#anyway i am alive still and will be working on replies now so! ty all so much for your patience ;ww;

[aletheialed]

it has been four days and i'm still feeling my last post but you know what other bullshit i'm also back on rn?? making up nonsense about lady baskerville. that's right it's TIME-

[bump1nthen1ght]

I’m Still Hurting (F!Reader/M!Orc)

Pairings: Fem!Reader/Male!Orc

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Angst

Warnings: (Almost) Infidelity

Word Count: 3376 words

Summary: Your boyfriend does something he’d never thought he’d do, and you’re left to try and pick up the pieces.

Request: can I make a request? About an angst story between an m!orc and f!human. I like the idea of like maybe the orc sorta misses being with other orc women or like she can't fulfill his needs and she hears this. I like the idea of almost infidelity

A/N: Surprise bitches! I’m alive! And back with some delicious angst for y’all!! I really loved doing this request, as I don’t often write full on angst. I am also working on a fluffy request  at the moment, if some of you would like some nice comfort after this haha. Hope y’all enjoy!

Honey ❤️: Babe

Honey ❤️: Babe please answer the phone I need to talk to you

Honey ❤️: I know you’re angry, you should be angry, but please talk to me

Honey ❤️: Baby please

“____? Is that my phone?” Brynn yells from the kitchen, already mixing another cocktail for you to down. Her bright red horns peek over the living room divider, bouncing back as she grabs the alcohol from the fridge. Still looking at your bright screen, you don’t even have the energy to respond.

“____?” You throw your phone away as she peaks her head over, giving her a shameful look. Brynn furrows her brow, pulling away from the kitchen island and putting one hand on her hip. “Was that him?” With your eyes darting back and forth from the pillow you shoved your phone under and Brynn’s face, you nod.

“Y-yeah, it was him.”

Brynn sighs, fiddling with her hands.

“Listen, I don’t want to tell you what to do, especially not tonight, but I just think-”

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re right, you’re right.” A jolt hits you as your phone vibrates, the vibrations rumbling through the fabric and stabbing right into your stomach. You force yourself to look away, fiddling with your fingers. Brynn shoots you a pitiful look, you’re sure of it, even as your efuse to meet her gaze. “I shouldn’t talk to him tonight. Not right now, not when I’m like….this.” A slow, tired breath escapes you. “I’ll make him wait, just like he did.”

The coach cushion bends as Brynn sits next to you, rubbing your shoulder as she leans in for a side each. You accept it, your body like a deadweight as you let yourself go slack in her arms.

“Do you want anything? Chocolate, maybe a movie? I’ve got some leftover cheesecake?”

“A movie sounds nice.” You murmur, nodding against her chest. Brynn hums, her tail coming up and massaging your lower back as she kisses you on the forward.

“Of course, your choice. Do you want me to get your drink?”

You nod once more, letting Brynn untangle herself from the hug and laying back on the couch, grabbing the comfiest blanket and the remote. You quickly flick through you and Brynn’s ‘most watched’ section on Netflix. You need something new tonight, something to get your mind off.

All your regular comfort movies are romances, after all.

By the time Brynn comes back, a rum and coke and a carton of ice cream in hand, you’re already snuggled into a blanket burrito. She hands you a spoon and the glass, which you wordlessly accept. She sits down and throws a hand over your shoulder, trying her best to massage the left over tension in your neck. You sink into the feeling, pressing on your movie of choice.

“Mad Max: Fury Road, huh? I’ve heard this movie’s great.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, “It is.”

And chocked full of shitty men getting what they deserve.

As the opening title plays, the deep voice of Tom Hardy kicking the movie off, you snuggle into Brynn’s side. Your phone buzzes again, but it’s drowned out by screaming men and loud engines. Just how you like it.

Honey ❤️: Could you call me in the morning?

Honey ❤️: I’ll leave you alone for the night, I’m sorry

Honey ❤️: I love you

--------

Waruck sighs, his fingers shaking as another small ‘message delivered’ shows up on his screen. No response, just like the last 15 texts. He finds himself typing out another anyway.

I love you so fucking much

It reads, but is quickly deleted. Waruck clicks off his phone, but it stays in his hand, taunting him. The black mirror shows a sad, pathetic boyfriend, getting the silent treatment.

He falls back onto his bed, exhausted from a day of doing nothing. Nothing but worrying and feeling guilty, with the occasional flicking through TV channels and texting his girlfriend.

It’s getting late, his bedside clock cutting through the dark of his room to remind him he’s been up for almost 16 hours now. Waruck slides a hand through his hair and gets up. He’s going to have to camp out in front of the TV, because he knows he won’t be able to sleep tonight.

Not after what he did.

--------

He had gone out with friends. Friends from highschool who he still occasionally chatted with, friends he didn’t even really like anymore. But the past two weeks had him feeling oddly...nostalgic, like something was out of place. So when his buddy Simon had invited him to the bar, he had eagerly accepted.

He remembers grabbing his coat, you sending him a text to have fun, and him not replying. He didn’t know why he didn’t respond, he still doesn’t. The two of you had been going strong for almost 8 months now, with only the occasional hiccup that most couples have. So why didn’t he respond? What made him casually throw your sweet remark to the side like that?

Waruck shakes his head, trying to focus on the movie in front of him. Now isn’t the time to get existential over tiny shit like that, not with how the rest of the night went.

When he met up with the group, Waruck immediately knew that tonight was going to be different. His current group of friends are quite different, less rowdy, than his old posse. At only 10 PM, three of the guys we’re already halfway drunk, saving a spot in line from him outside the noisy bar. The electronic music that thrummed through the concrete and out onto the street reminded him of how much time has passed, how different his usual party-scene is now, and he revels in that feeling of former good-times.

Simon greets him with a hug, the guys shouting his name as he joins them. From the corner of his eye, he sees a gaggle of girls giggling.

And that's where it started.

An orc woman, dressed in a beautiful black dress, winks as she passes him at the bar. Simon nudges his side as Waruck takes a drink.

“Dude, that chick is totally sending you the look”

Waruck furrows his brow, stirring his drink.

“What’s ‘the look’?” He says, taking another sip of his scotch.

Simon rolls his eyes. “The ‘come hit on me’ look dude! That’s the sign you need to go for it!”

“I have a girlfriend, Simon.”

Simon scoffs, throwing his hand out dramatically. “What, that human chick?”

Waruck has half of mind to set down his drink and ask Simon what he means with that sarcastic tone of voice. It pisses him off, but he says nothing, just rolls his eyes.

“No offense, bro, she looks cute and all. But is she really worth missing out on some great ass?”

Waruck grimaces and shoots Simon a dirty look. “Jesus, Simon, are you serious?”

“I’m serious! When was the last time you had fun, y’know? Everyone knows an orc chick can throw down, wild-style.” Simon nudges him in his side, playfully, but it only serves to make Waruck more annoyed. “C’mon, you seriously don’t miss it?”

Waruck should tell him a firm ‘No’, finish his drink, and leave. He should call a cab and go home, call you and rant about his gross misogynistic friend from high school.

But he doesn’t.

The part of him, the part of him that feels slightly off, wonders if this is it. It had been a long time since he had been with another orc. You were a great girlfriend, but so different from in so many ways. Is that it?

Maybe relieving the old days will satisfy whatever longing he has, and then it will leave forever. Would that be so bad, to let loose for one night?

Waruck feels a tap on his shoulder, and turns to see the orc girl from earlier; The one who sent him ‘the look’.

“Hey handsome, can I buy you a drink?”

Between the boosted bass of the music and the orc woman pressing up against him, Waruck doesn’t notice Simon slip away, giving him a pat on the back.

Leave, say no, tell her she’s got the wrong guy, you fucking idiot. His consciousness yells.

“U-uh, sure.” He stutters.

She introduces herself as Naz and says she noticed him the minute he walked in.

“Hard not to notice the best-dressed guy in the room.” She flirts, pressing herself closer and up against him.

He has a thousand little moments like that, to say something; To pull back and apologize, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he slips into a corner booth with her, purposely ignoring the texts you send to check up on him. You had remembered that he wasn’t sure how much fun this night would be, and routinely checked in if he needed a convenient excuse to leave early. You’re sweet like that.

Naz is sweet too. She's a great conversationalist, with a good head on her shoulders and an interesting career in zoology. Waruck could see the two of you being good friends.

Is that why she seems so alluring? Because she���s so similar to you? Waruck’s mind does mental gymnastics to try and justify his hesitance, his compliance in believing that maybe she has something different after all, even though he knows that isn’t true.

The two of them talk for a solid hour and a half, Naz slowly inching herself closer and putting a hand on his knee. His body screams in resistance, his stomach tying up into knots, but he doesn’t push her away.

“So, I’ve got a room not too far from here. What do you say we go make ourselves a bit more comfortable?”

This is his final chance to find an excuse and say goodnight. To run back home and forget this ever happened. But the words are caught in his throat and he’s further silenced by the nearby whooping of his asshole friends.

“Yeah, Waruck! Get some!”

Naz chuckles and mistakenly reads his seething anger at himself with embarrassment for his friends. She leans in, grabbing his jaw, and whispers.

“Let's give them a show, huh?” Then, she kisses him.

The noises of the bar, his friends, and Naz all drown away as her lips mold into his. Waruck’s body goes rigid, terrified as time seems to freeze as he kisses someone who is not his girlfriend.

But all of that stops when your ringtone begins to blast in his pocket. It should be near silent when compared to the pounding bar music, but that familiar jingle seems to cut deep into his skin and skewer his heart. Waruck pulls away with a quick jerk, Naz almost falling over as he pushes himself into his seat and away from her body-heat. Every nerve is a light with tension as he quickly pulls out his phone.

There on the screen is a picture of you, your contact name, “Sweetie❤️”, shining through the dimmed light of that bar. Waruck breathes heavily, feeling like he’s just run an emotional marathon, stuck in his own head until Naz slides away from him.

“Wait, hold on, do you have a girlfriend?”

Waruck looks at her, then looks at his still-ringing phone, then back to Naz. He nods.

Naz's face curls up into obvious disgust, quickly directing her body to be as far away from him as possible. “Fucking hell, dude. What the fuck?” She grabs her handbag and stomps out of the booth, not before throwing her drink in his face and telling him to go to hell.

He almost watches her move across the bar, most likely to go complain to her friends about the asshole she just wasted the last 2 hours chatting up, but all he can focus on is your picture on his phone.

--------

Waruck practically runs out of the bar, his whole body covered in sweat and his mind racing a mile a minute.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He felt like a 15 year old, goaded into another shitty prank just because he wanted to look cool in front of his friends, buying into their weird bullshit about humans. Was he seriously going to throw away your wonderful relationship over one night, over one urge?

Naz had been strikingly beautiful, in all the ways he was taught an orc like himself should look for. She could probably get any guy in that club tonight, but she wasn’t you. You’re different, but in so many cool, inconsequential, uniquely-you ways.

Waruck doesn’t know how long he walks before he sits down outside a cafe, trying to collect his racing emotions. He feels gross, sticky with the kind of sweat you only get after too much alcohol and too many people. The screen of his phone seems to reflect every smudge and finger-print as he swipes it to unlock it, finally getting the courage to read your text messages.

They start off normal, spread out over several hours. The occasional “How are the guys?” and “Hope you are having fun! Just let me know when you get home safe.” before dropping off into nothing. Right up until 20 minutes ago, where you send a short and curt text that has his heart dropping to his stomach.

Sweetie❤️: Can you call me right now?

Sweetie❤️: Waruck, I need to talk to you

Sweetie❤️: Are you still at the bar?

After that is a notification of your missed call from earlier and Waruck can’t help but feel  guilt stir in his gut.

It could be nothing, something unrelated to what he almost did tonight. But the notification he gets from his Instagram says otherwise. It says a mutual of his tagged him in a photo 30 minutes ago.

Waruck feels like vomiting when he opens up Simon’s story and sees a shaky picture of Naz, draped over him in the corner booth, with him looking all too happy to have her there. The caption reads

“At least someone’s getting lucky tonight 🤣🤣 #BoysNight20XX”

But what comes next is even worse; An even blurrier photo of Naz kissing him, both of their eyes closed as she almost sits in his lap.

Waruck can’t even look at the caption, quickly exiting out of the app and calling you.

He needs to explain himself.

But what will he say?

The phone rings, rings, rings….

Waruck waits with bated breath, thinking you’re going to let it go to voicemail, but you answer. There is no cheerful “Hi Babe” or even a tired and drawn-out “Hey.” Instead all Waruck hears is a shaky sigh, waiting for an explanation.

The words stay caught in Warucks throat, trying to find a way to maneuver and swing around to a solid excuse, a lie he hopes you won’t catch.

But he can’t, he can’t. Not to you.

So you make it easy for him, like you always do, and start the conversation off instead.

“Were you flirting with that girl?”

Waruck’s mind doesn’t give him a choice, the truth already spilling out like a tidal wave.

“Yes.”

Waruck hears you suck in a breath, before you shakily ask once more,

“Did you kiss her? Did you kiss her back?”

“Yes.”

There's 15 seconds of brutal silence as Waruck sits with his confession. In the moment, Waruck feels like he can hear your pounding heartbeat through the receiver.

You hang up.

---------

You hate the weather outside for two reasons.

One: You had far too much rum last night to enjoy any amount of sunlight. And,

Two: On a terrible morning like this one, it feels unfair that there aren't any dramatic thunder storms.

The bell rings on the cafe door as you walk in, causing you to wince as you pull down your sunglasses.

Thank god for the low lighting of these cafes.

You rub your brow, eyes scanning the menu above the bar. Some caffeine should do you good, at least with your headache.

But when you spot him, tucked away at a table, tapping his foot, all that aching pain seems to fall to your subconscious. Before you can meet eyes, you look away, forcing yourself to re-read the menu and blink away your tears.

You face the inevitable when you put in your order, turning to walk towards Waruck. He’s locked his gaze into the wood grain of the table, his large body hunched up and small, like he wants to sink into the shadows. He looks like shit, with large bags under his eyes and a nervous tension in his face.

He startles when you pull out a chair, sitting down across from him, but quickly curls back into his ball of shame. He looks so guilty, a small part of you wants to comfort him and tell him it’ll be alright.

You punch away that part of you with a baseball bat.

“Why did you flirt with her?”

Waruck says nothing. He looks at you with his tired eyes, big and racked with guilt.

I don’t know. They whisper.

Your fingers dig into your jeans, anger boiling up and through your nerves.

That’s not a good enough answer.

“Were you,” You suck in a breath, trying to control your volume, “Were you going to sleep with her? If I hadn’t called you, would you have-”

“No!” Waruck nearly shouts, shaking the table as his knees bang against the bottom, but he recoils once he sees the way you flinch. “No, I wasn’t going to.”

Those pesky tears press against your eyelids once more. You can feel your nails digging indents into your thighs.

“I don’t know if  I can believe that.” You whisper, failing to catch the crack in your voice.

Waruck’s brow furrows as he nervously chews his bottom lip. He tries to meet your gaze, but you seem to look right through him.

“I know.” Waruck sighs, bringing his hand up to rub the back of his neck.

There's a tenuous silence; Waruck tries to find the words to fix things  while you focus on the details of the cafe walls, examining every nook and cranny as you try not to sob.

“I-I understand if you don’t trust me. I understand if you hate me, or you want to break up. But please, please know that I love you, and that I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you. I’ve been kicking myself over flirting with that girl because I love you so fucking much. I-”

You hold up your hand, stopping Waruck in his tracks. He realizes how loud he’s been talking and that people are beginning to stare. He huddles back into his corner, tucking his hands into his lap. You let out a long breath. Waruck takes the risk and looks up.

When his eyes finally meet yours, he realizes just how sad you look. A treacherous tear has begun falling down your cheek, sending a lightning bolt of remorse into Waruck’s chest.

You take in another deep breath, wiping away the tear with the back of your hand. You look at Waruck, exhausted.

“I don’t,”  You falter, but catch yourself, “I don’t want to break up with you. I just don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you yet.”

Waruck nods, fiddling with his fingers.

“Of course, I get it-”

“I’m not done.” Waruck quickly shuts his mouth. “You hurt me, Waruck. Hurt me in a way I don’t think I’ll ever forget. So I need time. Time before I can even see you again without thinking,” You hiccup, but this time you let the wave of emotion hit you, full force.  “Without thinking about that night.”

A lady calls out your order, but neither of you makes a move. You sit in each other's presence, trying to wrap yourselves around the mess of emotions, trying to read the others mind without seeming too obvious.

You both sit here, in the presence of something that's been broken, damaged in a way that’s cut the heart of your chest and slams them on the table. There’s a crack that runs down between you two, inching open more and more with each breath.

But somehow, somehow, you both think you have a chance of fixing it.

[laurentspup]

Hey um….imma need you to pls continue that fic concept you had about Damen being a single father and that baby thinking Laurent is Jokaste and they spend the day at the theme park and then Damen asks him out on a date at the end of the day—-ITS SO GOOD

I beg ye 😭🙏🏼🍑♥️

oohh anon i am planning to write that fic in the future!! hopefully during thanksgiving break because i have a week off my school and job T-T so i wanna take a crack at thus fic bcs it’s running in my mind right now calling me mama like the toddler with laurent hehe c:

here’s a few more bullet points about it tho!!!

- the toddler ((i’m thinking right now might change still)) is a baby girl and i might have used “he” in the original post bcs i change my mind all the time and i just decided that i want the idea of damen tying his daughter’s hair in pigtails or braids, wearing princess dresses with her, and having tea parties with her so yeah she’s a girl for now. he would still definitely do this with his son if his son wanted but imagine damen as a girl dad!!

- also please imagine laurent and damen and the baby waiting in the princess line because this theme park has princess lines and honestly it’s disneyland. they’re at disneyland

- damen and laurent and the toddler with MATCHING MICKEY EARS T-T

- laurent is the sweetest, kindest, greatest man in this fic. no past abuse nothing!! he was loved and pampered by hennike and auguste and aleron like he deserved. and he got to grow up sweet and bookish and still witty and bitchy c:

- with that said, he definitely judged damen tho for being negligent with his child, but when he saw the untied shoelaces and this dad with two bags running after his child all worried, he couldn’t help but think oh no he’s not negligent he’s just a stressed single dad 

- one of the replies said bcs damen has untied shoelaces, he faceplants in front of laurent AND I DEFINITELY AGREE WITH THAT HE SHOULD FALL FOR LAURENT LITERALLY THAT IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE TROPES so thank you for the person who replied with that idea!!!!

- damen brought a stroller but his baby girl hates riding it, so he parked it somewhere and he’s lugging around a backpack and a baby bag. and bcs laurent sees this, he insists to carry the toddler the whole day they’re together because the toddler won’t let him go anyway and refuses to come back to damen haha. still, damen keeps telling laurent if he’s tired just let the baby walk or ride in the stroller or let him carry her but laurent is 100% a-ok with carrying the baby bcs he’s a softie and the baby doesnt wanna let him go even after they explained laurent is not her mom, she still LOVES HIM!!!!

- and not just the baby, even auguste’s three children (plus nicaise he’s alive too!!!) LOVES laurent who’s the cool and fun uncle but they make fun of him for hating the adrenaline inducing rides. but still they enjoy his company and this is a fic where everybody loves laurent i am making it law.

- lil side not about jokast and damen’s relationship: the baby misses jokaste very much but she’s been gone for a month for her work which includes traveling a lot. she and damen are friends still and the reason damen has full custody is bcs jokaste doesn’t want that responsibility yet and loves her job too much and all the opportunities and damen’s like, go live your dreams. my dream is this baby now. so u know?????? T-T

- okay back to the theme park, the whole day damen and laurent and baby ride the chill rides like teacup (half chill, laurent hates it so does the baby but damen is laughing the whole time. baby pukes on damen tho, not laurent. laurent laughs then.)

- then they ride the boat rides with the sceneries like storybook land. and laurent is pointing the cute little houses to the baby girl and telling all sorts of stories and damen is staring at them and taking pictures w/ laurent’s permission and the whole time damen is just thinking “wow i want to marry this man even tho i just met him”

- OF COURSE THERE IS A PARADE AND FIREWORKS!!!!! since damen and laurent and baby have already exhausted all the twelve rides they’re allowed in, they find a good spot and wait there for four hours because that’s how it is in disneyland if you want a good spot gotta reserve it early. that’s when damen and laurent Have A Conversation tho and Fall for each other HARDER !!! all the while laurent is putting the baby to sleep T-T

- damen, even tho it is unsafe and stupid, leaves the baby with laurent to grab them food. and he knows it’s crazy to just leave his baby with this man he’s only met today but like... he’s given laurent all his heart and trust already he knows his baby is safe with him. okay and also bcs theyre in his line of sight when he bought the food bcs you know i still want him to be rational lol

- anyway auguste and family join them later during the parade and gets introduced to damen and he gives laurent the Look because DAMEN IS LAURENT’S TYPE TOO OKAY and laurent is like shut up i am here for the baby but is he really hmm

- so the parade and fireworks start AND WHEN I TELL YOU THE WHOLE TIME DAMEN IS JUST WATCHING LAURENT AND HIS DAUGHTER INSTEAD OF THE SPECTACULAR SHOW BECAUSE FOR DAMEN THEY ARE THE VIEW !!!!!!!!!

- and that whole time the mulan scene is in damen’s mind you know the “do you want to stay for dinner/do you want to stay forever” yeah he’s fallen Bad

- the fireworks end, auguste and fam and laurent actually invite damen for dinner first and they all eat together. and the tired baby girl sleeps in laurent’s arms so it was easy for damen to take her back so they can go home with less tears. and this is when damen gets laurent’s number and asks him to a dinner. again. in the future.

- and laurent agrees. 

- this might be a two part series or three but this is all i have for now aaaahhhh

hope you like this. and i know maybe if i just started the draft now i wouldve been done already but LOL 

[terrm9]

Shattered

Words count: 5 200

!!! WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH; DEATH; FUNERAL; TRAUMA; ALCOHOL CONSUMING; SUICIDAL THOUGHTS; MENTIONS OF ILLNESS

seriously guys this is very very very dark and angsty, there is no glimpse of anything else.

Author’s note: okay, the angsty fic is here. PLEASE, read the warnings and consider if you want to read it. I would hate to cause some triggering feelings in anyone, so please if you are not sure, DO NOT READ. The story will not be relevant for any other of my fics, it is really just angsty one-shot that I needed to write and will not be mentioned ever again. You won’t miss anything important because my other fics will be pure fluff again - there is a fluffy fic about Ramsey family coming where they are all happy and healthy and very much alive. (for more notes, see the end of the story)

„You are overreacting, babe,“ Chiara chuckled and wrapped herself tighter into the sheets.

„You literally just called me ‚babe‘,“ Ethan rolled his eyes. „I have every reason to be overreacting.“

Chiara laughed – or she tried to laugh, the sound soon turning into painful groans.

„It’s just the flu, Ethan. Really, I am doctor and a capable one, so stop questioning my judgement on my own flu. It’s flu season after all. It sucks but I’ll be fine in no time.“

Ethan was not as sure, not at all. Her strained voice and burning forehead kept his mind on the edge.

„I promise I’ll let you take me to the hospital if I don’t feel better in the morning,“ Chiara added as she noticed the wrinkle of concern between his brows.

„Okay,“ Ethan nodded relucantly and kissed her cheek softly. „Now, let’s try to get some sleep. And wake me up if you need pills or water or anything.“

Nodding, Chiara shut her eyes and allowed herself to hope that the throbbing headache would disappear by the morning.

Switching the lights off, Ethan took Chiara’s sweaty hand into his a put another gentle kiss on her knuckles.

„I love you,“ he whispered into the dark room, not sure if Chiara heard him.

„I love you more,“ she whispered back, a small smile on her lips.

Ethan chuckled, the fact that Chiara couldn’t resist to play the little competition with him even now giving his mind the peace it so much needed to sleep.

Impossible, he thought before letting the sleep overtake him.

˜

The sharp, bright rays of a sun that has risen long time ago made Ethan stir in the bed. He didn’t even check the clock, his hand already reaching for Chiara – she was the first thing on his mind every morning and this one was no exception.

With his eyes still half closed, he put his palm on her forehead and a relief washed over him at the feeling of cold skin under it.

The fever was gone.

The relief lasted mere seconds, however. Mere seconds until the words ‚cold skin‘ echoed in Ethan’s mind again.

Her skin was cold. Not feverish, not warm and not the way it normally was.

It was cold.

Cold.

Ethan sat up in an instant, the last traces of sleep long gone. He turned his head to see Chiara clearly and the terrifying, dreadful knot formed in his stomach.

Chiara looked as if she was sleeping very deeply.

But Ethan knew better. Ethan knew that Chiara has never been a deep sleeper.

„No,“ he whispered as he kneeled next to her and pulled the sheets of her.

She was pale. Her lips had the unnatural shade of purple. She was not in a deep sleep – her chest wasn’t moving up and down with her every breath. It wasn’t moving at all.

There were no breaths.

Ethan slapped her; slapped her really hard.

Chiara didn't move. The skin on her cheek didn't get flushed by the harsh contact with Ethan's palm.

"What the fuck are you doing, Chiara?" Ethan screamed at her while laying her down on the floor, as gently as ever.

But there was a part of his brain that was starting to fathom the truth, the part that knew exactly what Chiara was doing.

And that there was no need to be gentle with her anymore.

His head was spinning. Years of medicine worth nothing with the hands shaking so hard he couldn’t perform a proper CRP.

Ethan grabbed a phone and realized it was Chiara’s the moment his own face looked back at him from her locked screen.

He wanted to throw it across the room, to break it. But then, does it really matter whose phone do you use when you need to call 911?

He dialed the number, put the phone on a speaker and got back to pumping Chiara’s chest, praying to God he stopped believing in long time ago that any force that made Chiara’s heart stop could make it beat again under his hands.

The morning became a bizzare blur of action, fear and emptiness with Ethan dictating his adress to the phone one moment and sprinting to open the door for the paramedics the second, not giving them a chance to ask questions before he was kneeling next to Chiara’s motionless – lifeless – body.

The shock on all of the paramedics‘ and Dr. Stock’s face at the sigh of Dr. Ramsey in his pajama bottoms and trembling hands and Dr. Ray on the ground was evident – after all, they knew both doctors. They worked with them for years.

The young paramedic man – Ethan felt like his name was Eric, but maybe that was a pure lie his mind made up – pushed Ethan gently aside and started to perform a CRP himself, while Dr. Stock – a man Ethan’s age – asked him many questions.

When did you find her? What happened before? Was it a long time before you called us?

But Ethan couldn’t answer. Ethan didn’t know. Was it an hour or a day? What happened? He had no idea what happened. He wished he knew what happened and he also wished he would never have to find out.

Dr. Stock knelt down next to the young paramedic and with a solemn nod gestured him to stop with the CRP.

He checked Chiara’s pulse, he foricbly opened her eyes and observed them, he gave her feet a light tap.

And then he shook his head softly.

The three paramedics – two younger men and one older woman – shared a look and all of them checked their watches at once.

„8:08 AM,“ one of them spoke quietly and raised his eyebrow, a question for the doctor.

„Write that down for now,“ Dr. Stock nodded and stood up. „The autopsy should tell us more.“

The autopsy. 8.08 AM. They way they stopped with the resurrecting. Stopped with trying.

As if there was no point in trying anymore.

Ethan didn’t quite register everything going on around him. He wanted to throw up. He felt like fainting. Screaming. Knocking and throwing fists.

He hadn’t done any of those.

He kept standing on the spot, frozen and unable to move. He didn’t want their words and their actions to make sense.

"Sir - Dr. Ramsey - we are sorry."

The paramedic put a sympathetic hand on Ethan's shoulder, her eyes concerned. Perhaps it was supposed to bring some steadiness into his breaths, however the result was the opposite.

"I don't need your sorry," he shook her hand down and took two steps back.

The two other paramedics along with Dr. Stock wheeled the stretcher with Chiara’s body on it out of the bedroom, throwing one last glance at Ethan's trembling figure.

"Stop looking like that," he was screaming now. "Stop with the sorry and those looks, there's no need for them, there's no need for them."

His voice was cracking and the little part of his brain that wasn't completely coated in denial whispered 'Please tell me there's no need for them'.

"You are taking her to hospital, right? That's good, that's great," he muttered but noticing the exchange of their worried glances, his rage came back.

"Just STOP! Take her to the hospital, make her feel better! Make this okay!"

The tree men left the room, however the woman remained standing next to him.

„Why are you still here?“ Ethan asked.

„We already informed Chief Banerji, Dr. Ramsey. He asked one of us to stay with you until he arrives here.“

Ethan shrugged and turned away before replying.

„There is no need for that. You can go. Or at least leave the room, I am going to get changed.“

The paramedic didn’t look happy about his command but left the room anyway and Ethan opened his closet to choose a shirt for the day.

What a busy morning, he thought. At least Chiara is in the hospital now. I will be better at taking care for her there.

He almost laughed at the situation. They were supposed to go to the opera tonight and instead, she ended up in a hospital with the flu.

Maybe he could stop at the Derry Roasters and buy her some good coffee. But then, she probably doesn’t have the appetite and it would be just a waste of time.

No, he will go straight to the hospital. She will surely be confused when she wakes up in a hospital bed.

Ethan just finished tying the knot on his tie when the door to the bedroom opened and Naveen stepped in.

His face was grave and his eyes red, as if he was crying recently.

„Ethan,“ he said softly, not entirely sure what kind of reaction was he expecting.

„Naveen,“ Ethan nodded in a greeting. „I am sorry but I won’t even invite you for a coffee. I can’t be late for work.“

„I don’t think you should go to work today, Ethan.“

„I can’t see why not. I want to be there when Chiara wakes up.“

Every single cell in Ethan’s body, every single atom in it denied the truth. The new reality.

Ethan couldn’t admit what was happening and he wasn’t going to.

„Chiara is not going to wake up, Ethan,“ Naveen whispered, his voice broken.

„Oh, she is,“ Ethan laughed shortly, waving his hand in the air. „She has a nasty flu, but now that she is in the hospital, it’s going to be okay. They took her to Edenbrook, right?“

„They took her to Edenbrook’s morgue. Chiara is dead, Ethan.“

The air stopped moving around them.

The clock on the wall stopped ticking.

Neither of the men – the friends – moved for a long moment.

The truth has finally found its way into Ethan’s brain. His cells were not able to deny it any longer.

Dr. Banerji was ready to catch Ethan if he falls. If he faints.

But there was no need to catch him.

Ethan cleared his throat and nodded once again.

„Yes, right. Right. I need to call her mother and let her know. The funeral will probably take place in San Francisco, so we need to take care of the transport of her body.“

Naveen recognized what was happening. He has seen the scenario many times in his career as a doctor. The husbands that lost their wives, the sisters that lost their brothers – the first reaction was not always a breakdown.

Sometimes, the defensive mechanism was a forced rationality.

„I will inform Mrs. Ray. In the name of the hospital.“

„I should do it,“ Ethan replied stubbornly.

He wanted to fight with Naveen. He wanted to tell Diana Ray that her daughter died on his watch.

He wanted to take care of a funeral.

He needed to.

„Let me handle it,“ Naveen insisted.

After a long moment, Ethan agreed.

As he muttered silent ‚alright‘, little did he know that those would be the last word he would say in days.

Naveen left the room and Ethan’s glance fell on the bed.

Their bed. Her bed. The bed she died in.

The bed she died in.

She died.

She died and there was no way to reverse the fact.

It hit him like a wave, a wave one would never believe could be formed in such calm waters.

Dead. Gone.

Ethan fell on his knees and the room was filled with a desperate scream.

His scream, he realized.

It was as if the world as he has known it stopped existing in the moment Ethan’s knees met the floor.

His hands formed into tight fists and he punched the wood once, twice, he kept punching until his knuckled were all bruised and bloody.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Naveen heart broke at the sight in front of him as he opened the bedroom door.

The man he considered son curled up on the floor, screaming and crying and clearly not registering the room around him.

The back of Ethan’s throat was burning from all the screaming and his temples were throbbing from all the crying.

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder and Ethan believed it to be Naveen’s, but how could he be sure?

How could he ever be sure of anything anymore?

How could he be anymore?

The time stopped existing for Ethan after his first breakdown. Whether it was a day or a night, he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

The days became one and they were all coated in a thick fog, precluding Ethan to remember them.

It is as if there was a window in his mind that swallowed the memories of the first days after Chiara’s death, leaving only occasional snippets to torture his mind.

Ethan remembers the moment Chiara’s mother Diana, her sister Alicia and her aunt Livia stepped into his apartment. He remembers not being able to say a word to them and he remembers their gazes – broken and vain.

He remembers how Diana’s gaze is something more even – so, so distant.

She is sedated, Alicia explained to Naveen, who hasn’t left Ethan’s apartment. She kept fainting and her doctor presribed her the strongest pills.

Alicia cries the whole time and Chiara’s aunt Livia bites her lower lip so hard it never stops bleeding.

He remembers how he wanted to say that he was sorry, wanted to explain, but no sound left his mouth.

Ethan doesn’t sleep and doesn’t eat.

He hasn’t even cried since his breakdown. He just stands by the window, hand deep in his pockets and stares out of it – never saying a word to anyone.

Lost in the fog.

He remember the moment Chiara’s autopsy results come with the meningitis as the cause of her death.

The quickest, deadliest form, Naveen tries to explain. There was nothing that could have been done.

Ethan knows that that is a lie.

The hate he feels towards himself grows impossibly bigger at Naveen’s words – of course there was something that could have been done.

He is the best diagnostician in the country and he let his fianceé die while sleeping next to her.

He failed. Himself. Chiara. Chiara’s mother. Everyone and everything.

Chiara mentioned a stiff neck – that was it. That was a clear sign of the illness so how could he overlook it?

Why did he let her persuade him that it was just a fucking flu?

He still doesn’t cry. He grits his teeth and his hands formed in fists – always in fists – cause his nails to break the skin on the palms.

He should get ready for a funeral. They all should leave to San Francisco.

But nobody moves. Nobody is strong enough to make a first move.

That’s when Bryce Lahela walks into Ethan’s apartment, his eyes haunted and sobs leaving his body as he hugs Diana and Alicia.

Ethan remembers what happens next very well.

Most clearly of everything, it seems.

Chiara left this with me some weeks ago, Lahela speaks quietly while pulling an envelope out of his pocket. In case something happens to her.

It’s a letter. A letter Ethan doesn’t want to read but know he needs to.

           My dearest,

now is the right time to use the Hollywood cliché and I am going to do it.

If you are reading this letter it means I am dead.

And I am sorry. I am so very, very sorry because I know I have hurt you all terribly. And that’s something I never wanted to do.

Mom and Alicia – I failed. I��remember how we promised each other that nothing would ever happen to us after dad and Liam died and now I broke my promise. Again, I am sorry. You still have each other – please remember that. And you still have me. Just as you still have dad and Liam. We are with you wherever you go, I promise. You know how much I believe in an afterlife – and with that, I cannot only be sorry for dying, because it also means I finally get to be reunited with them and that makes me happy. Let it make you happy too. Alicia, I am the proudest older sister and I beg you to continue with your life, to find your happiness and to follow your wild heart, just as you always have.

I would also like to ask for a favor – I know that I always wanted to be buried next to my brother. I know you want me to be buried in San Francisco. But Boston is my home now. And Boston is where Ethan is. Me and Ethan, we are forever. In any form. And if I am dead, I want to be resting forever next to him – find me a place in Boston, please. Ask him where he wants me to be buried and bury me there.

I love you both. I love you more than life.

Bryce – thank you. I wish you never had to deliver this letter, but I am eternaly thankful that I have had you to do it. Thank you for being part of my life. You were the brother I lost and you were my constant. No matter how stormy my life got, I knew that somwhere out there, there is my sun, my light Bryce, my safe port I could always run to when things became too much. You deserve all the happiness this world has to provide, Bryce Lahela and never settle for anything less than that. Please, let eveyrone else know how much I loved them – and how sorry I am. Sienna, Jackie, Aurora, Elijah and Rafael – my bestest of friends.

Forgive me for screwing this, Bryce. I know we had plans and I know you were looking forward to the wedding – me too. I love you, surfer boy. Always stay so irresistably amazing.

Oh and I think you really should ask Kyra for that date.

Ethan – my dearest Ethan. My greatest love. My forever. We have both believed in a different future for us, but we were destined for this. I am sorry I left without saying a proper goodbye. I am sorry I left you, period. You know how much I love you, Ethan. And I know how much you love me too – trust me, I do. Don’t torture yourself with regrets of not telling me more. I have always known. I have always felt loved with you and I have always felt happy. Until my last moment, I felt happy because I knew you loved me. I know that no matter what caused my death, you blame yourself for it and I need you to stop with that. Unless you killed me, you are not responsible for my dying.

Ethan Jonah Ramsey, you deserve a lifetime of happiness. I am sorry I ruined that for you, for I know that there is no happiness in your life now. But you still have a lifetime. Lifetime of chances, lifetime of love and friendships and miracles (stop muttering that you don’t believe in those, I know you are doing it now!!!). There are people who love you deeply and unconditionaly and those people will help you. Don’t push them away.

We deserved better. You deserved better, Ethan. We had plans, we had a wedding date, we had a vision of a beautiful future and that has been taken away from you, from us. But I have been part of your life and I am not truly gone as long as you remember me.

Please, never forget that there were five years in your life when you have been loved so deeply and so strongly it didn’t even make sense to the person that loved you sometimes. I will never stop loving you, no matter where I am and where I am not.

You are my greatest love and greatest adventure and I am proud of the man I had the honor of calling mine.

Find your happiness again, Ramsey. Find it and keep it. Love again. Laugh again. Live again.

I am somwhere there, watching you.

I loved you, I love you and I will love you always, Ethan.

 So, that’s it. If someone cares about my last wish, do you think you could arrange for Benedict Cumberbatch to crash my funeral and shout: „She was clever. Clever, yes! She’s cleverer than you lot and she’s dead!“ ? (it’s the scene from S01E01 in Sherlock, you know).

Haha this was a joke but I suppose nobody really laughs at it at the moment. I hope one day you will.

I love you all with my whole heart.

Don’t you fear for me, I am where I am supposed to be.

                                                                              -forever yours, Chiara.

 Ethan reads the letter over and over until he can’t anymore, until his hands are shaking so much he fears he would tear the paper, until his vision is blurry and he cannot read the words anymore.

And then he runs. He runs into to bathroom and throws up, even though he hasn’t eaten in days and there is nothing he could throw up.

He still does.

He coughs and acid that leaves his mouth burns his throat. He throws up and his whole body strains so much it brings tears into his eyes.

First tears after days and they are caused by the vomiting.

Once they are there, however, the first one is followed by another and that by another until Ethan Ramsey is hunched over his toilet seat, vomit and tears falling down.

He doesn’t remember anything after that.

He might’ve fainted and maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. He doesn’t know.

The last thing he remembers until the day of the funeral comes is Harper Emery and her stern gaze as she sits down next to him.

"Take the pills, Ethan. You need to sleep.“

"I need Chiara."

His voice is raspy and speaking for the first time in three days feels unnatural. It makes his thorat sore and takes another remnant of his energy away.

"I understand."

Ethan almost snickers at the absurdity of her statement. Nobody could understand. Because if anybody could comprehend his desire to just wrap his arms around Chiara for one last time, they wouldn't survive the pain that came with it. He doesn't snicker, however. Instead, he whispers.

"No you don't."

"I do," Harper replies firmly and takes a deep breath, deciding to tell Ethan about the man she has never mentioned before, not once in their relationship.

„Michael and I were together for three years. We met while I was in a med school and the flame between us burned almsot immediately. We fell in love and for the first – and the last – time in my life, I felt like I found my true love. But we weren’t meant to last. The relationship was too passionate, too stubborn, too exciting, too much. It became toxic and we had a very rough breakup. I moved on and I knew that we were better off, but there was this part of me that always knew that Michael was the only man I could see my forever with.“

„It was my fifth year at Edenbrook when there was an emergency surgery needed for a motorbike rider and I was the one to perform it. I didn’t need to look twice to recognize Michael – with his face all bloody and bruised and awful, I knew it was him. And I didn’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t let me perform the surgery and I needed to do that. I needed to save him.“

Ethan doesn’t move. He doesn’t even look at Harper – he just keeps staring out of the window. He is surprised but he doesn’t show any emotion.

„I didn’t save him. He died on that table, he died under my hands. For so long I felt like I killed him. I blamed myself, I thought that if someone else did the surgery, they would keep him alive.“

She trailes off and doesn’t give Ethan the answer he needs.

He doesn’t find out is she ever stopped blaming herself.

He doesn’t know if there is a chance that he could ever stop blaming himself.

˜

Ethan doesn’t cry at the funeral.

He is sitting on the front bench in the cathedral, next to Diana, Alicia and Livia.

He doesn’t want to sit there. He doesn’t deserve to sit them.

Can’t they see that it was his fault? That there would be no funeral if he only did his job right?

Alicia cries softly, her lips trembling. Diana, just like Ethan, doesn’t cry – no, she even smiles a little. It is the effect of her sedatives and Ethan knows that she probably won’t even remember the funeral.

Seeing Chiara’s smiling mother hurts more than seeing her crying sister.

The whole ceremony is filled with tears and love. Because everyone loved Chiara and Chiara loved everyone.

And Ethan just sits in his spot, staring at the casket, his gaze never leaving the wood it is made of.

And he doesn’t cry.

He wishes he would. He wishes the tears could get him through the day.

But he doesn’t and there is nothing to get him through the day.

People shake his hand and say their condolences and he keeps nodding and murmuring fake „thank you’s“.

He wishes he could go home, only to realize that there is not a single promise of some kind of peace with returning home.

There is no home for him anymore. There is an apartment. A place to live.

His home is gone. His home is lying in a wooden casket. His home is having ground scatterd all over her.

His home is buried six feet under him.

He is destined to be homeless forever.

˜

Days go by and Ethan doesn’t come back to work – not that anyone expects him to.

His days consist of staring out of the window and sitting next to the toilet in case he needs to vomit again.

People insist on staying with him. Alan and Naveen mostly.

But he doesn’t want their company. He doesn’t want their compassion even.

He wants to be alone and to let his guilt and regrets kill him slowly.

He wants his medical licence removed. He should be charged for killing someone out of negligence.

He doesn’t want to be Ethan Ramsey anymore.

And he always expects Chiara to come back to him. He checks his phone for a message from her. He walks into the living room and it surprises him that there is no stupid movie playing on the TV – the one only Chiara would watch.

He opens the fridge and is shocked when he sees that the Toblerone chocolate is still there – how did Chiara not eat it already?

It is one evening, weeks after the funeral, when Ethan opens a drawer in the bedroom and jolts into Chiara’s  perfume that meets the floor with surprising force and the bottle breaks into dosens of pieces.

The smell – Chiara’s smell – hits him with a force of a train and Ethan stumbles involuntarily at the feeling.

He broke her perfume bottle and it doesn’t matter anymore.

Because Chiara will never use the perfume anymore.

She is not coming back.

She is not coming back.

She is not coming back.

Ethan chokes on his sobs and leaves the room, his decision suddenly thoroughly clear.

There is no world in which he could live if the world is one where Chiara doesn’t live.

He can’t do it.

He can’t stay alive if she is dead.

Grabbing a bottle of scotch, he fills the glass and drinks the liquor in one swing.

Then the second.

Then the third.

There are the sleeping pills Harper has brought him on the counter and Ethan knows.

For the first time in weeks, he has a plan.

The plan that is supposed to be his last one also.

Chiara asked him in the letter to go on with his life. She promised him that there are better days waiting for him.

How could she? She was dead. Dead and gone and indifferent to everything she left behind.

Everyone she left behind.

Ethan Ramsey has always been a rational man. His rules and princlipes leading him through the life, the life that was predictable and safe.

That was until Chiara burst into his life without ever asking and burned his principles to the ground.

That was until Chiara left his life without ever asking.

All he wanted was to die. Ethan never believed in an afterlife and he didn’t believe that killing himself would reunite him with Chiara. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t need to be with Chiara – he just couldn’t handle being without her.

And so he drinks some more.

Suddenly, he sees it. The picture forever burned into his brain.

Diana Ray.

The eyes of a woman who lost her husband, her son and her daughter.

There is a glimpse of rationality after all. And with that part of his brain, Ethan realizes that no matter how much he hurts, Diana Ray hurts more.

He feels like he can’t breathe and he knows that that is how Chiara’s mother feels for every second every day.

He thinks of a mother that lost two of her children and with that, he thinks of his father.

Alan would lose his only child.

And Ethan sees it. Feels it. Knows it.

With his desperate desire to escape the misery surrounding his whole being, he would not only kill himself.

He would kill Alan Ramsey’s child.

The pain he feels would become the pain he caused.

It is the same exact moment the terrible, sobering realization hits him when the heavy crystal glass falls from his hand and shatters on a wooden floor. Ethan follows its trajectory almost identically and with a inhuman sob leaving his throat, his knees hit the floor - and the broken glass.

He can see blood.

The glass is quickly stained by the maroon red and with combination of an artifical light in the kitchen, the most omnious of shadows project on the wood.

There's a lot of blood and even in his state, Ethan knows that it is his own blood. He can see it, he can perceive that his skin has been cut by the sherds. But he doesn't feel it.

There is no physical pain to be felt.

It is as if the pain coming from his core - the pain that doesn't have any visible source - was at such unbearable rate that his body protected him by refusing to let him feel any more.

He could be shot right now and he wouldn't feel anything.

Ethan just wishes he could be shot right now.

He wishes he could vanish, he wishes he could erase the existence of Ethan Ramsey from the universe.

If only it was that easy.

And so with bloody hand, he reaches for his phone and dials his first emergency contact.

„Ethan?“ Alan’s concerned voice responds immediately.

„Dad,“ Ethan gets out of himself, though he is sure Alan hardly understands him thorugh the violent sobs leaving his mouth constantly. „Could you please come here?“

 *** *** ***

so... one thing. The whole meningitis thing being so deadly is not something I made up. It is the very same thing that killed my best friend 7 years ago - he fell asleep with light flu (so everyone thought) and never woke up again.

If Ethan seems out of character here, I am sorry. However I believe that  when one is grieving, there is nothing as out of character. People do really unexpected and weird things while grieving.

This was actually self-indulgent (even though I guess it’s weird to use it like this) - the stages of grief Ethan is going through (denial - weird rationality - breakdown - shutting himself off - not sleeping, eating, talking - unability to express his sorrow at the funeral - more breakdowns - the terrible, terrible moment he realizes she is really never coming back - wishing to die - finding the strength to stay alive...) are my exact stages of my own grief back then. And it was very difficult to write about those and also very healing.

[mdawritings]

Wanna Be Yours: Ch. 11

I.XI

Masterlist

Warnings: Mention of nausea and vomiting, very minor physical violence

Song(s): "Haunted" and "Dear John" by Taylor Swift.

It's late afternoon when you finally manage to haul yourself out of bed. Your head feels like it will explode and you rush to the bathroom, already feeling nauseous. You push the toilet seat lid up and gather your hair in one hand before completely emptying your stomach into the toilet. You haven't eaten anything in hours so you heave and gag painfully for a little before sitting back on the cold, tiled floor.

You stay there for a bit, attempting to recall everything that happened last night. You remember the multitude of shots, you remember the heartbreak of your best friend's absence, you remember Hotch picking you up. Hotch.

You stand up from the floor, looking around the empty bedroom for any sign of him. He was up out of bed pretty early. His clothes from last night are neatly folded at the edge of the bed. You reach for a pair of sweatpants from his floor, pulling them on, tying the string tightly to keep them from falling down.

Your birthday dress is draped over the edge of the chair in the corner. You walk over and pick it up, taking a smell of the fabric and you smell the clean scent of laundry detergent. He washed your dress for you. Your lips turn up in a small grin, picturing Hotch with his sleeves rolled up doing laundry for you. The pounding headache from your hangover is slowly fading at the prospect of finally getting the quality birthday time you want with Hotch.

You look to the side table, seeing a small glass of water, a bottle of ibuprofen, and a small note. You take the pills and down some of the water before reaching for the small folded-up note. You unwrap it to see that familiar handwriting never fails to make you happy, thinking about the man that the handwriting belongs to.

Einstein,

Had to run to the office to get work done. Not sure when I'll be done. Drink some water and get something to eat.

-A.H.

Your heart sinks at the thought of missing out on precious time with him but shove the note into your pocket anyway. You walk down to his kitchen, making yourself a large cup of coffee, pouring another glass of water, and attempt to find something to eat.

You expect that Hotch will be home soon, but even after you've cooked yourself some breakfast, finished eating, and cleaned up all the dishes, he still shows no sign of showing up anytime soon.

So you sit and wait for him. You settle into his couch with a book hoping to pass the time. The sun starts to set and still, no sign of him. You reach into your pocket for your phone, looking for any sign of a message from him, any notification that would tell you why he has been gone all day.

You end up waiting for him for so long that you even consider calling Katie to come to pick you up and take you home. If he didn't want you there why would he bring you back to his apartment last night? He could've just helped Katie take you home to your place, but he didn't. He brought you here. So where the fuck is he?

He doesn't owe you anything, you know that. You know there's no formal agreement between the two of you. However, you'd be lying if you claim it doesn't at least sting a little bit that he won't take advantage of free time to spend with you.

You rack your brain for anything you might've said last night to upset him. You remember crying about Charlie. Could that be it? He knows Charlie is your best friend, you hope he would at least be understanding of that. You close the book in your hands, barely paying attention to it at this point. I can't choose between falling for you and keeping my friendships.

You told him you're falling for him. It's the truth. Every waking moment is consumed by him. Every moment just feels so real. You feel everything with him. Life just feels worth living around him. Being with him makes you feel alive.

You hear the door unlock and open. Your head shoots up and you see Hotch by the door slowly kicking off his shoes and putting away his jacket and keys. When he finally looks at you, you know that something is wrong. His face looks worn and tired. His eyes are a little bloodshot. He sighs, a long dramatic sigh, "You're still here." He doesn't necessarily say it as a question, just a statement of fact.

You're confused. He didn't ask you to leave. His note was very vague, "I didn't know you would be back so late. Your note made it seem like I should stick around."

He nods and walks past you without even really acknowledging your presence, "You feeling better?" He reaches for the mail on the coffee table, sorting through it, giving you no focus.

"Hungover, but overall okay," You untuck your feet from under you, ready to stand up, hoping to garner at least a smidge of attention from him.

"Good. I have a lot of grading to get done," He gives you a quick once over before disappearing into his office.

You're frozen in place. Is he really mad at you for getting too drunk last night? You force yourself to your feet and follow him into his office.

"I'm sorry about last night," You mutter softly, standing in the doorway of Hotch's home office, seeing him hunched over at his desk.

He looks over at you but doesn't hold your gaze for long before turning back to his work, "You shouldn't have drunk so much."

You chuckle softly, "It was my 21st, doesn't everyone get a little bit too drunk on their 21st birthday?"

"It was irresponsible." His replies are short and blunt. You're taken aback by his icy demeanor. Just yesterday you were completely encapsulated by happy bliss, now he's giving you the cold shoulder.

"If you didn't want to take care of me all night you should've just helped Katie take me back to my own apartment," You stand your ground now. Just because he seems to be having a bad day doesn't mean he gets to take it out on you.

"That's not the point, Y/N," He rolls his eyes, standing up, pushing his chair in, "The point is, I can't believe you would act so immaturely and irresponsibly. You acted like a child." He brushes past you through the doorway, attempting to end the conversation with him getting the last word.

You follow him to the kitchen, "I am not a child." You argue.

"Well, you sure acted like one last night," He shakes his head. The tone of voice he takes with you is a familiar one, one he's taken time and time again with you. It's the tone he takes in class when he's trying to embarrass you. When he's acting like he hates you, but right now, it doesn't feel very much like acting.

"I acted like any other 21 year old would." You scoff gripping at your coffee mug tightly. Hotch walks to lean against the countertop, that angry yet smug look burned into his features.

He shakes his head as he speaks and rolls up his sleeves frustratedly, "Maybe I just thought you were different from every other 21 year old."

"Look, Aaron, I'm sorry that you were upset by my actions last night. I'm extremely grateful to you for taking care of me and making sure I was okay and safe. Let's just not fight, okay?" You're not sure what you're apologizing for since you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn't call him and ask him to come to pick you up. Katie didn't tell him to take you back to his apartment, she just called for help. He didn't have to take care of you. That was his decision.

"Don't you have an exam to get home to study for?" He reaches up into his cabinet for a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He pops the cork and pours himself a glass. "The term ends Monday. Aren't you worried about finishing with good grades?"

You furrow your brows. You're not even sure you recognize the man in front of you. Never, ever, has he been so short and harsh with you. He's only harsh with you in class but he's never been mean and right now he's being pretty damn mean and unfair to you.

"Speaking of, what happens after the term ends?" You trace your finger around the rim of your coffee mug, keeping your eyes trained on the contents of the mug, not wanting to look up at Hotch.

"What do you mean?" Hotch takes a long sip from his glass.

"Well after the exam Monday," You clarify, taking a few steps towards him, "I'm technically not your student anymore."

"Correct. And?" He gives you a bored look.

"And... I'm just wondering how often I'll see you after that. What happens to us?" You shrug.

"What do you mean what will happen to us? Isn't it obvious?" He crosses his arms and straightens up, so that he stares down at you, a judgemental glimmer in his eyes, "There is no us."

"What?" Your voice wavers. Your heart sinks into your stomach. You knew this moment was coming. Deep down, you knew that this couldn't last forever, this perfect happy state of contentment the two of you seemed to exist in for the past two weeks. Yet another part of you thought you would be enough for him. It all felt so real, how could it not have been real?

"I thought... I know neither of us intended for this to be anything real but—" You pause, struggling to form a coherent thought, "I know you feel something too. This isn't just casual sex anymore." You look up at him, but his face hasn't changed from the angry, dismissive look he has plastered on his features. You spend a minute just staring back at each other. Does he really not feel it too? Was it all in your head? You can't hold his gaze any longer, you have to look away, "I'm sorry, I just thought—"

"Thought, what?" He pauses to laugh. His laugh is bitter as he rolls his eyes, "You didn't really think I could love you." The way his tone is dripping with disgust at the mere mention of the word. "You're nothing more than a good distraction. Something to entertain me."

Your eyes prick with angry tears. You bite them away. He clearly sees you as an immature child, you can't let him continue to think that by crying. "If that's all I am, how do you explain the birthday gift? How do you explain last night? Why would you do all that for me?"

Hotch lets out a haughty scoff and shakes his head, "I like taking care of what belongs to me."

You know Hotch is pushing you away. He would never have said these things to you before. That doesn't change the way that you feel sick to your stomach at his words. That doesn't change the way that your hands tremble slightly. You know you're young, you haven't experienced much life yet but could you have been so naive? He treated you so well, so different from a fling. He remembered your favorite novel. He walked you home. He took care of you. You don't do that for someone that you don't truly care about. Hotch has never treated you so rudely, but that was before you revealed your feelings. That was before last night.

"Our meeting is canceled this week. There's no use for it as the final exam is tomorrow." He waves his hand dismissively, snatching the mug from your hands, dumping it in the kitchen sink.

"I'm not delusional, Hotch," You're startled by the way he grabs the mug from you. "I know you care about me. This wasn't all in my head. I know that."

"What do you know about anything?" He narrows his eyes, that sinister look in his eyes making you feel exposed and vulnerable. "Kid genius seems to have gotten herself too wrapped up in some childish fantasy of romance. Sometimes sex is just sex, Y/N."

"You know what?" You point an accusatory finger at him, moving closer, "I feel sorry for you. I do. It's truly pathetic the way you refuse to let yourself feel anything real. What happened that made you so bitter and unloveable?"

Hotch rolls his eyes and turns away from you to lean against the kitchen counter, both hands far apart, spread wide on the counter.

"You are truly the most wicked, disgusting man I have ever met," You spit at him and within seconds he's whirled around to you, and gripped the front of your shirt in his fist. It's not the first time he's grabbed you like this, but it's the first time you're scared of him. Your heart is pounding wildly like it's going to burst out of your chest and your attempts to fight away tears are failing. Despite the tears that roll down your cheeks, your face is hot with anger.

"I have given you everything you could possibly want," He growls out, his grip on your shirt tightening as he pulls you closer to him. "I have made you what you are. So in 10 years from now, when you're at the top of your career, know that it's all because of me." His words sting harder than ever before and as his eyes search yours. It's one thing to make you feel naive and misguided in your judgment of the caliber of your relationship, but to insinuate that this was all for you to get ahead in life is insulting to your character. You never needed his help to succeed. You never pursued him for the grade boost or the extra studying. You wanted to see him because you wanted him. Your bottom lip trembles. So much for staying strong and standing your ground.

Your eyes shoot down to his hand on your shirt. You've never been scared of him. You've seen how cruel he can be, but never have you felt that he would hurt you. Until now. Until you see the anger flash in his eyes and the grip on your shirt tightens. Your skin stings from where he scratched your chest when grabbing the fabric. Your heart races harder.

"Let me go." Your voice is soft and small in comparison to his. There's a moment of hesitation. He glances down at the way he's holding on to you. As if he realizes how much he's scared you. He lets you go much gentler than the way he grabbed you. He turns away from you again, leaning against his counter. You stand there, your body shivering as you feel sick to your stomach staring at the man in front of you. You really thought you cared for him. You really thought he cared for you.

"Just get out." Hotch pants slightly and you watch the muscles in his back strain against his white button-down with every breath. Something is stopping you from moving from your spot. Maybe it's the shock of it all.

"Jesus fuck. Get out, Y/N!" He yells at you, slamming his fist down on the counter. You jump out of your daze and shake your head, turning to leave his apartment. You dig into your pocket for your phone as the tears stream wildly down your face at this point.

"Hey. How are you feeling? Are you-" Katie's chipper voice comes through the receiver but you don't give her a moment to speak.

"Come pick me up. Please," Your voice is trembling and you have your arms wrapped tightly around your body.

"I'm on my way now."

You hang up the phone, walking down the street hoping to get away from his house. Hoping to stop the way that your body shakes and shudders with each tear that rolls down your cheeks. You don't understand what went wrong. What made him switch from someone who makes you feel so alive to someone who terrifies you? Is he that closed off to feeling anything real? Is he that emotionally damaged? Just a few hours ago, you believed that being with him made you feel alive, but maybe this entire time it was the opposite.

Maybe the line between living and dying is slim. If loving is living, then your relationship with Aaron Hotchner is like dying.

—————

"Y/N," Katie opens the door to your bedroom, letting the light from the apartment flow into the room. "Come on, you're going to be late for the final."

You pull the sheets up to your neck, never having gotten any good sleep last night. Everything in your body hurts. Your head is pounding, you feel sick to your stomach, but overall, you feel numb.

"Einstein—" She starts but you sit up in bed.

"Don't call me that." You say softly and pull the sheets aside, placing your feet on the ground, your legs shaking as you do. "I'm up."

You push past Katie to get to your bathroom. You grant yourself the first glance in the mirror since you left Hotch's and the past 36 hours of pain have clearly left their mark. The bags under your eyes are dark and purple. Your hair is a matted mess on your head. Traces of the makeup from nearly 3 days ago still exist on your face. You look over your clothes, still wearing Hotch's t-shirt and sweatpants. You grip the edge of the fabric and lift it to your face, taking a small sniff. Hotch's cologne is fading from the fabric quickly but you can still slightly sense it. Your first instinct is to smile at the scent, warm and musky, yet slightly sweet.

You lift the shirt over your head, staring back at yourself in the mirror. You can see a few faint scratches on your chest from where Hotch's fingernails dug through the shirt. From when he grabbed you so tight you lost your breath. When he pulled you so close with so much anger that you were terrified of him. You run your fingertips over the fading red marks.

You can't bring yourself to cry anymore. You have no tears left to cry over him. After today, four scratch marks along your chest, a pair of joggers, and a tattered t-shirt will be all you have left of Aaron Hotchner. Even then, the scratches will soon fade. The clothes will lose all traces of his cologne. Then you'll be left with that book. That damned book.

You go back to your room, leaving Hotch's shirt tossed aside on the bathroom floor. You reach for a clean t-shirt and your eyes look over to your bed. There, tangled up in the sheets, lies that leather-bound book. You sit on the edge of the mattress and reach for it again.

Y/N,

The beauty of life is in the grays. Thanks for being the gray in mine.

—A.H.

You run your fingers over his initials again. You've read through the whole book a million times in the past 36 hours. Every time you felt like crying or screaming or you couldn't sleep you opened that cover, read that note, and that all too familiar first line... "In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I've been turning over in my mind ever since. Whenever you feel like criticizing anyone, he told me, just remember that all the people in this world haven't had the advantages that you've had."

You close the book, knowing continuing to stare at the green ink that coats the margins of every page will do you no good.

One more final. One exam. Three hours. That's all the time you have left with him.

Staying awake for the past day and a half has allowed you to run over every interaction with him in your head. Every word, every glance, every touch. A day and a half ago you would've run to him, begged him to stay, begged him to hold onto you. But now, you just feel stupid. You feel foolish. You should've known.

You wonder whether you'll just become another name on a list. A list of girls that Professor Hotchner has used and manipulated before tossing aside. If there's one thing Aaron Hotchner is good at, it's keeping the lines and boundaries blurry. You think back to the moments you were most fed up with him.

That night outside your apartment. He seemed to know just how to keep you infatuated with him. He didn't let the flame die. He kept the spark inside you going. Just with that one apology. How did he manage to make it all seem so real? How did he manage to trick you into feeling loved? Into feeling cared for?

Overall, Hotch loved to play hot and cold with you. When it was hot, it was really hot. The passion and lust burned you. Every touch was like fire on your skin, and it all was so irresistible. The stolen glances and the secret kisses behind closed doors were so exhilarating. But when he was cold, like he was on Saturday, it stung. You wonder how he became so good at compartmentalization.

More than anything, the past day and a half have made you wonder what happened that made him feel so worthless and undeserving of love? Some part of you is even more hurt by that thought. It's selfish, but you wonder why you weren't enough for him. How come your company, your care for him, your feelings for him, weren't enough to make him want to change?

"Y/N," Katie knocks on the doorframe, standing in the way, blocking the light from the hallway, "You ready?"

"No," You sigh softly and put the book back on your bed, "But I don't have much of a choice, do I?"

Katie gives you a look of pity, that makes you want to crawl under the sheets and never face anyone ever again. You don't want the pity looks or the whispers, or the walking on eggshells around you. You want to get rid of this feeling. You want to go back to the start of the semester. More than anything, you want to forget what it felt like to love Aaron Hotchner.

You and Katie walk in silence across the campus. Usually, on your morning walk to class, the two of you are laughing and joyful, discussing anything and everything, but class today holds too much meaning for you to muster up the energy to talk with her.

Katie wraps an arm around your shoulder, helping to walk you into the lecture hall, "I've got you. You're going to do great. You know this shit like the back of your hand," She mutters some words of encouragement and you know you should fight the urge to look up to see Hotch but you can't help yourself.

As soon as you look up at him, he's looking directly back at you. Your red, swollen eyes must be a dead giveaway, because you swear, almost for a second he looks as if he's going to call out to you. He opens his mouth but the words he speaks are not what you want to hear from him, "Everyone hurry to take your seats. The exam will start in exactly two minutes."

You look around the lecture hall and, of course, the only seat open for you is your normal seat at the front. The thick exam booklet is placed down in front of you, but you don't look up at the man who put it down. You don't need to. You know the way he's looking at you. There'll be something about his eyes that tells you he cares, the soft glimmer you've seen a million times before. But the rest of his face will be stone cold. Stern. Emotionless. You wonder how a person's eyes could say so much while their actions and body language tell a totally different story.

The exam begins, but you just sit there for a while. You never open the booklet. You think about him. You think about the first time you ever kissed him. The way his stubble tickled your cheeks. You think about the way he called your nickname that night. Hey Einstein... Blue... My favorite color. It's blue. You think about how jealous he was when he heard about Charlie, and how attractive you thought that was. You think about the way he showed up at your apartment, no warning. At first, you thought it was creepy, but you grew to appreciate the gesture, seeing as he didn't seem to care who saw him there. He just wanted to see you. You think about the other day in his office when you were able to just exist with one another. You watched him grade, his hand on your thigh. The way he gave you full access to his book collection. You think about your birthday, the way he studied every detail of your face before kissing you.

Did he know then? Did he know he was going to break your heart? Was that his version of goodbye? You think about the small blush that spread over his cheeks when he gave you your birthday gift. The way he kissed you and told you to stay safe. You think about how gentle he was with you while cleaning you up and changing you while you were drunk. You think about how tight he held you while you fell asleep, shushing you softly and rubbing your arm gently.

You think about the way you feel with him.

Being with him is comfortable. He reminds you of a rainy day when all you want to do is curl up in the sheets or sit by the window, watching the rain race down the glass. He's like reading a book late at night when it's storming outside but it's completely peaceful inside. The storm might be banging against every wall of the house, but you feel safe and secure at home, sipping coffee and losing yourself in the words on a page.

That was before. Now every time you look at him you feel this growing sense of dread in your stomach. The scratches on your chest sting.

You sit like that for a while. Just thinking. Your lack of work doesn't go unnoticed by Hotch. He glances over at you every few minutes, hoping that you'll pick up your pen and start the exam soon. But you take your time.

You're delaying the inevitable. Once you finish the exam, once you hand it in, this whole thing is truly over. If there's one thing you've learned, however, is that it's pointless to fight against inevitables. Some things are just born to die. You need to accept that. So you pick up your pen and start writing.

You watch as each student rushes to the front of the room to hand in their exams. A small swarm forms around Professor Hotchner as they begin to heckle him about recommendation letters, internship opportunities, and possible grade changes.

You're slow to stand, holding the thick exam booklet daintily at its corner. The weight of the exam does not come from the nearly 20 pages bound together, but from its implications. You know that as soon as you hand in the exam, you and Hotch are through. He made that abundantly clear the other night. This whirlwind of a semester, the sneaking around, the wild sex, the companionship... it all will come to an end.

And what happens after all this? Are you just supposed to nod at him in the halls? Pretend that he didn't toss you out like trash just when you were starting to feel something real for him?

You feel like you're moving in slow motion as you push past the swarms of students. You push to the front holding your exam out for Hotch to take from you, "Done, Miss Y/L/N?"

"Yeah. I'm done," You attempt to maintain the icy demeanor but you know your swollen red eyes give you away. You want him to think his words didn't affect you. But you swiftly turn on your heel and leave his classroom. You're practically speeding to get out of the stuffy old building and out into the fresh air. When you do, the cool winter chill hits your face, pulling you out of the enchantment that Hotch's presence seems to suck you into.

You're just grateful you never have to take another fucking step into his class ever again.

—————

What you wanted more than anything was a winter break full of meaningless sex, something to take your mind off your brute of a law professor, but as much as you wished, you found yourself unable to follow through. There wasn't a single moment in the day that the memories stayed away.

Beyond the memories, it was impossible to exist at school without feeling his presence. It wasn't that you saw him constantly, you avoided him like the plague. You weren't even ashamed to stop and turn in the opposite direction when you saw him coming.

But besides that, there was always this lurking feeling that he was just a few feet away from you. The idea that he's just a classroom over or just a flight of stairs away or he could be just around the corner of every hallway haunts your every moment on campus. Even now, as you attempt to simply hand in a paper to your professor, your mind wanders to last semester.

You walk down the all-too-familiar halls, looking for office #336. You know exactly where it is. Directly across the hall from Hotch's. You come to find your legal methods professor's office door shut and hear him chatting away with another student. As a result, you're forced to wait outside, your focus unwavering from Hotch's closed door.

You can just picture him: sleeves rolled up, tie askew, hunched over a student's paper, grading furiously. You feel a smile prick at the corner of your lips, thinking of taunting him about his furrowed brow and harshly bitten lip.

A small timid voice strikes you from your thoughts. "Excuse me? Is this Professor Hotchner's office?"

You resist the urge to laugh at the girl. She practically shrinks away under your gaze and you see fear dance around in her shimmering eyes. You want to laugh, seeing as she's probably older than you, but you can tell she's new from the shy way she looks at you. You simply raise a finger, pointing at the nameplate besides the door that reads:

#335

Aaron Hotchner, J.D.

Criminal Law

She nods and looks down at the paper she's clutching against her chest. Your eyes wander and you see a large red C that is circled and Hotch's unmistakeable chicken scratch handwriting scrawled just below the grade that reads: 'Come see me. Immediately'

That's when it really sinks in. Hotch was right. You weren't anything special. You were just a momentary obsession. You were convenient. It was easy. You fulfilled his needs just for him to toss you away once it became too complex. Too inconvenient.

Your heart is racing, anticipating Hotch opening his door first. You let out a small sigh of relief when you hear the office door of your professor open, but at the exact same time, the door opens across the hall. The young girl immediately explodes with nerves, "Professor Hotchner, sir. We need to discuss my grade, I really put a lot of work into it."

You know you shouldn't look, but you do. You glance over at his office door, your eyes locking with his immediately. At least this time, it's not completely obvious how much he's hurt you. The last time you saw him, your eyes were bright red and irritated from lack of sleep and tears that were wasted on him.

Your presence doesn't faze him. That unmistakable voice like velvet and the words he says to her are not ones that are unfamiliar to you.

"Call me Hotch," His smooth voice is unwavering, "Come on inside, we have a lot to talk about." His eyes never leave yours until he places a hand on the small of her back and leads her into his office, the door slamming shut behind them.

And you're grateful that's the last time you ever see Aaron Hotchner again. At least, that's what you thought.

"It is invariably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment" — F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

A/N: And that's the end of part 1! Part 2 is going to be so much fun...

Part 2: Chapter 12: II.I →

[cafeinthemoon]

The Leaves of Her Garden - Chapter XIII

Title: The Leaves of Her Garden

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Madara Uchiha x reader

Rating: Mature

Word count: 2901

Chapter (s): 13/?

Read the previous chapters here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Interlude, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 🖤 | ▶▶

Chapter XIII - Madara and the God of Shinobi

Since you were brought to Madara’s house, you felt like you were under some sort of spell. You’ve been living through the days as if you were inside another person’s dream, following events, hearing conversations and seeing scenarios that could only be experienced through their eyes. Even when you were the center of such events and all eyes were turned to you, you just couldn’t feel them like the real things they were. Being introduced to other members of the clan – elders, women and servants – under your new name only reinforced this impression.

This and the fact that you’ve spent those days without your husband’s company.

The next day after the ceremony came silent in your room. When you opened your eyes and sat on the futon, your first action was to seek for Madara; you did it without even realizing it. He wasn’t there; somehow, the silence of his absence was way different from when he was just quiet, out of your immediate sight. You were left alone and felt a bit anxious for this.

The room had everything you needed to take care of yourself, and this is what you did after leaving the bed. When you were ready, you found a new robe and went to the porch, still tying its straps around your body.

You sat on the wood platform with your feet dangling right above the grass, the warm light of the morning touching your face and everything your sight could reach. Twirling around the place there were rosy petals that just have fallen from the cherry trees, so natural while carried by the breeze that you could think they were living beings; some of them were carried away, and a few ones came to rest upon the grass, close to your feet.

Yes. You have been through so much that you completely forgot that Spring was on its apex. Still, you were glad that you could take some time to appreciate it now. That was the first time you did it the way you should in a long time, without fear, uncertainty or anxiety clouding your thoughts: now you had a family and a house by the side of a man who was able to guide and protect you and two women who acted like true friends, taking care of your needs when you weren’t able to do it for yourself.

After all the things your had to endure, you were finally in peace.

You were thinking of this when you sensed your had company. You glanced at your right and saw him there, standing in the shadow of the closest porch’s columns. He wasn’t using a robe anymore: instead, he had the full traditional clothing of his clan, with its long sleeves and its high collar; however, he was on barefeet. You noticed you were starting to get used to his sudden appearances, even welcoming them.

You stood up from the porch. At first, you thought of greeting him with good morning or something, but you stopped your tongue at the last moment. Somehow you sensed the moment asked for silence.

Madara came and took the place by your side. He held your chin, then approached his lips of your temple and left a kiss there. It was a strange treatment he gave you, that one: you felt it like it was a way to mark you as his property. The gesture didn’t lack gentleness, however: there you had a man who used to take good care of what belonged to him.

He was the first to speak.

- Your look visibly better – and still with his had under your chin, he made you turn from one side to another in order to examine your traits, as a way to confirm what he said – The effects of a good night of sleep cannot be denied when we look at you right now.

When he released you, you felt safe to speak.

- Indeed, I feel better today, Madara – again, you almost said the -sama, but stopped in time – I hope you slept well too.

At first, he smiled at your preoccupation with his well being, but soon that smile fade into a contemplative expression. You didn’t have to wait too long to find out the reason behind it.

- I’ve been waiting for you to wake up, Y/n – he started – It is good to see that you are used to leave the bed in the first hours of the day, even when you do not have to.

- I am actually used to wake up earlier – you replied with modesty.

Your cheeks burned to what he said after that.

- After the last night, I would not blame you for staying in bed for a longer time – he smirked – Anyway, there is a reason for my waiting. I need to inform you about some events you must expect to attend today. The first one is the Todoroki’s farewell by midday, which you naturally will have to watch by my side, so that I will sent the women to prepare you when the time comes.

You nodded, and he offered his arm to you: he intended to take you for a walk in the garden, which you accepted without thinking twice. The morning was too beautiful for you to stand under the porch’s protection for much longer. That time you took the traditional path and reached the garden within minutes. You appreciated the walking: though you wouldn’t complain if Madara took you in his arms and reached the place in seconds, you always enjoyed using your own feet as a normal person, so that you were content to see that he respected this.

In fact, knowing that the Todoroki were going to leave soon brought some relief to your mood: you wouldn’t need to maintain Sachiko’s role for much longer once they’re gone. Only when you had to communicate with other members of the Uchiha, who weren’t aware of the whole story.

What he said next, however, had the opposite effect.

- Now, I am afraid that what I am going to tell you might bring some apprehension to you, and I apologize for that. Y/n, in a few days I am going on a mission with my brother, and I am still not sure of how long I will be away.

Madara was right. Hearing that he was leaving in some days made your heart beat faster with anxiety. Despite not knowing him long enough to say you loved him, you cared for him, as your husband and your protector: you’ve heard about the challenges and dangerous situations in which the shinobi used to be involved during their work.

You tried to contain your preoccupation, but you weren’t sure you succeeded, judging by his reply:

- I know it will not cease the worries you are already feeling, but let me tell you that there is no logical reason for them. Some of our men will be sent to travel alongside the Todoroki, and these ones will only leave in my presence. However, our best shinobi will stay to guard the compound, and some of them will follow me and Izuna in our mission – a smile grew on the corner of his mouth when he noticed you were still worried – As you can easily imagine, I would have to be too reckless, or too stupid, to leave you and the rest of my people unprotected after sealing a treaty with the Todoroki.

You did your best to calm yourself, but you needed to be honest about the situation. You stopped; looking down at his hands and releasing your arm from his, you took them into yours, too small to contain them in their entirety.

- Despite the little time we have spent together, I already trust you and Izuna-sama and the other people. But I cannot help being worried when I hear you say you will be far away, where I cannot reach you. If only there was a way to assure you will be alright… I would not bother you with these silly feelings.

When you said that, you looked into his eyes seeking for another assurance. But the glimmer you saw in them in response made you shiver though the morning was as warm as the Spring would allow it to be.

Madara held your hands in his with the same firmness you sensed when he did it for the first time, in that night you met. Just like that time, you felt fascinated yet overwhelmed by the sensation that he chose this particularly gentle gesture to push his power and unpredictability into you.

His words came only to confirm this impression.

- Maybe my mere words are no longer enough to make you understand it – and with a smile that left a deeper impression than the look in his eyes – I think it is time to show you what the name Madara Uchiha means to the ones who hear it.

With this, the black of his eyes faded, giving space to the reddish pattern of his Mangekyo Sharingan. Was he going to immerse you in another memory? You were still questioning yourself about it when the sight around you changed, and the morning light and the warm weather disappeared.

You saw yourself surrounded by a suffocating, hot atmosphere that seemed to melt at the constant explosions of light and fire you saw and heard around you. It was like being at the edge of a volcano.

When you felt able to look ahead, you spotted high rocks eroding with earthquakes that didn’t last longer than seconds. Upon them, facing each other and separated only by a few meters there were two human forms, dark against the fires.

Two men.

You felt your eyes looking closer at the scene and recognized one of them – Madara. And he was the one who produced all the fire you saw, doing this through his chakra. However, it was the way he was doing it that stunned you: he had his hand close to his mouth with his fingers pointing above in the traditional chakra releasing position used by the shinobi while at combat, and from his lips came out gigantic streams of fire the devoured everything ahead and around. So, that was what your husband was capable of?

You immediately turned to the opposite side, where the other man was standing, to see what remained from him. Because, of course, nothing could survive such attack. It was when you held your breath: the man was alive.

And not only he was alive, but he was also defending himself: with his palms united and clenched against each other, he used his chakra to make colossal branches grow around him. Yes, he was producing pure wood with his power. You soon understood that they were the cause of the earthquakes: the strength with which they opened their way through the hostile ground moved the stones from their place, changing the land’s geography.

It was like the branches surrounded by fire were about to finish the world and leave nothing to tell the story.

You observed that man with more attention and felt like you knew him, but in a peculiar way; it was like you have met him in a dream, or during a moment when you were seeing with someone else’s eyes.

Whether you knew him or not, his presence and appearance impacted you almost as much as Madara’s: his red armor shone at the fire’s light, and around his shoulders’ protectors his long, dark hair floated with the hot winds coming toward him. Just like your husband, that man had a dark toned skin, as if he was touched by the sun the same amount of times as him, only visible through his face and hands; in his traits there was something distinct, softer despite the seriousness of the battle and the fact that he was surrounded by fire, something that made him look even younger than Madara. On that face, however, you saw a courage, a rage that was equal to his.

A sudden change in the atmosphere around you made you shiver. The air became warm, almost as pleasing as before you were dragged to that place, and now you were watching the battle without suffocating with the heat. This change was operated at the same time you felt a pair of known hands held your shoulders from behind. Not wanting to take your eyes off the events before you, you glanced over your left shoulder and whispered:

- Who... is that man? How can he stay alive with everything falling apart around him?

Somehow you sensed when Madara smiled; he seemed content with your surprise and interest. Right after came his reply.

- Look closer. Look at his forehead.

For the first time you noticed that the man was wearing a white protector around his head, covering his forehead. On its front you saw an emblem that answered all your questions as soon as you recognized it: you were a teacher once; you had to spent time surrounded by books and scrolls that told you the history of the land where you lived, and many times your eyes met the symbols of its most prominent clans. That symbol belonged to one of them – the Senju.

So that was…

Madara seemed to read your thoughts even before you verbalized them.

- I think you figured it out by now – you heard him laugh to himself – That man is the head of the Senju clan. His name is Hashirama. You’ve probably heard about him. About the cognomen that was given to him.

Your reply was automatic, as if it wasn’t coming from your mouth.

- The God of Shinobi.

- Yes. It’s good to see that you know part of the story – Madara complimented in a cheerful tone, ignoring what was taking place before you – This sensation you have, that you’ve seen him before, is easy to explain. You’ve seen him in my memories yesterday. Hashirama was the boy you saw at the river with me.

You turned to him to hear more, leaving the battle behind. Its sounds diminished as Madara spoke; what he had to say now was more important than that vision.

- Hashirama and I were friends at some point of our lives. This friendship did not last long, and perhaps it was for the best. Today, we are what you would call rivals. What you just saw is nothing compared to what he is capable of doing. And the same can be said about me, I must point out.

You sensed your eyes widening. What you just saw was enough for you to understand why people called him a god. Madara laughed at your reaction.

- Don’t you see, girl? – his fingers caressed your cheek as he spoke – This is one of the countless memories I have regarding our meetings. In this one in particular, we were not dancing with everything we got. We were just rehearsing.

- Dancing...? – you immediately remembered of your training and felt ridiculous.

- Hashirama is the only person who is able to dance in a way that entertains me. Things use to get a bit tedious when you are surrounded by people who aren’t able to follow your rhythm, so that someone like him is quite necessary. It brings balance to everything.

While those words were said, you felt a slow, subtle change in the environment around you two. The lights and shadows created by the fires and the wood were fading into something constant, calm as a morning sun, and the with it came a breeze that you welcomed with your heart after the intense atmosphere you experienced moments before as it brought delicate rosy petals to fly around you like silent birds.

You look around, at them, and saw that you were back to the garden. The vision was over, and the change in the scenario served as proof. Madara had his arms around you now, and you were grateful for that, for you weren’t sure if your feet wouldn’t fail you after your return to reality. When you raised to eyes to him, his eyes were dark again, and they were turned to you. Only then you felt the impact provoked by what you witnessed.

Just like the Senju warrior, Madara Uchiha carried enough power to transform the maps of the known world inside him. Yet he called the spectacle he just showed you a rehearsal, and your surprise and admiration was a source of diversion to him.

And to think that you were now the wife of such man, destined to sleep by his side for the rest of your life, and that his hands were around you, keeping you close as you trembled before a vision…

You laid your head on his shoulder and he tightened the embrace. You stood there in silence, sensing him breathing in and out; soon your own breath adjusted its rhythm to his. After everything you saw, it was clear that any preoccupation about his integrity was silly, not to say worthless. But you were the one who asked for an assurance, and Madara gave it to you.

You were going to be careful about what you ask from him from now on.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: VII

A/N: I apologize for the wait. I hope you guys still like this little story of mine.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T (Maybe M??) For Blood, allusions to smut, my continued overuse of italics, poorly written, soft confessions of feelings

Word Count: 8.3k (Someone please take my computer away)

Read Chapters I-VI here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Seven: The Price of Happiness

All of Dorne was a delight to the senses. The food was better, the wine more tart, the air itself smelled sweeter and punctuated with the scent of salt of the ocean and the heat of the sun-warmed walls. It was paradise. Never in her life had she met a family more loving and open with their affections—or their squabbles. The Sand Snakes welcomed her with open arms and quelled most of the fears that turned Y/N’s stomach.

And having the company of Sansa and Arya gave Y/N an immeasurable amount of joy. Simply knowing they were alive and well and within her reach let a small bit of weight lift from her shoulders. All of them melded together into a strange camaraderie that Y/N quickly grew accustomed to. Arya trained with Obara, Elia, and Obella—and little Dorea would sometimes sneak away from her mother and Septa to try to keep up with the older girls. And Arya was insistent that Y/N join them at least three times a week. Sansa would sup with Nymeria and Tyene and would drag Y/N along when she wasn’t occupied with Ellaria and Oberyn. They would read to little Loreza to help her sleep. Sarella was still in Oldtown but had sent a raven with a kind word, welcoming Y/N into the fold.

All of it was…perfect. So perfect that Y/N was waiting for something terrible to happen to knock her from the pedestal of the happy life she’d created at Sunspear.

“You are quiet, My Tully,” Ellaria said as they sat together on the sand of the strip of beach just outside the fortress’ walls. A handful of handmaidens waited to be called, standing in Sunspear’s forgiving shadows, with a half dozen guards. Ellaria had stolen Y/N away from Manfrey Martell’s lessons. Oberyn’s cousin was the current Castellan of Sunspear and had been teaching Y/N the proper way of keeping the household and surrounding city running smoothly, as it had for centuries.

“I am enjoying the view,” Y/N replied as she watched Ellaria tie her skirts a little high around her waist as she wanted to wade into the water. Her four daughters were all laughing and splashing a few paces away, without a care and nearly infectious with their joy.

“We agreed to not lie to each other, My Tully. Nor keep secrets.” When she was finished tying her own, Ellaria pulled Y/N to her feet and made quick work of tying her skirts, too. She grasped her hands and led her out to the lapping water.

It was warm and clear—a far cry from the usually-muddy waters of the rivers around Riverrun. Ellaria continued to lead her in until their bundled skirts were in danger of getting wet from the shallow waves but did not release her grip even as they slowed to a stop. She pulled Y/N a little closer and brushed a kiss against her shoulder, exposed in the Dornish style dress Nymeria’s favorite seamstress had tailored especially for her in a pretty sky blue. The ugly scars from the arrow were exposed but very few paid them any mind.

“Tell me what is burdening you.”

“You will think me foolish,” Y/N murmured.

“Never.”

Y/N sighed and squeezed at Ellaria’s hands before wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything here is so…lovely. A paradise.”

“Just as I told you all those moons ago at that wretched wedding; I knew you had the right heart to make Dorne your home.”

It was almost as if Ellaria was trying to banish whatever gloomy thought Y/N had with kisses as she stole one from Y/N’s frowning mouth and then another as she started to smile. “And I am grateful to be here, to have you in my arms now—you and Oberyn both. To be welcomed to happily by your family. But I am worried…the gods have only afforded me this happiness to rip it away from me. Surely I cannot be this happy for the rest of my days.”

“Why do you think that your happiness must have limits? The gods delight in their creations. Why should we not delight in them as well?” Ellaria smiled and looked like a goddess herself in the sunlight and surrounded by clear, sparkling water. “Your happiness does not have a limit because the gods deem it so. Only you can determine how happy you are in this life. I have chosen to take every opportunity to seize happiness, joy, whenever I can. You have brought me such joy, My Tully. I want you to have the same—but you must let yourself.” Ellaria pulled Y/N close again and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Will you let yourself?” She asked against her lips.

“I will try,” Y/N answered with a laugh.

A sudden splash of water had her sputtering and Ellaria chuckled. “You will,” Ellaria stated, wet fingers trailing against Y/N’s cheek.

Ellaria tasted like saltwater and sunshine when Y/N kissed her again. “I love you,” Y/N said, the words bubbling out of her throat before she could even think to stop them.

“My heart has been shared between you and Oberyn since I saw you at the market. I love you, sweet girl, and I will remind you of that fact every chance you give me.”

**

“You travelled through the Kingswood during a battle?” Y/N could feel her throat tightening with each passing word. Word had come to Oberyn that the Lannisters knew Sandor had been seen in Dorne. Ellaria’s words about embracing joy—and the fact that Ellaria loved her—had lifted her mood for the past handful of days but the news had quickly soured her disposition. She asked plainly what had happened on the way to Dorne with Sansa and Arya and expected to hear that he had taken the most benign route possible and then be on her way. That was not the case. “I told you to take her to safety-”

“The little bird’s alive, ain’t she?” Sandor griped. “She’s fine.”

“Thank the Seven,” she retorted, face still contorted with rage. “I cannot fathom your reason for endangering her—you know the Stone Crows-”

“Aye, the Stone Crows,” he mimicked, remembering the Mountain Clan men Tyrion had brought to King’s Landing and used as reinforcements around the castle during the Battle of the Blackwater. “Stupid bunch of brats with swords. They bleed just like the rest of the Lannister’s cunt forces.” But he dropped his voice and leaned close, letting the scent of blood orange he had on his tongue waft over her. “You were right to leave her care to me. I would never let any hurt come to her. Do not doubt that again.”

Y/N scowled. “And Arya? You were just letting her run about, killing people?”

“She is a little beast. There is no taming that one. You’re lucky I got her here without gagging her.” His burnt face twisted. “I’m sure you taught her that.”

“The only thing I tried to teach Arya was how to use a bow.” Y/N grumbled and rubbed at her temples. “But, thank you for seeing them here—safely. It means a great deal to me.”

“Did you truly kill Gregor?”

The question surprised her, as did the soft tone (as soft as Sandor could be, anyway). “I did.”

“Was it quick?”

“Not as quick as I would have liked.” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry I took that from you, your revenge.”

“You did what you had to do. He deserved what he got.” He glanced at the door to Sansa’s chambers. He had been assigned, by a smug Oberyn who knew that Sandor wanted to leave, to be Sansa’s sworn sword. “The Little Bird would say the gods were kind or some other stupid shit.”

“Are you certain seeing his rotting head would not quell some of that rage? To see he is truly dead? The Silent Sisters haven’t taken it for cleaning just yet.” It was still sitting in a box in one of the fortress’ undercrofts. (Arya had poked at it with the end of a quill and Sansa had steadfastly refused to look at the decomposing lump of flesh when Y/N had told them about her own ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing.)

“No,” he said, final and direct.

“Very well. But I am sure you will lay your eyes upon it eventually. Oberyn has said he wants it dipped in gold and strung up in chains within the throne room once it is clean.” Y/N looked at Sandor, truly looked at him. “Please, be kind to Sansa. While she is learning the ways of the world at Prince Doran’s behest, she still has a gentle heart. And she is very fond of you even if you and I both know nothing will come of this childish infatuation of hers.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed but he did not say anything.

Y/N took a small step forward, knowing she needed to say this if only to sate the small bit of fear she had in her heart. “But if I ever catch you breaking her heart or using her as your brother intended to use me, I will make sure your skull sits next to his.”

“My lady!” Daisy dashed into the hall and barely cast a glance at Sandor. “Prince Oberyn is waiting for you in his solar.”

Y/N nodded and looked one last time at Sandor and received a half-hearted glare in return before she let Daisy lead her through the gilded, warm halls even though she had traversed this path too many times to count, often in the dark of the night. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling of the Lannisters knowing Sandor was in Dorne and the annoyance that the swordsman also put Sansa and Arya in harm’s way with minimal success. Daisy left her side with a smile as they reached the opened door and Y/N sighed as she spied him sitting at his desk intensely focused on whatever task was set in front of him. Bits of parchment were scattered about. A well of ink was precariously perched near the edge. The entire room was draped in shades of ruby red and highlights of orange that shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the large windows, opened to let in the salted air from the ocean below. Sumptuous cushions were piled beneath the western window and a small table with a cyvasse board was set up across the room near the door that led to his bedchamber. He almost seemed to be a work of art she was fortunate to look upon—a god at rest captured by the finest artist the world had ever known. While she had readily admitted her love to Ellaria, she could never seem to find a time to say it to Oberyn. She knew she loved him, loved him like she loved Ellaria. But it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out over a meal or in the heat of some tryst. (And Ellaria found the entire situation hilarious.)

His head snapped up as he heard her footfalls and his lips pushed up into a smile as he set down his quill and waved her over. “Come here, my moonlight.” He reached out to her with ink-smudged fingers and pulled her into his lap as she laughed.

“What are you working on?” She asked, pulling the bit of parchment he was scratching at off the desk. It looked to be a correspondence to his brother Doran—at least that is what she assumed before Oberyn took it from her grasp and flung it over his shoulder.

“Nothing of importance.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear just to hear her laugh again as his grip squeezed around her waist. “I do have something from home for you though.” He patted at her thigh to have her stand and then he strode over to the single trunk in the corner and opened it. Something blue was clutched in his hand and his smile was contagious as he turned toward her. “Come, my moonlight. Let us see if it will suit you.”

Y/N did as she was bid and walked to his side. Blue velvet unfurled from his grip and she unconsciously reached out for it and let her fingers trace over the delicately embroidered, inky black trout at the center of the cloth. Small, red Pentoshi towers lined the hem in sparkling thread. As she pulled it closer, the faded scent of evergreens and her mother’s perfume met her nose.

Oberyn carefully pulled the cloak from her grasp and then set it upon her shoulders and fastened the aged silver clasps, fashioned to look like fish scales, onto her dress. It fit perfectly. He smiled as he said, “your father said it was the cloak he had made for your mother when they were married. Her bridal cloak—now your maiden’s cloak.”

Y/N flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you. Thank you for this.” She knew exactly what it was when he had first pulled it from the trunk. Her mother had always wrapped her in the cloak when the air turned cold within the halls of her father’s keep. It would drag behind Y/N’s little legs to the delight of her mother who would then chase after her and scoop her daughter up into her arms. The cloak would be wrapped around her tightly to escape the chill by her mother’s careful hands. It was like she could hug her mother again in a strange sort of way.

Oberyn laughed as he returned the embrace. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to hers, delving his tongue into her mouth with ease and delighting in the happy sound it coaxed from her throat. His sneaking fingers slid to grab at her ass and smiled against her mouth as he did so.

“But I have a question for you.”

“And I shall answer.”

Oberyn looked at her, dark eyes shining in the sunlight but…the smallest bit of trepidation also seemed to color his face, too.

“What is it, my prince?” Y/N asked, voice soft.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I have pressed this all upon you like a man half-crazed. I did not even ask if you wanted to be married—or if you would prefer a life like Ellaria—or a life outside of Dorne and free of me when this war is over. I only had the agreement drawn up after you told me of Tywin’s intentions. I could have stolen you away after your betrothal to him was made public but I knew it would cause bloodshed—and you, my moonlight, have a gentle heart.”

Y/N smiled as she looked at him, heart squeezing. Knowing he further delayed his want for vengeance because he cared for her meant more than words could say. Her thumb swept across his cheeks and she savored the warmth he exuded. “You have a gentle heart, my prince. And I am blessed by the gods to know it.”

Oberyn kissed her softly. “My own mind can be a cruel place. And Stark—Robb—had mentioned how you never spoke of marriage when you were young. It was not something you ever wished of.”

“I was blessed by parents who loved each other fiercely. And Uncle Hoster knew he could never bring a match forward that my father would approve of so he did not try. A child loved as much as I was would only demand the same love in a marriage. It was made increasingly apparent that a loveless marriage was what most women had, especially women of my station. I would not marry if I did not love them. If I was not sure that my heart was safe.”

She could almost taste the words bubbling on his tongue as he opened his mouth, “and I know that I have hurt you-”

“I want to marry you, Oberyn.” She said with a smile, feeling silly, happy tears sting her eyes with Ellaria’s words once again ringing in her head. “I want to call you my husband and I want to be your wife.” Her heart was light and singing in her chest. It was true. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“You love me,” Oberyn breathed. And then he was smiling at her as if she had hung the sun and stars.

“I love you.” And it was so easy to say.

Oberyn’s warm hands cradled her face and he pressed his mouths to hers. This kiss was the softest he had ever given her, almost reverent. “You love me,” he whispered into her panting mouth as he pulled her ever closer. “Tell me. Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” The words were hummed, happy. “I will love you forever.”

And she believed him.

**

Y/N woke when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Y/N,” the voice whispered on the other side. “Are you awake?” The door creaked open and a small figure slipped in. Arya climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets when Y/N waved her forward.

“What is wrong, Arya?” Y/N asked, pulling the younger girl close and trying to keep her eyes open. Dinner with Oberyn and Ellaria had lasted well into the night and was filled with sweet wine and spiced foods and heated kisses that seemed to eat time. The realization that they all loved each other left them drunk on each other’s presence and the wine certainly did not help. Her throat was sore from overuse and she could still feel phantom fingers between her thighs. She must have only been asleep for an hour before Arya knocked.

“Bad dream.”

Y/N hummed and pushed her fingers through Arya’s hair. If she was being honest, Y/N was almost surprised it took Arya this long to crawl into her bed. Sansa had done it at least a dozen times since Y/N had arrived at Sunspear. But Arya, genuinely, kept her hurt close to her chest so Y/N did not blame her for taking the time she needed.

“I keep seeing the Freys toss Mother’s body into the river.”

Y/N instinctively tightened her hold. She had not realized Arya had witnessed the Red Wedding. Sandor must have taken her to The Twins in hopes of reuniting Arya with Robb and Catelyn—a bloodbath greeted them instead.

“I see it over and over when I close my eyes. I want them dead. All of them. Every single Frey needs to be dead-”

“They will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. Despite her exhaustion, she meant her promise. All of them would meet The Stranger for their crimes. The joy Ellaria spoke of, that Y/N was quick adopting, seemed to have stretched to vengeance. There would be joy to see their enemies bleed. There would be joy to see them dead. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

“The Boltons, too,” Arya said, voice starting to tighten with unshed tears.

“Oh, yes. We’ll rip them out. Root and stem.” The traitorous Northern house would see a gruesome end, too. No matter if they were holding Winterfell or not.

Arya let herself cry then, curling farther into Y/N’s hold and Y/N rubbed her back with soft hums, letting the young girl finally express her grief. But, eventually, Arya’s sobs quieted to even breaths. She had fallen asleep on Y/N’s chest just as another knock came at the door. Sansa slipped into her room and Y/N found herself between the Stark sisters as the moonlight shone through the balcony opening. “A bad dream?” Y/N whispered as Sansa snuggled into the overstuffed pillow beside her.

Sansa shook her head. “I am happier than I have been in a long time. And I owe it all to you.” She reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands as it still rubbed at Arya’s back.

But Y/N shook her head. “You survived because you are strong, little one.”

“It is because of you that Arya is here, that we are alive. We are safe. Together.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “You and your sister both have been through great and terrible trials. You must be there for each other.”

Sansa pressed closer and tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand. “Can you sing to us? Like you did when we were children?”

Y/N wanted to say that she and Arya were still children—just grown too quick by the terrors of the world. “What would you like to hear, little one?”

“Jenny’s Song. You sang that the night before you left Winterfell.”

“That is a sad song. Are you certain?”

Sansa nodded.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”

**

Daisy flittered about her chambers, gathering a handful of dresses and chemises and folding them neatly into a pair of saddlebags. Prince Doran had sent Y/N a raven and requested that she, Oberyn, and Ellaria travel to the Water Gardens so he could make her acquaintance. “Truthfully, I have written Oberyn several times inquiring when I would meet you but he has taken it upon himself to hoard your time. If you are agreeable, I would have you visit the Water Gardens and would host a feast in your honor. Lords and ladies are already arriving so I hope to see you soon.” He signed the missive with a flourish.

When Y/N asked Oberyn about ignoring his brother’s requests to visit the Water Gardens he smirked and kissed her. “It is not a crime to want you all to myself.”

Y/N chided him with a smile and said she’d already sent a raven back to Doran stating that they would be there the following night. The palace Doran called home was only three leagues away along a pleasant, coastal road. Oberyn knew it well as he usually visited his brother once every fortnight. (“But I have been preoccupied, my moonlight!”)

“I can pack my own bags, Daisy,” Y/N said, noticing a strange rigidity to her friend’s posture as she went about her unnecessary task. She tugged at Daisy’s skirts like a child, slowing her from her quick pace. “Something is troubling you.” And then poor Daisy nearly collapsed in tears and Y/N hurried to wrap the other woman in her arms, shushing her sobs. When her cries quieted, Y/N held Daisy’s wet face between her hands. “Tell me. Let me help you.”

Daisy sniffled. “Daemon wants to marry me.”

“But that is happy news?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused. Daisy and Daemon seemed more in love than ever since coming to Dorne.

“Father will never allow it.” More tears trickled from Daisy’s eyes.

Seeing her dear friend so distraught pulled a heated type of anger from her chest and Y/N curled her hands tighter around Daisy’s face, making sure she listened. “Your father didn’t say anything when we were trapped during the Battle of Blackwater. He did not send a raven to see how you fared. He did not inquire after you after I moved you to Dorne out of a selfish desire to keep you by my side, to keep you safe. Tell me: do you want to marry Daemon?”

“I do,” she hiccupped. “More than anything. He even sent a raven to his lord father for his approval.”

“And he gave it readily, did he not?” she asked, already knowing the answer and watched as Daisy nodded. “Then you have no barrier. If Lord Allyrion requires a dowry, I will pay it. I will pay for the entire wedding if it means you smile again.” If Y/N was allowed to be happy then surely Daisy was, too. Her good, sweet Daisy.

“But Father-”

“Your father can come to Sunspear and speak to me if he thinks to stand in the way of your happiness.”

Daisy sniffled again and pushed out a shaking breath. “I would never ask you to-”

“You didn’t ask, Daisy. But I am telling you that I will not allow your father to keep you from being happy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s forehead and felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders. “You and Daemon are traveling with us to the Water Gardens. We can celebrate your betrothal alongside mine.”

Daisy’s smile was watery but sincere and she suddenly lunged forward to wrap her arms around Y/N in a tight hug. And Y/N was simply happy to see Daisy relieved of her turmoil—at least for a moment. And she meant what she said; she would fight Daisy’s father for her to marry Daemon. And she knew she would win.

The Stark sisters and the Sand Snakes met them at the gates of Sunspear and wished them a pleasant journey. “Please give Prince Doran my regards,” Sansa said before they departed. Y/N knew she missed Doran’s company and teachings, he had sent her away from the Water Gardens to Sunspear when he’d been given word that Y/N was coming to Dorne. And while Sansa liked not having to sneak through the halls to avoid Myrcella, Y/N knew she adored Doran and everything he taught her.

The ride was enjoyable and short and Y/N took the opportunity to let her mare run through the shallow waters. The horse was a gift from Oberyn, a traditional Dornish betrothal gift. Sand Steeds were a point of pride for the Dornish; could run for a night, a day, and another night without tiring or floundering. Most were treated as dotingly as children. The horse was as dark as night with a burnt orange mane and tail—Y/N had named her Qēlos, the High Valyrian word for star. She was the most beautiful horse that Y/N had ever seen and the smoothest ride she’d ever experienced.

But soon the palace of the Water Gardens crested on the horizon, rising from the sand with white and yellow stone and brining the scent of blood orange groves. Lush greenery spilled over the walls as did the sound of trickling water. The golden gates were opened by a pair of hooded guards who bowed as they passed. Servants lined the courtyard to welcome them and handle their horses and bags, each of them bowing in turn as well. Y/N barely had time to admire the beautiful, arching architecture of the palace before Oberyn and Ellaria both grabbed at her hands and all but pulled her inside. She craned her neck and looked everywhere she could as she was pulled this way and that, down a hall, around a corner, further into the shadowed halls by her eager betrothed and paramour. The entire palace seemed to hum with life. Chambers and apartments were filled with visiting lords and ladies. Servants were slipping by, arms filled with dresses or linens or food. Music whispered from around some other corner.

They eventually slowed in front of a beautiful white door banded with bronze and two guards nodded at Oberyn before pushing it open. The solar was filled with more white marble and fluttering white curtains that overlooked the manicured gardens and a handful of pools and fountains. The furniture was a warm, golden wood and every surface had a bowl of some sort of berry or wine or golden trinket or statue. A man in a wheeled chair was sitting behind the perfectly organized desk and looked up from his work with a smile as he heard the door open. His face was kind and greying black hair was cropped to his shoulders. Robes of orange hugged his thin shoulders and sparkled with golden thread.

“Doran, this is-”

Doran waved a hand and dismissed Oberyn’s introduction. “Lady Tully. We meet at long last.”

Y/N quickly curtseyed and placed her hand in his when he reached for her, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It is wonderful to meet you, Prince Doran.”

He patted her hand and then wheeled himself around the desk. “You are early. I would have met you at the gates.”

“We never keep your time tables, brother.”

Doran chuckled affectionately. “I know. But you are all here now. I will make the proper introductions at the feast tomorrow. I want you to enjoy my home before the wedding.”

“You will come to Sunspear, won’t you?” Ellaria asked with a smile.

Doran nodded. “I will be there next month for the festivities. I would not miss my only brother’s wedding. I would have preferred to have it earlier,” there was a pointed look at Oberyn who only smiled, unperturbed, “but I understand that Oberyn wanted you to be ‘settled’ in Sunspear before making you a Martell.”

Y/N smiled at Oberyn without thinking. It had been Oberyn’s idea to hold off on the wedding and she was grateful. Having the stretch of time, letting her heart settle, before her life changed again in another way was a quiet kindness that she would always hold dear.

“Did little Loreza enjoy the book I sent for her nameday?” Doran asked.

“She did,” Ellaria answered, “insisted on having Sansa read it every night.”

“Sansa sends her love,” Y/N quickly added.

“She is a fine lady. I was lucky to have her here despite the unfortunate circumstances.” It was said so earnestly that Y/N couldn’t help another smile splitting her face.

A quick knock at the door revealed Daisy, escorted by a beaming Daemon, carrying a familiar wooden box. They both curtseyed or bowed in turn before carefully setting the box on the edge of Doran’s desk and then excusing themselves, Daisy winking as she went and letting Daemon curl his hand around hers right before the door shut in its frame again.

An anticipatory silence stretched through the room as they all looked at the box. It was simple. No embellishments or special cuts of wood. It was just a box. But Doran reached out and dragged a finger across it like it was made of something precious.

“I shall like to speak with Lady Tully for a moment,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the box.

“Of course,” Oberyn said before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “We shall just be at the pools,” he added, mostly for Y/N’s benefit so she could know where to find them.

Ellaria also kissed her cheek before following Oberyn out, providing some comfort, and soon Y/N was left alone with the ruling Prince of Dorne.

Doran rolled back around his desk and gestured for Y/N to take a seat in the ornately carved chair across from him and she quickly settled onto the white linen cushion. She was equal parts nervous and hopeful as Doran gave her a soft look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will admit that I had my reservations when your raven first arrived. Fostering your little wolf was not a part of my plan but it was a welcome surprise. Lady Sansa is quite the student. She would have made quite the formidable Princess of Dorne.”

Y/N cocked her head to side at that, wondering what he meant, but he pressed on.

“And now you have brought me a wonderful gift.” He opened the box, sliding the wooden cover off with ease and then reached inside. The oversized skull had been dipped in gold only a few days prior and glittered in the bright sunlight as Doran held it aloft. “To know he is dead has brought my soul a small reprieve of the ache it has felt for decades.” The sound of the skull hitting the desk as he set it down was low and heavy. His fingers spanned over the cap and his nails bit into the gold. “Oberyn has always been the viper in the grass—ready and willing to strike at a moment’s notice. A willful little brother who seemed to outshine the sun whenever he was happy and burn anyone who tempted his wrath.” Doran fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I am sure you have seen that firsthand.”

“I have,” Y/N answered.

Doran nodded and did not move his hand from the dead man’s head. “You are like him, aren’t you? A burning rage just simmering beneath your skin. But you are able to hold your wrath and ruin back to play the game.” He hummed and Y/N tried not to fidget in her chair like a child. Doran was more perceptive than almost everyone she had ever met and she was waffling between being impressed and being innerved. “If you can kill a beast like this and still be gentle, you will be a fine Martell.” His fingers finally lifted from the skull to reach out toward her again and Y/N readily placed her hand in his and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, simply ask. I will make sure you receive it.”

**

The feast was a decadent affair. Filled with food and wine and music to delight every sense. And the assembled crowd had roared when Doran introduced her as, “Lady Y/N Tully—Slayer of the Mountain!” Oberyn kept a hand over her leg, dragging his fingers against her thigh and growing more and more bold as the night continued on until he was all but cupping her through the flowing blue silk of her skirts. Ellaria pressed berries against Y/N’s smiling mouth as she laughed, knowing exactly what Oberyn was doing.

The sticky night air had her pulling off the thin cloak she had about her shoulders, letting the golden Myrish lace pool around her waist. A few of the guests let their eyes linger on the scars on her exposed chest and back—or the thin bit of scarring across her cheek and then asked if she’d be willing to tell her story. Stating “I was shot by a fool” was infinitely less riveting than “I was able to evade The Mountain’s blade” but both stories gained her a bit of fanfare regardless. The golden skull was displayed in front of her on the table like a shining beacon of how she, a lady, brought a small bit of vengeance on behalf of the ruling family of Dorne.

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” It was something Manfrey had told her during her studies, face solemn and sad. And Y/N watched almost every person revere the gold-dipped skull in a sort of wicked appreciation before they were formally introduced.

The only person who seemed unnerved by it was Princess Myrcella, tucked into the arm of Prince Trystane. She was too polite to wrinkle her nose at the display of carnage and vengeance but pointedly did not look at it even as Trystane marveled at how large the skull was.

“Dorne suits you, Princess,” Y/N said to Myrcella knowing the young Princess was just as much out of her element as Y/N had been in King’s Landing.

“You as well it would seem,” Myrcella said with a small smile. “I hope to speak with you about…about your duties here. Prince Doran has said you’re very capable.”

Y/N nodded with a smile of her own. “I shall answer any question you may have, Princess.”

Trystane, heir to the throne of Dorne, was definitely his father’s son but seemed to have inherited a bit of a flirtatious streak from his uncle as he managed to snag a berry from Ellaria’s bowl while getting Y/N to agree to a dance. He winked as he walked away with a furiously blushing Myrcella still on his arm and Oberyn laughing into the night air.

“Careful, my prince, it seems Trystane is trying to steal our Tully,” Ellaria mused with a sly smile.

Oberyn leaned close to press a kiss against Y/N’s throat and smirked when she shivered. “Is it true, my moonlight?”

“Oh, yes. You’ve found me out. It was all a ruse to marry a too-young prince and have the Riverlands invade Dorne.” She gasped as Oberyn pinched at her inner thigh, pleasant ripples shooting up her leg and coiling in her stomach.

“Careful. Careful.”

The mischief that sparkled in his eyes made Y/N smile and she placed her hand over his and squeezed, for herself more than him she supposed, and she grasped Ellaria’s hand, too. “The gods could not take me from you both. I promise you that.”

But then Harmen Uller then swept her into a dance, not necessarily waiting for her to accept his hand before pulling her out of her seat, and drew a hearty laugh from her throat as they nearly bowled over other dancing couples. Ellaria then stole her for a dance of her own and then Trystane proved himself to be a graceful dancer, too.

It was all so…perfect.

Y/N pressed a kiss to Ellaria’s cheek as Oberyn danced with little Lady Coryanne Uller, Ellaria’s niece. She was a girl not but five and already named the heir to Hellholt after her father.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my love.”

“Do not be too long. I do believe Lord Allyrion is waiting his turn for a dance,” Ellaria said with a chuckle.

Y/N smiled and promised she would be back soon and then started toward one of the side doors of the grand hall, passing Doran as she did and squeezing his shoulder as she went. A servant opened the door with a soft smile and a small bow, letting her out into one of the halls. She slipped through and heaved a sigh when the door closed behind her. The music was muted and the air cooler against her heated skin.

A soft noise caught her attention in the quiet of the hall and her curiosity led her to peek around the corner to see Daemon and Daisy wrapped around each other. Again. Y/N stifled a laugh and turned away, continuing down the hall in the opposite direction. A handful of guards were stationed along the wall, each of them acknowledging her presence in one way or another as she found her way out onto a portico overlooking the still water pools. The blood orange trees swayed in the cool night breeze and brought the scent of citrus to her nose. She leaned against a carved column with a hum, resting for just a few breaths.

“My lady.”

Y/N stood straight and looked out into the night.

A short figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a hooded cloak and walking with a limp. They reached up to pull off the hood and-

“Tyrion?” The name was pushed out of her in a rush.

The Lannister cautiously moved closer to her on the pink marble of the pools’ terrace. “My lady, I have come to warn you-”

“Warn me? Your family would be insane to think they could come to Dorne and leave unscathed.” Tyrion pursed his lips—it was then that she noticed how bruised his face had become. Molted purple and blue skin covered half his cheek and arced over his eye. “What did she do to you?”

“Cersei has never been fond of me,” that was all he said. “I am sailing for Essos. But I needed you to understand—they know.”

“Know what? Now is not the time for riddles-”

“They know that Dorne has sided against the Crown.” His bruised face flushed with a vibrant blush she could see even in the dim light. “They are coming. And Cersei and my father are determined to hurt you.”

“They won’t make it through the Bone Way. If the Targaryens and their dragons could not conquer Dorne, a tired army from the Westerlands cannot.”

“My lady, please, listen to me. They are not coming with an army—not yet. I told you—they want to hurt you.”

“Let us help you. Oberyn can-”

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice echoed in the hall and reverberated out into the night air. “My lady?”

Y/N turned. “A moment, Daisy!” But when she turned back, Tyrion was gone.

Daisy stepped out onto the portico with a frown, lips swollen from her rendezvous with Daemon. She glanced out into the dark, looking for what Y/N had been seeing. “What is it, my lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N cast one last glance out into the dark terrace and saw nothing. Tyrion was gone. “It must have been the wine.” She needed to speak to Doran. Now. But she refused to spoil Daisy’s happy night. News of her betrothal to Daemon had been met with joy and cheers just before the feast had begun and Y/N wanted to let her friend have as much happiness as she could.

“Prince Oberyn is looking for you.”

She nodded and let Daisy lead her back to doors of the grand hall before shooing her way. “Go. I know Daemon is waiting for you in the shadows.” The happy and embarrassed blush that bloomed on her cheeks made Y/N laugh before she skittered away, back into the arms of her love.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. It would do no good to run in screaming that the Lannisters were coming. She had the most tenuous grasp on belonging here, in Dorne.

“Are you well, princess?” One of the servants asked, hand on the door and ready to let her in. He was young, she could tell. Probably no older than Arya.

“Not a princess just yet,” she said with a smile and trying to ignore how her heart was in her throat. “But I thank you, yes. I am still acclimating to the heat, I am afraid.” It was an easy explanation.

“Shall I fetch you some water?”

Her smile grew. “No, no thank you. What is your name?”

“Gyles, princess,” he said with a tip of his head, dark hair shorn short.

She chuckled. He seemed insistent on the honorific. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gyles.” She turned to the other servant, not wanting to be rude. “And you? What shall I call you?”

“Ilyn, my lady.” There was a sickly sweetness to his tone and his smile a bit too wide for his face.

Something about him turned her stomach within an instant but she smiled regardless, the perfect lady. “Pleased to meet you, Ilyn.” She turned to Gyles and nodded, letting him push open the door. Y/N slipped in and quickly moved to find Doran but was swept up into a familiar embrace.

“You mustn’t slip away without a word, my moonlight. You are the guest of honor.”

She turned in Oberyn’s grasp and felt a small bit of relief at the sight of his smiling face. “My prince, I must speak to you and your brother.”

His smile faded. “What has happened?”

She shook her head, letting her hands slide across the golden brocade of his robes to grab at the leather of his belt as if that would keep her mind from spinning. “I cannot tell you here. Please, my prince, please.”

Oberyn’s lips drew into a thin line and he nodded once before grabbing her hand and leading her toward Doran.

**

She did not sleep.

Ellaria had to pull Y/N from Doran’s solar and put her to bed like a child when she had started to sway on her feet. But all of them, every single one of them, were so sure that the Lannisters could not touch them.

But Y/N could feel a terrible, creeping sensation engulfing her entire body. She wanted them to be right. She wanted the Lannisters to be too weak or foolhardy to actually hurt the Martells. But something in her stomach told her to be wary.

So, she sat on the edge of her featherbed and looked out the open window and into the night sky. Watched the water lap in the pools while the air smelled of the lush gardens. She hadn’t readied for bed aside from kicking off her golden sandals, staying in the blue silk dress Oberyn and Ellaria had insisted she wear tonight. They liked her in blue. “We will have all the time in the world to dress you in our colors, My Tully. For now, we shall see you in blue.”

The din of the feast eventually faded as guests retired to their chambers or fell asleep in their seats in the grand hall, bellies full of good food and drink. None of them knowing of the threat of the lions. As the dark sky started to turn pink with dawn, she heard it.

Someone was whistling.

And she knew the tune.

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.

She slipped off her bed and over to the door, taking care to open it slowly to avoid the creak of the hinges.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

She stepped out into the hallway and listened. There was nothing. Nothing except for the whistle.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Y/N followed the sound across the fortress, hearing it grow louder with every step. Her heart roared in her ears. Her knees knocked together like a newborn foal. She was not brave.

She was scared.

Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

A figure slipped around the corner and she pumped her shaking legs, willing herself to go faster, to please go faster as she followed and Y/N realized with a terrible sense of dread that the only door in that hallway led to Prince Doran’s personal chambers.

A scream rang out.

Y/N pushed open the door in time to see Ilyn standing over Doran, bloody knife in hand. Trystane was huddled behind his father, sitting in a pool of blood. Doran was clutching at a gushing wound across the top of his chest, eyes hard and defiant.

Before she could even think to do something rational, Y/N ran at Ilyn and tackled him to the ground. The marble was unforgiving to her legs but she barely felt it as she struggled with the man over the knife, climbing over him in an attempt to gain the upper-hand, to keep him subdued. Her hand closed over the blade as he shoved it toward her throat and she felt it cut through her palm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. She hadn’t even realized she was screaming until Ilyn slammed his other fist into her throat and rendered her silent for just a moment. The blow shoved her backward and off him just enough for the would-be assassin to scramble up to his feet and dart back out into the hall.

Y/N scrambled over to the Dornish princes, trying to see if they needed help but Doran waved her on, pressing a fist against his wound. “Go!” He said through gritted teeth. “Get him.”

And Y/N did as she was told. By now, the halls were filling with people—some wondering why people were screaming and others seeming to know exactly what happened.

“Stop him!” She screamed, pointing her bloody hand at the fleeing Ilyn as she continued to give chase. “Stop him!”

Ilyn heard her scream and sneered at her over his shoulder just as he made it to the entry hall.

She wouldn’t catch him. She knew it. He was too fast but she could run until her legs gave out. “Stop him! Stop him!” She continued to scream, praying someone would.

Just as Ilyn stepped into the growing sunlight, he stumbled. A choking, gurgling sound escaped him and Y/N ran to see what had stopped him. It was Oberyn—the head of his spear buried deep in Ilyn’s stomach.

Oberyn’s mouth was moving, she could see it. He was coaxing something from Ilyn even as blood dripped from his mouth and spattered against the marble floor. But all she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.

Y/N jumped as Daisy grasped at her uninjured hand. The poor girl held up her hands with a shaking smile, like she was trying to help a feral cat. “My lady, I need to tend to your hand.” The words were muffled.

Y/N let Daisy lead her back into the great hall where the remnants of the feast had not yet been cleared away and slumped into the chair deemed hers the night before. She barely winced when Daisy started to clean her angry wound. She barely noticed when the maesters came in to help.

What she did notice, however, was a box placed atop her forgotten dinner plate. Her name was written on a bit of parchment in a familiar scrawl.

Her fingers shook as she reached out for it.

“Don’t, my lady,” Daisy hissed. “You don’t know what’s inside!”

But Y/N unlatched it and pushed open the lid. Her scream choked the air from her lungs.

Sitting inside the box, on a golden cushion, was the head of her father.

A/N: Welp. Please let me know what you think. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic​

[imagineofallkindsxxx]

Eternal Flame- Kol Mikaelson 4/?

Chapter 2- And Here I Thought We Were Getting Along.

Summary: 'You never know whats in a persons heart until you truly know them' - Belle French, Once Upon a Time

Singing. Thats all what Alexandra Gilbert has cared about since she was young and all she would care about until she met him.

With Alexandra fighting vampires, werewolves and all between she may do a thing she vowed never to do, fall in love.

And to think it all started with a walk in the woods...

WC: 2909

I came here for a good time not to get abused by a psychotic hybrid and watch one of my good friends get their necks snapped. Wasn't on my todays to do list, let me explain what happened next.

"Ah Dana, why don’t you relax? You and Chad sit tight." How gracious of you, you psycho I thought no way in hell am I being sarcastic to the scary hybrid maniac again, I quite like my head attached to my body. "I assume you’re the reason Elena's still walking around alive?" The psycho question Bonnie

"That’s right. If you want someone to blame, blame me" Bon I love you but let’s not commit suicide by placing blame on yourself. 

"Oh, there's no need for blame, love. just you and your witchy interference seems to have caused some undesirable side effects." He told her making me thank whatever god that he won't kill a friend of mine well so I thought. "And since you caused the problem, I’m going to have you find the fix." Wonderful, fan-fucking-tastic.

Before anyone was able to come back with a comment a blonde girl dressed in a pretty outfit came through the doors the opposite side of the hall with her dragging Tyler. Oh, this is getting better and better.

"Get off of me!" Ty yelled at the blonde but I have an inkling that just yelling that isn’t going to work.  

"Hush now" the blonde said to Tyler hearing her speak with the same accent as the psycho essentially holding the rest of us captive, wonderful.

"I'd like you all to meet my sister. word of warning... she can be quite mean." He said teasing his sister clearly annoying the girl.

"Don't be an ass" before throwing Ty in to the hybrids arm. I like her all things considered.  

"Leave him alone!" Elena yelled futile. I mean did she really think that was going to work.

"I'm going to make this very simple... every time I attempt to turn a werewolf into a vampire they die during transition. It’s quite horrible actually." The psycho hybrid informs us before biting into his wrist and making ty drink his blood which I can say from experience isn’t a great experience. "I need you to find a way to save my hybrids bonnie and for Tyler’s sake... you better hurry" before snapping his neck killing him.

"Jesus!" I yelled instinctively as Klaus smiles at us creepily. What is happening to this town, now not only is the sheriffs’ kid essentially dead but the mayors as well. Wonderful

Matt dropped down to the floor looking at Tyler almost in tears staring at his best friend before saying "He killed him".

"He's not dead, Klaus blood will turn him into a vampire" I informed Matt with a hand on his shoulder attempting to comfort the quarter back.

"And if Bonnie is successful, he will live through transition. Go on then. Go and fetch your grimoires and enchantments and what-not. I'll hold onto Elena and Her" he said pointing at me "for safe keeping" fantastic I’m leverage now. I should have taken up Sam’s offer to give me a ride back home. Bonnie looks apprehensive to leave so I shout

"Bon just go we'll be fine? I assume so anyway." But she seemed more focused on Elena what a shocker and when got the okay from her left. Once it was just the six of us Rebekah came up to my sister looking her up and down.

"So, this is the latest doppelganger. The original one was much prettier" I’m not going to lie that moment seemed to be the only good thing that had been said since I left the boys.

"Enough Rebekah. Take the wolf boy and her somewhere, would you?" Her brother told her like she was the dog not him.

"And here was me thinking we were getting on" I said to the hybrid in an innocent tone. I saw the blonde give a small smirk in the corner of my eye before grabbing Tyler by the t-shirt he was wearing and me roughly by the arm.

"God what is it with this family and being rough. Keep it inside the bedroom will you."

Rebekah dragged me and a now dead Tyler away from the gym hall and to the chemistry class. Mr Jones.

"NO" I shouted the top of my lungs where the vampire stopped and looked at me funnily. "You walk through that door and you'll be washing confetti out your hair until next year. trust me I rigged it myself." She gave me a confused look "Senior prank night" where she gave a nod in realization before moving into the class next door which was prank free luckily.

I saw Caroline knocked out, Rebekah throwing Tyler down beside her. I didn't have to question what happened to Caroline the angle of her neck was enough besides its bad enough having an original watching you like a hawk but an angry one... don't even want to think what the blonde would be like when angry. She sat down on one side of the class me at the other with Caroline lying next to me, my phone starts made a noise to indicate a text my main bet it is Sam to see if I’m home safe.

"what is that?" the blonde asked confused by the contraption in my hands.

"It’s an iPhone?" I questioned back where has she been the past decade "Have you never seen one before?"

"Obviously I haven't, I wouldn’t have asked if I had" she snapped back

"Okay, relax. I'm just going to text my friend that I’m fine, okay?" Trying to calm her down a bit not wanting to cause an angry original. I contemplated sending an SOS then thought I would just be putting him in danger as well, dealing with this bull shit is enough I don’t want Sam dragged into it.

"What’s a text?" Jesus she really doesn't know anything about technology. Where has Klaus been keeping her? 

"It’s like a letter only you can send it on this device. look I'll show you." I told her crawling over next to her "I'm texting my friend that I’m safe. so, I type it in to the bar here from the keyboard here" I was explaining it as best as possible for her whilst also replying to the text. Once I taught her that she must have heard vibrating because she heard Caroline’s phone. She picked it up and started to go through her phone, I'm still trying to teach her the basics of a phone. such as I just taught her how to take a selfie and it seems to keep her amused.

"Thank you. I'm sorry I never caught your name?" Rebekah asked kindly which is quite unusual for a borderline kidnapper.

"Uh, its Alexandra but call me Alex, Alexandra sounds so formal even from a millennial old vampire" giving a little laugh that she mirrored. "So, Klaus is your brother, must be ... eventful?"

She gave out a laugh "That's one word for it. Me and my brother have a complicated relationship." She told me smiling at me "I overheard your sisters with the doppelganger?" She questioned about Elena causing me to roll my eyes "Not a fan I take it."

"You could say that. Just like you and Klaus our relationship is complicated."

"If only families were easy"

I went to reply in agreement until I heard groaning coming from the direction Caroline was lying in making me snap my head quick enough to give me whiplash.

"Care" I rushed to her side "Are you okay? How's the neck?" I asked quickly making sure my friend was okay and in the right mind set for what she is about to see. From behind me I could hear the British voice I have grown used to in the past hour.

"We didn't have mobile telephones in my day. Would have made life a lot easier I suppose." Ending with taking a selfie which I smirked at. Caroline didn't have time to engage in conversation about her phone or wellbeing being more concerned about her boyfriend.

"Where's Tyler?" In a panic Rebekah answered her question calmly.

"He's dead. ish" Moving a bit to let Caroline have visual of her dead not so dead boyfriend.

"What did you do to him?" Caroline was starting to get a bit angry and I'm not sure if I want to see a fight between these two from such close proximity.

"Think of it as he's having a nap. When he wakes up, hell he a hybrid." Rebekah informed her

"Klaus turned him, Caroline. His hybrids are failing and we need Bonnie to find a spell to make sure Ty is a success and well lives." I told her giving her the run down of what is happening.

Nevertheless she races up and put her head to his chest to try and find a heart beat. While watching Caroline trying to wake Tyler hopelessly Rebekah was swiping through the photos she had taken with the help of yours truly before coming across a cute picture of Elena and Stefan

"Ugh. Vomit." She said disgusted by the picture before seeing something familiar in the picture and not just Stefan. She zoomed in to the neckless Elena wore since a few days in their relationships before getting up and turning to me shouting "Why is that doppelganger bitch wearing my necklace?!" making me jump a bit.

"Your necklace? That’s the necklace Stefan gave Elena at the beginning of their relationship. How is it your necklace?" I retorted confused on how Elena managed to get a necklace from a vampire whose been in a box for ninety years.

she stormed out of the class with me following slowly compared to her you know seeing as she’s a vampire and all. She marched into the gym hall towards my sister

"Where is it?!? Where is my necklace?" Shouting at Elena to give her necklace to the proper owner.

"What are you talking about?" Asked Rebekah’s big brother confused looking between me and his sister. Giving him the phone, she showed him the picture of the couple with Rebekah’s necklace.

"She has my necklace. Look."

"Well, well, more lies" he replies looking at Elena and Stefan.

"Where... is it?" Rebekah asks slowly and honestly her being somewhat calm is even more terrifying than her furious.

"I don't have it anymore" Elena tells the original which she finds unsatisfactory.

"Your lying!" she bellows before biting Elena’s neck which then Klaus pulls her off and takes her over to the side.

"Knock it off!" Klaus warns his little sister but she isn't backing down that easily, it was her necklace for nine centuries to be fair.

"Make her tell me where it is Nik!" she whines to her brother convincing the hybrid to talk to the doppelganger.

"Where's the necklace, sweet heart? Be honest" trying to convince her to tell them where the necklace is

"I'm telling the truth. Katherine stole it." Elena defends herself, first time for everything I suppose.

"Of course it would be that bitch." I muttered the same time as Klaus yells out dramatically,

"If we had the necklace, it would make things a whole lot easier for your witch, but since we're doing this the hard way, let's put a clock on it, shall we?" Declaring that he was putting a time on this, setting the dreadful noise of the gym clock buzzes and it’s set to twenty minutes stop clock. After this he begins to compel Stefan "Twenty minutes. If Bonnie hasn't found a solution by then, I want you to feed again. Only this time, I want you to feed on Elena. You know you want to." Oh, fantastic my sister is going to be a drained blood bag if Bon doesn’t find the right spell out of thousand within 20 minutes. Wonderful. 

"No, Klaus! don't do this to him!" My sister yells. When is she going to get it through her thick head that these are the Salvatore’s or Katherine these are thee vampires, they don’t take orders from a human even if they are a Petrova doppelganger.

"No one leaves. If she tries to run, fracture her spine".

"Oh how delightful" I muttered.

Rebekah grabs my arm albeit gentler this time taking me away with her and Klaus.

"No! Alex! Let her go please!" I hear Elena beg for my life, which although we are sisters is a nice feeling that she remembered about me.

"Oh love, don't worry your precious Alex will be quite alright with my dear sister." Klaus retorts before walking through the doors to go out to the corridor. "I'm sorry your brought into all this sweet heart." Klaus apologise not even sounding a tad sincere.

"Yeah, let’s just say next time I’m offered a ride I’ll be taking it. rather not get brought into my sisters mess again" this makes Rebekah smirk as we depart ways from her brother to head towards the class we left Caroline and Tyler in.

After a long seventeen awkward minutes with the two blondes sitting opposite sides of the rooms me in the middle being a barrier of sorts but as soon as it hit the three minute left mark Tyler woke up making me race towards the werewolf turned hybrid

"Where am I? What happened?" Tyler questioned the two of us, seeing Rebekah and looking extremely confused

"Tyler" Caroline began but Rebekah interrupted before she could say anymore

"Don't be shy about it."

"What’s going on?" Tyler still and rightly so confused I would be as well if I woke up in a class from a broken neck with three females two vampires.

"Klaus is turning you into a vampire. A hybrid. You’re in transition" Caroline starts off being kind and leaving the hard bits out.

"Don’t leave the hard bits out sweets. you-" but I cut her off

"You'll only live if Bonnie is successful but if she doesn't find a solution then... you'll die" I told him trying to block out any emotion that would rub off on to him and Caroline but not succeeding seeming stressed and upset.

"You’re going to be okay. Okay? It's going to be okay." Caroline says not only trying to convince Tyler but herself also.

"I wonder how she's doing." Showing us the time left on her clock only being two minutes "Tick Tok goes the gym clock."

I look upset and stressed I step outside in the hallway leaving the couple to have a moment but Rebekah follows "I'm sorry, Alex. I don't know what I'd do if someone tried to hurt my brothers the way you are. I'm so sorry" her apology seeming to be more sincere compared to her brothers earlier. I nodded in thanks not wanting to seem remotely weak. Tyler will live. He has to.

I breathe in and out steadying my heart rate before going back into the class where Caroline and Tyler are situated obviously upset, nervous and worried from the look on their face. But after a few minutes and most likely the death of my sister which brings tears to my eyes an unlikely hero comes to save the day and that person is Klaus Mikaelson.

"Well verdicts in. The original witch says the doppelganger should be dead." Making me deflate tears finally running down my cheeks at the thought of my sister dying. I may not have seen eye to eye with her but she was still my sister.

"Does that mean we get to kill her?" Seeming happy until she seems me and then tries to hide her excitement failing in doing so.

"No, I’m fairly certain it means the opposite." He tell his sister

"Wait Elena is alive?" I question the hybrid in which he ignores but putting two and two together I breathe in a sigh of relief that my twin sister is alive.

"What?!?" Rebekah exclaims also being partly ignored by her brother. She pulls Caroline and myself back so we don’t interrupt any process of what will happen such as Klaus feeding my friend my sisters’ blood out of a small test tube.

"Elena’s blood drink it"

"Tyler no!" Caroline yells in warning

"Caroline! He’s dead either way!" Giving her a pleading look if she can be quiet and let this psycho feed him Elena’s blood.

"At least we can agree on something sweet heart" He says talking to me making me glare at him.

After a struggle Tyler finally drinks the blood in the test tube.

"There we go good boy"

"He isn't a dog" I snarked towards the original which he returned with a glare with the same amount of malice I sent him.

"And here was me thinking we were getting along" mirrorring my words earlier.

Once Tyler had finished drinking her blood he coughs and falls to the floor from rolling about on the desk that he was lying on. He was screaming and groaning before he holds his head and screams so loud it hurts my normal human ears. his face finally changes: His eyes are golden and he has fangs along with veins under his eyes just like a vampire. I glanced at Caroline worriedly when Klaus said.

 

"Well, that's a good sign"

**************************************

 

A/N: long chapter for me anyway.

Again hope there's not too mistakes e.g. grammar, spelling, Americanisms.

if you have anything to say please don't hestitate to comment. I appreciate all positive and negative feedback

 Next chapter is really a tad of her relationship with the boys and part of the next episode.

Thanks for reading Lovelies xxx

[writernomore]

Two sides of the same coin.

Sorry I haven’t posted for a long time, I’ve been busy and I’ve been tired lately, but I hope I can make it up to you guys for my absence lately.

And I’ve discussed this lately that I will be doing this with my oc insert and the reason behind it would be anonymous please respect my decisions. :(

Summary: You go to Diagon Alley to get your books for your Second year in Hogwarts but while in the shop in Flourish and Blotts you are taken somewhere by a book that turned into a mysterious door with a peculiar symbol.

Chapter 5. 

It was finally to go back to Hogwarts so you had to buy this years books and anything else needed so that would mean your grandfather will be taking you to Diagon Alley with him, since your grandparents wanted to go to Diagon Alley with you to go shopping for your first year but they couldn’t since they were out on a 1 week vacation so now was there chance.

But this time your grandmother can’t go since she’s been feeling under the weather lately so she had to stay in bed today to rest.

So you went to eat breakfast and dress up to go outside today in a Dark Blue sweater, black shorts, a black beanie, the scarf your grandmother knitted you, with loose white socks that pooled around your ankles and black shoes.

After brushing your hair you picked up your bag and placed the letter with the list of books and things you have to get that are required.

But noticing that most of the books are by Gilderoy Lockhart, he was famous for his stories and they have been written into books but I guess you didn’t mind it anyways since that’s what the school wants you to get then that’s what you’ll get.

Tying up your messy red hair in a ponytail was always that task since it would always poof up on how thick it was so you always tied it so it wouldn’t go to your face and have to push it back out of annoyance.

“Juniper!” Your Grandfather called out.

You shouted ‘coming’ and gathered your things and put them in your bag rushing down the stairs and went to your grandparents room to kiss your grandmother goodbye and went to Diagon Alley by floo.

You really had to get used to travelling by floo really, patting away dust from your clothes you stood up and saw how the streets on Diagon alley was packed of people.

Looking around from where you stood you saw two boys standing in front of Flourish and Blotts, where you were supposed to go so walking up to them since they might be new students going to Hogwarts.

“Hi!” the two boys looked at you like they were looking at a ghost, the shorter one said a quiet ‘Hi’ that it probably would’ve not had been heard by you.

“You guys must be shopping for your books for your second year of Hogwarts! I’ve never seen you before but My name’s Juniper Brighton and you are?”

They both looked at each other then the taller boy nodded the shorter one spoke up and said “I’m Abdel McCohen and this is my older twin brother Thomas McCohen” 

“Are you guys perhaps new to Hogwarts?” “Yes we are” Thomas spoke up.

“We were finally allowed to go out in public and attend school” Abdel said “Oh so you guys were Homeschooled?” you asked “Yes we were”.

You told them that you guys should go inside the store so the three of you can talk and get to know each other, They met your friends Hermione, Ron and Harry.

The McCohen twins were kinda a weird bunch but who am I to speak when I’m a witch? Hehe.

They told me that they weren’t used to speaking with kids their age since their Father would force them to business gatherings with adults and they had to talk with them since they were like their Father’s future successors.

You were looking at a Wizard and Princess romance book when it was swiped away from your grasp, looking up it was Fred with a mischievous smirk on his lips, pouting you told him to give it back and his smirk only grew bigger shaking his head he said no and that you had to get it from him.

Yeah that kinda didn’t end well, running around the store for it and stumbling on your feet and ending up falling and bringing Fred down with you, that was your chance.

Groaning Fred looked up at you and you snatched the book from him and standing up, extending a hand to Fred and pulling him up.

“Got the book” You said in a sing song voice.

“That wasn’t fair you did that on purpose” Fred whined “Wish I did” Fred crossed his arms over his chest but went to ruffle your hair making a small blush creep to your cheeks.

Opening the book to scan the pages but then when it was in the middle of the book it started to glow and float into the air, you backed up a bit and Fred went in front of you as in of a protective manner, thinking Fred told you to stay there to get the others for help or maybe to ask what to do.

Staring at it the then, the book glowed brighter and grew larger in a form of a door, engraved was a strange symbol.

It looked a bit familiar but the memory was pretty foggy and it was very vivid it kinda looked like a-

"What is that?"

Hermione.

"Bloody hell" Ron mumbled.

The conversation was going on but you've been long gone from that racing all your memories because the familiarity of the symbol would be killing you from the inside.

You went to walk slowly towards the door going to touch and trace the doors symbol, the symbol glowed and the door opened to a what you would say a some kind of portal.

"Guys...Hey guys!"

They turn to you and their eyes widened at the opened door, Harry walked forward and next to you and asked what it was, you told him you had no idea but you were going to find out what, they asked what you meant but before they could get a reply from you, you ran forward and went inside the portal.

Harry was going to grab your hand to pull you back but it was already too late..you were on the other side of the portal, where ever it lead, you weren't going to be able to make it on your own.

Without thinking Fred went on and ran after you entering the portal and so did George going after you and his twin brother, Harry, Ron and Hermione were going to enter the portal as well but it had quickly closed and disappeared the book falling onto the floor, quickly, Hermione picked up the book and tried to get the portal open again.

But it didn't work, the portal didn't open again the three looked at each other concerned but then suddenly the book was snatched away from Hermione's hands, looking to the person it was someone they least expected or wanted to be with at the moment right now.

"What's the mudblood got right here?" Draco sneers.

"Give it here Malfoy." Harry says sternly.

"...No" Draco says and begins to run down to the main floor, the three follow behind him.

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

Rubbing your eyes you open them and see that your in a forest, looking around the environment looks far from normal, the clouds forming into silly shapes and in different colors, the trees twisted into weird shapes and in the color purple and decorated in colorful leaves.

Standing up, you went to glance around and see Fred and George on the floor, running to them you try to get them to stand up.

"Are you guys okay?" You ask.

Fred groans sitting up and rubbing his head "Were alright, right George?" you look to George and he just puts his hand up and puts it down groaning, you walk up to him and help him get up seeing if there are any injuries "Don't worry about me, I'm a big boy I'm alright." you nodded.

And stood up and looked around again, your eyed landed onto a flower it looked like the symbol on the door, crouching down the ground surrounding it was ice, hovering your hand under it to look at it, it was surprisingly cold like ice but it was still alive.

Maybe it was only a coincidence that it matches the symbol on the portals door, standing back up there was a green path.

That wasn't there before you thought, but right now you dragged Fred and George with you and others are still on the other side of the portal.

"We have to find a way out." "What why?" You didn't answer you just looked around and tried to find a way back, you were going to climb a tree to find out where you were but a hand on your shoulder stopped you, you were turned around to be faced with Fred and George giving you questioning looks.

Biting the inside of your lip you turned back around and tried to climb up the tree but once again you were stopped "Put me down!" You tried to wiggle yourself out of Fred's grasp but he was older and stronger, not to mention he was a beater in Quidditch so you decided to stop squirming around since it would definitely be useless.

"June.." "I was reckless and I went inside the portal and I dragged you two alongside me! There are you happy?" You pouted and crossed your arms over your chest, carefully you were placed down and turned around and put into a hug.

It surprised you, but it made you feel better "How about we go and follow the path and see where it leads us?" "Don't you wanna go back home?" "Nah, not now but there might be stuff we could use for pranks when we go back to Hogwarts!" Fred exclaims.

Ofcourse you thought but giggled nonetheless "Hey I'm serious!" "Right Freddie, sure" George says.

The three of you follow the green path to see where it would lead Fred talks about countless plans and possible things you guys will find here and George just jokes around earning some elbow shoves from Fred you just giggled glad that maybe it wasn't a bad idea to enter the portal.

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

That was it for now! And this is definitely not following the plot of Harry Potter, but I think it's better than having to follow all of the plots and this is probably what fanfiction is all about.

Not following the main plot of the original story!

Anyways that concludes it for chapter 5 I hope you guys enjoyed today's chapter and I'm sorry it doesn't make sense at all.

[dontcare77ghj]

Knitting

Natasha x reader x Wanda

Wanda had the largest heart. She was a true mother hen always worrying, always checking everyone was okay and wanting to make everyone feel safe. After missions she would force everyone to go get themselves get out, even if they said they felt fine, if someone were going out, she would make sure they were wearing a proper disguise and in Natasha’s case were only carrying two weapons, and in recent months she had taken up a new hobby she was involving everyone in.

Wanda had recently taken up knitting. Sweaters, scarves, hats, gloves anything you could knit she would make it. Suddenly Tony had multiple red and gold scarves, Steve had a draw full gloves in every shade of blue, Bruce had beanies in green and purple and Thor now lived in knitted sweaters.

Wanda liked her knitting hobby and enjoyed making things for her teammates. You and Natasha found your girlfriends knitting hobby adorable. You could find her knitting in any free time she had, just sitting in bed, on the couch, on the living room floor with a soft smile on her face as knitted one and pearled two. Or whatever other patterns she was using.

“Hey honey.” You greeted, plopping onto the couch next to your girlfriend. “Whatcha working on?”

“Some gloves for Bucky.” Wanda replied, leaning over and kissing your cheek without stopping her knitting. “He wants some to match Steve’s.”

“I thought he stole some of Steve’s?” You asked, cocking your head at her. “Wasn’t he running away from Steve the other day about them?”

“No Steve stole them back, so I offered to make him his own pair.” Wanda explained, turning to face you. “Can you pass me the black wool?”

“This ball’s almost gone. Do you want me to put it on the list?” You asked, placing the soft ball in front of her on the couch. Wanda looked at you confused as she continued knitting.

“What list?” She asked, making you smile.

“Me and Nat keep a list of the wools you’ve either used up or are close to using all of.” You explained, grabbing the notebook from under the coffee table. “Then at the end of the week we replenish your supply. Did you think it just magickly replenished itself?”

“To be honest, I never really thought about it.” Wanda admitted, cheeks turning a light pink. “I always just assumed I never used all the wool.”

“You’ve made multiple sweaters for Thor, what I’m going to assume is 20 pairs of gloves for Steve, and, I can’t even count how many things you’ve made for Clint.” You said, smiling at your girlfriend. “The fact you haven’t been paying attention to your wool collection is very cute.” You added, leaning over to kiss the blushing auburn woman.

“Well now I’m going to start paying more attention.” Wanda said, giving you a firm nod. “Wait where did I put the black wool?” She asked, looking confused as she looked in her wool basket and, on the table. You laughed at the woman before picking the wool in front of her up.

“What happened to paying more attention?” You mocked. Wanda narrowed her eyes as she took the wool out of your hands.

“Don’t you start with me, Draga Mia.” Wanda said, hitting you lightly with the ball of wool. 

“Love you, Wanda.” You cooed with a sweet smile. Wanda melted at the sight and leaned over to kiss you quickly. 

“I love you too.” Wanda replied as she pulled away. “I hate it when you do that.” She added, making you grin. 

“I hate you can still do that while we kiss.” You said, pointing to her clicking needles. 

“It’s a weird talent she just has.” Natasha said that as she entered. The two of you turned to face the red head who was shedding multiple layers of wool products. “Hi you two.” She said, walking over and kissing the two of you. 

“Hiya Tash.” You greeted, giving her a large smile. Natasha climbed over the back of the couch and sat gracefully next to you. 

“I come baring gifts.” Natasha said, handing a box over to Wanda. Wanda opened the box to reveal several balls of thick wool. “It was at the front desk.” Natasha explained as Wanda smiled. 

“Thank you, Nat.” Wanda said, kissing Natasha’s cheek before stowing the box under the table. “I’ve been waiting for this for weeks.”

“It’s wool, couldn’t you have just gone to that store you like?” Natasha asked, wrapping an arm around your waist. 

“I did go to the wool store but she didn’t have any of this stuff.” Wanda explained, picking up her current project. “She had to order it from a supplier and that was almost three months ago.”

“What are you going to make with it?” You asked and Wanda gave you a secretive smile. 

“It’s a surprise.” She said and went back to Bucky’s gloves. You and Natasha gave each other a look as you both silently wondered what you were she was making.

“I’m tangled. Y/N save me.” Natasha whined, shoving her wool tangled hands in front of you. About a week ago half the team came down with a terrible cold after a mission in Russia had ended with everyone nearly being buried alive in snow. 

You’d all made it out but the sickness had spread throughout the team nearly immediately. Wanda and Steve being the two mother hens they were, as well as two of the best not sick ones, had taken it upon themselves to try and bring everyone back to full health. 

Right now, Wanda was in the common kitchen with the Steve, and brewing up a large pot of Mama Rogers Cure All Soup. While those two were busy, they were you and Natasha wanted to be helpful so you’d decided to roll and organize Wanda’s wool collection. 

The once single basket had multiplied into four and they had recently been become very disarrayed. Wanda had wanted to make everyone new knitwear to help them get better but because she’d been helping Steve take care of everyone, as well as anything else in the tower, she had barely had time to finish any of them. 

“How did you manage to get like this?” You asked the woman as you tried to untangle the wool from her hands. 

“I blame the medication.” Natasha grumbled. “I don’t think it’s going to untangle.” She said after several unsuccessful moments. 

“That’s because you’ve put knots through it all.” You said, picking at one of the knots. “Again, how the hell did you do this?”

“I was wrapping it on my hands.” Natasha explained, and sniffing loudly. “Maybe we should just cut it off.” Natasha said. 

“No. Wanda would kill us and besides we wanted to help her with her wool, not destroy it.” You said, raising an eyebrow at the red head. 

“What is going on here?” Wanda asked, standing in the doorway to the bedroom with an amused smile. 

“Before you say anything else,” Natasha started. “Just know that we were trying to help.”

“She’s not wrong we were trying to help.” You confirmed. “Well, we are as soon as we fix this.” You added, gesturing to Nat’s hands. 

“How did you manage this, Tasha?” Wanda asked, sitting on Natasha’s other side. 

“That’s what I said.” You told Wanda as she began attempting to untie Natasha’s hands. 

“What exactly were you two trying to do?” Wanda questioned, picking at a large knot that kept Natasha’s hands stuck together. 

“We wanted to tidy up your wools. You know, do something nice for you because you’ve been taking care of everyone.” You explained. 

“That’s so sweet.” Wanda said. She kissed Natasha quickly before leaning over and doing the same to you. She had “As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I do have one question. You two didn’t my box of projects, right?”

“We didn’t get that far, so no.” Natasha said, smiling as Wanda managed to undo the wool around Natasha’s hands. 

“Good.” Wanda sighed. 

“What do you have in there anyway?” Natasha asked. “You haven’t let us touch it in months.”

“There’s a surprise in there for the two of you and I want it to stay a surprise until it’s ready.” Wanda answered, standing from the bed. “Now come on you two. Steve’s miracle soup is ready and you’re both getting an extra-large helping.”

“When do we get to know what the surprise is?” You asked, standing and following after Wanda. 

"Soon, I promise." Wanda said as Natasha took your hand. As Wanda walked ahead of you, you and Natasha shared a similar look you had when she got the balls of wool. What was she planning? 

"Wanda what are you doing?" You asked as Wanda produced two blindfolds. 

"I am being romantic." Wanda said, walking behnd you and tying it over your eyes. "Is that too tight?" She questioned and you shook your head. 

"Wanda you know I don't like surprises." Natasha said from your side. 

"I know but I promise you're going to love this one." Wanda assured, moving over to Natasha. "Let's go." She said, placing a hand on both your shoulders and walking you both forward. 

"Wanda please don't let me fall." You begged your girlfriend. Though you trusted the woman wholeheartedly, the fear of falling onto your face was great. 

"I would never let you fall." Wanda said. The three of you walked for a couple of minutes and the breeze you felt as you heard the doors open alerted you to where you were. 

"Why are we outside?" Natasha asked. 

"Because the car is out here." Wanda said simply. "We have to drive to get to the surprise." She added, opening a door and helping you sit. You heard her do the same to Nat as you clicked your seatbelt into place. 

As Wanda drove none of you spoke. The silence was not overwhelming nor was it uncomfortable, it was peaceful and it was comfortable. 

"We're here." Wanda announced as the car stopped. 

"Do we get to take our iblindfolds off now?" Natasha asked. 

"No. Get your hands away from the blindfold, Romanoff." Wanda said, making you smile. She helped the two of you out of the car and began walking you where she wanted. 

"Are we in the woods?" Natasha asked as you stepped on a branch. 

"Yes and we're going to almost at the surprise." Wanda told the pair of you. 

"If we're so close, does that mean we get a hint now?" You questioned as Wanda stopped walking. 

"The hint is to take off your blindfolds." Without another word your blindfold was off and you smiled at the sight in front of you. 

The three of you stood in a clearing in the woods. Wanda had decorated the trunks of the surrounding trees in twinkly lights. The a picnic blanket sat in the middle of the clearing, several pillows scattered on top, a wicker basket was also on the striped blanket. A ottle of red wine and three glasses sat in the middle of the blanket. 

The most beautiful sight, apart from the women standing next to you, and was the clear view of the stars above you. 

"Happy two year anniversary." Wanda said, and making your head snap to her. You grinned widely at the auburn woman and threw your arms aroud her neck. 

Wanda laughed as your lips conected to her in a passionate display. After what felt like a lifetime you pulled apart from her and Natasha took your place, repeating your display. 

"This is gorgeous. Wanda this must have taken you hours to set up." You gushed happily taking Wanda's hand in yours. "I love it and I love you both."

"How much wine have you had?" Natasha teased, and kissing you on the lips. Wanda laughed as she led the pair of you over to the blanket. 

"This isn't the last of the surprise." Wanda said as you all sat. She moved the wine and the glasses away from the middle and pulled the basket onto her lap. "I have been working on this for and it's for the both of you." She added, placing the basket in front of you. 

Together you and Natasha opened the basket and pulled out an intricately knitted quilt. While in the basket you noted how colourful and thick it seemed but as you pulled it out you immediately saw how large and long it was. 

It could easily be wrapped around six people with room still left over. Upon holding it in between your hands, you noticed you were correct in assuming it was thick. If you were in the middle of Antarctica, this blanket could probably do a good job at keeping you all warm. 

"Wanda this gorgeous." You said, you running your fingers over the soft blanket. 

"is this what all the imported wool was for?" Natasha asked. "This must been so expensive." 

"I don't care about that." Wanda dismissed. "If you want to worry about the price, I check what's in the pocket in the middle." She said, pointing to a red square. You reached a hand into the pocket and pulled out two rings. You handed one over to Natasha as you stared at the one in your hand in shock. 

"Is this what I think it is?" You asked as Wanda shifted closer to the two of you. 

"If you're thinking it's an engagement ring, then you are absolutely correct. There was a point in my life where I believed I was never going to be tuely happy and then I met the two of you. I didn't know you could feel this much love in one lifetime and I am a selfish woman. I don't want to give that or the two of you up, so I'm asking if the two of you would marry me?"

Before Wanda had finished her sentence you had thrown your arms around the woman, with tears stinging your eyes. 

"Yes! Yes!" You cheered, and planting kisses on her face. Natasha moved closer and wrapped her arms around the two of you. 

"In case you can't tell, that was a yes. Yes we'll both marry you." Natasha said, and holding you both close and kissing the pair of you. Wanda smiled and slid the rings onto your appropriate fingers. 

"And this is why I brought the wine." She said, kissing your ring fingers and grabbing the glasses. The three of you drank the entirety of that bottle as you lay watching the stars. 

Hours later as you and Natasha began to drift, Wanda grabbed the blanket she had spent months crafting and threw it over the three of you. The warmth of Wanda's was gift was all you needed to fall asleep under the stars, in the arms of your fiances. 

It was a blanket of love. 

Taglist

@piper-koko-barnes-rogers @skeletoresinthebasement @agent-barnes40 @hopingforbarnes @rvgrsbrns

Natasha Taglist 

@5aftermidnight

Show your support. Give it a like. Leave a comment. Share with your friends and reblog. Inbox/Message me any comments, ideas, pairings, if you'd like to be added to a Taglist or anything you'd like. 

Coming soon:

Steve x reader x Sam

Natasha x reader x Bruce

Steve x reader x Bucky x Sam

Natasha x reader x Sam x Bucky x Steve

Steve x reader x Thor

Pepper x reader x Tony 

Natasha x reader x Peggy x Wanda

Bruce x reader xThor

Steve x reader x Bruce x Tony

[cheswirls]

a continuation of this.

ace helps koala unfurl the sail after tying his boat to her larger one. once they’ve moved out away from the island, he beckons sabo forward to her scrutinizing gaze. 

“huh. he looks better than you, actually,” she says, a hand under her chin. she dodges neatly around ace’s elbow jab and frowns. “why’s your hair wet?”

sabo blinks, like he’d been unaware of this. to be fair, it had dried considerably in the sunlight. he reaches up to roll a strand between his fingertips. “chemical tank,” he mentions lightly, after sparing koala another look. she quickly drops the subject.

“i’m koala.” she holds out a hand and sabo takes it. “and you are?”

“system of acute biowarfare organics,” he recites. ace screws up his face and sabo blinks after catching sight of it. “you can just call me sabo,” he tells koala.

“no wait, back up.” she frowns. “that sounds . . what does that mean?”

“my blood is poisonous,” he tells her. she quickly drops his hand.

“oh.” her voice grows faint. “i see.” she turns to ace next. “you didn’t tell me your clone is a biological weapon!” she hisses.

“i didn’t know!” ace insists. “i literally just found out!”

“i told you my name earlier,” sabo says to him, brows furrowing. 

ace groans. “yeah, but i didn’t ask what it meant.” i was distracted by something else.

“that’s not my fault.”

“stop being a prick!” ace snaps.

sabo blinks, and his expression grows dull. “what’s a prick?”

ace’s eyes grow wide. beside him, koala starts to laugh. “i already like him better than you,” she says, and ace sputters.

before he can reply properly, she addresses sabo again. “nice to meet you. i have a lot of questions, but i’ll save you the grief and just ask one for now. why are you a system of poisonous blood? aren’t you a human body?”

“my predecessor were the storage of acute biowarfare organics,” sabo admits. “they decided a system that could reproduce the toxin would be far better.”

koala hums. “i think dragon may forgive you, actually, if you play your cards right,” she mentions to ace. 

ace crosses his arms over his chest. “that’s not why i went and got him.”

she rolls her eyes. “i know. i’m just trying to help.”

“well you’re not.”

“oh fuck off!” she turns away. “sabo, tell him that when he’s annoying you.”

“don’t listen to her!” ace snaps.

sabo’s eyes narrow. “fuck off.”

ace gasps. koala breaks into hysterics. “i definitely like him better than you!” she howls.

-

ace bows sharply at the waist. “i apologize for seizing an army ship for my own personal gain.”

dragon eyes him carefully, leant back in his chair. “you could have been seen.”

ace straightens out. “i made sure i wasn’t.”

“what’s his name?”

“sabo, sir.”

“what was their goal? why create him?”

“he’s some sort of biological weapon.”

dragon’s brow raises. “and he just defected willingly?”

“in all fairness, sir, he recognized their plans for him were wrong.” ace hesitates, just for a moment. “i offered him freedom. he accepted.”

dragon nods in understanding, a silent agreement passing between them. then he nods again. “i’ll forgive you if you let me analyze his blood.”

ace blinks, caught off-guard, because he hadn’t expected such an easy out.

“i do not think that is a good idea,” sabo says, later on in the day, after being introduced to dragon.

dragon’s face grows pensive. “and why not?”

“i am unsure the material you have to extract the blood is strong enough to contain it,” he confesses.

“what is strong enough, then?”

sabo shrugs. he’d seen ace do it in lieu of an answer earlier. dragon seems to accept it.

“hm.” dragon turns to ace. “looks like you’re not off the hook.”

ah. great.

-

“so, this is my room.” ace gestures to the near-empty space, then drops his arm with little effort. “our room, now, i guess. uh.” he sighs. “you can take the bed. i probably won’t be back in until morning.” it takes effort to contain his next sigh, and he moves further into the room to allow sabo better access.

the blond walks in slowly, examining everything in the room even when that means very little. ace doesn’t spend a lot of time here, anyway. it’s very impersonal. he moves over to the small dresser while sabo looks around.

“you should take a shower,” he mumbles. “i’ll lend you some clothes.”

“are we the same size?” sabo asks, the first thing he’s said since they left dragon’s office. ace turns his head over his shoulder to look at him.

“i’d be very surprised if we weren’t.” his tone borders on deadpan, but sabo either doesn’t get it or doesn’t let it affect him.

“surely we have different builds,” he insists, though the emotion in his voice is lackluster. “i haven’t been alive for very long, and i certainly haven’t kept the same schedule as you.”

ace shrugs, turns back to the drawer, and hurriedly pulls out a white nightshirt. “it’ll be fine. we’re at least the same height.” he closes the door and hands sabo a stack of clothes consisting of the button-down, socks, underwear, and an older pair of sweats. he’s careful to avoid skin contact, even if he knows sabo doesn’t have any open cuts, or any cuts at all. his blood is perfectly inside his body, where it should be, but the conversation with dragon still has him on edge. “do you need help showering?”

sabo looks at him oddly. “no. i’ve done it before.”

“that was a joke,” ace says too fast. he’s actually mildly surprised sabo was subjected to that. 

as if guessing his thoughts, sabo’s fingers squeeze on the clothing and he opens his mouth. “they needed to make sure i could be delicate enough to function. my body is a container, more than anything.”

ace waves him off. “really, it’s okay. you don’t have to explain. look, the shower’s through here.” he spins on his heel and opens a door in the middle of the far wall. “i share it with kohza, next door, so just remember to unlock this when you leave,” ace tells him, locking the other door as he does. 

“unlock the door,” sabo echoes. “got it.” he settles the clothes on the small counter, then fumbles with the clasp of the cloak. ace purses his lips and steps back through to the bedroom. sabo reminds ace so much of . . of him that he can’t stand it.

even more so when he turns back to shut the door, sabo’s eyes wide and innocent and curious on him, just like a certain little boy he used to-

“i’ll be back,” ace chokes out, forcing down that thought immediately. “go to sleep, if you can. i’ll be here in the morning.”

he doesn’t give sabo time to reply, fleeing the room in a hurry.

-

“i thought i would find you in here,” conis says drily, opening the door further, and ace blinks rapidly as his eyes adjust to the bright light from the hallway. lucky for him, conis slips into the room fully and casts it back into its lamp-lit glory.

ace frowns, registering her words, and turns back to his scrolls. “guess word gets around fast,” he mutters. “well, feel free to take my place.”

“reorganizing the archives doesn’t sound nearly as interesting as reading through the materials,” conis retaliates, waving a hand dismissively. still, she comes to sit at a close distance, mindful of the scrolls scattered between them. and on the floor. and on the tables. and overflowing the shelves. one would think it would be quite useful to have an archive room that was perfectly organized, especially for the delicate work they performed. and it had been, at one point. but then an earthquake had sent the room to ruin, and between this and that, there just hadn’t been anyone free to straighten it up.

until ace. lucky him.

“che,” ace ticks, setting a scroll to the side. “why are you here, then? come to keep me entertained?”

“you look alike.”

ace stills his hands. “you saw him?”

“i saw you two together, earlier. it shocked me a little bit, because when i heard you had a clone, i was expecting a carbon copy.”

“me too,” ace admits. he forces himself to relax, dropping his shoulders, tension bleeding from his arms entirely. he looks up at conis, and her pale hair and fair complexion remind him of an earlier train of thought. he’s careful as he voices it. “i think it still is, genetically. it took me a bit to realize, but i think they pulled on my recessive genes. that, or his pigment mutated in response to-” 

ace cuts himself off, mouth still open, and zones out, eyes unfocusing. dragon hadn’t said to keep it a secret, and koala already knew, and koala was friends with conis. ace trusted conis, too, but information like sabo’s blood being toxic and nearly uncontainable was sensitive, and he suddenly wasn’t sure how willing he was to share. sabo just got here, after all. it wouldn’t do to have everyone afraid of him.

“hm,” he settles. “anyway, even though he doesn’t look exactly like me, he’s not a version that would have been impossible, either.” 

he’d thought about that a lot, sailing back. sabo had his mom’s blonde hair, and her bright eyes, and her lighter skin. as much as he loathed to admit it, ace really did resemble his father far more. looking at sabo was almost like looking at a mirror complexion of what he could’ve been. really, if it weren’t for their shared dna -and, like, exact, too. he wasn’t ace’s clone for nothing- they still looked startlingly similar enough to pass as brothers-

ace feels a sudden, deep pang in his heart and he’s so glad conis picks this moment to speak up again.

“dragon isn’t as upset as he seems, about you going,” she tells him, and, ah, she must pick up on the subtle way ace’s face changes, because ace knows she wants to ask more, but she’s moved on to another topic instead. this is why he likes conis. 

ace gestures around the room. “you sure? i’ll be here all night.”

“he was concerned about someone finding out you’re alive. he doesn’t mean to keep you under lock and key, ace.” conis reaches out, realizes the scrolls are still between them, and forfeits the motion. “i think he’s excited, if anything.” there’s a gleam in her eyes, when ace turns to look. “like it or not, you stole something important from them. things are going to develop. rapidly.”

“is it stealing if he went willingly?”

“to them it will be. not my point, ace, listen.” 

this time she leans forward to place a hand on ace’s shoulder, closing the distance enough to stare into his eyes. “you’re the one who brought him here,” she reminds him. “now you have to be ready to accept the consequences.”

ace swallows, the words daunting. he is sure she means more than the punishment he’s enduring for having gone off on his own.

[of-wrens-and-whirlwinds-blog]

Hike

Commission for the grand @auspiciousagape !!! So sorry this took so long, love! I hope you like it!

Commission info is in my about page!

~

Jayson adjusted the basket slung over his shoulder restlessly. Why had he agreed to this again?

Because Marcus hadn’t been allowed to visit in a few weeks and Jayson really wanted to see him. To feel that two-tone warmth when they stood close together.

Jayson rubbed the back of his neck and bit his lip. He really had to get these feelings under control.  What if he let them slip while they were out? No, they would not slip out. He would not let them.

“Nervous?” Rosalia asked slyly, making Jayson jump. She moved to stand beside him and grinned as he glared at her. “Oh, don’t act so annoyed. He’ll be here.”

“I know he will,” Jayson replied, still scowling a little. “He always is.”

Rosalia shot him another sly look, but said nothing.

Soon after that, Jayson’s ears pricked as he caught the sound of boots thumping up the drive. He looked and grinned, heart lifting, when he saw Marcus running towards them. Rosalia patted Jayson’s arm and said sweetly, “I need to get back to work. Have fun, Jayson.”

“Uh-huh,” he said absently. “Thanks, Rosa.”

She snickered and went back inside of the House.

Jayson took three steps forward and then Marcus slammed into him, hugging tightly. Jayson laughed and hugged back, basking in the warmth that shivered through his empathy whenever Marcus was near. “You’re not late, no need to run,” Jayson told him, still grinning.

“I wanted to be early,” Marcus replied, muffled in Jayson’s shoulder, before releasing Jayson from his fierce embrace. He grinned too, and Jayson almost told him that he looked adorable with his hair all mussed and his eyes bright and his cheeks flushed. “The Seneschal was being dramatic again, though, so I had to run.”

Jayson shook his head and tweaked Marcus’s nose. “You’re not stern enough,” he teased. “Practice a foreboding frown and a tone of disapproval.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling still. “Whatever. When are we going?”

“Right now, if you want,” Jayson replied, picking up the second basket and holding it out to Marcus. “It won’t take long to get there, but we have a lot of work to do.”

~

Normally, Jayson would have asked one of the other Healers to come with him. Kurreb was always easier with a companion, and it helped build connection. But all of his friends and the other Healers were doing other things, and so Rosalia had decided to pester Jayson into asking Marcus to come.

The joke was on her, Jayson thought grimly, as he and Marcus approached Mirus Forest. Nothing would make him confess to Marcus. Nothing short of truth serum, and that was illegal, anyway. And so, they were safe.

That is, they were until Jayson made the mistake of looking at Marcus when they entered the cool shade of Mirus and the fairy-lamp mushrooms lit up in alarm. Marcus gasped, his face lighting up, ears pricked, tail high. “They’re beautiful,” he whispered.

Jayson swallowed hard as warmth built in his chest. “Yes,” he replied, his gaze on Marcus’s face, “They are.”

The first ten minutes were spent showing Marcus the herbs and plants that needed to be picked in large quantities, and also the copycats that should be avoided completely. Then they set off down the path that had not been used recently, and started gathering.

Most herbs had been tamed into patches along the myriad paths, as were bushes, vines, mosses, flowers, and slender trees whose leaves were a very effective headache cure when made into tea, though they tasted horrible. But there were some that were too delicate to move into easier reach, and these were the ones Jayson looked out for. He knew roughly where they all were, he’d been on Kurreb plenty of times; but plants, being what they are, don’t follow people rules. The patches shifted, or shrunk, or grew, or split up. Jayson left the path often to try and find the shy little herbs he needed.

Marcus filled a third of his basket quickly, tying each bundle together neatly with string and stacking them in a grid pattern. He also hummed, or imitated birds, and Jayson had to smile. Marcus’s eyes were wide, his expression delighted and awed as he took in the wonders of Mirus; flowers that shifted through the rainbow every time their petals were ruffled, ponds of strange colors with vibrant algae and cranky blue frogs, stones that vibrated gently and gave off heat. Every time he heard an interesting bird call, he did his best to replicate it. He looked so happy, in his jeans and t-shirt, with dirt and sap all over his hands and knees.

Jayson wanted to help him stay happy. He wanted Marcus to never lose this day of beauty and freedom. Brown-toned love shivered through him.

When they reached the river that flowed through the forest, around the middle of the morning, Jayson kicked off his shoes, rolled up his pant legs, and told Marcus, “The water here isn’t magic, really, but it is nice on the feet after walking. Come on!”

Marcus immediately took off his own shoes and socks and rolled up his pants, and they both leapt into the river, yelping at the cold. Fish scattered and a grumpy turtle swam to the other shore.

Jayson sat on a large rock near the bank and hummed happily, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to feel the sunshine on his face. Was there anything more peaceful than sitting in the sun by flowing water? Well, other than stargazing in the hammock with Marcus.

That sunshine-yellow love touched his empathy, and then the brown love, the color of perfectly-brewed honey cough syrup, rose too. He smiled and opened his eyes, and when he looked at Marcus again, his friend was bent over, peering intently at the rocks in the riverbed. He was blushing faintly.

“Hey, what are those little crab things?” Marcus asked, pointing.

“Crab things?” Jayson stood, walked over, and also bent to look. “Oh! Those are hermit--AUGH!”

Marcus laughed far too gleefully as Jayson fell into the water and came up spluttering. “You are way too easy to trick!” Marcus exclaimed, grinning as Jayson growled and rubbed water out of his eyes. “It’s been years and you still fall for ‘what’s this’!”

Jayson reached up, grabbed Marcus’s shirt hem, and yanked hard.

Marcus shrieked as he plunged into the water with Jayson, but when he sat up he still laughed. Jayson had to smile back, and slicked the water out of Marcus’s silky hair.

“You’re an ass,” Jayson chuckled, then stood and helped Marcus up. “Alright, we’re both soaked. Let’s get back to work.”

Marcus sighed dramatically but followed him out of the river.

Their dunkings seemed to wash away any leftover quietness. Marcus complained about the courtiers and the military between bird calls; Jayson grumbled about the newest trainees, a pair of twelve-year-old twins who thought they knew more than the master Healers because their parents were the court Healers in another country. Marcus taught Jayson to whistle like a robin; Jayson taught Marcus how to properly ask the fireberry vines for a harvest. They ate the spicy delicacies as they walked.

At noon, they sat beneath a huge oak tree covered in sweetheart ivy, and ate the sandwiches Jayson had brought.

“I just don’t understand,” Marcus muttered, nibbling a piece of ham. “My uncle says that we need to strengthen the army, but it’s already as strong as we need. He acts like we’re going to war at any minute. The delegates and ambassadors are nervous around him, now, and he doesn’t seem to notice.”

Jayson shrugged as he swallowed a bite of sandwich. “Maybe he wants attention,” he offered. “I’ve known a few people like that.”

Marcus snorted, but sighed and leaned on Jayson lightly. Jayson’s heart turned over. “Maybe. Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come with you next time you do this?”

Jayson smiled and resisted the urge to kiss Marcus’s ear. “Yes, of course.”

~

Late afternoon sun was slanting through the trees, touching everything with gold and yellow. The forest was alive with birds, squirrels, ground mammals, chiming bluebells--and the laughter of two teenagers in the river.

“No, no, that isn’t a waltz!” Marcus cried, apparently unable to stop giggling, as Jayson deliberately messed up the figures. “You’re doing that on purpose!”

“Not at all, sire,” Jayson replied primly, trying to ignore the shivers of excitement in his chest from the touch of Marcus’s hands and the closeness of him, as Marcus attempted to teach Jayson to dance. “I am simply following my heart. Hup!” He lifted Marcus by the waist and spun them both around, cackling as Marcus whooped and water flew off of them both in a glittering whirl.

They had finished harvesting earlier than Jayson had expected, and were now just being silly and wasting time because they didn’t want to go home. It was nice. Jayson didn’t feel like he had to be a miniature adult out here, with just Marcus and time slow and sweet as honey. He felt more like himself.

Marcus buried his face in Jayson’s shoulder when he was set down and continued giggling for a few moments. Jayson stood still, his hands still on Marcus’s waist, breathing a little harder with exertion, and had the thought that, if he put his hand under Marcus’s chin and tipped his face upwards, he was at just the right distance for a kiss. He was not ashamed or alarmed by that thought; he simply held it, and wondered idly what Marcus would taste like. Sweet water from the river; the mint that Jayson had found that they had both promptly rolled in; the fireberries from earlier. He smiled to himself, thinking of how nice it would feel to kiss Marcus.

Marcus had stopped giggling, and was now just standing quietly, pressed against Jayson. The water rushing around their legs felt just as good as the sun on their necks and arms and faces. Jayson’s empathy picked up several emotions that he sensed were coming from Marcus: pink contentment, silver happiness, blue calm. It was lovely to just exist, in a place where no one would judge, hurt, or accuse them. 

Jayson closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Marcus still smelled like warm earth and honey.

“Should we head back?” Marcus asked, very softly.

“We don’t have to,” Jayson murmured. “We can stay for a little longer.”

Marcus sighed and slid his arms around Jayson’s neck. “That would be nice,” he said.

[daily-dose-of-imagines]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔽𝕚𝕣𝕤𝕥 𝔻𝕒𝕪

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Heyo this is my first time writing on the blog so be kind. I just got obsessed with the idea of Aizawa being an elementary school teacher 

>> Admin B̷r̷a̷n̷d̷o̷

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Ok, maybe this won’t be so bad? 

He put on a fake smile and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. The bags under his eyes were somehow more apparent then usual. His face quickly faded into his trademark apathetic scowl. 

Who am I kidding? This is the worst possible situation. 

Aizawa sneered at the thought of his current situation. Of how his pristine English classroom was being taken from him because they needed “fresh blood”. Of how he was not only being forced into a new school, but also a new grade. He sighed (heavier than usual), leaving his dim apartment early, to beat traffic and give him time to dwell further on his current situation.

As he drove, his brain on went on auto pilot and all his worries and thoughts crossed his mind once again. Aizawa had never taught anything lower than 6th grade, and he never wanted to. It’s not that he didn’t like kids, it’s that he didn’t love kids. High schoolers were almost adults, so he didn’t have to sugar coat anything. No snack time, no name calling, no bullshit. The sudden unemployment was truly a wake-up call (not just because he would fall asleep in class), telling him that he needed to get his shit together. He was thankful that his good friend Nezu happened to have a job opening, he just wished it were at any other school.

Arriving at the school made him sick. The bright colors. The intricately hand painted signs reading “Welcome To The New Year!” and “Start the school year with a smile.” The line of staff waiting outside the school to welcome him. The line of staff? Jesus.

His wish to quietly slip into his new classroom vanished before his eyes. There was no way he could avoid meeting his new colleagues now. Hopefully, he thought, I can get through this without too much headache.

“SHOUTAAAAAAAAA!!!!”

And the headache began.

“Oh my god, Shouta! It’s been so long! And you never returned my texts?? I can’t believe we’re working together again! I thought you didn’t like elementary school?? Anyway, c’mon we need to get you all settled!! I heard you got fired?? What’s up with that? Did you- “

Before he could even fully get out of his car, Hizashi was pulling him toward the crowd of faculty almost against his will. The crowd was full of smiling faces, kind waves, and judging glances.

 Ugh

“Welcome Mr. Aizawa! I am glad that Mr. Yamada was telling the truth that he was a close friend. Well I know that our little pocket of perfect isn’t quite the high school setting you’re used to but believe me that you’ll love it soon enough.” Principal Nezu smiled happily and gestured to the quaint little school.

“Starting in the middle of the school year isn’t easy, but I’m sure you’ll be able to handle it,” he added with a wink.

Aizawa glanced briefly at the bright marquee reading “U. A. Elementary School”, then back to the group of hopeful faces. He put on his best “I’m totally not wishing I was somewhere else right now” face, and /reluctantly/ expressed his joy to be there. 

With his seemingly pleasant response, the evaluative air cleared somewhat, and the gossipier teachers left the gathering, no longer interested.

Taking Aizawa’s arm, Nemuri pressed her chest against him, “Hate to interrupt but Shouta- Mr. Aizawa, really needs to get to his classroom.” With that, the tall woman, along with Hizashi, practically dragged the poor man away, though he was internally grateful to be away from the crowd.

They arrived at Aizawa’s new classroom, still full of the previous teachers’ belongings. He pulled himself away from the others, brushing himself off.

“Thanks Midnight.”

“Oh, stop with that,” Nemuri responded, fixing her immaculate hair in the reflection from the window, “I haven’t gone by that since college. No one here needs to know the escapades of Ms. Midnight.”

Aizawa chuckled lightly, “At least I have some familiar faces here, aside from Nezu.” He peered over to the other two, seeing their “trying to be respectful but insanely curious” faces. “Fine, I’ll address the elephant in the room. Yes, I was fired. No, it was not for selling drugs to the kids, Hizashi. I just… had trouble staying awake, apparently a few times too many.”

Hizashi sighed in defeat and pulled a twenty out of his pocket, handing it sadly to Nemuri.

“Good thing there was an opening here for you,” Hizashi replied, almost like a whine as he mourned his loss, “Too bad it came at the loss of Yagi. Poor guy having to be stuck at home after that dumb injury.”

Nemuri chuckled, “It’s his own fault for jumping out of the second story window to give one of his students the lunchbox they forgot.”

“He’ll be back next year, and I’ll be long gone. hopefully.” Aizawa interrupted, tying his long hair back. “Now can you two leave? I have kids coming in less than an hour to a teacher that could care less about them right now.”

Nemuri exhaled sharply through her nose, a smirk crossing her face, “You need a better attitude, my friend, or they will eat you alive.” She pushed herself off the desk, pulling Hizashi along.

“Good luck!” He called out, “let me know if I can help! The music room is always open for you!”

As the door slowly closed, Aizawa turned back to his new classroom. The desks were arranged in neat rows and columns, small pieces of tape on the carpeted floor to ensure that they remained in their neat arrangement. He was appalled by the disorganized mess that was Yagi’s previous desk arrangement.

Aizawa sat at his new desk, dropping his head into his hands. He had never taught 2nd grade before. Sure, he was certified to teach it, but that was more of a trophy to him than an actual career choice. Like when someone minors in art history. What made it especially difficult was that he was taking over a class run by the one and only Yagi Toshinori, legendary his teaching. He was the “symbol of peace” for teachers, doing interviews for local news stations and giving presentations for the school district.

The four of them (Yagi, Hizashi, Nemuri, and himself) had gone through college together, but lost touch as they all chose their path. Yagi with younger kids, Aizawa with teens, Hizashi with music, and Nemuri with administration. Aizawa knew that Yagi was a better teacher than him, and that he had big shoes to fill, literally.

Aizawa broke from his lamentation as the morning bell rang. He opened his door to be greeted with the cacophonous sound of 20 children itching the get into their classroom. He was nearly knocked over by the force of almost two dozen children running into inspect what the new teacher had done. Surprisingly, the new layout did not stop the wave of children, they all quickly found their name tags and sat down, most of them loudly complaining.

Aizawa moved to the front of the room and cleared his throat. Twenty small faces focused on him. “Good morning students. As you may know, Mr. Toshinori is injured and will not be able to continue teaching this year. My name is Mr. Aizawa and I’m going to be your teacher for the remainder of the school year-” A series of small hands shot up in front of him. He sighed, “Yes, you,” pointing to the small girl sitting politely in the front row.

“Excuse me, but why can’t Mr. Toshinori come back?” she asked, cocking her head.

Before he could answer, another young girl, this one with pink hair, jumped up, “Momo, he broke his butt, that’s why he can’t come back!”

“He didn’t break his butt! He broke his feet, stupid.” A blonde boy in the back stood up and pointed at her.

“Who are you calling stupid? I saw it, you buttface.” She stuck her tongue out at him. Seeing her mocking face, the boy began throwing his pencils at her, to which she started throwing her pencils. Momo began crying at the violence, while the other students began cheering for one of the other two students.

This was going to be a long day.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

As Nemuri entered the teacher’s lounge, she was greeted with the sight of Aizawa looking… well, dead. “Well, I was expecting this.” She commented, setting her stack of papers down and sitting on the table in front of him. “Rough day?” Aizawa merely groaned in response. She patted his head lightly, “You know what they say about kids, it’s like wrangling kittens.”

“I’ve never heard that.” He replied, lifting his head up to a more alive position. “I don’t know how he did it. Those kids just don’t listen.”

“How did you deal with your high schoolers?”

“None of us wanted to be there so we respected each other’s time and got shit done.”

Nemuri clicked her tongue, “It’s a wonder why you’re a teacher at all. You used to have passion for teaching, Shouta. Try to tap into some of that.” With that, Nemuri hopped off the desk, scooping up her papers, “If you need advice on how to deal with them, we’re here for you, all three of us.”

The door to the lounge closed softly behind, and he was once again alone. Aizawa hesitated at the thought of asking any of them for help. He had not spoken to any of them for years. While he enjoyed their company, Aizawa knew he did not belong. Nemuri, Hizashi, and of course Yagi, all had this passion and fire for education that Aizawa himself had lost years ago. It felt wrong to him to be there.

The soft chime of the lunch bell reminded Aizawa that he had to return to his classroom. Which he really did not want to do. The kids barely got along with each other, who they have known for months, how were they supposed to cooperate with him, a total stranger? He trudged back to his classroom, just as the students began pouring in. As they took their seats, he stood, and began writing their next lesson on the board. Once all were seated, he turned around to address them.

 “I am very disappointed with how the morning went.” At this remark, half the students rolled their eyes, while the other half looked like they were going to burst into tears. Aizawa stopped and began thinking. What would Yagi do in this situation? He would be cheery and upbeat and overly personal with the students. Well, he thought, nothing would hurt to try at this point.

He sighed, sitting down on his desk, “Listen guys, I know this is hard for you, its hard for me two. The only way we can make this work is if we give each other a chance and get to know each other. So..” he looked at the confused faces of the kids, “Let’s go outside.”

The students all filed outside behind Aizawa, confused yet intrigued. He turned to face them, “Now I have a task for you, we’re going to go on a hike around the school, and you’re going to tell me about everything interesting you see.” The students collectively gasped and nodded excitedly.

As the class walked around the school, Aizawa learned many things about the kids. Like how Tenya liked to walk this path with his brother, or how Shoto would take trips through the woods when he wanted to get away from his family, or how Yuga collect only “the prettiest and shiniest” rocks. Although this was far more effort than he usually put into teaching, Aizawa was having fun.

The week from that point on went… surprisingly well. The students slowly warmed up to Aizawa, and even began enjoying his teaching. They continued setting time aside for a class hike and decided that they would start a nature journal to write about what they saw on their hikes. Aizawa, even though he would never admit it, even started smiling more in class. Before he knew it, the end of the week had already come.

As the students filed out of the room, several waved goodbyes to Aizawa. He smiled and waved back, eyes wandering to the small boy standing shyly next to him. “Hey Midoriya, do you need something? You should be heading home.”

“I am going home! But I made you something to celebrate how much fun we are having! I still like Mr. Toshinori more, but you’re really fun!” The boy shoved a piece of paper into Aizawa’s hands. “Ok my mom is waiting, bye Mr. Aizawa! See you next week!” Before Aizawa could respond, the boy ran out of the room. He looked at the paper. On it was a crudely drawn picture of him and the class on one of their hikes. He chuckled lightly, pinning the picture to the wall. 

He was pulled away from his thoughts by the sudden vibrations of his phone. Without checking, he answered, “Aizawa speaking.”

“Um, hey! It’s been a while.”

“…Yagi?”

“Yeah! Hizashi told me you were taking over for me, and I, uh, wanted to say thanks!”

“I should be thanking you,” Aizawa commented, amusement crossing his face upon hearing the familiar voice again, “I needed a job and you had some broken bones.” They both chuckled awkwardly.

After a moment of thick silence, Aizawa sighed, “Its good time hear from you, Yagi. I’m sorry it’s been so long.”

Yagi chuckled, “We should catch up soon. You know, when I can walk again that is.” he paused, “So I, uh actually called to... uh, How are the kids?”

Aizawa laughed at how the blonde could barely hide his intentions. “They’re doing fine, no need to worry.”

“Are you handling them alright? I know they can be a handful.”

Aizawa looked fondly at the drawing Midoriya had handed him, “It’s an adjustment, but I think we’ll be able to get through the year.

[emms-jules]

Catch Fire

Hello guys! It's my first time writing for TSC universe, and I made this to cope with finishing TDA since I still can't get over it and want to explore it more. Most of the plot was still applied, but some are removed for the story. Anyways, I hope you all like it! Any suggestion is a great help! :)

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269344

If Emma was asked that question five years ago, she would have easily said numerous reasons.

"I want to be with Julian. I want to officially be his. I want to spend my travel year with him. I want to answer his calls. I want to reply to his messages. I want to say I’m sorry. I want to take care of the kids with him. I want us to damn our lives as long as we got to live it."

But this was a different time now. She may still want the same things, but the person she wants to be with might not want it anymore.

Prologue

2012

Emma was walking in the desert beside the Institute under the blaze of the sun. She sees herself in a white flowy dress, as it brushes her legs in each step. She also realized that she was walking barefoot. What am I doing here? She thought. Where is everyone? Julian?

Suddenly, a small light much brighter than the sun appeared, and began getting larger. Emma found herself squinting and raising her hands above her eyes. Just as the light covered the sun, it disappeared. 

“Emma Carstairs.” A voice said, sending a shiver up her spine. It sounded terrifying and melodic at the same time. She slowly removed her hands from her face and opened her eyes, which widened upon realizing who, or what, bestowed upon her.

As a Shadowhunter, she has already seen numerous depictions of such creatures. After all, one of them created her race. They were found in every part of the Institute, the Silent City, and even in Idris, their country. However, there has been no reporting of appearances from them for a long time, except from Clary and Simon. 

“Angel Raziel?” She asked in astonishment. The angel fit Clary’s description. The angel took the form of a man, but it bears beautiful wings and radiates the bright light that shone earlier. The angel looks like a statue made of gold. It looks beautiful, but his presence made Emma’s heart pound.

The angel shook his head. “I am Gabriel. The angel who explained to Daniel his visions.” 

“The messenger.” Emma replied, remembering her studies. Gabriel did not respond, however, which made Emma uncertain if she was heard.

“I have a message from my brother, Raziel. Julian Blackthorn and yourself have survived the curse of the parabatai. You have also won the battle against your fellow Nephilim. You have been given a second chance at life. But make no mistake, for the next time you and your parabatai do this, it will lead to your death, or both of yours.” 

Emma gasped. 

“One cannot cheat death, but you did, among others. The angel bears no ill will for the two of you. However, what is set in stone cannot be changed. May you make the right decisions.” 

“But how do we-”  But the angel already left, leaving Emma alone in the desert. She feels a sudden burn on her left arm. She flips her arm over and sees her parabatai rune burning, and fade from existence.

“Emma? Emma, wake up.” 

She opens her eyes, and slowly bring herself to focus. She realizes she’s at the Basilias in Idris, inside a room with a single bed. Sitting on the chair next to her bed is Jem Carstairs, her only relative left. 

Jem has a relieved smile on his face. He puts a hand gently on Emma’s hair, soothing the girl. “Thank the angel you’re awake.” 

Upon hearing the word, she remembers her dream and feels herself about to cry. She looks at Jem and asks, “Julian?”

“He’s in the room next to yours, and has been awake for a day now. You, on the other hand, has been asleep for three days now. He’s been waiting for you to wake up. I shall go to him now.” Jem was about to stand, but Emma grabs his arm. “Don’t.”

Jem, though puzzled, sits down. “Do you now want to see him?”

I do, God I do, she thought. However, the dream was crushing her more. 

“Can you please get Cristina for me? And don’t tell anyone else that I am awake.” She replies instead. Jem still looks confused, but stands and leaves the room, closing the door gently behind him. 

Emma lifts her arm up to see their shared rune, and like in the dream, her arm is bare. She gasped. The rune is gone. For so long, we’ve been waiting for this. 

Emma wills herself not to cry. She thinks of everyone she loves. She thinks of Tavvy, who gave her the name “Memma” when he can’t speak her name yet. She thinks of Dru, who will soon need someone to talk to about teenage girl problems and help when she goes on dates. She thinks of Ty, who just recently lost his twin, and needs someone to understand. She thinks of Mark, who is still trying to gain himself everything he had lost. She thinks of Helen and Aline, Clary and Jace, Magnus and Alec, Isabelle and Simon. She even thinks of Kit.

She thinks of Julian, his room just beside hers. She imagines herself calling out to him, and he comes, both of them relieved that the curse is gone. They can finally be with each other truthfully. She had died, but she is now alive, and she can finally live.

Then the angel’s words come rushing back into her mind. But make no mistake, for the next time you and your parabatai do this, it will lead to your death, or both of yours.

She remembers Clary, both of them at the roof of the Los Angeles Institute, telling her of Jace’s proposal. Of how she refused, because of her constant dream of dying. Clary did want to marry Jace, but imagining herself suddenly dying was unfair to him. Fortunately, her vision was not about her, but another Clary of another dimension. Emma feels tears running down her cheeks. If only she and Julian were as blessed as Clary and Jace. For so long, we’ve been waiting for this. And it still isn’t given to us.

She hears the door creak, and Cristina walks in. Her lips were about to form a smile, but stopped short when she realized that Emma was crying. She quickly scrambles to her friend and wipes her tears. “La hermana! Why are you crying of sadness?!” 

“Help me, Tina. Please. Help me.”

[numba99]

Fatal Attraction - Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: When a mysterious man shows up at your job, you find yourself inexplicably drawn to him - and him to you. But behind the beautiful face is the dark lifestyle of a man who has made his wealth through becoming the most powerful drug dealer in the city. Word count: 2.9k

Song: Ultraviolence // Lana Del Rey

Warnings: like getting hit/physical stuff, mentions of blood. There will be some Russian in this ill include the translations next to it if you’re curious typed like this

A throbbing pain in the back of your head pulled you out of a dreamless sleep. If you could even call be knocked out sleep. Your body stiffened, your head snapping up (your head screamed in protest at this movement) trying to figure out where you were and what happened. Your heart was thudding in your chest as you realized you were bound, your hands tied behind your back around a beam in the center of the room. 

You were scanning the room, desperate for any clue at where you were and, more importantly, how you could get out. It was all barren, though. The lighting was dim, which was good for your head but not for your escape. From the looks of it, you were in some abandoned warehouse in the city. At least you hoped you were in the city. There were no windows, no clock, no way of telling what time it was or how long you’d be knocked out. Panic was creeping in.

“Well, well sleeping beauty finally wakes,” a thick Russian accent chirped from the left of you. You craned your neck and your stomach dropped when you found the source. It was Dimitri.

“What do you want?” you choked out, not realizing how dry your throat was.

Dimitri laughed as he approached you, “Oh sweetheart, let’s not play stupid. It will be a lot easier for you. Less painful too.” You’re not sure you did too well at hiding the fear on your face. Mika hadn't given you dirty details about Dimitri, but even from what he was willing to share you knew he wouldn't spare you because you were a girl.

“What’re you-”

“When’s Mika’s big shipment coming in?” Dimitri cut you off.

“I don’t know,” you replied. It was the truth, Mika never told you. Even if he did, you wouldn’t tell Dimitri anyway.

“I’ll ask you one more time nicely,” Dimitri said, voice dripping with feigned nicety. “When is Mika’s shipment coming?”

“I don’t-” Before you could even get the words out his hand came down and struck your cheek. You gasped, shocked by the pain that spread through you face. Dimitri knelt down so he was eye level with you. He gripped your jaw, thumb digging into your stinging skin.

“You’re a pretty girl, y/n,” Dimitri growled. It sent a chill down your spine that he knew your name. “It would be a shame if I had to mess up this pretty face. Mika wouldn’t like his little play thing anymore, now would he?”

“Fuck you,” you spat, besides your best judgement. Dimitri gripped you tighter, pushing your head back against the beam. It hit the spot you’d been hit before and you practically saw stars.

“Feisty, I see why Mika likes you,” he snarled a twisted smile, “I don’t wanna hurt you, honest. Just tell me when it’s coming and I’ll return your safe to Mika.” Looking at Dimitri, it unsettled you just how dark his eyes were. There was no life behind them, not even a spark of kindness. You didn’t have to know him to know that was a bold faced lie. He didn’t intend to return you. You doubted he even intended to keep you alive. 

“He never told me,” you replied, trying to stay calm. Dimitri slapped you again. It hurt, but at least this time you were ready for it.

“I don’t believe you, y/n,” Dimitri said back.

“It’s the fucking truth,” you snapped, “And I wouldn’t fucking tell you if I did know.” He didn’t like that. He hit you again, hard. Your lip caught your teeth and you could taste the coppery tang of blood in your mouth.

Dimitri reached back, pulling a pocketknife from his waistband. You didn’t miss the gun tucked beside it. God how the hell am I going to get out of this, you thought. 

Dimitri flicked open the pocketknife, pressing it to your throat. “You’re making me angry, y/n. Tell me when it’s coming,” he was losing his composure, anger creeping into his voice.

“I don’t know!” you groaned. He slashed the knife against your upper arm, creating a little gash. You cried out, feeling the sharp pain. You were finding it hard to breath as panic was gripping you tighter than before. He might actually kill me right here right now, you thought. You were starting to lose focus. All you wanted was to see Mika’s face.

“Last chance before I start cutting things off,” Dimitri growled.

Your eyes brimmed with fearful tears, spilling over your cheeks. You didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say. You had nothing to tell him and he refused to believe you. You tried to focus on bracing yourself for what was coming next, for the pain you were inevitably be in. 

“So that's how it’s going to be?” he replied, leaning ever close to you, knife out. “Maybe we cut off an ear, yeah? Mail it to Mika so he knows he needs to teach his women to listen better. How does that sound?” He asked as if you had any say in it.

You were breaking into a sob as the blade got closer to your skin. Just as you were sure you were about to feel the pain of the first cut, yelling in Russian broke out. Dimitri stopped, his head whipping towards the door. A man rushed in, beaten and bloody.

“Mika здесь,” he cried out. You didn’t know what he was saying, but you caught Mika’s name. You perked up with hope. Could it be Mika? Was he here to save you.

“ты можешь удержать его?” Dimitri shot back. can you hold him off

“Его люди уже убили большинство наших парней.” his men have already killed most of ours. Whatever he said pissed Dimitri off. He threw down his knife and yelled out a Russian curse. Gunshots got closer and Dimitri bolted out of a door that you guessed was behind you. The other guy ran back out the other way in what you guessed was an attempt to hold off whoever was coming, but it didn't work.

“Mika,” you cried out, overcome by joy when he rushed in. He lowered his gun, tucking it away when he realized it was just you in the room. He ran to your side.

“Sweetheart oh my god are you okay?” he checked you over, looking for serious injury. It felt so good to have his loving, gentle hands on you instead of Dimitri’s. 

“Yes please just untie me,” you sniffled, wanting desperately to be free. As Mika worked on the rope around your wrists, Chris ran in.

“Where did he go?” He questioned, looking between the two of you. There was some blood on his shirt, but he didn’t look hurt. You realized it wasn’t his.

“He left though the other door,” you told him. He nodded and ran out in that direction. Finally, the ropes fell from your wrists and you spun around, flinging your arms around Mika. He held you so tightly and you didn't care that you could barely even breath. You tucked your head into his neck, breathing in his familiar scent that managed to usher in some calmness into your body.

“Fuck I can't believe this happened,” Mika said, still holding you tightly. You could hear he was trying not to cry. Before you could respond, Chris came back in.

“He's gone,” he reported.

“We have to find him,” Mika snapped, finally pulling away from you, “We have to find him and I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

“Mika we ca’t go after him that’s what he wants,” Chris reasoned with him, “You’d be playing right into his hand.”

“I don’t care, I want him dead for this,” Mika replied.

“Mika, Chris is right” you replied, placing a hand on his face to calm him. Honestly, you wanted Dimitri dead right about now, but in this moment you just wanted to go home with Mika. “Please, Mika, can we just home now?”

Mika soften under your touch. “You’re right, fuck, I’m sorry y/n. We need to get you taken care of, that’s what’s most important now.” Mika put his hand on your arm as he spoke, accidentally touching the gas created by Dimitri. You gasped at the sting of pain from the contact. Mika frowned, looking a the source of your discomfort. 

“Fuck you’re bleeding baby.” He ripped of the sleeve of his shirt without a second thought, tying it tightly around the wound. “Let’s get you out of here.”

You insisted you were okay to walk, but Mika wasn’t hearing it. He scooped you up and you didn’t protest. It honestly felt really good to just wrap your arms around his neck and tuck your face close to him.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Mika told you as he walked towards the door, “I don’t want you to see... the mess.” You did as you were told, keeping your face nuzzled against his neck. You knew what he meant by “the mess,” and you weren’t so much scared or disgusted as you were just exhausted. You were pretty much at sensory overload for the day and didn’t want to take in anymore violence. Plus, you knew Mika hated you seeing this side of what he does, you didn’t want to make him feel any worse about this whole situation. 

“Should I call the doctor?” Chris asked when you finally made it to the shelter of the car. 

“Please. Tell him to meet us at the normal hotel,” Mika replied, buckling you in. He still held you close, gently rubbing your head. It was still pounding, but his touch provided the first sense of relief since you woke up.

“Hotel?” you questioned.

“We need to meet him at a mutual place. Plus it’s not safe for us to go directly home right now, they may still be watching,” Mika told you. You hid your disappointment behind a simple nod. You understood why you had to go to the hotel, but you wanted nothing more than to just be home. 

Mika proceeded to explain to you that the doctor, known only as that or Doc, wouldn’t give his name and that you shouldn’t give him yours. No personal information was to be shared except what pertains to your injury. The purpose was simple, if he didn’t know our names he couldn’t give us up to Dimitri or any of Mika’s foes. If we didn't know his name, we couldn’t put his medical license at risk if Mika was ever investigated. Having the private doctor kept Mika and his people safe without having to create a paper trail at a hospital or something.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed or how far you went, you kept your eyes closed the entire ride, but you finally made it to the hotel. It wasn’t the fancy Mika-esque hotel you were imagining, but you guessed the higher end places would question two people coming in as disheveled as you looked. It wasn’t a dump, though, Mika still had standards. 

Mika pulled out a duffle bag out of the back seat and yanked out two hoodies for you both to wear to cover up, well, everything. He pulled the hood up over your head and kissed your forehead gently before leading you out. Chris had went before you and go the room key, so you were able to go straight up. 

You practically collapsed onto the bed. It wasn’t Mika’s bed, but it was sure as hell better than being bound to a beam by some crazy Russian dude. Mika crawled next to you, gently rubbed your back. He was quiet, which wasn’t completely uncharacteristic of Mika, but you knew he was upset. You didn’t like the look on his face, like he was thinking about saying something you wouldn’t want you to hear.

Before you could ask him what he was thinking about, there was a knock on the door. Chris got up from the armchair across the room and let him in.

“What’s the problem today gentlemen?” he asked looking between Chris and Mika. He was an older man, hair peppered gray.

“We’re fine, she needs the attention,” Mika informed him, “She might have a concussion and she’s got a bad cut on her arm.” The doctor nodded and came over to you, setting his duffle bad down next to you on the bed. He asked you a series of questions about how you were feeling. Your head was hurting, but you weren’t nauseous, which was good. He had you do a few tests, like following a light with your eyes and touching your fingertip to your nose. 

“Well you’re extremely lucky, it seems you may have avoided a concussion. I want you to take it easy, though. Avoid bright lights or anything that will strain your eyes for the next day. Mika I want you to reevaluate her in the morning and tell me how she did. If all is the same, she should be in the clear.” Mika nodded intently and then the doctor moved his attention to your arm.

You winced a little as he removed the make-shift bandage Mika had created. The doctor quickly came to the determination you needed stitches, which he brought supplies to do. You guessed he did a lot of stitching up for Mika in the past. Mika held your other hand as the doctor sutured up your wound. It stung, definitely, but at this point it wasn’t really phasing you. After he finished up, the doctor gave you some Tylenol for your head and left.

“That wasn’t so bad,” you said forcing optimism. Mika still had that sick, stressed look on his face, though.

“Chris, do you mind giving us a minute?” Mika asked, though it definitely was not a question. Chris nodded, stepping out without question. Your stomach churned wondering what Mika was about to say, but to your surprise he started to cry.

“Mika, honey, what’s wrong?” you questioned, rubbing his back.

“Look at yourself, yn. Look at all the pain I caused you,” Mika sniffled. It was an angry, frustrated cry.

“You didn’t do this to me Mika,” you replied.

He shook his head, “But if you weren’t with me this never would have happened. You’re not safe with me.”

“What are you saying?” you questioned, not wanting the answer.

“I just... I don't know if I can be with you knowing this what could happen to you,” he sniffled.

“No,” your heart sunk, “No Mika, you don’t get to make that decision for me. Fuck you can’t just- after everything I just went through? Fuck Mika no, no you can’t leave me. Neither of us want that, it’s what he wants. I won’t fucking let you leave me out of fear.” Tears spilled out of you as you spoke.

Mika pulled you in, hugging you tightly. After a long silence, he spoke, “I’m sorry y/n, you’re right. Jesus I’m just mess right now I don't even know what I’m saying. This was just so fucking horrible. God when I realized you were gone, that Dimitri of all people had you - fuck - I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.” 

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you again,” you admitted. It was scary to say, to acknowledge that you really were close to losing your life. Dimitri would have done it eventually if Mika hadn’t gotten there, you knew that for sure. “But you saved me, Mika. I’m here because of you, you can’t overlook that. I owe you everything.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he shook his head, “I’d do what I did a million times over to get you back safe. I should have never left your side yesterday, I should have known that was all a set up to get to you.”

“Please stop blaming yourself,” you urged.

“I know, but it just feels that way. It feels awful,” Mika replied, “One things for sure, I’m never leaving you unprotected like that again.”

You nodded, you weren’t too keen on going anywhere on your own right now after all that. It was scary, but at the same time you felt safe with Mika. You knew he was going to do everything to protect you and that brought you comfort.

“Is now a bad time to tell you I want to move in? I wanted to make it special when I told you, but I feel like that’s sort of gone out the window,” you told him with a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.

To your delight, Mika cracked a small smile too. “Nows the perfect time because either you were moving in with me or I was moving in with you.”

You laughed, “I sorta would love to see you trying to live in my tiny ass apartment.”

Mika laughed lightly with you, but in the silence he became more serious. “I love you y/n, and I’m never going to let this happen to you again. I promise,” Mika told you. Your heart nearly stopped at the L word. You felt it too, you knew you loved Mika, you just never put the word to it. In any other relationship you would have thought it was crazy to feel that so fast, but with Mika everything existed on a different plane.

“I love you too, Mika,” You replied, squeezing his hand, “I know you're going to keep me safe.”

Mika kissed your hand, “I will, and that’s why I’m going to kill him.”

You took Mika’s face in your hands, kissing him deeply. You pulled away after a few seconds, looking him right in the eye and said, “We are going to kill him.”

[whyitdoesntworkforme]

DC Characters Ask Reddit

I have been doing a deep dive into reddit since COVID-19 has left me with nothing better to do and so many people have unbelievable family drama. Still, lots of clever reddit users give really good advice and I was wondering what they would have to say about the drama of the DC universe characters.

Any comments please reply as if you were answering a real reddit post.

I would love more contributors to this project. If you want to write a post please get in touch and I'll add you as a co-creator.

Canon, AU and fan fic inspired posts are welcome. Just write a note detailing when and where your post takes place and any necessary information and context that doesn't fit in your post.

Chapter 1: Inspired by Embleer_Frith0323's Un Nombre Desconocido https://archiveofourown.org/works/22521934/chapters/53817514  (please read first). Jason finds out Dick had a kid and Bruce knew and kept it from him.

Okay first of all I should probably say that my family has a pretty unconventional structure (we're also pretty fucked up). So I should probably introduce you to us all.

B- Father (Asshole) D-Oldest brother (Golden Boy) C-Sister (Badass) J-Third oldest (Me/fuck-up) T-Fourth oldest (Smarty pants but pretty cool) Little D-youngest (Demon)

Also BG (D's wife and also close family friend since we were kids)

All of us other than Little D are adopted and no there is no mom. Little D has a mom but that's complicated and not part of this story. To be honest only D and B are a part of this story but I kind of need to give you some background on our family.

D is B's favorite and is probably closest to him out of all of us (that is not a good thing but I'll come back to that). Me and B had a pretty strained relationship. We are okay now but to be honest I don't think B should have had any kids. He tried his best, I understand that now but he had some trauma in his childhood that to this day he has never really gotten over and it affected us all growing up. D got the worst of it. Not only because he was the eldest and B's first kid but because he was the only one that could manage B's moods other than our Butler/grandfather (don't ask). B leaned on D a lot and they had lots of fights especially after D became a teenager, went of to find his independence and came back to find me in the picture. Still, they always end up forgiving each other even if no wrong was admitted on either side (especially B's). D loves B to the sun and back because he took him in at the worst point in his life and made him the person he is today. He will always forgive him no matter what he does. I only tell you this because I am concerned that this is gong to happen again. Our family sweeps so much under the rug you can see the lumps.

Anyway onto the latest fucked-up fiasco.

D brought some random 15 year old girl to my house and asked me to look after her for a few hours. I bitched a little but he promised to pay me and I was like, 'fine, sure, whatever.' He brings her over and says he needs to leave her here while he talks to BG. Nice kid. I figure I should feed her. So I make grilled cheese and we start talking. D's a cop so I figured she must be a runaway or something. Turns out she's my goddamned niece. WTF!

I'll spare you the details of my reaction and skip forward. D went to talk to B after BG because this had his giant fingerprints all over it (how he knew that would take another post to explain). Suffice to say it did not go well. The Kiddo is going home with D. I want to punch B right in his controlling, self-righteous teeth. What the fuck should I do?

EDIT: I realised that there is a lot of context surrounding WHY B hid this that I am missing out. So here it is. Years ago D was dating a woman who really fucked him up in a lot of ways. It was a straight-up abusive relationship. She gaslit him, stalked him, pulled him away from his friends and family and even faked a pregnancy to get him to stay. But the worst part of it is, she raped him (anyone who thinks men can't be raped by women get your asses out of this post right now). I'm not going into details about the rape because they don't matter, so don't ask.

He broke up with her but did press charges. She started stalking him again and even reported him for abuse. He was an absolute wreck. There was another confrontation and she shot him. We all thought she committed suicide by cop.

Turns out no, she was alive this whole time and B used is money and influence to make sure that she got locked up in a prison on the other side of the country. He knew about the baby and no doubt thinking as long as she had a home, a guardian and enough money she would be fine. Part of me feels sympathy for B. He sat at D's bedside while he was recovering from that gun shot wound. And D has always been his support. D is just such a happy person. So friendly, so tactile is drives me crazy sometimes but I've learned to love it. While he was with this woman he started to lose all those qualities and didn't get them back for a very long time. I know it still affects him to this day. I think if I knew about the kid, there would have been a teeny tiny part of me that would want to make sure D had nothing tying him to that abusive bitch.

But being a kid of the system myself I am downright furious at him for doing it. Plus, I know D. It would have been hard for him to begin with but that little girl could have (not made it worth it but) given him something back for everything that was taken. I know he would have loved being her dad. B had no right to make that decision for him.

But that is what he does. He always thinks his way is the only way.

WTF do I do now.