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bokunosimpfiction · 3 years ago

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Kidnapped Yandere!Heisenberg x Reader Pt.5

Summary: You feel emotions other than rage and sarcasm oh my god

A/N: The reason I took a break from this series was because I had no idea where to take it from that cliff hanger, and I felt that character development needed to be done before we dive head first into the plot. This is part of that, but keep in mind it’s not filler like Chapter 2 became. I think it’s funny that this was SUPPOSED TO BE A FUCKING ONE SHOT BUT APPARENTLY FUCKING NOT. I’ll be posting another chapter for this series soon. Also feel free to send me asks about this series. I’ve been getting comments on my ao3 that are a) genius b)hilarious and c)heartwarming. Talk to me. Please! Ask and anon should be open right now let me know if they aren’t!

Masterlist link for previous parts:

Link to this chapter on AO3:

Taglist: @localdepressedvampire and one person recieving updates via email

The fresh cold late-autumn air made your lungs sting. And the layers of clothes didn’t help fight the chill you didn’t know you were facing. Has it been that long since you’ve been outside, to see the sun? You stick your arms in your armpits under your outercoat. Well, Heisenberg’s spare trench coat. It was much too big, the cuffs of the sleeves going well past your fingertips and the bottom half an inch from the ground.

You were so used to the fluorescent lighting and the warm dry air of the factory, that your body went into some type of culture shock. It felt like an allergic reaction to the outside world itself. Adjusting to it once you escaped would be hard.

“You’ve clearly become less fit since you started living with me,” Karl says in a matter-of-fact tone. You’d be insulted if you didn’t hear him say weird stuff about the other lords or the occasional brain-washed villager who brought up offerings. One had sewed you a wool and fox-fur dress and brought it up in September, in preparation for the winter. He’d thought it dumb at the time, but it protected you from the November chill better than anything you’ve ever worn.

Did they think you were a woman? Whether they were right or wrong, it didn’t change the fact that it was comfortable, warm, and made you feel better than the clothes you’d been wearing before in the factory or even before. You felt safe.

“Of course, I have, I’ve been sitting on my ass,” you retort.

“Still see that sass is intact.”

“It’s something that’ll never leave me.”

“You’d make a terrible house-spouse.”

“That’s the point,” you sigh hard, and you can see the cold air in front of your face, “I had a whole ass college degree before I came here and got my ass kidnapped.”

Karl whips around and looks at you, tilting his head down to peer at you from above his glasses. “You have a college degree?”

“Why are you surprised? Did you think I was that stupid?” Even if the question is sarcastic and witty, you felt a pang of hurt reverberate in your heart. Did he really think you were that stupid? Apparently so.

“I have two masters. One in aerospace engineering and one in mechanical engineering. Double majored in those fields for my bachelors at Oxford on a full-ride scholarship of robotic engineering.”

His mouth drops open. “And I didn’t know about this because?”

“It never came up.”

He pinches his nose, “you could have been helping me this whole time in the shop, and I let you sit on your ass and play care-taker.”

“More like forced me.” At this point, you’ve stopped walking, and you’d be able to see the manor of Benviento if it weren’t for the fog.

“Besides the point.” He looks stressed. His eyebrows are furrowed, a deep frown is on his face and his whole disposition makes him look genuinely conflicted and upset. “Let’s just go.” He gestures for you to follow him and stomps up the path.

You follow him, trying not to slip in the mud. Converse doesn’t have great traction, you realized. Maybe you should have worn hiking boots. “Listen, dirty Dr. Doofenschmirtz-“

“I don’t want to listen to your dumb nick-names right now.”

You stop again, and your fists ball up at your side around the fabric of the sleeves of his coat. Your coat. The coat you’re wearing.

“Why the hell are you so mad at me!” It’s not a question. It’s an exclamation of emotion. For some reason, it hurts. Even if you despised him, hated him with all your being, having someone love you unconditionally felt nice. He was toxic at best, sociopathic at worst, and yet he loved you so strongly it tore the both of you so part. To feel that admiration has gone missing, even if for a second, sent you reeling. You can’t explain why you softened towards him.

“I’m not.” He keeps walking before he realized you stopped. He turned around to look at you. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…” He looks for the words. He’d never been good at expressing himself, you realized. Better through actions than words. But you didn’t want him to act on whatever he was feeling.

You wait in silence, eye-watering, trying not to cry.

He sees and rushes over to you. His left arm wraps around you and his right hand gently grabs your chin, his index finger underneath to lift your chin up to look at him. “Don’t cry, you know I hate it when you cry.”

You struggle to take a deep breath, choke on it, and the world feels so much more dangerous. A million malicious eyes gazing into your soul, whispers of panic fill your brain, and flashing thoughts of running right now, of hurting him or you flash through like lightning in a foggy storm. Every damn thing feels hazy and thick and you’re choking on the lump in your throat. “I don’t want to. I don’t want you to be mad at me, I don’t want-“

“Take a deep goddamn breath.” You feel his tobacco-scented breath on your face. You can see panic flash through his eyes for a moment. You hate the smell, and it suffocates you even more. “You need to breath.”

You swallow around the lump in your throat, and your breath shakes like a wasp nest about to fall from the highest branch. “Why are you mad at me?” This time you genuinely ask. You don’t want a reason, but rather a reassurance that he isn’t at all.

His lips form into a snarl that doesn’t come out before he presses them in a tight line. As he thinks. It makes you even more nervous. “I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the fact that I had an opportunity that went to waste.”

You look up at him. “Okay.”

He wraps his other arm around you and places his chin on your forehead. “Let me know when you’ve calmed down.”

You rest your forehead on his shoulder and breathe.

In. Out.

In. OUT.

In… out

In.

Out.

In.

… out.

“Do you feel any better?”

You wait a moment. “Yeah, I think so.” You ponder for a moment. “I think I had a lot of pent-up anxiety from everything.”

He stays quiet. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

He places a kiss on the crown of your head, his beard ruffling your hair. “Are you not going to forgive me?”

You take a deep breath. “I don’t know yet. It’s…” How do I phrase this? “I worked hard for this anger. This anger to love me, to know I didn’t deserve this, to be kidnapped, to have my head ready to be mounted on a stick.” You continue, “if I stop feeling angry, if I forgive you, I’m afraid I’m losing that. That’s why I tried to escape because I loved myself, I wanted better for myself.”

“Was I… Was I not providing enough for you?” His question strikes you like an arrow.

“I-“ You stumble on you’re thoughts for a moment. “It’s less of you not doing enough, but more of the rough foot we started on.” You sniffle. “When I gave up, I felt like I lost a part of myself, all that I worked for. That degree included. I felt all my efforts, all my struggles that I faced outside this goddamn village had gone to waste. That it wasn’t worth it. That I wasn’t worth it.”

You had promised yourself to keep him at arm’s length, to not give him clues to manipulate you. But you poured your heart out into his. You felt him shake and squeeze you tighter.

“Never. Ever. Feel like you aren’t worth it.” You feel something wet on your scalp. “You deserved better than each challenge that you faced, and each bit of hurt you felt along the way.” It’s his turn to choke on his words. He takes a shaky breath above you, and you can feel his heart pound faster. “You, darling, are worth everything.”

Something small inside you breaks. He’s just as human as you are, you realize. In this desperate attempt to escape, to fuel this hatred that’s worn you down, you’ve villainized a man that’s felt even more pain than you. A broken man, who thinks you’re the glue to put him back together. You shouldn’t feel any obligation to, but you do, because you’ve felt a fraction of the pain he’s felt, that he’s currently feeling, and it’s made your mind and bones ache far after the situation ended.

“And so are you, Karl.”

He unwraps his arms from around you. “Come one butter-cup, let’s go. Ugly-ass-psycho-doll is waiting for you. Says she wants you for a fitting and some tea party with her demented child, Angie.”

“Angie? Who’s she.”

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

#Heisenberg #Karl Heisenberg #Yandere Heisenberg #Yandere #Yandere x Reader #Heisenberg x Reader #Yandere Heisenberg x Reader #resident evil x reader #resident evil 8 x reader #resident evil village x reader #resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #re8

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blockgamepirate · 3 years ago

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So we were talking on Discord about a DSMP superpowers AU, specifically Syndicate as an anarchist superhero team who are perceived as villains by pretty much everybody. (There were a bunch of people involved in the brainstorming but I wanna particularly credit @macachee for the idea for Techno’s superpowers, even though I ended up using a slightly different version than theirs.)

Anyway I know I don't really write fanfic anymore and I'm extremely rusty but uh... my hand slipped?

(CW: nothing major but there are repeated mentions of fire and some pretty tame violence)

×××

"Professor Underscore, I presume?"

The distinctive deep voice of an infamous supervillain was really not something anyone wanted to hear after 14 hours of last minute bug-fixing on a prototype superweapon in a secret laboratory. Especially when all your assistants had already called it a day and gone home.

Without even looking around, Tubbo reached for the gun in his desk drawer but before he could pull it out, a blade smashed into the wood right next to his hand.

"Nope", said the voice, "you don't get to have weapons, I get to have weapons. And speaking of weapons..."

Tubbo carefully turned around on his chair to face his attacker. As expected, it was a huge, hulking pigman dressed in flashy red and a golden mask.

"You are Protesilaus, aren't you? From the Syndicate?"

Protesilaus blinked at him. "You're a LOT younger than I expected, professor."

"Yeah, I get that a lot."

"I mean it's very impressive though, good for you."

"Thanks."

"So anyway, I'm here for the weapons."

"The weapons are kinda reserved already. You know, for the military."

"Don't give a shit", said a voice from the door. "Gib."

Protesilaus sighed. "Zephyrus, you're supposed to be the secret back-up."

The man hiding by the door frame laughed. "We already took care of the guards. There's nobody here but him, it's fiiine."

"But what if HE has his own secret back-up? What then? Well, it's too late now so just keep a look-out, alright?"

Zephyrus laughed again. "Sure."

"Alright." Protesilaus pointed his sword at Tubbo. "Show us to the weapons."

×××

There wasn't much he could think of doing to stall except try and tap in the pin codes on the doors as slowly as humanly possible. To be fair he didn't even really know what he was stalling for exactly. Secret back-up would have been nice but if they’d really taken out all the guards then none was likely to come.

Protesilaus was following him, sword in hand, making random small talk on the way as if he didn't know how to deal with the silence. Tubbo had only caught a few glimpses of Zephyrus, the winged man, in the background or in reflections. He seemed to be tampering with the security systems on the way, meaning that Tubbo really might be completely alone on this if the sabotage was successful. Zephyrus was also pulling along a big wheeled container of some sort that was probably intended for the weapons.

The two of them were the known members of the Syndicate, a team of anarchist terrorists who gave nightmares to the local police forces, the national guard and occasionally the military, but it was also widely theorized to have a secret third member with fire powers. Nobody had ever managed to catch them in the act, the only evidence of the secret member's existence was the trail of smoking ruins following the pair, their targets always burned down in a blaze of extremely memorable pink flames.

Tubbo had a theory that there were actually two secret members in the Syndicate, because if you're going to have one secret member you might as well have two, right? Maybe even three! It just made sense.

His assistants hadn't seemed convinced by this logic.

They arrived at the large hall leading up to the main vault where the prototypes were hidden and Tubbo finally had a plan. Somebody (probably him, honestly) had left the remote control of his battle bots lying around on a sidetable. He took advantage of his captors checking the space for surprise guards and inched slowly towards the remote.

"Everything good up there?" Protesilaus called out to Zephyrus who had flown up to the rafters.

"All good."

"Alright, seems safe enough", said Protesilaus. "Now, open the vault."

Tubbo just needed to stall a little bit longer until he could grab the remote undetected. "Actually, maybe I just won't be able to live with the fact that I let you guys get your hands on superweapons? What if I'd rather die than let you have them?"

Protesilaus sighed. "Look, don't worry, it's for a good cause, I promise."

"I mean, you guys are supervillains."

"Oh yeah sure, you're literally making weapons for an imperialist government but we're the villains?"

"What about that orphanage you burned down?" Tubbo kept moving towards the sidetable, trying to make it look like he was just pacing nervously.

"I have NEVER burned down any orphanages, I do NOT have an irrational hatred of small children, in fact I LOVE orphans in particular, you can ask anyone."

"You did, though! That was like two years ago, back when you were part of the Sleepy Bois Inc!"

Tubbo actually knew quite a lot about the Sleepy Bois, the infamous villain team who were particularly known for conning people into taking part in some sort of strange experiments, like that time they somehow transported a hundred people to the moon and told them to terraform a random area. The group had broken up a while back and two of the four had since reformed. Well, more or less reformed anyway. Actually not really reformed, but they were at least sticking to smaller crimes these days.

Anyway Mr. Business was now one of Tubbo's best friends, although nobody was supposed to know that. And Dirty Crime Boy seemed like a surprisingly nice guy. He was out there running what seemed to be some kind of a drug van but Tubbo had chosen not to worry about it too much.

The other two members, however...

"Sleepy Boys? Doesn't ring a bell." Protesilaus' face was suspiciously blank.

"You know, back when you called yourself the Blood God."

"Nah nah nah, I'm Protesilaus, not the Blood God."

"Come on, you're OBVIOUSLY the Blood God."

"I've never even heard of that guy."

"You're LITERALLY a pigman with superhealing powers and a shiny magical sword, you wear a crown AND you're hanging out with a blond guy with wings who looks just like the Angel of Death."

"Wow, wild coincidence", said Protesilaus

“Not gonna lie, the Angel of Death is a really cool name“, said Zephyrus.

Tubbo ignored them. "And you sound exactly like the Blood God."

"I don't hear it", said Protesilaus.

"You said you don't even know who he is!"

"Exactly."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN 'EXACTLY'??? THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE!!!"

"Well I can't hear it if I've never even heard him speak. That's just logic."

Up in the rafters Zephyrus was cackling like a madman.

"You annoy me so much", said Tubbo.

"Aaaanyways, just give us a little peek into the vault, alright? Just out of curiosity, you know."

Tubbo had made it to the remote, he just needed one more distraction to cover for him grabbing it. "Uh..." Then he had an idea: he just took a quick sudden glance at the exit, as if he'd seen something over there and sure enough both of the criminals immediately turned to check. It was just long enough. He got the remote. "Okay fine, you can see the vault."

"Nice, nice." Protesilaus was still glancing around suspiciously but he had no idea what he should have been suspicious of.

Tubbo was more than happy to open the vault now. It might be holding the prototypes but it was also filled with a small army of robots.

All of which came to life with the press of a button.

"Ah", said Protesilaus. "There's his secret back-up."

"Oh Jesus", said Zephyrus. "I think we fucked up."

"You could say that", said Tubbo. "If you just leave peacefully I might let you go", he added in a sudden fit of uncharacteristic levels of confidence.

Protesilaus raised his sword. "Well you see, I really want those weapons, though."

"I guess you'll just have to fight the robots for it then", said Tubbo, configuring the targetting system.

"Mate, they've got guns on them", Zephyrus called out from above.

"Take cover then", said Protesilaus, very much not taking any cover at all himself.

Tubbo, pretty sure the bots knew which people to fight, released them on the criminals.

Protesilaus immediately managed to dodge the first few lazer bolts from the bots, but the third hit him on the arm. He flinched a bit but didn't seem too bothered. "Ouch. Okay so they can actually aim."

Still dancing around the shots, he held his hand to the wound and once he took it off, only the singed hole on his sleeve remained. The Blood God had been known for some kind of healing powers and coincidentally Protesilaus of the Syndicate, who apparently definitely wasn't the Blood God, just happened to also have healing powers. This fight was going to be hard even for thirty robots.

The pigman finally took some cover, hiding behind a pillar. The robots would have to move closer and Tubbo could already tell that if he'd manage to single them out, Protesilaus would easily take them down one by one.

Even worse, Zephyrus had hidden behind a different pillar up near the ceiling and was sniping the bots from above. They were supposed to be bulletproof but the man was absolutely cracked and managed to keep hitting them in the joints and in the eyes.

But at least the bots had given Tubbo some room to work with. He bolted into the vault and headed straight for a very specific section.

"So I just wanna know, professor", Protesilaus called out from the hall, "how are you NOT the evil mastermind here? You have a LITERAL horde of robots in your control that you can just let loose on people!"

"What do you MEAN? They're for fighting people like you! In this exact kind of situation!" Tubbo found what he was looking for and quickly unbuckled the huge harnesses holding it in place. He had to get a stool to reach the highest ones and nearly tripped on it in his hurry.

"Oh and how many of these have you sold to the government? And what if they just decide that they'd be very convenient for taking care of dissenters?"

"Well if the dissenters are literal supervillains, that sounds great." He climbed the ladder on the wall up to the platform by the mech suit and jumped inside.

He couldn't hear what Protesilaus responded after he pulled down the dome of the suit over his body. The sounds of fighting and the bulletproof glass drowned it all out from this distance, and the sound system wasn’t turned on yet. Now the odds should be a lot more even, though. Let’s see how they deal with this, he thought. He settled in and launched the mech--

... and then maneuvered awkwardly through the mess of secret weapons and machines inside his vault. He was pretty sure he didn't break too many things on the way, it was fine. In the corner of his eye he thought he saw a flash of pink and for a second he worried that the pigman had followed him into the vault where it would be almost impossible for him to fight in the suit but luckily he could still hear the sound of sword clanging into metal from outside.

He moved over to the vault door as sneakily as he could while piloting a 12-foot-tall machine in a tight space and looked out into the hall. The floor was littered with broken robots, and there were several blinded ones aimlessly wandering around and getting in the way of the ones that still functioned properly. Protesilaus was towards the back of the hall, stabbing a bot in the armpit and tearing off its arm, Zephyrus on the other hand, still perching on the rafters, had moved around the pillar he had hidden behind, now aiming away from the vault. Neither of them were looking at Tubbo. He took aim and shot at one of the huge grey wings.

"Ah! Fuck!" Zephyrus spun around. "You little shit!"

"Zephyrus, are you okay??" Protesilaus immediately looked over to his ally and took another hit himself.

"I'm FINE, dude!" Zephyrus sounded exasperated but fond. "Look out yourself! Also the kid has a fucking mech."

"A what?"

Tubbo slammed the vault door shut. Good luck getting in there now, Syndicate. Then he tossed aside some robot carcasses to clear out the floor and threw one at Protesilaus who dodged it easily but in the process took another hit from a different robot. He was starting to look tired and he was obviously distracted by Zephyrus getting hurt. That was promising.

Tubbo started climbing the pillar up to the ceiling. Zephyrus cursed again and tried to hop around the pillar to run across to the other side but his hurt wing didn't open properly so he lost his balance, slipped up and fell. "Shit!"

"ZEPHYRUS!"

The man managed to open his wings and soften the fall but the injury made him veer dangerously to the left and crash into a pile of broken robots. Protesilaus leaped over to him, dropping his sword and laying his hands on his friend's wing and back. A faint red glow emitted from the touch points.

Tubbo jumped back down to the ground and stormed at them. He punched the pigman right in the chin, sending him flying across the room. He then tried to grab Zephyrus but the man had already slipped away and had apparently managed to pick up his friend's sword. "You motherfucker", the man said, "I'm going to take that fucking suit apart and then it's your turn."

"Zeph!" Protesilaus called from the side and Zephyrus tossed the sword to him without taking his eyes of off Tubbo. Then the man pulled up his sniper rifle again and Tubbo quickly covered his weak points with his armoured arms and jumped behind a pillar. He needed to disarm Zephyrus ASAP.

Behind them, Protesilaus was taking care of the last few robots. Tubbo didn't have much time, but he couldn't do anything until Zephyrus would have to reload, the guy was just too accurate...

"Oh fuck", said Zephyrus suddenly. "Prot, the door!"

They all turned to look at the exit.

There, at the door, was Ranboo, widened eyes flicking between Tubbo, the broken robots and the Syndicade. He was holding a bowl of biscuits and a cup of tea. "Uh... hello? Hi?"

Ranboo was actually NOT allowed in the vaults but how do you stop someone who can literally teleport anyway? Tubbo was glad to see him sneaking in, though.

"Ranboo! Help! They're trying to steal the weapons!"

"I..." Ranboo seemed frozen in place.

"Ranboo!" Tubbo was starting to get worried. His husband wasn't even taking any shelter. He drove the mech over to him to at least give him some protection.

"I just came to bring you cookies? Coz I thought maybe you were staying late to make the deadline and I thought--"

"Ranboo, I'm being attacked by supervillains right now!"

"Look, what if we just talked this through? I'm sure everybody here would rather not kill each other, right?" Ranboo was tall enough to lay a hand on Tubbo's shoulder even when he was wearing the mech suit which kind of pissed Tubbo off to be quite honest.

"Sure", said Protesilaus, "I love negotiating. Give us the weapons and their blueprints and we're more than happy to go."

"See? That's good, right? Tubbo, we can just let them have the weapons."

"Ranboo, sometimes you're a bit too quirky for my liking. Stop being quirky, help me fight them. You can use your... T-E-L-I-P-O-R-T-A-T-I-O-N powers."

Everybody just stared at him for a second.

"Shouldn't it be T-E-L-E?" said Protesilaus.

"Tubbo, you realise they can spell words too, you know, like most people who graduated elementary school?" said Ranboo.

"I'M SORRY! I'M TIRED, OKAY?"

“You could have just said ‘use your powers’, I mean, I know what my powers are.”

“IT'S BEEN A REALLY LONG DAY!“

"Zephyrus, I think this guy might be too much for us, I've never met such intimidating intellect", said Protesilaus. Zephyrus seemed to already be dying of laughter and his ally's words did not help.

"Now that's just rude," said Tubbo.

He'd barely finished his sentence when a horrible whistling sound hit them all like an invisible cargo train. After a second Tubbo managed to reassemble his braincells long enough to figure it out: "The fire alarm!"

Then he noticed the grin on his enemy's face. "Well, good job, everyone! Let's go home, Zephyrus", said Protesilaus cheerfully.

"Sure, mate."

The secret third member of the Syndicate, Tubbo suddenly remembered. The container they'd brought with them was gone too. Well, fuck. "This whole thing was a diversion??"

"Yep." The Protesilaus was already at the exit and Zephyrus was following right behind him. "See ya, losers!"

Something inside the vault exploded, making a muffled bang through the door, as if just to prove where exactly the fire had been lit.

"Oh man..." Tubbo flopped down on his seat. "I spent SO LONG building all those things!"

"Tubbo, we need to get out." Ranboo took him by the hand of his mech suit and pulled him along.

"No, we could still go in and save the--"

"No, Tubbo. Let's NOT run into the vault full of dangerous chemicals that's literally on fire, actually."

×××

By the time the fire department showed up, pink flames had enveloped the entire lab complex. The terrorists presumably had at least one of the prototypes now and all the remaining ones were a lost cause.

It's not like all the work was gone to waste, they'd made some backups at least, but it would be a pain to find a new lab and order all the extremely volatile chemicals again. So much paperwork. Tubbo was really not good at paperwork.

"Well, there goes my summer holidays I guess", he said.

"Yeah", said Ranboo. "There they go."

×××

"So... Lethe", said Techno at the next Syndicate meeting, "you never happened to mention you were friends with Professor Underscore."

Ranboo shifted nervously in his chair. "I mean... in my defence, you never said you were going to raid his lab?"

"True, true. It didn't seem like relevant information at the time I suppose. You know, because you're kinda more in the group just for the book club and Bake Off Fridays and not so much for the vigilante thing."

"How do you know Professor Underscore, Lethe?" asked Niki gently.

Ranboo looked around the table. He was fairly certain that the others wouldn't kill him for fraternizing with the enemy. He was pretty sure anyway. At least 70% sure.

Also they were all staring at him now.

"Uh... he's my... husband?"

The staring continued.

"Oh!" said Niki.

"Well", said Techno. "This is awkward."

"Uh huh?" Ranboo responded, his entire body tense and slightly wobbly.

"Techno", Phil said softly. Techno brushed him off.

"So uh, are you attached to him, Lethe?"

"Y-yes?" Ranboo straightened his back. "Yes." he said again, more firmly.

"Alright. I guess in the future we should try not to kill him then."

#dsmp fanfiction #technoblade fanfiction #im not tagging the others #i feel like im too much of a techno stan and it shows

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maaaddiexo · 4 years ago

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Birthday Encounters | Legolas Greenleaf

Mainlist | Serieslist

Pairing: Legolas Greenleaf x fem!reader

“Aragorn!”

Strong arms wrapped around her waist as her friend of countless years lifted her and spun her in circles.

“Y/N! It has been far too long.” The King placed Y/N back on her feet in his home.

Y/N nodded. “I agree. Thank you for the invitation.”

Aragorn gave Y/N a kind smile and gestured for them to walk. “Of course. How have you been?”

Y/N smiled. “Good. I have been helping the Ents repair their land since Saruman’s destruction of Fangorn Forest. Did you get my wedding present? I heard Arwen enjoyed jewelry-making in her spare time.”

Aragorn smiled. “Yes, she loves it.” He was upset Y/N could not make their wedding and considered postponing it just so that she could attend. But being so ill, they had no idea when she would be well enough to attend. “What else have you been doing?”

Y/N shook her head. “Traveling. Relaxing. You know that fight took more out of me than I ever got back.”

Aragorn nodded. “Somehow, I always forget you fought in the Battle of the Five Armies all those years ago. Perhaps because you never speak of it.”

Y/N smiled sadly. “Well, there’s nothing good to speak of. Perhaps if there was, I would talk more of it.”

Aragorn frowned. “Sorry. I did not mean to upset you.”

Y/N looked over the balcony they had stopped at, seeing Arwen talking to two elves she did not recognize. Not that she knew many to begin with. “It’s alright.”

“Come, Lady Y/N. I am sure you’ve missed Arwen.”

As they descended the stairs, Y/N said, “I’m not a Lady. You know that.”

“You are in my eyes. But don’t let Arwen hear that.”

Y/N laughed as they reached the bottom of the stairs, catching the attention of Aragorn’s wife, Arwen.

“Y/N!” The elf exclaimed happily, reaching forward to grab her arms. The woman had become used to the customs of men and women while married to Aragorn and moved to hug Y/N, a custom most elves did not engage in. As Arwen had put it years ago, elves did not like to touch people they were not close to.

“Arwen! I have missed you, my friend.”

Arwen, who looked like she had not aged a day, smiled in agreement. “The last time I saw you-”

“I looked horrible,” Y/N laughed. “Hopefully, I look much better now.”

Arwen smiled. “Much better.”

“Arwen? Are you not going to introduce us to your friend?” The two elves waited expectantly behind the dark-haired elf. Both were fair-skinned with braided silver hair. The one who spoken was a young girl, though it was hard to tell just how old she was.

Arwen smiled. “This is Y/N. She and Aragorn met when Sauron tried to regain power. She has been a friend ever since.”

The two elves gave short bows. “And this is Selina and Legolas. Sindar elves.”

Mirkwood elves, Y/N realized. And the name Legolas rang a bell. “You are the son of Thranduil.”

Legolas nodded but displayed a slightly sour face. “And Seline is my guard. She goes wherever I go and has become quite a close companion to Arwen and Aragorn.”

Y/N smiled at Seline, who did not talk much. Both were ethereal in their elven beauty, practically glowing. Y/N felt ugly in their presence – but that was what most non-elves felt. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“I assume Aragorn’s birthday brings you here as well?”

Y/N nodded. “Considering I missed their wedding, it was the least I could do.”

Aragorn sighed. “For the last time, we do not blame you. You made great sacrifices on the Lonely Mountain. It is not your fault you get sick often.”

Y/N looked away in shame.

“Oh, leave her be, Aragorn. You know how stubborn she can be. More stubborn than that red-bearded friend of yours, Gimli.”

“Seline!” A small girl appeared from the west hall, reaching the she-elf’s waist. “You’re back!”

The elf smiled and bent down, whispering something in the little girl’s ear before being towed down the hall to an unknown location. The little girl barely dodged the incoming servant, dressed in purple and gold thread.

“My Lord and Lady, the advisors need to speak with you. Urgently.”

Aragorn sighed and reached for his love. “We will be right there. Y/N? Do you mind showing Legolas around? He has not visited since the attack.”

Y/N chanced a glance at the elven prince before nodding. “Of course. Does that include the wine cellar?”

Aragorn playfully flicked his friend’s nose. “You stay out of there. You drink like a dwarf.”

“I take that as a compliment!” Y/N yelled as the duo followed after the servant. Once they were out of sight and earshot, she turned to Legolas. “Shall we start at the wine cellar?”

•••

“And that’s it,” Y/N said, stopping where they had started. She hid her pain well, casually leaning against a stone pillar to relieve some of the pressure in her lungs.

“They have expanded since I was last here,” Legolas mused, taking in the almost-elvish architecture. Then again, Aragorn had spent a lot of his live in Rivendell. Legolas looked back at Y/N, who seemed to have trouble breathing. Her chest expanded roughly, stuttering as her eyes watered. “Are you alright, My Lady?”

Y/N forced a laugh. “Why does everyone call me that? I’m not a Lady.”

“You look like one.” Legolas looked an elf caught off guard, which was a rare thing to behold. His fair cheeks flushed slightly and he looked away momentarily before speaking again, this time much faster. “You seem to have trouble breathing.”

Y/N waved him off. “It’s nothing, really. It’ll pass soon enough.”

“What is ‘it’?”

Y/N sighed. “A long time ago, I used to live in Lake-town. I lived there when Thorin Oakenshield and Bilbo Baggins woke the dragon, Smaug, and he burned my home. The smoke damaged my lungs. I have struggled to breathe since but exercise makes it worse. I don’t expect an elf like you to understand. I know your kind never tires.”

Legolas squinted at Y/N. Her ears were round and her skin was not flawless but…there was something about her. The way she carried herself. “You have elven blood in you.”

Y/N was surprised. Most people didn’t notice the drop of elf in her. “Yes. One of ancestors was elvish. Though, I inherited nothing but prolonged aging and the ability to jump.”

Legolas felt himself smile at the news. There were few of his kin left in Middle-Earth. And halfling or not, she counted.

“Do you know any elvish?”

Y/N shook her head, still trying to catch her breath and stay the pain deep in her lungs. “No. Aragorn tried to teach me but it just doesn’t sound-” Y/N couldn’t finish her sentence, interrupted by a coughing fit. She bent over the railing, coughing and trying to catch her breath. Something touched her back – Legolas, she realized. She waved him off. “Just give me a moment. This damned corset makes matters so much worse.”

“Corset?”

Y/N nodded and something was brought to her lips. Legolas’ waterjug. She drank eagerly until the rough burn in her throat was soothed. “Thank you. And, yes. My mother insisted I wear a corset because it is what women do these days.” Y/N harrumphed at that and Legolas laughed.

“Is your mother here?”

“No, she stayed with my father back home to work on our farm.”

“Then why not loosen it? Or lose it entirely?”

“You make it sound like disobeying a parent’s order is easy.”

“I know for a fact that it isn’t,” Legolas said firmly. “But doing what you desire is freeing. Even if it means just losing a corset.”

“Legolas! Y/N!” Aragorn and Arwen appeared at the end of the hallway before Y/N could say anything. “Dinner is in an hour.”

Y/N smiled and Arwen moved forward. “Let’s get you changed, my friend.”

Y/N let herself be dragged off to her friend’s chambers where Arwen searched through the wardrobe, stopping on a pale blue dress with an attached cape and gold ringlets at the shoulders.

“Perfect.”

Arwen braided Y/N’s hair in a signature elvish braid, pulling it back to reveal her perfectly round ears. “I sense Aragorn and I interrupted something between you and Legolas back in the main entryway.”

Y/N shook her head softly. “He just said something, is all.”

“You’ve got the furrow in your brow you always get when you think too hard. Did his words bother you? He is from Mirkwood. They don’t have the best manners.”

“No, not at all,” Y/N assured as they moved to the door. It was almost time for the birthday feast to begin. “He just said something…eye-opening.”

“An elf? Saying something wise? How odd.”

Y/N laughed as they approached the garden. Legolas, Seline, Aragorn, and red-bearded dwarf were waiting for them. The human and two elves had changed, and Aragorn now wore his signature crown. He looked like a king. Arwen left Y/N’s side to join her husband’s.

“What’s so funny?”

“Just your wife finally grasping human humour. She’s become quite good at it.”

Aragorn rolled his eyes. “Don’t remind me. Y/N, this is Gimli. I’ve told you about him.”

Y/N curtsied. “I have heard plenty about you. Pleasure to finally meet you.”

Gimli touched his heart like an elf would. “The pleasure is all mine, Milady.”

“Why do people keep saying that?”

Gimli stuttered. He was expecting a thank you, not an argument. “W-well…you look like a princess.”

Y/N glanced at Legolas from the corner of her eye in amusement. He was already staring at her. “People keep saying that too.”

Aragorn chuckled and the two humans shared a look. The other four looked between the two humans as their eyebrows furrowed and raised and, finally, Y/N stuck out her tongue childishly.

“Something is happening that I do not understand,” Gimli finally said.

Legolas, who did not take his eyes off the two, said, “Me neither.”

“Shall we go in?” Aragorn said. “The little ones are already inside.”

“You mean the Hobbits you always talk about in your letters? Y/N asked eagerly.

Aragorn chuckled. “Yes. I will introduce you.”

“May I escort you to our table’ Milady?”

Y/N smiled at Gimli and nodded, slipping her hand around his upper bicep. Legolas and Seline followed behind them. The vines parted to reveal a garden from a fairytale. People were chatting loudly and small children ran around their parents’ feet. Ahead, four small men were already seated at the head table and turned to see them arrive.

“Legolas! Gimli!”

Y/N moved away so that the six could rejoice, looking for her place at the table. Her name was written in beautiful Elven cursive and knew Arwen had written it. Her name was between Legolas’ and Aragorn’s and she felt comfort in that. Though she wasn’t sure why Legolas’ proximity had an effect on her. Y/N moved to walk around the garden, examining all the details that had been considered for Aragorn’s ninetieth birthday.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Y/N turned to see Legolas had approached her. She was standing by the wall of well-wishes, where guests wrote notes for the birthday boy.

“Yes. Arwen did a wonderful job of combining both human and Elvish customs. I’m sure Aragorn will be quite overjoyed when they finally come in.”

“May I escort you back to our table?”

Y/N stared at Legolas’ outreached arm, waiting for her take it as she took Gimli’s. “I was under the impression that Elves did not touch people outside their loved ones?”

“You are correct,” Legolas smiled humbly. “But humans do. Besides, I spent plenty of time with the Hobbits, Gimli, and Aragorn while fighting Sauron. I do not stick as strictly to Elven customs as I once did.”

Y/N smiled. “In that case,” she wrapped her arm around Legolas’ bicep. “I would love to be escorted. Perhaps…we could dance later too?”

“Mirkwood elves don’t really dance,” Legolas admitted. “But a few years back Gimli introduced me to drinking games. I’m quite good at those.”

Y/N laughed. “I’ll take your word for it and pass on that offer. I’ve heard elves cheat at them. But we could sit and talk.” They were at the table now. “Arwen and Aragorn have told me all about Rivendell but I know very little of Mirkwood.”

Legolas bowed. “You have an accord.”

The night was filled with laughter, spilt ale, and dancing. Pippin and Merry had been up on a random table for the past thirty minutes, singing as their mugs of ale were continuously filled.

Nyx’s stomach hurt from laughing so long and hard and was grateful her dress didn’t have a corset. Her lungs began to ache and she reached for a goblet of water in hopes of staying the oncoming coughing fit.

“You should try marshmallow root,” said Legolas suddenly. He and Y/N were the only two at the table, retelling stories of their past and laughing at their friends. “It will not heal your lungs, but it will soothe your throat.”

“Does nothing get past your eyes?”

“Well,” Legolas smiled. “Elves do have excellent eyesight.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I see you’re catching on to human humour as well. Do you know any jokes of ours?”

Legolas smiled. “Gimli once told me one. Are you ready? Okay. What hangs at a man’s thigh and wants to poke the hole it’s poked before? And I’ll give you a hint. It is not what you think it is.”

Y/N squinted. “It’s a dwarf joke? The answer must be inappropriate somehow.”

“I can assure you it is not.”

“What is it then?”

“A key.”

Y/N laughed, though she found it be less funny and more of a riddle. She did not want to hurt Legolas’ feelings.

“Now tell me something about your culture. Humans never cease to amaze me.”

“What do you want to know?”

“You commented on how elves treat loved ones. I know Aragorn is human but he was raised in Rivendell. What are your customs?”

“My father always kisses my mother on the cheek. And whenever either of them leaves the house, they tell the other they love them. And my mother often falls asleep on my father in sitting room when he reads.”

“Was he boring?”

“What?”

“She fell asleep on him when he read. Was he boring?”

Y/N laughed. “No, not at all. He was very good at telling stories, actually. And my mother always says that falling asleep on his shoulder is when she gets the best sleep. Because she’s close to him.”

“How is that comfortable? How does that even work?” Legolas laughed. Y/N could see he was trying to imagine it in his head.

“Like this.” Carefully, so as not to cross too many of Legolas’ boundaries, she moved closer to Legolas and slouched in her seat, gently resting her head on his shoulder. “And my father would read chapter after chapter. Tell story after story. And my mother would fall asleep on his shoulder and I would fall asleep in front of the fireplace.”

Legolas smiled, watching his friends dance together as a beautiful girl rested on his shoulder. “I understand now. This is nice.”

“So nice I may not move,” Y/N joked.

Legolas touched Y/N’s hand beneath the round table. “So don’t.”

#romance #love #legolas #legolas imagine #legolas greenleaf #legolas greenleaf imagine #lotr #lotr imagine #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #orlando bloom #orlando #bloom #orlando bloom imagine

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sickybubbies · 4 years ago

Text

A/n: Y'all I realised there's really not enough pregnant Jungkook on here with Jikook ofc I'm a sucker for them lately. Anyway, sorry for the crappy ending, enjoy!

TW: Emeto, Mpreg

----------------------------

"You alright babe?" Jimin rasps, leaning up so he was perching on his elbow as he squints his eyes where he could make out a faint figure of Jungkook half climbing; hauling himself onto the bed under the early greys of the morning.

"Mhmm," Jungkook hums quietly for a response, grimacing at the acid like texture in his throat that he was left with after throwing up. It was raw and strained, and Jungkook didn't like it one bit. He huffs and slips a hand under his shirt to hold on to his pudgy stomach, for two reasons. It was pushing past the waistline of his sweats from how bloated he was, after expelling the contents of his stomach routinely which tires him out endlessly and he wants to rip his insides out.

But Jungkook decides to be forgiving, because he's a few weeks into carrying the beautiful baby that he and Jimin had always dreamed about having. The pair had spent days and nights, with Jimin's head on Jungkook's torso as they both squabbled about how they'd raise their child way back in the boyfriend phase. (“One baby with your short genes, one with my tall genes and my good looks, how's that sound?" "Yah!") Jungkook reminds himself that it was all gonna be worth it in the end, it's always worth it. He imagines just how bright Jimin's eyes were to get once their baby was here, if it wasn't bright enough when Jungkook told him the news of his pregnancy; he fears he'd metaphorically go blind from his joy.

"I've just been sick." He murmurs, leaning back onto the headboard. Jungkook slouches, the energy sucked out of his bones as he shuts his eyes to hopefully regroup himself.

Jimin hums in acknowledgement, more awake now that he was aware of his husband's strife and leans over to press a generous kiss to his forehead. He wasn't going to let the younger deal with it alone, though the ones he accidentally sleeps through he's always up and at his service when needed and to smother him in love for afterwards.

"I thought you were gonna. I could hear your tummy all night going squelch squelch" He mumbles playfully, hoping it would lighten the dreadful atmosphere. Jimin places a hand on Jungkook's stomach and begins to rub circles into it, hoping it would ease him some.

The latter's abs had begun to disappear and his stomach was slightly dome shaped from the swell he had, his skin was softer and squishier the closer he gets to the second trimester and Jimin couldn't keep his hands off of Jungkook. In his defense, his husband looked adorable pregnant, he adored the sight so much and loved the tiny being to bits already.

"Shut up Chim, listening to you is making me wanna vomit again" Jungkook groans, shifting on the mattress so he could get comfortable and pressing a fist to his lips as he feels his stomach fizzle up and an airy burp escape from his lips.

Jimin pouts, he begins carding through Jungkook's soft purple hair. "Still feel bad? Aren't you supposed to feel better after bringing everything up?" He questions, his heart clenching as he watches Jungkook's face begin to pale and paint a tinge of green.

Jungkook shrugs. "Dunno about that hyung, I don't feel better at all. I feel queasy" He admits, he'd learnt to vocalize to the older about how he felt; if he doesn't it's gonna end up with another one of Jimin's shirts in the wash, trust he's been there and learnt his lesson.

"My baby…" Jimin coos softly, propping up next to him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He keeps his fingers in Jungkook's hair, looking down at him and kissing the crown of his head as he slowly scratches his scalp. He holds the younger tighter when he stiffens and moans, his brows furrowing from the pain and havoc the nausea was causing in Jungkook's stomach from how he nuzzles his nose into Jimin's chest. "It's one of those days huh? Crackers and water, maybe some ginger ale if we feel less stubborn. How long does lil' bean plan to keep you sick for anyways?"

"That feels nice..." Jungkook mumbles out, relaxing a little. Jimin's soft yet aimless conversations helped keep him distracted, and so were his gentle touches they did a great job in lulling him to sleep.

Speaking of which, Jungkook is just about to drift into dreamland in the comfort of Jimin's arms when his stomach churns again. He feels a splash of bitter bile in the back of his throat, almost like the residue of sick that was still sitting at his throat from earlier. He almost sits upright, clenching his throat and covering his mouth as he belches. It catches Jimin's attention.

"Jungkookie, Jungkookie" Jimin says in a haste, cursing under his breath as he looks around for anything Jungkook to spew in without jostling his stomach too much. His eyes drawing back to the younger one in worry when he next hears a wet gag which meant he couldn't hold on any longer now that his hand was leaving his mouth.

Jimin looks around and finds the glass bowl he had on his side table which Jungkook had brought him months back, he sighs in relief. It was stashed with a bunch of sweets and random bits that he's quickly dumping out. He snags it up and under Jungkook's chin, straightening up with him and clicking his tongue when Jungkook whines and protests.

"It's okay, Jungkookie it's okay, do it here. In here babe, I'll clean it don't worry. It's just a bowl" He assures softly, lowering it slightly so it wasn't right in his face as he slowly massages the back of his neck.

Jungkook whimpers, feeling his stomach slosh and his muscles tense as he wraps an arm around his middle. He barely registers Jimin turning the lamp on before he's disgorging a stream of vomit into the bowl.

He pants and grunts, jolting with a hiccup. His breath gets caught in his throat and he gags, coughing and spluttering before more chunky liquid is brought up which splashes into the bowl. Jungkook squeezes his eyes shut, just the fact that it looked so much like his dinner still sent his stomach into another wheel.

"That's it, let it out Kookie, my sweet boy." Jimin hums, digging under the sick man's shirt and rubbing up and down his arched back. He grimaces when Jungkook retches again, throwing up even more which makes his heart ache.

"You're doing well bun, I'm so proud of you. Keep going until you feel like you've finished" He encourages, kissing his shoulder and pulling him closer before pausing when Jungkook sobs.

"H-hyung…" Jungkook chokes out, hiccuping as fat tears roll down his rosy and embarrassed cheeks. Usually, he's never one to cry so easily but pregnancy hormones had him spiralling into a pouty and emotional wreckage in a flash. Something was gnawing at him.

"Jungkookie" Jimin whispers so he didn't startle him, stroking his hair back as he listened.

"W-why this bowl… I got you it f-for our anniversary!" Jungkook cries out making Jimin flinch, his mouth wide in realisation now that Jungkook's refusal to puke earlier was because he didn't want to do it in such a meaningful, meaningful bowl. He forgot Jungkook was so peculiar about the little things.

"Y-you could've gotten-" Jungkook hiccups. "A-another bowl o-or the trashcan. I w-worked so hard to get you this. Do you know how much it cost me on our holiday? N-now I've been sick in it i-it's all ruined I fucking h-hate you" He rambles, in the spur of his overriding emotions he misses Jimin's amused expression.

"Cute" He murmurs under his breath with a quiet chuckle, wiping his tears with his sleeve. "I'm sorry. I'll clean it up, squeaky clean and good as new. You won't even remember that you've been sick in it. I'm serious!" Jimin's voice raises a pitch as Jungkook looks at him unconvinced, his doe eyes still holding tears.

"Gimmie a kiss" He giggles, crawling forward while moving the bowl away as Jungkook groans loudly and scrunches his nose and tilts his head back. "A-ah ew no I've literally- Jimin I just puke-" He stammers, pursing his lips as Jimin eventually steals a kiss from him.

His tears were dry now, the fit subsided and it was only laughter and giggles together even if Jungkook's morning was off to a rough start Jimin always made it better.

#bts emeto #bts sickfic #bts mpreg #pregnant!jungkook #caring!jimin #sick!jungkook #tw mpreg #tw emeto #if you don't like it avoid pls

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forthehpfanboys · 4 years ago

Text

Soft Side

Pair: James Potter x Reader; he/him.

Summary: James doesn’t let his soft side show in fear of being teased and certainly doesn’t let it known that he’s been crushing on his best mates brother. But one day, it slips free, Sirius finds out and he gets to go stargazing- Not too bad.

Warnings: Cute? Lowkey trash?? I’m sorry- I tried-

Notes: So.. I had no idea what to put for the gif- so here’s this. I’ll edit this tomorrow. Pick your house!

~DO NOT REPOST ANYWHERE~

If there was one thing James Potter wanted to keep secret, it was his love for all things soft. Soft stuffies, soft people, soft blankets, soft sweaters- everything soft. He knew he’d be absolutely dominated by teases and jokes if his bestest of friends were to ever find out so he never let it show. That is until he met you. You managed to take his soft side and rip it from the deep confides of his soul and layer it above his loud, prankster personality. He loved and hated it. When he was with you, he just wanted to make you flower crowns or read to you during a thunderstorm by candle light.

The hardest part of all of this was you weren’t his. Not yet, anyway. You weren’t really dating anyone and chose to focus on your very important studies. While you weren’t necessarily the best friends with the group self proclaimed as the Marauders, you were blood related to Sirius, more specifically his younger brother. So that was just another kink in the chain of James’ feelings.

I mean- who could actually fall for his best friend’s brother? Bloody James Potter. He thought sourly as he gazed at you across the dining table. Sirius had his arm wrapped around your shoulder, whispering gossip to you, probably about Snivellus or maybe Remus, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was how you covered your mouth and laughed into your hand. The raven haired student could genuinely hear you laugh, have that laugh be the only noise he hears until he dies, and he’d be content, hell, even happy about it.

“So, Potter? What’s the plan for today?” Sirius spoke up, returning said males thoughts to the blank paper laid across the table. At some point, your eyes had flickered to his, and he would swear to the heavens he could see the stars sparkling in your irises- even if that’s cheesy.

“Well, I-” He closed his textbook quickly and slid it away from him. He didn’t really think this far ahead so he didn’t know. He ran his finger tips along the tan parchment that the Marauders desperately wished would show Hogwarts in its entirety to them. “I didn’t plan anything yet.”

“Boo!” Sirius called out, smirking and winking at some Ravenclaw bird that passed by the table. “Ah, come on. I thought we’d go pick on Sniv-” He let out a groan, pulling his arm away from you to wrap them around his stomach, where you’d elbowed him.

“Stop calling him that, Sirius. He’s not a bad guy, in fact, he’s just like you, greasy hair and all.” You snickered, watching your brother curl in on himself. That was another thing he really liked about you. You managed to reel Sirius back when he was going too far and control him, somehow. You were the only man Sirius ever listened too and it amazed James to such a degree. What magic did you hold that allowed you to stop this curly haired idiot and how does he get some?

“Why not, Chortle?” James smirked, trying to shove the love-sick grin that was desperate to spread across his lips down into non existence. He let out his own laugh when you kicked his shin lightly.

“Well, James, if you must know, bullying the kid for no reason is a major jerk move! Slytherin’s aren’t that bad!” You ignored James’ and Siruis’ gasp of shock. “Besides, you guys have got to stop giving everyone terrible nicknames!” You grinned at him, causing his cheeks to tint a soft pink. “All of your nicknames suck royal hippogriff!”

“That is not true and you know it!” James flicked his dry quill at you, his eyes wide in fake shock. “I am the Nickname King at this table, (Y/n)! If you don’t like it, you won’t be a part of the Marauders anymore.” He genuinely thought it was a cute nickname- your animagus was a hyena, after all. He thought it fit.

“First of all, I came up with the group name, you git! Second of all- no! Do not interrupt me! Second of all, I also came up with Moony AND Padfoot! You came up with Prongs! What the hell is a prong?” You joking yelled out, standing up and leaning on the table to poke his nose. James felt his blush double and was really praying no one noticed, but judging by the way Sirius was smirking at him, he knew. James’ eyes jumped between your brothers smirk and your dizzying smile.

“Well, I came up with Chortle.” James chewed on the inside of his lip, trying to ignore how his heart was speeding up in his chest. Please stop being cute- James let out a silent sigh of relief when you finally sat down and hoped your brother was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. The odds were not in James’ favor.

“Yeah, and it’s Gods awful, Prongs.” Sirius spoke up, leaning over the table some. “Maybe something like ‘love’ is more fitting for him, hmm?”

“Watch it, Padfoot.” James spat out, his hands curling into fists under the table. This was what he didn’t want. He didn’t want Sirius knowing or Remus knowing and definitely didn’t want you know he was absolutely smitten over you. You’d probably laugh at him, or hate him, or never speak to him again and he couldn’t handle that.

“What? I’m just trying to help my best mate notice the obvious cru-” Sirius shut up the exact moment James slammed his hands down on the wooden table.

“Shut it, Sirius.” He spat out again before throwing one leg over the bench, followed by the other and storming out of the dining hall, shoving his way right past Remus, who had just walked close to the table. He ignored the soft brunette's call after him and the echoing ‘what did you do?” made by the same voice. He ran his hands through his hair as he walked out of the school. “Bullocks- that- Ugh- mangy dog-” He grumbled to himself as he strutted across the courtyard, ignoring the swooning birds on the sidelines and heading straight down the stone steps to the Black Lake.

The young male in specks made a beeline straight toward the weeping willow, successfully ducking to avoid a branch before poking the knot on the bark to help it relax. He leaned against the harsh bark, his gaze casted over the reflective water. He let out a sigh, finding the harsh rays of sun far to warm for his liking. He took off his Gryffindor robe, throwing it onto one of the lower hanging branches before pulling his sweater over his head, forcing his glasses to become askew.

Once they were fixed, he set the setter next to the robe and allowed gravy to pull him to the ground. He crossed his legs into a knot as he rolled up his sleeves, still trying to actively avoid the unforgiving warmth. The male was just happy the tree was providing a nice spot of shade for him to relax under. He pushed his glasses up again, a sigh leaving his lips while he pressed his back against the bark.

“Hey.”

James whipped his head around, seeing you kind of popping out from beside the tree with a smile that had his heart stopping.

“Hey! Wha- um- What are you doing down here? Shouldn’t you be reading or studying or doing some academic even though you get the best marks of our year?” As he spoke, his head slowly lifted and his back straightened up away from the wood; he didn’t want you thinking he was a slob. His brown eyes jumped around behind the lenses, before they settled on your absolutely captivating (e/c) ones. His eyes followed yours as you sat down next to him, shedding your house robe to relieve the warmth you were also feeling. He found himself staring at your cute lips and even cuter pink cheeks. Oh, Merlin, he had it bad. Under the shady tree, it felt hotter the closer you got to his side.

“Oh, well, I felt bad for Siri being an absolute twat and decided to apologize for him. So, I’m sorry on his behalf.” You spoke up, plucking a rock free from the dirt and casually throwing it to the water, enjoying the ripple it created. While your gaze was on the lake, his was glued to his cheeks. He took in a stuttering breath before boldly wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you to his side.

“You didn’t have too, Chortle! I’m all set!” He casted a smirk in your direction, praying to Merlin his heart wasn’t audible from his ribcage. His eyes widened when the blush across your face increased ten fold. “You ok?”

“Huh?” You turned toward him, your eyes mimicking a doe’s in pure innocence. “Oh! Yeah, I’m good, just um- Warm!” You couldn’t stop looking at his eyes. God, they reminded you of the forest, not that you’d admit it to his face. He was struggling to turn away from your gaze as well. He felt his lungs physically stop moving when your eyes glanced down at his semi parted lips before popping back up to his, all of it happened so fast.

“Caaann I help?” James found himself leaning in more, a genuine smile coming up to his lips. He subconsciously tightened his arm around your shoulder, his own eyes flicking down to your lips like it was some kind of signal that he prayed would mean something.

“I think you might be able too, yeah.” You whispered, leaning up ever so slightly. At this point, James’ noose was almost touching yours and he was wondering if you could see your reflection in his glasses, because he could see his own in your eyes. He wanted to say he moved in closer and connected your lips, but he couldn’t say for sure. Judging by how poorly you both actually aimed, you both surged forward. Despite James being desperate for the feeling of your lips against his, the kiss remained softer than silk. His hand cupped your cheek, gently sliding your lips to press against his more effectively

James pulled away, his grin from before growing wider. His thumb ran across your red cheek. He reached for your hand with his spare one and grasped it as if it was an injured butterfly.

“How long?” His voice was quiet, but sounded almost too loud compared to the gentle silence surrounding the two of you. “When?” He had so many questions, but wanted to focus on the most important ones.

“2 years now; since you and Sirius turned that one Slytherin statue red and gold.” You let out a soft giggle and leaned into the touch. James realized at this moment you were the softest member of your house and it only had him swooning harder for you.

“Godric, I love you, (Y/n).” He let out a snort when your eyes widened. “What?” He let go of your cheek and opted for pulling you into his side, effectively starting a snuggle session.

“Nothing! Just thought you forgot my name. I’m glad you didn’t!” You played with the males fingers. The seeker could never have forgotten your name. It echoed in his dreams, he saw it written in stars, and he heard it everywhere he turned. He literally couldn’t escape it.

“I’d never forget the name of my love.” Forever the smooth talker. He smiled wider when you let out another bunch of giggles. He would never get tired of that sound. The two of you jumped when someone coughed. You both turned to see Remus and Sirius standing just off to the side, right outside of your peripheral vision.

“Hey! What happened to Marauders before my baby brother?” Sirius put his hands on his waist, a knowing smile spread across his lips. James groaned. He’d rather deal with a Devil's Snare.

“I’m not your baby brother!” You cried out, your face turning redder than ever. You threw a small rock at your brother, watching it bounce pathetically off his chest. “Merlin.” You grumbled, curling into James’ side.

“Siri, be happy for them!” Remus hit the males chest with a book. “At least it’s out and they can stop swooning in secret.” The werewolf turned back to the new couple. “Besides, they’re cute together.” He stated before walking off, dragging Sirius away by his sleeve.

“Wait, no, I’m not done teasing my little brother!”

“Yes, you are. Did you know James had a soft side though?”

The pair of voices faded as they walked back up the stone steps, allowing the couple to watch the lake reflect the beautiful scenery around it and just chat. The couple didn’t move until the stars replaced the sun and every constellation had been pointed out in the night sky. Sure, it was past curfew, but neither cared. They had each other.

#james potter x male reader #james potter imagine #james potter #hp imagine #hp x male reader #hp marauders #marauders x male reader #marauders imagine #sirius balck #remus lupin #male reader #x male reader #Ronny Writes #fic #hp male fic #hp fic

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barbasbodaciousbeard · 4 years ago

Text

I can see us Lost in the Memory

Summary: Caring is not an advantage. To Mycroft, this was a belief he found through the calculated logic that ruled his life. If was analytical and detached and certainly had nothing to do with Sherlock or the childhood neighbor.

Love You to the Moon and to Saturn

A/N: In a break from my regularly scheduled SVU writing, here’s a four part Folklore inspired Mycroft Holmes thing.

Salt air, and the rust on your door I never needed anything more Whispers of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

When the Holmes parents invited Ruth on their vacation to start the summer, she couldn’t resist the chance. Her mom would be busy, and the family would be staying on a beach in a little house for a week. You’re just so good with both my boys Mrs. Holmes had said with a soft smile as she pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Since Christmas, she’d had late night phone calls with Mycroft regularly, sneaking the handset for the phone to her room and staying up to happily listen to the minutiae of his day and tell him about her own. To help calm his worries, she took to dropping by to visit Sherlock. But this trip in May would be their first time together save a stolen weekend after midterms where she’d made it to Oxford.

When she arrived at their usual home, not the country house she was so used to, Sherlock darted out, wrapping around her as she laughed. He was almost not a little boy anymore, though she was certain he’d find something broken that they’d try to rebuild together. She could see Mycroft’s frame in the doorway, and her breath caught. He’d only gotten stuffier since going to Oxford, always in a suit. It worked for him or she’d have teased him mercilessly for it. There was also the fact that she was simply overjoyed to see him.

“Missed you,” she said softly, looking up at him as Sherlock watched them suspiciously before going back into the house.

“And I missed you, Ruth.”

“Mummy, I think Mycroft and Ruth are going to start snogging.” The youngest Holmes ran to the kitchen, and Ruth flushed a deep pink and giggled as the very tips of Mycroft’s ears changed color.

“Do you care if she knows?” Ruth asked, and Mycroft was acutely aware of the power he had to hurt Ruth in that moment. He would never dream of it, but this would potentially be over in three years, at which point hurting her would be inevitable. But still he held out hope he could balance both.

“Not at all,” he said softly, the same dignified air he always carried. But instead of staying away as he led her in, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her lips before placing a hand on the small of her back and leading her into the house. His mother and father had the kindness to leave them be, and the drive went smoothly. When Sherlock became antsy, Ruth watched as Mycroft told him about people he’d encountered at university, problems in the dorms. It was a game the pair had always played when Sherlock had to be kept still too long. The younger Holmes would tell Mycroft how obvious it was his roommate's girlfriend had been eating all the food from the common area, and Mycroft would pretend he hadn’t figured it out with the same reasoning.

“Ruth, come here,” Mrs. Holmes had said, calling her to the kitchen as she left the boys to unload bags from the car. “Are you dating my son?”

“I love him very much.”

“The boys are in the last room on the left. You’ll be the first on the right. Behave yourselves, allright?”

“Yes ma’am.”

The evening found them watching Sherlock as Mr. and Mrs. Holmes went to dinner, and since Christmas, he’d discovered documentaries again, sprawling on the couch to watch one on pirates. It was good to see some things didn’t change. What had changed was that Mycroft was willing to give him a little more space. They cooked dinner together, and Ruth was rewarded with soft brushes of his hand over her back as he passed. She suspected he’d always be himself, not one for casual affection when someone could see. But when his brother was tucked into bed, there were soft kisses that grew more desperate and whispered confirmation they were both sure. She stole the Oxford sweatshirt from his bag after, determined not to let his mother find them anything but decent but wanting to keep everything on her as some extension of him.

“I don’t know why they got you a sweatshirt anyway,” she teased lightly, watching him smoke in the dark. “I’ve never seen you in a shirt without a collar.”

“I suppose mummy thought I might wear it to sleep. I don’t think she expected it to be worn by someone else during a post-coital cigarette.” He wore cotton pajama pants and a plain t-shirt, though she expected he had sets with collared shirts for when he was at school. The wind blew in from the water, and she wished she’d grabbed pants instead of letting the crewneck serve as a dress. He noticed her shiver, holding out an arm as he exhaled smoke. She pressed against his side and his arm wrapped around her.

“Just someone?” she teased. “You know, I think I might be your girlfriend.”

“How is that any different than we’ve always been?”

“It means we build a future together. Don’t date other people. Communicate regularly.”

“I suppose you are my girlfriend,” he said, though she could tell he didn’t particularly care for the word.

“So you think about a future with me?”

“Constantly,” he admitted, choosing to omit how much of that was grappling with the danger Rudy’s position could put her in when he took over. That he’d have to eventually tell her about Eurus. But he was young and selfish and certain he could separate it.

Your back beneath the sun Wishin' I could write my name on it Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinkin' I had you

Ruth had never been able to get Mycroft to the beach in anything but a polo shirt, but it seemed the way the last of his baby fat had melted off at university meant he was willing to join his brother and Ruth in the water. He still wore a polo shirt and boat shoes with his swim shorts, but he slipped both off and followed when Sherlock beckoned he and Ruth to join him in finding the sandbar. He almost said no until he saw how giddy Ruth looked as she peeled the other unworn bit of Oxford merchandise he’d acquired: a t-shirt that would have fit had he not lost weight. He liked seeing it on Ruth; it made him realize he was getting territorial.

“C’mon,” Sherlock called to them from the water’s edge.

“We’re coming, Sherlock,” Mycroft scolded gently. “You must wait so we can be sure the tide doesn’t whisk you away.”

“Don’t scare him,” Ruth said, swatting his arm before she hurried and ruffled his brother’s hair. “We’ll find the sandbar, but then Mycroft and I are going to come back to land. I think you ought to see how big of a sandcastle you can make. Maybe even big enough you can hide in it.”

“Do you think there are artifacts in the sand, Ruth?”

“Probably not ones we’ll want to keep. But maybe bottles or keys.” The tide was low enough when they waded to the sandbar that Ruth and Mycroft could sit on it and watch as Sherlock ran along. He could dig as well, finding shells and loading them into the pockets of his swim shorts.

“Why must we be in this wet sand instead of on the towels on land?” Mycroft huffed, and Ruth poked his side.

“Your brother missed you. He likes you being close, even if you aren’t a part of his excavation. He’ll want to build soon, and since shells aren’t restorable like a trowel, he’ll go back to land for a sandcastle.”

“He only yells when I call him.”

“And what does he yell about?” Ruth had heard Sherlock during one of these calls. One of the calls where Sherlock yelled at Mycroft for leaving. But this would pass. She always promised Mycroft that it would pass, and Sherlock would understand his big brother would always come home.

“Don’t look so proud,” Mycroft huffed.

“It’s not often I’m the one who’s right.”

“You’re often right when it comes to feelings.”

“I love you. My big brained robot.”

“I love you, my darling.”

“That sounds way more romantic than big brained robot. But god, I like hearing you say it. I know it isn’t easy for you.”

“If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.” He had a glint in his eye as he looked down at her, and she smiled broadly up at him, delight apparent.

“You read Jane Austen?”

“Everyone does.”

“You only store things you want, Mycroft.”

“When I read it, I thought of you. I was fifteen. I was a fool and didn’t process what that meant for another year. But whenever I read a poem or a novel and they talk about ardent love, your face is my first thought. I wish I were someone who spoke so eloquently of his own feelings. But I do not understand why I love you. It honestly perplexes me. You are wild and hard headed and love the most mindless things. But I would gladly listen to you describe popular music or the intricacies of a flower crown for hours because of the way your smile and laugh sound more melodic than any symphony. What is unbearable in others only serves to make affection blossom when it is in you. Perhaps it’s because I feel I understand you like I can’t understand most, and I feel that you see me not just as some big brained robot but as who I am. And I am grateful for that, even if it perplexes me to no end.”

“God, you really can be sappy,” she said, tearing up as she wrapped around his middle. Without his parents or peers there, he was more comfortable to stay sitting as perfectly upright as ever, but slip an arm around Ruth and press a lingering kiss to the top of her head. “You’ll keep calling when you go back to school, right?”

“I will. And we’ll figure how to see each other. I know it hasn’t been easy. Uncle Rudy has so much for me to do on top of my course work.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Mycroft. It’s four to six years we have to get through. We can do that.”

“Have you thought about university?”

“Cambridge or Oxford. The latter, while a delightful institution, is due to a bias for a certain student.”

“What do you want to study?”

“I think I’d be a good teacher. Kids Sherlock’s age.”

“You’ve always done well keeping him engaged. That’s a feat in and of itself. But, I always expected that you’d pursue English. Write.”

“I need a job.”

“Writing is a job. You could work in editing too. But, you write so beautifully. And it makes you so happy. I’m certain you would flourish. It may be harder, but you’re intelligent enough to parallel plan and work until you’re published.”

“You really think so?”

“I know. And I’m always right.”

“Cambridge is about as far as London from you. Or maybe I’ll go to Oxford.”

“I just want you to select the institution you wish to learn from. I’m sure we can find a halfway point. If not, we can alternate visiting each other.”

“You wouldn’t feel weird if I showed up in your daily life?”

“You’re a part of my daily life. It would be a perpetual summer. Who wouldn’t wish for that?”

“We’ve just only ever had the summer.”

“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there? I suspect you’ll tire of me when you realize I’m relaxed in the summers.”

“I imagine you wear suits everyday. And your socks, tie, and pocket square all match.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. I don’t wear a tie every day.”

“Oh, there are pictures of Mycroft in a suit with no tie. Is the top button undone? This is simply scandalous.”

She stretched herself up to kiss him, no hesitation now and fingers brushing through auburn hair. Only the screeched order to Stop being so gross from Sherlock convinced them to pull apart, and Ruth was quite sure he was grinning down at her.

Back when we were still changin' for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope of it all

“Are we going to have to chase the two of you from each other's rooms all summer?”

“Mummy, she is my girlfriend. Is it the worst thing if I sleep beside her?”

“You’ll do more than sleep.”

“Yes, Violet, because a bed is the only place teenagers will shag. Never a field or a car or the storeroom at their job. They’re good kids. Leave them be.”

“Siger, this is the third time in a week! Do you want to deal with her mother when we return? She’ll be chasing our boy from her house night after night.”

“Since when does Ruth sleep in her own home? She’s in our guest room most nights. We can feign propriety if it is of such importance and say ‘Oh! I didn’t know he’d snuck into her room’ if for whatever reason Debora learns.”

Ruth was by Mycroft’s side, cheeks pink as she watched his parents. They’d tried to be careful, but she never woke up in time to hurry to her own room. She wanted to tell them her own mother wouldn’t notice anyway, so she should be able to climb into bed with Mycroft. They were talking about flats at Oxford, little ones they would stuff full of books and she’d ensure were always stocked with flowers. She’d made up her mind she’d go there. Mycroft was ready to tell Rudy he was in love, and it didn’t matter what the job entailed; Mycroft could balance it if it meant he’d have Ruth. For once, he was hopeful.

“Both of you, listen to me,” he said firmly, arm around Ruth. “Where do you think she stayed when she visited me at Oxford? This began at Christmas, so I hardly believe it to be a phase. I love her, and upon her graduation, we intend to get a flat near the university. Accept it now, or accept it later. It does not matter to me. This is the reality.”

“You’re following him to Oxford?” Violet seemed to be appraising her now.

“Yes.”

“You really do love him?”

“Yes.”

“Just don’t make me a grandmother any time soon,” she said finally, obviously acquiescing as her husband followed her to the kitchen again with quiet assurances they’d be fine. Ruth’s cheeks were pink, but she wrapped around Mycroft and kissed him.

“What is that for?”

“You professed your love for me to your parents? You finally put your foot down over something and it's me?”

“I wish to maximize every moment I have you by my side between now and August.”

“I’ll miss you so much.”

“We’ll sort it out. Two terms. Then you’ll follow me to Oxford.”

“Ruth will leave too?” The soft voice of Sherlock came from the hall, and she pulled away from Mycroft to kneel by him.

“It’ll be just like the end of summer,” she promised. “It was harder with your brother because he lives with you. But, you usually only see me in the summer, and I’ll still be here for every summer. Who else will help me excavate the garden?”

“Why does everyone go to Oxford?”

“They don’t. But lots of people go to uni, and you will too one day. You’ll get a degree to be a detective or an archaeologist or marine biologist.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“It’s a whole year away. You’ll be a teenager.”

“I guess that’s an okay time for you to go to Oxford.” He bent to look around her to his brother. “You could do well to learn from her, Mycroft.”

“You need to stop being so rude. He’s getting a degree so he can afford to keep you out of trouble forever and ever, kiddo.”

“I’m never in trouble.”

“Mhm. Never, ever have I scooped you up before mummy could catch you performing experiments.”

“Shh!”

Ruth simply laughed, moving to stand again, Sherlock’s gaze again fluctuating between bored and curious about the world around him as she moved to sit in the arm chair beside the one Mycroft had settled into with his book. She opened her own, feet tucked under her, reaching towards him and resting her hand on the small table between them. He looked at it before resting his hand in hers.

“I like this,” she said softly. He made a noise of agreement, legs crossed. “I could get used to it.”

“We’ve a whole summer ahead, dear.”

That night found them tangled in bedsheets, not bothering to pretend he was going to be sleeping in the room with Sherlock. He rather liked sleeping by her, and he was grateful she was so content to lay against his side, close enough it was intimate and safe, but not requiring their bodies to be tangled. But she did like to play with his hands, especially in the afterglow. She would trace the lines of his palms or the veins on the back of his hand, watching her own actions in the moonlight. He stopped her tonight, letting his fingers slip between hers. She smile down at him, her hair a curtain as she leaned to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“Get some sleep, Ruth.”

“Does anyone ever take care of you, Mycroft?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“Everyone does. And I’m going to from here on out, okay?”

“I don’t need to be taken care of.”

“How often do you sit in the sun and read for pleasure at Oxford?”

“There isn’t time.”

“I’ll make sure there is when I’m there. You need to give yourself breaks.” He didn’t agree, but instead of arguing, he pulled her to his side, deciding he could tangle himself with her awhile, savoring the closeness.

“You are too gentle for this world, darling. Please never change.”

#Mycroft Holmes #mycroft holmes x reader #mycroft holmes x oc #mycroft x reader #mycroft x oc #mycroft holmes x original character #mycroft x original character

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chaos-deimos-et-eris · 3 years ago

Text

"I need to do this. Zuko, Z-zuzu you know, you understand. He will find this amusing. Father will give me more time." Her eyes were blown wide with fear, silent tears streaming down her checks. He remembers when she would come crying to him like this when they were children.

She had been tiny then, still whole, but oh so very strong. Head held high, she would wait until the servents cleared his rooms before collapsing into sobs. There had been precious little that could make her cry even then, and Father had started desensitizing them to death early. But Azula, so small, so young, hadn't taken well to the lessons, not yet.

Zuko's family was filled with monsters. He wasn't the exception. He had stared at her, with all the love an older sibling could give to a little sister, and broken her so Father couldn't, like he had done to him.

He remembers comforting her, fixing her crown and wiping her face, before taking her small hand into his and sneaking into the prison. He remembers bribing the guards at the end of every lesson with silk cloth, leather shoes, and embroidered bags of rice, and teaching her how to hurt humans so Father wouldn't have to.

His fingers curl on top of hers-so old, already fourteen and her hands are still so small-like they use to, giving her strength, guiding her blade. He leans forward, grunting a little as the blade slides all the way to the hilt, to whisper advise in her ear.

"Twist the blade until the edge faces up. A hole will be harder and more painful to heal then a tear."

Her breath hitches in the next inhale, but she does not sob like she use to. He feels so proud of her, of her strength and at her resolve when the pain in his abdomen flares white hot. Zuko stumbles, but he catches himself before he can fall on Azula because he refuses to let his little sister deal with more then what she has to before she needs to. He hates to break her even more at all but he needs to.

Father had broken him with his love, and raged and stomped on him when his sharp edges didn't poke out to hurt anyone but himself. Father had picked and prodded at him until his insides were glass sand, not big enough to break free but sharp enough to hurt with each step, to tear his lungs with each breath and scrap at his bones.

He couldn't have left Azula with Father. But he also couldn't leave her with Mother who picked up and dropped her glass children equally and without warning, disgusted by the shards they left behind. Or Uncle, who sanded down his edges for them, but who's shaving floated in the air to cut bite and sting nor their cousin who's molten glass center ran so hot that his sheer presence fixed him and unavailablity left a void so cold he broke all over again. He had broken her so Father wouldn't feel the need to, so Mother's love and indifference wouldn't leave her desperate to please and hurting, so Uncle's careless words wouldn't cut into her skin and bury into her heart, so she would keep herself at a distance with their cousin and not break at his very absence.

Azula, better then him at everything, had broken in a way to hurt others, she learned to fit the pieces of herself to walk without hurting, had lived under Father's approval without falling victim to it as he had. When Father had burned half of his face and cruelly given him hope in the form of an impossible task, he had chased even whispers of it, not to come back to his sister or people, nor had he after a twisted sense of loyalty to the Fire Lord but out of nessercery. He had needed to go back home to the fire and pain, where burns and words and exhaustion would melt the glass whole again and grant him rest until the next time Father had him shattered.

Blood slipped through his fingers and reached hers despite his best efforts. He hoped his glass wouldn't sting her too badly or for too long.

"Good," he praised. She had always needed praise when she got like this when they were little. She was still so small. "Now run the knife up and stop before the heart."

He refused to leave her without instruction, to leave her alone while she was still so frail. He had always imagined himself a quick death, earth on the battlefield, the jumping in front of the blade of an assassin, tasting poison and warning his family before he passed, but for her he would hold on as long as he could. He curls up as metal tears his insides, muffling his scream on her shoulder to try to give her more time. Briefly, he stares at the ceiling and its glowing green stalactites and wonders when he ended up on the ground.

Her face is there, lips parted in shock, eyes bright with unshed tears. She won't let them fall again but he thinks it might of been nice for someone to publicly mourn him. He figures it won't matter to him for much longer anyway.

Her hand, still on the knife, shakes so he musters up the strength to lift his to hold to hers, but he forgets to factor in gravity and his vision goes white when he accidently shifts the knife inside him. Her eyes are dead when he comes back to, and part of him is comforted by the fact that in their three years apart, this part of her still hasn't changed. But his time is running out and he needs to tell her how to sell this to Father.

"Tell him... tell him-" his throat is dry and he can't shallow but he needs to finish this. Azula, so smart, so old, so small, sees and leans to hear better. He hears the screams and booms of battle but they sound far away from their little bubble. He wonders why the Avartar and his teachers haven't yet left.

"Tell him what knife you used. He'll ... he'll find it funny if you tell ... Uncle." It would hurt him to learn that the knife he gifted him would be the thing to kill him but-

"It will be enough to excuse my lack of fire," her eyes widen as realization sets in.

Azula was p e r f e c t; Uncle had betrayed their country, he could suffer the consequences.

The edges of his vision darken. He needs to hurry.

"Do," he tastes blood in the back of his throat. It feels like shards. "Do what you need to . . . to survive." Lie, steal, kill. Kill Father or the Avatar.

"You were always better the second time." These words come out like a whisper but by the widening of her eyes he knows she heard, can tell she understands. He hates doing this to her but the sounds of fighting are getting closer. They're almost here now.

"Lala, you're perfect."

Her face blanks. Azula isn't perfect, not yet, but she will tear herself and anyone opposing her apart for the next hour trying to be. As long as she gets out of this alive he doesn't care. Ty Lee and Mai have always been able to put her back together.

She stands smoothly, taking the knife with her. He barely feels it.

Blue eyes and dark skin replace her. He doesn't know his name but he can see him panicking. He wonders why. Pain flares up as he applys pressure to his wound and he no longer cares. Water Tribe can go die.

The scene starts moving and pain flares up periodically. Azula screams words. He doesn't know what she said but he wants to stay. He claws at blues and trys to summon fire but his inner fire is just dying embers now. He gets pulled in tighter. He wonders if the blue will let him go if he pukes.

Suddenly there is wind and stars and he is oh so very cold. Water smothers the last of his inner flames and agonizingly knits him back together. It hurts less as it continues. Zuko knows it is not a good thing. Water can heal but it cannot replace blood. He will die and Azula will be safe because of it.

Faces surround him with worry but he doesn't want them. He wants the sister he raised, the uncle that tried, the girls who already mourned him once and shouldn't have to again. He don't want enemies and strangers. But he never gets what he wants. He used up all his luck being born.

He looks at the stars and trys to will the sunrise. He knows it will not come. Zuko had been born at night away from Agni' presence. He was probably destined to die away from it too. He still hopes for the warmth of His rays.

His breath shallows. He hears Lu Ten's voice humming a song loud and clear and his mind fills in the lyrics of a soilder coming home from war. In the distant he notices the warm laughter of his lady grandmother, the grumbling voice of his grand sire, the quacking of turtleducks and the overwhelming sent of fire lilies. He briefly wonder about the whereabouts of Mother.

The sounds get louder. Home.

Over the sky of Ba Sing Se, the sound of sobs get muffled into warm bodies as faces turn to hide away from the glare of the rising sun.

#avatar the last airbender #atla #zuko and azula #Zuko #Azula #Ozai messed both of them up #Both of them are terrified of Ozai #Is Azula screaming in the background to Iroh about how he killed Zuko even if she was the one who stabbed him?#Yes. Yes she is.#Do I think Ursa loved her children just didnt know how to deal with them?#Yes #Do I think children that were raised to act differently depending on who they were with see her not acting consistently as sus?#Also yes #That last line was just there to confirm that Zuko died without the sunlight he wanted #fanfiction #because it was two am and I wanted to cry but ao3 didn’t have the exact thing I was looking for

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the-volume-is-astronomical · 4 years ago

Text

The Crown, The Sword, and The Gay

The Tower

A/N: mi gente im just trying something out and seeing if people like it :] ive had this done for like months and months on end and i finally decided to share it so em enjoy

First | Previous| Next

words: 2380

summary: Roman’s stomach is making it very clear that this talk wasn’t going to end well... as long as he doesn’t end up in that tower.

pairings: eventual prinxiety, eventual intrulogical, eventual moceit

warnings: some potty language (not much), stress, anxiety, disappearance mention, flashback, crying

(let me know if theres any other)

Roman felt himself waking up, maybe because of the stupidly bright sun hitting his eyes, he didn’t know how that was possible since he remembered closing the red velvet curtains shut tight, so he didn't have this exact issue. So, when he heard some ruffling and things being moved around he wasn’t all that surprised.

¨Rise and shine, you little brat¨ Ruth said in a very tired but demanding voice.

¨Oh dear nurse, allow me five more minutes¨ Roman whined putting a pillow over his eyes so he could block out the rude sun.

¨Oh, flattery will get you nowhere, mister.¨ Roman could hear Ruth moving around the room, preparing breakfast no doubt. Roman took the pillow off his face and sat up, hair a wreck, and his eyes squinting because of the light coming from the window.

¨And he finally rises,¨ Ruth said sarcastically.

¨Yeah, yeah, the dashing prince has awoken.¨ Roman said half asleep. Ruth helped him sit down so he didn’t trip over anything and started serving him breakfast, she wasn’t going to wait for him to finish eating as she was already heading for the big oak doors.

¨Wait!¨ Roman sobered up, Ruth flinched a little at the shout but turned around anyway ¨Can I do anything for you?¨ She asked.

¨ Come eat with me, you for sure haven’t eaten anything today.¨ Ruth went to argue but closed her mouth when she noticed she, in fact, had not eaten.

She sat down in the chair in front of the royal, Roman made a few hand gestures as if to show she was open to take anything, she knew the monarch wouldn’t eat until she had settled for something so, she took a piece of bread and started eating, as did he.

After a few moments of silent eating Ruth spoke up ¨I still don't understand, after all these years you haven’t become a spoiled brat that doesn't care for his servant¨ Roman didn't even look up at her he just said ¨I guess you raised me well.¨ Ruth almost choked on her bread and looked at Roman as if he had gone insane. “Oh come on don't be so humble Ruthie!¨

She still looked at him confused and a little annoyed at the nickname but mostly surprised he would say anything of the sort, ¨Ruth, you are my nurse. You have been with me my entire life, You fed me when I was a baby for god sake! I consider you a mother, even if I have another mother in the throne room right now,” Roman shivered at the thought of having to talk to his parents after the events of the past week but continued anyway “and I sure as hell think of you as the person who raised me.¨

Once he had finished he immediately put a mouth full of food and kept eating as if hadn’t given that speech. Ruth still looked shocked but cleared her throat ¨Well, then I made you a sap!¨ Roman started laughing ¨How will your future spouse ever forgive me?¨ Roman burst out laughing and Ruth gave a small chuckle.

Ruth stood up and went to Roman's closet to gather his outfit for the day, while he finished breakfast. She threw the clothes at him “Hey!¨ Roman made his trademark over dramatic gasp. She sighed “I unfortunately also gave you my dramatics…”

“And I don’t resent you for that!” Roman screamed back with a big smile on his face.

Ruth looked like she had something on her mind. Roman didn’t have to wait much before she said what that was, he never did. ¨Would that make you and my Remy brothers?¨ she said, actively ignoring the prince’s comments. Roman stood up going towards his shoji screen to change behind. ¨Ha! We already consider each other brothers so it wouldn’t be much of a change.¨ Ruth started making his bed “Well this is new information to me.¨ Roman giggled a bit

¨Remy´s supposed to be back by noon, he passed a lot of territories to deliver this message so I sure hope he’s alright¨ Roman has always thought she was a worried mother even to him when he went on long trips.

Roman stepped out from behind the screen and reassured her ¨ He’s fine! He may act reckless but he's very calculating… but expect him a few hours later than what the estimated time of return” Roman slipped away looking for his shoes. ¨Oh and why is that?¨ she asked, hands on her hips, Roman gave a nervous chuckle.

Shouldn't have let that slip.

“Roman…” Ruth said in a warning tone. Remy was going to kill him but he didn’t want to die at his nurse’s hands “Remy’s been... seeing... this person a-and when his message trip aligns with where they live… he spends some time with the person so…” Ruth looked at him as if deciding something, “As Remy’s mother, I thank you for telling me the truth..” Roman was relieved “But, as your mother, I have to say…YOU SNITCH! Snitches get stitches for a reason!” Roman laughed genuinely and Ruth joined.

After their giggle fit, they heard someone knock on the door. Ruth went to answer the door, it was a guard “His and her highness request the prince’s presence,” Ruth thanked the guard and turned around and Roman looked mortified, “Roman, you have to talk to them.” Roman had never heard Ruth speak that soft. Roman only felt dread “Ruth I don't want to go” He was genuinely petrified.

“I understand, but they are very understanding and I believe they wouldn't punish you for simply trusting the wrong person” Roman shook his head “ They’re already so protective. They always had me under knight or guard surveillance but now they might do something so I won’t be able to sneak by” Roman was panicking and Ruth noticed, she walked up to him. And took his hand “Roman they just want the best for you…” Roman took his hand away from her own “No! They are just afraid they aren’t going to have an heir after one of them ran away.” Roman's hands were in his hair and his eyes started to glaze over.

Roman was very much not over his brother's apparent “disappearance”

“I understand Remus vanishing has affected your parents over protectiveness, BUT they have always aimed to protect you but after what happened...can you really blame them for it?” Roman sighed, Ruth forced his hands out of his hair, he took a shaky breath to calm down “No, but getting hurt is part of life! So what if I trusted the wrong person? Everyone does!” He gestured to the sky as if it was the only person listening, he felt so defeated.

“Well I can't change anything so, you should tell your parents that!” She didn’t know what to say to make things better. “I’ll try, let’s just hope they at least try to listen” he left it there and headed out of his bedroom’s oak doors, he never liked disagreeing with Ruth.

Roman walked down the long hallway towards the throne room but, of course, he wasn’t alone because that would be too much to ask apparently. Instead he was being escorted to see his parents by the guard that had informed him his parents required him. He already knew what they were going to talk to him about and he was dreading it.

Why did he have to make such a mistake?

Did the universe want him to not trust anyone after what happened?! If it would make the sinking feeling in his stomach leave then he would happily oblige.

The guard stopped at the throne rooms doors and Roman took a deep breath as the guard gave him side eye glance and opened the doors, “You required my presence?” Roman spoke trying to keep his voice steady and his head high, “Yes, Roman, we would actually like to talk to you about last week's event…?” He phrased it as a question a little too late. Roman’s father, King Leonardo, wasn’t an emotionally driven person and never was truly soft with anything he said, but he cared. The way he was soft spoken with Roman was just having the opposite effect that his father wanted.

Roman’s mother, Queen Victoria, was very comforting and always tried to shield her children from harm's way, but coming from a family of royals, she didn't have an example to follow but she wanted to be there for her child. “Roman, my little lion heart, I need you to keep in mind this is for your safety...ok?” Following everything by the book, always looking and being her best, so she would be a good example even if she wasn't nurturing, all she wished was for Roman to know she loved him and Remus with her whole being, Roman just gave her a tense nod as a response.

Roman’s Father spoke up, “Roman, you're going to be under knight supervision at all times,” That wasn't as bad as Roman expected, he basically already was! Anything but to be stuck in that damn tower “...And you have to stay in the south tower-” ...He should have knocked on wood.

“Father, I did nothing wrong! I shouldn't be punished for this-” Romans mother spoke up, she knew both her son and husband could be hot headed. She wanted to stop anything before it got the chance to begin “Roman this isn't to punish you! We want to protect you-” The Queen sounded like she was pleading with her son.

Roman did not hear her plea or just ignored it “...For how long do I have to stay there?” Roman’s mother spoke up, “Don't worry, you'll be there maximum 2-”

“Indefinitely.”

The King spoke in a cold unforgiving tone, Roman knew he had messed up big time. Victoria turned to her husband “Leo, we agreed he wouldn't be there for more than 2 fortnights, we agreed on that.” The Queen seemed upset but was obviously attempting not to show such emotion.

“Those were the rules we agreed to when he was a child and he would grant being punished” Both of Roman’s parents were staring at each other, showing they weren't going to back down.

Roman spoke, “Understood.” His voice was mostly monotone but tight, Victoria turned to him with an apologetic gaze. Roman shook his head. It was his own fault, his mother shouldn't blame herself for his actions.

“I'll tell Ruth, so we can pack.” Roman turned to leave but his father had more to say. “Before you go, Hugo won't be your assigned knight. One of the new recruits is climbing in status and popularity very quickly and he agreed to-” “babysit” Roman cut in. “-protect you. As long as I recommended him to Queen Marie for her armada”

As if things couldn't get any better, he had to meet this new recruit, he hoped they would at least get along. Roman just nodded and opened the door to leave. At that moment, Roman’s father called the guard that had escorted Roman to get the new recruit as soon as possible, he just left as quickly as he could.

His parents knew that not being around people and not being able to talk were some of the worse things that could happen to him. They decided it was going to be the way to punish him. Though, he never stayed for more than a month, now he understood why.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Roman- basically power walked- back to his room, his brain tortured him with memories of his 7 year old self being forced onto the tower for the first time.

No! Please it was an accident-!

I won't do it again!

I won't- Please!

That was all he said as his father signaled the guards to take him, his mother not being able to look, turned her head away, trying to ignore every motherly instinct in her body to stand up and comfort her child.

The guards dragged him out of the castle- the only home he knew- and shoved him in a carriage, where Ruth was waiting for him. Ruth had always been happy around him but her expression was unreadable -looking back she seemed angry, he just hadn't seen her that way before- but, Roman didn't care. He threw himself onto Ruth and sobbed his tiny heart out, Ruth trying her best to calm him down, he eventually fell asleep. Three hours later, he was woken up by Ruth.

“Were here, principito”

Roman was scared. Ruth saw it in his eyes.

“Come on! You offend me, you really think I would let them take you to a scary place?”

The little royal could only muster a small “no”. Ruth took his hand and walked with him toward a tower. Roman thought it was beautiful, that's the day he figured beautiful things can hurt you.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roman never got used to it. He always dreaded the ride there, all the build up to the feeling of nothingness. When he looked up at the tower, he got the same feeling that he did when he was 7, Roman learned to not look up. He’d always prefer being in the tower when he was a kid because, back then they allowed Ruth to stay behind with him. Now she would only go in the carriage with him and leave.

After they stopped allowing Ruth to stay with him, at least he had Hugo to bother, by asking him for stories of his adventures. He didn't have that anymore.

The only adventure story he had now was a vibrant red book, in the book shelf of the tower, the only fictional book in his whole collection. He will admit, it was a very smart move on his parent’s part. They always monitored what he read, filled his whole book shelf in the tower with Philosophy, Math, and Royalty etiquette. When he begged for weeks on end for an adventure book they granted him one but, they made sure it was the only book that was fictional. They wouldn't give him an adventure book based on real events, No! That would be giving Roman too much hope.

Good move.

#roman sanders #roman angst #sanders sides roman #ts roman #prinxiety #ts prinxiety #future prinxiety #sanders sides #ts princey

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dewykth · 4 years ago

Text

SWEET SEPTEMBER.

a @periminkle and @dewykth collaboration.

synopsis. for many, september symbolizes new beginnings. but for namjoon, this month never fails to send him back into the past. though this time, something seems different.

pairing. kim namjoon | female reader contains. fluff, angst, slice of life au, ballet instructor!reader, single dad!nj word count. 7.5k+ warnings. death mentions, mature audience

dae’s note. surprise !!! this fic is dedicated to my favourite virgo karla @guklvr !! happy birthday bae i hope you enjoy this lil thing me n vira whipped up for u!! (i stress wrote a lot of this ha.) also sry for lying & keeping you up but hopefully this makes u forgive me. but i hope ur day goes amazing ILYSM DUDE !!! <333 and a huge thank you to vira for hopping on board for this idea bc i cld not have done this without her !!! pls give her all the love !!!

vira’s note. KARLAAAA!!! i always gotta scream ur name it’s mandatory to start with a good scream ykno? bUT HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIRL 🥳 i already told u this too many times today but ILYSM !! like that full day without saying a single word to u felt so weird and i kept going into our chat and rereading our mssgs and wishing I was talking to u??? which is weird to admit?? but that literally how much i missed u idk how but im addicted to u so if you leave me I will literally die :))) aNYWAY have the bestestestest day ever and i hope u love the fic bc I ignored all my uni work to finish this !!! (also i feel reallyreallyreally bad about last night sO IM SORRY AGAIN BUT I HOPE THIS IS WORTH IT) 💖

Despite the papers carelessly stuffed into his leather briefcase, the dark coffee stain on his black slacks, and his unkempt locks resembling that of a bird’s nest, Namjoon’s become accustomed to the hectic nature of his mornings.

The kitchen table is practically buried under stacks of files, yet he brushes them aside to allow one corner of the glass surface to peek through. He plops the toddler in his arms onto a high chair before racing to the counter and sloppily pouring some honey nut cheerios into a small bowl, handing it off to his daughter.

“Daddy?” her voice squeaks, a patient smile stretching across her lips. Her brown strands are tied up into pigtails at the crown of her head with pink ribbons that flutter with the movement of her tiny head.

“Yes, angel?” He scurries around to their bedroom, peeling the stained fabric off his body and threading one leg through another pair of slacks fresh from the laundry.

With Namjoon’s focus pinned on checking off the mental to-do list in his head, he misses the gentle, reassuring smile that stretches across her rosy lips. The adoration for her father is clear in her gaze. “You forgot to pour the milk.”

At the reminder, he squawks and hops back to the kitchen on one foot as he maneuvers his other leg through the pant hole. Swinging the fridge door open, he grabs the carton and sloppily pours the milk into her bowl—white droplets leaping out with their newfound freedom and forming perfect domes on the glass tabletop.

Cleaning the mess falls to the bottom of his priorities at the moment, and so he speeds off to the bathroom to ensure that his appearance is presentable for work while Dasom reaches over to pluck a tissue from the box, swiping the milky beads away before diving into her breakfast. She shoves as many cheerios into her small mouth as she can, rushing because she refuses to finish her meal in the car with their wild driver behind the wheel.

Despite her mere four years of age, she knows from experience that a bowl of cereal and a shaky vehicle is a recipe for disaster.

Namjoon races over to his briefcase with most of his hair sleeked back, only the locks of his bangs hanging out to frame his forehead. As he slips his dark blazer on to complete his form-fitting suit, Dasom scoops the last few brown rings into her mouth and slurps the remainder of the liquid.

“Did you finish your milk?” he questions while cramming the edges of the loose leaves that peek past the seam of his briefcase, hurriedly zipping it up and turning to face her.

Dasom flips the edge of the bowl up to display its empty contents, gulping the last of her breakfast down her throat. As per routine, she scans her father for any inconsistencies in his attire, landing on his odd fitting bottoms.

“Daddy, your pants are on backwards.”

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, glancing down to affirm that the pockets at his sides are no longer at the front of his hips. Hastily, he shimmies out of his slacks once more and twists the fabric around to the proper orientation.

Dasom hops off her chair, her bowl and wet kleenex in hand as she waddles over to the sink and waits for him to deposit the dirty dish into the sink and the sullied tissue into the trash. Although her short arms couldn’t reach over the countertop just yet, she’ll diligently drink every last drop of her milk in hopes of growing tall enough to take some of the load off of her father’s back.

He hoists Dasom up at the sight of the red car pulling up to the driveway, squeezing into the back seat. Namjoon doesn’t have to tell the driver to book it, as the calm man in front has learned to keep his foot pressed on the pedal. The car weaves through the morning traffic with concerning speed, snaking through the other vehicles littering the road as if they were no more than stationary pylons, simply there for practice.

Dasom remains on her father’s lap with his arms looped protectively around the seatbelt over her torso. She sinks into his embrace, fiddling around with his long, slender fingers as she watches the blurs of colour speeding past the window.

“Did you put your ballet shoes into your backpack, angel?” Namjoon loosens his grip on her, unhooking one hand to rummage through his own briefcase in order to confirm that he had indeed slid his laptop within the chaos inside. To keep her entertained, he playfully extends his digits out of her reach.

“Of course!” she chirps, a wide grin revealing the gaps between her teeth. The pads of her fingertips brush against his palm and tickle the sensitive skin there when she realizes that her arms lack the length required to latch onto his hand. “I can’t wait for class, we’ve got a new teacher coming in today!”

Humming absentmindedly, he sighs in relief at the sight of the silver device and packs the crumpled papers back in. “What happened to Ms. Kim?”

“She’s teaching the older class now.” The pout on her lips can be heard within the muffled lilt of her voice when she continues, “I asked her to stay until my birthday next week b-but she didn’t.”

Namjoon’s breath hitches at the reminder, but attempts to compose himself for his daughter’s sake. “It’s out of her control, angel, plus she’ll probably swing by anyway.”

His mind starts to fog up with the emotions he thought he buried last year–they swarm his every thought and nibble away at his sanity. He knows better than to believe that they would ever disappear. September will always be an insurmountable month for him.

“I might be a bit late to pick you up later, just sit tight and wait for Daddy, okay?”

She eagerly nods in response, noticing the dull red bricks of her school coming into view. “Okay, bye Daddy!”

Namjoon unlocks the seatbelt, wistfully watching his toddler bounce out of his arms and onto the asphalt below. No matter how many times he drops her off, it’s always difficult to be separated from her bright smile, but he reminds himself that it’s all for her; it makes things a little easier to bear.

“Have a good day at school.” He reciprocates her frantic waving through the window, craning his neck to watch her adorable form become smaller and smaller with the increased distance. Her full cheeks and crinkled eyes are engraved into the back of his mind.

Before long, Namjoon finds himself rushing into his office after an earful from his surly boss about everything from the late hour to the long list of meetings scheduled to all the work he’s got piled up. With his lips pursed and his head bowed, he somehow manages to make it past another lively morning.

Namjoon has a habit of overthinking. He figures it’s normal when you have a stressful job and a four year old full of energy to balance all by yourself. Not that overthinking about his daughter does him any good, because that is far from the reality. If anything, it just makes him, what you’d call, a bit... overprotective (over worrisome if you asked Jin). But it’s something he can’t really help. Even when she had just entered his life, so small and so blissfully unaware of the awful and evil things in the world, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and shield her from it all as long as he could.

Though he’s very aware of the fact that it won’t be much longer, that won’t stop him from going over every single little thing that could go wrong in the meantime.

So, of course, when Namjoon’s asshole of a boss makes him stay two hours over his shift, all Namjoon can think about is Dasom. Is she okay? Has she eaten anything? Did she drink enough water today? She’s always dehydrated after her classes too. He usually calls Ms. Kim to check up on her, but his calls went straight to voicemail, which definitely wasn’t helping his hectic mind. Perhaps something had happened to her?

Oh god, maybe someone broke in and had injured Dasom?

The doors are thrown open, the sound of the doorknob hitting the wall reverberating through the room. The receptionist wearing her usual polka-dot dress jumps in her seat, eyes lifting from the intense scene on her phone to the entrance of the building. An unsure smile stretches across her ruby red lips at the familiar figure, though a bit disheveled and breathless. But before the customary ‘hello’ can even form on her tongue, the figure is rushing past her, leaving only a gust of air in his wake. The papers on her desk fall to the ground, and she sighs.

Namjoon is prepared to fight the (fictional) person who thinks breaking into a toddler ballet class is a good idea, but the scene in front of him once he pushes past the doors of the studio is one he is wholly unprepared for.

He sees Dasom first, and the relief that fills his body is indescribable. It’s far from the usual sight he’s greeted with when he picks her up late. She’s not sitting on one of the chairs in the far corner of the room. His heart doesn’t feel heavy, which comes with seeing his daughter so glum. This time it’s her laughter that greets him, not one provoked by him but by the figure standing in the middle of the room with her.

Dasom doesn’t seem to be aware of the presence of her dad yet, but the figure twirling her around turns, and her eyes land on Namjoon.

The reaction is immediate. The carefree smile that had been on your face slips off, a look of embarrassment and surprise overcoming your features. Namjoon only catches a glimpse, and somehow finds himself wishing that won’t be the last time he sees it. You let go of Dasom’s hand, quickly making your way to the stereo on the other side of the room. And that’s when-

“Daddy!”

Dasom wastes no time running into her father’s open arms, and Namjoon suddenly can’t remember why he was so worried in the first place. “Hi, angel.” he says, just loud enough for her to hear. She pulls back. “I’m so sorry for getting here so late. I promise i won’t do it again.”

But of course, Dasom holds nothing but forgiveness in her heart for her hard-working father. She does love teasing him, though. “Don't say sorry to me, say sorry to her.” she giggles, pointing behind her and Namjoon furrows his brow until he remembers they’re not the only ones in the room.

His eyes immediately move to where you stand awkwardly near the stereo, eyes moving around the room as if you hadn’t been watching the whole exchange. Namjoon sighs, realizing he definitely can’t avoid talking to you now. He stands straight, holding onto Dasom’s hand as he makes his way over to you. You only seem to grow more nervous as he nears, and Namjoon distantly recalls Jin telling him he came off as intimidating to most people. Something about his ‘beefy’ arms, in his own words. (“And that stupid and unfairly attractive face!”) He goes for a smile because it's not like he can control his physique.

“Hi, I’m so sorry about…”

Namjoon stops.

Maybe it was the overwhelming distress before, or the really shitty lighting of the studio, but he hadn’t realized how pretty you were before. But now he’s standing right in front of you and he can’t seem to form a coherent thought. Pretty can’t be the right word. He realizes how creepy he probably looks, running in here like a madman and then downright staring at the (very beautiful) woman who looked after his daughter? Not cool, man.

You clear your throat, before extending a hand to him. “Hi, I’m ____, the new ballet instructor.”

Your voice sounds just like honey.

Namjoon stares at your hand dumbly, before the sound of Dasom snickering (very discreetly) behind him snaps him out of it. But instead of introducing himself, or apologizing, or just taking your fucking hand, he says-

“What happened to Ms. Kim?”

He mentally face-palms.

Not. Cool. Man.

Your face falls, and Namjoon has never wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole more than he does now. “Uh, she’s instructing the teen class now.” you chuckle awkwardly, dropping your hand.

“Oh-”

“Daaaad,” Dasom's voice sounds annoyed, and perhaps it’s a bit silly of Namjoon to feel like he’s being scolded, but that is exactly how he feels right now. “I told you this. In the morning. Remember?”

He doesn’t. “Ah, right of course,” Namjoon scratches the back of his neck. It wasn’t like he meant to forget, he had just been too busy thinking about the other things every September would bring. “Sorry, I’m Kim Namjoon. Dasom’s dad.”

This time he offers his hand, and he thanks the skies above that you don’t seem to hate him because you fit your hand against his. Warm, like honey. How long had it been since he last made a fool of himself in front of a pretty girl?

Too long.

“I’m terribly sorry for arriving so late it’s just that my boss, who’s a huge-” Namjoon glances at Dasom, who is now in her own world, singing some song she learned in school, “jerk, decided to assign these reports last minute and the printer would just not work and then traffic hour-”

Your hand comes up to cover your mouth, but Namjoon can see the amusement bubbling in your eyes. He flushes a deep red, eyes falling to the floor, realizing he started ranting.

“It’s okay. Really.”

When he looks back up, there’s a smile on your face. Not like the one before, this one was more reserved, but genuine, reassuring. And just like that, he’s sure you don’t hate him.

Namjoon’s not sure he likes this feeling though.

“Straighten your arms out, girls!” you belt over the classical music that floods the studio’s walls, scanning your army of toddlers in tutus whose arms immediately tense at your command. Making your way through the row, you poke and prod everywhere from their shoulders to their ankles. “Arch your back more, Somin.”

Their muscles violently tremble in response to the strenuous routine you’ve introduced, facial features scrunched in concentration and a resolute will to uphold their positions despite the hyperextension of their limbs. A mix of pity and pride swells in your chest at their effort. “Keep your chins up, the annual recital is only a couple of days away.”

Cheers erupt throughout the small room, disrupting the focus and spoiling their perfect form, yet you refuse to quiet excitement because of the renewed vigour buzzing throughout the room. The next hour depletes all of their built-up energy with demi-piles, pirouettes and sautés.

A glance at the analog clock in the corner informs you of the five minutes remaining before the end of class, so you pause the speakers and instruct the girls to stretch themselves out as they wait for their guardians to trickle in. They collectively sigh in relief before dropping to the floor like flies.

You snort at their dramatics with an amused smile playing at your lips. “I said to stretch, not to lay down and nap.”

“Can’t we nap and stretch at the same time?”

Strolling over to the source of the voice, you cluck your tongue at her limp form sprawled across the wooden floor and cross your arms, struggling to keep your giggles from breaking your angered facade. “And how do you suppose we do that, little Miss Dasom?”

She flashes her toothless grin up at you. “Like this!” With one leg bent over the other and her hands looping around to hold her twisted limbs to her torso, she shuts her eyes and exaggerates her snores.

At this point, it’s nearly impossible to withhold your snickers, and the rest of the class joins in your laughter. You pick up on Dasom’s tinkling giggles between each of her heavy breaths. The lighthearted jokes continue as kids are signed out with bright grins on each of their faces.

You wait for the rest of the toddlers to file out one by one, waving goodbye and checking them off your list until, as usual, Dasom is the only toddler left. Her tiny feet still clad in her faded ballet shoes waddle up to you, tugging on your blouse.

“Your pirouette was a bit wobbly today, do you want to go over—”

“‘M tired,” she interrupts, slouching her shoulders with an adorable frown marring her lips. Her exhaustion is justified, since the routine is rather exhausting, and with their recital right around the corner, you worked them to the bone today.

The odd timing of the switch between you and Ms. Kim left you with a little under a week to tweak and perfect their current choreography. A sloppy routine is not the way you want to present your skills to their parents for the first time, thus you were stricter with the kids than normal.

Your sympathy wins out, and so you gather Dasom’s lithe figure into your arms as you head to the closest wall. With your back supported, you spread out your legs and place her in your lap.

“My birthday is this Thursday.”

“Mhm,” you hum, bobbing your head to signal for her to continue her train of thought.

Her back faces you, but when her head tips down to stare at her hands, you know she’s contemplating her words carefully. Rather than encouraging her to speak freely, you wait for her to feel comfortable enough to reveal her thoughts; and surely enough, her shell cracks open just enough for you to peep through. “Do you wanna come?”

“I would be honoured.” A giddy smile splits across your lips. “Is Daddy picking you up again today?”

She flips around in your hold, wrapping her arms around your waist and snuggling her head to your chest. Her words are muffled into the fabric of your thin shirt, but her tone indicates her affirmation.

Suddenly self-conscious of your heartbeat—that Dasom can definitely hear with her ear pressed up against you—picking up pace at the mention of her father, you suppress your thoughts with a guilty conscience. You internally chide yourself for harbouring feelings for the charming, taken, man, defying arguably one of the most important fundamental rules of becoming an instructor.

Do not develop silly crushes on your student’s parents.

“Ms. ____?” her faint question snaps you out of your reverie, attention brought back to the present moment. While preoccupied, your hand took on a mind of its own, gingerly patting the space between the little girl’s shoulder blades at a slow rhythm.

She gazes up at you when you halt your rhythmic movements, sharp eyes boring into yours. “Are you gonna ask Daddy to come see me dance?”

The edges of your lips flip up in what you hope to be an encouraging smile as you nod your head. Subconsciously, you begin to stress over another encounter with Namjoon, formulating a script to hopefully avoid the stiff, tense atmosphere that lingered throughout all your previous interactions.

“Daddy’s always really busy,” she slurs, drowsiness coating her words and weighing down on her lids. Grumbling under her breath about her numb legs, Dasom crawls onto the floor beside you with her head resting on your thigh. “He’s always working hard for me.”

Your eyes soften at the fetal position she’s taken up on the ground; not only was Dasom lucky to have such a dedicated father, but Namjoon was also blessed with a caring daughter. “You don’t think he can make it?”

“It’s okay,” she whispers and you have to crane your ears to listen. You stroke the strands littering her forehead, gingerly caressing the crown of her head. “It’s okay if Daddy can’t come. I know him, he’s trying to do it all because Mommy’s not with us anymore, but it’s okay. I still love him even if I can’t see him lots.”

A knot forms between your eyebrows, a bittersweet ache forming within the creases of your heart. The painful constriction of your chest ebbs and flows with your shallow breaths that can’t seem to make it past your throat. You bite your lip to subdue the plentiful liquid gathering at your waterline.

No more than a croak escapes your lips before the door to the studio flies open, meeting the adjacent wall with a bang!

“I’m so sorry, my meeting ran late and I couldn’t—” the rest of his speech gets stuck in his windpipe at the sight of you, eyes rimmed red and sniffling, with Dasom, ostensibly dead asleep, on your thigh. “Did she…?”

You blink away your incoming tears, although your dignity has been completely thrown out the window, seeing as he believes that his four-year-old kid made a grown woman, who just so happens to be her ballet teacher, bawl her eyes out.

As you go to gently shake Dasom awake, she sluggishly lifts her head off of your lap and starts to scale your torso like a koala on a tree. Your confusion is vocalized through the high-pitched hum in your throat, but your efforts to pry off her limbs, tightly wound around the small of your waist, are futile.

“Uh, Dasom? It’s time to go home now, angel.” Despite his firm words, Namjoon’s tone is unsure and shaky; he can feel cold sweat build up in the lines of his palms. He knows his daughter, and she can be periodically stubborn and insistent the way children are at her age, thus even as you come to stand, she’s stuck to you like glue. “Would you, uh, did you need a ride?”

You mimic the sheepish smile on his face, hoping the flaming blush you feel on your cheeks isn’t as visible as it seems. “Sure.”

With Dasom latched onto you, both of you make your way to the red car outside after you lock up the studio. Namjoon courteously opens the car door for you, what with your arms supporting his clingy toddler; although, with the brute force he uses, you worry for the state of the hinges. Thankfully, they stay intact and he’s able to slip into the backseat after you.

Before an awkward silence can settle, you clear your throat and prepare to ask him about his day, but you’re interjected by Namjoon’s sudden stammering, “D-driving’s such a hassle for me so Jin drives us everywhere. Jin knows how to drive though, so, don’t worry.” He finishes with a deep chuckle that dies off nearly as quickly as it began. Oh, that’s unexpected.

“You don’t to drive yourself?” Rather than being processed in your brain and logically thought through, the question immediately enters your mouth without any prior scanning for dumbass-content. You instantly regret it, feeling as though it’s much too invasive. “You don’t have to answer that, I—”

The hearty laughter that meets your ears is “No, I do. Sometimes. But its easier raising this one like this.” His tone turns sweet at the mention of Dasom as he reaches over to pat her head, and you’re overcome with an intense desire to prod more into his personal life. Why does he have to work so much? Which shirt in his closet is his favourite? How does he like his eggs in the morning?

“I’m not sure if you already knew about the annual recital on Saturday, but Dasom’s been practicing really hard for weeks and the kids are all really talented, so it would definitely be worth your time...”

As he’s gazing at his daughter, galaxies of devotion and longing swirl within his cocoa irises. The cool light of the moon shines through the windows of the car, illuminating his sharp jawline and strong brows. You’re absolutely mesmerized by the sight in front of you. “You must be really busy, huh?”

“More than I’d like to be.”

You rip your entranced gaze away from Namjoon, willing yourself to steady your frantic breaths.

The remainder of the ride still drips with awkward tension, although with a definite lighter tone than before. Jin pulls up to your apartment with your direction and you dislodge a sleepy Dasom from your torso, which is much easier now that her limbs have gone slack with sleep. Handing her off to Namjoon, who practically engulfs her tiny form with his broad chest, you rush out of the vehicle with a quick, “See you!”

You slam the door closed before he can say anything, racing into the comfort of your home with your heart in your throat.

The last thing you had expected to do on a Thursday evening was to go to a birthday dinner. Thursdays are your days off, your in-days. The ones you spend lounging on your couch with a face mask and some wine. And yet, here you are.

When you received a text this morning, the last person you had expected it to be was Namjoon. Much less Namjoon asking you to come over for Dasom’s birthday. You weren’t going to say yes, hell, you had thought of downright ignoring it. It was weird, wasn’t it? But Dasom had quickly carved a toddler-shaped hole into your heart. Truly, you had said yes before the message was even typed out.

And so now you stare at the tall apartment building in front of you, definitely feeling more nervous than before. You knew that Namjoon had to be well-off to afford a weekday chauffeur, but damn did you not expect him to be this well-off.

It seemed today was the day to expect absolutely anything.

You enter the opulent building, signing in at the front desk before entering the large, mirrored elevator. The beating of your heart picks up the more floors you pass, and you can’t help but fidget with your appearance. Namjoon had said it would only be you three, which you guessed was supposed to calm your nerves but really, it did anything but that. The mere thought of eating dinner with Namjoon was nerve-wracking. But now you were about to eat dinner and enter his home; you had no fucking clue what you were getting yourself into.

The doors slide open, and you step into the hallway. A single door could be seen at the end of the hallway, so you quickly make your way over. You stop right in front, taking a deep breath in before pushing the doorbell. A beat, a crash, another beat, then-

The door swings open, and your breath catches in your throat.

Namjoon looks heavenly as always, but seeing him in clothes other than his usual black slacks makes your heart do a cartwheel. God, this is dangerous.

“Ms. ____!”

Before Namjoon can form a hello, Dasom is running past him and wrapping her small arms around your legs. “You came! See daddy! I told you she’d come.” her tongue pokes out of her mouth, aimed straight at her father and you stifle a laugh.

“Did he think I wouldn’t?” you ask, eyebrow arched as you glance at Namjoon, who seems to have a permanent pink hue on his face.

“He said you wouldn’t!”

“Oh, really? What else did he say?”

“He said I had to help him clean either way!”

“Alright, Dasom. That’s enough.” He says firmly, clearing his throat and trying to act as unaffected as possible. His eyes shift to meet yours. “Why don’t you come inside?”

As much as this day really sucked for Namjoon, today had been… different. Not all too much. Of course, getting up was the hardest part, but he had decided to make Dasom her favourite breakfast meal instead of her usual cereal. He had also made sure to get her all the toys she had been wanting, and planned their day out to do Dasom’s favourite things. Namjoon just wanted this day to be special for her. That was all he cared about.

But when Dasom had asked him to invite you, he had hesitated.

Dasom had never spent her birthdays with anyone else but Namjoon. Not that it was intentional, but Namjoon liked to have this day just for the both of them. Because that’s how it’s always been. He didn’t know what it was about you that made his daughter talk about you all the time. Or why she wanted to spend a birthday with you. But how could he deny her? And so, the text was sent.

And now, as Namjoon puts away the dishes while you sit on his couch, he realizes he hadn’t thought of her today. Not as much as the years before. Dinner had been so... nice. It felt nice to have someone else around. Namjoon loves Dasom, but he hadn’t realized how distant he had gotten from everything that had once seemed to be the centre of his life.

Namjoon closes the dishwasher, exiting the kitchen and making his way to the living room. He places the two glasses on the table before pouring the dark red liquid.

“I hope you like Merlot.”

“Oh, please. Anything’s fine.”

You take the wine glass, sending him a thank you before taking a drink. “So,” you lean back, “remind me how to play this again.”

“Ms.____ I told you. You have to take a block without knocking the tower over,” Dasom shows you by pushing a middle wooden block out, “then you have to place it on top, like this.'' She places the same block on top of the tower.

“Ah, right! I just need to make sure if I want to win.”

“You can’t! I’m the best!”

“Oh really? And what about you?” you turn, brow raised and eyes playful.

“Pshh,” he scoffs, leaning forward. “Who do you think she takes after?”

He doesn’t think he’s ever lost a game so quickly.

Namjoon watches as you close Dasom’s door quietly from the hallway before you make your way back to the family room. “She’s out like a light. I guess all that tower building got to her.”

Namjoon snorts. He feels oddly disappointed as he watches you gather your things to go. Was it weird that he wanted you to stay? “Do you need me to get you a ride? I can call Jin to drive you home.”

“No, it’s fine! Really! I already ordered an Uber anyway.” You grab your coat near the door. Before Namjoon can unlock the door, you touch his shoulder. “Listen, thank you for inviting me today. I know you probably wanted to spend this day together instead, but I... “ you inhale, because you aren’t sure of what you want to actually say “thank you.”

Would it be weird to say how much better you made today? Probably. “You don’t… have to thank me. I think I should be the one doing the thanking. I really wanted this day to be special for Dasom and you… you definitely helped. So, thank you.”

The door opens, and the light of the hallway fills his dim flat. “Guess we’re even then.” you smile before turning, making your way to the elevator. Namjoon shuts the door once the sight of you is gone, but the smile on his face remains

“Guess we are.” he whispers wistfully

Perhaps stopping at a flower vendor when you’re already running late was a bad idea, but Namjoon wasn’t thinking about time. He had seen the bouquet of flowers and imagined the huge smile that would stretch across Dasom’s face, and that was all he needed to swerve into the left lane.

Now, though, as he anxiously watches the cars in front of him move a foot forward after thirty minutes, he’s sure he should have just left the fucking flowers alone.

Namjoon doesn’t know how long he’s been shifting his eyes from the traffic to the watch ticking around his wrist, but by a miracle, the cars start moving. Slowly, then he’s speeding down the highway, praying to the skies above he’ll make it in time. Even if he arrives in the midst of the dance, he can’t miss this recital. He won’t.

He sighs in relief when he sees the familiar glass building, though it’s cut short when he sees the parking lot. No available place in sight. Fuck. Namjoon is sure he looks insane right now, swerving around the parking lot in search for an empty spot, or really just any fucking spot that looks like it could fit his monster of a car.

Then the clouds seem to open up, and right near the entrance is a vacant spot. Namjoon swears his mouth almost waters at the sight. Quickly speeding around the lot, he parks, but not before flipping off the angry parent who tries to beat him to it. Namjoon exits his car, quickly grabbing his coat and the large bouquets of flowers from the backseat. He runs to the entrance, practically throwing the shriveled paper at the ticket clerk.

Namjoon slows as he nears the theatre doors, taking a deep breath before calmly opening it. He had completely forgotten to book seats in advance, so he’s not surprised to see the velvet seats filled to the brim. When he looks to the stage, he’s relieved to see that there’s still time until Dasom comes on.

Now, Namjoon knows he’s not the most… balanced person. It’s common knowledge that he trips over his feet and knocks things over sometimes. (Oh, but definitely more than the average person.) Now, if you were to ask Namjoon if he pays attention to his surroundings, he'd say yes.

But if you were to ask Namjoon what he tripped over, he wouldn’t know. It doesn’t matter, because now there’s a furious mother with a horrendous bob cut glaring at him, and what he thinks to be a broken camcorder on the floor. The only thing he can manage is an awkward smile and an even more awkward apology. Namjoon offers to give her the cost for repairs, hell, even offers to buy her a new one. The woman snatches the bills from his hands but she doesn’t go back to minding her business like he thought she would. No, instead she starts to argue with him, in the middle of her child’s recital, no less!

Namjoon can’t do anything but stare at her as she blabbers on about how horrible he is for throwing her camcorder on the floor. (Not like it had much life left, that thing looked like it was from 2007.) She’s damn near spitting on his face, and causing other parents to turn around and glare at them. As if it was his fault. Who knew she had such an attachment to the damn thing!

A hand lands on his shoulder, and for a second he’s sure it’s security ready to escort him out of the building. But when he turns, he’s surprised to see it’s you. Like an angel had ascended from the clouds to save Namjoon from the wrath of a ballet mom. And just like that, you’re leading him away, taking a seat two rows before the stage. Namjoon’s eyes widen at the sight of the empty seat beside you.

It’s that feeling again, and Namjoon’s palms start to get sweaty as he takes a seat. “Jesus, thank you for that,” he whispers, relishing your quiet laughter that follows.

“Of course. She was probably a blink away from going full-blown Karen on you.” you tease.

“Oh, and that wasn’t?”

“Oh, Joon, you haven’t seen how angry ballet moms can get.” you both laugh, huddled together as if you’re sharing a special secret. It seems so natural. As if this is where he’s supposed to be. So much that Namjoon almost doesn’t catch the nickname, but how could he miss it when you say it just like she used to?

The stage lights darken, and Namjoon is grateful for the excuse to look elsewhere. He’s sure if he would have stared at you for just a bit longer, he would have done something completely and utterly stupid. “This is her.” you whisper, and Namjoon buries the thought away.

A blue hue shines across the stage before the soft melody begins to play, filling the room with the sounds of strings and keys. One by one, tiny swans begin to come into view, prancing around the stage. Namjoon catches sight of Dasom, looking adorable in her white tutu and he can’t help the proud smile that makes its way onto his face. He watches with adoration as she does her pirouettes, and maybe there’s some water overflowing in his eyes as they finish their dance, bowing towards the audience.

You both stand, clapping and cheering the loudest, uncaring of the stares from the snobby rich parents because you’re both too damn proud of Dasom to care. For a moment, Namjoon pretends that it’s different, simpler. That it’s not only his child on stage but yours. Ours. He thinks he likes the sound of that too much.

Once the show ends, you lead Namjoon backstage where the buzz of dozens of girls talking fills the air. You tell him that you need to check in on the other kids and disappear through a hallway. He spots Dasom quickly, or rather, she spots him.

“Daddy! You came!”

Namjoon lifts Dasom with his free arm, twirling her around before placing a big kiss on her forehead. Her giggles fill him with delight, and he doesn’t care that his cheeks hurt from how hard he’s been smiling. “Of course I came, angel. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He places her on the ground before he grabs the bouquet of sunflowers from his other arm. The sight of her favourite flower makes Dasom jump with joy. She takes the flowers, and Namjoon silently coos at how much smaller they make her look. Then she spots the other bouquet of flowers in his arm. She scrunches her brows together, about to ask who those are for before her eyes catch something behind Namjoon.

“Ms. ____!”

“Dasom!”

Dasom jumps into your arms, and you laugh at her enthusiasm. “You did so well! I’m so proud of that pirouette!” You twirl her around once her feet hit the ground, smiling as you watch her stumble slightly. Namjoon can’t help but smile too.

“Look what daddy got me, Ms. ____! Look!” Dasom lifts the flowers up, almost shoving them into your face.

“Wow, these are very beautiful, Dasom!”

“Look! He got you some too!” she giggles, and you look at her confusedly then at Namjoon. He sighs, looking pointedly at Dasom despite the cherry hue making its way across his cheeks. She giggles once again before running to her friends. “Dasom!” but it's futile.

If it weren’t for the consistent chatter, Namjoon’s sure there would be an agonizing silence to fill the space between you. You walk closer to him, looking down at your shoes bashfully. “Ah, these-” he takes the bouquet from his arm, “these are for you.”

You looked surprised to say the least. Eyes wide and glassy, your mouth falling ajar. “Wow, uh, really?” you ask, glancing up from the bouquet. He nods shyly.

Listen, he had only planned to buy Dasom her favourite flowers. But then he caught sight of these beautiful yellow roses, tips painted a light amber orange. Somehow they reminded him of you. And the way you had left him with his heart feeling lighter for the first time in years the other night. Maybe it was a way of saying thank you. He’ll admit, he didn’t think it all the way through, but the way you’re smiling at him right now makes him think it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

There’s a moment where it seems to just be you and him, despite the tons of parents and children running around. He’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes drop to his lips, if only for a millisecond. Namjoon wants to say it. God, he wants to say it so badly. “Listen I… I’ve been meaning to ask you,” his voice fades away as his eyes catch yours. Hopeful. Beautiful. Glimmering.

Just like hers.

“Do you, uh, need a ride home?”

And the bubble bursts.

You step away, looking at anything but him and he hates it. He despises it. He wants you to look at him like that again. He wants nothing more than to pull you back and kiss you senselessly, like his mind is screaming for him to do. But he can’t. He can’t do it for some fucking reason and he almost wants to cry in frustration because why can’t this just be easier? Why is it so hard to move on? You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than what he can offer you. And that thought keeps him still.

“Uh, sure.”

Quiet.

Say something, idiot! Tell her what you’ve been dying to say! Just fucking say it!

Namjoon hates himself for the next words that tumble out of his mouth.

“Let’s find Dasom.”

The drive to your house is just like it was before, except this time there’s no chatter to fill the emptiness. Dasom is sound asleep in the backseat. You've never seemed more distant than now, facing the window, body pressed against the door. You had almost begged to go in the back with Dasom, and Namjoon doesn’t know why he didn’t just let you.

How did it come to this? This wasn’t what he wanted. This night wasn’t supposed to go like this. Everything should have gone differently.

He doesn’t know how he’ll ever fix this. If things will go back to normal. If he completely ruined it. But he’s too afraid to ask. Too afraid to know.

Namjoon has never hated the quiet more.

The sight of your apartment complex fills him with dread. All he can think about is all he wants to say, all he should have said, all he wants to take back. God, Namjoon wishes he could take it back. If only there was a way to turn back the time. Why had he been so afraid to make a move? Why did it hurt so much? But he knows going back wouldn’t help. Not when he doesn’t know if he would have done it differently.

His car comes to a stop, and the doors unlock. He faintly catches the small thank you before the passenger door slams shut. Namjoon watches as you make your way up the pathway, feet moving briskly and it feels like he’s watching you walk away from him.

You’re shuffling through your bag, looking for your key. And fuck, is he really just going to this go? Is he that stubborn that he can’t see past himself? He can’t. He can’t let you go. Not like this.

Well do something, dumbass!

The door of his car is thrown open, and before he can overthink it-

“____!”

You still. You turn.

Namjoon shuts the door. He walks up the steps and stops a few feet away from you, but he feels like he’s miles away. You look up at him, questioning. Your eyes aren’t the same ones. Not like you looked at him before. Yet they’re still warm. Inviting. Namjoon is tongue-tied, and all those words he wanted to say are gone now.

“Are we… good?”

“Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I just…” he scratches the back of his neck. “That moment back at the recital. I… I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” you say, simply. When he looks at you, he can’t tell what you’re feeling. You’ve blocked him off. “Namjoon, really. It’s fine.”

But is it really? He wants to ask. But he doesn’t. It’s quiet again, this time the sound of the wind rustling the browning leaves above filling the space. Still.

“I… god, I don’t know why this is so hard. Ever since, you know,” you don’t. “I… I didn’t think I'd ever get an opportunity to…” he inhales, unsure of what he wants to say first.

“I just feel like I ruined it so carelessly.”

You don’t say anything for a few moments. You only stare at him, really stare at him. Like you can see through his mirage, through the walls he’s spent so long building up. You’re taking it all, but there’s nothing he can take back from you.

“You didn’t.” you whisper it so quietly, Namjoon would have thought his mind had taken pity on him. But a smile slips onto your face. Unlike the other ones. It doesn’t fill him with joy. It doesn’t give him butterflies. This one hurts.

And he knows you’re telling the truth.

“This… It might take a while.”

The wind picks up. The leaves rustle. The cold, biting.

“That’s ok. I’ll wait as long as you need me to.”

Your lips are bittersweet on his tongue.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN TO KARLA !! ILYYYY <3

#bangtanhq #btsbookclub #ficswithluv #btsguild #btsgoldnet #cypherwritersnet #namjoon x reader #namjoon angst #kim namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x you #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic

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reyesstrand · 4 years ago

Note

18 or 22 for tarlos 🥺

thank you both for the prompts!! i put them together in one fic if that’s okay 💗 i hope you enjoy!!!

all prompts are from this list. also available on ao3!

TK’s first birthday in Austin ends up being all he could ever ask for.

He’s still getting used to a new December climate, and part of him doesn’t even want to mention the fact that it’s his birthday to the team. They all have enough to worry about, after all. But of course his dad would never keep quiet about the occasion, and now TK’s coming off a twelve-hour shift and he’d had to clean himself up the best he could in the firehouse’s locker room, to at least be somewhat presentable for his party at Grace and Judd’s.

Carlos glances at him for the fifth time since pulling away from the firehouse, and wordlessly reaches over to place a hand on his knee—the same knee that’s been bouncing nervously since they got in the car.

“Sorry, sorry,” TK murmurs, running his hand through his hair.

“What’s wrong?” Carlos asks, moving his hand from TK’s knee to instead grab his free hand, smoothing his thumb along his knuckles. It immediately centres TK, and he takes a deep breath. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I just—it’s overwhelming,” TK admits quietly, staring down at his fingers linked with Carlos’, finding it a perfect fit.

“Everyone loves you, Ty,” Carlos says, still moving his thumb in a calming rhythm as he drives. “This party is a way for us to show it.”

“i don’t need all this to know that, though,” TK says, feeling warmth creep up his neck. He remembers the stress he felt he put on his parents, not only having a birthday so close to the holidays but by being a product of their marriage that eventually failed. They were still friendly, sure, but TK can’t just forget the plethora of times a party was thrown for him just so he could forget his dad was three hours late or his mom had to slip away to handle a big client.

“Hey, if it’s too much, we’ll come up with an excuse, okay?” Carlos offers, understanding immediately because of course he does. “We’ll—we’ll say one of us isn’t feeling well, though I guess that’s not the best course of action when almost everyone we know has medical training—”

TK feels the dopey grin spread over his face as his boyfriend rambles. Carlos finally trails off and catches the look on his face, a small smile of his own pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“I just love you,” TK says, squeezing Carlos’ hand tight. “And thank you. But I think I’ll be okay. I just,” he waves a hand in a vague motion next to his head, “get a little too caught up in here, sometimes.”

“I know,” Carlos drags his thumb over his knuckles once more, before he’s parking the car right in front of Grace and Judd’s place. “And Ty?”

“Hm?” TK turns his head and is met with a gentle kiss, slowly blinking his eyes open when Carlos pulls away.

“I love you too,” Carlos smiles, and TK rolls his eyes and huffs a laugh but feels his heart beat rapidly nonetheless.

He’s a little apprehensive as he gets out of the Camaro, fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves, as he follows Carlos to the front door.

But it turns out that his found family loves him more than he could imagine, because they know him. They know he didn’t want them to go crazy for his birthday, because once they walk into the living room there’s tasteful decorations and various platters of food set up, but it’s just family present. Marjan tackles him into a hug first, ruffling his hair when they pull away; Judd eventually blocks his path until he can smack a kiss to the crown of his head and fist bump him.

“Grace, you didn’t have to—”

“You better not finish that sentence, TK,” Grace says, cocking a brow at him. He lifts his hands in response. “It was an honour to pull this together for you, because you deserve it, love.”

He knows his face is warm, but he doesn’t care. “Thank you.”

She pulls him in then, for a signature Grace-Ryder-hug that’s all swaying and arms squeezing tight around his ribs. He gets a kiss to his cheek, too, and he stalks back toward Carlos and Paul with what he knows is a huge grin on his face.

The whole night is low-key, everyone gathered around to chat and drink and stuff themselves on Grace’s cooking. That is, until the lights suddenly dim and TK hears the beginning of his dad’s tone-deaf attempt at singing “Happy Birthday.”

“Oh, god,” TK mutters, pressing his palm over his face. Carlos just pulls him closer, arm around his waist as he sings quietly into his ear, everyone else joining in at various levels of enthusiasm. Eventually his dad ends up in front of him, cake proudly displaying a candle in the shape of a 27, the light flickering against his face.

TK glances around the room as the song comes to an end, and he’s smiling even as he shakes his head and dramatically takes a deep breath to blow out the candle.

When he’s passed a piece, he can sense something happening by the way the air seems to shift around him.

“What’s—” TK trails off, fork in his left hand and flimsy paper plate in his right, glancing over at his boyfriend.

Who, deep down and just like his friends, is an absolute menace.

“There might be one tradition we didn’t tell you about,” Marjan says, already grinning gleefully.

Carlos slowly comes closer, and TK realizes what’s about to happen too late because in what feels like a nanosecond, he’s suddenly got his piece of cake smashed into his face.

The team howls with laughter, as his mouth falls open in shock and he wipes two handfuls of icing from his eyes.

“Reyes!” TK shouts, already chasing after him, the others in attendance snickering as they move out of the way.

“Baby, come on,” Carlos tries to say through his laughter, but eventually he’s backed up against the wall with nowhere to go.

“Don’t I get a birthday kiss?” TK asks, far too innocently, and Carlos holds him at arm’s length as the others start chanting for them to kiss, several teasing oohs filling the room. TK really lays it on thick, puppy-dog eyes and all, and sees the exact moment Carlos melts.

“Like I could ever refuse you,” his boyfriend murmurs, reaching forward to gently wipe away as much of the bits of cake and frosting stuck to his lips as he can.

It doesn’t do much about the rest of the mess on TK’s face, but neither of them seem to care, as the moment Carlos’ thumb drops from TK’s bottom lip he’s lurching forward to kiss him, trying to pour all the love and gratefulness for this night into one press of their lips.

They’re grinning into it like always, and eventually TK’s frosting-smeared hand comes up to cup Carlos’ cheek, and Carlos’ hands drop down to TK’s sides, and the last thing they’re worried about is cake or their friends standing all around them.

Someone—probably Judd—yells at them to get a room. TK flips him off, lovingly of course, before he kisses his boyfriend once more to get the point across. He pulls back and almost breaks down in tears with the force of his laughter at the sight of Carlos’ face.

Carlos just smacks a kiss to his temple, and TK knows in that second it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

#tarlos #911 lone star #tarlos fic #my fic #trkstrnd #lndnrs

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ladyscarlettwrites · 4 years ago

Note

If your requests are open, could I get a 2 people 1 bed Zuko x f Reader. Nothing nsfw just really fluffy where they’re both awkward and flustered about it? If not that’s totally fine. Thank you!

A/N: I am so very sorry that I’m answering this really, really late! So I made it a bit longer. I hope you’re okay with what I came up with! I made the F reader a waterbender.

While flying on Appa, the gang were caught in a unexpected rainstorm. Thankfully with Katara’s quick thinking, she was able to water bend along with Y/N with the water to create a barrier big enough to cover the group and Appa from getting anymore wet.

When they were finally able to land at a nearby town they looked around for a place to stay the night. They were finally able to find an inn but there were only three rooms available. Two rooms had two beds and one room had three beds.

They started to decide on who would be staying in which rooms. Sokka suggested that they’d draw straws to make it fair. Sokka ended up being paired up with Aang, much to the dismay of both of them since Aang wanted to share a room with Katara and Sokka wanted to be in the same room with Suki. Next, Katara was paired up with both Toph and Suki. That left Zuko and Y/N with the room with two beds.

As everyone walked away to head to their rooms, Y/N followed behind Zuko. Anyone could clearly see that these two had feelings for each other yet they were both too blind to see if themselves, even Toph could see it!

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

Y/N looks up to see that Zuko standing in front of the door to their room. She walks up and peaks around him to see into the room and her eyes widen with realization as she understands what he was surprised about.

“They said that it was a room with two beds not one! I’ll go and fix this.” Zuko storms off, leaving Y/N alone. Y/N would be lying to herself if she said that she wasn’t hurt by the fact that Zuko was upset that he’d have to possibly share a bed with her.

Y/N did her best not to let her tears fall down on her face as she places her bag down and grabbed an extra blanket and made her bed on the floor, away from the bed. When she heard Zuko returning she quickly laid down and turned away from him.

“They said that they must have made a mistake but that this is the only room available.” Zuko sighs as he walks. He looks around confused when he doesn't see Y/N. “Y/N?” He walks over to the other side of the bed and sees her laying down on the floor. “Y/N, what are you doing on the floor? You should take the bed instead.”

Y/N still doesn’t turn around to face him. “It’s fine, I’ll be fine here. It’s just for tonight.”

“Y/N, I can’t sleep on the bed while you sleep on the floor!” Zuko shakes his head. Y/N sighs as she gets up and collects her stuff. “W-Wait...! Where are you going?”

“Well if me sleeping on the floor will keep you from sleeping on the bed then I’ll go and see if I can sleep in the other room with the girls” She says as she starts to walk out the room when Zuko reaches out and grabs her hand gently.

“What is it Zuko?”

Zuko blushes as he looks down at his feet, “You don’t have to go...”

“You clearly don’t want me here. You even went to go ask for another room.”

Zuko shakes his head, “N-No, I didn’t...I mean I didn’t think you’d want to be in the same room. But...we can share the bed.”

“S-share the bed?! B-but...”

“The bed is big enough for the both of us to fit but if you don’t feel comfortable, you can say no...”

Y/N thinks for a while, blushing as she notices that he’s still holding her hand, “W-We...we can share the bed...” She says softly.

Zuko smiles as he squeezes her hand gently as he walks with her back to the bed. Y/N and Zuko both slip into the bed, laying down awkwardly and not talking since they’re both too shy to say anything to each other. A small gust of wind blows through a crack in the window causing Y/N to shiver.

“Are you cold?” Zuko asks. Y/N nods her head. Zuko thinks for a bit before lifting the blanket up a bit so that she could see that he was opening his arms out to her.

“Zuko?”

“My body tends to run a lot warmer than others. Perks of being a firebender.” Zuko says as a tint of pink starts creeping onto his cheeks. When Y/N doesn’t say anything or move right away he looks away, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to...” He says as he starts to put his arm back down.

Y/N quickly moves closer and buries her face into his chest. Zuko instantly blushes even more but slowly smiles as he wraps his arms around her. Y/N closes her eyes and sighs softly as she starts to feel warmer.

“Feel better?”

“A lot better...thank you.”

Zuko gently rubs tiny circles on the small of her back to help her fall asleep. Y/N yawns softly and snuggles closer to him. Zuko couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to sleep in the same room as Y/N, let alone in the same bed and in his arms. He continues to quietly listen to her breathing until it slows down to a soft and steady pace as if she had already fallen into deep sleep. He leans down and kisses the top of her head.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get the courage to tell you that...that my feelings for you keep growing each day we spend more time together. Sokka keeps telling me that I should hurry up and tell you before someone else comes along and admits there feelings to you. Someone better than me. But...I’m scared that you won’t feel the same and it’ll end up ruining our friendship.”

“I like you too, Zuko.”

Zuko flinches and looks down to see Y/N looking up at him. “W-What?”

“I said that I like you too...”

“Y-You do?! B-But...!”

“No buts, Zuko. I’ve liked you for a while too but....I never told you because I’m...I’m just me. I’m just a normal water bender and you’re a firebender. And not just any firebender but the prince of the Fire Nation. I’ve also seen the way you looked at Man when we ran into your sister and her friends. Azula said that you guys had feelings for each other.”

Zuko sighs heavily, “We did have feelings for each other before but that was in the past. Azula was just trying to get into your head to throw you off. But,” Zuko reaches over and places his hand on her cheek and rubs her cheek gently with his thumb. “Does me being a firebending prince really bother you?”

Y/N closes her eyes and leans against his hand. “No...but your people and council will probably be against it.”

“When Aang finally defeats my father and we stop my sister, I’ll be crowned the new Fire Lord and my people will have to live with who I choose to become my wife.”

“Y-You’re wife?” Y/N blushes deeply.

Zuko smiles as he leans closer and nuzzles his nose against hers. “I want you to eventually become my wife...”

Y/N continues to blush as she looks from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes.

“May I kiss you, Y/N? Please?”

Y/N nods her head and closes her eyes as Zuko leans in and kisses her softly. They both smile at each other when they pull away.

“Does this finally mean that I’m your boyfriend now?”

Y/N smirks, “I think you need to properly ask me.”

Zuko laughs softly before leaning in and nuzzles his nose against hers again. “Will you do me the honor of becoming my girlfriend, Y/N?”

Y/N giggles and leans up to peck his nose, “Yes...”

Zuko smiles and pulls her close and they soon fall asleep in each other’s arms.

The next morning they walked outside to meet with the others while holding hands.

“FINALLY!” Sokka yells out.

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

Requests are open 💕

#zuko x reader #zuko #atla x y/n #atla x reader #avatar the last airbender #zuko x y/n

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starman-john-tracy · 4 years ago

Note

mmmmSKSKSKSKSK I sent this to the wrong blog but,,,for the prompt list thingy you reblogged, misc 13 with 2 characters you want

(I HOPE TO JESUS IT'S YOU WHO REBLOGGED IT THIS TIME)

“I’m worried about you.” [From this Ask meme]

The best response John can manage, at that precise moment, is a vague, dismissive flick of his fingers as he swipes his older brother’s hologram off of his screens, ending the call.

He’s busy, damn it, Scott.

Alan and Kayo have taken Thunderbird Three out to an asteroid between Mars and Jupiter to help a returning deep-space shuttle with engine failure and Alan’s got twelve minutes of air left in his tank, blood-red holograms ticking the numbers down at the corner of John’s vision. Thunderbird One’s been deployed to the Alps in the sub-zero temperatures of a snowstorm following reports from the family of a missing skier, and John could really have done with all the little comments about their Mom that Scott had decided it was a good time to slip in amongst receiving his instructions, probably in an attempt to keep it together himself. To crown it all, Gordon’s in the middle of a risky deep dive with Thunderbird Four in one of the darkest parts of the Atlantic Ocean, trying to find a missing ocean surveyor, with Two coasting overhead despite the fact there’s not much Virgil can do but clutter John’s airways with his worries. Penny’s apparently in the middle of some kind of bank heist in England, and so can’t take FAB1 to help. John, in an almost Scott-like fit of insanity, is almost itching for The Hood to turn up, just because he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to hit something very hard with the mooring claw…

It’s been like this for a week solid. John’s not slept in thirty-two hours and colours are desperately trying their best to become audible. His mouth tastes stale with jumbled numerical readings and directions and what-his-brothers-need-to-do-nexts.

The astronaut takes a deep, ragged breath and rips his hands from the blue glow of his holographic array. He rubs the textured blue fabric of his fingertips hard against gritty eyes, trying to force away the tired moisture that’s gathering determinedly there from trying not to yawn.

This should all be routine by now. He’s got a schedule. A delicate balance of exhaustion and focus. John knows his body’s limits and how to push himself past them - swaddling himself in a cocoon woven of holograms and the loud, urgent voices of people who need his help until he’s lightheaded from the brightness and downing enough caffeine to make his hands shake is the only thing keeping him going.

It’s not a good system, but it works.

Well, sort of works.

John scrubs at his eyes harder, pushing against his closed lids until phosphenes bloom fractal galaxies across the darkness from the pressure. He’s so tired but there’s no way he's gonna be able to sleep this one off. Not with everything going on all around him right now.

Not until these people are sa…

“John.” Fantastic. Scott’s back. Calling on his wrist Comm this time, and big brother doesn’t exactly sound pleased about being hung up on. John thinks better of ignoring him twice, though he rolls his eyes about it. “You’ve been running Comms for three days straight now, you need to take a break.”

“I’m fine, Scott.” John’s mouth shapes the words even though he feels anything but. He has to be fine. “I’m just doing my job. Go get on with yours. And fly a little lower, the wind speed’s up.” The holograms had started swimming alarmingly over two hours ago, most of their words blurring beyond legibility, but John knows what the warning orange blob and its proximity to the logo of Thunderbird One means regardless. Focusing is getting harder and harder and that’s probably dangerous because what if he slips up, what if he gives one of his brothers the wrong instructions and something bad happens, what if...

John really wants a coffee. Another coffee. That’s probably a bad sign in itself because John, ninety-nine per cent of the time, doesn’t drink coffee. Certainly not like his brother’s do. Thunderbird Five’s got a massive range of teas vacuum packed in little silver packets, mostly courtesy of the Lady Penelope, because John far prefers it, but there is a sturdy metal tin of strong, Indian coffee in the galley, waiting ominously for him like a red break glass in case of emergency box.

John’s been choking down up to three mugs of the stuff, black and thick as tar, spiked with crushed caffeine pills, every other hour, in an attempt to keep himself with it enough to do his damn job.

The system works.

He grinds the heel of his palm against his forehead, trying futilely to prevent his pounding headache from getting any worse. He thinks there’s a bottle of painkillers in the first aid kit, Brains’ good ones, and mixed with another mug of caffeine John reckons that should get him through the rest of today even though he’s hungry and exhausted, and all his muscles have a dangerous, creeping ache that warns of atrophy, of too much time spent in Zero G. John just knows his whole body is going to kill the minute he relaxes, and that, if the constant chatter of the globe weren’t enough, makes taking even a little break just not an option. He ignores it all like a pro, slipping out of the segment of Five’s ring with the globe in, and drifting toward the galley, his fingers uncoordinated and clumsy on the handrails.

Coffee. Black. Two capsules of painkiller and another of caffeine, crushed into a powder with his fingers and dumped in.

He snatches up the plastic cup of coffee and heads back toward his globe, lifting the cup to his lips.

“John,” Scott says in his ear. “You can’t seriously be going to drink that…?”

John does, in fact, drink that. He knocks back the boiling beverage so quickly he doesn’t even need to swallow and chases the scald down with another cold cup of coffee that’s been left on his countertop from who-knows-when in the past three days. It’s gritty in the bottom from the drugs. John swallows hard at the acrid taste, coughs, and shakes out his shoulders.

“Alright,” John manages, suppressing the urge to throw it back up. “I’m good.”

Scott just blinks at him like he’s clearly a moron. Which, John thinks, is a bit rude when he’s the one with two PHDs.

“How long has that mug been there?” Scott asks, gaping slightly. It’s not at all like John to leave liquids out in the open, and especially not in space. “John, it had a layer of mould floating on it.” Not like him at all.

“Yeah,” John offers him, with a weak, crooked smile that doesn’t make sense on his face. “Penicillin. Adjust your tail flaps thirty degrees, you’re coasting too low. You need to compensate for the way the wind’s being channelled between the rocks.”

“John,” Scott’s voice comes back dangerously low, “John, when did you last have a proper break?” John’s head throbs and he’s saved from trying to work out any kind of reply to that because Gordon takes the opportunity to check-in. It doesn’t matter that John’s vision is blurring, as long as he can hear his little brother just fine.

Crackling static buzzes in the spaceman’s ears long after Gordon clicks off again.

The newest shot of caffeine is slowly starting to soothe his frayed nerves, though everything’s a bit… hazy, if he’s honest.

“John!” Oh, Scott’s still here, huh. “Ok, little brother,” The elder of them puffs his chest out and folds his arms, but John’s not paying enough attention to his hologram to notice. “If you string yourself out much longer, I’m going to put you on medical leave until you die, alright? Nothing can stop me.”

“I don’t need med leave!” John exhales all of the air in his paper-bag lungs at once. “I’m fine and I’m doing a damn good job monitoring everything! I never take sick days…”

“You never take vacation days, either.” Scott cuts pointedly across him.

“Irrelevant.” John dismisses him again, flicking the point away like it’s a hologram he’s done with, “I’m just doing my job. If you want to come down on me for working hard, then you’re the one with the issue here.”

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Scott growls. “Your exhaustion and carelessness puts everyone who works under you at risk and I don’t know what the answer to your workload without Dad around is, but it sure. isn’t. this.” A sweeping hand encompasses his brother head to toe - taking in the coffee stains on John’s blue fingertips and the darkness smudged under his eyes. “We’ve got to, I don’t know, there must be something that can take some of the pressure off. Alan was talking about wanting to try a rotation.”

“Alan’ll be bored to death within five minutes alone up here,” John points out, “he’s still too young.”

“Gordon then, or Virgil, hell I’ll do it. I’m sure we can scrape together something.”

“Scott.” John’s voice comes out much softer this time, certainly softer than intended. “We’ll work something out but… just… not right now, ok?” It sounds almost pleading. A little broken. Perhaps Scott shouldn’t have brought up their Father, or perhaps there’s already too much for John to focus on without throwing himself into the mix. “We can pick this up later if you want, when we’re finished,” He goes on to offer, hollowly, “but right now you need to check your heat scanner and find that missing skier before those kids who called lose a parent.”

There’s a harsh intake of breath from Scott at that. He knows as well as any of them why they, why John, does all this. If they can keep together just one family, compared to their own loss, anything seems worth it.

Doesn’t mean Scott’s got to like it though.

He clicks off and John closes his eyes for one, very long moment - the residual Comm chatter swirling in his ears. It’s tempting to just press his forehead against the cold glass beneath his feet and just not exist for a few hours... But Alan needs to get back aboard his Thunderbird with the crew members, and Gordon’s discussing going EVA with Virgil in the background and Scott’s thermal scanner has just picked up an orange blip amongst all the blue.

There’s always a later. When everyone’s safe. John can rest later.

#Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds 2015 #John Tracy #yEET #bonsaiiiiiii #heheh yeah it was me XDD oh nooo hehehe #tw: really sad tired john ??? XD #tw: a man who hates coffee drinking too much caffine

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sweet-sammy-kisses · 3 years ago

Text

Monsters of Past

For my @badthingshappenbingo prompt take me instead. Fandom: Batman Characters: Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, and OC Rating: M Warnings: Past rape/non-con, rape/non-con elements, Tim Drake has bad parents (they are the worst) Lots of protective Jason, Cass and Dick Summary: "That is what I was trying to protect you from Damian." Tim's voice was hollow. "You talk about your birthright as Bruce's blood son, that you want everything you deem yours handed to you on a silver platter without knowing that there is a price you are going to pay. Do you know how many there are who would love to have the Crown Prince of Gotham's blood son in their power? Forced to do whatever they want to seal the deal? They are the monster waiting in the shadows knowing their money and power will protect them. I was trying to protect you, Damian.

"To protect Damian Tim gives himself to a monster of his past. Word Count: 2,901 You can also read it on AO3

"Enough is enough. Today is the day that I take my birthright back from Drake." Damian had waited long enough for his father to dismiss the unwanted one, he had already been removed as Robin as one of them now it was time to remove him from his position as CEO - it was his birthright and that Drake was still in his place filled Damian with rage - and once and for all show Drake he wasn't wanted nor needed and it was time for him to move on, far away from them.

Damian had overheard a conversation between Drake and Tam before Drake discovered and destroyed the bugs Damian had planted in the CEO's office the last time he had been there reminding Drake that he was nothing but a temporary replacement until father took back what was his or passed it onto him as it is his birthright.

Tam had brought up the owner of a company that they needed to work with but the CEO was holding out until Tim agreed to a private meeting with him.

"We can't keep putting this meeting off. The board members are beginning to ask questions as to why you don't want to meet with Aiden Tyler."

"I know. His company is doing some good but Aiden Tyler is an ass."

"Tim!"

"I'm sorry but I have dealt with that man in the past and he is a real scumbag and if we didn't need his product I would tell him to go to hell. Call and see if you can make an appointment with him sometime next week."

Damian knew that was his chance to prove he was worthy to take over now, despite his age.

+******+

Aiden Tyler quickly agreed to meet with Damian and the youngest Wayne couldn't help but preen with pride.

"That will show Drake." He will secure the deal and prove once again how worthless Drake is then maybe they could finally be rid of him.

Dressed in his finest of suits Damian arrived at the five-star restaurant where he walked in and owned the place like the Prince he is. "I am meeting Aiden Tyler, take me to him." He demanded.

The host quickly did as ordered and Damian couldn't help but smirk the man knew not to mess with a Wayne.

Led to a booth in the back a handsome man with deep brown hair with streaks of silver the man was fit for nearing his fifties. Dark eyes met his and Damian refused to shiver as they roamed over him with something in them that made him uncomfortable.

"Mr. Tyler, I am Damian Wayne, I am thankful that you could work me into your schedule." Damian greeted him.

Aiden's lips curled up into a smile, "Please call me Aiden and when it comes to Wayne Enterprise I am always willing to make room. I'm sure that we can work out a partnership that is agreeable to both parties."

There was something about the way the man spoke that reminded Damian of a predator stalking its prey. 'Well, Mister Tyler you will learn that Damian Wayne-Al Ghul is no one's prey.' "I hope that as well."

"Well isn't this nice but if you want to do business with Wayne Enterprise you need to talk to me."

"What are you doing here Drake?" Damian hissed out, he couldn't believe that Drake had the nerve to show up here and ruin his chance to prove to his father he was ready.

Thankful for all the train Bruce had given them Tim was able to hide his feelings behind a cool mask as he was forced to face someone he hoped he would never see again unless it was behind jail bars. "I am doing my job, Damian. Now, why don't you run along and leave this to the grown-ups." Tim ordered not suggested.

Damian bristled much like Alfred the cat and he looked ready to spew his usual vile insults towards Tim but right now he didn't care, he needed Damian far away and somewhere safe.

"If you leave now I will not inform Bruce of you trying to endanger Wayne Enterprise's." Tim held up a hand as Damian went to speak, "As you would know because of your age any agreement you reached with Mister Tyler would not be binding. So in order for this partnership to be legal, it is me that must make the deals. Now head home Damian." Tim ordered.

A low growl escaped Damian he hated to admit that Drake had a point, after all, he was not of age to make any partnership legal which is why he had planned on creating the agreement than bringing his father in to show him he was capable. Now he couldn't for that surely end with his father agreeing with Drake. "This is far from over," Damian warned before storming out.

"Such a shame, I was looking forward to seeing what young Mister Wayne had to offer me." Aiden's voice was like nails on a chalk board and all Tim wanted to do was run far away but it was too late for if he did nothing the man would go after Damian again.

'You can do this Tim. You have faced the likes of the Joker and Ra. You can face him.' Tim repeated to himself as he forced the smile back on his face, "I'm sorry but you will have to settle with me."

Aiden's smile turned wicked, "We both know that I won't be settling for you, Tim. Come sit, let us catch up before we get down to business."

Having little choice Tim slipped into the booth.

Tim could feel the vile beginning to build up in the back of his throat as Aiden's hand slid up his thigh. He did his best not to shudder as unwanted memories flooded his mind.

Moving closer Aiden removed any space between the two of them, "I still hope that you cry as pretty as you use to do." Aiden whispered in Tim's ear. "I am going to have so much fun breaking you all over again. It was so sweet of you to offer to take your little brother's place."

Tim wondered if it was wrong that he wished for an Arkham outbreak at that very moment. "As long as you leave Damian alone you can have me instead."

"Agreed." Never had such a word sent pure terror flowing through Tim's body.

+******+

"Father! I demand that you talk to Drake!" Damian growled as he slammed the door to the manor open.

Bruce could feel a headache building, he wished that his two youngest sons could get along. "What now?"

"I had a meeting with Aiden Tyler, one that Drake has been putting off for a month, since he wasn't in a hurry to seal the deal I took it onto myself to see it through."

Cass appeared out of nowhere, her expression hard, "Did you leave Tim with him?" She shocked everyone with her growl.

Damian blinked at Cassandra, taken back by the rage burning in her eyes. "Yes."

Horror filled Cass' eyes before she was moving. Bouncing to his feet Dick followed after his sister, "Cass, what is going on?"

"Tyler hurt little brother in past and is hurting him now." Was all that Cass offered before she was gone, leaving their very confused family behind.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound too good, someone gets Babs on the line and have her find out everything she can about this Aiden Tyler," Jason suggested. Something was bugging him, he had heard that name before and the fact that it made him want to reach for his guns wasn't a good sign.

Worry shone in Dick's blue eyes, "Do you think Timmy might be in danger?" His and Tim's relationship hadn't been the same since he didn't believe Tim that Bruce was alive and caused him to lose his standing in the hero community, he kept meaning to fix it but he kept pushing it off and now his baby brother might be in trouble and he might turn away his offer of comfort.

"I do," Jason growled out.

+******+

At Alfred's suggestion, they had moved down to the cave to do a background check on Aiden Tyler and discovering that Tyler Holdings had a history of deals with Jack and Janet Drake made Jason even more on edge.

He stepped over the edge when Cass returned a protective and murderous aura pouring off of her and a long line of hickies on Tim's neck arrived. Cass was curled around Tim, looking like a mama bear ready to take down anyone who proved a threat to her cub, her sharp glare had everyone on edge.

A gasp of horror escaped Dick, "Timmy."

Jason knew what those marks meant, he had worn his own when he was living on the streets.

Bruce looked like he was going to be sick, his parents and then Alfred had shielded him from the lengths some would go to get more money.

Though Damian had been raised as an Al Ghul his mother had made sure he would never have to lower himself to serve others so he had no clue as to what powder keg he was about to set off. "What is the meaning of this Drake? You were supposed to be sealing a deal not lowering yourself to be a common whore." Damian snarled at Tim.

"Damian! Enough!"

Shock filled Damian's face as he found himself taking a step back at the anger in Dick's voice, his Batman had never spoken to him like that and he didn't know why Richard chose know to speak up. "Why are you defending him now Richard? I am only speaking the truth as I have before, Drake has proven himself to be nothing but a whore unfit to wear the Wayne name."

"I'm only the whore to spare you from becoming one." Tim's voice was soft but it echoed through the cave.

Damian could only blink at Drake before scoffing at him, "I would never lower myself as something so disgraceful. You make no sense."

The fire burned in Tim's dull eyes, "There was a reason that I kept putting off meeting with Tyler. I was waiting until I was sure that Bruce, Dick or Jason could be there with me. The bastard wouldn't try anything with one of them there. He just likes them young and pretty."

"What are you saying, Timmy?" Dick didn't know if he wanted to know the answer.

"You think that this is the first time that I had to give myself over for a business deal?" The laugh that escaped Tim was bitter. "I have been doing this for years. I was a prize that my parents dangled before anyone they could. Now that I am CEO of Wayne Enterprise I am an even bigger prize."

Jason's eyes were glowing green as he realized what his baby bird was saying.

Dick looked like he was going to murder someone.

Bruce looked horrified.

And Damian... Damian looked baffled.

"That is what I was trying to protect you from Damian." Tim's voice was hollow. "You talk about your birthright as Bruce's blood son, that you want everything you deem yours handed to you on a silver platter without knowing that there is a price you are going to pay. Do you know how many there are who would love to have the Crown Prince of Gotham's blood son in their power? Forced to do whatever they want to seal the deal? They are the monster waiting in the shadows knowing their money and power will protect them. I was trying to protect you, Damian."

To no one's surprise, Jason took a protective stance in front of Tim, there were few things he hated more than child rapist, the main one being the Joker, and to hear that his little brother had been forced to entertain monsters like that had him tasting the pit in the back of his mouth and he wanted nothing more than to hunt all those bastards down but that would come later right now all that matters is Tim. "Cass, take Tim upstairs and call those friends of his. He needs to be with people who will love and support him."

It was telling how awful that Tim was feeling as he didn't put up any protest as he allowed Cass to lead him out of the cave, he stopped only once to look at Damian, "You might not believe this but I do love you Damian and there was no way that I was going to let my little brother be forced to do something like that, not if I could protect him in ways that no one protected me."

Bruce collapsed into the chair as he buried his face in his hands. Dick would have offered him comfort but his legs gave out beneath him.

A dangerous growl escaped Jason as he flew a fist at the punching bag, he didn't care what Bruce said tonight he was going hunting.

"I didn't know." A shaken Damian whispered, he thought that Drake hated him just like he hates him but to know what Drake protected him from made his world spin. His mother had drilled into him that Timothy Drake was his enemy and the only way to take his place in his father's family was to get rid of him. "This makes no sense. Why would Drake do that for me?"

"Because you are his little brother and he was trying to keep you safe," Dick answered him with a sad smile on his face. Tim had protected Damian but they failed in keeping him safe. "There has to be a way to fix this." Dick just didn't know how to start.

A strong hand landed on his shoulder lifting his head Dick found himself staring into Bruce's grim face, "We messed up B."

"I know." Bruce felt guilt building up in him, he is Tim's father it is his duty to keep him safe. "All we can do is be there for him. Jason is right though Tim needs his friends here. We need to show him that we love him and are here for him."

No one noticed when Jason slipped away from them he had a monster to hunt.

+*****+

Kitchen

Jason stalked towards the door with purpose in his step.

"Master Jason."

Halting in mid-step Jason clenched his fists at his sides, "I cherish you Alfred but not even you can stop me from doing this." Jason warned.

"I don't intend to Master Jason," That had Jason whirling around to look at Alfred, the man looked calm but Jason could see the storm brewing in his eyes, "I would just like to inform you that Aiden Tyler will be attending a party tonight and from his habits, he will not arrive at home until around 2 am, which at such time the Sirens have promised to keep the rest of the Bats busy," Alfred informed Jason. No one hurt one of his grandchildren.

A wicked grin appeared on Jason's face, "This is why you are the best Alfred."

"Indeed. Now I need to prepare snacks for Master Tim's guests. Do be sure to return tonight and I shall have your favourite cookies waiting for you." Alfred gave Jason a soft smile.

"You rule Alfred." Jason would come back for Alfred and look after Tim.

+*****+

With Tim curled up in a puppy pile with Bart, Connor, Cassie and Cass watching Star Wars. The Sirens leading Batman, Nightwing and Robin on a chase throughout Gotham the Red Hood was free to deal with business.

Aiden was riding a high he had sealed a deal with Wayne Enterprise that was sure to make him an even wealthier man and his favourite toy returned to him. Nothing could bring him down.

That was until he felt the cold metal of the barrel of the gun pressed against his forehead. A red helmet followed and Aiden felt a sense of fear.

The Red Hood was in his home.

"Whoever sent you I am sure that I can pay you double what they offered you."

"I am a Crime Lord I don't need your money and no one sent me. See I have issues with people like you who target children and think because you have the money and power that you are above the law. But you aren't above me. I am here to ensure that no other child is gifted to you."

Aiden had been so focused on the gun at his head he never noticed the second one aimed at his groin until it was too late.

Beneath his helmet, Jason grinned as Aiden screamed in pain on the floor, blood pooling around him.

+*****+

"Is he dealt with?" Dick asked.

Jason grinned at his older brother, "He will never hurt baby bird again."

While Dick wished he had been the one to deal with that bastard he needed to keep Bruce busy, still that didn't mean he wouldn't ruin him in other ways. Someone had sent Clark a copy of everything Babs had dug up on Aiden. He would see that monster ruined, without money and his power stripped from him, until he was as helpless as he made Tim feel.

#badthingshappenbingo #sherri writes #my fics #tim drake #dark elements #cw: noncon/rape elements #batfamily #jason todd #dick grayson #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #damian wayne #dark fic #protective jason #protective dick #protective cass

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