it was a single mother’s group. “I'm just- I’ve got to start pre-production on the next movie and it’s going to be crazy and you seem like you’re perfect. You handle your baby so easily.” His eyes are wide and pleading, begging you to say yes.

Your eyes widen, "I- um, oh wow. A job?" 

The other women all nod, telling Dieter about your history as a teacher and how you know CPR. You fluster, knowing you need a job. Your maternity leave ended two weeks ago and instead of letting you come back to work, your job had fired you. Between losing your job and your landlord chasing you up on rent, you know this is too good to turn down. "I'm not married and um, what job do you have in mind?"

“Nanny.” He jumps immediately on your question. Knowing that it’s not a ‘no’. “I’ll pay you really well and you can- can you live there? I mean, I can have odd hours and you can stay at my place. You and Oliver.” He makes sure to include your son. “I have a big house. In Sherman Oaks.” As if that would sweeten the deal. “Help me with Rosie and teach me how to be a dad. How to look after her. I don’t expect you to do it all.” He clarifies, having already gotten used to the idea of being a ‘girl dad’. He’s watched a few Tik Toks about it and it looks cool.

You know it sounds too good to be true. A job and a place to live with your son. “I think we need to sit down and talk this through properly. You don’t even know me. Don’t you wanna do a background check?” You ask, knowing you’d be doing that if you were hiring someone to live in your house. “We have a lot to discuss.” You bite your lip and look around the room to see the other moms nodding to encourage you.

“Yeah. Yeah.” Dieter nods seriously. “My agent will have that done. Plus the NDA you would have to sign.” He’s grateful you are even thinking about it. “But don’t worry. Most of the tabloid stuff is bullshit. I’m not that bad.” He promises with a quick, charming grin. “We can hammer out the details after this, right?”

“Uh, sure.” You nod and Dieter winks at you before turning back to the women, their own babies in their arms and you know this is too good an opportunity to turn down. “You wanna go get a coffee?” You ask Dieter after Oliver is in his stroller and you look at Rosie who is still asleep, unaware of her father trying to hire her a new nanny. 

“As long as it’s quiet.” He says and you frown, “uh, sure. You said you are going into pre-production so does that mean you are an actor?” You ask, unaware of if he’s famous.

Dieter stares at you for a moment, wondering if you are just trying to play coy but you are just looking at him curiously. “Yeah, uh, I am.” He admits, finding it refreshing that someone on this planet doesn’t know who he is or have any expectations of him. “I normally do two or three movies a year, depending on how long they take to film or whatever.” He struggles with the carrier and the door, holding it open for you on the other side. “Gotta get one of those.” He tells himself, eyeing your stroller.

“We can make a list of what you’ll need. I’m guessing you have the basics but there’s so much stuff.” You sigh, knowing it’s not always been in your reach but someone like him could buy it all. 

“A list sounds good. Coffee?” He suggests, gesturing to the small coffee shop down the street and you nod. 

“Sounds good. I desperately need one. He kept me up all night. He was hungry last night and wouldn’t settle unless he was against my breast.”

Dieter keeps his dirty thoughts to himself, but he doesn’t blame the kid. He would love to sleep with a nipple in his mouth too. “We will make sure to get you an extra shot of espresso.” He promises, carrying the car seat and diaper bag as he walks alongside you. “I’m being serious. About the job, I mean.” He tells you. “I have tried every nanny service in the greater L.A. area with no luck, although I’m on their waitlist.” He sighs and shuffles the carrier when his arm gets tired in one position. “I have an in-law suite you and Oliver can use, if you want a little more privacy than just sleeping upstairs.” He knows he sounds desperate, because he is desperate. Johan knows less than he does about babies and has zero interest in watching the kid while he is busy.

“Let’s sit down with the babies and then we can order.” You suggest and he nods, guiding you over to a table in the back. Rosie is waking up and he panics when she starts to cry. “Oh hello gorgeous.” You murmur, leaning down to look at his daughter and Dieter is fumbling to get the bottle from the bag to make her formula. You sigh, sensing he needs help and you unbuckle the baby, Oliver asleep as you cradle Rosie, her cries settling a little and you stand up, rocking her and you reach for the formula Dieter has, a whole damn container, and work fast on a bottle. “My sister has kids. I used to babysit them.” You explain and work fast with one hand to prepare a bottle and bring it to her lips. “Here you go sweet pea.” You coo as she starts to gulp down the milk.

“You’re really good at this.” Dieter says in awe, watching you handle things so smoothly. “I’m just-I don’t know.” He sighs, feeling bad that he’s not good at this. 

“Babies sense the emotions around them.” You tell him quietly. “You panic, she’s going to become more frantic. Just talk to her while you are getting her bottle ready. Or have one already mixed up, ready to go.” You think about all the formulas that are already bottled and just need a nipple slapped on them. “We can find a routine that works for you.”

Dieter nods, “yes. Yes. God, please take the job. I need you.” He pleads and you shift Rosie into his arms, transferring the bottle to him. 

“I’ll take the job. On one condition.” You say, sitting back down and you rock Oliver’s stroller. 

“Anything.” Dieter vows. 

“You learn too. I don’t want you to just shove her into my arms at the first sign of difficulty. She’s your daughter. You need to know how to care for her, to bond with her. You can’t just hand her off and expect me to do it all. She needs to know her daddy.”

Dieter nods, knowing that he would do that if given the opportunity. “Okay.” He agrees. “I want you to help me become better at taking care of her.” He bites his lip and looks at you. “What do you want for pay?” He asks, listing off a number that the nanny services had given him. “Does that sound okay? Plus, you’ll have full use of the house. And a card for expenses. I don’t expect you to buy the diapers or wipes or any of that shit.”

Your eyes widen, it’s way more than you were making at your old job. Your landlord has been threatening you with eviction since you’re struggling to pay, and this almost seems like fate. “Wow. I- are you sure?” You ask him and he nods, “I’m absolutely sure.” 

You swallow and offer him a soft smile, “then I’m your new nanny.” He grins and your heart thumps in your chest at how handsome he is. “There’s something you gotta know though.” You sigh and Dieter nods, waiting for you to go on. “Oliver’s father. He - he died.” You feel yourself tearing up, “we - I was only a few months pregnant when we got into the car accident.  I didn’t even know I was pregnant at the time but Ollie- he- he died. We were- we were friends, friends with benefits and we got pregnant and he- he never got to meet his son.” You choke, the grief that’s consumed you threatens to take you again. He didn’t have any family left alive so Oliver would’ve been his only family.

“I’m sorry.” Dieter frowns, unsure of how to comfort someone about a death that meaningful but he feels like he should say something. “That is rough. Hopefully- hopefully this will turn into a good arrangement.” He offers with a small shrug, realizing that things could be worse. He can’t imagine what it would be like going through this alone. “After our coffee, do you want to come over? See the house?” He asks. “I can call my agent to draw up any kind of paperwork you want.”

You nod, sniffing to stop yourself from crying about Ollie. You loved him, he was your friend, but you were never in love with him. He had his problems and you had yours. It would’ve never worked. Oliver is here now and you have to be strong for him, to keep Ollie’s memory alive. “Yes. I- this is a lot but I want to change my life. I need a change. I want to work for you.” You say as the barista takes pity on you with the babies and comes over to take your order. “I’ll have a vanilla latte please.” You order and Dieter adds, “with an extra shot of espresso.”

After taking your orders, Rosie finishes her bottle and Dieter shifts to put her up on his shoulder to burp. “Hang on, you need a spit rag.” You insist, digging in your own diaper bag to produce one. 

“Huh,” Dieter huffs, “I just thought I was supposed to wear her puke until she stopped doing that.” He jokes, the stains on his shirt only partly from his daughter. 

“No, you always carry multiple burp clothes and changes of clothes, for both of you.” You tell him with a smile.

He nods, mentally taking notes. He has so much to learn from you to make sure his daughter is well looked after. He doesn’t want to fail at being a father. He wants her to know he did everything he could to be a good daddy. He knows you will be good for Rosie, for him too. He sips his coffee and watches you with Oliver, rocking his stroller, and he can see you’re a good mom. He feels comfortable with you. “Do you wanna come back to my place?” Dieter asks, realizing that’s the first time he’s asked that question without it being for sex or drugs

You bite your lip and look up at the frazzled, yet handsome man who is offering you a dream situation. A place to live and the ability to stay at home with your son while still earning money. You don’t know if you would ever get a better offer. “Yes.” You agree. “I’ll follow you? Maybe you can text me the address in case we get separated?” You want to look it up really quickly, just to make sure it’s a real place.

He nods, taking your number to text you his address. He is anxious for you to see the house, hoping you love it and it helps to get you to take the job. You strap Oliver into his car seat while Dieter does the same to Rosie and soon enough, you’re driving to his house.

“I, uh, I’ll ask the housekeeper to come in more than once a week.” Dieter offers, climbing out of his car as you do the same. He doesn’t want you to think that it’s all going to fall on you. “Oh, Johan told me about a diaper delivery service. All natural diapers? That’s better, right?” He asks, anxious about doing the right thing. He had read about the chemicals used in the nappies he currently has.

You smile at his anxiety, wanting the best for Rosie, and you know he’s going to be a good daddy once he gets his feet under him. “Johan?” You ask and Dieter nods, “my assistant. He’s - he is my lifeline.” Dieter confesses and you nod, understanding he lives a completely different life to you. He needs an assistant to manage his schedule. You take Oliver out of the car in his carrier and follow Dieter into the house, your eyes wide at the gorgeous home he owns. “This is - wow.” You exhale as you enter the grand property.

“Thank you.” Dieter shows you the bottom floor and opens the door to his study. “I have all this shit I don’t know what it’s for.” The room is filled with boxes of toys and jumpers, cribs and carriers. Johan had gone overboard but Dieter had wanted to make sure that he had everything he needed. Your eyes widen and he blushes, “I was trying my best.” 

You nod, understating he has struggled since Rosie was dropped on his doorstep. “We can get everything set up. Does she have a nursery?” You ask and he shakes his head, “she’s been in my room. I- I haven’t really slept. I’ve been trying to watch her sleep in case, you know.” 

You understand, knowing you stay awake watching Oliver breathing. It’s a lot of anxiety being a first time parent. “We will get her nursery set up and then you can keep her in your room if you want but then she has somewhere to nap and call her own.” You smile and rub his shoulder after you set Oliver down in his carrier, he’s asleep. “It’s gonna be fine.” You promise him, glancing around the beautiful living room. “It’s gonna need some baby proofing and, uh, that needs to go.” You gesture to the powder packet on the counter.

“Oh, I, uh-“ Dieter rushes forward and grabs the packet to sweep it off the counter and into his pocket. “I haven’t- that’ll be put away.” He promises, cursing himself for leaving it out. He hadn’t taken any lately, not since Rosie arrived because he’s too fucking scared of something happening to her while he’s bombed. “Sorry.” He hopes you don’t decide to leave him high and dry because of that. “Do you want to see the rooms you and Oliver could have?” He asks desperately.

You stop him, “I- I am taking the job but you won’t do drugs in this house with the babies. If something happened or they got hold of it - I couldn’t - no drugs in this house. Period. You wanna go get high somewhere else? Fine. But your daughter comes first, you understand?” You ask him, knowing you won’t risk your own son around that kind of bullshit.

Immediately nodding, Dieter understands what you are saying. “I haven’t- not since she’s arrived.” He confesses. “I’ve been too scared to even try in case something happens.” He’s not stupid enough to think he won’t do drugs anymore but he does want to be there for his daughter.

You nod, knowing it’s not ideal but it will have to do. As long as they aren’t kept in the house and he doesn’t do them around the children, it’s his business. You are just his employee. “Okay.” You pat his shoulder and he guides you to the guest suite. “Dieter…this is…wow.” You gasp at the massive room, “this is - this is a lot. Are you sure - there’s no other room you want me to have?” You ask, knowing this room is the size of your apartment.

“You need room for you and Oliver.” He shrugs, not wanting to say that he doesn’t have guests unless it was someone from a party. And he doubts he’s having those here anymore. “This way you have privacy and your own bathroom.” He knows that is important and figured this would be perfect. “And using another room for Oliver is okay too.” He doesn’t want to suggest the nursery can be shared, but he wouldn’t mind. “Will this work?”

You smile, reaching out to pat his arm, “this is more than enough, Dieter. It’s perfect.” You promise and he grins, pleased that you are happy. He sighs when Rosie starts to cry and Oliver follows suit, both babies waking up. “Come on daddy, let’s go feed the babies.”

He feels more confident with you beside him. Even if it’s just your presence reminding him that he should test the bottle on the inside of his wrist before popping the nipple in Rosie’s mouth while Oliver is greedily suckling at your breast for his own meal. “That wasn’t too bad.” He grins down at his daughter, eyes wide but slowly starting to close as she gulps down the bottle. “How often do you have to feed Oliver?” He asks, trying to keep his eyes on your face respectfully. You aren’t giving him a show.

“About every one and a half to two hours. Depends on when he’s hungry. He lets me know.” You chuckle and watch your son as his gulps turn into suckles which lead to him falling asleep against your breast. “It’s - it’s exhausting but he’s worth it.” You smile at Dieter who is rocking Rosie. “You’re getting better already. We will make a list of everything we need for you and, um, I guess I better go and pack.” You smile bashfully, knowing this is a big move but it’s what’s best for you and Oliver.

“Why don’t we hire someone to pack you?” Dieter asks with a frown. You have your hands full and he knows that it will take a lot to take care of your son and try to pack. “I’ll pay for it. I don’t mind. That way we can get the nursery set up.”

“Are you sure? I- I don’t know if you’re gonna find someone so late notice. I don’t have much. And I will need Oliver’s crib and -” 

You don’t get to finish because Dieter is pulling out his phone to call Johan and arrange for your things to be moved today. “Whatever it costs.” Dieter says and you swallow, knowing Dieter has more money than you could imagine if he can waste it like that. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, cradling Oliver who is fast asleep.

“It’s nothing.” Dieter waves away the thanks and looks down at Rosie as she finishes the last of her bottle. “Okay little girl, let’s get you to burp, and then maybe a nap?” He asks, grinning. “She has the manliest burps.” He brags, astounded that something so small could make such a racket. “I have the other cradle thingy if you want to lay your son down.”

“The bassinet?” You smirk and he shrugs one shoulder, “I’m still learning.” You nod and let him guide you to the bassinet and you carefully lay Oliver down before adjusting your shirt after clipping your nursing bra. Rosie burps and you giggle softly, liking how proud Dieter is of her and you watch him lay her down in the cradle next to Oliver. “Maybe they will be best friends.” You whisper, leaning closer to him.

“That would be cool.” Dieter imagines it, his own childhood lonely and isolated. There were times he had wished desperately for a built-in friend. “Let’s get out of here before we wake them up.” He has learned that Rosie is cranky if she gets woken up before she’s ready and he doesn’t blame her, he’s the same way. Maybe she got it from him. “So, uh, since there’s two kids….just, um, we’re gonna need that double stroller thingy, right?” Dieter asks as he walks down the hall with you. “And can you show me that carrier thing? The one you have the baby wrapped to your body? That looks cool. Oh, and uh, the diapers. The service, when we get that set up, use it for Oliver too.” He adds. “No need to have two different types of diapers, right?”

You nod, realizing it’s best not to argue. “Let’s leave them to sleep and we can work on getting the nursery set up. I- I really appreciate this opportunity, Dieter.” You tell him and lean in to kiss his cheek. He blushes as you set your phone up as a makeshift baby monitor, calling his phone, and you leave the babies to sleep. Dieter follows you, his eyes dropping down to your ass, and he curses internally when he realizes he finds you hot. 

****

“Dieter!” You call out, trying to find your boss. Oliver and Rosie are having tummy time on the play mat and you need your breast pump. It’s been a couple of months since you moved in with Dieter to become his full time nanny and it’s been surprisingly nice. Rosie is a good girl and you’ve grown to fall in love with her, making sure her and Oliver get equal treatment. “Can you get my pump?” You ask when he doesn’t respond.

“Yeah!” Dieter reluctantly lets go of his cock and tucks it away in his dress slacks. He had been trying to tug one out before he had to go to court, formally getting custody of his daughter. Nervous and not able to get high, jerking off had become even more of a habit than before now he had started thinking about you while he was doing it. You’re so fucking pretty and kind. Looking like an angel as you take care of his daughter. Dieter knows that he’s falling in love with you but he can’t do anything about it. Not willing to risk you leaving and denying Rosie the best nanny in the world. Washing his hands quickly, he rushes to the kitchen to grab the pump where you had cleaned it last night while he sterilized bottles. “Here it is.”

You thank him, breasts aching and you attach the suction, not thinking about Dieter as you sigh in relief at the milk finally being pumped. “Shit. That feels good.” You groan, the whooshing of the machine pumping and you have been pumping enough for Rosie to have milk too. It’s been a lot but you love the babies. “What time do you have to leave?” You ask Dieter, catching him staring at your tits and you hate that it thrills you. He’s so sexy, unintentionally so, and goofy as hell. He’s good with his daughter and you’ve grown close, raising the babies together, and you know it’s getting harder and harder to deny how you feel every day.

“Oh, uh, I gotta leave in twenty minutes.” His cock is still hard in his trousers and he twitches at the groan you make. Every day you pump, having no modesty around him now and you shouldn’t - it’s natural but Dieter still thinks it’s sexy. “I’m nervous.” He admits, glancing over at Rosie as she squeals and waves her arms on her tummy. “I know that my lawyer said it’s a formality, but what if the judge doesn’t like me? What if he takes Rosie from me?”

You shake your head and reach for his hand, squeezing it. “I promise you, it’s gonna be fine, D. You’re a good daddy and that will be shown. I know your past hasn’t been ideal but you got this. You’re a good man, Rosie is lucky to have you. We all are. It’s gonna be fine. I promise you.” You offer him a soft smile and squeeze his hand again.

“I’m more nervous than the night I won my Oscar.” Dieter confesses with a nervous chuckle. He doesn’t tell you that he was high, sure that you could guess that, although he has done anything more than hit his weed pen since you’ve moved in. Rosie is surprisingly therapeutic, although he’s glad she doesn’t understand what he talks about during the nights he gets up with her. The movie is almost halfway done shooting and he’s going to make sure that once he’s done, you get a week off so you can veg for more than a night. He looks down at your joined hands and smiles. “I’ll call you when I get out, okay?” He asks, and you nod, letting go of him. “And eat that kale and beet salad in the fridge”, he throws over his shoulder as he rushes towards the door. “It’s supposed to help the milk supply.”

You roll your eyes playfully, looking back at the babies. “Daddy is silly, isn’t he?” You talk to Rosie and look at Oliver, saddened that he isn’t going to know his father. You wonder what Ollie would think of Dieter. They are similar in a lot of ways but Ollie was always practical, making sure you weren’t in a relationship because of his strenuous job as a firefighter. He didn’t want you to be one of those women sitting around waiting for him. You sigh and wonder what you are going to do about Dieter. It’s too comfortable with him. 

****

“Dinner’s ready!” You call out. The babies are now six and seven months old. Sitting in their baby bouncers, watching you setting the dinner out for Dieter. He’s finished filming and you want to celebrate. The nice bottle of wine on the table alongside his favorite pasta.

“Oh my god, you spoil me.” Dieter groans as he comes into the dining room, freshly showered and in comfortable clothes. Rosie squeals happily and so does Oliver, both of them in their high chairs. Dieter grins leaning in and blowing a raspberry on his daughter’s cheek and then on your son’s. He never thought he was a kid type of person, but his playfulness extends to your son. He’s a good kid and it would not be right when you are so good with Rosie if he ignored the little guy. It makes him imagine that the four of you are a family, a real one and he was coming home from work to all of you. “You didn’t have to do this.”

You shake your head, enjoying the way his hand finds your waist as you reach for the parmesan on the counter. You turn to face him, cupping his cheek, “you just finished filming. You deserve a treat.” You smile, caressing his cheek and your eyes dip down to his lips for a second. He stares at you and you clear your throat, lowering your hand, “let’s eat. You must be starving.” You set the cheese down and glance over at the babies, you fed them while dinner was cooking so now you and Dieter can enjoy your meal.

“How was your day?” He’s finding that this, fatherhood and responsibility, is grounding for him. Not just concentrating on his whims and trolling through boredom. Every day is different and challenging with kids, especially when he’s trying to make sure that none of his own parents' mistakes affect Rosie. “The kids were okay?” He asks, pouring more wine into each of your glasses. You hum in protest but Dieter shakes his head. “Just pump and dump. You deserve more than one glass.” He huffs.

You sigh but let him pour some more wine, it’s been stressful with the babies today. “Rosie decided to throw up all over Oliver and herself so both of them needed a bath and then Oliver managed to get his diaper off in his onesie so he needed another bath and then Rosie wouldn’t stop crying because Oliver wasn’t next to her. It’s been - it’s been a day.” You sigh and Dieter nods, reaching for your hand. It feels so normal, like you’re complaining to your husband about your hectic day over wine and you look up at Dieter, “I love them both so much but today was…it was a lot.”

“I can imagine.” Dieter squeezes your hand gently and once again thinks that it’s odd that you don’t feel like his employee. You feel like his wife, although he’s never kissed you, or touched you like he’s imagined. “Let me take both the kids tonight.” He offers. “I’ve got the next week off before I have to do all the press bullshit for the other movie coming out in two weeks. Why don’t you take a little vacation? A spa or something?” His parenting skills have improved drastically and there have been times where he’s watched Oliver for you. Like when you had to go for another postpartum checkup.

You groan, letting go of his hand so you can continue eating. “I won’t lie…a massage sounds good. My back has been killing me.” You confess, twirling the pasta around your fork and you bite your lip, wondering what a massage from him would be like with his hands. “I wouldn’t mind going to the mall. I need some new clothes that aren't leggings.” You chuckle, “and I need some new underwear.” You sigh before you chew on the pasta.

Dieter’s cock twitches at the thought of your underwear. Not that he sees them. You’ve taken over doing the laundry even though he offered to have someone come in. Or he could help. Insisting that it was no problem. Johan had even commented that you made his house seem like a real home, and Dieter couldn’t deny that. “You could do all that.” He promises. “I’ll watch the kids. I want to spend some time with R and O.”

You feel guilty leaving the kids behind but you trust Dieter, something you never thought you’d say, but he has proven himself to be an amazing father. You smile, “thanks baby.” You tell him and he swallows the wine down. It’s getting harder to deny how you feel. After finishing eating, Dieter helps you clean up while you have the babies in the play pen. “Bedtime for the bubbies.” You coo, picking up Rosie and kissing her hair. “Daddy is gonna change you, baby girl.” You slide her into Dieter’s arms and pick up Oliver.

“Why don’t you go take your own bath?” Dieter offers, grinning down at Rosie. “You’ve had them all day and you said it’s been rough. Go take a bubble bath. I can get them ready for bed.” He’s made huge strides as a father, as a caretaker and now that he’s more confident, he finds he likes it. Kids are fun. And easy to learn how to please. “I can rock them both and get them settled.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, trusting him but you want him to be comfortable. 

“I am for this.” He promises and you nod, “you got this. I- I can feed O before they get to sleep.” You say and he shakes his head. 

“No. I got it.” He promises, knowing he can warm up your milk. 

You lean in to kiss the babies’ heads, “goodnight my loves. I love you so much.” You say to them and you look up at Dieter, offering him a grateful smile. You make your way into the bathroom, sighing in relief when you sink into the tub.

Dieter hums to the babies as he warms up their last bottles of the night. Changed and in clean onesies, they are ready for that last bottle. Smirking to himself as he tests the breast milk on his wrist and barely resists licking it. He wants to try it, but he feels like that might be crossing a line. Getting both of the babies settled in each arm and they can hold their own bottle now with a little help. “You two are like twins, you know that?” He coos at both of them, settling in the rocker on the nursery while they eat. Watching their eyes grow heavier as they suck. You had both decided to keep them in the same nursery, letting them bond and it has worked out so much better than he had ever hoped. He loves Oliver like Rosie and when they fall asleep at the same time, he’s grinning as he holds them for a little longer before shifting to put them to sleep in the same crib. They cried if they were separated, curling up together during the night as if they were twins.

You sigh, relaxing in the hot water until you decide to get out and say goodnight to the babies. You shrug your robe on, tying it as you make your way to the nursery as Dieter leans over the crib. “They asleep?” You whisper and he nods. You caress their heads, loving how they are asleep together, keeping each other safe. Sometimes you see them holding hands in the night. It’s adorable. You rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as you watch them for another moment and he turns his head to kiss your hair. It makes your heart pound and you pull away, letting the babies sleep with the white noise machine running.

Dieter’s hands seem to be twitchy as you walk out of the nursery in front of him. He knows that you are only dressed in a robe and he wants nothing more than to strip you out of it and touch you. Make you shake in pleasure. “Do you want to have a drink?” Dieter asks. “Or are you calling it a night?”

“A drink sounds good. Relax after a long day.” You smile, walking into the kitchen to open the second bottle of wine you’d bought earlier. You work fast to open it, pouring a glass and handing it to him before you settle on the sofa. “You wanna continue watching that show on HBO?” You ask, knowing he hates it when you watch an episode without him.

“Yes!” Dieter lights up and he narrows his eyes at you playfully. “You better not have already watched it.” He threatens playfully, handing you the remote. He likes when you relax and loves that you feel completely at home here. It is your home. He leans towards you and takes a sip of the wine. “What do you think is gonna happen, this episode? The previews looked good.”

You nod, shifting closer towards him. “I promise you. I haven’t seen it yet.” You assure him and have another sip of your wine. You love and hate how relaxed you are, how easy this is. How real it feels. Like you’re a proper family. The baby monitor is on the coffee table and you rest your head on Dieter’s shoulder as he presses play. You barely watch the show, too focused on the way Dieter feels pressed against you.

About halfway through the show Dieter shuffles, throwing his arm around the backside of the couch and around you. Letting you slide down against him more. You pull the throw blanket over your legs and he smiles, wondering how you are always cold but it’s a cute quirk he’s noticed.

You snuggle into his side, hand finding his chest and you caress the skin under the shirt he always has half buttoned. He sighs and you breathe him in, pleased to feel his heart thumping under your touch. This intimacy, it’s what keeps you satisfied when you yearn for more but you can’t risk it. Your job. Your home. Your life is connected to his and you can’t afford to mess it up. 

“Marry me.” Dieter says and you think you misheard him. 

“What?” You ask, not moving. 

“Marry me.” He repeats and you jerk back from his side so you can look him in the eyes. 

“What- did you just ask me to marry you?”

“I did.” Dieter nods, turning towards you and reaching for your hand. “I love you. I love how you make this house feel like a home. I love how you care for Rosie and I love Oliver.” He adds. “I love coming home to you and I want this-“ he motions around the house and between the two of you. “To be real. I want to touch you, kiss you. Make love to you.” Dieter isn’t a man who talks in terms like ‘making love’ but that’s exactly what it would be. “I think you love me too, don’t you? I know you do.”

You shake your head, wanting to tell him you love him. He’s crazy, he leaves his socks everywhere and he has so many holes in his shirts but he’s kind and whacky and so damn funny. You love him, you’re in love with him, but to marry him would be a bad idea. You can’t risk this life you’ve created together. “Dieter.” You sigh, pulling your hand out of his. “We can’t. We can’t risk the babies. We - if it all went wrong, then I’d be moving out with Oliver and Rosie loses him and vice versa. If it all went wrong, I’d be homeless and I wouldn’t have anything. I can’t risk that for my son. I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His heart breaks but he’s determined to convince you this is a good thing. Latching onto what you said about being homeless, his eyes widen. “I’ll buy you a house.” He bursts out. “In your name alone. It’ll be yours. Completely.” He nods to himself, grinning like an idiot and picks up your hand again. “It won’t go wrong, you’re perfect and I love you. I want to be with you and our babies all the time and fuck, I want another baby when you’re ready.” He missed everything about Rosie’s birth and he wants to see your stomach large with a baby, his baby. “But if it did-“ he stresses the word ‘if’, “-you would have a house for you and Oliver. And you could rent it out right now. The money would be yours. Totally yours.”

Your eyes widen and you shake your head, “I can’t - that’s too much. A house here is insane. That’s a crazy amount to put into this. That - a whole damn house? That’s what you want to do?” You ask incredulously and he nods. 

“All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about you. I need you. I love you.” He promises and you swallow harshly, tears stinging in your eyes. 

Your heart yearns for him yet your head tells you it’s too much of a risk. “Dieter…” You trail off and he frowns, pulling away slightly, sensing your rejection. “I love you.” Your eyes water and a sob escapes your lips as you start to cry. No one has ever been so kind to you. To know he loves you enough to buy a house so you feel secure in case something goes wrong. It has you sobbing.

He lunges forward, crushing you to him in a comforting hug. “Don’t cry baby, please don’t cry. I never want you to cry.” He pleads, sure that he’s messed up somehow. “I’m sorry, I just can’t stop wanting you. Seeing you with our babies, I think- I wish they were ours. Our twins and we had them together.” He rubs your back and pets your hair as you sob into his chest and he tries to think of how he could make you feel better.

You sob into his chest at his words, wishing they were true but it’s not and that’s okay. The babies brought you together and you know you and Dieter would’ve never met if it weren’t for that single moms group. “I - I love you.” You offer him a watery smile as you pull back and he reaches out to gently wipe your tears away. “I love you and I want you to be mine. I want to be yours. I love you Dieter.” You confess, cupping his cheeks.

Dieter’s smile is slow, soft and he can’t believe that you are saying yes. He leans in and presses his lips to yours softly. Loving how you immediately open for him to slide his tongue against yours with a groan. Pulling you close against him again, this time shamelessly pressing his body against yours. “I love you.” He promises, kissing down your jaw line. “Do you want to have sex with me? Or do you want to wait?” He wants you in his bed, but if you wanted to wait until the deed to the house was in your hands, he would understand that. He would go out tomorrow and buy you the best house he could find.

You know you’ve spent far too much time thinking about him, having him inside of you, pressing against you, and you know you should slow down but you can’t. “I want you. I don’t want to wait. I want you now.” You tell him breathlessly and you press your lips to his, cupping his cheek while you slide your tongue against his.

Groaning, Dieter pulls you closer and starts to lean you back against the sofa, knowing that he needs to take you to bed but right now, he needs to feel you under him. “So beautiful.” He praises, kissing your chin and nips your skin with his teeth.

You sigh, loving how it feels to have him touch you. His hand sliding along your thigh and you whimper, “Dieter. Please. I want you to touch me.” You plead, guiding his hand to the tie of your robe while your hands caress his chest under his ratty t-shirt.

He hums, twitching against your hip and he leans back and grins at you, “I’m going to, baby. I’m going to make sure you know exactly what you are getting from me.” He pulls your robe open and groans at the sight of your tits. Looking back up at you. “Can I taste?” He asks. “I’ve dreamed of tasting your milk.”

Your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought. “You’ve imagined it?” You ask breathlessly and he nods so you move fast to straddle him, his cock hard against your thigh, and you lean in towards him to kiss him as you shrug your robe off of your shoulders. “You can have a taste.”

He knows your tits are tender, hearing you complain and watching as you sometimes have to massage them. He cups them in his hands, groaning at how full they are, grinning. “Fuck, I can drink it all since you were going to dump it.” He realizes as he leans forward to wrap his lips around one nipple.”

“Oh shit.” You gasp, groaning softly at the relief and arousal coursing through you. You love it. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you watch him gulp down your milk and you’re amazed that he enjoys it. “Oh God baby.” You pant, feeling the relief of your milk draining and the way he sucks on your nipple, biting it now and then.

“Shit.” He gasps, feeling his cock throbbing. “It’s better than I expected.” He moans, switching to your other breasts and he knows this will become a favorite thing for him now. One hand slides down between your thighs and he is so fucking happy to find you wet.

“Dieter. Please.” You beg, needing more from him. It’s been so long since someone touched you. Not since Ollie. You rock down onto his fingers, loving how he rubs your clit while his lips suckle on your other breast. “Oh fuck, D. So good.” You whimper, caressing his shoulders.

“What do you want, baby?” He pulls off your nipple with a pop. “You want me to eat your pussy?” He groans at the thought. “Want to sit on Dieter’s face? Smother me with your cunt?”

You giggle breathlessly, “that’s the only way to shut you up?” You tease and he nods, “one of the few ways.” 

You laugh and he moves fast to shift, laying down and he pulls you over to hover over his face. “Shit baby. So good to me.” You gasp when he drags you down on top of his face.

The first taste is always amazing. Sliding his tongue though your folds as he pulls your hips down onto his mouth. Holding you there as he licks and then sucks on your clit.

You whimper, “baby. Oh baby.” You moan, grinding down onto his face. “So good. So fucking good.” You moan, loving how enthusiastic he is and he squeezes your ass, encouraging you to move. You do, rocking your hips down even more.

He doesn’t care that you two are on the couch or that he is throbbing in his pants. All he cares about is making you moan his name. He knows he will slide inside you as soon as you cum for him. He moans against your clit, loving how you are smothering him just like he wanted you to. Using him for your pleasure.

“Fuck. Fuck. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, lost in the pleasure of his mouth on you. You rock on top of his mouth, his nose pressing against your clit as his tongue pushes deep. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes. Yes. Keep - keep going.” You beg, moaning his name.

He can’t breathe, but he doesn’t care. Too busy licking into you to feel your walls start to convulse around his tongue. Moaning when the first rush if your juices hit his mouth and your moan of his name almost makes him cum in his pants. Digging his fingers into your hips, Dieter doubles down on making you shriek his name.

You throw your head back as he makes you cum, moaning his name as you clamp down around his tongue. “Fuck baby. Fuck. I- I love you.” You whine when he works you through it and you whimper, lifting off of him when it becomes too much.

Panting like he was the one who had cum, Dieter licks his lips, completely pussy drunk as he caresses your side. Enjoying the boneless way you collapse on top of him as you try to catch your breath. “I love you. Fuck, you’re my new favorite meal.”

You inhale deeply, shifting off of him and you waste no time in tugging his shirt off of him. “Baby. I want to see all of you.” You tell him, tossing the ragged shirt away and you pull his sweats down to expose his cock. “Holy - that’s what you got?” Your eyes are wide at the girth and you wrap your fingers around him.

Dieter groans, bucking his hips and biting his lip in pleasure. “Fuck, is that not enough?” He gasps out. Normally women have no issue with his size but maybe your Ollie was hung like a horse.

“Not enough? Dieter, baby, I’m gonna feel you tomorrow.” You assure him, “I’m gonna need - wow. You might have to get some lube.” You admit and you start to pump him, in awe that your fingers don’t touch. You know it’s been so long since you’ve had sex and he is thick. You’ve always preferred girth over length anyway. “You’re big.” You promise him, leaning in to flick your tongue over the leaking slit.

He preens at your praise, eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of your tongue. “I’ve got lube.” He promises, reaching down and cradling your jaw. “Use it all the time, jerking off thinking about you.” He’s not ashamed of masturbating while thinking of you. “Baby let's go to the bedroom. You can ride me if you want more control.”

You want to suck his cock but you know you’ll have plenty of time to do that later. Right now, you need him inside of you. Releasing his cock, you pick up the baby monitor and stand up, smirking as you make your way to his bedroom. He’s scrambling to get his sweatpants off and you disappear down the hall, throwing over your shoulder, “don’t keep me waiting, Bravo.”

“Shit.” He hisses, eager to chase after you. Noticing that you are headed to his bedroom and not your own. “I’m coming baby, fuck.” He watches your ass shake as you sway your hips. “Gonna buy you the biggest fucking house I can find.”

You giggle, setting the monitor down on the nightstand and you gasp when Dieter’s hands grab your hips, pulling you back into him. You quickly spin and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips to his. “I love you.” You murmur against his mouth, his hard cock pressing into your stomach.

“I love you too.” Dieter moans softly, sliding his hands down and squeezing your ass. “Do you- do you need me to wear a condom?” He asks, sure that you aren’t wanting to get pregnant so soon after having your son. It wasn’t like you two had discussed birth control.

“No. I- I got an IUD put in. Figured they might as well do it while I was there and it wasn’t painful. I’m clean too. Not been with anyone since Ollie.” You promise and wonder if he’s clean. You don’t know when he slept with someone last. Maybe after you arrived. You don’t know. It’s not like it was your business when you were just his nanny.

He nods. “I uh, I haven’t been with anyone since Rosie has shown up. I’m clean.” He promises, eager to slide inside you and feel you without a barrier. “I didn’t want to do that kind to shit around her. Give her a good example. Don’t want her to be like me.”

You cup his cheeks, “you’re a good father and she’s gonna be just fine. You’re doing a good job.” You remind him, leaning in to kiss along his jaw. “Come on baby, you want me to ride you?” You ask and he nods. You let go of him and he walks over to his nightstand to grab the lube while you kneel on the bed. When he’s laying down, you grab the bottle and squirt some into your hand, wrapping your fingers around his cock to coat him before you swipe your fingers through your folds to make sure you’re slick enough. “Fuck, you’re gonna stretch me out.” You tell him as you straddle him.

“Want to see it.” Dieter pants, chest heaving as he watches you position his cock at your entrance. Moaning your name as you start to sink down on him, he can feel his entire body light up in pleasure at the hot clutch of your cunt. “I love you. I fucking love you.” Dieter cries, his fingers digging into your thighs as you slowly take him deeper, watching your mouth drop open and loving the way you moan his name.

Your eyes close as you slowly sink down onto him. He’s so thick, it stings, but you like that. It’s been so long since you had sex and this is the man you love. Your heart pounds in your chest as your thighs meet his, his cock fully inside of you, and his fingers sink into your flesh. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He grunts and you giggle, leaning down to kiss along his jaw. “I fucking love you too.” You murmur, licking along his neck until you are biting his earlobe so you can give yourself a moment to adjust to him.

He whines, unable to stop himself from lurching up in pleasure. “Oh did you like that?” You giggle breathlessly, making him moan and turn his head so you can do it again. 

“More baby, fuck. Want you to mark me up.” He begs, so starved for attention that he needs to drown in it. His hand squeezes your ass again and it takes concentration to not urge you to move, your walls fluttering so deliciously around him.

You love how desperate he is for you. Biting down on his earlobe again and his cock twitches inside of you. You take pity, finally feeling comfortable, and you shift, rocking on his cock while you nibble on his ear, whispering “you’re mine. I’m gonna make sure everyone sees it.” You smirk as you kiss down his neck, sucking and biting on his skin.

“Fuck yes, I’m yours, I’m yours.” Dieter chants, rocking his hips up to chase your cunt when you lift off of him. Hating even the brief few seconds where he’s not buried inside your warmth. “All yours baby.” He groans, closing his eyes at the pure bliss of being able to touch you, to tell you what he’s thinking without worrying about offending you. “Gonna marry you. Give you everything.” He gasps out.

You moan, “I’m yours too. Been yours since I moved into this house. I’m gonna be your wife.” You promise and he groans, hands caressing your back. You kiss his collarbone and shift back, making his cock sink deeper and you grab his hands to help you balance as you ride his cock. “Fuck. Yes. God, so good. So good inside of me.” You ramble, squeezing his hands as you start to pick up the pace.

“God, fuck, your pussy is gold.” His toes curl and he loves how you start to bounce on his cock. Making your tits away heavily and he watches with them unabashed lust. “So fucking gorgeous.” He pants. “Can’t wait to see you pregnant, riding my cock.”

“One day.” You promise with a grin, breathless from how good this feels. You let go of his hands, leaning back to grab his knees, and you grind down onto his cock, hitting just the right spot to make you gasp. “Fuck, baby. Oh my - I’m - it’s gonna make me cum.” You confess, reaching down to rub your clit.

Dieter frowns and slaps your hand away, pouting up at you. “Let me.” He insists, pressing his thumb to your clit and rubbing a tight circle over the bundle of nerves while you bounce on his cock. “Fuck baby, cum, please cum. I’m gonna -“ he hisses. “Not gonna last. Too fucking tight.” Your walls clenching down around him every other bounce is getting to be too much and he grits his teeth, praying he lasts long enough for you to soak his cock.”

Your moans are getting breathier as you struggle to breathe from the pleasure. “Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Dieter. I’m gonna - oh!” You moan, clamping down on his cock and soaking him, his thumb still working your clit until your thighs are shaking. “Cum for me.” You beg breathlessly, wanting to feel it as you convulse on top of him from your orgasm.

You don’t have to say anything else. His entire body is aching to cum, gripping your hips harshly as he starts to thrust wildly up into your body. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shiiiiiiiiiit.” Dieter whines, burying his cock half a dozen more times before his back is bowing and he is crying out your name, filling you with hot spurts of his seed.

You pant, collapsing onto his chest as his cock twitches inside of you, and you kiss along his neck. Unable to speak, you enjoy the aftermath of your orgasms. The connection you feel to Dieter has you on cloud nine. He’s a good father and a good man, despite what the paps print. He’s changed for his child and that makes you love him more. “Good?” You ask breathlessly, hoping he enjoyed it as much as you did.

“So fucking good.” Dieter’s eyes are closed and his expression is one of pure relaxation. Enjoying the way you feel on top of him. “God, you’re spending the night right here. Every night from now on.” He slides a hand up and down your back, enjoying the feeling of your slick skin under his palm. “Now we just need the kids to sleep through the night.”

“Soon. They are getting better. And you want another one to keep us awake?” You tease, giggling when his cock twitches inside of you. 

“I do.” He promises and you caress his cheek, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Me too. One day.” You lean in to softly kiss his lips, knowing you want this man to be your husband, to be everything. **** 

“Diet, babe. Can you get me that - shit.” You hiss after you feel the baby kick your ribcage. 

“Bad word mama.” Rosie points at you and you nod, “sorry, love. Mama needs to sit down.” You tell the three year old. Ollie comes over to sit down on the sofa next to you, his small hand on your belly as he leans in to talk to the baby in your belly. Rosie follows suit, wanting to do what her brother is doing. 

“Hello baby. It’s me. Your big brother-” 

“and sister.” Rosie adds as she leans in to press her ear to your stomach. You smile, tears in your eyes and look up to see Dieter walk into the living room. 

“You called baby?” He asks, paint splattered all over him from painting the new nursery. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry. Can you- can you get me some ice cream?” You bite your lip, knowing he’s been run ragged with your cravings.

Dieter grins, shoving his hand through his paint flecked hair, although he teases that the gray is because of you and the babies. “What kind of ice cream do you want, babe?” He strides over and rubs your bump before dropping a kiss on your lips. “Rocky road or are you wanting that cheesecake strawberry swirl?” He knows you will probably text him with more cravings, but he doesn’t mind. You are carrying his baby and you get what you want.

You smile at him, loving how flustered he looks when he has to go get your cravings, and you run your fingers over the kids’ heads before they look up at Dieter. 

“Can we have ice cream, daddy?” Rosie asks, that pout she definitely got from Dieter on her face. 

Oliver nods, “yes! Vanilla.” 

Rosie shakes her head, “chocolate!” 

You giggle and look at your husband, “I’ll have rocky road. Guess it’s an ice cream day.” You say and the kids cheer, excited to have ice cream.

“Vanilla, chocolate and rocky road.” Dieter nods, smiling down at the kids. He could never deny them much and while they would be considered spoiled, they were very well behaved. “Oh-“ he snaps his fingers. “Before I forget. The management agency called. They found another renter for the house and said that the repairs for the house were minimal, just paint to freshen up.” 

True to his word, he had bought you a house, deeded it in your name and hired a management company to handle the day to day issues and repairs. All of the profits were deposited into a bank account that was solely yours, even though you had access to everything of Dieter’s. “So that’s a weight off before the baby comes.”

The money going into that bank account is going to pay for the kids’ college. You won’t use it for yourself, not when you are happily married to Dieter. “Yes. Glad they managed to find another tenant.” You smile, reaching for his hand to kiss the back of it. 

“Daddy!” Oliver rushes over to him after shifting off of the sofa. 

“Yeah, buddy?” Dieter groans as he bends over to pick him up. 

“Can I come? To get ice cream?” He asks and Dieter nods, “of course.” You smile, loving how close Oliver and Dieter are. You adopted Rosie and he adopted Oliver not long after you were married. It felt natural and meant to be. Your little family, complicated but perfect. 

“We will be right back. Rosie, you wanna come?” Dieter asks and she shakes her head, climbing onto the sofa. 

“I wanna stay with mommy.” You pull her close, “we can watch our show while the boys are out.” You tell her in a playful whisper and she grins. 

“We will be back soon.” Dieter promises and you smirk at him, “after ice cream, the kids need to nap. Mommy needs ‘nap time’ too.” You say to Dieter and he smirks back at you, “what mommy wants, mommy gets.” He promises, knowing he wants you to moan his name while the kids are asleep. From Rosie getting shoved into his arms on a random day, to having a family with a baby on the way. Dieter never imagined being a family man but now, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[blackllghtshadow]

It's hard being in between world's (Part two)

This is the second part

Summary: tsu'tey desires to punish you una much different way than normal

Warning: raw sex, biting, dominating, some kinks, descriptive

Fuck Tsu’tey and Fuck this punisheing he had in mind, that what you thought wile you tried your best to climb the many vines the Hallelujah mountains had, luckily you had strong upper half and also thanks that Tsu’tey wasn’t that much of a dick and was behind you just in case you fell that he coud grav you in time, this was a punishment not a suicidal mission after all, also you had the impression that he didnt actually hate you, well, not hate but he tolerated you, that was the best word to use in this case. 

once you two made it to the top you were all but thanking eywa that this was over, or so you thought because he give your lower back a soft push to warn you to keep climbing and you growled in frustration, and action that made him smile, for some reason he was taking you somewhere up and you couldn’t give two shits about where he was taking you, at some point you wished you had a banshee, that way tsu'tey and you could just fly there, but of course you were the only one without a banshee so he was taking you the hard way. You could sense that he was trying not to laugh at your unamused face, “we are close” he said while trying to hold his amusement, you rolled your eyes and kept climbing, “can you stop staring at my ass?” you snapped at him and it was clear that you cought him off guard, and that made you think that you actually didn’t know what he was thinking, by his reaction alone, it was clear that he wasn’t staring at your ass as you thought, “did someone tell you that that smart ass mouth of yours would get you in trouble, oh wait it always did” he teased and that made you slip, thanks that Tsu’tey has fast reaction skills and he caught you at mid fall.

He growled at you for slipping, you gave him an awkward smile, “this wouldn’t have happened if you untied my wrists” you said in a way of excusing yourself, he scoffed and just pushed you up again to make you continue the infernal climbing. By the time you got to the top, the sun was already rising over the horizon, you looked at everything tired but amazed by the news, you sat down to catch your breath, your wrists were a bit painful from all the tugging on them while climbing, “can you now untie me?” you asked Tsu’tey for the fourth time, he growled and finally untied your wrists, yey, you rubbed your wrists to stop the stinging sensation on them. 

As you were doing so Tsu'tey was observing you, you don't know what he is looking at but but Almo growl at the man, suddenly you feel two hand holding you by your shoulders and his hot breath on your ear, “if you try something funny, I am tung you up, and punishing you in a different way “ as you hear that your instinct is to punch him because he was close to your space, he almost falls backward, of course that would be what was going to happen if the funeral didn't have a hold on you, you hear him groand and then he turns you around by force and pins you down, “what the fuck?! Let me go!” You scream at him.

He doesn't answer but as you were fighting his hold, Tsu'tey leans into your shoulder and the funeral bites you making you hiss at the pain, for a moment you stop fighting his hold, but in your mind you weren't going to stop so when he almost stops you wiggle to get free but the funeral bites you harder making you stop once again, at that you kick at him, officially pissed off, you connect to his side and he stops biting you, he gets angry as well and grave you by the hair and slams your head to the floor making you feel dizzy, in that time he holds you tight and as you come back you feel his mouth on one of your breasts you almost moan but you bite your lip hard, making it bleed, you try to brake free but you find that he is holding you down with his weight, you try to kick at him he that only gives him the advantage of holding your leg in his other hand, at that you close your eyes trying to not lose yourself at the sensation of his skilled mouth on your nipple, he bites and sucks and plays with it like if he owned it, sometong that only fuels your anger, you feel aroused and angry, you try to get free by wiggling your torso but he bites hard on your nipple making you whine, and with that whine a moan scapes, making you shut up because, you weren't okay with giving the goods to the man who was beating you up, but damned his mouth as skilled, and you aren't sure what was going to happen, only that he tied your hand again and this time on your back so the weight of your body subdued you, you wiggle but he punched you making you bite your tongue once again and this time you swear you can taste blood, you are so lost in that thought that when you some back it's because you feel a hand in between you let's and you growl kicking at him and managing to strike the side of his head with you knee, “looks like you need to be teached who is your superior” he growls, a hint of want in his voice that got your knees weak, you should know that the strike would make his stop because now he as a hold on you knee and he lifts you leg to your side, almost exposing your most intimate area to his aroused angry ass, he gets hold to that same garment and moves it out of the way wanting to have a wife of your own arousal, you try to stop him but you can't he has you pinned down, he pulls your leg over his shoulder making his head be near to your core and he lets out a growl, and it gets you weaker, that is when you feel him bite hard on you inner thigh, making you whine again, “this is how I want you” he growls ins a deep voice, at that time he observes you, when he sees that you are barely fighting him anymore he growls and says, “what, not so strong anymore, are you that desperate to get me to please your every need?” He said with a cocky tone, at that moment his bite goes back but this time it moves to your hip and then down your center, teasing you, hour hips move on they're owns and he bites hard making you Yelp, “be a good girl and don't move” he growls with his head in between your legs, he holds to your tail wile his administration continue and then his lips find your clip, and that is when your hips moves upward to meet his mouth, burring your pussy onto his face, he growls and holds you hips down as he flick his tongue on you sensitive bundle of joy, being rough, his Teeth hold you clit and the sensation got you moaning.

He growls while he watch you, he leaves your clit  but just to focus on the rest of your pussy, he opens you wide, you close your eyes embarrassed in what he was looking at, he laughs at your embarrassment and without warning, he pushed a finger in your pussy, “and here I thought I needed to prepare you~” he growls, “shut up” you manage to hiss, but that is all before he pumps his finger in and out, you can feel his gaze on you, you look away, trying to get free, arching your back but as always, the fucker tied you down well, an at that, he inserts a second finger curling it inside and finding you g spot, you head roll backward hard, slamming it to the floor, at that his mouth goes back to torturing your clit and at that moment, you feel swirling pleasure on your lower stomach, building fast but, as you were all but screaming, he stops, leaving you a whining mess, he was looking at you but at that point you didn't care, you feel his hand hold to you as he lifts your hip up in a indecent way, and after some second, your eyes snap open at the sudden intrusion, there he was, the mighty tsu'tey, thrusting himself balls deep into you, the pain at his sudden intrusion and the need to get your release, gets you moaning and reaching your orgasms just there, he bites your neck hard at the feel of you're insides clenching around him.

He bites hard making your skin bleed, but that pain is overlapped by the sudden pleasure of his violent thrusting into you, his tail wrap around you leg as your legs wrap around his hip, he fuck's you hard and good, like if he wanted it for years, his mouth go down to your breast once again and he bites down, leaving a mark, “look at that, whining for more” he growls, “who is up your superior?” He adds, you don't answer and he stops his trusting “You, you,! “ you yelp just because you were feeling your second orgasm creeping close, he must have felt it because he stops, when you came down, he resumed his thrusts, at all that you were lost, moaning his name and cursing him “holly shit, tsu'tey! “ you scream but the fucker stops again just as you were almost there, you scream in frustration, but just as you were losing your mind, he goes back to funking you hard, as tsu'tey bites you hard on your neck, your legs start to shake and and he goes faster and harder this time your eyes roll to the back of your head as darkness comes to you as your orgasm crashes to you and for a moment you think that you peed on yourself, he doesn't stop, fuking you hard and raw through you orgasm, he pushes one last thrust, pushing himself balls deep that you swear, you can feel him on your stomach, spilling himself deep, leaving a sensual as fuck male moan, hes eyes closing as his head tilts backward and those male moans slip out through his almost closed mouth, he pulls out, you growl, pissed off, “you could have pulled out! “ your scream at himself, he growls and makes you look him in the eye and finally said “you don't get the pleasure to decide” he growls, and fuck if you weren't now his property.

[danidoesathing]

I wanted to ask all of the questions in that ask game but I narrowed it down to 4…..

📃 ✨ 🎥 💢

📃 what is the plot of your hyperfixation? and is it a movie, game, show, etc?

The plot? you mean the plots? I mean, there's the adventures of a cowboy running from the law in a fantastical world, traversing across the land and sea (and maybe into some other plain of existence?). Or could i interest you in the drug ridden journey of a young man (who might not be who he seems) searching for his missing fiancé through a neon city, but space and time begin to lose their meaning as the night goes on? or maybe the tale of a dead man rising from the grave to go on a gasoline and blood fueled quest for revenge for the murder of him and his family, collecting a group of people scorned by the world that are willing to go down in his journey to burn it all down? Or how about the tale of a television studio nestled away in the way out there, kept alive by the warmth of it's host and haunted by the ghosts of it's past performers, all slowly being left in the past as time's blur takes it all in the end? Or how about-

✨ what draws you towards your hyperfixation? what is interesting about it?

a lot of things honestly. I'm a sucker for tragedy and doomed narratives which lh lore is LITTERED with. There's so many distinct aesthetics, from strange surreal western to 50s/60s biker gangs to neon lit cities to run down dive bars full of stories, and i vibe with them SO hard. the CHARACTERS i adore the characters so much. they're so well written i love them. i love cosmic horror. i love the supernatural treated like the mundane. i love the alternate universe 60s it presents. i love it

plus like. I've been listening to the band for years now and finding out my favorite music has not just a story, but STORIES behind it was insane. they made a MOVIE DUDE!!! theres so much detail and effort put into every aspect of the lore and i love it. the music absolutely fucks too

🎥 do you have any favorite scenes from your hyperfixation?

like. come on. Dead Man's Hand no question. like fool for love and the world ender MVs and AFWP are up there in terms of story and general enjoyment but im sorry im a sucker for Dead Man's Hand, specifically in the movie. not only is it the strangest moment in a very strange movie, it's just. great. it's got my two favorite characters interacting and i adore buck and johnnie's insane dynamic. they're both freaks in completely opposite ways and its so funny. the dialogue is hilarious and Johnnie's actor is WAY too good at playing him. the makeup for it is really good and johnnie is. a delight to have on screen.

I love the general story of dmh in just the song alone (the story of a man finding a corpse in the middle of night, deciding to spare the time and energy to bury it and then having it wake up and ask to help out the grave. like. damn) but the movie adds so much good context. Buck almost having met the same fate and just barely escaping. the fact that johnnie actually encourages him to follow the same path despite him literally dying from it. Them being parallels to each other (reckless and stubborn young men that are the reason for their own downfall) while also being opposites in almost every other way (they lived completely opposite lives, musical styles, interests, views on the world, etc). the way they both have completely opposite views on life (A dead man in love with life and a live man in love with death). the scene still keeping that sense of wonder and fascination with each other like the song has. the weirdly casual conversation they have despite the weird circumstance. the distinct impression they've left on each other and the strange bond they develop. an encounter that is genuinely a one in a million chance – a man who can speak to the dead finding the discarded corpse of someone both just like and nothing like him in the middle of the desert in the dead of night on some random road. like god i fucking LOVE that scene its so GOOD

💢 what do you NOT like about your hyperfixation? is there something you would want to change about it?

like. i like the ambiguity of the stories a lot and i love to speculate and theorize all the time but sometimes i wish things were expanded on a bit more. just a bit. like im SO curious about the frozen pines storyline but it hasn't been touched upon in years and we dont know like. anything besides the brief story we've been given of a young girl searching for her friend. we dont know anything else and we still know NOTHING about the musician behind it H. W. Justine (did they know danielle? did they make up the story? were they the missing friend? who the hell are they?). or even worse like. i genuinely cannot tell you what has actually happened, whats a story, and whats an in-universe movie. is the vide noir movie we see a WBUB movie in the lore? or is that the actual events of what happened? is that why tnwm had the director's card with Z'Oiseau's name on it as well as Jasper's and Hontax's and the general theme of film was there? is it a story that Buck wrote up either as a movie or just another story in his head? if you can actually tell me how old Buck is that makes sense within the timeline i will give you a cookie. please god

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Hai, love! I’ve been binging your Daryl fics the last few weeks and I love how you write him 🥺 You’re definitely a new fav writer for me and I’m so thankful to have found you ❤️ Thank you so much in advance 💗

I saw that your requests are open ? And I was just wondering if you could do one where either the reader or Daryl have a very close call with getting hurt and realize their feelings for each other?

{I also have another idea, but I’m not sure if you’d want to write it? Maybe they’re already established as a couple & around Alexandria era. They decide they want to try and have kids, but it’s hard to bc reader has pcos &/or endometriosis? I have those two things and so it’s just close to my heart. (If you don’t want to write this I totally understand!! No worries! That’s why I gave another option bc I know this is a difficult subject) ❤️❤️}

Hi! I'm gonna go with the first request just because I really really like it! Thank you for your kind words and I'm so glad that you're here❤️

"I'm afraid, I'm not very helpful in this particular situation-"

"Eugene, just apply pressure until Daryl finds us." I huff, my head thumping against the wooden floor of the dusty cabin, my chest rising and falling in anxious breathes as Eugene presses firmly on my hip, his hands shaking as he tries desperately to stop the bleeding.

I let out a quiet groan, tears pricking my eyes as I fight the urge to slip into the overwhelming exhaustion that's suddenly hitting me and I can feel the blood draining from my face.

"Please- and I know you don't have control over this- but please don't die on my watch. I'm afraid I'll be next in line for a grave if Daryl returns only to find you died a very untimely death." I let out a choked laugh, flashing somewhat of a reassuring smile Eugene's way as he trembles softly, his eyes immediately snapping up as the door whips open beside us, Daryl appearing in the doorway with a shocked look.

He looks between the two of us, shocked, lips parted gently as his eyes finally meet the blood that's pooling from my lower abdomen.

"Did you-"

"I didn't get scratched or bit." I croak out, squeezing my eyes shut as Eugene's pressure wavers a bit and he's quick to apologize under his breath. Daryl is immediately at my side in a moments notice, taking his chest off as he tears it into a long strip, hesitating before looking up at me.

"You gonna be okay if I get this around you?" He asks and I give him a nod, reaching out to grip onto his arm, helping him lift my hips so he can slip the piece of fabric beneath me. I relax as much as I can, squeezing his bicep, and he wraps the band around me, tying it as tightly as he can. Eugene is quick to move his hands, wiping my blood from his skin with a shuddered sigh.

"Fuck." I scoff, uncomfortably shifting in my place as I look up at Daryl, silently asking for reassurance but there's nothing but fear behind his eyes too.

"You'll be fine." He mutters, reaching down to take my hand firmly in his before turning his attention to Eugene. "Rick's got a truck outside. Go." He orders and Eugene doesn't waste a second, he's on his feet and out the door before I can even thank him for helping me.

"You can't let me out of your sight for this reason." I shiver, feeling warm tears slip down my cheeks.

"Stop cryin'." He mutters, reaching up to brush my tears away gently even though his voice is gravely and stern. "Stop acting like you're not fine-"

"Daryl, it really hurts. And I'm really cold." I whimper but he doesn't say anything, just hoists me up and into his lap, pressing his chest to my back and wrapping his arms around me. His warmth floods into me as I relax into him. "I know you hate affection, I'm sorry." I huff, resting my head back onto his shoulder as my neck cranes to look up at him with blurry eyes.

"It's different." He shrugs, avoiding my curious gaze as he looks at my wound, biting anxiously at his lip and my brows furrow at his vague comment.

"What do you mean?"

"You're in pain. Not just gonna let you suffer." He whispers, brushing my hair out of my face sweetly, his bloodied hand lingering a bit on my cheek.

"I appreciate that." I respond simply, my brain a bit fuzzy from the blood loss and trauma but also from the kind look in his eyes, a look that says more than what he's actually saying. "Does this mean when I ask for a hug in the future, you'll do it." I ask with a forced smile and a cough, gripping his thigh as another wave of pain and nausea wash through me. He just scoffs with a simple shake of his head.

"Don't push your luck."

Eventually, with Rick's help, the crowd of walkers diminishes outside the cabin and after twenty minutes of bleeding and mumbling incoherent things to Daryl, both of the men managed to get me out into the back of the truck.

I lay my head in Daryl's lap as he holds pressure on my wound, listening in on Eugene and Rick's conversation. My eyes haven't been able to tear away from him, analyzing every look and expression that passes over his handsome face.

Maybe it's shock.

"Maybe." Daryl suddenly says, taking me off guard and it stumps me for a few moments as to what he's talking about. Until I remember our previous conversation about earning the occasional hug from him. My brows lift in shock, watching his cheeks blush boyishly.

"Really?" I ask with a sudden burst of energy, watching Daryl roll his eyes once more.

"I said don't push it."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex–awesome–22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane2828 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi

@crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets@haylee-e@popehaywardssecretgf @honee-chai-tea @lokiandbuckywife @smoke-and-fire @officiallyunofficialperson@heyaitsklaudia@rosepetalsparks @bluetreecloud20 @scenesofobx @double-shot-of-tequila @1dluver13xx @colbysbrocks @iamasimpingh0e @smoke-and-fire386 @loveshineslikethesky @id-3-kbro @diorsitgirl @errorfound101-allideasburnedout @neverwillknowme18 @ellyskey @taylors-folk @loversjoy @myaloveee @thyris-is @lagataprrr @aaaaslaaaan @minjix @luvrosee @storytellingwitht

[watchmegetobsessed]

The Hottest Avenger - Bucky Barnes

a/n: im warning you, i will probably not stop for a while with the bucky fics so... brace yourselves lol! also i wrote this before ep 5 came out so its placed in that time

pairing: Bucky X Reader

warnings: TFATWS spoiler, some violence? nothing extreme

word count: 1.8k

summary: Being locked together with Sam and Bucky brings the worst out of you, picking on each other constantly. Following an arguement Bucky accidentally calls you his girlfriend in front of Sam when your relationship was supposed to be a secret.

masterlist

“Did you fucking eat the last dumpling?” you accuse Sam, holding up the empty takeout box where you thought were one more dumpling, one you’ve saved for yourself, but now it’s gone as Sam is eyeing you with his mouth full.

“Thought it was mine,” he mumbles, his words barely understandable from all the food in his mouth.

Taking a deep breath you’re trying not to jump at his throat right then and there. You’ve been locked up together all damn day in the trashy apartment across the street from the building where’s Zemo supposed to be hiding. Sharon had a tip about a possible place where he might be found, but you’ve been waiting to no avail for now. You’ve been growing stressed and impatient. You lost track of Karli and her people and now you can’t seem to find Zemo either. If it wasn’t for the Dora Milaje, you wouldn’t bother to be so after the asshole, but Bucky said if Ayo finds him first, he is dead and every useful information he holds goes to the grave with him so now you are forced to look for him. One failed mission has been following the other these days, that incompetent dickhead John is on the loose too after murdering that man in front of civilians and you feel like control has slipped out of your grip a long time ago. Now you’re stuck with Sam and Bucky in this crappy place, waiting by the window, watching out for Zemo and on top of everything… Sam ate your last dumpling.

Just when you’re about to snap at him, you feel a strong grip on your shoulder. You don’t have to look up to know it’s Bucky right behind you, but not just because he is the only other person in the room beside you and Sam, but also because you know his touch probably more than anyone. Only that most of the times it’s not your shoulder he is gripping…

It’s been going on for a long time between the two of you. Started with just some innocent flirting and you never thought it would grow into something more significant, but it did. And now you are officially in a relationship with none other than the Winter Soldier, only that no one else knows about it and you plan to keep it that way. You don’t need the teasing and jokes and the Avengers are known to be dicks sometimes, especially Sam.

Glancing up your eyes meet Bucky’s blue irises and he sends you a look that says “just let it go”, and though every fiber in you wants to whoop Sam’s ass, you let it slip.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna get mad about a dumpling,” Sam chuckles as he chews on the food that you should be enjoying right now.

“I can get mad about whatever I want to,” you growl back, growing quite irritated of him at this point.

“Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed,” he huffs under his breath, clearly not as bothered as he should be. Before you could do any harm in him, you leave your spot by the window, needing a breather from… well, from him.

“Hey, it’s still your turn!” he calls after you.

“I need a break,” you growl back.

“Get your ass back here, we agreed to switch every two hours!”

“Sam! I’m walking out because I’m way too tempted to punch you in the face right now!” you snap at him, losing your patience. He rises from his seat with a hard expression, not quite a fan of the way you just talked to him, but you couldn’t care less.

“You think you could actually throw one? Because last time we fought you couldn’t really get a hold of me,” he narrows his eyes at you, coming to stand tall in front of you, trying to intimidate you with how much taller and stronger he might be, but you both know you’re a better fighter.

“It’s easy to talk with your fancy tech stuff. Why don’t we see who wins in a simple battle?” you challenge him with faked boredom.

“Guys, stop. We should be looking out for Zemo, not tearing each other apart,” Bucky tries to end the staring contest, sticking his metal arm between the two of you in case any of you decides to launch at the other one.

“Then tell her to stop bitching!” Sam nods in your way.

“I’m not bitching, I’m just fed up with your bullshit!” you spat back at him, leaning closer, your chest coming in contact with Bucky’s extended arm.

“Don’t talk to her like that, Sam,” Bucky warns him, but Sam snorts dryly.

“Don’t tell me you are taking her side, she is throwing a fit for a fucking dumpling!”

“I’m not taking sides, just trying to settle this stupid disagreement here,” he defends himself and you roll your eyes.

“You can’t tell me she is not overreacting it, Buck!” Sam laughs in disbelief, taking a step back, dropping the act that he wants to fight you. He probably knows he would come out as a ridiculous loser. “This is fucking insane, I’m not in the mood to deal with your shit, Y/N,” he shakes his head.

“Hey!” Bucky snaps at him. “Don’t talk to my girlfriend like that, okay?!”

“I’m just—wait, what?!” Sam’s eyes widen and you freeze too.

Your dumbass boyfriend didn’t just out the two of you, did he? What else is about to come?! Sam’s shock turns into a cocky grin as his eyes shift between you and Bucky.

“You guys… you guys are fucking?” he asks with a delightful laugh and you close your eyes sighing, already tired of his shit.

“That’s not—We’re not fucking, I mean… It’s not like that,” Bucky stutters, but it’s just making it worse. He looks at you with terror in his eyes, but you are way too drained to deal with it the right way.

“Yes, we are fucking! And we are in a mature adult relationship! Get yourself over it!” you bark at Sam before turning around and walking out.

You faintly hear the two men talk inside, but you don’t make out the words. You don’t go too far, sitting on the steps leading up to the third floor. Soon enough you hear the door of the apartment open with a creak and a moment later Bucky shows up in your sight. He sits beside you, remaining silent for a little before speaking up.

“Sorry for running my mouth,” he mumbles, his head hanging low.

“It’s… fine,” you breathe out. Bucky fidgets with his fingers and you know he wants to touch you in any kind of way as a reassurance that it really is fine. You don’t want to hold a grudge, it was an accident, you’re just a little bummed it’s not gonna be just the two of you anymore. Reaching out you take his hand, the real one that’s flesh and meat and you lace your fingers together as he peeks at you, still reserved and hesitant.

“Is it really fine or are you just bottling it up?”

“It really is fine,” you chuckle softly and leaning closer you kiss his scruffy cheek. “The only reason I wanted to keep it a secret is because you know how vickery the guys can get. I just didn’t want them to pick on us.”

“They do it because they are just jealous,” he smirks playfully, his shoulder bumping against yours.

“Yeah? Of what?” A soft chuckle slips through your lips.

“That I scored the hottest Avenger,” he replies smugly and you can’t help but laugh with your head snapping back.

“I didn’t know you were fucking Thor!” you retort and immediately see his smirk vanish from his lips as he stares back at you, not enjoying your joke as much as you are.

“Thor? Really? Not this shit again, Y/N,” he narrows his eyes at you. Back when you were just skirting around each other, you loved pulling his leg, joking about how much you are into the hottest Avenger, aka Thor. He never appreciated it, usually earned you a tight-lipped smile before he mumbled “Tarzan’s got nothing on me” before walking away, leaving you laughing like a hyena.

“Come on, you know I’m more into super soldiers,” you grin, leaning closer as he pepper his sharp jawline with more small kisses.

“You know, it’s not the best thing to say to your boyfriend when there are now about eight more super soldiers running around,” he huffs.

“But none of them has a metal arm,” you point out, finally making him laugh.

“So that’s your kink? A vibranium arm?” he asks with faked shock and you curl your arms around his bicep, resting your chin on his shoulder.

“How haven’t you realized yet?” you chuckle. Bucky turns his head until his lips can capture yours in a sweet, lighthearted kiss that makes you forget about everything that’s been clouding over your mind these past days. All the failures, the mistakes and chaos fades into nothing, because you have him and he has you.

Walking back into the apartment Sam stares back at you, neither of you entirely sure how to act after what just happened. He then grabs his phone from the dusty table before holding it up.

“I could order some extra dumplings,” he offers and you crack a smile shaking your head. This was his peace offering, both of you knows he won’t straight up apologize for the way he talked, but this is already more than what you were expecting from him. Bucky must have had a few words with him before joining you outside.

“It’s all good.”

The three of you get back to work, taking your previous spots, returning to the task on hand as silence falls on the room once again. You catch Sam glancing at you and the Bucky and you can tell he is about to make a snarky comment on your relationship. And just as he is about to open his big mouth, Bucky moves to silence him, but you’re faster. With a simple move you throw Sam to the ground, keeping him down with your hand wrapped around his neck.

“Don’t even think about teasing, understood?” you hiss at him as he gasps for air, his hands wrapping around your wrist as he tries to fight you off, but you hold him a second longer to emphasize the importance of your words. Then you finally let go of him and he coughs for air, fixing him up from the floor as you simply walk back to your spot by the window.

“Hottest Avenger, huh?” he breathes out, revealing that he heard what you talked about out on the stairs. “More like the Avenger with the most anger issues…”

You just grin, glancing over at your boyfriend who is now standing with his arms crossed over his chest, not even bothered by his friend’s struggles on the floor as he smirks back at you, nodding proudly as if he was saying: “That’s my girl.”

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed it!

[lyallblacklupin]

Just like fire.

After years of regrets and sorrows, Remus tries to apologize to Sirius for his own mistakes, despite the fact that he has been hurt by the very same person who he wants to say sorry to. The years of damages has passed, should they give each other a chance, or start fresh with new people in life to forget their old wounds?

Tags: Heavy Angst, Fluff, Post-Azkaban, Angst with Happy Ending.

Sirius walks in the kitchen, completely heedless of Remus’ presence—or he pretends to be heedless after he catches the sight of Remus. He walks promptly, not limping but flinching at his aching bones. This is how Sirius Black has become: broken. And he has not just broken out of thin air, it has taken fourteen years which includes the twelve years of unjust imprisonment and two years of being a prison escapee, and Merlin knows how many more to go.

Half of Sirius’ time is spent in thinking about death and longing for it. Remus can tell because he has witnessed the hunger of dying in his eyes when he’d sit alone with himself, and the other half is always occupied in worrying about Harry Potter who is last person keeping him from dying out of misery; his dear godson only. Otherwise, he’d have been free.

He stops at the stove and boils the water on the kettle. He doesn’t have his wand so muggle way it is. Muggles have been growing on him, a lot. He keeps talking about them with Arthur. Remus is glad that if there is anything Sirius is looking forward to the order meetings is for the conversation with his new friend Arthur Weasley, who also attains the equal amount energy for the same subject. It makes Remus happy to witness that they have any reason to—even temporarily—lit up in the times of war. However, Sirius never smiles. He nods, or makes a funny face. He only smiles when Harry visits.

“If you want for yourself, it’s still in the kettle.” Sirius says without looking, and begins to walk out of the kitchen but Remus rises from his chair.

“Sirius.” He stops but doesn’t turn to face Remus.

“What?” His voice cut through Remus’ heart.

“I was hoping we could have tea together?” He tried, his heart hammering in his chest.

Sirius finally turns and hold his gaze. After a lingering eye contact, he nods and brings Remus’ tea with pink mug that has a David Bowie on it. He is slightly hopeful that Sirius has kept it because Remus gave him on their sixth year Christmas holidays. But he highly doubts that Sirius remembers it. Sirius sits across Remus’ seat. The silence is irksome.

“I want you to know that I’m sorry for…all that—“

“Define ‘that’, Remus?” Sirius’ facial expressions are blank but very grave.

“For believing the murder of Lily and James was because of you.”

Sirius scoffs, and Remus wants to scream because deep down inside he doesn’t feel he deserves it. He suffered too for twelve years. Even so, he tries to sustain the ceasefire he is trying to build between them.

“I should have believed that you would never have done anything like that to the Potters. You loved them more than anything in this world and—“

Remus pauses because Sirius is shaking his head with a manic smile playing on his lips.

“Wrong. I didn’t love them as I was supposed to. It wasn’t that I didn’t, but it was more like I couldn’t. My fucking stupid heart belonged to just one person that time as if my life would end if I stop centering my life on him.”

Remus swallowed. He knows that no kind of eloquent words are going to be good reply to what Sirius has said, so he says, “You did. Love them, that is. I know that.”

“Oh what did you know!?” He shoots up so violently that the chair collapses down on the floor that Remus inhales sharply, “You were out there kissing Dumbledore’s shoes!”

He knew that this will happen, that he will be humiliated again just like the times in the first war when Sirius would scream at him for going on the secret missions and not giving a clue about when and where he would go and come back, and for not being there for his friends and family. But in reality, all Remus did was to protect the order, and the people he loved. However, the questions still pops in his head, ‘for what? How did he not see it that they were breaking apart?’ It feels like he was watering a dead plant over and over again during the severity of lacking water, but the plant didn’t revive, and the precious water spilled into filthiest vain. Despite of that, Remus shuts his mind and chooses that pettiest way to get back at the person who endured twelve years of imprisonment for the crime he never committed.

“Don’t you dare!” Remus rises from his chair too, leveling up at Sirius, “Don’t you dare go down there again after all these years!”

“WHY NOT!?” Sirius yelled anyway, “YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO THIS NOW! YOU NEVER BELIEVED ME! EVEN BEFORE YOU THOUGHT I BETRAYED JAMES AND LILY!”

“WHEN DID YOU BELIEVE ME!?” Remus is now few inches away from Sirius. He wants to slam him against the wall and put some sense into him because he still cares about him, no matter what.

“WHAT!? You made me this way! You build this mistrust with your hands! Don’t you dare forget that!”

“I did!? Or was that you!? Who didn’t believe me when I said I was not allowed to tell to anyone!”

“I WAS NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ANYONE!” Sirius’ voice breaks poorly that hits like a dagger in Remus’ heart. Sirius holds himself by the chest and leans down to rest his torso on the kitchen table, breathing heavily. Remus instantly feels the stinging in his eyes, and followed by the hot tears spilling from them. He comes behind Sirius, and places a hand on his back.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” Remus whispers, and pulls Sirius up in his arms. He sobs and sobs, and Remus sinks down to the floor with him, squeezing him tightly in his embrace. “You are right. You were never just anyone. You were never…” He tries to put his feelings into words but Sirius interrupts him.

“You stopped loving me.”

Remus feels his stomach twist but what comes out of his mouth is a laugh. An empty laugh.

“Hell, I didn’t even stop loving you even when I thought you killed James and Lily.”

Silence.

“I was disgusted by myself. I used to feel so filthy. To want you even after believing you ruined my life by walking away so brutally, killing my friends. Killing my reasons to stay on this planet. I wanted to hate you. I couldn’t. I didn’t think that I even deserved to go to their funeral, you know…because I thought I’d be downright hypocrite to grieve for their loss when I was actually grieving the loss of you. I’d dream about you. The only thought keeping me sane and alive. Sirius, I’m not sure if this makes sense to you…I don’t even know if I’m asking you to love me back or what, but I have always loved you, mostly when I shouldn’t…”

Sirius is staring at him with his tears streaming so rapidly down his cheeks. He is trembling as sobs are racking through his body, his breath hitching every now and then. Remus’ heart breaks to see him like that. It is like Sirius is cleansing himself with all of the unwanted darkness off his soul by spilling all the expanse of pain in form of tears. Remus can see that he is not stopping himself from weeping. He seems lost somewhere, with his eyes shut and his hand on his mouth.

“I am not defending myself,” Remus whispers once he notices Sirius is just sniffling and wiping the dampness from his face, “I never meant to bring that up. I just want to let you know that whatever you went through had not even a single place or moment you deserved to be at.”

Sirius looks up with wide teary eyes, staring at Remus’ hopefully. He looks innocent and raw.

“Tell me,” His voice rough with tears but still a whisper. He clears his throat, “that I deserved all of that.”

“That is not true.” Remus says instantly, his hands grasping Sirius’ wrist instinctively, fearing he might fade away with the wind swooping in from the kitchen window.

“It is,” He says in the weakest voice, “My mistakes brought me here. For not trusting you enough…”

No words comes out from Remus’ mouth but they are caught in his throat like a lump. He can feel their prickling. The silence stretches on, smoothly breaking by the sounds of fire battling the wind filling the kitchen. There is also some faint sounds of dripping water from the tap into the basin. Someone must have forgotten to turn it fully. Huh, wizards.

“You are one celestial presence on the world, Remus Lupin, aren’t you…” Sirius chuckles softly, leaning back on the paddles of the chair to rest his back on them. Remus doesn’t understand but Sirius continues, “You are…this sacred or a saint-like wizard—half-blood werewolf whose father committed suicide because he thought he was the reason for his son’s affliction, and whose mother faded away with grief…”

Remus’ heart feels fragile in his chest, fearing it might break again after the poor mending.

“Merlin puts a very heavy price on people to pay who hurt Remus Lupin, who mistrust Remus Lupin...who thinks little of Remus Lupin.”

There is something strange in Sirius’ eyes. There is surrender and envy but Remus stares back into those glistening, and almost-silver orbs with courage to find what he wants. And he does. There it is. Love, swirling into the diffusion of grey and blue.

“I paid twelve years of losing myself and my family for mistrusting you, Remus.”

“I’m sorry…” He doesn’t expect his voice to whimper but it does because his chin is trembling and he is trying hard to gain composure. He is trying so hard with his clenched jaw, and balled fists in either sides of his lap. But Sirius put a thumb under his chin, and he shudders.

“You’re so stupid, Moony.” Sirius whispers when he is just an inch away from his lips.

“I know,” And just as those lips touched his, he feels a tear trickle down his cheek before Sirius has completely captured his mouth. They move languidly but cautiously, scared they might break each other again with haste and roughness. They don’t trust themselves to be firm either. Remus doesn’t. But when Sirius pulls back a little, he comes back and kisses him again decisively on the lips.

“I don’t know if it is still worth it,” Sirius says when both of them are resting their foreheads against each other, breathing in and out one and other, “But I want you to know that I don’t blame you for anything. Maybe I did. Just to keep myself sane by pretending to believe the lies I made within my already suffocated brain.”

Remus lets out a small laugh, which follows by Sirius’ arms wrapping his waist.

“I hope you can still accept me despite of everything, Remus.”

Remus hold his jaw, and tries to smile at him because he still feels like it is not enough. Nothing is enough with Sirius Black. It is always so much, even in this flickering flame which is almost dead. He knows that it will ignite again to fiery life once they become one. They are dangerously perfect for each other. He leans in to kiss the back of his ear, and inhales a whiff just like the wolf would do when Padfoot would return on first full moon after the summers, to recognize his mate. Sirius smells of rain and cigarette, mixing the aroma of the tea that has been sitting out in two mugs before their argument.

“I do. And I hope the same from you for myself?” Remus cringes after he realizes how lame they sound next to Sirius’ words. After few minutes which feels like hours to Remus, Sirius gropes his hands to hold both of his wrists, with his eyes still locked with Remus. He then bends down to press a lingering kiss on the right, and then on the left. Remus just looks at him, feeling utterly weightless in Sirius’ hands.

“I will not fail you again, Remus.”

“I trust you. I love you,” Remus says with all of the broken words spilling out his mouth, “I love you so much. I will not let you go. I will not let you be alone.”

They embraces each other again, just enjoying the warmth and the closeness. It reminds Remus of their time at Hogwarts when their limbs used to be wrapped around each other at every possible free period, smoking cigarettes at the Astronomy Tower.

“Don’t make such promises, my dear Moony.”

“You’re just saying that because you’ll be annoyed of me for sticking around you all the time.” Remus wipes his tears, and Sirius helps him too with his sleeve, shaking with silent laughter.

“Yeah, maybe. Just don’t follow me in the bathroom.”

“Can’t make such promises, my dear Padfoot.”

 Thankyou for reading!

[ninyard]

Heeey what do you think was that made Kevin finally leave the nest?

I wrote like a 2k word fic-of-an-answer to this one my friend but I wasn’t vibing with it! So I’m starting again. But same thing as the last draft of this answer; I think about Kevin leaving the nest ALL THE TIME

~

(“Keep mouthing off like a pair of fucking frogs.” Riko spat in English to them both. When Jean shut the door, “Do you think you’re better than I am?”

“Your ego will kill you someday.” He looked Riko in the eye. “I think you care too much about other people’s success to make yourself look better. You’re building your Court,” Kevin swallowed hard, still trying to hold his head up, gravity failing him as he started to tremble. “But you think it’s just guaranteed you’ll be on it.”)

~

Mandatory CW for The Breaking Of A Hand and Kevin Has Nothing To Live For. See also: the foxes are foxes and their lives are Fucked Up (suicide mention, overdose mention, panic attacks & drug use)

Okay.

Let’s. Talk. About. Kevin.

Idk if I’m allowed to say that Kevin is an underrated character. I really don’t think I am. But if I was allowed to say that I WOULD. I am so very passionate about Kevin I would absolutely die for him and he’s not even real. So let’s talk about his hand.

Can you even begin to imagine what was going through Kevin’s head that night? It looked like practice, then The Master talking about potential, then Riko is mad, then pain and blood and how do I get out of here? Then is it worth it if my life is over?

I think there probably was a minute where Kevin sat alone, covered in his own blood, just thinking there was no point in being alive anymore. His playing hand didn’t really look like a hand anymore, his life and reputation and everything he had worked for just pumping out of his hand and staining his shirt. He didn’t remember passing out but when he came to Riko was gone, and his body was running on fumes trying to keep the pain from overwhelming his system. He probably threw up, all over the locker room, his blood trickling through the tiles, the echo of his own screams ringing through his ears like a non-stop siren. He probably couldn’t really see properly for a little bit and he probably couldn’t move for a while, either. Riko was a foot shorter than him, but he made up for that difference by channeling every ounce of anger and jealousy he felt for Kevin into his feet to stomp the shit out of Kevin’s hand until he knew he would never play again. Jean found Kevin not long later, maybe a couple minutes, or an hour. Kevin begged him to get Riko out of his room. Jean wrapped Kevin’s hand up as best he could, and promised him to deal with it as long as Kevin was there when he got back. Jean had figured he was a flight risk, and knew if Kevin left, Riko’s French personal punching bag would come in handy to take out all his egotistical frustration on. Kevin promised he’d be there when Jean came back. Jean came back to his jacket and wallet missing, a tiny scrap of paper left on the bed, an almost illegible ‘sorry’ scrawled across it. He burned it in the bathroom sink before Riko could find it.

So Kevin’s in his car, and he’s driving. He doesn’t know where yet, and man, is he a hazard. Twice on his journey he nearly knocked out behind the wheel, his head bobbing as the pain begged his body to sleep. He probably had to pull over a couple times to be sick, or to have a panic attack, or both. I know he went through the stages of grief on that drive to Virginia. He probably turned on his radio at some point and laughed, how ridiculous he looked, how dangerous it was to be driving one handed. It took him double the amount of time it would normally have because he just. Had to keep stopping. There’s no way he made that journey in a solid drive.

But also I think he probably didn’t have a plan before he was driving. He knew the Southeastern district were holding the Christmas banquet that night, but that was a secondary thought. His first worry was getting out of the nest. His second worry was whether he was going to kill himself or not. The reason he didn’t just do it? David. The thing that pulled Kevin back off that metaphorical ledge was Coach David Wymack. The only other people who knew about his moms letter were Tetsuji, Jean and Riko. Kevin knew well that none of them would be calling up to break the news to Wymack if he died, and David would grow old and die without ever having known that Kevin Day was his son. David was the reason he was risking everything on busy streets and highways and whatever roads he drove too fast or too slow on.

So, he’s in Virginia without a plan. He doesn’t know what hotel David’s in, if he’s even still in Virginia, if the foxes even bothered to show up. So he looks at as many hotels as he could find. He narrows down the list by looking at the ones he knew the Class I teams frequented, and he called the all pretending to be David, looking for his rooms number. After the fifth call he found it.

Think about Kevin’s anxiety in the elevator, hand throbbing, not profusely bleeding anymore, but every minute that passes is a percentage off the chances he has at keeping his hand and playing again. His heart is racing, his head heavy, every fibre in his being screaming.

David calls out a “Hold your fucking horses, give me a minute!” when Kevin knocks on his door a second time after his first knock received no answer. David opens the door with Abby just behind him, and his face falls so quickly it could’ve hit the floor.

“Kevin.” He looks him up and down, not yet noticing the t-shirt covered in blood he had wrapped around his hand. “Kevin Day. Mind telling me what the fuck you’re doing here?”

Abby pushes past him to unwrap Kevin’s hand. It must be some nurses instinct, to be instantly drawn to looking for an injury on a person. Kevin pulled it back as gently as he could, looking up and down the hall before asking so quietly it almost couldn’t be heard. “Can I come in?”

David makes small talk with Kevin as he shuts the hotel door behind him. What would he say? What could he possibly say to superstar Kevin Day, who he’d only officially met as a baby, when his mother was alive and he wasn’t destined for Court? He probably tried to make meaningless, awkward small talk until Abby shut him up to ask Kevin what happened. He just started to cry. Small whimpers into chesty, heaving, heavy cries, his body teetering on the edge of a panic attack. David had seen his foxes in bad ways before. He’d seen one of his kids convulsing on a stretcher after an accidental overdose, or a fox who’d choked on their own vomit after an intentional one. He’d seen his foxes in their worst moments, panic attacks and withdrawals, anger and sadness, pulling their hair out and on the brink of death. Something about this was the same but different. When Seth first overdosed on the team it was a cry for help, or when Janie admitted herself to the psych ward for a week, it was because she wanted to try. When Damien asked for a second, and third, and fourth chance David gave it to him because that was what Foxes deserved. It took him a moment of watching Kevin heave, snot and spit running down his chin, his hair falling over his face, his body shaking with anxiety, to remember that Kevin wasn’t a fox. Kevin was a Raven, and by god, that was so much worse.

I think we all know that Abby cares for her foxes like she’s their mother, but Kevin is just different. Abby had been seeing David long enough to know how much Kayleigh Day had really meant to him, and how much it hurt to watch Kevin do her proud. Now Kevin was sitting in front of her, his hand practically lifeless, his heart pouring out of every place it could. She tried not to look at David’s face as he paced the room, watching her patch up Kevin’s hand as best she could. Kevin only started to calm down when she handed him a bottle of Diazepam and some water.

And then Kevin whispers that Riko did it. David almost didn’t hear him. He nearly asked for him to repeat it until it hit him. Riko did it. Riko smashed the hand of his number two so badly it would take a long time for him to play again, if he even wanted to. Abby sent him a deathly glare when he mumbled to himself; “I’ll kill that little jumped up piece of shit”.

The rest is history; Kevin passes out not long after, David carries him to the bus, and they drive to the stadium to pick up the foxes. Kevin sleeps the rest of the way until the sun is starting to rise and they’re back in South Carolina. Kevin doesn’t stop crying on and off again for a couple days, and Abby had to hold him back from escaping more than once. After watching his anxiety consume him, and when he told her none of the Ravens were allowed to be medicated in any manner, she got him a script for some quick-acting anxiety meds for him to keep. It took him a week of energy-sapping panic attacks before she could convince him to actually take them as he needed them.

David took out a loan five days after Kevin had arrived into his care. He called Edgar Allan on the sixth, and the seventh, and the eighth day. By the ninth day Kevin was released from the grips of Ravens. By the tenth day they had started the process of making Kevin Day a fox. I suppose it’s for the best Riko fucked up his hand so badly, isn’t it? At least it gave him the ability to fit into the eligibility criteria for being a Fox. Welcome to the club, Kevin Day, and prepare to be gravely disappointed.

[ashdumpsterpile]

Ohmygod YES Susan Pevensie is awesome please talk to me about Susan i want to know everything you have to say

Literally THANK YOU for asking me this bc Susan Pevensie is a character I never get asked about and I have So Many Opinions.

I'm going to start by saying that Susan used to be my least favorite character in the series. This goes for the books and the movies. Some of it was for personal reasons--she reminds me of a couple of annoying ppl I know irl--but it was also bc I watched Prince Caspian which shoehorned her into a relationship with Caspian which I hated.

HOWEVER. I ended up rethinking this position after interacting with Susan fans and realizing that there are so many wonderful things to love about her!

(putting under the cut bc this got long)

Things Ash Loves About Susan Pevensie

Aight I'm not going to do a formal analysis yet on her, but instead rant about some of the unrelated things I adore about Susan Pevensie.

Susan the Archer

Look we all love archery here. I don't have anything more to say.

Okay, I actually do have more to say. I love the fact that Susan is a complete badass with the bow. You get the general impression that she's one of the royals in charge of public relations, traditions, foreign policy, etc. and yet she's the most competent archer in the series. One of the few things I liked about the movies is how they didn't downplay this. They actually let her be a badass and show off her skills.

Also the part where she kicks Trumpkin's ass was awesome.

Susan the Gentle

Susan being the most passive Pevensie was something I definitely underappreciated as a teenager. I think my non-ability to see past "I'm not like other girls" narrative and the combination of Susan being described as the most traditionally feminine woman in the Narnia series is what initially turned me off from her.

HOWEVER, now it's one of my favorite attributes! I love that Susan is a badass and the most beautiful woman in Narnia. She has hair down to her feet, every man and woman in the kingdom want to fuck her, and she's still a fucking badass who will not hesitate to kick your ass.

Susan the Sister

Most of my thoughts of Susan as an older sister mostly stem from my own personal headcanons, but she is an awesome sister to her siblings. She's Peter's voice of reason, Edmund's sass partner, and Lucy's big sister.

Susan the Mom-Friend

She is a literal mother-figure for Corin.

"[...] the most beautiful lady he had ever seen rose from her place and threw her arms round him and kissed him, saying: "Oh Corin, Corin, how could you? And thou and I such close friends ever since thy mother died. [...]"

-The Horse and His Boy, 33-34

Most everything I have to say about this ventures into headcanon territory, but I love the idea of Susan basically adopting Corin after his mom dies. The way she trusts Cor--who she thinks is Corin in this chapter--is really sweet and I wish we could've seen more of that relationship.

Susan the Flawed

Something I notice from the fandom is a lot of people who hate Susan tend to because of her flaws. On the other hand, most Susan stans like to wave away these flaws and blame C.S. Lewis for being misogynistic or Aslan for being a "cruel god" and ignore the fact that she is a deeply flawed person.

Susan gets something of a "reverse redemption arc" in The Chronicles of Narnia. This makes her not only a fascinating foil to Edmund--as both are analytical, logical people--but an interesting character by herself.

She starts out in TWW as very skeptical of Narnia and it's whole deal and also very condescending to Lucy throughout. She ultimately does admit that Lucy was right and does get on board with the whole prophecy at the same time Peter does, and ends the book being crowned "the Gentle Queen."

In The Horse and His Boy, she has a very interesting dynamic with Edmund and in even more interesting relationship with Rabadash. They don't even interact on-page with each other, but it's highly implied that she was interested in him when he was a guest in Narnia. His behavior obviously changed when she visited him in Tashbaan, but you have to wonder what their dynamic was like before for her to travel all the way to his home when relations between the countries were strained at best.

Prince Caspian is where the cracks start showing through. Susan has lived an entire life as an adult in Narnia, gets thrown back to England with her siblings, and is yet again in Narnia as a child. This book is what really emphasizes her one fatal flaw: convenience.

(Put a pin in that thought, I'll get back to it.)

Susan denies once again that Lucy saw something that the rest of them can't seen. She continues this narrative until every other sibling finally acknowledges Lucy in the right and only then does she apologize.

The last mention of Susan is in The Last Battle, where all of her flaws rise up against her in the worst way possible. I have a lot of controversial opinions on this that I'm going to address later, but I just want to say that Susan's reverse-redemption arc is something I actually like about her.

(There is also evidence that Susan does get a full redemption arc, just as Edmund and Eustace did, but C.S. Lewis was pretty much done with The Chronicles of Narnia at the point and instead encouraged fans to write their own version of how that went down.)

Okay, back to convenience being Susan's fatal flaw. So the one thing that comes up time and time again in the series is that Susan is very focused on material comforts. I believe it's implied that she's vain, and it's canonical that her own personal comfort spurs her to make decisions.

"[...] I really believed it was him — he, I mean — yesterday. When he warned us not to go down to the fir wood. And I really believed it was him tonight, when you woke us up. I mean, deep down inside. Or I could have, if I'd let myself. But I just wanted to get out of the woods and — and — oh, I don't know [...]"

Prince Caspian, 81

Prince Caspian has the strongest examples of Susan doing this, but certainly there's evidence elsewhere. There are a lot of fans who are distressed by this, claiming that Aslan and the others are too hard on her and shouldn't judge.

Honestly, I like that she's written with this flaw. Not only is it very relatable--(my own personal comfort and convenience is something I highly prioritize too)--but it humanizes a character who otherwise is ridiculously op and basically the Helen of Troy of the series. It may sound like I'm using this as an excuse to rant, but I really wouldn't have her any other way.

Susan As Portrayed by Anna Popplewell

Movie!Susan is a fucking delight.

She's sarcastic and badass and awesome and I could spend hours heaping praise on Anna's acting and her portrayal of Susan, but I can already tell that this post is going to be long so, I'll just stop here.

(10/10 want to be stabbed by her tho.)

Personal Headcanons

Let's talk about my fanon thoughts. I have many.

Susan is Aro

There's canonical evidence for this! Susan is a character who is heavily pursued by suitors everywhere, and even lets herself be courted by many of them, but chooses not to settle down. Even when she gets back to England and is described as only having interest in parties and material things, boys aren't mentioned.

I like to think that in The Horse in His Boy Susan was interested in Rabadash at first because he was a brilliant conversationalist. Nothing she says about him implies romantic interest, before and after she realizes the truth of his intentions.

Susan and Edmund Were Best Friends

This might be my love for The Horse and His Boy showing itself, but I think Susan and Edmund were thrown into circumstances where they interacted the most with each other.

Edmund is the ruler in charge of politics. Susan is the ruler in charge of Cair Paravel's public image. I imagine they spent time as ambassadors to other countries and planning royal functions.

They're also the most level-headed and logical out of their siblings, so they probably found a lot in common.

Susan Fancast

I literally just said I loved Anna's potrayal of Susan's (and I love what they gave us of older Susan too in LWW!), but I read the books in 2008 and my parents didn't let me see the movies bc I was like...nine years old and they thought it would be too scary.

So I had to headcanon my own interpretations.

Queen Susan the Gentle:

For some reason Merlin wasn't too scary for me to watch and I fell in love with Katie McGrath in like. Two episodes so. (On an unrelated note, I also fancast Bradley James as Peter at the time.)

Anyway, fanon Susan is basically Morgana Pendragon pre-evil arc. Sassy as hell, hot as fuck, and can kick your ass.

Unpopular Opinions

Yeah, feel free to skip this part if having controversial fandom opinions is a deal breaker for you.

The Problem With Susan Isn't Actually A Problem

I'm about to start so much discourse in the Narnia fandom, but C.S. Lewis's choices with her in The Last Battle weren't misogynistic. Bear in mind, I'm not saying that all of his writing choices in the series were A++ or excusing away certain racist/sexiest bits, but it's honestly baffling to me that people are so up in arms over Susan's exclusion in the final book.

So the part that everyone loses their shit over is as follows:

"My sister Susan," answered Peter shortly and gravely, "is no longer a friend of Narnia."

"Yes," said Eustace, "and whenever you've tried to get her to come and talk about Narnia or do anything about Narnia, she says 'What wonderful memories you have! Fancy your still thinking about all those funny games we used to play when we were children.'"

"Oh Susan!" said Jill, "she's interested in nothing now-a-days except nylons and lipstick and invitations. She always was a jolly sight too keen on being grown-up."

"Grown-up, indeed," said the Lady Polly. "I wish she would grow up. She wasted all her school time wanting to be the age she is now, and she'll waste all the rest of her life trying to stay that age. Her whole idea is to race on to the silliest time of one's life as quick as she can and then stop there as long as she can."

The Last Battle, 83-84

There's a lot to unpack here and I first want to say that everyone's opinion on this part, no matter how different than mine, is valid. I'm going to be quoting some other ppl's opinions on here and by no means am I bashing them. I just want to address my feelings on the matter and the best way to do that is to cite the thoughts of ppl who have opposing ideas.

Here are some arguments on Tumblr I've heard regarding "The Problem of Susan":

"How about we talk about what might have happened if Narnia hadn't deserted Susan? [...] What if we didn't tell Susan she had to go grow up in her own world and then shame and punish her for doing just that? She was told to walk away and she went. She did not try to stay a child all her life, wishing for something she had been told she couldn't have again."

"Narnia is filled with metaphors (often not very subtle ones) that are supposed to teach us how to be, and the most glaring one for any young girl to absorb is that it's okay to be a girl like Lucy, unthreatening and cheerful and valiant and faithful, but to be a girl like Susan gets you punished - in fact, you aren't just punished, you're destroyed."

"why do we call it ‘the problem’ where’s the problem about a young woman dealing with her trauma and choosing her own path, actively making the choice to keep living and to stay and to carve a life out in England when her siblings couldn’t? what is the problem about susan forgetting to somehow cope with what she’s experienced? why is it ‘the problem of susan’ that she recontextualised her faith?"

And then there's JK Rowling who said this:

There comes a point where Susan, who was the older girl, is lost to Narnia because she becomes interested in lipstick. She's become irreligious basically because she found sex. I have a big problem with that.

It's weird how I'm still finding new ways to hate JKR in the year 2021. Again, there is absolutely zero implication that Susan had sex when she came back to England. ZERO. Did she actually read the books? IDK. If someone shares this opinion pls reply with actual canonical evidence.

Back on topic, I'm a firm believer of death of the author and interpreting art via your own experiences. Which is why I'm also going to share my own interpretation by saying y'all are wrong.

Susan Pevensie was not abandoned by Narnia. She was not barred from Narnia because she is traditionally feminine or because she "owned her sexuality" (another opinion I didn't have time to condense down for this post) or because she recontextualized her faith or even because she deserved to be punished.

I also fail to see how Susan recontexualized her faith, as the entire point of it all is that she has none. Bringing this back to Susan's fatal flaw (personal convenience/material comforts), her prioritizing herself over her own faith is the reason she is "no longer a friend of Narnia." Not...whatever fanon y'all are imposing on her character.

Susan is not being punished for liking lipstick and looking pretty. Susan's not even being punished. Y'all read Neil Gaiman's The Problem of Susan and forgot it wasn't canon.

There are many reasons Susan is not in Aslan's Country (one of them being that she's not actually dead yet), but the main one has to do with this:

"[...] But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there.”

Voyage of the Dawn Treader, 215-216

Yeah, okay that's why Susan is no longer a friend of Narnia. The implication when the Pevensies are told that they can no longer enter Narnia is that they are to find Aslan in other places. Susan doesn't do this, instead choosing to focus her life on material things. It isn't the lipstick, it's that she only wants the lipstick.

Susan Had Sex In The Books

Oh and not in the context y'all are thinking. (Again, there are no implications that Susan was barred from Narnia for having sex or that she had sex when she came back to England.)

So there's actual canonical evidence that Susan and Rabadash had a sexual relationship. Sort of.

"What think you? We have been in this city fully three weeks. Have you yet settled in your mind whether you will marry this dark-faced lover of yours, this Prince Rabadash, or no?"

-The Horse and His Boy, 35

Edmund calls Rabadash her lover. Not her suitor. I don't know if the word had a different meaning in 1954, but it feels like C.S. Lewis is saying that they're fucking. I'm not really happy with the idea of Susan sleeping with an abuser, but really proud of her for Getting Some as a woman born in a time period where having premarital sex was a big no-no.

This also invalidates the weird opinion going on that Susan was barred from Narnia because she had sex.

Suspian Is The Worst

I haven't really talked about Movie!Susan much, but as long as we're talking unpopular opinions, it's worth noting that I hate Suspian. Some of it is the "Susan is Aro" headcanon screaming inside of me, but it's also the fact that it's written poorly, does nothing interesting for either character and generally comes across as awkward.

I feel like they were trying to make Prince Caspian sexy and relevant to teens. It came across as super heteronormative and unnecessary.

It also gets really really weird bc the next movie then gives Caspian and Edmund mad chemistry and we're all just like........ok.

Final Thoughts

Susan may not be my favorite character in the series, but she's grown on me over the years. I have many issues with fanon interpretations of her--which definately fueled some of my disdain for her initally--and I don't identify as a Susan Apologist.

I do however adore Susan and have many headcanons for her not mentioned here. I love reading fanfic, writing fanfic and meta, and generally having conversations about her and would love to talk more about it.

I welcome criticism (CONSTRUCTIVE) and conversation on all of my opinions and observations. Please drop into my inbox. <3

[winterscaptain]

push.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader

a/n: alright, team! this one covers cradle to grave and the eyes have it. i am so excited to share this with you, and we are that much closer to 100. ahh!! (i also mistakenly noted that infirmity was part three and it is in fact part four. while i can write, i made no promises in regard to counting.)

an ajf fic arc that happily stands on its own! (the pieces stand alright on their own as well, for the most part!) one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

words: 4.2k warnings: canon-typical violence and discussion of violence, language

summary: “if you aren't in over your head, how do you know how tall you are?” - t.s. eliot. a shift, a transition, and a lie.

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | requests closed!

Aaron meanders around the store, looking into the glass cases. There’s very little purpose, very little direction. He figures, just like the first time, the right one will make itself known. 

What are you doing? 

He takes a breath, ignoring that pesky little voice in his head, focused on the task at hand.

I’m listening to Haley. What are you doing?

Playing devil’s advocate because you shouldn’t be doing this right now. What are you thinking?

I don’t know. Fuck off. 

The man behind the glass greets him, asking if he’s looking for anything in particular. 

“Yes,” Aaron says, only a little startled out of his thoughts, “though I’m not quite sure what it is, yet.” His gaze wanders. “Can I see that one, please?”

He takes a close look, but it’s not quite right. 

He’ll find it. 

+++

You’re still at your desk when Hotch leaves JJ’s office, late. You throw him a little bit of a smile as he frowns at you. 

Why are you still here? 

You shrug. Work?

He snorts. Sure. and hops up the stairs to his office. There’s a moment where he stops short at the door. With a little bit of a startle, you realize Strauss is in there. 

How did I miss that?

JJ arrives in the bullpen with an armful of files, and you tip your head toward Hotch’s office. She works her distribution, setting folders down, her eyes glued to the window. 

When Strauss leaves, you both busy yourselves, looking up as she passes. 

She greets the both of you with your formal titles, and a chill runs down your spine. 

“Ma’am.”

“Ma’am.” 

You and JJ echo each other, throwing an approximation of a smile in her direction. 

What the fuck? 

You exchange a look with JJ once Strauss is out of sight, nod, and stand. 

Reaching his door, you note that he hasn’t moved. 

“Hotch?”

He’s still as he answers. “Yes?”

Something feels wrong. Really really wrong. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” 

You stand there for a moment as he turns over his shoulder and returns to his desk. He knows better than to meet your eyes - then you’ll know for sure he’s lying. 

Choose your battles. 

Protect him. 

How? 

Just try. 

“Goodnight, Hotch.” 

+++

“You’re kidding.” 

You look up from your file at Spencer, who has a manic little grin on his face. “What?”

“You’re not going to believe this.” 

“Try me.”

He laughs. “Someone started this blog called What Would Carl Sagan Do? and it’s so woefully inaccurate I’m wondering if this is some kind of 100-level school project, it’s -”

Derek walks in and you beam at him. He doesn’t return it. “What’s the case?”

“What case?” You ask, the smile falling from your face. 

“I just got three emails from Hotch about cases.” 

A little confused noise leaves you as you refresh your email once...twice. “I don’t have anything.”

Spencer follows suit. “I didn’t get any emails from Hotch, or did I?” He checks. “Nothing.” 

With a sigh and a huff, Derek puts his things down and walks purposefully toward Hotch’s office. Spencer looks back at you. 

“Wonder what that’s about.”

You hum, looking back at your file to hide your face. “I dunno.” 

What happened last night?

+++

“What’s with Hotch?” Derek catches up to you in the hallway on the way to your hotel room at the end of the first day. Naturally, he’s not at all out of breath. 

You frown at him. “What do you mean?”

You know exactly what he means. 

“You’re a shit liar.” 

You chuff at him and unlock your door, opening it and shepherding him in. “Alright. Fine. He’s stressed.”

“He’s...stressed? Really? That’s all you’ve got for me?”

Throwing your hands up, “It’s not like he tells me everything, Derek.” 

You do know, however, that Jack spent his fourth birthday in protective custody, with only a surveillance feed to satiate Aaron’s need to see his son. 

It sucks. 

“Yeah, but -” He pulls the chair from the little desk and sits backwards on it while you take your shoes off. “ - you know him.” 

“You’ve known him far longer than I have.” 

“It’s different. I’ve been working with him longer, but you know him better.”

You can’t deny that. “Well…” You search and search for a viable explanation. “...maybe he’s just more open to help than he usually is? He knows how good you are at your job, so…” Your mouth twists. “...I think it’s a compliment that he’s relying on you more and asking for your opinion on things.” 

He squints, thinking. He “hmphs” once before standing up, replacing the chair, and heading toward the door. 

“I’ll tell you if I hear anything.” 

No I won’t. 

The side of his mouth lifts. “No, you won’t.” Then, “Goodnight, kid. Get some sleep.” 

+++

Aaron hands him an aggressively annotated copy of the preliminary profile. “Morgan, in order for the profile to be useful it has to generate multiple scenarios about what the unsub is doing. Rewrite it.” 

You have to admit you’ve been looking between each of them like a particularly interesting game of tennis as they volley back and forth. 

It’s tense...and confusing. 

Derek looks completely crestfallen. You wipe the confusion off of your face as best you can and exchange it for something you hope is empathetic. 

Hotch pulls JJ aside to discuss her new findings while Derek joins you at the table. 

“What is with him?”

You shake your head. “I wish I knew.” Your gaze wanders over to him, where he’s watching the pair of you. You look away, focused on the profile Hotch returned to Morgan. 

Your next words are almost a sigh. “I know he pushes hard, but…I just...don't know.” 

+++

You take a deep breath as Derek snatches a piece of paper from the printer and stalks to Hotch’s office. 

Maybe this time, they will kill each other. 

Who would win? 

Hm. Catch-22. They both lose. 

Even then, you’ll always put your money on Aaron. 

You keep your eyes on them and you know JJ’s doing the same. Part of you is always ready to bridge a rift between Aaron and Derek. For some reason or another, they both listen to you when you tell them they’re acting like shitheads. 

So, they listen. Often. 

Hotch’s jaw tenses and, though you can’t hear him, you can tell he’s raising his voice, his tone growing harder. 

That’s it. 

You shove off from the desk and open the door without knocking, interrupting Derek mid-thought. They both look at you and don’t even have the good graces to look caught out. 

“Garcia needs to talk to us.” 

Hotch takes a talking breath, but you cut him off. 

“Now.” You tip your head. “Please,” you add for good measure. 

They brush past the both of you, Derek’s fingers brushing your sleeve as he passes. 

You catch the hem of Aaron’s suit jacket and tug. 

He turns on you - there’s still a lot of fire in his gaze and for a moment, you let yourself be intimidated, looking away from him and bringing your hand back. 

There’s a sigh, and you know he feels bad (just a little). “Yes?”

“You’ll tell me if you want help, right?”

He meets your gaze. There is so much going on behind those deep brown irises you don’t even know where to start. “Yes.” 

Liar.

I miss you. 

Not satisfied, but pacified for now, you turn and lead the way back to the table. You meet Derek’s eyes and shake your head just a little. 

Damn it. 

+++

When you’re done with Penelope, you find an excuse to get Derek alone. Your conversation, somehow, is already heated. 

“He’s just trying to challenge you, Morgan.” Your body language isn’t great, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Arms crossed, tight mouth - you’re the picture of frustration. 

He’s restless - shifting his weight back and forth. “I don’t understand it. He’s on my ass about shit he’s never been on my ass about before.” 

“Did you even hear what I said?”

“Yes, I did.” He stops moving, gesturing sharply with an open, flat hand. “Why is he challenging me, when he’s the one under the gun?” 

You close your eyes and press your fingers to the bridge of your nose. “Did you ever think, just once, maybe, he wants to make sure this team still functions if something happens to him?” 

Derek, finally, has the good sense to deflate. You follow suit, leaning on the desk behind you. 

“We almost lost him a couple of months ago,” you remind him. “If we don’t know everything his position entails, we will not be able to help him if there’s a next time.” 

You step forward, a fond little laugh in your voice. “Derek - you’re a natural leader, a great tactician. There’s no better person for him to build up, just in case.” 

He breaks your gaze, thinking. 

For good measure, you add, “He respects you a great deal. Remember when you said you tolerate him, just for me?” You hold his gaze as it returns to you. “I think that’s bullshit.” 

Another breath. He steps forward, meeting you in the middle of the isolated, small conference room. You offer him a small, closed-mouth smile. 

“Come here, kid.” 

You tuck into his arms with a little laugh. “How did you two manage before I got here?”

You can feel his laugh rumble through him. “You have no idea.” 

+++

Of course, under Derek’s careful tactical direction, everything goes according to plan. Textbook soft entry, no hostages, peaceful takeover, and four rescued victims by the end of it. 

“I love these ones,” you say, standing between Aaron and Derek in the precinct as a family forms before your eyes. 

“Which ones?” Aaron asks. 

“The ones where we all get to go home, and so do they.” 

+++

“Well, I guess it’s time,” Derek says, pushing back from his desk and rising. You’ve both stayed late for one reason or another, with the excuse of paperwork. 

Really, Derek was building his nerve, and really, you were waiting for Aaron. 

You furrow your brow. “Time for what?”

“Hotch wants to see me.” 

“What does he want?”

He laughs a little. “I thought you’d know.” 

You shake your head, so he shrugs and walks up the stairs, knocking twice on Aaron’s door before stepping inside. 

They immediately take a seat, but not at Aaron’s desk. 

Red flag.

You know it’s ridiculous to worry, but nevertheless, you pace around the bullpen as the boys talk upstairs. It looks serious, given the image before you. They both sit forward in their chairs, lit by the warm light from Hotch’s lamp, their elbows on their knees, their hands loosely laced. 

Other than on the plane, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen them sit so close together. 

Aaron didn’t close the door, but still you know to keep your distance. The coffee pot is scrubbed again, the mugs reorganized, and you return to your desk after you run out of tasks, still fidgety. 

“What?” You hear. “No!” 

Your head whips up to the office at Derek’s outburst. They simmer down again after a moment, but continue talking with low brows and lower voices. 

They rise after a few more minutes, and Derek swings out of the door and whistles for you. “Hop to, kid, let’s go.” 

Your brow crinkles, but you jog up the stairs and land in the doorway. “What’s going on?”

Derek and Hotch exchange a look. 

“Have a seat,” Aaron says, finally. You follow instructions, sitting gingerly on the couch. 

What the hell is going on? 

Aaron sits across from you, looking a little lighter than he did this afternoon. You’re hoping it’s good news. 

“I’m resigning as unit chief at the end of this week.” You open your mouth and move to protest with your entire body, but Aaron’s hand stops you. “Wait. Hold on. Feel free to get mad at me when I’m done, but I’m not done yet.”

Is he...smiling? 

No, but it’s close. 

You freeze, waiting. 

He speaks to you like a scared animal, likely remembering the last time he tried to resign and you chased him across the office. “Morgan will be taking over as acting unit chief until we catch Foyet. I will return to my post at the conclusion of the investigation.” 

You still don’t move as you ask, “You’re staying on the team, though, right?” 

He nods. 

So it’s not as bad as you thought. “Why?”

Aaron glances at Morgan, who sits heavily beside you. You settle down and mirror their postures from earlier, feeling a little like a co-conspirator. “I’ve shared this with Morgan and I’ll share it with you, but -”

“- don’t tell anyone. Got it.”

His lips twitch. “Right. The bureau thinks that my ability to lead this team has been compromised.” 

You blink at him, waiting for him to continue. 

“What do you think?” He asks. 

This is a trick. He’s tricking me. 

“What do you mean ‘what do I think?’”

His gaze is definitely a little amused as he watches you. “I mean, what do you think?”

“Hm. That’s helpful.”

Oh, to be a fly on the wall in Derek’s head. 

He’s never seen two people more well-suited for each other. The fact that you’re giving Hotch shit right now to avoid answering the question speaks only to the closeness between you. You push him harder, give him more hell, and have the power to make him more miserable than anyone else. 

And yet, he loves you. It’s so clear. Why can’t you see it? Why can’t he see it?

You’re both profilers, for fuck’s sake. 

Derek’s eyes flicker back and forth, watching the raise of your eyebrows and the upturned corners of Aaron’s mouth. There’s a fondness between you - it rests in your eyes - as you wait each other out. 

God, they’re stupid. It’s written all over their faces. 

Aaron repeats himself, but slower. “Do you think my ability to lead this team has been compromised?”

You sigh, finally breaking his gaze to focus on one of the degrees on Aaron’s wall. “Alright, fine. I have been...concerned about some of your choices in the field the last few weeks.” You meet his eyes again. “Though, I believe I’ve told you as much in the moment, so that shouldn’t come as much of a shock.” 

He snorts and you swat lightly in his direction, purposefully missing him entirely. 

“But I don’t think there’s anyone better to lead this team.” You look over at Morgan. “Not to say you can’t or shouldn’t do it, but -”

Derek interrupts you. “- No, I agree.” 

You nod, turning back to Aaron. “Out of curiosity, what’s the alternative?”

His eyebrows rise for a moment. “The alternative is, I remain in my post until I am inevitably removed. In that instance, the team will be split and budgets will be cut.” 

“Oh.” 

“But,” he continues, “if I promote internally, we can avoid that.” 

It’s unsettling, to be sure, but not the end of the world. You think about it - what the team would look like with Hotch as just “one of you,” and Derek at the helm. 

Your eyes flicker to Aaron, taking in his suit, the strong set of his shoulders, the authoritative brow, the serious mouth. It wouldn’t be quite right, but it is better than the alternative.

God, he’s handsome.

We knew that. 

I know, but look at him. 

You’ve looked too long without talking. Derek noticed. He starts to think, already excited for Hotch to resume his post so he can start a betting pool on how long it’ll take for you two to finally give in to whatever...this is. 

Weirdly, though, he wouldn’t call it tension. It’s more like a blanket - covering the both of you in a kind of warmth that radiates to everyone in the vicinity. 

Derek has no idea how you got into Aaron’s good graces so quickly, why he trusted you so early on, but it’s made him a better leader, a better agent. 

He might even go so far as to say you’ve made him a better man. 

“I think,” you say, slowly, “given the circumstances, that Morgan leading the team until we catch Foyet would be a sound decision.” Your lips twitch into a smile. “And now I get to share the burden of being the one who gets pissed at you when you pull risky shit in the field.” 

Aaron almost smiles, but it’s enough. “Alright, then.” He stands and so does Morgan, so you follow suit. He crosses around to his desk, where two massive boxes of files are waiting. 

“If you intend on getting any sleep tonight,” he tells you, “I would recommend you leave now.” 

You suppress a smile. “And miss all this?” You gesture to both the file boxes and the boys. “No way.” 

+++

The next morning is...hectic, to say the least. 

Strauss stole Morgan the second he arrived, so naturally Penelope came up to the bullpen to keep tabs. “So, did anyone say why Hotch is stepping down?” 

You keep your eyes on your work, pretending to be only half-tuned into the conversation. There are eyes on you for a minute before you look up and cursorily shake your head. 

“All Morgan said this morning is that it’s happening,” JJ says. “Business as usual, I guess.” 

Emily’s not so easily appeased, sitting on the corner of your desk. “So we’re just supposed to move forward without any discussion?”

 Oh, there was a discussion. You just weren’t part of it. 

You look up for real and put your pen down. “I think we’d have to prepare for anything after Foyet, don’t you?”

The rest of you quiet down as Hotch descends the stairs. You’re the only one who keeps your eyes on him. 

No need to pretend you’re busy when he already knows you’re paying attention. 

“...I’ll have all my things cleared out and it will be all yours.” 

No. 

Your brow crinkles and you look up at the office. It feels...wrong, somehow, to imagine that room without its shelves of legal citation books, legal dictionaries…

Legal this, legal that. 

Could he be any more of a lawyer?

No. 

“Hotch, I don’t want your office.” Their voices are low, but they carry - especially to shamelessly eavesdropping ears. 

Strauss starts talking, but honestly, it just sounds like static. 

“All due respect, Ms. Strauss,” Derek says, “but both of you have trusted me to step in as acting unit chief. I’m asking you to respect my decision.” 

You drop your head down to your paperwork, a proud smile pushing at the corner of your lips. 

“I’ve decided I don’t want Hotch’s office. That’s where he belongs. If necessary, we can discuss this again at a later date, but right now, we really need to get started on this case.” 

He looks up, and you all pretend to be doing something else. It’s a ridiculous showing, really. 

“Guys. Grab Rossi.” 

Emily huffs, jumping off your desk. “I got ‘im.” 

+++

It’s weird at first as you all settle in and get used to looking at Derek more often. He’s doing well - asking good questions on the plane and stepping in when you arrive at the precinct. 

Aaron still looks like the authority in the room, but that’s just how he is. There’s more than one occasion where you’re forced to hide your smile as he intentionally and mindfully defers to Derek in front of the local officers. 

It’s not actually funny in any comedic sense, but the strangeness of it all gets to you a little bit. 

You’re driving (another perk of Derek being in charge - he lets you drive) while Hotch takes shotgun. You’ve just hung up the phone, where Hotch said again “It’s your call, Morgan.” 

It made you smile, and now you’re under fire. 

“What’s funny?”

You check (again) that you’re the only two in the car. You are. “It’s just weird. I’m getting used to it.” 

“What? That we’re the same rank?”

Honey, we’ll never be the same rank. 

“Sure,” you reply, dubious. “Like you and I are in the same league at all.” 

He shakes his head, playing off the twinge of hurt that doesn’t come from his freshly healing wounds.

In his mind, you’re right in more ways than one. 

That train of thought led him down a rabbit hole he’s now punishing himself for. Why he should even have half a thought dedicated to any of that is completely beyond him...

“What’s wrong?” 

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You know I can tell you’re lying to me without even looking at you, right?”

A sigh. “Oh, yeah?”

DIdn’t think he’d answer that one. 

“You have a tell when you’re lying to me, specifically. It’s different from your other tells.” 

“Is that so?” He sounds skeptical. 

“Mhmm.”

You can almost feel him squint. “Are you going to elaborate on that?”

“Nope. If I do, you’ll stop doing it and I have to start from scratch.” You shoot him another glance and the corner of your mouth tips up. “And I don’t take orders from you, anymore, so you can’t make me.” 

His fond eye roll finally breaks you, and you laugh at the absurdity of it all. He doesn’t break himself, but it’s the thought that counts. 

Your laughter is the best reward to him, anyway. 

+++

Goddamn it, Aaron. 

If you had a dime for every time you’ve had that thought in the last eight weeks, you’d have...a shitload of dimes. 

You’re chasing after him, because of course he ran after the unsub without backup. It’s like he’s on a mission to give you hypertension. 

“FBI! Get off her!” You hear his voice, rough and authoritative (you, of course, ignore what that does to your anatomy) and round the corner. 

You find him grappling with the unsub, cuffing him. 

With a sigh, you take over - holstering your weapon and hauling the unsub to his feet. 

Derek walks over with Emily after you’ve passed the unsub to the local officers for processing. “What happened?”

“Hotch took him down by himself.” 

“You’re kidding.” 

You press your mouth into a thin, facetious line. “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Derek shakes his head with a huff that’s almost a laugh and returns to Hotch, who clarifies the aforementioned events. He looks over at you. “Did you tell him you were right behind me?”

You just stare at him. 

Derek takes over, saving you the trouble of getting too annoyed with Aaron. “You should have waited for backup.” 

Unit Chief Derek, in with the feedback. Very nice. 

You look unfairly smug, but the look drops off your face when Hotch answers, almost smiling, “Would you have?”

You're confronted with an image - Aaron, ten years ago, only a little older than you, a young, hotshot agent with a sarcastic streak a mile wide. 

Poor Gideon...

Derek just turns with another sigh, off to do whatever acting unit chiefs do. 

Emily manages to hold her laugh until he’s out of earshot. Hotch, passing her, just smirks. “What?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

+++

Alright, that’s enough. 

You rise from your desk and pat Derek’s shoulder on your way past him. “Proud of you.” It’s casual, almost a throwaway line. If it was any kind of serious, you know he’d hate it. 

A little staccato hum leaves his throat. He’s still working, and you leave him to it. 

You knock twice on Hotch’s office door before letting yourself in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies but doesn’t look up. 

You sit at one of the chairs and prop your chin on the heel of your hand. “How late are you staying?”

“You should go home. it’s late.” His response is absent, at best. You’re not even sure he actually heard you. 

“Hey.”

He finally looks up, his brown eyes tired and bloodshot. “What?” His tone isn’t unkind, but it isn’t patient, either. 

“You should go home. It’s late.” 

He heaves a sigh and lets it out through his mouth, choosing not to acknowledge your use of his words against him. “Can’t.”

You hum, looking over his nameplate to the files on his desk. “He’ll still be there tomorrow, you know.”

“That’s the problem.” 

“Fine,” you relent. “Then let me help.” 

He doesn’t protest when you reach across the desk for the first case file, so you figure you have tacit permission.

Maybe, just maybe, if you learn this case backwards and forwards, too, something will change. 

Your love for the man across from you makes that lie easier to swallow. 

+++

tagging: @arganfics @quillvine @stxrryspencer @agenthotchner @hurricanejjareau @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @good-heavens-chris-evans @davidrossi-ismydad @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @hotchsflower @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pan-pride-12 @sunshine-em @word-scribbless @jdougl-love @sageellsworth05 @dreila03 @forgottenword @aaronhotchnerr @ssa-morgan @buckybau @sana-li @tegggeeee @abschaffer2 @ssacandice-ray @ellyhotchner @lotties-journey-abroad @mrs-joel-pimentel-23-25 @laneygthememequeen @violentvulgarvolatile  @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @violet-amxthyst @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @lcvischmitt @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @averyhotchner @mandylove1000 @cevanswhre @qvid-pro-qvo @jeor @spencers-hoodrat @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @evee87 @nuvoleincielo @this-broken-band-girl @reidtomestyles @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @winqhster @spencerelds @the-falling-in-the-danger @nattylite49 @crazyshannonigans @ambicaos

[angloie]

Rivals. Nothing more. (1/2)

> Percy is annoyed on how Annabeth always was. Her passion to win, to suceed, to be better than him. He hates that. It's totally not hot, or whatever.

> Warnings: swearing and kinda (?) suggestive undertones, my writing

> Genre: fluff, mutual pinning, Percy having a huge fat crush on Annabeth.

You can find the second part here!

Percy wasn't very fond of smartasses who talked back.

I mean, who wouldn't? They were truly insufferable; acting like they knew everything and spat out facts here and there, all high and mighty.

Annabeth fit that description perfectly.

She's such a stuck up nerd; always beating his spot just opened place higher than him. When they spar, Percy can't help but feel a overwhelming urge pushing him to win. Annabeth struck back with the same passion, every strike, slash, push, thrust, holds her need for victory.

And when Percy does win after a long match? It feels amazing. The refreshing mood when you get exactly what you want- for once beating enemy number one. Annabeth shakes hands with him after and it infuriates him all over again. Why can't she feel more embarassed? Devestated? Shame? She walks away from the training arena calmly like she won over him.

Oh, Annabeth does feel embarassed. Devestated, too. But the look in Percy's eyes when she acts all stoic- seated stop her high horse- is simply electrifying. No better feeling than antagonizing your rivals, right?

They first meet at twelve. Both still young and insufferable, being the natural rivals they were. After all, their godly parents were two of the biggest rivals between one another: Athena and Posiedon.

Then they’re thirteen. Rivals, yes, but they can get along better now. Much better, in fact. Annabeth just feels the tiniest bit of attraction. It's just platonic. That's what she likes to tell herself, really.

Fourteen and Percy and her still bickering and arguing like usual. They can respect each other's boundaries still, all while they make crude jokes about the other. People say that they might be best friends, but the two of them shoot their ideas out of their heads. Who would wan't to be friends with that loser, anyways?

The ripe age of fifteen. Same old Percy, and same old Annabeth. They grow stronger together, and even more stronger as they progress. It's such a heartwarming thing to watch. Annabeth becomes more aware of how Percy looks. His apearance. Once a couple inches shorter than her becomes level-height. And then Percy has the audacity to grow taller than her. 

He likes to tease Annabeth about it. Holding books above her head, or anything he can grab that's hers. It's more blood-boiling when you remember the fact that people in ancient Greece associated height with power. Percy? Have more power than her? Unaceptable.

Percy on the flip side becomes more aware of how his endearing his rival becomes. Annabeth puts him in awe sometimes, incredibly witty and smart. But the snobbish attitude from her makes him want to gag. Maybe not as much as it did in the past other years. Annabeth, (as much as he hates to admit it) is someone he can trust. After years of being partners in both battle and else, that was expected. Percy still can't trust Annabeth with his blue cookies though.

Sixteen, finally. A confusing year for Percy. It becomes a growing problem for Percy when his heart beats erratically when Annabeth is near. Her shampoo smells so heavenly from where he's sitting, which is at the end of her bed. Annabeth sits crossed legged from him, flicking the pages of a book. Percy just saw the lights on from her cabin and crawled through the window. That would make her annoyed, right? No other reason; just to annoy her. Totally not because he wants to see her again.

Annabeth doesn't have the slightest clue in her mind about why she let him in. Or why he opted to sit on her bed directly, instead of sitting on one of the very comfortable seats in the large room. Annabeth doesn't complain. The cabin is empty; her other guests singing along at the campfire or elsewhere. 

Percy gets up wordlessly as Annabeth continues to stare at her book. Words are flowing through, forming, but she can't seem to focus to comprehend the book.

She notices his arrival when the bed dips with his weight. Percy has a blob of water in mid-air, floating just above the palm of his hand.

“You better not get that on my bed,” Annabeth chides, “Or I'll make sure to kill you.”

“Really now?” Percy makes the water floating towards her, threatening to soak her face. It stops inches before her- stopping from wetting her clothes along with it. She doesn't flinch.

Annabeth gives a sticky sweet smile, but her eyes say otherwise. Something along the lines of 'You better be digging up your grave now'. Percy flinches back in surprise, hands braced in a defensive position. The water shifts and floats back to him... to only float around the room aimlessly.

It's times like this when he feels truly at peace. The air is tense, sure, but he feels calmer than ever before. It's liberating.

The water leaks a bit from the moving. Annabeth is amazed how it moves so effortlessly. It's Percy moving it, but that didn't matter. Sometimes Annabeth wished she had powers... Her smarts and wits were amazing, but she felt that she could achieve even more if she had them. It's a painful thought.

Percy sits back on her bed, staring at the white celling. Different coloured sticky notes and red strings are hooked together by flimsy thumb tacks. Talk about being a nerd.

Both lost in their thoughts and a good book, the water comes back around the room to splash on-

Just fucking peachy.

On Annabeth.

“Percy!” She screeches, hair damp with liquid and some finding it's way on her white shirt. Due to the thin fabric and cool water, he shirt becomes a little more. How do you put it? transparent. Translucent.

“Oh shit-” Percy jerks upwards, moving his hands around frantically. If he stares any longer, he might become more aware of the now visible uhm- undergarments. He also might notice that they are blue, his favourite colour, and how it looks so fucking good on her. 

Okay, he's noticed all of that in a matter of seconds.

“Quit staring!” Annabeth protests more, as Percy gets up to face the wall and cover his eyes. 

“I didn't mean to!” He says, still facing away from her. “I-it was a accident!” I swear!”

“Quit you're blubbering and get out!”

“Sorry!” Percy says again, and again. “I’m really sorry!” Until he finds his way to the large mahogany door and steps out.

“I- uh-" He tries to reasonate, tries to make up with her. But it's quickly shut off when Annabeth slams the door in his face. Leaving a very stuttering and blushing Percy.

Seventeen. It's a dreadful year for the two of them.

It becomes painfully clear why Percy had been a blushing, embarrassing mess around Annabeth. Clear on why he feels like he's on cloud nine when she pins him down in the sparing arena. And incredibly clear why Percy thinks about her eyes, her smile, her everything. Even the random facts he always thought was annoying and stupid leave marks on his brain. 

The oblivious son of Poseidon denies his feelings. Just some rivalry feelings! Some of which include him wanting to kiss Annabeth so bad sometimes, or even wanting to hold hands while walking along the sand. Maybe he does have the occasional dream of some less than appropriate things. Percy's rather embarassed about that.

It's when Grover, his reliable and trustworthy best friend finally makes him realize his true feelings. Ones hidden layers of sarcasm and sharp jokes.

“You think about her twenty four seven,” Grover starts, leaning back on the thick trunk of the oak tree. Percy had just came to him mid-spar to tell him how Annabeth was absolutely destroying him.

“And you also blab about her nonstop. I dunno dude, that sounds like a crush to me.” Grover sighs heavily. Percy blinks once. Then twice. And then three times.

“Do you get jealous when you see her with someone else?”

“Yeah! It's sickening! I feel all weird and stuff, so I-”

“You have a crush~” Grover teases.

“No? I think it's just-"

“Its a crush, Percy. You're so oblivious that it'll never progress more than that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean!?” Percy scowls at him. A bead of sweat trails down his forehead, caused from the hours of training.

“It means you have to confess.” Grover simply states, getting up. His hooves clomp down on the hard-packed earth as he trails away. “You gotta do it sooner or later, before someone else does it!”

That thought makes bile rise in his stomach. Annabeth? Go out with someone's else? Other than him? No way. Negatory.

But what if she declines? Annabeth is completely free to do that; but Percy would probably die of heartbreak. And if she started to date someone? Percy would explode.

It's settled, then.

He's going to confess.

-

- a/n:

(re-uploaded to fix some mistakes, lol)

[tanadrin]

What are your thoughts on people who just want to be left alone, and not just solitarily - they want to leave modern society and go live in the woods.

They should be permitted to. Modern liberal democracies are mostly OK with making deals with secessionist subcultures: enclaves of Mennonites, the Amish, ultra-orthodox Jews, and so forth are permitted form and mostly self-govern, and are occasionally even granted opt-outs from various forms of government interference, like certain taxes or insurance requirements, on the basis that they make much less use of government services. It's harder to carve out such exceptions for individuals, but we do have things like the concept of the conscientious objector that accommodate deviations from the usually expected set of rights and obligations for people with a commitment to alternate sets of values.

But these things exist on a spectrum; opting in or out of society isn't a binary choice. Also, except in the libertarian fantasy land, it's very hard even in North America these days to find trackless wilderness where you can live totally unconnected to the rest of humanity--and most of it is in Alaska and northern Canada, so bring a nice thick coat. Where I think this consideration, the concept of "atomic communitarianism" to borrow a phrase, is most interesting is in its more complicated real-world instantiations.

Anabaptist religious communities in the US, for instance, aren't really autarkic villages; they're socially segregated, but economically connected with the surrounding area. Ultra-orthodox Jewish groups, while endogamous, have historically always existed within larger urban communities, and could not function without them; many seem happy to rely on social support from the government, which given the emphasis they place on a particular kind of pious lifestyle makes sense.

Where indulging atomicity in society encounters tension, I think one of three things are at play. First, the atomic community is in conflict with the wider community over material interests. The fight over the distribution of public school funding in Ramapo, New York is a great example of this. I don't think these kinds of conflicts ever have easy solutions, especially when the atomic community in question doesn't or can't form a distinct separate unit of local self-government.

Second, an organization wants conditional status as an atomic community. Anabaptists generally refrain from participating in secular government as a fundamental tenet of their religion; contrast the Catholic church, which now that religiosity is declining in many of its former strongholds, often presents itself as merely wanting to govern its own affairs free from governmental interference; but as soon as they are in a position to influence policy and make political noise, they do so, and they have no doctrinal objection to being made the sole official church of a secular state. In other words, Catholics are not naturally an atomic community, and so shouldn't be treated as one. They shouldn't get special consideration in a pluralist society, and Catholic institutions should be subject to normal rule of law. The Catholic church hates this, and it's this loathing of being constrained by the same rules everyone else is, rather than a real ideological motive, that causes them to cover up child abuse and play the victim when their mass graves get dug up in Canada and Ireland.

Thirdly, an atomic community may be genuine in its aspiration to atomicity, and it may be tolerated implicitly or officially by the collective authorities; but there are obligations that the collective authorities have to individual members it is pledged to protect that supersede any deal made with the community as a whole. The most visible example of this in the present day is child abuse by religious authorities. Whether it's the FLDS, ultra-orthodox Jewish communities, or, yes, the Catholics, one of the few things our society absolutely refuses to condone in an atomic community or an aspiring one is the sexual abuse of children, and the obligation of the collective authorities to prevent that is considered so far-reaching that no exceptions for any self-governing community can be permitted. Sometimes these communities can stave off interference temporarily by capturing local authority in elections and flying under the radar of more remote authorities, but this seems to only work in rural areas and only for a limited amount of time. The only imperative to exercise state authority over atomic communities that I can think of that comes even close to this one regards, like, tax evasion, because states also have a strong incentive to make sure people know that independent parallel authorities aren't permitted to compete with the state, and tax collection is one of the very basic functions of government.

Now, all of the above examples are religious communities. That's not entirely a coincidence: religion is a powerful community-building force, and rising standards of living in the developed world have reduced the relevance of purely political or economic utopian projects. In countries like the US, where there is a strong tradition of religious freedom, federalism, and soft libertarianism, society can easily accommodate a large number of atomic communities, even highly insular religious ones. That is strong to America's credit; in almost every case, if people want to go off and do their own thing, they should be permitted to. Even fucked-up cults like the FLDS folks should get a strong benefit of the doubt, because pluralism is important, and state power is a crude bludgeon, and when that bludgeon goes awry you get shit like the Waco massacre. We can quibble on where exactly the line for outside interference should be drawn, but regardless of the criteria we use, sexual abuse of children seems like a reasonable criterion for interference.

Should lone individuals or tiny groups get carte blanche to fuck off into the woods and never contact human society again? Sure; but they effectively already have that, if they can find an empty patch of woods. And simply in terms of sheer numbers, the quantity of hermits and members of eremitical microcommunities will always be dwarfed by larger, more persistent atomic communities like those organized on religious lines. Religion is just a much stronger motivating factor for that kind of secessionism.

If a self-organized community of individualists did form in the wilderness, or on some vast expanse of privately owned land, and wanted to govern themselves free from interference--well, that's called "incorporating a municipality" and you can go through existing legal channels. Your new town won't be free of state or federal authority, depending on where it is; but if you're large enough to need a bona fide local government, I think there's a strong presumption that your community has a big enough impact on the surrounding areas and is populous enough that the collective authority takes a legitimate interest in how your community is run. But local governments are really important, and get a lot of shit done! Don't underrate their power.

If you really want more autonomy, you can always petition your state or national government for status as a separate state/territory/province/autonomous community/department (it worked for the Mormons!). You'd probably have to be fairly big; but I think your community would have to be very large in the first place to really get any benefit from that kind of larger local government. And, of course, there's always the Free State Project. In fact, I want to strongly encourage right-libertarians and anarcho-capitalists of every stripe, no matter where in the world they live, to move to New Hampshire and leave the rest of us alone. I think that's a really terrific idea (and more viable than seasteading).

One thing I didn't discuss is uncontacted peoples or native communities that preexist the communitarian authority. Especially with regard to the former, I don't trust state power to interfere in these communities in a non-destructive way; whatever the conditions the North Sentinelese are living in, the entire population being wiped out by measles carried over from the mainland would not be an improvement. And the excuse of legitimate state interest in protecting individuals has often been used to fuck with communities of racial undesirables--it is after all the reason the residential schools in Canada were built, and the Catholic church empowered to imprison children in them. This is part of the reason why even if you can prove an atomic community is a fucked up cult that treats its members horribly, I don't think it should be forcibly disbanded--the criteria for interference have to be extreme, because they have been so flagrantly abused in the past. Basically, the framework I'm using in the rest of this post doesn't apply here, because these native communities aren't secessionist for any meaningful use of the term. They function differently, they preexisted the authorities imposed on them, and that original imposition was a war of conquest.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Κόρη (νοσταλγία deleted chapter)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Κόρη (kórē): young woman, maiden. Also means young bride, or wife. It is also Persephone’s name before her abduction. (Ancient Greek)

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Summary: This takes place between Chapter 43 and right before Chapter 44, at the beginning of the spring. Centers mainly around the life left behind, the road not taken so to speak.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: The usual, mentions of sacrifices (human and animal)

A/N: I really like this chapter, and I wasn’t sure if it I should leave it as a main chapter of the story or not, but decided against it since it doesn’t really move the plot forward much. But yeah, also a lil announcement/thingy at the end notes of this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

I took one of Ivar’s lines from the show for his dialogue in this chapter. It’s from 5x19, and it was so unbearably ominous that I had to include it 😉 

Also, Maqluba is a middle eastern dish. I haven’t tried it myself, but it looks so good. I wanted it to be Quzi, an Iranian dish, which I have had and it’s so fucking good, but the word for Quzi is from Ottoman Turkish, where Maqluba is Arabic and the dish is even recorded in early medieval books.

Before you know it, before you are ready if you are honest, winter passes you by, retreats at the unescapable return of spring.

You won’t pretend you will miss the unbearably cold mornings and nights, the biting winds, or the unrelenting advance of Demeter’s grief that makes most of your plants -even the ones you’ve kept indoors- wither and die.

But there is a part of you, a part of you that will never truly go away, that is Greek before anything else; and the very blood running through your veins reminds you that with spring comes change.

This morning, you sit by one of the windows as the sun starts to rise, focused on the gentle work of your hands on the small sapling that stubbornly starts to revive and persist past the passing winter frost. You find yourself torn between hoping all the change spring will bring is the life it will return to the plants you keep around you, is the lessened pain for the man you love now that the cold isn’t so biting; and craving more, craving the change you know spring is capable of while knowing you have something -someone- to hold on to, craving to be a witness to the extent of Kore’s influence on a land as cold as this.

Then again, much has changed already and it didn’t need spring to do so.

At the sound of rattling chains your attention drifts away from the small plant in your hands, and you turn to watch your husband as he gets out of bed, eyes lazily following the by-now familiar movements.

Tonight a feast to honor the return of spring is to be held, which means the day will be thankfully more calmer as the celebrations are readied, and few people dare bother either of you.

With a familiar kind of hunger pooling low in your belly as you watch the traces of ink on his chest and shoulders move with the movement of his body, you consider luring Ivar into staying here with you a while longer to make the most of out of a slow morning; but you know he intends to go overlook the strengthening of the walls surrounding the town, and is too stubborn to let you convince him not to.

A part of you lingers more than usual on his insistence to make Kattegat safer as the army readies to follow him once again into England to continue their wars and battles; but you have a feeling you know the reason why, and you won’t fight him on this.

You will have to meet with the merchants from Kufa later today, since they are to depart back to their homeland soon and Qasim, the leader of the group, promised you -much to Ivar’s irrational anger- a gift to show his gratitude for welcoming him and his associates into your kingdom and allowing them to trade here for the winter.

Hvitserk has tried to make you promise that if it is maqluba like they offered you near the Yule celebrations you will share it with him, but you have agreed to no such thing so you will try your best to hide it from him; which means you have to get there early.

Slowly, you mournfully let go of the idea of a slow day.

“If I asked a favor from you…” You start slowly, making Ivar turn around to look at you with a small furrow between his brows.

“I would ask for something in return.” He retorts anyways, not a moment of hesitation. He lifts himself onto the small seat by the foot of your bed, attention on putting on the braces of his legs.

“Of course you would. Could you make sure Hvitserk doesn’t know I’m meeting with the merchants from Kufa today?”

His eyes narrow as he recalls, “Ah. Your gift.”

“Our gift, my love.” You try with a smile, but Ivar doesn’t buy it.

Granted, the man pointedly claimed the gift was meant for the Greek queen, and that didn’t sit right with your husband. None of what the Abbasid man does sits well with Ivar nowadays, hasn’t since he gifted you inscribed silk a couple of months into winter, but even before that most likely, and it just became apparent once Qasim made such a gesture.

“You have people to talk to today, don’t you?” Ivar asks, and when you turn to look at him, he is petulantly avoiding your gaze, pretending to be focused on adjusting the braces of his legs as you shrug on the warm dress.

“I do,” You reply slowly, because you know where this is going. Still, you continue, “We ought to secure a deal with Qasim so he and the others return before next wint-…”

Ivar lifts a finger to you, “Ah, but you have to be the one to strike the deal, do you not?”

“He will ask less from me, you know that.”

“Yes, I know that,” He bites out, looking away with gritted teeth. An angry breath through his nose, and he offers, “I don’t like him.”

“That is incredibly unexpected,” You deadpan, offering a wide smile when he glares at you. Walking closer, you explain, “I speak their tongue, and I am familiar, so he has a soft spot for me and he has coin to spare. That is all there is.”

“Hm,” Is all the response he offers, more of a grunt than an answer really. With a small sound of exertion Ivar stands up, motioning you closer and expertly tightening the laces of your dress. Because he lingers with his hands on you after, you linger as well, your back to his chest and your head seamlessly lolling to the side when Ivar leans to trail kisses up the side of your neck. When he reaches your ear, he promises, quietly even if fiercely, “I am not jealous of that man.”

A foolish smile curves at your lips, and your hand settles over his on your stomach, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Of course you are not,” You sentence, the taunt clear in your voice, “It would be foolish, irrational even, for you to thi-…ah!”

Ivar’s teeth closing down on your earlobe stop your words with a gasp and a laugh.

“Don’t mock me.” He warns, but you hear the smile on his voice.

“I am not,” You promise, turning around in his arms and meeting his disbelieving glare. Your hand settling on his chest, you concede, “Perhaps a little bit, but it is foolish to think any man compares to you in my eyes. You know this, yes?”

The quirk of his lips is a little arrogant, a little proud, and you are filled with warmth at the sight.

Still, Ivar accepts your request with a gesture of his hand, and walks closer, leaning down to kiss you goodbye. Brow against yours he lingers in the same moment you do, in the shared breath, in the quiet and the warmth of that short instant.

Moving to press another kiss to the crown of your head, Ivar whispers against your skin, “Make sure he returns with a wife next winter, so he leaves mine alone, hm?”

____

“My people,” Ivar starts, drawing attention to himself and, indirectly, to you. You have gotten used to it, though, and with your eyes only for him where he sits on the throne by your side, you can ignore all the other eyes on you. “Spring is coming. The earth renews itself, that which was dead becomes alive again. Everything changes.”

Spring in Kattegat. It still feels like such a surreal thing, to be allowed to spend the rest of your days here.

Ivar speaks to them of the battles to come, of their imminent return to England where they will face against the Saxon that tried taking Dublin from them, of Stithulf’s inevitable defeat.

There’s a strange shine in his eyes, a mix of pride and joy that carries an undercurrent of uncertainty that you know the reason for by now, when the people cheer at his words, raising horns of mead and toasting in his name.

These people have known me since my birth, he told you once, decades-old resentment making his voice grave, even if I’m king now, they all see less than a man in me.

You were never one to keep quiet, but the words you might be able to offer when it’s just the two of you are not the ones you can offer here and now.

You remember the night before Ivar was to leave Kattegat for the first time, in what feels like another lifetime, when you confessed with bitter words how the Greeks loved you but rarely respected you, and spoke of hidden resentment you held towards your own people by admitting you had to fight twice as hard than Narses to achieve recognition for the same deed.

You stop yourself, stealing a glance at the Viking that still keeps unwavering interest in the words that leave your lips. You shake your head, and reach for the cup the thrall refilled a few moments ago.

“It does not matter. Most of the free Attics are dead somewhere near Aneridge, the rest will perish when winter comes. It doesn’t matter.”

The King touches his own cup with yours, and you eye him carefully, wary of what the outburst might mean for you, but Ivar only smirks.

“If you say so.”

And so now you do the same, your cup touching his lightly, and when Ivar turns his eyes to you, you offer a quiet murmur of their word for a toast, a word that so rarely leaves your lips.

The night progresses and you find yourself, even after all this time, endlessly fascinated by the customs of these people, and their approach to the change of seasons. To us spring means war, Freydis told you once, and as Ivar and his brothers boast and rejoice at the prospect of tasting battle and warfare again, you find her words to be truer than you ever thought they truly were.

____

You quietly slip away from the still ongoing feast, and wandering steps take you outside, through a pathway outside of what used to be your rooms when you were first brought to Kattegat.

The steps you take are familiar ones, and you come to a stand by the small platform on the back of the longhouse, leaning your weight against the railing and taking a deep breath of the chilled air of the night.

The Hiereia motions for you to kneel, and you do so with your hands folded over your lap, but you refuse to bow your head. She notices, of course she does, but says nothing. You could swear she smiles.

They drag the man forward, and dazed and compliant he moves until his body stands above you. You look into his eyes as they draw the blade, and you don’t look away as his throat is slit, only closing your eyes when the blood falls over you.

It is warm as it pours erratically over you, coating your hair and face, and a lot of the white dress they made you wear, with the mark of death.

Your own blood rushes in your ears, and you finally open your eyes when the pour of the sacrifice’s blood slows and stops. The weight of the wreath of pomegranate branches and wildflowers on your head feels like a crown made of iron for a fleeting moment.

Another girl approaches, lowering to the ground on her knees just as you, and opens her palm to offer seven seeds of a pomegranate. You take them between shaking fingers, but don’t hesitate to bring them to your lips.

The sacrifice’s blood still stains your lips, and as you taste the fruit so many said is a symbol of temptation, you cannot help but think maybe they tasted it wrong when they forgot the coppery taste of blood to accompany it.

“Rise, Hiereia.”

You do, suddenly feeling like you stand much taller than you did before. Suddenly feeling stronger, suddenly feeling safer. Powerful.

The elder meets your eyes and smiles, smiles wide enough the corner of her eyes crinkle, and breathes a laugh, walking forward to embrace you.

She makes no note of the blood that stains your body and your face, but you do. You lick your lips, finding yourself almost resenting the lingering sweetness of the pomegranate.

You don’t realize your eyes have fallen closed until the familiar sound of Ivar’s crutch and his uneven steps reach your ears, making you blink past the memories, and look back up at the stars.

It is almost instinctual, the way you move your hand to seek the inevitable touch of his when he too leans on the railing before you, shoulder to shoulder.

His fingers are warm, and rough to the touch, and exquisitely familiar.

“The stars are familiar,” You tell him, without taking your eyes from the dark skies above. “When the stars are like this, when the world is like this…it is time of the Thesmophoria, back in Greece.”

“You told me about it,” He recalls, thumb absently running back and forth over your cold fingers, trying to bring warmth back to you. You don’t fail to notice he hasn’t asked you to return inside. Perhaps he knows you as well as you know him. “Mostly you told me about how you couldn’t tell me about it.”

“Men aren’t allowed to know of the Mysteries,” You explain, and your smile only grows at the indignant huff he lets out. “Besides, Viking, you do not follow my Gods.”

“Hm, but I should know about them, since I married a Greek witch.” He teases back, smiling at the indignant roll of your eyes.

By all the Gods, how you wish you could tell him. How you wish you could somehow make real, if only by voice alone, what those festivals were like, what the procession through the Sacred Way felt like and what each stop entailed, what bittersweet kind of joy sparked in the hearts of all those who participated when the procession celebrated Iambe, or what the bread made from the first fruits tasted like after the fast.

You wish you could at least tell him of the night of the Pannychis, and how it was one of the only times in Greece when you truly felt unburdened, when you truly felt at home, surrounded by music and joy and allowed to forget the repression and violence of the Empire that ruled over you all.

To Ivar you have told things you have never dared tell a soul, to Ivar you have admitted things that fill you with shame and regret; and it was one of the truer things you have said when you promised you were yourself with him more so than you could ever be with any other. And that is why at the tip of a stubborn and wine-loosened tongue there’s the whisper of what the epopteia showed you, there’s the retelling of that vision that was not the first nor the last but that will forever be the most important one.

But you know you can’t. You made your vows that night, and the aporrheta will remain unsaid, unrepeated. You will keep them guarded, sacred, as you swore to do.

You were one of the last Hiereiai initiated before Eleusis went up in flames taking you and many others with it, and now that many of the elders perished in England and the rest most likely followed in these past months; as you stand here and now in colder, harsher lands, so far from what in another life would have been your home, you cannot help but feel a grief, a loss, that you hadn’t expected. Because with her back turned to Greece may stand the last Hiereia of the Dread Gods.

“I fear…I fear I might be the last,” You admit quietly, barely heard above the biting wind. “I fear the secrets, the…everything that once made my home, my Gods, will be lost when I am gone.”

You know, realistically, that you aren’t the last Hiereia in all of Greece. There will be Hiereiai until the last of Greece, even if circumstances make it so that they never celebrate not one more festival.

But what you linger on, what you cannot ignore, is the part of you that tells you that you should have been Hiereia until the last of you.

Then again, you were. You were their Hiereia until the flames consumed you like they did your mother, you were their Hiereia until they made an Anassa out of you, you were their Hiereia until your death. And it isn’t cruel to demand to be yourself in the life after, is it?

“Then tell me about them,” Ivar replies, as if it is that simple. “You won’t be the last one to remember then, hm?”

“You are Viking, Ivar.” You repeat, a tad livelier, and a smile once again curving at foolish lips as you turn to look at him.

“Our children will be Viking,” He argues without missing a beat, but making your heart skip one. You feel your expression tremble, even though it isn’t by any means the first time Ivar and you have spoken of the future and what that means now that you have chosen to stay. In these passing months you have caught yourself imagining what a family of your own would be like as often as you find Ivar’s thoughts lingering on the same thing, thoughts that you hear about in the quiet of night with his voice rumbling on his chest where you lay, thoughts that are shared with you in the tentative approaches to happiness of a man that for too long believed it impossible. But it feels different now, it feels…more real. Ivar continues, but you don’t miss the way his pale eyes search yours a tad more intently now, as if he too is threading on unknown ground, betting on unmentioned hopes. “But you will tell them of your ways, will you not?”

There is not a breath of hesitation within you, and with too many familiar voices promising if we name things, we make them real, with the cadence of all your ghosts, you find certainty, you find hope.

“I will,” You tell him, but the emotion is embarrassingly clear in the break of your voice. After a breath, you lick your lips and try pretending you aren’t made anew by a conversation so simple as this one. Tone lighter, you quip, “But I will not tell you. You cannot hear about the aporrheta.”

Ivar’s shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath, as if he were holding it, and he asks, “What can I hear about then, hm?”

You search his eyes, get lost in them, are found in them maybe; and…you know him well enough by now to know what he means when he asks such things.

A sigh, and pressing a little closer to his warmth, you look back at the familiar stars.

You talk of home, you talk of the way the temple looked when your mother was alive to keep it safe and cared for, you talk of the bustling markets on the days before the festivals, you talk of the first rites you participated in after your initiation.

You talk until your voice starts to falter, until you lick dry lips and realize you taste nothing but the rose wine you’ve been sipping the whole night, the taste of nostalgia long gone, gone while you tried holding onto it, a last remnant of a world that never existed in the first place.

____ ____ ____

Look at Ivar being a mature partner and all at the end, encouraging her to talk about the place/people she misses. Growth lol

Thank you for reading, hope you liked it!

One last thing:

As you could see, this chapter skipped over a bunch of time, most of winter really, and of course, Chapter 44 starts with the spring. I have an Ivar’s PoV planned (hopefully it will be out this time next week) that goes over a little bit of the winter, mainly the Yule celebrations. But here’s the thing: if there’s anything (and I mean anything) you wanna ask or see about these months that went by, come to my askbox and request! I would love to just get my Nostalgia writing motor going with something like that! They may end up as little snippets, as chapter-length stuff, or as straight up answers, or smth. But yeah, whatever you wanna see/ask, come talk to me!

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @toe-vind-ek-jou @xbellaxcarolinax  @angelofthorr @samsationalwilson @peachyboneless @1950schick @punkrocknpearls @ietss @itsmysticalmystery @revolution-starter​ @the-a-word-2214  @fae-sedai @crazybunnyladysworld   @funmadnessandbadassvikings @stupiddarkkside @aprilivar @msrawog

[lisinfleur]

In your arms

The request:

Author’s Notes | Fuck the whole universe. I can't see that shitty ending for our pup and not doing anything about this. So, here is the first of the many things I'll write to correct what made us bleed in this last season of our beloved show! Hope you guys like it! Universe | Vikings Pairing | Hvitserk x Reader Info | Viking age AU, fixing plot AU, requested by anon. Words | 2941 ⁑ Warnings: Spoilers ahead. Mention to major character’s death, some angst.

"No brother! You've done your work! Do not interfere anymore. All my life has been a preparation for this moment. Stay back."

The sound of Ivar's voice and their last conversation for a long time populated his mind.

The many times they'd tried to reach for each other's ends and failed miserably made sense all at once in a single sentence.

"I could never kill you..."

What was left untold for their whole life, finally spoken.

"I love you. Now go. Go!"

Screams of strength and bravery overcame Ivar's final words of fear in Hvitserk's mind.

"Are we afraid of the death? No!"

For days he laid among the Christians after burying his brother like a true Viking lord, ensuring whoever was to find his grave would know what his brother wanted...

"Here is the grave of the most famous Viking that ever lived!"

The last promise he made before his little brother's eyes were lost from his to go into the golden doors he wasn't able to see, but was sure were open for Ivar to enter, engraved in his mind as if they were marked by fire.

"No one will ever forget Ivar, the Boneless."

He had to do it. He had to push forward his brother's legacy and what better way than doing what Ivar intended when they came back to stand on those cursed lands once again? Those poisonous lands that took his father, two of his little brothers, and the memory of the older one from who he separated in that place. That terrible place.

He would burn that place to ashes! And then he would spread those ashes over Ivar's grave like a gift to his brother's memory.

And so... He would come home. To fulfill one last promise also marked on fire in his mind and his heart.

"I'll come back, Y/N. I'll come back to you."

He had just found you after the many years of tragedy in his life. So, you became his secret in Kattegat. A secret he didn't tell not even to his beloved little brother, afraid somehow Ivar's hands could reach and rip his heart from his chest one more time.

You served his tables when he was younger and became a free woman since no one was caring about the fleeing slaves in the middle of that whole war he and his brothers fought with each other. But you'd never forgotten him and when he came back with his brother under the angry words of the town, you came after him, spoke of long-gone times and memories. And you offered your services for him who was once a good master in exchange for his mercy since now you were lost and helpless in the middle of the confusion Kattegat had become with so many rulers in so little time.

It didn't take too long for him to see you were a gift the gods had blessed him with. In a matter of days, his heart was bent.

To fall in love with you was easy. To leave you at the cabin when the time to leave had come was the hardest thing he'd ever done.

You cried in his chest and he could still remember how hard it was to hold your tears. He knew it could be his last battle... You knew he could never come back from that trip. But they had to do it.

You couldn't argue with his fate.

You couldn't beg him to stay.

So, you made him promise he would come back to you and swore you would wait for him. To warrant his promise was real, he left his recently recovered arm ring in your hands.

His fingers touched the pendant on his chest. Another hacksilver, placed alongside the one he had earned from his father on his necklace. You had given that pendant to him saying you wanted it back and so, he would have to come back to give it back to you.

Sometimes Hvitserk would wonder what was in your mind now. He knew the news of Ivar's defeat and Harald's death had reached Kattegat at that point. Would they say he was dead as well? Did they know he was a prisoner for so long?

Would you be there, waiting for him yet?

Promises were promises. Things were close to an end.

Hvitserk stopped a moment to admire his little brother's mind and toughness once again: it was hard as fuck to play games with the Christians and mislead them was one of the hardest things he ever had to do. Hvitserk was a berserker. The mindless battle was his favorite game and those mental games were Ivar's specialty.

Maybe it was why he decided to do it that way.

Ivar's way.

It was his brother's legacy after all.

For months he had played the Christian. He accepted that stupid baptism and walked with a cross around his neck. He spoke meekly and accepted that stupid name they gave him as if it could erase everything he was and would ever be.

From behind, his crows were cawing at the Dane kings' ears at the settlement beside Wessex, remembering them he himself was also a son of Ragnar, fated to Valhalla, who, unlike Ubbe, wanted those lands entirely to their people as a fair payment for the lives those Christians had stolen from them.

Ragnar Loðbrók.

Harald Finehair.

Ivar, the Boneless.

The whole unavenged settlement prince Aethelwulf had destroyed years ago in time...

Their blood was considered a fair price for his people to rise. The position of third Dane king, abandoned by his older brother, was a vacancy Hvitserk was considered fitting to occupy.

Under the mantle of lies and with the night by his side, Hvitserk dressed his armor once again and headed up to the doors of the Royal Villa to open them to his people like once his brother Ubbe had opened the gates of York for them to enter.

Standing in the middle of the gates as the army of Vikings invaded the town, Hvitserk could almost hear his brother's voice screaming and the sound of that unmistakable chariot filling the air as if Ivar was riding with them into the Royal Villa, conquering what he wasn't able to see falling in front of his eyes.

Alfred fled with Elsewith and their child. Hvitserk spared their lives as they had spared his own. What's fair is fair and Ivar would forgive him for denying the royal blood to his vengeance, but Alfred had respected his brother's death, his grave wasn't touched and his life was preserved.

But the town was on fire, invaded and taken as Ivar once planned.

With the dawn, Hvitserk received a mark on his face to resemble his crown as the third Dane King his brother didn't want to be. But he knew he wouldn't stay as much as Ubbe didn't stay.

He was wounded and tired, but Ivar was avenged and it was time to fulfill his next promise.

"I ordered them to build a shrine for you, brother. They must start soon and the Danes ensured me they'll use the stones from the royal castle to build it around your grave," Hvitserk said, touching the stones of the simple tomb he had rose with his own hands. "They'll paint runes and make sacrifices. And this place shall be marked with your story, my brother. No one will ever forget who you were and, in the future, when they find this place, everyone will know here is the grave of the great Ivar, the Boneless, son of Ragnar Loðbrók, feared by many around the world and for whom this land fell into our hands."

His fingers caressed the stone as if he could touch Ivar's face once again.

"But now I think you know I have to go... And leave you behind, brother. For you'll be always alive in my heart, but she's waiting for me. I know I never told you anything about her... I had my reasons, you know them very well," he sighed. "I did it all for you, Ivar. And if she ever gives me a son, I'll name him after you, so he can keep telling your story throughout the years. I'll never forget you, brother. Hail and farewell, Ivar. We'll see each other again when the time comes..."

Leaving behind the first hacksilver of his necklace as a gift to his brother, Hvitserk left, mounting his horse and riding towards the docks where a Dane boat was already waiting for him, ready to take him home.

For a moment, Hvitserk placed his eyes on that land once again. Maybe it was the last time he would ever see that cursed place. Maybe one day he would come back to see Sigurd and Ivar and his father as well. Or maybe, like Ivar, he would come and die there alongside the ones he loved. The time would say. Fate would say.

He was finally coming home.

The boat took ages to make a trip he didn't remember was that long. Ingrid was the new queen and he could see the awe in her eyes when he jumped out of that boat, holding himself whole in spite of his tiredness.

"We thought you were..."

"Dead, like my brother. And your husband, I suppose," Hvitserk didn't care about cutting the queen's sentence. "Release your breath, woman. I have my own crown and have no interest in the one on your head. You're Harald's wife and he was Norway's king. This is now your problem, but still, my homelands so get used to having me walking around from time to time," he said, carelessly pointing down to the ground. "Now you excuse me, your highness... I have more important matters to treat. Spare me from feasts in your hall: The son of Ragnar may be back home, but I'm tired, exhausted... All I want is to find my woman and rest in her arms."

"Your what?"

But he left Ingrid and her whole surprise behind, walking away from the boat as the Danes were preparing to move with their trip. They wouldn't stay. He wouldn't come back, at least, for now.

If he ever had to die in those cursed lands, he would do it like his father: before growing too old.

After living his whole life.

His steps were still limping and for a moment, he giggled, remembering how Ivar had limped that whole pier under horrible words where now there were smiles and grateful faces blessing his return. Would they bless if Ivar was back as well?

Oh, they would. But his brother wanted more than just their blessings.

And he wanted more than just their words.

Hvitserk straightened his cloak. His limping steps walking through the streets with many memories, sometimes sad memories, sometimes sweet ones. And as his steps shortened the distance towards his cabin, the sweetest memories came, remembering him of his sneaky movements through those streets to find you without his little brother's eyes over him. The kisses you'd exchanged. Your hands against his skin.

His heart pounded when his eyes finally reached that door. It was still the same... The cabin was still exactly as his memories could build it in his mind. But it was silent and it, for a moment, stopped everything into Hvitserk's heart.

Could it be that the news of his death had sent you away for good?

Did he take too long to come back? Did someone tell you he was turned into a Christian and you believed it was for real?

His fingers touched the door and he hesitated before knocking on it.

What if you weren't there to answer?

What if there was another with you in his place now?

It was easier to burn down the Christians' village than it was to knock on his own house's door, but the sound of footsteps inside approaching the door turned Hvitserk's mind completely blank for a second.

The lock was opened and his eyes watched as the light from outside invaded the darkened cabin, covering your figure and showing the pale tones of your apron dress.

"Now it's not a good time, I'm..."

Your voice died into your throat. And your eyes met his in a long moment of silence where the whole world seemed to be stopped along with time itself.

Hvitserk could watch as the line of your eyes filled slowly with tears. He observed as the tears became thicker and broke the line, rolling down your face. Your beautiful face... He thought so many times he would never see you again.

You sobbed, losing the strength of your legs. And Hvitserk held you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your body against his chest once again.

It wasn't one more of his dreams. You were there.

He was home.

His scent invaded your nose and your sobs engulfed you whole as you nestled into his arms, holding him so tight that your knuckles became white against his clothes.

"Shh... Hush, my sweet love. I'm here now. I'm here with you," he mumbled as your sobs became louder.

You thought he was dead.

They told you he was dead.

You cried your soul out on that pier, begging the gods to drag your body into the waters and allow you to swim towards him into Valhalla as queen Gunnhild had done after her beloved Björn.

But instead, they held you back.

And as Hvitserk's hands cupped your face before he could seal his lips against yours, tasting your flavors he missed so bad once again, you understood why the gods had given you a reason to keep yourself alive.

It was for him. You were his gift.

And the gods had decided to bless him once more.

"I brought it back to you, my love," he said, giving your pendant back with his necklace. "The other... I left with him," he mumbled.

Eyes full of sadness for his brother you knew wouldn't come back with him.

You gave back his arm ring, caressing his hand as he smiled.

"I thought I would never see you again," he mumbled.

His warm and big hand caressing your face, drying the tears from it before you could finally speak between the sobs.

"They told us you were dead, my sweet prince. I mourned alone and wanted to follow you into Valhalla to serve your feast. But the gods forbade me. They took my freedom for it wasn't my choice anymore."

Hvitserk looked at you curious, not understanding your words until you brought him into the cabin enough for his eyes to land on the basket over his bed.

"They filled me with life and entrusted me with your legacy. I couldn't go. They made me stay. And now I understand that's because you're here, my love. You're back to me."

There weren't words in his mouth anymore.

Hvitserk's steps limped towards the bed and he sat, looking at that basket with surprise and admiration. Inside, a pair of icy blues was facing him, remembering him of so much in his life inside those little eyes.

Ragnar's eyes.

Ubbe's eyes.

Ivar's eyes...

All looking at him into the little one's orbs as his son was trying to eat his own hand, hungry like himself.

"His name is Herleifr, son of Hvitserk. For he's indeed the son of a warrior and I wanted him to know where he came from..." you mumbled as Hvitserk gently lifted the little one from the basket, holding the baby against his chest.

This time it was his eye line unable to hold back his tears as his fingers gently touched the little one's hands and face.

He had seen so much death...

He had lost so much on that trip...

His hands had buried his own little brother and burned that town to the ground, but now, they were holding his future.

Hvitserk giggled.

"Herleifr... My brother shall forgive me once again. I must have to produce another so I can name it after him as I promised," he said, making you smile at his teary face.

You came closer, caressing his cheeks, drying his tears.

"We shall take care of you, my precious prince. And so, when you're healed, we shall produce as many heirs you think you want to honor all the ones you lost and more," you smiled, feeling his hand touching your face, pulling you closer so he could kiss you that way you loved so bad.

The baby cooed in his hand when your lips separated from each other and Hvitserk smiled.

"Now I'm home... Now... I'm back where I belong," he said, touching his forehead to yours, caressing your face with his thumb. "In your arms, my love. I belong in your arms and this is my place in this world."

For a second, Hvitserk could feel Ivar's eyes over him. And he smiled remembering he could be there to watch for him.

"Valhalla will wait," he said, almost being able to hear his little brother's giggle as he caressed your face, smiling at you. "I have a whole dynasty to produce with you first."

His time to find his beloved ones at Valhalla would come, he knew that. But until there, he would enjoy his place in Miðgarð and produce as many heirs as you were up to bear for him.

His time to fight was over for now and now it was time for him to be happy. And he would, by your side.

By your side, he would.

Do you like my work? Support me!

Tagged ones:

|| @bluearchersstuff​ || @ivarswickedqueen​ || @directionlessbuthappy || @akamaiden​ || @bang-kim-bap​ || @cris101071​ || @elysias-temple​ || @alicedopey​ || @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla​ || @lol-haha-joke​ || @readsalot73​ || @rekdreams247​ || @naaladareia​ || @laketaj24​ || @therealcalicali​ || @grungyblonde​ || @arses21434 || @honestsycrets​ || @2thequietone4​ || @blackspiritshake​ || @vikingsbifrost​ || @x-valhalla​ || @lyanna-the-giantsbane​ || @chinduda​ || @isthat-tyra98​ || @xinyourdreamsx​ || @thiahilmarsdottir​ || @queenbeeta​ || @winchesterwife27​ || @gold-dragon-slayer​ || @mzliterarydreamer​ || @marvelouuse​ || @lif3snotouttogetyou​ || @lordsexmachine​ || @deathbyarabbit​ || @ietss​ || @tgrrose​ || @alexisshoto​ || @letsloveimagines​ || @thorins-queen-of-erebor​ || @astrape-the-weatherwitch​ || @destynelseclipsa​ || @charming-merlin​ || @violetidk​ ||

Want to be tagged? Ask me!

[luxekook]

chapter two.

⇥ pairing: namjoon x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic namjoon, power tools, hints of poly relationships, overall pretty smut free (who AM i???)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I'm gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot...

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat. 

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year...”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

a/n: i love namjoon. that is all. 

taglist (message me to be added):

@catsandstrawberries @h5naaa @meowmeowyoongles @leftflowerprunedonut @rjsmochii @athletes-of-god @karissassirak @weallhavesecretsinthebestway @cvbachacbitch @bewitch3dforivar @honeyspillings @xxonyxpearlxx​  @valiantcollectorofsandwiches @fivesecondsofsarang 

[blossom-hwa]

Light the Pyres |Light| - SUNGYOON

Don’t know how I'm still alive after posting that last chapter but I appreciate the whole not killing me thing guys

Pairing: Sungyoon x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, bits of fluff, apocalypse!au

Triggers: cursing, death, implied suicide of a side character (no suicidal thoughts), semi-graphic depictions of blood

Word Count: 5.7k

As the world burns its last goodbyes, you find a jewel amidst the ashes.

Previous: Strike >> Light >> Next: Rise

Golden Child Masterlist

You wake up to silence.

Blearily, you blink once, trying to clear the inky darkness from your vision. It doesn’t leave – it’s still night.

You blink again, confused. Why are you awake…?

Silence. No second set of breathing, no shuffling in sleep.

Daeyeol?

Your head whips to the side so fast that your neck almost cracks. No one’s in the passenger seat. Where –

Oh.

Right.

You sink back into your seat, pressure beginning to pound behind your eyes again. Right. He’s dead. Even though he was here just hours ago, he’s dead. He’ll never be here again.

Blinking away the tears distracts you from the uneasy silence, but when they’re gone, the quiet settles again. Daeyeol’s absence makes sense. It should explain the lack of sound other than your breath, but…

Oh, fuck.

Fuck.

You whip around. The previous lump of mystery boy that used to be in the backseat is gone.

Oh my God.

Is he stupid?

Digging around your bag produces a flashlight and your gun. There’s only one bullet left – you curse yourself for not reloading earlier – but you grab the bag, shove open the door, and step into the night.

Warm night air curdles against your cheeks. You can already feel sweat beginning to bead on your forehead, sticking your dirty hair to your skin, but you quickly lock the car door and set off down the empty highway.

He can’t have gotten far. Mystery boy’s leg was fractured or something, and even though he was able to walk, you know that the injury means he can’t have gone more than a few miles. It’ll be a pain in the ass, especially since there are at least a few hours before sunrise – more opportunity for zombies to jump out of nowhere when you can’t fucking see, which makes you wonder again just what this mystery boy was thinking when he left – but. Well. You can’t just leave him, can you?

You could, an unhelpful voice in the back of your mind says. You could just ignore him and go on alone.

You stop walking. You could do that, couldn’t you? Wasn’t that what you wanted earlier, anyway? For mystery boy to just be gone?

But Daeyeol would never approve. He’d be upset, angry, disappointed, even, if you didn’t go after him. It’s what he would’ve done.

Even if it came at the cost of his own life.

Fucking Daeyeol. You sigh, stepping forward even as a tiny, tired smile curves your lips and tears burn in your eyes. Still your friend, still someone you look up to, even in the grave.

Besides, this is Daeyeol’s life that mystery boy is living on. The thought twists your stomach, but you keep walking forward. Hell if you’re going to let him waste it with some stupidity like this, even if you hate that the exchange was made in the first place.

Ten minutes pass. You take out a box of (dwindling) ammunition and begin to reload your gun. Twenty. Thirty. The slightest sound makes you flinch, though you don’t dare turn on your flashlight for fear of giving yourself away to predators, zombie or human. Forty. Fifty.

At the hour mark, light glimmers on the horizon, and you’re about to give up. Either mystery boy started out too early or he has some superhuman reservoir of strength that let him outstrip you even on an injured leg.

Or he’s dead.

With that depressing thought, you stop, contemplating turning back. You still have half a country to cross. You’ve walked back at least three miles, which means three miles to make up when you finally get on your way. And if that boy is dead by now –

A darker shadow in the distance catches your eye. It’s upright. Looks like it’s moving forward, away from you.

Maybe not dead, then.

It doesn’t take too long to catch up. Mystery boy hears your footsteps and turns around in evident surprise, eyes widening visibly even against the still-dark sky.

“Idiot,” is the first thing you snap when you finally catch up. He’s stopped walking – thank God – and you motion impatiently for him to sit down. He doesn’t at first, but when you gesture more insistently, he complies with what looks like an expression of almost relief. “What were you thinking, leaving at night?”

He doesn’t answer.

You sigh. “Look, I’m not the smartest person in the world, but even I wouldn’t be caught dead in the middle of an empty highway, walking on a possibly injured leg, essentially acting as a slowly-moving target for any straggling zombie or desperate survivor.”

“You didn’t exactly seem to want me around.”

Not his fault.

Not his fault.

Not. His. Fault.

You take a deep breath. “I didn’t,” you say truthfully, praying that a bite doesn’t find its way into your words. “But I’m not heartless.”

A small scoff. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Not.

His.

Fault.

“If I was so heartless, you think I would’ve come after you in the fucking dark?” you snap. “You’re going in the complete opposite direction I was headed in and I still came over here to fucking find you.”

“You didn’t have to,” mystery boy replies, now staring you right in the eyes with a disturbed gaze. You see a lot of emotions swirling around in the dark – confusion, anger, resentment, sadness.

Emotion rises in your own throat and you turn away, teeth gritted. If you look at him any longer, you’re pretty sure you’ll cry, and you really don’t need that. “You’re right.” You shrug, still not meeting his eyes. “But Daeyeol would have hated me if I didn’t.”

It takes a moment to realize you’ve just given him the name of the boy who sacrificed himself for your escape. You curse yourself. How could you have given up his name, Lee Daeyeol, the only thing you have remaining of your best friend besides your memories?

From the slight intake of breath, you gather that mystery boy has made the connection, too. “Was that… was that your friend’s name?”

You swallow hard, pointedly still looking away. No sense in lying. “Yes,” you get out, tears beginning to press behind your eyes. “And you’re living on his life right now, so I’m also not going to let you throw it away so easily.”

“So my life wouldn’t be worth as much if he hadn’t given up his for me?”

“Daeyeol was my friend for over twenty years,” you snarl, turning back to stare him in the eye. “The only person who knows me better than he does – did –” your voice cracks – “was my mom. So you ask me.”

He holds your gaze for half a second before dropping it, the fight draining out of his expression. “Fair enough,” he murmurs, barely loud enough for you to hear. And when his words do finally register, you think you’ve heard him wrong. ‘Fair enough?’ What kind of response is that?

“What?”

Mystery boy doesn’t reply.

After several moments of silence, you break it again. “Okay.” You fix your gaze on mystery boy again, even if he doesn’t look back. “What were you trying to do when you left? Where were you going? As far as I know, the city I found you in had a horde of zombies, and even if Daeyeol cleaned most of them out before – well, you’d have to be pretty much suicidal to go back.”

Silence. Then –

“My sister.” Mystery boy swallows hard. You can’t tell in the darkness even though it’s getting a little lighter, but his eyes look a little shiny. “And her boyfriend.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

You turn away, trying to disguise your emotions. This is why you can’t deal with people, for fuck’s sake. This is why Daeyeol handled most of the human interaction over the past couple of months. The second you hear a sob story, the second you hear about the people others have lost…

Too late. Your heart aches, even more so because now you understand. Firsthand.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Are they alive?”

“I don’t know.” He raises his head. “I left to find them.”

Jesus Christ.

Fine. You get it. Half of you wants to go back too, to find Daeyeol and give him a proper burial instead of being left to rot with flies buzzing over his body. But it’s dangerous. Possibly suicide. There were at least several zombies that Daeyeol didn’t manage to pick off before he had to use his last bullet on himself. You have no way of knowing whether or not there are more.

Daeyeol would tell you to keep going, to forget about his body and just focus on staying alive. If you hadn’t walked back several miles already, you might’ve taken that advice. But you did, and he isn’t here to talk sense into you anymore, isn’t here to be selfless.

And you need to do something, anything, for the friend who gave up so much for you.

You stand brusquely, hold out a hand. “Get up.”

Mystery boy’s eyebrows furrow. He doesn’t take it.

You sigh. “You’re trying to find your sister, right? And her boyfriend? Last time you saw them was in the city?”

He nods. “Yeah?”

“I’m coming with you.” Impatient, you reach down and pull him up. “If you collapse on that leg, at least you’ll have someone to carry you elsewhere.”

Mystery boy looks at you with dubious eyes that make your hackles want to rise. “That can’t be the only reason you’re coming.”

“Caught,” you snap, letting go of his hand. “You’re right, I’m not selfless enough for that. I want to bury my friend, even if it means going on a possible suicide mission. Sue me.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Then, an expression that almost looks like a smile widens his lips. “Doubt there’s a lawyer left in this country to sue you, even if I wanted to.”

He made a joke. He made a joke, and though it wasn’t even that funny, the corners of your lips twitch. “Come on,” you say, starting off so he won’t see it. “Let’s see how much that leg of yours can take before you collapse.”

. . . . .

According to the highway signs, mystery boy makes it another five miles before he needs a break. Though the sun’s gone up and you’re impatient, you give it to him. It’s slightly alarming, really, how far he got with an injured leg, and besides, there are only a couple miles left. In ten minutes, he’s up and you start off again.

Too late and too soon, you arrive at the highway exit that leads to the town where you found mystery boy. The silence between you two grows thicker, heavier with bloody memories as you keep slogging forward, the hot sun beginning to creep up the sky.

“Here,” you finally say, breaking the quiet. You recognize the junction in the streets, the mess of cars and broken glass at the end of this small alleyway between two buildings. “Where did you last see them?”

Mystery boy swallows hard, eyes flicking left and right. “They went into one of the buildings,” he says quietly. “We got attacked and I drew the zombies away so they could…” He trails off.

You really don’t have it in you to imagine what happened. “Which building?”

He points a glass-walled building. Most of the windows seem intact, at least on the first floor. Lettering on the glass spells out CAFETERIA. “I think it was that one.”

Well. At least you might be able to find some food or water. Assuming you don’t get killed.

“Watch my back” is all you say before entering the empty square.

Bodies litter the ground, mostly pale-skinned with tiny pupils and black veins. Dried blood powders the bottom of your shoes as you walk forward, gun at the ready.

You almost step on another gun. A very familiar one. Which means…

Bile rises in your throat as a mop of brown hair enters your periphery. You have to force yourself not to look that way, not to stare at the pool of blood that you know is his, not to follow the red stains until you see the body, the shell of Lee Daeyeol, your best friend basically since birth –

Your head snaps away and you take a deep, shuddering breath. Mystery boy has stopped walking too, staring at the empty bus where he was stranded less than a day ago.

“Come on.” Your whisper is a little harsh, but he jerks his gaze away and nods, following you over blood and glass towards the building.

And immediately you back away as the faint but sickening sound of groans fills your ears.

Behind you, mystery boy looks stricken. You understand. If there are zombies in the building, they could very well have caught his sister and her boyfriend already.

“Your call,” you whisper, back to hiding behind a wall. You can’t see any zombies in the cafeteria area, but the faint sounds indicate they’re deeper in the building. “You still want to find them?”

Dark eyes take in the scene. Mystery boy’s jaw sets. “You don’t have to come.”

He’s right. You don’t have to. You could just drag Daeyeol’s body away and find somewhere to bury it and ignore this boy whose name you still don’t know.

But it’s Daeyeol’s life he’s living on. And what the fuck was the point of Daeyeol dying if mystery boy only lived one more day than he would have?

“I walked ten miles to get here, and you’re living on Daeyeol’s time,” you reply, flicking the safety off your gun. Eighteen bullets. Each one needs to count. “What would be the point if you only managed to live one day extra?”

Something curdles in mystery boy’s gaze, but he nods. “We should see if we can figure out where the zombies are,” he says. “Better if we avoid them. Or are at least ready to face them.”

You can’t argue with that. So you carefully follow him around the building, slowly, quietly. No one pops out, but the groaning grows louder as you approach the left side. “Right,” you mutter, jerking your head in that direction. Wordlessly, mystery boy follows your steps.

A locked door, easily picked, seems to lead underground. The emergency lights are miraculously still on – if there’s a generator and it runs on gas, you might be able to siphon some off and hotwire a car, which you note – but they make an eerie glow against peeling paint as you walk deeper into the building.

Every sound echoes on the walls. You try to muffle your footsteps but the echoes don’t die, only soften slightly and not nearly enough to stop you from wanting to bolt with every sound. Behind you, mystery boy’s breath has grown slightly harsher, more labored. His leg can’t be doing well. If you keep walking down these stairs, it’s only going to get worse.

But this was what he wanted. And from the look in his eyes outside, you’re pretty sure he’d rather die than try to run.

The staircase finally ends, leaving a smooth pathway to walk on. You pause for a moment to see if mystery boy wants a break, but he keeps moving forward, even though he’s almost hugging the walls at this point. You fall behind – you’re in more shape to keep watch than he is, anyway – and then you hear the groans.

Mystery boy stops. You swallow. “Let me in front,” you say, edging forward. “I have the weapon and I’m uninjured. Watch my back.”

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t say you two should just leave like you kind of want him to. So you keep walking through the eerie glow, groans filling your ears as the pathway opens into a large, empty room. Several machines line the walls with various warning signs, cables running over the floor. But that isn’t what catches your attention, what elicits the gasp from mystery boy’s throat.

At the far end of the room, two zombies are tied to a machine, rubber cables around their ankles keeping them from lunging across the floor. One has short white hair, a boy. The other, with long, dark hair, is a girl. They look like they tied themselves standing up, but since then, they’ve fallen to the floor. Snarling mouths and shrunken pupils fixate in your direction.

Mystery boy collapses against the wall. Wide eyes fill with shock, with fear, with loathing and self-hatred and despair as he stares at the groaning girl and boy, gaze unable to leave them.

Sister and boyfriend. You don’t know who turned first, but at least one had enough sense to tie their legs up before they fully transformed. Your chest tightens, bile rising in your throat as they struggle to crawl across the floor, trying to get to flesh, human flesh –

A loud, scraping noise sounds as the machine keeping the boy in place groans, the boy himself trying to scrabble forward on clawing hands. You whip your gun around, training it on his head.

“Don’t shoot.”

It’s barely a whisper, but mystery boy’s voice keeps you from pulling the trigger. You look at him, one eye still focused on the scrabbling zombie. “You want to just leave them?” you ask, unable to keep the incredulity out of your words.

Anger flashes in his eyes as he stands. “You try killing someone close to you,” he snaps. A tear slides down his cheek.

He’s upset. He’s scared. He’s desperate and horrified and probably still can’t process everything right now. That knowledge alone keeps you from screaming about Daeyeol and how he’s dead and how this boy right here killed him with his inability to keep the zombies at bay.

A groaning screech. Both of you jump. The girl’s machine squeals against the wall as she tugs, whitened arms outstretched toward your bodies.

You raise your gun again. “You have one minute to make the call,” you say, words shaking with grief and anger even as you try to steady your voice. “I can leave them here and go. Or I can put them both out of this misery and we can carry their bodies out and we’ll bury them with Daeyeol.” Your finger twitches on the trigger, but you don’t pull. “Unless you have good aim and want to do it yourself, but it’s easier for someone unattached. One minute and I make the decision. You know which one I’ll pick.”

Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven…

Mystery boy doesn’t say a word.

Forty-four, forty-three, forty-two…

You grit your teeth. “Thirty seconds.”

Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, nineteen…

“Ten seconds.”

Nine, eight, seven, six…

Cracked, broken words spill from equally broken lips. “Do it.”

You take a breath. Pull the trigger.

Bang. Bang.

The groaning stops, two silent bodies slumped on the floor. You lower the gun, two fewer bullets in the chamber. Blood oozes onto the ground.

You don’t look at mystery boy as you step forward, flicking the safety back on the gun. “Help me carry them out before other zombies find us.”

. . . . .

Blind luck leads you safely out of the building and back into harsh sunshine. Blinking against the bright light, you heave the boyfriend’s deathly white body into the open air. Mystery boy follows behind with his sister.

His sister. You swallow down the bile stinging your throat. If it hurts as much as Daeyeol’s death did…

There’s no tell-tale sound of groaning as you heave the two bodies into the square, careful to keep the mouths turned away from your skin. You look around instinctively, blinking sunspots out of your eyes as you look around for silent zombies, lurkers that might have escaped your ears.

Instead, your gaze lands on Daeyeol, his brown hair, the dried blood pooled around his head. His gun lies next to an outstretched hand. A few bugs buzz around, but he hasn’t been dead quite long enough for them to have fully taken over.

And his eyes are still open.

Oh, hell…

You swallow hard, blinking back tears as your nonexistent breakfast threatens to leave your lips. Don’t lose yourself. Don’t lose your mind.

As if on autopilot, you lay down the boyfriend’s body, enough sense left to use some care. Your feet take you to the dried blood, to the gun on the ground, to Daeyeol’s empty husk of a body, face a bit paler than you remembered, veins darker than you would have liked. Or maybe it’s just in your head – not enough time passed before he shot himself to make even a quarter of the full transition. None of that should be visible.

It’s better. It’s better. It’s better this way, you repeat over and over as you kneel down. At least you died before you turned.

Batting away bugs with one hand, you reach out trembling fingers to rest on his blood-stained hair, carefully avoiding the bullet hole in the side of his head. It’s longer than you remembered. Either he didn’t cut it as short as you originally thought or he’s shrunken in death and it just looks longer.

Death.

Dead.

He’s dead.

He’ll never wake up again.

Your fingers tighten in his hair even as the reminder of death flips your stomach. You card through the brown mop once, twice, trying to mimic the way you used to when he sometimes got sick as a kid and you would keep him company. Your hands move in practiced motions, slowly, smoothly, but it feels unnatural even though your muscles remember how to move. Maybe because Daeyeol’s scalp isn’t warm beneath your fingers, maybe because he doesn’t shift and sigh in relaxation and tell you he feels better already.

Tears burn in your eyes. Too bad you couldn’t have done it in his last moments. Couldn’t have given him the slightest bit of comfort after he had to turn the gun on himself for your stupid safety.

I’m sorry.

One tear escapes and rolls down your face. A lump rises in your throat and you swallow painfully hard, blinking fast to release the tears and calm yourself. Your fingers shake uncontrollably as you drop them from his hair, tracing down Daeyeol’s cold skin to slide his eyelids shut, one after another. You shiver when you let go. The sun lends a bit of warmth to his face, but it can’t fully chase away the chill of death.

You close your eyes. Take a breath. Hair flecked with blood and bits of brain stains the backs of your eyelids.

It’s okay.

You’re okay.

But Daeyeol isn’t.

Shoving away that traitorous thought, you stand unsteadily and turn back to mystery boy, who looks about as good as you feel. He doesn’t stare back, only keeps his eyes fixed on the two bodies laid out in front of him, face ashen and tears running down his skin. At some point during your little grieving session, he also knelt down beside the bodies, brushed their hair out of their faces and closed their staring eyes. You almost say something about getting up and moving on, but his expression and the tears racing down his face silence your voice.

You just shot his sister and her boyfriend, two people he clearly held dear. Even if they were essentially dead anyway, it wouldn’t – still won’t – be easy for him.

And you were kind of callous about it, too. One minute to make a decision, one minute before you made it yourself, one minute to decide whether or not to kill his zombified sister and her boyfriend…

Your eyes lower as shame burns in your chest. You go to turn away but Daeyeol’s body is right there and you have to turn back but then mystery boy is on the other side –

With a shuddering sigh, you sink into a crouch, hands over your eyes. You don’t speak, even though you can now feel mystery boy’s gaze on you, sharp, probing, probably hateful and angry and for good reason. You don’t look back. He’ll turn away soon enough, to go back and grieve for the people you forced him to let you kill.

The least you can do is give him some time for that.

. . . . .

A small, abandoned house in the town provides welcome shelter after burying the bodies in sweltering heat. Not even a few bloodstains on the floor and door deter you. Your hands are still caked with dirt and runny blisters from digging in the only soft ground you could find, an overgrown green park, but you don’t have enough water to justify washing them off. Instead, you find a towel hanging in the bathroom and pat most of the dirt clean. The white cloth comes away streaked brown and red.

In the empty living room, mystery boy lies on the couch, injured leg outstretched over the cushions. His gaze is blank, unseeing until you extend your half-empty bottle of water in his direction. Wordlessly, he grasps it. Takes a few swallows. Hands it back.

Two gulps of water soothe the sandpaper feeling in your throat while half a granola bar stops the grumbling in your stomach. You put the other half on the coffee table next to him and leave the room to look for anything useful. When you return, a box of band-aids in one hand and several towels hung over your arm, it’s gone.

You go back to work on your hands. Silence stretches. When you finish, you turn to him. He doesn’t look back for a good few minutes, but when he realizes you’re looking at him, he meets your gaze with blank eyes.

You motion to his palms, hold up the box of band-aids. Words would explain your purpose more comprehensively, but they stick in your throat. It doesn’t feel right, speaking.

His eyebrows relax and slowly, he reaches out his hands. You clean them probably with more care than you gave your own, even pouring out a tiny capful of water to soothe some of the larger blisters. The Hello Kitty band-aids you found in the bathroom cabinet look comical against his skin and yours, but nothing really makes you feel like laughing. Not now.

Silence stretches into the afternoon and then into evening. Taking advantage of what natural light you have, you walk around the house some more. Several clean sheets makes their way into your bag along with the box of band-aids. A few bottles of water are still in the kitchen, as is a box of stale crackers. You debate whether or not to open those – you need food, but crackers are dehydrating, and you can’t tell if they’ve gone bad – before stuffing them in your bag anyway.

At some point, you hear muffled crying behind the walls. You crouch down, hold your hands over your ears – you can’t leave the kitchen until it stops but it doesn’t stop, just keeps going on and on and on and you want to scream, it hurts, it hurts –

The sobs finally stop. It takes at least five minutes for you to stand up on shaking legs and another five for you to work up the courage to walk back into the living room.  

Mystery boy hasn’t moved an inch since you fixed up his hands. He shifts when you come back in, though, bag on your arm. His eyebrow raises over reddened eyes. “You’re not going to be an idiot, are you?”

It takes several seconds to register the insult, you’re so surprised he even spoke. “Sorry?”

“You called me an idiot for walking out in the dark.” He shifts again, pulling himself into more of a sitting position against the armrest. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to do the same.”

Oh, how the tables have turned.

“Uh.” You look at the bag, the weight hanging heavy off your arm. “No. I was… I was just seeing if I could find anything.”

Something relaxes in his expression. It makes you frown. “Are you planning to leave?” you ask. The weight of your bag feels even heavier as you shift from leg to leg, waiting for a reply. “In the morning, I mean.”

Silence. Then –

“I don’t have anywhere to go.”

His words are soft. Airy. Sad, desolate, but more like a sudden thought than the dark realization they really are.

You flinch anyway. Even if he doesn’t purposely hide knives or needles in his words, you can feel the unconscious ones nonetheless.

You’re the person who killed his last family. You’re the one who left him alone.

You’re the one who caused this.

“Oh,” you say lamely. Your bag slides down your arm, almost dropping to the floor before you catch it tight in one hand. The strap digs into your skin, stinging the cuts beneath pink Hello Kitty band-aids.

He looks at you. “Where are you planning to go?”

You swallow. It feels like a slap in his face to even say it, to show the thread of hope that you have but that he doesn’t. “Home,” you get out. “My mother.”

Another eyebrow raises to meet the first, though he turns away before you can see the resulting expression on his face. “She’s still alive?”

That makes you flinch again, though this time it’s at the possibility that she isn’t alive, that you’ve gone all this way and lost Daeyeol for nothing. “I don’t know,” you reply, voice barely a whisper. “But… before everything…” You swallow. “I told her to wait. And that I’d come and find her.”

“Must be nice, having a purpose in life.”

You brace yourself, waiting for the words to hit and cut through flesh and stab your chest. But to your surprise, they don’t.

There’s no resentment in his tone. Muted anger, yes, and grief. But his hunched figure speaks of no blame, no bitterness – at least none for you, not yet. You remain silent for a moment, trying to understand.

The words slip out before you realize you were even thinking them in the first place.

“You can come with me.”

Mystery boy freezes in his position. You can see his muscles tighten, feel the tension radiating from his prone figure on the couch.

You panic.

“I – I mean –” you swallow, trying to explain – “if you want to. And you probably don’t, because of what I did. It won’t mean much, but I’m really sorry. I was rude and callous and I should have realized how hard something like… something like that would be…” You trail off. “But, just… if you want to, you can.”

He stays still. Then the cushions shift as he turns to face you, eyes piercing into yours. Even though you’re the one standing and he’s the one sitting with an injured leg, you feel like you’re the one trapped here. Less power. Less control.

“Why?” he asks, voice suddenly sharp. You flinch. “Isn’t it hard enough just being here, knowing your friend died trying to save me?”

Why, indeed. You have no idea. The words just spilled from your tongue without thought – you didn’t even realize you were thinking them before you spoke. They don’t make sense, like he said. You were at his throat just a day ago. Less than that.

But still, you meant it. You didn’t just say your words as an empty invitation. You meant it.

“It wasn’t your fault,” you whisper. The words sting in your throat but they’re the truth. They’re the truth. “It’s not your fault Daeyeol… not your fault Daeyeol died for you.”

“You don’t sound sure.”

The monster of anger and grief tries to rear its head in your chest, but you’re too tired to give it reign. “It’s true,” you say, staring at the floor. “Even if I still need to convince myself, it’s true.”

Mystery boy opens his mouth again. This time, his words sting less, but they still seem to deepen the cuts on your palms. “Wouldn’t I just be a burden on you with my leg? Especially if you’re trying to get across the country as fast as you can?”

You shift, right leg to left. “It’s what Daeyeol would have offered,” you murmur, voice barely audible. “He would have thought it was the right thing to do.”

It’s true. And as much as you’d like to say otherwise, you think it’s the right thing too. But that isn’t the only reason.

The other reason?

You’re afraid. Afraid of traveling alone. Terrified, even. The mere thought makes you want to hurl on the floor. Setting out with no one to keep quiet company, no one to watch your back, no one to just be there, even silent, no one to keep you from going insane with the thoughts that spin relentlessly in your mind…

Mystery boy’s voice breaks into your spiral. “Is that what you think is the right thing to do?”

Your gaze returns to his, sharp, unyielding. And you nod. “Yes,” you say, because that much is true. You don’t even need to convince yourself of it. “I do.”

Something breaks in his eyes, but not in a shattered glass type of way. It’s more like the snapping of tension, a fear or worry finally dashed away, replaced with relief. He doesn’t smile, not quite, but the room feels a little more comfortable. “Okay.”

You blink. “So… yes?”

He nods.

A little burst of warmth fills your chest, subtle relief pulsing through your body. Like mystery boy, you don’t put on a smile, but if you wanted to, you probably could. “I’m Y/N,” you say quickly, ducking your head. He’ll probably want some peace, but your name is the least you could give him before you start off together to the other side of the country. And if he needs something in the middle of the night, he’ll know what name to call.

You don’t expect him to reply. But as you begin to leave the living room to find another place to sleep, you hear him speak.

“I’m Sungyoon.”

A pause. Then, softer –

“And thank you.”

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for this budding relationship bc god they’re going to need it)