#i always thought vex would have a good singing voice

[artificerstimetable]

Poor lil Romeo. Don't worry though, he's having a great time. (Haha. Bobblehead.)

[marina41trench]

Nikaidou Yamato - 16PRODUCERS RabbiChat

Tamaki: Iorin come to Yama-san’s rooooom

Tamaki: Hurryyyy

Tamaki: I

Tamaki: o

Tamaki: riiiiiiin

Iori: How vexing.

Iori: Or rather, there is still time.

Have you done your homework?

Tamaki: (king pudding emoji) (cat emoji) (rabbit emoji)

Iori: Please do not dodge my question with such emoji.

Tamaki: Geeeeez Yama-san you should get him here too!

Yamato: Ichi

Yamato: The room’s tidier than before and I’ve prepared zabuton[1]. Will you come here?

Iori: Somehow, the way you invite sounds repulsive?

Yamato: No way?!

Tamaki: The way you invite sounds like an old man

Yamato: I’m the lead today, right…?

Iori: Anyway, I’ll be on my way.

Tamaki:

Tsumugi: Thank you for your work!

I was wondering when I’ll get a notification, but everyone’s already assembled…!

Yamato: Great work, Manager

The three of us have gathered in my room just now

Yamato: Tama laid out lots of sweets and juice

Iori: It’s like a field trip

Tsumugi: I can imagine it! (laugh)

What kind of sweets did you prepare?

Tamaki: Shredded and dried squid[2], crackers, jerky, choco, potato chips, gummies, marshmallow, cookie

Yamato: I’m thankful for the first half of the list

Iori: It is getting late, so let us start

Tsumugi: I agree…!

So, let me explain the aim of this project once again.

Tsumugi: Our discussion will be done via RabbiChat as there were expectations from the other party to see everyone acting naturally, as if having a conversation over a dining table together as opposed to a meeting place.

Tsumugi: I hope I could hear the thoughts of the producing group and the one being produced!

Tamaki: First of all, Yama-san was really happy about it!

Yamato: Ough…

Iori: Or rather, he was very festive.

He had an eccentric mood when he sent a message earlier.

Yamato: I feel really embarrassed now.

Tsumugi: I’m happy to hear Yamato-san’s inside story! (laugh)

What did you feel when you learned that Iori-san and Tamaki-san will be your producers? Yamato: Well… as said earlier, I was happy!

Yamato: I’m sure everyone already knows this, but I’ve always wanted a comfortable place to live, and the people around me have provided that.

Yamato: But Ichi can see through what I’m thinking and knows I have a pathetic side.

I’ve looked forward to seeing how he’ll get through me.

Yamato: Tama is the same too. He suggests things no one has thought of. He can get to the bottom of things.

Yamato: So, they know how to bring out a side of me I’m not even aware of.

Tamaki: Fufun!!!!

Iori: Fufu.

Yamato: Can you two not eat chocolate while looking so proud (laugh)

It’s going to get stuck in your mouth (laugh)

Tsumugi: It’s kind of making me moved to tears…!

Tsumugi:  You’re still close to them despite having the largest age difference, how did you produce him and come up with the song?

Iori: To be honest, we had a dispute over it.

Tamaki: Yea.

Yamato: W-wait. I didn’t know that…

Iori: It wasn’t an argument, but more of a constructive discussion on how enchanting you should be with regards to this project.

So our direction in production is divided.

Tsumugi: I want to hear the details of your divided perspective!

Iori: Nikaidou-san is really good at making alluring expressions by impulse.

For the fans, it stirs up their imagination of his sharp gaze towards them.

Iori: At first I suggested a mature-ish ballad song because it fits best to express his characteristic carefree singing voice.

Tamaki: I suddenly thought that the song is going to be the one where his body movements shine with dancing!

Tamaki: I don’t know what allure is like but Yama-san is really good at making expressions, y’know

So if the focus is matching it with the song and then dance, I’m thinking if the fans would be happy

Yamato: No way, hearing those makes me feel more embarrassed though?!

Tamaki: That’s hilarious

Since we couldn’t decide, me and Iorin wrote in a notebook on what kind of a person Yama-san is during lunch break 👍

Iori: We went back to the drawing board, and listed the things of our image of Nikaidou-san

Iori: 1. He’s very approachable

2. He rarely reveals his true feelings

3. A shy person

Tamaki: Even though he’s trying to look good by treating us to ramen, he spoils us very much.

Yamato: Aaaaaaahhhh this dried squid is really goooood where did it come from?

Did Tama buy this for meeeeeeeee?

Iori: Well, in short, Nikaidou-san might call himself “onii-san”, but in reality he’s like this, right?

Yamato: Don’t say it like that!

Tamaki: Yeah

Even though I really like Yama-san to be like this, you keep that side of you hidden from the public, right?

So me and Iorin decided that the lyrics should be about being okay with being your natural attitude? more.

Iori: And we decided that the melody and the lyrics are like untying a thread one by one.

Iori: So this is like our message to Nikaidou-san.

Yamato: Ahh, I see. So it’s like that.

Yamato: To be honest, since I’m the oldest in IDOLiSH7, I thought that I’d do the first one Ichi said.

Yamato: Somehow, I was surprised at first that the lyrics felt like it’s a message

Yamato: I seeee

It’s a message for me

Tsumugi: It’s a new form of producing…

I’ve read the lyrics again, and it almost made me shed a tear…

Yamato: I know right

Tamaki: Yama-san’s looking away

Iori: You’re hiding something.

Yamato: Hey Tsumugi-san, please move on to the next topic…

Tsumugi: Yes…! ><

Tsumugi: For the artist picture, Yamato-san’s smile under the blue sky and the clear weather is striking!

How did the photography go?

Tamaki: The theme is “A Special in Ordinary Day” as Yama-san thinks of us in a meaningful way!

Me and Iorin were looking for a good location to do it when we go home from school and during day-off

Iori: Yes. We narrowed down our search on our usual path and found a studio that lets us film on the rooftop.

Yamato: Yeah, and it’s near our office

Yamato: I was surprised that there’s such an open space within the city

Even though it’s surrounded by buildings, we could see the vast sky above us. It really felt so special.

Yamato: Tama is the one who definitely suggested using a water gun, right? (lol)

Tamaki: You’re correct!

You guessed it right, Yama-san

Iori: If you relay the meaning of the title, “Transparent”, the water is portrayed in it as well.

And then using a water gun, is something only Yotsuba-san can suggest.

Tamaki: You can praise me more

Yamato: Good job Tama, you can give an idea no one else can!

Tamaki:

Iori: It was pretty difficult to angle the camera that it shows the water

Tamaki: Yeah I think I’m good with water gun for a while

Iori: Moreover, I believe that there’s a small chance to use it.

Yamato: Anyway, the artist picture is a result of the two doing their very best!

Tsumugi: Thank you for the lovely episode!

The outfit having a wavy silhouette is wonderful!

Yamato: Its simpleness is something I really like~.

Either way it could pass as a casual outfit

Iori: Nikaidou-san’s charm is going to stand out even if an almost plain outfit blends in daily life.

Tamaki: And his dance is smooth and the way he moves his flexible fingers is pretty so we requested the outfit to show it by having the sleeve flutter when he dances ✌

Yamato: You’ve been really thinking about me…

Tamaki: Your face is as red as a jerky. Hilarious

Yamato: Don’t compare me to a jerky (lol)

Iori: Yotsuba-san’s food scraps is being cleaned by Musashi right now

This looks convenient.

Tamaki: Recently when I borrowed it to clean my room one time, it stopped moving because it sucked some books

I apologized to it

Yamato: Musashi, you did something ridiculous…

Tsumugi: Thank you for the warm talk! (laugh)

Lastly, please give a word to your fans!

Iori: Well, I’ll start first.

Iori: Nikaidou-san does a great work in dramas and movies while supporting his fellow members, but he’s also truly timid, easy to feel lonely, and has an uncool side.

Iori: Considering that, we wanted to tell that he’s our cool leader, so this is how we produced him.

This is a song where it's not Nikaidou-san-like, but actually it’s very like him. Please listen to it a lot.

Tamaki: Yama-san has a lot of faces, in a good way!

But we really love all of it!

Tamaki: I hope everyone will love Yama-san singing this kind of song even more!

Yamato: Umm… I might not be able to finish this smoothly

Yamato: I’ve received words from Ichi and Tama where they still love me even at my lowest.

I feels really like a miracle that I get to meet such people who’d say that

Yamato: A long time ago, I was scared of being hurt so I made a wall and had a habit of giving up instantly.

I’m sure everyone experienced that before

Yamato: But, it’s fine. I’m sure there’s someone who’ll show up like the messages in this song.

For now it’s okay to think that guy is me

Yamato: Thank you for always supporting me.

Hopefully we meet again, you with those relaxed shoulders and natural smile.

Tamaki: You showed off on the last one

Iori: You really did.

Yamato: That’s fine!!

Let me be a sly charming onii-san!!

Tsumugi: Thank you for your time, everyone…!

I’m sure this conversation will receive a lot of response, I look forward to the day it’ll be open to the public!

Tamaki: Yama-san really loves us

Should we take a picture?

There’s nothing in this room

Iori: Good idea. Let’s put a lot of good memories in this room.

Yamato: Ohh, put anything you want here

Iori: Well then, let us put a picture of Nikaidou-san wearing an Usamimi Parka first.

Manager, please prepare the picture.

Tsumugi: Leave it to me!!! 💪

Yamato: Why!!!!

-

[1] zabuton is a rectangular shaped cushion used for sitting or kneeling

[2] shredded and dried squid, or sakiika, is a snack

[dragonbanexxi]

Soul of Bronze; Blood of Fire

Helaena Targaryen x Targaryen Royce oc

Not Canon Complaint!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Heir of Runestone would often joke that he should be referred to as Rhaegar Stone. Seeing as his father (Prince Daemon Targaryen) had no want for him and his mother (Lady Rhea Royce) was long dead. All jokes end when he and Ser Gerold Royce are summoned to the capitol by none other than King Viserys the First of his Name. The King wanting nothing more than to bring his estranged nephew into the fold, Viserys offers Rhaegar his so called Targaryen Right. A betrothal to the Princess Helaena and the chance to claim a dragon. Will Rhaegar be able to claim such a beast? Even if his valyrian skills were lacking? Prince Aemond seems to think so. Though he’s mostly is just thrilled to finally have someone around who’s willing to be his friend. Also the court begins to notice that the Princess Helaena seems to have taken a liking to the new prince. Much to her mothers dismay, who’s fighting tooth and nail to have the girl be given to Aegon. Something neither sibling wanted. To Rhaegar everything was going smoothly until the news of Laena Velaryon death had dampen everything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 3: Helaena

The sun was barely peaking through the clouds of the low lit sky. The first songbird of day chirping away delightfully, as if utterly excited to announce the new morning.

Helaena hardly slept the night before. Her visions working double to evade her from rest. Not that the princess minded. Excitement was bumbling in her belly leaving her giddy to start the day.

Today is the day, the day she has long awaited for.

Since childhood Helaena has had dreams of running through bronze fields of grass with black iron stud statues of mighty looking warriors. They were inscribed with runes, she still could not decipher. These dreams never brought the girl fear. Strangely she would always wake up feeling protected.

The voice inside her eerie mind would always sing ‘Black is the color of my true loves hair’.

Today would be the day she thought to herself again. Rhaegar Targaryen would arriving to the Red Keep.

These dreams she keeps having have to be about someone from Runestone. Their sigil being a bronze field with black iron studs.

Helaena sitting in her large bed, hoping with all her heart that her mysterious cousin has black hair.

She knew her father was adamant that she should marry the Heir of Runestone; since she’s now a girl flowered. Yet the looming figure that haunts her every step, her mother; wants her to marry Aegon.

A cold shudder broke out from the distressed princess. While she did love her brother, that love didn’t go beyond sisterly affection. Also Aegon made it pretty clear he thinks Helaena is an idiot and was outwardly offend when Helaena insulted him back.

“I’d rather be perceived as a quiet simpleton than a loud raging dumbass.”

Alicent had scolded her fiercely but her father laughed heartily; making the girl swell with pride. It wasn’t often that Viserys paid attention to his youngest daughter but when he did, the girl was quick to lock the moment in her memory. Desperate for any crumbs Viserys would throw at her, as pathetic as it sounds.

His grace may only love Rhaenyra but that didn’t stop Helaena from seeking out his approval. No matter how in vain it proved to be.

Her chamber door opened suddenly. The princess’s eyes falling on the intruder. Queen Alicent walking in, in all her regal glory.

“Good you’re awake.” Her tone clipped. The Hightower woman must be vexed about something.

“You’re father wants you well dressed today. We are all going to receive Ser Gerold Royce and his ward Prince Rhaegar.”

Helaena nods in response.

“What dress should I wear mama?” The girls voice small. It wasn’t wise to upset her mother when she’s in one of her moods. Let her grandsire or even Aegon be the ones to receive her ire. It was too early for Helaena to be sharply reprimanded.

With a defeated huff the woman said “Wear the celestial blue one my love.” Her mother moved to Helaena’s Vanity. “I’ll do your hair today myself.”

Helaena fighting hard to hide her dread. If there was one thing Helaena hated about herself, it was the inability to endure skin to skin contact. Witnessing other girls embrace their loved ones freely, created a small beast of envy; and seeing the hurt in her mothers eyes always left Helaena destroyed.

She wished she could hug her mother tightly and let her know that she did love her very much. Yet the her tick was too strong to beat.

Today the princess decided she’d suffer through it. For the love she had for her Queen Mother, she’d endure.

“Yes mother, could you put it in the golden hair net cousin Tayla gifted me?” Happiness shimmered in mothers eyes, her small smile growing to a lovely grin.

“Of course my love!” She walked to her closet pulling out the celestial blue dress.

It was a truly beautiful dress. Cut in the Lannister fashion with billowing sleeves. Charming golden flowers embroidered through the bodice and accented with azure gems. Her hair net had been commissioned by her cousin afterwards for her name day to match the dress.

Her mother grabbed her comb, running it through her hair gently. Helaena fighting the cringe her mothers long feminine fingers are causing her.

If this didn’t show her mother she’s trying, Helaena didn’t what would.

“Rhaenyra and her brood will be present as well.” Alicent hissed bitterly.

“Viserys wants us to appear as a united front whatever that means.”

Helaena stared at her small pale hands. The girl often would stay up late at night wondering how her mother and sister were ever best mates. Seeing as they both compete on the daily about who can undermine who the fastest.

“Mother, I think father just wants us all together to give my cousin a warm welcome.” Helaena said softly.

“Seeing as how my cousin has been neglected by uncle, father just wants us to make a good impression.”

Alicent gave a soft hum, thinking how to respond.

“There my sweet.” Ignoring her daughter’s last statement.

“We’re all done. Take a look in the looking glass.”

Helaena stood and walked to her mirror and smiled. “Thank you Mama.”

She looked the proper image of The Maiden herself.

The girls her age at court could giggle and talk ugly things behind her back; but it never bothered her. Especially not now.

The girl smirked to herself.

The Princess Helaena knew how they’d all die anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[littlefreya]

As I was saying

Summary: You recently found out that you’re pregnant and Henry is being all sorts of over-protective and annoying about it and won’t shut up about what you should or shouldn’t eat. So you find a creative way to shut him up...

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader (no description of body type or ethnicity thought it’s mention that Henry is taller)

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: 18+, RPF, fluff to smut, early pregnancy, blow job, bodily fluids, slight FemDom/SubMale, My overuse of poetic sex metaphors, cottagecore!

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, or parts from it.

A/N: This story was born out of a convo I had with my sweet @the-soot-sprite​ about the photo above. Many thanks to @agniavateira​ my solid rock who betas all my work and to @firefly-graphics​ for the dividers

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed my story. I work hard on each one of them and your validation means the world to me. 🖤

As I was Saying

Henry’s velvety voice carried through the cottage like seductive vapours of honey liqueur. It wasn’t often that he'd sing a blissful tune so casually out of the blue—after earth-shattering sex perhaps, which indeed you had the night before. However, this morning, his chants were laced with a new flavour of sugary bliss. 

Two little pink stripes. That's all it took for his eyes to shimmer the way precious cobalt is kissed by a moonlight glow.

Sneaking about in the mien of a curious little mouse, you trod after the pleasant tune of his voice, which was now accompanied by a soft rustle. Wander laved your face once you leaned against the kitchen door frame, peering at the prodigious man who stood in front of the open fridge. 

Preoccupied, he appeared to be ransacking through the shelves with the song ‘Cheek to Cheek’ thrumming on his tongue.

“Heaven... I'm in heaven…”  

Fingers clutching at the edge of the wall, you pressed into the chilled surface with a relaxed smirk, lingering on the irresistible view when your ease of mind faded with a blink of an eye �� while methodically rummaging through the fridge, Henry threw fresh food straight into an open trash can.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice rising to a high-pitched yip. 

Henry made a soft flex; the muscles of his back rippled in a tidal motion. Though acknowledging your presence, he proceeded to hover a finger over different products. 

“Cleaning up the fridge," he answered absentmindedly.

With a soft shove, there went your French cheese. 

“That’s brand new!” you protested and rushed toward him, alarmed. 

Towering over the trash can, you considered diving in to salvage the precious bulk of cheese from the dreary pit. Henry glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, testing your resolve while his claw grabbed some papaya salad leftovers and pushed it over the edge of the shelf, joining the rest of the discarded meals. 

“It is,” he nodded and closed the refrigerator door, carrying on to the high cabinets. With a slight wrinkle between his brows and a hand scratching the stubbles of his dimpled chin, he narrowed his eyes to scrutinise the items carefully. “I'm pregnant-proofing the kitchen. I called Hanna while you were asleep. She created a proper daily menu for you with the dos and don’ts: less sugar, more veggies and protein.” 

It took you a moment to process his words, your eyes narrowing while asking, “Hanna? As in Hanna, your nutritionist?”

Henry nodded at your question, a faint crease lining his cheek. “That’s the one. Don't worry, princess, she specialises with pregnant women.”

Unwittingly, a somewhat inhuman growl sounded in your chest. You were only getting used to the idea of developing another person inside you, and here stood your husband, already seeing fit to dictate your diet. Slithering into the narrow space between the heavy man and the counter, you tilted your chin to meet his stare while your fists pressed into your hips assertively. 

“Listen here, Cavill! You might have jizzed me one too many and succeeded in putting a baby in there, but this is still my body. I can take care of my own pregnancy diet.”

With an arm stretched above your head, Henry offered a charming display of pearly whites to pacify your strained nerves. His dimples nearly managed to beguile your senses when your eyes flared at the sight of what was held between his long fingers.

“No! Henry, no! Not the coffee!”

“Oh, I’m afraid so, my love. You shouldn’t have any caffeine at your current state.” Despite his argument, the tenderness of his gaze stroked upon your face like a warm ray of sunlight piercing through heavy clouds. Lazily it dropped to your belly, the cascading heat cradling your unborn child. 

Words of protest left you for a sliver of a moment, too in awe of the dreamy grin on his face. 

Thoughts of how beautiful you’d look rounded and full with his child illuminated him that you swore his skin developed a glow over the night. Didn’t they always say women are radiant when they are pregnant? Well, it seemed that in your case, it applied to your husband as well.

The charming haze of bliss almost swallowed you up; but you quickly slapped yourself back into reality, reaching a hand in an attempt to stop Henry from throwing away your delicacy. Though taller, Henry held his hand far out of reach, a hint of a smugness stretching his lips.

“A pregnant woman is allowed to have a little bit of caffeine!” You muttered and sent both hands in an attempt to retrieve the box while Henry teased you by throwing it from one hand to the other, further fueling your annoyance. 

Vexed to the point of frustration, you stood still and sighed, “you know what else is bad for the baby?” 

Henry paused his foolish games and tilted his head as he waited to hear your answer.

“His father at the morgue after I’ll kill him. Now stop that and hand it over! A pregnant woman can have a cup a day, according to Google.” 

“Nope,” Henry clicked his tongue, his laughter replaced with a severe stare. “Love, I know they say it’s okay to have a teeny bit, but I’ve been doing some research while you were asleep, and it’s not recommended. Caffeine increases heart rate and blood pressure, which is not good for you nor for the baby. It also increases urination, which may cause dehydration.”

Clenching your jaw at the onslaught of information he bestowed, you watched his lips move while none of his words registered. Preoccupied with the rules of a “healthy” pregnancy, Henry was set on being the practical one, completely forgetting to enjoy the moment. And damn, it was the moment to celebrate. All you wanted right now was to stay in bed for a day, ride your handsome husband to hell and back and eat as much ice cream as possible.

“Everything you eat from now on goes to our baby,” Henry proceeded to lecture on a thing you were perfectly aware of.

Ire found you within seconds, embroiled with pregnancy hormones which made him further intolerable at the moment— intolerable

... and delicious.  

Soaked with hunger, your eyes raked his sight: the thickness of his muscles was apparent beneath a plain black t-shirt and those good old grey sweats outlined the source of your current predicament. Your fingers twitched just from thinking about it, mimicking the sensation of squeezing its girth and eliciting those low groans that made your heart flutter. 

But his chatter still interrupted your sultry thoughts. If only there was a way to get him to shut up, you mused. Then your eyes focused on the soft bulge that winked back at your hungry glare.

Unaware, Henry turned toward the table to grab a bulk of informative documents he printed earlier in order to educate you of your pregnancy, he licked his thumb and began to read through, “As I was saying….”

Hastily, you exploited his lack of attention and took a step forward, your fingers latching around the hem of his sweats. With one swift movement, you fell to your knees and tugged his trousers along. 

Lost in his passionate speech, Henry was still muttering nonsense when your hand seized him; but as the lushness of your tongue bedded his soft cock without warning, all that could be heard in the kitchen was a husky gasp. 

Feeling the warm silky flesh swell and harden within your mouth, you sent your eyes up to peer at him, admiring the sight. Nothing spoke of your power better than the wrinkle between his shut eyes and his mouth agape with all air draining from his lungs. There you were, lowered to your knees with a maw full of his cock and yet, he was the one who lost his ability to speak and had his legs quaking of need. 

Unable to help yourself, you sent one palm to feel the tremor that ran through the muscles of his thighs while the other cradled his heavy sac. 

“Uh……” he finally managed to utter, a groan of bemused bliss pushing itself between his parted lips. “What… what are you doing?” 

You crooked an eyebrow in response and answered by dragging your mouth along the length of his shaft. Your pillowy lips ran across ridges and thrumming veins, your jaw loosening until you felt him deep in the back of your throat. 

Locked in the cavernous cage of your maw, he tightened his gut and shuddered with pleasure. Though, the low unbridled groans that sputtered from his chest fueled your enticement just as so; memories of how the same thick girth that brimmed your mouth would split open your narrow canal made both your eyes and abandoned cunt tear of desperation.

It always beguiled you how much arousal could be found in bringing him to his rapture without touching yourself. The harder he throbbed on your velvety serpent, the more you soaked.  

With fervent strokes, you feasted on the briny flavour of his cock; the tendons vibrated with bliss while your tongue twirled and pushed around them. You pulled, sucked, and pumped him in your warm mouth, milking the senses of a man infinitely stronger—a man who succeeded in conquering your womb yet now crumbled to nothing at the touch of your tongue.

“Fuck…. Babe… keep going,” Henry breathed out a plea. The documents held by his hand slipped between his fingers as he pressed his palm to the cabinet with a thud, and began to rock his hips back and forth to fuck back into your mouth. Like feathers, the white slips floated around you, landing onto the ground while you worked him to his ecstasy.  

His other hand found your head, caressing lovingly and trying to take control: yet his strength waned and his head fell back with a moan. Faster, harder, you sucked your husband to the point of submission while hums of admiration laced around his rigid length. Your eyes beamed as you watched his resolve shatter. Your fingertips toyed with the coarse hair at the apex of his thighs, your thumb seeking the tendon at the base of his cock and pressing into it, urging him to spill his gift down your throat.

“I’m going to… I’m going to…. In your throat… fuck.”

With a guttural grunt, he thickened against your tongue; the overflow of salty-sweet cream glazed your mouth and then flowed down your flaring throat.

The room thrummed with the buzz of the refrigerator, Henry’s heavy exhales - these were the sounds of your triumph. Wiping your lips with the back of your hand, you cracked a smile and neatly pulled his trousers back on before you rose to stand straight. 

Overwhelmed and drenched in sweat, your husband scrutinised you while you reached for the box of capsules and tilted your head.

“You were saying?”

[iliveiloveiwrite]

an artist’s eye // Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton was an artist, even if his inspiration had no idea of what he feels.

A/N: I promise to slow down with the fics! I go back to work in a couple of days anyway so I’ll definitely slow down. I hope you all like! It’s shorter than my last few fics so I’m sorry for that!! My taglist is open so if you’d like to be on it, let me know and I am considering opening my requests for Bridgerton fics... considering.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of food and drink, pining, mutual pining, sketching, art, drawing (I am not an artist, I cannot draw a stick man so I apologise in advance), kissing.

Word count: 1.8k

The graphite point sits heavy in his hand as Benedict struggles to remember the lines he needs. With only his memory to aid him, Benedict struggled more with the portraits he preferred to draw than the landscapes that were growing increasingly popular among the highest of London society.

Sighing, Benedict presses his fingers to his eyes as if it will help jumpstart his memory to bring forward the correct image he needs. He regrets the action as quick as he had done it when he thinks of the mixture of graphite and charcoal coating his fingers.  

Rubbing his face with the sleeve of his shirt, he feels a moment of pity for the servants who would no doubt grumble and complain at the state of it. However, as he glances down at the sketch – the arch of his subject’s smile, the depths of their eyes – he cannot bring himself to care too much.

It wouldn’t see the light of day. Once complete, the sketchbook would be tucked away in the drawer in his desk. If it was to fall into the wrong hands, then as much as he is confident of his artistic talent, he would not recover from the fallout. Benedict worries for the day that the look in your eyes changes; once you realise the extent of his feelings for you.

He hadn’t meant to fall in love with you, but he had. There were a lot of things in Benedict’s life that he hadn’t meant to do and has regretted completing such an action once done. However, he cannot find it in himself to feel bad about falling in love with you even when he had not meant to.

As much as he puts on airs and graces, he would not approach you with his feelings. He wasn’t ready though you made his heart sing like no other.

One day, he tells himself as he finally remembers the swoop of your neckline. One day he will tell you as he picks up his graphite point and charcoal once more.

Not yet, however.

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

The drawing room remains quiet as Benedict silently adds to his sketch collection. His mother sits across the room, content with a stitching pattern for the arrival of Daphne’s new baby. Eloise lounges on the couch, a book in her hand and a box of chocolates on her stomach, eyes pouring over the pages hungrily.

The only sound in the room is the roughness of his pencil on the paper. It didn’t matter what angle he approached this drawing at, he could not get it to look right. It was going to vex him until he had bested it.

“Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has arrived,” The Butler announces to which Benedict suddenly sits up straighter, closing his sketchbook, leaving it on the table.

“Wonderful,” Violet Bridgerton smiles, “Show them up, please.”

“I didn’t know (Y/N) was calling today,” Benedict comments lightly as the Butler disappears from the room, trying to sound as if his heart isn’t currently pounding in his chest.

“(Y/N) always calls on a Thursday,” Eloise states, voice puzzled. She shares a look of confusion with her mother when Benedict suddenly stands, announcing to them both, “I shall clean myself up a bit, make myself look presentable for our guest.”

The look of confusion soon turns into one of understanding as both women watch their son and brother dash from the room. As if at the same time, a smile crosses both their faces when they realise that their beloved son and brother has fallen in love and with a dear friend of the family too.

They do not get to discuss the topic, however, for you are shown to the drawing room, greeting both women with a large smile and buoyant conversation.

“Help yourself to tea and biscuits, dear,” Violet invites, gesturing to the tea service now being laid on the table. Your stomach rumbles at the sight of the biscuits, unable to turn down the buttery goodness.

“Thank you,” You reply, taking a seat at the table, reaching for a biscuit and the teapot.

It’s then that you see it. A leatherbound book left on the other side of the table, barely hidden by the cake stand of treats.

Curiosity being your besetting sin, you reach for the leatherbound book on the table and begin to flick through the pages. A sketch of a pair of hands at the beginning; they hold a single flower – a rose, though what colour is impossible to tell since the sketch remains firmly in shades of greys and blacks. Enraptured, you turn the page to find a detailed image of a parasol, still sketched in the same greys and blacks as the previous picture. The artist has captured the lace trimming perfectly. The longer you stare at it, you come to realise that the parasol is being held by someone, but it isn’t clear who.

It isn’t until you reach a sketch of your side portrait that you come to realise that the previous sketches – the hands, the parasol with just a hint of a shadow under it – they’re of you.

They’re all of you. Each stunning sketch is of you.

Your breath quickens in your chest when you see who the sketchbook belongs to; when you spy the initials written on the inside sleeve of the front cover. ‘B.B.’ written in his elegant script – an artist in every aspect of his life. Whilst you had observed that Benedict sometimes appeared with smudges to his fingers and paint stains on the cuffs of his tailored white shirt, you had never seen a sketch or a painting until now. He truly had a gift; a talent worthy of being displayed in Somerset House.

You hadn’t been aware of his feelings for you though, but you would not be the first to admit that you found yourself attracted to the Bridgerton. Taught at a young age, you knew it was not wise to share such feelings with others. Instead, you dampened them down, hiding them away where they grew unattended – they rooted in your heart, making it very difficult to find another love worthy.

Bringing a hand to your mouth, you hide your smile, not wanting to give too much away to ever observant Bridgerton matriarch. You turn page after page, letting yourself fall deeper into your feelings for Benedict now that you find there is hope of them being requited.

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

Benedict’s breath leaves his body in one fell swoop when he returns to the drawing room and he realises exactly what you hold in your hand. He hadn’t moved it upon your announcement; he thought he had, but instead, like a fool, he left it sitting there on the table.

A fool. He was a fool. How quick, Benedict thinks to himself, how quick a life can change – mere minutes he had been gone and now he was to have his love for you outed.

You haven’t noticed his presence yet, and for that Benedict is thankful. It gives him time to come up with something – anything – to explain the numerous sketches of you. His mind is running too fast; he cannot come up with a thought good enough to excuse the sketches in his book. His heart continues to pound in his chest; it had not slowed down since your announcement though at this point it reminds him that is, indeed, alive and not suffering from a night terror.

As if finally sensing the extra person in the room, you glance up. Your eyes meeting the deep blue of Benedict’s, and you freeze in your spot. Violet and Eloise glance between the two of you. Violet, not one to usually ignore tradition, hurries her daughter from the room – knowing the conversation that was about to take place.

“I’m sorry,” You whisper at the click of the door shutting. You close the sketchbook, placing it on the table as far away from you as possible to keep your temptation at bay.

“I think I should be the one apologising,” Benedict confesses, taking one more step into the room. He tucks his hands behind his back, ever the picture of grace and elegance as he thinks of how long he has left without before your opinion of him changes forever – artistic talent or not.

“I knew you were an artist; I had seen the smudges on your hands, but I didn’t think…”

“What?”

“I didn’t think you were drawing me.”

“Surely you know?” He asks, voice loud in the quiet room. When you remain silent, he continues, “Surely you know of my feelings for you?”

You shake your head, eyes glancing between the taller Bridgerton and the leatherbound sketchbook lying on the table. “I didn’t know,” You whisper, voice breaking as you take in the distraught look on his face.

“Well,” Benedict murmurs, clearing his throat, “You know of them now.”

“I do,” You murmur,

“I hope I haven’t offended you,” Benedict remarks, “Those sketches were not meant to be seen by anyone else.”

“Only if I haven’t offended you by looking through them.”

Benedict shakes his head, “You could never offend me.”

“Then I am not offended either. I’m quite flattered, you’re very talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict says graciously, nodding his head slightly.

“You need to know that your feelings are returned, Benedict,” You declare suddenly and plainly, displaying your feelings for all to see.

“They are?” Benedict asks, voice awed as if he didn’t take into account this reaction.

“They are,” You state firmly, meeting his gaze proudly as if you could ever be ashamed of your feelings for the brunette.

Benedict stalks across the room; tradition and etiquette be damned as he reaches for your hand to pull you from your chair. His hands settle on your waist as you tilt your head back to look at him. A silent question reflects in his eyes to which you answer with a nod of your head.

His hands move from your waist to cradle your face as he dips down, pressing his lips to yours. It isn’t hurried; it’s perfect as Benedict takes control of the kiss, groaning softly at the feel of your mouth and your body pressed against him. You smile into the kiss as your arms wrap around Benedict’s neck, pulling him ever closer to you.

Benedict’s mouth brushes against yours as he asks, “Would you like to accompany me to Lady Danbury’s ball next week?”

“As in you would court me?”

Benedict chuckles softly, “Yes. I would like to court you, is that okay?”

“More than okay,” You smile before pressing a kiss to the corner of Benedict’s mouth and stepping away.

Turning back to the sketchbook, you open it to image that had kickstarted your heart into an irregular rhythm. Benedict stands by your side as your eyes pour over his sketch; each line and angle, each section of shading. “You truly have an artist’s eye,” You say quietly, tangling your hands together.

“Thank you,” Benedict whispers, bringing your entwined hands up to his mouth whereupon he lays a gentle kiss to the back of your gloved hand.

“Will you show me more?” You ask, turning to face the man that had turned you into a work of art.

“Darling, I’ll show you them all.”

***********

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff​ @magicalxdaydream​

[archies-litterbox]

what’s the greater good worth? (definitely not this)

Summary: Merlin rescues Douxie from some lowlife gang of bandits, and he's devastated by what's already happened to his apprentice before he found him - by what he was too late to prevent happening to his son. But there's more to what happened than simply what lay before him.

Words: ~8.5k

A/N: Finally got this oneshot done! It’s actually based on this post I made a while back, but the idea of fleshing it out into a full-lenth oneshot just wouldn’t leave me alone! (Just like I can’t leave the poor moppet alone 😔) Hope you like it!

[CW: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Temporary Muteness]

--

Merlin sent Hisirdoux on a short errand: go out to the marketplace, buy some ingredient he’d needed, and come straight back. No dawdling, no distraction, and no stopping to make lovesick puppy eyes at that maiden who frequented the market at the same time Hisirdoux himself did. 

He couldn’t remember the exact thing he’d told his apprentice to fetch, for the memory was soon overtaken by worry when the boy hadn’t come back by late afternoon. He’d only sent Hisirdoux out that morning, and even if he had forsaken his instructions and tried to muster up the courage to ask that girl her name…

“I, er… don’t exactly know her name yet,” the moppet had said, “But I think it’s something with a Z! At least, that’s what I heard the person she was talking to call her. I haven’t, er… actually spoken to her yet.”

“Focus on your studies,” Merlin had said, “before distracting yourself with thoughts of courting this girl from the shops, and-”

“But Master-”

“Don’t “But Master” me.”

...He still should have been back at this point. Hisirdoux wasn’t one to wander off when he was out on errands. He knew the dangers of that - of being caught alone by the wrong person, prejudiced against users of magic, without anyone knowing where he really was.

The boy’s familiar shared Merlin’s worry, so Archie kept his form as a mostly-inconspicuous black cat (save for his glasses, for he figured he should have the best sight as he could at this moment) and slinked through the town beyond the castle, following the young wizard’s scent, unmistakably that of burnt cloves.

Sure enough, Hisirdoux had gone to the shops he’d needed to visit, but the scent trail made a sharp turn into an alley - one that he’d been dragged into, Archie had feared, if the signs of struggle and kicking feet in the cobble were any indication.

It was then that Archie resolved to fly back to the castle and tell Merlin to follow him, warning the Master Wizard that it was overwhelmingly likely that Hisirdoux didn’t disappear of his own volition. 

To say that worried Merlin, or even terrified him, would’ve been the understatement of the past twelve centuries.

It only took a few hours to track down Hisirdoux’s trail to some cabin in a patch of forest, but every second was too long - far too long for Merlin to wait to find his son.

The thugs looked rudimentary from where Merlin stood unnoticed outside the clearing. One or two - three at the most - stood lazily outside, near the doors. Merlin tapped his staff against the forest ground, and it was enough to send a little spell through the soil and right under their feet, shooting up their bodies like a reverse lightning rod and knocking them to the ground, unconscious. It didn’t kill them, but that wasn’t a mercy; really, the wizard still hadn’t known the condition of his apprentice, and if something had been done to him that only these men could reverse, ending their lives would've been an unwise choice, to say the least.

But the sound of the men hitting the ground was enough to draw out the last two of Hisirdoux captors, who spotted Merlin in the woods. Fine - he hadn’t been keen on hiding for much longer anyway. Stealth was for wizards whose apprentices hadn’t been snatched up by lowly bandits; who weren’t using a headstrong facade to hide their fear for their sons’ lives.

And right now, while he rendered the last of the bandits unconscious, Merlin Ambrosius was no such wizard.

The door was still open, as Merlin dealt with the last of those men before they could even come five steps out of the shack, so the wizard ran to the opening with Archie flying next to him, stepping over the idiots until he was close enough to see into the dark interior, lit only by rays of light that shone in-between boards nailed into the windows.

Merlin hit his staff against the ground and cast a spell with enough to break the boards and let more light into the hovel - light that shined on his apprentice that lay trembling on the ground, unresponsive on his side, not even fighting the restraints that bound him. With his back turned to his mentor and his familiar, he seemed barely aware of their presence at all.

Merlin never ran faster in his life.

Thankful for his armor’s plating, one of his knees slammed against the ground as he knelt down behind Hisirdoux, looking over his bonds and feeling like, for once in his long, long life, he could barely breathe at the sight before him, even though it wasn’t nearly as bad as what could have been - it was more at the audacity than anything else.

His apprentice had been bound with rope at the ankles and knees, with another few winds of it pinning his arms to his back and metal shackles binding his wrists behind him. Of course, the shackles must have been cast with a magic nullifier infused in the cruel metal, so the boy couldn’t use spells or enchantments to break his other restraints; as if to add insult to injury, the boy was also missing his magic bracelet, which had been thrown across the hovel.

(Again, the audacity.)

Merlin knew one of the bandits must have had the key, so he got back up, telling Archie to stay with him before he went back to the cluster of idiots that lay outside the door.

The wizard watched the boy’s shackled hands grasp at the air as he reached for him in vain, and the weak twinge in his pale, thin fingers made something in Merlin’s cold aged heart ache . He wished he’d been a hundredfold more brutal with those bandits than simply knocking them out.

Anyway, it took only moments for him to get the key, and by the time he came back, picking up the boy’s charm bracelet on the way, Archie had broken the rest of Hisirdoux’s bonds.

The boy still hadn’t said a word, or even made a sound.

Confound it, Merlin loathed this.

Once he’d finally uncuffed Hisirdoux, he helped the boy, now entirely free of his bonds, into a sitting position. He was, indeed, quite conscious, his eyes following Archie as the familiar stepped onto his lap. Hisirdoux started petting the black cat before wrapping his gangly arms around the cat in a desperate hug, still as silent as he’d been when Merlin stormed in. He wouldn’t have any more of this… this vexing silence from his apprentice - not if it could’ve been helped.

(...If only he knew how little it could’ve been helped at that moment.)

“Hisirdoux, say something!”

The boy looked up at Merlin with wide, glistening eyes and a trembling lower lip.

He shook his head.

His lips contorted into a grimace, and he mouthed the words…

“I can’t.”

Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he put his hand on his throat, the skin on his wrist raw from the cruelty of those shackles, and shook his head. Those teary hazel eyes that looked at Merlin were exactly those of a terrified child - his terrified child, and Merlin could see the desperation in those eyes, like he was wordlessly begging him to do something.

...But for the first time in his long, long life, Merlin felt utterly and entirely unsure of a way to fix this. He knew how much his apprentice adored singing, humming, blathering incessantly - his voice almost seemed more central to his character than his magic.

And it was…

No, no, no. It couldn’t be - it couldn’t be gone. Those bandits couldn’t have taken this from him - not from his apprentice - not from that innocent moppet who almost always had a tune about him as he bumbled around the castle. No, Merlin couldn’t accept it - he - he wouldn’t accept it -

The old man was pulled from his shock when Hisirdoux sobbed, a heart-wrenching noise even without any vocal influence, and mouthed three words - a desperate plea from a terrified little Wizard, silent but understandable - silent but utterly heart-wrenching .

“Take me home.”

...And how could Merlin put that off?

With a sigh, he raised a hand and mumbled…

“Interminus Nocti Somburso.”

A jolt went through Hisirdoux’s already shaking body as green light popped out from his widened eyes - but only for a fleeting second before sleep claimed the boy. He fell backward, but Merlin caught him by putting his arm behind the boy’s back.

The spell not only made him fall sound asleep in seconds, but it also conjured a green, velvety blanket that draped over the boy. The velvety cloth, brought forth from Merlin’s will when he’d cast the spell, helped to keep the boy warm through means of a rather cozy enchantment that would never let him get cold as long as the blanket lay on him, as well as it would quell his unconscious trembling.

Merlin wrapped the boy up in a blanket-cocoon of sorts and stood up, letting Archie curl up on his human’s abdomen and start purring to soothe the sleeping boy whose head lolled against Merlin’s shoulder, his cheek pressed against an edge on his armor that couldn’t have been very comfortable.

Merlin glanced at the unconscious bandits and cast an immobilization spell as a quick preventative measure in the event that they woke up and tried getting away while Merlin took the boy back to the castle. There was no way in all the realms that these monsters - more monstrous than any troll or goblin - would get away with what they’d done, and the Master Wizard was absolutely sure of that.

So, with that settled, he started back to the castle with Hisirdoux sleeping in his arms. The bandits could wait, for getting his apprentice - his son home safe was his first and foremost priority, and beyond that was finding out how to get his boy’s voice back, even if he’d had to rip the answer from the bandits themselves.

But Hisirdoux, of course, was his priority.

---

Douxie felt more or less dragged back into consciousness by an ache in his… well, it was everywhere. It was low, barely noticeable - a residual soreness from… from… 

Right.

He sighed - a hollow, quiet thing - and trailed his fingers down his throat, still not opening his eyes yet. Douxie’s throat was free of any tightness or pain, but, as he expected, his attempts to mumble out vocal sounds were fruitless.

Beyond the ache, he felt warmth around him. Yes, he felt the familiarity of his bed, his quarters, his - 

A weight he didn’t even know he was still bearing came off of him, and he sighed a shaky sigh.

- his home.

But he also felt something soft and velvety draped around him. It was a blanket, he realized - a new one, and a rather nice one too. He realized Merlin must have conjured it with that sleep spell he put on him right after he found him. That must have been why it felt like it had been magically heated, and it had a uniquely soothing, almost sedative effect that none of his normal blankets had.

Master…

Douxie finally opened his eyes. Even though he knew his master probably had more pressing matters, he hoped that Merlin might have been sitting at his bedside.

Alas, all he saw was empty space in front of him.

The little apprentice wasn’t wearing his vest anymore, he realized when he couldn’t feel the leather that usually weighed on his torso, but he did feel a little purring mass curled up against his abdomen.

Archie…

The boy turned his head a little and saw a black mound of fluff nestled up against him, laying curled up on the green blanket with round little glasses reflecting sunset light from the window.

Douxie bent down and scratched Archie’s little head, right between his triangular ears, causing his familiar to open his eyes and look at him.

“Douxie, you’re awake.”

The boy smiled - a little, shaky thing. Archie got up and stretched before walking closer to his human’s face.

“It’s over now, what you went through today.” he said as he put his paw on Douxie’s cheek in assurance, “Those bandits are in the dungeons now.”

Douxie’s eyebrows furrowed a little. Sure, he was thankful that they’d been apprehended, but if there was a dungeon break, they could come right through the castle, and...

Archie nuzzled Douxie’s head, sensing his human’s worries.

“You’re completely safe.” he said, “You’ll never have to see them again, I promise.”

Douxie only petted the cat again with a nod. He trusted Archie, and if Archie said he didn’t have to worry about them again, then that’s exactly what he didn’t have to do.

Besides, he had a more pressing worry.

With what would have been a grunt if his throat could’ve made the noise, Douxie pushed himself up, despite his grogginess, into an upright position. He could see his vest folded at the foot of his bed, along with his two belts laying on top of it that had his little pouches and a small green journal he liked to keep on hand for little notes.

He might have to use it for more than that now, though. Perhaps if he’d started studying sign, or learned spells to communicate visually...

The boy was pulled from his thoughts by a very light knock on the door. He couldn’t exactly say it was open, so he turned to Archie, eyeing the door with a nod.

“Come in.” the cat said, understanding the nonverbal message.

The door creaked open, and Douxie hoped it would be Merlin standing there. After everything he’d gone through today… he just wanted to see his father.

But it was Morgana, smiling softly as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

But really, the boy wasn’t disappointed with this - the sorceress had been like a big sister to him ever since he’d been brought here, and her presence was comforting, regardless of whether or not she was the person he hoped to see the most. So, Douxie raised a hand and waved to her as she walked in.

“Hello, Little Douxie.” she said softly as she came to stand in front of him, “When I heard your familiar talking, I assumed you’d awoken. Are you feeling alright?”

Although it was a hesitant response, Douxie nodded, thankful that she’d stuck to a yes-or-no question. Merlin had probably told her about his voice’s condition, then.

What he knew about it, anyway.

“You’ve been asleep for about four hours - a long rest to help accelerate your healing.” she explained, “You hadn’t gotten any broken bones, but you did have some nasty bruises when you were brought back here.”

Douxie winced, a little hiss whistling through his teeth as he traced his hand over his hip, where he distinctly remembered getting kicked by a rather angry bandit with a rather hard boot.

Ouch.

He brought that same hand to his chin and stroked an invisible beard, glancing around the room as if looking for someone.

Morgana laughed a soft little laugh, amused by the moppet’s charade.

“Merlin’s down in the dungeons, interrogating your former captors.” she answered, “He’s mostly putting the screws to those bandits about how to reverse what’s happened to your voice more than anything else.”

Douxie nodded in understanding, but he knew the truth; he knew those bandits didn’t know anything about what had been done to his voice.

“He hasn’t gotten anywhere.” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “It’s of a magical nature, and none of those bandits were wizards. They’re sticking to some ridiculous testimony that you casted a silencing spell on yourself.”

Douxie cast his gaze to the floor. All of a sudden, the lint and strands of black cat fur on the floor looked rather interesting. Indeed, very interesting.

“...They are making that up, right?” Morgana asked.

Douxie shrunk in on himself, hugging himself as if caught in a lie, even though he hadn’t actually lied about anything. How could he have? At most, all he’d done was hesitate. Besides, his body language was apparently enough of an answer for Morgana, whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Douxie saw as his gaze flickered back up to her, as she realized they hadn’t made that up at all.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in his fur above his eyes, raised a bit as that realization dawned on him as well.

“Douxie…?”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“...Merlin doesn’t know, does he?” Morgana asked.

Douxie shook his head.

After a moment, she sighed.

“Well, he probably should.” she said, “Not that the way he’s treating those men isn’t undeserved, but he shouldn’t waste his time.”

So, Douxie stood up to go down to the dungeons, his balance just a little askew from his legs’ time out of use. Archie got up with a stretch and stood next to Douxie’s feet, deciding not to sit on his shoulders due to his already imperfect balance.

“I’ll go down with you.” Morgana said, sounding like it was more of an insistence than an offer. But Douxie didn’t want to be a burden; surely, Morgana le Fay had much better - certainly, more important uses of her time than using it to accompany him to the dungeons.

“I know the way.” he mouthed, hoping it was understandable just by reading his lips, but Morgana shook her head all the same.

“It’s not about whether or not you know the way.” she crossed her arms, “You still don’t have all your strength back, and I can tell you’re off balance. What if you fall?”

She didn’t say it, but Douxie could tell what her biggest concern was: if he got hurt, he’d have no way of crying out, and Archie might not be enough to keep him balanced.

Morgana was just worried, and Douxie knew that. It was sort of nice - better than Merlin’s scolding, anyway - so he took the gesture with a nod, and he started down the corridors and stairwells to the dungeons with Archie stepping alongside him and Morgana hovering a hand close to his shoulder in the event that his balance wavered.

Douxie always hated the dungeons - so dark, so damp and dingy, so utterly miserable. But making sure Merlin knew the truth was worth it, and he was glad to be accompanied down. Yes, it was even worth sidestepping puddles of questionable liquids as he stayed next to Morgana. He kept his gaze down and avoided looking into the cells, tuning out the jeers of imprisoned trolls and “waka-chakas” of goblins as Morgana guided Douxie and Archie to the corridor where that gang of bandits was being kept.

It turned out that they were imprisoned in a far emptier corridor of the dungeon, which made sense, considering any sort of interrogation would’ve done well not to involve the taunting and interjecting of other prisoners. As the halls got quieter, it got easier to hear his master’s voice as he got closer, until he finally stood at the end of an almost empty corridor of cells, where Merlin stood listening to one of the bandits - the leader, Douxie realized.

Whoever he was, and whatever he was saying, Merlin looked more than fed up with it; he hadn’t even looked as angry as he did right now when the moppet had slipped and accidentally sent one of Merlin’s favorite books soaring into his fireplace.

“I tol’ ya already, dust-fer-brains,” the bandit said, speaking in a voice that unsettled Douxie to his core, even though he was safe on the opposite side of a barred cell door and on the opposite end of the hall, “He put a spell on ‘imself. Shut ‘imself up.”

Morgana was only a moment away from shouting to the end of the hall in an attempt to get Merlin’s attention. If Douxie had his voice, Merlin most certainly would have known he was here by now; he probably would have mumbled to himself about nonsense, or hummed a tune, or squeaked when something scared him. As it was, Merlin had no idea that Douxie was standing just a handful of metres away from him.

And maybe if he did know, he wouldn’t have shouted…

“Again, with that ridiculous lie! Hisirdoux may be an idiot, but even that level of incompetence is beyond him!”

Those words were a punch to the gut, worse than every time those bandits kicked him this afternoon. At least he expected that from them, but hearing that…

His breaths got shaky. His eyes stung. His feet felt rooted to the dungeon floor, like he was more trapped here than the prisoners.

He was no stranger to Merlin’s harshness, and he knew his master thought he was an idiot, but hearing that this was something of a new level of incompetence…

Was it really that much of a stupid idea?

His lip trembled.

What was he thinking, of course it was stupid. Of course he was stupid. A stupid, incompetent numbskull of an apprent-

“MERLIN!” Morgana yelled.

The Master Wizard whipped his head around. When he laid eyes on the shaking moppet at Morgana’s side, his face fell, as if he wished more than anything that he could’ve pulled his words back into his mouth and made them unheard again.

But it was too late.

In an instant, Douxie didn’t feel rooted to the ground anymore. No. Now it felt like hot coals lay burning under his feet, and he needed to run. Fuzzbuckets, he needed to run.

“Hisirdoux…”

Douxie’s tears fell.

He needed to run, run, runrunrunrun RUN.

So, he ran.

Pivoting on his heel so fast he scraped the heel of his boot against the dungeon ground, he ran away from the corridor.

“Hisirdoux!”

“Douxie!”

His eyes stung so badly with tears that he couldn’t open them, but he knew the dungeon corridors well enough that he didn’t need to see to get out of there. He could tell Archie was at his side, but that was okay. He knew his familiar wasn’t trying to stop him, but only to catch up to him.

By the time he got to the stairwell back into the non-dungeony part of the castle, he’d gotten winded, and just barely in earshot, he could hear Merlin and Morgana getting in a shouting match.

It sounded like Morgana was winning.

Once he’d caught his breath, he ran up the stairwell and half-ran-half-stumbled to his room, making sure Archie slipped through the door before slamming it. His legs shook as he sat on his bed, curling his legs up so his knees almost touched his chest, which felt so tight that he could barely breathe without gasping.

It was too much. All of it, everything that happened - it was too much for one day, and he -

He could feel Archie drape that blanket from earlier over his shoulders - the green velvety one. The warm one. The one from - 

Douxie shook his head and wrapped the fabric around himself. It was fine, he didn’t care who it was from. He just needed warmth; he needed heat that didn’t come from his face feeling like it was on fire and hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

After a few moments, keeping his legs curled up like that started to ache, so he stretched them out and let his feet lay on the floor while he sat at the edge of the bed, leaving a perfect spot in his lap for Archie to sit and start purring in that way that always calmed him down after his nightmares.

Maybe, Douxie thought as he stroked the cat in his lap while his torso rocked back and forth, Archie could calm him down from this nightmare, too - one he couldn’t seem to wake up from.

There was a tightness in his throat now, an awful one - not from the spell, but from being overwhelmed by all of this.

Today was one of the most terrifying days of his life.

He’d been ripped off the streets by bandits and taken where he wasn’t sure if he’d be found, or even be looked for. He’d been bound and chained and beaten and terrified. He didn’t even have his voice, and of course, Merlin thought he was more stupid for doing what he did than usual, even though he only did it because - because -

Douxie hugged the cat in his lap and let more tears stream down his face, and he realized there was one upside to not having his voice after all.

He didn’t need to stifle his cries.

---

Merlin was no stranger to guilt, to shame. He didn’t often make mistakes, but when he did, they were horrendous ones, and despite his sense of pride being strong enough that it could power a whole trollmarket, he’d had many opportunities to find himself well acquainted with the feeling that he’d done something horribly wrong.

But when he saw his apprentice’s wide eyes shine with tears at the end of that hall, shame didn’t feel like a mere acquaintance, but an inseparable companion.

He’d barely gotten the boy’s name out of his mouth before he turned on his heel and ran out of the corridor, his familiar running behind him. Merlin shouted the boy’s name again and started after him, but since he wasn’t weighed down by any armor, the gangly little moppet ran off rather fast, despite how exhausted he must have been.

Stopping at the corner of the dungeon corridor, Merlin put his hand to his forehead and groaned.

“Look what you’ve done, old man!” he heard Morgana shout next to him.

“It’s not as if I knew he’d be down here.” he brought his hand away from his face, “I thought he was still resting. How was I supposed to know you’d taken him down here?”

Morgana’s eyes widened, seemingly at his absurdity.

“So you’re saying that’s a fine thing to say about him when he isn’t around? That there’s nothing wrong with calling that boy - your apprentice - an idiot and making clear just how stupid you think he is, as long as he’s out of earshot?”

“You’ve seen the way that boy bungles every task he’s given. Really, it would be especially idiotic if he’d put a-”

“What do you think he came down here to tell you, old man?!”

...Oh.

Oh, confound it all.

Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose, ���Honestly, and you wonder why his magic backfires whenever you’re around! How can he grow his confidence when you-”

“Why would he do that, Morgana?”

“Why would I know ?” she answered his question with one of her own, “As soon as I found out, I figured you should know. Better to stop wasting your time grilling these numbskulls over nothing. If you want to know so bad, go and ask him.”

But facing the most fierce of trolls had been less jarring a task.

His other apprentice crossed her arms, “You owe him an apology, old man. We both know that.”

And, as frustrating as it was, Merlin knew that indeed.

The wizard figured that Hisirdoux ran to his room, and when he got to the door, he found he was right; he could hear the boy’s hiccups and voiceless sobs from the other side, far more heartbreaking in their quietness than if they had been loud.

Merlin knocked on the door.

“Hisirdoux…”

He honestly wasn’t expecting to be let in at all, so he was surprised to see the door glow blue as Hisirdoux opened it with a spell. If this was a lighter time, he would have scolded the boy for using a spell so needlessly. But this obviously wasn’t a lighter time, and he was just glad to be allowed in.

Hisirdoux sat on the edge of his bed with the blanket he’d been given draped over his shoulders and a contemptuous black cat in his lap. His hair was still unkempt from his ordeal, completely loose from the bun he usually wore, and tears streaked his cheeks. His big hazel eyes, puffy and ringed with tears, stared down at the ground.

He couldn’t even look Merlin in the eye, and perhaps that was fair.

As Merlin stepped into the room, Hisirdoux shrunk in on himself, pulling more of the blanket around him as if it would shield him from… well, everything.

“I hope you’re here to apologize.” Archie said coldly, but the feline-dragon obviously meant something else, an unspoken message: If you’re not here to apologize, then leave. The boy’s had enough turmoil today.

But he was here to apologize.

After years of trying to prepare for everything he could as a Master Wizard, he knew as he stood there that he was unprepared for what to say, standing here in front of Hisirdoux. He had no speech prepared, no ageless wisdom or proverbs. He wasn’t ready.

...But he knew that his apprentice sitting on the edge of the bed, staring glassy eyed at the floor with tears streaking his cheeks - tears of the old man’s own doing - had gone through too much today that he wasn’t ready for, that he could never be ready for. Far too much.

And he deserved better than to have to wait for an apology.

“Hisirdoux, I’m sorry.”

His apprentice lifted his head and looked up at him, eyes widened and eyebrows raised as if he never in a million years expected to hear an apology of all things from him. But what did he expect, then? A scolding? A lecture on how dangerous what he did was?

A moment later, Merlin realized that was probably exactly what the boy expected, and on all levels except physical, the wizard was whacking himself in the head with his staff right now.

He knelt down on one knee in front of Hisirdoux, both because he wanted to be on eye level with the boy and because he couldn’t stand the thought of him feeling looked down upon any longer.

“The things I said to those men in the dungeons were products of anger, fabrications of desperation.” Merlin said, “I’d been furious at those lowlifes and their audacity, and I said things that weren’t true. It wasn’t fair to say that, especially not after all you’ve gone through today. Forgive me, Hisirdoux.”

But the boy looked like he didn’t know what to say, even if he could’ve spoken. He looked at the old Wizard with wide eyes that still glistened with tears - tears that seemed to have been there ever since Merlin first found Hisirdoux in that shack. Even his familiar seemed surprised by his apology, and to be completely honest, Merlin didn’t blame either of them.

Hisirdoux broke his gaze away and looked down, to his left.

Patting around, the boy’s hand landed on his little green journal and a charcoal stick he kept with it, both clipped to his belt that lay on top of his folded vest. When Hisirdoux opened the book and started to write in the first blank piece of parchment he could flip to, Merlin looked away. He didn’t want to pry - he’d done enough as it was.

After a few seconds of scribbling, Archie stepped on the parchment.

“That’s not true, Douxie.” he said about whatever the boy had written, “You shouldn’t say that about yourself, especially not now.”

But the boy just sighed and started writing again, the motion in his hand leaving Archie no choice but to take his paw off.

After a few more moments, Douxie flipped the book around to show Merlin.

“It’s alright, Master. I know I’m an idiot.” he’d written in that shoddy penmanship of his.

Right, that must’ve been what Archie denied.

“I know there’s a lot I mess up and don’t think through, and I know that most of the time, I can be awfully incompetent, but using that spell is one of the few times where I know that did something smart.”

Merlin sighed.

“But why did you do it, Hisirdoux?”

Hisirdoux hesitated, but Archie looked up at the boy with the same question in mind, and that seemed to be what convinced him to answer.

But this time, he set the journal and charcoal aside. Instead of using those tools to communicate, he brought his hands out in front of him. With the way his hands started to tremble, he was obviously about to cast a nonverbal spell.

Archie stepped back a few paces, “It seems he’d rather show than tell.”

Merlin didn’t think Hisirdoux was in the right state to carry out any sort of spells right now, weakened as he was, but nonetheless, he didn’t stop the boy.

In the future, Hisirdoux would become capable of more powerful spells as his experience grew, and one such spell would be able to create vivid - albeit ghostly - life-size apparitions that replay events of the past in to-scale space. But this wasn’t the future, and he was nowhere near that strong or experienced yet. All he could manage was a little phantom-ish playthrough of events in the little space in front of him, like he was holding in his hands a hazy, blue-tinted window into the past.

Even then, “hazy” was an understatement. The several figures that seemed to be huddled a bit away from where Hisirdoux must’ve been (Merlin rightly assumed the vision in front of him was from the boy’s point of view) looked distorted and grainy, barely distinguishable as those bandits from before. What else, their voices were fuzzy, dreadful murmurs overlapping on top of each other until they were almost indistinguishable.

Merlin couldn’t tell if this haziness in memory reflected how much of a blur the events were in the boy’s mind, or if this was just the best Hisirdoux could manage.

It seemed not to be the latter though, because he squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers a little, obviously trying to use more of his strength to make the events more clear. His efforts actually worked, much to a worried Merlin’s surprise and worry, and the bandits’ voices became much easier to hear, their awful words far more enunciated. 

“This was probably a stupid move.” one of them said, “How’re we s’posed to know that wizard gives a rat’s tail about ‘is errand boy, anyway?”

“If he does, imagine the coin we could get ou’o it.” said another voice Merlin knew was the leader.

“An’ if not, we’re stuck wit’ a brat from the castle.” yet another said, followed by a thwack sound that must have been the leader smacking him in the head, if the distorted movement of the figures was any indication.

“If not , we’ve got a vault o’ information on all those wizard-y secrets they keep in th’ castle. Maybe stuff abou’ the king, too.” the insidious leader corrected, “We can beat it ou’a ‘im if we ‘ave to.”

“Not much to beat though, is there?” another bandit joked, “Gangly little brat.”

Then the view changed, and Hisirdoux’s own trembling hands came into focus. Through the phantom replay, his ghostly fingers’ movements were light but hasty as he tapped his bracelet. This must have been before his captors had the idea to restrain him, but Hisirdoux was clearly afraid they’d get the idea soon (and rightly so, as the condition Merlin found him in made clear that they obviously had), so as soon as his bracelet glowed, he whispered… 

“Vox Silentii.”

Immediately, Hisirdoux gasped in the vision. The noise became more hollow with each passing millisecond, as if - no, because his voice fell away just as fast, sucked away by the enchantment.

And it got the bandits’ attention, shown clearly by the nightmarish figures turning to face him.

“Sod it, I thought you stuck the cuffs on ‘im already!” the leader yelled to one of the other bandits, and whether it was at the display of incompetence, or out of sheer relief that his self-destructive spell worked, Hisirdoux laughed. It was a hollow, raspy, voiceless thing, but clearly a laugh all the same - a laugh that carried on until the leader marched over and raised his boot and - 

The spell dissipated, and though it only lasted a few moments, it clearly took a lot out of an already weakened Hisirdoux in the present, whose arms fell to his sides as he started to sway, his eyes rolling back as his eyelids fluttered.

“Hisirdoux!” Merlin exclaimed, reaching out to steady him.

Before the boy could collapse, Merlin put one hand on his shoulder and the other against his head, cradling the side of it. Internally, he cursed himself, for he knew he should have told Hisirdoux not to carry out that vision spell, and to simply stick to writing out an answer. He’d already been exhausted by both the stress of his ordeal and the lingering effects of whatever nullifier was in his cuffs, and his magic, like everything else, was weakened, and the toll it took on him was far higher than usual.

But it hadn’t exhausted him completely. Though it took a moment, Hisirdoux put his hands down on the bed on either side of him to help keep himself upright, and his tired, tired eyes opened again.

“That spell…” Merlin pulled his hands away, “I had you study it in the event that you encountered another wizard with harmful intentions, so you could cut them off from saying an incantation at your expense.”

Fumbling to get his journal again, Hisirdoux quickly jotted something down and held up, “and sirens.”

“And you knew you couldn’t reverse the spell without a vocal incantation, didn’t you? An incantation you knew those bandits couldn’t perform.”

Hisirdoux nodded, and Merlin sighed. As much as the boy bumbled around as he did his chores, seeming at times like there was naught a competent thought to be found in that brain of his, he was clever. Even when it came to sabotaging himself, he was clever.

But somehow, that cleverness coincided with recklessness in a way that only Hisirdoux Casperan could manage.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? If you’d botched the spell, it could have closed up your windpipe, or-”

“This isn’t the time for scolding him, Merlin.” Archie reprimanded. There had been few times where the Master Wizard adhered to the advisings of a cat with glasses, but for his apprentice’s sake, this was one of those times.

Hisirdoux got his journal again and wrote…

“I’d never been tortured like that before. I didn’t know if I could’ve handled it.”

The thought of his apprentice - that sweet, gangly moppet who’d been bested by his own broom once - enduring any sort of torture made the Master Wizard’s skin crawl. He almost wanted to convince King Arthur that those bandits’ transgressions warranted far more harsh treatment than wallowing in their own despicability in the dungeons, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was focusing on Hisirdoux right now, he would go to the throne room right now.

But as it was, Merlin thought Hisirdoux was probably right; it was obvious that he had never endured torture, or…

Merlin reconsidered when he remembered that the boy knew how to use sleep spells that caused permanent memory loss.

...None that Hisirdoux himself could recall, at least.

“It’s not that I would’ve wanted to say anything.” he wrote on a new page, “I was scared I’d blurt something out. And I got knocked out before I woke up there, so I didn’t know where I was, so I didn’t try running away. It was the smartest thing I could think of.”

...Of course. Of course that’s what this was. Of course the boy would’ve taken such a drastic measure, but for what ? So those lowlife scoundrels didn’t have an upper hand, an advantage over a Master Wizard? No, it was too late for that, for they already had the biggest advantage over Merlin that they could’ve held in their grasp; they had his son, the one individual he would always put above the greater good, as a hostage.

Really, not only was Hisirdoux the only apprentice Merlin ever had who was as clever as he was reckless, but the only one who was as selfless as he was reckless - a combination that Merlin couldn’t decide whether or not he was more proud of or worried about.

“...I can reverse the spell now, you know.” he said, “Now that I know which spell you used, I can use a counterspell.”

The little Wizard’s eyes widened hopefully, as if the prospect of a counterspell was a shock.

“Oh, come now, Hisirdoux. Surely you knew-”

Oh.

He stopped.

No.

“Wait a moment… you did know another wizard can cast a counterspell to reverse the effects and restore your voice, did you not?”

As his eyebrows upturned, making him look like a scolded puppy, the boy shook his head.

...Oh, sod it all.

If Merlin Ambrosius were a swearing man, he’d have a sailor’s tongue right now.

Hisirdoux didn’t think the spell could be reversed, and he did it anyway. He thought it would be permanent, and he did it anyway. For all that boy knew, he’d taken his own voice away forever; he’d taken what he’d always used to blather on about nonsense and sing his heart out (albeit very off-key), and he destroyed it.

Merlin put his hand to his forehead, only pulling it down when he heard the boy scribbling again.

“Making sure they didn’t find out anything about wizards felt more important.” he’d written in frantic scribbles, “Or Camelot, or King Arthur, or Morgana, or you, Master.”

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So you thought this would’ve been permanent,” he tried to keep his voice level, “that you would have lost your voice forever, and you did it anyway, just to nullify the hair-slim possibility that you might have revealed some secret to those idiots?”

Hisirdoux looked down and wrote again.

“It felt like-”

No.

No, no, no.

Merlin saw the words at the end of that page, but he did not want to read them. Reading them made them real…

...But they would be real whether he read them or not, and he knew that.

“It felt like the greater good.”

Merlin never thought he could hate that concept as much as he did right now.

No, the greater good was something for him to prioritize - him and him alone, and it never came at the cost of the safety and wellbeing of his son. If it did cost him that, then let the greater good fester and crumble to dust.

Hisirdoux curled his arms and hugged himself, looking down at Archie as the feline nuzzled his arm to soothe him. As much as it pained him to see the boy like this, he couldn’t bring himself to comfort him - not when he had a solution right at his fingertips.

“Hisirdoux, do you want your voice back?”

The boy lifted his head and nodded, almost pleading with his eyes, as if there was ever a chance of Merlin denying him the return of his voice.

The wizard raised his hand and said…

“Vox restituet.”

Hisirdoux gasped, just as he did with his own spell, but it’s effect was contrary to that of the former enchantment; the sound became less and less hollow with each fleeting millisecond as the boy’s voice came back to him.

When his breathing fell back into its normal pace, Hisirdoux traced his fingers down his throat.

“Master…”

His voice sounded so hoarse, so little, but it was there , and as soon as Hisirdoux realized that, his whole body seemed to relax in relief that he probably didn’t even let himself feel when he’d first been rescued.

Merlin was relieved too, but it was outweighed by so much - most of all, by the contempt he still held for those bandits down in the dungeons for making his apprentice feel like he needed to do this to himself, and by the guilt he still felt for what he said down there.

Not only was his relief outweighed, but it was also short-lived.

“...I’m sorry.”

No. No, Hisirdoux did not just say that.

Out of all the things Merlin expected his apprentice to say… at best, he expected thanks for restoring his voice, and at worst, he expected him to voice how upset and hurt he still must’ve been for the things he said about him down in the dungeons. But never, never in a millenia, did he expect an apology.

“Whatever for?” Merlin asked. Truly, whatever for? Hisirdoux had done nothing but endure; but withstand circumstances beyond unfit for those as innocent as him, and do what he thought would protect what was important to him at a cost that Merlin himself could barely imagine - could barely conceptualize even now.

“I really really didn’t mean for this to be such a hassle,” Hisirdoux answered, coughing from his voice’s disuse, “and I’m really not upset about what you said in the dungeons. Everything was just too much, and back there, with the bandits, I just didn’t want to put you in danger-”

“No, Hisirdoux.” Merlin declared, putting two of his fingers against one of his temples. It seemed like now that Hisirdoux could speak again, there was a backlog to his blathering. “None of that.”

Hisirdoux’s eyebrows upturned with that scolded puppy look again, “None of what?”

“None of this…” Merlin gestured vaguely, “throwing yourself in harm’s way for my sake. There’s no sense in that. It is not your job to fling yourself into self-destruction in what you think is my best interest. You are my apprentice, Hisirdoux.”

You are my son . Merlin didn’t say.

“And it is my job to protect you, not the other way around.” he told Hisirdoux with no room for argument, “Your job is to focus on your studies and the tasks I ask of you. Should you ever find yourself at someone else’s mercy again, your first priority should be keeping yourself unharmed, or as close to such a state as possible. Secrets can be stopped from spreading, and memories can be wiped, but you are-"

He almost said invaluable, but he stopped himself; though he himself knew the word meant to be priceless or crucial, he feared for the chance that his apprentice could take the word to have a completely opposite meaning, that he was not valuable at all.

"You are indispensable, Hisirdoux.”

Merlin loathed the look of disbelief on the boy’s face when he heard that, but he continued.

“Whatever it entails, self-preservation should come before all else until you’re rescued, because you will be rescued.”

Hisirdoux nodded - a little, minute thing.

“I understand, Master.”

Merlin stood up.

“You must be starving.” he said, “I’ll have something prepared and brought here. You should go back to sleep until then.”

Hisirdoux nodded and pulled the green blanket over his shoulders again, the cloth having fallen off sometime a bit ago, after Merlin came in.

The boy looked down in thought as if remembering something before raising his head again.

“...They didn’t have what you asked for. At the marketplace. Every shop and stand came up empty.” Hisirdoux said, apologetic for the lack of the one thing he’d been sent out to fetch - as if it even mattered after all of this.

No, if anything, the whole errand being for nothing was just another frustration of the day, mundane - no, trivial in the face of everything else.

Also, it brought another pressing matter to the Master Wizard’s attention.

“That’s quite alright.” Merlin said, “If anything, that reminds me: clearly, it’s far too dangerous for you to go on errands in town unaccompanied. As my apprentice, there are many unfavorable people looking to get an advantage over me and use you as leverage to do so, just like those bandits tried today. So, for the time being, you’ll be chaperoned on your future errands outside the castle.”

“But-” he started, but, as if he remembered what Merlin always said when he tried to question him, he cut himself off and nodded, still looking deflated nonetheless.

“It’s a necessary precaution at this point, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, “Even if it gets in the way of you trying to get the attention of that girl at the shops.”

The boy’s cheeks tinted pink.

“It’s not about her!” he yelped, his voice’s strength obviously coming back rather quickly, “You already told me not to focus on that, and I didn’t even try talking to her today.”

“You never try talking to her, Douxie.” Archie said, pacing around the boy. But Hisirdoux didn’t let himself get distracted by his familiar teasing him.

“It’s…”

He sighed.

“...I don’t want to be a burden.” he confessed, “There are so many more important things to be done around here. Why should anyone waste their time coming with me on errands?”

At this, Merlin realized that it was his turn to sigh. If there was a spell Merlin could use to cast such insecurity from the boy’s head, he would have cast it now. But, much to his frustration, he couldn’t (at least, not without facing something of a moral dilemma over the ethics of mind control). So, simple reassurance would have to do.

“Hisirdoux…”

He placed his free hand - the one not holding onto his staff - on the boy’s shoulder, causing him to look up at the old wizard with wide, questioning eyes.

“Keeping you safe isn’t a burden.” Merlin assured, “I would rather take a few hours out of the day to accompany you, or even complete those errands on my own, than ever have a repeat occurrence of what happened today.”

“...Alright.” Hisirdoux said, although obviously reluctant.

Merlin took his hand off of his shoulder.

“Now, you’re to keep resting the rest of the night, and likely for much of tomorrow, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.” he said, “Just rest.”

The heaviness in the boy’s eyelids made clear how much he needed that rest, and thankfully, Hisirdoux didn’t contest that.

“Yes, Master.”

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 3

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 7.3k (Ill just stop apologizing for this long chapter updates at this point)

[a/n]

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist uwu

AO3

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

“Remind me again why are we here.” Tsukishima tells you as soon as he steps foot inside your room. 

He scans the room and immediately notices the mess that it is, particularly the top bunk of the bed which he doesn’t doubt must be your share of it.

On the wall on the left side of the room are posters of seascapes and sea animals of different varieties while the desk bolted under it are framed photos of Sendai Frogs. He recognizes them all;, one was taken from the first win of the team on the first year you joined as the manager. The second is a photo of the team at the gym with the new members that year, including Kyoutani who had just recently joined. The last one is a selfie of you on the bus doing a peace sign and winking at  the camera while everyone was sleeping.

He kinda feels bad for your roommate now. You’re practically hogging the whole room.

You put down your bag on the floor and shoot him a confused look. “To do our project?” 

When you told him to meet in your dorm, he agreed because he thought you meant the common area. After all, he had no reason to think you’d invite him to your room. You two may have disregarded the club incident, tucking it away as a sordid memory from a night of insanity, but that doesn’t mean it is forgotten. However, that doesn’t seem to be the case with you as you appear to genuinely find nothing wrong with the current situation. 

You seat yourself at your table, taking out your laptop and notes from the trip last time.

“Go sit, Tsukishima,” you say without even looking at him as you spread out your notes on the table’s surface as your laptop boots up. 

“We could’ve just done this in the library, or at least in the lobby,” he says as a matter-of-factly.

“True, but I also don’t see any problem with doing it here,” you answer passively, still occupied with arranging your papers. 

He was right. It really does not bother you at all. So, he shouldn’t be bothered with it either. This way, at least, no one would see you and him together. You’re a person he doesn’t want to be associated with hanging around with anyways. 

“Do you always invite your groupmates to your room?” He asks out of curiosity since it didn’t seem like anything for you to just invite him in, as if you didn’t care much about your privacy. 

“Hmm. Depends,” you answer. 

He takes out his own laptop, but still eyes you as he prods further. “On what?”

The curve of your lips tugs up slightly as you sit up straight and lift your gaze away from the notes you took out and finally turn your attention to him.

“I welcome those who won’t get handsy with me.”

“Even if you’re the one who’d get handsy with them?” he boldly counters.

You cock your head to the side with hints of amusement playing across your features, which vexes him. The question was supposed to tear your composure, not entertain you. 

“Alright, let’s get the fucking elephant out of the room since it bothers you so much,” you announce with levity. 

If you’re going to be honest, the kiss still finds its way to your mind sometimes. You just keep pushing it off so that you won’t get stressed out by it. What you find interesting is that he still keeps shoving that fact that you kissed him as if you wanted to do so.

Well, you literally did kiss him, but it’s not like you sought for it prior to the incident. 

It just … happened.

“I’ll come clean, good sir, if you’ll allow me,” you declare sarcastically before setting a more serious tone. “I admit it. It was one hell of a mistake to kiss you. But I didn’t mean to. As ridiculous as it sounds, I really didn’t. It was just one of those stupid, off-the-cuff things people do.” 

Your voice takes an accusatory note when you ask, “And why do you sound like I harassed you or something? Hmm? ‘Cause if I remember correctly.”

You cross your arms and look up, pretending to be deep in thought before facing him again with a fraudulent shock. “Oh right!” you exclaim exaggeratedly. “You kissed me back,” you add in almost a sing-song manner.

You put an elbow on the table and rest your cheek on your palm as you hold his glare with a snide grin. “How about that?” 

He continues shooting daggers at you but you don’t falter. Quite soon enough, he lets up and returns to the passive, apathetic face he usually wears, which signals your victory for the argument. “Like you said, it was one of those dumb on the spot whims.”

You nod agreeably. “Alright, great. Now that that has been established, let me reassure you. It’s never ever gonna happen again. Ever.”  

Your eyes are devoid of any humor while your words drip with firm resolve. Yet, he finds it off that you’re not asking him to do the same given that you both just agreed that you are equally accountable for that imprudent act. He is almost just as guilty. 

“Aren’t you going to ask the same from me?”

Your somber expression breaks into a humored one as a laugh rumbles from your throat. You shake your head in comical delight while you look at him. “No, I won’t. Actually...” you drift off as you scoot closer to him until you’re right beside him. “Give it your best shot.”

You close your eyes and tilt your chin up. Did you really just dare him to kiss you? Kiss those stupid lips and have a repeat of that appalling night? 

Should he?

He would do it just to erase the smug off your face, just to prove you wrong. But similar to that night, he can’t bring himself to do it. He hates the idea of instigating such a thing. 

Even more so now that he’s already had a taste of those lips. Those lips that felt too exquisite that it infuriated him. Those lips that took away his logical thinking. With you offering those lips to him so generously, you make him hate them even more. That pretty face and that playful smile of yours do nothing but add to his fury. 

“Can you get your face away from me?” 

You peek one eye open before bursting into laughter, making his displeasure towards you skyrocket. Why the fuck is he always your laughing stock?

“See? This is why I don’t mind you coming over, Tsukishima. I bet if I strip naked right now, you’d walk out in a heartbeat.”

His scowl deepens. The mental image of your unclad body is very much unwelcome and unappreciated. “Bring that up again and I really will leave,” he snaps. 

Even with your smile intact, your humored expression dissolves a bit and is replaced by a curious guise.

“You know, everyone likes me except you,” you say with no shred of diffidence.  

You really are full of yourself. You might be ‘likeable’ for a lot of people, but that doesn’t mean every single person you meet actually likes you. He’s certain there are people who you rub off the wrong way -- people like him. 

“Isn’t that a bit too conceited, even for you?”

You shrug your shoulders indifferently. “Maybe so. But you’re the only person who shoves your blatant dislike on my face.”

“You didn’t seem to have a problem with it for the past three years,” he replies as he flips his laptop open and boots it up so he can turn his attention somewhere other than you. 

“I didn’t need to work with you like this for the past three years.”

He doesn’t know where you’re going with the conversation so he doesn’t respond anymore. He’s certain you know why he finds you a pain in the neck. You constantly get on his grill with every opportunity you get. Maybe if you didn’t, he could actually tolerate your topsy turvy persona. But it’s as if it’s your personal mission to aggravate him.

“I’m putting the deal I offered during the trip,” you announce.

“What deal?” he asks as he starts typing bullet points of what should be done today so he can go home already.

“Forget I’m the annoying manager when it’s just us two. And I won’t deliberately piss you off.”

He types the last bullet point before returning his attention on you. “Then what? I suddenly become nice to you?”

“Hell no! I’m not asking for a fucking miracle. It’s not like you’re ever nice to anybody. Geez!” you explain derisively. “I just want us to have a conversation where you’re not giving me death glares.”

You give him a smile, one that lacks your usual haughtiness. Still, he can’t tell if you’re being serious or if you’ll actually manage to hold the deal you’re proposing. Truth be told, he wants it. He can’t handle you being your usual if you two have to meet beyond training hours and, even worse, in private. 

If this keeps up, he might end up cursing this subject by the end of the semester, which would be a waste because likes this subject way too much for you to taint it with your idiocy.

“Deliver your end of the bargain. Then you’ll have mine.”

Your eyes twinkle with glee at his semi-approval. “We have a deal then.” 

You go back to where you’re seated a while ago and proceed to start discussing at hand.

--

With the start of the game season, training has become more intense. Coach Mira had the team work on the weak points she identified with the help of  the data you tallied from last season’s games.

“Kyoutani! Do not lower those arms just yet. Keep those elbows up when you block,” Coach yells at him, as Kogane spiked from the other side of the court.

She looks over at the other players practicing their jump serves. She furrows her brows at something. Following her line of sight, you see that it falls on Tsukishima. 

On his next serve, the ball spins ferociously but is of low height that it hits the middle of the night. 

“Y/n,” Coach calls out. She didn’t have to say anything else as she cocks her head to Tsukishima’s direction with a telling expression on her face. She’s asking you to handle him, and you know exactly why. 

Before he can toss the ball for another jump serve, you yell out merrily which you know will definitely catch his ears, “ Tsukki!! ” and jog to where he is. His blank expression turns into a scowl when you reach him. 

“Can you stop calling me that?”

“You’re so mean. Aren’t we close enough for me to call you ‘ Tsukki ’?.” You ask with a dramatic pout and exaggerated false woes that he visibly cringes after hearing it. 

He doesn’t respond to your pretentious act. “Why are you here?”

You instantly lose the cheeky act and get to what Coach Mira wants to let him know. You’re just going to twist the words a bit to his ‘liking.’ 

This is the problem you noticed with Tsukishima, one worse than his rotten way of interacting with the team. He can be incredibly unmotivated at times, and when he is, he only gives the bare minimum amount of effort. 

It’s the one thing you can say you truly dislike about him because he’s a professional athlete for crying out loud. It doesn’t matter if he’s unmotivated, uninspired, or doesn’t feel like trying. He should be disciplined enough to push himself to put as much work as he usually does when training.

“You’re not going to get those serves in with that half-assed attitude of yours,” you say sternly while you eye him with a threatening stare. 

His face scrunches in utter displeasure. He’s well aware that he’s not feeling his best today and he’d rather do blocking drills for the whole raining than do ten consecutive jump serves. 

“Since enthusiasm is the answer to everything else, why don’t you try it?” He bites back, which you obviously weren’t expecting. He’s always irritated when you point out his mistakes, but thus far he has always stayed silent. 

Maybe the amount of time you’re spending together outside the gymnasium has made him reach the limit of his patience… which isn’t even a lot to begin with.

“Are you serious?” you ask incredulously.

Of course he wasn’t. You might have some sort of experience with volleyball (although he doesn’t know to which extent), but jump serves are difficult. The coordination of the toss and the run up to hit it at the right angle is aggravatingly hard to pull off, especially for him since jump serves need tons of practice.

He detests the practice for it; he needs to run, jump, and swing his arm over and over. It is boring and tiring for him because it is purely based on physical prowess, compared to practicing blocking where he’s actually thinking. 

He thought you’d leave him alone when you stepped away. Instead, you come back with a ball in your hand. You dribble it off the floor with unbendable focus as if you’re trying to recall something.

“Are you serious?” he’s the one who asks this time. He was just fucking around. He didn’t expect you’d actually respond to his provocation.

“Yep,” you answer with your full concentration on the ball in your hand as you spin it vertically. Some of the players notice what you’re up to and briefly stop what they’re doing to watch.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You bat them open with burning determination before you toss the ball. 

Instead of watching the ball, he watches your form. There’s no trace of awkwardness in your movements, almost like you’ve done this frequently before. The three-step approach is nearly perfect as you propel yourself up to jump. 

The sharp sound of the ball hitting your hand causes the rest of the gym to look at you. The ball spins ferociously at a height he’s not sure is sufficient to get over the other side of the court. He wishes it won’t. That would be the second worst thing you could ever do to him, the first one being that certain occurrence he’d rather not think about again. 

You falter on your feet when you descend from your leap but you immediately look up to see if your serve makes it. Everyone else, including him, is on the edge as they watch whether the ball will get in or not.

It roughly scrapes the edge of the net, effectively thwarting its velocity. Still, it bounces off and lands inside the opposing court, causing the rest of the team to cheer you on as the ball hits the floor.

You seem to forget for a short while that you did it to spite him as your face beams with inexplicable joy while his contorts with ire. 

Even if the momentum of the ball was broken, you still managed to get it over - the one thing he hadn’t been able to do from his last eight attempts. Meanwhile, you did it on your first. 

You definitely had a lot of experience in high school. No beginner can manage to do a jump serve like that, even if it was flawed.

‘Shit,’ he silently curses when you face him with a cocky grin disguised as a pleasant one. 

“Who knew that my experience being an outside hitter and captain of my high school team would still be useful as your manager?” you ask as you slowly walk towards him.

He doesn’ expect that your knowledge about the sport came from first-hand experience. He thought you’re manager of another team previously or just a crazy volleyball enthusiast.

You pick up another ball and softly push it against his rib as you look up to him with contempt. “Don’t tell me I can do better than you,” you spur him on with squinted eyes.

He snatches the ball away from your hands and steps back from the serving line. He spins the ball one time and tosses it high. Instead of a three-step approach, he makes it a four to increase his vertical jump. He tosses it high enough and channels all his rage for you at the ball. 

With how high he jumped, the ball easily goes over the net. Its trajectory curves when it crosses over and hits a spot a little bit just beyond the end line.

He clenches his fist at his another failed attempt despite exerting more than necessary effort for that shot. He avoids looking at you for he’d be put in an even worse mood if sees that taunting grin of yours. 

But of course you had to make yourself seen and intentionally go in front of him with an impressed look in your face instead of a condescending one. 

“That was great! Holy shit. It was just a smidge out. Wow.” You applaud him earnestly, and as much as he despises it, it makes him a little less bad about that missed shot. 

“Can you leave me alone now?” He drives you away to fend off the stupid feeling. He’d rather you just walk away and don’t say anything. “Not like that serve mattered,” he mutters in annoyance.

“What are you talking about? It was awesome!” you yell out with your eyes shining with flagrant admiration, which annoyingly strokes his ego. 

“Just a bit less and it would have been in a spot difficult to return,” you remark as you pat his shoulders approvingly before heeding his request to leave and go back to where Coach is. 

“Sorry, Coach. I distracted everyone else,” you scratch your head with an apologetic smile when you return. 

“I’d tell you off, but everyone seems more motivated now, so good work I guess,” she commends you with a satisfactory tone.

“He looks really pissed though,” Coach Mira adds as she glances at the blonde middle blocker.

“More than you know, Coach,” you reply with a wide smile as he serves another ball and gets it in this time. 

--

Prior to your meeting with Tsukishima today, you proposed to finish the project as soon as possible so you can both focus on other other uni subjects on top of training hours. He immediately agreed, which didn’t surprise you because even though it’s not game season, you’re pretty sure he can’t wait to stop having to see you.

The project’s deadline is in three months, but you believe you can finish it in less than two if you meet up at least twice a week to work on it.

It should be okay, given that you both agreed to have a truce of some sort from the usual dynamic of your relationship. You actually think that it’s not going to work out smoothly, but you still suggested it with the hopes of decreasing his animosity towards you. Yes, it’s fun and amusing most of the time, but outside the gym where you’re just a classmate and not his manager, it’s kinda draining to deal with it. 

“Won’t your roommate mind if there’s a stranger in your room?” he asks as he sits down and rummages through his bag. 

“Oh.” You thought he already figured it out because he didn’t ask about it on his first visit. “Didn’t I tell you before? I don’t have a roommate.” 

His eyes immediately go to your bunk bed that you didn’t bother getting replaced because it’s convenient when you’re too tired. You usually just mindlessly throw your stuff at the top bunk for a later clean-up.

“Wanted the whole room to myself,” you add.

“Spoiled, little rich brat, aren’t you?” He really doesn’t have much basis for his statement. He just wants to say something nasty and sneer at you because he wants to get back at how you called him out during training the other day.

When he meets your gaze, you raise an eyebrow at him, reminding him about your agreement while working on the project. He purses his lips to the side and returns to his passive expression without saying anything. You roll your eyes in response.

“Well if being a scholar while working as your manager is being a spoiled rich brat, then by all means. Do consider me one,” you answer before looking back on your screen. 

He would have never thought you were a university scholar. You don’t look like the type. You’re way too carefree and all over the place. He would’ve thought it was a joke, if not for the tiny offended glint he caught when he said you’re a spoiled brat.

That’s exactly the reaction he wants to get from you, yet it didn’t feel satisfactory. On the contrary, it’s making him feel like a prick. He is being one, but he doesn’t expect to feel like one, especially towards you who does nothing but get on his skin. 

Still, hell would freeze over before he apologizes. Instead, he prods on the topic.

“Why would you even work as a manager if you’re already a scholar?”

It doesn’t make sense to him. You don’t need the work if your university fees are already waived. It will just pile on to the academic requirements you will need to maintain. 

Your hand stops scrolling on your mouse as your eyes soften, still  remaining on your laptop. “Cause I love it,” you utter like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The look in your eyes is instantly replaced by mockery when you lift them to meet his. 

“Someone’s being inquisitive today.”

He gets his headphones out and plugs it to his laptop. He really is curious why you chose you to be their manager, but you just had to be an obnoxious bitch and break the agreement you offered to him just the other day. 

He knows you’re too much of a chaos to actually pull it off, so instead of wasting his energy by being irritated by you for the day, he’d rather pretend you’re not there.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” you say loudly with a wide smile, yet he can see the sincerity of the apology through the slight panic in your orbs. You must have realized he’s had enough of your shit. “My bad. Old habits hard.” You laugh nervously. 

You speak again when he puts down his headphones on the table. “I may have quit the sport, but I still love it. I love taking care of players like you guys who have the same passion for it.”

“Doesn’t seem like it’s worth it,” he comments with unheld honesty. You could have a lot of time off of your hands if you quit being their manager. You don’t even need the job.

You plant your hands on the floor and lean back as your gaze drifts to the photos of the team displayed on your desk.

“You might be right. A marine science student dedicating her time on sports even though she’s not an athlete? It does sound impractical. But,” you revert your eyes back to him as you continue on, “it makes me happy. That alone makes it worth it. Even if I don’t get paid, I’d still do it.”

Your face glows with pride and joy with your last statement, completely undeterred by his earlier cynicism. If anything, you look even more convinced that you’re doing the right thing. 

He can’t tell if he finds it admirable or disturbing. Probably the latter.

“There’s more to life than just sleep, study, and survive, don’t you think?” 

It was a rhetorical question that he would’ve still refuted if someone told him that years ago. Back in his freshman year in high school, he thought overzealous passion was stupid. Unless an individual is some sort of prodigy, it wouldn’t get them anywhere even if they keep trying to death.

Still, he put in a lot of work -- more than he should -- when he was playing in Karasuno. What was just a club became entirely something else for him, which, up until now, he still hasn’t put quite a finger on. 

When he graduated from Karasuno, he wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to continue playing, but there was a nagging feeling behind his head that he shouldn’t. He thought that that part of his life was already over and while it was good while it lasted, it was time to move one. 

Yet, when he was handed out an application form for the university’s college team, he found himself grabbing the sheet of paper. 

He didn’t have any reason to pursue it beyond high school. He knows he’s good, but he’s not that good. He was at university already. It was time to focus on his future and ignore the itch to hold the ball with five other players on his side of the court.

What’s even more absurd was the next day, he submitted the application form and tried out for the team. He said to himself it wouldn’t hurt to go on playing until he has finally had enough. He’d just ride it out until he got tired of it. 

In his sophomore year, he was scouted by Sendai Frogs and that’s when he knew that the unreasonable passion he has for volleyball is not going to go away. Even now in his graduating semester, he’s still not ready to give it up.

He won’t admit it in your face, but, in a way, he can agree with what you just said. Life is more than just getting by and surviving. That’s the only reason he can think of to justify his choice to continue volleyball: so that he wouldn’t have this constant dissonance that pursuing the sport is a vacuous path he’s treading on. 

“Anyways, back to work now, yeah?”

You smile briefly at him and return to the research you’re tasked to do. He puts his headphones back in his bag and gets back to his own task as well.

He thought all is well and you won’t pester him until you both finish what you’re supposed to accomplish for the day. Unfortunately, he thought wrong. 

You suddenly close your laptop and start whining. 

“Tsukki.”

As usual, he does his best to not acknowledge your existence. 

“Tsukkiii, ” you whine louder. 

For the love of God, you sound the most annoying when you use his nickname. Even though you’ve used it several times now, he’s still not used to it. In fact, he does not believe he will ever get used to it. Shimizu and Yachi not even once called him that, and they were more respectable managers than you are. Sort of. It doesn’t matter that you’re more active and hands on when managing the team.

“Tsuuuk -”

“What?!” You successfully manage to get his eyes off the screen.

“I’m bored,” you pout. 

He glares at you unbelievably. What are you, a five-year-old? 

“And that is my problem, how?” he asks with disdain. 

“Aren’t you getting tired?” you ask back, unfazed by his blatant irritation. But then again, you never are. 

He is getting tired too, but he’d rather drag his brains and eyes out than rest and extend the time he’s going to spend with you. 

“Let’s take a break, please, ” you cry out with pleading eyes. 

“I don’t care what you do. Just leave me out of it.” He puts his attention back on his laptop and looks for the journal article he found significant among the other tabs he opened. 

“I’ll feel guilty if I see you still at it while I goof around,” you admit. 

He really couldn’t care any less. None of what you’re blabbering about is any of his concern. If you keep at it, he’ll just take out his headphones again to drown out your childish whining. 

“I know!” You suddenly perk up. “Let’s review for our quiz,” you suggest eagerly. “We have one tomorrow, right?”

He almost smirks at your suggestion, but he manages to suppress it. He’d rather not let you see that he’s pleasantly amused with your suggestion. 

He didn’t expect that that was your idea of taking a break. He thought you were going to propose something completely absurd like watch stupid videos online because that’s something he could totally see you doing on your free time. 

But yeah, he can definitely use a review. It would be a productive break from the strenuous researching and writing you two have been doing. 

Even though he still hasn’t verbally agreed, you continue on. “To make it interesting, there’s a penalty for every wrong answer.”

He sits up straight, pushing his glasses closer to his face as you successfully gain his full attention. “What penalty?”

Your smile widens when you realize that he’s finally acknowledging your idea of taking a break. 

“Okay, okay.” You rub your hands together in excitement before you clasp them together. “For every wrong answer you get, you need to say something nice about me. And of course vice versa.”

He scowls at the idea. “I prefer the opposite. Get the answer wrong and you get insulted. That sounds more of a punishment.”

You shake your head with your lips pressed into a thin line from disapproval. “Nope. If I get even one wrong answer. I’m sure you’ll get into a litany of rude shit you piled up against me over the years. And I’ll just sit here uncaringly receiving your fury. Does that excite you?”

Hell no. It will infuriate him even more if he throws something at you and you just take it apathetically. But he still doesn’t agree with your initial mechanics. It’s not fair to him.

“No, it doesn’t. But the consequence of a wrong answer is too easy for you.”

You place a palm on your chest and gape at him. “Me? Too easy for me ?” 

You break into a boisterous laugh while still maintaining eye contact with him. He just stares back at you stupefied with no idea what you found so hilarious.

“Tsukishima,” you say after recovering from your disparaging hoots of laughter. “I can think of literally one nice thing about you. Maybe two if I tried hard enough,” you explain with your face still crinkled with the laughter you’re trying hard to contain. 

If you’re trying to provok him to take on your challenge, you definitely succeeding. “Fine,” he hisses. 

Your laughter is completely thwarted when your eyes widen with delight as he succumbs to your plan. 

“Great! Okay, two more rules. One, objective questions only. Two, we can’t say anything that involves Volleyball. For example, you can’t tell me that I’m a great manager, because I’m very much aware of that already, okay?”

His frown only deepens from your conceitedness, only to realize that that’s the only aspect of you he’d consider complimenting you about. 

“But there is nothing else nice about you other than that,” he says without any trace of sarcasm or ridicule, only stating what he considers the truth. 

But you don’t take any offense in his statement. You’re expecting as much. That’s why you added two more rules to push the both of you to take the review seriously.

“Better not get anything wrong then,” you counter easily because it’s as simple as that. It’s a review just for a quiz after all. He shouldn’t be that worried.

“Thirty minutes to review. Then let’s start the quiz?”

You take that he’s fine with it since he closes his laptop and gets his set of notes from his bag.

You get your phone and set a thirty minute timer. You do just as he does and focus on your own notes, skimming over the last two chapters covered during lectures. You concentrate on your learning materials but the alarm sets off after what seemed like ten minutes to you.

You frantically check your phone to see if you put the wrong time, but you didn’t. Thirty minute have indeed passed. 

When you glance at Tsukishima, he’s already looking at you with crossed arms and a self-satisfied smirk. He must have finished before the timer went off. He wouldn’t have that smug expression if not. 

Even though you haven’t fully gone over the last parts of the lesson covered, you can’t help but be enlivened at how competitive he is. He must really hate losing. 

You notice it too with the way he plays volleyball. He might look calm on the surface, but you know he wants to crush his opponents. And right now, that opponent is you. 

His muted excitement affects you. Even though you’re not totally prepared, you’re confident with your own wits. 

“Ladies first, so go ahead, Tsukishima.”

He clicks his tongue, his usual habit when he’s irked with something, but this one was forced to make it appear as if he didn’t like what you said. But you can tell that he doesn’t give a shit about that and he actually can’t wait to ask away just to so you can get it wrong.

Unfortunately for him though, you two are just exchanging questions when your mini game starts. He answers your questions without hesitation and you do just the same since most of his questions are in your own list that’s supposed to be for him.

“What’s the movable membrane found on the eyes of amphibians?” It’s his sixth question that has you racking your brain for the correct answer. When you don’t respond immediately, he sniggers like he’s already won. 

But you do know the answer, or at least the first letter of it. It's the letter N. N-something membrane.

“Nictaling membrane,” you answer unsurely. 

The spread of his wicked smile immediately tells you you’re wrong. “It’s nictating,” he corrects you. 

“Oh come on! I’m just one letter off,” you strongly reason out.

“Yeah, and that would still be marked wrong in the actual quiz,” he refutes.

Damn it. He’s right. That one letter makes a whole lot of difference your professor will definitely not let go.

He places one elbow on the table and rests his chin at the back of his hand, keeping his eyes trained on you as he silently anticipates for you to pay the price of your penalty.

You bite your lip disquietly when you realize the rule you set was a double-edged sword for you can’t also think of anything nice to say about him. There’s that terrible attitude of his which is usually your source of fun, but not exactly something you can call nice. 

You have something in your mind, but your pride won’t let you voice it out. 

He starts tapping the table with his fingers. “You’re wasting both our time, y/n.”

You accept your defeat and tell him anyway. “Fine. I think you’re smarter than me,” you confess. 

You expect him to agree unanimously, but instead he looks at you stupefied, blinking a few times without saying anything. 

“But you’re a scholar,” he remarks. You’re not sure if he just disagreed with you or he’s just putting that fact out in the open. 

“Well, yeah. But I’m just really good at studying and have good time management. You’re actually smart. You’re critical with stuff,” you explain. 

You cheated a bit with your answer since most of your basis is from volleyball games. Although your trip last time is also proof of that. He provided really good input on how you should go about with the project. 

“Okay! Moving on,” you proceed before he can comment further on what you just said and milk it to his benefit.

You ask another question, which he also knows that correct answer to. Originally, you just wanted a fun but effective way of reviewing, but now you kind of want him to get at least one question wrong so you can get even. 

“What do you call the structure the lower vertebrae of anurans is fused into?” he asks another difficult question. 

You rub your palms on your face, your frustration clouding your mind from recalling what it could possibly be. You push your hair back and sigh when you realize that you’re not getting this one either. 

“I don’t know,” you surrender. 

His current expression is the most lively one you’ve ever seen from him outside volleyball games, but it isn't a pleasant one. He looks like a villain whose evil master plan is coming to fruition. 

Maybe you should’ve just agreed with his earlier suggestion to get insulted when you get it incorrectly. You would’ve just sit it out and brush it off afterwards, not make your brain hurt even more from thinking about non-existent good traits from the guy across your table. 

You look around as you desperately try to think of something remotely nice about him.

“Oh,” your eyes meet his right the moment you recall that instance, and form a genuine smile as you remember it once more. 

“It was real nice of you to let me lean on you on the way back to Miyagi last week.”

He removes his elbow from the table and fixes his posture, losing the lax and confident aura he had two questions ago. 

“You would have woken up face down on the bus floor if I didn’t,” he says defensively as if what he did needs that explanation for it to be acceptable. 

You honestly thought he’d rather let you fall flat on the floor. You’re about to ask him back then if he was sure, but you just accepted his angry, yet generous offer which you didn’t expect to come from him.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d let me rest on your shoulder, so thanks,” you say earnestly, not a trace of your usual cheekiness present. 

“It felt nice and comfortable” you add reservedly. You’ve been wanting to thank him but you didn’t know how to bring it up without being awkward for you’re only used to dealing with grouchy Tsukishima.

It’s only then you realize that despite his palpable dislike towards you, he’s not a complete asshole and still cared enough for your welfare that time.

He remains expressionless with his eyes drifting down to his notes, avoiding your gaze as he does so. “The answer is coccyx, also called urostyle,” he ushers back to the question you got wrong, dismissing what you just divulged, which you’re thankful for because you feel like fidgeting with what just dawned on you.

“My turn again then!” you said too loudly as you try to shake off the feeling and put your focus back on the review.

You read the only item left in your list, still hoping that he gets it wrong since this is the last. 

“What part of the amphibian nervous system regulates heart and respiratory rates?”

Unlike previous questions, he doesn’t answer off the bat this time.

“You’re wasting both our time, Tsukishima,” you repeat what he said to you earlier even though it's only been seconds after you uttered your question. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself. I know the answer,” he declares with reassured confidence. “It’s the cerebrum.”

You decide to hold his gaze for two second before you burst his bubble. “Fucking finally!” you rejoice in his defeat. 

“Close enough, Tsukishima. It’s the cerebellum,” you announce all too cheerfully.

He hurriedly gets his notes and cross checks if you’re actually telling the truth. You just watch him scramble with a very pleased smile on your face as he goes rigid. 

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He must have seen that you were telling the truth.

You start squirming in your seat. Oh man, you’re way too excited to hear what he has to say about you. You want to egg him on, to tell him to hurry up but that might affect what he’s going to say so you force yourself to shut up. 

He raises his gaze at you while you make sure you’re not smiling too wide to annoy him even though you’re reeling from anticipation. 

He still doesn’t say anything, but you know he’s thinking based on the way he’s studying your face. 

“You have a slightly above average face.”

You run that by again in your head, not understanding what he meant by it at first. 

Above average face? Did he just say you’re pretty if translated from a socially incapacitated person’s language? Is that why he was staring so hard at you?

Of all the things he could choose to say something about, he decides to compliment your appearance? You know that you're a bit good-looking, but you don’t think he notices it. He doesn’t seem to be the type to care about that stuff.

Even when you first met, he just looked at you with a vacant expression and greeted you blandly out of courtesy while the rest of the team ogled at you. His apathetic eyes eventually turned scornful over time because of how often you pick on him, and despite that, he does acknowledge that you are pretty.

You’re used to being showered with admiration because of your face so you’ve developed a natural response to it: a gleeful smile with a spritely ‘aww, thanks!’

But with Tsukishima, it doesn’t kick in. Instead, you avert your gaze away from the unwanted fluttering in your chest. You can’t even look him in the eye as you try to collect yourself and think how you’ll respond to that without looking flustered. 

What the heck is wrong with you? That could hardly be called a compliment. Now that you think about it, it actually sounded sort of like a product review with its lack of any fondness. 

With that in mind, you manage to regain some of your composure and offer him a faint. “Um, thanks.”  

Tsukishima looks at his two remaining questions he listed and even though he’s winning the game, he doesn’t feel victorious at all. Your confessions did nothing to make him feel good about himself. They were too sincere that they made him uneasy.

He also doesn’t like that he had to admit you’re pretty. He expected you’re gonna make a fuss about it. He actually would’ve preferred that than you being uncharacteristically embarrassed about it.

Something weird is definitely going on. You’re not acting like yourself and neither is he. There had been too many opportunities to badger you, but he just let them pass by. Same with you. You could have easily teased him about letting you know he finds you attractive.

“I’m out of questions,” he lies to end the damn review. 

“Me too, actually,” you say with an apprehensive laugh.

So it’s not just him. You also feel the change in the atmosphere between you two. Your smile is uncertain and you look like you don't know what to do to remedy the situation -- that is, if you even know what’s wrong with it because he sure as hell doesn’t. 

But even if he has no idea what’s going on, fortunately, he knows how to end it.

“I’m tired. I’m calling it a day,” he says as he starts packing up his stuff. 

You seem to agree since you don’t say anything and just watch him collect his things. You only react when he stands up. 

“Oh yeah. Sure!” You stand up as well.

“I can see my way out on my own,” he stops you when you start to head for the door.  

You freeze on the spot then nod timidly. “Okay.”

As soon as he steps out and closes the door, you plop yourself back to where you were sitting. You grasp the edges of your table as you softly bang your head against it, gasping a heavy breath of relief when the air becomes undoubtedly lighter after he is gone.

“What the fuck was that?” you mumble with your cheek against the wooden surface. 

Part 2 || Part 4 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem @akaashisslave @tsumurai  @babythotshq @loving-unicorns106 @flairlust @geektastic84 @anaiss97 @berna-dette @just4readingfics @suteorra @xxekitten69xx @simp4tsukkii @music-is-all-i-need @keshinslittlegirl @raspberrysunshinebby @iminlovewhaikyuu @pdiddy11 @lightyagamami @sailorscout1902 @lovershaikyuu  @expectonothinfromme @mitzuya @yamigoop​

[echos-lighthouse]

Ninjago fairy tale AU’s because I can’t sleep

Lloyd: little red riding hood

Zane: Snow White

Echo: Rapunzel

Jay: the little mermaid

Kai: beauty and the beast

Cole: Goldilocks and the three bears

Little green riding hood

This was going to be Kai but Lloyd fit better

Oh my gosh like the fandoms expectations for the green ninja

Lloyd was told by his Uncle Wu to go pick up some tea from Mystake

On his way back, he keeps running into Akita, who’s trying to warn him of danger, but Lloyd can’t understand her

The danger is Harumi is following him. Lloyd doesn’t see her

When Lloyd reaches the monastery, Harumi is there, pretending to tend the place

She says that she’ll take the tea to Wu, and Lloyd is give her the tea, when Akita comes and scares Harumi off

Akita sniffs out Wu and after she finds him, reveals herself as a human

Then they all live happily ever after (except Harumi) the end

Snow White

Zane is the son of the oh so famous Dr. Julien, the royal inventor, but the King (ice elemental from the elemental alliance) takes a liking to Zane, and adopts him when Dr. Julien dies

Now Zane is the prince woo

The King also takes a liking to the ice emperor, but that was a mistake, because he sneakily kills the king and takes the throne for himself

“Mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the coldest of them all?”

It’s Zane

So IE tells Vex to go kill Zane, but Vex doesn’t actually know how to kill a nindroid so he just tells him to run into the forest

That’s where Zane meets the 7 dwarves

Hungry (Cole) Chatty (Jay) Confused (teen Wu) Flirty (Kai) Grumpy (Morro) Happy (Echo) and Sleepy (Lloyd)

Later he meets P.I.X.A.L. who immediately catches his heart

The IE finds out that Zane is still alive, and decides that since Vex didn’t help him, he was going to have to kill Zane himself

He disguises himself and goes into the forest

He gives Zane an apple that gives him a fatal virus, but Zane doesn’t realize it’s bad so he dies (wow shocker)

Then the IE falls off a cliff

The 7 dwarves hold a small funeral and invite P.I.X.A.L.

P.I.X.A.L. realizes that Zane isn’t dead dead, so she kisses him and he comes back to life

They go back to the kingdom and Zane is crowned king, and P.I.X.A.L is queen. The dwarves are advisors

Then they all live happily ever after the end

Echo

Dr. Julien didn’t want Zane to know he was building a little brother for him, because he was getting sick, and thought he was going to die soon, and he didn’t want Zane to be sad at his brother and his father not being around

So he struck up a deal with Samukai the Skeleton

Samukai would give him a private place to build Echo, and a potion to help him get better if Samukai got to keep Echo

Not having much of an option, Dr. Julien agreed, hoping that Echo and Zane would find each other on their own

Echo was built and Samukai kept him in a lighthouse

Dr. Julien tells Zane of his missing brother

Events of Snow White (seen above) ensue and now Zane is king yay

Morro is a wanted thief and while getting away, he runs into what he thinks is an abandoned lighthouse

Only to find a rusty nindroid

Echo explains he’s always wanted to see the real world but he never got to

Morro sneaks him out and they head to the kingdom to celebrate the king’s birthday

Echo realizes that he’s the king’s brother, and he a Morro go back to ask Samukai questions

Samukai does an exposition dump, and stabs Morro, before Morro simply blows him away

Morro dies but he’s a ghost so it’s okay

They return to the kingdom and Echo FINALLY meets Zane

Morro and Echo start dating

Then they all live happily ever after the end

The Little Mermaid

Jay was always fascinated with little toys he found from human shipwrecks

He would often go on and on about what he thought they were all used for

His father may have been King Cliff, but Jay was practically raised by Ed and Edna, who taught him about the human world

His mom is dead rip

He goes to the surface and finds Nya, who he immediately falls in love with

He stays hidden, but sings Nya a little song

The ship almost wrecks, but Jay saves Nya. She’s barely waking up to his song again before he swims off. She wants to know who that voice was

Jay finds a locket with Nya and her brother in it, and he wants to take it to Nya, so he tells his dad

His dad isn’t happy that Jay fell in love with a human

After another fight with his father, Jay goes off and gets lost, but is found by Nadakhan

Nadakhan says he can make Jay human, all he has to do is wish, and Jay gets 3 wishes total. After the third wish, Nadakhan gets something of Jay’s

Jay’s first wish is to be human, his second is that he won’t be able to speak because he wants to save his 3rd wish

Nadakhan grants Jay’s wishes and Jay goes to learn to become human. He gives the locket to Nya

Nya tells him about her brother’s romantic escapades (see below) but she also tells him that she has to get married soon or she might not be able to support her career in technological advancement

She has her sights (or rather ears) set on the lovely voice she heard that night, but Jay can’t tell her that that was him

They meet Nadakhan who has come to get Jay’s third wish, but Jay won’t use it

Nadakhan says that if Jay doesn’t use his third wish by sundown the next day, he was going to kill Nya

Nadakhan uses magic to sound like Jay, and Nya has to marry him (she’s under a spell)

The next day, Jay still hasn’t made his third wish by sundown and Nya starts dying

Jay wishes her to stay alive, and says even if Nadakhan takes his legs and he never gets to see Nya again, he’ll be fine, just as long as she lives

Nadakhan grants the wish, but the spell on Nya fades away and she falls in love with Jay

I don’t know what to do with Nadakhan, I think I’ll have him just take the boat and leave

Then they all live happily ever after the end

Flirty and the Beast

Kai is the biggest flirt in their village

Everyone knows he’s just a blacksmith who likes fighting, but men and women alike can’t get enough of his flirtatious exploits

Though he’s never actually known what real love is. He also wants to go out on an adventure, but the closest he’s ever gotten was books

One day, Nya wants to take her samurai x project to ninjago city, and Kai tells her to have fun

While Cryptor (literally couldn’t find a better villain please work with me) is trying to get Kai to date him, Kai receives a message from Nya that she’s in trouble

Kai runs off to try and save her and that’s when he finds out that Nya’s been taken prisoner by an anacondrai looking person

She introduces herself as Skylor, and she says she’ll let Nya go if Kai stays with her

Kai agrees and Nya goes back to their village to get help

Nya tells Cryptor about Kai, and he just laughs it off, because Nya’s a women, and all women are crazy, but he decides that if Nya is going crazy, he could hold it against Kai

But he can’t find Kai

Back at Skylor’s mansion castle, Kai gets curious and finds the staff making Skylor a snake

After she scares him, he runs into the woods and is attacked by wolves, but Skylor saves him

They star falling in love after that

Kai asks Skylor if he could visit Nya, and Skylor reluctantly lets him go for good, thinking he might like that most

Kai also tells them of Skylor, finally realizing he loves her, and Cryptor decides to get rid of her, because “if I can’t have Kai, no one can”

They fight

After stopping Cryptor (Nya was able to shut him off) Kai shucking finally kisses Skylor and she turns into a Normal human

Wanting to help Kai go on and adventure, Skylor takes him, and Nya on a trip to visit a beach (queue previous story)

then they live happily ever after the end

Noir locks

Cole never wanted to sing and dance, but he loved watching the lumberjacks

One day he followed them out to a part of the woods he was unfamiliar with

He explores a bit more and finds a house. There seems to be fresh food, he didn’t eat breakfast and was starving, so he sneaks in

There’s cake

After eating the vanilla cake instead of the chocolate or strawberry, Cole decides to take a nap. He woke up super early to catch the lumberjacks, and walking for so long made him exhausted

He finds the most luxurious bed he’s ever slept in

He’s woken up to a high pitched scream

He sees an ivory and gold colored bear and starts screaming too

Two more bears come up the stairs

After they all calm down, the bears introduced themselves as Vania, Seliel, and Kataru

Kataru says his sister is usually here as well but she was out doing something else

Cole asks what the heck is going on and why there were talking bears sleeping in beds and eating cake

Vania explains that her father cursed her and Seliel, and Kataru was just a bear formling

Cole decides to see if he can do anything about it, so Vania leads him to her fathers mine

Cole try’s to reason with Vangelis, but the king won’t have it

Vania explains that Cole needs to shave Vangelis’s beard because that’s where he stores his magic

Cole does, but Vania and Seliel are still bears

Vangelis later explains that his magic is actually from a magic skull and he just tells people that it’s in his beard because he wants to throw them off

Cole tries to steal the skull, and Vangelis catches him and turns Cole into a bear

After fighting Vangelis and ultimately getting the skull, Cole runs off

He takes the skull back to Kataru who destroys it

Vania, Cole and Seliel turn back

Not having any real magic anymore, and just being a horrible person, Vangelis is knocked off the throne and Vania takes over

Then they all live happily ever after the end

[mommymooze]

Just another Sunday with Hermann Vestra

Hermann solemnly walks through the monastery, leaving the Cathedral after the service, silently he approaches the small graveyard that is on the church’s property. He understands Professor Byleth’s mother is interred here, therefore he wishes to pay his respects, today being a day of remembrance of those who have passed on. He is on the level of the gravestones as he is suddenly thrust against the wall, a hand and dagger poised at his throat.

“Good morning, dear brother.” He gasps through his constricted airway.

“There is nothing good about it. You have overstayed your welcome.” Hubert sneers into the face of his younger twin.

“Dear brother, why must you hold such a vendetta against me? What have I done to vex you so?” Hermann’s voice is light, pleasant, and calming considering his current position.

Hubert sees this as merely an attempt to taunt. “Your existence is a stain upon the von Vestra name! Your bleeding heart is not fit to shovel the dung of the Emperor’s horses. You cannot stomach the thought of any duties being a von Vestra calls for. The mere thought of you attempting to become a vassal to Lady Edelgard fills me with revulsion.” Hubert tightens his grip on the throat of his twin, his single visible eye glaring daggers at him.

“You know that I have no intention of living up to the von Vestra name. You are the sole and true von Vestra son.” Hermann calmly counters, “A man cannot serve two masters. You serve Lady Edelgard and I serve Sothis. There is no reason for my becoming Lady Edelgard’s vassal, you were chosen when we were six. I follow a different path. I have done naught to provoke you, yet you are here with a dagger at my throat.”

“Your mere existence is causing more problems than you can imagine,” Hubert growls. “If you interfere with any of Lady Edelgard’s plans, I will personally burn you down to a pile of ash.”

Hubert must swallow his next threat as he hears the approach of students. “This is not over.” He mumbles then warps away.

Mercedes and Annette descend the stairs, arms full of lilies for the graves.

“There you are Hermann!” Annette calls.

“Oh my, are you bleeding?” Cries Mercedes, pointing to a cut on his neck, a few drops seeping into the white collar of his dress shirt.

Hermann quickly pulls an embroidered handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing at the wound. “Cut myself shaving this morning. I did not realize it was that deep.” He says as he casts his eyes toward the ground. He is not a good liar.

“Let me heal that for you.” Mercedes kindly offers.

“I feel truly blessed, thank you.” Hermann nods.

The trio sings hymns, honoring those that have passed on, offering remembrances of their lives and good deeds. They then head to the dining hall to enjoy lunch together.

“Wanna do some axe training together?” Annette’s eyes sparkle as she looks to Hermann for his response.

“Would it be another day, I would say yes without hesitation, dear lady,” Hermann bows as he takes everyone’s empty dishes. “However today I have duties in the infirmary. Lady Manuela has requested that I assist her with concocting some potions and expand my knowledge of faith magic. Please excuse me, my sweet friends.” He bows and returns the dishes to the kitchens, heading for the infirmary.

Annette rests her hand on her chin, elbow on the table. “He is so dreamy. Polite, clean, he smells so nice compared to the other rowdy boys around here. I don’t think Sylvain or Felix have had a bath in a week.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” Mercedes nods. “I could listen to him sing all day. His cooking is amazing too. I was on kitchen duty last week and he made a two-fish saute with asparagus on the side that was to die for.”

Hermann finds Manuela in a room down the hall from the infirmary, preparing ingredients for potions.

“Ahh, Hermann. I am delighted that you can assist me today. It is always wonderful to see your handsome face.” Manuela croons.

Hermann takes her hand and kisses her knuckles briefly. “Lady Manuela, it is an honor to work with a woman with such varied talents as yours.”

“How I wish I could sit and let you lavish me with praise all day, however these potions won’t cook themselves.

As they work through preparing the ingredients and readying the potion for brewing Hermann breaks into a song.

“Wait, you know that one? That is from an opera I performed back at Mittelfrank!” Manuela gasps.

“Dorothea has been schooling me on a few songs from her memory. This one is so romantic and is supposed to be a duet. Pray tell, Lady Manuela, will you sing it with me?” Hermann blushes.

“How can I turn down such an endearing request from a ravishingly hot gentleman?” Manuela sidles up to Hermann, rubbing her bare shoulder against his as she is peeling the skin from a particular root for the potion.

They sing together, the beautiful melody meanders through the entire floor of the building. Soon the work is done.

“Would you like to go to town and have a drink, my treat?” Manuela winks at Hermann.

“My apologies, I cannot.” Hermann bows and takes her hand in his, kissing her knuckles. “Although I would thoroughly enjoy a fine evening of engaging conversation with a woman as beautiful as yourself, I have other commitments.” He bows as he leaves.

“Rats.” Manuela grumbles to herself. “I would love to get that tasty treat between my sheets. I would have to find them first though.”

Hermann notes the time and quickly heads to the dining hall for a quick bite to eat. His appointment this evening is at seven and he cannot be late. He dashes to his room, combs his hair, brushes his teeth, and makes absolutely certain he is perfectly presentable. He then holds his head high, humming a hymn they have been practicing recently and heads to the faculty building of the campus. He ascends the stairs and arrives at the third floor. Arriving at Lady Rhea’s rooms, he knocks.

“Good evening, Lady Rhea. I have arrived for the tutoring as you have requested.”

A lovely and delicate hand opens the door and beckons Hermann inside, grabbing him by his his jacket and pulling him into the room.

“Oh my.” Hermann gasps as the door slams shut behind him

[merakiaes]

Comfortable - Oscar “Spooky” Diaz

Pairing: Oscar “Spooky” Diaz x reader 

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None.

Warnings/notes: This is really quick and really shitty, I’m sorry😭 I’ve been really stressed lately and it’s ruining my ability to concentrate and work creatively </3 But I hope you like it anyway, let me know what you think. Not proofread, and Spanish translations at the end. 

Wordcount: 2952

Summary: A part two to ‘Pussy Whipped’. You’re on your period, grumpy and really easily vexed, and Oscar makes sure you’re comfortable. 

After Oscar went out to do whatever Cuchillos had him and the Santos doing this time, you went back to bed and fired up some Netflix on your laptop in the wait of your boyfriend’s return.

Runs like these usually took between one and two hours, sometimes more and sometimes less, but never longer than three hours. So you waited, for your boyfriend to return home to cuddle you and provide you with the food you had been craving ever since waking up.

One hour passed, two hours passed, and you began coming to terms with the fact that this was one of the odd jobs that were going to take longer than usual.

The movie you had been watching was over in an hour and fifty-three minutes, and the heating pad you had brought with you to the bedroom was turning cold and not providing you with much comfort anymore.

Unfortunately, your abdomen was cramping too much for you to be able to stand up properly so you couldn’t be bothered to get up and reheat it, instead just closing your laptop and falling asleep, expecting Oscar to wake you up when the time did come that he got back home.

That, however, did not turn out to be the case.

Rather than waking up to the gentle touch of your loving man, you woke up to a not-so-gracious thud against the wall over your head, followed by loud laughing and noisy ruckus coming from the kitchen, sounding an awful lot like your kitchen cabinets were being rummaged through.

The mere sound of the repetitive thudding against the wall was enough to make your blood bubble with the already existing annoyance that seemed to constantly follow you around wherever you went whenever you were on your monthlies.

And that irritation only increased when you properly came to it after your nap and realized that the bedroom door was still closed, just like you left it, meaning Oscar hadn’t even been in to check up on you.

If he had, the door wouldn’t have been fully closed; he always left a small gap open behind him.

It would have been okay if he hadn’t been home, but with the way the boys were calling out for him from the kitchen, you knew for a fact that he was and it made you pissed because you knew that he knew exactly what you wanted at times like this, and he wasn’t there giving it to you.

Grumbling sourly under your breath, you pulled yourself out of the warm bed, pushing the pain radiating from your abdomen away to your absolute best ability and heading out into the hallway.

The headache you’d thought was gone returned in a sharp jab in your head the second you stepped out of the dark bedroom and into the sunlit hallway, which did nothing to calm your annoyance.

By now, the voices that had sounded from the kitchen a minute ago were instead speaking from outside where you from a glance through the living room window could make out Oscar and the Santos chilling on the lawn like any other day.

Throwing a glance to the clock ticking away in the dining area of the open space, the pointers were showing twenty minutes past four in the afternoon. 

That meant you had been asleep for well over two and a half hours, and who knew how long Oscar had been home throughout that time, without even coming to check up on you.

You scoffed, shaking your head, and before you could even process your own actions, you had marched over to the front door, ripped it open and stepped out onto the porch.

No one even seemed to notice you, Oscar sitting with his back to you in the sofa on the lawn and everyone too busy either drinking or checking out their own muscles to know what was going on around them.

The sight was one you saw every day, and yet on this particular day, it caused you to want nothing more than for them all to go away.

So like the grumpy party-pooper you were, you walked right up to the boombox that was placed on the wall of the porch, singing out some Spanish song, and hit the OFF button with one quick motion of your finger.

Only then did all of them turn to look at you, finally noticing your presence where you stood at the head of the porch steps with your arms crossed over your chest and your face pulled into a fierce glare.

“Buenos días, la Bella Durmiente.” Sad Eyes was the first one to speak up with a playful smirk, watching you from his seat beside Oscar on the armrest of the sofa.

All of their eyes were squinted in order to see you through the bright rays of sunshine shining right down at them, but your eyes were fine with the ceiling of the porch protecting you from the sun, allowing you to glare harshly at each and every one of them.

“Nice bedhead.” One of the older Santos pointed out before you got the chance to say anything, sending the rest of them into a fit of chuckles.

Your eyes automatically flickered to Oscar, watching as he raised his eyebrows at the comment and raised his bottle of beer to his lips in an attempt to hide his smirk. But the way his body was shaking with coughs gave him away immediately, only causing you to get even angrier.

Your hands instantly flew up to your hair to pull at the hairband holding your hair up in a very messy bun, putting it back on your wrist while ruffling your locks as you stepped down the porch.

“What’s the matter with you?” You called out to all of them as you approached them, their eyes trailing after you.

You stopped by the closest Santo and grabbed the weight he was holding just in the middle of a curl, dropping it back to the ground and completely ignoring the annoyed look crossing over his face as you moved on to the next person and repeating your previous actions.

Once all of them were relieved of their weights, you moved on to the sofa where the rest of them were sitting around, wasting no time in starting to grab the bottles of beers from their hands while scolding them.

“All you do is sit around in this nasty ass couch all day, lifting weights and getting drunk from the early hours. Haven’t you got your own houses to hang around?” You questioned, grabbing Sad Eyes’ beer just as he was about to take a sip. “Are you homeless? Or why do you insist on being on Spooky’s ass all day, every day? You’re grown men, for fuck’s sake, get a life. Go on, dip.”

Now balancing six bottles of beer in your hands and arms, you waved your hand to your best ability as a sign for them to fuck off.

They wasted no time in doing as told, getting out of their seats while grumbling under their breaths. They weren’t happy to be bossed around like this, but at the same time, they had learned a long time ago that they did not want to be in the line of your fury.

Sad Eyes gave you an amused smirk but stood up, too, bumping Oscar’s fist and squeezing your shoulder as he moved around you and in the direction of his car.

Oscar, himself, didn’t move a muscle, simply watching you boss his boys around angrily with a proud and amused smirk playing on his lips while sipping on his beer.

As he was about to take another sip, however, your hand shot out and ripped the bottle right out of his hand, and before he could even think about protesting, you had walked over to the trash can at the side of the porch and dumped all of the bottles in.

Without as much of a glance backward, you then stomped up the porch steps and back inside, leaving the front door open and plopping down on the livingroom sofa bitterly.

You listened as Oscar chuckled outside, followed by the sound of his feet dragging over the pavement path to the porch, and a second later, he was walking inside and closing the door softly behind him.

You kept your eyes set on the black screen of the TV, feeling his amused stare burn into the side of your face.

With another chuckle, he wordlessly walked into the kitchen and without turning your eyes away from the flatscreen, you could hear him opening a cabinet and rummage through something plastic.

You then heard him close the cabinet back up, the sound of the fridge opening and closing following shortly after, along with the ‘psst’ sound of a beer bottle being opened.

You rolled your eyes at the latter, but you didn’t get much time to think about it before he re-entered the living room and walked over to you at the couch, flicking on the TV on his way.

“Move over.” He told you and nudged your legs that were spread out over the couch, and you finally allowed yourself to look up at him, seeing that he was now holding a fresh bottle of beer and a bar of the chocolate he had promised to bring back for you before he left earlier.

The sight of the sweet, chocolatey goodness instantly made your anger decrease, causing you to move your legs away from the couch to allow him to sit down.

“When did you get home?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest as you watched the re-run of ‘How I Met Your Mother’ now playing on the TV.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you caught him throwing a glance at the clock on the wall. “Half past two.” He replied simply, taking a gulp of his beer before setting it down on the coffee table and leaning back into the sofa, getting comfortable.

You scoffed, quickly doing the math in your head and figuring out that this meant he’d gotten home not long after you’d fallen asleep, and been home for two hours without waking you up.

He took one look at you from the side and immediately understood what you were thinking, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. “I didn’t want to wake you up, figured you needed the sleep.”

You pouted, turning to look at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“I didn’t want to sleep. I only did because I got bored while waiting for you.” You whined lightly, touching the hem of his tank top and looking up at him through your lashes. “I wanted to be with you.”

He chuckled at you, bending his head down to kiss your temple. “I’m here now, mamas. Bring your grumpy ass here.” He said, attempting to pull you closer.

You rolled your eyes, but nonetheless you moved into his side, cuddling up to him and sighing in contentment at the feeling of his warm hand resting on your bare upper arm.

He wordlessly reached around you to grab the blanket hanging over the back of the sofa and unfolded it with his free hand, pulling it over the two of you before leaning forward to grab the bar of chocolate and his beer from the table.

While balancing the bottle between his thighs, he broke open the plastic of the chocolate and broke off a piece, which you gratefully accepted despite still being annoyed for no apparent reason.

“You could’ve at least checked in on me, you know.” You pointed out as you took a bite, the anger slowly starting to melt off the more comfortable you got at his side.

His feet kicked up on the coffee table in front of the sofa and he sipped at his beer while his hand rubbed small, warm circles on your arm. “I did.” He mumbled lowly, both of your eyes stuck on the TV even though neither of you were watching the show that was on.

“No, you didn’t. The door was closed.” You grumbled, your face pulling into a glare again.

“I closed it.” He answered, and you turned your head to look at him, raising an eyebrow.

“You?” You asked. “You closed a door?”

Chuckling, he leaned down to press a light, quick kiss to your lips, mumbling against them. “The homies were being loud. Like I said, I wanted to let you sleep.”

At this, you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, the remaining anger melting right off and your body turning warm with contentment instead.

You shared another few kisses, Oscar clearly savoring the taste of the chocolate with the way he was humming quietly and his tongue was poking out of his lips ever so slightly.

His cheeky antics brought a chuckle from your lips and he broke apart at that, rubbing his forehead against yours playfully, smiling when it made you crack another laugh.

“The cramps gone?” He questioned, his thumb still rubbing your arms.

Only then you became aware of the pain jabbing you in your abdomen again, your face instantly pulling into a distasteful frown. “No.”

He hummed, and moved his hand down from your arm to your stomach, where he moved his fingers underneath your shirt and began rubbing slow, soft circles over your abdomen.

You instantly relaxed at the feeling, your head lulling against his chest and your legs pulling up over his lap on the couch. He pressed one kiss to your temple, and then another and then a third, all while holding the remote out toward the TV and switching channels.

Netflix popped up on the screen and he nodded to the TV, looking down at you questionably. “Clueless?” He asked, and you instantly smiled up at him,  

“You know me well, baby.” You raised your head up to capture his lips in another, longer kiss, rubbing your hands over his chest.

When you broke apart, he leaned his head down and pressed a kiss to your neck. 

“I know I do.” He mused, looking back up and turning his attention back to the TV where he typed in the name of the movie and wasted no time in putting it on, rewinding it to the start after the other countless times you’d force him to sit through it.

Once the movie was playing, he put the remote on the armrest of the couch beside him and took his beer from between his thighs, bringing it up to his lips while you continued nibbling on the chocolate.

While you stared at the screen concentratedly, he gazed at you from above, admiring every feature of your face and feeling amused at how easily pleased you really were.

You liked to convince yourself and everyone else otherwise, but he knew you like the back of his own hand and therefore knew exactly how to make you happy, and it didn’t take much.

As long as he was there, you would get happy by pretty much anything; even something as small as a bar of chocolate, belly rubs and your favorite movie when you were on your period.

Feeling his stare burning into the side of your face, you glanced away from the movie to look up at him, your glare now long gone and instead replaced with a wide-eyed, content expression.

“What?” You asked, clueless as to why he was watching you with such a soft expression. But it still didn’t fail to cause a flutter of butterfly to spread through your body.

He smiled at you, raising his thumb to your lip to rub some chocolate off. You watched with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile as he brought the thumb up to his face and put it in his mouth, and then, he took your face in his hand and pulled you into a kiss.

Your fingers automatically wrapped around the fabric of his tank top, your lips smiling against his as they moved together.

He tasted bitterly, of beer and cigarettes, two things you didn’t necessarily enjoy separately. But still, it was the most delicious taste you knew, blending together with the chocolate still on your lips.

You broke apart for a brief second but he quickly latched his lips onto yours for another quick kiss, before finally pulling back to allow you to breathe. 

His thumb caressed your cheek and his eyes searched yours, lips pulled into a fond smile.

“Te quiero, gruñona.” He told you, Spanish words tumbling out of lips so easily it was as if they were the only words he’d ever known.

The first two caused your face to break out into a large smile, but the last one automatically caused you to shoot a hand out to slap his chest. 

“Watch it.” You mused, chuckling, and he chuckled with you, grabbing your wrist to protect himself from any possible eventual hits.

His chest shook with laughter under your touch and you smiled, adoring the way he always let his guard down when you were alone.

Moving your hand up from his chest to his face, you cradled his cheek, pressing your forehead against his. 

“I love you, too.” You answered and as his chuckling died down, you pressed your lips to his in another kiss before the two of you cuddled up to each other and turned your attention to the movie playing in front of you, his hand returning to rubbing soothing circles on your stomach until the pain was completely gone, and your foul mood with it. 

He may have been a fearless gang leader that constantly needed to assert his dominance, but there was nothing in the world that would keep him from making sure you were comfortable. 

Translations (I’m not a native Spanish speaker so this might not be a hundred percent accurate):

Buenos días, la Bella Durmiente – Good morning, Sleeping Beauty

Te quiero, gruñona – I love you, grumpy

Tagged: @babienay​ @firebenderwolf​ @fairygardenss​ @moanlightbaby​ @dolanackles​ @marvelously-flawed​ @jazzwhitlockhale​ @spookysnena​ @joyrivh​ @socialistavocado​ @clemmingstylins0n​ @chaneajoyyy​ @ugh-jalynn​ @turn-diamonds-into-snow​ @bxmaaa @shadow-of-wonder

[idontmeantosoundrudebut]

Many of Horror (Chapter one: This secret goodbye)

Fandom - How to train your dragon (movie franchise)

Ship - Eretlout (+ background relationships)

Wordcount - 3748 words

Fanfic summary - Moving on is hard, especially from something that doesn’t want to be forgotten. But it’s easier when you have someone with you who understands that mind-scarring agony, it’s easier when someone will hold you in the dark when all the monsters come out to play, it’s easier when you’re loved. But Eret is going overseas and Snotlout is left alone in a cold bed. 

The dream is back and he feels sick. Sick in the head. (I really can’t think of a good summary for this, so sorry my dudes)

Tags/Warnings for this chapter - Mentions of past child abuse

So I have yet to finish this Fic yet but I’m just so excited to show it to yall that i just had to give you a little teaser!!! This fic takes place a year after HTTYD3 but the dragons never leave and Stoick never died because Hiccup deserved a whole family for more than one day (Dreamworks, i’m talking to you asshole)!

Also please check out The colour of friendship by Sarahenany and The colour of family by Thurdsday26 on the Archive because it they are big inspirations for this fic and if you love Spitelout bashing and Snotlout whump and found family then, oh boy, that is truly the jackpot of all Snotlout whump fics! Also, the title of this fic is based on the song Many of Horror by Biffy Clyro and this to the first like three lines and you’ll understand why! 

Please enjoy and give me any feedback that you have, negative or positive, do not hold back bitches!!!! Haha lol bruh

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Eret is leaving today, but he'll be back in a few weeks, a month maximum if the summer storms keep at bay (Ruffnut prayed briefly to Thor before bed last night. She doesn't know why; it was an impulse thing). He, along with six other crewmates, will be sailing far up north to the port-island he once called home to establish a trading route for Berk and to perhaps arrange a meeting between Chief Stoick and the chief of his native village. The Northmen are good people, Eret had reassured during a council a week back, who've long been held under the sole of Drago's boot and will gladly reward those who levered that pressure with both miscellaneous goods and a long-lasting alliance.

The only problem with this grand adventure is that they'll have to travel dragon-less.

The Northmen too have been terrorised by dragons for generations and they will not hesitate to net, bludgeon, and flay the first dragon they see, even if said dragon has a rider on their back. Act first and ask later kind of folk, a mindset which Ruffnut is very familiar with. Eret predicts that the concept of living with dragons in peace and harmony is one his people will be suspicious of for a time, but he assures that they'll warm up to it eventually. So, the first few trips will be dragon-less and slowly they'll weasel their Berkian values in, a very cunning plan indeed if Ruff didn't say so herself.

So today is the day of departure and she's on her way to the docks for the send-off, alone for a change. Tuffnut, eager to be out the house and tired of waiting for her to finish braiding her hair, had nabbed Barf and Belch and left her on her lonesome to walk. At first, she'd been peeved to all Hel, rightfully so, muttering to herself about how easier life would be without her dolt of a twin till she remembered just how peaceful, well, peace was. As vexing as Tuff is, Ruff cannot deny her sibling love for him, but she also cannot deny the simple serene beauty of silence.

She's striding down a street of huts, the docks insight, when she hears a terribly familiar voice.

"You better be back in two weeks, if you're not, I'm coming after you,"

Snotlout.

Ruff pauses mid-stride and takes a step back, looking into a narrow alleyway between two huts. She steps closer and presses herself against the left hut wall, slyly peeking her head out to gaze searchingly into the shadowed alley where she'd definitely heard Snotlout's voice. As mad as she is (and she is mad), she isn't to the point of hearing imaginary voices in the shadows (not for a few years, at least).

There. Stuck between a wall and a bulky silhouette, is the short and distinctive shadow of Snotlout Jorgensen. The figure Snotlout is pressed against lets out a hushed laugh, head bowing and if wasn't for that laugh, she'd definitely be able to identify him solely for the dark outline of his facial profile.

Eret, Son of Eret.

Oh, this... This is interesting, very interesting indeed.

"No promises, we might have to delay returning if we see a storm on the horizon," Eret informs and Snotlout makes a displeased snort, to which Eret adds in response, "But if we don't then, we'll be back as soon as we can. Snotlout, you won't even know I've left,"

"It already feels like you've left me," Snotlout murmurs, head hung low, and it catches Ruffnut by surprise, that statement because it's such a vulnerable thing for Snotlout to say and the way he says it, quiet and anxious, is so alien to her.

The use of the word "me" too, makes her mind turn and burn with theories because there is something so very deep in the small, added word. She doesn't know what yet, but there is something painfully human about it.

Ruff watches the shadowed duo, transfixed as Eret lifts a hand to Snotlout's chin, tipping his head up so that they are looking at each other.

It's such an abnormal gesture for her to witness, especially between two people with whom she's never associated such tenderness before.

Eret has always been this tall, handsome, foreign stranger with a silky voice and a self-assured walk, who is as handy with a sword as he is on a boat, who's always there to help and give back to the people who gave him a better life. Snotlout has always been this hot-headed, confident loudmouth who is way too short to be as brave as he is and is way too good at singing for Ruff to admit, who's full of unyielding loyalty and howling laughter. But most importantly, they hate each other.

Or, now that she thinks of it, they did hate each other.

The last few months have been lacking the usual rivalry between Snotlout and Eret and she doesn't know why it's only hitting her now. At some point, they two of them became friends and she's pretty sure she isn't the only one who hasn't noticed, which is so peculiar because she, and the others, have seen the two of them hanging out at the sawmill and flying together at dusk to light the torches. Gods, they drank with each other last night and there hadn't been a single crass word spoken. When did this happen? She and the rest of Berk have gone blind!

"Snotlout, I'll be back. Soon. I can't promise you when, but I'll be back, and next time I go north, you can come with me," Eret assures, and though Ruff can't see Snotlout's features, she can feel the atmosphere lifting and hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah?" There is something so hopeful and childish in the way he breathes that word, something that tugs at Ruff's heartstrings.

"Yeah, I'm sure I can convince Hiccup to spare you of your very honourable duties for a few weeks,"

"Hey, shut up!" Snotlout's foot jerks out sharply to jab Eret in the ankle, the former laughing breathlessly in response, "My work is honourable, okay? Someone has to test all those crazy weapons Hiccup cooks up and I'm the only man for the job, no one else is as brave as I am," He exclaims, all confident and cocky and familiar to Ruffnut.

"You're sure right about that," Eret says as he again raises his hand and, this time, it comes in contact with Snotlout's cheek, she can see the faint movement of his thumb smoothing over the skin beneath his eye. His voice is awfully soft with a terrible fondness that Ruffnut sometimes hears in Hiccup's voice when he speaks about Astrid or vice versa, it's a tone that she automatically links up to people who are fiercely in love.

Oh, Freya, they're in love.

"You gotta head down to the docks, Eret, you'll be late to leave... or whatever," Again, that insecure whisper is back and by Gods, it sounds so brittle and shaky that Ruff almost considers the thought that Snotlout might be crying.

She would be if she was about to be separated from her lover for an unknown amount of time, Ruff ain't afraid to admit that, but if Snotlout is afraid of anything, it's expressing feelings and emotions (He's afraid of proving he's human, proving he's weak). But then again, maybe it's easier for Snotlout to air out his inner thoughts in front of Eret because, well, they're in love and to be so intimate with someone, they're eventually going to see all the ugly parts that you hide beneath the pretty façade. Eret has probably seen the old insecurity they all know that still lurks deep inside Snotlout, raw and unfiltered, a thing from his youth that made him angry and afraid, a thing that was just as damaging as the scars on his flesh.

Ruffnut, nor anyone else on Berk, will ever forgive Spitelout for what he did to Snotlout. She will gladly say that the day he was exiled was the best day of her life and she will not be alone in the statement. Cruel, merciless, cold-blooded bastard deserved to be Blood-eagled if you ask Ruff and Tuff (probably Hiccup too, no one was more enraged than he was.)

(Ruff has never been afraid of Hiccup, except for once. He's far too lanky, too merciful, too kind, to be a scary guy. But that day, when Snotlout had lifted his tunic in the clubhouse and revealed the ivory scars that were striped across his back and chest, she'd taken a step back at the sight of the inferno that had kindled in his eyes, at the sudden look of mercilessness that had steeled his features, at the trembling fists clenched at his sides. He looked like a man ready to kill, like a man ready to burn then world to the ground, like a man ready to give it all up just for revenge. She was afraid of him that day. So, so afraid that she had nightmares about him for days afterwards.)

"I'll be a bit late, the lads won't mind," Eret says lowly, drawing Ruffnut from her walk-in memory-lane, and she feels her heart tug as he bows his head to press against Snotlout's, "I'll stay here. With you,"

Forehead touching, especially in Viking culture, is the tenderest way to touch the ones who mean dearest to you. Be it a lover, a blood-relative, a shield-brother, anyone who is buried deep in your heart. And here, in the shadows of an alley, hidden and quiet like a forbidden dream, two people hold each other. Soon, they will have to let go and isn't that the most heart-breaking thing? Letting go?

Her heart feels too big for her chest and she almost feels like a changed person by witnessing this, witnessing something she was never meant to see. Will love be like this for her too? Terribly tender and awfully soft? She doesn't know, Gods, she shouldn't be here.

Ruff tries to drag herself back but she's like a moth to a flame, unable to pull herself away from this blindingly beautiful display of love, so raw, so real. She never imaged Snotlout to fall so easily to soft caresses, but of course, he would. It is always our deepest wants that will bring us to our knees and all Snotlout has ever wanted is love, a gentle hand, a place to bury his heart.

They share a deep and long kiss. It makes her feel lonely and she doesn't know why. They part, breathing on each other's lips and holding each other tightly because they know, they know, they have to let go any moment. Their foreheads are still touching.

"Promise me," Snotlout whispers and she sees the silhouette of his Adam's apple bob as he swallows thickly, "promise me you'll come back. To me. Eret, promise you'll come ba-"

A quick but meaningful kiss quietens Snotlout's desperate pleas and Ruffnut has never heard him beg before, not like that, not like he's afraid that Ragnarök is about to fall upon them. Eret cradles Snotlout's face with his large hands. They are so close, they've almost become one shadow.

"I promise you, Snotlout," Eret vows, quiet but vehement, his lips brushing against Snotlout's, "I promise that I will come back to you,"

Another kiss is shared between them, sealing the oath that Eret has made and therefore making it unbreakable. Eret will return, he has to, and Ruff doesn't know what will happen if he doesn't. Something tragic, something unbearable to watch, something she can't allow to happen. She will not see Snotlout ruined again. So, she promises herself that if Eret does not return, she'll fly herself up to Valhalla, drag him back to Berk and the Gods best keep themselves to themselves and not get in the way of her mission, lest the know the true wrath of a Thorston woman.

"Come on, before Hiccup starts a search party," Snotlout says, voice stronger now that the promise of returning has been made, "Selkie's gonna want a proper goodbye too or she's gonna follow you the whole way,"

Eret nods in agreement and peeks his head out of the alleyway, looking up and down the street in search of any unwanted bystanders. In the sunlight, his eyes glitter amber and Ruffnut can make out his hand, large and golden, curled around Snotlout's.

"You sure you can handle her? I know that-"

"Gods, Eret, she's the timidest Thunderdrum I've ever seen! If I can handle Hookfang and a borderline psychotic Terror, among other things, then she's going to be a piece of cake," He reassures, almost sounding offended, and Eret chuckles softly as he gives Snotlout a fond look.

Ruff watches them step out from the alley into the sunlit street, hands no longer intertwined. She can make out the red flush on Snotlout's cheeks and the faint wetness beneath his eyes, which he wipes away hastily. The two of them share a look, secret and quiet, lips curled into gentle smiles, fingers twitching with the longing to touch. Then, as sudden as lightning, the tender-faces fall away and they leave, together but still somehow so far apart. They enter the real world not as lovers, but as friends, as a secret waiting to reveal itself.

For a few moments, she stays where she is, staring into the unlikely place of a secret lovers' farewell. Who knew that a place like this, small and dark, would hold such a tragic and beautiful moment? Ruffnut feels a mixture of emotions, the biggest one being happiness because bless the Gods, Snotlout has found love and if anyone deserves it, it's him.

At the after ceremony of Hiccup and Astrid's wedding a year back, a drunk Snotlout had suddenly embraced her tight and long and said; I'm gonna be alone forever, Ruffy, but that's okay, I got you guys, so... I not really alone. And being just as drunk as he was, she'd laughed and poured him another drink, dancing with him till the sun came to steal the night. She didn't remember what he said till a few days after and it had filled up with such a fierce and sudden sadness that Tuffnut had dragged her home, demanding an explanation for the terrible look in her eyes.

That's the thing with a twin like Tuff, the second her mood changes, he can sense it like a hunting dog catching the scent of blood. She can do it too, but Tuff has never been one to hide his true feelings while she, similar to Snotlout, would rather avoid the conflict of talking sentiments (even with Tuff). Her brother has to drag it out of her most times, corner her and say stupidly melancholic stuff like;

I can smell it, sister. You're sad.

Tuffnut is a curse and blessing all at once and she wouldn't have it any other way.

But anyway, she's overjoyed to see Snotlout in love and loved, but she's also anxious about it. Anxious in a way an older sibling is over a younger sibling when they start to dabble in dangerous things, in things that can get them hurt. And if love is anything, it's dangerous. If love can do anything, it can get you hurt.

Snotlout has been hurt enough. Snotlout has endured and lived through torture and torment, through betrayal and loss, through things she can't imagine surviving. She will not see him hurt again, not by Eret, not by love, not by anything. He doesn't deserve it.

The others will also share her feelings when they discover this secret love story, that she is sure of. Especially Hiccup, who in the past few years has become like an older brother to Snotlout (like the same way that Stoick has become a father to him, the same way Valka has become a mother to him). He takes his new sibling occupation very seriously and it is comical, the wiser brother and the reckless brother always at odds but always there to protect each other.

There's a headache brewing in her temple. Gods, she's been thinking and overthinking again.

It'll be fine, she reassures herself, stepping away from the alley and making towards the docks, the Gods wouldn't curse them all with more bad fortune, would they?

It's probably the most stupid question she's ever thought, in hindsight.

When she gets to the docks, it's jam-packed with dragons and Vikings alike, friends and family saying farewell to the crew and wishing them good fortune on their journey. The sky is clear and blue, perfect for sailing, and Ruff concludes that she wasn't the only one begging Thor to keep his storms to himself.

Immediately, her eyes are drawn to Tuffnut, dangling upside down from Belch's neck as he converses with a bemused Fishlegs. She's tempted to go over, but not yet, she has to do something first.

She quickly surveys the area, seeing one of the Berkian members of Eret's crew giving his vermilion Nadder a thorough farewell and a Northman kissing his Shield-maiden fiancé goodbye.

The Northmen, Eret included, were intrigued to see such wild and free women when they first came to Berk. Berkian women are hearty and frightening and hard to impress, daughters of wolves, bearers of warriors, the fiercest things on the battlefield.

So it had been a cultural shock to them, Eret had admitted one day, for their home only holds women who sew the clothes and make the food, who bear the children and tend to the house, who are quiet and timid and easily won over by a half-assed sonnet. Most marriages are arranged and many daughters are traded for land or gold, true love is a rarity to come by. Eret is proud of his home, but these are the parts he is ashamed of.

Astrid was the first woman Eret had ever seen to hold a weapon and he'd never met a woman as savage as Ruffnut before. Ruff will forever be proud that she was Eret's first taste of wildness.

There. She's found who she's looking for.

Eret kneels on one knee before Selkie, his beauty of Thunderdrum. She's orange like a sunset, pale and washed-out, with white flecks scattering her hide like parted clouds, matching her ivory belly, and Ruffnut has never seen a dragon with eyes that blue before. Selkie lets out an unhappy groan as she presses her face further into Eret's hand, eyes low in her grief as she listens to his whispers. Ruffnut can't make out what he's saying, but she's sure it's everything soft and reassuring.

Snotlout is close by, she notices, watching Eret with an open fondness. If Hiccup or Astrid walked by right now and took notice of the raw love in Snotlout's gaze, they would immediately know the truth. Clearly, she isn't the only one thinking this because Hookfang, stood beside his rider, nudges Snotlout with a warning hiss in the back of his throat. Never let it be said that Hookfang doesn't look out for Snotlout, he's ornery and easily distracted, but he makes up for it all with his loyalty.

Soon enough, the ship is ready and it's time to go. People gather along the docks and make their last hurried farewells. The drums begin and the chants of fortune echo across the waters, there's an intoxicating atmosphere permeating the air. Ruffnut hurries through the crowd, easily shoving unmoving folk to the deck in her haste because she has yet to speak with Eret. He's shaking hands with Chief Stoick and is about to go up the gang walk when she suddenly lunges herself at him.

"Ruffnut!" He gasps, surprised and clearly a bit uncomfortable, but he'll have to deal with her for the moment, "Thought you weren't going to- uh- show,"

"Course I was, idiot, and anyways-" She leans her head close to his ear and wraps a hand around his bicep, digging her sharp nails into his flesh threateningly as she whispers, "-I have to remind you to keep to that promise, Eret, son of Eret, I'm not going to have Snotlout hurt again. I was robbed of my revenge last time, I won't be again,"

When she pulls back, she flashes him a smile with too many teeth and bats her lashes with an intimidating gleam in her eyes. She's given this look to men who are now dead and it is Eret's choice if he wishes to be added to that mass grave. Eret stares back at her with shocked eyes, cheeks slightly red, and he clenches his jaw as he swallows thickly, rubbing a hand over the raised welts on his bicep. The drums echo across the water and the chanting voices chase after in earnest. After a bewildering moment, Eret gives her an awkward but thankful smile and nods his head in understanding.

"I'll keep that in mind," He says and all the tension in his muscles seem to slip away as Ruffnut softens her menacing gaze on him, clapping him boisterously on the already injured shoulder.

"Atta boy," She cackles, shoving him up the gang walk as she calls after him, a throaty laugh colouring her words, "You better be back in two weeks, you son of an Eret, or I'm coming after you!"

To her delight, she hears him laugh back at her.

The ship finally departs from the dock, sail high and proud as its pushed by the encouraging wind and the waves part smoothly as the bow cuts through the water, sure and steady. Some of the crew hang off the ratlines, saying goodbye to Berk (for now), and Eret stands, tall and almost warrior-like, on the stern. The salt-touched wind carries his dark hair and the sun reflects off his dark eyes, they glitter with a sadness that Ruffnut wouldn't have noticed if she didn't know the things she knew. His smile is melancholic, Gods, he already looks homesick. He's looking at someone and she already knows who.

Turning to look at Snotlout, she can see that his hands are balled up into white-knuckled fists, that his smile is forced and pained, that his eyes shimmer with tears.

Snotlout has always hated goodbyes. Especially ones that aren't supposed to last. Because they always do.

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 26

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!gifted!reader Content: A sort of calm before the storm. No proof reading at all. A/N: Hey! So, GISH happened. And I’ve returned to work but under special conditions, thankfully. Also I might be very distracted from this fic due to a new hyper fixation – blame my husband for that! Ask or re-blog for tag.

26. Cupid Carries a Gun

...   Reader    ...

The word pissed does not even begin to describe what you’re feeling but at least you have the satisfaction of the weather matching your anger. Sitting in the queen’s parlour in the middle of the day, it has still been necessary to light candles all around while the dark storm outside pelts the windows with rain. Now and then a flash proceeds a roll of thunder, making you wonder if bad weather in Asgard are just a thing of nature or if it always requires Thor to be busy. Mostly though, you curse Loki.

“Where’s your mind at?” A book taps you lightly on top of your head, calling you back to the present.

“My apologies, your highness,” you mumble. Man, I gotta be such a disappointment right now.

Whatever she might think or not, the woman smiles sweetly as she puts the books and parchments away. “Perchance it would soothe your troubled mind if you told me what is wrong?” She stops your protests with a graceful hand. “What has he done this time?”

“...uhm?”

“My son. Over the years, I’ve had to deal with many whom he’s vexed. Mostly Thor, of course...” For a moment Frigga is the one lost in past events. “So...let me hear it.”

I can really, really NOT tell her that! Heat rises in your cheeks, possibly blocking your airways to prevent any words from escaping. “Nonono, it’s okay! Really! There’s no need -”

“Ah, I see...it’s what he didn’t do...”

I need to change the focus of this conversation! “He uhm he magicked me to sleep!”

A devilish smirk graces the queen’s face. “Do you want to get even or do you want to prevent it from happening again?”

“Both?” If that’s an option.

“Fortunately for you, this distraction is well timed. As you know, none of the lore and theoretical works I’ve procured has been of much use yet, and your description of your gift’s flow has gotten me thinking of the Älfir powers of old. I have managed to find one tome, however the translation is not completed.” She pulls you to your feet, urging you towards the softer seats rather than the desk. “Perhaps, what I will teach you now about Loki is of better use, even.”

... Loki   ...

She should be back by now. The raven-haired man scowls at the setup of the room: everything is perfectly clean, a thick log is burning happily in the fireplace, and a light snack awaits on the little table near [Y/N]’s favourite chair. All that’s missing is...her.

Naturally, Frigga could have chosen to extend the lesson’s time frame or perhaps invite the guest to participate in some social hubbub. Loki would like that. It’s a much more comfortable thought than if the Midgardian has been swept away by the Warriors Three, for instance. Or his brother.

As evening creeps in, it becomes increasingly difficult to remain optimistic. Maybe she has decided to leave on her own accord? The new concern is uncomfortable the way it gnaws at his heart.

Purposely staying out of [Y/N] way, he had observed her discreetly during the morning, praising himself for the sensible decision to do so because the woman was seething with anger and he had no illusions: it was due to his actions. After all, Hel hath no fury like a woman scorn. And so, it’s with a smidgen of anxiety in his guts that he conjures the disguise and sets out to find the stubborn woman in question.

Scurrying along the hidden passages, he asks the few servants he encounters on the way to the queen’s chambers initially before the gardens, the arched balustrade over viewing the courtyard, and eventually the grand hall. That’s where he finally gets a useful reply.

“The lady is at the library,” a maid informs.

Oh, really?

...   Reader   ...

There aren’t a lot of books you can read in the Asgardian palace library but in all honesty, you didn’t end up in one of the plush seats in the corner for the sake of the literature but rather due to the quiet. Frigga has given you a lot to think about on top of a practical assignment.

“A song for light,” you mutter under your breath, staring at your fingers which are doing anything but create a glow, “light...light....”

You’re too caught up to notice a slinking figure watching you through the nearest bookcase. If I were a glow worm, what would I sound like? But the only experience you have with things that both sing and shine is Lumiere and you’re fairly sure belting out “Be Our Guests” won’t do much good in this case.

“Perhaps milady ought to retire for the evening?” a warped voice startles you.

Freaking stealth-god! He might not sport the usual mesmerizingly green eyes, but you know it’s Loki simply due to the way he looks you over. Well, keep looking ‘cause you don’t own me and you can’t order me to do anything. Ha! The silence stretches, and you recognize the beginning ticks revealing the Asgardian’s impatience – no disguise can hide that – and you have to bite back a smile as you turn to look out the tall window again.

“Lady [Y/N],” he tries again, this time stepping over to stand right next to you.

Waving a hand dismissively, you send a thankful thought to Frigga. “Not now, I’ve got some...things on my mind.”

“Allow me to ease the mental burden.” Only a thin veil separates the sarcasm from being too obvious.

The footsteps of someone coming nearer reduces the simmering standoff to silent glares, then a librarian rounds the bookcase and bows discreetly to you, informing that he will take his leave unless you have any requests. Oh, it’s tempting to invent some reason for the man to stay, forcing Loki to keep up the charade, but for the life of you you can’t think of anything and have to watch him walk away.

“Thought you could escape me by coming here, hmm?” the god hisses into your ear.

It sends shivers down your back which you do your best to suppress. “I’m not surprised you don’t know this but I actually like reading. I love books. Perhaps you should have bothered to learn a bit before assuming you’ve got me figured out.”

His eyes gleam and a grin begins to split his face. “Is that so? You presume I do not know you?”

“Fine! What’s my favourite food?” When he doesn’t answer, you power on: “Yours was roasted duck with figs and nuts when you were little. On Alfheim, you seemed to adore the salad with warmed goat cheese and honey.”

“That wasn’t goat cheese.” He doesn’t manage to derail the conversation so he tries with a new tactic, lowering his voice to an obscenely sensual level. “What I do know is how your breathing hitches as I pinch your nipples. It’s no secret to me that your hips would buck if I were to slip my fingers between your soaked folds...and, my pet, even now the scent of your arousal is rising as rapidly as last night.”

“Yet all you do is talk,” you bite back, “empty words but nothing to show for it!”

You know you’ve pushed him past that line the history books and hindsight so clearly shows when his eyes grow dark, emerald and ruby peeping through the illusion. His fingers tangle into your hair while the other hand pulls the glowing cube from the air and the world is obscured by the cloud of magic.

[loneswaggingranger]

Does it matter?

By @loneswagger for @pixiethefirecat7

This is for the @friendly-neighborhood-exchange!

Rating: General Audiences

Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers & Tony Stark

Characters: Peter Parker, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, James “Rhodey” Rhodes, Bruce Banner, May Parker

Summary: 

When Peter reached forward and called his name, Tony honest-to-god flinched away from him. 

His fingers twitched. “Captain Rogers did this, didn’t he?”

Hard brown eyes snapped shut. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Peter said, kneeling softly beside the hero’s battered form. “It does.” -

The one where Tony Stark lives with a metal arm, Steve Rogers never became old, and Peter Parker baffles at how incredibly fine they make everything seem. Or, the one where Peter Parker becomes Tony's designated spokesperson. Seriously, what would they do without him? (Nothing, apparently.)

Story under the cut! Hope you like it~

Does it hurt?

*

He once found Tony shirtless and utterly wasted in the lab, drowning in a sea of one too many shattered decanters, knuckles gone white from wringing that outdated burner phone for who knows how long. Crimson dribbled from calloused palms across scarred flesh, to ripped jeans over to  shimmering glass shards littered upon sullied floors. 

When Peter reached forward and called his name, Tony honest-to-god flinched. 

His fingers twitched. “Captain Rogers did this, didn’t he?”

Hard brown eyes snapped shut. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Peter said, kneeling softly beside the hero’s battered form. “It does.”

*

When Peter came home, he expected many things. He expected his dingy little apartment with the wafting smells of May’s burnt bread, imagined snuggling on the couch with her, and watching cheesy soap operas all through the night. He expected those weekly sessions with just him and Mr. Stark in the lab, planning, tinkering and innovating without a care in the world, positively shining whenever Mr. Stark whistled and said, “You got brains, kid.”

He should have known, expectations rarely matched up with reality.

Said notion found him in front of his lunch one day, mumbling, “Nothing makes sense anymore.”

 “Oh?” A tilted look of concern.

“I just- I never expected this, y’know?” Peter twirled a fork aimlessly between his fingers, eyes trained so hard on his meal he thought it might start sizzling soon. Or evaporate into dust. Whichever seemed possible at this rate. “It’s not bad, I mean, you have a great family and an actual kid now- which is totally cool, by the way! And May - May has Happy now, so the apartment's not that empty anymore, a-and she smiles a whole lot more these days. Which is good, I guess. The Accords isn’t even a legit thing anymore, the Avengers come together to sing Kumbaya every other weekend,” His fingers tightened round the fork. “Everything’s all good, yeah?”

There probably would have been a reply, if it wasn't for the tell-tale thump of approaching footsteps Peter never dreamed of growing familiar with.

“Afternoon, Captain Doritos,” Mr. Stark’s drawl felt appeasing at best, challenging at worst.

Captain Rogers threw a half-glance his way, nodding curtly. He went for the fridge in two large strides, swiping out a carton of milk and downing its contents in one vigorous go.

“Ugh, you’re gross, Cap, I’m getting the hell out of here,” Mr. Stark rose from his seat, lightly tousling Peter’s hair as he went. “Finish your grub and hang in the lab with me later, yeah?” His eyes seemed to soften. “It‘ll be just like old times.”

 Old times. Right.

“Also-” Mr. Stark slapped the good Captain’s shoulder, smirking wildly at the vexed ‘Oi!’ that elicited. “If we’re watching anything remotely Disney tonight, I’m going back to Pep’s for the weekend.” 

“For that alone, we’re watching Moana, Frozen and Mulan!” Captain Rogers hollered after the retreating metal middle finger shot high in the air, shaking his head once it fully disappeared down the hallway. A bemused look. “What’s wrong with Disney?”

Peter scoffed, grin plastered expertly on his face.

Another thing that didn’t make sense, this song and dance. This parade of concealed emotions, this system of tactical meet-and-retreat, this exhibition of faux jaunt put up for one another. The shake in Captain’s tone, the tremor in Mr. Stark’s arm - almost indiscernible and yet there it was. Always there, each time Peter looked.

Captain’s carton of milk slid into the bin by his feet. “So how was your week, son?”

Peter chewed on his noodles thoughtfully. “Tiring, I guess. Lots of homework. Also-” He made a face. “Son? Seriously? How nineteen-thirties can you get, Cap?”

Captain rolled his eyes, mock indignance in his stance. “Great. I have to deal with two Tony Starks in the team now, don’t I?”

“Exactly,” Peter smirked, drawing out the last syllable slightly.

*

He remembered piecing uncharacteristically silent calls with his own incessant chatter, so that the harsh breaths pulsating on the other end would finally, finally smoothen out. He remembered resting a hand over Tony’s arrhythmically flouncing heart, coaxing him for a meal, a drink or to just breathe. He remembered whispering to him in a voice so soft yet so firm, “Mr. Stark? Mr. St-Tony? Tony, it’s me. It’s Peter. No one else is here, okay? You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

He remembered the world of hurt his hero went through.

*

It wasn’t like Peter never asked. 

He tried asking during the quiet moments, when he and Mr. Stark were the only ones up at ass ‘o clock, when Mr. Stark strolled into the kitchen for customary morning tea (Pepper said weekends were coffee-free days). He tried asking during the loud ones too, when Mr. Stark was drunk on whatever alcohol he was having, when all the Avengers were in the room, because surely Mr. Stark wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to brag about a good story in front of everyone, right? Wrong. That particular fiasco ended with more than a couple uncomfortable looks, a pale-faced Mr. Stark storming out of said room and a flustered Peter trailing after him with his dozen apologies.

It got to the point where Mr. Stark had to sit Peter down, look him in the eye and say, “That’s it.” His finger, the metal one, dug deep into Peter’s collared shirt. “Stop it, kid. Me and Rogers, whatever happened between the two of us, it’s got nothing to do with you. And we’re fine now. We’re fixed. We watch Star Wars and Harry Potter every other Sunday, for god’s sake. There’s no better that we can get.” The other hand pressed on his arm shakily, a sort of pleading in the motion. “You don’t have to do anything for us anymore. Alright?”

Peter stopped asking after that.

Instead, he made observations. His eyes tracked each subtle gesture of wistful longing between the two, sometimes bordering on spontaneous animosity. Day and night, he made summaries, graphs, charts and fifty-one five-page essays for ten days in a row, writing and writing like he was running out of time.

He conducted interviews too.

Colonel Rhodes shook his head so adamantly when Peter pulled him aside for one of his trademark inquiry sessions, refusing to divulge anything more than a clipped but not unkind, "There’s definitely problems this team hasn't come to terms with yet, but it doesn’t fall on your shoulders to solve them, Peter." Dr. Banner had been much more forthcoming, nodding along to Peter’s mini monologue of observations. He even pitched in some of his own discoveries as to how the two skirted around each other when there was or wasn’t an audience, albeit with a mild warning that some things aren’t meant to be pushed too hard.

Even Bucky once appeared in front of Peter’s room, bouquet of purple hydrangeas and mug of hot chocolate in tow after one particularly brutal sparring session which had ended with one man’s ruptured blood vessel and another’s broken nose. He spent an hour trying to convey that, that was just their way of resolving conflict, their way of getting things out of their system. There wasn’t much that could be done about it. There wasn’t much they could do about it.

Or so they said.

But how many sleepless dawns after patrol had Peter spent - huddled under blankets in front of a glaring screen, scouring his way through Friday’s systems, keying in every code, every digit he thought would lead him to the right answer. Something, anything that he could work with.

Two months, twenty days and twelve hours later, he found it. The answer. Or at least, a part of it.

 It wasn’t pretty.

He knew. He knew, he knew, he knew that The Winter Soldier wasn’t Bucky, that the man in the video was just Hydra’s brainwashed lackey, that the Bucky he was familiar with would never consent to do anything remotely similar to what he had seen him do. He knew this, and yet some nights still found him jolting awake in a sea of his own sweat; May’s gasps echoing Maria Stark’s dying wheeze, Howard and Tony Stark’s pleas morphing into one, cold unflinching gaze haunting all the moments he fell quiescent. 

In the moments that he was restless, however, Peter resumed his search. He ploughed through the frights and horrors and sleepless dawns even more frenetically than he first did, because if he didn’t get to the bottom of this, no one else would. Because he knew there was more than just ‘The Winter Soldier murdered Mr. Stark’s parents’; there was always more.

Because what use was a team, if all its splintered souls did nothing to embrace their blemishes?

*

“Hey, Pete.”

 “Hm?”

“Wanna’ skip out on the theater gig tonight?” Alloyed fingers drummed idly on the lab table. “We could stay in here for a bit, work on those web-shooter combinations. Could order some tacos. Or pizza. Your choice.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Thought it was supposed to be tradition.”

“Yeah, I’m getting kinda’ sick of Rogers' princess movie obsession,” His eyes drifted upwards, thumbs twiddling. “You could go, though. If you want.”

Peter pulled back without missing a beat, eyes widening in comical fashion. “No, are you crazy? Lab night with pizza? When do I ever turn that down, Mr. Stark?”

An honest grin slid across Mr. Stark’s features. “Never.”

“That’s right.” Peter closed his eyes, leaning into the touch rifling through his unkempt locks. “Never.”

*

It didn’t make sense.

Did you know?

I didn’t know it was him.

Don’t bullshit me, Rogers!

Yes.

Peter watched, and still, nothing made sense.

He’s my friend.

So was I.

It. didn’t. make. sense.

*

Blinding white tore across the starless city sky in sharp erratic bursts, heated claws threatening to eliminate all in its path with each stroke of rampant rage. Ice-cold rivulets knocked mercilessly against bare skin, freezing the seconds ticking by as raddled sneakers thrummed upon asphalt, each reverberating cadence in perfect harmony with the furious anthem of unvoiced justice pumping through his veins.

Said anthem soared ever the more when the Captain’s door flung open, pounding hard at the seemingly bewildered face meeting his view.

"Peter? What's wrong?" The golden boy scanned him up and down, concern thick in his tone. "Why aren't you in your suit? Did something happ-"

Peter threw the answer up in his face, letting the phone explain everything as he panted over bent knees. The stark silence that ensued spoke for itself.

"Stevie, what's- oh." Him. No, Bucky. "Peter. You're- why don't we all come inside, yeah? Rain's pouring out here." The voice, so tender, not like. Not like him. Not. Him."I'll put the kettle on."

Which was how Peter ended up in one of Bucky's oversized shirts, settled opposite two war veterans, hands cupped round a mug of hot chocolate and eyes cast in a blatant show of quiet outrage.

"Explain," The anthem burned strong in him.

"Son-"

"Don't call me son."

"-this was all on me, alright?" Dejected tone, blonde head bowed over clasped hands.

Good.

“I- we disagreed on the Accords because-”

“I don’t care about that, Captain,” Peter set the mug down, flexing his fingers mechanically. “The Accords was rigged to begin with. Whatever that came after, shouldn’t be put on anyone but Ross, that I get.” He pressed a finger to the cracked screen of his phone. “No Captain, I’m talking about this.”

Captain Rogers stared at him with eyes so blue, but like the sick man in the video pointed out, there was a hint of green in that blue. A flaw.

“I’m sorry, Peter,” The captain leaned back into his seat, where Bucky’s prosthetic arm (that Tony Stark built for him) was stretched rigidly upon. “I thought that by not telling him, I was sparing him from the sorrow. But really, I was just sparing myself. I- I never meant for him to get hurt. And I’m sure, neither did he.”

Oddly, that last sentence was what pushed Peter over the edge.

 “Neither did he?” His jaw clenched. “Neither did- are you seriously saying that right now? Of course he didn’t mean to hurt you! If he had any control over the situation, any control of the information that you withheld from him, he would not have done that.”

 “I know, Peter.”

 “Do you?” He hissed. “Do you really? Do you know the pain of losing your parents, of not knowing what the hell happened to them except that ‘They died in an accident’? Do you know the want, the pure want, to kill the piece of shit that took their lives, that walked free as you mourned their deaths? That ripped them from you, before you even got to know them?” His fists shook in tandem with the throbbing crescendo of his anthem. “Do you know, how Mr. Stark fought for you behind the scenes? How he wrote and rewrote proposals to alter The Accords, only to be rejected by Ross time and time again? How he hired lawyers and sometimes personally went to vouch for the others in the Raft? How he lost sleep at night, how he drank himself into oblivion, whimpering your name, begging me each time not to tell Mrs. Pepper or Rhodes, because apparently, it didn’t matter?”

 Captain Rogers stiffened in his seat.

“Do you know?”

 “No, son.”

 “I’m not your son.”

 Bucky remained a stock still statue by the Captain’s side.

 Peter sighed, shoulders sagging. Deep breath, calm down. “Sorry.” The lingering pulse of anguish pushed to the back of his mind. “That was uncalled for. Sorry. ”

 “Don’t be.” Bucky replied with haste.

 Peter made another haphazard gesture towards their object of discussion. “Did you guys ever try talking to him about this?”

 “I wrote him a letter.”

 “Yeah, and sent him a burner phone, I know.” Peter snapped, tone sharp. “Scintillating ultimatum you gave him, by the way. He broke it in his fists after two whole months of drinking and staring.”

 “Sorry.”

“Don’t say that to me, Cap,” His fingers tapped the mug handle almost frantically. “Say that to Tony. He needs to hear it.”

 “It’s only two years for you, Peter, but it’s been seven for us. He might’ve- he might not want to hear about this anymore. We’re fine like this.”

 “Bullshit. Don’t think I haven’t notice the way you both act with each other. You guys really need to solve this shit,” Peter mulled over his words, before adding, “By solve, I mean talk about it. Not punch the living daylights out of each other.”

 Captain Rogers shrugged hopelessly. “We don’t talk about things like this. It’ll just escalate, and then we’d be throwing fists all over again. Might as well get that done without scarring our hearts more than it already has been.”

 “Are you serious?” Muted wrath threatened to positively devour the mug in his hands. “Dude, we could have lost Tony in that war. He could have snapped his fingers, and that would have been the last we saw of him. Would you have lived with this then? Not talking about this, because neither of you can stop feeding your very physical ego for one goddamn second? Because neither of you were brave enough to listen?”

 Again, the stark silence spoke for itself.

 “You need to talk about this.”

 “Look, son-”

 “Damn it, Cap!” Peter roared, fists banging against the table. “Call me son one more time!” The mad beast reared its horrendous head, yanking his vocal chords to unrivalled heights, fuelled by the heated flames that grew larger and fiercer with each thunderous beat. It fed off the tension, the visceral need to rip, maw and absolutely pulverise anything and everything that it could find.

 Reddened eyes, full of tears unshed, reflected one another transparently.

 He couldn’t take this anymore.

 “Honestly,” He stood, mug left untouched, voice barely over a whisper. “With all due respect, Captain Rogers. You’re a fucking dick.”

 Peter left, door slam behind him, along with Captain’s echoed ‘Wait!’ and Bucky’s muted ‘Kid’s got a point, Steve.’

*

Peter thought that if he found the answer, everything would make sense. Or, at the very least, he would feel better about things not making sense.

 Clearly, he had been wrong.

 The first night he stopped searching, his phone rang like the house was on fire.

 Mr. Stark had been the first to call. Followed by Colonel Rhodes, then Bucky, then Captain Rogers, then Dr. Banner, and then subsequently the rest of what his team was supposed to consist of.

 He refused to answer. He didn’t care if his phone burst from being called 24/7. He didn’t care.

 Instead, he spent the rest of his time doing what he did best - he looked out for the little guy. He threw himself in front of cars inches away from crashing into one another, saved kittens from trees, taught children how to look both ways before crossing the street, spent time with that tired old man sitting alone on the park bench every week.

And when he wasn’t doing this, he was with May. May and Happy, sometimes, but mostly May.

 He did his homework, with May. He had breakfast, lunch and essentially all his meals, with May. He watched those cheesy soap operas he missed, with May. He did all the things he longed to do, mourning the years that he lost, with May.

 “Are you okay, baby?”

 Maybe it was her firm arms cradling his head, maybe it was her tentative whisper, but there was something about hearing May calling him baby that made a lump form in his throat.

 “I don’t know.”

 May hummed. “Do you want to talk to Tony about it?”

 “No,” Peter sniffed. “Not for now.”

 “Okay, baby,” May rubbed the back of his neck in a way that only she knew how. “That’s okay.”

 He stopped going for movies and lab nights on the weekends.

 *

bucko (4:03 a.m.) : Hey punk, stevie and tony talked it out for a while. wasn’t pretty but, it was necessary, I think. you’re a legend, kid

 coolestdoctorr(4:23 a.m.): I heard what you did. We all needed that to happen eventually. Thank you for being the bravest of us, for acknowledging our flaws and for bringing our team together as best as you can. Take as much rest as you need, and if you need someone to talk to, I’m happy to listen. Stay safe, and we love you.

 warmachineROX (4:29 a.m.): you did great, Peter. I’m sorry i said you couldn’t do this; those boys really needed a nudge. Thanks for doing what you did. Take care, kid.

 so-you-got-detention (4:28 p.m.): Peter, I don’t think there’s anything I can say except I’m sorry. You’re right, I should have talked with him about this 7 years ago. I spent a couple long hours with Tony earlier this weekend. That hardly made up for anything, but we’ll work it out. Things aren’t perfect, we’ll get it better. We have you to thank for that. I know you’re angry with me, which you have every right to be, but know that if you ever need help, just call me. I’ll be there.

 he’s stark, tony stark (5:01 p.m.): b at ur place in 5 mins[sunglasses emoji]

 *

“Hey, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, kid.”

“Steve mad at me?”

“Definitely not.”

“...You mad at me?”

A pause. “Not really, no,” Mr. Stark rubbed the side of his chin, tilting his head towards Peter. “Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Peter felt his lips shiver against his teeth, sheen of moist clouding his vision, head bowed low and voice crackling, “It does.”

Arms, one alloyed and the other so very real, quietly rolled themselves round his trembling frame, guiding his head towards the steady rise and fall of his hero’s chest, flesh thumb rubbing slow circles over his back, whispers of soft nothings soothing his hair and eventually, a light peck on the forehead.

They stayed like that for a while, beside Peter’s unmade bed, melancholic warmth emanating like cool salve on an open wound. It was comforting, that lack of sound, that silence that spoke the thousand words they couldn’t.

And then, the patented smirk. “You did good, kid,” His tone, so fond. “Friday probably thinks otherwise, though. She’s a little pissed, I think. Kudos for that, by the way. Real sneaky.”

Purely on a whim, Peter snorted, “Love you too, Tony.”

For a moment, it looked as though Tony might just melt into an emotional puddle of goo. Thankfully, he didn’t; Peter wouldn’t know what to do if he did. Instead, he sucked in a deep breath, squeezed Peter closer to his heart, and in a voice smaller than Peter had ever heard, muttered,“Lab night this Sunday?”

Peter, in all his glorious mess of tears and snot, broke into a wobbly laugh.

*

Always.

[sweetwritertanya]

Take Care

Summary: You are incredibly stressed due to exam season, but your boyfriend Namjoon comes over with plans to help you through it.

Warnings: None, just fluff! There is a bit of body touching, but nothing major.

Requested: YES! I am SO SORRY it took this long to write it. I went through a few days of feeling uninspired and then I had writer’s block. I struggled for a bit, but I managed to write this today. I truly, honestly hope you enjoy it and forgive me for making you wait!

Word Count: 1671

Your index finger flipped through the remaining pages on the book you were studying, insistently and rhythmically, unconsciously making your anxiety rise at the amount of pages still left to read. And the exam was in less than two days.

The twist at the top of your stomach pulled tighter and you swallowed hard, feeling as if you were about to throw up. Exam season always took your anxiety levels to the extreme, it was the absolute worst time of your life. The hours upon hours of studying, the feeling that nothing really stuck to your brain, that you were completely unprepared, the tight constant squeeze of your heart during this time, the lack of sleep due to the stress.

You screamed and felt like crying when you realize that you have been reading the same paragraph for about fifteen minutes now. Rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand, you take deep breaths and allow yourself some time to pull yourself together.

“Maybe you should take a break.”

The sudden unexpected voice makes you jump in your chair that squeals under your weight when you turn and see your boyfriend casually laying in your bed, one of your books in his hand and phone on top of the sheets next to him.

“Namjoon! What…? When did you get here?” Your tired brain was foggy and it was an effort to even talk, but his mere presence raised up your spirits just a bit.

“About half an hour ago. I tried ringing you, but you didn’t pick up. I used the key you gave me for emergencies, hope you don’t mind.” He actually looked guilty about that, his strong eyebrows pulling with concern on his tall forehead. You immediately shook your head to reassure him.

“Not at all. I turned my phone to silent so I could study, sorry… But I thought you were busy preparing for a big project next month?”

“Ended it today. I have a few days off so I came here.” He sat up straight in your bed, feet coming down to the floor and a big smile spreading on his thick lips, cute dimples showing up. “Wanted to spend some time with you. Can I stay over the next few days? I really missed you.”

Your eyes glassed over and you hid them behind your fingers as the tears overlapped and eventually cascaded down your cheeks. A heavy weight pushed down on your heart and your face and neck heated up as you sniffled.

“W-Why now?” you complained in between sobs, more to yourself than anyone else. “W-Why do y-you have time off now? I’m in the m-middle of my exams…”

“Hey, hey, Y/N, shh…” You feel your chair being pulled and the wheels roll across the floor until it ends up against the bed, in between Namjoon’s long legs as he pulls your wrists down and he himself cleans the tears staining your blushing puffy cheeks. “I actually think this is the perfect time. That way I can take care of you. Your mom told me you often get too caught up with your studies and forget to eat properly.”

You frown and look up at his small eyes at that, confused.

“You talk with my mom?” you question, surprised.

“Of course. Now, how about you take a break? I’ll make you dinner!” he excitedly proposes.

“You don’t know how to cook, Joon” you remind him.

He seems to ponder that and nods his head in agreement.

“True. I’ll buy you something good for dinner! What do you want to eat?”

“I’m not really hungry…”

He hisses and pinches your cheeks harshly at that, making you scrunch up your face at the slight pain. You irritably stare at him, but he is staring back a lot more vexed.

“You have to eat. You always lose weight during this time” he seriously accuses.

“I could use losing some pounds, actually…” you jokingly counter back, but Namjoon was not even the slightest amused.

“Y/N, stop it” he warns. Having had a conversation regarding your insecurities when it came to your physical appearance before, and he insisting that you were beautiful and size was just a number, not related with beauty at all, he did not take lightly your self-deprecating jokes at all, contrary to most of your friends.

“I have to study, Namjoon” you pouted, sounding reluctant even to your own ears.

“Forcing yourself to continue when you’re this tired won’t help. Your brain won’t assimilate anything, you’re just wasting energy” he explained, hands falling down to encircle your own on top of your lap, dark chocolate eyes focused on yours.

“I feel guilty if I don’t study. All my classmates study up until late hours in the night.”

“That’s what they say. And who cares? Everyone works different. You’ve been studying since early morning right? It’s time for a break.”

You huff and lean back in your chair, defeated.

“Fine. But I still don’t feel hungry yet” you inform.

“We’ll buy some time until you do, then” he smirks as he says.

And before you could ask how, his strong arms are wrapping around your waist and you are pulled out of your chair and into his lap. Your bulgy legs automatically move to either side of his waist, knees landing on the soft mattress, as your arms fall around his shoulders. A soft sigh escapes you at the first contact of his mouth on yours.

The slowest of frictions melts away the tension of your muscles. Thick silky lips rub unhurried yours, languid movements that steal your breath away with the care and love behind them. Namjoon’s hands are spread against the flesh at your lower back as he keeps you in place, respirations mingling together as he leans his head to the other side and his nose rubs against yours before pressing down your cheek when the kiss deepens.

Mouths parting to taste one another, the knot in your stomach disappears to give place to the feeling of butterflies flapping around inside, heavy stressed heart lifting with exciting flutters that have it singing happily in your chest. Your brain shuts off any worries, any input unrelated to the man holding your firmly against his chest, the lovely musky scent of him, the prickling of your skin as his hands squeezed lovingly at your love handles.

Suddenly, Namjoon grasps the back of your neck to keep your lips on top of his as he leans back in the single bed and rests his head on your pillow, your scrumptious body now fully fledged on top of his.

“Nam-Namjoon” you try to call even as he eats your words away. “I’m heavy.”

“You’re perfect” he simply debuted, persistent lips firmly tugging at yours.

Then, the hand that was still holding your meaty midriff slowly makes its way down and you yelp at the strong squeeze of your right butt cheek.

“Namjoon!” you admonish, raising your head to escape his distracting kisses.

“You love it” he accuses with a dimple smirk, doing it again at the same time his mouth now attaches itself to your neck, leaving small butterfly kisses that tickle your skin.

You giggle at the sensation and give in, because he was right. The sound of your laughing invigorates Namjoon and he proudly tickles you for the next few minutes, until you are out of breath and begging him to stop. You had switched positions in the middle of playing, you now laying on the small bed with Namjoon hovering above you, not really enough space for his tall frame to lay next to you comfortably. You look up at his smiling eyes and pull him down by the neck for one last short kiss.

“You really wanna stay here the next few days? I need to study and can’t give you my full attention. Plus, this bed is really small for both of us.”

“Yes, I told you, I want take care of you. Maybe I can help with your studies? I can ask you questions if you want. And this bed is the perfect size. We’ll have to sleep like this.”

To demonstrate, he pulls you into an embrace, one arm around your shoulder and another around your middle, as his back is against the wall and your body his tightly wrapped in his arms, legs tangled together. It was the only position in which both could stay in bed. You smile and look up at him.

“Namjoon?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“Let’s order Chinese.”

True to his words, Namjoon stays over the few days he has available and helps you the best he can. He brings you water and reminds you to keep hydrated, orders food for lunch and dinner, not tolerating you skipping any meals. When you asked, he helps you the day before the exam by making you questions that you thought could come up, allowing you to answer them out loud without aid from your notes. Every three consecutive hours of studying or so, he would pull you away from your books and distract you for twenty or thirty minutes at a time, kissing away your pent-up stress and worries.

It honestly amazes you how the time flew by and soon it was the day of your last exam. Namjoon had to go back to work the day before, but his words kept ringing in your ears and reminded you to take care of yourself. Your hands freeze as you write down the last word and the crushing weight that has been with you since the first exam lifts. Turning in your exam, you felt like flying.

Leaving the room, you sigh with relief and smile despite of yourself. It was finally over. And now, Namjoon was the one locked up in the studio working.

“Time to return the favor” you whisper to yourself.

You almost skip down the sidewalk as you make your way to take care of your boyfriend, just like he had taken care of you.

[enkelimagnus]

A Castle in the Forest

Percy x Vex’ahlia, Chapter 7, 3038 words,

A Modern AU, in which Vex is a park ranger taking over the Alabaster Sierras post, and finds much more than she bargained for

Read on AO3

Vax makes it to Whitestone....

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Vax makes it to the cabin on a rainy afternoon. Vex is busy sketching out some areas she thinks need clearer trail markers and deciding where to implant emergency contact boxes, when she hears an engine running and a vehicle getting closer to the cabin.

She peeks from the window, her eyes catching the gleaming metal of her brother’s motorcycle. She immediately bolts from her seat at the table, startling a napping Trinket, and opens the door. She runs down the stairs and into her brother’s arms.

He’s just had time to take off his helmet, long dark hair held in a low ponytail for the road. She hugs him tightly, his leather motorcycle jacket smelling like hide and patchouli. She’s missed everything about him.

For a while, they stand there, hugging each other. There’s no one around and no use in pretending they don’t love each other right now. It’s been much too long. Vex remembers when a single day without him was torture. Now it’s usual. That saddens her somewhat.

“Welcome to Whitestone,” she grins. “How was the road?”

“Dreadful,” Vax rolls his eyes and grabs his bag, letting go of her to start walking back into the cabin, away from the rain and the cold. “This place is… ghostly, really.”

Vex huffs. “It’s not that bad, come on,” she mumbles. He’s right though.

Whitestone, especially in the sort of rain that’s currently falling, is ghostly. White stone walls and overturned ship-like buildings, with people that stare at strangers like they’re time-ticking bombs… Ghostly. In the time she’s spent here, she’s only started seeing the shadows and the phantoms.

“Is that the little munchkin you’ve called your Trinket?” Vax asks as Vex closes the door of the cabin after him.

He puts his back down next to the bed, heavy boots walking carefully towards Trinket. She’s put him in his crate so he would get used to Vax’s presence without threatening him, or himself.

“Yup,” she nods. “He’s young, but… he could be a good companion,” she points out, her voice as innocent as possible.

Vax looks up at her. “You’re taking on a companion?” He asks, with a raised eyebrow. He thought she never wanted to, especially after Saundor. That’s what she’s told him many times, after all. No companion, she’s not bringing something innocent into this, she’s better off being a hunter. Alone and fixated on one enemy. Dragons were her original choice. Fey her second. She doesn’t want the permanence of companionship… At least she didn’t. Before Trinket.

“I’m not sure yet,” Vex shrugs, trying to escape his gaze. “But… I’ve been thinking a lot about it, and he’s perfect. He’s going to grow big and strong, and protective. And he’s… I’ve grown attached to him.”

Vax shrugs off his jacket and sits down at one of the chairs, looking around the cabin. His eyes glide across the small kitchen, the bed, the fireplace, the ladder up to the lookout and the door to the bathroom. He hums.

“This is… cozy,” he points out.

Vex chuckles. “Very different where you spent the last few days, I imagine?” She asks teasingly.

“You’re a ranger, not a sorcerer with an amazing business,” Vax points out. “I am not expecting the same thing.” He shrugs. “Besides, this is nice. Warm and comfortable.”

His eyes fall on her again and she feels the scrutiny in them. She can’t hide a single thing from him. She was never able to.

“You look… tired, but good,” he says after a moment. “I’m guessing you resolved a problem, recently? You have that… satisfied smug look on you. But not the one from right after it. The couple-days-old one.”

Vex rolls her eyes at him but doesn’t deny it. It’s not worth the trouble. “We had a barbed devil. Killed one for sure, the ranger here before me. Probably more. I had sensed it a while ago, but… I had trouble finding help.”

Vax raises an eyebrow and Vex proceeds to give him the rundown on everything that has happened, on the people of Whitestone and their lack of wanting to talk to her, on Pike and Grog.

“Gilmore tried to contact the local rulers to get a teleportation circle added to the city,” Vax explains once she’s done. “He didn’t manage to find anyone. There are no rulers in Whitestone, as far as anyone knows.”

“It seems they all died in a horrific massacre a few years ago. It’s impossible to get anyone to give me details about it,” Vex shrugs. “But why is Gilmore that interested in Whitestone? There’s nothing for him here.”

Vax chuckles, crossing his legs. “You live here. I like to come and see you.” His smirk is telling.

Vex chuckles back. “I see… He loves to dote on you, doesn’t he?”

“What can I say?” Vax shrugs. “I deserve it.”

Vex absolutely agrees with that. She appreciates Gilmore for many things, but the most important is how he treats her brother. He might be the very first person to take care of Vax the way he deserves, to spoil him. And he’s the first person that Vax doesn’t stop from spoiling him.

He’s had powerful lovers before, in Syngorn or in other places. Vax is handsome and charming in his own grumpy way, and Vex knows first-hand how sometimes, the disgust Syngornians showed towards the two of them could easily turn into sexual curiosity. But Gilmore doesn’t want Vax because he’s a dirty half-human. And that changes everything, including Vex’s appreciation of the man.

“You sure do, brother,” Vex hums and turns to pour them both a cup of coffee. “I’m afraid there isn’t much for you to do here. You can potentially make nice with the people in town and snoop for me?” She asks.

“Is that why you asked me to come?” he answers. “To spy for you the information you can’t get?”

“I asked you here because I missed you,” Vex stares at him. “And I don’t like being away from you for too long. But if you can… Ask a few questions while you’re here, I’d appreciate it greatly.”

“Fine,” Vax shrugs. “But first, I need a lay of the land. Any information you haven’t given me yet. And an idea of whether some of the wealth around here could be redistributed to the people. No rulers means there’s probably chests of gold and jewels some of these folks could use.”

“Two temples. The one of Pelor is in the cemetery, outside of town. They don’t seem to have anything you’d want, but they might have some ideas of who the richest families used to be. I saw some pretty impressive mausoleums around there,” Vex starts. “The second one is in town. Temple to Erathis. I’ve heard about some empty noble houses, and there’s the castle, but it’s been years. I think all of the possible left behind wealth was promptly redistributed already.”

Vax raises an eyebrow, but says nothing, deep in thought.

They stay like this for a moment until Vex huffs and stands up. “Come on,” she smiles. “Let’s go into town and get some supplies. They’re announcing snow later this week and we need enough to be able to survive out here for a while.”

Vax rolls his eyes but stands up, grabbing his coat. Vex gets ready to go as well, thick coat, quiver and bow and the keys to the truck. She pets Trinket goodbye and they get into the truck, starting the drive down.

The heating is on in the cabin of the car and Vax waits about two minutes before turning on the radio. He hums under his breath the pop songs that blast out of the speaker, letting go of his grumpy goth image for once. She’ll never tell anyone that he knows the lyrics to Brit Nayspears’ entire discography.

She points out some trails as they drive past, things that have been causing her issues, the campsite that will hold the local wilderness survival adventure once summer comes around. Winter months are much calmer for rangers than summer ones are, but she’s still looking forward to seeing what the sun looks like reflected off of the Alabaster Sierras peaks.

Vax seems interested. He always does. He listens to her and that’s one of the best things about him. They end up dueting over some song on the radio, at first only humming and mumbling the words. By the time they drive through the city gates, they are scream-singing. Vex can’t stop smiling.

The cold bites as they slam the doors shut and walk away from the previously heated cabin of the truck. They’re not the only ones out for supplies. There are other trucks with crates and bags in the parking lot.

The covered market stands two blocks from the parking lot. Its roof is like an enormous overturned ship and white stones rise from the ground to meet the wood, providing a tall and breathable marketplace underneath. It’s cold still, there’s no use in trying to heat the entire volume of the building. It would only waste spell and components, or wood if they were trying to do it magicless.

They start going through the stalls, grabbing a lot of root vegetables and things that will not perish too fast. If they’re stuck in the snow, Vex is hoping to have a few days of fresh and non-canned food before they have to resort to the cans, but she knows it’s not that easy.

For the meat, she’ll go hunting. There’s no need to bother herself with purchasing beef or anything of that nature. Her freezer can hold at least one deer carcass. She’s measured it. It’s not really a surprise, anyway. The cabin was built as a safe haven for long winters and snow falls. There’s a couple of emergency mattresses rolled up under her bed, enough to allow a couple of people to sleep, albeit uncomfortably, if they’re stuck with her during a storm. It’s a refuge. And a refuge can hold at least one deer carcass.

“Do I really have to carry all of this?” Vax whines as she places a small cart over his arms.

“If you weren’t here, I’d need half of this. So you’re gonna pull your weight,” Vex shrugs.

Vax rolls his eyes. “You invited me, remember?” He calls out as she walks over to get some more potatoes. Neither of them really mean the bickering, but it feels good to do it.

There’s a light chuckle behind him and he turns around, trying not to spill over the contents of the carts he’s carrying. A few feet from him stands a young person with dark brown hair that shifts to white streaks around the temple. They’re watching him with quiet amusement.

“Older sibling?” They ask with a smile and a raised eyebrow. They look tired, and the smile is a little shaky.

“Twin, actually,” Vax replies. “She’s the ranger for the Alabaster Sierras outpost. I’m visiting,” he explains quickly. “Vax’ildan. Would shake your hand but…”

They nod. “Your hands are busy, I get it. I’m Cassandra. Whitestone native. And I know what siblings can be like.” Their eyes are sad.

Vax tries to keep an inviting and smiling face, but it’s not exactly natural to him. He’s not used to this. Out of the two of them, Vex is the charming and open one. She’s the one that gets information, food, good prices and extra help from strangers.

“So you’re the person to ask if I want to know what to do around here in the winter months?” He asks, trying to add a bit of a flirty undertone to his voice.

Cassandra chuckles. “I don’t know. I’m not really a tourist guide, but… The trails can be fun in winter if you’re into cold hikes. Your sister can probably be more helpful than me for this,” they point out. The flirting does not seem to be landing.

“You’re probably right,” Vax shrugs. “I was just… I did some research before coming here, but there’s so little information about this town online…” He explains. “There’s a website, but it hasn’t been updated in what? Five years?”

He’s not lying. The only updated information comes from the TWC website that he knows Vex is somewhat responsible for keeping up to date. The rest is at least five years old. It’s as if the town has stopped evolving and living since then.

Cassandra stiffens slightly. “That’s weird,” they mutter. For some reason, Vax doesn’t believe that it is very weird to them.

“Is there anyone to talk to about that? Like a heritage association or a city council or something?” Vax is trying to fish for information, and hopefully it’s not too obvious.

“No,” Cassandra shakes their head. “There’s no one like that. Whitestone is not… This is not a good city for mass tourism, it’s not a good city for outsiders.” Their jaw is set. “You won’t find anyone to help you, and I’m sorry. But that’s just how it’s been for the last few years.”

“Since the massacre, right? The De Rolo massacre?” Vax pushes a little. “Vex, my sister, told me about it.”

Those words make something ripple underneath Cassandra’s dark eyes, pain and sadness and many other emotions that make Vax feel like he’s just kicked a hornet’s nest. If they were closed off to talking before, they’re now screwed shut, lips tight, ready to flee. And flee they do.

Cassandra takes a step back, shoving their hands into the pockets of their blue coat with uncomfortable determination. It all screams of a deep desire to escape. “Listen, I have to go. It was nice to meet you, Vax’ildan. Good luck with your stay in Whitestone.” They say before sliding away in a hurry.

Vax doesn’t go after them. There’s one thing he knows, and that’s not to run after people who are trying to escape you. He’s been through enough situations where the roles were reversed, and he doesn’t want to be a threat. He’s here to be a charming, smiling person, to get information from people for Vex.

And fuck. He just failed miserably at his first attempt. That entire interaction was a mess and Vax really thought he would be better than this. But Vex wasn’t exaggerating when she talked about the closed offness of the inhabitants of Whitestone. And maybe he'd overestimated his own charming abilities.

Vex comes back eventually, raising an eyebrow at his slightly frustrated face. “Something happened?” She asks curiously.

“I was talking to this person. Cassandra, they said? Dark hair, white streaks around the temples,” he describes.

“I’ve seen them a couple of times before, around some of the temples,” Vex points out. “The one time we talked, they seemed to be in a hurry.”

So that’s a common attitude then, not just something he’s caused. That’s a little bit of a consolation. He recounts the conversation to Vex as they start walking out of the covered market to put their haul into the back of the truck. They have a couple more things to do in town.

Snow starts falling lightly while they’re on the drive back. Vax takes the time to call Gilmore for a few minutes, unsure of whether his cell will have service back at the cabin if there’s snow covering the Alabaster Sierras.

Vex keeps her eyes open the entire trip through town for red hair and antlers. She worries about Keyleth. If she was close to the fiend, as Vex suspected, she is probably not doing good at the moment. She doesn’t know exactly the depths of enthrallment, and how far it changes someone to care for fiends. She hopes it’s not deep enough that the druid is now broken with grief.

But she is nowhere to be seen. Vax hangs up on Gilmore as they turn off of the biggest road and up the mud path that leads to the cabin. There’s a good ten minutes of drive left, maybe even more with the growing wetness of the ground. They’re going to be very thankful for both the fire and the supplies. Vex is glad she decided to go today.

“So what do you think of Whitestone, now that you’ve experienced some of it?” She asks, eyes darting for barely a second to Vax on the passenger seat. He’s looking at the snow like its falling is a personal offence.

“The people are… lovely,” he starts. “But there’s something not quite right in the air. I…” He looks over at her for a moment before looking away. “I admit I thought you were a little paranoid when you were telling me about it.”

Vex’s jaw tightens and she nods slightly, a controlled, small motion.

“You don’t have a great track record at being alone in the woods,” he points out. “You’re doing much better than the last time though. And I can see what you meant, about the heaviness hanging over the city. About the unsaid horrors. That… de Rolo massacre story. That Cassandra person looked quite spooked.”

Vax breathes out as the cabin comes into view at the end of the path. “I’m gonna stay for a little while, if you don’t mind. I don’t like leaving you alone like this, especially with this whole mystery.”

Anger lurches in Vex’s chest for a second, her vision tunnelling, her hands tightening their grip on the wheel. She can handle herself. She doesn’t need Vax to save her again, she’s not going to make the same mistake again. For a moment, it’s all she can think. How dare he come to her rescue again when she doesn’t need him?

But she does need him. Not to save her. But she needs him around. She doesn’t do great without him, they’re a team in all the ways that matter. Having him here right now is the best she’s felt since she arrived. It’s hard for her to reconcile with that anger at his worry but…

She gives him a small smile. “It’ll be nice. Close-quartered but nice.” She nods and parks the truck in front of the cabin.

[fletchphoenix]

First Impressions, Worst Impressions

High school Varigo AU? High school Varigo AU. That’s all I will say - I hope you guys enjoy it and if you thought the first one was slow burn,,,,you’re in for a treat <3

Also gives me a chance to show off my OC’s Jeremy, Isla, Elora and Zander! I love them all dearly. Anyway, onwards with the chapter!

TW - Strong Language (i think? I cant remember.)

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   From the second Varian woke up, he knew it was going to be a bad day.

  His alarm rang from under his pillow, him groaning and turning on his phone screen to shut it off, blinding light immediately shining straight into his eyes and leaving him frazzled for a second. He grumbled as he sat up, Ruddiger hissing in disapproval before sinking back into his slumber. Lucky bastard could sleep all day, but Varian? Nope. Varian had school. Brilliant. He’d gotten so used to being able to just lie in, not expected to attend for the last stretch of tenth grade after...the incident. Varian sat up and stretched, letting out a loud yawn before reaching to grab his clothes off the chair by his bed, it creaking in protest as he shuffled. Admittedly it was rather old - he might have to buy a new frame from Ikea or something like that. 

  He stumbled around the darkened room, reaching for the curtains covering his window and pulling them open to give him a little bit of light. He liked his room - it was in the attic, so he had a whole story to himself and it was quite spacious, able to fit two desks in his room. One sported his papers and various textbooks he’d used to keep up with school, and the other an old TV monitor along with a Nintendo Switch connected to it. He’d play on it a lot after Rapunzel got it for his birthday, the console soon becoming addictive during his extended absence from school. He’d played it every time he’d finished his work...no matter now, he thought. He had to get ready to return to that..horrible place.

  Once he was dressed in his blue shirt, a black undershirt and some jeans, he packed and grabbed his backpack and began to walk downstairs happily, sparing no glance to the different frames on the walls of the house. He trailed down the hall, opening the first door on the right and heading in quietly. In the kitchen stood Rapunzel, humming a small tune to herself and Eugene sleepily rested his forehead against the back of her neck and wrapped his arms loosely around her waist. Varian sauntered in and dumped his bag on the floor, sitting at the table with a frown on his face. “Good morning to you too.” he muttered as Rapunzel plated his breakfast and handed it to him. “I still can’t believe you’re making me do this.” he commented as he ate.

  “Look, Varian..please give it a chance. If it doesn’t go well, we can go back to learning from home just..please. You promised you’d try.” Rapunzel pleaded, sitting opposite him at the oak table, the faint sound of a clock ticking filling the background of their tense conversation. Varian let out a groan and a sigh before reluctantly agreeing, turning his head away as Rapunzel cheered happily. He knew it was time for him to go back, despite everything that happened, but he didn’t know if he could. Sophomore year was rough to say the least and he didn’t know if he could even face his peers after everything that had happened to him. Still, a promise was a promise, and if he did this, Eugene and Rapunzel promised he could use the basement as his own personal lab, so that was a bonus. 

  “Okay kiddo, let's get you to school.” Eugene muttered sleepily, placing a kiss to his wife’s forehead with a soft smile as Varian followed him, his bag over his shoulder and sliding his headphones over his ears. He couldn’t really say he was excited - quite the contrary actually, dreading his return to the building, but he knew he had to do this for Eugene and Rapunzel’s sake. He just..prayed he wasn’t too far behind and that he’d be sat next to moderately decent people in his subjects. Last year, he was sat by Vex in English and she’d just bullied him the whole time, repeatedly calling him a nerd or short even though she was smaller than he was. He would hate to be sat beside her again, being as she made life hell for him. Of course there was no way she could’ve known what was going on in his life at the time, but it still sucked to have someone be a constant insult machine towards him relentlessly.

  He slid into the passenger’s seat, pressing the door lock and leaning back in his chair silently. Turning his head, he saw Eugene’s eyes boring into him, instinctively flinching back from him at the look. “Eugene..what are you doing.” he questioned, the man still looking at him with his lips tilted into a frown. Was there something on his face? Did he have a nosebleed or something? Had he offended Eugene? 

  “Kid, don’t feel pressured, alright? I get it’s been rough and a long time since you’ve been back to school, so if it gets too much for you, please just let me know and I’ll come pick you up. We just..we really hope you can do it. It’s what you need after being alone for so long.” he explained as he began to drive, opening the windows to let the August air breeze through the window and blow Varian’s hair around wildly. Varian shrugged and looked out the window, playing with the hem of his shirt quietly. He was sure he could handle it, after all it’s not as if he could just suddenly get killed on his first day! Right? Ugh, now that he thought about it, it was always a possibility and he could just spontaneously die on the spot in the middle of chemistry class-

  “V. I know you’re overthinking now. I can literally hear the cogs in your head going wild. Just relax, okay?” Eugene broke his train of thought, a slight smile on his face. “You’re gonna be fine, trust me, kid.” He reassured him as they pulled up outside the towering, intimidating building Varian knew oh so well as Corona High. His breathing started to quicken. Could he do this? He didn’t know if he could do this anymore, the mere thought of going back made him sick to his stomach. He doubled over in his seat, Eugene leaning over to trace reassuring circles onto his back and whispering comforting words to him. “Kid, don’t freak out. It’s just a building..okay? You’ll be fine. Trust me. Just breathe.” Varian regained his breath and nodded to Eugene, exiting the car and heading towards the looming building, fear building a deep, dark and seemingly endless pit in his gut. He took one last deep breath before his hands reached out, pushing open the immaculately cleaned glass doors and throwing himself into the fray.

  Immediately, he went towards his home room. From the look of the note he had, it was Room 256 with Mrs Ophelia Thorne. At least she sounded nice on the phone call, he recalled as he called to ask about his reintroduction back to school. He was apparently having an escort between lessons called Nuru, even though he’d insisted that he didn’t need that, having been to the school before. She persisted, however, saying that she’ll be able to ‘show him the changes around school’ and ‘be like a friend towards him’ as if he needed that. He’d agreed so he could get off the phone and go upstairs to continue with the work he’d started in his free time. It was on the old study of alchemy and, though research had been discontinued, he loved the sound of it. Transmutation fascinated him to no end, so the research never felt strenuous. However, he knew it wasn’t really that interesting to most. Still, he loved the subject with all his heart and would for as long as he lived.

  He kept walking down the halls, weaving through people before standing in front of Room 256, his hand moving to grasp the doorknob. He twisted it slowly and gently opened it, twenty or so pairs of eyes instantly fixating on him along with the chocolate brown eyes of a medium sized woman with matching wavy hair to the shade of her eyes. “Oh, you must be Varian! Welcome sweetheart, your seat is on the third row, second seat in! Next to Nuru and Zander please!” she cheered in her sing-song, upbeat voice. He could’ve sworn she was a princess if she wasn’t a school teacher, alas he walked to his seat, dumping his bag on the floor and sitting down at the desk. He looked to either side of him in silence.

  The boy to the right of him had clearly dyed, vibrant red hair and his eyes fixated on his phone hidden under the desk. His ears were littered with various piercing, the only ones he really noticed and recognised were the lobe, helix and industrial. His clothes consisted of a red and black sweater, cuffed jeans and some rather large boots on his feet, a black, denim jacket covered in patches hung over the back of the chair. He looked pretty cool, his name apparently Zander, according to Mrs Thorne. He raised his eyebrow, watching as the boy looked over at him and raised his eyebrow. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” he muttered before turning back towards his phone. Varian’s cheeks flushed when he realised he was staring before turning away to look at the girl on his left, only to find she was staring at him. 

  The girl in question, Nuru, had a dark blue turtleneck sweater and a hair clip shaped like a star holding back a small section of hair from her face. She also wore a grey shirt and tights along with high top sneakers on her feet, coloured the same blue as the sweatshirt she was wearing. She looked at him with wide, orange eyes and a wide smile. “Hi, I’m Nuru and I’m gonna be showing you around. Well, I suppose you know that already being as Mrs Thorne didn’t need to explain..your name is Varian, right? That's a cool name. Sounds a bit like variable or variant. It’s unique.” she trailed off rambling, Varian’s mind losing it’s interest in her until she laid his timetable out in front of him. “Oh, so you have chemistry first with Mr Crick. He’s really nice - Zander’s dad, actually. And then you have Mrs Crick for English, but she just lets everyone call her Elora, her first name. Her and Mr Crick are married! They got married a while ago actually-”

  As Nuru went off on her second tangent about school, a smile made its way onto Varian’s face. Finally the day was starting to get better! Chemistry for his first period was like a dream come true, especially with Mr Crick. Though he was a young teacher, Mr Crick, or Jeremy as his mother used to call him, was very close friends with his mother before the incident. He could remember him being a sweet guy, albeit a little awkward and socially inept sometimes, but still a sweetheart. He always offered to give Varian extra work if he wanted it or to just be someone to talk to. Although Varian never took him up on the latter offer, it was nice to know someone other than his family cared about how he was holding up. It was nice he got married too - he remembered Elora joining him when he was invited over to dinner sometimes and their kids coming too. 

  The ringing of the bell in the hall made him rush to his feet, eager to get going to his lessons as Nuru took her time in packing her things up. “Can’t she just hurry up?” Varian murmured to himself as he waited impatiently for Nuru to be ready. As soon as she was, he bolted out of class and let Nuru pull him by his wrists past lockers and other students, a colourful and unique cast of characters. They’d walked past so many people, including Vex and a small, black haired boy dressed in a red hoodie that was far too big for him, but he didn’t seem to care in the slightest as he happily chatted to his friends. Varian took in his surroundings until Nuru abruptly stopped, him walking into her by accident. “Sorry-” he began.

  “Here’s your classroom. I’ll come pick you up at the end to walk you to second period, but until then I’ll see you later!” She called out as she began jogging away. Elated, Varian opened the door and stepped over the threshold, relishing at the sight of a proper lab again. It was the one thing he’d missed about school, having all the proper equipment here as opposed to the ageing equipment he was stuck with at Rapunzel’s house. He smiled widely at the familiar sight of a lanky, raven haired man leaning back at his desk. Varian ran over with a smile.

  “Hey Mr Crick!” he almost yelled, not realising how loud he was and the man flinching slightly. Varian bit the inside of his cheek, opening his mouth to apologise before the older man chuckled and shook his head. 

  “I already know you’re gonna apologise, so don’t. There’s no need. It’s good to see you back in school, Varian.” he began, resting a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder with a smile on his face before looking away to his desk, picking up a sheet of paper and scanning it. “Okay, so you’re next to Hugo.” he declared after a few minutes, gesturing to a smug boy sitting at a desk. Varian raised his eyebrow, thanking Jeremy before moving away to sit down beside his new lab partner. 

  “Hey there, hairstripe. The name’s Hugo. The pleasure is all yours.” the blonde said, looking at the onyx haired boy smugly. From the second Hugo spoke, Varian knew he was going to suffer this year, just like he had with Vex. Bleached blonde locks were tied into a ponytail, revealing an, in his opinion, terrible undercut underneath. Obnoxiously large glasses sat slightly tilted on his crooked nose, the eyes behind them an emerald green colour. He wore a moss green hoodie, a dandelion undershirt peeking out from underneath, along with baggy blue jeans and some sneakers that, just like Nuru’s, matched his hoodie. A thing that piqued his interest, however, was the boy’s prosthetic arm, sitting blatantly out on the table, Varian fixing his gaze onto it and tilting his head slightly.

  “ Oh, that little thing? Well, it’s my prosthetic after I tragically lost my arm in the accident that killed my parents.” Hugo explained, dramatically leaning against Varian with the palm of his flesh hand pressed against his forehead. Great, Varian was next to a theatre kid. Just what he needed. “Tragic, right?” Hugo commented with a grin.

  “Oh yes, oh so tragic.” Varian rolled his eyes and shoved the other boy off him, already ready to kill him. As much as he loved Mr Crick...why did he have to sit him next to the most dramatic annoyance on earth? As far as first impressions went, Hugo...really wasn’t making a good one at all. He glanced back over at the boy again, whose head was propped up by his right arm as he grinned at Varian. 

  “Well, aren’t you gonna tell me your name, hairstripe?” he asked, leaning slightly closer into Varian’s personal space, causing him to cringe. This was going to be a VERY long year by the sound of things. 

  “It’s Varian. And can you please stop calling me Hairstripe? It’s really, really annoying.” he commented, already annoyed with the boy sitting next to him. He really didn’t want his favourite lesson to be ruined by an inconvenience like him. 

  “Mmm..nah. I think I’m gonna keep calling you hairstripe. It sounds better than whatever you said.” He smiled and turned his attention to the front as Mr Crick began the lesson. Varian leaned against the desk and groaned in annoyance, resting his head on the table and shutting his eyes as the boy beside him kept poking him with his pen under the table. This was going to be a very long lesson. 

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  By the time the lesson was done, he just wanted to go home. Hugo was literally just Vex, but less insulting and more genuinely annoying. Oh well, at least that was the only time he’d see him all week. Sure, it was his favourite lesson with his favourite teacher in the world, but at least he only sat with him for one lesson this week. 

  That was until Mr Crick started talking.

  “Okay class, we have a senior project, so I’m gonna be announcing the pairs!” Mr Crick declared as he brought out a list. Varian zoned out as he waited for his name to be called. Finally, he’d be able to work with someone else other than this narcissistic, rude, egocentric- 

  “Varian Ruddiger, you will be working with Hugo Atkinson!” 

 Varian felt his heart drop and Hugo’s face twisted into a smirk.

  Oh no.

  No way was he going to work with Hugo Atkinson on a school project, involving the other coming to his house regularly and talking in a close proximity out of school hours even though he hated the guts of the guy sitting next to him. He stood up as everyone started to leave, making his way to Mr Crick. “Mr Crick, you can’t be serious I-I can’t work with him! He’s annoying and-and don’t even get me started on how goddamn dramatic he is!” he began to rant before Jeremy’s hands rested on his shoulders. 

  “Varian, you’re a bright kid and, surprisingly, so is Hugo. You two will make a really good team just..please give him a chance. Okay?” he pleaded, Varian giving in with his arguments and nodding in submission. He didn’t believe for a second that Hugo possessed more than one brain cell, but hey, miracles can apparently happen, right? He reassured himself as he headed out of the classroom to find Nuru.

  Nuru who was currently insulting Hugo outside the classroom. 

  “Oh my god, Atkinson, you’re such an inconvenience-oh hey Varian! Are you ready for the best lesson ever with the best teacher ever?” she said with a smile, grabbing Varian’s wrist in a clamp like grip and pulling him along the hall, the students seemingly parting to make a path for them. Much to Varian’s misfortune, Hugo followed after them with his stupid, smug grin on his face. 

  “Heya hairstripe..so we’re together for the project? How about you come over mine tonight and we can start working tonight? I’ll pick you up at the gates if you want.” he said with a grin and a subtle wink, causing Varian to cringe.

  “How about you come over to my place? My sister will want me back, since..y’know, first day back and all.” he explained, praying Hugo would agree. Luckily he did and relented in his following, letting Nuru drag him along to the english classrooms. The smaller boy let out a relieved sigh, focusing on Nuru and picking up on sections of her incessant rambling, something he was shockingly used to now. 

  “Oh, he's a massive playboy, probably fooled around with most girls and boys in the school. He treats them like shit too - uses them till he gets bored, then moves onto the next pretty thing that he can find.” she rolled her eyes and let go of Varian’s wrist, him speeding up to match her pace. “Here we are. I hope you have a great lesson, V and I’ll see you later!” She ran off and, once again, Varian stepped into the class and was told exactly where to go. 

  The rest of the day went swimmingly. No Hugo..just complete and utter peace. Sure, he had Nuru to drag him along, but he’d met Zander’s twin sister, Isla and she was an utter sweetheart (he sat by her now in math). He’d also seen Vex in the hall a few times, but as usual she paid him no mind and just continued doing her own thing. Typical Vex behaviour. And now it was the time he was dreading - the end of the day.

  He made his way through the halls, his eyes focused on the glazed floor before arriving in front of the familiar glass doors and seeing a familiar, lanky blonde standing outside. He waved to Varian, a smirk on his face as the boy left the building. “What took you so long, hairstripe? I was thinking you’d abandoned me.” He asked, laughing as they began to walk side by side.

  “Got held up - let’s just go.” Varian muttered in response, kicking a rock across the sidewalk. All it was was a few weeks working together after school. It would fly by, right? He took one look up at the smirking blonde and frowned.

  At least he hoped so.