#but be warned I have never seen a single Bond film in my LIFE

[idontgiveaflyinggrayson69]

The Bond

Author: Nat / @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69

Relationship: Neteyam x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Summary: The bond is a beautiful thing, but it’s also the most painful thing you ever experienced.

Word Count: 14k

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected sex (wrap it up kids). Major character death. Angst. Pregnancy. ATWOW spoilers.

Comments: Hockey people look away, look away… After watching ATWOW I physically could not stop thinking about ‘what if you could feel the bond’ the way Parabatai feel each other in the Mortal Instruments and one thing led to another… This really was supposed to just be a short little imagine just to get the idea out of my head so I could work on my other projects but then I went hmmm no I think this needs some context for it to make sense and then I proceeded to write their entire fucking story cradle to grave and spent WAY too much time fact checking every single detail… There were a bunch of ways I could have expanded this, but I told myself no because no one needs a 50k+ Neteyam story... Also, this was not betad because I was not about to subject my poor beta to my current Avatar obsession.

Disclaimer: I thought Neteyam was 20 the whole movie so that’s how old he is in this, which is about the same age Jake and Neytiri were in the first film. And also, Neteyam wears a battle belt, which means he is seen as a man among the Omatikaya.

do not repost, do not claim as your own

Tsaheylu.

The bond.

The beginning and the end of everything.

You feel their breath, you feel their heart, you feel their strength. It’s your way to connect with the world around you. At least, that’s what they always told you.

It’s a beautiful thing the bond. You can ride and fly and see and hear without uttering a single word. And most beautiful of all, you get to feel your mate, if you were lucky enough to find one.

With a mate, it wasn’t just their breaths and heart you felt like a horse or an ikran. It was deeper, much deeper. You felt them. Their thoughts, their memories, the every ounce of their being. The bond ties you to them—to their soul—for life, connects you to them in a way you’d never be connected to anyone or anything for as long as you lived.

It’s a beautiful thing the bond.

--

You could remember the first time Neteyam brought up the possibility of mating.

The golden son, the next Olo’eykton, the first-born son of Toruk Makto and Neytiri, Neteyam always had big shoes to fill, and it was always something he struggled with in silence. Who was he to talk to about the shade of greatness he grew up in? His father? His mother? His little brother? None of them understood, and none of them saw him.

But you did.

For as long as you could remember, Neteyam had been your closest friend, and you his—outside of his siblings at least. Kiri wasn’t much younger than him, but she had always been closer with Lo’ak than him, and Neteyam had always had more of a protective, fatherly role than a brotherly one with them and Tuk especially.

But you? You held no expectations for him. With you he was just Neteyam—or ’Teyam when he made you laugh hard enough you could barely breathe. You did everything with him. Training, hunting, claiming a banshee. Every step, you were there, and there was no one you felt closer to than him.

You didn’t have a big family like he did, it was only you. But you had him. He was your best friend, your everything, your—

Neteyam was going to be the next Olo’eykton and whoever he took as his mate would be the next Tsahìk, so you knew it wasn’t a decision he took lightly. If his father wasn’t Jake Sully, you were sure he’d have been betrothed to a woman his parents deemed worthy of being the next Olo’eykton’s mate. You didn’t know if Eywa had her eyes on you at the decision not to betroth him because, on one hand, there was a chance he’d take you, but on the other, you knew him choosing another of his own will would break you irreversibly.

Neteyam had shown some interest in the other girls in the village, especially the ones his mother mentioned to him, but you never saw him have more than a few conversations with them, mostly about hunting, which they didn’t seem to appreciate as much as you did.

You didn’t know that they were never the one he wanted. That for him, there had only ever been one.

It was the eve of his iknimaya ceremony, the final step of him becoming taronyu, of becoming a man, that he first brought up the possibility of mating with you. Once he became a man, he could choose a woman.

The thought alone made your chest tight. You couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning in your tent before you finally resigned yourself and slipped out. A night walk in the forest would, at the very least, keep your mind occupied.

You should have known Neteyam had the same idea.

Becoming a hunter, becoming a man, becoming one of the People, and earning his place in the clan all weighed heavily on him. He lived in the shadow of his father who had gone from Sky People to one of the People to Toruk Makto to Olo’eykton in a span of a few months. He was only the sixth Toruk Makto since the first songs and Neteyam knew that even if he were to be a great Olo’eykton, he’d never be his father, and it ate at him.

No matter how hard he tried, Neteyam couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned but his mind fought his every attempt at sleep. He knew he needed sleep for the day ahead, but he wasn’t granted peace and finally he resigned himself to a walk to clear his mind. At the very least, the night would pass more quickly and bring him into tomorrow.

Neither of you realized the other was close, not at first. Your mind was so consumed by the thought of him that you weren’t looking where you were going and didn’t put the care into your steps like you knew you should. The snap of the twig under your step was secondary to you, but it made Neteyam’s ears twitch.

He wasn’t alone.

A moment later, another twig snapped under your foot and Neteyam let it consume his attention. All he had on him was his knife, but it would have to do, he was the best hunter of his age after all.

He followed your uncaring, twig breaking steps silently with his knife down, unsure of what he was following. But as soon as he caught a flash of blue skin in the dark, he let himself relax a little. When he stepped a little closer to get a clearer view, he sheathed his knife as he let out a soft laugh. He’d know you anywhere.

The sound of his laugh made your ears twitch and you tensed. You’d know that sound anywhere. “Neteyam?” You breathed as you turned around and a moment later, he revealed himself with his hands up and a playful smile on his lips as he said your name back to you.

“It is late,” he told you as he stepped closer, his tail flicking behind him. “You should be asleep.”

“As should you,” you replied and returned his smile. “You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Ah,” he brushed you off with a short wave of his hand. “I’ll be fine,” he told you. “I do not have to hunt tomorrow, just become taronyu.”

Your smile slipped for half a moment before you pushed it back up. “I know,” you replied, hoping your tone didn’t betray you.

His ears straightened as he watched you and he hoped, oh Eywa he hoped, that he wasn’t misinterpreting your hesitation as he stepped closer to you. “Once I become taronyu, I may take a woman.”

You couldn’t hide the disappointment in your eyes so you turned away from him. “I know,” you whispered. “It’s a big day for the clan. There are many fine women to choose from.”

His heart dropped, fearing rejection from the only woman he had ever wanted. “I know,” he said and let his tail brush yours as he stepped around you, forcing you to look at him.

You shivered at the touch but brushed it off as an accidental touch. “Your father is very fond of Miayho, and your mother favours Zia,” you told him softly, unable to meet his eyes.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “But I’ve already chosen.” His words made your heart drop and you tried to turn away from him again, but he cupped your cheek to stop you. “But this woman must also choose me.”

“She must be lucky,” you whispered, your heart aching.

“She is,” Neteyam smiled. “She is strong and beautiful and a little slow at times, but she is the only one I could ever want.”

“’Teyam,” you breathed, your voice breaking, but his smile never faltered.

“I’m speaking of you,” he told you and softly shook his head. “Tomorrow I am granted the chance to choose a woman, and you are the only woman I have ever wanted. I choose you, if you choose me, too.”

You were quiet as the weight of his words sunk in, but slowly you cupped his cheek, too. “I chose you the moment I saw you,” you replied and rubbed your thumb over the deep blue line that traced the arch of his cheek.

Neteyam’s smile filled your chest with warmth and you leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. Neteyam’s smile softened as he rubbed his nose against yours. He’d mate you right here right now if you let him, but it was not the way, and a day was a short wait compared to the years he had already been waiting.

“So, it is decided, then?” He asked as he pulled back to look at you.

“It is,” you blushed and dipped your head as your ears went back, already itching to reach for your braid. At your words, Neteyam’s shoulders lightened, somewhat anyway. The weight of being the next Olo’eykton and living up to his father still plagued him, but he knew as long as he had you by his side, he’d be alright.

“We should sleep, then,” he told you and bit his lip. “I intent to mate you before Eywa tomorrow.”

Your blush darkened as you smiled. You didn’t dare ask if his mother or father approved of the match, you didn’t care, you just wanted him, needed him. “We should,” you agreed and tilted your chin up. “It is a big day tomorrow.”

Neteyam’s smile widened and he dipped his head. “A very big day,” he agreed and took your hand before he led you back to the village. The sooner you both fell asleep, the sooner tomorrow would come, and the sooner you could become one.

“You could stay with me,” you told him as you approached your tent.

There was nothing Neteyam wanted more, but he also knew his father would expect him in his own bed bright and early and he didn’t want to start the big day on the wrong foot. “Tomorrow night,” he replied and dipped his head. “Tonight will be our last night apart.”

You hated when he pulled his hand from yours, but you knew he was right, that it was the way. You had waited years for this, you could wait another night. “Tomorrow,” you nodded.

“Tomorrow,” he echoed you before he stepped back. Still, he watched as you slipped into your tent safe and secure before he made his way back to his own and prayed to Eywa his father hadn’t noticed his absence. Thankfully, he hadn’t, and Neteyam settled into his bed with a smile and warm chest.

Tomorrow he became taronyu.

Tomorrow he became a man.

Tomorrow he gained you. 

His eyelids were heavy and sleep came more easily to him. One moment he was thinking of your beautiful golden eyes, the next he was passed out, dreaming of your smile and the comforting flowery scent that always clung to your hair.

--

The sun woke him bright and early like it always did and he smiled as he stretched out.

Today was the day.

“Are you nervous?” Lo’ak asked him over breakfast and Neteyam rolled his eyes.

“Why would I be nervous?”

Lo’ak’s shit eating grin widened as he shoved his brother’s shoulder, “that no woman will want to mate with your ugly face.”

Any other day Neteyam would have told his brother off and shoved him back, but your words were still fresh in his mind—I chose you the moment I saw you—and his ears went back as he dipped his head.

Lo’ak’s smile faltered as he moved closer, his ears perking up before he knocked his shoulder against his brother’s. “Bro,” he said under his breath so their parents wouldn’t hear. “Got something you’d like to share?”

Neteyam knocked his shoulder right back against his brother’s. He was quiet for a moment as he debated whether he should say anything, but Neteyam knew his brother well, better than anyone, and he knew Lo’ak wouldn’t stop pestering him until he spilled. “I may have already chosen a woman,” he said with a small smile. “And she has chosen me as well. We will be mated before Eywa.”

“Bro,” Lo’ak breathed and put his hand on the back of Neteyam’s neck as he gave him a little shake. “You asked her?” Neteyam didn’t have to say a name for him to know he meant you.

Neteyam dropped his head again as he nodded, “it is decided.”

“I am surprised she settled for your skxawng ass, but I am happy for you, bro,” Lo’ak grinned, and he laughed as Neteyam bared his fangs at him and shook him off.

“Watch who you call skxawng, skxawng,” he replied, making Lo’ak laugh hard enough that their father looked over at them and their ears went back as they quickly went quiet.

Jake watched his sons for a long moment before he stepped over and sat down next to Neteyam and put his hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready, son?”

Neteyam smiled as he nodded, “born ready, sir.”

“Good,” Jake smiled and patted his son on the back. “Your mom has the paint, whenever you’re ready.”

Neteyam’s tail flicked behind him. “Actually, if it’s alright, there’s something else who I’d like to do the paint.”

For a moment Jake’s eyebrows raised as he looked at his son before the corner of his lip twitched up as he remembered when Neytiri painted him for his own iknimaya. “Of course,” Jake nodded. “But you have to tell your mother.”

His mother wasn’t exactly happy to give up the chance to paint her first born son ahead of the ceremony, but Neteyam rarely asked for anything and she could see in his eyes that it meant a great deal to him, so she resigned herself and handed the bowls of paint over to him. “I hope you chose well, my son,” Neytiri told him.

“I did,” Neteyam replied with a smile. “Thank you, mother.”

The bowls were full and despite their small size, they felt heavy in his hands as he headed out to find you. Neteyam knew both you and the village like the back of his hand so it was easy for him to find you. you blushed as he met your gaze and he smiled before he lowered his head to you and he sat down across from you.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?” You asked him softly, buzzing with anticipation of what was to come.

“I should, yes,” he agreed and sat the bowls of paint down in front of you.

“Neteyam,” you breathed. It was traditionally done by mothers.

“I want you to,” he smiled. “That is, if you want to, too.”

You were quiet for a moment before you nodded. “I want to,” you smiled softly and moved the bowls closer to you, the weight of their significance not lost on you as you beckoned him closer. “Now?” You asked softly.

Neteyam nodded as he moved closer. You blushed when he ginned at you shoved his shoulder before dipping your fingers into the white paint. You started with his arm, your touch light as you traced familiar patterns over his skin. Neteyam shivered, both at the coolness of the paint and your touch and it made you blush deepen as you focused on your lines, not wanting to mess any of them up, especially when you felt the weight of his gaze on you.

After his arms, you moved on to his chest and you gave Neteyam a look when the corner of his lip twitched up. “I am well aware you are a mighty warrior, Neteyam,” you told him and pulled your fingers back so you wouldn’t ruin the lines.

“But now you feel that I am a mighty warrior,” he smirked, making you roll your eyes.

You were quiet for a moment as you tried to think of a reply. Slowly, you trailed your fingers down his abdomen and let your lip twitch up when you felt him tense at your touch. “I do,” you hummed and looked up at him. “And soon I will feel all of you.”

You bit your lip as Neteyam’s eyes darkened but you devoted your attention to finishing the lines on his abdomen before you picked up one of the bowls and moved to his back, giggling as Neteyam’s tail kept flicking as you traced the patterns on his skin and once you were done, you hesitated before pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck and giggled when his ears stood straight up.

“You are a tease, woman,” he breathed as you settled back in front of him to paint his face.

“Am not,” you replied with a smile as you dipped your fingers into the paint again. “Now stay still.” To his benefit, Neteyam was still as he watched you, his tail flicking every now and then as you traced careful lines over his face, finishing with a feather light touch over his lips.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips as you looked him over. “You are ready,” you told him as you sat back on your haunches.

“I am?” He asked and you nodded.

“You are.”

Neteyam knew kissing you would ruin the paint you worked so hard to get perfect, but he still thought about it and it took every ounce of his self control not to kiss you. “Thank you,” he smiled before he stood and your heart fluttered in your chest as you took him in.

Your best friend. Your lover. Your mate.

A man.

You took his hand when he extended it to you and let him lead you down to where the ceremony would take place. To no surprise, his parents, siblings, and grandmother were already there and when you met his mother’s gaze, you get go of his hand. You weren’t mates yet and this was his ceremony. A ceremony for the clan.

At the loss of your hand, Neteyam looked back at you but you gave him a reassuring smile as you encouraged him on with a nod so he returned his gaze to his parents. Slowly the rest of the clan emerged and began to form the circle around him, and you.

“Neteyam,” Jake started as he looked at his son, trying and failing to restrain his smile. “My son. You tamed an ikran and completed your dream hunt. You are one of the People now,” he said before putting his hands on Neteyam’s shoulders just like Eytukan had done to him many years before. Once Jake touched Neteyam, the rest of his family and then the clan followed suit, one by one until everyone was connected as they welcomed Neteyam into the clan as a man.

You smiled at him as the people began to separate and once he could, Neteyam turned and put his hand on your shoulder, making you blush. His parents weren’t oblivious as they watched you, and Jake gave Neytiri a knowing smile as he held his hand out to her. It felt like just yesterday that she had done the same to him and he was happy for his son. He chose well, just like he did.

--

Every time a member of the clan came of age, there was a celebration. It was filled with food and dance and stories and songs; and Neteyam spent the whole night looking at you.

He was seated between his father, the Olo’eykton, and Lo’ak, and you were across from him, much too far for his liking. He could hear the people telling stories, but he wasn’t listening as he focused on you. You were the only thing that mattered to him.

You had put flowers in your hair and you wore a top he didn’t recognize so it had to be new and Neteyam couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were his everything.

It was only once the sun began to dip in the sky and people returned to their tents that Neteyam was able to steal some much needed alone time with you.

Neteyam washed the paint off and put his newly earned battle belt on by himself, but Jake stuck around with a gut instinct and gave his son a nod before he put his hand on his shoulder. Neteyam didn’t have to tell him for him to know he intended to take a mate, he remembered his own youth well and he could only hope his son found the same happiness he found in Neytiri.

Neteyam nodded back to his father, a smile playing on his lips. “Are you sure, son?” Jake asked and Neteyam nodded.

“More sure than I have ever been.”

“Good,” Jake nodded and squeezed his son’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

It was Neteyam’s turn to laugh and he shrugged his father’s hand off, dipping his head to his father one final time before he slipped out to find you. He was a man now, and you were his to claim.

Neteyam held his hand out to you and you blushed as you took it and let him guide you toward the Tree of Souls. If you were to be mated, then you were going to do it properly and you would be mated before Eywa.

It was only you and Neteyam before the tree and your heart raced with anticipation. By the time you got before the tree, before Eywa, you were a couple steps ahead of Neteyam and your ears twitched with every step he took to close the distance between you. Your tail flicked as he shifted his weight and it took him way too long to touch you, his hand just barely brushing your back to make you look at him.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said softly, giving you an out. But you didn’t want an out.

“I want to,” you told him, holding his eyes before you slowly lowered yourself to your knees, your heart racing. This was the moment you had been waiting for your whole life, with the person you had been hoping for.

Neteyam followed your lead and knelt across from you before he pulled his braid over his shoulder. You held his gaze as you did the same, your braid heavy in your hand. You had made the bond with horses and your ikran, but taking a mate was something else entirely. Your heart raced with excitement and anxiety as you gripped the end of your braid and held it up, your tendrils searching for his.

You held Neteyam’s gaze as he gripped the end of his own braid and held it out. You let your eyes drop to your braid as he brought his closer. He paused to give you a chance to pull back, and when you didn’t, he moved his braid closer, letting his tendrils intertwine with yours.

It was unlike anything you had every experienced before.

The air left you lungs and you closed your eyes as you leaned into him, resting your forehead against his as you took a deep breath to steady yourself. His touch felt like electricity as he trailed his hands up your arms. And then you were overcome with warmth and familiarity and comfort. Home, you realized. You felt at home. You pulled back to look at him, your jaw slack and pupils blown and you found Neteyam looking back at you with the same awestruck expression. Warmth and pleasure coursed through your veins and when he cupped your cheek, you leaned into his touch.

And then he kissed you. For as long as you could remember, you dreamt of the touch of your mate, but it was so much better than you could have imagined and you melted into the kiss as you rested your hands on his shoulders and moved closer.

Neteyam’s hands trailed down to your hips and you let him pull you onto his lap, both of you desperate for every touch you could steal. You pulled back from the kiss to catch your breath as you struggled to keep air in your lungs, your pull to Neteyam so strong. Your jaw was slack as you looked at him and you were sure your pupils were as blown as his were.

“Neteyam,” you breathed and rubbed your nose against his, craving his touch.

“I know, my name,” he breathed and rubbed his nose back against yours as he let you feel him through his loin cloth. It pulled a soft moan from your lips which he quickly quieted with another kiss.

“I need you,” he said against your lips and let his hand brush the top of your tail, knowing how sensitive it was, and he was rewarded with you rocking your hips into his.

“I need you, too,” you told him and pulled back so you could run your hand down his strong chest to his newly earned warrior’s belt. It wasn’t something you had ever put on let alone taken off, so Neteyam had to help you rid himself of it so you could once again trail your fingers down his abdomen and down to the top of his loin cloth.

Neteyam’s soft groan had heat pooling between your thighs and you were sure he could feel it. “’Teyam,” you whispered and covered his hand on your hip with your own. His golden eyes were dark as he looked at you and you slowly guided his hand up to your chest, needing him to touch you.

Neteyam had seen your chest more times than he’d care to admit, the necklace and beads provided little coverage, but seeing you and feeling you were two entirely different things. Your skin was warm and soft beneath his touch, but your nipples were hard and when he caught it between his fingers, he was rewarded with a soft moan from you, which he desperately wanted to hear again.

He licked his lips as he brought his hand up to your other breast. His hands dwarfed you, and you moaned and leaned into him as he pinched your nipples, learning exactly what you liked, what you needed.

“’Teyam,” you whined and rocked your hips into his once again. His touch wasn’t enough, you could feel him and you needed him. “My mate,” you whispered and trailed your hands down his back.

“I know,” he nodded. You didn’t have to tell him for him to know. He gave a final tweak to your nipples before trailing his hands down your sides to the band of your loin cloth. He kept his eyes on yours as he undid it and slowly peeled the material away from you. it only made your racing heart more intense as you rested on his lap, and your tail brushed his knees as he looked at you before he laid you back against the soft moss.

You were bare to him, but you didn’t care as he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. Neteyam ran his eyes over you before he reached down to untie his own loin cloth, and then there was nothing between you.

“Please, ‘Teyam.”

He nodded and ran his hand up your thigh toward where you needed him most. As soon as his thumb reached the seam of where your thigh met your hip, Neteyam could feel how badly you needed him, your wetness coating your skin, pulling a soft groan from him.

When he finally touched you, his touch was light and you let your eyes close as you moaned softly. He was gentle as he trailed his fingers up your slit to the bud at the top and he was rewarded with a loud gasp when he rubbed your clit. He watched you with careful eyes as he circled the bud with his fingers and felt how you throbbed for him.

The tips of his fingers were rough from his years of hunting, and between the roughness and sureness of his touch, you wouldn’t last long. Your high was building fast and when you opened your eyes and found his familiar golden eyes looking back at you, it sent you over the edge.

“Neteyam,” you moaned as you came, your back arching as you pressed your hips into his hand. Neteyam groaned as you drenched his hand and he kept rubbing your clit through it, loving your blissed out expression. It was only when your moans turned to whines that he trailed his fingers down your slit to your entrance.

“May I?” He asked and you nodded quickly so he pressed his finger into you, moaning at how warm and tight you were. His mate, he thought. His perfect mate.

Once you adjusted to his finger, he added a second, not wanting to hurt you. He felt your every flutter around his fingers and it made his cock ache. “I need you,” he told you, his voice rough from holding himself back.

“Then have me,” you replied and spread your legs wider, desperate for your mate.

“Eywa have mercy,” he whispered and pulled his fingers from you before slotting himself between your thighs. He didn’t have to ask, he could feel your need, and he held your gaze as he guided himself to your entrance.

You gasped as he pressed into you and he rested his forehead against yours until his hips were touching yours. “My mate,” he breathed as you ran your hands down his back, and when you wrapped your legs around his hips, you felt his tail brush your ankle. Neteyam’s breaths were shallow as he rested his forehead against your shoulder, both of you needing a moment to adjust.

You were finally tied together the way you always should have been.

Together.

Connected.

One.

“’Teyam,” you breathed once you had adjusted and you cupped the back of his head.

He knew exactly what you needed and he nodded as he pulled halfway out before thrusting back into you and started a slow rhythm, soaking in every feeling of you. You had never felt so connected to someone and you melted at his touch, unsure of where you ended and he began.

His movements were slow but sure and you were consumed with the feel and smell of him. He filled you in a way you didn’t know you could be filled and you could feel yourself get closer and closer to that high with his every movement.

It wasn’t long until your moans grew louder and you dug your nails into his shoulders as your tail thrashed against the moss. When you came, your veins were filled with warmth, a warmth that only Neteyam could feel as his hips stuttered. The feeling of his mate cumming around him was indescribable and it pushed him ever closer.

He fucked you through your high before he picked his pace up, searching his own high. It wasn’t long before he came, too, burying himself deep inside you as he filled you up. You gasped at the feeling and pulled him closer, needing every piece of your mate you could get.

Neteyam smiled into your neck as you both caught your breath, and he pressed a light kiss to your skin before he pulled back to look at you with a soft smile. “We are mated before Eywa,” he breathed and cupped your jaw.

You leaned into his touch with a soft smile. “We are mated for life,” you replied, making his smile widen.

“My mate, my beautiful mate,” he smiled and rested his forehead against yours as you both soaked each other in.

You stayed with your forehead against his as your highs melted away, and slowly Neteyam pulled out of you, murmuring a soft apology when you whimpered at the loss of him. You could still feel his every breath and heartbeat, just like he could feel yours, and when he reached to break the bond, you shook your head. “Can we stay like this?” You asked softly.

Neteyam dropped his head as he nodded and he gave you a small smile before he kissed you softly. His every touch felt like home and you melted into him. He ran his thumbs over your cheek as he looked at you, his eyes full of love for you before he let himself settle behind you. His chest was warm against your back as he wrapped his arms around your waist and you smiled to yourself as you leaned back against him.

You could feel his breath and his heart and the entirely of his being.

Whole, you realized, you felt whole. Neteyam was your other half, the part you hadn’t realized you were missing. Your everything.

The bond was a beautiful thing.

You smiled as you melted back against him. Your eyelids were heavy and it was easy for sleep to claim you, and when it did, you dreamt of your future with Neteyam—the way you’d grow together and the son he’d give you—and you smiled as you slept, unaware that Eywa had shown Neteyam the same dream.

--

When you woke to the sunlight streaming on your face the next morning, Neteyam was already awake, just soaking in the feeling of you, your braids still conjoined. He smiled when he realized you were awake and guided you onto your back so he could look at you as he rested on his side.

“Good morning, my mate,” he smiled softly.

“Good morning, my mate,” you repeated and reached out to cup his cheek. Neteyam leaned into your touch, making you smile as you ran your thumb over the arch of his cheek.

All he wanted was to stay wrapped up in you forever, but he knew you both had things to do and expectations to meet. “We should head back to the village,” he whispered and you sighed before nodding.

“We should,” you agreed, even if all you wanted was him.

He nodded and pressed a soft kiss to your lips before he asked to separate your braids. You didn’t want to, but you nodded and let Neteyam pull his braid from yours. You gasped at the break, feeling colder than you did a moment before, but even without the bond you could feel Neteyam. It was nowhere as strong as when your braids met, but he still lingered in the back of your mind and you knew you lingered in the back of his. You gave him a soft smile as you trailed your hand down his arm and he grinned at you, so in love with you.

It wasn’t hard for both of you to redress, through it did take you a few extra moments to clean your thighs, which made Neteyam smirk as he watched you, both of you taking your time, neither of you wanting the moment to end.

You had left the village as individuals, but now you returned as a mated pair. You held his hand as you let him guide you through the village toward his parents, toward the Olo’eykton.

As the Olo’eykton, it was his duty to know of every newly mated pair, and had it been anyone but his father, you wouldn’t have been so nervous. Sure, it was soon after his iknimaya, but he was still a man. But it was Neteyam’s father and Neteyam was the next Olo’eykton, making you, his mate, the next Tsahìk, and you couldn’t disappoint his family, or the People.

To no surprise, his family was already awake. Village life always started early.

“Neteyam,” Neytiri started when she laid her eyes on her oldest son, but her next words died on her tongue when she saw him holding your hand. He didn’t have to say anything for her to know. At his mate’s voice, Jake looked over and the corner of his lips twitched up as he saw his eldest son, already sensing his earlier intuition was correct.

“Mother, father,” Neteyam said and dipped his head to his parents, his hand never leaving yours, “I am taronyu now,” he continued. “Which means—”

“You may now choose a woman,” his mother finished for him, thinking back to the night she told Jake the very same words.

“Yes,” he breathed before he glanced back at you with a smile. “And I have.”

“You have?” Jake asked and Neteyam nodded as he looked to his father.

“We are mated before Eywa.”

His mother took a sharp breath in, not in disapproval, but out of realization that her eldest son had truly become a man and had left her nest. Jake touched Neytiri’s arm to ground her as he nodded to his son. “We’re happy for you,” he said for the both of them before looking at his own mate, encouraging her to say something.

“We are,” she breathed and stepped forward to cup Neteyam’s cheek. “My son,” she whispered and ran her thumb over the arch of his cheek.

Neteyam smiled at his mother before he nodded and pulled back from her touch, his smile widening as he looked at you and let his tail brush yours. Jake nodded at the interaction before he smiled at you, “welcome to the family.”

Your smile widened before you dipped your head to him. “Thank you, sir.”

“Nah,” Jake waved his hand. “It’s Jake.” He told you, though one day you’d come to call him ‘dad.’

You were welcomed into the Sully family with open arms. Neytiri had her reservations, as would any mother, but Jake adored you. He saw how deeply you cared for Neteyam, and how deeply Neteyam cared for you, and though he’d never admit it, Jake could see him and Neytiri in you two.

Neteyam’s youngest sister, Tuk, adored you and though Neteyam was her best friend, you were a close second. Kiri was happy to have another sister, and one closer in age than Tuk. And Lo’ak…

Lo’ak treated you like you had always been there. He didn’t hesitate to make fun of you like he did for the rest of his siblings, and he certainly didn’t hold back as he made fun of you picking Neteyam for your mate. It always made Neteyam roll his eyes and, more often than not, call his sibling a skxawng, but it made you smile because it meant you were truly part of the family and you loved it.

The bond was beautiful, as was the family you gained with it.

The problem was, nothing stayed perfect forever.

Everything changed the day Jake realized there was one too many stars in the sky.

Twenty years before, Toruk Makto led the clans to victory over the Sky People, all Na’vi knew his story, but the war was over, something of the past, something that had come and gone before either you or Neteyam were born—or it was supposed to be anyway.

The Second War against the Sky People was more intense than you could have ever imagined, with the guns and the fire and the relocation and the devastation and the death—so many deaths.

A very capable hunter, Neteyam was always involved in the war effort. A spotter. He tried to reassure you that it was the safest role he could have, that he wasn’t on the ground on the front lines, but it didn’t make you feel any better. There was no “safe” in a war. And you had seen too many of your people die.

As the mate of the next Olo’eykton, you could be the next Tsahìk, so Mo’at had taken you under her win, teaching you so you could one day take her place. So, unlike your mate, his parents and his brother, your role in the war wasn’t out there but back at home as you worked to heal the wounded—and make comfortable those who would be welcomed into Eywa’s arms.

You knew your role was important, but it was hard. It was hard to see the devastation and the death, and it was hard knowing your mate was out there and could just as easily be the next person who came through the tent flap in need of help.

You could never breathe deeply, let alone eat or drink, until he was home safe.

And the day he came back home bruised and bloodied, you dropped your tray of herbs before you rushed to him, even as Jake scolded him and Lo’ak.

“I’m fine,” he told you softly, but the blood on your hand said otherwise.

“You are bleeding, he is bleeding,” you said as you turned to Jake after he finished his little speech. “I am taking him to Mo’at.” Neytiri backed you up, also worried for her son, so Jake dismissed him and you heard Neytiri arguing with him as you led Neteyam toward the healing tent, your hand on his back.

“I’m fine, truly,” he repeated once you two were out of earshot of his parents.

“You are hurt,” you replied softly and stopped to look at him, taking his hand in yours. “My heart aches seeing you hurt.”

Neteyam gave you a soft smile and rested his forehead against yours. “I am fine, my mate,” he said before he kissed you. “I feel no pain when I am with you.”

His words made your heart flutter and you retuned his smile. “You still require healing,” you replied and led him to Mo’at’s tent where Kiri was helping her grandmother.

You knew you should help Mo’at, but you couldn’t find it in you to leave your mate’s side. Kiri knew what to do, she was even better than you were, and you were more than happy to let her assist Mo’at while you held Neteyam’s hand, the end of your tail curled around his ankle.

Your heart ached every time he winced at the sting of the antiseptic and you squeezed his hand as you watched Mo’at and Kiri. His wound looked worse than it was, and you let out a relieved breath as they finished up.

“See?” Neteyam smiled weakly. “I’m okay.” You shook your head but still thanked Eywa that your mate was alright.

Still, you struggled to find sleep that night, your mind consumed with the what ifs of your mate’s injury. It would be too easy for his injury to be worse, for him to be taken from you. You had seen too many lose their mates the last year and had their blood curling screams as their hearts shattered beyond repair permanently imprinted in your memory.

To lose a mate was a fate worse than death, and you knew you’d never survive it.

Neteyam healed quickly from his wounds and Lo’ak was grounded for his recklessness. Neteyam was back on his ikran long before Lo’ak was, and without his ikran, without being involved in the war, Lo’ak somehow managed to create even more trouble as he convinced his siblings to return to the old shack.

It was a harmless intention born out of boredom and frustration, but the results were life altering.

It was Avatars. New Avatars. In tactical gear. They managed to get Lo’ak, Kiri, Tuk and Spider under their knives and you didn’t want to think of what could have happened if not for Jake, Neytiri and Neteyam. But Jake knew they’d never stop hunting them, hunting his family. They may have won the battle, but the war still raged.

Everything changed after that, after they took Spider.

Jake and Neytiri knew the People would never be safe as long as they stayed with them, so they had to leave.

The words were like stones in Neteyam’s heart as he told you his family was planning to leave.

The Forest was your home, the only place you ever knew, the only place you ever wanted to know. The Forest was where you were born, where you grew up, where you fell in love with Neteyam, where you were supposed to raise your children.

Neteyam could sense your hesitation. “My father said it was for the best. He said that the Sky People are hunting us and not the People, so if we leave, the People will be safe,” he explained as he took your hand in his and brushed his tail against yours. “But I will stay with you if you ask me, my mate.” He would follow you to the end of the world if you asked.

You tightened your lips as you thought, but it was an easy decision. Just a painful one. “I go where you go,” you told him softly and squeezed his hand. “You are my home and my future, Neteyam.”

In hindsight, you really wished you had asked him to stay.

You packed your things onto your ikran and your heart ached as you said your goodbyes, but Neteyam was your mate. You couldn’t be without him.

Neteyam flew by your side as you left the Forest and even without touching him, you felt his comfort and you gave him a soft smile. As long as you were together, you’d be alright.

In the end, you found sanctuary with the Metkayina, the reef people.

It was hard to learn their ways, it was hard leaning the way of the water when the Forest was all you knew, but what you didn’t expect was how hard it was to see Neteyam lose his battle belt. His whole life he had been working toward it, working to become taronyu and earn his place among the People, and he barely had it a year before it was taken from him; before his symbol of manhood was taken from him.

Neteyam may have been taronyu, a man, among the Omatikaya, but you were Metkayina now and the iknimaya of the Omatikaya meant nothing here. He had to learn the way of the water and earn his place among the Metkayina before he’d be seen as a man.

Like Jake, Neteyam’s ears dropped as his belt was taken away and you did your best to steel your shoulders like Neytiri. You both had to be strong for your mates.

None of you were seen as adults among the Metkayina, but rather as children. It frustrated some more than others, like you and Neytiri. Neteyam took after his father and tried to take the transition in stride and did what he could to fit in.

And if the relocation and the helpless feeling wasn’t enough, you were sick a few times after the transition. Initially, you blamed it on the dietary shift. Sure, fish had been a part of your diet before, but it was freshwater fish and something you only had on occasion rather than every meal of every day. It was easy to blame your sickness on the fish, you just didn’t realize that none of the others were getting sick. Not until you were shucking oysters with Ronal at least.

Ronal was the Tsahìk of the Metkayina. She saw all and she was especially hesitant toward you and Neytiri. Both you and Neytiri were being trained to become the Tsahìk of the Omatikaya, so it was natural for you both to resume your training with Ronal, she just wasn’t overly fond of the idea.

Ronal let it go the first few times you gagged at the smell of the oysters before she sighed. “Have you mated recently?” She asked without looking at you.

Your eyes bugged at the question. “Why do you ask?” You replied and stopped shucking to look over at her.

“Because I am wondering if you are with child,” Ronal replied, and the knife slipped from your hand.

“What?” You asked breathlessly.

“With child,” she repeated simply. She had had two children of her own with a third on the way, and she had helped to deliver more babes than she could count. She knew the signs well and given the amount of time she had been spending with you over the last couple weeks, she could see them in you. When you didn’t answer, Ronal looked over at you, “it is a simple question. Have you mated recently?”

Your ears went back as you blushed and nodded. Ronal hummed and put the oyster she was holding and her knife down before she stood and beckoned you up. She hummed as she looked you over before she touched your forehead and then your stomach.

“Food aversion?” She asked and you nodded.

“Fatigue?” You nodded again.

“Have you bled?” You thought about it for a moment before you ears went back further. You had been so focused on fitting in and your mate you hadn’t realized.

Ronal hummed and stepped back. “I do believe you are with child,” she said before she returned to her oysters like your world hadn’t just shifted on its axis—again.

Your hands shook as you gently touched your stomach.

Pregnant.

You—

You’d be lying if you said you couldn’t be, you certainly found comfort in your mate’s arms many, many times since the relocation. But pregnant? Now? Could there be a worse time?

Slowly, you pulled your hands back and took a deep breath to clear your mind and ground yourself before you picked your knife back up and reached for another oyster.

“There are other things to do,” Ronal told you. “If the small bothers you, you will be slow. Tsireya will provide you with a different task to do.” You wanted to take her up on the offer, but you could hear Jake’s voice in your head telling you not to cause trouble and pull your weight, so you shook your head.

“I will be fine.”

She hummed but wasn’t surprised when you gagged again a moment later and she cast a look in your direction. You sighed as you nodded and moved your basket of unshucked oysters over to her, “I will find Tsireya.” If she smiled as you walked away, well, no one had to know.

Everyone was still so focused on fitting in and you could see the way looking after Lo’ak and keeping him out of trouble weighed on Neteyam, so you kept the news to yourself. If you told him, he’d only worry about you more than he already did and you didn’t want that.

And, well, it was no surprise that Ronal wasn’t fond of you. Forest People. Outcast. Alien. But knowing you were with child made Ronal soften. She didn’t look at you with the same animosity she did the others, and every time she saw you, she was sure to ask how you were doing. The Sullys were smart people, and it didn’t take Neytiri long to put two and two together and realize something was up with you, but she kept her suspicions to herself as she kept a careful eye on you.

You had always been the more affectionate one in your relationship with Neteyam, always touching him or seeking to touch him, but now you were reserved. At first, Neytiri thought you two were fighting, but Neteyam assured her you weren’t, that it was just the move and the swimming was exhausting you and the fish wasn’t agreeing with you, which was true—it just wasn’t the whole truth.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to tell him. You did, you just didn’t want to add to his already full plate, and then the longer you kept it a secret the harder it was to tell him. Between Kiri’s seizure and Norm coming and Lo’ak and Neteyam’s fight with Ao’nung and Payakan and the Tulkun, there just wasn’t a good time to tell him.

It was only after yet another dinner you couldn’t keep down that the truth finally came to light.

“You are unwell,” Neteyam said as he followed you toward your hut. It was the third time this week and he was tired of you constantly brushing it, and him, off.

“I’m fine, Neteyam,” you sighed. “It’s just—”

“The move? The fish?” He repeated your words back to you. “No, I don’t believe you. Have you spoken to Ronal? She is Tsahìk and she could help you.”

You hesitated before you turned back to look at him with tight lips before you sighed and took his hand. He gave you a concerned look as you guided him down to the beach where you could have some privacy. “Ronal can’t help me,” you said as you turned to face and gently fiddled with his fingers. “Because I am not sick.”

“It is just us, my mate, you never need lie to me,” he replied softly and used his free hand to cup your cheek.

“I’m not lying, ‘Teyam,” you breathed and covered his hand with yours before you guided it down to your stomach. “I’m not sick, I’m with child.”

Neteyam froze as he let your words sink in before he softened. “You are with child?” He whispered and stepped closer to you.

You nodded, “it’s horrible timing, but—”

“But nothing,” he smiled. “This is amazing news! We’re having a baby—the first of many I hope.” You were taken by surprise when he picked you up and spun you around, completely elated.

You laughed softly as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders before you patted him. “Enough, ‘Teyam, I’ll be sick again.”

“Right, sorry, my love,” he replied and sat you down, his smile never wavering as he touched your stomach again. “I’m just really happy.”

“I am, too,” you said softly and covered his hand before you kissed him softly. He cupped the back of your head to keep you close, but you both couldn’t stop smiling so you pulled back and rested your hand on his chest, feeling the familiar, comforting beat of his heart.

Neteyam wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer by the small of your back before he rested his forehead against yours. “I would take you here and now on the beach if you let me, my mate,” he hummed.

“Anyone could see, including your parents,” you laughed.

“Then let them see,” he hummed and when he tried to kiss you again, you shoved him back, making him laugh loudly before he pulled you close again, the tips of his fingers brushing the base of your tail, knowing how sensitive it was.

“Once the sickness passes,” you told him and guided his hand back up to your back.

Neteyam softened and he nodded, “of course, my mate. May I at least hold you tonight?”

“I’d expect nothing else,” you smiled and let him lead you back toward your hut. Once Neteyam closed the flap, you rid yourself of your top—another sign of your growing baby was how swollen and sensitive your breasts had become and the weight of the beads irritated you in a way they never had before.

Neteyam groaned low in his throat as he knelt on the bed, “are you sure you don’t want me to pleasure you, my mate?” He asked softly.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you laughed and pulled him down next to you and you laughed when his hand managed to find your breast after he settled behind you. He didn’t try to do more than hold your breast while his other hand rested on your stomach, so you let him as you pressed yourself back against him.

The reef wasn’t the Forest, but it was nice and welcoming and you could see you two raising your children along the blue water and sandy beaches. Neteyam’s tail curled around your ankle and you smiled as you tried to press yourself closer to him. You could feel him smile into your neck and it was easy to fall asleep.

He was your everything.

This family was your everything.

And if you knew what would happen next, you would have fought sleep to soak in the feeling of his arms one last time. You would have memorized the beating of his heart and the rise and fall of his chest. You would have traced every dark line that decorated his body. You would have held him a little longer.

You wouldn’t have taken the moment for granted, expecting thousands more in the coming years.

But you didn’t know what would happen so you didn’t, and the ache of regret would eat at you for the rest of your days.

The bond… it’s a beautiful thing.

Until it isn’t.

--

The village was devastated by the hunting of the Tulkun by the Sky People. They were their spirit brothers and sisters, and Jake didn’t have to say it for you to know it happened because you were here. They weren’t hunting the Tulkun, they were hunting you. When Jake took the tracker from Neteyam, you took his hand and he tried to reassure you as he squeezed your hand.

“You tell the Tulkun if they’re hit by one of these, they’re marked for death.”

Jake’s words hung heavy in the air. Neteyam gave you a look that told you everything would be okay, but your stomach still twisted. You came to the Metkayina to hide; to keep your people safe. You promised them you were done with war, but the war still followed you—and at the cost of their spirit siblings.

And because nothing ever came easy, Lo’ak was determined to warn Payakan himself. Neteyam followed Lo’ak, knowing his brother better than anyone and his suspicions were confirmed when he saw Lo’ak gathering a saddle for an ilu.

He shook his head, a frustrated smile on his lips, “no way, you’re not going, baby brother.”

Lo’ak wasn’t having any of it. “I have to warn Payakan,” he told his brother firmly.

“No. You have to keep your skxawng ass here,” Neteyam replied, gritting his teeth. For once, could he just listen to him.

But Lo’ak never did. “He’s outcast. There’s no one to warn him but me.”

Neteyam shook his head as he clenched his fist. “Bro, why do you always have to make things so hard?” Neteyam said exasperated as he touched the top of Lo’ak’s’ head, but Lo’ak quickly shoved him off as his eyes hardened.

“No. You mean why can’t I be the perfect son like you, a perfect little soldier. Well, I’m not you, okay? I’m not you. He’s my brother. I’m going.” Neteyam clenched his jaw as he stepped back, his brother’s words cutting him like a knife. If he only knew the weight of his words, but he didn’t and he never would as Neteyam swallowed back the bitter words threatening to spill out and he steeled himself as stepped closer to his brother.

“Oh, he’s your brother? No, I’m your brother,” his voice was hard as he stared Lo’ak down, but Lo’ak didn’t concede and he scoffed before he dove in the water, heading for Payakan and Neteyam knew he had to go after him.

“Neteyam!” You called as you came up behind him and he shook his head.

“He’s going to Payakan,” he told you and you were hot on his heels as he summoned his ilu, as were Tsireya, Kiri, Tuk, Ao’nung and Rotxo. But when you went to summon your own ilu, Neteyam put his hand on your stomach to keep you back. “I need you here where you’re safe,” he told you but you shook his head.

“I’m going, Neteyam.” He opened his mouth to argue, but your look silenced him. Wherever your mate went, you would follow.

His tail flicked as he clenched his jaw before he nodded. “With me then,” he said before he dove into the water and you followed his lead. You quickly settled behind him on his ilu and wrapped your hand around his waist while he held onto the reigns of the ilu with one hand, his other hand reaching back to hold your thigh, keeping you against him as he followed after Lo’ak to Payakan.

By the time you got to Payakan, Lo’ak was struggling against the red tracker buried in Payakan’s back while the others tried to help. You and Neteyam were quick to jump on and help, but the tracker was in deep and you realized quickly that the demon ship was rapidly approaching.

“Call dad,” Neteyam said to Lo’ak. “Just do it.”

He didn’t want to, he knew the trouble he’d be in, so he hesitated before he called Jake. Lo’ak’s words were muffled as you all focused on the tracker. Your heart raced as you kept glancing between it and the demon ship. “Come on, come on, come on,” you said as Neteyam tossed a rope up to Ao’nung who wrapped one end around the tracker while Neteyam wrapped the other end around the reigns of his ilu.

“Please, Eywa, please,” you whispered as you pulled and pulled and finally the tracker gave, and you all fell at the release of tension. Neteyam was quick to gather the tracker as Lo’ak told Payakan to go.

“Go, I’ll draw them away,” Neteyam told you, making your blood go cold. When you opened your mouth to argue, Neteyam shook his head. They were after the tracker and Neteyam couldn’t have it anywhere near you, your baby, or his siblings. “Take Tuk, I’ll see you after.”

You had no choice but to nod and you gathered Tuk and Kiri on Kiri’s ilu and led them into the seaweed for cover, but the submarines followed you. Your mind raced as quickly as your heart as your ilu weaved between plants and leaves, desperate for any cover, but there wasn’t any to be had. There was too many of them.

The submarines swarmed you, forcing you off the ilu and you kept your eyes on Tuk as you swam toward an air pocket, Lo’ak and Tsireya right behind you while Kiri ended up with Ao’nung and Rotxo. “They’re coming,” Tsireya said and you were all quick to dive back under, but it was useless. The submarines could move faster than you could swim.

It was over when they launched the net at you. You didn’t realize it was coming until it was too late, the net already surrounding you and the air left your lungs as you began to panic. Lo’ak managed to escape before it caught him and he pulled at the net trying to rescue you, Tuk and Tsireya, but it was no use. The net scooped you up and dropped you on board the demon ship. Your vision swam as you tried to catch your breath, your lungs burning, and before you knew it, you were bound to the demon ship’s rail.

You watched as Tuk, Tsireya and Lo’ak struggled against the bonds but you knew it pointless. You were stuck. You were stuck and your mate was somewhere out there. You felt useless as the Metkayina attacked the demon ship. When you came and begged for sanctuary, you had promised them there would be no more war and now the war was here and they’d die because of your family.

You looked Tuk and your heart sank at the terror in her eyes, and you were so focused on Tuk you didn’t notice Payakan until he was on top of you, desperate to save Lo’ak.

All hell broke loose after that.

“Don’t watch,” you told Tuk. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” Neteyam had always been her favourite family member, but you were a close second given you were his mate. Her cheeks were wet with tears as she nodded. “Just keep your eyes on me, Tuk,” you repeated.

It was only when Neteyam jumped on board that you were finally able to take a deep breath. A smile played on his lips as he cut your bounds, then Tuk’s, then Tsireya’s before he reached his brother and cut him free. “Who’s the might warrior? Come on, say it,” he grinned as he touched Lo’ak’s head before he turned back to you.

“Bro,” Lo’ak smiled and reached for a gun while Neteyam had his back to him.

“Go, get out of here. Take Tuk. Go,” Neteyam said to you.

“Neteyam—” you tried but he shook his head.

“Go,” he repeated, begging you to listen to him, and you clenched your jaw as you tried to lead Tuk away, and Neteyam kept his eyes on you, desperate to make sure you and Tuk were safe. But when he heard the familiar click of a gun, he turned back to his brother.

“We have to go,” he said but Lo’ak shook his head.

“He has Spider. Come on, bro, we can’t lose him,” Lo’ak said and headed into the ship.

Neteyam protested under his breath before he followed after his brother. Lo’ak always had to make things difficult.

At the same time, they managed to grab Kiri. Tuk’s scream for her sister would forever be imprinted in your memory, but you had to get her to safety. Jake and Neytiri would get Kiri.

Except, Tuk fought your hold on her before she slipped free and headed back for the ship. “Sullys stick together,” she said and you grumbled under your breath before you abandoned your ilu and headed after her, needing to keep her safe.

“This isn’t a good idea, Tuk,” you whisper shouted at her, but she ignored you, desperate to save Kiri, and you were sure to be quiet as you followed her.

“Kiri!” She called when she saw her sister, slipping under the bars as you both tried to break Kiri’s bonds, but it was no use and an Avatar was quick to bind Tuk to the rail next to Kiri before shoving you back into the water. Your heart sank and you wanted nothing more than to jump up and fight and rescue them and keep them safe, but when the bullets hit the water, you knew it wasn’t an option and you called to a nearby ilu and quickly jumped on. You’d have to find another way to rescue them and you circled the water looking for any sign of your mate and Lo’ak.

You were granted a moment of relief when you saw Tsireya, but it was short lived as you realized she was alone and your heart sank. Tsireya pulled her ilu up beside yours and pursed her lips as she shook her head. Neteyam and Lo’ak had to still be on board.

Your heart twisted before a flash of cold went through your body and you gasped for breath under the water, the air bubbling around you as Lo’ak, Spider and Neteyam jumped into the water above you, bullets still raining around you.

No.

No.

You knew it. Before he could even say it, you knew, the freezing cold blooming in your chest that left you gasping for air as you resurfaced in the water.

“That was insane, cous,” the voice was muffled in your ears.

“Neteyam,” you breathed and reached out to him.

“You skxawng, I’ve been shot.”

Panic coursed through your veins and you swore you didn’t breathe as you wrapped your arm around him to keep his head above the water, the normally clear water stained red with his blood. Too much blood.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” you said to both him and yourself, even as the ice in your chest melted to a sharp ache that shot down your arm and Neteyam’s expression twisted in pain.

The panic in Lo’ak’s eyes mirrored your own as he helped you get Neteyam onto the ilu before he pulled you on too. “Shit,” he hissed under his breath. Neteyam was a mighty warrior, the best of his age, but he was weak in his arms.

“They have Kiri and Tuk,” Tsireya tried to tell him, but the words never really processed for him.

“We can’t go back,” he replied and raced for the rocks, Tsireya and Spider holding on to the side if the ilu’s reigns. You kept your hand pressed against Neteyam’s chest as you moved through the water and his hand gripped your wrist tightly, needing to hold on to you, needing to anchor himself to you.

It only took a minute to get to the rocks, but it felt like hours. Lo’ak helped you carry Neteyam as he gritted his teeth in pain. Your chest felt tighter with every passing second and you didn’t know if it was your own anxiety, or your mate slipping through your fingers.

Your hands shook as you moved around him and your ears started to ring as you rolled him onto his side. The shot was clean through.

“It’s almost always better for the bullet to be clean through.” You could hear Jake’s voice in your head and you laid him back and put pressure on his chest as you begged Eywa to help you.

It was almost always better.

Almost.

Neteyam’s hands were coated in his own blood and he looked up at you with wide, terrified eyes before he grasped your bicep, his grip nowhere near as strong as it was when he held your wrist.

“You’re okay, you’re going to be okay,” you told him, willing your voice not to shake so you could be strong for your mate. He breathed your name before he scrunched his face up like he was trying to get away from the pain. “You’re going to be okay,” you repeated before pulling your eyes away from his as Jake and Neytiri settled around you.

“No, no, no,” Jake whispered as he perched across from you.

“Clean through,” you told him before he could ask, your ears back and hands red with Neteyam’s blood, and your heart dropped at the way his ears went back. “No,” you whispered, unable to muster your voice any louder before you looked back at your mate. He had to be okay.

He had to.  

“You’ll be okay,” Neteyam told you as he struggled to force air into his lungs.

The ache in your chest began to ease to a fuzzy feeling and you shook your head. “No, no, Neteyam.” You couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t survive it.

“You’ll both be okay,” he breathed, his voice softer than a whisper as he dropped his hand to your stomach.

“I see you; I love you,” you told him, desperately trying not to cry and you pulled one of your hands from his chest to cup his jaw, your thumb tracing the dark line that decorated the arch of his cheek.

“I know, I—”

Neteyam never finished his sentence and his hand dropped from your stomach, leaving a bloody handprint in its wake.

You felt the moment he died.

The warmth, the comfort, the unmistakable feeling of him, fizzled out, replaced instead with an unshakeable feeling of emptiness.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You were supposed to spend your life with him.

It was supposed to be you and him.

You and him.

You were lightheaded as you settled back on your haunches, your hands red with his blood and Lo’ak caught you as you swayed.

Numb.

The only way to describe the feeling was numb, like he had taken your soul with him when he died, leaving nothing but an empty shell in his wake.

And maybe he had.

The bond is beautiful, that’s what they tell you. But they never tell you of the anguish that comes with it.

You could separate your life into before Neteyam and after Neteyam. The before wasn’t important, it didn’t matter, because Neteyam was your world. He was your everything, your world spun on an axis of you and him. The People say you’re born twice, once when you are born and then again when you find your place among the people, and you were born again the day Neteyam chose you. And now all that was left of your mate was his bloody handprint and the world had the audacity to keep on spinning.

The ringing in your ears drowned out Neytiri’s blood curling scream for her first-born son, and you slouched into Lo’ak as you kept your eyes on Neteyam’s. His beautiful, golden, lifeless eyes.

You didn’t hear Jake ask Lo’ak where his sisters were. You didn’t hear Tsireya tell him they were on the ship. You didn’t hear Spider tell him to follow him. And you certainly didn’t hear Jake tell Lo’ak to stay and that he had done enough. You didn’t hear any of it as you kept looking at your mate, unable to pull your eyes away, no matter how painful it was.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You only heard Lo’ak tell Tsireya he was going because he pulled back from you, jostling you enough to pull you from your trance to steady yourself. “Lo’ak, no,” she replied desperately, but there was no stopping him as he dove back into the water, leaving you alone with her and your mate’s dead body.

You didn’t know how long you two sat there in the silence, it could have been seconds or minutes or hours, before Tsireya broke it. “We should wash your hands,” she said softly.

You curled your hands into fists. You didn’t want to. Washing the blood off meant losing the only tangible part of your mate you had left. But you knew she was right, so you nodded and you moved on autopilot as she led you to the edge of the water. Your gaze was blank as she washed Neteyam’s blood off your hands, but you drew the line when she reached for your stomach.

“No,” you said sharply and gripped her wrist before she could touch you. Her ears went back as she nodded before she took your hand in hers as you sat back on the rock.  

You felt both empty and heavy at the same time as you sat there before Tsireya found her voice again. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, unsure of what else to say.

Your ears went back as you nodded, not trusting your voice. You opened and closed your mouth a few times before you looked over at her. “You and Lo’ak deserve better,” you whispered and touched your stomach, desperate to remind yourself of something worth living for.

Her ears went back even further as her shoulders dropped, but she followed your hand with her eyes. “He—” she started before she stopped herself. “Are you?” She asked instead.

You nodded again before you looked over at her with tears streaming down your cheeks. “I can’t do this on my own. I can’t do this without him.”

Her shoulders dropped as her ears went back again. She couldn’t imagine what you were feeling. “You won’t do this alone,” she told you softly. “You have the village behind you.”

You knew she only meant to comfort you, but her words only reminded you that Neteyam would never meet his child. “But I need him,” you whispered before you pulled your hand from her and pushed yourself away from the water’s edge.

Your heart broke all over again as you looked at your mate, laying there lifelessly, blood staining his beautiful blue skin. His eyes were still open as they stared at the sky above—at nothing. You couldn’t help the sob that escaped you as you looked at him before you reached out and softly closed his eyes. He’d look like he was sleeping, if not for all the blood.

But despite all the blood, you laid down next to him and gently put your head on his chest as you curled into him, your tail wrapping around his ankle.

His chest was silent and still and you wept into him, begging Eywa to give him back.

But she didn’t.

His chest never rose, his heart never beat, his skin never warmed, and his eys never opened.

He was gone.

Your beautiful mate was gone and there was nothing you could do to get him back.

--

The funeral was harder than you expected, having to say goodbye to his body as you, Jake and Neytiri lowered his body down to the Cove of the Ancestors. You knew that he was gone, that your mate was gone, that it was just a shell of his being, but you still wept, your tears burning your eyes more than the salt ever did.

Your lungs burnt as the air left you as you watched as the cove took his body, wrapping around him as it slowly consumed him, and just like that, he was gone, a piece of the ocean.

The way of water has no beginning and no end. The sea is around you and in you. The sea is your home, before your birth and after your death.

The first thing anyone heard when you resurfaced was your sob and you let Neytiri hug you as you sobbed into her shoulder. “My child,” she whispered as she held you close.

“It’s not fair,” you managed to get out between sobs.

“I know,” she whispered, her heart just as broken as yours.

Eywa holds all her children in her heart, but all you wanted was to hold him in your arms.

--

And if you thought the funeral was hard, visiting the Spirit Tree was even harder. Jake and Neytiri had gone soon after the funeral but took you days to get the courage to visit, to visit Neteyam.

Your tears disappeared into the salt water as you held your braid in your hand. Your heart ached in your chest, but slowly you let your tendrils connect with the Spirit Tree.

At first, all you felt was warmth as white consumed your vision, but then you were filled with the familiar view of the Forest, of your home. You smiled to yourself as you looked around, and just like that, Neteyam slipped out from between the trees, his battle belt and ikran eyewear on and your eyes watered as you looked at him, every bit the man you loved.

“Neteyam?” You asked and he smiled as he came around you, his tail wrapping around yours in a way he knew comforted you.

“Why are you crying, my mate?” He asked concerned he reached out to cup your jaw.

“I’m just happy to see you,” you told him breathlessly and you committed his smile to memory.

“I’m happy to see you, too, my mate,” he replied and you trailed your eyes over every mark on his body as your heart wept.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

Neteyam was your everything, your best friend, your lover, your mate, the father of your child.

From the moment his braid meant yours, you felt him. You felt him in a way no one else could and no one else would. You felt his being. And too soon you had felt him go.

Memories of you two as children, growing up, becoming teenagers, and falling in love, flashed before your eyes and you took water into your lungs as you sobbed, forcing yourself to pull back from the spirit tree and returned to the surface, one hand treading water as you held your stomach with the other.

A boy, you thought suddenly, the Tsahìk abilities you had been training for finally showing themselves. You were having a boy.

The bond is a beautiful thing, but it’s also the most painful thing you ever experienced, the beginning and end of everything, of all that you are.

[oldiesstationlover11607]

Hello. What’s up? It’s me. Anonymous. You’re good old pal (okay I’ll stop). The Josh drum lesson fic was so cute btw! Gosh I wish I had writing talent. Btw, I’m not sure if you want me to pick an emoji to identify as or if you will pick it, but feel free to assign me one if you want.

So………I had another request………but it’s Tyler this time…..kinda.

Could you do a angsty one shot from when Clancy is in Dema and is forced to make propaganda (Scaled and Icy era. Look, I like Tyler with pink hair okay). He meets the reader (how? It’s up to you. Makeup artist, manager of some sort, etc.). They bond, he tells her in secret about life outside the walls and stuff and sort of gets her on the Bandito’s side. After he escapes (as seen in Saturday), she expects him to somehow get in contact with her again and help her escape Dema, but he never does.

You could end it there or maybe flash forward to the events of Paladin Strait and do something with that, it’s up to you. Thanks for always taking my silly ideas to the next level and making me smile with your work.

Number 16 Cotton Candy - Clancy x Reader

Relationship: Tyler Joseph/Clancy × Fem!Reader

Warnings: Violence, anything related to Dema or the Trench story that's generally triggering

Word Count: 1813 (it’s a big one!)

Summary: Check the request!

PART 2

A/N: I’ll give you the 💛 emoji for the yellow banditos! And you’re definitely not alone anon, I freaking love pink hair Tyler (I have a whole pinterest board section dedicated to SAI and Ty’s pink hair) :)

I’d never expected to be working on ‘Good Day Dema’. My family had a long history with the bishops, working for them that is. I remember when the letter came, asking me to be the talent manager for the next season. This ranged from making sure makeup and hair was done to keeping talent company before the show. Except, they didn’t tell me the talent was Clancy, the Clancy. We’d spent a couple days together, me running him through the show, him not saying a single word but listening to all instructions. He’d learnt the choreography, every step and change for the show, but not spoken a single word to anyone but the bishops when asked. I was escorted to a light blue door in the hallway of the soundstage building. 

“He’s in there. You’ll be dying his hair number 16 cotton candy and ensuring he’s ready to film,” one of the assistants said. 

“Thanks,” I smiled sheepishly before walking inside and closing the door. Clancy sat in the corner of the room, his blank eyes staring me down. I nodded over to the chair. He rose to his feet, quietly wandered over and sat in front of me. I’d heard things about him, how he’d escaped into Trench, and was dragged back here. I’d also listened to the new album ‘Scaled and Icy’, a complete 360 from the themes of his letters–not that we were allowed to be reading them. 

“It looks like they’re wanting number 16 Cotton Candy. We’ll have to bleach it,” I said, grabbing the bleach and color from the cabinet, “You good with that?” His eyes darted up to me. 

“You’re asking me?” he asked, his brows furrowed. His voice sounded exactly how it did on the record, except tired. I tried to hide my surprise that he’d responded at all. I nodded. 

“Of course I am. It’s your hair.” Deep down I knew I shouldn’t have been talking to him like this. I was being paid to ensure he looked exactly how the bishops wanted him to, not asking his opinion. 

“Why don’t you just do your job and we can both get this over with?” he spoke with sarcasm dripping from each word. I nodded and got to work with the bleach. The room was quiet except for the radio which was playing SAI on repeat–it was up to Shy Away. 

“I’m sorry about what you’ve had to go through,” I mumbled, completely unsure if I was overstepping a boundary. 

“That’s the price of attempting to escape,” he shrugged and I nodded knowingly. “Have you ever dyed your hair?” he asked, watching me place the foils on his head. 

“Once before. It was a hotter pink, back when we were still allowed to have coloured hair. Do you remember that?”

He nodded. “Yeah I do. My friends were the reason they banned it. They dyed it yellow.” Everyone in Dema knew yellow was a color of rebellion, the color of the banditos (if you even believed in them). Wearing it was almost an instant detainment, or worse. 

“Ah, I remember that,” I smiled softly, remembering the story on the news. “So the bleach is going to take about 30 minutes and then we can do the color. I’ll stay here though, there’s not much for me to do.” The song on the radio switched to Never Take It. “It must be weird to hear your own voice on the radio,” I commented, glad that I was a manager rather than a talent.  

“Yeah, it kinda is. Especially since it’s full of the bishops’ propaganda rather than my own thoughts.” I had a feeling the changes in theme were related to the bishops. “It’s hard to be creative when they’ve got you locked up and use you for entertainment.” The sigh that escaped his chapped lips revealed a level of exhaustion only he knew. 

“Your letters are so different from this,” I spoke, knowing I’d crossed a line and couldn’t go back. He turned around to face me, a confused look on his face.

“You’ve read my letters? How? They’re not allowed in the city.”

“They passed by me when they were first here.” The letters were initially spread from house to house before the bishops found and burned them all. 

“And… what did you think?” I couldn’t tell why he was asking this. What his intentions were. But I could tell he was trying to piece something together. 

“You have a lot to say about our lives here,” I paused before adding, “and Trench. It didn’t end well for you to end up here though.” 

“That’s because I believe everyone deserves to know the truth, whether or not I’m taken back here and used for propaganda is irrelevant. People need to know the truth.” He was ambitious, I’d give him that. I removed the foils and washed his hair before starting with the pink. I grabbed some gloves, mixed the color and started applying it evenly. “You know, you’re pretty for a Dema girl,” he remarked. 

“Does that mean bandito girls are prettier?” I laughed. He shrugged, clearly showing his perspective. “I’m surprised you’ve still got a sense of humor after everything you’ve been through.” His face dropped slightly at that. It was clear that despite being held in a prisoners’ cell this whole time he still had the spark that made him Clancy. It had to be hard but he still had it. 

“I mean it Y/N, you’re pretty… but you should try to leave this place. Out there in Trench everything is different. The colors, the freedom, the creativity. You’ll never want to come back.” His eyes were full of hope. It was clear he was the right person to lead the rebellion. 

“I–I can’t�� I’ve got a life here, Clancy,” I sighed. I wanted to, I did. But if he was caught and sent back here then there was no chance I’d even make it out of the walls. He nodded knowingly. 

“I understand. Just know there is always a place for you at the camp.” I finished up his color, washed the dye off in the sink, and styled it for the show. We continued talking about Trench and the banditos, what life was like out there. I reminded him that the bishops wanted a performance for the annual assemblage, slightly disappointed that I hadn’t been invited to manage him. Once his hair was finished and makeup done I turned the chair around. A soft smile grew on his face. 

“I like it. Thank you,” he got up and pulled me in an embrace. His hair smelt of the shampoo I’d used, vanilla. 

“You’re welcome. I’ve got your jacket over here,” I reached to the side and picked it up, the brown fabric soft against my hands. He turned around as I helped him into it. What he did next surprised me. His hands reached up to cup my face. His forehead leant against mine, a few tears escaping his eyes before turning into sobs, his face scrunching up. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” I hushed, trying to calm him down. 

“I’m scared Y/N,” he stuttered. His eyes darted left and right, searching for something. I tried my best to reassure him that it was okay. 

“You don’t need to be,” I lied. He had every right to be scared. At any minute the bishops could kill and seize his vessel. It was then that I made the decision to kiss him. It was a quick kiss, an unsure one. 

“Oh so now you decide to do that,” he chuckled before pulling me close and walking us back till we hit the wall. Our bodies pressed together, breathing heavily as our lips danced. I could feel the thud of his heartbeat, terrified of the consequences if we were caught. The song on the radio switched to Redecorate, my favorite on the record. I ran my fingers through his coloured hair before pulling away. 

“You’re going to get called on soon,” I said, knowing that I’d likely never seen him again after today. 

“Ok,” he nodded. “I need you to know that this,” he gestured between us, “wasn’t just for the sake of today. I like you Y/N, there’s something special about you.” There was a loud knock on the door and we stepped away from each other. 

“Are you nearly done in there?” the assistant's voice chirped from outside. 

“Yep, we need about 10 more minutes and he’ll be ready to perform!” I shouted back. I could hear her footsteps leave. 

“I like you too, Clancy,” I hummed, once I knew we were alone again. 

“If I ever get out, just know I’ll come back for you. I promise, I’ll get you out,” he vowed. I embraced him and pressed my lips to his one last time before escorting him out to the soundstage. 

“Good luck out there,” I tried desperately to not cry, saying goodbye for the last time. 

Two years later the bishops had released a search notice for Clancy. The submarine that the annual assemblage had been held on sank due to “an unknown number of errors on board.” It took everything in me not to believe he was dead. The bishops insisted he wasn’t and what would they gain from lying about their enemy’s death? I was sure he would reach out, tell me he was okay, but it was radio silence. I’d removed myself from Good Day Dema’s set and spent all my time in my room. It was the same thing every day, work. Working to please the bishops and brainwash the entire city that Vialism was the only way. Except for one night, exactly one year after the notice was issued, three years since I’d heard anything from Clancy. I was reading through a new manuscript for the show and making notes for the new episode. The air in the room went still, I wasn’t alone. A man with curly brown hair with the underside dyed red stood by the door. He was wearing a black vest and a bandana with ‘torchbearer’ written on it. It had scared the shit out of me.

“I know you,” I stood up, “you’re Clancy’s friend.”

“Indeed I am,” his expression remained blank, a calm and stoic leader—exactly how Clancy had described him. I couldn’t decide whether to hug him or kill him.

“He’s alive?”

Torchbearer nodded. A wave of relief flooded over me.

“We request your presence at the town hall tonight. Please do your best to come. I was directly asked to ensure you attend.”

I was going to see him. Clancy had survived. He was coming back. Coming back for me. I was getting out of here. I was going to get to hold him again.

Except it wasn’t him. He’d seized a boy and pretended to be there. Clancy wasn’t even in Trench.

//

Hope you liked it 💛! I’m definitely open to writing a part two but not sure where it would go… keep requesting tho bc ur requests brighten my day!

[lethargicwizard]

So I watched "Bullet Train" (A while ago but that's not important)

Since it's been a while since the movie came out I feel pretty safe but never the less Spoilers!

If I had to describe "Bullet Train" I'd call it Hollywood's greatest attempt at emulating less conventional methods of storytelling. With the original text being written by Kōtarō Isaka as a novel (and that end, I have no idea what liberties were taken with its production, and adaptation compared to the original story) and because of that fact it may be cringe to say that on my first viewing, I thought the film felt like something that would do well as a single season 12 episode cult classic anime from the mid-nineties to early two-thousands. Everything from the film's setting to the characters screams that sort of slightly absurdist charm that you'd usually see from that era of anime and manga. A collection of assassins board a bullet train in Japan for a myriad of different yet interconnected reasons strung along by a well-foreshadowed central antagonist and a mysterious yet charismatic dark horse, all taking place in a black humor thriller.

Yuichi Kimura is a father out for the blood of the person that put his son on life support struggling with his position as a father demands of him. Not knowing that his decision had left him as a pawn in a dangerous game he does not completely understand.

Ladybug (which is what I will forever refer to this character archetype as) is a charismatic if oafish thief who seems to live in a state of perpetual bad luck however never fatally succumbing to it. returns to work after a stent away from attempting to reevaluate his choices and steer himself away from some of the more unsavory aspects of his profession and more often than not failing miserably at it.

Lemon/Tangerine, a dynamic duo of hitmen who share a familial bond that goes deeper than blood. The former of the two possessing a humorous yet undeniably advantageous character quirk iconic of the film. While the latter becomes an instant fan favorite due to his relatable yet enviable personality. Both of which serve as the poster children for the film.

The Wolf, a self-made legend of the Mexican cartel who shot up the ranks of his organization with his charisma, intellect, and brutality finds himself in Japan to find the murderer of not only his beloved but his partners in crime. An impressive back story for someone who dies within ten minutes of being introduced.

Hiroyuki Sanada, a disgraced former yakuza and the father of one of the other characters also comes to find the would be assassin of his grandson only to be presented the chance to settle a grudge thats haunted him for the better part of his life.

Last but not least The Prince, the dark horse of the film whose motivations and origins tantalize the viewers the entire runtime. The character you love to hate and a secondary antagonist who far outshines the main one. My hat goes off to Joey King for her performance from this absolute menace The Prince is one of my favorite aspects of the film, the fact that the vast majority of situations she's faced with go her way which helps her be more hatable yet interesting as a character. I'm especially fond of her aesthetic as a character she's not a traditional fem fatal but she still leverages her femininity to achieve her goals falling into that gap-moe of having this adolescent schoolgirl design yet being this conniving machiavellian character.

Now after hearing that line up tell me this doesn't sound like an instant cult hit of a dark comedy. Overall I'm quite fond of the film and if you haven't seen it and didn't heed my warning at the top please watch it its quite the treat. for those who have watched the film and just wanted to read this for yucks, I suggest you read the source material Kōtarō Isaka's Maria Beetle if you can find it.

[valyntynamaro]

Homesick - Thomas Raggi

Requested by @fairyth0rns In which a homesick Thomas confides in you after a show. I changed up the premise a little but I love how it turned out!! LOTS of fluff and feelings! Hope you like it <3 this is basically Thomas Raggi stan acc at this point ahaha.

word count: 1,914

REQUESTS OPEN

-no warnings

Being on tour with your best friends wasn't always easy, there were small fights, drunken mistakes and harmful words that got said, but it was just the pressure they were all under, no one was ever mad at each other for long, it was just the lifestyle catching up to everyone.

No matter how hard things got out on the road you knew there would always be someone you could turn to for help and consolation, and things did get hard being away from your life back home. However, you knew that everyone gets that way and all you can do is support each other.

Loud cheers erupted from the audience as the show came to an end, you had been out on the road with Måneskin for a few weeks and as the tour was coming to the end you couldn't help but smile, thinking about how far they had come not only in the last few months but over the last few years that you had known them.

Every single milestone and achievement made you all the more proud of the four people before you on the stage which you called your family, that's what you had become a close-knit family and you couldn't imagine your life without them.

"Thank you, everybody, we have been Måneskin, goodnight!!" Damiano screams excitedly into the mic as the band begin to leave the stage, you clapped and cheered for them from in front of the stage, but in front of the crowd barrier. Snapping a few pictures of them as they held up their instruments and waved at the crowd, Vic stuck her tongue out at you and leaned into the camera as you took her picture.

After the show, you all made your way back to the hotel you were staying at for those few nights, there was an off day tomorrow so everyone decided that it would be fun to go down to the bar and have a couple of drinks.

Down at the bar, you all raised a glass to the great show they had put on and the successful tour also for good luck in the future. Music played loudly as you all danced together, laughing with one another at the terrible moves coming from each of you, everything was perfect and it was moments like that which made all the fights and upsets worth it.

Swaying your hips to the music you felt someone's arms slip around your waist, looking down you recognise the rings on their hand, It was Thomas and you instantly relaxed into him, moving softly to the music in time with him. Whilst you loved everybody in the band, you and Thomas had a special bond, you just understood each other a lot more deeply than the others.

"Are you okay my love?" turning around to face him in his arms, you met with a slight frown, you hated seeing him like that and would do anything to make him feel better.

"I guess, I just feel...I don't know I think I'm just tired" You could barely hear him over the loud music and the screaming from your friends as they fooled around, picking one another up and throwing them around.

You take Thomas' hand, leading him away from the dancefloor and out the backdoors to the beer garden outside. The atmosphere instantly softened and you could tell he was a bit more relaxed. "What's going on in your head sweet?" the two of you take a seat at one of the tables, he pulls a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and lights it, he offers you one but you politely decline.

"I'm just so tired of being out here away from home, it's catching up to me now. I just want to wake up and not have to worry about how I'm going to do that night, the pressure is just getting to me y/n." He rests his head on your shoulder, your hands instinctively go to his shaggy blonde hair, he loved when you would play with his hair.

“ I know my lovely, everyone feels like that sometimes It's completely normal you just have to do your best and that's all anyone can expect from you, we'll be home before you know it" Placing a kiss to the top of his head he sighs, putting out his cig he takes your hand in his and plays with the many rings on your fingers. You never wore rings until you started touring with the band, they introduced you to them and would always buy you one as a thank you at the end of every tour- they were so special to you and you made sure to wear them every day for good luck.

"Y/N, I don't want to be at this place anymore, I can barely catch my breath" you knew what he was feeling was social anxiety, you had spent so many times with Thomas backstage just calming him down when he'd work himself up into a panic, it was never a bother to you though you just loved to make him feel comfortable and safe.

" We can go back to the hotel if you want, watch your favourite movie and cuddle?" you suggest, he doesn't say anything but just nods, "I'll just go tell the others, meet you out the front." Getting up, you place another kiss on his head before helping him up and making your way inside, for a minute you struggled to find anyone but you saw Vic by the bar being chatted up by some guy.

"Vic, me and Thomas are going back to his room, I'll see you in the morning" you hug her, Vic had always admired your relationship with Thomas, she knew that no one made him feel like you did, she would often tell you how cute it would be if the two of you were dating. Whilst you liked the idea of being with him, you knew that it was far important just being there for him you wouldn't want to risk everything and then not be able to be there when he needed you the most, so you were okay with just being friends.

“ Don't do anything I wouldn't do girl, have fun" she teased, causing you to roll your eyes everyone in the group would make jokes about how you and Thomas acted like you were already a couple but you paid no mind to it.

Meeting Thomas outside you walked hand in hand down the road, taking in all the sights the city had to offer whilst you made your way back to the hotel you were staying at.

Back in his room, you changed into a comfy shirt of his, whilst he only wore a pair of grey shorts. You couldn't help but think how good he looked in them, those shorts of his were a weakness of yours and he knew that which is why he always wore them around you.

Relaxing on the bed, you lay your head on his chest your arm draped over his lower torso, he had an amazing body and you would often catch yourself sneaking a look whilst the two of you changed together. "what do you want to watch then?" you asked, tracing circles around his 'Må' tattoo, you had been there with him, holding his hand as he got the tattoo done.

"you choose" his voice was soft, you could tell he was tired, so you just put on a film you had seen a bunch of times so you didn't have to pay attention to it, so he could just relax and fall asleep.

"You know, I don't want the tour to end" you could tell something was on his mind. "why's that?" leaning upon your elbows you turn to look him in the eyes, getting lost momentarily in them.

"Because you won't be there" a tear falls from his eyes and you quickly wipe it away, holding his face in your hands.

"aw sweetie, I'll always be there, even if I'm not with you every day, you can always call me" you kiss his cheek, comforting him, wiping away more tears.

" it's not the same, I just want to be with you all the time, you make me feel like nothing else on earth, when I'm with you nothing matters y/n, I don't know how you do it but I don't want it to ever stop" now it was your turn to cry, no one had ever made you feel so special or important in your life and it felt so good to hear those words leave his mouth.

"Oh Thomas, I don't ever want to be without you either, but you know I have a life back home, outside of the band. I'm only a short drive away, you can come to see me whenever you want and whenever you feel sad I'll be there as soon as you call" It broke your heart to see him so vulnerable, but you knew there was nothing you could do, you lived about ten minutes out of Rome, you couldn't afford the city.

"I feel so selfish, I just want you all to myself all of the time. I count down the days to the start of every tour because I know that I'll get to wake up and see you every day, that I get to spend all the time in the world with you, with nothing keeping you from me" He sits up, pulling you into a tight embrace.

"I know sweetheart, I know" Is all you could say, you were choking on your own words, it hurt so much that you couldn't be with him all the time.

"I don't even just mean with me physically, y/n you complete me, you make me a better man and I..." he pauses, wondering if he was really about to say what he was going to say.

"I love you y/n and I know you feel the same way about me, I've just always been too scared to do anything in case I scare you off because I can't bear to lose you" you pull away from the hug to look him in the eyes once more.

"Thomas, I've been in love with you since we first met you have no idea what it means to me to hear you say this" the two of you lean into each other, your lips inches away from his but before anything could happen the door bursts open, causing you to jump away from each other.

"Y/N Dami's been siiiickkkk" Ethan whines, stumbling into the room throwing Damiano down onto the bed beside you. Just like that, you had been snapped out of your cute moment with Thomas and back to the reality of the mother of the group.

"oh dear, let's get you cleaned up shall we?" you get up pulling Damiano up with him and take him to the bathroom, stopping at the door to look over at Thomas who just had the biggest grin on his face that you had ever seen. Even though you had been interrupted you knew that things had changed forever and that you'd have plenty of time to carry the moment on later, running a bath for your drunk friend you couldn't hep but smile too, everything was perfect in that moment and you wouldn't have it any other way.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Not So Serious

Prompt: ayoooo I’m like-obsessed with your writing style omg if your requests are open I’d love to see some good good logince hurt/comfort where Roman has a crush on Logan and gets this idea that he’s not serious enough for Logan to like him at all so Roman completely changes himself only for Logan to wonder where the man he’s in love with went.

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Pairings: logince, as on the tin

Warnings: roman’s a little bit of a self-doubting and self-depricating boi but other than that none! we are happy now!

Word Count:  5340

Roman knows he’s the least important of the Light Sides. Or at the very least, the one that Thomas listens to the least.

 That’s okay.

 It’s not, not really, but that doesn’t matter.

What does matter is that most of it can be chalked up to the fact that he’s the least serious Side. He’s the dreamer, the fanatic, the one whose head is permanently in the clouds. He sings, he dances, he acts, he plays. And that’s his job! He’s Creativity, for Shakespeare’s sake, and if he’s not, well, what good is he?

 Well, he’s not much good when he is Creativity, but that’s beside the point.

 But Thomas needs him to be serious. Patton, for all his lightheartedness, knows how to be serious when the time calls for it. And behind all those jokes and smiles and corny lines that make all of them want to cringe a little, he’s talking about, arguably, the most serious thing there is. What’s right and what’s wrong. No matter how you slice it, that’s serious. And he’s Thomas’s heart! How can you not take that seriously?

 Then there’s Virgil, who Roman considers a Light Side. Virgil demands to be taken seriously. Not verbally, but come on, he’s Anxiety. Mental stuff is no joke, and they’ve had enough close calls to know that for sure. Virgil’s a snarky bastard, but he rarely says something he doesn’t actually mean. He keeps them safe when none of the others know what to do and honestly? That’s serious stuff. Virgil’s got enough on his plate.

 Then there’s Logan.

  Logan.

 Roman could go on for days about Logan. He won’t, but he could.

 Logan is Logic. Perhaps more than anything else, Thomas needs Logic. And Logan. Logan is always present, whether he’s there physically or not, and his voice is always going to be heard in the conversation sooner or later. He breaks down the biggest problems Roman’s ever seen until they’re manageable chunks, so much so that it’s ridiculous that they were ever big in the first place. He talks them through everything, slowly and surely. He makes everything look easy.

 And that’s all the more impressive because Roman knows it’s not.

 It’s not easy to do what Logan does. It’s not easy for Logan to always make himself heard. It’s not easy to carry the single brain cell in any given conversation.

 But he does and it’s wonderful.

 Logan is serious. His job is serious. That doesn’t mean he’s serious all the time, no, Roman’s seen him snap a quip faster than anything with a smirk on his face, and their bond over Crofter’s is legendary. And he knows the gleam that means Logan is immensely satisfied with whatever insult he’s come up with to shut Roman down. Even through the hurt of a new bruise forming on Thomas’s ego, he has to smile because it’s so satisfying to watch someone just be very good at something.

 He’s also incredible at calming them all down. He’s so sweet and kind and gentle in all the right ways and you will never convince Roman that Logan knows nothing about emotions. Come on, he’s the most intelligent Side, that extends to emotional intelligence too. The amount of times he’s been able to rip them out of some horrible spiral with just a simple touch or a word is too high for Roman to count. And he never asks for anything, he just does it. Because he’s good like that.

 Roman would be an utter, utter fool if he didn’t take Logan seriously. He doesn’t dare underestimate him, never again, not after that rap battle. He doesn’t try to speak over him, not once everyone’s actually paying attention and Logan’s clearly trying to say something. He listens, he tries, he takes him seriously.

 But sometimes Logan needs to not be serious! He can see when the strain gets a little too much and he needs to cut someone down to size.

 Well, here’s Roman!

 And yes, it’s worth it. It’s always worth it. Logan smiles and it’s like the sun comes out. Yes, that’s a cliché but we all know clichés are cliché for a reason. Logan smiles, the sun comes out, and Roman wants to bathe in it. Wants to sit and listen to Logan talk about anything just so he’ll keep smiling, keep talking, keep being Logan. Logan is serious, but serious isn’t always Logan.

 Isn’t always.

 Most of the time, though…

 Most of the time, it looks like Logan is thrilled to not have to stand next to Roman.

 Most of the time, it seems like every time Roman opens his mouth, Logan’s trying not to roll his eyes or is just listening out of politeness. And every time he pitches an idea, it seems like Logan’s getting just as much enjoyment out of leaving the meetings as he does when he doesn’t find anything wrong with it.

 Most of the time, that 0.5% hangs in the air between them like a moat.

 Roman doesn’t want that. Roman doesn’t want Logan to view him as a diametrically opposed foe, he doesn’t want to be Logan’s other side of the coin, he doesn’t want Logan to think he’s only worth 0.5% of a day.

 But 0.5% is all he gets if he stays Roman.

 It’s not big changes, nothing that would compromise Thomas, but they’re noticeable. At least he hopes so.

 He stops singing out loud in the common areas and instead has a headphone in when he wants to listen to something. He reads in the chair—sitting properly, not with his limbs haphazardly thrown about like he’s a newly made life form with no idea how muscles work—and keeps his comments to himself, written down in a notebook or in his head. He asks politely if Logan wants to come on a walk through the Imagination and conjures up something simple. A forest path, or a garden, or a small town road. None of the fantastical woods, magic castles, or treacherous mountains that he’s so fond of, because those are daydreams.

 He’s quieter outside of videos. Sure, he’s still as obnoxious as ever when the cameras are on, but they tend to exaggerate themselves when they’re being filmed anyway. So it won’t be too much of a surprise when he’s not like that when the cameras are off. He doesn’t speak as much—well, he doesn’t monologue as much. He speaks when spoken to, he’s as courteous as he knows how to be, and he tries to be serious. Even if his job is anything but.

 He could tell you it’s exhausting what he does for the videos and he’d rather not do it when he doesn’t have to.

 He could tell you it’s because it would be better for Thomas if they all got along well. 

 He could tell you it’s because he wants a healthier and more productive working relationship with Logan.

 He could tell you all of these things.

 Whether or not you believe him is up to you.

 …because Roman might be the actor, but he’s never been a particularly good liar. And deep down—not that deep down—we all know why he wants to be more serious, don’t we?

 Logan doesn’t like fantasy. Logan doesn’t like excessive noise. Logan doesn’t like someone who can’t be serious.

 Logan is kind and perfect and wonderful and smart and so many things.

 And above all, Logan is serious.

 Roman can work with that.

———————————————————————

“Hey, Specs! Do you have time to brainstorm?”

 “It will have to be quick, Roman, I’ve not much time to spare.”

 “Oh. That’s alright, then, we can do it later.”

 “Are you certain?”

 “Of course! I know how important your schedule is for you, please, don’t worry about it.”

 “Ah. I see. Well, thank you, Roman.”

 They never do end up having that brainstorm. Not alone.

 “Logan?”

 “Yes, Roman?”

 “Would it be alright if I played music? I’ll keep it low.”

 “…we can try, though I usually prefer working in silence.”

 “Oh, in that case, I’ll just go—“

 “Let’s try?”

 “If you’re sure.”

 Roman ends up getting his headphones after a few minutes.

 “Roman?”

 “Yes, my d—Logan?”

 “…were you going to say something else?”

 “No, no, I got lost in my head again, I thought you were…someone else.”

 “It may be worth practicing getting out of your head, Roman.”

 “I know.”

 He never quite manages, but he’s trying.

 “Ro—oh.”

 “Logan? Is something wrong?”

 “You’ve changed your room. Your…your paintings, your drawings, they’re…where did you put them?”

 “Oh, I got rid of them.”

 “Got rid of them?”

 “Yes. Surely you know how difficult it can be to work in a crowded space?”

 “…yes, I suppose I do.”

 Logan doesn’t comment on the fact that Roman’s room isn’t quite so red anymore either.

 “Roman?”

 “Yes?”

 “This idea, it seems…quite…realistic.”

 “Is that not the point, Sp—Logan?”

 “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

 “Besides, from a practical standpoint, we’re operating with a limited budget here. The scope of the videos has to be adjusted accordingly.”

 “Yes, I suppose you’re correct.”

 Logan doesn’t mention that it doesn’t necessarily feel like Roman’s idea.

 “Roman?”

 “Yes?”

 “Care to comment?”

 “Oh, no, I’m perfectly content.”

 “Are you certain?”

 “Of course.”

 Logan doesn’t ask again.

———————————————————————

Logan is really confused.

 Something’s wrong with Roman, that much is obvious, but he can’t figure out what. Roman’s been quiet lately, outside of the videos, but even in the videos, he’s been different. He’s not talking as much anymore, not going on his incredibly passionate rants that one can feel if they just listen hard enough. He’s not risen to the bait for weeks now, preferring instead to…talk. Or listen. His room is suspiciously absent of his paintings and drawings that make Logan want to sit and stare and lose track of time.

 And he’s stopped singing.

 That’s a definite indicator that something’s wrong.

 But he can’t figure out what.

 None of them are fighting; Patton and Virgil have noticed that something is different, certainly, but they don’t know—they can’t figure out exactly what. They would have told him if they had a disagreement with Roman, but they haven’t.

 Thomas isn’t being affected by it. In fact, he hasn’t noticed that anything’s wrong.

 And on the surface, Roman seems fine, but Logan knows better.

 He stops in front of his whiteboard, staring hard at the pieces of information he has written down.

  Roman is no longer singing or playing music out loud outside of his room.

Roman is changing the ideas that he brings to the brainstorming sessions. He claims they are meant to be more ‘practical’ and easier to budget.

Roman does not insist that we spend time with him anymore.

Roman is quiet and no longer engages in ‘banter’ exchanges with me.

Roman no longer brings me to the elaborate places in the Imagination.

Roman no longer gives me nicknames.

 Has…has Logan done something to Roman?

 He doesn’t think he has. He hasn’t—he hasn’t shot down any ideas lately, and certainly none so much as to trigger such a drastic change. There have been no arguments. There have been no big changes for Thomas.

 He finds himself twisting the cap of the marker back and forth as he focuses on the period at the end of the last sentence written. Perhaps…perhaps Roman is simply going through a rough patch? Occasionally the prince will lapse into a ‘grayer’ state, for lack of a better term, where he exhibits fewer of his energetic tendencies, but none have gone on for such a duration. Additionally, his behavior in videos has not altered as significantly as would indicate this as the cause.

  Perhaps I should try to talk to him about it.

 Logan nods sharply to himself and turns, walking out of his room toward Roman’s. The red door looms there, slightly ajar. Frowning, Logan raps on it gently with his knuckles.

 “Roman? May I come in?”

 No response.

 “Roman?” Logan eases the door open. “Roman?”

 No sign of Roman. The bathroom door isn’t locked, his laptop isn’t open, his phone is nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Roman simply forgot to close his door all the way. Logan shuts it carefully and turns to head downstairs.

 “Virgil? Patton?”

 Virgil glances up from his phone. “What’s up, L?”

 Ignoring the little flutter in his chest at the first nickname he’s been called in a while, Logan adjusts his glasses and glances around. “Have you seen Roman?”

 Virgil shakes his head. “Pat? Have you?”

 “I think he said he was going into the Imagination but he’d be back for dinner?”

 Logan nods. “Thank you both.”

 “Logan?”

 “Yes?”

 “Can you, uh—“ Patton wrings his hands for a moment— “can you ask him what’s wrong for us?”

 “Princey’s been off for a while, we wanna know why but he won’t tell us.”

 Logan blinks. “Considering I was on my way to ask him the same thing, I take it he’s been as…hesitant to share any information with you as he has with me?”

 Their nods make something twist in his chest.

 “If he’s gonna tell anyone,” Virgil mutters as he turns to go, “it’ll be you.”

 Logan pauses. “Excuse me?”

 Virgil shrugs. “You’re his favorite, L. He thinks the sun shines outta your face.”

 Despite himself, Logan feels heat rush to his cheeks. “I’m quite sure you’re confusing me for Patton, Virgil.”

 “Oh, no, Princey’s got it bad f—“

 “Virgil!”

 “Oh come on,” Virgil groans, his head lolling on the couch as he turns to look at Patton, “you’ve noticed it too.”

 “But that’s not our secret to tell!”

 “Shit. Yeah, you’re right. Oops.”

 “Wait, wait,” Logan stammers, quickly trying to get a grasp of the situation, “you—Roman what?”

 Virgil shakes his head. “Nope. Sorry, Logan. I already fucked up. You’re gonna have to ask him. And hey, you were on your way to do just that!”

 Logan narrows his eyes but Virgil shrugs, undaunted. He turns and pointedly does not run up the stairs.

 The door to the Imagination is ajar. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open, expecting to meet some fantastical landscape, a village, or a castle, perhaps.

 He doesn’t expect to wander into what looks like the grand foyer of some Victorian mansion.

 The door shuts behind him with a thud that echoes gently around the room. His shoes aren’t particularly loud but his steps make resounding clicks as he walks through the halls. The walls are elegantly crafted, with artful splashes of color here and there. He comes to a grand staircase and has to swallow heavily at the richness of the wood under his fingers as he climbs slowly, slowly up.

 There’s something here, he decides, that’s not been here for a while. Not since he started accompanying Roman more often. He remembers the first time, where he’d wearily said he didn’t have the patience for an adventure and had been pleasantly surprised by Roman’s offer of a simple walk. Each walk after that had been lovely, truly, but it was always painfully obvious that it was in the Imagination.

 Now, though? Now the walls seem to curve about Logan as he walks, like petals of a flower curve about its center. The house seems to hold him, cradle him almost as he walks slowly through it. He can almost feel a gentle hand at the base of his spine, between his shoulder blades, under his chin. It takes no effort to keep walking, to discover more and more of this truly beautiful house, to look and look and look without fear of his eyes hurting or his head growing weary.

 It feels like Roman, he realizes with a giddy bubble in his chest, this is Roman’s work. Roman is here.

 That realization gives him enough courage to call out.

 “Roman? Roman, are you here?”

 “Logan?”

 “Roman!” He turns around, trying to trace the echoes to their source. “Where are you?”

 “I’m in the library, keep walking toward the back of the hall.”

 Logan’s steps beat out an eager pace as he begins to hurry towards Roman’s voice. He meets a wide set of mahogany doors and pushes them open, looking for—

 “Oh,” he murmurs as the doors swing wide, “oh, this is…magnificent.”

 If he were—well, if he were Roman, he’d compare this to the library the Beast gifts Belle. The shelves tower over his head, two full floors of books stretching out almost as far as he can see. As he looks closer, he realizes this is a theatre, with the seats replaced with shelves. At the back of the library stands the stage, converted into a seating area with as many plush couches and overstuffed armchairs as one could ever want. Curtains drape themselves across a vast window, golden sunlight streaming inside. And on the window seat, standing as the doors fly open, is Roman.

 “Roman, my goodness—“

 “Whoa, easy, Logan,” Roman chuckles, catching Logan carefully by the elbows as he rushes through the library, “you’ll knock yourself over at this rate.”

 “This is magnificent,” Logan manages, still looking around in awe—goodness, there are some books here that he’s only seen in passing— “how—how did you do this?”

 “I’ve always had it,” Roman says, guiding him to sit on the window seat and crouching in front of him, “it’s my library.”

 “This—this is yours?”

 Half of Roman’s mouth tugs up into that crooked smile. “Yeah, Logan. This is mine. You didn’t think I just let my books lie around, did you?”

 “But you—you—you’ve never shown this to me. To anyone.”

 The smile falters. “Well, no.”

 Logan takes a moment to actually look at Roman. Roman quirks his eyebrow as he notices the questioning gaze. His costume is a little less pristine than normal. There’s something slightly different about his expression. And his sword is nowhere to be seen.

 “May I—can I ask why not?”

 Roman smiles ruefully, glancing over Logan’s shoulder before dropping his gaze to the ground.

 “When I need to think,” he says after a moment, “or just…sit for a little, I come here.”

 He rests his hand on the seat next to Logan.

 “I sit right here, and I think. I look outside into the garden. I watch the clouds. Or I stare at the shelves, and think about the books.”

 He gestures behind him.

 “Sometimes I’ll see people bustling through them, or characters diving in between pages.” The smile becomes a touch more wistful. “Or I’ll hear water rushing, or wind howling.”

 He looks back. Logan’s mouth drops open at the openness of Roman’s expression.

 “But mostly,” he finishes in a near whisper, “I just sit. And think. Because I can.”

 “…this is your space,” Logan mumbles as he puts it together, “that’s…that’s why you haven’t shown anyone.”

 Roman nods.

 Logan should apologize. He should apologize and leave. He should never have expected that this would be alright.

 But the thought of leaving this library, this house, Roman feels…so, so heavy.

 “It’s alright, Logan,” Roman says patiently, sitting on the floor, “what did you need? Am I late for dinner?”

 He shakes himself, sternly reminding his brain that he’s being rude now. “No, no, nothing of the sort, I simply needed to find you.”

 Roman spreads his arms wide. “Well, you found me. Congratulations.”

 It’s so close to the banter Logan misses that he finds himself smiling. “Thank you. Shall I assume to claim my prize now, then?”

 “Mm, and what prize would that be?”

 Roman blinks up at him expectantly when he doesn’t answer right away. There are several questions on the tip of his tongue and they war with each other.

  What’s wrong?

Are you alright?

  Did something happen?

  The others and I have noticed changes in your behavior, could you explain them?

  Did I do something wrong?

  Can I stay here?

  What did Virgil almost tell me?

 “I’ve lost something,” Logan blurts instead, swallowing the lump in his throat when Roman blinks again, startled, “and I need you to help me find it.”

 “Oh. Well, that should be easy enough. Where did you last see it?”

 “Wait!”

 Logan catches a startled Roman by his sleeve as he’s in the middle of getting up. He sits back down slowly, still staring at Logan.

 “I don’t know where I lost it,” he says, because it’s the truth. Even for all his immaculate time-keeping, he can’t pinpoint the moment he lost Roman.

 “That does make it more difficult,” Roman muses, tapping his fingers on his chin, “well, can you tell me what it is? Maybe I’ve seen it.”

  I’m sure you have.

 Logan takes a deep breath.

 “I didn’t realize it was gone, at first,” he begins, “only that it—something changed. It was quieter. Rooms felt less…I believe ‘alive’ is the only word I can use to adequately describe it.”

 Roman catches on to the fact he’s speaking about something abstract quickly. Though, of course he did, he’s very intelligent. He sits up a little straighter and takes Logan’s hand in both of his. That in itself is enough to make Logan swallow again.

 “It was more difficult to continue working,” he says after a moment, looking at the ground, “because I didn’t know what was missing. I didn’t know whether the fault lay with myself or with Thomas or how to go about fixing it. I couldn’t think of anything.”

 Roman makes a noise of sympathy, squeezing Logan’s hand.

 “Of course, once I realized it was missing, I did all I could to find it.” He adjusts his glasses. “I gathered all the information I could to see what had gone wrong.”

 “And,” Roman prompts gently, “what did you find?”

 “It’s not in my room. It’s not in the kitchen. It’s not in the Imagination, or at least it wasn’t when I was there.”

 Logan closes his eyes.

 “It doesn’t make me fight back a smile every time I see it, because I am only concerned. It doesn’t make me look forward to seeing it, because it doesn’t seem to be happy to see me. It doesn’t make me want to say how important it is to me, because it doesn’t—“

 “…doesn’t what, Logan?”

 “…it doesn’t even give me a nickname anymore.”

 Roman freezes.

 Logan opens his eyes and looks at Roman, seeing his face turn pale.

 “I’ve lost the one I love,” he confesses, “and I don’t know where he’s gone.”

———————————————————————

Roman’s heart stops.

 Logan—Logan—L—

 Logan loves him?

 Logan loves him?

 “Please,” Logan says in that soft, soft voice that makes Roman want to combust, “can you help me find him?”

 “Wait, wait, Logan, you—you what?”

 Logan shifts forward, cupping Roman’s hand. “Where did you go, Roman? Something happened, you left.”

 “N-no, Logan, I didn’t go anywhere.”

 “You did,” he corrects, “you…you’ve been different. You’ve been quieter, you haven’t taken me on any adventures—“

 “I’ve taken you into the Imagination!”

 “—and you stopped singing,” Logan finishes. Roman’s chest throbs with the way Logan’s voice cracks on the last word. “You left, Roman, where did you go?”

 “I—I was trying to—to—“ Roman swallows heavily. “Wait, you love me?”

 Logan blinks, tilting his head. “Of course, yes, I love you, Roman.”

 Roman’s face flares. “You can’t—you can’t just say that, Logan.”

 “Why not?”

 “I’ll believe you. I’ll—“ the urge to bury his face in his hands burns but he can’t, can’t pull away from Logan—“I’ll believe you.”

 Logan hums. “And why shouldn’t you believe me?”

 An incredulous laugh forces its way out of his throat. “Because you can’t love me.”

 He slams his eyes shut as Logan starts to move away. He’s ruined it. He’s ruined so much of his hard work. He’s destroyed it. He’s hurt Logan. How could he?

 “And why can’t I love you, Roman?”

 He laughs again, though this one might be technically considered a sob. “Because I’m loud! I’m obnoxious, I want to spend all my time daydreaming, I’m so out of touch with the real world, I never want to be serious, I’m—I’m—“

 “Passionate,” Logan interrupts quietly, something still cupping his hand, “optimistic. Hardworking.”

 Roman huffs. “That’s not special.”

 “Intelligent.”

 Now he does laugh. “Not compared to you.”

 Logan’s stifled noise is enough to make him open his eyes. He frowns up at Logan. He looks…heartbroken.

 “Roman,” he murmurs, “do you honestly believe that?”

 He squirms uncomfortably on the floor. “…it’s not like it isn’t obvious. El principe es estupido.”

 “It’s far from obvious, Roman,” Logan insists, “why do you think I enjoy our verbal sparring so much?”

 “You what?”

 “I respect and admire your intelligence. You’re—well, not to insult the others when they’re not here to defend themselves, but you’re the only one who really keeps up with me.” Logan smiles at him. He smiles at him. “And you’re kind, Roman. Relentlessly so, sometimes.”

 Roman can only gape at him.

 “Don’t think I haven’t noticed everything you do,” Logan chides gently, “I do notice. And I am so thankful for it. But this…” He gives Roman’s hand another squeeze. “This I don’t understand. Where did you go, Roman?”

 “I—I…” Roman swallows. “I thought I was doing it for you.”

 “For me?”

 “Y-you like serious things! You don’t want to be seen as a joke and I’ve never seen you as a joke, Logan, you have to believe me, and I thought that—that I—“

 “Roman—“

 “I make fun of the things I love, Logan!” Roman’s throat almost aches from the strain of saying it out loud. “And you—you don’t like it when we’re not serious and I’m not serious so I—I thought if I—if—if—“

 “You changed so I would…love you?”

 Roman shakes his head shamefully. “So you would tolerate me.”

 “Oh, little star—“

 Roman lets out an oof as Logan tugs him forward, his knees hitting the ground roughly as he pulls Roman into a hug. He’s warm, he’s so warm and so Logan…the frames of his glasses are cool against the side of Roman’s face, the knot of his tie pressing into the hollow of his chest. And he’s being so sweet, so tender as he holds Roman on the floor of the library.

 Roman clutches him back. It’s been agony, not being able to touch him, not even the barest brush of shoulders or knocking their elbows together. But now Logan is here and he can have this.

 “I don’t want serious,” he hears Logan murmur, “not from you. Alright, sometimes, yes, I want you to listen but never to be that serious. You’re—you’re you, Roman. That’s what I want.”

 Oh.

  Oh.

 He laughs as the tears start to fall onto Logan’s collar. “You found me, Logan.”

 Logan just gives him a squeeze. “I did, little star.”

 Oh, Roman was not prepared for that. Instead, he can hear Logan chuckle as he tenses for a moment.

 “No?”

 “Yes,” Roman blurts out quickly, fumbling with his clumsy tongue, “yes. So much yes.”

 “Yes, it is then, little star.”

 He hums contentedly, burying his nose in the crook of Logan’s neck. “You found me,” he whispers, rocking them back and forth, “and I found you.”

 “Yes, little star, you found me.” Logan pulls back to cup his face, a comforting noise escaping him at the evidence of drying tears. “And now…please, don’t leave me?”

 “Never, Logan,” he swears, “never again.”

 He gets to see that wonderful soft glow on Logan’s face for a moment longer before that gleam—oh, that wonderful gleam—comes back as he arches an eyebrow.

 “No? Then why am I still ‘Logan?’”

 Oh. So that’s how this is going to go, hmm? Roman lets a little more darkness slip into his smirk than he normally would. It only grows wider as Logan looks a little surprised.

“My dearest darling nerd,” he purrs, “if you wanted me to lavish you with pet names, you know you need only ask.”

 “That is not what I meant,” Logan says firmly, undone a little by the blush now fanning his cheeks.

 Roman chuckles. “Oh, what’s wrong, my sweet little pi, is this not what you wanted?”

 “R-Roman!”

 “Goodness, Logan, your face is so warm.” Roman’s arms come up to hug him as he buries his face in his neck. “What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

 “You’re one to talk,” comes the slightly muffled reply, “you were blushing from my pet name too.”

 “Ah, yes, how could I forget? ‘Little star,’ well…” Roman cups the back of Logan’s neck and brings that darling face back out to smile at. “If I’m the star, then you must be the whole galaxy.”

 Logan tries to frown. Bless him, he tries, but he’s so flustered that it turns into this adorable pout as he leans back to get up.

 “Oh, no, no, no,” Roman chuckles, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him, “you stay right here in my lap.”

 “Roman!”

 “What?” He tilts his head. “Can you think of anywhere better to be than right here, in my lap…with me?”

 He can’t help the note of vulnerability that slips in at the end. Maybe Logan doesn’t want this, maybe he is too much, maybe he just ruined it…

 “No,” Logan murmurs after a moment, “I guess I can’t.”

 And really, it is marvelous, there on the floor, golden sunlight streaming over them, in the library, surrounded by the quiet shelves and safe hallways of the house.

———————————————————————

“I have to ask,” Roman says, giving Logan a little shake after a moment, “how did you…?”

 “Find out?”

 “Mm.”

 “Well…” Logan toys with Roman’s collar. “I was coming to ask you about it anyway, but Virgil—“

 “Virgil?” Roman raises an eyebrow. “He said something now, did he?”

 Logan squints at him. “…why do I have a feeling there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

 Roman shrugs. “It doesn’t really matter, not really.”

 “Now that I don’t believe for an instant.”

 “It got me my Logan,” Roman says softly, leaning forward to rub their noses together, “didn’t it?”

 “…well yes, I suppose it did.”

 Roman hums contentedly, cuddling into Logan like a lazy cat, sprawled out in the sunlight to nuzzle its kitten. A…surprisingly sweet image. The Imagination—Roman’s Imagination must be affecting him.

 There are worse fates.

 “But I can’t imagine,” he says after a moment, “that a prince such as yourself can allow such a slight?”

 The grin on Roman’s face is priceless.

 “Virgil,” Roman sings as they fling open the door to the rest of the Mindscape, and goodness Logan can’t tell you how much he’s missed that voice— “I have a question for you!”

 Logan hears muffled cursing coming from the living room.

 “What’s up, Princey?”

 “Well our dearest Specs here just told me something very interesting—“ he winks at Logan— “and I would love to hear your side of the story.”

 “Oh, uh, really? Well, that’s cool. On an unrelated note, I’m gonna be in my room for the foreseeable future.”

 “Hmmm…not if I get there before you!”

 “Shit!”

 “My darling,” Roman says softly, pressing a kiss to the back of Logan’s hand, “will you excuse me one moment, please?”

 And what is Logan supposed to do but agree? Roman is back.

 “I’ll be with you shortly.”

 Roman tears off down the hallway after Virgil, their shouts filling the Mindscape once more.

General Taglist:@frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness  @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes  @iminyourfandom  @bullet-tothefeels  @full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83  @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember  @fandomssaremysoul  @im-an-anxious-wreck  @crazy-multifandomfangirl  @punk-academian-witch  @enby-ralsei  @unicornssunflowersandstuff  @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite  @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme  @angels-and-dreams  @averykedavra  @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb  @cricketanne  @aularei @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer  @i-am-overly-complicated  @annytheseal  @alias290  @tranquil-space-ninja  @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @theaceofcrows @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner

[creativeashproductions]

Charlie’s New Friend // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Charlie’s fallen for the casting director and Kenny’s right hand for Julie and the Phantoms. After a day doesn’t go the way it should the cast meets a little newcomer changing the dynamics with Charlie.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, single!parent!reader,  pure fluff

Words: 5.3k

A/N: Hi! In this fic there’s a stuffed animal and it’s important to speak about in this note. I found the stuffed animal on a website for Canadian Wildlife Federation that uses the money from each purchase to support the research and programs for species at risk. The Snowy Owl stuffed animal features in this fic has the proceeds go to protect the Canadian Arctic!

Website to the Canadian Wildlife Federation Adopt an Animal

Masterlist

Everyone has bad days when it happens, you often blared ‘Bad Day’ by Daniel Powter, in their lives. No stranger to those days it seemed today was the recent worse one when your coffee machine broke, your tea cabinet was barren, and Faye decided to dirty your shirt. Then the daycare called informing you of necessary renovations to bring it back to Code. That left you to do the one thing you really didn’t want to do.

You had to bring your daughter to work on the set of Julie and the Phantoms as Faye’s father was filming in England. You had no doubts he would have dropped everything to care for her if he was in the same town let alone state. The positive was that Kenny was aware of your situation and had pleaded for Faye to visit set.

“I need to go to the store after work.” You mumbled over the irritating children’s music that Faye adored. That or the flashing lights on the television during the half-hour each night you got supper ready.

Parking in your assigned spot you made quick work of release the baby carrier from the secure bucket. Faye slept through the entire transition to the stroller with the component that locked the car seat on it.

“Let’s rock ‘n roll Tink.” You told the sleeping infant with the baby bag slung over your shoulder and the pretty light purple blanket covering Faye’s tiny body.

Now while Kenny knew about your daughter, the rest of the cast was definitely unaware given you often passed on dinner. The few times you had joined was when Faye’s father was in town to see your shared daughter.

“Who’s this cutie?” Tori asked, stepping in unison with to view the adorable little baby with brunette curls hidden by her little toque.

“This is my daughter Faye.” You whispered as a suckling sound came from Faye’s open mouth as little snores came out, “Daycare is closed for renovations, and I don’t have a backup plan.”

Tori’s eyebrows raised as you dropped a somewhat surprising fact about part of your life you kept quiet. In no way, shape or form did you feel ashamed by Faye’s existence. Faye’s father was hands-on and very supportive, even if Faye had been a surprise.

“I never knew you had a child.” Tori blinked melting as the infant cooed in the stroller hidden from the sun via the visor.

Tori’s scrutiny of the little baby allowed her to catch the similarities such as the nose and mouth, but the rest was the father. There was something in Faye’s features that tickled her mind as if she had seen them before.

“It’s not something I like to flaunt. I prefer keeping my work life separate from my personal life.” You informed the seasoned dancer and choreographer.

A few more words of conversation commenced until Tori was called over to Paul with a clipboard in hand. The incessant feeling of eyes peering at you on the walk to the modest trailer you shared with Tori. It was easier for crew members to share trailers with the little time you typically spent in them.

With practised ease, your hands unstrapped Faye from her stroller into your arms where she cuddled into your neck. For the most part, Faye was an easy-going baby with an affinity for cuddling, but of course, that didn’t make her perfectly well behaved.

“Best be getting over to the office.” You cooed at the suckling sound Faye made with her fist pressed against her open mouth.

Kenny had personally hired you after working on Descendants as a casting director with healthy mutual respect. Often if at the time you were free, you found yourself working with the legendary man. He was lenient with the new addition of Faye as well, going as far as to see he was a great-uncle.

“Would this be Miss Faye?” Kenny asked from his seat at the head of the table with a handful of filled cars.

Jeremy, Owen, Madi, and Savannah sat with the newest script for the next episode leaving you to avoid looking at Charlie. Now it the typical Wattpad storyline you had fallen for the Canadian actor who reciprocated the feelings. A few hangouts and flirting, but he had no clue about the most significant piece of your life.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t have a sitter, and the daycare had unforeseen extensive renovations.” You spoke softly bouncing as Faye’s little body tensed up with a whimper.

“I’ve been begging you to bring her on set. It’s about time.” Kenny retorted walking swiftly to coo over the little girl. His action bringing the cast members closer, Charlie’s solemn stare never leaving as he came closer.

“She’s so cute! How old is she?” Savannah questioned as the brown-eyed little girl blinked at the multiple faces.

“Eight months now. My little surprise.”

“Definitely a surprise for sure,” Charlie mumbled just on the cusp of everyone being able to hear, but Faye had all the attention.

Within seconds Faye had found herself in the arms of Owen with funny faces to get the little baby to laugh. Savannah, with your permission, had started snapping pictures of Faye’s interactions with everyone. Kenny had retreated to his computer while Charlie pulled you just outside the door.

“You have a kid?” Charlie hissed keeping distance between the two of you as the situation settled, “We’ve been on a handful of dates, and you kept your baby a secret?”

Your heart sank, “Do you know the chances of a guy dating someone with a kid? Joshua Jackson’s character in Mighty Ducks talking with his coach? Guys left his mom in the dust when they caught a glance of him.”

“You know me.” Charlie stressed glancing over his shoulder at the distracted group of young adults. Faye’s giggle drawing awes from every single individual in the room, even Charlie’s lips quirked at the sound.

“Charlie, that little girl is my blood. Every single decision I make has her in mind. I wasn’t keeping her from you maliciously.” You informed him trying to meet his gaze, “Her name is Faye Eloise. She adores music and this tiny fox her uncles got her.”

Charlie’s shoulder lowered slightly, “She is pretty cute.”

“Her laugh is my favourite sound in the entire world. She’s a replica of her father more than me.” Your lips lifted gazing over Charlie’s shoulder to Kenny, engaging in a one-sided conversation with Faye.

Charlie’s green gaze examine our expression pinned on the tiny little human you had bonded for months with. The pure adoration coating your features softened the ball of anger in Charlie’s belly, that didn’t mean he wasn’t hurt. But seeing the fundamental protective instincts you displayed, your body coiled to dash to Faye. Your gaze that periodically ensured Faye was safe.

Charlie saw the maternal love that poured out of you that he often caught in his own mother’s eyes. That very thought led to an in-depth conversation with his mom later when he was in the safety of his bedroom.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jeanette spoke with her phone on speaker. The silence drawing her concern, “Charlie? Are you okay?”

“I’m not sure. That girl I’ve been seeing?”

“Y/N, she’s on the crew with Kenny. She’s all you’ve been talking about lately, and you’ve already told me she may be The One.” The words caused Charlie to involuntarily smile at the call after the second date with you. Charlie didn’t feel half-hearted, he felt with his entire soul.

“I still think she is, but she’s a package deal,” Charlie admitted scrubbing one hand through his hair sending the bandana keeping his hair out his face to his lap.

Jeanette took a moment in cleaning her kitchen to sit at the island to click the phone off the speaker. The phone resting against her ear, she gave her full attention to her youngest son.

“Charles. I don’t want to ask you this, but is she pregnant?” Jeanette questioned, holding her breath in complete anticipation. She’d like a few grandkids but preferably when the time was right for her children.

“No. Mom! I didn’t get her pregnant.” Charlie groaned at the hesitant toe tipping into a conversation he’d rather not relive from his teens, “She has a daughter.”

“And? Is that a deal-breaker for you? You talk like she’s the love of your life Charlie, you’ve never spoken about any of your previous girlfriends like that. You’re not even officially dating her either.” Jeanette replied, watching Meghan settle in for an episode of her current favourite show; the only Gillespie child visiting at the moment, “Are you willing to walk away because she had a child?”

“Faye is absolut-“

“-sounds like you answered the question with the adoration in your voice. You don’t have to run to the nearest chapel to get married. If you love both of them, give it a shot.” Jeanette advised her son smiling when Charlie’s breathing evened out more.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Jeanette knew in her very marrow that in time she would meet little Faye, call it mother’s intuition but she was sure of it.

It was the week of hell with the daycare still shut down, your back up babysitter on vacation and Faye upset. Charlie barely spoke to you as he tried to find his footing in the new dynamic and the space he had rightfully asked for. It was hell seeing him at work and only speaking for work requirements.

“Sh.” You hushed bouncing with Faye curled in your arms as her mouth twisted, “As a casting director and Kenny’s complete faith in me. I made a suggestion to Soyon.”

A line appeared between your eyebrows as Faye’s snuffled against your soft hoodie while trying to focus on the cast. The boys, Madi and Booboo sat in the room for a short meeting during the time the next scene was being set up.

“Kenny and I talked about your personal connection to your characters. There’s the smallest disjoint some of you have. Kenny’s always preached about everyone having a voice and to make suggestions.” You could cry as the ache in your arms increased from holding Faye, she’d cry every time you tried to put her down.

Mom life when you can’t put your baby down to pee alone in peace. Faye getting her shots and recovering from a stomach bug didn’t help.

“Are you okay?” Madi asked, catching the expression that came and went in seconds. The cast watching as you continued to walk around the room with Faye.

“I’ll be fine.” You shrugged the concern off closing your eyes to ground herself once more juggling the concern for Faye with your job, “Soyon and I want you to put a personal detail in your character’s style. If you think of anythi-“

Faye’s sharp cry echoed in the room, “Shh. I’m so sorry guys. I’d put her down, but she won’t settle-“

The cuts ended when Faye was gently tugged from you into a warm chest and soft coos in the little baby’s ears. Your sore arms dropping as Faye’s weight was coaxed into Charlie’s body and your jaw dropped. Charlie’s rhythmic pace and soft coos turning into a lullaby easing the baby.

“Wha-“

“-can’t have the little boss upset.” Charlie shot a coy smile resurrecting the confidence in the relationship. The smile grew when Charlie’s tiny nod at your unspoken question eased you.

“Is there anything you’d like added to your character? Outfit suggestions?” You inquired catching the hesitant gaze of the young actress.

The Puerto Rican teenager had quickly become a game-changer for the production as a first time with such an incredible talent. The second you saw Madi’s audition tape it had sealed the most critical role; Kenny adored the audition tape you had forwarded so fast.

“Could we do something for my mom?” Madi asked, biting her lip as your eyes encouraged her to delve deeper into the request, “My mom is in the army, and I’d like to pay homage to her?”

Your hand landed on her own in a squeeze, “We can absolutely do that. Head over to Soyon when you have a moment. What about you, guys?”

The three boys had gone quiet as Faye settled into a sleep you had been begging for since she missed her morning nap. Charlie had gone from softly singing to humming in the infant’s ear while Jeremy and Owen watched.

“Do you think Luke could carry the Rabbit’s Foot?” Charlie whispered, resting his head against the infant in his arms.

“I’m sure Soyon would have no trouble with that. Jeremy, Owen if you figure something out just let Soyon know. All suggestions are welcomed.” You informed the duo before starting to reach for Faye.

 Charlie stepped back while the 2/3rds of Sunset Curve left with Faye still held securely bouncing a small degree. The scene warmed your heart as Faye slept for the first time in what felt like years.

“I can take her if you want.” You told the actor with arms already reaching out to him but contradicting your expectations he’d back off.

Charlie’s green eyes focused solely on the tiny mouth opened just slightly with the soft breaths wafting from her small frame. At that moment cradling the small life the wall separating him shattered; the love flooded his veins, and he knew. He would fight anyone that hurt the little angel with no consequences in mind.

 “I’d like to hold her longer. I need the practice for when you need a nap.” Charlie replied, shifting his gaze onto your form. Charlie’s heart clenched at the unsure glint in the eye of Faye’s mother.

“Oh.” You simply spoke stepping closer to the man that had easily stolen your heart, holding your entire world in his gentle hands.

“I know it won’t be easy, but I would really like to give us a real chance. No secrets anymore. The minute I saw her, my heart melted, but I got scared, and I’ll always carry that regret in my life. I want to be here for you and for Faye.”

Charlie fell into the father figure as easy as breathing creating a bond that almost made you jealous with the ease. He adored playing music during Faye’s bath time, and in the special bath time with bubbles, he would create a beard; it sent Faye into giggles every time. He absolutely loved when you brought Faye to set.

Leaving Faye in Charlie’s capable hands, you had taken your break from work to freshen up in the washroom. Grabbing a quick bite, you rushed back to Charlie having gone over your time by a complete accident.

“I am so sorry! I got distracted by-“ You were almost surprised the sudden stop in motion would cause a burnout. Working through lines was Jeremy, Owen and Charlie; Charlie new accessory being a baby sling with Faye strapped against his chest.

“Hey, Babe! We have no filming the afternoon of Friday, it’s blocked for Madi. Jer and Carolynn offered to babysit. We could do a date night.” Charlie fully turned to face you lightly bouncing to keep Faye settled.

The sight of Charlie with Faye securely in the baby sling, one that you didn’t own and was the best one on the market, was incredibly sweet. It was at that moment that you just knew that Charlie was The One and you are deeply in love with him.

“They don’t have to. I was planning on telling you tonight that Faye’s father is in town, he has Faye for Friday to Sunday. You informed Charlie as he walked closer to tug you into his embrace with Faye.

Now while you had been dating Charlie for two months at this point, the topic of who Faye’s father hadn’t come up. It was a topic that found its way for discussion, but his name never came up; it didn’t matter.

“Oh. we should give them a moment.” Owen whispered to his fellow actor and friend. With a withering glance, they froze in their places.

“Why? Faye’s father is an amazing guy. He has a specific time for calling Faye, we have a group chat for Faye. We send pictures and updates to him.” Charlie informed them, “There are no hard feelings. We all trust each other even if I’ve never met him.”

When Friday came along, it sent Charlie into a near-constant state of panic with the thought of meeting Faye’s father. He couldn’t sit still, well it’s Charlie he can’t sit still, but this was nervous energy. He’d contribute little to the conversations with eyes periodically checking the time.

Charlie was alone without you or Faye on set, you had let Kenny know the significance of the date. Charlie had left your apartment with a kiss from both you and Faye in order for the apartment to be cleaned up.

“What’s up with him?” Madi inquired as her tray made contact with the table shared by her ghostly trio. Jer sent a look to Owen before answering.

“It’s the weekend that Faye’s father will be in town. Charlie’s freaking out about meeting him.” Jeremy supplied typing a reply to Carolynn from just before lunch.

“Oh, is he worried about Y/N getting back together with him?” Madi asked jabbing the straw into her drink. Her brown gaze watching Charlie’s leg bounce like a jackhammer.

“No. Not about that. His scenes are done so he’s waiting for Y/N to pick him up.” Owen stated, leaning back as the man in question took off running in his street clothes to the parking lot, “Did he leave burn marks with that sprint?”

In the typical routine that never stopped the flutters in his stomach, you leaned over to hum into a kiss. Breaking apart Charlie caressed your finger gently before straightening into the passenger seat. Out of habit, he checks over his shoulder where Faye was strapped in her car seat.

“Oh, one moment,” Charlie exclaimed jumping out of the vehicle to open the back door. He quickly in to kiss Faye on her forehead, “I missed you Bug.”

Faye’s giggled in response as Charlie closed the backdoor to return to the passenger seat with a beaming grin. Charlie loved his girls with all his heart even in the short amount of time he had been in their lives.

“We’re meeting at his place.” You told the Canadian actor focusing on the drive, “He’s been renting a place since Faye was born. It’s easier for everyone to not stay in a hotel or an apartment.”

Charlie hummed in response, watching as you left the general vicinity of the set for one of the gated communities. It wasn’t the incredibly high-end community, but it was on the pricier side, but it was safe. His eyebrows raised at the houses the vehicle passed as he sang for the baby in the back.

“This is where he’s renting?” Charlie scoffed scanning the vast neighbourhood of houses, “Whoa.”

The chuckle fell from your lips as you pulled into the driveway of the address you had received via text messages. You had barely stepped out of the vehicle when Charlie already had Faye’s car seat in his arms. Cradled in the crook of his arm he held out his free hand to intertwine with yours.

“Any advice before we go in there?” Charlie questioned glancing at Faye gurgling with her stuffed Snowy Owl.

So passionate for nature, he had found an organization that sells the stuffed animals of animals in jeopardy. The money from sales of the stuffed animals when to saving the animal bought, so when he got Faye the Snowy Owl, it put money towards saving the animal. Faye adored her stuffed owl just as much as the person that bought it.

“Just be yourself. Tom and you are similar in terms of people down to earth and close with your family.” You informed him of pushing the button for the doorbell while Charlie stared at you.

“His name is Tom?” Charlie asked thinking back to the messages he had added as Faye’s father, he felt stupid he didn’t know the name of the guy who was a big part of your life.

“Did we never introduce you in the group chat?” You questioned as the door opened to the 5’8 brunette and glittering brown eyes.

Charlie’s eyes widened at the first physical appearance of your ex and Faye’s father standing in front of him. Tom was the same height as Charlie with brown eyes and a pale complexion but a childlike aura. Tom’s eyes met Charlie’s before they beamed down to the happy baby.

“’ello. Come on in.” Tom ushered you and Charlie into the home straight to the living room, “I’m Tom, can I get you anything to drink?”

“Charlie.” The Canadian actor spoke, shaking his hand with an equally welcoming smile as you gently took Faye out of her car seat.

“Hi, little Holly.” Tom cooed as his now eleventh-month-old child lunged into his arms with loud giggles, “That’s a cute owl you have there.”

“Y/N!” The overjoyed announcement came from Tom’s young brother Harry holding the camera that you’d never seen more than a few metres from him.

Faye’s uncle quickly squeezed you in a tight hug before pulling away to scan your form as if something drastic had changed. Charlie awkwardly watched as he settled into a little family, he wasn’t familiar with.

“Charlie, this is Tom’s younger brother Harry. Harry this is my boyfriend Charlie who I met on the set of his show.” You gestured for Charlie to come closer and just like that the three guys acted like they’d been friends for years.

You and Charlie didn’t linger at Tom’s house more than an hour to give Tom’s the entire weekend with his daughter. Of course, you would worry about her the whole time, but you also knew Tom didn’t need any help. You completely trusted him, but you can’t help it when the child is yours.

“Where’d you get Faye the owl?” Tom asked, leading Charlie to beam in excitement.

“Oh! Well, I use my platform to bring awareness and support to the environment internationally. The Canadian Wildlife Federation has a website that sells adoption kits for animals. Every purchase of the animal in their Adopt-an-Animal program funds the research and critical conservation programs for at-risk species.” Charlie used his hands as he rambled on, “By adopting this stuffed Snowy Owl it further funding for conservation efforts to protect Canada’s Arctic environments.”

Tom’s lips pulled into a grin, “My brothers and I have a charity we use to host events to raise money for the smaller charities. Maybe in the future, we sit down for a deeper conversation? You can send me a few links that I can share as well.”

“We have dinner plans. Keep me posted?” You interrupted, leaning into Charlie’s warm side with a kind smile to Tom.

Goodbyes shared you left the house with Charlie to the vehicle he adamantly asked to drive with that charming smile. The radio on low you watched the scenery go by.

“Tom’s an amazing guy. Family-oriented, kind, supportive, charitable and a really nice guy. Why did you guys break up?” Charlie asked, glancing at you from the corner of his green eyes. Your eyes, however, kept focused on the blurry landscape.

It wasn’t a way to avoid the question, “We became acquainted on Instagram back before he landed the role of Spider-Man. Over time it developed into a relationship that wasn’t serious or long term. We actually broke up a week after we conceived Faye.”

The two individuals stared stock still at the screen of black, white and shades of grey on the monitor. The tiny little bean moving around with the consistent thudding in the background. Your lips parted as the doctor’s words of a positive pregnancy, repeating like a broken record. Tom’s handheld tight as he digested the news.

His ex-girlfriend of three months, you to be precise, had been the safe place for a fetus to grow. Estimated gestation of eleven weeks it felt the two young adults spiralling with the large what-ifs making their presence known.

“Pregnant. That’s a baby.” The words came out shaky on the British man’s lips, “I put that baby in you. You are carrying my child, but it’s your choice if you want to keep the baby. It’s your body going through the changes.”

“I’d like to keep baby H.” You softly responded, sharing a smile of disbelief as it settled that a life-changing event would come to fruition in six months.

“We tried to make it work, but it became obvious that the spark had been gone for too long. I’ll always care for him and love him, but I’m not in love with him.” You told Charlie as he pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant chosen for the date.

“He’s a really good guy.”

“He’s an amazing father. I lucked out in the romance department, to be honest even if it didn’t work out with Tom.”

The topic was shelved for lighter conversation based on the things you missed on set today. Owen almost broke his nose in some stupid stunt that Charlie was involved in while you recounted the new music Faye had taken to.

Julie and the Phantoms renewed for a second season with a few new characters being introduced such as paramedic Lucy. Lucy would be a recurring character on the show with a connection to the boys. Julie would detest the woman that she believed was trying to replace her mother, and that would cause tension with her father. It would bring in a storyline for Ray manoeuvring his way through the guilt of finding someone attractive other than his wife. Beyond Ray, the boys would know Lucy as she was a rookie paramedic called to their accident site in the ‘90s.

With the new character and some more recurring ones, Kenny had wholly placed his trust in your again. Working from home due to the pandemic you compiled an extensive list of potential actors.

“Supper is ready.” Charlie breathed leaning down to kiss your cheek in the home office you shared together.

In his arms was Faye who had recently turned two years old with bouncy brown volumized curls with your eye colour. Faye loved being outside in the backyard or short hikes with Charlie vigilantly keeping an eye on her walking. Often you let the hiking be their thing together while you had the alone time or worked.

“Smells good.” You breathed kissing over to kiss the little girl, “Hello Tink. Are you excited to see Nana and Papa?”

“Mhm!” Faye spoke with her eyes twinkling at seeing her English grandparents with their silly accents. With her grandparents came their rambunctious uncles Harry, Sam and Paddy and her favourite family member Tessa.

“Daddy can’t wait to bring you to where he grew up.” Your fingers gently pushed the rebellious curl off her pudgy cheek.

“Then Dad and Mom can go on their honeymoon.” Charlie joked with a peck on the cheek of his little girl.

The glint of the ring on Charlie’s finger screamed at you with the recent memory of the intimate wedding. It had taken place a few months ago with your family and friends in attendance with Tom as well. He had even stood up with Charlie and even had a charming speech.

Gillespie Wedding

The Brit shuffled on the stage just before the guests all wearing masks and spaced following guidelines for the pandemic. His own black mask hung off one ear as he stepped up to the microphone.

“Hello, my name is Tom.” He introduced himself setting his eyes on the wedding party table with a grin, “Some may find it off for an ex-partner to be a guest at the wedding let alone being a part of the wedding party. Some of you know that I share an absolutely gorgeous and rambunctious little toddler with the bride.”

Faye waved enthusiastically from her seat beside her mother earning a chuckle from the attendants.

“I was blessed with meeting Y/N and having a daughter with her. We’re not like a lot of ex-couples because we remained close friends. She was open from the moment she knew there was something with a certain Canadian actor. The three of us created a group chat to share updates for Faye like when she popped her first molar tooth. The was a period I never want to relive” Tom laughed shaking his head with his deep brown eyes scanning the crowd, “Charlie had no clue that I was Faye’s father and his expression was priceless.”

“I never mentioned his name to Charlie! I never even realized until we dropped Faye off. Charlie knew Tom is an actor but not one of the Tom’s in Marvel.” You shouted over the laughter from the guests.

“We bonded, and we’ve never had any issues with our places in the lives of these darling young women. Faye has a loving mother and two fathers that will help her navigate life and protect her. I want to tell Charlie this: when Faye graduates from high school and maybe university if she decides to continue formal education and her wedding. You’ll be walking her down the aisle with me. I consider you one of my best friends, and there is no one else in this world I would trust with my little girl. I wish the bride and groom lifelong happiness in the new chapter. To Charlie and Y/N Gillespie!”

Now months later you had moved into a four-bedroom apartment in Los Angeles with Charlie and Faye. For the time being the third bedroom was rented out to Owen when he was in town to lower your rental fees and give him a stable residence. For a four-bedroom apartment, it was on the smaller size, but it was close to areas for Charlie to hike.

“How are you feeling?” Charlie murmured helping you off the couch revealing the bump you had been sporting for a while.

Baby Gillespie was healthy and robust and very much a surprise to the young couple. Charlie was sure the baby would be a boy while you full-heartedly believed Faye would have a little sister.

“Can’t wait for this little bun to be in our arms.” One hand coming to rest on top of his hand over the warm crewneck sweater.

The sweater came from a package of gifts Madison’s family had sent to celebrate the news of the baby on the way. The sweater was a light grey colour with the outline of phantom blobs with their guitars. The only addition was a baby phantom blob with over-ear headphones with a pacifier in the mouth. Absolutely adorable and a gift to be cherished.

“I still think if baby G is a girl, we name her Lucy.” Charlie teased leaning forward with the belly, keeping him at a distance.

“We are-“ The words unheard as Faye made her appearance known on the baby monitor keeping an eye on the toddler. Charlie was turning the corner from the living room to grab the little girl.

“Hey, sweet Angel.” Charlie’s soft words came through the speaker with the same care he’d shown her the entirety he’d known her.

You really did luck out with a beautiful daughter adored by both her fathers she had wrapped around her pinky. The paternity of Faye didn’t matter to Tom or Charlie, both mutually respecting each other with no ill will. The two male actors had grown a lovely friendship on mutual interests and passion for the environment and charity.

The fond smile grew as your eyes found the picture from Faye’s first birthday; her hands high in the ear coated in the smashed cake. Pudgy cheeks a rosy pink with Charlie and Tom on each side kissing her cheeks. Tom’s brother Harry had caught the candid picture with Faye’s infectious smile and surrounded by the love of her family.

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[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (1/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing 

Word Count: 2.8k

Part Summary: Y/N is a newly famous actress from a popular TV show and she’s willing to do everything in her power to maintain her perfect image as “America’s Sweetheart.” 

Masterlist

The limelight is a hard place to be under. It’s draining to constantly be on display. Day in and day out I feel as though I’m always looking into a mirror. However, a mirror is replaced by people’s eyes. I see myself through other’s eyes. Being sat on a slippery plastic stool while being watched by millions of Americans before they head off to work is an excellent way to start my day. Perhaps if I keep telling myself that I’ll eventually believe it. Savannah glances down at her cards then continues with the interview.

“Let’s go back to a year ago, if someone approached you and said “you’ll be the most sought after girl in America,” would you had believed them?”

I shake my head “not all.”

If only she knew how absent I am in the current moment. I’ve answered similar questions a million times these past few months. All the exact same questions within the same routine.

“Now, being as famous as you are, how do you cope with your newfound fame?”

There it is, famous. A better-sounding word than popular. After all, adult life is nothing like high school… right?

“I don’t particularly like the word “famous.” When people say “you’re famous!” What they really mean is “a lot of people know you!” At least people think they do.”

She studies me, intrigued by my honest answer, perhaps too honest. “You’re saying America doesn’t know the “real” you? Including your fans?”

I shrug, I can only imagine Nicole’s face right now. My usual bubbly and charmingly excited personality didn’t wake up with me at three this morning.

“I believe they know whatever version of me they’ve created. For some, I’m that girl from the cover of that one magazine they saw in line at the grocery store. For others, I may just a name without a face. That’s the thing about being so-called “famous.” I’ll never have the chance to meet every single person who has ever read an article about me or has seen paparazzi videos. They’ll only see those tainted versions of me. They’ll never have the opportunity to know me personally and make a valid judgment for themselves.”

Savannah hums, her eyebrows scrunched up. “How do you feel about that?”

I sigh, the words settling within me. “It’s disappointing.”

If only they all knew the truth, the reality of it all.

______________________________________________________

After the interview for the show, I fly straight back to Los Angeles from New York. My schedule has been worse, but I never miss the chance to complain to my manager. Thankfully, Nicole is a mother of tween girls and a ten-year-old boy so she knows how to take my childish whining. Once we’re landed in LAX I countdown the minutes until I can return to my bed.

“I don’t understand why you insist on wearing heels on the plane,” Nicole nags me.

“Because you never know who you’re gonna meet! Best to dress nicely just in case!”

It’s been a rule of mine since I first discovered my style and began to wear makeup, never go out in public without looking and feeling confident. I’ve learned that people can sense when others don’t feel confident and take advantage of that.

“I doubt your Mom would like it,” she nags.

“Well she’s not in California is she?” I fire back but snicker slightly.

My momma’s absence was bitter-sweet, in the beginning, now it’s all sweet. When we have our luggage, Nicole leads me through the airport to where the car is picking us up.

“You may want to put on your sunglasses now. We’re about to cross the line,” she warns.

I grab my glasses out of my purse like she instructed and slide them on. She was right, as soon as we cross over that taped line it’s a free-for-all for the paparazzi.

“Y/N!” “Y/N!”

“HEY! SHOW US A SMILE!”

The yelling doesn’t bother me as it used to in the past. Now, it’s the clicking. The clicking from their cameras. A constant *click* *click* *click*, from each of the thirty cameras. Nicole attempts to create a path for me by walking ahead.

“HOW WAS YOUR TRIP TO NEW YORK?”

“Good, thank you” I reply politely with a smile toward the tile floor.

I try to manage a balance when it comes to paparazzi. They have their job and so do I. Following me, taking pictures or videotaping me is their job. As long as they respect me, I will respect them. Nicole says it’s good for my image. My image wasn’t the first reason I was nice toward them, I was being myself. Nowadays, I’m hardly myself. I have my name, Y/N Voss, but it no longer feels like my name. The paparazzi are not used to getting easy responses out of people because there’s a long pause before the next question.

“WHEN DOES FILMING START BACK UP FOR THE SHOW?”

The question comes from a different voice but that doesn’t keep me from answering.

“In two days!” I gleam, looking forward to returning to set.

“CAN YOU GIVE ANY INFO ABOUT THE NEW SEASON?”

I chuckle a little but think it over. I agreed in my contract not to give out spoilers but there is a little info I was told I can let out. Plus, I’ve only seen the script for the first episode so I don’t know too much.

“I can say that Hollyn will have a bump start this season but no worries,” I answer vaguely but with interest.

Nicole and I manage to reach outside and she guides me down the sidewalk to where the car is supposed to pick us up.

“RUMOR HAS IT YOU’RE DATING SOMEONE! CARE TO COMMENT?”

“I’m very much single,” I laugh, finding the topic humorous. “Not enough hours in the day to share them!”

There are always rumors that I’m dating someone though none of it’s true.

“YOU LOOK GREAT TODAY Y/N!”

“YOU ALWAYS DO!”

“Thanks, boys!” I give my appreciation. 

The driver gets out of the front and pops the trunk. Nicole informs me to get in the car and let her worry about our things along with the driver.

“WHAT ARE YOUR PLANS FOR THE SUMMER?”

I open my door but pause to answer the last question. “Work, of course, but I also want to have some fun.”

“HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!”

“SEE YA LATER Y/N!”

They all hurry to get some last shots and I grant them a couple of seconds.

“You too! See you guys later!” I wave goodbye then climb into the car.

Nicole gets in a minute later and gives the driver the address. “You did great back there,” she compliments.

“Eh, it was nothing. I was only answering their questions.” I remove my glasses and get settled in as best as I can for the hour drive home.

She pulls out her binder full of scheduling material for me.

“Yes, but you were willing and kind. The public and media appreciate that! You’re becoming America’s Sweetheart!”

I would never admit it to Nicole but that title she keeps pushing makes me anxious every time I hear it. None of this was planned, it was thrown at me. Please don’t misunderstand me, I’m grateful for what I have but geez! When everyone is telling you a whole country adores you, how are you supposed to handle that? Especially at eighteen. It was no more than a year ago I was back in South Carolina and just another girl in high school. Now, I’m supposed to be “America’s Sweetheart.” I’ll play the part but it doesn’t make the job any less intimidating.

__________________________________________________________

My best friends/co-stars, Sam and Penelope, meet up with me for dinner to celebrate my first night back in town after the press tour. The three of us have been dividing our time around the country working on various projects between filming the show. Any time we can all get together is a gift.

Ever since I’ve known Sam Merka, girls flung themselves at him. Even I’ll say it, he’s a good-looking guy. If Grant Gustin had a younger brother, it would be Sam. I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea, we’re just friends. A sibling sort of bond. Since he’s eight years older than me, he likes a big brother.

Though Penelope is older too, one can’t tell since I tend to act more mature. I’m jealous of her sun-kissed long blonde hair and dark brown eyebrows. We all kinda got thrown into our friendship. Having to play life-long friends an hour after meeting for the first time was, to say the least interesting. Five years later, and we are like three peas in a pond. A mini family to have each other’s back in the big city.

For dinner, we agreed on The Nice Guy, an Italian place in West Hollywood. The most important aspect of the place is the amount of privacy it grants. The interior is a lounge, super lowkey, with booths, couches, and coffee tables but there are no photos allowed. Since no photos can be taken that means the three of us and others can enjoy ourselves in peace. Sam called dibs on being designated driver as per usual as the “bodyguard” for us girls. The paparazzi tend to hang out around the restaurant because it’s a well-known spot for celebrities.

“Maybe we can slip past them,” Sam says optimistically as we exit the car.

He meets me around the front and Penelope joins us after getting out of the backseat.

“HEY! HEY! HEY!”

From in front of the restaurant, a ripple of cameras begin to take notice of us.

“IT’S THE KIDS FROM THE SEASONS OF LIFE!”

“Yep, we really snuck past them!” I tease Sam playfully.

He huffs, annoyed with the situation. Sam loves his job but hates the lack of privacy aspect. He isn’t a fan of crowds either which I can understand. However, he’s great at masking it behind his charming smile. It’s what we were trained to do. Yet, Sam is better at managing a crowd mentally overall than I am. He understands how they affect me sometimes. The swarm of photographers rushes up to us. Sam leads the way toward the restaurant door. Penelope remains close, keeping a hand on my forearm to stay together. The cluster follows us down the sidewalk to the building.

“SAM! SAM! HEARD ABOUT THE GQ PHOTOSHOOT! CONGRATS ON GETTING THE COVER MAN!”

Sam chuckles next to me, “thanks, dude!”

“PENELOPE! RUMOR HAS IT YOU’LL BE SWITCHING OVER TO THE BIG SCREEN!”

“Exactly, it’s a rumor!” She replies a matter-of-factly.

The *click* *click* *click* and the flashing lights in the dead of night never fail to overwhelm me. Though, Nicole has told me I never appear overwhelmed when I interact with them. I force on the brave and confident face. I’m not me when I’m in front of cameras or important people, I’m Y/N Voss. I’m two very different people.

While I’m lost in thought, I get stuck when one photographer gets too close to my face with his camera and blinds me for a second. Sam and Penelope don’t notice my absence amongst the chaos until another photographer barks at the other to back off. Then, I feel Sam’s hand slip into mine and he protectively escorts me toward the door with determination.

“ANYTHING YOU TWO WANT TO SHARE ABOUT HOLLYN AND ELLIOT FOR NEXT SEASON?”

Hollyn and Elliot are Sam and my’s characters from The Seasons of Life, the show we star in together. Our characters have been on again off again for the past two seasons. According to the last season’s finale, the two are currently together, but of course, the season ended on a cliffhanger so their relationship isn’t very stable.

“Sorry guys, can’t share anything!” Sam answers, sounding a tad irritable.

“ANYTHING IN REAL LIFE? YOU TWO WERE BOTH IN NEW YORK THIS WEEKEND!”

“That’s true, but we never have the chance to meet up!” I reply nicely.

Press events for last season have come to an end and work officially begins in no time! Downtime for me is filming and it couldn’t come at a better time. I’ve missed being home in Los Angeles. Living out of a suitcase and sleeping each night on a plane isn’t the best way to live, at least for me. We finally reach the doors and I thank the heavens.

“Oh my gosh! There’s no way!” I hear what sounds like girls squealing and I slow down to see where it’s coming from. My hand slips from Sam’s as he goes on. When he’s determined to get away from the paparazzi, he can ignore the voices. Yet, when he notices that I do not follow he finally stops.

“Excuse me!” A girl calls amongst the clicking and shouting.

The paparazzi move aside a tad and create a path for me to see two young teens jumping up and down. They must be around fourteen I’m guessing, younger than me at least. I approach them to see what’s the matter. I can hardly see anything with all the bright lights.

“Hi! How are you?” I greet but once I get closer and cover my eyes with the flashing lights, I recognize them. “Sarah! Emma! How are you two?”

These two have been some of my biggest supports. They run a Youtube channel and create content about their reactions to episodes of the series. Somehow they manage to make appearances at any events relating to the show. I’ve met them numerous times at events, so have other members of the cast. Besides being two of the sweets girls in the world, they’ve created a fan page for me on Instagram and Twitter.

“Good, good!” Emma replies eagerly.

“It’s been so long since we last saw you!” Sarah adds.

“It really has! When was the last time we saw each other? During the press tour?”

They nod in unison as though they’ve rehearsed it.

“Well, group hug!” I hold out my arms and they gladly accept.

“Can we get a picture?” Emma practically begs, bouncing on her heels.

“Of course!” I take Emma’s phone and hold it out to the crowd of paparazzi. “Could one of you take our picture by chance?”

Many of the guys offer and I select a random one in front of me.

“Squeeze in tight!” I tell the girls as I stand between them and we wrap our arms around each other.

“One, two, three!” The man takes a couple of shots and hands, Emma, back her phone.

“Thank you!” The three of us say together.

We all hover over her phone to check out the pictures.

“So cute!” I awe at the photos.

“Y/N...” Sam places his hand on my back to usher me along.

“Oh, my-” Emma covers her mouth.

“Sam!” Sarah’s jaw is to the sidewalk.

“Hey girls!” he charmingly smiles.

He’s had the chance to meet them a few times while on the press tour and at other various events. I was there to introduce them which was one of the most entertaining moments of my life. I thought the girls were going to faint!

“Can we ask a quick question? It’s for our channel!” Sarah nervously bites her lower lip.

“Yeah, yeah, anything for you guys!” I answer without hesitation.

Sam wraps his arm around my waist while we’re talking to the girls and I don’t think much of it but the cameras begin to go nuts. The men behind them don’t say a word since we’re occupied but there they go *click* *click* click*.

“Is there any hope of you two getting together IRL?” Emma questions intently without hesitation.

I press my lips together with amusement and turn my head to Sam. He has the same look of pondering the question. He squints his eyes at me and then the two of us turn to the girls.

“Just friends,” we answer in unison.

“Best friends!” Sam adds playfully.

“Best friends forever ever!” I one-up him.

The two girls laugh with us, but it’s clear they’re a little disappointed.

“Well, I still bet on you two,” Sarah confidently points out.

Sam and I get a kick out of it. Our viewers want us together too.

“We better get going, our moms are waiting,” Emma informs us.

“Okay, quick hug!” I order and the four of us group hug.

We say our goodbyes and when the girls disappear the men behind the cameras start yelling.

“YOU’RE GREAT Y/N!”

“HOW DID YOU KNOW THEM?”

“Their names are Emma and Sarah. They run a popular Youtube channel, Twitter, and Instagram accounts for the show. Super sweet girls those two!”

“DO YOU KNOW ALL YOUR FANS?”

“I try to! I know a good amount!” I grin proudly.

Sam guides me into the restaurant and his hand never leaves my back. All of it is platonic of course, nothing more. As I told the paparazzi before, there isn’t enough time in my life for me to share any with someone.

 ________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @canyoubuymetoast

[koreanmadeingreece]

Why, why, why (6)

University student!Yuta x reader

Genre: slight enemies to lovers au, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff, and several mixups

Summary: You just got into uni and decided to move in with your childhood friend!Taeyong at the city where you are going to study. As you’re about to start your new, adult life, you meet his friends, and you realize that not everyone likes you. Nakamoto Yuta in particular almost seems like he hates you.

A/N: In this fic, Jonghyun from NU’EST appears for a while (just to avoid confusion). ALSO I’M SO SORRY I FORGOT TO POST ON WEDNESDAY.

Warnings: n/a (just a liiiittle bit of making out but seriously nothing)

Word count: 1.8K 

Part 6/11 (I think) First / Previous / Next

Taglist: @melitadala @chxotickpoptrash @aiforyuu @fineapplehoe (let me know if you’d like to be tagged!)

You had not even come close to the realization of the chaos that would be the night of the movie. You were engulfed in the picture of Jonghyun sitting next to you that you completely ignored the fact that all your friends would be there as well. Chan had taken the liberty to sit next to you at the opposite side of Jonghyun, and then you also had BamBam and Yugyeom close by. You knew they were going to roast your every move, but that was the easy part.

The part you did not realize you’d end up dreading the most was that Taeyong and his friends would sit at the row right behind you. You definitely didn’t want Taeyong judging your every move with Jonghyun later, and you most definitely didn’t need Yuta to see it too. You thought Jonghyun inviting you would just be another calm and relaxing date of yours, but reality said otherwise.

For your own good, you decided to ignore all those facts and simply went back to enjoying the time you had with your date. You knew he was both attractive and kind, but you hadn’t realized the effect it would have on you to sit this close to him. Even on the uncomfortable university seats, you found your way to sit close to each other, loosely holding hands and getting a kind of intimacy that many would be jealous of. Running little circles with your finger on his hand and him smiling every single time was something you couldn’t have imagined even in your wildest dreams. Sure, you have had relationships in the past, but this one felt like something better; something real.

When the movie started, you noticed how he tried to make small comments about it, considering the fact that he was a film major, but also tried to hold back and not analyze all the details to you, since it was supposed to be a date and not a class presentation. As you had barely started studying yourself, you had no insight to offer, but you were able to understand what he was saying and make your own amateur comments as well. He seemed to enjoy your discussion, even though it wasn’t much of a discussion, since you were watching a movie in a room full of other people, but it was clearly a moment you’d cherish for the rest of your life. Jonghyun was dreamy, and he was starting to become yours.

He took the liberty to lean on your shoulder, which you thought was adorable, and did not try to make moves that seemed too bold for the small amount of time that you were seeing each other. Without bothering the other students with your cheesiness because you had in mind that you really hated being the cringey couple that kissed in the middle of a crowd that was peacefully watching a movie, you stole two kisses from Jonghyun. You could see how a discrete smiled every time after that, and you couldn’t help but want more. You had in mind to ask him to stay with you some more after the movie ended, and that was exactly what you did.

The movie was over; and it was really good. The lights were on and you turned to your left to see Chan grinning at you, obviously having roasted you with the others during the entire movie. He whispered “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, now go and have fun with the man,” to you, which you gladly accepted knowing how many comments you’d have to face the next morning, of course all of them with a good will.

Taeyong had a similar face, although you knew he’d stay up and wait for you, as he’d be unable to last until the next day to gossip. You obviously ignored all those hilarious faces, but when your gaze met Yuta’s, you knew there was something off. You brushed it off and said goodbye to everyone, leaving with Jonghyun.

As you walked around the city, you talked a lot. Jonghyun was the type of guy who made you feel beautiful and appreciated no matter what. Next to him, you felt almost like a princess.

“So, are you seriously telling me that you don’t like lemons?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“Not at all?”

“Yup.” You chuckled.

“Uh, why do I even like you so much?” he said, leaving you speechless.

“Jonghyun,” you paused, but didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, I said I like you. Is it so bad?” he asked.

“No, I mean, I just can’t believe it’s happening, is all.”

He stopped walking and turned towards you. His gaze felt so intense during that moment, that you literally felt him piercing right through your eyes and seeing directly into your mind. “Don’t ever let anyone tell you that you’re not worthy, Y/N. Regardless of the fact that we just started dating, and I know it’s very soon, I can tell you’re an amazing person that has so much to offer, but also deserves much too.” As he stopped talking, you felt like an invisible force pulled you closer and closer to him, leaning in for a kiss. You felt his sincerity and kind words to be of heart, and it moved you. You knew you had found something good, and you intended to keep it.

That same force was now pulling you to a quieter place of the city, as you knew you wanted more than just a kiss. You found yourselves sitting on a bench where you couldn’t be seen, giving one kiss after the other. You felt his hands roaming on your waist and belly, and you couldn’t resist. His toned arms were just the beginning; his slim figure and well-shaped back was what you wanted, at least for now. His hands were on your thighs, sliding under your dress, but didn’t go very far, as it was only your second date. Even when you clearly wanted him so bad, he was a gentleman and didn’t move further.

After your intense kissing session was over, he walked you to your house. Thankfully, you didn’t see anyone on the balcony, so he leaned in to kiss you goodnight. He waited for you until you unlocked the door and got inside the building and left, leaving you with what was expecting you behind your apartment door; Taeyong, sitting on the couch with no other than Yuta.

“Hey, guys. What are you up to?” you asked.

“Well, hello there,” Taeyong said with a smirk, “what are you up to?”

“Oh, come on, I’m barely here for 30 seconds, give me a break!” you exhaled.

“Fine. I’ll interrogate you later. Uh, V and Johnny had to stay and help with cleaning at uni, so while we’re waiting for them to come, we’re just hanging out,” Taeyong said, and you still hadn’t heard a word from Yuta.

“Yuta, hello!” you said, trying to be nice.

“Hi, Y/N. Did you have fun with your date?” he asked, but you were certain his voice had some mean undertones.

“Yeah, I did, thanks for asking. I also liked the movie very much. Thank you for letting me know in the first place.”

“Yuta helped picking it out,” Taeyong said, “you can let him know if there’s ever anything you’d like to see.”

“Oh, sure! I mean, I’m a huge fan of crime movies, but I also love French comedies. It’s the only genre that makes me laugh.”

Yuta nodded, but didn’t seem up for a talk. In fact, he rarely seemed up for talking to you. “Ok, what have I done this time?” you snapped. You didn’t know how you let it slip your mouth, because you said you’d be nice and civil with Taeyong’s friends until they got used to you. But, sometimes, being civilized had a certain limit, and that was it.

“What?” Yuta asked you, wide-eyed.

“You’re barely talking to me again. I thought we were making progress when you told me about the movie!” you exclaimed, and Taeyong was just sitting silently, avoiding getting caught in the crossfire.

“We were, until you brought your date!” he yelled.

“Why do you care if I bring my date?”

“Because I- Ah, fuck this.” Yuta never finished his sentence and went outside on the balcony. You took a moment to calm down, when Taeyong finally decided to get involved.

“What did I just witness now?” he asked.

“I don’t have a clue,” you answered, unable to figure out what was going on between you two. “Taeyong, what should I do? I don’t want him to hate me. I like him a lot and I feel like he’s a great friend to you. I want us to be in good terms.”

“I know. Maybe you should try and talk to him. I could let you guys talk and bond some more if you want to.”

“I have an idea.” You went to the kitchen and got one of the cupcakes you’d made a few days ago. “Don’t come outside for a while.”

You opened the window and went to the balcony. You saw Yuta leaning on the railing, staring at the city lights. “Mind if I join you?” you paused. “I brought a peace offering!” you said and gave him the muffin. He stared at you for a second. He was flustered, and you could tell.

“Thanks. Is it one of those you were making the other day?”

“Yeah. I hope it tastes good. I’m not exactly known for my baking skills.” You laughed. He didn’t seem to mind and took a bite.

“Y/N, it’s really good!” he said, mouth stuffed. He took a second bite without thinking about it, which you took as a sign to start being proud of your skills.

“Thanks!” you exclaimed. “So, now that my bribe calmed you down a bit, can you tell me what’s wrong? I mean, I know you barely even know me and stuff, but I feel like there’s something between us.”

He swallowed the last bite of your muffin and tried to speak. It was obvious he was thinking about the answer, not quite sure what to say.

“I won’t mind whatever it is,” you reassured him.

“Uh, I don’t know if it’s something you should be concerned about. I’m sorry about my behavior. I know that I’ve been rough on you and I definitely didn’t mean it.”

“Apology accepted. But, if you tell me what it is, I can try and fix it, or, I don’t know, not do it anymore?” You weren’t exactly sure what to say at that point.

“I don’t think it’s something you can fix, Y/N.”

“Is it something that bad?”

“It’s more of a personal thing, you don’t need to worry about it. I’ll manage it myself.” He went quiet for a second. “Well, if you want to, we can go out sometime. Maybe get to know each other some more,” he suggested.

“Yeah, I’d love that.”

[princess-of-riviaa]

The Tonight Show

Request 1 by anonymous: Hi hi my darling! How are you? I hope you're ok and I hope you have a great weekend. So, I've never requested anything before, and it's ok if you don't appreciate what I'm about to ask, but I've never seen anyone writing about a hot night with Henry in Brazil. You know what I mean? Summer, samba, the sea, caipirinha, that mystic moonlight (he loves Brazil, and Brazil LOVES him). Thanks for reading 💙

Request 2 by @lunedelorient​: Reader writes a fantasy book. Henry discovers the story and convince Charlie, they have to produce a movie. Both met Reader, and Henry falls madly in love for her, (because she is as awesome as her book). And filming just made them closer and closer. Charlie, who knows his bro likes her (but is too scared that this doesn’t work like his other relationships) starts to give her clues, and since she likes him back, decided to let him know he can ask her out. On a very sexy way. The movie is a hit, so they have a very busy promo tour. One of the stops is Lipsync Battle. Henry doesn’t know she is the queen of Lipsync, so she used it for her plan.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (Melanie)

Author’s Note: i’m so sorry if I didn’t get your requests down just right. I allowed the story to flow how it wanted to and this was what happened! So I hope you both still enjoy!

Summary: Henry finds himself falling for the writer of the latest film he’s working on. One night in Brazil, those feelings are finally acted on.

Warning(s): mentions of alcohol, fluff (surprisingly)

Word Count: 1,568

HENRY

She circles her hips, and I swear I’m hypnotized. The way she moves… it’s like the music is a part of her, flowing from her swaying hips and shaking arms. She’s a fucking goddess.

I move in my seat, hoping my hard on isn’t obvious under these low streetlights. Brazil was a bad idea. This girl is full of bad ideas, yet for some reason I seem to go along with every single one.

It started with that stupid interview. I should have known she was up to no good when I first saw her in that tight cocktail dress that did nothing to hide the teasing shape of her ass and the luscious bounce of her tits. I’d ignored my feelings up until then; but on the night, she was irresistible.

I guess if I’m going to explain myself, I should start at the beginning. Ten months before the interview. The day the script for A Hunted Crown landed in front of me and my casting agent convinced me to go for the lead role. It was a brilliant script, full of twists and heart-wrenching scenes, as well as characters that jumped off the page and became real, fleshed-out people. According to my agent, the book this movie was based on was even better. So, obviously, I had to audition. There was no way I would give up a chance to be a part of something like this. Not only could it make my career, but as a fantasy lover I know that finding a genuine story these days is harder than finding a needle in a haystack.

The only problem: she was at the audition. Her pseudonym was Little Lady, but I learned that day that her real name was Melanie. I was a few years her senior, but damn if she didn’t make me feel like I knew nothing about the world. Not in a condescending way--she was so sweet and genuine, it was adorable--but in a way that she knew so much about everything and I knew so little compared to her. I spent most of our brief, five-minute conversation trying not to gape in awe at her brilliance. I was glad she wasn’t in the actual audition room, otherwise I would have been too distracted to do my audition any good.

But five days later I got the call; I’d been casted as the main character. Cue three months of training and six months of filming. Melanie was on set everyday. She became a familiar face I enjoyed seeing all the time. We bonded through our love of fantasy and other nerdy things. Though I quickly began to memorize trivial things like how she ate a green apple with her lunch everyday, or how she giggled uncontrollably when she was tired after a tedious day of reshoots, or how her clumsiness made me yearn to look out for and protect her, I forced myself to stay focused on the film. Just get through filming, then I can let my mind wander.

Filming ended too soon. I found myself grateful that she was going to Brazil with the main cast to promote the movie (we’d shot ninety percent of the film in the mountains of Serra do Mar, just outside Rio, and the director had roots there, so we were doing half our promoting there and the rest of it back in the states) and even happier when they paired me with her for almost every interview we did.

Until The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallen. He had us do a lip sync battle. On his show, it was a tradition that he battled against his guest for the night, but since he had both me and Melanie, we were put against each other. And of course she had to choose songs that weren’t even discreet about all their sexual innuendos, and of course it had to be right then and there that I learned she knew how to move her body. It took everything in me not to drag her backstage and take her right then. Somehow, though, I managed to contain myself. I lost the battle, but for once in my life I had been too preoccupied with other things to care about winning.

I won’t be able to contain myself tonight. Not with how she’s dancing. Not with the way she’s looking directly at me, like she’s doing all of this for me. Not with how hard I already am.

… MELANIE

My pulse races, though I know it’s not from all the dancing. It’s from Henry. It’s from the way he’s looking at me right now--like he wants to devour me. The look makes adrenaline pump through my veins, mixed with just the right amount of nerves, and I force all of that into the dance. One thing most people don’t know about me is I dance as well as I write. Henry is completely entranced by my movements and something in the air--maybe it’s the amount of beer we’ve already had, or all the couples grinding and making out around us, or just the romantic atmosphere of Brazil itself--tells me that tonight I’m finally going to get what I’ve been waiting for.

I reach out for his hand and drag him from his seat before he can protest or I can think logically about what I’m about to do. I lead him to the middle of the dancing crowd before starting to dance again. He hesitantly begins to dance along with me. Before my mind can halt me in my tracks, I turn my back to him and begin to dance in front of him, swaying my hips like I’m dangling a treat in front of his nose. I gasp when I feel his hands slide around my hips and pull me against him. We fall into a steady rhythm, swaying our hips together, and with every movement my heart beats harder in my chest.

Henry nudges my ear with his nose, sending a shiver down my spine as he tells me, “I never knew you could dance like this.”

I throw my head back until it rests on his shoulder, his thick muscles flexing and unflexing with each of his movements. “You never asked,” I reply. “There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Henry.”

His right hand lets go of my hip and moves to rest on my stomach. My back is now flush with his chest. It’s an intimate gesture, one that sends heat straight to my face and my core. Butterflies dance just under my skin where his hand rests. I want to know how it will feel when he moves his hand lower.

“I want to know those things. I want to know you inside and out, Melanie,” he whispers in my ear, and I become a puddle of desperate want.

I spin around to face him, my lips parting when I see how dark his gaze has become--and how he can’t look anywhere but at my lips. He closes the distance between us until we share one breath.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes. “Tell me you don’t want this.”

“I can’t,” I reply, my voice shaking. “I’m not a liar.”

And then he closes that last half-inch of space between us and brushes his mouth against mine. It’s a hesitant kiss, a mere brush of two nervous mouths, but my heart is still in my throat and my hands are still shaking at my sides. Henry finally closes his mouth over mine and deepens the kiss, applying much needed pressure to my mouth. An embarrassing moan claws its way from the back of my throat. Henry can no doubt hear it. But instead of laughing or pulling away, he wraps an arm around my back and pulls me as tight against him as I can possibly be. My hands reach up to cling onto his dark curls. He whispers a soft fuck and I swallow the noise greedily. Our tongues collide and make a dance of their own--a dance of giving and taking, of claiming and exploring.

Henry pulls back, albeit reluctantly, and rests his forehead against mine. We both stand in silence for a minute, attempting to catch our breath. “We should go back to the hotel,” Henry sighs.

I nod. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

How the hell can one kiss be that mind-blowing? I can barely think, barely stand without my legs shaking, barely breathe. I never want him to stop kissing me.

He gives me a soft smile as his fingers loop through mine and he guides me out of the crowd and back onto emptier streets. The hotel is only two blocks away so we walk back in tense silence. Everyone--the director, the three main actors of the movie, and me--all have our own rooms, but tonight I stay in Henry’s. It’s the same as mine--single bed, bedside table, bathroom--but it’s so much more appealing than my room. Maybe it’s because, after a week of staying here, the smell of Henry is in the sheets.

“Do you want to stay?” he asks as we make our way inside.

I nod a simple yes at him. That’s all he needs before he kisses me again, slowly moving towards the bed.

Neither one of us get any sleep that night. I couldn’t be happier about it.

***

Tag Squad:

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[butgilinsky]

his fault // th

warning; language, alcohol, sad):

summary; tom breaks up with y/n, and realizes his mistake when it’s too late. 

word count; 2.7k

y/n had a extra hop in her step today. the news she received at work had been the type of news she was patiently waiting for for longer than she could remember. a promotion and a significant raise were two things she’d been silently hoping for, blowing off her friends when they insisted that she would get it. 

she walked into the elevator and pressed the button with a smile she couldn’t hide, biting her lip to try and keep the excitement at bay. she didn’t want to come off too strong, trying to play it as cool as she could. as soon as she got the news a few hours ago, the first thing though of doing was calling tom and telling him everything she had just heard. she wanted to share her excitement with him, not knowing who else would want to hear it. 

the ding of the elevator brought her eyes up from the ground and she skipped down the hall, her knuckles hitting the door quickly. he opened the door, a much less excited expression than the one she wore. he was biting the inside of his cheek, giving off the allusion that he’d had a bad day, so she skipped into the apartment, setting her keys and phone down while starting to ramble off about her day. she shrugged off her jacket, throwing it onto a nearby chair. 

“so i went in today and my boss was abnormally excited to talk to me-”

“love, i think we should talk first.” he was staring at her with a look of uncertainty, but she pushed it to the side, assuming that her story would make him match her excitement. 

“we are talking! just listen it’ll-”

“y/n i’m serious.” she rolled her eyes with a wide smile, tugging on his hands as she jumped a little in her spot. 

“so am i! i couldn’t wait to get out today, i’ve wanted to call for hours but when i left you didn’t answer so-”

“y/n, i think we need to break up.” break up. the simple phrase made her hands drop his, retracted them back to rest in front of her, immediately picking at the skin around her nails. the two small words made her smile drop immediately, her eyes filling with tears, and her vision blurring slightly. 

she looked at the boy in front of her, watching the past three years play like a film reel in her mind. the two years she expected to predict her entire future. her future with tom. her future with the loving boy who she would’ve given both arms and legs for if it deemed necessary. the boy that was gone for months, but always returned. the boy she grew to love in a short amount of time, and continued to love for three whole years. 

and it was coming to an end, with a simple sentence. 

“why?” her throat was tightening, the weight in her chest growing heavier with every passing second. 

“i think it’s just best if we separate.” it wasn’t an explanation, but it became very clear that she wasn’t going to get one out of him. that weight in her chest was practically shoving her into the floorboard beneath her, while her eyes started to well up, and her head felt dizzy. 

but she pushed the questions and the urge to fight to the back of her head, not being able to find it in her to argue or pester about it. today was supposed to be the best day for her in a long time, and she was starting to realize that today was not going to end as it started. 

“okay.” it was the only thing she could say. the only thing that came to her mind that she could actually decipher, too many thoughts numbing her brain to vacancy. 

“okay?” he was confused, expecting a melodrama to appear in front of him. he was expecting the world to come crashing down in one piece, and it seemed that he wouldn’t be granted with the sight of her breaking down. he noticed the tears in her eyes, but also the lack of their release. 

“yeah.” she nodded slowly, careful to not shake the tears out of her eyes. “there’s no point in arguing with you if you don’t want to be with me anymore.” she was telling herself that this was real. this was really happening, right here, right now. “i uh, actually have to go. i have a paper due tomorrow that i haven’t started and i uh-” she was grabbing her keys and phone as fast as she had dropped them, collecting her thoughts and emotions as she made way towards the door. she grabbed her coat before she forgot, and tried to talk herself through all of this. 

“y/n shouldn’t we talk about it or-”

“what’s the point, tom?” she shook her head, turning over her shoulder to see him left to look as heartbroken as she was meant to. “you want to break up, and i know you have to pack and get ready for your trip this weekend. you have to pack and i have to write a paper so i’ll just-” she reached for the doorknob, only for the door to be pushed open before she reached it, seeing harrison staring at the two of them. 

“hi y/n.” he smiled at the sight of the girl, only to wipe it off of his face quickly when he also saw the built up tears in her eyes. 

“hi.” she pushed a sad smile to her lips, hoping that it’d be convincing enough. it wasn’t. 

“what’s-”

“i actually have to go, but it was nice to see you.” she pushed past the confused boy, walking as quickly down the hall, breaking into a jog shortly after. 

it seemed as the elevator couldn’t come fast enough, and as she awaited its arrival, the emotions continued to build up. as soon as it dinged, doors opening soon after, she walked into it and pressed the ground floor, biting her lip in anticipation. 

just as they began to close, a foot made its way between the two doors, making her face harrison once again. 

“love, i-”

“i can’t talk about it.” she shook her head as he walked into the elevator, pressing the close button for her. 

“that’s okay. can i at least take you home?” she kept shaking her head, raking her mind for more excuses to get away from anything that seemed connected to tom. 

“no that’s okay. i can walk, or-”

“y/n it’s freezing outside.” he shot her a pointed look, and she sighed softly, a single tear finally finding its way down her cheek. her hand shot up to wipe it quickly, but more seemed to fall. “fuck.” harrison whispered to himself before bringing the girl into his chest quickly. 

she screwed her eyes shut, biting her lip softly to try to push the emotions further back in her mind. 

“i just don’t understand.” her voice held every ounce of emotion she had been trying to keep under the surface, but harrison saw right through the girl. 

“i don’t either, love.” he held the girl against his chest, their friendship trumping any loyalty he had towards tom in this moment. he had no idea what his friend was doing. he was fully convinced that the pair would never split, being far too infatuated with one another to even think about a fatal moment for the two of them. tom always talked about her when she was gone, and he was certain she did the same about him. 

when she got home, she continued to dismiss harrison’s pleads to let him come up and comfort her. she wanted to sink into the floor, and she wouldn’t be able to do that with harrison there. she had no intentions of speaking or being spoken to, so she went up by herself, throwing her phone in a drawer for the night and sitting down with a bottle of wine. she watched whatever trashy drama she could find on the tv, begging anything to rid her mind of the breakdown just waiting to crash over her. 

she had been three glasses of wine in when the rain started, and four glasses in when there was a knock at the door. she huffed to herself, intending to ignore the knock until it turned into banging. she finished the wine sitting in her glass, and grabbed the bottle between her fingers before walking up to the door. she pushed up onto her toes to look through the peep hole, seeing a boy she wasn’t all too surprised to be seeing. 

she swung the door open, her appearance catching the boy off guard. the girl that was usually all smiles and warm welcomes was wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and an even bigger sweat shirt, her hair pulled back and her glasses doing a poor job at hiding the redness in her eyes. the bottle of wine in her hand didn’t go unnoticed, but he had hoped that it wasn’t opened tonight, as it had been more than halfway gone/ 

“what the fuck happened?” he was confused when harrison called, not sure how his brother could’ve fucked up so immensely that he’d have to cancel all of his plans for the next day to dedicate it to the girl. although he didn’t mind, obviously wanting the best for his friend more than sitting through meetings of upcoming projects. of course, he was in a position to cancel those meetings without anybody questioning him. 

she needed him, and he was going to be there for her. 

“how am i meant to know, sam?” she rolled her eyes at the question, believing it to be stupid and unanswerable. she spun on her feet, retreating further into the apartment, but leaving the door open for the younger holland. 

“how did he manage to throw away the best thing that’s ever happened to him?” she let out a soft laugh at the comment, finding it endearing that he wasn’t jumping to tom’s defense. 

the two had always been close. closer than some would’ve liked, but the pair knew the platonic level their friendship would always remain, and grew a stronger bond than either of them had imagined. 

“can we just, not talk about tom?” she faced him when she fell back onto the couch, laying her head against her hand as she poured herself a new glass, holding the bottle out towards the boy in offering. 

sam looked at the girl in front of him, realizing how broken she truly looked. he’d never seen her so upset in their years of friendship. he’d seen her cry for hours on end about things in her life that crushed her, but never had he seen the shine in her eyes dull down to a sheen of tears. he’d never seen the flush in her cheeks not being caused by a cheeky comment or a loving memory. never had he seen her so glossed over with intoxication in an attempt to forget the day behind her. 

and it was all because of tom. 

so he took the bottle, and found another glass in her kitchen to pour the wine inside of it. he explained that his next day was empty, leaving out the part where he cancelled two big meetings. he knew she wasn’t working the next day since it was a saturday, and she always had the day off. even when she asked how tom was meant to get to the airport, knowing the sam often took him, he rolled his eyes with a small smile and replied with, “who cares”. 

the two sat on her couch, drinking wine and talking about everything that had nothing to do with tom. they talked about a knew idea sam was having for a script, along with her new promotion. they watched movies and talked about how bad or good they thought the acting was. 

and when she fell asleep on his shoulder, he woke her gently to make sure she slept properly in her bed, making his bed on her couch after she was safe and sound in her bed. he put away the glasses, and returned the wine to its home in the fridge, making sure that every window and door was closed and locked before falling asleep on the couch. 

-

in the morning, tom’s head was pounding with the sound of the alarm. he slammed his hand down onto his phone so the shrill sound echoing off the walls would come to a stop, even though he had to get out of bed after it. he took a shower, and got ready for the airport, only slightly surprised when harry showed up instead of sam. he didn’t have to ask, he knew where his brother was and what he was doing. although part of him was slightly thankful for his brother’s relationship with the girl, he was slightly hurt by the fact that he hadn’t said anything to tom within the time frame. 

he boarded his plane and spent the entire flight dreading the past events. the bags under his eyes were a new look, along with the severe lack of a smile the entire way over. 

the next few weeks blurred together, not hearing from the girl. he knew he messed up, and he knew there was no excuse for his actions. he knew it was stupid, but for some reason, he couldn’t find himself to call her and apologize. 

-

weeks turned to months, blurring together as she hadn’t heard from him. the first time she did, was a drunk call in the middle of the night. she answered on impulse, halfway through asking herself if it was a good idea. but she ultimately convinced herself it was better to answer, since he probably needed something if he was calling at all, let alone in the middle of the night. 

“hello?” there was a pause before he responded, the smile on his face taking too much time to grow before he could respond. 

“hello love.” she rolled her eyes in the darkness of her room, rolling onto her back as she continued to hold the phone to her ear. 

“why are you calling, tom?” she had work the next morning, just in a few hours. she realized his schedule wasn’t like hers, having different hours and different days off than she had. it had been that way throughout their entire relationship. 

“i just needed to hear your voice. your real life voice. i tried to listen to voicemails and videos, but they don’t do anything. they’re nothing like talking to you for real.” his slight rambling made her head spin, not knowing where all of this was coming from. 

“tom it’s the middle of the night.” he sighed, not realizing the time difference in that moment. he hadn’t taken anything into account, the alcohol coursing through his veins far more prominent than anything else. 

“i’m sorry, love. i didn’t count the hours like i normally would. i just needed to call, i needed to know if you would answer.” his voice was getting quieter as he spoke, realizing how foolish he sounded. 

“you could’ve called months ago, tom. it doesn’t need to be in the middle of the night. i’ve got work in the morning.” she was growing agitated as their conversation carried on. there was no reason for it all. she knew that he knew his effect on her. that at the snap of his fingers, she’d do anything he asked of her. 

“wait! y/n i’m sorry i- i should’ve called earlier. i should’ve called months ago, i know. i’m sorry, love i just- fuck this movie is fucking with my head and i really just need you here with me. i should’ve have fucked all of this up. i don’t even know why i did it, and now i know that there truly was no reason to leave you that day. it was stupid. i’m stupid. y/n i love you.” although they were the words she wanted to hear, they were coming months after she wanted to hear them. 

“goodnight tommy.” she ended the call, throwing it onto the nightstand beside her while tom stared at his own, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood as his vision blurred. although the nickname brought a funny feeling to his chest, it wasn’t enough to mask the heavy ache he felt. 

he’d lost her, and it was all his fault. 

[babbushka]

The Shape of You (1/12)

Supreme Leader Kylo Ren x Reader

You do a good job of it, staying out of the way. You’re quiet, you’re unsuspecting, you’re practically invisible; just the way you like it. Until one sunny summer day in 1962, the government base where you work acquires an unusual asset, and everything you know is about to change. In the race to save this lonely, desperate, beautiful man, loyalties are shaken on all sides – and the bonds of true love are tested.

11.4k, Warnings: Mentions of blood/injury

                                                    ------------------

It’s warm, in the dream. Warm and black, in an all-consuming kind of way. You’ve had this dream before; it’s a comforting one, a familiar one. In it, you are surrounded by inky darkness, smooth and silky as it wraps around you. In it, you are walking through a grand expanse towards a light, red and glowing.

If you had not had this dream before you think you’d be terrified, think it an omen of some ominous kind. But the darkness is not something to be afraid of, you’ve come to learn. And when the red light beckons you, there is not a promise of evil on the other side, but rather one of liberating freedom.

You reach out to it, walks towards it. You’re in no hurry, in the dream, in no hurry at all. It’s patient, you find with relief as it seemingly takes eons and eons to navigate the soft velvet of wherever this place may be. As you get closer, little pricks of light begin to emerge, stars from a galaxy far far away. They twinkle as if they’re smiling down at you, and you smile back, unafraid.

You know how the dream ends; it ends the same every time. The jolt of your alarm clock bringing you back to consciousness, pulling you awake. You never seem to be able to reach the red light, but you aren’t discouraged by that – how could you be, when every time you have this dream you get closer and closer? When every time your hand seems to reach out a little farther?

It’s going to end soon, you think in the safety of your mind, in this little bubble you’ve built for yourself. The dream is going to end, and you’ll have to face the day, another day of being you, of being (Y/N). Soon enough you’ll get dressed and have breakfast with Armitage, your friend who lives next door, and he’ll complain about his students and you’ll complain about work only for a short while before you’ll need to go get ready to spend the next ten hours at the place.

It’s going to end soon, but that’s alright, because you know after those ten hours are up you’ll get to come home and hopefully, hopefully, have the dream again.

When you walk through the rich blackness of the void, when you approach the red light, this time you’ve gotten a step farther. This time you’ve reached your hand out nearly to the edge, nearly to the very edge of the red. It curls and winds around your hands like smoke, if smoke could be hot. It tugs at the tips of your fingers, wanting you to come closer closer closer, and you chuckle at its eagerness.

“One day.” You say sadly, in the dream. Or maybe you say it out loud, out in the real world too. You don’t know.

You live alone, so there’s no one to ask, no one to laugh at the way you talk in your sleep, if you do at all.

The red tugs on your hand again, insistent, but you shake your head with a sigh, you reclaim it because you have to, you have to or you’ll never wake up and then you’ll be late for work, and if you’re fired from this job then there will be astronomical consequences, consequences that you simply can’t risk.

The red seems to know this, and it’s almost as though you can feel it sighing too. It reaches out to caress your face, warmth seeping into your bloodstream through the gentle press of an invisible force against your cheek. You let your eyes begin to close slowly, savoring the feeling of the love of the universe, because that must be what this is, that’s why you’re not afraid.

As your eyes close, as the red begins to slip away, you think you see the silhouette of something – of someone, standing just on the other side of the light.

You snap your eyes open to try and get a better glimpse, because you’ve never seen that before in the dream, you’ve never ever seen a person standing on the other side, you’ve never seen anything solid and corporeal and real and –

You bolt upright in your bed, the radio crackling to life from across the room, its bright cheerful jingle alerting your brain to get the fuck out of bed and go turn it off.

“The only station for when you’re on the go, tune in to AM W-6-Z-O!” The swing singers coming through the speakers are loud enough to earn you a pounding on the wall, courtesy of your neighbor and one of only two friends you had, Armitage Hux.

“Christ (Y/N)!” Your friend says loud enough that you can hear him through the wallpaper, “It’s my day off can’t a man get some sleep?”

Your feet slide into slippers on the side of your bed, and you pad across the room naked to shut the radio off. You’re not really one for listening to all the commercials and commentary, preferring your vinyl collection much more than whatever taste some disc jockey thinks he has.

“Sorry Professor,” You roll your eyes sarcastically, “But if I have to be awake at this hour then so do you.”

It was the routine, day off or no, that you spend every morning together. Neither of you had anyone, no one to really call your own, and so you spend it with one another. It helps fight the loneliness that creeps into your soul sometimes, and even though he’s aggravated at waking up on a weekend, he still does with a hopeful, “Coffee?”

Smiling to yourself, you grab your robe and tie it tightly around your body.

“I’ll be over in five.” You check the time, before leaving your bedroom to brew up a big pot of Lyons standard roast.

                                                     ------------------

Once the coffee has brewed and you’ve brushed your hair enough to look presentable for your friend, you make the short trip next door with hot percolator in hand, and a smile. A smile which, upon the opening of his front door, is not returned to you by Armitage, who instead looks like he may crave death or violence.

“Remind me again why we wake up at two o’clock in the morning?” He grumbles, his Irish accent thick from sleep as he abandons the door, leaving you to close and lock it behind you.

You follow him further into his apartment, a chic, mid-century modern space that looks very curated, very well thought out, very Armitage. He’s changed his design taste more times than you can count really, but for the past year it’s been the same; dark teal paint on the walls and ceiling, with matching teal-stained wood on the floors. His furniture and décor are all varying shades of rich orange to provide an interesting contrast that only gives you a headache sometimes.

“Because my shift begins at five, and it’s a two-hour ride to work.” You reply, fishing out two mugs from his cabinet in the kitchen and get to pouring you both a generous helping of coffee.

“I didn’t ask why you had to be up at two, I asked why we had to be up at two.” He huffs, gratefully accepting the mug with his cold hands, humming around a healthy sip of the brew.

“Because you love me.” You wink, setting down the coffee pot in favor for rummaging through his pantry, pulling out flour and sugar, “And you love the pancakes I make you.”

Armitage sets the table with plates and silverware while you begin to measure out ingredients and raid his fridge. It was a good setup you thought, you cooked breakfast and then abandoned him with all the dishes and cleaning up. You spent enough time cleaning, you always say.

“You do make damn good pancakes.” He complimented you as you stuck some butter in the pan to melt and sizzle.

“Any plans today Armie?” You smile at the immediate groan that escapes from between your friend’s teeth as you mix pancake batter into the perfect consistency to be poured.

“Yes, regret ever telling you about that nickname.” You can tell he’s scrubbing a hand over his face, the way he tends to do when he’s annoyed.

“Drink your coffee.” You tease, using a ladle to start breakfast properly. “I was thinking, when I get back from work maybe we can go downstairs and see the new film that Boris got, it’s a Fred and Ginger musical.”

Your apartment building wasn’t really an apartment building at all – or at least, it didn’t used to be. What were once storage rooms for the cinema downstairs had become single bedroom apartments nearly ten years ago, according to Boris, the friendly Bulgarian proprietor. When the cinema began to fail due to the rise of television, he sought out extra income and became a landlord.

This was perfect for Armitage, who, as a professor for film history at the university, had an immense love for the classic older films which were only ever screened on special occasions, or at special theaters. Boris knew this, and he acquired many old film reels from the 1930s and 1940s, which he played during the week as a way to generate interest on otherwise slow days.

You paid your rent early, which had the added bonus of being on Boris’ good side, which in turn meant you got to see the movies for free whenever you wanted.

“Which musical, Top Hat or Swing Time?” He eagerly accepts the pancakes you flip onto a plate for him, before drowning it all in syrup and powdered sugar.

“The Gay Divorcee.” You tease with a grin, “Right up your alley.”

“Ha ha, very funny.” Armitage rolls his eyes once again, although now he’s much less aggravated with coffee in his system and food in front of his face.

“Will you see it with me?” You put a hand on your hip, and he smile.

“Of course I will. It’ll give me a good excuse to finish grading these essays, maybe I’ll tell my students they can write something about the musical for extra credit – god knows some of these kids will need it.” He gestures to the pile of marked and unmarked papers on the other end of the kitchen table.

The stack that still needs to be graded is far taller than the stack of finished essays, and you wince when you read that the one on top of the stack has been given a D-.

“Which paper is this one?” You plate yourself some pancakes and sit at the table, making sure the stove is off and the plastic spatula isn’t anywhere near the heat where it could be left to melt.

“The midterm; an analysis and comparison of German Expressionism in cinema before and after the second world war.” Armitage sighs around a bite of the delicious breakfast.

You can’t help but shake your head fondly at your friend, that topic being so on brand for him. His father was a Navy General, and he had been even more patriotic than most. But while his father had big dreams for Armitage to follow in his footsteps, instead he became a professor, much more interested in researching and educating the new generation.

Still, he found ways to incorporate his love for the military into his love for cinema. It’s all propaganda anyway, as he likes to say.

“Show me the awful papers when I get back, we can laugh about it over lunch.” You smile as you dig in to the breakfast you’ve made, but he scoffs.

“Oh please! I’ll be crying.” He replies, a funny blend of deadpan and melodramatic.

                                                     ------------------

Once breakfast was over, you kiss Armitage on the cheek and wish him a good day, before taking the warmed coffee pot back to your own apartment next door. Filling up two thermoses, you set them near your purse right by the door so you can easily grab them on your way out.

After breakfast you typically only have fifteen minutes to get properly ready for the day, but that was alright. Dressing never took very long, not when you were provided with a uniform. Sometimes Armitage exhausted you with his fashion shows; trying on every possible combination of sweater vest and tie he owned, asking for your opinion on new trousers. You loved having one less decision to make, especially this early in the morning.

The uniform was a simple dress made of a dark grey linen. It had accented cuffs on the rounded collar, short sleeves and hem in a darker grey, and two large pockets on either side which proved themselves immensely helpful. While not required, it was often encouraged to wear the provided apron, a white thing that’s gotten so soft and worn over the years from all the bleach baths you’ve had to give it.

And though the uniform may seem drab and boring to some, you adored the anonymity of it. You liked being able to blend into a crowd, to move unnoticed. It was imperative that as a cleaning woman you were out of everyone’s way, and any flashy attire would have certainly drawn unwanted attention. That’s not to say that many of the other cleaning women didn’t enjoy the attention – your own dear friend Gwendoline among them.

With the red scare, your boss had made a push to encourage individualism within his employees – he felt that everyone looking exactly the same and wearing the same was far too much like communism, and he’d be damned if he were anything like the Soviets. So things like scarves to tie back hair, pins or broaches, nail polish colors, and shoes were encouraged to be something you made your own.

The only one of these little pleasures you indulged in were your shoes, and your daily dilemma often consisted of which pair of short reliable heels you would be slipping your now stocking-clad feet into.

You were having one such dilemma now, looking at your wall of heels. Another perk of living alone, you think to yourself, no one there to tell you to get this obsession under control.

In honor of the dream you were once again so lucky to enjoy, you picked a pair of red kitten heels off the top shelf and put them on as you hopped across the living room, grabbing your dashing out the door.

              ��                                      ------------------

The world is so quiet, this early. Not completely silent, as it were, because there were always people like you, always people having places to go and friends to meet. Living so close to the Vegas Strip was interesting, and you saw all sorts of people on the sidewalks and in convertibles, driving around in the dark with their sunglasses on because they think it makes them look cool.

As you descend the steps which lead out of the apartment, you are stopped by the familiar sight of your landlord up on a ladder, arranging letters on the bright marquee sign surrounded by golden lightbulbs.

“(Y/N)!” He calls to you with a hand up waving, “Good morning dear!”

“Good morning Boris, you’re up early.” You call back, making sure to be loud enough that he can hear you with his old ears. His hearing has been failing him lately, and you do your best to help him when you can.

“Early or late, eh? Will you come to the screening tonight?” He laughs heartily as he gestures to the big black letters which read the name of the musical.

“Of course I will, I’m bringing Professor Hux along – he’s going to encourage his students to come this week.” You tell him, and he gasps.

“Students! He has big class, yes?” Boris’s excitement is contagious, and you find yourself grinning.

“Yes, nearly one hundred and fifty eager filmmakers.” You inform him, and the news shocks him so much that he nearly falls off the ladder.

Thankfully he has one of his sons, a nice young man named James, holding the ladder steady. You always wonder why James isn’t the one up on the ladder, since he’s clearly in better shape, but then you remember this is Boris you’re thinking of – he’s the kind of man who doesn’t trust anyone to do anything the right way.

“One hundred fifty! When you come tonight, you get free popcorn, okay?” He is giddy, and you feel good to have made his day a happy one.

“Okay Boris, I really must go now.” You see the familiar headlights of the city bus turning the corner, so you give him another wave, “I’ll see you this evening.”

“One hundred fifty…did you hear that?” Boris is in awe, not having had so many customers in a long time.

                                                     ------------------

It takes three buses to get to work. When they had been looking for a place for you to live, you had insisted that there be a bus station as close as possible because if you were going to be spending ten hours on your feet, you wanted as short of a distance from the stop to your front door as possible. You don’t mind the two hours each way, you don’t mind the long grueling hours – but you sure as shit were not going to take any extra steps in your heels if you didn’t have to.

The bus comes at exactly three every morning, and it’s the same bus driver every time.

“Good morning Miss (Y/N).” He greets you, a kind older gentleman who probably needs his sleep more than even Armitage did.

“Good morning Mr. Henry,” You reply, taking a seat up front so you might talk to him and keep him company on the drive to the main bus exchange station. “Did you have a good evening?”

“I surely did, there’s nothing better than getting to go home to the Missus.” He gives you a dreamy-eyed smile through the rear-view mirror. “It was her birthday last night, I took her out to dinner and a show.”

“Mr. Henry you are such a romantic.” You lean your head against the window, using your small hat as a pillow to shield yourself from the cold rattling glass. “Where did you take her?”

“Circus Maximus in Caesars Palace! Damn what an evening. We only just got back home an hour or so ago, and I wanted to take off the morning to get some rest into these bones, but my boss didn’t take to the idea too kindly.” Henry shrugged, making you frown.

You wish you could encourage him to stand up to his boss, but with racial tensions as high as they were, you didn’t want to see your friend get hurt, or lose his job. Henry had been driving this route ever since you began working out in the desert, and you thought of him as a highlight of your day, a friend even if you only saw one another for the short time you did.

“I hope you have a fast shift today and that no one gives you any trouble.” You tell him honestly, only ever wanting the best for Henry. You’d offer him some of your coffee, but he’s got a thermos of his very own up at the front of the bus.

“Seeing your smiling face certainly does help, Miss (Y/N).” His eyes glimmer when he asks, “Now tell me, anything interesting going on where you work?”

You chuckle and shake your head, staring out the window as the streetlamps blur together, cutting through the dark.

“I’m afraid not, or if there were, I wouldn’t know anything about it, I just clean.” You say.

“Don’t be so down on yourself, we’re the ones they don’t ever suspect, isn’t that right?” Henry asks, and when you look back at him, he’s got a smile and that mischievous look in his eye again.

“Yes, it is.” You reply with a smile of your own.

                                                     ------------------

More and more people get on the bus as it visits the various stops, until it’s almost packed. You used to be so surprised by that, by the way so many people seemed to wake up before the world was ready, before the sun had even begun to stretch and blink away the night. But that was Las Vegas, you supposed, almost like New York City in a way, with all the casinos and hotels and shows. Sometimes it felt very much like you lived in a parallel universe, where day and night were reversed.

You thank Mr. Henry and give him a warm parting smile when the bus finally arrives at the transfer station. Everyone follows suit as they exit, and it makes you feel a little brighter to know that people are willing to be polite if only someone would set the precedent. You’re more than happy to set that particular precedent, every time.

From Mr. Henry’s bus to the next takes nearly five entire minutes, between the length of the bus station and the busyness of the crowd. You always come close to missing it, and you’re always out of breath from running. Thankfully though, you have Gwendoline to look forward to every morning, your friend who always saves you a seat on an otherwise crowded bus, always looks out for you otherwise you’d have to stand for the next hour, holding on to overhead bars that you can’t quite reach.

“Hey! Come on, what do you think you’re doing?” One of the other passengers complains when Gwen spots you and offers you the seat next to her at the back of the bus.

You both always took the very last row, because you were the very last stop on this particular route before it swung back around to the transfer station.

“You’re getting off in ten minutes you can deal.” Gwendoline snaps back, and the woman rolls her eyes, adjusts her grip on the handrail.

“Thank you.” You snuggle up against your friend on the crowded bus, your laps now filled with your cardigans and purses.

You met Gwendoline on your very first day at work, completely by accident. You were in the wrong place, lost and confused, and had stumbled across this gorgeous blonde woman who wore bright red lipstick that smeared around a sneaky cigarette. She had helped you, and you’d been inseparable at work ever since.

She isn’t very much older than you, but she has that worldly quality that makes her feel wise beyond her years, and gives her an authority over people – even strangers – that you find endlessly amusing.

“Henry was cutting it close today.” She comments, looking at her watch.

This bus departs the transfer station on the half-hour, and does not come back until the next half-hour. You’ve never once missed it, but you certainly have chased it down to get it to stop and pick you up.  

“No, it’s not his fault, I think one of the other routes is down so people were confused and no one knew where they were going.” You point out the bus window to the people nearly swarming like bees around the poor people in the ticket kiosk.

“Fuck, really? It’s too early for that.” She looks nearly offended, as if to say, how dare the world be so difficult.

“I agree.” You reply to both her words and her look, and take one of the thermoses out of your purse, offering her, “Coffee?”

She plants a big kiss to your cheek and warms her hands on the thermos before bringing the thing up to her lips for a long deep gulp. You hope that the thermos has done a good job keeping the coffee hot, because you know how much of a bummer warm coffee can be for some people, but your worries disappear when she happily sinks into her seat on the bus and smiles, content.

“You’re a saint, (Y/N), you know that?” She clutches the thermos to her chest, and you grin.

“It’s the least I can do.” You reply, because it’s true – with all she does for you, you’re more than happy to return the favor for your friend.

“Cards?” Gwen pulls out a deck from her pocket, and you light up at the sight of the bent and beat up deck.

“Cards.” You agree, the two of you twisting towards one another, shuffling and re-shuffling the pack before dealing them out onto your laps.  

                                                     ------------------

When the last of the passengers have gotten off the bus, the driver pulls over onto the side of the road, letting cars whizz past on the interstate to your left. The sun still hasn’t made her debut yet, and the driver has turned the lights off, so that the bus might blend in to the darkness a little better.

“Identification?” He asks, like he does every morning.

There is a reason you and Gwen are the last two passengers every morning, a reason why this is such an important bus to catch.

You and Gwen don’t bother getting up from the back of the bus, not feeling in the mood to walk all the way up front to only go right back, so you fish out your ID cards and flash them long enough that the bus driver can see them in the rear-view mirror.

“Thank you ladies.” He says, much less like a robot this time. “I know you’re you, it’s just protocol.”

“You ever wish you could say ‘fuck protocol’?” You ask, and he regards you, not-unkindly when he replies,

“All the time.”                                                                    

The bus roars to life once again, now that your clearance has been checked for the first time of the day. It’s a much more scrutinous process at the next bus stop, one you’re always a little paranoid over but prepared for. Bag searches, identification card and number, finger scans, the whole works. Four-thirty always seems too early for that sort of thing, and sometimes you wonder if you’ve accidentally brought something in that could be deemed dangerous, that they’ll randomly find some reason to haul you away.

The desert is dark and stretches on for miles and miles with nothing to see, nowhere to go, nowhere to hide, should one need to. You hope you never need to.

Gwendoline always makes fun of you for it, but it’s all in jest. She tends to give attitude to the security guards at the bus station, but she gets away with it because she’s a bombshell. She may be just a maid, just a cleaning woman like you, but damn does she fill out her dress nicely.

“Have a great day ladies.” The bus driver says once the hour has passed, and you and Gwen have gone through ten rounds of card games, leaving you the winner this time.

“See you tomorrow.” You reply in unison, making one another laugh at your timeliness, jinxing and double jinxing one another, demanding bottles of Coca-Cola as payment.

                                                     ------------------

This bus station, much like your work and your job, doesn’t…technically…exist.

It’s a small little depot in the middle of the desert, armed guards at every door and gate. You join the pool of other employees, when you get off the bus and pass through the first gate. No one is allowed to drive their cars onto the main site, everyone – no matter rank or position – has to shuttle in from this station.

It’s always so interesting seeing everyone here, milling together and scanning their badges. You’re sure it must be a humbling experience for some of the managers and heads of department, being treated the same as the sanitation workers, but if they’re upset about it they don’t show it.

You get your pat down and walk through the metal detector while security inspects your lunch.

“Don’t you ever get tired of eating the same thing?” One of them, a young guy who is usually in good spirits, asks.

“If you want to come over and pack my lunch for me, I’d be happy for the variety.” You joke, giving him a playful wink that makes all the other security guards whistle, as you clear the metal detector with a green light.

“Don’t go giving him any ideas, (Y/N),” Gwendoline harmlessly flirts with the guy, “I might want him to toss my salad instead.”

This makes them all whistle and jeer, hoot and holler and laugh and Gwen laughs back, snatching your purse and hers back from the metal table. Some of the other employees catch ear of the conversation and they shake their heads with incredulous smiles of their own, but neither you nor Gwen really care – what’s the point of working if you can’t have a little fun every now and again?

There’s no room for playing cards on the shuttle, not this time. The small bus isn’t jam packed like a tin of sardines the way the public city buses are, but still there isn’t an empty seat, no real luxury for spreading out. That’s fine though, you think, as you shift into your professional attitude, start thinking of all the things you’ll have to do today.

It’s Sunday, and that’s a good day, a strong day, you think. It’s usually barebones crew, only the most basic staff that needs to be there. In fact, it’s usually mostly cleaning people like yourself and Gwen, getting the place ready for full operations to commence Monday morning. Of course there are still all sorts of scientists checking on their experiments and engineers testing their inventions and the like, but on the whole, Sundays are easy days.

They wax the floors on Sundays, so you know you’ll be doing quite a bit of sweeping scrubbing mopping for most of the shift. The building is huge, but more than that it’s sprawling, like a maze almost in the way that it’s constructed. That’s purposeful, you know, but in the beginning it seemed almost impossible to clean because everywhere you looked there was another hallway leading to another set of doors that all had tile and shelves and counters that needed to be taken care of.

Now though, now you were an expert at it, able to clean up even the stickiest messiest stains in twenty minutes or less. You prided yourself on your work, and always wanted to leave everywhere you went better off than it was when you got there. This job was important to you, vital, one might say.

The shuttle crosses through the gate in the desert, the gate which feels as though it has no ending, chain link splitting through the sand. The large sign boasting RESTRICTED AREA NO TRESSPASSING nearly disappears into the purple of night, and you check your watch to make sure you and Gwen will be able to punch in on time.

“We’ll be fine, we always are.” Gwen sees you checking, and you roll your eyes.

“We’ve got fifteen minutes, it takes nearly ten to get all the way to the lobby.” You show her your wrist, but she only pushes it away, not bothering to look.

“Then that leaves us with five minutes for a cigarette.” She whispers covertly, and the two of you snicker together at her secret smoking habit.

                                                     ------------------

The base never looks more imposing than it does like this, too early in the morning before the sun has come up, when there’s nothing but harsh fluorescent lighting flooding the desert. The buildings are brutal, grey cubes that jut angrily out of the earth, rock and sand cleared away for the lines of sidewalk that connect each area in Area 51 like a spider’s web of concrete.

Inside the lobby, people are busy busy busy, walking back and forth in all capacities. Some are wearing white lab coats, others are in suits, and others still are clicking their heels off to go do some typing behind their desks. Friends recognize and greet one another, strangers excuse each other they pass, and along the wall you and Gwen wait your turn to clock into work. The little hand proudly proclaims that you do have five minutes before you technically have to start, and Gwen gives you a devious little smile as you both walk arm in arm down to the ladies’ locker room.

You think it’s kind of funny, that all locker rooms look the same. Rows and rows of standard sized lockers stick out from the walls, creating little aisles almost. Gwen follows you to your lockers, which naturally are side by side, near the middle of the room. It’s perfect because it’s right near a window, and Gwen always cracks it just slightly so she can light up a skinny Virginia Slim and not stink up the place.

She’s not the only one who does it, but no one wants to get caught.

While she smokes, you stash your purse and lunch into the locker, grabbing your cardigan that you keep there at work and sliding your arms into it. It might be one hundred-degrees in the desert when the sun is up for the day, but inside the buildings they keep it at a chilly sixty degrees, and with all the water you deal with, the last thing you need is to be even colder.

“You got any plans tonight (Y/N)?” Gwen asks as she flicks her ash outside through the window, “I was thinking about going out to get my nails done when we finish up our shift.”

She glances at her cuticles, noticing the growth from the way the polish has begun to move away from her nailbed. You take a glance at your own nails, and while the invitation does sound enticing, you do indeed have plans.

“The Professor and I are going out to a movie, you should come with us! It’s not until the late evening, you’d have more than enough time to get a manicure beforehand.” You offer, making Gwen laugh fondly.

“You two and your movies, I swear. I don’t know anyone who loves them more than the pair of you. Why, I feel like you could both quote just about any musical from beginning to end.” She teases.

“Depending on the musical, we probably could.” You tease back, before you stand up and stretch the very last bits of sleep and laziness from your limbs.  “I mean it though, you’re more than welcome to come with us.”

“I’ll pass this time honey, but count me in for the next one.” She promises, and you nod. “You want a puff?”

She offers you the cigarette but you nudge her hand away.

“No thank you, you know me, gotta keep these lungs clear so I can recite scripts on command.” You grin, and she only stubs out the butt of it onto the concrete wall, before tucking the thing in her pocket so no one could find it in the trash and get her in trouble.

“And they say I’m sarcastic.” She huffs, tying her apron around her waist.

Mrs. Parker, a strict not but necessarily unkind woman, enters the locker room at five o’clock on the dot. Everyone stands at attention for her at the end of the aisles created by the rows of lockers, and she has one of her assistants pass out clipboards to each of the women in the room.

“Alright ladies, time to start the day.” Mrs. Parker takes her job very seriously, as she should. It was not common for a woman to hold a management position the way she does, and you’re proud to be under her instruction. “Boss says since it’s a holiday tomorrow if you get everything on your checklist done and signed, you can clock out early.”

“What’s the holiday?” One of the other girls asks, as a slight murmur breaks out among them.

“Presidents Day.” Mrs. Parker replies. “So thank JFK for a nice end to the day – if you get everything finished that is.”

With that, she and her assistants leave the locker room. Once the door has closed, the women all talk among themselves, eager for the prospect of getting to go home sooner than anticipated. For many of them, their weekend is just beginning, and the thought of having more time to catch up on sleep or whatever else they want, is exciting.

Neither you nor Gwen have your weekends yet, and though the holidays may apply to everyone else, the two of you will still be expected to come into work the next day. There are different levels of clearance even within maids, you’ve found, and yours are some of the highest, which means you get to clean some of the most sensitive parts of the base.

For now though, Gwen reviews your clipboards. They’re always the same, because Mrs. Parker isn’t stupid and knows that you’re more productive together than you are apart. But still, she checks to make sure.

“I’m guessing we’ve just got floors to do today.” You say, adjusting your hair in the mirror.

“You guessed right.” Gwen nods, flipping through the pages. “Where should we start, the display room, communications, or the lab?”

“Makes the most sense to do it in that order, actually. I don’t feel like back-tracking.” You say, and she’s inclined to agree.

                                                     ------------------

It’s not really called the display room. It’s got a proper name like everything else, D-3449 Exhibition Hall. This is one of the rooms that they bring all the important people to, it’s like a museum of sorts with pieces of new technology sitting on pillars and pedestals, large air craft suspended from the ceiling.

It’s more of a hangar than an exhibition hall, especially with how empty it is. The only people inside are the armed security that stand by the door, but they don’t speak. They’re instructed only to watch over the technology and that’s it.

“You would not believe the time I had trying to get new hubcaps for my car,” Gwen says as she slaps her wet mop against the marble tile, pushing suds around and scrubbing at the floor, “Remember how that piece of shit swiped my side and scuffed them something fierce? Well I figured I’d drive myself down to the dealership and ask their auto shop to replace it, and I inquired about any new designs. You know how they’re always coming out with new designs.”

“Did you ask for chrome?” You’re on your hands and knees with a little scraper, someone had tracked gum into the hanger and not bothered to wipe it up. It had hardened and now practically needed to be chiseled off the damn tile.

“Of course I asked for chrome, and do you know what the sleezy man at the dealer told me?” Gwen puts her hand on her hip, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

“What?” You look up from the gum.

“He said men love women with chrome hubcaps, because they can see up her skirt through the reflection!” She scoffs.

“No way, that’s not real.” You go back to scraping, managing to get it all the way off in one blue sticky chunk that you dump into the trash at the end of your janitorial cart.

“Whether it’s real or not I wasn’t going to let it stop me, so I bought four new ones and had them put on.” Gwen says anyway, making you laugh.

“Gwen! You’re too much sometimes I tell you.” You shake your head, grabbing your mop and walking across the great big hangar to the other side so that you can mop that half. Though you are far apart, being the only ones in the room had its perks, and your voice carries when you joke, “This is why I don’t have a car.”

“Oh but you should get one, they’ve got all different colors and you can get ones with the tops that fold down so you can feel the sun on your face and – ” Gwen starts, unaware that you’re teasing.

“We live in the desert, the sun is always on our face.” You say as you’re careful to not box yourself in with the wet tile. “Besides, you only ever talk about how expensive your car is to fix, and how you have to fix it often. I’d much rather spend my money on other things.”

“Yeah like your shoes.” Gwen points to your feet, “Are those new?”

At the mention of your new heels, you strike a dramatic model pose.

“Do you like them? I saw them in the window and had to get them.” You beamed, showing the bottoms still mostly un-scuffed.

“Don’t tell me you’re breaking them in at work, your feet are going to fucking hate you for that.” Gwen whistles low, already feeling sorry for your ankles.

“My feet are going to hate me either way, might as well look nice.” You point out, and this at least Gwen understands.

 From the hangar you move on to the communications room, which is exactly as it sounds. It’s an open office floor plan, with desks in neat lines. Two men in headphones sit at each desk, fiddling with nearly a hundred different buttons and looking at many small screens. No one pays you or Gwen any mind as you go about sweeping the floor, collecting any dust or specs of dirt that had accumulated since you’d been there yesterday.

In fact, everyone is so engrossed in their work that you’re not so sure they’d notice if you started screaming and jumping up and down. They’re monitoring the soundwaves and frequencies across the planet, right there in this room. There are enormous satellites pointed towards the sky nearly a mile away, four different ones pointing in each direction, and the communications personnel listens in on what the satellites send to their headphones.

You have your big dust broom and are walking in one direction between an aisle of desks, and Gwen is walking the opposite way on the other side.

“Sometimes I wonder what in God’s name goes on in this place, but then I think, if I want to sleep at night, it’s better to not know.” Gwen whispers, voice kept quiet so that she can’t be heard over the noise of whatever the personnel are listening to.

“Isn’t it obvious?” You whisper back, “They’re keeping aliens down in the basement labs.”

“Oh not this again.” Gwen groans, before lowering her voice again and hissing, “There is no such thing as aliens.”

“You can keep telling yourself that, Gwen, keep telling yourself that.” You grin, entirely too cheeky to be serious. “Look all I’m saying is why do we have big satellites pointing to the night sky and people listening in every second of every day?”

“To intercept the Russians, hello!” Gwen says as though it’s fairly obvious, and you grin as you sweep because now she’s really going on a tangent. “This is the United States government we’re talking about, they’re not going to waste their time on fairy-tales and conspiracies from lunatics on the street.”

“Then how do you explain the UFOs that people keep spotting?” You ask, waggling an eyebrow.

“Just because some people don’t know what a damn airplane looks like, doesn’t mean it’s something from outer space.” She says, and you put your hands up in mock-defeat.

“You’ve got to admit it is a pretty good conspiracy though,” You continue to be playful and difficult, not because you believe in any of this bullshit, not for real. But because it’s so easy to rile Gwen up with this sort of stuff, so you make a face and say, “Little green men with big black eyes and three fingers on each hand, like in those low-budget horror movies.”

“If that’s what aliens are supposed to look like, then I definitely don’t want them to be real.” She rolls her eyes and finishes sweeping the floor.

 Your last stop of the day is the laboratory. It is deep underground, and requires two elevators to get to, so generally no one ever wants to visit, and no one ever wants to clean it. It’s not the most pleasant atmosphere to be, as there are no windows and nothing but steel doors as far as the eye can see.

You and Gwen have to scan into the lab using your ID cards, as the doors are bulletproof and heavy, a double sliding mechanism that moves slowly because of the weight of it. When they finally open, you’re confronted with a flurry of activity.

The normally peaceful lab is filled with people, mostly installation workers who are hooking up wires and pumps to a big fish tank that takes up most of the room. Your eyes widen in awe, the thing is massive and hadn’t been there yesterday, meaning the install workers had been there through the night putting it together.

They must have been working so hard that they had no qualms throwing all the packing materials for the hoses and wires and whatever else, right onto the floor.

“What the hell is this mess!” Gwendoline snaps as she pushes her cart through the open doors, you trailing behind. “Are you fucking kidding me, the trash can is right there!”

The men stop at the sound of her, and quickly scramble to start picking stuff up. They look like chastised young kids, being scolded by their mother, and that’s fitting considering how some of them barely look like they’re out of college.

“Sorry Gwen, we didn’t – ” One of them starts, but she gives him a glare that would have turned him to stone if he had looked any longer.

“No, I know you didn’t you never do.” She sighs, using her broom to sweep everything up, pushing it to one side so at least the majority of the floor is clear.

You assist her, throwing away all the plastic wrappers and sheets of card stock, breaking down boxes and sweeping up package insulation.

“What’s all this shit for anyway?” You wrestle a piece of foam board into the trash can on your cart.

“Yeah really, as if we don’t have a big enough fucking mess to deal with as it is – ” Gwen shoots the boys another glare and they all duck, embarrassed.

“Watch your profanity, Miss Gwendoline, and goodness lower your voice.” Your boss, Mr. Robert appears through the double doors just then. He’s one of those overly polite fellows, one of those people who says goodness gosh golly gee whizz. You can’t ever really take him seriously, but he’s in charge, so you do as he says, and so does Gwen.

“Sorry sir.” She casts her eyes down and returns to her sweeping, and you do the same.

“It’s alright, today is just a very important day.” Mr. Robert smooths his shirt down with his palms, before clapping his hands to draw everyone’s attention. “In a few moments, we will be welcoming a new team to our base. Accompanying this team is the most highly classified asset that we have ever obtained.”

Almost as if by magic, the thick steel walls slide open, revealing in a most dramatic fashion, a tall and thin Colonel, the only indication of his rank being a pin on his suit lapel. The man looks like a skeleton, with his high cheekbones and sunken in eyes, and his lips are stiffly frowning, so much so that you wonder whether his face would crack, if he were to smile. His hair is greying, but in a dignified manner, and it is well-kept, just as the rest of him seems to be.

Everyone in the room falls silent when his polished dress shoes click across the freshly swept floor, standing with their shoulders and chin squared, you and Gwen included.

“May I present Mr. Tarkin. He is the acting head of security regarding the Asset. His office will be next to mine in the administrative wing, should you have any concerns or are called for assistance. Mr. Tarkin?”

“Thank you Robert, your introduction is most welcome.” The colonel’s voice is exactly as you’d expect it, deep and gravely and more than a little sinister, although he gives a chilling smile when he says, “I have nothing more to add, other than the fact that anything you see here, anything at all, does not and never will exist. If you think you see something, hear or even smell something – you didn’t.”

“Is that understood?” Mr. Robert asks everyone in the lab, and you all nod.

“Yes sir.” You say in unison, cogs in the machine.

Suddenly, there is a commotion at the doors, as a team of armed security guards wheel in a massive steel tank. It looks like an iron lung, only bigger, far bigger. Everyone in the room is interested in it, but no one dare steps in the way of the security. It takes ten men on either side of the tank to move it into the lab, and though they certainly aren’t weak, they are visibly struggling with the Force of it.

It doesn’t help that whatever is inside the tank, isn’t happy. There is a harsh loud banging coming from within the steel, that low hollow echo as something pounds against it, bangs against it. You’re curious, so incredibly curious – you want to peer inside it, you want to know what it is. You’ve never seen anything like this before, never seen anything alive before. So far you’ve only come across planes and engines, never ever anything like this.

They’ve wheeled it in front of Mr. Tarkin, who regards it with pride. You wonder if he’s the one who found whatever is inside, or if he’s just in charge of it. Either way, whatever it is must be some raging feral animal, to make the kind of banging slamming pounding noise it’s making.

There’s a pain in your chest for it, for the creature, because certainly something that upset must be wounded, or frightened, or both. The security team steps away from the tank once it is securely in the lab, and they leave, filing out in two straight lines. The thick steel doors open, and before they close, Robert gives you and Gwendoline the cue to leave.

You nod, knowing when you’re officially just no longer allowed to be somewhere. You both gather up your carts and silently make your way out of the lab, passing the tank as you go.

Your intrigue gets the better of you though, and as you pass the tank, you stop briefly. There’s a window made of bulletproof glass, spanning nearly the entire side of the thing. Glancing into it, all there is to see is a bright blue liquid. You can’t really tell if the liquid is illuminated, or if it’s glowing on its own with some sort of bioluminescent quality, but either way, the blue liquid is too thick to see through.

You place a hand on the glass, using that as leverage to peer in closer without falling forward, when a hand pushes through the blue liquid and slams forcefully against the glass, jolting you back.

A flash of red fills the room. You blink and you are surrounded by the soft smooth endless velvet of blackness, the very same which populates your dreams. You’re close, so close, far closer to the red veil than you’ve ever been before, a hand outstretched, a hand reaching for you, before it –

As soon as it comes, the memory of your dream is gone, and you are being held tightly in Gwendoline’s arms.

“They need to leave, now!” Mr. Tarkin barks orders at your boss, but you’re already nodding, already racing to get your shit and get out.

You wonder if you’re ill – if you’ve had a stroke, if you’ve accidentally ingested some cleaning fluid. Nothing like that has ever happened to you before, and you can’t fight the shudders that wrack through your body, nor can you ignore the sweat that freezes across your neck.

“Yes of course sir,” Gwendoline says as she leads you and the carts out of the lab, pushing you bodily with concerned panic on her face, “We’re sorry, sir.”

You keep your eyes trained on the tank, as you leave. Your heart is beating faster than it ever has, and even as Gwen nearly shoves you into the hallway, still you crane your neck to look at the tank, still your eyes widen as you desperately try to catch a glimpse of something, of whatever that thing was.

Before the doors close fully, you see a shadow of something...the shadow...of a man.

Gwendoline races you to the nearest bathroom, and you feel as though you’re going to be sick. Had it been a hand? A human hand? Or were you officially just losing your fucking mind?

Was that really a person in the tank? Why would they keep a human being in a tank like he were some new fish at an aquarium? It must have been so scared, pounding on the tank like that, over and over and over and over – and you do get sick then, just because you still have no idea why you hallucinated in the way that you did.

“(Y/N)!” Gwendoline has a soothing hand on your back as you’re hunched over one of the toilets, all remnants of your lunch burning your throat as it comes back up in your panic, “(Y/N) talk to me what the fuck happened in there?”

“I don’t – I’ve never – ” You choke out, coughing with your face against the porcelain.

Gwen leaves for a moment, only a moment, returning with a paper cup and fresh water from the tap.

“Deep breaths, here, drink this.” She offers it to you, and you eagerly take it, gulp it down as you grab a fistful of toilet paper to wipe your face. She is so concerned, you can read it on her face, and she takes the paper from your hand to get the rest of your own sick off where you can’t see it. “Are you okay? Do I need to call the hospital?”

“Gwen it,” You’re out of breath, heart still beating so quick that you’re lightheaded. “I don’t know what happened I, I think I blacked out.”

“You scared the shit out of me, one second you’re touching the glass, the next second you’re almost falling to the ground. Would have hit your head on the concrete if I wasn’t there to catch you, but your eyes were wide open.” She says, and you frown.

“They were?” You don’t know how that could be, because you were dreaming, and you can only dream when you’re asleep, right?

“Yes, wide open but blank, kind of like those sharks, it was like you weren’t looking at anything in particular.” Gwen shakes her head and there are scared tears in her eyes, “I’m going to call the hospital – ”

“No,” You stop her, not wanting to have to deal with doctors and nurses for this, not when you don’t even know how you’d explain it. “No it’s okay. I feel better now, the water helped. I think I was just startled.”

“I’ve never seen you like that.” She whispers, “And I don’t want to again. If it happens a second time, I’m taking you and that’s not negotiable.”

You agree, and after you take a deep breath, you gesture to the bathroom around you.

“Since we’re here, we might as well clean.” You say. Clearly whoever was scheduled for this section of the hallway hadn’t gotten to it yet, and you didn’t want to face the world just yet.

“I’ll clean, you sit on the counter and just relax for a minute.” Gwen instructs, and you do as she says, hopping up onto the counter.

Gwen grabs a rag and a spray bottle and begins to wipe down the stalls, where she makes the mistake of looking up at the ceiling and groaning.

“Look at this, would you look at this?” She asks, pointing up. You squint but you can see the splatters on the cork ceiling tiles. “What were they doing, having a pissing contest up here? Isn’t this supposed to be the home of highly classified information and technology? Aren’t we supposed to have the best scientists and engineers?”

The door opens just then, and you immediately slide off the counter and adjust your dress, making way to grab your cart and leave. Gwendoline does the same upon the entrance of a man, as this is the men’s room, and though it’s your job to clean it, you are expected to give them privacy when someone is using the facility.

Especially when that someone is the Colonel, the new head of security regarding the new highly classified and top secret asset.

“No,” Mr. Tarkin says, as he approaches the counter, “No that’s alright, you don’t have to leave.”

He’s carrying something, a long baton made of black metal. He rests it on the counter and sets to washing his hands, using exactly six pumps of soap from the dispenser near the sink.

“Are you certain, sir?” You say, avoiding eye contact. “Our work can wait.”

“I’m certain. Don’t mind me, I won’t take but a moment. Please, carry on with your conversation, I don’t want to interrupt.” He waves it off, fastidiously scrubbing at his palms.

Once his hands are clean, he steps to the side and unzips his pants. Both you and Gwen quickly look away, embarrassed and in absolutely no mood to catch a flash of this guy’s dick. Instead, your gaze turns towards the baton, which seems to almost be humming there on the counter.

“Nifty little toy, isn’t it?” Mr. Tarkin catches you regarding it, and he smiles down at the baton like it were his newborn baby, fondness in his eyes that is incongruent with what it is when he tells you, “State of the art, high-voltage electric shock cattle-prod. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

You and Gwendoline exchange a glance, what the fuck were they using electric shock on?

“I saw you both in T-4, didn’t I?” Mr. Tarkin hums, as he puts his hands on his hips and pisses right in front of you, “You’re the one who touched the tank.”

“Yes sir, I apologize, I don’t know what came over me.” You reply, trying your absolute best to not die of embarrassment and disgust.

“Humans are naturally curious, don’t worry. I’m just glad you’re alright.” He says, strangely sympathetic before asking, “Doesn’t it get lonely? The graveyard shift, I mean.”

“It gets quiet.” Gwendoline answers, strangely serious in her own way. She doesn’t like this man, you can tell.

Neither do you.

He hits the button on top of the urinal to flush and zips up his pants, making his way back to the sink.

“Well, hopefully things stay quiet – if you catch my meaning.” He winks.

“Yes sir, here.” Gwendoline offers him a hot towel for him to use when he’s finished washing his hands, but he doesn’t take it.

“Oh no thank you, a man washes his hands before or after tending to his needs. You can find out a lot about a man by the way he does it, what’s important to him. If he does it both times, it only points to a flaw in character, a weakness.” He explains with logic that makes no sense. “I think you’ll find I’m not a weak man.”

You find him a self-absorbed idiot, but you’d never say that out loud.

He picks up the baton, the cattle-prod, and exits the bathroom, catching the door with his hand before it closes fully and giving another one of those chilling smiles when he says, “It was very pleasant talking with you ladies.”

The second the door is closed, Gwen has her spray bottle and rag turned onto the door, scrubbing away where the man’s dirty hands have touched the steel.

“What a creep.” She mutters under her breath, and you hum out an agreement before gasping.

“Gwen, look.” You’ve caught sight of smeared blood, blood that had come from the baton itself. It was bad enough that they were electrocuting the creature, but now they were making it bleed too?

You and Gwen look at one another, and she just shrugs and hands you a rag too.

                                              ��      ------------------

Some time later, you’re walking down the hall pushing your carts, reviewing the clipboard. Each and every task has been crossed off, and it was nearly only lunch time. Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly lunch time for the rest of the world, ten o’clock in the morning and all. But you were feeling good about it, thinking to yourself that if you can just hold on a little longer, you’ll be able to go out to lunch with Armitage when you get off the buses that will bring you back home.

Gwen is in an equally good mood, no doubt wishing that she could clock out early more often.

“I can see my own smile in these floors, we do such a damn good job, don’t we? Do you think Mrs. Parker will sign off on our forms so we can go?” She has a spring in her step as you both round the corner – right into Mr. Robert.

“(Y/N)! Gwendoline!” He looks frantic, looks terrified, is holding a napkin up to his face, mopping up the profuse amount of swear on his brow, “You need to come with me, now.”

“Sir, we were just about to pack up and leave actually – ” Gwendoline says, but your boss doesn’t care.

“Now!” He insists, and you have no choice but to follow suit.

Soon enough, it’s clear as to why.

Down the dark windowless halls and through the elevators you find yourselves in front of the lab once again, where there is a mess of blood all across the tile. So much blood in fact, that you’re nearly positive whatever has happened here has been fatal, because there’s just no way someone survived from this much loss.

Mr. Roberts scans in and the doors open, revealing an even bigger mess on the inside.

“You have exactly twenty minutes to get this lab spotless, do you understand me? Twenty minutes.” Mr. Roberts looks at you, and you nod, because you know you can get it done.

He leaves without another word, and the moment the doors close, Gwen groans.

“This is a lot of blood.” She states the obvious, grabbing buckets and filling them with water from one of the lab sinks. “You know, I can handle a lot of things. I can handle piss, throw up, hell, even shit. I can handle shit. But something about blood sets me off.” She shudders.

“Give me a bucket, the sooner we get this place mopped up the sooner we can leave.” You reach for one and she gives it to you.

You dump the entire bucket on the floor, and in the shallow wake of the murky water, a pair of fingers rolls out from underneath a large storage cabinet.

“No fucking way,” You gasp, bending down to pick the appendages up, “Fingers.”

“Fingers!?” Gwen covers her mouth, fully disgusted. “Okay, you stay here, I’m going to get Robert.”

The moment the steel doors close behind her, you sigh. What could have gone on here, you wonder, to have Robert in such a state? And the fingers, well clearly they had to belong to someone, which meant the blood had to as well. But there had been blood on Mr. Tarkin’s baton, the cattle-prod whatever he wanted to call it, hadn’t there?

Your stomach sinks at the thought that whatever the creature Mr. Tarkin has captured, bleeds just like all of you.

A low dull thunk comes from the tank, and you turn around slowly to face it.

Against all your better instincts, you turn to face it.

Where the tank was once empty, now there is something pushing through the fluorescent blue, something making its way closer to the glass. It is not screaming this time, nor is it banging its fists on the walls of the tank, and you drop the fingers, one hand outstretched.

You approach the glass, heart pounding pounding pounding, blood rushing in your ears, because it is a man, from what you can tell.

It’s not clear, not perfectly clear inside the tank, but you see a head and a wide torso, long thick legs and strong arms. He’s wearing some sort of breathing mask which obscures his face almost entirely, an apparatus that reminds you very much of the kinds that scuba divers wear, and he’s got a heavy looking metal collar clasped tightly around his throat.

It looks like a shock collar, but you’re not sure, you’re not sure of anything.

Though it is hard to see, there are definite wounds marking his body, fresh ones that speak to the blood all over the floor. You suck in a breath and just as you had done earlier, you place a hand against the glass of the tank.

This time when he – because it is a he and not an it – puts his palm against the glass from his own side, you don’t black out. You sigh with relief, and take another step closer to the glass, trying to get a better look at him when –

“Right this way Mr. Robert, yes two fingers.” Gwen’s voice carries into the room as the doors open for her and your boss.

You quickly yank your hand away from the tank and turn towards them, about to beckon her forward to show her the man in the tank, but when you look back through the glass, it’s empty. Nothing but the blue liquid as far as you can see.

In your pocket is a brown paper bag and you stuff the fingers inside it, folding the top down like a lunch parcel.

“Where are the body parts?” Mr. Roberts sweats, nervous nervous nervous.

“Here sir,” You give them over, explaining when he looks confused, “I’ve wrapped them for you.”

“You both can clock out and go home, I’ll sign your lists personally.” Mr. Roberts accepts the paper bag, and walks over to your carts where the clipboards rest nestled in amongst the bottles of cleaners and wipes. “And don’t worry about coming in tomorrow, the holiday applies to you as well. Go get some sleep.”

“Thank you sir! We very much appreciate that.” Gwendoline can barely contain her excitement at that.

“Well I appreciate you.” He stammers, genuinely grateful. “I don’t know anyone who can clean as well as quickly as you.”

He gives you a smile, and then rushes out of the lab with the paper bag, no doubt to the hospital.

                                                     ------------------

Hours later, after you and Armitage have shared some lunch and you’ve bathed in the Nevada summer sun on your balcony, after the home cooked dinner he makes you and the movie you watch together downstairs at the cinema, when it’s officially late once again and Armitage is asleep in his bed, you slip into the hallway.

Careful to close your front door quietly, you tip-toe down the stairs at the end of the hall, the only real sound are the dimes jingling in your pocket.

There is a phone booth right on the corner, and no one pays you any mind as you step inside it, closing the glass door behind you. You drop the dime into the payphone, and when the operator tone buzzes, you dial the number on the rotary, memorized but never written down.

The line rings once, twice, three times, before someone on the other end of the line picks it up.

“She speaks to the earth with a loud voice.” You say evenly and clearly.

You look around, check over your shoulder, make sure that no one is watching or listening in on you, making sure no one is trailing you. When you find no such person, you relax a little.

“And the earth shouts back.” The man on the other end of the line finishes the code, before switching to his mother tongue and saying, “Go ahead.”

“They’ve got a hold of something,” You cannot refrain from letting some of the awe pollute your news, even in this language which feels thick in your mouth, your Russian sticking in your throat, emotional as you whisper, “Something incredible.”

                                                   ------------------

Tagging some friends! <33  @adamsnackdriver @dreamboatdriver @kyloxfem @heldcaptivebychaos  @solotriplets @formerly-anonhamster @lookinsidemyhead @candycanes19 @adamsnacc-kler @taylovren-types @whiskey-bumblebee @riseofkylo @magikevalynn @tinyplanet-explorers @chelsjnov @romancedeldiablo @helloimindelaware @elfieboxcat @laurenshit @autumnlovesadam @peterisparker @mp938368 @hidingp @goodboybensolo @intrestellarsarah @the-marvelatic @miasera @emily-strange @proxyfoxy @mauvemountains @insanita @disaster-rose @hazydespair @yosoymuyloca @pinkmoontribe-blog @shyhairdocoloralmond @i-am-lokii-of-asgard​ @loud-binch​ @flapjacques​ @celiholland​

[peppersonironi]

For @duketectivecomics‘s Duke Week Day Six: All in the Batfamily

Summary: Duke gets woken up at night and is roped into a strange initiation ceremony into the bats. Despite initial chaos, Duke finds that he is actually enjoying himself, and that maybe being a part of this family isn’t such a scary thing. Throwing a glitter bomb at Batman is definitely scary though.

“Are you ready?”

Duke opened his eyes, to find Dick Grayson hovering a few inches away from his face. “Gah!” Duke let out, scrambling backwards on his bed till he hit the headboard. “What are you doing?”

“Poor reflexives,” Duke looked past Dick to find Damian frowning at him, “And he should have known we were present before waking.”

“Settle down, kid,” This time Jason spoke, “Not everyone is as freaky as you.”

Duke blinked the sleep away from his eyes, and surveyed the scene before him. Dick was still by his bed, grinning. Damian and Jason stood behind, along with Cass, Tim,  and Stephanie. Wow, when was the last time he’d ever seen all these guys together in the same room without killing each other? Duke had a worrisome feeling that he was the reason for this strange behavior.

“Um,” Duke asked, “What’s going on? It's 2 am.”

“We’re welcoming you to the family!” Dick’s grin grew impossibly wider.

“But I’ve been here four months?”

Tim shook his head. “But you haven’t had a proper welcome, yet. We had to wait till everyone was here, and Steph insisted she be a part.

“Heck yeah!” The blonde teen said, “I’m a part of this family, whether you like it or not! Bruce even gave me an allowance!”

“You tricked him into giving you his credit card,” Jason replied dryly.

“Like you haven’t done that before.”

“I don’t bother tricking him.”

Duke looked back and forth at the exchange, trying to wrap his mind around what was happening.

“That doesn't answer my question.”

Damian sighed. “In order to truly be a Wayne, you must go through the initiation period.” “That's not ominous at all.”

“Tour,” Cass said, “You learn things. Not bad, fun.”

Duke nodded. “Thank you, Cass.” He was still confused, but at least she was trying.

“If you would get dressed, we have much ground to cover.” Damian sniffed, but even Duke could tell the kid was excited.

Dick backed away from the bed. “We'll be right back, Duke, get ready!”

*****

Five minutes later, Duke found himself hastily dressed and standing in the entrance hall of Wayne manor. His siblings were arrayed in a semi-circle before him, all of them in weird red robes. They had managed to set up tiki torches at intervals around the room, adding to the atmosphere of doom.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate the bonding between two families. That of the Thomas' and that of the Waynes.” Duke blinked at Tim. “Why are you making it sound like we're getting married?”

“Shh!”

“In this great ceremony, We accept you, Duke Thomas, into our fold. After this day henceforth, you will be one with the bats.” Tim took a deep breath and continued reading from the scarily large book in his hands. “The bonding day is set in three parts. The first, a display of power. You shall be shown our places, and our things, so that you are made privy to the goings on in the lives of Gotham's most secretive family. Next, You shall be given tasks by each member of the clan – excepting Bruce – that you must complete. Fail even one, and be warned.” Tim stared Duke down. “You have been warned. The final and most dangerous stage of all …” Tim stopped reading, and every single one of the gathered Waynes began to stomp their right foot. This went on for several seconds. “Is … Cake. Do you accept the challenge, Duke of the Narrows?”

Duke sighed. He didn't quite like the sound of this, but he might as well. “Sure.”

Jason whooped, and even Damian cracked a smile.

“Well,” Steph said, “let's get on with it!”

* * * * *

“And it was in this room that Dick broke his first chandelier.”

Duke paused, staring at Jason who had taken over as tour guide after Tim started foaming at the mouth. “First?”

The now recovered Tim grinned. “Yup! He's broken twenty three and a half in his fifteen year stay at the manor.”

Duke nodded. “Alrighty then.”

“Over here are some pictures of Bruce's great-great-great-great-great-great-great something aunts. If you look closely, you'll see the outline of mustaches. Bruce made us erase them.” Stephanie bounced by, pointing out exactly which paintings she had decimated.

The tour had been going on for almost an hour now, and Duke would be lying if he said he wasn't having fun. Sure, he had seen most of the stuff here, but the stories that went along with them were amazing. It was sweet to know which room Dick insisted they have a family movie in, back when it was only him, Bruce, and Alfred. It was hilarious to find out that the strange purple splotch on the love seat in one of the east wing's drawing rooms was from the time Damian insisted on trying slushies. Or the many tails that arose from the kitchen. From Bruce attempting to cook (He'd always wondered why Alfred had banned him) to the time Jason sleep walked himself into making beignets.

Cass had insisted they tour the air vents (He didn't know you could get into them, let alone that they could fit people, and wasn't quite sure what to do with the information) and trying to get Jason squished in was a highlight of the night. Cass also showed Duke the best hiding places in the manor, in case he ever needed to hide during a prank war. Or Bruce.

Stephanie knew the places with the thinnest walls, and also other tricks for listening in on conversations. She said she'd never had to use the information, but Duke wasn't convinced.

Dick explained the pros and cons of each chandelier in the manor, along with a very detailed instruction pamphlet on getting yourself onto one. Duke promised himself he'd never try.

Tim knew all the best wifi spots in each wing. Somehow, the wifi wasn't the exact same in every part of the house.

Jason knew the best sniper perches, and how to get there. Also, the coziest spots in the library, primed and ready for any avid bookworm. (Duke was actually excited for the second. He really did enjoy reading, but usually stuck to his room)

Damian was very solemn as he brought Duke to random places around the house that were apparently Alfred's (The cat's) and Titus' favorite hang outs. “In case you need a friend who is not as fallible as humans.”

The tour ended on the roof, each sibling taking to their claimed section. Duke was permitted to choose his own, and did so. He ended up picking a quiet outlook on the forrest, over the west wing.

Duke was given a few minutes of peace, not noticing till a little ways in that he was alone. Huh, he thought, this is kind of nice.

“Alright, Narrows,” Duke turned to find everyone staring at him, “You ready for the fun part?”

* * * * *

“Now lift up your left foot two inches … got it!”

Unfortunately, the first challenge that was given to Duke by Dick, had him breaking his earlier promise to himself. For you see, Duke Thomas now found himself wrapped in the crystal and gold of Wayne Manors largest chandelier.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Duke asked for the seventh time.

“Perfectly!” Dick replied, but the snickers and filming phones of his siblings made Duke question the acrobat's words.

Duke shifted on the chandelier and heard a soft cracking noise. He froze, terror rushing through his entire body.

“That was just me!”

Duke looked to down to find Stephanie pulling a couple twigs from her hair, and snapping them in two. She had a manic grin on her face. Oh, she knew exactly what she had done.

“Just don't do it again!”

“Don't worry, Duke,” Dick called, “You're almost done! You just need to chill for a bit longer. I'm gonna toss up this candy bar, and you need to eat it. Just try not to look like Superman when he sees kryptonite. If you don't catch it, you fail.”

Duke took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Okay, I'm r-”

The candy bar was flung up a second before Duke expected it, causing him to fumble and reach out a bit to far to grab it. The chandelier swung dangerously, and Duke let out a scream. A moment later, however, the swinging calmed down, and Duke paused long enough to register the roaring laughter coming from bellow him.

“Stop!” Duke said, “This isn't funny!”

“Yeah, it kinda is.” Tim was the first to speak, after having to lean heavily on Steph. “You forget, Duke, that each and every one of us had to go through this. It's great to see someone else panic. One of the few pros to Bruce's adoption addiction.”

Duke glowered. “Just stop laughing.”

“Chill, Duchess,” Jason grinned up at him. “Just eat the candy and you can come down.”

Duke sighed and unwrapped the kit-kat that had given him the worst fright of his life – and that included everything he saw on patrol. He gingerly broke it in two, put on a gruesome grin, and took a bite.

Everyone cheered, and Duke's grin became slightly more genuine. “You have completed the first task,” Tim said in a solemn voice. “Let us move on.”

Everyone filed out of the room, and Duke started to panic. “Hey wait! How do I get down!”

* * * * *

“I don't know if I can do this.” Duke sat in the batchair, Alfred having moved graciously to allow Duke to complete his task.

“It's simple Narrows,” Jason said, “Just press the button and ask the question. Simple.”

“But does it have to be … that?”

Jason looked very serious as he answered, “yes.”

Duke sighed. “Here goes nothing.” he reached forward and press the unmute button. “Hey, B?”

Batman's growl came through the speakers. “What are you doing awake, Signal? It's the middle of the night.”

“But you're awake.”

“I'm part of the night patrol. You're not. So what are you doing awake?”

“I need to ask you a question.”

Bruce sighed. “Go ahead.”

Duke sighed and looked back at his sibling who were all grinning maniacally. He turned back to the computer. “Does Santa exist?”

Bruce let out the most long suffering sigh Duke had heard that week. “One of your siblings better not have put you up to this.”

Duke looked at Jason, who was frantically shaking his head. “No, B. It's just, the freaking devil is real, right? And the greek gods, and a whole bunch of other stuff? So why not santa?”

Bruce sighed. “Good night, Signal,” and he logged off.

“Not our best,” Jason said, shaking his head, “next time we should ask how babies are made.”

“NEXT TIME?!?!?!!?”

* * * * *

“You can get it down in one gulp if you try hard enough!”

Duke looked over skeptically at Tim, who was making Duke drink a special blend of espresso, five hour energies, and Monster.

“You just need some ambition!”

Duke gulped. “Ambition to die?”

Tim sighed. “Just do it. If you don't, you'll fail the challenge, and you DON'T want to find out what happens then.” His point was emphasized by every single one of the bats unleashing their personal batglares upon him.

Duke grimaced, grabbed the venti Starbucks's cup, and gulped it down. He swayed for a moment. “I'm never sleeping again.”

Tim grinned, “Nope!”

* * * * *

Damian's task was relatively simple. His pets had to approve of him. They'd already gotten Alfred's, Titus', and Bat-cow's approval, and they were outside trying to find Jerry the turkey.

“Got him!” Stephanie called from bushes, and a loud squawking ensued. She walked over, carrying the bird and placing in front of Duke.

Everyone stood still for a moment, then Damian spoke. “He approves.”

Duke grinned. “Great, what's the next challenge?”

Damian smirked, and Duke's stomach dropped. The eleven year old turned around and whistled sharply. Large wing beats sounded from far off and a huge shape appeared on the horizon. As it approached, Duke could make out what appeared to be a large, fuzzy dragon. The animal landed right in front of Duke, and Damian continued.

“Thomas, meet Goliath.” the tiny terror turned to the beast. “Goliath, decide his fate.”

* * * * *

“So, what do you have for me, Cass?” Duke asked warily. He knew Cass was the nice one, but he wouldn't put it past her to choose something … questionable.

Cassandra smiled sweetly, leaned forward, and whispered in Duke's ear, “hug Jason.”

Duke sighed. That wasn't too bad. He turned around and faced Jason head on. “So, what did she sa-”

Jason was cut off by Duke launching forward and wrapping his arms around Jason's huge chest.

The young man sighed. And wrapped his arms around Duke. “Eh,” he said when he saw the looks he was getting, “Duchess isn't too bad.”

Dick grinned. “Does that mean I get a hug?”

Both Duke and Jason tensed. “On the count of three,” Jason whispered, “We run.”

Dick grinned and opened his arms.

“One.”

He took a step forward.

“Two.”

Dick smiled. “Come on, guys!”

“THREE!! RUN!!!”

* * * * *

“Now pour delicately, Master Duke,” Alfred said as he instructed Duke on how to properly have tea. Everyone had insisted on going to Alfred before Stephanie's challenge, which had Duke worried slightly, but he honestly enjoyed having tea.

“Don't forget to have good posture,” The butler continued. Duke frowned slightly. Maybe this would be longer than he thought.

* * * * *

“Now a tad more glitter. You can never have enough!”

Duke followed the instructions, finishing up the glitter bomb which Stephanie had taught him how to make. He wasn't sure what it was going to be used for, but he knew it wasn't gonna be good.

“Great job, Duke!” Stephanie grinned, then turned to Dick. “How much longer till Bruce gets back from patrol?”

Ah. Yeah, this definitely wasn't going to be good.

“Five minutes,” Dick replied, “Everyone in position!”

And so Duke found himself dragged into the Batcave, glitter bomb behind his back, and a hastily memorized instruction to throw and run in his mind. Five minutes later, the batmobile rolled into the cave. Bruce jumped and and came over to Duke.

“What are you still doing up?”

“Bruce, would you ever disown me?”

Bruce frowned and pulled off the cowl. “No, Duke. Of course not.”

Duke nodded. “Would you ever break your no-kill rule just for me?”

Bruce smiled and shook his head. “Never.”

“Okay, most important question,” Duke paused and took a deep breath, “Would you ever blame me for something that isn't my fault?”

“Not if I can help it, I promise you that.”

Duke took another deep breath and nodded. “Alright.” He then in one swift movement pulled out the glitter bomb from behind his back, and threw it at the Dark Knight of Gotham. The Caped Crusader. The Batman.

Duke turned and bolted, leaving a stunned Bruce Wayne in his wake. Once he was in the stairwell, he turned in time to see Bruce completely covered in purple glitter. He looked down at himself, then up to the heavens.

“STEPHANIE!!!” He yelled.

* * * * *

“That was legendary, Narrows!”

Duke grinned back at Jason. Sure, lobbing a glitter bomb at the guy who was currently giving you a home (not to mention said guy was  THE BATMAN) had been one of the worst experiences of his life, but even he had to admit it was funny.

“Seriously, Duke,” Tim replied, “I don't think I could have done that.”

“And the dialogue leading up to it!” Dick grinned as he sat next to Duke on the couch.

“It was worthy of cake,” Damian replied, a smile on his face.

“Speaking of cake!” Stephanie announced as she strolled into the room, a large cake in hand. On the top read 'one of us'. She set it down on the coffee table in front the sofa.

Cassandra grinned as she handed Duke the cake knife. “One of us,” she said, and the chant was soon picked up.

“One of us! One of us! Once of Us!”

Duke grinned as he sliced through the cake. Everyone cheered.

“So how do you feel, Duke? Got the crazies yet?” Stephanie asked as she collapsed on the sofa.

Duke grinned. “Not yet.”

Jason laughed. “Give it some time, kiddo.”

Duke settles back and took a bite of his cake – blue velvet – and pressed play on the movie. Everyone settled down, eating cake and enjoying The Incredibles.

* * * *

A few hours later when Duke was the only awake, Bruce quietly walked into the room.

“How'd initiation go?”

Duke sighed contentedly. “Good.”

Bruce smiled. “Get some sleep. You did well tonight.”

Duke didn't bother trying to figure out the implications of that sentence, opting instead to settle back into the cuddle pile. Cass, tucked under his arm, Damian on his lap, Dick wrapped around his other side, Stephanie atop Jason, and Jason and Tim woven into the chaos of limbs. It was warm and strangely comfortable.

Duke sighed, smiling. It's nice, he thought, belonging.

[keeroo92]

Be My Nightmare Ch18

The Hunt

Word count - 5,487

Quick shout out to @just-another-art-dump for all her help with brainstorming and beta reading the last section. You are a goddess!

Warnings for violence, murder and some yummy spice. Enjoy!

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

--------

V blinked to clear away the sleepiness lingering in his mind. A thick haze of confusion gave him pause; did he have another episode? Where was he? He blinked again, forcing his eyes to focus on his surroundings.

The room was one he recognized instantly. Dark blue walls, posters of rock bands and action films tacked up in places. Splashes of light peeked past the old curtains hanging over a two-paned window. The familiar bookshelf, still messily stuffed with comics and tattoo books, right beside a small desk littered with needles, tubes and other accoutrements. 

Nero’s bedroom, untouched since his death. His heart sank. Of all the places to find himself…

The artist took a shaky breath and tried to clear the cobwebs clinging to the rafters of his mind. Last he recalled, he was evading capture and bearing a fresh gunshot wound. Foggy, half-formed images danced in his memory of walking, lovely red on his hands and the hem of his pants, his own blood oozing lazily from his thigh.

As if thinking of it made it manifest, pain rocketed up his leg, fiery and unrelenting. He gasped and brought his hands to press the ache away. Was he still bleeding? How long had he been out? Panic teased at him for a beat before his palms registered the bandage and his missing pants.

What in the world…?

The pain slid into background noise as he carefully shifted his weight and sat up, panning his gaze until he found the culprit of his treatment.

Hot damn, how the hell did she find us?!

“Excellent question,” he croaked. 

You weren’t awake yet, and faint streaks of scarlet coated your arms as if you tried to wash his blood off but gave up halfway. Hair a mess, clothing wrinkled and a hint of drool hanging from your lips, he’d never seen you so unkempt.

Good, she’s sleeping. Make a break for it, Van Gogh!

Blue feathers swept past his vision but vanished a heartbeat later. He licked his lips. “I doubt walking is wise for now, let alone ‘making a break for it.’”

Fine, but at least strangle her. She’ll only get in the way.

He rolled his eyes. “You do realize she probably saved my life, right?”

Well… I guess. Fine, don’t kill her but don’t let your guard down. 

The artist hummed and Griffon made no further comment. Good enough.

He gritted his teeth and forced his aching body to move closer to you. Shadows hung beneath your eyes and he spotted the remains of yesterday’s makeup, nearly invisible with your hair draped over your cheek. He gently brushed it aside.

Your eyes shot open, instantly alert and aware. “You’re awake… How do you feel?”

“I’ve been better,” he replied with a wry grin. “I’ve also been worse.”

The bed rustled as you sat up and tucked your unruly hair behind your ears, a slight frown turning your lips. “Let me get you something for the pain, one sec.”

Once again summoned by his awareness, he winced as a bolt of agony pulsed up to his hip. By the time it faded, your palm held out two white tablets and a glass of water. 

“Drink slowly,” you said. He obeyed.

An oddly heavy silence hung between you as he lowered the glass. Unspoken words, questions and answers alike searching for the right way to surface. None broke free from their cages of closed lips as you checked his pulse, your touch more medical than personal. 

He hated it. 

“How did you find me?” the artist blurted. 

“You don’t remember? Follow with your eyes, not your head,” you replied, one finger drifting this way and that in his sight. He restrained the urge to bat it away. “You sent me a message.”

You goddamned idiot.

There was no arguing against the truth. He didn’t remember considering sending a message, let alone addressing it to you. It was a miracle it didn’t end up in the inbox of a stranger. 

Still. You could’ve turned him in. After the way he fled your apartment, it would’ve made sense. He took another small sip of water.

“You came even after what happened. Why?”

The finger lowered. Lips pursed, you gave him an indecipherable look. He watched the wheels behind your hazel irises turn; toward what result, he couldn’t say. Regardless, he reveled in watching your intelligence at work.

“Do you remember what you said to my dad? That you loved me?”

His lips twitched. This didn’t bode well. “Yes.”

There, he spotted a twinge of uncertainty in your brow. Worry in the set of your mouth, vulnerability in the wideness of your eyes. “Did you mean it?”

I TOLD you that was a foolish idea.

Vergil’s words barely registered; V’s mind was already spinning, struggling to find an answer. At the time, he thought it was the best way to get your father to behave. By staking a claim to you, he established his willingness to defend you. He hadn’t considered whether the words held weight. The answer you wanted now was obvious, and to voice it would all but guarantee your allegiance. It was simple.

And yet so complicated.

Do I love her? What does love even mean?

Throughout history, love held innumerable definitions. The word was constantly evolving, shifting to encompass more variations than before. The greatest and most enduring tales ever told centered on it, and not a soul on earth could deny its influence. Monuments and cathedrals stood testament to its strength, and endless words written across the centuries praised or cursed its existence.

Love defined humanity. 

Yet how could he know if this was it? What did romantic love feel like? How did one classify such an intangible concept? So many tried, and many more to come. Perhaps the nature of love was variable; why else would everyone have a different idea of what it meant?

Love, like art, must be subjective.

So what is it to me?

“I…” the artist murmured.

His path led the same way with or without you, but he preferred the former. When he knew you’d see the product of his work, its quality improved. You saturated his thoughts, scrawled your name across the walls of his mind with a messiness only doctors managed. 

Your presence eased his nerves, and no other came close to matching your intellect. A worthy opponent for mind games and machinations, you never failed to amaze him with your ability to force his hand. You protected him and gave him shelter when he needed it most, and not once did you demand he change his methods. You respected his views. In time, you might even share them. 

You challenged him, irritated him, turned him on and gave him hope that he may yet escape the cold embrace of loneliness.

And most of all, there was the inexplicable desire to answer your question with truth instead of manipulation. He didn’t want to tell you he meant what he said just to coerce you into being his. Surely that indicated something?

This isn’t a question I can answer in a single word. 

V sighed and met your lovely eyes at last, his response as well-reasoned as he could manage. “I’m not sure. It’s… it’s difficult for me to care for someone, it’s been many years since I tried.”

He paused to lick his lips and assemble another sentence. The answer you wanted remained out of his reach, and he refused to give you the one that would serve his plans best. All he offered was the truth.

Even so, it stung to see the half-hidden disappointment on your face.

“But there’s something there I can’t explain. I just don’t understand the feeling, so I can’t name it,” he concluded. A chorus of pained groans echoed in his mind. 

All you had to say was yes! What the hell is WRONG with you, do you want her to stick around or not?!

You sighed and shifted your weight. He didn’t dare to comment further.

“I think I understand. It… it scares me sometimes, but I can’t deny that I care about you anymore. I can’t keep hiding.”

V released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His heart was pounding, a giddy desire to laugh tickling his throat. Impulse took the reins, and he watched in wonder as his hand moved to take yours.

“You never have to hide again,” he whispered.

~~~~Waras~~~~

Something in his eyes hammered home his words. An earnest, unguardedness that you’d never seen before. Genuine gratitude and honesty, perhaps. You couldn’t look away.

You discarded thought and leaned in. Lips parted and heart hammering against your ribs, frenetic excitement stilling your breath as V did his best to match your movement. 

The kiss was gentle, completely different from what you’d shared at the museum or in your apartment. The world melted away. It was just you and him, everything else was just color and noise, polluting the fragile bond you’d formed. Despite the lies and manipulation, past the tricks and mind games. 

Somehow, like a miraculous seed sprouting in a rocky cliff face, love bloomed in a heart that had never known it.

When at last you pulled away, a lopsided smile curved V’s lips. The emerald pools of his eyes sparkled with genuine affection, and his palm refused to leave your cheek. You didn’t mind. 

In fact, you wanted more.

You kissed him again, harder this time. Lips communicating without words your need, not just for contact but for understanding. Hunger and reckless desire danced across your mouth, your fingers grasping at his chest. You’d never know which of you moaned first; just that the sound sent you careening past the point of no return.

By the time you came up for air, you were helpless.

“Hold still,” you whispered. The artist licked his lips and nodded. 

You wiggled off your jeans, panties tucked within. A soft gasp stroked your ego as you pulled off your top and carefully straddled him, his length hardening against your tingling folds. Gods, how you wanted to feel him deep within, feel his body arcing to meet yours as his voice gave out in a whirlwind of pleasure.

But that would have to wait. This time, he needed to let you do all the work. 

“If you lift your hips, I’m getting off. Got it?”

His palms traced fire over your hips, blazing over your body as he smirked at you. Damn him, the smug bastard. “Doctor’s orders?”

You almost moaned at the husky tone he used. “Just say yes, damnit.”

His smirk vanished. Lithe fingers took hold of your ass and gently pulled, guiding you to envelop him one inch at a time. His brows met and his lips fell open, his face an expression of sheer perfection your imagination could never capture.

“Yes…” he murmured. 

He fit perfectly, stretching you just enough without being painful. The ridge of his head pushed past your inner muscles and sent a shockwave of pleasure throughout your limbs. Your slick walls shuddered at the welcome fullness, embracing his heat like a long lost friend. Like he belonged there.

Like he was coming home.

For a moment, you didn’t move, wanting to memorize the feeling of being with him for the first time. A choice made many weeks past set your life on course to this exact moment, your every decision only bringing you closer. Two stars orbiting each other, closer and faster with each second as two became one in a fiery explosion that shook the heavens.

You smiled, hands snaking around his neck as you rolled your hips. Nerves sang as you moved, crying out in exultant joy. It was torture to move so slowly, such exquisite agony when all you wanted was to slam against his hips and feel his need splitting you in half.

Slick fluid coated him in seconds as you moved. Each movement pulled him deeper, deeper, deeper. Hot breath spilled from his lips, soft moans from yours. His hands gripped your hip bones, urging you to keep going, his muscles flexing to help you rise and fall, guiding you to impale yourself over and over. 

Beads of sweat broke out across your back, but you paid them no mind. It was worth it to hear the man curse and gasp, his eyes hooded and skin flushed from your attention. The time would come for him to show you how he liked it, but for now you reveled in the power you held. It took all your strength to keep from bouncing recklessly. 

But the artist was no passenger, and his grip shifted to tangle in your hair and drag your mouth to his for a searing kiss. His tongue danced a tango with yours, flicking and darting back and forth to torture you with his intoxicating taste. Whimpers flowed from your throat only for him to swallow. 

Why the fuck didn’t we do this sooner?

The artist grinned against your needy lips, his lithe fingers lowering to tease at your core. Your body quivered as he lazily painted bliss over your aching bundle, as if you were his latest canvas. He spewed filth as he hunted for that perfect spot, his touch taunting you with ecstasy long before he struck gold. 

“That’s it, right there, come on!” you gasped out, arcing back at the brink of ecstasy..

The artist obeyed, tugging you down again to suckle at your pulse. His lips were heaven on your throat, and his teeth nirvana when he blessed you with a nibble. It was too much and somehow not enough, never enough, never- 

FUCK!

The world flashed blindingly white, searing your retinas as you crested. The cosmos raced by, the colors and shapes too beautiful to understand. Brilliance and beauty, a kaleidoscope of life. A silken voice moaned praise somewhere nearby, a wet tongue dancing over your chest between words. Losing control never felt so good. 

Beneath your spasming body, V’s hips twitched. He sucked in a breath but the pulsing of his cock against your soaked core didn’t ease, his moans changing to a tone you weren’t familiar with. Lower and louder, more breathy in the grip of his orgasm, resonant and musical. You flexed around him, tightening as much as you could manage to feel every throb.

When at last he fell still, it took all your willpower to dismount and check his bandage for fresh blood. You’d rather have curled up at his side and revelled in the afterglow, but that would have to wait. This wasn’t a feel-good made for TV movie where the realities were tossed aside in the wake of a long-awaited union; life didn’t stop just because two people wanted it to.

If only it were that easy.

Thankfully, you didn’t find any cause for concern. A slight dribble, but already clotting. You made sure the wrapping was still tight and laid back, content for now as his slim arms wrapped around you.

His fingers stroked your hair, lazily pulling apart any tangles he found in the process. It was so peaceful, so normal to just lie there and forget the world, but you didn’t let yourself enjoy it for long. Reality wasn’t going anywhere.

“So, now what?” you asked. “We can’t stay in one place too long.”

V sighed, his fingers stilling. “Especially here; they’ll connect it to me far too easily.”

You rose on one arm, giving him a quizzical look. “Why?”

The artist closed his eyes. His jaw flexed and for a moment you feared you’d gone too far, pried too deeply without thinking, but you didn’t dare try to backpedal.

“This… this is Nero’s room,” he responded at last.

Oh. Oh, no…

There were no words to ease the tension his words brought. You knew full well the efforts he took in order to conceal his past, and here you were, invading it. 

Minutes passed in utter silence. An apology lingered on your lips, but without knowing the full story it felt insincere. Not long ago, you would have spoken the words without thought, but now… Now you wanted to only say things you meant.

At last, V broke the stillness. 

“We need to move. I’ll…” he paused, as if the words pained him. “I’ll need your help.”

“You have it,” you replied. No hesitation, no weighing of the pros and cons. If he needed you, you would be there. 

“There’s only one way to guarantee we won’t be disturbed.”

You sighed, heart heavy but unwavering. “I know.”

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “There’s no going back after this.”

You almost laughed. “There’s already no going back.”

He hummed, satisfied. Yes, you knew exactly what he meant. The only way to make sure you found an unoccupied home…

Was to slay the homeowner.

~~~Nico~~~

Nico gritted her teeth as the flash of a camera blinded her yet again. She hated reporters. They just wanted sensationalist headlines, not actual facts and definitely not to calm the public. 

If folks stayed calm, they wouldn’t sell papers. 

Damned vultures.

“As I said, this is an ongoing investigation so there’s only so much I can say,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. “Next question.”

The clamoring turkeys all started shouting, arms lifted almost as an afterthought. She wanted to scream at them. “Yeah, you, in the front.”

A brown haired man smiled at her, his comrades falling still for a merciful moment. “Jim Kovelli, Red Grave Daily. How can citizens stay safe until you make an arrest?”

Finally, something she could actually answer. “Thanks, Jim. We strongly recommend people travel in groups of at least two, preferably three as we have reason to believe the killer has an accomplice. All the victims so far were alone when they were… uh…”

Shit! I’m not supposed to mention the victims, or the methods he’s used. We don’t want a copycat.

She struggled to find words. If she tried to start over, the frenzy would only worsen. The vultures knew blood was in the water and they didn’t know the meaning of mercy. Her heart pounded, desperation seeping through her mind. Saying the wrong thing here might get somebody killed. Why the fuck did the chief want her to talk to the press?

I’m nobody! It shoulda been someone more experienced up here.

A heavy tread approached, Tony coming to her rescue yet again. Damnit, this was her first press conference, and she botched it. Even though she knew she wasn’t the best person for the job, she’d wanted to do it well, earn a little respect. How was she gonna look her partner in the eye after this?

“Folks, this isn’t rocket science. Stay in groups, don’t go off with people you don’t know, and report any strange behavior immediately. If you see something, do not intervene but call the hotline. The killer and his accomplice are likely armed and considered extremely dangerous. Don’t be a hero. Next question, please.”

Nico hung her head and stepped back, letting Tony take her place at the podium. Her heart sank, and she sighed. This case was just… it was tearing her apart. She barely ate, and she couldn’t remember the last time she slept through the night. Even showering seemed like a distraction.

“Magda Dunham, Buzzfeed News. What can you tell us about the accomplice?”

Nico glared at the crowd of reporters. Didn’t they realize their incessant questions took time away from the real police work? It’s not like she could review Waras’ file during this charade. 

Yet Tony gave a kind, calming smile, seemingly unfazed. How the hell did he do that, keep his face from showing how fucked the situation was? A law-abiding citizen, with no goddamn criminal record and a pristine reputation, now believed to be aiding a psycho killer. It was insane.

“While we can’t release any names yet, we have reason to believe a female is assisting the killer. She is intelligent and well versed in psychology, and may try manipulation tactics or coercion to get someone alone. Again, do not travel alone and be wary of strangers. Last question, guys,” her mentor replied.

A swarm of voices answered him, and he pointed to a face in the back. “Penny Slope, The Weekly. Is the psychiatric hospital going to close, or are you content to let killers stay in the city?”

Tony barely twitched. If she’d gotten that question, Nico knew she would have snapped. The hospital wasn’t the issue here; the killer was!

“We are never content to allow killers to roam our streets, and we won’t rest until our city is safe. All I can say about the psychiatric hospital specifically is that they’re implementing additional security measures and we’re working closely with their staff to make sure our friends and neighbors are protected. I’m afraid that’s all the time we have, though. Thank you all for coming out.”

The horde shouted more questions even as Nico and Tony stepped away. Flashes left her blinking, blinded and ready to smack someone if they got too close, but her partner had her back. His warm hand guided her inside the station and back to the conference room. 

“You okay, kid?”

Her vision flared red. She was not a kid. Inexperienced, yes. But a kid?

“No. You know what, hell no! Those piss ants are just lookin’ for a headline, they don’t give a shit that people are dying! There’s a damned murderer out there and all they want is someone to blame! It pisses me off. Not to mention we know who the killer is, but for some reason we still can’t say his name or identify the doctor! It’s fucking bullshit! People need to know who to look for, right now all they’re gonna do is panic anytime someone sticks out!”

She slammed her fist against the table and growled, “And I ain’t no kid.”

Tony tossed his hat on the table and ruffled his hair. His face finally showed something other than a mask of composure, falling into exhaustion as he sat down and sighed.

“I know. You’re right.”

Nico’s jaw dropped. “Wh- what?”

Tired blue eyes met confused brown. “I said, you’re right. It is bullshit. I don’t know why the chief is pussy footing around on this. All I can say is that if you wanna stay on the case, you gotta do as you're told. Especially in the public eye.”

Nico’s rage evaporated at the defeated tone of her mentor’s voice. She pulled out a chair and sat beside him. “But how do you keep it together? How do you stay so calm when they’re asking you such dumbass questions?”

Tony shrugged. “We protect everyone. Even the idiots.”

The young brunette took her glasses off and stared into the lenses. All she wanted was to catch this guy, why couldn’t it just be that straightforward? The press, the people, office politics, it was all just a waste of time. 

Hell, maybe if people stopped distracting her she’d have caught the fucker by now.

A warm weight settled on her shoulder. She glanced up at Tony, disheartened and desperate for any answers he could offer. “Hang in there, Nico. You’re a great cop. You just need to get the hang of the crappy part of the job.”

She sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Eventually, Tony wandered off and left her to her thoughts. His words helped, but she still wanted to punch somebody. Preferably, the god damned doctor. 

I don’t just wanna catch V now. I gotta get her, too. 

She picked up her glasses and stood, mind focused once again. She couldn’t give up, no way. A little more work and they’d be hers to arrest, her need for justice satiated at last. Giving up wasn’t an option. 

~~~~Waras~~~~

Blood rushed in your ears. Sweat prickled the back of your neck, hidden under the dark hood of your sweatshirt. Cheerful music played on the grocery store’s speakers. It jangled against your nerves as you surveyed the shoppers, searching for a target that fit the parameters you and V agreed to. 

Someone alone, preferably small. Not buying enough food for more than themselves. The less attention they pay to their surroundings, the better.

It was all happening so fast, you’d barely had a chance to wrap your head around it. For so long, you’d tried to blend in, tried to hide your deficiencies. The walls you built to protect yourself weren’t meant to crumble, but to last an age. You’d gotten so used to it, you almost forgot normalcy was an act.

But V broke through, first with a whisper and now with a shout. His voice grew louder each day, beckoning you out of your disguise. He was pollen and you were a bee. Madness was no cage to him - it was freedom. Regret held no sway, doubt and hesitation banished from his mind. 

The prison you built for yourself was yours to shatter, and choosing a target was just one step closer.

There weren’t many people who suited your needs. An older woman browsing cat food, an awkward teenage boy peeking at condoms, or a person with no obvious gender looking at cereal. 

You bit your lip and tried to slow your racing heart. With V’s injury, making the choice fell to you, as did leading the target to an isolated area. The artist hadn’t asked you to make the killing blow, but the end result was the same.

I’m taking part in murder.

The thought held a curious excitement. No fear or disgust, as you knew it should, but a desire to know more. You wanted to understand what it meant to kill, go through every stage of the process and analyze it, piece by piece. 

There’s so much I want to know.

You grabbed a box of macaroni and added it to your cart. Not only were you tailing potential victims, you were also getting a few essentials. It helped you blend in, and who knew what you’d find in your victims home? You had to make sure V ate, to get his strength back and heal.

A jar of pasta sauce joined the macaroni. There wasn’t anything else in the aisle you needed, so you left and followed the cat lady toward checkout. Her cart was barren, save for dozens of tins and a bag of kibble. Did she eat cat food, too?

She was the obvious choice. The teenager browsing condoms probably had a girlfriend who’d miss him, and he was too young to be a homeowner. The non-conforming third option left too much to chance. You didn’t have enough information to know if they fit your needs. The cat lady held the least risk.

Step one complete. On to step two.

How do I get her to follow me behind the store to where V’s waiting?

You didn’t have long to decide. She was about to pay, her car keys already in her palm.

Lips pursed, you handed a twenty to the cashier ringing you up and quickly took your bags. Your target was mere seconds ahead of you. No more time to think; it was now or never. You took a deep breath.

“Excuse me, miss?” you began. She was a bit old to be called miss, but most women took it as a compliment. It might help break the ice.

She turned to face you, peering through her bifocals. “Yes?”

Your stomach churned. If you messed this up, you’d have to start over somewhere else, forcing V to travel when every step brought agony. He claimed it wasn’t bad, but you knew better. 

“Sorry to bother you, but um… do you think you could help me? My friend lives in the apartments back there,” you paused to point at the cluster of buildings behind the shop. “And he says his cat just went into labor. He’s scared to move her, but he thinks she needs a vet and neither of us have a car! Can you maybe drive us, please?”

You bit your lip and tried to look desperate even as endorphins flooded your circulatory system. 

“Of course! I couldn’t let the poor thing suffer,” she paused, glancing to the side. “But… well, with everything that’s been going on, I’m not comfortable going inside. Will you two be able to bring her down?”

You allowed your expression to collapse into relief. “Yes, thank you! Let me show you where to bring the car, it’ll be faster this way.”

“What’s your name, dear? I’m Margaret.”

“Emily. It’s nice to meet you, Margaret,” you replied, pausing just long enough to shake her withered hand. One foot already in the grave.

The woman nodded and followed without protest as you led her behind the shop. The area wasn’t well lit and shadows painted a sinister backdrop over the cold cement. V’s hiding place was just ahead.

“It’s dark back here… maybe we should stay on the main roads, just to be safe?” the woman said. Damn, she was more vigilant than you first thought. You didn’t slow.

“It’s just around the corner, I promise!”

She frowned, but took another few steps to keep up. People instinctively keep moving if the person in front of them does. One more step, and she’d be in V’s range. Your breathing froze, head spinning as you turned around to see him in action at last, to watch the killer in his element.

He didn’t let you down.

Green eyes saw nothing but their target, utterly focused on the task at hand. Despite his injury, he moved with singular purpose. His mouth a thin line, the artist didn’t make a sound as he swung a scavenged length of pipe at the back of Margaret’s head. A sickly, wet crackle and a wheezing gasp barely preceded her collapse onto the pavement.

Whoa… Did he just kill her in one blow?

You stepped closer and pressed two fingers to her neck, checking for a pulse. It was weak and thready, but she was still alive. You said as much to V and rose.

The artist smirked and adjusted his beanie. “Care to do the honors?”

A tattooed hand held out the bloody pipe, as if he were offering nothing more than a turn in a batting cage. Your legs turned to jelly and a flash mob of butterflies careened though your digestive tract. Goosebumps erupted across your spine and you struggled to swallow the golf ball in your throat. You hadn’t expected this, not yet.

“Hm, maybe not,” he said. “That’s fine, I’m happy to demonstrate. Watch closely.”

He limped to Margaret’s helpless body, humming as he crouched down to turn her head towards you. A thin line of blood trickled from her open lips. The briefest pang of guilt teased at you. She’d seemed like a nice person.

“It’s better when they’re awake, but this will do,” the artist murmured. He raised the pipe high.

I’m about to watch this woman die.

Time slowed to a crawl as V struck. His face contorted into a vicious snarl, rage and fury engraved in his features. He was raw and exposed, possibly the purest version of himself you’d yet seen. Animalistic and predatory, thrilled by his supremacy.

And yet…

In the moment the pipe crushed Margaret’s skull and sprayed hot blood across the pavement, there was something else. A sadness almost like grief. A brokenness hidden behind his wrath, as if he were killing a part of himself instead of an unlucky stranger. 

And then it was over, the pipe clanging as the artist dropped it. The expression vanished, masked behind a smirk. You wondered if he was even aware of the change, if he felt the anger and the loss. 

What the hell did I just see? 

But this wasn’t the time to figure it out, as V’s pained gasp reminded you. He’d been upright for far too long, and after a swing like that his wound must be excruciating. You shoved aside your confusion and curiosity, forcing your mind to prioritize your current predicament. Philosophical explorations could wait.

V limped back to lean on a wall as you rifled through Margaret’s purse. Her wallet and keys were all you needed, and the second you had them, you went to the artist.

“The address on her license isn’t far. Come on.”

It wouldn’t be safe for long. As soon as the body was found, you’d have to move again. The best you could hope for was a couple of days, two or three if you were lucky. Enough time for the artist’s wound to start knitting back together and for you to process the last twenty-four hours. 

It’s been a long day. 

You hoped Margaret had a comfortable bed.

~~~Next Chapter~~~

[navykangaroo59]

Crushes

Wolfstar (Sirius Black x Remus Lupin)

Word count: 4k

Warnings: no warnings apply :)

Summary: Remus Lupin didn’t ‘do’ crushes. He could count the number of people he’d ever fancied in his 19 years of life on one hand. That is, until university comes around.

Notes:

Hey so I wrote this in a day and read through it a few times, but that's it, so if there's mistakes I apologise.

In my mind, I've basically plonked the main characters into a University setting, and added new characters who aren't in the canon. Just the main ones. Cool.

Also there's lots of flashbacks in this, so I've tried to differentiate with ---, but if it's confusing let me know!

Scroll down to read :))

Remus Lupin didn’t ‘do’ crushes.

He could count the number of people he’d ever fancied in his 19 years of life on one hand.

Of course, he thought when he’d officially declared himself “Not Entirely StraightTM” it would all start to make sense: he’d be instantly attracted to people and understand what all his mates would go on about, waxing lyrical about their newest crush and how perfect they were. James said he instantly knew Lily was ‘The One’ (James’ words, not Remus’) when he first laid eyes on her, and Remus could not for the life of him understand it.

--- “… and then she turned around me and asked for a pen! Me, guys! SHE approached ME! Why is nobody as excited about this as I am???” ---

James had first seen Lily when he was round at Remus’. She’d walked into the kitchen, and James had gone completely slack-jawed. Remus introduced them. “Oh yeah, James, this is my flatmate, Lily.”

James had just stared.

Remus elbowed him in the side. “What the f-. Right. Yeah. Hi. James. Lily. Hi Lily. James.”

Lily gave a confused smile, before going back to the kettle.

When she’d left, James turned to Remus. “Dude. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

--- Sirius chuckled and slung an arm over his best mate’s shoulders. “Nah mate, we’re all over the moon for you – right guys?”

“Yeah, but I hate to see you if she ever says yes to going out with you. We’d have to give you CPR.” Remus replied drily. Sirius barked back a laugh and beamed at Remus; Remus ignored the warm feeling in his stomach. ---

The first time he’d fancied someone, he was 7 years old. Rebecca was clever, he remembered that much, and she had long hair that she wore in a single braid down the back of her head. He remembered always wanting to make her laugh and feeling so special when they were in the same group for reading. But, because he was 7 and a literal child, nothing happened. They grew apart, went to different secondary schools. They were friends on Facebook, and that was about it.

--- “Guys can you please shut up? I’m trying to get this done for half 1!” Peter was frantically typing God-knows-what on his laptop, looking slightly manic behind the eyes.

Sirius arched an eyebrow and showed him his watch. “Uh, mate, you know it’s now 2, right?”

“Ah fuck’s sake I’m gonna miss my fucking seminar fuck, fuck, fuck.” Peter quickly shoved his laptop away and ran out of the café, before turning back and grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair. “See you guys later!” He called, causing a few people around them to turn their heads and tut. The others chuckled at their hopeless friend, and James started talking to Sirius about some football match or something. Remus took another sip of his tea.

---

The second time he’d liked someone, he was 14. He remembered desperately wanting to be friends with the new boy, because he was cool and clever and sarcastic and tall, and Remus liked how his hair flopped over his glasses. Remus liked him because he was unapologetically himself – he had a confidence to like what he liked without fear of ridicule. Remus wasn’t used to that. Like most teenagers, he was desperately self-conscious: tall, lanky and covered with scars from constant surgeries while growing up. Looking back, it’s clear that Remus clearly fancied Liam, but at the time he’d thought it was nothing more than a friend-crush. But they were 14, and Remus didn’t know he could like the same gender, so nothing happened.

--- “Remus?” Sirius asked, rudely forcing Remus out of his daydream.

“Hm?”

Sirius gave him an affectionate chuckle. “I said, are you doing anything tonight?”

“Oh. Nah, not really. I have some reading that needs doing before Monday, so I might head to the library when you guys head out.”

“Oh, Remus how we could all aspire to be you…”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I ask because we’re having a party at our flat tonight, and you’re coming.” Sirius beamed. 

Remus sighed. He wasn’t a huge fan of parties – too many people in too small a space – but he knew his friends loved them. For them, it was an excuse to drink and socialise, but he always ended up the one looking after James or Peter when they drank too much. 

Sirius smiled at him again. Remus could never resist that smile. “Fine.”

“Also, if you wanted to bring Lily that would also be very cool and very good…” James trailed off, looking down at his coffee. He knew that if James wasn’t hosting this party tonight, he’d be begging to come round to Remus’ in the off chance that Lily would briefly be in the kitchen when cooking dinner.

Remus couldn’t help but laugh. “Sure man, I’ll message the group chat – maybe Dorcas might want to come too?”

Sirius nodded his head and beamed at him. “Sure, more the merrier!”

---

Crush number 3: he was 17. Ana was funny and clever, and they’d bonded over their love of reading and their sarcastic sense of humour. They’d messaged every day while Remus was staying with his grandparents in Wales, and every day when she was on holiday in Spain. But they spent a long time apart, and Remus hadn’t been able to muster up the same feelings after a while. He broke it off with her after he got home. He did it over message. He wasn’t proud of that.

--- Sirius downed the last of his coffee, and with a dramatic flourish he stood up and shrugged his jacket on. “Ok lads, I have to go and argue with some absolute pricks. I will see you-” he winked at Remus, causing the other boy to go sightly pink, “-tonight.”

“It’s gonna be so good! And please remember to ask Lily?” James looked at Remus hopefully, warranting a quiet snort: “Yeah of course mate. No promises she’ll agree to come though.”

James shook his head, ever the optimist. “Cheers!” He ran out of the door after Sirius. ---

He’d started university in September last year, being put in halls with 5 other complete strangers. He’d taken a shine to one of them: a boy from Aberdeen. The entire flat had sat round the kitchen table, drinking and getting to know each other, but something about this boy caught Remus’ eye. He was tall, well-built, with dirty blonde hair he constantly styled away from his face, and a gentle Scottish accent. He was sarcastic, and funny, and Remus fell hard. The two flirted with each other constantly, becoming extremely tactile without even realising it. They stayed up until the early morning hours, just talking, one leaning on the other. They talked about previous crushes, and things that had shaped them as human beings. Remus thought he’d found his match.

One night, they were sat in the kitchen, the only two still awake, as per usual. Remus was leaning on Henry’s chest while they lay on the sofa, enjoying the quiet, and talking about anything that came to their minds. Remus was clutched with a sudden confidence. He turned his head, and kissed Henry on the cheek. Henry returned by pressing himself onto Remus’ lips: that was his first kiss.

--- Remus, still sipping his tea, struggled to suppress a shudder as he thought about how the relationship turned out. He took out a book and tried to become as engrossed as he normally did, but his brain wouldn’t stop the thoughts from flowing.

---

Nothing much happened after they kissed. Things went back to normal, except now Remus couldn’t stop his heart lurching whenever Henry entered the room. He wanted to be where the other boy was at all times.

One night, when the flat were watching a film, Henry and Remus were sharing a sofa and blanket. Halfway through, Remus felt Henry’s hand slowly wander to his inner thigh. He felt his phone buzz:

After the film, meet me in my room.

They kept that up for the next few months. Always at night, after everyone was asleep. It was established that this relationship was secret – they were friends with benefits, nothing more. They’d spend hours fooling around, eventually falling asleep next to each other, but Remus was never able to sleep. To be only friends with benefits killed Remus inside. He kept up with it because he couldn’t separate his feelings: he really liked Henry. He didn’t want this to stop.

Then Henry met a girl. As soon as he told Remus, Remus thought he was going to be sick. “It’s fine Remus! We can stop whatever thing we have. No feelings – clean break. Right?”

“Sure.” He’d said.

Remus wasn’t the same after that. He couldn’t eat; he felt constantly nauseous. He skipped lectures, he skipped going out with his friends. It was worse when Henry brought the girl to the flat. Remus would walk into the kitchen, see them making out on the sofa, and want to be sick or cry or scream, before running straight back to his room again.

Most of his flat didn’t notice his change in character, but nothing got past Lily. Lily was Remus’ closest friend, and the first friend he made at uni. One night, after he hadn’t eaten anything all day, Lily forced him to tell her everything. So, he did. And she didn’t judge. And for that he was incredibly grateful. She helped him get better.

He was grateful for his other friends too, although he didn’t confide in them as much as he did Lily. James and Sirius knew each other from secondary school, but it took a while for Remus and Sirius to meet. He’d met James from getting lost on the first day of uni, when both he and James arrived at the same room for completely different lectures. Turns out, James was in the next building – for a Geography student, James was so bad with directions – but they quickly became friends.

Crush number 5 started about a year ago: just before Summer break. James invited Remus (and, naturally, Lily) to a huge end-of-year party at his studio flat. Remus had been debriefed about James’ other two friends: “You’ll know which one’s Sirius and which one’s Peter: just look for the one that has to have a stupid name like Sirius Black.”

When they’d arrived, Remus’ first thought was that James was right. You instantly know which one is Sirius Black. His hair was raven-black (because of course it was), perfectly tousled, and in a bun that had the audacity not to look ridiculous. High cheekbones, sharp jawline, stormy grey eyes. You’d never be able to tell that this man and Remus were the same age: Remus with his second-hand jumpers and converse, compared to this Greek God of a human in his leather jacket and perfectly battered Doc Martins. Yeah, Remus guessed this was a man called Sirius Black.

He accidentally caught Sirius’ eye, and quickly looked away.

“Hey Sirius! Come meet my friends!” James hollered, and Sirius lifted an eyebrow. He wandered over, giving Remus and Lily and big grin. “Why, hello.”

After being introduced to Sirius and Peter, James quickly cornered Lily in a conversation, and Remus was left alone. He took a cider from the table, keen to avoid whatever drinking game was going on, and went to look for somewhere quiet. He ended up out on the balcony, enjoying the summer air and the bit of peace and quiet.

He was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice the glass door slide open and close behind him. “What’cha thinking about?”

Remus looked up, startled. Sirius stood next to him, 2 cider bottles hanging loosely from his fingers, gentle smile on his lips.

“Oh, nothing much. Just needed some air – there’s so many people in there.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean.”

They collapsed into a comfortable silence for a bit, looking out on to the roads below. Sirius offered the second cider bottle to Remus, who took it.

“You know, I’m annoyed I didn’t meet you sooner.” Sirius mused, bringing the bottle to his lips.

Remus was taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“James always talks about you – he’s really glad he met you. And any friend of James’ is a friend of mine: he’s practically my brother.”

Remus felt warm – he was glad he’d found James as a friend too. He was so worried about being an outcast, or a loner, or not being able to find anybody, then James had been a friend, and Lily had been there for him, and he finally felt wanted.

“Yeah, I’m glad I met him too. Although it doesn’t help that his main reason for coming round is to ogle at my flatmate…”

Sirius chuckled to himself. “I’m actually very excited to meet the infamous Lily who keeps shutting down his advances – I’ve not seen it happen yet, but it always sounds hilarious.”

Remus laughed. “You’re definitely missing out. I could write a book called ‘How Not to Ask Out a Girl: A Guide by James Potter’ from all the attempts I’ve seen.”

Sirius had a hearty laugh: the kind of laugh that didn’t care who heard it. 

They took another swig of their drinks. “You know, when James wasn’t allowed round yours earlier this year, I thought he was gonna lose his mind. It was kinda funny to see him pace the fucking walls like a trapped wild cat because he couldn’t see his friend or the ‘girl of his dreams’”. He used air quotes and gave a small laugh.

Remus instantly felt guilty. Truthfully, he hadn’t thought of the effect his low mental state would have had on James. He just assumed he would be fine with his other friends, but it seemed Remus’ friendship meant as much to James as James’ did to him.

“Ah shit, I’ve never actually apologised to James for that.”

“Apologise? Why would you apologise?”

Remus finished off his cider. “I wasn’t actually ill. Or rather, I was, but it wasn’t flu. I was in a bad way, but I didn’t tell anyone other than Lily. I don’t know, I didn’t want to scare James away with my mental health issues.” Remus gave a small nervous laugh, but Sirius looked at him intently.

“Do you mind me asking what happened?”

“Shit. No. It’s nothing. I’m sorry for bringing it up. You wouldn’t care. It’s nothing big, I promise.” Remus backtracked. He wasn’t about to offload his problems on to this – albeit gorgeous – complete stranger.

Sirius sighed. “That’s ok. You don’t have to talk to me. You have only just met me.” He gave a hopeful smile. “But I’m hoping we can become good friends?”

Remus blushed slightly, then coughed awkwardly. “I want another drink – any requests?”

Sirius laughed. “I’ve got a bottle of vodka in my room, I’ll grab it.” He walked towards the doors, then paused. “You can come with, if you want? It’s a lot warmer inside than out here.”

Remus blushed further. Before he realised it, he felt his head nodding, and his feet were following Sirius back into the party. Sirius immediately got pulled into a conversation - some argument between Pete and a girl Remus didn’t recognise - and Remus stood awkwardly on the sidelines, sipping his drink.

Eventually James called another round of beer pong, and Sirius was able to pull Remus away while most people were distracted. They left the main room, to the sounds of “Oh my god Potter you are going DOWN” as Lily versed James. Sirius laughed, and Remus tried to ignore the warm feeling of Sirius’ hand through his sleeve, and how his arm buzzed from where Sirius had grabbed him.

Sirius ushered them in, quickly closing the door and locking it behind him. “Sorry if this looks a bit suspicious – I just don’t like people I don’t know coming in my room looking for the bathroom. I promise you I’m not going to kill you.”

“That’s good to know, thank you.” Remus said drily, trying to ignore the situation he found himself in. Locked in a room with a very attractive man who he was clearly into. “Anyway, where’s this vodka then?”

Sirius grinned and reached to the back of the top of his wardrobe. His t-shirt hitched slightly, exposing his flesh, and Remus tried not to stare. He shook himself out of it, before smiling gratefully as he received the bottle from Sirius. He took a small swig and immediately shuddered. “That taste never gets better.” He pulled a face, handing the bottle back. Sirius laughed. He knocked his head back and drank some of the clear liquid. Unlike Remus, he had little reaction.

They spent the next hour or so in that room, passing the bottle back and forth. They sat in silence, until Remus, quite clearly drunk, announced, “You know, I’m so happy I found friends here. You’re my friend now.”

Sirius, not quite as drunk as Remus, grinned. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“Yes. And James is my friend. But I am a bad friend. Because I didn’t tell him that I wasn’t feeling good before.”

Sirius stayed quiet, but slowly put the bottle on the floor.

Remus kept talking: “I really liked this guy. He was amazing. We had the same sense of humour and he was attractive, and he found me attractive, which is really something rare.” Remus looked so earnest and gestured down at himself.

Sirius muttered under his breath. “You can’t believe that.”

Remus didn’t hear him. “And he flirted with me. And I thought we had a connection. But it turns out he didn’t like me back. He just wanted a mouth and an arse, and he would’ve taken any other person who had that too. He wanted friends with benefits, but I didn’t.” Remus went silent for a little bit. “I don’t want to be just a mouth and an arse, Sirius!” Horrifically, Remus’ eyes filled with tears. He was mortified. He was drunk, but he still didn’t want to cry in front of his new friend.

“Oh, Remus.” Sirius moved up the bed and hugged him tight.

“What if I can’t find anyone else Sirius? What if I’m destined to be nothing but a mouth and an arse for the next person? I really liked him! Now he’s with someone else! And he just threw me aside like I was nothing!”

Sirius rubbed comforting circles on Remus’ back while Remus sobbed into his shoulder.

“That really sucks, I’m sorry Remus. Why didn’t you tell James?”

“I was scared,” he hiccuped. “Sc-scared of being judged.”

Sirius took Remus firmly by the shoulders. “Remus - you should never be afraid of being judged. James adores you, and I think you’re amazing. I’m so glad I met you tonight - so you’re a part of our group now.”

Annoyingly, Remus burst into tears again. “I’ve never been part of a group before.”

The two of them sat there for a while, Sirius rubbing circles on Remus’ back, while Remus sobbed, finally coming to terms with how he was feeling about the entire situation. Sirius being so caring about someone who he knew so little about was enough to make Remus fall again.

 --- They arrived at La Casa de James y Sirius (it was James who named it, trying to get Lily to be impressed with him) at about half 9, holding a box of ciders. James enthusiastically opened the door to them, yelling his welcome and not being able to take his eyes off Lily for the entire time he was leading them into the party. Lily immediately went off to dance with James (secretly Remus thought she was beginning to like him).

He grabbed himself a drink and plonked himself down on the sofa, people-watching. He recognised a few people here: people from Sirius’ football practise, people from James’ course that he’d met at different parties, girls who seemed to have a sixth sense to follow Sirius wherever he went…

Sirius. He couldn’t see him.

Normally he’d be chatting up every living thing in the room – including Remus, but he knew that was just a joke. Sirius was always joking. Of course he was, they were best friends. But that didn’t help Remus’ poor heart.

Suddenly there was a large shout. “Truth or dare everyone! Everyone, sit down at the sofas and bring your drink!” Remus didn’t have time to move before numerous people were sitting down around him. He looked up and saw Sirius whispering conspiratorially with Lily, before barging through and plonking himself down on the arm of the chair next to Remus. “I’m so glad you could make it.” He winked at him.

“Sirius, there isn’t enough room on the arm of the chair for your arse - find somewhere else to sit.” Remus tutted, mainly because he was conscious that Sirius would slowly slide down and their legs would be touching, and he wouldn’t be able to think straight if that happened.

“Oh, what was that about my arse, Rem? But, I thank you for offering your lap as a substitute.” Sirius smirked, then plonked himself half on Remus and half on the arm of the chair, arm reaching round Remus’ shoulders. Remus’ heart skipped a beat. This is normal. Friends are touchy-feely. This happens all the time. He thought to himself. But he couldn’t stop his pulse racing a little faster than normal.

Lily raised an eyebrow at the display but said nothing. Remus had told her how he felt about Sirius a while back, but refused to act on it, and Lily found that infuriating. “At least I know where Potter stands with me – you should just tell him!”

“No, Lils, he’s my best friend. I’m not going to lose him.”

 James laughed at the two of them and began. “Ok! You pick truth or dare. Drink if you don’t answer the truth or do the dare. Easy. I’ll go first. Dare.” Sirius called out a suggestion. “Do a headstand!”

James grinned. “Gladly.” Obviously just eager to show off to Lily, he went to the wall and did something that somewhat resembled a headstand. Lily shook her head affectionately.

James came back to the circle, flushed red and hair tousled. “Ok I’m gonna choose…. Remus! Truth or dare!”

Oh, God. “Uh, truth, please.”

“Who’s the hottest boy here?”

Remus’ heart sped up. He decided to make a joke out of it. “I was gonna say James, but considering Sirius is within battering distance and I don’t fancy being slapped tonight, I’m gonna say him.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, Remus, you’re too kind.” He brought his head down to Remus’ ear, his warm breath sending shivers down Remus’ spine, “I would’ve said you.”

Remus’ eyes opened wide, like a startled deer, but Sirius threw his head back nonchalantly, like nothing had been said. Had Remus imagined it?

“Remus, choose someone!” James shouted.

“Oh, r-right, ok. Sirius: truth or dare?”

“Dare me, baby.”

Lily jumped up. “I dare you to kiss Remus!”

Remus’ heart sank as James whooped and the crowd joined in. “Kiss kiss kiss!”. Not like this.

Sirius faltered ever-so-slightly. “Wait. No. I’m gonna drink.”

The group booed him, but Sirius just threw up two fingers, and ignored them.

Remus would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed, but equally glad. He obviously wanted to kiss Sirius. So, so, badly. But he didn’t want it to happen this way. They were friends. He didn’t want to jeopardise that. 

The game went on pretty uneventfully. Sirius didn’t do anything else out of the ordinary. Peter was asked to kiss one of the girls, and everyone cheered him on, and when he was finished, he was blushing bright pink and looking slightly dazed.

Remus shuffled out from underneath Sirius, who looked slightly dejected at his leaving. He made his way to the bathroom. Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he stared at the wall, lost in thought. The boy was so confusing! Remus thought he was straight! Now he was flirting! 

But he always flirted. Another part of his brain argued, that’s just who he was.

No. He wouldn’t think anything more of it. He’d lost a friend in Henry by acting on feelings and got hurt in the process. He didn’t want the same thing to happen with Sirius. 

He splashed some water on his face to cool himself down. God, why couldn’t things be easy?!

He felt his phone buzz in his pocket and saw a message from Sirius. Meet me in my room. Please?

Ignoring the voice screaming at him that this was a mistake, Remus waited 5 minutes, taking deep breaths and figuring out his next course of action. He found himself stood outside of Sirius’ door, heart hammering against his chest. He knocked gently. 

“Come in.”

Sirius was sat on the bed, same position as a year ago when Remus broke down in his arms. He looked beautiful – he always did. He wasn’t wearing his jacket anymore, so Remus could see black ink peeking from under the sleeves of his t-shirt.

Remus shook his head and shut the door. In three steps, Sirius was directly in front of him, one hand on the door to the side of his head, the other shutting the door and locking it. Remus’ heart hammered inside his chest. This couldn’t be happening.

Sirius’ eyes flick to his lips, then back to his eyes. “Remus. Can I kiss you?”

Remus barely had the chance to say yes – oh my god, yes – before Sirius’ lips were crashing onto his. Remus didn’t know where to put his hands, so ran them through that oh-so-perfect hair, messing it up just a little bit more.

They pulled away, and Sirius looked even more beautiful – if that’s even possible – with his lips swollen and his hair messy. 

Remus placed his forehead on the other boy’s. “And here I was, thinking you were straight.”

Sirius chuckled deeply. “Not quite.”

Remus pulled away. “Sirius, please tell me you’re serious. I’m not losing another friendship after acting on urges.”

Sirius placed one hand on either side of Remus’ face, caressing it gently with his thumbs. “Remus Lupin, I have fancied you since I saw you staring at me when you first walked in. You’re beautiful. I’ve been thinking about you a lot recently and it’s been driving me mad because you’re so goddamn beautiful and you have no idea. You know the first time you were in this room, you said one of the main reasons you liked ‘he-who-must-not-be-named’ was because he flirted with you, and that was a miracle in itself. Do you not see how wrong you are? You’re so goddamn beautiful I could lose my mind over it.” He placed a small kiss on Remus’ lips.

Remus didn’t know what to say. He was so taken aback by all of it. “But… why now, why choose this moment to kiss me? To tell me this?”

Sirius had the nerve to look sheepish. “I might have asked Lily to shout that dare for the two of us to kiss. I was basically hoping you liked me back, and Lily told me to go for it. But, when I had to kiss you, I chickened out. Even when not-quite-sober, I was scared.”

He looked so vulnerable, so open. Remus placed one hand on the nape of Sirius’ neck and kissed him again. Passionately. Like this was the culmination of every single crush he’d ever had. This was what he’d been leading up to.

Remus Lupin didn’t ‘do’ crushes. He could count the number of people he’d ever fancied in his 19 years of life on one hand, and he didn’t want to count any higher.

[lvlyhao]

Moments (Tom Holland x reader)

A/N: first Tom one-shot I actually completed! The reader is a female since it’s what I am used to working with. If I keep writing, I’ll try to make everything GN. Sort of proud of this, and I hope you all like it^^, and if you do, please like and reblog! 

Warnings: none. This is pure fluff.

Info you might need: Castellucio is a small village in Italy, and a very pretty one at that. It’s known for the flowerings that take place in the fields, every Spring. There are fields of lentils, poppies, violets... and I chose the red poppies.

Y/N = Your Name. M/N = Middle Name. L/N = Last Name. H/C = Hair Colour. E/C = Eye Colour. F/C = Favourite Colour. 

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When the first rays of sun peek through the sheer curtains, Tom’s eyes flutter gently. The world is hazy the moment he opens them, seeing the entire room melt golden under the light. The air feels warm and balmy over his bare skin, immersing the two bodies in amenity as the early birds chirp outside.

Two bodies.

Finally coming to himself, the brown-haired boy stirs under the satiny sheets, looking for the glow of his lover. When his hand bumps into her, his heart beats faster. There she is, fast asleep, snoring softly and sprawled on her back. Her delicate skin seems velvety where glorious drops of light dance upon it. Her hair, H/C and silky, spreads over the ivory pillow like a halo. Soft, swollen lips give out peaceful breaths, and her hands are neatly folded over her stomach. A dot of glimmer attracts his gaze, and on her left hand, he finds the elegant ring. His ring, that he gave to her just yesterday.

Thinking back to that moment, it seemed like ages ago. The crimson fields of poppies of Castellucio encircled them and contrasted with her F/C dress—the one he always said was his favourite. His chocolate locks were an absolute mess from the wind, and he could only imagine how sweaty he looked, wearing a polo shirt and dress-pants under the scorching sun. Y/N didn’t seem to mind it that much, though. 

The second he kneeled on the grass, she started sobbing and grinning like a dork. It was endearing, how she couldn’t refrain from smiling even when he was talking about their (many) embarrassing memories. That tiny detail made him fall even harder for her. Every sliver of doubt he had left dissolved when she interrupted his speech, falling to the ground in front of him and lacing her arms around his neck. 

“That was enough”, she had muttered, “just ask the damn question already!”. Tom chuckled, reviving the way his voice cracked when he followed her request.

“Y/N M/N L/N, darling”, he grasped her hands, “will you marry me?”

Tears flowed down their faces as she nodded soundlessly time and again, too thrilled to find her voice. He slid the ring in her finger and they stood there, arms around the other and bawling their eyes out. For an instant, there was nothing else there—the flowers were gone, the Sun was hidden by the clouds, the winds turned into a breeze and even the smell of the Italian summer vanished. It was just the two of them, clinging onto each other for dear life and drowning in the chaste feeling of love. It was easily the best moment of his life.

Was it really?

Drinking in the sleeping figure of his fianceè, Tom thought about the day he met her. 29/04/20, a Wednesday, when he went live for the Marvel pub quiz. It had been genuinely amazing, to interact with his followers like that. He could still hear Harry's voice, telling him what to do to invite people to join the transmission.

“Such a grandpa”, he had said, shaking his head in amusement. Tom ignored him, randomly calling a username from the live chat to answer the final question—what does S.H.I.E.L.D stand for? 

The bright face that popped onto the screen one second later took his breath away. She had the most beautiful E/C eyes, sparkling with kindness and life. H/C strands framed her face, and her smile made his heart skip a beat, even with the low quality of the video. 

It was like everything around him froze; no one dared to move, fearing the moment would shatter. 

Except for his brother, though, seated to his left. 

“Oi, mate”, he nudged Tom, “read the question.” 

The brunette boy snapped out of it, covering his blush with a smirk and pretending he couldn’t hear Haz snickering behind him. Is it that obvious? 

Yes, of course, it was. How could it not be, when not only was she the loveliest girl he had ever seen but also a Marvel fan?

Y/N got the question right, not missing a beat when he asked. The three of them, on the other side of her screen, cheered a bit louder than necessary, and then he ended the live. Both his brother and best friend teased the hell out of him for the next few days. The fandom, of course, made memes about it, and eventually, Tom slid into her DMs. It was the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Tenderly clasping her right hand, not to wake her up, the boy shifts and stares at the ceiling. It is painted baby-blue and makes him think of the sweater she wore to the first Christmas spent with his family.

While juggling university and her job after quarantine ended, meeting his family wasn’t a top priority for Y/N. She and Tom always spoke about it, guessing how it would be like, but she was not ready the day he made the offer. 

“Go to my family’s Christmas Eve dinner. I promise you it’s gonna be awesome, they’re gonna love you! And if you feel comfortable, you can sleep there and spend Christmas with us. If you don’t, I’ll find a way to get you home in time. Please, love”, cue puppy-eyes. She couldn’t find it in her to say no to that, but she had never felt more jittery than in the week before the dinner.

When the 23rd rolled around, she was tense the entire day. Tom had tried everything to make her unwind, from running a hot bath to giving her a massage and attempting at making muffins (which turned out burnt and very salty). When he started to feel as helpless as his girlfriend, 5 pm struck, and they left to his parents’ house. The ride there was made in silence, only broken when he turned to her to whisper how much he loved her.

The next 2 hours or so went by in a blur. He couldn’t exactly spot how it all went—the first contact with his brothers and parents, finally meeting Haz, introducing her to Tessa… the first memories of the actual dinner began with what she told him, days later, about the exact moment she clicked with everyone.

The first person she befriended was Harrison. He was very sweet, keeping her company when Tom would leave to help his mom with something and making her feel at ease. The one point that made the two grow close was his cooking. She had seen both the hot bread and the pancake video, and just couldn’t help but bring them up. At first, he seemed quite bashful, but when Y/N said she couldn’t cook either, he decided he liked her. They talked for a long time, telling their most awkward cooking stories, and Tom watched everything from afar. I knew they'd get along.

Next was Harry, the sassy younger twin who seemed sort of intimidating. It’s not that he was mean, not at all, but he had a strong presence and for a split of a second, she thought he hated her. The tables turned when she mentioned her interest in photography and directing. It was all laughter, jokes and deep conversations by the fireplace after that, talking about some of their favourite films, photographers and directors. Harry turned out to be very kind, and the time she spent with him made her feel welcome.

With Sam, things were a bit different. Whenever Tom mentioned the twins, she thought the two of them would hit it off immediately. Apparently, though, she was too shy to initiate any kind of interaction with him and vice versa. Haz sensed her discomfort from the other side of the room and went to her aid. For the next 45 minutes, he acted as a bridge between them, keeping the chat going until they were talking like old friends. They bonded over the fact that they were huge Marvel fans, and discussed several theories for the next movies, as well as their favourite characters. Oh, how she loved the twins.

Getting to know Paddy was a challenge as well. He wasn’t timid but also didn’t seem very interested in talking. For most of the time, he played with Tessa quietly, time or another chiming in with a remark about something. It didn’t help that he was the youngest. Thinking back to everything Tom had told her about him, she couldn’t find a single topic to bring up. He was a high school kid, and that summed up everything they didn’t have in common. What would she talk about? Physics? Football? 

Things only clicked in her head when Tessa left his side to come to lick her hands, asking for pets and tossing around a rubber ball. So Y/N went outside and played catch, mutely hoping the boy would come around to play too. Soon enough, he did, and she bonded with the two of them at the same time.

By the time Nikki and Dom were finished with dinner, they were the only ones she hadn’t talked to a lot just yet. All the nerves that had gone away while she got to know the boys were back the moment everyone sat at the table. 

That was it. His parents. If they didn’t like her, chances were slim the relationship would last very long. Tom was a family person, and she'd never make him choose between them and her. 

She put on a charming smile, praying they’d get along, and complimented the food. A lot. Probably way more than she should, but there was no stopping now. It was her anxiety talking the wheel, after all. Luckily for her, they took it as a sign she was putting effort into making a good impression, and that was enough for them.

In one month, she was the closest thing to a sister the Holland boys had ever had. Things were fantastic after Christmas, and Tom could see a bright future for them. Waking up by her side was what he loved the most, but he could go on and on about every little thing he adored in her and their relationship.

One time, he did. It was their anniversary of two years, and Tom giggles at the mere thought of that. Everything that could have possibly gone wrong with his plans did go wrong, and he cried in front of Y/N, thinking he had ruined their special day. She took him in her arms, standing in the downpour at his favourite beach, where they were supposed to have a nice picnic. A long-forgotten basket was by her feet and the two were soaked to the bone, feeling a rainbow of emotions at once. 

Of course, she wasn't particularly cheery, but seeing Tom like that hurt, so she pushed her own frustration aside to take him home. There, wrapped tightly in 3 blankets and with a cup of cocoa in his hands, Tom was spoiled to death. They watched a bunch of Pixar movies, ordered pizza, took a bath together and, when the clock struck midnight, went to bed. 

The day was perfect, just not in the way she and Tom had imagined. It was better, actually, and the British boy decided to show her that with an impromptu speech. He had never been very good with words, but when he delicately cradled her face between his hands and began talking about the reasons why he loved her, he couldn’t stop. He told her about every tiny detail in her, from the way her nose crinkled when she smiled to how considerate she is. Recalling the moment she shut him up with a teary kiss, Tom realized he might have a tendency to overdo speeches. 

Now, lying side by side with the person he treasures above any other, he feels overwhelmed with love. The urge to take her in his arms, hold her close and defend her from the world brings a grin to his face as he gapes at her once more. Her eyes are starting to flutter, and soon she’ll be awake. 

Then, they’ll make plans for the afternoon and the night, since the morning is ending at this point. They’ll build one more memory for him to think about and laugh, and to someday tell their children about. They’ll go and live their dreams, cherishing and caring for one another. They’ll go and live thousands of perfect moments, because every moment by her side is the best of his life.

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tagging some people I love here: @chaoticpete​ @underoosjae​ @spider-parker04​ @gwenvrse​ @lost-space-ranger​ @allegra-writes​

[rachelbethhines]

Tangled Salt Marathon - The Way of the Willow

Now here’s a controversial episode from season one. Let’s delve into the discourse, shall we. 

Summary:  It's Queen Arianna's birthday, and she receives an unexpected guest: her estranged sister, Willow. Willow and Rapunzel quickly bond, sharing a lot of the same personality traits (most notably them never wearing shoes), and Arianna feels a bit left out. To add to her aggravation, Willow has given her a pet with an annoying rattle. Eventually, Arianna explodes at her sister, letting her know her irritation with her and throws away the rattle. The pet starts to multiply and rampage over the countryside. Meanwhile, Lance and Eugene  take the King camping. 

More Filler, More Poor Pacing, More Fatigue 

This is yet another episode that was moved around. Noticing a pattern yet? It doesn’t effect the plot much, but it kills the pacing dead. By the time you get to this episode you’re just tired and bored and ready for the show to just get on with things. 

Let's Talk About Representation 

So we have here a show that is marketed towards pre-teen little girls run by two middle aged white guys and written primarily by men. The creators have claimed that female relationships are the focus of the show, but only to give us one female friend for our main hero, no other friendships with women in them, just two sister relationships, and only one mother that is even alive. 

Furthermore they go on to break up that single female friendship, refuse to give any focus to the only mother in the show, and then wrap the plot around the dead abusive mom instead, making her unnecessarily even more horrible than she was in the OG film. (just to make the equally abusive father in the show look better)

Meanwhile we get four father figures, all of whom are just some variant on the ‘overprotective estranged dad’ trope. Even though at least two of them could have been easily written to be mothers instead and it’d not change the plot one bit.   

When women talk about about poor representation in media, it’s things like this we are often complaining about. That’s not to say that men can’t write women.  Miyazaki, of Studio Ghibli fame, has made a lifelong career out writing movies for and starring women. Nor is this a claim that the TTS crew are misogynist. You can be well intentioned and still screw up. As is most often the case in films. 

But nevertheless, if you are writing for a demographic that you are not a part of then you need to either include those voices in the development of your story or reach out and consult people within that demographic. And no, you’re wife/niece/daughter/mother does not count here. You need to go beyond your personal social circle, as people who either don’t know you or have worked in the industry can be more open about what is needed in the writing process.  

Sadly there are rumors, (and please keep in mind this is only rumor, and we’ll never know the actual truth due to the fact that production artists are under contract and can’t share things without fearing for their livelihoods) but there are stories of the head showrunner shutting down the opinions of the female storyboard artists who warned him of some these creative decisions. 

Moreover said creator responded to criticisms of how his female characters were written by claiming he ‘knew strong women in his life’ as if that actually had anything to do with his writing skills. It’s a poor response and smacks of ‘Well I can’t be misogynistic, I love women. See, I married one’. Dear, male creators, please don't ever do this. It makes you look bad. 

So Where are Arianna and Willow From, Again?

The show keeps dropping hints that they’re from Corona itself and are born princesses, but that makes little sense. Because if Arianna was the rightful heir she’d have far more political power then she actually does in the show. If we’re to buy the idea that only Rapunzel will be in charge, and not her and Eugene, or even just Eugene. Then we have to accept that it’s because she’s the rightful heir by birth. If so, then Frederic must also be the blood heir or otherwise he wouldn’t be able to do all the things he does in the show. 

TTS is so determine to not have any real world markers in the show and keeping things a ‘fantasy’ that it winds up swinging too far in the opposite direction. To the point that it undermines its own worldbuilding.     

The Conflict Between Willow and Arianna is Good, but Unnecessary 

I’ve seen some debate over ‘who is right’ here, along with tons of unwarranted shade thrown at Willow, but the truth is, it doesn’t matter. Neither side is right or wrong, and for once the conflict in TTS is real, complex, not easily solvable with a ten minute conversation, and is presented evenly so that you know where each side is coming from. But in the end, it doesn’t add anything to the series. 

Willow is never seen outside of this episode. This is the only story that gives Arianna any kind of focus. Rapunzel learns nothing useful from witnessing their squabbles and it’s all build up to a be bad parable/parallel in the series finale. 

It’s a waste. A waste of conflict. A waste of character. A waste of time. 

Had Arianna been treated as an important character to the narrative, like she should have been, then maybe the episode would have fared better. 

Arianna is Reduced to a Pointless Parallel

We talked about it before but this might be the most grievous example of Tangled’s useless parallels.

Willow and Arianna are meant to be ‘foreshadowing’ (and I use that term loosely) for Rapunzel and Cassandra’s conflict in the finale season. Let me count the ways of how bad this actually is..

For starters Willows and Arianna’s conflit isn’t actually the same as Raps and Cass. There’s some overlap, but ultimately theirs is actually deeper and more complex than the Raps vs Cass stuff. It’s also only between them and does not involve ruining the lives of other people. So it’s a weak comparison to begin with.

Cassandra isn’t even here to make the parallel complete. She barely interacts with Arianna and has never met Willow on screen.

Rapunzel learns the wrong lessons from this. She gets encouragement from her aunt to go traveling and a pep talk from her mom during the show’s finale, but she doesn’t actually apply any of the actual context of the arguments being made to her own life. Making the parallel shallow.

Reducing a character from the original film, one that you did not create and who has reasons to be have more plot importance then they are given, to a mere ‘parallel’ for your favorite OC is just bad fanfiction. This is something that I would expect from a seven year old setting out to write their first ever story. Not from grown adults, who are supposedly professionals, who've worked for years in the industry and are employed by the largest entertainment studio in the world.

Now before you jump down my throat, there’s nothing wrong with fanfiction itself, nor with children exploring their favorite stories in ways they find personally fulfilling. But I happen to hold mass produced media to a different, and ultimately higher standard. As well should we all. A television show made by the mouse has more real world impact than a little girl posting on Ao3.

Critiquing stuff like female representation, the behind the scenes hiring processes that leads to either good or bad rep, and the impression these stories can have on people still developing their worldviews is important. Questioning things are needed in order to make change happen. If you never acknowledge how giving a show targeted to women to a male showrunner can cause problems then you’re never going to push the big companies for more female lead shows. Which means more women are left without work.    

This is Subjective but...

I don’t like the Uumlaut being used as the main conflict. Look, if you like the Gremlins references, good for you, but I was promised sword fights and adventure according to the pilot and all I got was a parody of a 80s horror comedy that decided to skip out on the ‘horror’ part. The Uumlaut isn’t threatening enough to be interesting and the lack of real threats and challenges in this show is really starting to weigh things down. Plus it just distracts from the far more interesting human drama going on with Willow and Arianna. 

Like if you don't want action to be the focus of every episode, that’s fine, but commit to that. Don't just half-ass it because you feel the need to shoehorn in an action sequence where it isn’t needed.    

Conclusion

I like Willow as a character, but not this episode. They needed to do more with her to justify her existence, and they needed to do more with Arianna while at it. Sadly, you won't really miss out on much if you decided to skip this episode and that’s a shame. 

Also... 

I’ll forever headcanon that Willow is the wife that Stan mentioned back in Rapunzel’s Enemy and that she’s his and Pete’s beard. You can’t change my mind. Poly relationships for the win!