#anyways. uprooted. was so looking forward to it. again not knowing anything going in

[rainingincale]

Absolutely nothing else like seeing someone else actually agree and validate your feelings about a popular book/character 🙏🙏🙏🙏😭😭😭😭

[cordyce]

(we are written) in the sand and in the stars

Neteyam x Reader

Fic Summary: Sullys stick together. That is something you have heard since the beginning. But when you are forced to uproot and leave your home, it is something you must learn to fully take to heart. You are not technically a Sully, but you fight like one. And that in turn is enough to be shielded like one as well. There is no choice but to openly accept that this family, these Na’vi, are your fortress. It is perhaps harder, though, to accept that Neteyam has seemingly appointed himself as your personal guard.

༄ CHAPTER THREE: SHORELINES ON A STRING

Chapter Summary: There is no real time given for you and your family to settle into your new home; essentially, you’re thrown into the lion’s den of Metkayina training the very first day after you arrive. But even as you find yourself struggling, it seems like someone is always right there to step in to help. Someone exceedingly familiar and far too willing.

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Water lessons are set to begin the very next morning. The chief’s children–Tsireya and Ao’nung–are still holding true to their assignments as your trainers. Rotxo, who you have since learned is merely just a friend of the others and not actually their sibling, has apparently appointed himself as one of your trainers, as well.

If you had to give your honest opinion on the matter, you think being thrown headlong into Metkayina lifestyle training the first day after you arrived was rushing it, just the tiniest bit. But then again, no one did ask for your opinion–a seemingly recurring affair.

The Metkayinas are already waiting on the edge of your family’s bungalow by the time you and your siblings step out of it. Apart from a smile and wave from Tsireya (the only one who seems truly happy to be here) there is no greeting before the three of them turn and dive directly–gracefully, you must admit–into the water below.

So much for asking for pointers beforehand, you think.

You watch as Neteyam and Lo’ak smile at each other before Neteyam hits Lo’ak’s shoulder with a light “come on” and then they’re jumping right in too. Definitely not as graceful as the reef people before them and certainly nowhere near as well practiced.

(Personally, you think they look more like Na’vi being thrown off the backs of their ikrans as they flail into the water, but you choose not to voice that to save a bit of their pride).

Tuk does nothing to stave off her outward excitement, and her wide grin flashes to you and Kiri at the prospect of jumping in. It’s just the three of you left, and you know it will be easier if you all go together. But as you move forward with your sisters, it’s like there is a tether holding you to the makeshift dock that tugs you back as their momentum lets them jump forward.

You were hoping the prolonged amount of time flying over the open ocean would have solved this. If anything, you thought you could get over this unease if you just pushed yourself off and jumped straight in. That’s what your father would always tell you and your siblings when you were younger, anyway; that you can overcome any problem if you go at it head first.

Now, though, it seems like your head is what keeps causing this problem in the first place.

It makes you feel stupid, as your siblings slowly pop their heads back out of the water one by one to find you still standing there on the netting. You want to kick yourself for being so apprehensive when the chief’s children raise themselves above the surf just to give you questioning looks. Suddenly you feel two inches tall, and you wish you were so you could hide from their misty glances.

“What’s wrong, (Y/n)?” Tuk asks, eyes wide as she looks up at you from where she’s floating in the water.

She makes it look so easy, so manageable. And that makes you feel twice as stupid than you already do.

“I–”

“Don’t tell me you can’t swim.”

It’s Ao’nung, who asks it. Your gaze darts over to him and your stomach twists at the smirk on his face, the animosity in his eyes. Despite Tsireya slapping his arm, he doesn’t waver. Neteyam and Lo’ak whip their heads around to face him, both opening their mouths like they’re about to fire something off. Lo’ak may have just teased you for your fears all along the journey here, but you know he’d never let anyone else get away with doing such a thing.

“I can swim, thank you,” you counter in the same tone as your instigator before the two of them have the chance to mouth something off that you know will do nothing but get them into trouble. And it isn’t a lie. You can swim, it’s just..

“Then get in the water. We don’t have all day.” Ao’nung tips his head, raises his eyebrows expectantly, like he’s wanting you to give up just to give him the satisfaction of it.

You’d like to wipe that look right off of his haughty, patronizing face.

Biting the inside of your cheek, your gaze becomes downcast once more, pointed to the water below you. It isn’t deep but it is definitely extensive enough that you know it will be well above your head. Your hands feel sickeningly numb and a part of you is debating on whether or not to backtrack on your previous statement and simply pretend you can’t swim just to get out of this. Yet, just before you think of turning on your heel and walking off, Neteyam swims to the edge of the landing.

“If you jump in, I’ll catch you,” he offers as he raises his hands up in your direction. The look on his face is a complete contrast compared to Ao’nung’s. It’s steady, fervent. “It will be okay.”

It’s hard for you to tell if it’s his words or his actions that have you crouching lower on the edge of the platform, that have you trusting him and swallowing that first pebble of dread down your uncomfortably tight throat. Regardless of which one it is, your hands feel just a little less numb as you reach down for him too.

“You promise you won’t let me drown?” You implore quietly, where just the two of you can hear, and you laugh weakly in an attempt to appear just a smidgen unbothered. There’s a shake in your fingertips and a tremble in your deliverance that you try your best to hide; you wonder how well you do so.

He is just out of your reach, a few finger widths away from touching is all that separates the pair of you, and he nods.

“Pӓnutìng,” [“I Promise”] he heartens instantly, ardently.

So, you jump.

It lasts only for a split second, the dropping of your gut as your toes hit the water that has you sucking in a breath and wanting desperately to scramble backwards in an effort to grab onto any piece of the netted dock that your fingertips can cling to. But then you feel the grip of Neteyam’s hands just below your ribs, the security of his hold that softens your blow into the water and allows you to keep your head above it, just enough. Your breath trickles out of you like a stuttering faucet as the waves from your descent settle into their natural ripple once again, and you look to Neteyam who is already looking at you.

“See? No drowning,” he grins, a tilt of playfulness in his tone you know to be walking the line of teasing. You’re tempted to say something to level it, but he turns genuine again before you do. “Just stick beside me. We’ll do this together, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you breathe as everyone else dives under the water once again, “Irayo.” [ “Thanks.” ]

Neteyam releases his grip on you and takes in a deep breath before diving down, head disappearing out of your sight. Though your fingers are still twitching, your tail still quivering every other beat, you decide it is now or never. You suck in a deep breath of your own and force your head below the waves.

Nothing could have prepared you for just how beautiful life below sea level is. Even while being veiled with a tinge of crystal blue, everything is so vibrant, so effervescent. Life is bustling underwater–schools of fish part to swim around you and scatter as your hand slices past them, species you have never seen glide away elegantly like they’re merely floating. Nothing seems afraid of your presence, swayed by the addition of your group in their waters in the slightest.

It’s like it all simply accepts you, embraces you as a newfound part of the ecosystem it shall adapt around; flourish regardless.

Your eyes stay wide as you linger close to Neteyam’s side. You really are a perfectly fine swimmer, but it is clear each of you are greatly sub par when compared to the Metkayina people. Tsireya, swimming backwards, beckons for you all to follow, so you try your best to do so. Well, except for Kiri, who you notice exploring in her own direction, seemingly captivated. You don’t blame her. It’s hard not to get caught up in it all, being surrounded by such novel beauty has your mind reeling, and Kiri has always been so in tune with the life around her.

But your marveling is cut short once your chest starts to feel tight–in a way you know is not caused by your current bout of anxiety–so you tug on Neteyam’s arm and point up. He nods, taps Lo’ak, and the four of you swim to the top.

Each of you gasp in the salty air as you break out of the liquid confines of the ocean, giving your lungs a replenishing break. It is short lived, despite your wish that it wasn’t, as you dip your heads back under just to see Tsireya’s hand signal–which you can only assume means for all of you to follow her once more, because this kind of sign language is something none of you have ever been taught. You each suck in another cursory breath and attempt to dive again.

You are well aware that their anatomy is slightly different than yours, more suited (better adapted) for this terrain and aquatic life, but it still baffles you how much of an advantage they hold over each of your heads. They are lightyears better swimmers than you Sullys are, and a part of you knows no amount of training will ever change that. You could never dream of swimming with such ease, such inclination.

This dive is even shorter, lasting only a fraction of the time your first one did. Neteyam is the first to signal a need for breath now, but all four of you are in dire need of the air. You wonder if it’s because you dove deeper, if it was the pressure that made you need it that much faster. The pressure was definitely getting to you, in a more mental sense, so you were thankful as you swam for the surface regardless of the reason.

Turning to look at Tuk (because even if you personally are inclined to think you’re going to have a heart attack at any given second, you feel the need to ensure she’s alright) as you suck in a breath, you don’t notice how your hand instinctively grabs onto Neteyam’s arm to soothe yourself. That is, until he places his own hand on top of yours.

“You okay?”

Tipping your head, you mumble an affirmation. Inherently, you are okay. It feels like such a foolish and trivial thing, to be scared of something as plain as water, but then again it’s not really the water you’re scared of, is it?

“Are you alright?” Tsireya questions your group as the three of them rise above the tide.

“You’re too fast,” Tuk whines, voicing what all of you are thinking but being the only one you know could get away with such a straightforward grievance. “Wait for us!”

“Just breathe,” Tsireya soothes. “Breathe.”

“Easier said than done,” you mutter under your breath, fighting the roll of your eyes at such a statement from someone who appears to have the breath control of a fish. Or Lo’ak when he used to hold his breath as a threat to your parents as a child.

“You are not good divers,” Ao’nung smarts off. “Maybe good at swinging through trees, but..”

That earns him a smack to the back of his head from his sister and you don’t even try to hide your puff of a laugh at the sight. Well deserved, in your opinion. He maybe even needs another smack or two, the way you see it.

“C’mon bro,” Lo’ak wagers.

“We don’t speak this finger talk, you guys,” Neteyam voices, holding up his hand to poorly copy one of the signs Tsireya had been trying to show earlier. “We don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I will teach you,” Tsireya offers, ever the dutiful, generous girl she keeps proving herself to be. You wish some of that would rub off on her brother.

Before you can ask if there’s some sort of textbook on it, Rotxo speaks up for the first time today. “Where’s Kiri?

“Who?”

“Kiri,” he repeats. “Where is Kiri?”

“Did you see her?”

“Yeah, don’t–don’t worry,” you dismiss, and you think for a second as you see everyone’s eyes darting around frantically that your family is lucky to have at least one member who is halfway observant of everyone’s whereabouts. “I saw her swimming that other way earlier. She likes exploring things herself. I’m sure she’s fine.”

Everyone nods, though Tsireya and Rotxo give one last look in the direction you had motioned with your head, before you’re being told you can make your way back to the shallows for your next portion of training. You aren’t sure what it is, but you’re willing to paint on any face of excitement if it means your feet will be on solid ground again as you follow your escorts towards the shore, thankful to not be submerged any longer.

As Ao’nung calls out for the animals of which your next area of training will be revolving around, any trace of thankfulness drains from your body.

“These are ilus,” he states with a gesture of his hand to the creatures that have just swam up upon being summoned. “If you want to live here, you have to ride.”

As he is saying this, Tsireya is already leading Lo’ak over to his own ilu. You observe as he climbs onto it smoothly enough. It is a lot easier saddling onto the ilu than the ikran, you have deduced, but that does not mean you are willing to attempt it.

You listen in as Tsireya tries to give Lo’ak pointers, showing him where to hold on his ilu, how he should position himself. Then, you watch as he takes off into the water. Lo’ak has never been a particularly fast learner, so you partially expected it to go awry his first time, but it still makes you flinch when you see him fly off the back of his ilu within seconds of the ride.

The Metkayina people around laugh at his blunder (something you might have joined in on in any other circumstance at seeing your brother flounder like that), but now it simply has you wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Okay, now it’s your turn,” Ao’nung simpers as he turns around to face you, the same stupid, trying tilt of his lips from before. “Let’s see if you fly off faster than your brother.”

“Pass,” you respond instantly, stepping away from the ilu he calls up between the two of you.

“Pass?” He scrunches his brows at you, reaches over to tug on your arm to bring you closer to the ilu. “There’s no pass. You have to ride, you don’t have a choice.”

You jerk your arm out of his grasp and step back again. “I don’t want to.”

“Just try it!” It’s Tuk this time, who chimes in from where she’s standing in front of an ilu of her own that Tsireya has called up for her. She’s being supportive, you know this, but it does not dull the edge in your response.

“No, Tuk, I said I don’t want to,” you shake your head, but your eyes soften as you look at her hopeful face. “Mom isn’t learning so I shouldn’t be forced to, either.”

This seems to strike a nerve with the Metkayina boys standing around as you hear their grumbles and gripes. But it seems to especially unnerve Ao’nung, who takes a stride forward like he’s wanting to get up in your face.

“Now you listen here, forest girl–”

“It’s fine,” a voice cuts through just before Ao’nung gets too close. You both look over to see Neteyam, who has apparently already found his way onto an ilu by the help of Rotxo, who’s standing awkwardly nearby. “She can just ride with me. Or will that cause more problems, too?”

Neteyam’s smiling, but his eyes do not mirror that same warmth. Something inside you surges at the blunt proposition. You pass it off to be straight satisfaction, given you get to see how the ever so smug Ao’nung falters in expression before he whips himself around with a click against his teeth.

“Fine. But first learning to ride with two is harder. Do not complain to me when you can’t get the hang of it.”

He gives none of you the opportunity to reply before he’s stalking off, so you find your way over to Neteyam. Rotxo is giving him a run down on hand positions and how to hold his body underwater when you make it to his side. They both turn their attention to you as you step up next to them.

“Are you sure? About the riding with you thing?” you push, because the last thing you want to do is slow down everyone else’s adaptability because of your own (foolish) personal issues. Again. “I can just sneak off and let you do it on your own.”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t,” he reaffirms, then turns back to Rotxo. “How will it be different for two?”

It takes a few minutes for Rotxo to tweak and try his explanations for riding with a passenger. It really doesn’t seem all that difficult, but then again you’re still above water, and you won’t be the one steering this thing. He instructs you to climb onto Neteyam’s ilu just behind him and you do as you’re told. It’s a bit awkward, figuring out the hand positions and how close you really need to be seated. Rotxo places your arms around Neteyam’s waist and directs you to lock your hands there. He explains that you can be more lenient with the hand placement when you get more comfortable riding, but for now the grip has to stay tight and secure.

As you feel Neteyam tense under your hands, ever so slightly, you wonder if maybe he’s nervous about this whole riding thing, too. You don’t get the chance to ask him before he takes off.

It’s rough the first few rides (and you aren’t sure who freaks out more when you and Neteyam fly off in separate directions underwater, you or him) but eventually it becomes a little easier. You feel guilty, deep in your gut, for tampering with Neteyam’s experience and hardening his learning curve. But you try to remind yourself as Tsireya and Rotxo guide your family away from the shallows that he was the one who offered, that it was his choice to volunteer himself.

It takes you a bit to actually find the courage to look around as you’re riding through the water instead of hiding your face in Neteyam’s shoulder (this is a lot faster than just swimming, after all), but when you do you find yourself at the same level of amazement you had been before. It really is extraordinary, life in the sea, and you would be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that a part of you might like it here after all.

After seeing everyone is well adjusted enough on their ilus, Tsireya and Rotxo pull your family (minus Tuk) to the rocks for some breathing lessons. Having good breath control is one of the most vital components of being a successful diver, you’re told.

As far as you’re concerned, taking advice from people quite literally born in the water is pretty redundant, all things considered.

Tsireya and Rotxo (the latter, you’ve discovered, is far more willing to help with you newcomers than the Olo’eyktan’s own son) begin to lead your circle through various breathing exercises. The key is long, deep breaths, focusing to slow down your heart rate as much as possible. Keeping yourself calm, at peace.

Something you’ve never been particularly great at.

Tsireya tries to use Lo’ak to demonstrate this, who does alright on the breathing portion, but fails drastically (embarrassingly, more like) when she places her hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

She tells him his heart is beating too fast and you nearly burst out laughing–Neteyam does, along with Rotxo, laugh under his breath when she says it, to which Kiri rolls her eyes. And you can tell by the look on Lo’ak’s face that he wants nothing more than the rocks beneath him to split open so he can have an early meeting with the great mother right about now.

You’re given a few more tips, some other concepts you can try in order to get your heart rate as slow as possible, before everyone starts to depart. Tsireya and Lo’ak split off, talking about diving lessons and giving incentive. Kiri wanders away to do what you can only assume will be more exploring, and you watch Rotxo venture towards the village center (probably to find that insufferable friend of his). Which leaves you and Neteyam, who apparently already has an idea in mind.

“Okay, breathe with me,” he instructs.

A huff blows past your lips. “This is stupid, Neteyam.”

You’re sitting directly across from him in water that comes just up to your chin. If you were standing, it would probably reach right above the middle of your thighs. It’s shallow enough, but you understand what he is getting at. Doesn’t mean you’re all too thrilled about it, though.

“It’s not stupid, you skxawng,” he deters, then promptly dodges the hand you swing at him at the name. He simpers at you and grabs your hand as you go to pull it back (like that fell right into his plans) and places it to his chest. You can feel his heartbeat, the rhythmic pump of it under your palm. “Together. Breathe.”

“If you want to do this together then don’t you need to feel mine too?” You question, because isn’t that the point of all this?

Neteyam’s ears twitch at your query, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think you’d felt his breath hitch. For what reason, you don’t know.

“Right. Yes,” he agrees and moves his hand through the water closer to you, but he falters.

You furrow your brows at that, jut out your lip, because if he’s forcing you to do all this then the least he can do is cooperate right along with you. Sighing, you grab his hand and place it to your chest, palm to heart just like you are to him. The only difference is his hand has one finger less than you, a fact that mentally makes you grimace. A reminder that will ever be engraved in your soul.

He nods to you after sitting in this fixed position for a moment before he begins to suck in a breath. You mirror him directly, correspond with his inspirations and let your chest rise as you feel his do so beneath your palm. You’re doing well on that aspect, matching him breath for breath. It’s such an easy thing when your head’s above water, you wish it would translate just as well when it’s below.

“Okay,” Neteyam speaks up after a few minutes, “Now, try it with your head under.”

You’re a little apprehensive at the suggestion despite being at the shallow end of shore where you can simply stand up whenever you feel like it, and the trepidation must relay wholly on your face, because Neteyam squeezes the hand you still have placed to his chest.

“I’ll do it with you. It will be easy.”

“Ha, easy,” you mumble, let your eyes roll at his valor. Everything is just so easy for everyone else, isn’t it. “Right.”

But still, you find yourself taking in deeper breaths right along with him as you get ready to dip your head below the tide, trusting Neteyam with anything he extends to you. Because he’s never given you a reason not to, has he? He’s always made sure to do his best to keep you out of risky situations, or do everything he can to get you out of them when you found yourself to venture into one unknowingly.

You trust him because he’s proven to you over and over again that he’ll do nothing but look out for you, and a part of you thinks that’s a rather frightening prospect all on its own.

There’s a moment of shared eye contact, an understanding as each of you take one more breath, then you lower your head and allow yourself to be enveloped fully by the ocean. You’d think after diving and riding on the backs of ilus you’d feel more at ease already, have less anxiety about it all. But your chest still hurts just as much now as it ever has, and every second you spend below water has you reeling.

You know when it’s getting the best of you not by feeling it yourself, but by the tapping of Neteyam’s fingers against your chest as he points out your heart rate. It needs to be slow, you know this. It needs to match his, you’re aware.

But it’s hard. It’s hard for you to overcome this and no one seems to be getting that. It’s a feeling that closes in on you and suffocates you–literally and figuratively. You want to just get over it but you can’t. You can’t.

“I can’t do this,” you assert as you break out of the water with a sharp inhale and rise onto your feet. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Neteyam reaches for your arm as he stands up himself, water dripping down his face. “You can–“

“No I can’t, Neteyam!” You bite back. “You don’t understand, it’s too much. I can’t do it.”

Suddenly, his hands are on your shoulders, turning you around and forcing you to meet his eyes. He holds you steady, keeps you rooted as you catch the breath you hadn’t even realized you were actually gasping for. The waves slosh against your legs and you focus on the pale green flecks in Neteyam’s irises in an attempt to calm yourself down. They remind you of the petals on the outlandish flowers from the forest; from home. Something about that helps to level you.

“You can,” he expounds, gives you no gateway to disagree. “You can do this. We can do this. Together.”

Together, he says. Hand in hand, step by step–he is always so insistent on it being together. So adamant that you are not set aside, left to your own devices in an off chance of.. what, exactly? Does he persist on such an ideal so one does not merely feel alone, or is it solely to put his own mind at ease, allow his own soul to rest easy at the proclamation.

Perhaps, you think, your father has done too well on pushing that morale onto his eldest son. Together, he inclines. Together, he reiterates. Like it’s vital you remember it, you embrace it, welcome it. Does he feel such a devotion to the cause for everyone? Or, you wonder..

Your breathing, slowly but surely, begins to settle into normal intakes once again. Your heart rate draws back on its racing in your chest. You let Neteyam’s hands slide from your shoulders to your palms, let him glide his fingertips over your own until he’s leading you back from the step away you had taken.

“One more try, alright?”

And as he pulls you down to where you’re seated once again with your chin being licked by the salty tide, you nod.

You trust him, and you try again.

After what you can only describe as endless hours of grueling water exposure training at the hands of an overtly cruel Neteyam (which really translates to just over an hour of him gently coaxing you to stay longer and longer underwater until you feel somewhat comfortable with the idea), you find yourself sitting with Tsireya along the shore.

She’s teaching you their sign language, the signals and gestures you’ll need to know in order to be able to communicate while underwater most effectively. You’d like to think of yourself as a relatively receptive person, but you must admit the whole learning a new language thing really proves itself to be considerably tricky.

Rotxo is a few yards away teaching the boys the signs. You aren’t sure if Neteyam proposed that idea just to watch Lo’ak suffer from not getting to be around Tsireya, or if it was because he actually wanted his younger brother to retain some real information instead of gawk, but a part of you is thankful for some form of girl time; even if it comes in the shape of a lesson.

The two of you are taking a break as you try to recall different signs on your own when you catch Tsireya staring at Lo’ak from afar. You’re partially thankful his back is to the two of you so you aren’t having to watch them drool back and forth, but you can’t lie and say that you don’t think it’s rather endearing that they’ve taken such an interest already.

“Lo’ak is sweet,” Tsireya says, out of the blue. And as you look over to her and catch her gaze, it almost appears as if she’s surprised herself at saying the thought out loud.

You smile warmly at her, because seeing her embarrassed is not something you’d really wish for. “Maybe to you,” you chuckle, shifting your regard down to the sand as you drag your finger through it. “He’s a pest.”

Her lips stretch widely at that, eyes crinkling gleefully at the corners. “In your eyes, I suppose I could see that.” Then she hums, looks to Lo’ak once more before directing her observance elsewhere. “He seems very curious. Willing to learn.”

Something churns in your gut. Guilt, maybe. Possibly conviction. You just nod your head at her statement.

“He’s willing to do a lot of things,” you abhor, though you don’t mean to sound so harsh. “He feels he doesn’t have a choice.” You lift your head to see the resignation on Tsireya’s face and instantly backpedal. “But with you it’s different. I can tell he likes learning all the things you teach us. You make him excited. To do things. You know.”

You hold your breath as you wait for her reaction and let it all whoosh out of you like a popped balloon when the smile cuts across her glowing face once more. When you notice the mood has once again lightened, you go back to drawing in the sand.

Tsireya hums again, and what leaves her saccharine lips next has you snapping your head up so fast you think you might have given yourself a mild case of whiplash.

“You think Neteyam is sweet, too. Do you not?”

You shift a little in the sand, crinkle your brows a bit at her statement. “I’m.. not sure what you mean.”

Neteyam is sweet, sure. He is nice, the most respectful Na’vi you know by a landslide. Sincere, bona fide; loyal through and through.

“Well, he has been helping you so frequently. Each time you are struggling he is always the first to step in, and you coordinate so well with one another. Harmonize so naturally. So I thought–“ As she takes in your confused expression, her eyes widen and she raises her hand to her mouth as if to stop herself. “Oh, I am so sorry, I seem to have misinterpreted. I didn’t mean to overstep, I–“

“It’s okay,” you wave her off, showcase an easy smile to put her worries to rest even as heat starts to pool into the apples of your cheeks. “Don’t even worry about it.”

She offers up an apologetic smile of her own before turning her attention back to the sand to draw another motion that you can add to your silent vocabulary, getting back to the lesson to steer from the awkwardness–a safe bet. But you find your eyes drifting over to the boy who’s just been brought into question.

Neteyam has always been in your corner, by your side, just as you’ve been with him. He has always been your favorite person to be around, that you are willing to admit readily. That is something easy to confirm the sentiment of.

But as he catches you staring, flashes you a lopsided grin before he’s getting scolded to focus by Rotxo, something new flips in your gut that you try your very best to ignore.

Something rippling.

When you want to clear your head, you always find yourself going directly to Kiri.

It doesn’t even need to involve talking or venting to her about what has you on edge (though both of you do your fair share of that, as well), but simply being in her presence has a way of putting you at ease. Relaxing your mind in a way that you will always welcome.

This time is no different. The two of you may not have your own secret hideout carved into the side of a hollow tree trunk anymore, but that doesn’t mean you can’t find your own place here.

You’re on a semi-secluded strip of the beach. It’s calming, sitting in the water and letting it lap across your thighs and against your waist as you watch Kiri float near the surface. She likes it here, or at the very least likes seeing all the wonders the ocean can hold. It does your heart well, being able to witness her finding a bit of happiness, a morsel of contentment in a time such as this.

She’s probably the only one who you think matches your level of irritability about the situation you’ve all been thrown in, even if you haven’t directly voiced it. And you know very well she is the only one who comes even remotely close to feeling the heartache you harbor over the capture of your brother.

The two of you have always been easy to connect on things like that, and for that you are forever grateful. Besides, if you yourself cannot find comfort, you’re glad she seems to be able to seek it out wherever she goes, even if it’s for just a few moments.

Which is evidently all you’re destined for–a few moments–as drifting voices approach you that do not sound the least bit pleasant.

“What is she doing?” There’s laughs, snickers, and you shoot a look over your shoulder to see Ao’nung with his little group of cronies approaching the two of you. Distaste pools on the tip of your tongue, unease bubbling up your throat.

You keep your eyes on them as you try to warn your sister. “Kiri, get up.”

They’re closer now, practically standing over the top of you, their shadows dimming the warmth of the sun you were just enjoying in peace a moment ago. “She’s just looking at the sand,” one of them belittles, pokes fun. Your jaw clenches.

This time, you reach for Kiri as you address her, pull at her arm so she’s aware of what looms over her, because like hell are you going to let her sit here and be a victim to whatever immature charade these guys are playing at.

“Huh?” She asks as she raises up out of the water, wiping at her eyes and blinking to clear her vision. “What’d you say?”

You open your mouth to speak, tell her the two of you should just go find somewhere else to hang out, but you don’t get the chance to voice that.

“Are you some kind of..” Ao’nung falters, pretends to be thinking, then practically lets his intention drip off his tongue like venom. “Freak?”

And his friend doesn’t miss a beat, tittering as he joins in. “He asked if you are a freak.”

Pulling Kiri up as you stand yourself, a sneer carves its way into the mold of your lips. She scoffs lightly and rolls her eyes. “No,” she grumbles at the connotation, letting you lead her through a gap in the group to walk away.

But it seems all for naught, as they simply step right into your path once again to block you from going anywhere. You’re growing more and more irritated by the second because, honestly, if they can’t stand your family so much, why don’t they just leave you alone?

“Are you sure?” Ao’nung presses, getting right in her face. “I mean, you’re not even real Na’vi.” He grabs at her hands before she can move away, holds them disparagingly, a derisive expression painted across his features. “Look at these hands. I mean look at them.”

The hiss that shrieks through your fangs is instant as you step between them, pry Kiri’s hands out of his slimy grasp and try your hardest to halfway shield her behind you. (Not that that is really an exceedent help, given you’re currently surrounded). Spewing sordid insults out at you and your family is one thing, though you want to wring his scaly little neck for that alone, but physically laying his hands on your sister?

You’ve done your best to try to keep peace, be good for your parents’ sake–bite your tongue and fold your hands like a proper daughter should. But you think you might be reaching your limit.

You’re about to attempt to brush past them one last time–your last stitch effort to break away from this idiotic ambush once and for all to get you and your sister some privacy, but something jerks at you. There are hands wrapped around your tail, tugging at it as guffaws sound around you, like it’s all just some kind of game. You realize to them, it is.

“Ha! Look at her little baby tail.”

“Get your hands off of me,” you bark at the culprit, shove at him and yank your tail out of his grasp. It isn’t a pleasant feeling, being prodded like this, being goaded. It feels invasive, violating. You hate this so much and you just want them to leave you alone.

You don’t understand their wish for a feud when a feud is the last thing you and your family want. Bickering and fighting and being at odds will solve nothing. In fact, all it will do is get you in trouble during the one time where you’re already walking on eggshells every single day as is. Do they not understand how hard this is on your family? Do they not care?

Is belligerence the only thing they are capable of?

“Hey!” It’s Lo’ak, who tears the scrutiny off you and your sister as he strides over, right up to Ao’nung in order to get him away from the both of you. “Back off fish legs.”

“Oh,” he chuckles, levels your brother with a look. “Another four fingered freak.”

His friends push and jab at him, causing him to wheel in all directions to shove them away too. “Don’t touch me,” he warns, wavers. You’re so over this.

Kiri arbitrates, but they don’t listen. “Leave us alone.” It falls on deaf ears.

“Get away from us!” you call out; more forward, less refined. You figure you can leave the diplomacy to your sister, since you find it hard not to be blunt in situations such as this where the offending party can’t seem to get the hint through their overly thick skulls.

You’re still doing your best to shield Kiri with an arm out in front of her–in any other situation you might have laughed at how you’re currently standing like your mother. Now though, nothing about this is funny. Just as you’re about to reach for Lo’ak in an attempt to get him away from their bullying too, Neteyam comes to the scene.

He looks pissed, braids swinging with every stomp of his feet as he stalks up and abruptly shoves Ao’nung back away from the three of you. “You heard what they said. Leave them alone,” he snaps before he’s getting closer, finger pointed at Ao’nung threateningly enough it even has you on edge. He pokes him in the chest, punctuates his demands. “Back. Off. Now.”

The air turns static, and to your surprise, Ao’nung listens. He holds his hands up in faux style surrender, and though he still has a mocking look on his face, it is clear he’s heeding directly to Neteyam’s commands. A part of you wonders if it’s simply because Neteyam is the oldest, if he chooses to resonate with him on that because he used to once be an heir himself. But mostly you think it’s just because Ao’nung is actually scared shitless of him, which you find twice as enjoyable.

“Smart choice,” Neteyam acknowledges as the chief’s son takes a step back, sends a warning look across the entire group. “And from now on, I need you to respect my family.”

One of Ao’nung’s friends hisses before getting signaled back by the former. You roll your eyes at the shrill and Kiri sticks out tongue.

“Let’s go,” Neteyam mutters, redirects Lo’ak with a hand to the head and Kiri with a nudge to the shoulders.

You can still hear them all behind you, snickering to themselves and making demeaning comments about the lot of you as Neteyam places his hand on your back to guide you away with the rest of them. You’re more than willing to just drop it, ignore them and swallow down the hurt their words and actions caused like you have always done, like it was nothing more than a bite of tart fruit. Just another tally to the list of your flaws.

But Lo’ak seems to not share that mindset with you.

His faltering to a stop has you doing the same, turning your attention to him and attempting to step over and reach for his arm to continue tugging him along. Before you can, though, he’s already turning right around. Walking right back to the group you were just saved from.

“Lo’ak,” Neteyam calls after him, his tone dripping in apprehension.

Lo’ak raises a calming hand to the three of you. “I got this, bro,” he reassures, but it does nothing to ease the pins and needles you suddenly feel in the soles of your feet. He steps right up to Ao’nung and holds up his hand, like he’s putting it on display. “I know this hand is funny. Look, I’m a freak. Alien.”

The group laughs under their breaths at him, sharing judging looks with each other. You don’t understand why you have such an odd feeling about this, and you have no idea what he’s getting at by subjecting himself to it.

“But it can do something really cool. Watch,” he instructs, and to your surprise Ao’nung actually has his full attention on your brother’s hand. “First, I ball it up real tight like this, okay? Then–”

In the split second that you blink, there’s a crack, a grunt. Your mouth drops open as you see Lo’ak’s fist come in contact directly with Ao’nung’s face. But it isn’t just once, or twice. Lo’ak gets three solid hits in before Ao’nung falls back on his ass into the water.

“It’s called a punch, bitch!” Lo’ak spits. “Don’t ever touch my sisters again.”

After that, all hell breaks loose. Ao’nung surges forward and tackles Lo’ak to the ground. They immediately start scrapping, throwing each other on and off and swinging at whatever they can get into contact with. The other boys jump in, all target locked on your brother. You’re contemplating stepping in and breaking it up somehow.

You look to Neteyam to see if he’s thinking the same, if he’s running through ways to possibly diffuse the situation as well. But as soon as you glance up and catch sight of the fed up slant to his lips, his tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he tilts his head to the side, your stomach drops.

“Neteyam don’t,” you plead, attempting to pull him back to stop him but he just barely weasels out of your grasp. Voice straining with frustration, you shout after him. “Neteyam!”

He throws himself into the fight head on, socking the first guy who tries to come at him and instantly kneeing the next. Your hands fly to your face, dragging down it as you think to yourself that this literally cannot possibly be happening right now. Stupid, stupid boys.

“Stop it,” Kiri groans at your side, “Stop it! You’re so stupid.”

“This is so childish!” You yell, too–reiterating her point. “You’re all gonna get in trouble.”

The pair of you watch, exasperated. There’s nothing you can do (because you sure as hell aren’t jumping in the middle of that just to get a black eye) so you turn to your sister. You stare at each other for a moment, hear the cries and complaints of your brother and his rivals, and suddenly laughs are bubbling out of each of your lips at the bewilderment of it all.

The two of you simply stand there and wait, snickering at the idiotic display while you wait for the trouble you warned them of to inevitably come.

And come the trouble does.

You follow at a safe distance as Jake ushers his two slightly beaten and busted up sons to your family’s home. He shoves them inside and you wait outside, leaning against the side of the hut just out of sight as you listen in. You hear him begin to scold them, ask them what his one wish was on the matter of coming here.

Guilt pools deep in your gut as most of the heat is directed to Lo’ak, despite Neteyam’s (unsuccessful) effort to take the blame off his brother’s shoulders. You listen as your brother justifies himself, tells Jake he was simply standing up for you and Kiri, explains what Ao’nung and his friends were saying about you.

Irritation seeps into your skin when you hear your father tell him to go apologize. You don’t think it’s fair–he did nothing wrong, he isn’t the one at fault here. If anything, Ao’nung should be apologizing to him, not the other way around. You watch as Lo’ak storms out of the hut, sparing you a glimpse as he passes, but offering nothing else. You want to apologize to him, you can’t help but feel he deserves that. But you have a bone to pick first.

Neteyam’s footsteps sound close to the exit, so you get ready to move. Before he steps out, though, your father stops him. “Hey,” and it’s softer, than his tone was just moments ago, “So, what’d the other guys look like?”

You want to scoff at the question. Or maybe the audacity of it, given the circumstances.

“Worse,” Neteyam answers him quietly, truthfully.

There’s a pause. You can’t see your father’s face but you can imagine the look he’s giving right now. “That’s good,” he affirms.

Neteyam seems to pick up on the approval in his timbre, because you hear a breathy laugh from him before he adds, “A lot worse.”

He’s told to get out at that, Jake’s way of telling him not to push his luck, if you had to guess. He seems so preoccupied that he doesn’t even register you standing by the entrance, walking right past you. So, you take quick steps forward to follow him.

“A lot worse,” you copy him, hoping the mockery comes across as heavy as you want it to. His focus flits to you, eyes a little wide as if you caught him the slightest bit off guard. You couldn’t care less about that. “Do you know how dumb that sounds?”

“What?” he asks, stops walking to face you as his brows (or the shape of what brows would be) knead together. “What do you mean?”

Conflicted, that’s how you’d describe yourself right now. Maybe it’s because you’re still cut open from what Ao’nung and his friends had said, maybe it’s the guilt eating away at you from indirectly being the reason Lo’ak has to apologize to them. Whatever it is, it has you acting a little arbitrary.

“You shouldn’t have jumped in the fight, Neteyam,” you state–scold, in a haphazard sense. And it’s something you’d feel the need to say even without being at war with yourself. “It was stupid.”

“Stupid?” He levels you with a look, disbelieving, almost. You don’t like the way it makes you feel. “I was standing up for my family. For you.”

“I can stand up for myself,” you retort, and it tastes bitter on your tongue. This wasn’t how you wanted the conversation to shift, you weren’t meaning to sound so vindictive. You blow out a breath. “Besides, it’s not like I’m not used to it. I can handle it.”

And Neteyam, despite your enmity, drops every bit of his guard. “But you shouldn’t–”

“It’s fine,” you intervene before he can finish, because pity is not what you were trying to get out of this. You just want him to be aware, that he doesn’t have to fight and get himself in trouble for the sake of you. Studying his face for a moment, you sigh. “Anyways, you should probably go get something for your lip.”

Before he can say anything else you avert your eyes and walk off, mind already reeling.

Your fingers hurt.

This has taken you far longer than you thought it would and you’re thankful you’re on the last bead because the sun is merely a sliver over the horizon now, meaning you’re running out of light to see since your foolish self did not bring a source with you. Something about the sea beads on hand here feel different to work with compared to the wooden ones you’re used to. The change in texture is obvious, but it’s like using these is more taxing than the ones from home. You’re grateful to Tsireya for giving them to you, yet you still wish you had packed some before you’d left. It’s too late to have remorse over something like that, though, so you push the thought from your mind.

There is one thought that you can’t seem to shake, however.

Guilt has a funny way of trying to swallow you whole. It has you locked in its jaws even now, as you tie off the piece you are creating and hold it up to admire your handiwork. The very cause for the making of this necklace in the first place is guilt, followed ever so closely by gratitude. You hope it conveys that, proves to mean that much when it’s out of your hands and in the ones of whom it’s intended to belong.

It’s a highly acknowledged value in Na’vi culture that making one's own jewelry and clothing, or gifting such things to others directly, is an.. intimate gesture. Not necessarily in the definitive sense, but more so in the meaning that it is just not something one takes lightly, not a sentiment meant to be discarded.

You must respect the things people gift unto you that they have made with their own hands; may Eywa bless their labor. Neytiri taught you that when you were young, when she gave you your first bracelet. You still have it, even now, because such a thing does not leave you in your first lifetime or the next. Hope creeps into your bones that it holds up for you now.

A light sweeps over you from behind, a narrow beam that has you squinting as you look over your shoulder. The only people here who would have a flashlight would be your family, and given the lack of taunting or lecturing accompanying it, there’s just one person who it could be.

“Should you have that? You’d get in trouble if you got caught, you know,” you tell him as you turn back around, stare at the star sprinkled ocean.

“Ah, srankehe,” [“more or less”] Neteyam waves off as he sits down about a foot away from you. You can feel his eyes on you, hear the smile in his voice. “How much more trouble could I get in after today?”

“Right,” you respond with a ghost of a chuckle. You turn to him, peer at him through the blanketed dark. “How’s your lip?”

“Oh, you didn’t hear?” His tone takes a dip, and for a second you grow concerned. “They said I have to get them cut off, they’re unsalvageable. Yes, completely busted up to shreds. Shame.”

Every drop of worry rushes out of your body instantly and you reach across the small distance separating the two of you. He laughs as you shove him, flashes the light in your face as a little bit of payback. Then, the light drifts over your hand, goes back and does a double sweep, only stopping once it’s pointed directly on what you almost forgot you were still holding in it.

“What’s this?” Neteyam asks, immediately scooting closer and cautiously reaching for the necklace. He holds it in his hand so delicately, runs his fingers over the beads like it’s the most fragile thing he’s ever seen. “Did you make this?”

The building anxiety becomes just a smidgen too much as he looks over at you, so you turn your attention down to the beaded item in his hand.

“Yeah,” you nod, bite the inside of your cheek as you brush your finger against the accent shell you placed in the middle. “Yeah, it’s for you.”

That seems to take him aback, has him pausing for a moment. “You made it for me?”

You nod again. Your tongue suddenly feels like lead in the bottom of your mouth. You feel stupid, this seems silly. Part of you wants to yank it out of his hands and yell just kidding! before you risk embarrassing yourself within the next few moments. You try to choose your words wisely.

“I wanted to say sorry, for earlier. I shouldn’t have told you not to fight, that’s not my place. And I really am grateful for you standing up for me. I just.. I don’t want you getting scolded because of me. I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble. So, I’m sorry, Neteyam. Ngaytxoa.” [“My deepest apologies.”]

He’s looking at you again, you can tell. There’s an odd bevel in his tone when he queries, “So you made this as an apology? Because you feel guilty?”

“Yes,” you confirm, verify as you find the courage to meet his gaze, but you redial too, “Well, and as a thank you.”

“A thank you?” He tips his head like he’s truly perplexed, and you wonder how he doesn’t already know why you’re grateful for him, why you’ve used every ounce of your appreciation in the fashioning of this lavalliere.

“You deserve one.” A knot slides up into your throat, chokes you up as you address him now. You do your best to work past it. “You’ve helped me through so much since coming here. You’ve been patient with me and–and you’ve stepped in whenever I needed you. You’ve done everything you can to help me. I can’t even begin to tell you how grateful I am for that. How grateful I am for you.”

That last part slips out of you before you can think much about it, but once it rolls off your tongue you can’t help but realize just how true it is. You are exceedingly thankful for Neteyam not just for what he’s done, but for who he is. Your heart holds a permanent room for him, and you think he has the right to know that.

For a few painstaking moments, Netayam just looks at you. Like he’s mulling over everything you’ve just said, like he’s processing it to the utmost ability. You’re almost on the verge of regret, thinking maybe you’ve crossed some line drawn in the sand that you were not previously aware of. That is, until there’s a twitch at the corner of his lips.

“Do I have to put it on myself?”

The smile that starts to mirror from his face to yours is inevitable, but you hook your fang on the corner of your lip in a sorry attempt to not beam so widely anyways. You raise onto your knees as you take the necklace from him, to make it easier to face him. Neteyam’s eyes never leave your face as you focus on gently looping the necklace over his head. Once it’s on, you slide your fingers behind his neck–delicately, carefully–lifting his braids out of the way so that it can fall properly into place. You’re slow on pulling away, drifting your fingers down the slick, sea glass beadwork until they find the middle shell. You take this time to straighten it, make sure it’s laying properly against his chest.

Just as you go to pull your hands away, Neteyam’s own come up to keep them held to his chest. Your gaze flits up, dares to meet his. On your knees like this you’re looking down on him, an occurrence that usually is the other way around. His eyes are glistening, shining. There are constellations illuminated across his cheeks, his nose. You think you’d like to map them.

“Irayo fìxtan,” [“Thank you so much.”] he murmurs, soft and low as his thumb rubs over your knuckles. His expression is so warm, so earnest. It suddenly feels very hard to breathe, and that feeling from before, when you were with Tsireya, is happening again. “Irayo fìxtan, Ma (Y/n).”

There’s a shift, a tilt of an axis. Something changes, in this very moment; something far from trivial but so close to uncharted. It is unknown to you what this all means, what this entails.

What changes?

You open your mouth to speak, but even you aren’t sure what you will say. Part of you wants to change the subject, nerves tend to plague you and make you want to veer from such things, but the rest of you, well. You think you might have truly settled on something to say, something to voice, now.

But someone’s hesitant footsteps approaching has your attention faltering, causes you to look to your left where you find Ao’nung walking up with a look on his face that has your stomach twisting. And when you thought that was bad enough, the words that leave his lips make you forget anything you were planning to mutter.

“There’s a problem.. with Lo’ak.”

[arthropod-concoctions]

Uprooted: chapter 13 (finale)

(AO3 - ch 1 - ch 12 (make sure you've read it!))

Scott awoke to an unfamiliar ceiling and the smell of blood. He quickly sat up to get his bearings, but there wasn't any fighting going on; he seemed to be in some kind of hospital room. He was in a bed, next to similar ones with various bodies on them. He recognized Grian laying on one a bit away; there was a bloody stump where his right leg should be. Scar was sitting on the bed, watching him, but he looked up and smiled at Scott.

“There he is, our hero! How are you feeling?” Scar asked, as he moved from Grian's bed to Scott's.

“I'm fine,” Scott replied. If he still had injuries, he couldn't feel them. “I don't think I am much of a hero, honestly. I found the king, but then I freaked out and ran away.” And promptly got killed, apparently.

“Ah, but in doing so, you led him right to us!” Scar said jovially. He had bandaging around his arm and shoulder, but didn't seem to have been seriously injured. “You'll be happy to know we managed to drive the king out of the castle, and we killed his right hand Martyn and threw the body into prison. We're the heroes of Troren, you included!”

Scott shrugged. He didn't really care who got the glory, right now he just wanted to see his husband. He opened his mouth to ask where Jimmy was, but Scar spoke up again: “You know, apparently some of the old Troren soldiers got absorbed into the Red Army, and they had also been planning a revolt. That's why everyone started fighting each other all of a sudden.”

“Okay. Where's Jimmy?” Scott asked.

Scar looked away, and his smile faded. He didn't answer.

“Scar?” Scott said, but a sinking feeling in his chest told him that he already knew the answer.

“He- the mission wasn't casualty-free, and Jimmy... he was among them, I'm afraid. I'm very sorry, Scott.”

“No,” Scott whispered. Jimmy can't have died again. Hasn't he had enough bad luck?

Scar sighed. “Come with me, won't you?”

Scott stood up. “Shouldn't you stay with Grian?” he heard himself say.

“I'm not sure he'll even want to see me when he wakes up, honestly.” Scar lead Scott out of one medicine room to the door of another. There was a sign hanging next to the door; it read 'final bodies'.

Scott stepped inside, and immediately recognized Jimmy's form lying on a sheet on the floor. He seemed smaller, somehow, like pieces of him had already faded away. Scott clamped his hand to his mouth. Jimmy's face was facing away from him; he knew seeing it would make him feel worse, but he had to do so anyways. He stepped forwards.

Jimmy's eyes were closed; it almost looked like he was sleeping, or pretending to sleep, like he'd done so often lately. Scott knelt down and opened one eye, then the other.

They weren't red anymore, nor were they green. His true eye colours, blue and brown, had seeped from the edges of his irises to fill them up completely. There were tiny specks in his brown eye.

They looked beautiful. Why did his dead eyes have to look beautiful?

Scott laid his head on Jimmy's chest, and sobbed.

He wasn't sure how long he stayed there, but eventually he heard footsteps, and the sound of wood knocking against the floor, coming into the room.

“I'm so sorry for your loss, Scott,” Grian said.

Scott lifted his head up. He tried to say something in response, but “hah” was all that came out.

Grian crouched next to him-- as much as that was possible with the lower half of his right leg missing-- and laid a hand on his shoulder.

For a while they sat next to Jimmy's corpse in silence. Then Grian spoke up: “You know, me and Scar had a deal.”

“A long time ago, I owed Scar a favor- a lot of favors, actually. So I told him that as long as I was green-lived, I'd go along with whatever plans he made. That's why I joined the Red Desert; the agreement didn't end when he died, so I essentially became a red-lived by proxy. I'm Yellow now, which means I don't owe Scar anything anymore- but I can't imagine leaving him behind. I feel like I'd be lost without him. And if he died...”

Scott let out another sob.

“All this to say, I understand what you're going through. Well, I don't, but I understand how awful it must be.”

“You and Scar could move into Troren,” Scott said numbly.

Grian hesitated. “I don't think we can,” he responded. “They have strict laws against Reds, the princes made that very clear during-”

“Cleo said they'd make an exception,” Scott said, turning to face Grian. His glasses were off, so Scott could see his yellow eyes. “For the people in the mission. For Reds that could behave themselves, or had a non-Red keeping them in check.”

Grian hummed. “I don't know if that applies to us, honestly. By the rules of our agreement, I can't stop Scar from hurting people.”

“But the agreement is over. You're Yellow now.”

“I think we've passed the point of no return. Both Scar and I, we can't go back to regular society at this point. Plus, the Desert still has some unfinished business. This war is far from over.”

Scott sighed. He wasn't sure why he even told Grian this; he was right. Even if he still wasn't Red, he could not imagine Grian living a normal life among Greens and Yellows, especially if Scar was involved.

Maybe he just didn't want prince Cleo's offer to go to waste. Sure, he could move to Troren on his own, but to do what? Make dye and miss his husband? Live his days as a widower in a foreign land? He didn't think he could handle rebuilding if Jimmy wasn't by his side. He'd been uprooted over and over, and now there weren't any roots left. Only thorns.

“You're taking the war eastwards, then?” he asked Grian.

“Yep. We might have crippled Sanguacanis a little bit and scared them out of Troren, but they'll recover. And then they'll come back with a vengeance.”

“...You think you could use another bowman?”

[emcscared-whumps]

WiJ 2023 - 24: Earth (1/10)

WiJ 2023 Navigation Post

As I mentioned, these are basically snapshots of the first draft, so forgive me for being a little messy and unpolished ^-^'

Can't edit what isn't written after all ;)

Anyways, this is the first segment I actually wrote, so, have fun future me lmao

Beginning | Previous | Next

CONTENT and WARNINGS: Nonhuman whumpee, collapse and fainting, Cole getting squicked out by gills

wc: ~1k

“Thank you for meeting me,” Cole said, turning up his collar against a chilly bluster and burrowing further into his scarf. All he could think of was how silly he must’ve looked, all balled up because of a little breeze. “I know it’s not easy for you to come so far, but I thought you could... do with a break. You seemed quite stressed when I saw you last,” he added. Somehow, the shadows under those tired blue eyes seemed deeper than they were when he’d seen him last, as if he’d been unable to bask.

Unbothered by the sudden drop in temperature, Pete hummed a plain response. It was more of an acknowledgement than anything, and not a talkative one. Slightly prickly, even.

Cole tried to meet Pete’s eyes to gauge what the young man was thinking as they slowly walked through the city, but his downcast gaze never stayed still; when his eyes weren’t clearly tracking the people exiting various shops, they flitted over openings and gaps, puddles, and over his shoulders.

Cole hesitated before speaking again, “Let’s get going before the weather turns, maybe we can find something to eat, my shout.”

Pete hummed again.

Ensuring his concerned gaze didn’t linger and give him away, Cole fell into step behind Pete, matching his pace but allowing him to lead, ensuring that he watched Pete’s back more than he accommodated him; he knew how quickly the young belunae’s mood could turn when he thought he was being coddled, or hadn’t the patience to ignore it.

Cole understood that feeling far too well; adjusting to having someone look out for him after years of isolation was difficult at best, and at worst... it could feel suffocating and infantilising, and when that happened, how easy it was to keep those walls built high.

An ache throbbed in Cole’s heart.

Pete is so close to having someone, he thought, that nice friend of his, Timmothey Paige. He’s a good kid, he tries to be there as much as he can, he’s trying a lot harder than anyone else, but Pete needs to open up, he can’t keep isolating himself.

Cole’s thoughts wandered from there as he took in the details of their surrounds; Wasn’t he the one who offered to accompany Pete each moon...? Was he there the last moon?

Before Cole could react, Pete suddenly stumbled forward. His boot caught on an uprooted paver, and when as he tried to steady himself, his cane slipped from under him, and his leg gave way before Cole could catch him.

“Shit—!" Cole exclaimed, kneeling and offering his arm to Pete who laid braced on the ground, biting back cries with pained gasps. “Are you hurt?”

Pete’s eyes cracked open and fixed Cole with a cold, hostile glare, “Of—of c-course,” he ground out, refusing his help, “but n-not—not worse. I’m f-f-fine.”

He stood, a pang of guilt settling in his stomach. He knew better than to badger, but he still felt awful for making the Pete slowly regain his footing himself. To make matters worse, a car flew by, ignorant of the dip where the previous night’s rain had been pooling, splashing everything in its wake, including Pete, who still knelt on the ground.

Shit!

Pete’s eyes widened and his lips parted breathlessly.

As much as he tried to hide it, Cole knew he couldn’t breathe and urgently needed privacy to recover, but when he tried to offer his arm again for Pete to lean on, Pete took it to haul himself to his feet and clumsily pull away, only to hit a wall and slide until his body leaned against a decorative pillar.

“Hey, hey, let me help,” Cole said, moving to subtly block any prying eyes.

Pete’s chest heaved but moved no air, and the hostility in his eyes morphed into fear. He shook his head, unable to voice the words he mouthed; don’t want—!

“Pete. Your scarf is drenched. You need to get it off right now if you don’t want to shift,” Cole murmured urgently. “You can have mine, just let me help, please.”

Finally, even as his eyes started drooping, the young man saw sense and with a small nod, allowed Cole to work quickly, unravelling the knots of both scarves as he gulped air down and fruitlessly forced it through his gills once they were free from the weight of the completely drenched wool.

It was a truly unnerving sight. Cole dragged his gaze away, but even as he focused on gently re-wrapping his own warm, dry scarf around Pete’s neck, the bright red of his gills’ filaments were never out of sight.

A short, sickening gasp followed by quick, shallow coughs brought Cole back to his senses.

Pete tried to position himself to stand, still gulping the air.

“Hey—Pete please wait, damnit,” Cole started, but Pete slumped into Cole’s chest and his eyes fell shut; his initial hesitancy finally took its toll.

Cole, unprepared for the sudden weight managed to wrap a protective arm around Pete’s limp body to stop him from falling, and catch himself before he hit the ground too.

Powers— Cole panicked.

A second ticked by, and still no breath.

Shit—

Another—

Shallow rasps sounded, and short coughs wracked Pete’s frail body.

Relief flooded Cole’s body; Pete was breathing again, he was still alive. The process was frightening to witness, and Cole didn’t want to know how terrifying it would be to suffer it regularly.

Not being able to breathe was—

No.

 Cole shut that memory down the instant it surfaced.

Pete groaned weakly and coughed, but made no move to push Cole away.

Taken aback but unwilling to disturb the strange peace, Cole swallowed and kept perfectly still, as if a shy kitten had rested its head on his hand.

“We’d better find some place to rest,” he murmured.

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[ddarker-dreams]

Contractual Obligations. Yan Childe x Reader

Warnings: Implied stalking. Word count: 1k. →Part II.

A bewitching patch of flowers catches your fancy, standing tall and bright, boasting a rich azure shade. Content with your find, you bend down to pick the blossoms. Your cheerful mood turns sour at the slightest rustling behind a nearby tree. Not troubling yourself to look in the direction of the noise, you run your hands along the root, preparing to pluck the glaze lily. 

“How much longer are you planning on hiding?” 

More rustling. Footsteps approach from behind, a carefree laugh accompanying them. “Ah, you caught me. Could it be that I’m losing my touch?” 

For such a jovial voice, it fills you with oppressive dread, your jaw tightening at the unfortunately familiar timbre. Plagued by this unrelenting shadow, you guess that taking a refreshing walk on your lonesome is too much to ask for anymore. You weigh your options. Ignoring Childe has never done you any favors, likely fanning his flames even more. 

“You say that, but if you really wanted to, you’d go undetected.” 

Childe leans down next to your hunched over form, an irritatingly calm smile on his face. “Oh? What’s this? Are you complimenting me, [First]? If you’re not careful, I might let that go to my head.” 

“I’m sure it already has anyways,” you dismiss with a shake of your head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you wanted me to catch you.” 

“You got me there.” Childe shrugs, straightening his posture out. You take in a shaky breath, willing yourself to remain calm, painfully aware that you should be watching your tongue. To no fault of your own, Childe makes it impossible to remain polite as you normally are. Every interaction is based around him pushing your buttons for his personal pleasure. On a surface level, you know you need to be courteous, as your parent’s business relies on Fatui’s money. 

“Can I ask why you’re following me? I’m sure there are other pressing matters for you to attend to.” 

He hums, smoothing out his shirt while you work on the flower’s roots. “Work can be so boring. I just happened to be on a break when I caught you leaving Liyue, and decided to tag along.” 

Tag along. Is that what he’s calling it? It feels like every time you’re off gathering items for your parent’s shop, Childe decides to accompany you, despite your obvious distaste. 

Once you uproot the flower, Childe extends a gloved hand, that you stare at unimpressed. You take it after a moment’s deliberation, for the sake of maintaining appearances. Childe hoists you up with ease, and before you can mutter a halfhearted “thank you”, pulls you flush against his chest. Cobalt blue eyes fixate on your alarmed expression. Childe pays the most attention to your slightly parted lips, the skin beneath his eyes tightening in delight as he snickers. 

“I must confess,” he leans down to the shell of your ear, blowing on it playfully, “You’re starting to hurt my feelings, [First]. What have I done to deserve such cold treatment from you? Hm? Haven’t I been more than accommodating to you?” 

You swallow thickly, your stomach churning at how Childe’s voice dips lower, the dangerous sound ringing alarm bells in your head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, you don’t?” he inquires, and you shake your head. “In that case, I’m more than happy to remind you.” 

Childe pulls back so he can return his attention to your endearing facial expressions. At this close proximity, it’s impossible to ignore the height difference, the man easily towering over you. He tilts his head, messy copper hair falling into place soon afterward. Every ounce of your strength is dedicated to maintaining his piercing gaze, to salvage just an ounce of your honor, unwilling to fully relent to the pressure he exerts. He smiles at this, clearly pleased. Childe places his hand underneath your chin, delicately lifting your head to inspect you closer. 

“Do yourself a favor and don’t forget what would happen if I came to collect your shop’s debt now.” 

You want to offer a stinging rebuttal but the words die on your tongue. He’s right. Whatever the reason may be, the notoriously uncompromising Fatui have been lenient with your parent’s debt. You’ve had your suspicions, most of them relating to the person in front of you now, but hearing it aloud from him makes it far worse. 

Eyelids fluttering shut, you push down the bile rising in your throat to hopefully appease him. “You’re… you’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you for all you’ve done.” 

“Ah, how cute is that,” Childe sighs, running his pointer finger along your bottom lip. The cool leather sends shivers down your spine. “That look of frustration is so adorable on you. You’re making this even harder on me, I don’t think I can prolong it much longer.” 

Your face flushes at his words, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What do you mean by that…?” 

“I guess I wasn’t clear enough. I still have every intention of collecting your debt -- it’s owed to me after all -- but it’s not Mora I’m going to be taking.” 

Childe smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes. You watch how his expression darkens, unable to look away, despite wanting to do nothing more. When did it become so difficult to breathe? Every one of your senses is on high alert. From the running stream by your side, the breeze rustling your hair, and the electrifying aura that radiates from Childe. Ever the one for dramatics, he pauses to greedily drink in your appearance.

“I’ll be taking you instead,” he finally releases his vise-like grip on you, stepping back with grace. “So look forward to it, okay? I know I have been.” 

Childe starts on the path back to Liyue. You stand there, stunned into silence, eyes wide as saucers. When you don’t follow after him, he turns his head and beckons you to his side. Your stomach drops as he goes to speak up again. 

“Come, [First], I’ll walk you home. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you, now would we?” 

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Something in the woods is stealing peoples’ Souls;

Merlin learns the hard way that he's a little more... fragmented, than normal people when he tries to solve the issue himself.

Part 2 (final part)

All of the Physicians in the town are being overrun.

Bodies keep showing up, still breathing, still perfectly functional, all seemingly unharmed... but they won’t wake up.

None of them will even twitch, as if, whilst the physical bodies were in perfect condition, there was something lacking somewhere, stopping any sort of higher brain function.

The King, his Knights, and even the Court Physician and his (newly titled) Co-Worker (as opposed to Apprentice), were baffled.

Medically, they had nothing to go on, all they could do was keep the bodies alive as best they could, and hope that some sort of solution could come about after some good old fashioned detective work.

Thankfully, it only took five days, and twelve comatose patients, for The King’s best Knights to realise that all of the... victims(?) had been found in a specific area of the woods just outside the city limits.

With such a distinct, and unexplainable issue, it was assumed (rightfully) that magic was involved somehow; whether it be some sort of creature, or yet another evil sorcerer hell-bent on revenge.

Which of course led to Merlin, one of the Court Physicians, and also (Secretly)TheMostPowerfulWarlockEver™, putting on his warmest clothes and sneaking out in the dead of night under the worried gaze of Gaius.

He did not come back.

Not that anyone but Gaius knew.

~

Early the next morning, King Arthur gathered his best Knights, Sirs Leon, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan, to go and hunt down whatever it was that was rendering his people permanently unconscious.

Gaius and Merlin had explained the previous day, when these plans were conceived, that Merlin would have to stay behind; Camelot’s Physicians were so overwhelmed with not only normal patients, but now twelve comatose bodies as well; they needed every pair of hands they could get. For once, Arthur was happy to leave his manservant behind. 

The man cared greatly for his people, and whilst he would love nothing more than to have Merlin at his side all day, every day, he knew that he was safer, and more needed, in the city.

It was meant to just be in case Merlin got injured and had to hide it, but Gaius did well to hide his worry when he waved them off, and didn’t mention that Merlin wasn’t even in the city, that they could be finding Merlin’s comatose body next.

It took the Gang barely half a day to get there, and they had supplies to last them a few days in the woods, if that’s what it came to, but they were all still tense.

They hadn't seen anything like this before. They had no idea what they were up against; there were no physical injuries to assess, no eye-witness accounts, nothing found in their blood or on their person. Just unconscious bodies that showed no sign of waking.

Thankfully, they found no more bodies as they methodically searched the forest, but they also found no sign of what was wrong.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary: nothing attacked them, there was no blood, no destroyed areas, not even a scrap of evidence that something had even happened.

They finally stopped to make camp at sundown, dejected. Their mood definitely worsening with Elyan’s terrible cooking.

Gwaine was, of course, the most talkative:

“I know he’s needed or whatever, but are we sure we can’t go back and get Merlin? I’ve eaten a lot of gross shit over the years, but I’m not sure if I can take this for four more days.”

Elyan grumbles in embarrassment as the others snort, amused, and he throws a twig at Gwaine. It snaps in two across the knight’s face with a satisfying crack.

Arthur ignores the childish behaviour (something he can’t believe he has to do in the first place), shaking his head as he replies:

“No. The health of the people comes before your stomach. If Gaius says he’s needed in the city, then he stays in the city. Though I was surprised that he wasn’t there to wave us off.”

Gwaine smirks knowingly, and Percival puts a warning hand on his shoulder, but it does nothing to deter the knight as he waggles his eyebrows at The King.

Arthur flushes slightly, but he covers it quickly, not having time to retort before Gwaine opens his mouth again:

“Missing him, are you? Perhaps next time you should request that he stand on the battlements in a dress, and wave a handkerchief at us as we heroically ride out?”

Arthur throws a much larger twig (it’s more of a branch, really) in Gwaine’s direction, and this one knocks him off his seat, but before anyone can even snigger at him, Arthur loudly announces the watches and tells everyone to get some sleep.

~

The next day went much the same. 

That is, until late-afternoon.

The Knights were continuing their methodical search of the woods, once again finding themselves somehow tense and bored, when they came across a clearing that had clearly seen a gruesome battle.

Trees were uprooted, the ground was covered in deep holes and scorches, and there were even the occasional splashes of blood.

Which honestly raised more questions that it answered.

After thorough searching, they were hopeful. It looked like it had been some sort of fight between a sorcerer, and something... not human, some sort of creature. BUT, going by the tracks, the sorcerer had survived, and wandered off.

Was the sorcerer injured, or was the creature injured? If the sorcerer had walked off, injured or otherwise, where was the creature? Surely they should find the body of one or the other?

Another question that no one really wanted to ask: was this even related to the bodies?? Or had the Knights just stumbled onto something completely unrelated that they would inevitably get dragged into dealing with anyway?

Either way, they couldn’t ignore it, and with new-found motivation, they followed the tracks deeper into the woods, instead of setting up camp, like they had intended.

Whoever it was seemed to be wandering aimlessly. The blood trail slowly came to a stop, and it seemed that every step was stronger; as if whoever it were was gaining more energy from walking, as opposed to becoming more tired.

Still, whoever they found at the end of the tracks would be able to provide some sort of answer.

Eventually, after around two hours of diligently following the footsteps through the woods, Arthur signalled everyone to stop.

He wordlessly dismounts his horse, and gestures everyone to quietly do the same, before silently pointing ahead.

The knights look carefully to where he gestures, to see a man stood in the centre of a clearing, facing away from them.

They, still silent, draw their swords and sneak closer, but the man doesn’t move, doesn’t even twitch, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was stood upright, they would think him dead.

Arthur steps into the clearing, about twenty feet from the man, and furrows his brow. That looks like.... no... it can’t be, can it? He shakes the thoughts from his head, convinced that he’s just imagining things, but before he can make his presence known, the man turns around, as if he sensed them stood there.

All of them gasp and take a step back, immediately recognising Merlin.

But he’s... different.

He stands scarily still, unusual for a man who was constantly fidgeting or on the move.

His face is blank, and if he hadn’t been staring straight at them they would think he hadn’t noticed them at all, and whilst he stood as if uninjured, his tunic is ripped and blood-soaked.

But what draws everyone’s attention, was the bright golden glow of his eyes, highlighted especially by the quickly descending darkness of the evening.

Arthur brings his sword up slowly, taking a cautious step forward as he calls Merlin’s name.

Merlin simply tilts his head slightly, otherwise staying still, before stutteringly beginning to speak:

“Mer... lin... Merlin....... Merlin is... Merlin is...... Merlin is gone.”

It’s clear that something is deeply wrong with the manservant, but the way he spoke, as if he knew how but had never actually done it before, like he was still figuring it out, creeped the hell out of everyone.

His words as well, “Merlin is gone” do nothing but fill them with dread.

Lancelot steps forward quickly, moving to stand in front of Arthur, sword unsheathed but pointing at the ground. He was unsurprisingly less fearful of the golden irises, and recovered the quickest:

“What do you mean, “Merlin is gone”, gone where? Who are you?”

Merlin... or... not!Merlin, tilts his head further:

“Merlin is... gone. I... I... I want him... back.”

Lancelot gulps but before he can reply, Arthur breaks out of his stupor, and growls:

“What have you done with him?! Whatever you are, give him back!”

Merlin moves his gaze from Lancelot to Arthur, and takes a step forward, before bowing his head slightly, as if out of respect:

“You are... The Once and Future King... I want him back... you... you... you need him... back.”

The rest of the knights are fully freaked out now, but they hide it well, and gather slowly around Arthur. Lancelot scowls at them, holding a placating hand out. He really doesn’t want any of them to get jumpy and skewer Merlin. He takes another step towards the golden-eyed man:

“We all want Merlin back. The bodies, the same thing happened to you? Happened to Merlin?”

Not!Merlin nods slowly once again, looking back to Lancelot:

“It... took him... from me. I... I... I want him back.”

Lancelot returns his nod, letting out a deep breath:

“And who are you? What are you doing in Merlin’s body?”

Not!Merlin frowns slightly, as if confused, the first actual expression he’s pulled this whole time. It takes him a few moments to respond, and Lancelot is getting desperate; he can feel the knights behind him getting more and more jumpy, especially Arthur:

“I am... I... I have always been here... I am... I am... I am me. I am Merlin’s... and he is... mine... I want him... back. He is... mine.”

Lancelot tenses slightly. He has a feeling he knows what’s going on. Merlin talks about his magic sometimes, talks about it as if it’s... sentient. Described the way it’s always desperate to reach out to Arthur and the Knights and Gaius and Gwen, how it sometimes does things without his permission.

Lancelot gulps. This is bad. Merlin’s magic is walking around in his body without him there to control it. They were going to struggle to explain this away, as much as Merlin claimed Arthur was an idiot, it wasn’t completely true. Lancelot bit his lip, glancing back at the others as he re-sheaths his sword.

He knows there’s no way to get them to relax... unless... this might backfire terribly, but it also might be the only way to get them to calm down a little.

Lancelot frowns thoughtfully, and just before Arthur works up the nerve to say something else, he turns back to Not!Merlin:

“Do you mean us any harm?”

Not!Merlin once again tilts his head and frowns as if in confusion:

“No... Merlin is... Merlin is fond of... you. I.. I was made for... for The Once and Future King. I am... unable to hurt him.”

Lancelot nods, before saying slowly:

“Do you have any reason to lie to us?

The golden-eyed man shakes his head slowly, the glow seeming brighter as he replies:

“Why would I... I... lie? I could kill... you without a... second... second thought. I want Merlin... back.”

The knight nods one final time, looking back to the others to gauge their reactions. Their swords are still unsheathed, but lowered, their faces tense and concerned, but not angry. Lancelot supposes that’s the best he’s going to get at this point.

He lets out a rough sigh, running a hand through his hair as he looks back at the Warlock:

“You’re not Merlin. What do we call you, until we can get him back?”

Not!Merlin lets his gaze wonder to the knights, before finally landing on Arthur. His speech had been getting better with use, but he speaks slowly and keeps his stare on The King, as if curious to his reaction:

“I am... I am... I am part of him. I don’t... have a name. Call me... me... Emrys.”

Lancelot grits his teeth, and his eyes whip to Arthur, to see if he recognises the name.

With The King’s gasp, and widening eyes, Lancelot knows that he does recognise the name.

“You... you’re Emrys?? I thought Emrys was some all-powerful sorcerer, what are you doing in Merlin?”

Arthur is too distracted to notice Lancelot’s panic, but Leon, ever the observant one, is not, and frowns at the sudden fear on his fellow knight’s face.

Mer-... Emrys had already admitted that he wouldn’t lie, if Arthur keeps asking questions, he’ll figure it out. But before Lancelot can think of a solution, Emrys replies:

“Emrys is... is... our other... name. But I am not... Merlin. Not on my own. I want... want him back.”

Arthur looks taken aback, but before he can ask another question, Gwaine steps forward, giving Lancelot an unreadable look before:

“Right, well that’s all fine and dandy, but we need to set camp up and figure out what we’re going to do about... this.”

He gestures vaguely to Merlin’s body after sheathing his sword.

Arthur looks about ready to argue, but with another pointed look from Gwaine, Lancelot jumps into action:

“Gwaine’s right, we need to gather the horses and set up for the night. Here is probably alright, then we can come up with a plan to get Merlin back, and presumably, all of those other people.-”

He turns to Arthur, a sufficiently subservient expression on his face:

“-If you think that’s best, Sire?”

Gwaine rolls his eyes and scoffs at that, heading back to gather the horses from where they’d been left without further prompting. Arthur’s argumentative expression drops after a moment, and with one more mistrustful glance to Emrys, he nods, instructing the others to gather wood and get started on dinner.

Lancelot lets out a breath, but flushes slightly and tenses his jaw when he sees Leon giving him an inscrutable look. He turns away after a moment, under the pretence of helping Gwaine.

The moment Lancelot reaches Gwaine, a few metres into the treeline, the other knight quickly turns around and grabs his shoulders. He glances desperately back towards the clearing, and when he establishes that they’re the only two within earshot, roughly whispers:

“Please tell me you figured it out?? Because I’m not sure how the hell I’m going to keep Arthur from finding out on my own.”

Lancelot’s eyes widen, but his shock keeps him silent for only a few moments before Gwaine shakes his shoulders. He blinks away his surprise, whispering his response:

“You know?? Does Merlin know that you know?”

Gwaine shakes his head, finally letting go of Lance’s shoulders:

“No. I worked it out like twenty seconds ago, I’m sort of hoping that Arthur isn’t as quick as me. How long have you known?”

The other knight nods his head understandingly:

“About as long as I’ve known him, but I’ll explain later. This whole thing is... terrible. I don’t think our odds are good. Mer- Emrys won’t lie, and we won’t be able to stop Arthur from asking questions. He’s probably asking them now. We need to get the horses and get back.”

Gwaine nods roughly, and without another word, the two of them gather the reins of their six horses, and quickly make their way back to the clearing.

They had only been gone a few minutes, and in that time, firewood had been gathered and arranged. Elyan pulls a flint out of his pocket, and Lancelot widens his eyes as he sees Emrys tilt his head (still stood in the same place), moments before waving his hand casually.

The wood bursts into a roaring flame, and Emrys suddenly has four swords on him. Lancelot and Gwaine rush forward, standing in between Emrys and the other knights, holding their hands out as if in surrender. Gwaine speaks first:

“Hey! You might be freaked out by all of this, but that’s still Merlin’s body, and he needs it, so lets not poke holes in him, alright??”

Everyone bar Arthur lowers their swords, but before Gwaine can growl something out, Lancelot turns back to Emrys:

“Look, they’re all a little... unnerved, by magic, so maybe stop using it for now, yeah?”

Emrys tilts his head and furrows his brows again, and everyone stares at him in shock as he replies, not quite knowing what to make of his response:

“But I am magic. I am magic... incarnate. If I stop... I... I cease to exist. And Merlin... Merlin needs me. He needs me like... like... like humans need to breath. I can not just... stop. He would... would... we would die.”

Lancelot tightly shuts his eyes. There is officially NO way to explain this one away. Gods, Merlin is going to be so scared when he finds out.

After a few moments of shocked silence, Arthur finally squeaks out a:

“What??”

Gwaine quickly responds, before Emrys can reveal anymore:

“No. It's cruel to take Merlin’s secrets from him when he isn’t even here. We find Merlin, then you can ask your questions.-”

Arthur looks angry, like he wants to argue, but Gwaine takes a threatening step towards him, resting his hand on his sword at his hip as Lancelot and the other knights look on the scene with panic in their eyes. Gwaine growls out:

“-I said no, Princess. Everyone here knows I’m more loyal to Merlin than you, and that doesn’t stop just because he’s not here and you’re about to throw a temper tantrum.”

Arthur huffs, but lowers his sword as Gwaine glares at him, and Lancelot lets out a breath. The other knights follows The King’s lead, sheathing their swords and settling tensely around the fire.

Lancelot goes back to the horses, tying them down and removing saddlebags, with Leon’s help (and constant stare, which was an odd mix of concern and suspicion).

Gwaine points Emrys to a spot on the floor, and tells him to sit. The knight settles next to him protectively, his sword across his lap as he glares at Arthur on the other side of the fire.

The evening passes awkwardly, food being cooked and eaten in silence, no one quite sure what to say.

Arthur spends the whole time with a pinched look of frustration on his face, but the knights look to him as he takes a deep breath, his expression morphing into an odd mix of concern and accusation in the blink of an eye:

“How do we even know that the... Merlin, part of... part of you is alive? What happened to hi- to you? How do we get him back?”

Lancelot wants to be annoyed at his tone, but he poses valid questions. They still had no idea what actually happened or why or how they fixed it.

Emrys tilts his head, aiming his golden stare at Arthur:

“It is one of... of the Manducan, or The Eating Ones. They... are very rare, they steal... steal souls. Bodies can survive a short while.... a short while without them. Hence your... comatose patients. I am... we are, a little more... fragmented... than most. I contain too... too much power, so The Manducan took... only the human... human part.”

Everyone looks extremely worried at that, but Arthur’s face turns desperate as he rushes out:

“What do you mean, human?? What are you??”

They all stare at the raven-haired man as he speaks, his eyes focused on the King:

“We do not... know. Some call us a Lord, or a King. Others call us... call us... a God. In moments... of power, we... we hear prayers. It can be... disconcerting.”

The camp is silent for a while after that, everyone processing what had been said. Merlin heard people praying to him... not even Lancelot knew that, Merlin had never told him.

After around half a candle-mark, Leon breaks the silence to ask the questions that had been pushed to that back of their minds:

“How do we kill this creature, and what happens if we do? Can we get the souls back, undamaged?”

Emrys turns his golden gaze to the curly-haired knight as he replies:

“It is already... weakened. The Forever King needs to... strike... strike it with Excalibur. They hibernate for.... for centuries... and only return to this plane of existence to... collect food. If you... if you... if you kill it before it leaves, the souls will... will return...naturally.”

The knights all let out breaths of relief, but Arthur looks at his sword oddly, before muttering:

“What’s so special about my sword? And why do you keep calling me strange titles?”

Lancelot gulps, and Emrys tilts his head:

“You know of Emrys, but not of the... the prophecies?”

Arthur nods his head slowly, but Lancelot interrupts before Emrys can start the complicated process of explaining his and Arthur’s destinies:

“Perhaps that’s a... story, for when we have Merlin back in one piece. How do we track the creature?”

Arthur gives him a glare, before lowly saying:

“Do not think I do not notice you avoiding the subject, Sir Lancelot. You know of these prophecies?”

Lancelot grits his teeth, but gives a slow nod:

“Bits and pieces. Merlin isn’t fond of talking about it.-”

He raises a challenging eyebrow, still staring Arthur in the face, and everyone is take aback. Lancelot was never anything but respectful and polite to his King; this defiant look shocked them all:

“-You see, he’s spent his entire life in Camelot absolutely terrified that someone will overhear him, and have him burnt.”

Arthur took in a deep breath, hiding his guilt behind a blank façade, but before anyone can say anything, their gazes are drawn back to Emrys, who looks almost... mournful?

He nods his head slightly, and the sad look on his... on Merlin’s face, looks so out of place for someone so normally upbeat:

“He is... we, are constantly frightened. It is exhausting. I try to... to reassure us but... Merlin is... is... is always so scared, despite our power. We used to... to love flames, fire. Now it is... terrifying to us.”

Lancelot had kept his gaze on Arthur, and when The King looks back at him, his despair badly hidden, the knight simply shrugs one shoulder and nods slightly.

Arthur lets out a breath, and looks to his lap, whispering so quietly that the group barely hears him:

“He’s scared of... of me.”

Gwaine growls out an “Of course he is, you’re a Pen-.”, but he’s interrupted by Emrys:

“No. He would allow you to... to kill us. But we couldn’t bear to... to lose you.-”

He finishes his statement quietly, and Arthur looks up at him, tears in his eyes:

“-We don’t want to be sent away. Camelot is... is... is frightening. But it is also our... home.”

“I would never send you away. When we get Merlin back, you... you tell him that. Tell him he’s safe with me, with us, and always will be.”

Emrys tilts his head yet again:

“And my people? Will we be an... exception? Will you make us watch you... continue to persecute our people, whom we... we... we should be protecting? Merlin does... does not want to make a... hypocrite out of you.”

The knights look at him expectantly, and he blanches slightly as he looks away. The King gulps, before taking a deep breath and looking back, straightening his spine and looking confident:

“The laws will change. Crimes committed with magic will be judged the same as crimes committed without; it’s about time I faced the cruelties of my father.”

The corner of Emrys’ mouth tilts up briefly as he nods, but says nothing. Gwaine smirks, Leon and Lancelot give The King proud smiles, and Percival and Elyan look taken aback, before they relax into fond smiles of their own.

The evening had passed quickly, and with all of them exhausted, it’s decided that any further discussion on how to track this... Manducan, would happen in the morning.

All of the knights fall asleep quickly, finding the protective golden glow of Emrys’ unsleeping eyes both comforting and unsettling.

~

They all woke the next morning oddly refreshed, but the relaxed atmosphere didn’t last long when, one by one, the knights noticed Emrys sat unnervingly still, in the exact same spot as last night.

Only the occasional blink and shallow breathing proved that he was in fact alive, and not some sort of incredibly life-like statue.

Food was eaten, and camp broken quickly; the golden eyed not-quite-a-servant staying in his spot the whole time. 

Despite Emrys saying that the souls would be fine as long as they got there in time, they were still full of nervous energy, and wanted to get this over and done with as soon as possible. Not least of all because they had a lot, and I mean a LOT, of questions for Merlin... or... all of Merlin.

Emrys was pointed to Lancelot’s horse, and once he mounted in front of the knight, everyone looked at him expectantly. He simply tilted his head, and Arthur huffed:

“Well? How do we find this... creature? Can’t you-”

He waves his hand vaguely, and Leon is the only knight able to hide his snort at The King’s impression of magic.

Emrys nods in understanding, and extends his hand in front of him. A thin stream of light, like a glowing string floating in the air, extends from his palm, snaking through the trees.

He nods, this time in the direction of the light, and the knights urge their horses to begin a quick paced journey.

Conversation is sparse, but eventually the question on all of their minds is asked by Percival:

“If you could do that the whole time, track the Manducan I mean, why didn’t you?”

Emrys doesn’t look towards him, but the horses noticeably slow as everyone bunches together, curious about his answer:

“They are of a different... different plane. Magic can harm them but... but... but not kill. I was waiting for The Once and Future King to bring... bring Excalibur.”

Percival nods in understanding, but Leon frowns:

“Well... what about us? Will we not be able to harm it with our swords?”

Everyone copies his frown at that. They’re valid questions, and Arthur is silently grateful that Leon had the tactical mind to think of them:

“No. It will be safer for... for... for you to... wait. I can distract and injure it further until... The Once and Future King can... kill it.”

The knights looks worried at that, but Elyan is the first one to pipe up:

“We’re meant to just stand back and watch? Can’t we set a trap, or help distract it?”

Emrys shakes his head:

“It can not be trapped. Being too close would... would have adverse effects on... on... on your souls.”

Arthur looks back from his position at the head of the group with a frown on his face:

“Well what about my soul? I’m presumably going to have to get close to it in order to stab it?”

Emrys fixes his golden stare on The King, and tilts his head slightly in confusion:

“Your soul was forged through magic, it is marginally... immune. It will take a little... longer for... for... for your soul to react badly.”

Arthur nods, looking back to the front, muttering something about “having a time limit before my soul implodes or whatever. Great.”

Once the knights finish snickering at Arthur, Gwaine asks:

“Wait wait, if Excalibur is the only thing able to kill it, what are you doing out here?”

Emrys tilts his head, looking back to the knights:

“We were... unaware of that at the... the time. We only figured out what... it was, when we fought it.”

Everyone nods, all of them wondering just how many times Merlin had snuck out to take care of something, with none of them knowing about it. The list of questions they had for when Merlin was back in one piece was getting longer and longer, and no part of this conversation was helping the anxiety swirling in Lancelot’s stomach.

After another hour or so of silence, Elyan pipes up:

“I’m surprised no one has asked yet but... what does this thing look like? I know we’re following a trail or whatever, but what are we actually going to find at the end of it?”

“They shift sizes, though they always take... the form of a thick-”

Emrys is interrupted by Arthur pulling his horse to a sudden stop, and pointing through the trees ahead of his, harshly whispering:

“Black shadow??”

Everyone stops behind him and their gazes dart quickly to where Arthur gestures. Through the trees they see a large mass of deep black smoke.

The black tendrils seem to writhe in the air, and the knights can see vague impressions of limbs tipped with impossibly sharp claws darting out occasionally before retreating back into the fog.

The creature looks like evil in semi-corporeal form, and the usually strong-willed warriors take in stuttering breaths at the overwhelming instincts of “Unnatural, run run RUN!” screaming at them with every passing second.

The shadow doesn’t seem to have any front or back; being in a constantly shifting state, sometimes seeming to freeze, sometimes darting through the trees in a blur.

The knights have lost all colour in their faces, and their breath comes shallowly and quickly. Arthur gulps, tightening his grip on his sword as he whispers:

“Horse, or on foot?”

The sound of Emrys’ feet softly thudding on the undergrowth gives The King his answer, and he dismounts his horse slowly, trying to stop the shaking in his hands and legs.

He takes a deep breath as Emrys moves to stand behind him. His voice is shaking and desperate, as if he were a child reaching for help after a nightmare:

“How do I... what do I do, Merlin?”

Emrys tilts his head, but doesn’t say anything of the The King’s mistake:

“You need only get close enough to... deeply slice it. It is fragile in this... this realm. Cover your eyes when you... you do so, the light will be blinding. Do not let it... touch you. I am reluctant to admit that, after what it did to... to... to our soul, I do not know what it will... do to yours.”

Arthur takes another deep breath, and clears his throat slightly as he gives a firm nod. Time to be brave now, for his people, for Merlin.

The King can hear his knights dismount behind him and tie up the horses, ready to jump in and help at a moment’s notice, in spite of... whatever will happen to their souls. None of them are really sure they want to know, so none of them ask for details, and Arthur is unendingly grateful for their silent loyalty and bravery.

Emrys walks forward, past Arthur, and towards the creature. The King gulps before silently slipping off to the side; he doesn’t know how the creature sees (not having a head, or even eyes, as far as he can tell), but Emrys said he would distract it so... splitting up makes the most sense? 

The knights can tell the exact moment the creature notices Emrys walking towards it.

The tendrils of shadow seem to writhe even more frantically, and the fog bulges and retreats again, somehow giving the impression of anger, fear.

Emrys plants his feet strongly and raises a hand, summoning vines and roots from the ground with nought but a gesture; Arthur only gives himself a second to be distracted by the sight of Merlin so effortlessly doing magic before focussing back on the creature.

Everyone bar Emrys winces, and covers their ears as the beast lets out an ear piercing screech, moving judderingly towards the Warlock. The trees shake with the noise, and a few of Emrys’ magical attacks disintegrate into the air. He summons more, and snarls in concentration as the beast whips towards him.

Emrys rushes forward to meet the beast, and they clash in a burst of golden light and black shadow, each trying to take over the other. The shadows try to sneak around the Warlock, reaching towards the knights behind him, but they’re quickly halted in their tracks as cracks open in the ground, swallowing the fog before it can do any damage.

The golden light emanating from Emrys pulses brightly, and the creature is pushed back, the edges of its smoke disintegrating slowly into the air. It lets out another high pitched screech, and Arthur takes that as his cue; rushing silently forward, on the opposite side of the creature to Emrys, and swiping down precisely with Excalibur.

The knights see his attack coming, and step even further back, heeding Emrys’ warning and covering their eyes, Arthur doing so with his free hand as he brings the sword down. 

Excalibur cuts through the shadow with no resistance; the screech getting impossibly louder as the blade leaves a blindingly golden trail in it’s wake.

Emrys simply stands back to watch, but the pitch of the beast’s screech forces the knights to the floor, eyes tightly shut, and hands clamped over their ears.

Suddenly, the noise stops, and the shadows of the creature seem to disintegrate into nothing as the golden light of the wound takes over. The light recedes in on itself, before exploding outwards and fragmenting into pieces. The bulk of the fragments fly in the direction of Camelot, golden blurs through the trees, but one, the smallest and dullest (due to being only part of a soul, they assume) flies with speed straight towards Emrys.

The knights and their King finally look up, feeling oddly exhausted, to see Emrys take a staggered step back and grimace in pain as the light forces it’s way down his throat.

He falls to the floor, and the knights rush towards him as his muscles spasm and he begins to scream. His eyes are shut tightly and Lancelot quickly lunges forward to grab his wrists as his hands go to yank at his hair.

Everyone gathers around him, Lancelot yelling for them to hold him so he doesn’t hurt himself. They can only hope that Merlin is an exception, and this isn’t happening to the other victims back in Camelot. Lancelot keeps a hold of his wrists, and Arthur discards Excalibur in favour of holding down Merlin’s shoulders, whilst Elyan, Leon, and Gwaine hold down his hips and legs, and Percival wordlessly stands guard.

Merlin’s screaming dies down, and he stops thrashing so much (but stays tense), but the knights don’t let go just yet. He opens his bleary eyes, and whispers, so faintly they barely hear it:

“... Lance?”

The knight lets go of Merlin’s now limp wrists gently, and strokes a hand through the man’s raven hair:

“Yeah, I’m here Merlin. All back in once piece?

Merlin closes his eyes again, and goes fully slack as the others let go of him fully, nodding slowly as he gulps before groaning:

“Yeah, that fucking... hurt.”

Lancelot huffs out a gentle laugh, but before he can reply, Merlin gasps and quickly sits up. When his wide, panicked eyes land on the rest of the knights huddled around him, his breath deepens and he scrambles back frantically, only to run into Arthur, who grabs his shoulders.

Merlin whips his head around and rips himself from The King’s grip, stumbling to his feet and rushing back, away from the knights and into a tree.

His ears are deaf to everyone’s gentle reassurances that he was safe, and his eyes are blind to the hands held up in soft surrender. He sinks to the floor as his breathing gets even more frenzied and tears gather in his eyes, but before he can process that he was safe, the mix of memories triggers a blinding pain behind his eyes.

He gives a pained yelp and shuts his eyes tightly, bringing his hands to grip the sides of his head as he curls up on the floor. Merlin begins to groan again, and Lancelot desperately gestures for everyone to stay back as he kneels by Merlin’s side, pulling his hands away from his head again:

“You’re safe Merlin, no one’s going to hurt you, do you remember? We said that to the bit of you that was left.-”

Merlin doesn’t seem to hear him, but squeezes Lancelot’s hands painfully tight as he continues to groan, arching his spine:

“-Ok, ok, what’s wrong Merlin? Your head? We can’t help you if we don’t know what’s wrong. Is it your... your soul?”

Merlin shakes his head slightly, groaning dying down, but still struggling to draw breath, still gripping Lance’s hands:

“Your magic?”

Another shake of the head has Lancelot beginning to panic a little; none of them have dealt with anything like this before, and he doesn’t know what’s wrong with his friend. He continues to try and comfort Merlin as he struggles to think of what else it could be, when Merlin begins forcing himself to take deep breaths, and stuttering out:

“Mem... memories.”

Lancelot takes a fortifying breath, and the others crowd a little closer, panicking for their friend:

“Memories? Ok, which ones? Memories from the bit of you that was wandering around, or memories from the bit of you that was in the creature?”

Thankfully, Merlin’s pain seems to be dying down slightly. His breath comes easier, but his eyes stay tightly shut and his muscles still spasm periodically as he grinds out:

“Both. Two sets of memories from... from the same time. Hurts. My. Brain.”

Lancelot huffs out another gentle laugh, rubbing his thumbs softly over the back of Merlin’s hands, and the others relax at the sight of Merlin’s pain lessening. Gwaine kneels down next to Lancelot, and quietly announces himself before beginning to run a gentle hand through Merlin’s hair.

This goes on for a few more minutes; the servant’s pain dwindling and his breathing evening out as his mind sorts the two sets of clashing memories and stitches the two pieces of his soul back together, Lancelot and Gwaine not stopping their soft ministrations for even a moment.

He finally relaxes fully, opening his eyes but not moving from his position on the floor as he gazes tiredly up at Arthur’s worried face, over Lancelot’s shoulder. His words comes out timidly, and Arthur has to stop himself flinching at the hint of fear in his voice:

“Did you mean it? Am I... safe?”

Arthur forces a soft smile on his face, hiding his worry, and gives Merlin a firm nod:

“I promise Merlin, you’re safe. None of us will hurt you.-”

Merlin smiles back at him, before nodding, and closing his eyes, drained from the ordeals of the last few days:

“-though you need to make sure your head is on straight at your earliest convenience, I’ll need your help to write that repeal.”

Arthur says it with a weak, teary grin, and Merlin chuckles slightly, nodding softly once more before drifting into a deep sleep, exhausted.

Lancelot mutters that he’s asleep, and the smile drops from Arthur’s face, his brow furrowing in worry as he crouches between his two knights, putting a hand to Merlin’s forehead:

“Will he be alright?”

Lancelot shrugs, biting his lip, and sporting a similar expression to The King as he replies:

“I’ve no clue. His soul was split in two, his magic was pushed to the limit in that fight, and his body didn’t rest at all or eat much for at least a day; he’s probably just exhausted, but we should get him back to Gaius.”

Elyan, Leon, and Percival move back to gather the horses without prompting, and within minutes the gang is racing back towards the city, Merlin’s unconscious form being held protectively in front of Arthur (his excuse being that Lancelot’s horse had already held the extra weight for half a day, and he’s The King, so he can do what he wants).

~

Thankfully, the creature had been between their camp and the city, so it only takes them around a day to get back. They took few breaks, and ate whilst they rode to save time. Despite not waking up the entire journey, Merlin’s breathing stayed alright, and he occasionally mumbled nonsense to himself, so the knights weren’t panicking too much.

They didn’t stop when night fell, and so finally pulled into the castle courtyard at around midnight. A guard was immediately sent to wake Gaius, and Percival wordlessly took Merlin from Arthur’s horse, only after The King had given him a short nod of approvable.

They got to the Physician’s chambers to see Gaius wide awake and bustling around the room, clearing a cot and gathering various potions and ingredients.

Percival gently set the manservant on the cot, and Gaius firmly demands that they all leave the room to give him space to work, choosing to ignore the fact that he had told them that Merlin was in the city, and that they definitely shouldn’t have come back with his exhausted, unconscious body.

Arthur notes that Gaius doesn’t react at all when Lancelot stays behind, but has to temper his frustration (and jealousy) when the Physician shoots the knight a concerned look when Arthur himself also refuses to leave.

Lancelot sighs, but gives Gaius a reassuring smile:

“It’s fine, Gaius, they all know about Merlin’s magic, he’s safe. We said we’d explain when we got Merlin back in one piece.”

Gaius sends The King a curious look, hiding his concern well before he seems to catch up on what Lancelot said:

“Back in one piece?”

Arthur moves closer as Lancelot nods and begins to speak, content to let the knight explain as long as he got to stand near Merlin:

“He said it was Manducan?-”

Gaius widens his eyes in surprise, but nods, continuing to mix together various herbs as he listens:

“-Apparently, Merlin’s power was too much for it to handle, so it took the non-magical part of his soul. We found Merlin’s body being controlled by his magic. It was... odd. He was still Merlin, you could hear it in the way he spoke, or the words he chose, but it wasn’t... all of him. Just the magic part. He wouldn’t lie to us, and was desperate to get the “Merlin” part of his soul back. Unless we spoke to him he just... sat there, blankly.”

Gaius hums thoughtfully, and he and Lancelot politely pretend not to notice Arthur reaching out to gently grab Merlin’s hand.

Finally, the physician finishes mixing his potion, and gently pours it into Merlin’s mouth, holding his nose shut and massaging his throat so it goes down properly. He sits back on his chair, glancing at Arthur quickly, before looking back to Lancelot:

“The other victims began to wake just under a day ago, so I’m assuming that the creature was... dealt with?-”

At Lancelot’s nod, he continues:

“-Did Merlin wake at all when his soul came together?”

Lancelot nods again, speaking quietly, feeling oddly like he doesn’t want to disturb Arthur softly rubbing his thumb over Merlin’s hand:

“Hmm. Briefly. He screamed for a while, whilst his soul... I don’t know, stitched itself back together? Then he panicked, because he knew his magic had been outed, then he was in pain again. He said having two sets of memories from the same time hurt. Then he was just exhausted, he passed out a few moments after the pain stopped.”

Gaius nods, and Arthur finally looks up, knowing that the explanation was over, and a conversation was about to happen. The Physician speaks:

“Humans are not made for that, it would have been painful for his mind to try to comprehend and organise two separate sets of simultaneous memories.”

Arthur speaks, his voice quiet, but obviously worried:

“Will he be alright? How long until he wakes?”

Gaius looks to him once more, giving The King an assessing gaze. When he spies no anger or deception in Arthur’s face, he relaxes his shoulders slightly, and sighs:

“He will be alright, he just needs rest. Both his body and his soul have been through a great deal, it will take a few days to a week for him to fully recover physically, though I can’t speak for his mental state.”

Arthur looks panicked, and Lancelot worries his lip between his teeth as Arthur asks:

“His mental state??”

Gaius finds himself sighing yet again as he asks:

“How lucid was he, between the bouts of pain?”

Lancelot rushes to answer:

“Very. He understood what I was saying, I think, he asked a question and understood our answer. He just seemed tired.”

Gaius gives the two men an exhausted smile, before softly saying:

“Then I imagine he will be fine. Go and get some rest, I will send for you if anything changes, though it’s unlikely that he’ll wake up at any point in the next two days or so.”

Lancelot nods, and moves towards the door, but Arthur stays put. Gaius raises an eyebrow, but moves forward and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder:

“He will be fine, Sire. And... everything he has done, every lie he has told, has been to keep you safe. He couldn’t bare to lose you.”

Arthur nods absentmindedly, before looking up to the Physician, and whispering:

“I couldn’t bare to lose him either. You... you promise he’ll be alright?”

Gaius nods and smiles, noting with relief the tearful desperation on The King’s face:

“I promise.”

Lancelot smiles fondly from his place stood at the door, but wipes it from his face as Arthur turns towards him. The two men leave out of the room, Gaius’ assessing eyes following them all the way.

The door shuts behind them softly, and Gaius lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he had been holding, before running a hand gently through Merlin’s hair, and moving to settle in his own cot.

Of all the ways Arthur could find out about Merlin’s magic, out of Merlin’s control, Gaius never saw this coming, and though the pain Merlin felt was regretful, The Physician is grateful, that it went so well.

~

End of Part 1!!

Part two is already almost finished. It’s much shorter than this, and will be out at some point in the next few days!! Sorry this took so long lads, I’ve been really busy atm.

EDIT: I’ve actually just finished writing part 2!! It’s queued to be published at 12:30PM GMT tomorrow (09/05/21)

EDIT 2.0: PART 2 IS UP!!

Also I couldn’t find any mythical creatures that fit what I wanted, so I straight up just made one up ✌️

Head over to This List to let me know what you want me to work on next! :)

[libraryofloveletters]

Love Delivered To Your Doorstep

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of cheating, break ups and killing/serial killers. (<in a joking context) 

Category: fluff for the most part. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: Doesn’t follow canon, it has a little of buck begins in there but it doesn't follow a strict timeline. It also is written like Buck moves to LA and has his apartment from the moment he moves there while trying to figure out what he wants to do. 

-----

Texting and calling was never your choice method of communication. 

Letters had always been more of your thing. 

Truthfully, they hadn't been your thing until your boyfriend moved halfway across the country for university. The two of you met in high school, freshman year and became inseparable since. Growing together and promising to always love each other no matter what -you always knew that couldn't be true but it never stopped you from telling him. 

When he told you that he was going to be applying to UCLA during your senior year of high school, it came as a bit of a shock to you. The plan was always going to college together, get engaged when you were done school and then married with a house by 30. 

You held out the hope of that being possible until the day he showed you his acceptance letter. 

You were incredibly proud of him but it was real now, he was leaving. 

You watched him pack up his entire life and uproot himself from New York and moved across the country. You sent the first letter to him at what was supposed to be his apartment. 

September 30th.

‘Hi baby! 

Just writing to see how you're settling in. How’s UCLA ? Have you gotten a chance to go around and get to see the place ? I know you’re there for school but you've got to live a little too. Hope your neighbours are sweet, your mom told me it’s a pretty nice place and it’s got a good view, sounds like your type of place. Hopefully I can come visit you soon. 

I started my classes last week. My chem professor is a pain in my ass already, he expects us to read an entire textbook in a week - well not exactly an entire textbook but you get the point. My biology professor is a sweetheart, she showed us pictures of her kids and talked about them for an hour, I didn't realize being a mother was so interesting but she was cool. Also showed us a video of an appendectomy that one of her colleagues performed last week. How are your classes and professors ? 

Did I mention I bumped into Sam at the grocery store ? Yeah, he’s back and he’s not fine to tell you the truth. He seemed like he was ready to snap but that might just be my judgment. He said to tell you hello if I spoke to you so- hello :) 

I’m going to sign off here, I know this one is short but I don’t have much to update you on. Life’s been pretty dull without you. Hope you’re having fun out there, soaking up the sun for me.

Write me back soon, I love you. 

Yours always, y/n’

You mailed the letter the next day, a few weeks had passed before you received a letter back. Except this letter had a different sender name but the same address.

October 22nd. 

‘Hi y/n,

This isn't your boyfriend. (I'm assuming that’s who you're writing too based on the context of the letter) I’m Evan, I live in the apartment you thought belonged to your boyfriend or maybe you got the address wrong, I’m not sure.  I know you were waiting for an update on all these exciting things that are happening at UCLA. I do not go to UCLA nor can I update you in anything exciting that’s happening there, sorry.

Anyways, the reason I'm writing you back is because I figured you’d want to know that this isn't the correct address and the person you were looking for isn't here before you send another letter and get no response. I was debating if I should have even written you back, but here I am, writing you back. 

Your professor for chem seems like an ass to be honest (hope that’s not rude) and your biology professor sounds great, is she hot by the way ? because bonus points for that. Anyways, are you studying medicine ? I'm guessing yes because of the classes you're taking. I'm thinking of signing up to become a first responder but I haven’t decided yet on what yet or if I'm actually going to do it. Anyways, good luck on your classes and the shitty chem professor. 

Hope you find your boyfriend (again, assuming) 

Peace out, 

Evan.’

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. How could the letter you sent to your boyfriend’s apartment belong to someone else ? Why was there someone else living in his apartment ? You dug through your apartment, searching for the paper he left you with the address, you finally found it buried in a drawer.

The address on the paper was identical to the one that Evan sent to you and to the one you sent prior to that. Either your boyfriend was lying or you were losing your mind. 

November 4th. 

‘Dear Evan, 

I'm sorry that I sent the first letter to you and as you guessed, I was looking for my boyfriend who seems to be a bit MIA right now. His mother says that’s the right address and the place that she helped him move into. So I'm not really sure what’s happening there. Anyways, sorry for unloading all of that on you. 

To answer your question, yes, I am studying medicine and no, she isn't hot. My bio professor is a 65 year old woman who loves her college aged kids very much. If that’s your definition of hot, then yes - she's got milf status

Have you decided yet if you’re going to sign up to be a first responder ? That’d be pretty cool. Imagine all the girls swoon over you and how many girls you’d pick up just for being a paramedic or a firefighter. 

Wait, are you into girls ? Or guys ? You know, whoever you're into, just imagine how many of them you’d pick up. 

Also, you’re not a murderer or anything right ? because I rather not answer questions when the police come asking about why I've been sending letters to a serial killer. 

Anyways, signing off for now. 

Yours always, y/n. 

ps. if you do end up bumping into or meeting a guy that looks like my boyfriend, (tall, brown hair, brown eyes. he’s got a pierced ear and a little butterfly tattoo by his collarbone- though not sure why or how you'd see his collarbone) let me know or tell him that his girlfriend is looking for him.

Double ps, what size shirt do you wear ?’

Buck laughed at your absurd question. A person he didn’t even know was asking what size shirt he wore. The letter was set on the coffee table with the rest of the mail, getting buried under all of the stuff he had on there. It was almost the end of December when he realized that he hadn't written you back yet. 

December 21st. 

‘Hey y/n, 

Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. Things have been hectic over here. I’ve been doing some ‘soul-searching’ - I guess you could call it that and honestly, I don’t think if this whole first responders thing is for me. 

I tried out bartending or well, the technical term is mixologist and I’m liking it so far, I think i’m going to stick with it for now. 

How have you been ? How’s school ? Surely, you’re on break for the holidays right about now or at least when you get this letter. I hope that you're spending the break doing something fun. 

I’m not going to make this very long, I’m sure you’ve been busy with whatever you’re doing right now. 

Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you located the mysteriously disappearing boyfriend yet ? I haven't seen anyone that fit your description. 

well, that’s not true- I did and just to be sure I asked to see his collarbone, he looked at me like I was a mad man so I guess it wasn't him ? 

Anyways, I hope you have a good holiday and you're probably gonna get this sometime between holidays, so merry belated (?) Christmas and happy New Years y/n. 

Peace out, 

Evan. 

ps. medium or large, depending on what it is. Hopefully that answers your question weirdo.’

January 13th. 

The morning of the 13th, he went down to check his mail. A box was there with his name on it, the return address was one he had only seen on an envelope. The box returned upstairs with him, setting it on the counter before opening it. 

Upon opening it, there was a letter and some colourful tissue paper with what seemed like a sweater under it. He opened the letter first.

‘Dear Evan, 

Happy New Years! How was your holiday going ? Did you do anything fun ? 

I’ve been good and school is good too, I'm almost done my first year, isn't that crazy ? Just a few more months to go. 

How’s your job as mr. mixologist going ? I'm sure you’ve met some wild people and heard some interesting stories. 

As for the boyfriend situation, that's over. I’m not surprised to tell you the truth but it still kinda sucks. Anyways, so what happened was that his older brother had come home from college last year and brought a friend with him. She went to the same school as his brother but transferred to UCLA- anyways long story short, they hooked up while he and I were still together and he moved in with her after his mom helped him move into the apartment I thought he had. 

But! I’m single and chilling now so it’s all good. (bonus, she cheated on him and left him so yeah) 

I got you a little something for Christmas and as a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present. I was in the gift shop and it made me think of you. Do you celebrate Christmas? I forgot to check oops. If you don't, count it as a just a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present? 

I got a large because I wasn't sure if it would fit. I hope you like it. That’s all for now.

Yours always, y/n.’

He unwrapped the tissue paper to see a blue sweater with the letters NYU on it. He smiled, he assumed that’s where you went. It was sweet that you took the time to get him something, even if it was a by the way thing. Not a lot of people would send something to a person they had been talking to via letters and halfway across the country. 

February 12th. 

2 days before Valentine's Day, your least favourite holiday of the year. You weren't looking forward to watching all your friends going on with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The mail had arrived while you were out, you picked it up and headed in. There were two envelopes with your name on it,  a plain white one and a red one. The red envelope was more squared than rectangular, you assumed it was a card- both had the same sender name. 

‘Hey y/n!

Thank you for the sweater, it was nice of you to think of me and get me something. I didn’t know we were doing gifts or I would have sent you something as well and yes, I do celebrate Christmas. 

My job as ‘mr. mixologist’ was going well until I quit. It just didn’t feel like the right fit for me you know ? I'm going to see what else is out there for me. 

Sorry to hear about your boyfriend, he seems like a douche. Who would cheat on you ? You seem great I mean at least you are on paper (did you get my joke, it’s hard to tell) 

Also, remember how I was thinking I might actually give that first responder thing a try? Imagine me as a firefighter, that’s pretty cool right ? 

So I kinda did a thing and signed up and then I got in. I started two weeks ago and it was kicking my ass at first but I've gotten a hang of it and things are going pretty well. There's three other Evans in my class so everyone calls me Buck-I kind of like it. 

The other envelope, hopefully you opened this one first, is a little something for you for valentines. Hope you like it. 

Peace out, 

Buck’ 

The red envelope was on your lap, you pulled the edges carefully not wanting to rip it. Inside was a plain white card with bright red letters that made you laugh. The cover read ‘I’m not sick of you yet!” Opening the card, a $20 fell onto your lap. There was a little message inside that went along with the cash. 

‘Since we aren't together and can’t spend valentines together, there’s some cash to get yourself a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. Happy Valentines Day y/n

Love, Buck.’ 

You smile, this was the first time that Buck had signed with ‘love, buck’ it had always been ‘peace out, buck.’ You tucked the card into the drawer, one you didn’t use very often so you knew it’d be safe there. 

*4 years later*

A few weeks had passed since Buck had last heard from y/n. His last letter to her was at the end of June, telling her all about the day he had spent at Hen and Karen’s. He always described every little detail so vividly that it made her feel like she was there with him- but it was now July, end of actually and moving into August. 

4 years had blown like nothing.

It felt like just yesterday he got the first letter in the mail. 4 years and they still had no idea what each other looked like but they knew every intricate and intimate detail about each other, their lives and the people in it. 

Y/n and Buck had grown rather close over the last few months- more than they already were. Y/n just went through a pretty shitty break up and Buck wasn't exactly big on relationships as of right now. 

He had just gotten home from work, his keys set on the counter when he realized that he forgot to check his mail. Stepping back out, there was a woman in the hallway and boxes scattered across her, leading into the apartment down the hall. 

She must be his new neighbour.

He wanted to go over and introduce himself but she was busy telling the movers where to set her couch so he decided that he would check the mail and then introduce himself when he returned so he did just that. 

Except, she was still busy. 

She leaned against the wall, watching the movers move what looked like a coffee table. She glanced up to see Buck walking by, she smiled and he returned the smile. 

Buck reaches his apartment, the mail in hand and steps in. He sorts through the pile, bills, ads, coupons and no letter from y/n. 

---

Your new apartment was a mess. You decided it was time for a change. You applied to a few hospitals after your break up and the one in LA hired you. So you dropped everything and moved- no family, no ties. 

A fresh start. 

It was a nice neighbourhood and the building was quiet. The neighbours you met were pleasant and welcoming. When you were having the furniture moved in, there was a blonde man who smiled at you and you assumed he lived in the unit down the hall because that’s where he stepped into. 

It was almost 11pm when you finally sat down. You had been on your feet all day and just wanted to eat something. The box with the dishes was beside the couch, you pulled the tape off and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on top of the stack of plates. 

Buck’s last letter to you. 

You must have tossed it into the boxes while packing and you forgot to write him back. Tumbling through the boxes, you find a sheet of paper and a pen from your bag. Sitting on the floor, the paper resting on an unopened box, you begin writing. 

‘Dear Buck, 

I’m sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. I quit my job, and uprooted my entire life. The break up sucked major ass as you know, so I decided it was time for a change. 

Guess where I decided to go ? 

Did you guess yet? 

No, not Canada, why would you guess Canada ? 

LA! 

Yeah, isn't that crazy that I ended up here of all places? Maybe we could get together one day (if you haven’t turned into a crazy serial killer that is.) 

Anyways, that’s why I've taken so long to write. I was packing when I got your letter and I tossed it in a box and just found it again. Anyways, I hope you’ve been good, how have things been at the station ? 

I promise I'll write again with more details soon, I just have to get settled in first. 

Yours always, y/n.�� 

Folding the paper, you slipped into an envelope. The address being scribbled into the back of the envelope. You were about to seal it when the building number caught your eye. 

It was the same number as the place you moved into. The same address, the building number, the same floor. 

The unit number was the only difference. 

There was no way you moved into the building that Buck lived in. 

You knew the address felt familiar when you saw the listing but you didn’t think anything of it nor did it occur to you that you knew the address. 

Stepping out of your apartment, looking at the number on the room and back down at the envelope in your hand. Buck’s apartment was down the hall. 

Part of you just wanted to mail it and keep things as it was but another part of you wanted to meet him, to see what he was really like in person. So there you were walking down the hallway at a quarter past 11 in the dead of the night to meet a man you had been sending letters to for the last 4 years. 

The end of the hallway, you stared at the black wooden door in front of you. Your brain weighing the options right now: he’s a sweetheart and welcoming and makes you feel comfortable or he’s a weird guy who’s been lying to you this whole time and you told him everything about you and now he’s going to kill you. 

Before you could register what you were doing, you knocked on the door. 

Glancing down at yourself, you were wearing a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt from high school that you found in a drawer while packing. Not an ideal outfit, maybe he’s sleeping and you can go home and change- the door opened, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt stood there. He looked like he had just woken up. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” 

“It's alright,” he yawned, his hand covering his mouth as he blinked away a few tears. “What can I do for you ?” he leaned against the door. 

“Um, this is an odd question-” you shifted, glancing down at the envelope in your hand. “Are you Buck ?” 

“I am, who are you ?” 

“Y/n.” 

You had never seen a man wake up that fast, he seemed surprised, confused and concerned all in one. “How- uh, are you- What ?” he mumbled. 

“I found your letter in the box after I moved, I moved into the apartment down the hall” you point to your left, Buck sticks his head out of the doorway and looks at the door you were pointing to. You were the woman in the hallway that he saw earlier, he knew you looked familiar. 

“I just wrote your letter and I noticed that the addresses were the same, just a different unit number so I decided to come check. Sorry if I bothered you, we can talk another day- it’s late and you probably have work” “Would you like to come in?” he opens the door a bit more, looking to you for an answer. 

“Um, okay sure.” stepping in, you can’t help but glance around. The apartment was similar to yours, the layout was a bit different though. “Can I get you something to drink ? Coffee, water ? A beer ?” he rounded the kitchen counter, you took a seat on one of the chairs by the counter. 

“Water’s fine, thanks” 

He reached for a bottle from the fridge, sliding it over to you. You gave him a smile, he leaned against the counter and was now looking- studying you. 

“I know we’ve talked to each other for 4 years but this is kinda strange” you chuckled awkwardly, Buck can't help but smile. 

“Yeah, it is, isn't it? but can I ask why you moved to LA?” 

“Well all of that was in the letter” you slide the envelope across the counter and he picks it up, opening it. Giving him a few moments to read, you watch his expression like you were hoping for some insight as to how he was feeling or what he was thinking. He let out a laugh, “how’d you know I'd guess Canada ?” you smiled at him, a small wave of relief washing over you for some reason. “Lucky guess I suppose” 

“Do you-” “What are-” the sentences cutting each other off, the two of you awkwardly smiling at each other. “You first” looking at him, he hums. 

“Do you have work tomorrow or are you busy ?” His eyes meet yours, you found yourself leaning forwards towards the counter- towards him. He made you feel comfortable, you’d go as far as to say safe, in a way you’ve never felt before. 

“No, I don't start until the 21st. Why ?” 

“I was thinking - if you're not busy and if you want to, of course. Maybe I could take you out for breakfast and I could show you around ? Or lunch or dinner ? Whatever works for you actually” he rambles, fiddling with his fingers to avoid eye contact. 

A small laugh slips past your lips causing him to look up, his brows furrowed as he studies your face, looking for an answer. 

“Breakfast sounds good, what time should I be ready for ?” 

“Uh, is 10 okay ?” he asks, you nod. “I’ll be ready for 10 then.” 

“Okay, I'll pick you up” he smiles. 

“Buck, we live in the same building.” 

“Oh right,” he chuckles, “well I'll be by yours at 10 then” the two of you smiling at each other. 

“Okay.” 

----

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @beth-winchester21 @fernandaweasley2 @yikesyikesyikes95 @hotchsdarling @duhbar1975 @hailsstormthings @averyhotchner  @captainxholmes @venusrosepetal @luke-alvez​ @looney-literature @caitsymichelle13​ @artemishunter18​ @anxiousblanketqueen​

[majimemegoro]

Introducing Nishiki’s parents

excerpts from Happy Miraculous Dream Job! read at your own risk.

[kadokura and sagawa are meeting and sagawa gives kadokura an important fax]

Eagerly Kadokura leapt to his feet and snatched the paper, eyes greedily scanning the document.

“…Anyway,” Sagawa said, eyeing Kadokura, “I don’t know why your optometrist results are so important that you have to get them faxed directly here, but I’m glad you’re having fun.”

“They’re not my exam results,” Kadokura replied, still drinking in the readings. “They’re - oh, fuck yes, he’s got perfect acuity!”

“Ah, I see. You’ve got a new toy. Well, for his sake I hope he gets nicer treatment than the last one.”

Kadokura laughed. “He’s not that kind of toy,” he said. “I’m trying to recruit him to work for us.”

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“Uh, maybe Kitakata. I’d say he’d fit in with the Jingweon, but I don’t think he’s suited to that kind of commitment. But it doesn’t really matter. I just need to get this man killing people! Aughh!” Kadokura knew he sounded like an over enthusiastic dad, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Okay, then,” Sagawa said. “I could use a good hitman around here, you know. Why not send this guy to Osaka?”

“Mm,” Kadokura said vaguely, still scanning the paper. “He’s from Hokkaido. Lived in the Sapporo area his whole life as far as I can tell. And he seems skittish of change. I don’t want to force him to totally uproot. Might tank the whole operation.”

“If he’s as good as you say, he’ll be wasted with Kitakata.” Sagawa got out a cigarette and lit it.

“I know, I know. I’m not going to advise him to initiate into the Family. I just want him loosely affiliated with K so he’s got that sense of continuity.”

Sagawa tilted back his head and blew out smoke. “Okay,” he said. “Your toy, your call. Can we talk business now?”

Tucking the precious optometrist report into his briefcase, Kadokura sat back.

But he bounced his leg. “Ha,” he said. “If you wanted to talk business you shouldn’t have told me the fax came in. I’m all - riled up.” He laughed breathlessly.

“Great,” Sagawa said sarcastically, stubbing out his cigarette on the ashtray between them though he’d only taken a few drags. “Anything I can do to get things back to normal? Throw cold water on you? Set you loose in the direction of some cheap whores nobody will miss?”

“I don’t have time for that,” Kadokura scoffed. “Ah, look, let’s just - what did you want to talk about, anyway?” He crossed one leg over the other, but his foot kept jiggling. Whatever. It wasn’t going to hurt Sagawa.

“My kyodai’s made a few pointed complaints lately. He said the last [...] “Ah, yeah.” Kadokura unfolded his legs again and sat forward and pulled out his S&W M58.

Sagawa looked on distastefully. “Can you not do that around me?”

“Why?”

“Because I get nervous you’re going to suddenly shoot me.”

“I wouldn’t suddenly shoot you,” Kadokura replied, starting to disassemble the handgun and dropping bullets on the table. “Besides, I can’t shoot anyone right now. See?” He held up the guide rod and twirled it around.

“Kadokura, you are a fucking menace. Shall we postpone? I don’t have time for your games right now and I don’t want to end up like Nishikiyama.”

Kadokura pouted. He lined the slide up on the table beside the guide rod, the barrel, and the bullets. “Nishikiyama’s fine,” he said. “And he deserved it. Wiped that fucking smirk off his face for once.” With a conscious effort to calm himself, Kadokura planted both palms on the table and leaned forwards. “Okay. Okay. Sorry. What is it?”

“I want a new shipment. There’s been a lot of unrest on the south edge and I’m apprehensive about the Family’s current stock.”

“Sure, yeah, I can arrange something under the table. Same combo as last time good?”

“Yes, that would be fine.”

“Great. Deposit 5 mil in my account and I’ll get them sent direct to the warehouse.”

“5 mil?! Last time it was 4.”

Kadokura looked at Sagawa sidelong. “The economy’s not doing so well,” Kadokura said. “There’s inflation.”

“Bullshit!” Sagawa said. “Do me 4 and a half, Kadokura.”

“5 mil and I’ll throw in an anti-aircraft gun.” Kadokura flashed a grin.

“A - I do not want an anti-aircraft gun! I just want-“

“Fine, fine. 4 mil, same as last time. But procure me someone you think I’d like.”

  “Hmph. Any preferences?”

“Surprise me,” Kadokura said vaguely. “Uh, and I’m not necessarily in the mood lately, so whoever you decide on, just keep tabs on them, yeah? Maybe send me a file. No need to do the whole, like, bound-and-gagged-in-a-trunk thing.”

“Gotcha,” Sagawa said. “Whatever you say, you sick motherfucker.” [more plot with Sato] Kadokura had just settled down on the couch when finally the door opened and in came his next appointment.

Kadokura looked up at her with his best flat gaze. “Nishikiyama Kikyo-san,” he said. “To what to I owe the pleasure?”

Kikyo was one of those women who was beautiful in a doll-like way: head almost too big on a thin, delicate neck; jet-black hair high on her head in a sleek updo; lips and nails painted in perfect blood red today. She was small; when she stood in high heels beside her husband, she was still a foot shorter than he was. One of her wrists was encircled by a fine gold bracelet. Her wrists were tiny. It always made Kadokura think of her husband. His wrists were rather delicate as well. Likely no one would agree - there was a lot of competition - but Kadokura privately thought that Nishikiyama’s wrists were his best feature. Kadokura sometimes stared at them, watched the way the tendons and carpal bones moved subtly as Nishikiyama made those elegant, studied motions, making his shirt cuff shift just enough to show an extra sliver of the blue-green veins below the heel of his hand. The things Kadokura could do with wrists like that. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“Kadokura-san,” Kikyo said with dignity. “I appreciate your taking the time to meet with us.”

Kadokura forced his attention back to the present. Us? Holding Kikyo’s hand was a little boy.

“Wow,” Kadokura said. “Handsome kid. He really looks like his father. Similar haircut and everything. That’s a bit creepy, actually.”

“Akira-kun venerates his father very much. Akira-kun, let’s sit.” She sat down opposite Kadokura, on the other couch, and the kid climbed onto her lap.

Kadokura leaned back and watched them through half-lidded eyes. “Im surprised that you’ve come out to see me,” he said. “I’m a busy man, you know.”

“We heard you were in Tokyo and we didn’t want to miss the opportunity.”

Kadokura raised an eyebrow. “Okay. Bold choice.”

Kikyo shook her head sharply, almost as though to clear her head. “Kadokura-san, I wanted-“

“Oh, wait, does your kid want a-“ Kadokura swivelled around to rifle in a drawer behind him. After a second he emerged triumphant, holding aloft a red lollipop. He held it out to Akira, who took it.

“Thank Kadokura-san, Akira-kun,” Kikyo ordered.

“Thank you, Kadokura-san,” Akira said.

“Akira-kun,” she added before Kadokura could respond, “Never eat anything Kadokura-san gives you.”

“Oh… yes, mom.”

Kadokura let out an incredulous laugh as Akira pocketed the lollypop instead of opening it. “Obedient kid,” Kadokura remarked. “He’s like an accessory.”

“He’s very well-behaved,” Kikyo agreed, adjusting him on her leg.

“Yeah, I can see that. So. Let’s get right to business. What exactly are you doing here? Talk fast and I’ll listen generously.”

Kikyo nodded as though composing herself before she spoke. “I’m only here to talk. You’re a shrewd businessman, and there’s no doubt that in the long term you’ll always make the right decision when it comes to… shifting balances of power.” She paused.

Watching her wordlessly, Kadokura refused to respond.

“Your choices in the past have always put you on top,” she continued after an uncomfortable thirty seconds during which it became clear he wasn’t going to answer. “I’d like to talk about what choices you might be able to make soon that would be… mutually beneficial.”

Kadokura sat up straighter. “Wait, let me get this right. Nishikiyama fails to get me on board for his little plan, so he sends me his wife… and son?”

“My husband admires you very much, and he’s eager to have you as a friend in the coming years,” Kikyo said with equanimity. “He doesn’t harbour any ill will after your previous meeting.” Her perfectly manicured hands, clasped around Akira, didn’t even tighten. She was a damn good actor. Or she was really as crazy as Nishikiyama was.

“Pity,” Kadokura said. He pulled out his portable screwdriver and started chewing on the end. “Would he harbour ill will if I shot him in his pretty face this time?”

Kikyo blinked, and Akira showed fear, and for the first time Kikyo looked tired as she put a hand on Akira’s shoulder, silently urging him not to react. But she only looked tired for a second before the mask went back up. “Kadokura-san,” she said, “It’s not clear to me what your problem is with my husband. Perhaps we could discuss it?” She paused. “I could send Akira-kun away, if you prefer.”

“Huh? No way! It’s always better when the kid is watching!” Kadokura grinned broadly, watching Kikyo’s face closely for any flinch, but she was carven in marble. Impressive.

“Truly,” she said, voice low, “Your support would be most appreciated. I cannot fathom why you-“

“Your husband annoys the shinola out of me, lady, okay? That’s it. He’s just annoying. With his perfect body and his perfect hair and his pretty face. And he wants to succeed as a yakuza, but he’s still acting like a host. He’s all offense, no defence. You can take the shot in the shoulder as a friendly warning - the moment someone decides Nishikyama’s getting too influential, he’s going to get plugged in the head and the house of cards he built by sleeping around is going to be a fleeting memory. That kind of alliance doesn’t hold up after the body goes cold.” Kadokura stowed his screwdriver back in his jacket pocket.

“What’s he taking about?” Akira asked shrilly. He was on the verge of tears. “Why is he saying bad things about dad?”

“Shh,” Kikyo said, stroking Akira’s cheek. She picked him up, though Kadokura wouldn’t have guessed her thin arms had the strength. And to Kadokura: “It seems you aren’t in the mood for this conversation. Perhaps we can reconvene at another time.” She glanced at the clock. “In any case, I ought to go pick up Akira’s younger sister. She’s-“

“Just casually mention your daughter,” Kadokura says, leaning way back and folding his hands behind his head. “Real classy. Look, can I offer you some free advice?”

“No, thank you,” Kikyo said quickly. “My husband is still recovering from the ‘friendly warning’ you gave him, so I think I shall wait until he’s better to take my chances with your ‘advice.’” And with that, she headed across the room and left.

After a second Kadokura let out a breath, and ran a hand through his hair. He collapsed back onto the couch.

[sato visits the tojo clan chairman and someone comes out of the office]

It was fucking Nishikiyama.

When he saw Kadokura, Nishikiyama’s eyes flickered with shock and fear before he composed his face into a collected smile. “Kadokura-san,” he said. “What a surprise.”

“Likewise. I see you’re out of the hospital…” Kadokura gave Nishikiyama a quick once-over. He looked the same as ever. Unbearably pretty. Unbearably tall and thin. Bastard.

He was wearing a suit in a very pale bluish-purple color, and a teal paisley shirt, and - as always - no tie. His face was difficult to describe because he really was pretty, pretty in just the same way that a girl was pretty, but somehow he looked manly, too. It was the shapely lips, the flat, dark gaze, the sharp cut of his jaw. Halfway between a host’s beauty and an action hero’s. For that, too, in addition to his height, he’d stood out among his colleagues when he worked at the club. Nishikiyama drove people insane. It was what he did. He’d made a career of it. Top host at the first club he’d ever worked at within weeks, then at Halo, then at Paris for a whole decade. Now - and he must have been forty, though he didn’t look a day over thirty-five, and that was when you were close enough to see the barest hint of creases at the corners of his mouth - now he was retired, and still doing the same damn thing. Leaving a crowd of googoo-eyed worshippers trailing twisted and broken in his wake. He could change minds and hearts with a mere smile, a laugh, a light touch on the elbow, but he didn’t have emotions. He didn’t have thoughts. He was like a shark; he just blindly swam through the darkness, seeking after power.

His hair, brown, was down to his shoulders. Same as always. It looked very silky. Kadokura wanted either to bury his face in it or rip it out of the skull by the roots. Maybe both.

Nishikiyama fiddled with his cufflink, as though showing off the delicate bones of his wrist on purpose. “Yes, I was discharged from the hospital over a week ago now. I’m pleased to say I’m almost perfectly recovered.”

“Thank god for the ‘almost’!” Kadokura said brightly.

“Kikyo told me about your visit. She’s fond of you, you know. She talked about having you over for dinner-“

“Let me stop you right there,” Kadokura interrupted impatiently. “I don’t want to fuck you. I don’t want to fuck your wife. I don’t want to fuck your kids. I don’t want to watch you fuck your wife or your kids or whatever it is you think I’d be into. I don’t want anything to do with you.”

Nishikiyama’s eyes fluttered as he looked down. “…You’re a vulgar man, Kadokura-san,” he said.

“I’m an honest man,” Kadokura corrected. “No beating around the bush with me! Well, anyway, I’m not here to see you, I’m here to see the chairman. So-“ Kadokura tried to brush past, but Nishikiyama shifted slightly to block Kadokura from passing through, a minute dodge to the right and to the left and back to the right. Nishikiyama laughed lightly, maybe a little uncomfortable, a perfect imitation of a normal reaction to have when people fail to get out of one another’s way in the hallway by accident.

Nishikiyama made a thin-lipped smile as he blocked the way. “Ah, I think the chairman will want a few minutes to collect himself before seeing you.”

Kadokura huffed and crossed his arms. Nishikiyama was such a smug bastard.

“Kadokura-san, I might mention while we’re here that I’ve spoken to Ueno-san and he may be interested in switching his contract over to you.”

“Who?”

Nishikiyama frowned. “From the Ueno Seiwa clan.”

“Oh, them.” Kadokura made a show of looking at his watch. “I don’t really care about having their business. That’s the best you could do to sweeten the deal? Aside from, I mean, pimping out your wife and kids or whatever.”

Nishikiyama bit his lip. “You’re a bit depraved, aren’t you? Do you always make such accusations?”

“No. Only when I’m being harassed with propositions to which I’ve made it clear my answer is no.”

“Be reasonable,” Nishikiyama insisted, voice low. “We needn’t be friends, but can’t we get along?”

Without thinking, Kadokura pulled out his gun and cocked it, pressing the barrel into Nishikiyama’s shoulder. Same spot as before. Nishikiyama flinched and reeled back, but the door to the chairman’s office was in the way and his heels thumped against it.

He recovered fast. “Kadokura-san,” he said, tilting his head to one side, gaze dark and curious, “How forward of you.”

“Tch!” Kadokura uncocked the gun. The irrepressible pervert here just wouldn’t quit. Kadokura longer to give Nishikiyama what’s for, but he was still standing right in front of the chairman’s door. Even Kadokura had to be wary of blowing a hole in that.

Nishikiyama slipped out and around Kadokura’s lowered arm, forcing Kadokura to turn around.

“I’ll be at the New Year’s party,” Nishikiyama said softly. “Are you planning on attending, since you’re in town?”

Kadokura cursed inwardly. “Probably,” he admitted. “But you’ll have bigger fish to fry there, right?”

“Probably,” Nishikiyama agreed.

“Alright, then.” Kadokura gestured with the gun. “Get a move on, beautiful.”

He was rewarded with a suggestive smile, and then Nishikiyama turned and left, leaving behind only - a waft of what must be the scent of his shampoo. Something sweet and cinnamon. Kadokura scowled, willing his heart rate to return to normal.

“You should be careful, hanging around yakuza,” he yelled after Nishikiyama. “You’re going to have crooked habits rub off on you! Now don’t get attacked by dogs on your way out!”

After a few minutes the chairman’s door opened and a y

[at the party]

A flash of movement across the room caught Kadokura’s eye, and - oh no. On one of the couches by the big picture window, Nishikiyama was sitting, a glass of champagne in his hand and a riveting smile on his face.

He had the kind of body where he didn’t need to show it off; he often wore his suit jackets relatively loose and long. He still looked skinny that way. But tonight he wore no jacket, just a dark grey vest and shirtsleeves. His shirt was pearly white satin and had a long point collar, and it was unbuttoned three buttons down, showing off his clavicle and the straight line between the planes of flat muscle in his chest. The vest was some kind of ontological paradox: it was so well fitted to the curves of Nishikiyama’s ribcage and the narrowness of his waist that it might have been painted on; yet somehow it wasn’t even tight. Not a wrinkle or pull in sight. What the fuck. Kadokura might have to talk to Nishikiyama later, if only to get his tailor’s contact information.

Nishikiyama’s legs were folded elegantly one over the other at the knee, impossibly long, and he looked like a god damned commercial. As Kadokura watched, Nishikiyama laughed, all charm, his attention fixed on his interlocutor.

If Kadokura could bring himself to forget that it was all an act, he might be able to die happy if that gaze were ever turned on him.

Kadokura remembered to pay attention to who Nishikiyama was actually talking with. It was Nihara, the current retainer to the Chairman and - rumour had it - likely to succeed him if anything went awry. As Kadokura watched Nihara leaned forward and actually rested a hand on Nishikiyama’s knee, smiling in a way that he probably thought looked charming. Nishikiyama looked down modestly. His cheeks were very flushed.

As a waitress passed by, Nihara flagged her down and passed Nishikiyama a new glass of champagne and a piece of cake. Nishikiyama made a brief show of refusing both, and then conceded, smiling just a little goofily, as though he weren’t perfect. As though he were tipsy and shy and earnest.

Kadokura happened to know that Nishikiyama held his liquor like a pro. You didn’t survive nearly three decades of leches plying you with alcohol without developing a good tolerance. But Nishikiyama was also a pro at pretending to be drunk, which had likely served him just as well throughout the years, Kadokura remarked darkly. Nishikiyama used his little silver fork to take a little bite of the little piece of cake, his lips sliding over the icing on purpose. Kadokura wasn’t paying attention to that. Kadokura was looking at the way Nishikiyama’s wrist flexed just slightly as he gripped the fork. Sickening. He looked away.

[kadokura bothers dojima yayoi and others for awhile and gets burned]

For a minute he stood there, watching Lady Dojima trying her best not to laugh. This was awful. Kadokura had half a mind to break out his pistol and blow this person to kingdom come. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and-

Shit. Tojo Clan party. High security. No exceptions. He was here totally unarmed. Crestfallen, he retreated to the other side of the party, nabbing another flute of champagne on the way. He drained it, and made his way to that refuge of drunks and the heartbroken: the bathroom.

The bathroom had nice, soft yellow lighting that swayed invitingly. Or maybe it was Kadokura that was swaying. Not important either way. Someone was throwing up in the single stall. As Kadokura stood there, two lieutenants from a low-ranking family - Kadokura recognized their faces but not their names - pushed past him and started doing cocaine off the gold marble counter. Stay classy, Tojo Clan.

Kadokura was just going to head to the toilets when Nishikiyama came out of the stall, holding a piece of toilet paper to his mouth.

“Haa?” Kadokura said in incredulity. “You, getting sloppy drunk at a Clan function? Say it ain’t so!”

Swiftly Nishikiyama tossed the paper into the bin. “I’ve had a stomach bug since yesterday,” he said smoothly. “It’s not contagious, though.”

“Oh, an uncontagious stomach bug. That’s like a reverse bioweapon. You could save the world with that kinda tech.”

“I think you’re drunk,” said Nishikiyama.

“Wow, you’re not just a pretty face,” Kadokura said in annoyance. “Genius intellect hiding beyond those dead eyes.” He looked around. “Don’t you have a retainer to seduce?”

“Depends,” Nishikiyama said. “What are my prospects for seducing someone else?”

Kadokura reached for his inner breast pocket and Nishikiyama flinched.

“Well, let me know if you change your mind,” Nishikiyama said, actually scowling. It made him look more his age.

“Will do,” Kadokura promised. “Bye, now.”

Nishikiyama left.

Kadokura relieved himself. Then he splashed his face at the sink and did a line of coke with the low-ranking lieutenants.

He went back out into the party. There was confetti everywhere and the mood was decidedly more energetic. Everyone was holding a glass of champagne now, as though they were toasting Kadokura’s triumphant return to the party. The clock read 12:10. The night was still young. Kadokura felt great. He dove into the fray.

***

that’s all for now. stay tuned for nishikiyama kikyo POV on what happens with Nishikiyama after the party.

[qianinterprises]

Summer '78

Pairing | bully!Jeno x chubby!Reader

Warning(s) | bullying, harsh words, cussing, sexual assault, name calling, fat shaming, poor shaming, face slapping, angst, hurtful comments, yelling, the Dreamies are not nice people (I know I did Jaemin wrong, I'm sorry)

Synopsis | Jeno was a bully, and you were his primary victim. Nothing should have changed, but Jeno began getting tired of bullying the girl he was in love with simply because she didn't conform to societies beauty standards. So she was chubby? So what?! His friends didn't see it that was.

Genre | ANGST, retro-flashback

Author’s Notes | So I wrote this a while back for an event of NCTA, which was basically writing a retro fic. This fic is very different than the fics I usually write. For one, it is told in Jeno's perspective rather than the readers. For two, this is a "chubby fic." Meaning the reader is seen in the fic as having a larger body weight, which, may I add here, is not a problem, nor should it ever be. If you are being bullied for anything, please don't let it go unreported. Report it as many times as you have to because bullying is not ok, whether it's done at school, at home, or anywhere else. Also, there is a possibility that there will be a part two, I have had some people (before posting it here) request a part two but I'm on the fence about that, but perhaps a part two will show some change and growth on Jeno's part. So we'll see. Tell me your opinions though! I hope you enjoy~

Word Count | 3.5k

Taglist | @treasuretaeil @hachanbaecon @nschitty

A group of six boys sat around a table talking and laughing until a loud crash resounded through the snack shack that brought their attention to a waitress on the floor, yellow heels scattered behind her, empty tray in her hands and spilled drinks everywhere as well as on a girl by the table the waitress had fallen at.

“Clutz,” one of the boys, Jeno, mumbled, shaking his head.

“Fatass,” Jeno’s best friend, Jaemin responded.

The other four muttered something along the lines of agreement as they watched the waitress cowering on the floor with a bright red face as the girl now covered in cola shrieked about her ruined clothing and hair.

Jaemin got up from his seat angrily.

“What the hell are you doing to my girlfriend!” he yelled, approaching the pair.

“Jaeminnie! She poured soda all over me!” the girl pouted, running into Jaemins arms.

Jeno rolled his eyes.

Jeno shook his head. Out of all of the boys in their biker gang, Jaemin just had to be the most gullible, falling for the Queen Bee of the high school who used him for nothing more than his money and face.

“She ruined my shirt,” Jeno heard the girl whine.

Jaemin embraced her tighter.

“You’ll have to pay for her clothing, fatty!” Jaemin demanded.

The waitress was someone Jeno recognized. (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N). She had been one of his best friends when he was a shy ten year old trying to fit in. They both befriended Jaemin and the rest of their group and somewhere along the way, he’d gotten muscular and tall while she’d gotten chubby. With Jeno’s looks, he’d always been popular with girls, but when he became interested in them as more than friends, he’d dumped the girl in favor of girlfriends.

She was a bullied girl wearing outdated clothing that made adequate grades. A nobody. She didn’t fit into any groups. She drifted through high school being shoved against lockers while her books were thrown across the hallway and what little lunch money she had was stolen. More often than not, Jeno or one of the other guys was the perpetrator.

“I can’t…” (y/n) muttered, looking down at the floor.

Jaemin kicked the carrying tray away from her, making the girl flinch.

Something in Jeno’s heart snapped against his chest, but he’d never allow it to escape. He watched tears gather in the corner of the girl's eyes and Jeno fought the urge to pull her to his chest.

Feelings began to stir their first year in high school when he and (y/n) had been seated side-by-side in homeroom and he’d leaned over to tease her about her recent, awkwardly styled hair when he’d met the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

The feelings made his stomach twist in knots and his body tingled. Feelings and sensations that only grew stronger when their skin brushed or when her angelic voice met his ears.

The feelings were what drove him to brash treatment. His hands shoving her shoulders against the lockers as he demanded for her money. Fingers harshly tugging at the ends of her hair. His voice yelling horrible things at her just to hear her speak back.

He couldn’t tell anyone how he was feeling either. Dating the chubby girl would cause him to lose whatever popularity he had obtained along with his pride and his gang. Their leader couldn’t be seen as the weak punk who decided to date the chubby girl from a poor family.

Jaemin sneered down at the blushing girl, taunting her loudly and Jeno watched her feeble attempt at hiding her face.

“Jaemin! Let’s go. Chubby over here isn’t worth our time,” Jeno called loudly, voice filled with authority that had Jaemin immediately moving away from the girl.

“Fine. But she owes us free meals for a week! Those clothes were expensive!” Jaemin whined.

He kissed his girlfriend's cheek and walked to the door to wait on the rest of the gang who were stuffing their last few fries in their mouths or finishing off their milkshakes.

“Let’s roll,” Jaemin called, a grin on his face.

Jeno shook his head at how fast the male changed perspectives. He grabbed his leather jacket off the back of his chair, sliding his arms into it and let it snap against his back.

The last few members finished their plates, leaving them on the table before grabbing their own jackets and following Jaemin out the door. Jeno took the end, stopping by the waitress on the floor.

“Maybe get some heels your fat feet can walk in, huh Dollface?” he sneered.

Her face flew red again and he rolled his eyes.

“And you should stop blushing. You look like a tomato. Vegetables aren’t attractive. Although it’s fitting. Tomatoes are plump.”

He walked out the door without another word, heart hammering painfully in his ears. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, but that was a problem. He couldn’t think chubby girls were beautiful. What would his friends think?

The loud purr of an engine met his ears and he sighed happily, most of his regret getting washed away, uprooted by the smell of motor oil and tires.

Jeno’s ride was a cherry red 1960 Harley-Davidson motorcycle with shiny silver wheels that didn’t match the rusted gas tank or muffler that Jeno was now saving to restore among other things. The black leather seat was slightly cracked from wear over the years and the breaks didn’t always work great. His headlight needed a new spark plug and the oil line leaked. Still, with all of these issues, he loved his bike. Each new issue gave him something to work on at night in his father's tiny little garage when all he wanted was grease on his chest and a wrench in his hand.

“Let’s go Jeno! I wanna ride!” Donghyuck moaned from his spot on his own bike, revving the engine with his right hand.

Jeno rolled his eyes at Donghyuck’s whining. Out of all of them, he was the one that loved traveling the most. They’d gone all the way up the coast the day they’d let Donghyuck lead them.

Jeno nodded and threw his leg over his bike, kicking the kick start lever and sighing happily as the bike roared to life beneath him. He pushed off his kickstand and allowed it to roll forward.

“Let’s go!” he called.

He rolled to the front of the group before revving the engine and turning onto the main road leaving the beachside snack shack behind.

~

When Jeno pulled into the driveway of his house, he parked his motorcycle beside his elder brother's black and gold Harley, letting the kickstand rest against the dirt driveway and dismounted..

He made his way into the house where his older brother, Jaehyun, was sitting alone in the living room flipping through channels.

Jeno’s heart hurt. All through the ride, he thought about (y/n) and the pained look in her eyes every time someone teased her. He knew it wasn’t right to bully her, especially for something as shallow as her weight or her clothes, but when the girls Jeno dated began mocking her, Jeno joined in, and pretty soon, she was alone. It hurt that Jeno could have stopped it. He could have kept her as a friend instead of ditching her, and now, here he was, hopelessly in love with the girl he bullied and too afraid to stand up to his friends out of fear that they would dump him.

“I have a problem,” he groaned, flopping down on the couch.

Jaehyun turned the small box television off and turned his attention to Jeno. Jeno rolled his head back on the plush green sofa and sighed.

“There’s this girl I like…” he started.

Jaehyun groaned in disinterest.

“So tell her. Not like you can’t get any girl. I heard you’re one of the kings of your class,” he replied.

Jeno whined. It was true. He could virtually have anyone he wanted, yet the one person he couldn’t have was the one he desired.

“I can’t. My friends wouldn’t approve and she’d never go for me… not after everything I’ve done,” he muttered hopelessly.

“Why do you care so much what your punk friends think? Do what you want, not what they want you to do.”

Jeno sighed. It wasn’t that easy and Jaehyun should know that.

“She’d never go out with me anyway and I can never tell her!” Jeno whined, hoping his brother would understand.

He was far too ashamed to come out and say exactly why she wouldn’t. “There’s girls that don’t like you?” Jaehyun asked, clearly shocked.

Jeno nodded sullenly.

“Just one…”

That seemed to make the links click in Jaehyun’s mind and Jeno wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“You don’t mean you like the poor girl you always bully, do you?”

So Jaehyun knew about that. No wonder his brother had grown distant since Jeno had started high school.

“Um… yes…” he mumbled.

Jaehyun shuffled around on the beige chair he was sitting on before one of his dirty socks was being chucked at Jeno’s head.

“Hey!” Jeno snapped.

“You don’t treat people like that! You and your friends are assholes! That poor girl won’t forgive you for what you’ve done to her!” Jaehyun yelled.

Jeno wanted to yell back, but he knew Jaehyun was right. He was an asshole.

“What do I do to get her to like me… I don’t know how to stop this mess…” he mumbled. Jaehyun groaned and grabbed the large remote, flipping the television back on.

“You make things right. Stop bullying the girl and apologize like you mean it. Even then, it may be too late,” Jaehyun answered before his attention was back into the heavy box television.

Jeno sighed. He knew his brother was right.

~

The next afternoon, Jeno pulled his motorcycle into the parking lot of the snack shack, parking alongside Jisungs rusting brown one he refused to let Jaemin or Jeno strip and repaint.

Jeno dismounted and walked into the shack. His friends were crowded around their usual table, talking loudly.

Jeno walked over to the table and slid into the booth beside Renjun.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

Jaemin was cackling and fishing ice out of his soda glass.

“(y/n) is on our table today!” he smirked.

Jeno’s heart dropped. That meant they’d be extra cruel to her today and Jeno really couldn’t do anything to tell her or his friends how he felt. The universe must really hate him.

Jaemin got the ice out of his cola glass and held it in his palm, his faze shifting to where (y/n) was shuffling around in her red striped shirt and black pants, wearing those same yellow heels.

“What are you gonna-”

Jeno was cut off as Jaemin smirked and launched the ice cube across the table, getting enough air to fly across the room until it dived down into the low cut v-line of (y/n)’s striped shirt.

“Yes! 10 points!” Jaemin cheered loudly.

(y/n) squeaked at the sudden intrusion of ice, a sound that Jeno found oddly adorable, even if it wasn’t a good kind of squeak.

Her face flamed red and she hurried back to put her notepad down on the chef’s counter before moving back to their table.

“Can I get you guys anything else?” she asked, her voice having gone up an octave from embarrassment.

“I want a chocolate milkshake,” Renjun answered.

(y/n) jotted it down and moved to look at the rest.

“I want a burger that’s charred on one side, but not too charred. Don’t bring me burnt meat or I’ll make your fatass eat it,” Jaemin said.

Jeno sighed at his friend, shaking his head subtly.

“I want a burger with a dollop of ketchup and three pickles. Don’t you dare give me any more or less than three pickles,” Donghyuck ordered.

Jeno rolled his eyes. Donghyuck didn’t even like pickles.

She glanced at Jisung and Chenle, both who were contently sipping their cola’s and completely ignoring her existence, so, after scribbling down everyone else’s orders, she turned her eyes to Jeno.

“Coke with ten pieces of ice and a burger.”

(y/n) nodded, writing all of the information down and shuffled off to the counter again.

“Do we really have to be that mean to her? She looked like she was going to cry,” Renjun muttered.

Jaemin rolled his eyes.

Jeno nodded in agreement to Renjun. Her face was sullen and her eyes glistened with tears that hadn’t fallen. His heart sank at the thought that maybe something had happened at home or that their words had finally gotten to her. In all the time they’d been bullying her, she never once said anything much to them, and they’d never seen her cry.

“Do you think we should lay off her?” he suggested.

Donghyuck and Jaemin snorted at the same time.

“Why would we do that?” Donghyuck asked.

Jeno shook his head. His friends could be such assholes sometimes. They wouldn’t even stop for someone that seems to be almost crying, they just use it to play more games. More buttons to press.

“If you’re so worried, Jeno, go check on her,” Chenle challenged.

“Yeah, go check on her!” Jaemin cackled.

Jeno shook his head and sighed, getting out of the booth. He knew very well what they expected him to do, or at least, what they wanted him to do, but he didn’t know if he could take calling her names anymore. Not when it felt like his soul was screaming at him not to.

He didn’t have much of a choice as he made his way over to her, however. He couldn’t control what his friends wanted and what he was obligated to give.

He moved up behind her and while her back was turned, he brought his hand down hard on her butt as his friends cackled loudly from their table. Jeno’s ears burned in embarrassment and guilt. If his mother knew what he’d just done, she’d be dragging him out of the snack shack by his ear.

He didn’t really know what to expect from (y/n). What he didn’t expect however, was her body whirling around rapidly, her hand raising angrily, and the sharp stinging sensation across his cheek.

“YOU HAVE NO RIGHT! I HAVE DONE NOTHING TO YOU, AND YET ALL YOU ARE YOUR ASSHOLE BUDDIES WANNA DO IS BULLY ME! WELL PISS OFF! I DON’T NEED THIS!” she screamed.

Jeno’s eyes widened. This was new…

“YOU ARE A BUNCH OF PUNKASS BOYS WITH NOTHING BETTER TO DO, BUT I SWEAR THE NEXT TIME I HEAR A COMMENT ABOUT MY WEIGHT, CLOTHES, OR HAIR, OR ANYONE TOUCHEs ME, I WILL SHOVE MY FAT FOOT UP YOUR BUTTHOLE!” she screamed angrily.

The cackling from the table had stopped as the boys gaped at their waitress in shock.

“AND YOU IDIOTS CAN GET YOUR OWN DAMN BURGERS!”

The snack shack had gone deathly quiet. Jeno stood as still as a statue, face still stinging, but not quite as painful now. The outburst from this usually quiet and reserved girl shocked him to his very core, but it also made him feel worse. Sure, the ice throwing, name calling, and excessively stupid orders had added fuel to the fire, but it was Jeno’s action that had thrown her over the edge.

“I-I’m… sorry…” he stammered out.

“DON’T SAY SORRY TO ME AFTER THE HELL YOU’VE PUT ME THROUGH!” she screamed.

Jeno’s heart pounded in his chest and his eyes gazed at her fearfully.

“I think it’s time you go home, (y/n), calm down and come back tomorrow,” the owner of the snack shack said, walking out of his office.

(y/n) nodded and let out a sniffle. Jeno didn’t know when she’d started crying. She grabbed the bag the owner handed her before running out of the shack.

“And you, young man. You and your boys get out of my shack. You’re all banned for a week. Come back in here acting like that and you’ll be banned permanently,” he said, eyes fixed angrily on Jeno.

Jeno turned to look back at his gang and sighed, waving a hand for them all to follow.

~

After the incident, Jeno hadn’t felt much like going on a ride with the rest of the gang. They were all perfectly fine, cackling and talking about the outburst, but Jeno couldn’t stomach it. The way she’d screamed. How upset she’d looked. He was done being a bully. Now he just needed to figure out how to go from bully to courting her, if that were even possible.

He parked his bike beside Jaehyun’s again, happy to see his brother was home and not at the rusty body shop he worked at.

He ran into the house, taking the front steps two at a time, and when he was inside, he made his way to the room he shared with Jaehyun.

“I need to borrow your boombox!” he yelled at the male.

Jaehyun, clearly not expecting the sudden intrusion, jumped off the small bed, stuffing the adult rated magazine he’d been “reading” under his mattress. Jeno rolled his eyes. He didn’t have time to find ways to ruin Jaehyun’s relationship with his girlfriend or rat him out to their mother.

“I. need. Your. boom. Box!” he enunciated.

Jaehyun stared at him incredulously.

“Uh… Why?” he asked.

Jeno shook his head angrily and shoved past Jaehyun to siffle through his side of the room searching for the large, heavy, cassette playing boombox his brother had bought a month ago.

“I need it to fix my (y/n) situation!” Jeno explained as he searched.

Jaehyun groaned.

“Movies aren’t real! That won’t work!”

Jeno ignored him. The guy always showed up at the window of the girl he was hoping to impress and the girl always forgave him. It’d work. It had to.

Jeno grabbed the large boombox from beneath Jaehyun’s bed, groaning at the weight. He heard Jaehyun sigh.

“Good luck then.”

Jeno didn’t need it. This would work. It had to work.

~

The ride to (y/n)’s house had proven to be a bit difficult as he struggled to hold the boombox against him. The box was large and heavy, with a small cassette player at the top that already had his chosen tape resting inside it.

The trip over was one of many stops and repositionings in an attempt not to drop the box that could very well make everything alright. He could just imagine her grinning in glee and running down to meet him, forgiving him for everything he’d ever done to hurt her.

By the time he got to her house, dusk was falling. He had maybe ten minutes before darkness engulfed the sky. Ten minutes in which he’d be tasked with making everything better.

He moved around the side of the common two story house and found (y/n)’s window easily. She appeared to be dancing to the music playing from the vinyl record player he could almost see perched by the window. It brought a smile to his lips. She looked so happy and carefree.

He could watch her all night, but he was here for a reason. He had to apologize for everything he’d ever done and confess.

He found a rock likely from her driveway by her window in the grass and picked it up. It was only one so he had to make it count.

He pressed play on the cassette player portion of the boombox and ‘It’s sad to belong’ came flowing out melodically from the speakers.

”Met you on a springtime day,”

He threw the rock hard against her window, flinching as he heard the rock bounce off. He was surprised it hadn’t broken the window.

”You were mindin’ your life and I was mindin’ mine too. The window opened and Jeno’s heart hammered in his chest.

“(y/f/n) (y/l/n)! I am so in love with you it hurts. I am so sorry for everything I’ve ever done to hurt you! All the bullying. All the teasing. I’m so sorry. You’re not fat or ugly! You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen! I just couldn’t show it! But I don’t care what my friends think! I love you! I want to be with you! I want to court you! Please forgive me!” he pleaded, not giving the girl a chance to say anything.

When he finished speaking, the song was nearing an end and his body was shaking. The girl looked almost close to tears again and Jeno grew hopeful that in any second, she’d run downstairs and jump into his arms.

“Yes it’s sad to belong to someone else when the right one comes along.”

“You love me huh? Well you have a funny way of showing it,” she sneered.

The window slammed shut and the drapes were immediately dropped, leaving Jeno alone in the darkness of the evening, his hopes dashed across the grass.

He’d waited too long to apologize.

[writingwife-83]

Hello!! I saw your post regarding sending dialogue prompts if we come up with it, so here's one :)

"I love you but we can't keep going like this."

Can you please write a Sherlolly fic for this one? I absolutely love your writing and look forward to your Sherlolly fics all the time! Cheers ;)

Hi, anon! I hope this one isn’t too much of a stretch, but this is just what came to my mind when I thought about the prompt. I tried to squeeze it all into a one shot and it started to come out weird, so I abandoned that plan. Hopefully I’ll be posting part 2 soon! Anyway, hope you and everyone else enjoy this bit of Regency AU angst and romance! 🎀

We Can’t Keep Going Like This

“Shall we dance the next set as well?” Sherlock asked as they exited the dance floor, Molly on his arm.

She shook her head, giving him a tight smile. “Thank you, no. In fact, I would much prefer some fresh air.”

Molly had been especially quiet all night, and she seemed flushed and jittery. Something was on her mind and it was only a matter of time until it came out. He could only assume their impending wedding was weighing heavily on her.

They stepped out into the late summer air which was just beginning to feel a touch cool. It was clearly a welcomed change from the stuffy confined of the ballroom as Molly shut her eyes and breathed in deep.

“Dreadfully crowded,” Sherlock commented, leaning against one of the columns of the vine shrouded veranda. “The Watson’s always seem to insist on inviting absolutely every family in the entire countryside. I hardly see the appeal. The noise and heat put quite a damper on the pleasant time that might be had enjoying music and dancing. I myself would never choose to-“

“Mr. Holmes, I shall be going away soon.”

Sherlock halted, his gaze shifting to her as he tilted his head in confusion. “Going away where?”

Molly fiddled with her hands, pacing a bit in the moonlight. “I have a great aunt in Scotland. I’ve written to her and asked if I might come and stay for a while, and just today I received her reply that she’d be happy to have me. I plan to depart in another day or two if I’m able.”

“But with merely a fortnight before our wedding?” Sherlock questioned with a little laugh. “You would scarce arrive and unpack before you’d have to return. It hardly seems worth the effort.”

“That’s just it, Mr. Holmes,” she replied quietly. “There will not be a wedding.”

He stared at her in silence for a moment, absorbing her words as best he could.

“But it has all been…arranged,” he argued, the words sounding weak, even to him.

“And it never should have been arranged in the first place.” Molly’s voice became firmer and she stopped pacing, turning to him and regarding him seriously. “I love you, but we can’t keep going like this.”

I love you.

She hadn’t said those words since…well, since that fateful day a couple of months before.

“I know there was hardly anything else for your family to do after what happened with your sister,” Molly went on.

Yes, she did rather force everybody’s hand, Sherlock thought. A crowded London ball was an inconvenient time for Eurus to go completely mad, especially since the incident included threatening Molly Hooper’s life and insisting that she and Sherlock confess their love for each other as the only way to keep her safe. It was a chaotic and heart stopping moment that he, and likely everyone else in attendance, wouldn’t soon forget. Once things were handled with his sister and the dust had settled, it went without saying that some days later an engagement simply had to be announced.

“But regardless, I cannot allow this marriage to take place.” Molly shook her head, resuming her pacing. “It is happening for all the wrong reasons but I know that neither you nor your family would ever put a stop to it, which is of course a credit to you all! So I find that I am the only one who can do what must be done. I can make a home in Scotland with my aunt, where nobody knows me. A broken engagement will be left far behind, and I can do my best to start fresh…just as you will be free to do.”

Words failed Sherlock. Not only had this completely taken him by surprise, but it also felt so very wrong.

“Forgive me, but that is quite an upheaval to pick up and move your life so far away. You needn’t make such a decision so hastily,” he finally voiced.

Molly’s lip quivered when she spoke again. “Mr Holmes, I have wrestled with myself and considered all possible options since the very moment our engagement was announced! There is nothing hasty about this decision. Surely you can see this is the most logical option.”

It was at that moment that Sherlock realized he hadn’t considered any other options. Since they’d become engaged, he’d simply accepted the fact and carried on.

“For whom is this the logical option?” Sherlock found himself questioning, stepping closer and eyeing her curiously. “Forgive me, but only a moment ago you stated that you love me, and this time it was under no duress. And yet you plan to uproot your life and flee from our impending marriage. Why?”

Molly tilted her chin in the air, squaring her shoulders as she spoke coolly. “I take no pleasure in a union that is rooted in little more than obligation and pity.”

Sherlock’s brow furrowed. “Obligation and pity? But you are my friend, Miss Hooper. We are friends, are we not?”

“I did like to think so, yes.” She smiled softly, then hesitated, blushing a little. “But, Mr. Holmes, before all of this, tell me truthfully…had you ever thought to propose?”

Air caught in his throat and he had to swallow thickly, knowing full well that a lack of response would be just as clear to her as any spoken word.

Molly’s lips twisted and she looked down for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I shall leave a note,” she explained, a little hitch in her voice. “I will explain that I am sorry for any hurt I may cause but that I simply have no wish to marry. That will surely free you from any guilt in the matter.”

She moved to leave but Sherlock caught her wrist, causing her to whirl back and face him, eyes wide in surprise.

“And that is to be the end of it?” Sherlock asked, his voice half desperation and half confusion as his thumb moved unconsciously over the silk of her glove. “You’d truly leave England?”

“Can you not see this is for the best?” Molly whispered, a sheen reflecting in her eyes. “I beg you not to make this any harder than it already is.”

And with that, her hand slipped from his and she hurried back inside the ballroom. Sherlock watched her as she made her way through the crowds, his feet frozen in place even as he felt the urge to rush after her.

He stayed outside, replaying the words they’d just exchanged over and over, and he realized that he was about to lose Molly Hooper. The reality of it was a revelation that rivaled even his public declaration of love.

A declaration which, now more than ever, he was very sure he meant.

[fernpost]

looking forwards

[link to ao3]

Angus McDonald, boy detective. Greatest detective, if you asked him. And if you asked most of his clients.

He could solve any case, any mystery or murder or missing persons case. He’s always able to find the truth.

He just struggles sometimes, when it comes to himself.

His own emotions are swirling masses of weird bubbly feelings . He does not like how hard it is to decipher his own feelings.

Deciphering people's feelings about him is often just as hard. He knows social cues. He’s studied them thoroughly, and knows why people say what when he’s asking them certain questions and what they’re hiding when they ask him to leave.

Working a case is easy.

He’s solved plenty of murders before. Those are easy. Child’s play! And Angus is not a child anymore. He’s twelve whole years old, and had the first birthday party he’s ever really enjoyed to celebrate with all his friends.

Sure, most of them were adults, but he’s always gotten along really well with adults.

And they’re his family, so it’s fine-

Well. They’re not really his family. He’s not blood related to them. He’s not sure he has any immediate family now that his grandpa is gone. He’s never asked Taako or Magnus or Merle of Kravitz or Killian or- or any of them if they consider him family.

They’re his friends. That’s fine. He’s perfectly content with that (he thinks. Again, his own emotions are confusing).

But that’s okay. Because he’s going to school soon. It’s kind of far away from where most of them live, though. Far from the home Taako, Lup, Barry, and Kravitz have been sharing. Where Angus has been staying.

Very far from where Magnus has been setting up his school. And a whole day's ride away from Killian and Carey’s home.

The school is three hours away from Angus’s ho- from Taako’s house, where Angus is staying.

He hasn't- he hasn’t told Taako he’s going to school yet. He doesn’t know how to tell him he’s going to need to move out because obviously he would never ask Taako to uproot his whole life- all of them to uproot their lives just for Angus to be able to attend school. Not when they finally got settled down.

He really doesn’t even need school, but when his parents passed away and he went to live with his grandpa he dropped out. And if he wants to go on to college (if Lucas is serious about the potential teaching job) he needs to at least graduate high school. He was almost done too, but his grandpa didn’t have a lot of money like his parents did, so he started solving more and more cases to help out.

His parents didn’t give his grandpa any of their money because they didn’t expect him to be around when they passed on- not that they were bad people! He doesn’t mean to make them sound bad. They weren’t bad. They weren’t the best, he guesses. They’re not as fun as Taako, or as warm as Lup, and didn’t give as many hugs and Magnus, and didn’t talk to him about science like Barry, or-

But they were nice. They just weren’t really into parenting. They still left their small fortune to him, he’s just not old enough for it.

He’s thinking of petitioning the banks and saying he’s perfectly independent to get the money so he can move out easier.

He wonders if Kravitz would help, because he’s really good at that type of stuff, and the bank workers would be much more likely to listen to an adult than him.

Being young had its perks when solving cases, but it sucked for his day-to-day life.

It also sucked when his stomach churned for no reason that he could deduce. He’s just sitting in the kitchen, watching Lup cook in her still-slightly-fresh body as she sings a funny folktale song (Barry is sitting next to him, and he’d leaned over when she’s started singing to tell him how she learned this song early on in a world that had no writing system, and the song was about a man who could never remember where he left his pants. Angus didn’t really get it, but Barry kept laughing and smiling like it was the funniest thing in the world. Angus was pretty sure Barry would laugh at anything Lup did as a joke, though. He didn’t need to be a great detective for that).

But despite how good the food smells, his stomach hurts really bad. He’s barely eaten today, so it can't be food poisoning. Not that he’s had that since moving in- the Taaco’s are wonderful cooks and he trusts anything they feed him implicitly.

He tunes out Lup as he thinks.

The stomach pains are probably anxiety. Kravitz was telling him how he used to get them all the time, so it’s possible it’s just that.

But he shouldn’t be anxious . He’s a big kid- he’s just waiting for Taako to get home so he can tell him he’s moving out.

He has already looked for an apartment. Once Lucas' Academy of Arcane Sciences is fully up and running, he should have a highschool diploma and will be able to move on campus to work on his own degree. And be a student teacher while he works on it. It’s very exciting! If he should be feeling any physical effects from his emotions, it should be excitement, not this. This gross conglomerate of mushy feelings he can’t piece together.

He hates this.

Lup is holding a spoon to him, and Angus snaps back to the present to hear her softly ask, “you okay, little dude?” He doesn’t like the look of concern on her face- she’s been through too much to have to worry herself with him (he can’t get the century out of his head, these people are so amazing and they just let him hang around them. He doesn’t know what he’s doing right and he’s scared he’s going to stop doing that and they’re not going to like him anymore).

“I’m fine, Miss Lup! Thank you for asking.” He folds his hands tighter in his lap as he smiles. Whatever is on the spoon smells great, but he’s not sure his stomach is up for it yet.

Lup continues to stare at him for another second before pushing the spoon a little closer, “if you say so. Now, tell me, how’s it taste?”

Angus shakes his head and pulls back, “my stomach isn’t feeling too good right now, I don’t want to infect the rest of the food if it’s contagious.”

A hand appears on his head and he jumps a little, still not used to the casual touch-language of the household, and Barry’s nasally voice joins the conversation. “You don’t feel hot. Want us to call Merle over and give you a check up?”

The spoon is back, “it’s a good soup, Ango. It shouldn’t upset your stomach, and I can just get a new spoon. Barry can call Merle while you give me pointers.”

“You don’t need to, it’s fine really.” He waves his hands at Barry before turning to Lup. “And I’m not sure what help I can be with the cooking, I haven’t improved much these past few months even with Taako walking me through those other recipes.”

Lup snorts, “you’re improving much faster than Barry ever did. And I haven’t been helping Kravitz much with it, but he’s worse than anyone I’ve ever met at cooking. You’re doing just fine.”

Angus straightens up, discomfort momentarily disregarded, “Mr. Kravitz hasn’t needed to eat or cook in a long time, so he’s forgotten a lot of the basics so it’s not fair to judge me against him.”

“Sure, sure.” Lup waves her free hand in the air, the other still holding the spoon. “Still, this spoon is staying in the air until you taste it.” She glances at Barry, “and don’t worry about bothering Merle, he’ll never admit it but he likes the excuse to come over. Barry will pick him up; gives him more practice on perfecting the portal spell.”

Angus frowns, but reaches out to take the spoon anyways, “you really don’t need to call him. I’m sure it’ll pass by tomorrow.”

A hand is now on his shoulder, and Angus glances over to make eye contact with Barry, who speaks. “I won’t call him tonight, but if you still feel bad tomorrow we’ll tell him, okay?”

“Okay.” He’s not going to tell him if his stomach still hurts tomorrow, because it shouldn’t. Because he’s going to tell Taako right when he gets home and there will be nothing making him anxious or sad or excited or whatever that will make his stomach hurt. Because he’s going to do it.

He punctuates the thought by sticking the spoon in his mouth. Lup has turned back around, a fresh spoon stirring the pot, so she doesn’t see Angus’s eyes widen, but she turns back to face him with a smile when he gasps.

“This is really good, Miss Lup! Thank you.”

“Anything missing from it?” She crosses her arms, a new spoon dangling from her fingers as she twirls it around. It feels like a test, and the stomach ache is back.

Maybe it is from anxiety, because he used to get them before really hard tests. But why is he anxious? Taako is most likely going to take the news well, because Angus will finally be out of his hair.

(But maybe he doesn’t want that. Maybe Taako being okay with him moving out would hurt. Maybe the thought of Taako not just being okay, but being excited at the thought of him moving out is making him sick with worry and sadness and-)

“I’m not sure what else. It tastes perfect as-is.” He can’t think about cooking anymore. “I’m going to read on the couch, if that’s alright.”

The twirling of the spoon pauses, before she gives him a smile he knows is a bit forced, “okay, but when Taako comes home complaining that something is missing from the soup we’re blaming Barry.”

“Hey!”

Angus slides from the stool, moving to the sink and placing the spoon in there before heading to the couch. The living room is open to the kitchen and dining room, and he can hear Lup puttering around in there as she and Barry speak quietly to each other.

He’s unsure if they’re talking about him, or just being polite because he said he was reading, but his stomach twists again anyways. He picks up his book from where he set it on the coffee table this morning, and tries to read- he really does.

But he can’t focus.

The words blur together as he stares down at them blankly. He’s so zoned-out he misses the sound of the door opening, and the ensuing whispering in the kitchen.

It’s only when a hand is on his shoulder does he notice someone else is in the room, and he almost jumps out of his skin. Turning his head quickly, he catches sight of the gaudy sequin coat Taako had bought a few months ago. He’s paired it with a pair of jeans with tassels, and Angus doesn’t know much about fashion, but he’s fairly sure that’s not a normal outfit combination.

“Lup said your stomach hurt? Did you eat the so-called muffins Barry made yesterday? Because I told him those were toxic for human consumption. Probably dwarven consumption as well.”

Angus shakes his head, eyes following Taako as he slips his coat off and throws it on the armchair. He’d taken one look at those burnt muffins and slid them behind the milk, hiding them to prevent anyone from eating them. The elf walks around the couch and sits on the opposite side as him, tucking his knees under him as he stares at him with those eyes that are far more observant than most people think.

“Uh-huh. I’m throwing them out anyway. Don’t want to risk it.”

Angus nods, fiddling with the pages of his book. He runs a finger down the edge, finding a temporary calm in the weird texture of the uneven edges. He’s wearing a crease into the sides, he knows, but that’s fine. His grandpa liked to talk about the beauty of a well-loved book.

He’d spent all night planning on what he was going to stay. He wants to make sure Taako knows he isn’t throwing his kindness back in his face, and that he is going to be able to do this mostly on his own. He doesn’t have many belongings, so the move itself would be pretty easy. There won’t be much for Taako to worry about. Angus has always been very self-reliant. He isn’t a pushover, and is fine taking care of himself. While living here has been nice, he’s fine going back to living like that.

A foot knocking against his knee gets his attention, and he glances over to Taako. The elf’s face is pinched, ears flicking back and forth.

It’s a weird expression to see directed at him. Taako speaks, “you with me, Agnes?”

He nods, eyes flitting away. The nickname is an endearment, something he figured out soon after he started living on the moonbase. Their story being projected into his mind only reinforced that knowledge; seeing how Taako interacted with the others (and how the others teased everyone as well) proves that Taako being mean normally shows he cares.

He states instead at the fireplace; it’s still kinda dirty because no one has wanted to clean it out from when Lup caused it to flare up during a particularly intense board game night (they banned board games when the fire was going after that, at least while Lup was in her lich form. Far too much magical energy waiting to be released).

“Angus. You sure you’re feeling okay?”

He doesn’t mean to flinch, but seeing a hand come towards his face after already being stressed all day caused him to react unfavorably.

The hand yanks itself away, and Angus forces himself to look over at Taako, apology already leaving. “Sorry, sir. I just didn’t expect it- I’m fine, really.” He almost says ‘I promise,’ but stops himself. He doesn’t like lying, and it wouldn’t have been a lie but it wouldn’t have been the full truth.

Taako doesn't seem to believe him anyways, as he squints at him. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Angus starts, “I’m not sick!”

“I know you’re not sick, but you’re acting all weird.” He wiggles his fingers, and it almost makes Angus laugh.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. It only makes his stomach clench even more. His face gets hot, and suddenly his throat is tight and he can’t- he can’t do it- he doesn’t want-

“I need to move out.” The words leave him at once, just barely slow enough to be comprehensible.

The soft conversation in the kitchen stops at once, though neither of them walk over to the couch. Taako is staring at him, face blank.

He finds himself beginning to ramble. He hates it, he’s normally more composed, but working a case is much, much easier than navigating people he cares about. “Mr. Miller offered me a position at his school once I graduate, and the school is on the other side of town. I can’t make the commute each day, it’s too far and the walk would be too much. So, I found a small place that’s cheap, and once I get access to my parents money they left me I’ll be fine on that front. And-”

“Miller? Lucas Miller?” Taako cuts him off. He hasn’t done that in a long while, and it shuts Angus up immediately.

“Yes? He’s opening his school, the Academy of Arcane Sciences.”

“And he wants you to teach there?”

Angus' face flushes, and he gets hot with indignation. “I’m very smart, sir. I am very qualified to teach, and it’s not a stretch that he would seek me out and-”

Taako puts his hands up. “Not what I was implying. You’re just young.” He glares off to the side, before pulling his crystal out. “Thought Miller was above hiring a child.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“How old are you, then?” Taako glances back over at him, eyebrows raised in that annoying way he gets when he thinks he’s made an excellent point. He’s typing without looking down, and Angus wants to know what he’s doing.

“I- that’s not what I meant.”

Taako leans back on the couch, looking back at his crystal. “You should be focused on being a kid, not teaching nerds at Lucas’s subpar school.”

The indignation that started when Taako brushed off what he’s been worrying about has been building and building. He clenches his hands into fists, letting the book drop to the floor as he stands and yells, “stop trying to make me have the childhood you wanted!”

He regrets it immediately, but can’t bring himself to look at Taako. The room is so, so quiet. It’s almost worse than if they yelled at him. He runs past the couch, dodging the hand that reaches out as he passes by Taako. He slips into the room he’s been staying in, closing the door and locking it behind him. He sits on the floor, back resting against his bed, and shoves his face into his knees, pulling them tightly into himself.

At least he made it easy, right? He’ll wait for Taako to cool down, finish packing his things, and leave.

He doesn’t even know why he said that. He knows Taako was just being nice, even if he phrased it poorly. He just wants him to be a kid because he knows what it’s like to not have a childhood. Angus had no reason to say that. He didn’t mean it.

The hot press of tears builds in his eyes and he forces them down. He has no right to cry when he was the one in the wrong.

Knowing Taako, Lup, and Barry are in there, talking about him, is almost as bad as the guilt. Not knowing what they’re saying is disquieting.

It doesn’t take long for a soft knocking on his door to fill the room. He says nothing, but looks up at it. He stares at the handle, checking it’s still locked.

“Angus, it’s Lup. Can I come in?”

He considers not answering. They’ve been good about not barging in before, when he makes it clear he wants to be alone. He doesn’t want to be alone, though. He’s just not sure he wants to have this conversation.

“Yeah.” He stands, unlocking the door and holding the handle. Breathes. Opens the door.

Ears tilted down low, Lup stands there with hands in a neutral position at her side. Gods, she’s being so aware of her movements right now so she doesn’t startle him. He turns, walks over to his desk, and stands by it. He’s now very aware of his backpack and small suitcase against the wall, half-packed. Not enough to be obvious, but enough so that when he told them he was moving he could do so quickly.

Lup is staring at it. She hesitates, then goes to sit on his bed. She doesn’t shut the door all the way, leaving it just barely cracked.

He hates being treated like this.

“We’re not mad.” She begins, and Angus can’t bring himself to look at her as she talks, staring instead at his bags. “Taako isn’t mad either. We’re just confused as to why you want to move out.”

Angus furrows his brow, glancing over to Lup for a second before retraining his eyes on his bags, “I told T- I said that it was too far for me to walk there each day.”

“Me and Barry have basically mastered rifts, we could bring you there and back you know. So could Kravitz.”

“I already thought about asking you to, but you’re called to go help the Raven Queen randomly, and I wouldn’t want to be stuck on campus.” He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, “I didn’t phrase it very well out there.” He forces himself to make eye contact, “I am very grateful for everything you all have provided me, and I’m not leaving because I’m unhappy or anything. I just know I’ll be fine on my own, and I really want to go to school.”

Lup purses her mouth, “I’m not going to argue that you aren’t responsible or that you couldn’t live on your own. But you are young, there’s no reason you should be teaching at this age.”

“I’m not though! I’m finishing high school, and then student teaching until I graduate from his school. I’ll just be helping the professors until I have the proper qualifications.” He clenches his hands, trying to keep himself calm. He doesn’t like when people don’t understand what he’s saying.

She takes in what he says, keeping her gaze steady. “Okay. That’s better. But, you still shouldn’t be living on your own, little dude.”

“I used to-”

She holds her hand up, “come on, this is a group conversation. The other two people living here should be here for this.” Angus casts an anxious glance at the door when she says that. She continues on, “before we go out there, though, we do need to talk about what you said.”

Panic fizzles through him again. “I know! I didn’t mean it, and I’m really, really sorry. I just got frustrated because he was patronizing me and I don’t like being treated like that. I’m very smart and capable- I’ve done- I’m just-” He feels his emotions begin to well up again, and it only makes him more upset. He knows he’s more mature than this. He’s caught numerous serial killers, solved murder cases, and helped so many people. He can keep up with serious adult conversations, as well as banter with everyone easily. He’s good at words. He hates getting sensitive like this.

“Hey, hey. Angus, it’s okay. Breathe.” She steps towards him, moving slowly to not startle him and he hates how he’s already shown that she needs to do that. “Taako was being rude when you spoke to him, no one is denying that. But what you said at the end was also pretty rude. And we understand needing to take a minute to ourselves, but we have to make sure we have hard conversations. You’re telling us you don’t want us to treat you like a child, and we are not going to baby you. But you are still very young, especially compared to us.” She closes the gap to him and rests a hand on his shoulder, kneeling down. “Being mature means hard conversations. Being nice means having harder conversations. All we want from you, Angus, is for you to be honest with us and listen to us when we want to be honest with you.” She removes her hand from his shoulder and spreads her arms wide, offering a hug.

If he says no, she won’t make a fuss. He knows this.

He crashes into her, smushing her face into her shoulder. Her arms tighten around him as she runs her hand through his hair. “Here’s the plan. We go out there, Taako apologizes to you for being an asshole, you apologize for snapping, and then we all talk about you moving out, okay?”

Pulling his head away from her shoulder, he nods. He knows if he tried to speak, he would devolve into tears. She smiles and pulls him back into the hug.

They stay there for another moment, before Angus pulls away. Lup stands and gestures for him to lead the way.

His stomach clenches again, but some it’s not as intense as it was a few minutes ago.

They walk down the short hallway, and find Taako and Barry sitting on the couch. Both are staring at them as they enter the room, and Angus finds his hands twisting into the hem of his shirt.

“I shouldn’t have said that, sir. I’m sorry.” Angus says it fast. He hopes it doesn’t sound dishonest, the way it tumbled out of his mouth, but he knows if he slowed down the tears would fall too and he doesn’t want that.

Taako moves to stand, but Angus watches as Barry’s hold on his hand keeps him on the couch. Taako, instead smiles. “It’s okay, Ango. I was being an ass first. Should have listened to you all the way instead of cutting you off. Taako’s better than that.”

Lup brushes past Angus, moving to sit on the armchair next to the couch. Angus stays where he is. “I am still moving, though.”

No one speaks for a moment, but all three of them look at each other. After a moment of silent conversation, the type born from living together for a long, long time, Taako speaks up. “Okay. We’ve been talking about getting a bigger house anyways. This one is too close to the city and when the others visit it’s far too crowded. We need more extra bedrooms.”

Angus blinks. Then blinks again. “What?”

Lup sighs. “That’s one way to bring it up. We’ve already been talking about it- there’s a chunk of land just outside of the east end of the city. It’s not far from the school we assume is the one you plan on attending. Magnus has already said he’ll help us fix up the house there.”

He is still wildly confused.

Barry gathers that, and he sighs, “we will all move. So you can be closer to your school.”

He starts shaking his head, “no, you guys just settled down, you don’t need to do that.”

“Do you really think you could make us do anything we don’t want to do?” Taako asks as he begins to walk over to Angus. He mimics the position Lup took earlier, squatting in front of him. “If you really don’t want to live with us, fine. But we had already been talking about getting a bigger place. This isn’t a sudden decision- if Krav wasn’t on some mission he could tell you the same thing. The house we were looking at was empty before the Hunger arrived, and it got fucked up even more during the fight, so the land there is cheap. So if you want to stay with us- and I’m not asking what you think we want, I’m asking what you want- then one of the rooms will be yours.”

The tears he’s been working so hard to hold back begin to fall, so he just nods quickly. He lets Taako pull him into a hug, “I’d- I like living with you. Are you- you sure?”

“When has Taako ever lied?”

Angus just laughs, and does so even harder when he hears a pillow thwack against the back of Taako’s head (it’s a common occurrence in this house).

He feels someone approach on the side, and their hug is yanked to the side, both of them stumbling as Lup pulls them towards her, and he glances up to see Barry hovers right beside them. Taako must see him too, “Come on, Barold. Looks like it’s hug time.”

It’s awkward, and not at all very comfortable, but it’s warm. Angus’s tears have dried up, and he’s about to pull away when the familiar zip of a portal being created precedes Kravitz’s voice.

“Oh, am I interrupting?”

Taako laughs, “just missing out on a group hug.”

“Come on,” Lup speaks up now, her voice coming from just behind Angus’s ear, “it’s a family hug.”

Angus barely has time to process that when Kravitz steps forward. He’s almost as awkward as Barry, but it’s nice.

They separate eventually, Lup heads back to the kitchen to finish the food, with Barry close behind. Kravitz gives Taako a hello kiss, the two of them sitting on the couch, and from their low tones Angus can tell Taako is giving him a quick rundown of… today.

Angus see’s his book was placed on the coffee table at some point, and sits on the armchair once he grabs it, pushing Taako's discarded jacket to the side. Opening it to where he left off, the page is bent with a large crease down the center, from when he dropped it on the floor. He reads for a minute, before Taako speaks up.

“Mending should get rid of that crease, if you like.” Taako says.

Angus just smiles and shakes his head. “It just proves it’s used.”

He shrugs, looking down at his crystal, and Kravitz nudges him. It causes Taako to huff and hold out the crystal. A flyer for a recreational soccer team is displayed.

Join the new Neverwinter recreational soccer league! Ages 10-14. Help your kids make new memories and friends- Create everlasting bonds!

Angus frowns, “what’s this?”

“Soccer team. Was looking for one in the area when we started looking for potential houses to move to. Planned on signing you up.”

Tears begin to well up in his eyes again, and Angus finds himself frustrated. Not with Taako, no, of course not. Not now, not with this. But with himself, and how emotional he’s being.

Because he’s been talking about Caleb Cleveland books at Taako for so long now, and he’d always assumed he’d only been tolerating it. But Caleb Cleveland was a part of a soccer team- it wasn’t even a big part of the books. Angus has probably only mentioned it once or twice. And yet, Taako specifically looked for a soccer team and-

“Thank you, Taako!” He grins, and the way Taako’s ears are flickering, he knows he’s embarrassed.

“Just thought you could use the exercise. You know, you can’t be running around solving crimes if you can’t run.”

The smile doesn’t leave his face as he snarks back, “but sir, you never do physical training and you saved the world.”

“I just transmute my legs to be strong and fast if I need it. Or get Magnus to carry me.”

He leans further onto Kravitz, who smiles. “Or he just calls me to pick him up.”

“Exactly!”

Snuggling back into his chair, Angus holds the book close to his chest, “thank you, really, sir.”

“Come on, little dude. We’ve been over this. The ‘sir’ thing is so formal.”

“Would you prefer me to call you ‘sappy bitch’?” He turns up his fake innocent charm, the one he uses often on cases, as he says it.

Kravitz bursts out laughing, and he can hear Barry and Lup in the kitchen do the same.

Taako flares up, pointing an accusing finger at him, “who taught you that kind of fucking language!”

“I’ve always known curse words!”

“Not in my house!” Taako stands, and Angus climbs out of the chair and starts running. He knows what will happen if Taako catches him, so he runs to Barry, calling out for help.

Barry, the traitor, only holds him still so Taako can grab him and ruffle his hair. He begins yelling at Barry, cursing his name, but it’s hard to get the words out through his laughter.

Kravitz is the one who saves him, pulling him out of their arms and holding him high in the air. “Do not assault the child, please.”

Taako steps towards Kravitz, “you heard what he called me, didn’t you?”

“And he was right.”

Taako’s affronted gasp is so loud, it must scratch at his throat as he begins coughing.

Angus is giggling, kicking his dangling feet lightly in the air.

Whatever Lup is pulling off the stove smells delicious, and he cannot wait to begin eating.

As they sit down, Taako looks over at him and says, "you know, you should be careful about accepting a teaching job at Lucas's lame school. Taako here is working on a much cooler idea, and he could use a smart kid like you, if you can pass the rigorous application process."

"What is it?" Angus asks, getting excited. He hasn't heard Taako talking about anything like this.

"Top secret."

Angus laughs, "it won't be for long!"

"You're pre-emptively fired, then."

"Wait-"

[crash-cinematic-universe]

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!!  (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names ,  @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling​ 

1. 

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up. 

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew. 

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture. 

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love. 

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames. 

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in. 

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him. 

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet. 

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though. 

“That would be nice,” He said softly. 

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24. 

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.” 

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces. 

2. 

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway. 

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower. 

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights. 

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it. 

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about. 

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around. 

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though. 

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content. 

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head. 

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

3. 

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers. 

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive. 

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death. 

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be. 

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep. 

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.  

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

 “What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants. 

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask. 

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.” 

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape. 

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away. 

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--” 

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins. 

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid. 

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away. 

 “Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed. 

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that? 

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top. 

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside. 

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.” 

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made. 

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.” 

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

4.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it. 

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun. 

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology. 

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet. 

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.  

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways. 

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it. 

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine. 

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back. 

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad. 

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet. 

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear. 

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do. 

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist. 

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

5.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him. 

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face. 

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime. 

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

[cruecifymesixx]

Love and Leather /part eighty nine/

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: Hi! Enjoy the update!

Warnings:major angst

Taglist:   , @miserablecunt , @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, ,  @a-simple-salmon,  @hi-my-name-is-riley, @extremesadnerding, @thatbandchick39, @awkwrdcait, @countrygirlswonderland, @awesomealmostdopestudent, ,  @krazykatkay456, @terror-triplet, @shouttatthedevill-blog @beachystars, @rodriguez025, @kickstart-myheart-sixx, @s-outhie, @anxious-diabetic, @awkwardblackgirls-blog,  @shamelessobsessions, @jerseytaint, , @criminalyetminimal, @motley-queen, @trapt-in-a-dream,  @broke-n-bitchy​,  @lovesick-heart0, @keepcalm-and-beyou, @miriampraez, @teenwolflover28, @lilyhw1, @herbertweeest, @random-internet-user-4471, @falcon-arrows, @talranocchia2001,  @waywardprincess666, @iluvmesomemarvelndc, @vamprlestat, @supersoldierballerina, @electradestiny, @marshbev, @n0-sh0rtage-0f-faults, @cruebaby, @ggorehorror, @valentines-in-london, @nassauartist  @cmft-jr-winchester, @bokkie92, @notworthyofyou1120 @xrosegoldwolfx, @mgkobsessed, @chaoticvybe,  @kellysimagines @thoughtsoftheantagonist @marvelismylifffe, @sleepyjunhong  @meetthesixxter @sparxx27 @gingerspicetalks @kaitieskidmore1 @unknownoblivion @nevergoodenuffbutokaaayyy @sublimeprincesswasteland @kylieinwonderland @haileynicoleseavey17 @lavendersoundbarrier @xxisxxisxxis, @dogmom2014, @cruesixxlover1991,  @m0rnlngstar,  @findingmyths,  @i-want-to-shoot-myself, @arianareirg, @fentitrbl, @patheticgay69 , @redlipscrystalskies14, @samanthadegaro @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @thechangingme, , @makaelahdelvalle

*Nikki’s POV*

I sighed heavily through my nostrils, resting my head against the couch as I sucked on a hard piece of watermelon flavored candy. Dr. Peterson left a few very persistent voicemails on my phone as well as pages on my pager, attempting to get me to come to the therapy office. Reluctantly I agreed, but I wish I didn’t as I assumed Vanity would be here too, however she’s not.

“Hey Doc…” I speak lightly when she walks in, sitting directly across from me in the leather chair as she crosses one knee over the other.

“Thank you for coming in Nikki, I’m sure you are a very busy man.” She eyes the handful of empty candy wrappers on the oak coffee table, “It’s new candy, I just put it there today…and looks like I have to add more.” She smiles as she jokes.

“I like the strawberry ones better…and it’s okay, I wasn’t super busy today. Sorry for taking long to get back to you.” I sit up more in the chair as she opens up her folder and takes out the good ‘ol notepad.

“So how’ve you been? Anything new?”

I shake my head, “I’m okay, just been busy. We finally wrapped up the album, then we do some promoting and then we hit the road for tour.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that it’s hectic and time consuming. Have you taken anytime for yourself to relax recently?”

My lips pull into a small grin, “Is this where you poke my brain and tell me I’m putting myself into work too much?”

Crystal chuckles a bit, “Do you think you’re putting too much of yourself into work?”

“It’s my job? I kinda don’t have a choice. Not like anyone else is writing songs, well good ones for that matter.”

She nods, “So you’re the one in charge? excuse my ignorance, I don’t really follow your music. I’m sure that’s stressful having everyone depend on you. Do you deal with stress well?”

I shrugged, “I don’t have to write all the songs, it just happens that way.” I chuckle a bit under my breath, “Too loud for you? I mean, yeah it’s stressful. I used to go out and get high, but then that overtook everything. Now I just work out or take my camera out or write more songs to relax.”

“Just not my cup of tea, Nikki. Have you done any of that recently? Vanity mentioned shopping helps her relax.”

I roll my eyes and laugh, “Anything that revolves around spending money sounds good to her. And no, I haven’t had the time. Stuck at rehearsal with the band and when I’m not at rehearsal I’m hanging out with the band at a bar.” I stare when she writes something down, “Taking notes already?”

She glances at me, “I do it with everyone, you know that. So you only hang out with the guys? The same guys you’re around all day? You never really escape work, do you?”

“Well…I mean no…but I have fun when I’m with them. Tommy and I are like practically married and Mick is fun and John is cool too. I see Tommy constantly cause Van and Clementine are best friends. Sometimes it’s a little much. At times I just want to take a break but I know I can’t because it’s my music and it keeps the nice things flowing and Arianna’s school.” I explain to her, “I mean…I would have enough to take a break for a long time but still…I don’t want too.”

“Tommy, right…Vanitys mentioned him a few times, same with Clementine. But why are you so worried about money? Vanity has money does she not?”

“Yeah…god mother of the year.” I roll my eyes, “Yeah, yeah…Van has plenty of money for her, she’s a great mom. I missed out on a lot the first few years of Arianna’s life so I just want to make up for that.”

“Well…as you know, everything you missed could have been prevented. Kids don’t remember a lot from their childhood anyways, with the exception of a severe traumatic even happening. They usually won’t start remembering moments until the ages of 7 and 8.”

I glare a bit, “I don’t need to be told the same thing I already know. If I had kept my dick in my pants I wouldn’t have missed anything, I know.” I lean forward reaching for another piece of candy and shoving it in my mouth.

“Theres no reason to jump to the defense Nikki. We’re just talking.” I would think she was being condescending if she wasn’t a damn therapist.

“Right-“ I roll my eyes, “Talking? You’re blaming me for it.”

“Well who is to blame them? Vanity? You’d be surprised to know she never wants to talk about this.”

“Wait-no, no. You’re twisting my words. No, it’s not her fault, it’s mine. But still, she could have called or retuned my letter letting me know.” I defend myself as she looks at me.

“Nikki, we can spend all day talking about the things Vanity, should’ve or could’ve done differently. We can talk for hours about how things were suppose to go differently.”

“Then why the hell did you bother me? What could you possibly want to talk about if it’s not that?”

“How are the dates going? Let’s start there.”

I stare at her a moment, rubbing my knees as I take a breath, “I don’t know…Donna, she’s great but she’s just…she’s just not Vanity.” I look away feeling disappointed, not because it wasn’t working, but in myself. That it took me seeing someone else to figure out what I wanted, “Donna’s hot and funny, well tries to be funny. But she hangs on to every word I say, thinks I’m right about everything, doesn’t ever disagree with me…it’s…it’s boring. I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve been with Vanity for so long, that nobody else can compare or what. But I just…it’s not working. Donna’s too clingy anyways.”

“Really?” Crystal sounds surprised, “You were so vocal about seeing other people.”

“Well…I wasn’t excited about it. I did it because I thought thats what Van wanted. I just wanted to help fix us. I would do anything for us, for her.” I sigh as I lean back against the cushion.

“You thought.” She pointed out, “You assumed and didn’t really ask what would have helped, did you?”

“Well…I-“ I stumble over my words before sighing, “No, I didn’t. I just took the first suggestion that was brought up. I wanted to get out of the office before I was ganged up on.”

Crystal chuckles, “Nobody thought about ganging up on you Nikki. You just don’t like when you aren’t in control, that is both of your issues.”

“I don’t have control issues.” I glance at Crystal as she stares at me, “What? I don’t.”

“Yes you do, wether you like to admit it or not. You mentioned earlier it’s always you writing songs because nobody else will do it.” She says, using air quotes might I add as I glare in return, “I’m sure they would if you backed off and gave them a chance.”

“I just like to make sure things are perfect, there’s nothing wrong with that. Mick isn’t interested and Tommy wouldn’t even know where to start.”

“Nikki, maybe if you gave them a chance they would shine and pressure would be taken off your shoulders. Nothing has to be perfect, there’s no such thing as that.”

I roll my eyes, “Okay, so maybe I have a slight control problem but this, the band, has been the only thing in my life I actually have control over.”

“And the other parts you don’t? Can you tell me about it?”

I groan in annoyance, “Oh come on. I’m sure Vanity has mentioned a thing or two about me. I’m sure she’s told you all about the reason why I’m fucked up is because of my childhood.” I reach for a candy disk, unwrapping it before popping it into my mouth.

“The subject has came up once or twice but Vanity never dived deep, she said it wasn’t her place to talk about it. Do you want to talk about it?” She asks softly, like how every other therapist in the past has done.

“No, not really. But I just moved around a lot as a kid…”

“Oh, well I’m sure that had an affect on you. Always being the new kid and what not. Are you parents still together? They must be so proud of you.”

I laughed, probably a little too loud “God no. My dad split when I was a kid and my mom and I don’t talk, at all. Every time we do it explodes into something bigger.”

“I’m sorry for that, I’m sure it was hard without a dad in the picture. So your mom raised you?”

Again, I laugh, “Here and there when she wanted me. Half the time I’d be with my grandparents.”

She glances at me, “Is this why you’re so scared of failing as a father?”

I stare at her a moment, “I’m not like my dad. I didn’t just abandon the girls. I begged her to move here so we could be a family.”

“So…they had to uproot the life Vanity had built for them in New York to make you comfortable? Which is essentially what you had to do every time you moved as a child?”

I shake my head “You’re twisting my words. I just wanted them close. Vanity hated New York, she basically stayed for Clementine.”

Crystal shakes her head, “Are you assuming she hated it because she told me she loved it there.”

I chuckle l, “Loved it? Of course she loved it! She was nose deep in fucking coke when I got there.”

“And that’s a problem she’s been working on has she not?”

I sigh, “Yeah, yeah. And I’m proud of her. I know it’s not easy. But I’m not like my parents alright? I’m not just leaving Arianna high and dry nor am I leaving her alone in a run down fucking house okay?”

Crystal looks at me, her head slightly turning to the side, “If you know that, then why are you so worried about messing up? You sound like such a great dad Nikki, from what Vanity tells me. That little girl is lucky to have you.”

I exhale deeply as I nod a bit and lean back against the chair, “Because something always happens…”

“If you spend all your time waiting for bad things to happen you’ll miss out on everything life has for you. Can you give me an example of something happening?”

“I don’t know…I could relapse, Vanity could relapse. We could break up, she could fall in love with someone else and leave me…” I mumble the last part “..and I don’t want her to leave me.”

“You both work hard on your sobriety right? Then what is the worry?” Crystal looks at me, taking off her glasses as she leans forward a bit, “I think you need to spend less time worrying about her being with someone else and only worry about her being with you. Like I said earlier Nikki, we can spend all day talking about the what if’s but it doesn’t help anything or anybody in the long run.”

I frown a bit, “I guess you’re right…it doesn’t do me any good, just drives my anxiety up the wall.”

She smiles a bit, “See…I knew I could get through to you. Is there anything else you want to discuss? You said the dates you’re going on aren’t fulfilling?”

I nod, “Yeah they aren’t. I’d rather be at home with the girls.”

“So…now I’m gonna assume you and Vanity are going to sit down and talk? If this is how you’re feeling, plus with how she feels..”

“I want this to work with her. I need it to work. I can’t picture myself with anyone but her. I hated my ex wife because she wasn’t Van. I just forced myself to pretend that I tolerated her, let alone love her.”

“Then I think you two need to sit down and discuss what you both want from each other and what it will take to make it work. You can’t always blame your issues on your childhood, just like she can’t blame everything on her temper and how she reacts to stressful situations.”

I laugh under my breath and grin “Yeah, she does get mad at the slightest thing.”

She cracks a smile and nods, “That she does. But just like you, Vanity also needs the control. I think you two need to find a solid ground and share it evenly, 50/50. Not 25/75 or 60/40. But right down the middle.”

“And what if we can’t?”

“Nikki.” I sigh and let my shoulders fall back, “As long as you two actually talk about your problems instead of holding onto the anger and grudges. I think both of you also need to learn how to let certain things go.”

“Like the cheating?” I look at her, “She throws that in my face any chance she gets. I just don’t know how many times I can say sorry for it.”

Crystal nods, “I understand Nikki, I do. But put yourself in Vanity’s shoes okay? It’s a traumatic situation for anyone. Just think if the tables were turned. How would you feel? How would you’ve reacted? I believe what bothers her is the principal of it, if you being with someone else. She didn’t want to see it, just like mentioned earlier, you don’t want to see her with another man.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll work on being understanding and sharing control. I need to be home more, hopefully after this album I can take a break for a while and we can get to know each other again.”

“It’s not a bad thing to get to know one another again, you aren’t kids anymore.”

*Vanity’s POV*

“It’s okay Ari! Just brush it off and keep going!” I yell, cupping my hands around my mouth as I sit back down on the folding chair. I wince when I see Arianna trip over the soccer ball again and get a mouth full of dirt, “You’re doing great, sweetie!” I give her a smile when she looks over, glaring as she brushes the dirt off her knees.

“Come on Van, she can barely kick the ball without eating shit. Maybe soccer isn’t for her.” Nikki states, flicking a peanut shell at me. I glance down, seeing him laying on his side on the blanket, “We could try gymnastics. Or cheerleading.” He points in the direction of coaches surrounding a little league team.

I sigh as I slump back in the chair, groaning when Arianna falls again, “It’s only the first day of practice, Nikki. She’ll get the hang of it.”

“Or she’ll get kicked off the team.” Nikki laughs before sitting up and leaning against my leg, “However, it is pretty entertaining to watch.”

I roll my eyes and tap the back of his head, “She has to start somewhere, she can’t just be great over night. I know it took you some time to get good at bass playing.” I smirk a bit as he tilts his head back to look at me.

“Don’t go there. She clearly has no coordination at all and she’s kicking way to hard at the ball and that’s why she keeps falling.” He shakes his head when Arianna kicks the ball and hits another kid in the gut, “See? And she’s being a ball hog.”

“A ball hog? Maybe you need to coach this team instead, Sixx.”

“Well I do look good in stripes.” He laughs but it quickly stops when his phone starts ringing. I watch him dig it out of his pocket as he shakes his head and shoves it back in his jeans.

“If it’s a work call then take it.”

“No, no it’s fine. It’s just Donna, she can wait till later.” He tells me, glancing in my direction as we look at each other for a moment. I watch as he scratches the back of his neck before he looks back at the field, mumbling something under his breath.

I chuckle to myself when his phone starts ringing once more, he digs out of his pocket again before shoving it away, “I’m sure you wouldn’t want her upset with you since you’re ignoring her calls. It’s okay Nikki, you aren’t missing much, it’s just practice.” I explain to him as I see his back raise with a deep inhalation of a breath before he exhales.

“No. This is important, unlike making plans for another expensive restaurant or some stupid high end club.” Nikki spews out, I can hear the annoyed tone.

I clear my throat a bit, “Is everything okay with you..and her?” He side eyes me from the corner of his black shades as I see the corner of his mouth pull up a bit.

“Just...she’s...she’s just making it complicated. She’s asking for too much. Always wants to talk on the phone or hang out or meet up for coffee. She doesn’t grasp the idea of space. Donna wants to be a girlfriend and she’s not girlfriend material, at least not for me.” Nikki leans back on his hands, his legs stretched out on the blue and black flannel.

“Girlfriend material?” I question him as he turns his head to look at me.

“Yeah? You know...girlfriend material? She’s a great women but she couldn’t handle being with a rockstar. Grew up catholic and has all these beliefs that just make me want to gag. She’s hot but she can barely talk about anything other than the modeling and acting. I like someone that can at least tell me what they’re thinking at any given moment.” I feel him nudge my leg as he rests a dandelion on my knee, “I don’t know...it’s just fizzling out.”

I fumble with the yellow flower between my fingers as Nikki cheers for Arianna. My eyebrows pull together in confusion. He was just spending this whole past week with her so I wonder what could have changed. I was still thinking about everything Dr. Peterson had told me last week, I was nitpicking the pros and cons of the situation. Nikki had apologized the next day after our fight like always and then that turned into me being under him...like always. And then it was back to ignoring the problem.

“Hey Nik? Can we talk-“

“Mom! Mom! Did you see how good I’m doing?!”Arianna runs to me, exuberant as always before she’s taking the juice box Nikki hands to her.

“Of course baby! Daddy and I are so happy you’re enjoying it.” I smile at her, smoothing her hair back and wiping some dirt off the side of her cheek, “Just try to be careful okay? And let some of the other kids get the ball.”

She nods feverishly, “But coach Taylor said I’m doing a really good job!”

“And you are princess, but it’s a team sport. So you gotta let the others play with the ball too.” Nikki tells her as he ties the laces on her cleats and tucks them into her shoe, “Sixx’s always play as a team babe.”

“But Blackwoods know how to get the job done themselves.” I wink at her as she giggles and hands me her juice box, “Go finish and then we’ll grab some dinner and maybe ice cream.” Arianna nods before she gives me and Nikki a hug and runs off to the field again.

“So...how are you and Jon?” Nikki questions, almost uncomfortably as he glances at me for a split second.

I shrug, “He’s been busy with studio stuff so

I haven’t really talked to him that much. He calls every few days or so just to see how I’m doing.”

Nikki nods as he leans back on his elbows, “Oh…well that’s good at least…”

“Yeah, I guess?” I chuckle a bit and shake my head, “It’s not like you really care.” 

“Yes I do..” I glance when Nikki mumbles, picking blades of grass and flicking them away. I chuckle at his words and shake my head, my eyes going back to soccer practice.

“Yeah, okay Nikki.”

“I’m gonna go get a drink at the concession stand.” He mutters quietly, getting up as his bangs fall over his eyes. I glance at him as he shakes his head and runs his hands through his hair as he walks across the field. I look down, noticing the unopened bottle of Coca Cola from earlier.

*A few days later*

I took a deep breath in and exhaled as I paced nervously outside of Nikki’s office door. Why was talking about how we felt so scary for us? My heart was racing as I hear the light hum of bass strings being pulled. Nikki had came home from having lunch with Donna an hour ago and slammed every single door he went through, so I wasn’t sure what had happened. I said hi to him but he brushed me off and went straight up the stairs.

I crack my knuckles as I try to find the courage inside of me to knock on the door. I just wanted to talk and I figured with Arianna being at school still, it would be the best time to do so. Ya know, in case of it getting ugly.

My lips puff up as I exhale deeply, glancing at anarchy as she’s sprawled out on the floor watching me, “Wish me luck.” I knock on the mahogany door, not hearing any response to come in. I wait a second before reaching for the doorknob and slowly cracking it open, seeing him hunched over in the usual position when he plays his bass with headphones on. I watch him for a moment as he reaches for his journal and writes something down. He notices me through the reflection on the blank computer screen.

Nikki turns around in his chair as he takes off the headphones and smiles “Hey sorry. I just had an idea and I wanted to play it while I had it.”

“No, no it’s okay. I get it. I uh just wanted to talk but you’re busy so we can just talk later.” I stay by the door, gripping the handle as I swallow the lump in my throat.

Nikki stares at me for a moment “No, come sit.” He motions to the futon, “What’s going on?” He sounds concerned as he rolls his chair closer.

“Okay..” I mumble as I sit criss cross on the cushion as I hold the pillow in my lap, “I went and talked to our therapist the other day to get some things off my chest and now I want to talk to you about them.” I take a breath as I look at him, he looks as worried as I feel, “I-I just feel like we aren’t getting anywhere. That this-“ I motion between us “..isn’t going anywhere.”

“You think that?” I notice the slight frown playing on his lips “I took the advice the therapist gave, Van. I didn’t want too….is this about me locking you out? If it is I’m sorry, I was just messing around.”

“Yes, I think and feel that. Like we’re just not letting go and we’re trying to stay together for the sake of Arianna. No, no it’s not because you locked me out. I’ve been feeling like this for a while now..”

“Is that what you want? For this to be over?” Nikki stares at me as he gnaws on his bottom lip, “Are you breaking up with me?” It’s faint but I hear it and it makes my heart heavy.

“I-I I don’t know..”

“My dates with Donna haven’t been that fun, not like how they are with you.”

I smile a bit before it fades, “I just feel like it’s me that’s trying to save our relationship, or what little is left to save. I’m just confused Nikki.”

“What’s there to be confused about Van? You either want to be with me or you don’t.” I stare at him, I wish it was as simple as that but it’s not. 

“Do you wanna be with me?” I ask him as he chuckles a bit and rolls closer to me.

“Vanity, of course I want to be with you. You should already know the answer to that. It’s always going to be you every time.” I look away at the painting on the wall as he touches my knees, his thumb gently rubbing back and forth.

“I just feel like our relationship is one sided now. I told you from the start I didn’t want to do this, seeing other people. I vocalized how much I was against it and you still wanted to do it anyways.”

Nikki nods as he lets out a deep breath “I know, I know. I should have listened to what you were saying. It put an even bigger strain on our relationship. I broke things off with Donna today. She was just getting on my nerves. I was only going out with her because I saw how much fun you were having with Jon and how happy you looked. It made me jealous because the whole time I was miserable.”

“You didn’t seem like it..I don’t want to break up. I just wish it wasn’t so hard all the time. We aren’t kids anymore, it feels like how it did 10 years ago and I feel like it shouldn’t be. It should be easy for us by now. Do you think other couples have it this hard?”

Nikki chuckles as he gets off the chair and sits down next to me, “No baby, I don’t. Because not everyone is as complicated as you and me. What do you want from me Van? You want me to actually work on us instead of finding excuses not to?” I glance at him as he smiles at me.

“But that makes me feel like a bitch when you say it like that. I feel selfish. Do you want this?”

“Vanity, you may be a temperamental brat and a pain in my ass sometimes, but you aren’t selfish. You’re far from it.” He reaches for my hand as he brings it up to his lips “I want this. I want you and only you. We shouldn’t be doing this because of Arianna, we should be doing this because we love one another and cause we want this to work. I do love you Vanity.”

“I know you do and I love you too.” I feel him kiss my knuckles again as he’s gently pulling me closer and into his lap. I feel him wrap his arms around me as he lays his head against my shoulder. I sigh as I lay my cheek atop of his head and let my nails run over his neck and back.

“I’m sorry for making you feel this way. Like we weren’t gonna have a chance. I never wanted to do that.” He tells me as I nod and kiss his temple.

“I know you didn’t do it on purpose, it’s okay. I just worry and overthink sometimes because you’re you. You’re Nikki Sixx. You could literally have anyone you want and I could be so easily replaced at any moment. It just scares me.”

Nikki looks up at me and laughs, “You? Oh come on you’re joking. Doll I love you just the way you are. Sure, models and playboys are hot but they couldn’t even touch you. They’re not the ones running out of the house applying make up and dragging a kid behind them because they’re running late. Or throwing water on dinner because they forgot they were even cooking. They don’t have eyes that remind me of the ocean when the sun shines. They don’t have soft lips for me to kiss, even when my breath is so fucking rancid in the morning.”

“Hey I haven’t set dinner on fire in a few months alright?” I laugh a bit as I lean forward to give him a kiss, “Thank you for saying that.”

Nikki licks his lips as he leans back against the couch to look at me, “Plus who else on this planet is able to make me cry? Besides Arianna, she’s just harsh.”

“Yeah she has been pretty mean to you lately hasn’t she?” I chuckle as I move pieces of hair back and out of his face.

“Yeah all because I wouldn’t let her crawl into the that claw machine at the arcade a few weeks ago. You know she put her blue goo in my boots? That’s not something I ever want to feel again.” He shudders as he looks at me and smiles “I’ve also been trying to meditate and write my feelings out instead of keeping them inside.”

“Oh! So that’s why you’ve been sitting at the pool every morning? I thought you were just having a mid life crisis or something.” I grin and laugh when he pinched my hip.

“Hey just because I’m getting closer to 40 doesn’t mean shit.”

“Kinda does a little bit, Nikki.” I lean forward and squint “is that….is that a grey hair?” I tease him as I pretend to pluck it out of his hair.

“Oh shut the hell up. You have them too probably.” He rolls his eyes as he pretends to pout.

“Oh no no baby. Not on this head of hair, you won’t find a single thing.”

Nikki leans forward as he gives me a quick and simple kiss, “Well whenever it happens, I’ll still love you when you’re old and grey.”

[alvhiedeir]

Little Red Elf

Thor X Reader

3174 words

This is longer than intended and quite different than requested and I have no excuse than my lack of discipline but I hope this is good enough

You are seriously thinking about investing on a security camera.

No, it wasn't that you were worried about being robbed. It's was being, 'gifted'.

In an almost daily basis, different items would make it's way to your doorstep. Black roots, hyacinth, hellebores, poppies and other herbs that would usually not grow around the area. It was nice, that was the first thought you had. You were no Circe, the great witch of Aiaia, but such ingredients could and did help greatly with your draughts. So as much as this occurrence should startle you, you brushed it off as the doing of one of your friends working for Lord Osanyin who would usually send you samples of anything new. You figured business was just doing better than usual for her to give you this much.

Two weeks, it continued on. When you rise for the day, there would be a neatly placed bundle of herbs or plant on your front steps. Always perfectly centered. And for two weeks, you accepted each and everything in such giddiness.

That is until you until today.

"I haven't been given you anything, (y/n)," She turned away from the selves she was organizing and continued, "it's been pretty busy lately for the last month with the arrival of new supply from Asia."

Her answer gave you a sudden feeling of uneasiness.

"Then who," your voice trailed, dragging the weariness and alert in the air. Your friend was quick to catch the shift of your mood.

"But think about it," she placed the bottle she was holding and walked towards you, "those herbs are rare and what are the chances of a random miscreant obtaining it?"

It eased your nerves a bit to hear her words.

"Or maybe, you finally have an admirer even if your always holed up in your home!"

She laughed at the jesting glare you sent.

"Like you're any better, cat lady."

"Hey! Having four cats does not count as being a cat lady!"

"Sure, whatever you say."

You shared a laugh, the tension thinning out. After saying a few words, she went back to the counter to pack the herbs that you bought, the reason why you were there in the first place.

"You bought quite a lot. What is it for anyway?"

"Loki wanted some draughts to "bring entertainment around this damn boring halls", his words not mine."

She laughed, commenting how it sounded just like him. She handed you the carefully packed products, with a small purple ribbon tied on the basket as she always did for you.

Just as you're about to leave she called out.

"If you're still disturb about the whole mysterious gifts, why don't you try staying up to see who it is?" You thanked her for her suggestion and concern and with a wave, headed back home.

To say the least, her suggestion was not very successful.

After you went home, you got started on the ordered draughts and by the time the moon greeted the sky, your eyes were already heavy. Being stubborn, you stayed sitting in your kitchen, chair facing the window to see if anyone or anything would past by.

The minutes were slow and before you knew it, the sun has reclaimed its place. And there was yet another gift. A freshly uprooted crab apple tree that barely passes as an adult. How in the world did they get this one?

Another week fast approached and the gifts arrived just as fast. Cornel bark, elecampane, silver fir, the list goes on. Each night, you attempt to desperately stay awake to catch but a glimpse would always end up with you succumbing to sleep. It didn't matter if it was for hours or a mere minute, by the moment your eyelids flutter open, it was already there. Perfectly centered as always, in an almost mocking way.

"You missed us again", you could hear the ridicule from it.

As days flutter, the gifts and your frustrations would only intensify. One time it was antlers from a dear Australia. The other day it was the tusk of a bore. Yesterday it was the blood of steed. The last one made you panic a bit, but thankfully in came only in a small vial. It eased your nerves, albeit slightly that the animal was minimally harmed.

You tried sleeping in the morning so that so that you could roam at night. But when you rise from your chair for a drink or to go the toilet, the sneaky bastard have already placed another gift. You went as far as sitting on your doorstep for the whole night, but even that didn't help. The gift was on your window.

You were at your wits end with this "Persistent Santa" shenanigans (it was your friend who called them that. It was that or creepy-pile-of-dung-that-had-to-much-time). Whoever they were, they are good.

You sighed tiredly again, the dark bags proving Your fruitless efforts.

"Wow, you look miserable!" You silently snapped at the voice, too sleepy to argue but to proud to ignore it. His laugh was laugh, always happy to see others demise.

"Just give me the money, Loki." You impatiently thrust the basket full of draughts to him, eager to leave and maybe sleep for a few days.

"Aren't you greedy." The more he teases you, the more punching him right in the face became an increasingly good option. As if reading your voice, he raised his hands in mock surrender.

" I would pay you, but," he dragged his voice as floated closer to you, "I dont have my money right now. And the old man is calling me so can you wait a few minutes for me?" He smiled, oh-so-mockingly sweet at you.

A tomato would have been jealous of the tint of your check. The itching call for violence is now an unignorable howler. But before you can give in, the god of mischief is already pushing you into one of the rooms, claiming your silence as agreement. In a blink, you were in a well decorated room. The walls were cream in color and golden leaves decorated the corners. Threre were shelves of book against one side of the wall and-

"Wait a minute." Snapping out of your trance, you shouted, voice filled with vile, "Loki!"

But sadly, it came too late and the door have already been shut and only his feint mocking voice telling "enjoy!" Was heard from the other side.

You could sighed, pity for your own predicament. Moving towards one of the shelves with a colorful string of curse words following, you might sa well entertain yourself with something. The books were more old, and probably cost more than your soul. Each one was placed neat and organized, neither a speck or spot of dust could be seen. But one particular book caught your eye.

With a gentle finger, you traced the gold imprints on its spine.

Herbs, Medicine and Witchcraft

Unlike everything else, this one book was placed different. It was pulled slightly forward, as if recently placed back but someone else other than the organizer. When you pull it out, you also noticed the small, almost miniscule dirt on its cover. But other than that, it was nothing special.

"I didn't think they'll have this kind of book."

You sat down and flipped on a random page. It was filled with information about different plants that can be used for both medicine and, surprisingly witchcraft. It included their typical use, characteristics, side effects and their locations. And it was very specific too.

"I wonder if I can borrow this."

Page upon page was flipped, despite the fascination dwelling in you, drowsiness became unbearable. It was just so quiet and peaceful here. Maybe a few minutes won't hurt, right?

"Loki will be there for a while anyway. Might as well." Your reasoning seemed to make sense with your tired eyes and you rest your head. Not even bothered by the fact that you used the book as your pillow.

It'll just be few minutes anyway.

It wasn't a few minutes.

Slowly, your eyelids fluttered as consciousness begin to come back. You sighed contently, that nap certainly helped with your mood. You buried your nose deeper into the soft cloth you leaned on and inhaled. It smelled like fresh lilacs and the sun.

Wait, cloth?

You lifted your head and saw, indeed there was a neatly folded cloth on the place of the book. It was pale apricot, almost faded white and now that you are looking properly, it was a short robe?

"I starting to think you were not going to wake up."

Do you know the sound of a startled walrus with a respiratory disease? Imagine that, but worse. That how you sounded as you whipped your head in surprise to the voice. Right beside you was the god of thunder himself, Thor. The difference in size between him and the chair he was resting on was almost comical. You would have laughed if it wasn't for the fact you want to live a longer.

"He-hello Thor-sama." Damnit, what did you stutter?

He casted his eyes sideways to acknowledge your greeting, glacing right back into reading afterwards.

Looking yourself, it was then you noticed the book he was reading was the one you were previously sleeping on.

"It didn't seem like you were using it," his voice was monotone as for usual, "aside as a pillow, that is."

Ahh, the sheer pleasure of being swallowed by the ground right now would be nice.

"Ah! That- I! Yes..." You simply stared at your lap instead, fist clenched tightly on top. Better to stay quiet that to embarrass yourself further.

Thor was in between being an acquaintance and  a work friend. Neither of you talked much, aside from greetings and small talk but was more than used to his presence with the number of times you had to deliver things to Loki, enough so that you don't have to tremble everytime you meet.

But sitting this close, in a close space, alone, this was definitely the first time.

And it'll be the last if you're not careful.

The silence was suffocating, for you at least. You have almost jumped in your sit when he flipped a page in the book.

A minute passed and you are so closed to jumping out of the window. The room was too quiet. Making small talk won't be bad at times like this right?

"It's a nice book."

Wow. If you could, you would have hit yourself in the back of your head. Great thinking, really.

He merely nodded and the silence dragged once again.

"There's a lot of useful information in it."

Stop, just stop. Please stop digging your own grave.

"That's why it's a shame to be drooled on."

"I do not drool!"

In the distant, the sound of funeral bells rang clear in your head. The life you lived was good. Your friend will remember what flower you wanted to be placed on your coffin, and she can have your house, maybe even your-

Before you could complete your will, you heard a smallest of chuckle from the other god.

Huh?

You stared at Thor and sure enough, there's the tiniest arch in his lips. His eyes remains on the pages but - shit - has he always been this pretty?

Between the brief greetings and quick glances, it was hard to appreciate his beauty. Though mostly blank, his face was clear and smooth. Not a single blemish as one might expect from a god who knew battlefield as his home. He was no Aphrodite nor comparable to Paris, but he himself held a beauty of his own. You couldn't quite decide on if it was the light from the window or it was simply him that was glowing?

His neck flexed in the smallest notion as he read. The muscles of his shoulders were relaxed against the table.

Heavens. Those muscles.

You blushed on your thoughts. You tear your eyes away from his physique, the wooden table suddenly very interesting.

"It is rare to see you without Mjolnir, Thor-sama."

"I don't bring him when I read."

"Him?" The question lingered on your head. Was Thor one of 'those' people?

"Do you read often?"

"No."

"Are you interested in herbal medicine?"

"No."

"Is that so?" Your answer was awkward just as the air around you. But to the very least, the tension have eased out knowing that he didn't  obliterate you so far.

"Um, Thor-sama?"

Curse you and your need to fill in the silence.

"May I ask why you are reading a book about witchcraft? You do not seem the type to be interested in it." Realizing what you said was potentially insulting, you quickly apologized, eyes wide as you tried to explain. "Not that you don't look like it! What I mean is, um, - that." You stumbled over your own words with nervousness but he simply kept his eyes in the book, barely even glancing at you.

"... give you." His voice made you stop with your gibberish. Catching only the tail-end of his words, you looked at him questioningly. Only then did you realize that it has almost been a minute since he flipped a page, almost as if your question startled him as well.

"Ma-may you repeat that?"

There was a short pause before his answer came.

"So that I know what to give you."

Furrowed brows and confused eyes marked your features.

"So that I know what to give you."

His words repeated in your head, like an stubborn echo inside a cavern.

"I know what to give you."

"Give you."

"Give."

Oh shit.

"You're the Persistent Santa?!" The chair you previously sat on collided with the floor with a loud "thud". Hands planted heavily against the table, you casted accusing eyes to him.

Before any other words were uttered, your senses made its way back to your head like a harsh slap of water. You just yelled at the strongest Norse god. You might as well have dug your own hole and painted your tombstone.

But all fear and confusion left you as you stare at the fore mentioned god. He was not glancing down anymore but instead his eyes found its place opposite of your direction. And if one would look close, really intently stared, the faintest of red could be seen blooming in his cheeks.

"He-he's blushing."

Thor is blushing.

"You shouldn't be shouting here." His voice did not have the same air of threat and authority it usually holds. If your ears were right, it almost sounded like he was embarrassed.

Silently picking up the fallen chair, you sat down with your eyes burning holes the robe infront of you. Which you have almost forgotten was there.

Thinking back to the times you interacted with him, one word would usually come to mind. Quiet. He would acknowledge your presence or sometimes even greet you during the times you bump into one another but has never to made a conversation. Compared to Loki, you have always figured that maybe he was just more refined.

It wasn't until you heard his tale from your friend that you have gathered a sort of fear towards him. You knew how gods are, how vile and wrathful they are. And a god of his caliber could wipe you with a single flicker of his finger.

You would now bow and act more politely to him. Going as far as trying to avoid any contact with him.

But now sitting a mere foot apart, you felt no threat. No danger. And only then did you realize that you have never really felt any danger to begin with. When he speaks, he did not have the murderous aura that they claim to choke anyone.  He had never given you any reason to fear him, it was only you who decided to believed other's opinion.

"I'm sorry."

As if a trigger, his head turned to you upon hearing your timid voice but you dare not look at his eyes.

"You don't-"

"Not just for yelling."

Where did you get the courage to cut him off? You do not know. But, still with the false bravery, you continued.

"I mean, I have been very rude to you for a long time,"

"You have never been mean to me and I only returned the gesture by fearing you without any basis of."

With every fiber of yours screaming otherwise, you turned to look at him in the eye.

"I'm really sorry."

The longer you look into those golden eyes the more the heat on your neck spreads to your cheeks.

Guess his hair isn't the only thing red now.

"It's nothing," surprisingly it was Thor who turned away first. This time though, you eyes remained on him with a small smile. Youu have been missing out on so many things. But now, you have the eternity to catch up. And you're sure as hell you will.

"Thor-sama."

"Just Thor."

You laughed a bit, a sound that you did not notice brought a smile on his own lips.

"Why did you give me those gift anyway."

He turned his head to the other direction, but your keen eyes could see his tainted red ears.

"Loki said gifts were a good way to get close to someone." You grinned.

"I should have known better than listen to him."

His words dragged a loud laugh from you. The thought of him asking Loki, of all people for an advice was something you thought you'll never hear. And the small pout in his voice upon the next statement both brought you giddiness and butterflies.

Your hands instinctively covered your mouth, but still the sounds slipped through. And if you would have opened your eyes that moment, you would have seen the adoration in Thor's as he watches you.

Yes, it was embarrassing to ask his cousin for advice and finding those herbs was a hard task. But if seeing you like this, with lips arch into the most beautiful smile he have seen filled with happiness he once thought he couldn't bring you, then he would do it a thousand more.

Bonus:

Outside the closed doors, Loki grinned at himself. Trying to get you two was a pain with how standoffish Thor was by this was the most entertainment he had for a long time.

"What the hell are you doing?" It was one of Odin's crow that screeched from beging, as they watch the god smiling, and by experience it never means well.

"Oh nothing," he sing-songed. He floated pass his uncle but never before saying,

"Hope you're ready for grandkids!"

"Huh?"

But they did not receive an answer, only a chorus of laughter from the god of mischief as he drift away.

If you don't know who's Circe is, she's a witch in the Greek mythology that turned sailors into pigs. Odysseus met her during his travel home from the Trojan war. She turned his men into pig too. And it's a book of Madeline Miller too! You should really read her books.

This was requested by @tenshi-san and I apologize that I might have strayed too far from your prompt. I really hope I did your husbando some justice. He was so hard to write because that only thing I can see him as is bored😂. But I hope you still like it!

[iwillbeinmynest]

The Next Move - Bucky x Reader(f)

Authors Notes: So this takes place between episode three and four of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. It deters from cannon a little but I tried to bring it back. Also this isn’t a romantic pairing... at least, not yet.

Word Count: 1.8 K

Notes/Warnings: Attitude and Sass. Mentions of nightmares and dream violence, drinking. I don't think there are any show spoilers in here but I’ll tag it with spoiler tags just in case.

Masterlist

Sharron pulled up to the country Italian home. She parked in the driveway and paused before looking to the three men in her car. “She’s not going to be happy we are here and she’s really not going to be happy when she sees it’s you guys so, maybe don’t talk.” Sharron unfastened her seatbelt and swiftly got out of the car.

They looked at each other before following her up to the quaint little house.

Bucky noticed how Sharron was smiling and looking way too casual.

As if she read his mind she looked back at him, Sam and Zemo and said, in an erie sing-song voice. “Look like you're happy to be here.”

Zemo smiled immediately and Bucky wished he hadn’t seen it. Smiling Zemo was creepy.

Still, he fixed his expression from cautious to pleasant and nodded to Sam who grinned back at him.

This was ridiculous.

Sharron rapped her knuckles five times on the wood frame of the screen door.

“Solo minuto!” A voice from inside the house called in Italian.

They could hear footsteps heading towards the door.

A girl appeared into the hallway holding a bowl and spoon, she hadn’t looked at her front porch yet but froze mid bite when she did.

She locked eyes with Sharron and let her spoon clank back into the bowl. Her jaw tightened as she shook her head and began to turn around.

Sharron knocked again, “Wait, Y/N, please! This is important. I’m calling in a favor.”

Y/N stopped and let her shoulders drop with an exhale. “You only have one left. You sure you wanna use it?”

“I’m sure.”

Y/N straightened her spine and made her way to the door. She unlocked it and held an arm out, gesturing for them to all come in. When she closed the screen door she also closed and locked the front door, making the hallway dark. She pushed past all of them and headed for the living room.

When she made it to the drink cart she turned on Sharron. “ I have two rules Sharron. Two!” She opened a decanter of amber liquid and poured herself a tall glass. “You broke them both and you brought him with you. Of all people, Sharron!”

None of the three men knew who she was referring to.

Sharron nodded. “I know. And you know that I wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t important.”

“And why deliver them yourself, huh? You’re doing pretty well out in Madripoor, I hear so why leave?” She finally took a drink.

“Y/N, please if you’d just let me explain-”

 Y/N hissed at the sting of the liquor. “I have to move now! I finally have a good client base here and a house I’m actually comfortable in and now I have to leave. Why? Because you broke rule number two.”

Sam leaned into Bucky, “Wonder what the rules are.” He mumbled.

“The rules” She cut in, “Are that one: you call me first. I don’t really do drop in’s. And two: you don’t show up in the daytime.”

Sam nodded. Yeah, they’d broken those rules. “Look, I don’t know who you are but-”

“I know you don’t but the real question is do either of you?” Y/N crossed her arms and looked between Bucky and Zemo.

Suddenly, Bucky realized that she looked familiar but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t place her face.

Zemo took in a breath of subtle epiphany, “Y/N. Y/N Ross, right?”

Y/N’s face soured but she nodded.

Zemo turned to Bucky. “She’s the one who let the two of us meet for the first time.”

He still didn’t recognize her.

“I did my job. You tricked everyone in the building.” She argued.

“This is true.” He nodded with no signs of remorse.

Y/N looked to Bucky then to Sharron. “Why are you here?”

Sharron explained everything. Looking for the serum, finding the doctor before running for their lives, the Power Broker, the Flag-Smashers, all of it. “They need the next move and I don’t have it.” Sharron finished.

By now everyone had settled into a chair or onto one of the couches.

“The next move being?” She nudged the conversation forward.

“We need to get in contact with Karli.” Sam spoke up.

“I don’t have a way to contact her. I don’t deal with people like that.” Y/N said plainly.

“You have contact with people much worse than her.” Bucky guessed. “Which means someone you know has contact with her.”

Y/N studied Bucky for a moment while she decided how to respond.

Sharron cut in before Y/N had the chance to start another argument, “You know a lot of people, Y/N. Surely someone can get them to her.”

Y/N looked at Sharron for the millionth time. “You’re really willing to stick your neck out for these guys, huh?’

Sharron nodded.

Y/N finally relented and sighed.

The trio visibly relaxed. She was going to help.

“How long do you need to stay here?”

“As long as you can give us.” Sharron said.

“Three days. I’ll have to be gone after that.”

“Three days then.” Sam agreed for everyone.

           *   *   *   *   *   *   *

Y/n sat in her desk chair in front of half a dozen computer monitors and holographic screens. She sat and worked there for hours. Reaching out to whoever she could toget this task done for Sharron and she’d made it clear that she was only doing it for her.

Bucky and Sam sat in the dining room watching her from a distance.

“Do you remember her at all?” Sam asked.

Bucky shook his head. “She looks familiar but...not really.”

Sharron brought the two of them a cup of coffee, went back for her own and joined them at the table. “Y/N worked at the Joint Counter Terrorism Center in Berlin. Her uncle is Agent Ross, who took her in after her parents died during the battle of New York. She supervised Barnes when he was detained. It was her job to make sure he ate, had water...and she was also in charge of approving who made contact with him. Zemo slipped in and she only realized something was wrong when she looked through the small window and saw him reading the words from that book.”

Bucky looked back at Zemo who was reading on the couch.

“She didn’t know what to do so she ran to find me. In the chaos, she ended up near the cafes where you- or not you,” She looked to Bucky, “Came stalking towards her.”

Bucky got a sinking feeling in his gut. “I don’t remember her.”

“Because she wasn’t your target. You’d been given a different directive. She stood in your way, she told me that she hoped to possibly stall you a bit.” Sharron huffed a single chuckle. “She’s got guts if anything.”

“What did I do?” Bucky felt that familiar guilt creeping up.

“The Soldier,” Sharron specified, “Threw her through a wall.”

Bucky closed his eyes. He felt like he should remember that.

Sam wanted to console him, to remind Bucky that he and the soldier were two different people, but he knew it wouldn’t change how Bucky felt.

“She later helped me steal the shield and your wings.”

“And that’s why she’s on the run.” Sam realized, “Same as you.”

Sharron nodded.

“So why is she here in Italy? Why not Madripoor?” Sam asked.

“Because she hates big cities!” Y/N called from the other room.

Sharron chuckled and Sam looked around, shocked that she was listening.

     *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *  

Later that night Bucky jolted up from a nightmare, this one about Y/N. He was back in Berlin where Zemo had read the words to him and he came up on her in the cafe. Only this time he shot her. That’s what made him wake up.

He silent padded to the kitchen in hope of getting a glass of water. When his bare feet hit the cold tile he noticed the faint sound of the tapping of a keyboard. He turned the corner and from the doorway saw Y/N still at her computer.

“You’re up late.” She said without looking up.

“Have you been working this whole time?” Bucky asked, turning back to get his glass of water.

“No,” She called to him. “I watched two hours of t.v. around midnight.”

Bucky smirked at that. He returned and pulled up a chair near her desk. “Mind if I sit?”

“Not at all.” She yawned.

Bucky sat in silence as he studied everything she was doing. She was in several dark web chats -in multiple languages- with users he didn’t know. All while simultaneously running tracer programs and reviewing satellite images.

She worked for nearly a half hour before she finally spoke again. “So what woke you up?”

Bucky shook his head. “I was thirsty.”

“It’s none of my business, sorry.” She knew he was lying.

“Where will you move to?” He changed the subject.

 She shrugged and leaned back in her chair. “I’m looking at moving to Koh Chang.”

 Bucky nodded but felt like it was his fault that she had to uproot and leave.

 “But it’s time to move anyways. I was getting too comfortable. Besides I think I’m nearing the ‘escape to a tropical island’ stage of my life.” She said with a grin. 

“I-” Maybe it was the exhaustion or maybe he was actually making some progress but either way he needed to say something, “I’m sorry for what I did to you... in Berlin.”

“I know.” She stopped and looked at him. “I’m sorry for being so cold. I’ve been told I have a bad attitude.” She mocked herself.

Bucky chuckled but sombered pretty quickly when he noticed a scar on her shoulder. “Did I do that?”

Y/N followed his gaze, “Yeah,”

As hard as it was to hear, he appreciated that she was honest and didn’t seem to pity him.

“I’m sorry.” He repeated.

“You don’t have to be.”

He looked up at her, finally tearing his eyes away from the mark he’d unknowingly left on her.

Y/N shrugged. “I let him in. If anything I should be apologizing to you.”

“Lets just call it even, then.” He offered a weak smile.

She took it and returned one. She took a breath to say something when her computer made a soft chime. She whipped her head over and exhaled. “Gotcha. She’s in Riga, Latvia.”

Bucky sat up. They were getting closer.

Y/N stood from her sat and with a swipe of her hand through the air, all of her computers went black. “It’s time for me to get some sleep. I hope finding her helps you find some peace.”

He nodded and looked down at his empty glass. “Thank you.”

She smiled and patted his shoulder as she passed. “I know I was a bit bitter when you first showed up but...most of that was towards Zemo.” She let her hand fall and softened her voice. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

Bucky sat there as she walked away. No one had ever said that to him before.

He went back to his room and pulled out his little notebook. He wrote her name down on the list of people he needed to make amends with and then immediately ran a line through it.

Then, for the first time in a long time, he slept peacefully.

 *   *   *   *   *   *   *   *

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[smugzayn]

Sorry for what?

You’re just Harry’s manager, and ignoring the fact that he’s been in love with you since day one, he accepts that. Of course, that doesn’t mean he will always accept that. When he invites you to spend the weekend at his family’s home in the countryside, you surprisingly accepts.

Featuring miscommunications, skinny-dipping, and heartbreak. A story told in three parts.

INTRO

There were a lot of things that one might love about being Harry’s assistant. He was incredibly kind, for one, and that was more rare than one might suppose in the entertainment industry, and it was a true joy to watch his talent and creativity at play even when he was only singing in the car on the way to an event or planning out his wardrobe, and there was nothing quite like his dry wit that seemed to make him near friends with even those he met in passing.

On the other hand, there were many things that one found to be truly infuriating about being Harry’s assistant. For example, he nearly never followed any type of schedule that any one would diligently craft and create by means of endless emails and tireless phone calls. Nor did he adhere to any of the rules that governed most manager/client relations. He hated being called Mr. Styles, and refused to allow anyone to wait on him, and there were few times when he ever saw a manager as anything less than a friend with a knack for organization. Additionally, he seemed to find an irritating amount of pleasure in peevishly vexing his managers on just that fact - pushing the boundaries of a professional relationship and of a schedule.

So, why exactly were you trying to convince yourself that you weren’t falling in love?

ONE

Most of your conversations began like this:

“Mr. Styles, are you even listening to me?” you demanded, glancing up from where you were buried in his email.

“Hmmmm?”

“Really? Why do I even bother?”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “There’s just this melody that’s been on my mind all week, and I can’t seem to get it worked out. Go on, though.”

How could his carefree charm be what made him universally adored and completely baffling?

“I can pencil us in for later tonight? Perhaps, after dinner with your mum we can -”

Harry interrupted, “Don’t even finish that thought. I’m all yours.”

You leveled him with an appraising look, but his face was nothing but sincere. He even planted both feet solidly on the floor, leaned forward in the chair across the desk from you, and ran one big palm over his late afternoon scruff in pensive attention. You nodded and scrolled back to the first email on your agenda to begin again. In his attempt to show you his focus, he found himself studying the rise and fall of your chest, and the flutter of your eyelashes against the softness of your skin, and even the movement of your lips as you intently read through his agenda.  

Suddenly, as Harry had found to be the case as of late, all he could process were your lips. Their color, their shape, your habit of biting at them with just the very tip of your teeth when you were focused. And just now, in the way you sucked your bottom lip in when you were nervous.

Harry snapped his eyes up to find you staring at him questioningly.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Styles?” you asked softly, trying to ignore the faint heat creeping up your neck at his complete attention.

“Yes,” he blurted out, deciding that he needed to do something, go somewhere, get away. He needed to do anything but be in this room any longer with you. Otherwise, he was afraid of what would happen. He had been burning for you ever since he had first interviewed you all those months ago, but suddenly the fire had inflamed every part of him. If he didn’t do something - and quick - he was going to do something he was sure would end in regret.

Of course, the minute he had spotted you, he had determined, assumed, promised to make you his. Despite your repeated refusals and annoying reminders that it wasn’t an appropriate relationship to have between a manager and client - a romantic one. He only viewed those as mere bumps in what he was sure you would make a very long journey towards dating, marriage, and everlasting bliss. Nonetheless, Harry certainly wasn’t going to begin it all in his family home with his mum and sister on the other side of the wall.

“It’s fine - yes - We will do that then.”

You looked at him strangely, standing up to watch as he shuffled about the room in an agitated search.

“Are you alright, Mr. Styles? Is there something I can -”

“It’s Harry,” he spat tersely for what must’ve been the hundredth time. “I just remembered that I have a meeting - er - not a meeting, but a call I was meant to take.”

“That’s odd...I don’t remember scheduling one.” You raised an eyebrow in question and flipped through his planner. “There’s nothing down for -”

“Yes, well, that’s because I forgot to tell you.”

He was uprooting carefully organized papers and shoving pillows and cushions to the floor in the study that you had been using as an office over the last week. It was so unlike him to behave so...so flustered. You were used to Harry always full of charm, and irritatingly suave, and you were the fumbling and agitated one in the relationship - not him.

“Here,” you held out his mobile, your eyebrow still raised in confusion but your lips were twisted with some mix of amusement and concern. “What do I always tell you about scheduling things with me? You’re a wandering soul, Harry. It’s best to have someone to ground you - like me.” You held up your pencil, always tucked behind your ear, and made a show of scheduling down his phone call in a planner.

He watched as your long, bouncy hair fell to cover your face as you leaned over the table to write. He wondered if you would like him to gather it all at the base of your neck, knot it up, and pull as he took you from behind.

When you looked up, the irritation was clear on Harry’s face. He scowled, “Yes, and what would I do without you? Now privacy, please.”

“You don’t need me to take notes?”

“I will remember any dates decided upon,” he growled, ushering you to the door, and forgetting that there was never a call to take place once you left anyway.

“Fine. I was going to go through some proposals anyway,” you waved a casual hand through the air. “Just text me if you need anything. I will hurry back and -”

“You’re officially off the clock,” he spat with more venom than he intended.

“Yes, but, as your manager, I am always-”

“No, you’re not. Right now, you’re officially not,” he interrupted. His nostrils flared and you could see a vein had risen in his neck.

“I didn’t mean to anger you. I only meant -”

“I know what you meant, and I will not continue to remind you that you’re my manager and my friend. Not particularly in that order.” It took everything within him to not wrap his arms around you and pull you into his chest. Perhaps, if his words had yet to make you realise, then a more direct, more forward approach would be effective. “That is the nature of our relationship, and if you don’t see it that way, then maybe it’s time we made a change.”

You could feel your heart thumping in your chest heavily at the fire in his eyes and the harsh tone of his words. Your eyelashes fluttered close when you were finally able to pull your eyes away from his. Because you did not trust yourself to speak - and did not truthfully know what to say regardless - you nodded and left.

TWO

The minute you were gone, Harry threw his phone on the desk and roughly picked the pillows from the floor and replaced them on the sofa. He should never have invited you here. He ached for you, and he had known it, denied it, suppressed it for some time. You had brushed off all his flirting and advances with cutting remarks or a swat of the hand, but you had also ducked your head to cover a blush, and covered your coy smile with a planner or a pile of notes, and you were here with him this weekend. This weekend trip alone was enough to blur the lines, and yet here you were, laughing at dinner, and helping his mum in the kitchen, and even giggling in the bathroom brushing your teeth with Gemma.

“Fuck,” Harry groaned, feeling a burning in his chest that was quickly perking up other parts of his body. He couldn’t sleep knowing you were only a door down from him. Even when he did make it through a night with even a bit of fitful sleep, he still had to swallow the lump in his throat as he met you in the hall in the morning. He had never seen you so undone - messy hair, pajamas, and glasses, and all, and now he wasn’t sure how he was to go back.

He looked out the window, checking the drive and saw only his car. Good. His family had all left.

“Where did I put that?” Harry searched through a pile of clothing that had collected in the corner until he found a jacket. He shoved on his boots and decided there was no place like home - in the country, away from the city, and with that delectable lake just a mile north of the house. He stomped out of the room, sharply turned down the hall, swept through the back exit, and headed straight toward the spot where he had traveled often as a boy.

It was time for a swim.

*****

“If he wanted me gone, then he could’ve very well just said so,” you muttered, as you stormed into the bedroom you were staying in and threw open the wardrobe. You were one to always neatly fold, organize, and write out exactly what had been packed and where. However, you were so angry you just grabbed handfuls of clothing, and toiletries, and electronics and stuffed them into your suitcase. 

Organization be damned; apparently, it wasn’t much appreciated anyway. You jumped when you heard a door loudly slam shut. Glaring out the window, you watched Harry stomping away in big, rubber boots into the woods.

You cursed him and continued to zip up your suitcase.

He couldn’t, or wouldn't, ever understand why you so adamantly drew a line on your relationship with him. He didn’t understand the presumption around female managers with male clients. There were always rumors, and whispers, and even the occasional tabloid accusing him of dating a “mystery” woman. You worked twice as hard to maintain a professional relationship because everyone else worked to attribute your every achievement to some imagined sexual favor or romantic romp. If you were to begin dating Harry, then all you would ever be is the flimsy who got into management to bed a popstar.

It didn’t matter that you thought you might love him. Aside from the fact of Harry’s entire celebrity, he could truthfully have any beautiful, talented person he wanted. And, to be fair, he often did.

The idea of being his fling was more painful than not having him at all. Besides, you weren’t cut out for his life forever. You liked it here, in the countryside of Cheshire. You preferred the quiet, the slowness. As soon as you and Harry parted ways, you knew that you would go somewhere just like this. Harry had paid you more than generously, and you had investments, and family inheritance, too. So, you’d leave the city after Harry, find some other career to occupy your time, and reside in the quietness and obscurity of the countryside.

You did one last sweep through your room, you didn’t want to leave anything behind. If Harry was done with you, then you’d make sure you were done with him, too. You fished through your bag, searching for the keys.

“Christ,” you groaned, realising that Harry had been the last one to use the car. While you always told him to put the keys in the same place, better for knowing where they always were, he was more apt to throw them on some random table, stuff them in his pockets, or God knows where else.

You glanced out the window, wondering how difficult it would be to break in. It was a rather unassuming car, but you were sure that didn’t matter when it came to you trying to break into it. Since it was the countryside, you knew there would be no neighbors to report you, but you weren’t sure you could suffer the humiliation of Harry walking back to find you with a coat hanger snagged through his driver’s side window.

“I’m not going to wait here forever,” you muttered bitterly. Now that you had decided to leave, there was no point in delaying it any further. You stormed from the room, luggage in tow, and shamelessly stalked into Harry’s room to overturn his desk, abandoned clothes, and even the bed. Even the kitchen, dining room, and living room tables were devoid of your escape.

You huffed. Staring out the window as if it might hold your answer and then, you realised, that it did. Harry must’ve taken the keys with him. You paused, frowning thoughtfully as you stared out at where he had disappeared behind the late spring trees, and then abruptly decided fresh air was exactly what you needed.

THREE

Through the tall grass, around tree stumps, and brambles, and mud, of course there was always mud, you stomped a path that vaguely seemed to be in the direction Harry had wandered. According to your phone compass, you were headed north. Although, that meant little to you, but it did seem to offer an ounce of comfort. You had all the confidence in the world to wander into the woods during the late afternoon on a warm spring day, your assuredness on your return home was slightly more concerning.

The cheerfulness of your surroundings did little to lessen the temper that had only seemed to grow since Harry had shoved you out of his room. You had never planned to work for Harry forever, but you’d also never imagined such a short lived relationship or an abrupt end to it at that.

Just through the last clearing of trees, you could see the blue of water and within fifteen minutes of walking you were just toeing up to the edge of a sprawling lake. Harry had told you about the lake at least a dozen times before, and you knew that this is what you had been searching for all along. He had spent his summers here with his mates, swimming, and fishing, and even occasionally swooning some young girl.  

But as you just began scanning the coast for some sign of him, you heard a splash and, as you whipped around to determine the noise, you saw the strong, naked back of a man in the water just to your right. He had just come up from being submerged, flicked his head back, and was running his large hands through his hair to shake out some of the wetness.

Harry. Oh Christ, it was Harry, and he was naked.

With a surprised gasp, you dashed backwards to hide behind a tree. After freezing in shock, you peeked once more to see him moving even closer to you, and, as your eyes scanned the shore, you found a scattering of clothes just on the other side of your hiding spot.

“Shit,” you croaked quietly, cursing your luck, and slamming your hand over your eyes to make sense of the predicament you had so suddenly found yourself in. Harry had always had a fondness for skinny dipping, you’re sure he even mentioned it in your first interview, but it had never crossed your mind that you might even see him while he was skinny dipping.  

And you should go. Not only was it strictly against your moral code as a manager, but he was naked, and completely unaware of your presence. It was wrong. Wrong. Yet, you found yourself peeking just ever so slightly until you could see Harry’s strong, muscled torso drifting through the water. Even if he just moved up shore a few more inches you were sure you might catch a glimpse of -

Wrong. You turned back around, took a deep breath, and decided that you would tiptoe forward carefully, quietly back to the house. With a deep breath, you gently pressed down for your first step and immediately heard a loud crack as a stick split underneath your weight. In all your panic and anxiety, you threw yourself to the ground, mud be damned, and lay there frozen.

For a second, all you could hear was the beating of your heart and the harsh sounds of your pants against the woodsy floor. 

Finally, Harry yelled, “Is someone there?” 

You didn’t move a muscle, and you didn’t dare respond.

Harry scanned the coast, waiting to see a camera, or some giddy teen, or even some giddy teen’s mother. It was private property, but Harry had quickly learned how little that mattered to curious onlookers. However, he looked and he saw nothing. Then, he saw just a sliver of shiny hair against the dark greens and browns of the woods.

“I can see you, you know. I know it’s you.”

You gasped, cursed into the mud, and then scrambled to your feet deciding your best chance was to run home, change your clothes, and deny, deny, deny.

“Don’t you dare,” Harry yelled, forcing you to freeze with your knees bent and ready. “If you try and run home, then I will just chase after you. I know the path better than you, I am faster, and I will not bother to dress, but please do not test me.”

You stood, still weighing your options. You were terrible at sport, but you were desperate and that had to put you at somewhat of an advantage.

“Stop hiding. Come out,” he ordered.

You didn’t even breathe.

“Now,” he warned. “Three, two -”

You paused, cherishing the last moments of what you had planned to be a dignified leave of employment, and then shuffled out until you were standing right near Harry’s abandoned pile of clothes. If you were any redder, then one might have mistaken you for a rose bush in the woods.

“Why are you out here?”

You flapped your hands at your side, hoping that would suffice for an answer. Harry just crossed his arms over his wet torso and glared at you.

“Well, I can’t very well leave without the keys. Can I?” Harry looked ready to storm out the water and tackle you, but you continued. “I saw you leave earlier and I figured I might as well follow to ask for the keys. Of course, I would have someone return your car back to town. It was, you, after all that insisted on driving together.” You flushed even more as Harry glowered at you. “I didn’t have any idea you would be out here swimming. How was I to ever guess that you would be in the water like - like that?”

He didn’t address your accusation. “Did you follow me here?”

“Yes, of course, I did because -” As his face split into an arrogant smile, you stammered, “Oh! Don’t be ridiculous. Not like that. Had I known that you were going to be naked, then I never would’ve come.”

He rolled his eyes, but there was still a condescending smile lacing his mouth.

“I will just go back now,” you blurted, turning your back and taking one grateful step away from his nakedness before he stopped you. “I will just order a cab once I -”

“Don’t move,” he growled. “Stay just like that, and I will put my clothes on so we can walk home together.” You could hear him walking out of the water and it was so like him to have no shame about the whole thing. “Besides you don’t even know these woods; it was dangerous for you to have come so far in the first place.” He ignored your irritated sigh and continued the lecture. “Don’t you know how easy it is to lose your sense of direction? The sun will set in probably an hour, and then who knows how lost you might find yourself?”

You hung your head, trying to ignore the rough tone of his voice, and the irritating line of scolding, and just how close his naked body was to you. If you even just turned one shoulder slightly, then you were almost certain to catch a glimpse of-

“I’ll just go now,” you shouted, interrupting what you realized was his continued lecture. You were desperate to get away before you ruined everything even more. With just the slightest turn of your head, you knew he would see it all in your eyes - that you had fallen for him. You staggered forward, “Really it’s no problem.”

A sharp tug on your elbow quickly pulled you back.

“I’m not in the mood to argue with you, and I”m even less in the mood to spend the afternoon tracking you down in the woods.”

“I’m no longer your manager, and I am no longer your concern,” you huffed and ripped your elbow out of his hold.

“If you take another step,” he threatened. “Then I will toss you in the lake and throw my keys in after that.”

He was still shirtless, and it only made the angry rise and fall of his chest all the more menacing. Harry was not often intimidating, but those who often were not made it all the more effective when they were.  

“Fine,” you yelled petulantly turning your back on him again as he slipped back into the carefully careless facade that always seemed to paint his face. He was infuriating, and charming, and arrogant, and kind, and you were thankful, at least, that your face was hidden because you were sure even your ears were red by now.

Without so much as a word, he brushed by your side, grabbing a handful of your sleeve, and tugging you along behind him. His hair was dripping down his neck and there were splotches where his clothes were sticking to his wet body.

After a silent minute of allowing him to drag you behind him, you abruptly stopped and tore yourself from his hold for the second time that afternoon.

“I can walk on my own,” you muttered. “Why didn’t you just let me walk home in the first place?”

He shrugged, “Peeping Toms can hardly be trusted.”

“I was not peeping.”

He just raised an eyebrow and then finally took you by the elbow again when you gasped like a fish to find a proper excuse.

“Exactly,” he murmured, pulling you up slightly as you stumbled over a root. “I don’t know how you went about spying on your previous clients, but it’s the one firm rule I have - respect my privacy.” He somehow managed to look both deadly serious and irritatingly amused as he looked back at you.

“Yes, I certainly know that.” You agreed miserably. As you trudged through the forest, it became clear as to how he must see this. He had wanted you gone and instead you had followed him out into his private woods and leered at him in secret until you had been caught. You had never felt so ashamed in your entire life. Oh, you were miserable.

“If you want,” you offered meekly. “I can get a cab right away. I won’t bother with your car. It was too much for me to assume it anyways, so there won’t be -”

You smashed into Harry’s back as he suddenly stopped, the anger returning to his face in a flash. It was amazing how quickly he changed from pleasantly amused and cocky to enraged. “You’re not quitting.”

You looked at him in confusion, and then it dawned on you how stupid you must’ve sounded. “No, of course not. I understand that. I am just - If you want to fire me, then I understand -”

“No, I’m not - that’s not,” Harry ran a flustered hand through his hair and looked at you in disbelief. “I’m not firing you and you’re not quitting. Absolutely not.”

“Well, I don’t know how we can continue like this.” You stared up at him in confusion. He was so close to you, and his hand was still wrapped around your elbow. The heat of his body was warming your own and the faintest wisp of his breath could be felt upon your forehead.

His eyes glared down at you - angry and sparkling with something else you couldn’t quite place. If only he could see all that hid behind yours. The desire for him and the foolish knowledge that it could never be him. Not for you and certainly not for him. And his lips, his lips were pink, and parted, and saying something, something -

“I’m going to kiss you,” Harry muttered before he pulled you tight against his body and at first his touch was hesitant and calculating, but as you leaned into him he became more needy.

You should have turned away. Hell, you should have turned and sprinted back to the house, grabbed your luggage, and scurried to town. But you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but stay rooted to the spot, soaking in his smell, and breath, and touch.

You gasped as his hand at the small of his back pulled you in desperately close to his body. You could feel the strong lines of his stomach against your own and you flushed as you felt his need pressed up hard against you.

He became more demanding, and you melted into his touch. He took advantage of your responsiveness, running his hands over your body, just barely knotting his fingers on your hair, and ghosting over the swell of your breast until your knees felt shaky.

“We can’t.” You mumbled, but Harry was too far gone to hear it. “This is too much, Harry.”

Still, you didn’t push him away, you didn’t reel back from his touch or turn away from his sultry lips.

“Mr. Styles?” you breathed out in desperation.

Then he did it for you. As if you were suddenly burning him, he wrenched himself back and you fell out of his hold. He stared at you, his eyes searching and intense. His breath was still heaving and his lips just slightly swollen by your touch.

You tore your eyes away from him, regretting you had done anything but run away after all.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

He just watched you, saying nothing.

You were desperate to explain yourself, but you didn’t even have a semblance of how to begin. “I can’t, Mr. Styles,” his eyes flashed in anger. “This isn’t...We shouldn’t - I…”

“Fine,” he bit off, ripping his eyes away from you. “Then go. Now. Go.”

He reached into his pocket, grabbed a set of keys and held them out.

You hesitated, but he roughly grabbed your arm and shoved them into your palm.

They felt heavy and hot in your hand, like perhaps it was his heart or yours instead of a cold, tiny piece of metal.

“I’m sorry,” you breathed again, reaching out to him but he flinched back from you.

He shrugged off his reaction, masterfully shifting back to the careless, grinning Harry. Then, he added dismissively, “For what?”

You ran then. You ran back to the house, and then to the car, and then all the way back home to London. And from there you sent an official resignation, listed your London home, and promptly enlisted a realtor to find you a home in the countryside before the the next week had even begun. By the middle of the next week, you were living out of boxes and dipping out for a run to the coffee shop whenever a potential buyer came by to look. 

And the whole time all you could think about were his last words - so scathing, so careless, and, most painful of all, so true. Did Harry really not know what you had been apologizing for? And as you spent the week imagining your house in the country, and the hours you’d spend wandering the woods, and leisurely watching the days drift away, you wondered if you had known, either.

[part two]

[masterpost]