#just imagining how desperate he must have gotten. hysterical

[bloodurged]

playing a wizard dark urge and seeing the temple's microscopic lending library will forever leave an image of a royally exhausted and irritated durge trying to shove books down bhaalites' throats in-between intellectual conversations with his husband and nigh primally brutal murder.

[periprose]

Angsty/Sad imagine idea for insomniac!peter parker

Reader dies in his arms or he visits her grave for the first time and he says something like "we weren't supposed to end like this" and its just sad....

😭 this ask made me sad but also excited to write! Thanks for requesting it.

/

"How is Spider-Man supposed to reach us in time?" The woman tied up next to you quivered in fear. "Those assholes having been taunting their guns for the last twenty minutes... oh God..."

You never worried if Peter would show up to rescue you in time. Ever since Fisk had gotten jailed, multiple up-and-coming criminals had taken this as their chance to shine.

Unfortunately for you, that meant being kidnapped or harassed, and often you'd get out of those situations thanks to the police- but being Spider-Man's girlfriend sometimes had it's privileges, namely that you could text him discreetly for help and he'd be on his way.

You always felt bad about it. You knew there were worse, harsher things happening out there. But Peter always insisted that you ask for help.

Usually it would end in a quick brawl, and you'd be safely thwipped into his arms, no harm done as you'd swing back to your apartment in safety.

This time, though? It's a lot more serious. These thugs want to "directly send a message to Spider-Man", and it's by poor luck that they've discovered your connection to him.

Every once in a while, they taunt you, but you're sure Peter will rescue you. You've sent him a text and he's read it- he must be frantically swinging right now.

"He's coming, don't worry." You try to comfort the woman beside you, but to no avail- she mutters that Spider-Man doesn't deserve a girlfriend if this is what happens to her, and that you need higher standards.

"This one's getting too confident, boss." One of the thugs kicks your side after hearing your remark, and you wince. "Being pretty won't save you now, bitch."

The woman next to you shrieks in fear- but she suddenly gasps in relief, and you see him, red-and-blue Spider-Man saviour swinging directly to the intersection you're currently kneeling at.

"I've got you, stay down!" Spider-Man shouts at you and the other hostages. He doesn't have a hint of his usual, tension-breaking humour, and it fills you with dread.

The pavement hurts your knees, but you stay down, not wanting to draw attention now as Spider-Man attacks and webs up your kidnappers. He's putting a lot more emphasis into his punches- it seems like they've really ruffled his feathers this time.

Of course, Peter's actually furious- he doesn't know how they figured out your connection to him, and he's desperate to take you away and hide you somewhere safe.

He wonders if he can convince you to move to New Jersey.

After a blur of punches, Peter sees that there's just one more guy to defeat- he swings forward, the guy shoots his gun, a flurry of bullets ricocheting everywhere, and Peter doesn't care about the sudden searing pain in his side- he takes him down.

He turns- hoping that you're still okay to go home now- but the woman next to you is crying hysterically, pointing to your slumped over body.

Oh no. Oh no. No, no, no.

Peter starts running, not with the confident poise of Spider-Man, but with the fear of a young man about to lose the one person he truly, truly cared about.

He scrambles over the pavement, where you're lying in a pool of your own blood, gunshot wounds scattered across your body- it just seems unnecessarily unfair, so needlessly cruel that the universe decided that you would take all those bullets. They should've hit him- he would've gladly taken every single shot.

"No, no. Please-" Peter squeezes your hand, as you look up at him, tears falling out of your eyes. Your face is ghostly pale, you're shuddering- but you still have enough time to say something.

"Keep... going..." You try, because you don't want Peter to blame himself for your own stupidity.

"No. Please, somebody help her!" Peter shouts, gritting his teeth, and there's nobody left here but him and you. Everyone else has ran off- and Peter's too shaken to call an ambulance at this moment. "I don't know what to do, don't- don't-"

You know what he means, and you're trying. You're using all your might to not die here, to let yourself be rescued and healed. But you can't let Peter stay agonized like this, not when he means so much to people, not when he protects so much more than just you, so you use your last reserve of energy to speak, even though he tries to shush you.

"New York... needs... you."

"I need you!" Peter yells, and you can tell he's crying under the mask. "It should've been me, I could've taken it- please don't-"

But Peter's luck always runs out, and it seems like the universe wants him to lose even more than he ever has. Your grip loosens from his hand, your eyes glaze over, and even though he sobs, clings on to you even more tightly- you just aren't there to hug him back this time.

/

It's been a month since Peter lost you so unceremoniously.

He stares at your gravestone in disbelief. None of this feels real- he was sure that if anyone in this world had to die from random criminals, it should've been him.

All the time, he feels like he's waiting for a phone call from you. He still swings by your apartment- your things have been removed, he can see that through the window.

Even though he saw your body being taken away into the ambulance, where you were immediately proclaimed dead, and he was at your funeral. It's like the reality of the situation is refusing to sink in his mind.

Even worse, he's taken out his rage on every petty criminal that comes his way now, as Spider-Man. J. Jonah Jameson loves it, calls him even more of a vengeance on the city, and that he should be behind bars.

Peter would be behind bars gladly if it meant you would've been safe. Maybe being Spider-Man was a mistake.

But he can't forget your last words. The last thing Peter would ever do is disappoint you, and he knows what you wanted. That he would keep protecting the city, that he would keep going despite it all.

Damn it, he hates you sometimes. Hates that you still know how to inspire hope in him, that you're such a significant presence in his heart that you're permanently etched there now. He hates how much he loves you, and how he's going to forever listen to you.

He just wishes you were here to see it through.

"We weren't supposed to end like this. It was supposed to be me and you, together, living a full life." He whispers. "It... it was supposed to be us, and our kids, our grandkids, hell even great grandkids, and then, only then, would I accept it. That we would be allowed to-"

He still can't bring himself to say die. So he lets himself swallow the agony, the sobs that always threaten to ebb out of his throat, and rests another bouquet of flowers at your grave.

[brandwhorestarscream]

Red alert must be freaking out so much poor thing 🤣

I can perfectly imagine him being forced to go to sleep, only to wake up really scared because his abdomen is hurting and finding baby Tfa red alert, between his legs, giving her opinion

Aksjskaka poor Red Alert wakes up more than halfway through labor, already crowning and body doing it's own thing to push her out. She's delivered fully less than 2 kliks after and only Primus knows how he managed to sleep through the initial contractions. It's such an odd sensation, feeling a sparkling's shoulders, then body, then little legs pass through him

At first, there's silence. Red is hyperventilating, scrambling to turn on the lights. He knows what just happened, his legs are numb and shaking and his sensory horns are sparking, and it's happened to enough members of the ark. He knows. But his baby is silent. He's terrified, mind immediately jumping to the worst possible situations. It's stillborn, or- or it's aeration tubing is clogged with fluid, or-

He turns on the lights and sees the tiny sparkling lying deathly still in a puddle of fluid. Their optics are closed. They're not moving.

"Oh no...!" He rushes over to them, servos hovering anxiously above their body. "No no no... what do I do, wh-what should I- no please Primus don't do this-!"

Ratchet gets a hysterical call at 3 in the morning and at first he thinks it's more of Red Alert's paranoid delusions but then he hears the head of security sob and choke out, "Th-They're not moving, Ratchet! My baby's not moving!" and he practically teleports to Red's room. Medically overrides the door to force his way in and finds him with a still and silent sparkling in his arms.

He immediately takes the tiny, slimy bundle from him and scans for vitals. And wouldn't you know it, her spark pulse is fine. Her systems are all functioning. What...?

Carefully, he props the newborn against his shoulder and gently smacks her bottom. Nothing. Pats her back. Nothing. Even pinches the heel of her pede. Nothing. Red is hysterical, demanding to know why he's not doing anything, please save his sparkling!

Turns out, she's just stubborn. Not every baby comes out screaming, and she's a surprisingly peaceful, surprisingly stubborn newborn. In fact, she refuses to cry or even open her optics until Ratchet has to stick her with a needle to get an energon sample. Then, oh boy, here come the tears. Red Alert heaves the biggest sigh of relief when she screams, beginning to wail like the world is ending and squirming to get away from the medic. Her EM field, previously tightly tucked against her body, flares out in a desperate bid to find her mother, find protection from the scary mech hurting her!

Red scoops her up and kisses her still-sticky helm a thousand times, crying tears of relief as he thanks Ratchet over and over for "saving" his sparkling. He's gotten so attached in the 5 kliks he's had his precious baby bean, and can't stand the idea of losing her. The medic explains that she's fine, and is in fact really healthy: some babies just don't cry when they're born. "She must feel really safe with you, Red. That's why she was so calm." Silly girl was born asleep XD

The statement makes Red Alert blink in surprise though. "She?!" He gapes. "Wait, i-it's a-?!"

"Yes indeed. Congratulations, you have a daughter."

Red Alert is amazed. Having a girl is so rare! Only 1 in every 13 sparklings is a femme, he's so fortunate! He has no idea what he's going to call her, but he couldn't be happier regardless 🥰 he can't wait to introduce her to Inferno!

[nationalharryleague]

Diplomacy

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers Royal AU 

Word count: 12K (I may have gotten carried away) 

Warnings: Parental Death, an American writing about monarchies she doesn’t understand 

A/N: Hi everyone! I have been working on this one for a while and it’s by far the longest thing I’ve ever written and I am so proud of it (please be nice)!! I also made a Pinterest board with all the outfits from this if you want to check it out here!! SO SO SO much love to @meetmymouth​ @bfharry​ and @hardcandy-harry​ for helping me out when I needed it and being the most wonderful people in general :) As always, thank you so so much for reading!! More of my writing can be found in my masterlist and feedback/reblogs mean the world!!! 

****

Y/N knew from the day she could understand the concept of marriage that she would one day be married to the little prince with wild brown curls her mother always forced her to play with. She still vividly remembered the first time he told her that she was ugly and that he hated her. She was only five years old at the time.

Fortunately, she hated him just as much as he hated her. He was rude, somehow always sticky, and seemed to have no filter or manners, letting every nasty thing he could think of fall past his lips in daggers aimed at his future wife.

As they grew older, their animosity only grew, from petty to school yard quarrels to attacks on their personalities and who they were as people. Despite her pleas to her mother to be sent to a different boarding school than the one he was already attending, she was shipped off.

She studied judiciously, what was expected of every future queen, while she watched Harry meander through his schooling. He never seemed to listen in class, never studied, and seemed to only care about football and girls. She watched with jealousy and contempt as he flirted with every girl at their school, every girl except the one he knew he was to marry; while every boy in the school knew Y/N was off limits, direct orders from the crown.

It made her uncomfortable how much she disliked him. She was not a hateful person, having been trained well to treat everyone with dignity and respect, she was a princess after all. But something about Harry just got under her skin. She barely was able to control the instinctive eye roll whenever his name was mentioned and she often pretended to gag when discussing him with her friends, especially when one of them would inevitably call him ‘dreamy.’

The happiest day of her life was the day she watched him graduate, knowing she had been awarded years of peace without having to listen to his taunts or watch him flirt with everything that breathed. During those years, she flourished. She grew from a timid girl in line for power to a confident young woman preparing for the crown. She knew her country through and through, her constitution front to back, and had even begun studying Harry’s country as well. Whether she liked it or not, she knew she would have to pick up his slack in governing his kingdom eventually, she might as well be good at it.

Four more years of education at Cambridge, brought four more years of growth and being free from Harry, but the deal she had made with her mother was quickly coming to a close. As soon as she finished her education, their engagement would be made official and wedding planning would commence. While she was tempted to beg for some sort of delay or escape, she understood this was her duty. She owed this to her people, and soon to Harry’s as well; her mother was counting on her.

For the first time in too many years, she stood inside her former and future home. She remembered running through the halls of the massive palace under the ornate ceilings that now hung above her again; reality was sinking in. Through the massive wooden doors that sat in front of her, she knew her fate awaited; a fate named Harry. With a deep breath she steeled herself and smoothed the blush pink lace skirt of her dress, preparing to see the face that had haunted her for so long.

The first thing she noticed was the playful smirk that she associated so closely with his taunts from when they were children. It was the smirk that made her stomach drop; she could only imagine the nasty things that could come past those lips now. He had years to practice.

He stood confidently next to her mother, who had a bright and triumphant grin on her face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored forest green suit, decorated with his coat of arms pin on the lapel. She wished for the vibrance of his green eyes to lessen but the tone of his suit only made them more intense than she had remembered.

“Harry,” she breathed, as diplomatically and with as much confidence as she could muster. “It’s good to see you,” she lied, reaching her hand out for him to kiss in the antiquated custom that always made her deeply uncomfortable. He delicately grasped her hand and slowly brought it to his blushed lips, the kiss lingering longer than what could have been considered friendly. His snake-like eyes locked with hers, still containing the mischievous glint she had nightmares about. She couldn’t help but notice the hysterically hopeful smile on her mother’s face as she watched them interact.

“It’s always a pleasure, your highness,” he hummed. He must have remembered how uncomfortable that title made her. She was honestly impressed at how he managed to lie and antagonize her in the first sentence he had said to her in over six years.

“Please call me Y/N,” she instructed as politely as possible.

“As you wish,” he said with a conniving smirk on his face. She had been with him no more than two minutes and she already wanted to run for her life. But this wasn’t about her, her country would need a leader soon, and unfortunately, that had to be her.

Her mother rushed over excitedly between the two, breaking the contemptuous silence that had built between them. “Oh children, it’s so nice to see you two back together again. I remember when you used to play when you were little. Always teasing, like you had the biggest crushes on each other.” ‘Teasing’ is a nice way to refer to torture, Y/N thought to herself, never daring to verbalize a thought like that.

“We did always have fun didn’t we, Y/N?” Harry asked her, a thin glaze of politeness coating his malice.

“Oh yes, we did. I still have a scar on my thigh from when you pushed me off the monkey bars.” Her tone was tight lipped and curt, her politeness beginning to give way to the verbal lashing she was dreaming of giving him.

“You’ll have to show me sometime.”

Y/N’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She knew he was a dirty good for nothing flirt, but in front of her mother? If her mother hadn't gently grasped both of their hands, she would have stomped out of the room. Her mother’s gentle touch brought her mind back to what this was all about once again.

“Harry is going to be staying with us from now on,” her mother interjected, clearly sensing the animosity between them. “Oh, and I nearly forgot! Harry, I believe you have something for Y/N, correct?”

“Of course.” He flashed his charming smiles at her poor mother, “How could I have forgotten about that?”

She watched him intently as he reached for the pocket inside his suit jacket, pulling out a small indigo colored velvet box. He opened the box with delicate hands to reveal one of the most gorgeous engagement rings Y/N had ever seen. A deep green emerald sat inside a ring of crystal clear diamond florets, all placed meticulously with care into a gold setting, the color of the velvet intensifying the emerald stone. “It was my grandmother’s,” he spoke softly, the first time she had ever heard him speak with any emotion or genuine feeling. “Before she died, she said she wanted you to have it. She was the mastermind of this arrangement afterall,” he said with a slight chuckle. “For formality’s sake,” he began with a sigh, “will you marry me?”

No, passed through Y/N’s head, but “Yes” fell from her lips. While her heart broke for herself and any chance she had of finding true love, the smile and happy tears in her mother’s eyes reminded her why she was doing all of this. She needs me to do this, Y/N thought to herself, my country is going to need a leader.

Their engagement was announced later that day by royal decree and their wedding was scheduled for the next month. There was no going back now.

The palace was in a flurry of planning and plotting for the big day. Y/N was rushed from meeting to meeting, instructed to make decisions about everything and anything she wanted for the wedding. She stared at floral arrangements until her eyes hurt and flipped through magazines looking at bridesmaid and flower girl dresses until her fingers felt like they were about to fall off. Unsurprisingly to Y/N, Harry was there for almost none of it. Although, she wasn’t exactly complaining about his absence.

He only surfaced when food or his suit was involved. In one vile incident, he arrived at the cake tasting with a wad of gum in his mouth, which was not only strictly prohibited for royals because it could be perceived as being too casual, but Y/N almost called off the entire wedding when she watched him stick chewed bubble gum to the bottom of a 200 year old handcrafted dining table.

“Were you raised by wolves?” she asked through gritted teeth while scolding him and desperately trying to remove the mess.

“Nannies, actually.” She knew by the smirk on his face that he wasn’t done with whatever antagonistic taunts that were planned to fall from his lips. “I’m pretty wild in the bedroom too, wifey.”

His crude comments were meant to hurt her and make her uncomfortable. He knew from their time in school together that she was constantly watched and kept far away from the gaze of any peaking boys, shining a spotlight on the massive double standard between the pair of future rulers. She wore a cloak of inexperience and innocence given to her against her will that embarrassed her to no end, and he knew that the easiest way to pinken her cheeks was to mention sex in any way. He aimed to fluster the poor girl and he got away with it anytime he flashed his dimples in a devilish smirk.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and furry before she got up from the table and stormed out of the room, muttering “pick whatever fucking cake you want,” before flying down the hallway to her bedroom and slamming the door behind her.

She felt frustrated tears pricking at her eyes as she slid down the back of the heavy wooden door to the floor below her. She let the fabric of her once perfectly steamed dress crumple beneath her and before she let the floodgates of tears open, she looked down at the dainty silver watch that sat on her wrist. You have five minutes until your appointment with the dressmaker, she thought to herself. Three minutes to cry, two minutes to change into a new dress and fix your makeup.

For three minutes, she let all her anger, frustration, and heartbreak fall out of her in loud sobs that anyone on the other side of the door was sure to hear. For three minutes, she let herself feel every angry emotion she had ever felt towards Harry. For three minutes, she didn’t care about her country or her mother needing this wedding. For three minutes, she didn’t care about anything other than her hurt. But only for three minutes.

Then she wiped the tears away, picked herself up off the floor, dressed herself in her favorite navy blue dress, fixed her mascara, and pressed a cool cloth on her cheeks to quell their angry heat. And then she went to see the dressmaker.

The only joy Y/N got out of this whole ordeal was getting to see her dressmaker, Agnes. Agnes was a kind and quiet old woman who was one of the most talented people she had ever met. The pair would sit together for hours discussing styles, the only time her schedule allowed her to relax, and the woman was in the middle of crafting the gown of  Y/N’s dreams. It was a lace long sleeved gown with a cathedral length train. The top portion of the lace was sheer, making a strapless neckline visible, before the delicately crafted lace moved crawled up Y/N’s neck into a high collar neckline. It was reserved, but elegant and unique; “just like you,” Agnes once said.

The first time Y/N was able to try the dress on was bittersweet. The dress was stunning and it made her feel like the princess she was, but she did shed a tear thinking about how this moment was tainted with Harry. She wouldn’t be wearing this dress while walking down the aisle to marry the love of her life, she was marrying someone she would consider an enemy.

She bowed down reverently when her mother placed a veil and tiara on her head. The tiara was encrusted with diamonds and speckled with emeralds that happened to match her engagement ring. The tiara was an heirloom and every woman in her family had worn it while getting married for the last two hundred years.

Her mother wept softly before her, a proud smile on her lips. “I’m so happy I get to see you in the wedding tiara before I go, sweetheart,” she said leaning in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “I know you and Harry aren’t always a perfect pair and neither were your father and I, but we made you.” The queen’s eyes flashed over her face trying to take her in, “And you turned out to be my proudest achievement and the savior of a nation.”

“Thank you, Mama.” She hadn’t called her mother by that name since she was a young girl but it just felt right at that moment. She felt like a child, needing someone to take care of her while she waited for a country to fall on her shoulders.

“I will always guide you through whatever I can,” she said tenderly. “Even when I’m not here, I will always be with you.” Y/N watched as her mother’s eyes welled with more tears, excusing herself quickly before they grew more intense.

Not more than five minutes later, she heard the obnoxious whistling that she had begun to hear in her nightmares from down the hall. What she didn’t expect was for Harry to burst through the door, not only interrupting her fitting, but seeing the dress before the wedding day.

Like all members of traditional royal families, Y/N was extremely superstitious. Her heart immediately broke as she watched his eyes look her up and down, like there was a little piece of her that thought if they did everything right and didn’t break any traditional rules, maybe they would work out. What hurt her even more was that he didn’t even try to leave. He just sat down on a chair, smacking his gum, and stared at her like he was doing nothing wrong. Her eyes were still filled with tears from the emotional moment with her mother and they continued to flow, no longer out of love, but out of anger and frustration.

“Agnes,” Y/N finally spoke, voice cracking as she tried to hold back her tears, “will you excuse us for a moment?”

“Yes, your highness,” Agnes took delicate steps backwards like she was expecting a bomb to go off, before turning around and scurrying out of the room. Her instincts were correct, because at that moment, Y/N exploded.

“What did I ever do to you Harry?” she questioned angrily. “Why are you so determined to absolutely ruin my life? It’s bad enough that I am having an arranged marriage, not even one that I have the tiniest bit of say in.” She watched Harry’s eyes grow wide, like he had never expected her to stand up to him. “I have spent my entire life being watched and guarded, and avoided by every man I’ve ever gotten close to because I was already claimed by someone who wanted nothing to do with me.” She couldn’t remember the last time she had raised her voice like this at someone; she wasn’t sure if she ever had before. “You can’t even pretend that you like me or that we won't be miserable for our entire lives.”

“Y/N, I don’t want this either,” he spoke after a moment of silence, the quiet only broken by Y/N’s heaving breath. “Why can’t you just calm down?”

“Why can’t I calm down?” she repeated. “Maybe because my country is looking to me to become it’s queen. I can’t give myself to my people when I am worrying about you and your incompetence. You may not become king in your country for another 30 years; you have time to learn and grow into a ruler because you’re in my monarchy and you get to learn here first. You’re playing king with my people. Millions of people rely on us the second I am crowned and you act like your irresponsibility doesn’t have far reaching consequences.”

“I’ll be perfectly fine,” he spat back at her, rolling his eyes with his arms crossed in front of himself as he sat back in the chair. “I can’t believe I have to marry you and into this family.”

Y/N felt like she had been punched in the gut. She was stuck with this man for the rest of her life and here he was, disrespecting her, her people, and her family. “Get out,” she said under her breath. When he didn’t move from his seat, she began to yell once again, “Get out! I mean it!” She dropped her voice once again, and spoke more seriously than she ever had before. “I have never hated anymore more than I hate you, Harry. I am doing all of this because I love my country and my people, but I want you to know, I will never be happy because of you.”

For a moment, through her tears, it looked like he had been hurt because of her words, but he was gone from the room before she could confirm it.

She fell to her knees on the dress platform, surrounded by the piles of pure white fabric. She was a perfectly dressed ball of furry and sobs, angry at the world and her predicament. Leaning over and putting her head in her hands, she felt the tiara as it began to slip off her head, falling into her lap.

Y/N picked up the tiara, using gentle reverent hands, examining it closely. The tiara represented the monarchy and every female ruler in her family that had come before her. It shined and dazzled in the bright lights of the room, its crystal clear and emerald stones reflecting multi colored light onto the crisp white of the dress below her. “I’m doing this for you,” she whispered quietly to the tiara like it could answer, tears still silently rolling down her face.

***

They didn’t speak again for almost a week. They communicated solely through their royal secretaries, sending the poor men back and forth with angry messages, almost gossiping about what was happening with each member of the pair when they returned to the sender. Y/N hated Harry, Harry hated Y/N; the same sentiment sent back and forth over and over. The two were driving fast towards a brick wall, and the brick wall was their wedding.

When she woke up one morning about a week before their nuptials, there was a small envelope sitting on the ground like it had been slid underneath her bedroom door. We have to talk, was all it read. It was not lost on her that the stationary had a small olive branch illustrated onto the page.

Later that afternoon, they met in the garden. It felt like a neutral place to talk, the palace obviously being her territory. She had worn a casual flowing white dress, like she was raising a white flag; and she carefully walked with a mug of black coffee, a peace offering of sorts, careful not to get any of the dark liquid on the fabric of her dress.

She found him along a bed of purple Hyacinths, their sweet perfume enveloping them both, sitting on the soft ground dressed in the most casual clothes she had ever seen him in. He was wearing a simple lilac button up and a pair of jeans. He seemed more approachable this way, without the tailoring and the coat of arms that always sat on his lapel. The golden highlights in his curls came out in the sun and his tanned skin seemed to glow. He held a rose colored leather bound notebook in his hands.

“Hi,” she said softly, a sharp contrast to her screaming the last time they spoke. “I brought you a coffee. The nice ladies in the kitchen say you take it black.” The corners of his mouth turned up slightly and he gave her a friendly but unenthusiastic smile.

“Thank you,” he breathed, as she handed him the hot mug.

“Can I sit?”

“I’m not in charge of you,” he mumbled into the cup taking a sip. It wasn’t until she noticed how his eyebrow shot up and how his eyes had a playful gleam in them, that her offence washed away. “Of course, you can sit down.”

“What’s the book for?” she asked gently once she settled on the ground a safe distance away from him. She decided a few grass stains were worth being on speaking terms with the man she was supposed to marry.

“Um, it’s actually for you.” He reached over and placed the book in her hands. She ran her hands over her initials that had been embossed onto the leather cover. “I’ve been meaning to give it to you for a while,” he said quietly, “I remember you used to write a lot when we were in school together. I thought you would like it.” She felt a confusing mixture of thankfulness for the book, guilt for her outburst, and all the frustration that she still held towards him.

“Thank you, Harry. That was really thoughtful of you.”

A silence hung among them, neither of them sure of the next steps this conversation had to take.

“Can we talk?” Harry asked, finally breaking the tension between the pair.

“Yes, please,” she answered just as quickly as he had asked.

“I wanted to apologize for interrupting your fitting like that. I didn’t know all the traditions meant so much to you and I never meant to make you so upset.” She had never heard Harry apologize before, to anyone else, and definitely not to her.

Before that moment, she had always thought of him as an impenetrable force, wondering if there even was a soul or a conscience in his body. But here he was, vulnerability and all, offering an olive branch and an apology.

“Thank you,” she said cautiously, wading into the almost friendly waters she had never been in with him. “I’m sorry for screaming at you like that. I said some very hurtful things to you.”

“So have I.”

“I want you to know that I don’t hate you and I shouldn’t have said I did. But, I don’t necessarily like you either, Harry,” she said, deciding now was the time they needed to open the line of communication. One of them would eventually combust if they continued on with their hatred like this. “You have tortured me since we were little kids and it’s going to take me some time for me to get over that.” She watched as he nodded his head along with her words, seeming to listen intently.

“I feel like that is also something I should apologize for. No offence, but I didn’t want to get married to you either- still don’t, but I was much more of a dick about it then,” he let out a light laugh, flashing one of his famous dimples before releasing a sigh. “I took out not having control of my life out on you and I’m sorry.” She never thought she would receive validation for all the hurt he put her through for so long.

“Listen, we are getting married as part of a diplomatic partnership,” she began, “I feel like we should at least act diplomatic towards each other.”

“Does that mean that we have to be friends?”

“Definitely not. Just not enemies.”

“I think I can do that, wifey.”

***

The next week passed in a surprisingly civil blur for them both. Y/N was still in the throws of getting ready for a wedding and Harry was off doing whatever Harry usually did. She didn’t expect him to be doing much but she was just glad he was out of her hair. But when they did run into each other, usually at some sort of meeting surrounding the menu, they had a new found respect for the other.

The pair hadn’t been fighting which was nice for a change, even though it did raise some eyebrows in both of their staff. At her final dress fitting two days before the wedding Agnes had asked her if she was ready to be a married woman. “Absolutely not,” Y/N had laughed, “but it’s my responsibility to my people and my country. I have lived the most privileged life imaginable up until this point, it’s time for me to begin my duties.”

“You’re a good girl, your highness. You’re going to make a great queen when the time comes. Even with a husband you may have to wrangle sometimes.” She ended her compliments with a giggle as she zipped Y/N into the dress, and she felt her heart warm. Agnes placed the final touches of the veil and tiara on top of her head, giving her a nod of permission to finally look at herself in the mirror.

The dress fit her like a glove. The delicate lace ran the expanse of the dress, starting at the very back of her immensely long train and crawling its way all the way to Y/N’s throat, and the fitted top half gave way to a full ball gown skirt. Y/N’s eyes followed the intricate lace patterns down her arm, eyes eventually landing on her hand and the ring that sat upon it. For the first time since it had begun to sit on her ring finger, she didn’t want to throw it across the room in frustration. It really was gorgeous and the tiny inkling of respect she had for Harry now made it much less painful to look at.

Staring at the mirror, she noticed the blurring of her vision and the wetness on her cheeks.

“I really am getting married, aren’t I?” she asked with a disbelieving laugh.

“Yes you are, your highness.” Agnes looked up at her through her thick lensed glasses with a proud smile on her face. “Now, let’s get you out of this contraption so you can go rest up for the big day.” Anges’ skilled hands freed Y/N from the beautiful layers of fabric and tulle and sent her on her way back to her bedroom.

Y/N was finally almost asleep in the early hours of the morning when she heard a gentle and almost timid knock on her door. She could have ignored it, rolled back over and let her dreams take her, but for some reason it felt important for her to get out of  bed and answer the door. Her bare feet hit the cold wood floors and she tip-toed her way to the door.

When she grabbed the knob to open it, she heard a familiar voice say “don’t open the door! I don’t think I’m supposed to see you,” in a hurried and hushed tone.  

“Harry?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was gravelly with exhaustion and had an apprehensive, almost nervous quality she had never heard from him before.

“Why are you here?”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” He said it so softly she wouldn’t have been able to hear him if her ear wasn’t pressed up against the doorway. The sentiment brought a smile to her lips and she wasn’t completely sure why. She was quiet for a moment, deciding if she wanted to turn him away or not when she heard him sarcastically ask, “What? I’m not allowed to talk to my wife?”

“I’m not your wife yet,” she reminded him with a tired chuckle. “But we can talk,” she assured him. “I’m going to sit down, okay? My legs are tired from my heels all day.” She kneeled down and leaned herself up against the hard wooden door.

She had been in this same position only a few weeks before, angry at the world and wanting to kill the man on the other side of it; but here she was, speaking to him willingly, even joking with him. She listened close as his own body rested against the floor and leaned on the opposite side, mirroring her own position.

“Those heels really hurt, don’t they?” he asked, voice still hushed. If she wasn’t so tired, she might have even said she heard a smile in his voice.

“Yeah, they are like little death traps for your feet and legs.” He let out a small laugh on the other side and her lips pulled into a smile that she hadn’t given them permission for.

“How many pairs do you have? You always match your dress to your shoes so you must have a ton.”

She was gradually learning that he was much more observant than she had originally thought. He apparently wasn’t the dumb boy that she remembered from school anymore.

“Too many,” she said with a soft laugh and a shake of her head. “I’m wearing my favorites tomorrow.”

“And which ones are those?”

“They’re white, obviously; they have to match,” she smiled. “They have a green gem at the toes. They match the tiara I’ll be wearing.” She stopped for a moment before continuing on. “And your grandmother’s ring.” She played with the gold band that sat on her ring finger, still somehow dazzling in the very limited light of her dark room. “Thank you, by the way. It’s gorgeous.”

“You’re welcome. She wanted you to have it.”

“Did she really?”

“Oh, yeah,” he said confidently on the other side of the door. She imagined him nodding along with his words to emphasize his point, as he often did while speaking. “She kept tabs on you while we were growing up. She was always talking about how smart you seemed and that you would be a good queen one day. If I didn’t know better, I would say she liked you more than me growing up.” Y/N felt her cheeks heat up with the information. She was flattered by his grandmother’s opinion of her, but her heart also ached for Harry.

“I’m sure that's not true.”

“I think it was. I was always screwing up in one way or another; always creating messes that her and my parents had to clean up.” He paused for a moment and she heard him let out a long sigh. “Always running around with other girls and making the one I was supposed to marry feel like shit.”

She wished she could see his face. She wished that she could get a read on his emotions. But there was, literally and figuratively, a wall between them.

“Y/N,” she heard his voice squeak out through a voice crack, “I really am sorry for everything I’ve done to you.”

“I know. I forgive you, Harry.”

Saying those four words, lifted a weight she didn’t know she had been carrying off her shoulders. This moment felt like an absolution, a time to wipe their long and complicated slate clean. There was no better time for them to start anew than the night before they began the next chapter of their lives. But this chapter would be together, as a pair and a team.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry too, Harry. I know this all had to happen so fast so I could take the throne, but I know you thought you had more time. I thought I did too.”

“What do you mean? Why did it have to happen so fast?” he asked.

First, Y/N was confused. There was a very obvious answer. Then her heart began to break for him. He wasn’t ready at all for what was coming. No one must have told him.

“Harry,” she said softly, “Do you know about my mother?”

“What do you mean?” From the tone in his voice, she knew he genuinely didn’t know.

“My mom-” she began gently, swallowing the lump in her throat that always appeared when she began to talk about this, “My mom is dying, Harry.” She heard a soft gasp through the door before she went on. “She’s been sick for a while, but things are getting really bad. Her doctors think she only has a couple weeks left.”

She listened to his breathing stop, like his mouth was hung open searching for something to say. He was quiet for a few moments before he landed on what seemed like the only thing he had said over and over these last few weeks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I’m here for you if you need to talk about all of this.”

His offer was not lost on her. The idea of Harry being someone she could confide in was a new one, but one that she would consider.

“It’s okay.” She choked out, wiping a few stray tears that had found their way out, off her cheeks. “I have had enough time to come to terms with it. But in our archaic constitution,” she said with a biting distaste in her voice, “a woman cannot become the sovereign of the country if she isn't married. That’s why this all had to happen so fast.”

“I see.”

The pair were quiet, both curled up on opposite sides of the wall; simultaneously experiencing a unique type of loneliness that only the other could understand. In less than 12 hours, they would be married, linked by an oath that neither of them had signed up for, in circumstances with responsibilities that neither of them were ready to handle.

“Harry,” she peeped, breaking a silence that hung heavy over them both, “you should go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow.”  

She listened through the door to the rustling of him getting up off the floor beside her. “You should get some sleep too.”

“I’ll try my best.”

“So will I. I’ll see you at the altar, wifey.”

She let out a strangled laugh at the nickname he had adopted for her, her throat still tight from crying. She listened to his foot falls until they disappeared down the hallway before she mustered the strength to drag herself back to bed. Her staff was on strict orders from the wedding planner to have her woken up at 8 to begin getting ready and she wanted to get some rest before the sun came up.

And like clockwork, her curtains were thrown wide open at 8 am, sunlight blinding her as she woke up. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to her rude awakening, but soon she could make out the bustling room around her. Hair stylists, makeup artists, bridesmaids, flower girls, her mother, and some lady with an ear piece and a clip board fluttered about her bedroom with an excited chatter. Taking in the chaotic scene, it really hit her. Holy shit, I’m getting married today, she thought.

Her stomach twisted and turned in knots as the gaggle of women fawned over her, instructing her to stay still and “stop shaking” as they applied layers of makeup and fussed with her hair. Her hair was pulled into a delicately crafted low bun and her eyes were painted with neutral tones and a little bit of shimmer. Diamond and emerald earrings were threaded through her ear lobes and her fingernails were inspected to see if they needed any touch ups. Her shaky body was zipped into her dress and her feet slipped into her heels while her cathedral length veil was pinned meticulously into her hair. She was only missing one last thing.

“Your tiara, your highness,” her mother joked through the happy and proud tears welling up in her eyes. The tiara was the one last thing she needed before she was sent on her way to the cathedral. She bent down slightly, her mother delicately crowing her; when she rose, she couldn't help but grab onto her mother and hold her tight. It was hard for her not to think about the next time she would be crowned, a time when her mother wouldn’t be there to offer the guidance or support Y/N needed.

“I love you, Mama,” was all she said. It was the only reason all of this was happening. She loved her mother too much to let her down.

“I love you more, my princess,” her mother said gently, before turning away and scurrying off to do something else. Y/N tried to ignore the wince on her face when she moved too fast and the slight wheeze she made when she was speaking.

Surveying the scene around her, Y/N felt like she was about to die. Her heart was pounding hard in her ears, her palms were slick with sweat, her breathing was labored, and her chest felt tight. She had never been so overwhelmed with anxiety before. She had known today was coming her entire life, but the fact that it really was here was too much for her brain to wrap itself around.

It was like she had blacked out from fear, an hour of her life completely unaccounted for. She didn’t remember the last minute checks and touches to her hair and makeup. She didn’t remember her mother delicately resting her veil over her face. She didn’t remember getting in the car bringing her to the cathedral. She didn’t remember someone shoving a bouquet of flowers in her hands. She didn’t remember the music starting up or walking down the aisle of the giant imposing and ornate cathedral.

She was only brought back to reality when she reached the imposing altar and Harry delicately took her hand into his. His green eyes were painted with concern when he saw the worried crease between her eyebrows and the way she was chewing on her bottom lip under her sheer veil, swiping his thumb up and down her skin in an attempt to soothe her. It was the first time he had ever touched her voluntarily; it was a gentle and tender touch, full of care.  She gripped back tight onto his hand, holding on for dear life as she thought over everything that was about to happen.

They were instructed to stand forward, watching the officiant as he droned on about love and duty to one’s country and spouse, but their hands stayed clasped tight onto each other, like they were being thrown into a stormy and unpredictable sea and the other’s hand was their only life line. And in a way, they were.

When they were told to turn towards each other to begin their vows, their eyes locked and she began to really look at him for the first time. She watched his plush lips closely as he recited the words fed to him from the officiant, although she didn’t hear a single word of them. Her eyes traced his strong cheekbones and landed on his adorable button nose before returning back to his eyes. She noticed the slight blue bags that sat under them, signaling he had just as much trouble sleeping as she did.

His eyes brought her a calm that she hadn’t felt in years, silently telling her that she wasn’t alone in all of this, his warm hands still holding on to hers punctuating that sentiment. There wasn’t anyone else in the massive cathedral but the pair of them anymore, just two scared kids trying to make it through the demands weighing on their shoulders together.

Shaky hands exchanged rings, her heart stopping for a moment when the ring caught and didn’t slide onto his finger gracefully. But her heart regained it’s rhythm when she heard a light chuckle coming from the man across from her, a gentle smile that was just big enough to flash a dimple at her, signaling that it would be okay.

She recited her vows without much thought, letting ‘I do,’ slip past her lips while still entranced by Harry’s intense yet comforting gaze. She watched his strong hands disconnect from hers as he lifted the lace trimming on the veil covering her face, dark lashes flickering down to her glossed lips. She let her eyes fall closed as he leaned in towards her and rested a hand on her cheek, prompted by the officiant and clapping coming from the pews, bracing herself for a feeling of disgust she hoped wouldn’t come.

He carefully connected their lips softly with a sweetness that felt gentle, tender, and caring. But there was more to the kiss than a softness, there was a respect there as well. His hand felt secure and protective on her cheek, and he pulled away with a smile after a short time, sure not to overwhelm her. The feeling of disgust in her belly that she was waiting for never came; if she didn’t know better she would say she felt an excited flutter.

They stood on the altar for a moment and just stared at each other, excited and relief filled smiles creeping into their lips, his dimples prominent. “Shall we, wifey?” Harry beamed with a sigh, extending a hand to lead her back down the aisle, now as a married woman.

“We shall, husband,” she giggled back, cheeks still a fiery red from their contact. Calling him her husband felt foreign, but not unwelcome.

Harry held her hand tight, keeping her in the moment by the warm contact. He held her hand down the aisle and all the way back to the palace, all throughout the signing of their marriage license, and all throughout the many, many photos taken of the two and their wedding party. She found comfort in his warm touch, continuing to ground her through the chaos that unfolded around them. Even when they had briefly disconnected from each other, he was always close by, only a call of his name away.

She was shocked by how careful he was around her giant dress, taking calculated steps to avoid dirtying the crisp white fabric. He was playing the role of a dutiful husband, and was seeming to enjoy it.

They spent the next hours just following orders from wedding planners, shuffled around from place to place, constantly surrounded by people. All she wanted was a moment to speak to him alone, but it seemed far out of reach.

That moment finally came in the middle of a dance floor, with hundreds of eyes staring at them as they danced. They swayed together slowly, a gentle rock to the delicate sound of strings. “Thank you for staying by me all day, Harry,” she said quietly, hoping that no one could hear them over the music.

“No need to thank me, wifey,” he said with a chuckle, his lips grazing against her ear as he spoke. She chuckled like always at the name and shook her head.

“I mean it. I don’t think I would have been able to get through all of this,” she said looking out at the crowd watching them and the giant ornately decorated ballroom they were in the center of, “if you hadn’t been by my side.”

“I quite like it, actually. I could get used to standing with you.” He said nonchalantly, like it was no big deal, while her heart just about stopped.

She wasn’t able to answer before the music slowed to a stop and they were pulled apart by their mothers and dragged off to speak to “very important” people. He seemed just as disappointed as she was when they were separated.

When they finally found each other again, Y/N had changed. She had abandoned her massive conservative skirt of tulle and lace for a creamy silk gown that she could actually move in. It was a simple a-line v-neck dress with cap sleeves, but the back held a deep V that ended at the small of her back coupled with a loosely tied bow.

The cool breeze on her back made her feel sexy. She knew she was pushing the boundaries on what was appropriate for a princess and she loved it.

“My darling, you look gorgeous,” he said, taking her hand and spinning her so he could fully take in the new dress, mindful of her tiara and trying his best not to knock it off. Her cheeks burned at his flattery, something he could surely feel when he pulled her close and pressed a delicate kiss on her cheek.

“You’re just saying that,” she said bashfully staring down at the floor, deflecting the compliment easily.

“Wifey,” he singsonged the teasing nickname that had evolved into a term of endearment. He lifted her chin to look up at him and he looked down at her with the most honest expression she had ever seen him wear. “You look beautiful. You have all day.”

“Thank you, Harry.” She spoke quietly, barely audible, unsure what to make of her husband’s compliments. He leaned in to her, layed a tender kiss on her forehead, and dragged her across the room to the dance floor.

They stayed on the dancefloor most of the night, almost always touching in some sort of way, while dancing and celebrating with their friends and family.

And Y/N was happy; a genuine type of happiness that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. Obviously, this wasn’t ideal. She was now married to a man she knew virtually nothing about, who had been a sworn enemy of hers only a few days ago, and had only begun enjoying his company last night. But happiness isn’t linear, she thought to herself.

Their night had passed in a joyous and opulent blur that went late into the night; full of food, dancing, and a swimming pool's worth of champagne.

Eventually both of them were led, by dutiful staff as they were both quite drunk and couldn’t exactly be trusted to make it on their own, to their new bedroom, or bedrooms depending on who you asked. They were led into the massive room consisting of two separate suites connected by a dressing room of sorts in a cloud of giggles, finding themselves in a fit of laughter after passing a portrait in the hall of some distant ancestor who had an amusing mustache.

“Thank you for leading us back,” she said, trying to gain a sober composure to the men who had flanked them on their way back, “you can go now.” The men shared a look between themselves that seemed to say ‘someone should be watching them,’ but followed the princess’ orders anyway.

“I just can’t understand how he got it to curl like that,” Harry cackled, beginning to wheeze from his hysterics and slightly stumbling as he was doubled over.

“Maybe it was natural like your curls,” she suggested, through her giggling hiccups that she let return when their staff left the room. “I quite like your curls, ya know? I like it when you let them grow a bit.”

They were still holding hands, despite being alone in their new found privacy, no longer needing the support from the other to shield them from the pressure of looking eyes.

“Then I’ll have to grow them out a bit,” he said, a smile still beaming at her with droopy drunk eyes. He tugged on her hand softly, bringing her body into his and setting his hand on the exposed skin of the small of her back. His hands were warm and soft and in the moment, she never wanted his hand to move from that spot again. “I can’t refuse the princess’ orders.” His voice had dropped low, not to a whisper but to a soft and lazy volume that made her feel safe.

Their faces were close and she could smell his strong vanilla and sandalwood cologne coming off him that she wanted to envelop herself in. He looked back down at her with a face that was loving, but she attributed it to the alcohol in his system. For a moment, she was overwhelmed with adoration for this man who she had spent so much of her life violently hating. Admiring and adoring him was much easier on her soul than harboring the hatred that had eaten at her for so long.

“I have another order,” she spoke quietly, letting the words tumble from her lips without her usually logical brain’s permission, “I want you to kiss me. For real this time.”

His lips were on hers as soon as the words left her own. It was sloppy and sweet, but with a passion behind it that Y/N felt in her bones. Their lips moved in a drunken rhythm, with Harry’s aimless wandering hands sliding up and down the silk of her dress before resting on her waist and pulling her impossibly closer to him. Her hands found and twirled the few of Harry’s curls that remained after they had cut his hair shorter than usual for the ceremony at the base of his neck and sunk her fingers into it, pulling him further into the kiss by his hair.

It was not long before their tongues found each other and the kiss deepened into a desperate dance of gasping for breath and soft moans into each other’s mouths. Harry’s mouth left hers and began to press sloppy open mouthed kisses down her neck while fiddling with the bow at the back of her gown that would release it from her frame.

Feeling him fuss with the bow made her pounding heart shift from one of excitement, to one of panic. This was too soon, she didn’t know him well enough. She didn’t know his favorite color or any of his hobbies. She didn’t know how he liked his tea, or if he drank it at all. She didn’t even know his middle name.

Her fuzzy mind couldn’t deny how much she didn’t know about him or the anxiety that made her want to pull away from the man and run.

“Harry,” she breathed, voicing the apprehension and anxiety that had begun to rise in her chest, “please stop.” She had squeaked out the words, a mix of embarrassment and panic taking over her slightly slurred words.

His hands froze, pulling himself back quickly from her, a mix of worry and guilt on his face. “Did I do something wrong? I just thought…” he let his words drop off, his own fuzzy mind not sure of what to say either.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m sorry, I just can’t.” Her cheeks grew hot and her eyes became glassy.

She was embarrassed to admit it, but the kiss on the altar that morning was the first time she had ever had another pair of lips on her own. Her entire life she had been shielded from men with any interest in her, her affection already spoken for and claimed. No man had ever held her hand romantically, or danced with her, or kissed her with the passion Harry just had.

Harry had lived a life with freedom that she had never been granted. She remembered all the times she had watched him interact with various girlfriends at school, and remembered the shame she had felt when he had ended up on the cover of tabloids after he was photographed naked and kissing a  random woman on a yacht. Every article had ended with the same line that she still knew by heart. 

“The prince is arranged to marry Princess Y/N when she comes of age in an effort to unify their countries.” 

They had lived very different lives, with very different freedoms up until this point. It was sexist and archaic and unfair, but she couldn’t deny the impacts it had on her while she was around Harry. Even though she couldn’t deny that she was beginning to feel something real for him and she believed that he felt the same; she didn’t fully trust him like that yet. She couldn’t.

“I’ve never done any of this before, Harry. This morning was my first kiss.” Her cheeks burned in a mixture of embarrassment and shame as she spoke the words. “I like you a lot, but today has been nerve wracking and scary enough. I just can’t add another new thing into the mix, especially that. It’s just all too much. I’m sorry.”

Her sheltered and delicate heart couldn’t even bring herself to say the word ‘sex’.

As he listened to her explanation, his features softened. They were no longer fearful that he made a mistake or crossed a boundary, but they moved into a soft and caring smile.

“Y/N, my darling,” he began in a soft and sweet voice, “come here.” He beckoned her with open arms to rest up against his chest again. She had curled her arms in front of herself, holding them close to her body, as she walked into his arms and let herself be enveloped by them while resting her head on his chest. “You are my wife now, but I think we both understand that we are not exactly in this position by choice. I would never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with and I am sorry that I crossed a boundary.”

“Thank you,” she peeped before he continued on.

“Also, I heard that part when you said you liked me a lot,” she could hear the smirk in his voice, making her cheeks inexplicably hotter. “And I like you a lot too.”

The pair stood in that hold long enough for them to lose track of time, just resting against each other in silence, listening to the other’s breathing. The silence that enveloped them was comforting, but Harry eventually spoke again, inexplicably soft and gentle in tone.

“Y/N, I really want to try to make us work.”

“So do I, Harry.”

The pair stood together in their stillness and peaceful quiet, until she let out a small yawn.

Harry released her from his grasp and began walking around the room, opening wardrobes and dressers searching for something. He breathed a small triumphant noise when he opened a drawer, spinning around with a light pink and baby blue nightgown in his hands.

“Do you need any help getting out of your dress? Would I be allowed to help?” His face was so thoughtful, carefully navigating the boundaries she had made him aware of but not set in stone yet.

She took the nightgown from his hands and slipped it over her head, the silk dress beneath it. “I just need help untying the bow.” Her voice was still low, a quiet and delicate murmur.

His hands carefully untied the bow, turning around for modesty’s sake, only turning back around when he heard the silk hit the floor.

She had begun carefully removing the bobby pins that still held her bun together, causing them both to giggle when her hair was finally released into a giant poof of curls and hair spray.

She looked so sweet to him. This was the first time he had seen her relaxed like this, no longer in a fancy dress, heels, and her hair and makeup done to perfection. She looked like a real person to him, not a princess who would soon become queen.

He moved gingerly towards the door of her room, but not before pressing one more soft kiss to her lips.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, wifey.”

“Can’t wait, my husband,” she called from under the covers, watching him close the door behind him.

***

The two were sitting on a hot beach, baking in the sun when the call came.

It was day four of their honeymoon and a week after their wedding, spending their time alone together on a small island in the sun neither of them could remember the name to. It was a paradise straight out of a movie, and she swore nothing could ruin it.

They spent their days learning each other well, often joking that they should make up trivia quizzes for each other to see who knew the other best. She had learned that Harry’s eyes lit up like a child when he saw any type of animal, especially the small lizards that would run across the deck hanging off the back of their small beach house. It was also a surprise when she found out he loved to cook, whipping up a meal that could rival some of the chefs at the palace for dinner one night.

But her favorite thing she had learned about him by far, was how he sang in the shower. He had a low and melodic voice that he didn’t know traveled into the house from the outdoor shower. She would sit by the window closest to him, often pretending to write in the pink notebook he had given her in the garden, close her eyes and appreciate the man’s voice. She swore if he wasn’t a prince, he would be a singer.

In the time since their nuptials, the pair had become lovers. Always attached at the hip and sneaking kisses; they were blissfully and unstoppably becoming increasingly obsessed with the other. The word ‘love’ often played at Y/N’s lips, seeming to always be only a drink away from letting it slip out towards him.

Every day, they would walk down a short path from their house to a pristine white sand beach, picnic basket in hand, and sit. Sometimes they would sit in silence, just staring at the clear blue ocean, and other times they would talk about everything and anything that came to mind, or they would read silently next to each other. But they were always holding onto each other; sometimes it was a hand placed gently on the other’s thigh, or fingers intertwined between them.

The shrill ring of Y/N’s phone broke their fantasy while sitting on the beach on the fourth afternoon. Her heart dropped as soon as she heard it, knowing that the palace had agreed not to bother them unless the worst case scenario was happening.

She closed her eyes and braced herself, tears already threatening to breach her eyes, as she answered the phone with shaky hands. “Hello?” she choked out.

“Your highness, you need to come home.” She immediately recognized the panicked voice of her mother’s secretary on the other end. “It’s happening.”

“Okay,” she said, trying to remain as composed as possible. “We’re leaving now.”

Harry’s face held a furrowed brow and concerned eyes as she spoke. He immediately began rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of her palm like he had done on their wedding day, but today, it did nothing to soothe her pain and anxiety.

She hung up the phone before letting out a heart wrenching cry. “We have to go home,” she sobbed. “She is dying.”

The entire journey home was silent after Y/N had composed herself on the beach.

She sat emotionless, staring straight ahead, flinching away every time Harry moved to touch her. She spoke only when absolutely necessary, but her voice brought no tone with it. She had become a shell of herself, losing the warmth behind her eyes that had begun to appear after the wedding.

She felt empty, like she had lost the ability to think, while simultaneously feeling so overwhelmed, by thoughts of her future as queen and the loss of her mother. She had become blank, inside and outside, the happiness she had begun to build for herself with Harry, melting away and leaving the hollowness of grief and dread.

It took them about twelve hours to reach the palace from the time she hung up the phone, but it wasn’t fast enough. The second she stepped out of the car, she saw the guards outside the palace dressed in their black uniforms that were reserved only for the passing of the sovereign. She closed her eyes silently, as if when she opened them up again their uniforms would turn back to their usual blue and maroon; but they didn’t, their clothing still black as night.

Her heels clicked the pavement, maintaining her immaculate posture and steely blank expression as she entered the palace, the loving man she had been excited to have a life with trailing mournfully behind her. She watched as if she was out of her body when she passed people, all now dressed in black, in the hall. They all acted the same.

First, they would give her the saddest look, silently extending their sympathies to the daughter who just lost her mother, and then bowing their heads in respect to the now reigning queen.

“I need to see my mother,” was all she said, before being led into her bedroom.

She hadn’t remembered when her father had died, too young to understand. All she could wrap her head around was that her Daddy had an accident and wasn’t coming home. But she remembered her mother’s cries, loud and earth shattering sobs that traveled up and down the hallways of the palace for all to hear.

She looked like she was just sleeping; arms peacefully crossed over her chest and eyes shut gently. But she was cold when Y/N reached for her hand. She tenderly brought her mothers hand to her lips, and pressed a final kiss to her hand, before walking blankly out of the room.

Her mother was gone. And the country fell onto her shoulders.

She heard Harry saying something as he followed close behind her. While she heard him, she didn’t process a thing he said. She stalked towards their bedroom which was unfortunately on the other side of the palace, locked in her daze. He trailed close behind her the entire way, trying to say anything that could break through to her, and stood dutifully outside the door of her side of the bedroom for an unknown amount of time after she had shut it in his face.

***

She didn’t speak, or show emotion, or allow anyone at all to touch her for three days. Only nodding or shaking her head in response to the rapid firing of questions she was asked about planning her mother’s funeral.  Harry only saw glimpses of his wife, or the shell of Y/N that she had become, usually while she shut the door to her bedroom between them.

He left his door open all day everyday.

When he awoke the morning of the funeral and found her bedroom door open, his heart jumped. He slowly walked inside to find her in a room full of black dresses. Dresses had been laid carefully over every surface for her to choose from; the dress she would wear to her mother’s funeral and her first public appearance as queen.

“Good morning,” was all he said, quiet and careful.

The person that looked back at him was someone he didn’t recognize. The light was gone from her eyes, and she wasn’t the woman he was head over heels in love with anymore. She looked like her, but emanated sadness and anxiety like nothing he had ever seen before. Dark blue bags held under her eyes from not sleeping, her hair was tied behind her head in a messy unkempt ponytail, and she was dressed in a giant and ill fitting nightgown, shoulders bent down in a fashion that made her look small. The only feature of the put together, confident, and commanding woman he was married to that remained was the bright emerald ring that sat on her ring finger.

“I can’t decide what to wear,” she said without expression, but the tears started to fall down her face before she could finish the sentence. Harry moved quickly across the room to her when he saw her knees began to shake, catching her just in time as they gave out and she fell into his arms, settling them both onto the soft carpeted ground. That was when her heaving sobs began. It was a bone rattling cry that consumed her wholly and her exhausted and hurting brain could only put together two thoughts: she missed her mom, and she didn’t want to take on all this responsibility alone.

She sobbed into his shirt, holding onto the soft and worn fabric of his t-shirt for dear life, and he held her close to his body, slowly rubbing her back and letting all of the emotion fall out of her. She cried for a long time, giving herself a pounding headache, and when the tears finally began to slow she connected her tearful ones with Harry’s ever vibrant green eyes and mumbled, “I just thought I had more time with her. And I thought we had more time to just be us.”

“I know you did, darling.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and reveled in being able to touch her again, as his heart broke a little every time she would pull away from his touch.

“I’m not ready, Harry. I can’t do this all alone. It’s too much.” She spoke softly, shaking her head from side to side, still choking back sobs as she tried to regain her composure.

“You’re not doing anything on your own. The second we were married, your problems and responsibilities became mine too,” he assured her. He moved to grab her left hand in his own and showed her the rings that sat on their hands. “Remember these?” he breathed with a light chuckle. “You’re stuck with me for life, whether you like it or not.”

He watched as she processed the realization that he was there to lighten the load. It was like a lightbulb had gone off for her, slowly nodding along with what he said. She let her eyes fall to the dresses that surrounded her, but he gently took her chin and directed her eyes back to his. “Y/N, we are a team. I am always here for you and I always will be.”

He took a deep long breath before continuing on, “I love you.”

She didn’t think when she pressed her lips to him, she just did, desperate to be close to him again. A coldness had swallowed her for days, and his words brought back the smallest feeling of warmth, a glimpse of hope she had been desperate to find.

She had known the passing of her mother was coming for years, her illness getting progressively worse over time. She had always believed it would bring more pressure, weighing down on her heavier than ever before. But looking at their rings and the man before her, she was hit by the fact that she never had to carry the weight of the country all by herself. She had Harry the whole time. He was her partner; in life and in power.

“I love you, too,” she said after breaking the kiss, salty from all her tears. She was quiet and her voice was still shaking and unsteady from her sobs, but he was there, holding her and keeping her safe.

He held her hand, slotting their fingers together as he picked them both up off the ground and helped her pick a dress. It was a black blazer dress that fell below her knees with three crystal buttons going down the left side. Harry carefully helped her into the dress, his warm and respectful hands sliding up her bare skin as he pulled it up over her shoulders. He then sat her on her bed, and began to carefully brush out her hair, doing his best to work through knots without hurting the girl who was already hurting enough. And he held one of her hands gently while she sat at her vanity and did her makeup with her free one. He refused to leave her side.

Harry stayed firmly planted by her side throughout the entire day, not daring to leave her while she needed him. He knew that photos of him holding her hand tight during the funeral would make the press, and the photos of him wiping away her tears as they left would make the front page, but he didn’t care. She might be the queen, but she was also his Y/N.

***

Their fingers were always locked together, Harry’s thumb passing back and forth over the back of her hand in the steady rhythm he always used when she was stressed. He was there whenever she needed him, gently taking hold, to remind her that he was there and they were a team.

He cradled her hand as she crushed his, gritting through the most excruciating pain she had ever experienced. It felt like her entire body was being ripped apart from the inside out, but Harry’s hand was the light at the end of the tunnel. She was screaming and crying in the small crowded room, feeling like a science experiment as all the doctors looked on at her pain.

But it all stopped when she heard the smallest little cry.

Then shouts of “It’s a girl!”

Exhausted and elated tears flowed freely from her eyes that were locked on the slimy little baby a nurse was burredly placing on her chest. She was so small, delicate and breakable, with strong lungs that screamed out to announce her entrance into the world. And when her eyes opened for the first time, they revealed the same bright sea glass green tone that matched her father, the green she had been falling in love with and swimming around in for years.

This baby was so much more than just a little girl, not only to them, but to their countries. She would forge a kingdom united in the future, a product of peace and partnership. She was a symbol of unity and a future of kindness between their countries. She was the future.

But for right now, the tiny baby was just theirs.

She felt him press a proud kiss to her head before she connected their lips together in a tear filled kiss before they both looked back to their new pride and joy who was still screaming for all the attention.

“She’s beautiful, darling,” he whispered quietly though tears next to her, hand still grasped tightly onto hers. “You did such a good job.”

“Literally couldn’t have done it without you,” she chuckled, still staring down, entranced by the little girl who looked like her daddy.

The pair stayed with their baby, quiet and just being, long after the doctors and nurses left the room. They learned she liked to scream and sleep, about as much as you could learn about someone only hours old. But she didn’t have a name. They had been debating for the last nine months over what the little princess would be called.

“I think she should be named after your mother,” Harry would say.

“But I think she should be named after your grandmother,” She would reply.

Their roundabout banter never left the pair, only changed; from malicious and teasing, to one of loving partnership.

“So neither?” he quipped with a small smirk while holding the little girl tight to his chest.

“I guess we have to compromise; diplomatically,” she said with a giggle, alluding to how they got to this position in the first place.

“I feel like a loving marriage and a new baby is pretty good for diplomatic relations.”

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! Please send feedback and reblog if you enjoyed it! 

[intheticklecloset]

Hyena Laugh (Haikyuu!!)

Primary Universe

We’re going back in time for this one! This takes place during the timeline of S1E1. You’ll see what I mean. Thanks for the cute suggestion; this prompt was really fun to work on! Lee Suga is so cute! Enjoy! ^^

~

“Hey, Suga, you good to lock up?”

No reply.

Daichi turned to where he’d last seen his friend. He was still there, leaning on a mop handle in the middle of the court, staring at nothing. Zoning out. He must be tired, Daichi thought as he approached the silver-haired setter. We did have a long day today.

Earlier that afternoon the two of them – plus Asahi, who had already gone home for the night – had traveled to watch the middle school volleyball tournament and scout out the up and coming players. Players that might be part of their team one day. The games themselves had been fairly standard; the thing that had really taken it out of the second-years was the actual driving to and from the event. They’d had to borrow Asahi’s family car for the day (hence Asahi going home earlier, as he had to return the vehicle), and being in that small space with each other for hours on end had gotten tiring.

“Suga?” Daichi tried again, gently putting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “You good?”

“Huh?” Suga turned, blinked. “Oh. Yeah, sorry, I can lock up.”

“Tired?”

“Not really.” There was a hint of something in his voice that tipped off the soon-to-be team captain. “Just thinking about the kids we saw today.”

Daichi nodded. “Definitely some talent out there.”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause.

“Anyone in particular stand out to you?”

Suga hesitated. “Well…there was that one setter, I guess. He seems like a natural. He’d be a good one to have on the team.”

“Yeah? So what’s bothering you about him?”

Sugawara didn’t even try to deny it. His shoulders slumped. “It’s just, if he – or any other setter, really – joins the team next year, I won’t get to play as much by default. And I really love playing. I’d…I’d miss it, you know?”

Daichi nodded. “Yeah, I know. I get it. But even if you weren’t on the starting lineup anymore, you’d still get to play some games before we graduate. And there will be plenty of practices, too.”

“I know.” Suga suddenly perked up a little, offering a weak smile. “Sorry. I guess it’s just really hitting me that we only have one more year after this. Then it’s over.”

“Playing volleyball never has to be over,” Daichi reminded him gently. “Just our time at Karasuno.”

“You’re right.”

“I hate to see you upset, Suga.” The future captain pushed him playfully, grinning. “Let’s see a smile before we call it a night, yeah?”

Suga offered a smile, but it wasn’t his normal, full, bright one by any stretch of the imagination.

“Nah, come on.” Daichi started poking his fingers up and down his friend’s side. “A real smile. Give it to me.”

“Hehehehey,” Suga chuckled, stepping back and using one hand to bat at the offending pokes. “Stohohohop.”

Instead, Daichi grabbed onto both of his sides and squeezed, making Suga drop the mop handle as he burst into giggles, grabbing at his friend’s wrists.

“Nohohohohoho, Daichihihihi!”

“Smile for me, Suga!” Daichi teased, keeping his grip firm but his touches gentle, making sure the silver-haired setter was constantly grinning.

“I ahahahaham!”

“Bigger!” The future captain suddenly tackled him to the floor, falling on top of him in an awkward heap before finding his belly and digging into the soft flesh with the tips of his fingers.

Sugawara shrieked, starting to let out loud, high-pitched cackles that sounded oddly familiar. It took Daichi a moment to remember where he’d heard the noise before.

“Dude,” he cried, grinning widely, “you have a hyena laugh!”

“I do nohohohohohohot!” Suga protested, his cheeks turning red from embarrassment. He squirmed helplessly on the ground. “Stohohohohohohop!”

“Do not stop? Okay!” Daichi laughed, slipping one hand under Suga’s shirt to scribble at his belly directly. Suga continued to shriek and cackle and writhe, but then he suddenly jerked and let out a loud yowl, startling the future captain enough that he stopped. “Whoa, what was that?”

“N-Nohohothing,” Suga said quickly, still giggling a little, trying to sit up and push Daichi away. “Let me up.”

“Nuh-uh. I want to hear that noise again.”

“Don’t you—nohohohohoho!” Suga immediately fell back onto the floor, his strength sapped out of him, and he dissolved into hysterical, hyena-like giggles again. “Ahahahahahahaha! Daichi, pleheheheHEEEEASE!!” For the second time he screeched, curling up on himself as much as possible, cheeks bright red at this point. “Nohoho, not thehehehere, please Daichi!”

“Not where?” Daichi asked, genuinely interested. He tugged Suga’s shirt up enough to reveal his small navel, then used a fingernail to scratch at it gently. The setter instantly broke into squeaky, desperate laughter. “Not here? Not your belly button?”

“Stohohohohohohop!” Suga pleaded. “Dohohohohon’t tihihihihickle me THEHEHEHEHERE!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!!”

Daichi grinned as he slipped his pointer finger into the cute innie and wiggled crazily, watching with great amusement as Suga fell apart beneath him, flopping around like a fish out of water. “Ha! Sensitive spot?”

“PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Suga cried, his laughter loud and pitchy and breathy and alternating between hyena cackles and squeals of mirth. “NOHOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHERE, PLEASE!! DAICHI STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

“But I finally got you smiling! It’s so cute that your belly button is your sweet spot. Such a tiny surface area, but it clearly tickles a lot, huh?”

Suga could not be more red. “STAHAHAHAHAHAP SAHAHAHAHAYING THAHAHAHAT!!”

“Saying what? That it tickles?” Daichi dug in a little more, using his free hand to scribble around the area. “That it’s a good spot? Both things are clearly true; I can’t lie to you, Suga.”

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! S-STAHAHAHAHAHAP – AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Suga gasped for air so hard he let out a snort, which only made him blush harder as Daichi burst into his own laughter and kept tickling. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE, NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!! DAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAICHIIIIIIII!!”

“That was awesome!” Daichi wheezed, straddling his friend’s thighs to keep him pinned in place. “Do it again!”

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” As requested – though not by choice – Suga snorted once more, his hysterics growing now that he couldn’t move. His hands desperately shoved at his tormentor. “GET – GEHEHEHEHEHET OHOHOHOHOHOHOUT!! GET OUT PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” Another snort. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

Daichi had never, ever seen Sugawara laugh this hard or this genuinely. He was almost in a trance, watching his friend dissolve into desperate hysterics, laughing so hard his cheeks and ears turned pink, his eyes scrunched up, and he lost all sense of control as the tickling wracked his nervous system. It was incredible.

“Your belly button is super ticklish!” The future captain laughed along with his friend, thoroughly amused and warmed to the heart at the same time.

“S-STAHAHAHAHAHAP SAHAHAHAHAYING--*snort*--THAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAT WOHOHOHOHOHOHORD!! DAHAHAHAICHI, PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!! *snort* PLEASE STAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!”

Daichi was genuinely confused. “What word?” He finally showed a little mercy and removed his finger from Suga’s navel, merely scratching at his belly instead as he contemplated. As Suga gratefully gasped for breath, Daichi smirked. “Ticklish? You don’t like hearing the word ticklish?”

“N-Nohohohohot thahahahat,” Suga wheezed, still giggling, though seeming to have lost the energy to fight back at this point. “T-The other wohohohohord.”

“What other word? Belly button?” Color flooded Suga’s cheeks, and Daichi couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “You get flustered hearing the word belly button?”

“Stop,” Suga whined, covering his face with his hands. “Plehehease, you’re mahahaking it worse.”

“Aww, but why should I stop?” The future captain started swirling his finger around the tiny opening teasingly. “You can’t tell me you’re not having fun, Suga.”

The setter was clearly desperate already, giggling crazily and trying to cover his sweet spot, but Daichi kept pushing his hands out of the way. “I – I am, b-but…but please, Daichi, it really, really tickles there!”

Daichi smirked, slipped his finger inside again, and wiggled. Suga shrieked. “I can tell.”

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Sugawara pleaded, shaking his head and digging his heels in so hard his sneakers squeaked against the gym floor, trying to shove Daichi away from him but – failing that – beginning to slap the ground instead. “DAHAHAHAHAHAHAICHI YOU’RE KIHIHIHIHIHIHILLING MEHEHEHEHEHE!!”

Daichi laughed, but finally removed his hands from Suga’s poor belly entirely and climbed off of him. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop.”

“M-Mohohonster,” Suga wheezed, rolling onto his side and curling up protectively, smile so wide it took up his whole face. “Y-You’re a…a monster! That was the worst!”

“Was it really?” Daichi asked, only half teasing now. For a split second he wondered if he’d honestly taken it too far, despite how big Sugawara was grinning. “Was it too much?”

“Yes,” Suga replied, still breathless, still beaming. “But you were right. It was kind of fun, too.”

“I, uh…didn’t mean to get so carried away,” Daichi offered, blushing a little himself, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just, you reacted so well I kind of got addicted to it. Sorry.”

Suga finally mustered the strength to push himself up into a sitting position with a groan. “It’s all right. I’m not mad. Just – look, now that you know my weakness, you gotta use it against me sparingly, okay? I would say not at all, but…”

“But it was fun?”

“Yeah.”

“I promise I’ll only use your weakness against you when the situation is dire.” The future captain held up one hand and crossed his heart with the other. “Like, you know, when you bomb a math test or something.”

“What? That’s not a dire situation.”

“It is to me.”

Suga laughed again. His normal, everyday laugh. Evidently the other one was reserved only for when he was being tickled.

Daichi grinned. “Or, you know, when I need a reminder on what a hyena sounds like.”

“I do not sound like a hyena!”

“You really do.”

“I do not!”

“I mean, I can prove it again, if you want.”

“No!” Suga shoved him, smirking. “You’re so mean.”

“Yet you hang out with me anyway.”

“Some team captain you’re going to be.”

“I happen to think I’ll do great, Tickle Me Elmo.”

“Oh my god, do not start calling me that.”

“You have a better name?”

“My own name is fine, thank you.”

Daichi chuckled, leaning back on his hands, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. “So, I take it you’re not bothered by that setter anymore.”

Suga looked at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “What setter?”

Daichi laughed.

[honeytae]

Stop running from love.

hey bubs! honestly..i don’t know what this is lol it kind of got away from me. but it’s loosely based off of safety net by ariana grande. which is like one of my favorite songs in existence. i hope you guys like this angsty little piece of nothing?? lmao

tags: @ahgasearmyfan, @hoseokayy, @jjlovr2015 genre: angst, fluff? word count: 2.2k

if you would like to listen, here it is:

You were doing it again.

Sabotaging yourself. Running away. Ghosting a man who had only ever shown you the utmost care and respect.

He’d already called multiple times today, frantic texts showing that he was now beyond worried at the way you’d seemingly dropped off the face of the earth. 

You couldn’t blame him. You’d been exclusively dating for three months. Three beautiful and happy months alongside a great guy whose smile brightened every room he graced with his precious presence. Three months that you’d been able to not go into a panic about that very concept.

Until you fell.

The last time you’d seen Jimin was last week when he’d met with you after work for a quick bite to eat.

It was the same place you always went to; you didn’t even have to ask where you were meeting anymore, already on your way to the booth in the back corner with a stupid grin on your face.

The checker floored diner had become a regular spot for you two to stop at, as it was in the middle of the city and perfectly placed between both of your jobs.

That quick bite to eat had easily turned into a full dinner, along with a dessert that’s whipped cream ended up on the tip of his nose in an instant, your giggles causing him to grin wider as he played dumb.

It was simple, not extravagant or fancy by any means, but that was never needed with him. You always had so much fun with Jimin. He was gentle, sweet, caring. All the right things. 

And it was when he was walking you back up to your apartment, his hand gripping yours in a way that was soft yet secure, sparkling eyes pressing into crescents when he smiled over at you that you came to a stunning realization; you were falling in love with him. 

With a panicked last press of your lips to his cheek, you’d closed your door, leaning back against it as you stared ahead of you, absolutely paralyzed in the silence of your apartment.

You could not be in love. What even is love? Heartbreak, that’s what it is. One way or another, it will always end. You needed to pull back before you got too invested. But, fuck, was it too late?

Erupting into hysterics as you came to terms with what had to be done to protect both yourself and Jimin, you slid your back down the wood, placing your forehead on your knees as you curled up into yourself. 

Since then, you’d made it your mission to put him off, every text going unanswered and each call going to voicemail. 

And now here you were in your bed in the early hours of the afternoon, shades drawn to encase the room in pitch black. It matched your mood, frustrated and angry with yourself as you cried into your pillow. 

You hated yourself for doing this to him. Shutting him out with no explanation; he deserves more than you. In the end, this was to his benefit. He’d go on to find someone worthy of his companionship, someone who didn’t want to disappear at the concept of love. 

Someone with less baggage to drag along with them, someone who had a healthy idea of relationships and wasn’t shattered at their core. 

While it was painful to ignore him without giving a reason, you knew he’d give up on you eventually. Everyone always did, and it was just for the best. 

You hiccuped another sob as your phone buzzed on the table yet again, grabbing the pillow from beside you to sandwich your head between the mattress and the fluffy material, effectively muffling the noise of the vibration as you screwed your sore eyes shut. 

“Love?”

You froze at the sudden unmistakable sound of Jimin’s voice calling for you, head spinning as you shut your eyes tighter. 

Were you imagining Jimin’s voice beside you? Were you that far gone?

You were proven wrong when the blanket was pulled off of your body, cold air hitting the bare skin of your arms as the pillow was removed from atop your head. 

You gasped at the sudden exposure, prying your eyes open to look up at none other than Jimin, the hurt and worried look on his face immediately causing you to sob again. 

“Shit, baby, come here.” He rushed to sit down beside you, you easily crawling onto his lap as he wrapped his arms around your back, palm smoothing up and down your spine as he slowly rocked you back and forth. 

You sat there silently, letting yourself be comforted by him. For some reason, Jimin was harder to push away than the others. His arms felt so nice around you, like home. 

But this had to be done. You wanted him to stay like this in your memory, his image remaining undamaged by any painful breakup. 

“Jimin, I-I can’t see you anymore. We can’t be together.” You forced out, heart twisting in agony at the silence ensuing after your words, Jimin shifting you up his lap to look at you. 

“What do you mean?” He asked in disbelief, eyebrows knitting together as his eyes widened, you shaking your head instead of giving him a verbal answer due to the growing lump in your throat at his undeniably heartbroken expression. 

“We just can’t, Jimin.” You said lamely, your tight grip on his arm contradicting your words as his mouth gaped open at you. 

“Wh- what’s wrong? What did I do?” He asked desperately, causing you to sob harder at him blaming himself for this. 

“It’s not you, Jimin. You’re amazing, you deserve a better person.” You sniffled, Jimin immediately pulling a face of further confusion as he shook his head to dismiss your words. 

“A better- what are you talking about?” He asked, chasing your eyes as you chose to divert them to stare at the blank wall in front of you. 

“You deserve someone amazing just like you, Jimin.” You mumbled, the man sitting there in silence before he shifted off of the bed, making you think you’d finally pushed him away. 

The feeling of his weight being removed from the bed both pained and relieved you, happy for him to be able to move on now, but sad at that same idea. 

But you were taken by surprise when Jimin kneeled on the floor in front of you, forcing you to look at him as he reached up to hold your chin, eyes imploring yours to be more upfront with him. 

“You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. What are you talking about?” He repeated his question, silence lingering in the air at the words as you sat anxiously plucking the sheets below you with your fingers. 

“Baby.” He called for you, his hurt tone causing your nose to scrunch up with more tears, his thumbs catching the salty water as his expression became more pained by the second. 

“Let me in. Please, just let me in.” He pleaded with you, voice soft yet firm as he watched you break down in front of him, heart pounding in his chest at the mere thought of losing you from his life because of whatever insecurities you were not telling him about. 

“I’m fucking broken, Jimin. You don’t want to be let in, believe me.” You said, voice weak and wavering from the emotions bubbling up in your throat, shaky from the nights of no sleep you'd gotten in the last week. 

“Yes, I do. I’d accept all of you if you just gave me a chance.” He gripped your hands with his, intertwining your fingers to give a reassuring squeeze.

Staring at him, you did not know what to say. Nobody had ever pushed back on your walls like this. They accepted it, moved on, and lived a better life without you in it. You just wished Jimin would do the same.

But he was fighting you on it. Fighting you on something you didn’t even want to do in the first place. 

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And that fucking terrifies me.” You explained shakily, concentrating on the feeling of Jimin’s palm running up and down your arm. 

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, either. It’s new, of course it’s scary. But I care about you, I want you, I miss you. I don’t want you to shut me out.” He said softly, his honeyed voice soothing you enough to make eye contact with his gentle brown orbs. 

It was silent as you stared at each other, fear in his eyes and the same reflecting in your own. Studying his features, your heart twisted at his uncharacteristically dark circles, realizing he was probably running on the same amount of sleep you were at the moment. 

“I don’t know where to go from here.” You sniffled, Jimin tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as his glassy eyes stared back at you. 

Feeling confident enough to stand from the floor and sit beside you on the bed, he let you guide him up against the headboard, resting your backs on it as you let out a sigh.

“Stop pushing me away. Stop running from love.” He responded, his words sounding so genuine that you nearly burst out into tears again. 

Instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, placing your temple on his shoulder as his arms encircled your torso. 

“I want to be with you.” You admitted in a hoarse whisper, head throbbing as you rested your weight on Jimin, body giving out in exhaustion as he held you to him, delicate as if you’d break. Hell, maybe you would. 

“Me too.” He said without missing a beat, eagerness evident in his tone as you let your aching eyes fall shut. 

“I just don’t know how.” You sighed, the man humming in response as he threaded his fingers through your hair, rubbing your scalp soothingly as he pressed a tender kiss to the top of your head. 

“We can figure it out together, okay? I don’t want to throw in the towel. Not without at least a little bit of a fight.” He joked, the heavy mood in the room being lightened a bit at the sound of your exhaled laugh. 

You lifted your head to look at him, opening your eyes to meet his own in the dark room, barely able to make out his features as the sun must have gone in behind the clouds outside your bedroom.

“I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into, Jimin. I’m a mess. If you want to run, go now.” You spoke seriously, one corner of the man’s lips lifting as he bit down on his cheek, a habit you’d picked up early on as behavior he exhibited when he was hesitant to say something. 

“Listen, I’m a mess too. This is nothing.” He reassured you, your eyes studying his features as he seemed to express a vulnerability you hadn’t seen before with him. 

“Trying to break up with you because of my own baggage and insecurities? That’s nothing?” You asked with a humorless chuckle, causing the man to reach out for your hand, sighing out a breath of relief when you let him lock his fingers around yours again.

“Well, I guess that in itself is something.” He shrugged, shuffling to hover over you as your red eyes met his. 

“But I will always fight for you. You’re worth fighting for.” He said firmly, your eyes becoming glassed over again before you picked your head up off the pillow to catch his lips in a kiss, your palms sliding to the back of his neck as his plush lips worked over yours. 

Sensing your emotions, he pulled back only slightly to press his lips over your closed eyelids, the tender action causing your frown to deepen as you gazed up at the sweet man. 

“I’m not going to leave you. Whatever’s been done to you in the past, I’m not a repeat of that. I would never do anything to hurt you, I promise.” He said softly, his words seemingly making your heart alive again as it began to pound rapidly in your chest. 

And with that, you threw caution to the wind. Even if he broke your heart, you couldn’t stop that from cutting your experience with him shorter than it had to be. 

Because Jimin was the softest, sweetest, most lovable man you’d ever met. He showed time and time again that he cared about you, that he wasn’t like the others. And to give him up just because of some bad past experiences was just not worth it. 

“I trust you.” You whispered, almost scared to let the words fall from your lips, but relieved when you saw the wide smile on Jimin’s face. 

“I trust you, too.” He said softly, tracing his finger over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you again, laying down beside you to spoon your body with his, pressing his lips against your shoulder in a soothing action. 

Laying in his arms, you felt more at peace than you’d felt in days. Being back in his embrace, you felt like you could breathe again, easily falling into much needed sleep with his warmth pressed to your back, his arms looped around your body as he pressed tender kisses to the shell of your ear. 

Jimin was your home. And it felt so good to be home. 

[caffeinated-cryptid]

patton and the no-good day

5.9k words | AO3 link | warnings: angst, alcohol, swearing, arguing, lashing out, minor injury, crying, fire, repetition.

“Patton wants to know what it’s like to make the right choices, so he tries...And tries. And tries and tries andtriesandtries-

(aka: a time loop fic where patton manages to revisit the day of svs, this time with the goal of making everyone happy. he quickly discovers that he's bitten off more than he can chew.)”

________________________________

Patton was unhappy. And he was unhappy because everyone else was unhappy. After the wedding, he had become so intimately aware of every mistake he had made. From Logan’s quiet dismissal when he tried to talk to him, to Virgil’s obvious avoidance of everyone, to Roman’s complete shutdown.

The only sides he could assume weren’t mad at him at the moment were Janus and Remus. And Remus was only a maybe, just based on how excited he’d been to hear that he had turned into a giant muscular frog alone.

Patton could only grimace upon recalling his breakdown. It was supposed to be the turning point for him, an indication of ‘Hey, I've come to realize that I’m deeply flawed but now I’m able to start fixing things!’. But of course, it didn’t turn out like that. Every day that passed only grew harder and harder with his mistakes staring him in the face. He was tired of waking up, dreading the insurmountable process of trying to make things right and failing, only to fall asleep and try again the next day.

It was like he was trapped in a loop of identical days, each one as ineffective as the last.

Patton could barely imagine the end of this tunnel, until one morning, he woke up and for once everything felt... different.

He ignored the feeling at first as got ready as usual, heading out towards the kitchen with the expectation of seeing empty chairs at empty tables once more. Except when he walked in this time, preparing to make a breakfast no one would eat, everyone was there already seated. It was just like how everything was before-- Janus and Remus were absent, but Logan, Virgil, Roman...all of the sides he considered his best friends were there, all togeher in one place for the first time in weeks.

He burst into tears on the spot and they collectively startled, immediately questioning what was wrong. It took a few minutes to convince them all that he was fine, that he just got emotional seeing them all because he loved them so much (which wasn't even a lie!), and in the end they accepted his explanation because sometimes that was just what Patton was like. As he sat down and tried to act as normal as possible, he couldn't help but stare at all of them, so carefree as they chatted and poked fun at each other. There wasn't a single furrowed brow, or a hidden frown, or a look of hurt. It was unfortunately because of that that he knew his gut feeling was right; there was something strange going on here.

Throughout the morning, Patton couldn’t put his finger on what was so familiar about this day until he felt a certain series of events occur: Thomas gets a call. He picks up the phone and talks with the casting agent for a famous director. He’s told that he got the callback for his audition and he’s terribly excited, so excited that his sides come out to celebrate with him and-

Oh. Oh! That was his cue, wasn’t it? Patton bit back a frown, rising up to share their excitement and then to remind them about the wedding that was scheduled for the same day. It was hauntingly familiar, seeing the way Thomas and Roman became dejected and knowing that this was only the start of an uphill battle.

And then Fauxgan came in- or rather Janus, disguised as Logan- and when Patton saw his new snakey friend, his chest swelled with excitement. This was his opportunity to change things! He knew that in the current script, Janus would soon reveal himself and begin pushing back against what Patton had said. So when that happened this time, he could simply agree and make it seem like he had been convinced to change his mind. That way, they could reach a different solution and everyone would be happy.  Simple!

Patton watched and waited patiently as the others made comments back and forth; Virgil and Janus snarking each other as Janus made his case to be listened to.

“That...can not be where the bar is!” Virgil protested in disbelief once Thomas agreed to hear him out, based on his vague 'the enemy of my enemy is a friend' ideal.

“Well, the bar for skipping an important opportunity should be higher than a...social engagement.” Janus replied distastefully.

This was where he originally jumped in to disagree. Patton saw Roman grow shifty out of the corner of his eye and knew: this was it!

“Maybe Janus is right! This is a huge opportunity. We should try to figure out a way to make both events if we can, but this means a lot for Thomas so we shouldn’t just skip it.“ Patton said confidently, even though the argument felt strange coming out of his mouth. At least he knew this time around he was making the right choice by backing down.

But the others only looked at him strangely, with varying degrees of confusion across their faces.

“Who’s Janice-”

“You’re agreeing with  him?! I knew you were acting weird-”

“How do you know my name-”

Patton’s eyes widened, realizing his subconscious mistake. He had gotten so used to referring to Deceit as Janus over the weeks that they’d been friends that his name just automatically slipped out. It was too late to take it back; the conversation was quickly derailed, with too many accusations coming out at once to even try geting back into the dilemma. At one point Janus wondered aloud if Remus had somehow gotten out and taken the form of Patton, which only raised more questions and ended with a sword pointed at his throat.

It was a disaster. They make the last-minute decision to go to the wedding out of spite for Janus and Patton.

________________________________

The next morning, Patton woke up with a start, looking around his room to find that it was exactly the way he had left it the day prior. Normally this wouldn’t be such a cause for alarm, but today it was because Patton was certain he had thrown a few things last night in childish frustration at himself for messing things up. Only soft items, because he couldn’t bear to accidentally destroy anything in his sentiment-filled room, but the fact remained that seeing his pillows lined up at the end of his bed again was a strange sign, one that had him suspicious about how this day was going to go.

To test his theory, he went down to the kitchen without bothering to change out of his pajamas, only to see the other three sides already sitting there in the exact same places as yesterday. He paused in the doorway, waiting for them to show recognition of the day prior-- for some kind of hostility or accusation. The only thing he received were snickers.

“Nice PJs, Pat.” Virgil smirked over his bowl of cereal before going back to scrolling on his phone.

Patton’s mind slowly processed this. It was as if the day had reset, back to the world he had woken up to yesterday. He sunk down into the last remaining chair and forced himself to make a joke about ‘having a PB&J sandwich to match this PJ day’, despite Logan’s protests that he would not be sharing the last jar of crofters (He always said this to deter them from eating his jam, but it was always a lie and he'd always let them have some in the end. Patton didn’t realize how much he missed that habit of his until he almost started crying again over Logan passing him the jam jar).

After a perfectly normal breakfast, he quickly returned back to his room to change and prepare for what was ahead of him. Now that he knew the day was definitely repeating and could recognise where he went wrong yesterday, he just needed to ensure he didn’t make such a silly mistake right off the bat again.

He went through the motions: Thomas getting a phone call, him reminding them of the wedding, and then the beginnings of debate.

“I agree with Deceit.” He said this time, smiling as he remembered to not use Janus’ name.

Despite his conscious effort, it doesn’t go over much better. Janus was surprised and suspicious of Patton’s sudden change of heart and Virgil immediately got on the defense. Once again, the argument quickly escalated.

“Why would you side with him?! He’s one of the others! You can’t trust him!” Virgil cried, hands tugging on his hoodie strings as he desperately tried to convince them. It was currently three against one. He must have felt cornered, having no one on his side, Patton realized belatedly.

“And how are you so sure of that?” Patton still responded back, feeling offended on behalf of his friend. He had promised himself he wouldn’t make things worse this time, but seeing Virgil get so angry at him hit a sore spot. As long as he was right about his theory, this day was already ruined the moment he sided with Janus, anyway.

“Because I was one of them!” Virgil yelled, and his expression quickly changed from frustrated to devastated to frightened. And then he sunk out, giving no one the chance to stop him.

The remaining sides stood in silence before Janus broke into hysterical laughter. Patton could hear it echo in his mind as the day reset for the third time.

________________________________

The next time, he didn’t bring up the wedding at all.

Patton didn’t want to kid himself; he was scared from seeing Virgil sink out so suddenly. After having Virgil’s anger directed at him twice and seeing him leave upset once, he figured that meant that outright siding with Janus was a risky thing to do if he wanted to make sure everyone was happy by the end of this.

So instead of trying to change his stance, he simply removed the confusing aspect out of the equation altogether and made sure no one remembered it or brought it up. This way for sure, he thought, everything would go a lot smoother.

...He was wrong.

Weeks passed after the phone call and everything was peaceful-- Patton didn’t experience any resets and he took this as a good sign, enjoying the time with his family which he had dearly been missing out on. The sides were excited for the opportunity, which only grew when the callback came and went and they aced it. It was like Patton had finally achieved the dream scenario, until one day later when Thomas summoned them with a horrified look on his face.

“I skipped Lee and Mary Lee’s wedding when I went to the callback.” Was all he said.

“...Huh? How is that possible?” Virgil asked, simultaneously looking like he was going to faint and/or run away. “That couldn’t have been yesterday, could it? I mean, the odds of that…”

“It was. However…” Logan spoke up, and everyone watched as he summoned his calendar, wearing baffled expressions when he pointed to yesterday’s date-- revealing that the wedding had never been written down at all. Thomas had somehow pushed it completely out of his mind.

“But...it was for a big opportunity! Surely they’ll understand if you explain why you had to miss the wedding.” Roman argued, glancing around at the panicking sides.

“That’s the thing, they’re upset that I didn’t tell them about it beforehand and they think I blew them off on purpose. Now all of our mutual friends think I only care about myself.” Thomas stressfully looked down at his phone as he got another text message- and not a very kindly-worded one at that. “I don’t know what to do to fix this!”

Patton paled. Surely that couldn’t be right. Could things really have gotten this bad, just because he hadn’t reminded them of the wedding?

“It looks like Thomas has become a social pariah.” A smooth voice cut in. “And I’m sure you all know who’s to blame.”

No-

________________________________

The next time, Patton woke up in tears, unable to get the image of Janus turning against him out of his mind.

This time he doesn’t try to avoid the debate. Debates were crucial; they were how they got through most of their problems! In retrospect it was silly to try and skip that part of the day altogether, but at least now he had a clearer idea of what to try next. The issue from the last attempt was that Lee and Mary Lee weren’t spoken to, so this time he’d back Roman up when he suggested communication.

When they were next able to arrange a meeting to talk, Thomas explained the situation to the couple; how he had gotten a last-minute once in a lifetime offer. They were excited for him and encouraged him to take the opportunity, but Patton saw it in their eyes, how they gave Thomas sad smiles and looked at each other with disappointment.

He panicked, and Thomas changed his tune, pretending to check his phone and coming to the ‘realization’ that he got the time wrong, that he could go after all.

Lee and Mary Lee were thrilled.

But the others hated him for it.

________________________________

The next time for sure, he thought he’d get the courage to do it right.

They talked to Lee and Mary Lee. Thomas explains the situation, and this time Patton doesn’t make him change his mind. They’re disappointed, but despite knowing this deep down Thomas stays firm and decides to go to callback anyway.

During the lead-up to the 13th of April, Roman keeps looking to him for guidance, asking if this was really alright. Patton tries to assure him, but even he doesn’t know. He feels like everything he’s doing is putting them on the right track, but after thinking he was doing the right thing and being wrong several times, he isn’t able to say for certain that they were making a good choice. Especially not with the unknown variable of Lee and Mary Lee's disappointment thrown into the mix.

Eventually Roman learns to stop coming to him with his fears, and when it comes to the callback he chokes during the performance. Thomas messes up and someone else gets the role.

They don’t get to go to the wedding or win the callback.

Roman ducks out the same day and Remus takes his place.

________________________________

The next time, Patton was overly aware of his lack of certainty. He hadn’t realized how close Roman had been to falling over the edge, so during his next attempt he can't help but keep it fresh in his mind.

Throughout the debate he makes sure to agree with the creative side. He didn’t oppose any of his arguments or call him out where he originally thought he was being selfish; he’s as kind and gentle as can be, haunted by what had happened one cycle ago.

It makes Janus upset. He knows Patton’s true stance and can’t understand why he’s silencing his voice so much for one side alone. He ends up pointing out how Patton is being underhanded by trying to use flattery to get things to go his way and then mentions how that must be how he's managed to keep everyone under his thumb for so long. Patton sees red.

It’s nice to get his steadily building frustration out. Perhaps Janus is an undeserving target of his anger, but the criticism just hit too close to home for him to accept lying down. He didn't want to be a manipulative person. He had been trying so hard to let others have their voices be heard and not seize control the narrative too much, but in the end wasn't that what he was doing now? Trying to manipulate everything, even if his motives were good? The realization had blood pumping in his ears, drowning out everything but his own voice.

Everyone becomes tense when he starts yelling and Janus only stares in shock, confused and oddly enough, hurt to be the focus of the usually happy pappy's wrath. Patton yells until his throat is hoarse, and then some more because he knows he can't damage his vocal chords here. He does it for Logan, who had been pushed aside almost every time they've done this. For Virgil, who had so many doubts and fears and was too afraid to share them until they become too much. For Roman, who was the most likely to get crushed whatever they did. For Janus, who was just trying to get a seat at the table. For Remus, who potentially never would.

For himself, who just couldn't get this right.

When he's done the room is so silent that they would have been able to hear a pin drop and he feels a weight off his chest. He's made his point, loud and clear.

Even though the others have no idea what he’s talking about.

________________________________

The next time, Patton wakes up feeling guilty for losing his temper, despite how cathartic it had been to let loose a little bit. He can’t look the others in the eye when he goes to breakfast, and instead spends the whole time in his head, trying to figure out what to try next.

This time he decides to soften his voice. He already knows it’s a mistake based on prior experience, but he doesn’t know what else to do-- doesn’t have the time to consider any other approach to take before Thomas is getting that phone call once again.

Throughout the debate, his statements fall short. He lacks conviction. He subtly tries to side with Janus and Roman, but not to the extent where it makes Virgil upset, and it only makes him look flakey. He’s flimsy; uncertain, and everyone can tell. He can practically feel Logan’s desperation to take his place from the back row.

In the end, Thomas is convinced that he’s a completely horrible and selfish person due to Patton’s lack of assertion otherwise and avoids both events out of a self-induced spiral of guilt and anxiety.

________________________________

The next time Patton is too firm. He keeps assuring Thomas that he’s not a bad person, and realizes too late that he fell back into his old habits.

Roman sentences them to the wedding again.

Patton summons a pillow to scream into in frustration.

________________________________

By the 50th loop, Patton had more or less given up. He starts the day by rolling out of bed and popping open the cork of a wine bottle right into his face. It’s in the moment he starts feeling a black eye form that he makes the formal decision: fuck it.

He skips breakfast to sip wine through a silly straw (because casual alcoholism doesn’t count when you make it fun. Or when you’re stuck in a figurative nightmare), and he changes into the most ‘dad on vacation’ clothes he owned; a gaudy hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. He forgoes shoes because decidedly this isn’t a shoes kind of day, and after 50 god-forsaken attempts at trying to get this right, he thinks he’s earned a little self-indulgence.

When the time rolls around to start the video, he belatedly rises up in the living room tispy and wearing his old 2015 new years novelty sunglasses. The others are immediately taken aback at his appearance while Thomas grimaces.

“Ah… So that’s why I’ve been thinking about cursing people out all day.”

“You should. It’d be funny.” Patton giggles.

“...Okay.” Virgil states, likely finding his behaviour too familiar for comfort. “What the fuck."

Janus doesn’t join them this time around; instead the real Logan shows up because suddenly everything had switched courses into a completely different problem. The four of them try to figure out what’s wrong with Patton, and he refuses to cooperate the entire time, just for the heck of it. Eventually he grows bored of watching them fuss and squabble, so he starts saying the first things to come to mind, the deepest opinions that were buried under all of his repression-- things he wouldn’t dare say if he were sober and free from this hell.

“I hate all of you sometimes.” He announces over their discussion without guilt, too far gone to care how hurt the faces that looked back at him were. He knew it wasn’t real anyway, at least it wouldn’t be when the next loop started.

“I hate how I can apologize forever and it’s still not enough. I hate how I have to accept the mistakes made against me, but you all get to sulk for weeks and not even let me try to make things right. When all I’ve ever wanted is to make you happy.”

“Patton-” Logan begins hesitantly. He looks like he wants to contradict him and Patton doesn't care for it.

“Stupid of me, right Logan?” He cuts him off with a laugh, dry and completely unlike himself. Logan closes his mouth, regret flashing across his face, and it just felt so good in that moment to be the bitter one for once. He’s never done it before; always having to take the high road while everyone else chose to be petty and self-absorbed in their own egos. No fault to them for that; he felt pretty amazing right now, going against the moral code he had built and adhered to for so long. It felt forbidden and like the sort of thing he’d regret later. (And heck, with all the mistakes he’d been accidentally making, perhaps doing something wrong on purpose was like taking that power back.)

“I’m doing all of this- going through this day again and again- for what?” He continues, glaring at them individually. “I’m doing my best here- just to make everything alright again, and- fuck.”

Patton ignores the shocked expression he gets when he swears. He’s getting too close to feeling bad again, so he summons another bottle of wine. He learns from his mistake and points it away from himself this time, and the cork doesn’t hit him in the face; instead it smashes into the tv screen. Roman and Virgil yelp. Thomas stares.

“...Patton, what are you talking about?” Thomas asks.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter.” Patton giggles again after taking a long swig, sliding back against the blinds until he's on the floor. Away from the cameras, at last. “None of you will remember this anyway.”

And they don’t. (They never do)

________________________________

The next time, he wakes up without a black eye or a hangover and considers not leaving his bed today. He does anyway, just to make sure he hadn’t done something irreversible and ruined everything for real this time.

He goes to the kitchen to find everyone sitting like they always do, in the exact same positions at the exact same time with the exact same food, without fail. They acknowledge him the same way they always do as he enters the room and he can’t help but grind his teeth when it feels like mocking. So he walks over to the cupboard and starts pulling out plates to smash against the ground.

They’re surprised, worried, taken aback, and as he stands in a sea of broken china he doesn’t care about what they have to think about him. He already knows nothing he does right now will have later consequences, even if it means cutting up his feet like an idiot.

He’ll just have to do better next time.

________________________________

He doesn’t do better. Instead, he gives into the urge to stay in bed all day. No one comes for him and the discussion happens without him, which he knows because he resists the summons to go testify.

Maybe Logan got to be the lawyer this time. That’d be nice, he supposes. ________________________________

The next time he sets fire to his room, just to see what it would feel like to see everything he cares for burn.

(It doesn't feel much like anything, because he already knows it'll be back the next day. He hates it in unspeakable amounts when he's proven right.)

________________________________

The next, he goes over to the other half of the mindscape and steals Janus’ hat, feeling a bit more carefree as the side pursues him around the mindscape and the rest of the day is derailed.

________________________________

The next, he tries to make a cake to celebrate the callback and accidentally burns it. He feels like there's some sort of cosmic irony there.

________________________________

The next, he does nothing but make puns until the others cry in frustration.

________________________________

Next, he goes to the other half of the mindscape again and hangs out with Remus all day, just to check up on him after not seeing him since he took Roman’s place that one time.

Remus tries to attack him several times but Patton is past the point of being afraid of him. At one point he catches the shuriken Remus throws at his head and he finally manages to earn his favour.

They end up having a good time, talking until everything resets again.

________________________________

Next, he kisses everyone on the cheek and apologizes for getting drunk and being mean to them.

(Despite them being reseted versions of themselves and therefore not remembering any of it. He still does it anyway and it still makes him feel slightly better afterwards).

________________________________

Next, he finds the energy to make a genuine effort once again.

This time Logan ducks out. Patton spends the next few loops in mourning.

________________________________

By around the 75th loop, he’s finally had enough. There’s no more fun to be had messing around with these constantly-reseting sides, and he’s so so tired of trying to keep the peace and failing. Nothing he does was working-- in fact it seemed like he was just making things worse based on the amount of times one of the sides had broken down in front of them or tried to duck out or left with undealt with emotions. (There were so many things he had seen that would stick with him for a while, wondering just how close they were to having something similar happen in reality. He couldn't even rest anymore, kept awake by the questions.)

If he were a different side, one more accustomed to problem solving, perhaps he would’ve had a solution by now, but he just doesn’t. It's not how he was meant to operate. So instead of trying to figure it out, he goes to Virgil’s room after breakfast and starts blubbering in front of him until he’s led onto his bed where he's awkwardly consoled.

Virgil, without even knowing why he’s upset, places a comforting hand on his back anyway which sends Patton into even greater sobs. It had been so long since he'd let someone hug him or show him affection- so upset with himself for his failings that he stopped believing that he deserved any of it. This time he just lets it happen because he needs some comfort and if he doesn't get it he doesn't know how he'll be able to continue forward.

The two of them end up moving to a more neutral part of the mindscape as to not make his feelings worse, and he allows himself to indulge in just being held. He's aware of exactly how long they have until the start of the debate, so he milks his time with Virgil for all he's got, until eventually his crying evens out into sniffles, leaving him with tired eyes and a runny nose.

He knows Virgil wants to ask what’s wrong, but he breaks the silence first when he finally manages to calm down.

“Do you know how to get out of a loop?”

He can’t see Virgil’s face from where they’re hugging, but he can tell that he’s at odds with the question.

“You’re asking me, the MVP of spiralling, how to get out of a loop?” Virgil asked unbelievingly.

“Yeah, you’re right- It was stupid.” Patton begins, pulling away before Virgil stops him.

“I didn’t say that.” He says quickly, worriedly. Then he goes quiet in deliberate thought. “...You have to rely on the people around you to get out of it, I guess.”

When Patton makes a questioning noise, he continues.

“I mean… Sometimes it’s all you can do, y’know? You’re always gonna be biased when you’re living in your own head, and if you’re struggling to get through something yourself... the best thing to do is ask for help. Get a different viewpoint.”

"Sounds scary." Patton laughs wetly. Virgil joins him, sounding relieved.

"Yeah. It's definitely not as easy as it sounds. Being vunerable and reaching out to people, that is."

"...How do you manage?"

"Well..." Virgil pulls back a little. "I don't always. But you just have to trust that it'll be worth it in the end. And it usually is."

After a moment of thinking that over, Patton draws back fully and stares at him. Virgil meets his eyes with barely-veiled worry as he continues. “So… If you’re dealing with something, you can always tell us. You should know by now that you don't have to deal with everything alone, popstar.”

Patton can't meet his gaze any longer when his eyes heat up once more. "...I just want to be there for all of you," He finally admits in a small voice. "It's my one goal, and I feel like I only let you down. I can't expect you to carry my problems with you, on top of that."

Virgil's frown deepens. "It's not us carrying a burden for you, Pat. It's sharing the load equally so you don't fall under the pressure." His hand found Patton's back again, rubbing small circles. "If you feel like you have to be the one to fix everything all the time, then maybe we failed you as friends."

Once again, the dam broke, and Patton sincerely did not know what to say to that. Virgil pulled him back to his side, letting Patton rest his head on his shoulder as he let out his second round of tears for the day. They were spending too much time talking about his issues, he realized as the video started once more, but Virgil didn't make any move to leave his side, and for the nth time that day, he was incredibly greatful to him.

Something about their conversation clicked in his brain, and it was like he knew exactly what he needed to do. When he was finally ready to let go of this day, he gave Virgil one last hug and thanked him for his advice. He then sunk out back to his room and fell into bed, waiting for the cycle to start over again.

Perhaps he had known all along what he would have to do to end this, and Virgil had given him the final shove.

Either way, he so was ready for it to be over.

________________________________

On the final loop, Patton decided to follow Virgil’s advice.

He goes back to acting as normal-- eating breakfast, getting the call, rising up, reminding them about the wedding-- and this time he doesn’t do anything especially different.

Unlike his previous attempts where he tried to change his tune, tried to see through every possibility, tried to stop arguments before they started; he instead tries to do everything the same way the original debate had gone, to be the best of his memory.

He didn’t falter when he said things he now knew to be insensitive, he didn’t hold back on disagreeing with the others, or insert himself into problems that weren’t his to help with yet. He watched as the cracks formed between each side, watched the gavel swing down, watched every other side sink out after shooing Janus away.

And he knew it would be just fine.

He looked into Thomas’ eyes and felt nothing but pride. Just like the real thing, this one looked uncertain, but was briefly relieved by the conclusion they came to, putting his trust in Patton as he reassured him in his decision. He knew that by choosing this route he was accepting the heartbreak that would come later, but he accepted that. He understood now that hiding in fantasies of getting everything perfect was counterproductive and unrealistic. He knew it was time to go back.

As he sunk out to his room for the final time, he realized that if this exercise taught him anything, it was that above making the right choices, above having the right things to say to fix everyone’s problems, all he needed, all along…

Was patience.

________________________________

Patton opened his eyes to the sight of dim spotlights overhead. With a loud dad grunt he was glad no one else was around to hear, he rolled over to sit on the edge of the stage, looking out to the seat in the crowd he had once been impersonated at.

He took in the room once last time before the lights continued to dim, which he instinctually knew to be the mind’s way of telling him to leave. He was ready for it; so he did.

Hopping off of the stage, he walked between the aisles towards the exit, pushing the doors open to be greeted with the familiar space of the mindscape. He stood there for a second, letting his eyes adjust from the darkness of the theatre as his memory slowly returned to him-- compressing the months he had just gone through until he could remember why he had come here in the first place.

“So.” He heard a familiar voice come from next to him as he regained his bearings. “Are you satisfied with what you found?”

“...Yeah.” Patton said softly, turning to smile at the figure.

“And?”

“I didn’t need to change anything in the end.”

There was a sharp exhale, barely a scoff. “Well, I could’ve told you that, and it would’ve saved you a lot of hassle.”

“You could have.” Patton agreed. “...But it was helpful seeing all the way things could have been different, too.”

His eyes fell to the ground, recalling the different outcomes that were wildly different and much much worse than their current situation. It made him grateful for the way everything had turned out-- imperfect but not broken-- and made everything seem so much less bleak than how he first thought it to be. When he was so lost that he had chosen to relive that day for the sake of getting peace.

“Oh? And what exactly happened in there?”

“A lot. One time I stole your hat. You got so mad that you started hissing.” Patton’s smile widened at one of the better memories, even more so when his friend grumbled.

“Wow. I’m so glad the hour I spent out here waiting was used productively.” Janus sighed, pulling his hat down subconsciously. “...I am glad that it helped, though.”

“I am too.” Patton hummed. “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

Janus finally returned his smile and Patton brightened up. They weren't yet confident that they could fix everything that had happened between the sides, they didn’t even know if it was possible for them to do so alone, but they were at least willing to take that step forward and offer a helping hand.

And that's all that matters, right? No matter how many times they were let down or faced an obstacle, they just kept getting up to try to be better. It didn't matter if things weren't alright again right away; sometimes earning forgiveness meant trusting the other person to come back to you eventually. Waiting for that opportunity to glue back the pieces together.

And if Patton was certain about anything, it was that he was more than prepared to wait.

________________________________

Tags: @nasatshirts @quinnthequeer @mayflowers07 @overlad-of-the-snakes @varthandi @foxxsong @omnicrex @nadiestar @mistythegirlfluxmess @greenninjagal-blog @hit-or-mish @slytherin-halfblood @i-need-a-life-8903 @lemonlinelights @logicaemetus @bluestarfan10 @marshmallow-fluffy @enby-phoenix @arrestjellyfish @its-the-usda-certified-trashman @impatentpending @killjoy-3000 @nonasficcollection @mhep24601 @atomic-cat-dragon @puffydove @qrowdraws-notforyouthough @randommuffinyt @bubblycricket @theactual-devil @viana-dascolli @modsnow

[happyandticklish]

I Want To See You Smile - Part One

Notes: I decided to write something for the Gorillaz fandom, because I have fallen suddenly back into obsession over the band and needed to get it out of my system. I also would like to add that the fic holds some problematic themes concerning abuse, and that I am both aware of these themes and am working through them carefully. That being said, I hope you all enjoy! 

Summary: After a fateful encounter one day, Murdoc finds himself addicted to tickling his bandmate and doesn’t know why. 2D’s adorable reactions certainly aren’t helping. 

Murdoc wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. His face was flushed, his head was spinning, his heart was jackhammering wildly in his chest; all this from a chance encounter in the living room.

Maybe he was dying. He would have preferred that, honestly, to whatever the fuck this was.

He had discovered 2D’s body sprawled out lazily on their beaten up couch, gangly limbs thrown haphazard over its surface. In one of Murdoc’s hands was a bottle of something toxic he had just conjured up in the kitchen and in the other a journal in which he had planned to write either lyrics or obscene drawings in—he hadn’t quite decided which. Still, he couldn’t do either with the blue-haired idiot dozing off and claiming all the available seating space.

“Hey,” he said, slanting his eyes down in annoyance. “Dents. Move it.”

2D mumbled something indistinguishable in his sleep, but otherwise didn’t move. Murdoc frowned. He must really be out of it. Still, Murdoc had a mission and he wasn’t about to give up on it now. He leaned down, gripping his sides for a handhold as he attempted to shove him off. As he did, however, 2D shifted and squirmed under his touch, one hand unconsciously coming down to shove his hand away. Murdoc ignored him, readjusting his grip and tugging at his limp form. This time 2D let out a sleepy giggle, swatting at his hands once more.

“Stop,” he muttered incoherently. “It tickles.”

Murdoc’s eyes widened with realization. Ah. So that’s why he’d been acting so weird. He started to move his hands away, when an idea occurred to him—another way to get him to move. He smirked, keeping his hands on hips and squeezing with more purpose this time.

“C’mon 2D,” he teased in a low whisper. “I need to get on this couch.”

2D was moving more now, soft, breathy laughs echoing from his vocal chords, still not fully awake yet. If he was this ticklish asleep, Murdoc couldn’t imagine what he would be like awake. He squeezed again and again, poking and prodding at this one spot on his hips that had 2D spazzing. Finally, 2D’s eyes fluttered open and his frown of confusion quickly turned into a silly grin at the sensations dancing upon his skin.

“M-Muhuds?” he asked, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. “W-Whahat are yohou d-dohoing?”

“Getting you to move.”

“C-Cohouldn’t yohou h-hahave juhuhust ahahasked mehehe?”

“Eh. This was more fun.”

2D groaned sleepily, tired giggles slipping out unwarranted. That one spot on his hips, pursued relentlessly, was quickly becoming unbearable and his hands came down again to shove Murdoc off. Unfortunately, his grip wasn’t strong enough and he held onto Murdoc’s wrists uselessly. “Hehehe, ahaha, muhuhuds!”

“Hmm?”

“Ihihit—” 2D broke off, the tickling spiking suddenly and prompting a squeak from the man. “Ihihit tihihickles!”

“Does it now?” Murdoc teased, scratching his nails against the soft divot of skin contained there. “Well that’s quite an unfortunate situation, isn’t it?”

“Ah! Ohohohokay, ohohokay, I’ll mohohove!” 2D agreed eagerly, shoving desperately at his hands.

“Nah, I think it’s a bit too late for that now.” Murdoc hoisted a leg over him on the couch so he was no effectively straddling the other. “I’m having too much fun to stop now, and I think you need to learn your lesson about listening right away.”

 “Buhuhut yohou dihihidn’t ahahask—ahaha, nohohoho, ehehe, stahahap!”

2D fell into quick hysterics as Murdoc began ruthlessly pursuing his hips now, one hand on either side. 2D scrabbled fruitlessly to shove his hands off and when that failed he resorted to frantic squirming and writhing underneath him instead. “Wow, dents,” he muttered with a sarcastic leer. “I didn’t realize you were this sensitive. I’ll have to remember this for the future.”

“Stahaha—ahaha, ehehe, nohoho! Ihihi tihihickles tohohoo muhuhuch!” 2D’s laughter soon became a breathless stream of giggles, interspersed with hiccups here and there as he fought to control his body’s reactions. As Murdoc watched him, a strange flush began to creep its way up his neck and his stomach writhed with unexplained nerves. This was different from all those times he had tormented 2D in the past. This was something new and altogether unnerving, and Murdoc didn’t like it one bit. But even as he was tempted to stop, the sight of 2D begging and laughing under him was too appealing to quit now.

“You know, I distinctly remember Noodle being veeeery ticklish here when she was younger.” Murdoc secured one of his wrists in his hands, dragging it far above his head. “I wonder if it’s the same for you.” 

2D’s eyes widened and his struggling increased, giggling apprehensively as Murdoc’s fingers wiggled towards his defenseless pit.

“No, no, please, wait, no mohoHOHOHohore!”

2D shrieked when his fingers finally made contact, tugging frantically at his trapped arm. The other arm did its best to try to fend Murdoc off, but he would simply switch to a different spot until 2D moved to protect there instead; the second he did, however, Murdoc would simply move back to his underarms and the cycle would repeat once more.

Red-faced, writhing and babbling out incoherent pleas, 2D was quite a sight. Murdoc found himself so caught up in it that he hadn’t realized how intense he had gotten until 2D let out a frantic shriek and finally pulled his arm free. The sound snapped Murdoc out of his haze and he quickly rolled off the other, head spinning.

2D curled up on the couch, residual laughter spilling from his lips as he fought to regain some semblance of coherency. He gripped his torso protectively, skin tingling from the overload of sensation. “Hah… ha… ehehe… w-whahat was that?”

Murdoc had no answer, only that he needed to leave for fear of tickle jumping the poor man again. So instead he merely grunted, snatching up his alcohol and journal and stalking out the doorway, trying with everything in him to get the image of 2D in that helpless, strangely appealing state out of his head. 2D watched him go, confusion and leftover bliss swirling over his features.

Murdoc would have been happy to write that moment off as a one-off mess-up, a momentary lapse in judgement, had it not happened again after that. And again. And again. Every time he saw 2D, which was often when the band was squished together as it was, all he could think about was digging his fingers into his sides if only to hear that adorable yelp again.

His excuses were getting weaker as time went on, as well. “Wait, no, please!” 2D pleaded, noticing the fateful smirk on the other’s face as he backed him up against the wall. He had messed up some lyric or another during rehearsal, which at this point was all the justification Murdoc needed. The others looked on in confusion as 2d quickly fell into hysterics, Murdoc pinning him against the wall with his onslaught of tickling.

“Guhuhuys!” 2d cried, giggling wildly as Murdoc poked fingers rapid-fire into his sides. “Hehehelp m-mehehe!”

“Hey Murdoc, don’t you think we should leave him alone now?” Noodle asked hesitantly. “It wasn’t really his fault—we all mess up lyrics from time to time.”

“Lyrics?” Murdoc snapped, before remembering his original reasoning for the attack. “Yeah, well, this way he’ll learn not to do it again.”

Noodle frowned but otherwise did little to help him. It wasn’t until Russel placed a hand on his shoulder that Murdoc finally backed off. “We should probably get back to practice,” he said firmly, a warning note to his voice. Murdoc scoffed, releasing the other and letting 2D crumple to the ground in a trembling ball of nerves.

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, sitting back down and picking up the bass. “Let’s just get this damn song over with already.”

For every grievance imaginable, throughout the course of that strange and confusing month, 2D would find himself reduced to a squirming mess of limbs at the hands of none other than Murdoc Niccals—spent too long in the shower, called him a name, wasn’t fast enough when Murdoc asked him to get out of the way, finished the last of the potato crisps. Small, unpreventable things that ultimately Murdoc only cared about because it provided such ample excuse to wreck the other.

Over the course of that month, Murdoc also spent sufficient time trying to figure out the reason for his growing obsession. Each time he thought about it, however, a hot blush crept up his neck and a world of voices screamed at him inwardly what are you doing? He didn’t know. He didn’t know what it meant, nor why it was only tickling 2D in this way that made him feel like this. He hadn’t ever experienced anything like this in the past. Sure, he had teased and poked a couple of the girls and guys he’d dated in the past, but it was always quick, fleeting touches that ended almost instantly—just something to get a reaction. Now though, it was clearly something different. The sight of 2D shrieking and writhing under him made his body react in a way that was altogether different from how you would with your platonic bandmate whom you despised.

One night he got so fed up thinking about it that he decided to give up on sleep and head out to the kitchen to make himself something to take the edge off.

Who should he find but the man of the hour himself, the blue-haired bean pole, standing at the sink and pouring himself a glass of water.

As soon as he noticed Murdoc’s presence behind him 2D startled, quickly shutting off the faucet and edging away from him. “Oh hey, muds,” he greeted, that nervous, finnicky smile already taking over his features. Murdoc jammed his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t do anything.

“What are you doing up so late?” he grumbled, shoving past him and reaching for the various bottles of liquor littered over their countertop.

“Just getting a glass of water,” he replied cautiously. Murdoc simply grunted in response. Watching him cautiously, 2D continued to slink towards the doorway. He paused at the exit, however, hand on the doorframe. He curled his fingers in hesitation, before quickly whirling around to face the other once more.

“Aren’t you gonna…” 2D started before breaking off his sentence, clearly embarrassed.

Murdoc turned to face him, tossing back a glass of tequila—definitely not midnight appropriate, especially when he had to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow for rehearsal. “Aren’t I gonna what?”

“You know…” 2D trailed off, blushing, before awkwardly wiggling his fingers a little as a demonstration.

That same, creeping red returned to his face and Murdoc stiffened. Still, he wasn’t about to let the little upstart get the upper hand, so he said, leaning back on the counter with fake confidence, “Why? Do you want me to?”

“No, but, I mean, not entirely—” 2D stopped himself, clearly thrown for a loop. “I just meant that usually you… you know, do that. Are you… not going to anymore?”

For some reason it hadn’t occurred to Murdoc that 2D would pick up on this recurring habit of his. To have it stated so bluntly was certainly a shock to his system. The two stood in that tiny kitchen, an uncomfortable energy in the air as the silence between them increased. Murdoc tongued the inside of his cheek, debating how to phrase his next sentence.

Before he could, 2D spoke up for him. “I don’t… uh, I don’t mind, that is.” He spoke cautiously, waiting for Murdoc to snap at him or throw something. When he did neither, 2d continued, “I prefer it, over the other stuff. Also it’s… it’s sort of fun, in a way.”

Murdoc slowly sat down his liquor bottle, narrowing his eyes at the other. “Are you saying you like it when I tickle you?”

2D shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck nervously. “Sort of? I mean, it gets sort of intense sometimes, but even that’s, uh—” He pressed his lips together, evidently deciding that whatever he would have said next would only make the situation worse. “I liked it, yeah. Whenever you’re, you know, tickling me, I sort of get the feeling that you like doing it. Which in a way makes it feel like you enjoy spending time with me and that’s… nice.”

Murdoc stared at him. The confession was so brutally honest in a way that only 2D could ever pull off. For some reason, that made him angry. He took a couple steps forward and 2D instinctively scuttled backwards. “Listen. I don’t tickle you because I ‘like spending time with you’, or whatever it is you’re going on about. I was doing it because—” he broke off, sneering at his own verbal incompetence. The real reason, the reason why he couldn’t get the image of 2D laughing, 2D happy, out of his head for weeks on end, floated at the edges of his consciousness. He chose to ignore it, as he did most things that made him uncomfortable. “I did it because I fucking wanted to, alright? And it has nothing to do with you or any kind of bond you think we’ve built. I do what I like, and your job is to shut the fuck up and leave me be, got it?”

2D matched his intense glare, face darkening. Where before there had been fear in his face, now there was only resignation. “Yeah. Got it.”

He snatched his water off the table, nearly fumbling and dropping it. Luckily, he managed to catch it just in time, though not without some leftover embarrassment. His drink retrieved and his smooth exit ruined, he proceeded to stalk moodily out of the kitchen.

The second he was gone Murdoc exhaled shakily, all the fight going out of his limbs. He leaned back against the counter for support, slowly sinking down to the ground. The cold linoleum felt good against his bare skin, and he chose in that moment to forget about all the crumbs and grime most likely littering the floor.

He rubbed his heels against his temples, replaying the conversation over and over again in his head like some kind of broken record player. Which in a way makes it feel like you enjoy spending time with me… It was stupid. Murdoc had never cared about the other man’s opinion before.

So why did those words make him feel like crying?

[florvinhara]

felt it ripping me apart (part 1)

summary: kira deals with the aftermath of turning

warnings for heavy angst !!!

word count: 2.2k

read on ao3 or below the cut:

Kira wakes from a nebulous, pained darkness to the memory of a familiar voice- beloved, broken- calling her name. 

At first, she wonders if she’s hungover; the lights are dimmed but too bright, and she feels sick with a hollow emptiness that tangles her stomach into knots. She sits up with a groan, and scrubs at her face with her hands until flashes of recollection start to surface from the depths of her foggy mind. They are more sensation than anything else, brief impressions of moments in time. Blood. Please. Pain. I’m sorry. Cold. Stay with me.

Blood… no, she is decidedly not hungover. She had woken up before, she recalls, feeling stiff and strange all over, and upon trying to stand up had been overcome with a tidal wave of nauseated exhaustion so strong she’d had to sit hunched on the edge of the bed holding her swimming head between her knees until she’d stopped feeling like she might pass out. Her second attempt had not been much more successful, and she had resigned herself to laying back and irritably shoving at the scratchy sheets until someone came to explain why she was once again in the Agency’s medical wing.

She had remained entirely silent while Elidor gently explained what had happened, pushing aside complicated swirls of emotion and focusing only on the concrete facts, of which there were three. In order, she’s been going through them again and again, turning them over in her mind like puzzle pieces which don’t quite fit into the rest of the picture.

One- she had been mortally wounded.

Two- they’d turned her; there had been no other option to save her life. Which means that:

Three: she is not going to die. Not now, perhaps not ever.

It’s a short list, but she repeats it religiously- one, two three, one, two three- because otherwise, her mind will start wandering. The trek from these simple isolated truths to their messier implications is a short one she can’t stand to make. Will she have to leave Wayhaven? It had been in her plans, eventually, but there’s a difference between moving and having to slowly disentangle yourself entirely from human society as an unforgivable amount of time passes you by untouched.

More pressing, how will she leave this hospital room? Because beyond this controlled environment, with its drawn shades and soundproofed walls, is a noisy, chaotic world that had already at times overwhelmed her until she couldn’t breathe.

And there is one more concern; she has pointedly not allowed her train of thought to drift in that particular direction, but the seed of fearful doubt is rapidly taking root in the back of her mind anyway, snarling around her spine and curling purposefully at her throat. After all, it is one terrifying thing to love someone knowing that your lives run on different tracks, that you must fit the vast expanses of your devotion into the span of 60 or so years. To promise your eternity to another person is another animal altogether, and she cannot ask Nate to give her that- it is a gift she doesn’t deserve, and why would he want to offer it anyway? She knows how much he misses humanity, seeks out the echoes of it wherever he can- without hers, will he recognize her, or just see the chasm where that mortal part of her used to be?

It doesn’t bear thinking about for long, the inevitable, and so she pulls her focus back to the safety of the past, the proven. She’s managed to delay whatever is going to come next so far, having asked Elidor for some time alone to rest. It had been a flimsy excuse, but he had kindly pretended to believe it and let her be, staring blankly at the wall and mentally reciting the concise points that comprised her list until sleep had claimed her.

Perhaps it had helped after all; she still feels hollowed out and numb, but the sickly dizziness is gone and the lights above her no longer leave sharp, star-like patterns in the backs of her eyes. The signs are promising enough that she decides to try standing again, shoving the blankets off and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. This time, she does manage it, though she immediately stumbles upon making contact with the ground as a strange, shaky sensation skitters up her calves, pins and needles pressing against the soles of her feet and making her wobble like a newborn foal. She grabs at the pole where an IV bag would usually be hanging for support, wincing at the bright spark of unexpected chill where her hands make contact.

Did this get shorter? she thinks distantly, and then remembers that the pole isn’t shorter, she’s just taller now, and she wonders if that means she’ll have to buy new clothes. Which is just so stupid, so ridiculously not important a detail in the grand scheme of things, the fact that her mind jumped there first makes a laugh just left of hysterical fizzle in her throat, and it is so profoundly unlike her that it makes her feel sick. She stumbles to the adjoined washroom as she feels her chest constrict painfully in feverish panic, dragging the IV pole behind her half for balance and half for comfort, and leans over the sink, gasping for breath, until her heart stops beating against her ribs like a caged animal and she can inhale without the air stabbing knife-like at her lungs.

Slowly but surely, her breathing evens out, and she glances up at her reflection in the mirror- then freezes.

The differences are slight, so much so that at first she thinks it must be a trick of the light, but the more she casts her gaze over the face reflected back at her, the more she is sure it cannot be hers. Or, more accurately, it is hers in the way that an old picture is one’s self- similar enough to recognize but changed enough to be almost another person entirely.

It looks as though she has never lived in this body, never tested its limits by climbing that one unsteady tree branch and knocking a deep, jagged scar into her forehead for her trouble. Never pierced her own ears with a needle and ice cube in a misguided attempt at rebellion. Never stayed up through the night and marked the sleepless hours by the dark circles under her eyes. She grips the sink as she searches for familiarity in the reflection before her; the porcelain crumbles like sand beneath her shaking fingers, and this too is hideously unrecognizable, the strength and the unintentional destruction it can bring, the need to exist cautiously.

The more she looks, the more untethered from herself she feels, unmade and reformed by an architect with little regard for detail, the outline and not the shape itself. And she supposes she has been, in a way- she remembers, if nothing else, the searing agony as her bones had separated and knit themselves back together. It shouldn’t be real, it shouldn’t be possible for these traces of her life, the storms she has weathered and the consequences of her recklessness, to be wiped from her body as if they had never existed. A map unmade. A history forgotten. Even the scar she’d gotten from Murphy is vanished, a feat not accomplished even by the Agency’s healing magic. And for some reason it is this, the absence of a scar she never wanted, that finally breaks her as she sinks to the floor with a dark dismay rising in her throat like bile.

---

The linoleum floor is cold against her shins, but she welcomes the bracing shock it gives her, focuses intently on the sensation of it pressing on her legs as another swell of dread threatens to drown her. Her hands find each other, twisting anxiously until she realizes she does not recognize them either; the familiar divots of old scars and callouses are gone, as are the crooked slant where she had broken her fingers. Frantically, she wrenches them apart, despising their unfamiliarity.

Enough of this, she reprimands herself sternly, one clear thought in a swirling sea-storm of panic and confusion and what-ifs. She latches onto it desperately, presses her hands, still fluttering nervously as they seek out the comfort of a repetitive motion, flat against the cold floor and thinks it over and over again- enough, enough, enough- until the word has lost its meaning and she feels somewhat calmer again.

Her mind is still spinning in anxious circles, tying itself in knots the more she thinks. There’s only one surefire solution she knows of to ease the worried maelstrom; it’s time to remove herself from the equation, consider this from a more scientific standpoint. This doesn’t have to destroy her. Or maybe it does- after all, creation is a promise of violence, in and of itself born from destruction. Cells beget new cells by ripping themselves in two; the body is constantly sloughing off parts of itself which have outlived their usefulness. And this must still be true, even though so much is different, because stasis is death to the thousands of systems constantly at work to keep someone operating. Maybe there is some comfort there, then, that even though she cannot see it, at the smallest level, the familiar processes are continuing.

She imagines she can hear them now, blood rushing from her heart to deliver oxygen to the rest of her body, cells splitting apart and bursting as they die only to be replaced instantly, even her DNA unwinding and reforming as it encodes new strands of her genetic information. How much of it changed along with her- which genes were snipped out of existence and remade in a different, ‘better’ image?

Damn. Not even two minutes later and she’s already cycled back to her horror at the transformation, visible and invisible- perhaps this won’t destroy her after all, she’ll just do it herself fixating on the sharp, shattered pieces of the dissonance between the self she recognizes and the one she sees reflected in the mirror.

A worried voice cuts through the thick miasma of dismay choking her like poison- Elidor, knocking at the door and asking if she’s alright. Is she? No, she thinks, even as she calls out, “Yeah, just a minute,” and feels so much sudden relief to hear her voice, unchanged, that she nearly blacks out. Slowly, and with much aid from the IV pole, she pulls herself to her feet and chances another glance at the mirror. Immediately, she feels an overwhelming urge to punch it, to shatter the glass until her reflection is torn apart by the spiderwebbing shards, but she shoves it down forcefully, searches for resolve in the eyes looking back at her. She finds nothing there, but knows Elidor is waiting outside and opens the door, resigned.

“I was wondering where that pole had run off to,” he says with a teasing smile that falters the moment they make eye contact. Well, that was a short-lived act. “Kira, what’s wrong?”

Nothing that can be fixed, nothing that she doesn’t just have to get over and deal with. She starts to tell him as much, but her throat is so tight that her voice grates painfully as she speaks and she gives up halfway through the sentence, ending with a dismissive wave that falls too far flat of insouciant to be convincing.

Elidor’s brow furrows in concern. “I’ll get the rest of the team, and-”

“No!” she cuts in, flinging a hand out to stop him. If there’s one thing she’s absolutely sure of, it’s that she cannot be around them right now, can’t let them see that she can’t handle this, can’t deal with their thoughts or feelings or opinions when her own are still such a confused mess. And she especially cannot see Nate, not when she knows what’s going to happen; of course, he is going to be perfectly kind, even as he tells her this can’t work, she’s too different now that she is divorced from her humanity, he had never intended for this relationship to last centuries.

His gentleness will cut deeper than the words themselves, and if she could, she would do it herself, end it for him quickly and impersonally so she can spare them both the pain. But she is too unmoored right now, too frustratingly unsure of herself, to face a reality that has fundamentally shifted. “No, please, just- can you tell them I’m not awake yet? Or- just, anything?” Some small, unchanged part of her mind rebels violently at that, hates her for the cowardice, but it is too easily drowned out by the tumult of dazed doubts and worries shadowing her to be heard.

It takes about ten minutes of pleading for Elidor to uneasily agree to give her more time; eventually, he concedes, and leaves the room with a concerned glance over his shoulder. The door closes behind him, and she lets herself sink to the ground once more, curled over like she could belatedly shield herself from the injury which necessitated all this, until she drags herself back into the bed and seeks relief in unconsciousness.

[kiricanon]

The opening scene to episode 9, season 3 of Hannibal is sex on the eyes to anyone who ships Hannigram. Let’s analyse this for a minute.

Hannibal recognises him immediately without even looking. Will is wearing the same after shave he wore to Hannibal’s court case. Hannibal must have spent every second he could once he got close to Will then, soaking up all he could, knowing he wouldn’t be seeing him again for a long time. He made note of his smell, savouring it, remembering it. Even through the smell was “atrocious”, in his words.

They greet each other, it’s formal.

Then Hannibal asked Will if he read the note he’d sent to him or if he tossed it into the nearest fire. Basically telling Will that even after all these years, he finds Will to be slightly predictable. He knows him that well, they know each other that well. Just like Will knew Hannibal only wrote him that note because he could help in the case and wanted Will to come to him. And Will says he read it before he burnt it.

Hannibal says “and you came anyway.” But he isn’t surprised, no. He’s relieved Will is there, that he can finally see him, and he cements this by saying “I’m glad you came,” and makes a stab at the other company he’s been keeping while here, as he nears the glass.

He’s telling Will that he missed his company, expressing that he’s putting Will above everyone else. And that he misses being unprofessional with Will. And he expresses his disgust for the others.

Will brings him back to the reason he’s here, and he asks for help. Asking Hannibal for help is a hard thing to do, especially for Will when he was probably quite content staying away from him. Not because he doesn’t miss him every waking moment, but because it’s hard for Will not to be sucked into Hannibal like debris to a vacuum.

Hannibal responds by saying “yes, I thought so.” He knew that Will would use it as an excuse to see him, or at the very least be the only reason he’d come.

Hannibal observes that Will is being too formal, asking him “are we no longer on a first name basis?”

Will says he’s more comfortable the less personal they are. And for obvious reasons, this is Will saying he can’t bare to say Hannibal’s name because Hannibal is right there, and the wounds are still fresh and Will is so vulnerable to Hannibal. Hannibal makes him weak because he loves Hannibal so much. Keeping distance feels safe, safer. It’s like the glass for Will isn’t even between them, like he could reach out an touch him they’re so close. And he needs the distance.

Hannibal then makes another point of smelling Will, and Will tries not to show his emotions as Hannibal accurately pinpoints Will’s life. Of “dogs, and pine and oil beneath that shaving lotion.”

He asks Will “it’s something a child would select, isn’t it? Is there a child in your life, Will? I gave you a child, if you recall.” And Will stays still, but you can tell Hannibal’s gotten under his skin by the way he starts shaking lightly. He ignores Hannibal. He opens his mouth long before the words come out.

He tells him “I came about Chicago and Buffalo, you’ve read about it,” trying to reason with Hannibal, trying to convince himself and keep this strictly impersonal and distant. He doesn’t sound sure, and he can’t blink, he simply stares.

Hannibal makes another jab, this time saying he’s not allowed to have scissors. Hannibal wants to express to Will how awful his life is without the freedom he gave up for Will. To be treated like a child, to be treated like he’s on training wheels. He wants Will to know this, and be personal.

He offers to Will “you want to know how he’s choosing them?” and Will says “I thought you would have some ideas.” And Hannibal scoffs, because it’s simply amusing to Hannibal that Will is pretending he’s here because of a case instead of using it as an excuse to see Hannibal.

Hannibal knows how delighted he is to see Will, and he knows Will is delighted to see him, trying to hide it is kind of hysterical.

“You just came here to look at me,” he says smugly, because it’s true and they both know it. Will is speechless, nothing to say. Because he’s right.

Hannibal continues “came to get the old scent again. Why don’t you just smell yourself?”

Will has had enough now, he knows he’s gotten himself in too deep, and he doesn’t want to give himself up to Hannibal and let him win, and let Hannibal know he’s here to see him, and not here to use him for a case.

Will turns to leave after a moment. “I expected more of you, doctor. That routine, old hat.”

And Hannibal calls him out, saying “whereas you are a new man?”

And he’s right. Will is here just to look at him, to smell him, to speak to him. He was away from Hannibal for 3 years. He got a wife, a kid, a new place. And the second he had opportunity and a valid reason he could blame, he came right back to Hannibal like a yo-yo. There were cases before Hannibal, and Will solved them with just as much help without Hannibal then, so why would he need to turn back to Hannibal when he knows he can do it without him? It’s because they’ve both showed their hand. Hannibal was desperate for a reason and so is Will. They’re both going through the old routine, neither of them have changed with the years. They’re still the same, and Will can hide behind his new life and think “my life is perfect, I have everything, why would I turn back to Hannibal?” But that doesn’t change that he did turn back. It’s like a cheater saying “why would I cheat? I have you. I love you.” It doesn’t change the fact that you cheated.

“Let me have the file,” Hannibal says. “An hour and we can discuss it like old times.”

Will says “thank you.” Grateful for Hannibal’s help, and grateful for the chance to “discuss it like old times.” I bet to Will without Hannibal has been much like to Hannibal without Will. They have their imagination but they’re still trapped in their own little prisons.

Will is accepting of a life where he has a son in substitute of the daughter he’d lost, Abigail, and Molly in substitute of Hannibal. And he isn’t happy with her, isn’t truly happy to forget Hannibal. It’s why at the end of the series he finds it so easy to do what he does. In his mind, he has no one to go back to but Hannibal. Hannibal is his world, and dying with him, or dying without him and living the life he did when Hannibal was locked up are one and the same. Jack and Alana talked about busting Hannibal out and killing him with Will, but Will and Hannibal can never truly live without each other. And Will knew that when he agreed to bust Hannibal out, only because he wanted to see him free. It was enough to Will to know where Hannibal was when he needed him, and it was enough to Hannibal to know that Will knew where he was and that that wasn’t going to change.

Hannibal is like a priceless gem waiting in the earth to be discovered, and Will is the determined party searching for him. They find wealth in each other.

The second Will walked over to hand in the file, Hannibal walks with him in tandem, unable to keep his eyes off of Will.

He tells Will that he’s family, and he’ll help him when he can. And Will absorbs this, then leaves.

Now to both of them, their lives aren’t the same. They’ll never be the same again. Just like when they first met. A rebirth, if you will. To Will, he’ll never be a father or a husband again, not in the way he was. And to Hannibal his life would no longer be the waiting game it is. He wouldn’t be waiting for Will to come to him, because here he is, and he’s once again satiated by the sight of him.

SORRY IF THIS IS REALLY STUPID AND MAKES NO SENSE I’m having a difficult time putting my thoughts together on paper.

[baekberrie]

havana

☾ Genre: Romance, dirty dancing!au, rich girl!au

☾ Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

☾  Warnings: few typos and errors, possibly repeated words. Bear with me :(

☾ Summary: Tired. You were so tired of doing everything your parents wanted you to do, tired of the dullness that was your life. You wanted to break free and shape your being, you wanted to be yourself, not your parents' puppet. But never had you imagined that your little rebellion would have ended up involving dirty dancing and an incredibly flirty dance teacher."I'll teach you and we'll do the competition together, but expect hard training," 

The feeling of relief and gratefulness was overwhelming you to the point of your lips forming into a smile that you wholeheartedly directed to him. Your nose almost bumped into his as you did, sending your heart berserk within your chest. The fragrance of his cologne was washing over you like water and you found yourself urging to inhale it deeply, but fought against it. The dancer showed no sign of nervousness at the close proximity, moreover, he was smirking teasingly down at you as he brought his lips to the shell of your ear.

"Hard training, and lots and lots of...Touching."

Your heart leaped out of your chest upon the foreign view, the Latin music pulsed into your headache while your eyes tried to distinguish every movement taking place in front of you. Some hands were thrown up in the air while others were sensually tracing the shape of the other's body. You were shocked, scandalized by the amount of physical contact in front of your eyes. But deep down, a strong intrigue was surging from where you had suppressed everything you could've already been by now.

You wanted to let yourself go like that too.ba

Oh gosh.

How would you define yourself? That had been a question many people in Cuba had thrown when first getting to know you. What do you like to do? Emptiness had filled your chest when you had found yourself completely unable to answer. A good girl, perhaps? At times you wondered if that would have been a righteous answer. Your whole life had you made sure to preserve the happiness on your parents' faces by reaching the highest grades in school, by acting like a proper lady, graceful and beautiful. But never had you invested into something you liked. Hence, you had never even gotten the chance to find out what you truly liked. And yet again, you had done what commanded without complaints when your parents had announced moving to Cuba for business. There was this thick bubble surrounding you that the friends you had made in this country had desperately attempted to pop. Until now, you had never been interested and so never complied. You and your Cuban friends were reaching the peak of your teens, where you would truly become alive at night.

Curiosity had surged within you when they had spoken about clubs- dancing and becoming one with music. For your whole life, you had only been the dull, perfect girl that obeyed to everything said, and you contrasted so strongly with the crazy and cheerful girls that had nonetheless accepted you in their circle.

Over thirty degrees, the sun was shining its brightest on the spotless sky of Havana. Sweat was prickling on your skin and it was slowly getting unbearable as no amount of breeze was enough to soothe the hot weather. A few weeks had passed since your arrival, though, it didn't seem like you could get completely used to the high temperature just yet. The air fan was on the highest mode next to you, fluttering your hair behind your shoulders as you glanced at your mother from underneath your lashes while she did her thing in the kitchen. Windows stood open and the busy streets echoed against the walls of your new home. The lady walked elegantly out of the kitchen, her dress fluttering beautifully behind her hips as she placed the cool glass of iced tea in front of you. A sweet smile graced her scarlet lips before she took the seat in front of you and resumed the reading of her book. The ice on the bottom of the glass let out a cracking noise as it clicked against the inner walls of the cup. You gulped away the dry sensation in your throat with a long sip of your tea, sighing with satisfaction when there wasn't a single drop left in your cup. The cool icy feeling pulsed against your lips and you pressed them together.

"Mother?" your voice was careful when you attempted to gain her attention. She looked curiously up from the pages with the same smile still plastered on her lips. "Yes, my dear?" She encouraged and you could only hold your thumbs for luck. Although you knew what her answer to whatever you were going to ask was, you still gave it a try, thinking that perhaps you could convince her and your father this one time.

"Well, you know..." You started nervously, fingers hysterically fidgeting in your lap, "My friends invited me out this evening and I thought I'd let you know-"

"What are you talking about, darling? We have a very important party to attend tonight, which is also more enjoyable than any other lousy bar your friends could ever visit, no?" The woman hadn't hesitated to interrupt you, in fact, she never had to hear it all to know where the conversation was going. Lately, you had been insisting on getting to meet up with your friends day after day, only to get the same reply every time.

"What would be so special about a couple of lower-class people anyhow? I do not understand darling." She continued to ponder out loud and with your heart-clenching, you caught up on the exasperation hidden in her undertone.

Never had you ever complained because you had genuinely thought that your parents must have known what was best for your wellbeing. Every time they had told you that they did it to protect you because it was dangerous, you had believed it. But as the days passed, you had started losing trust in those words. There was no doubt in the fact that their strictness had started with the good intention to keep you safe. Though, as those words left your mother's mouth, the meaningfulness behind their actions was just losing its significance. You did not feel protected anymore, you felt trapped. The more your mother sputtered words of disgrace towards the people that you befriended, the surer you felt that this protection of theirs had morphed into an excuse to keep you from reaching out to something that you were desperately longing for. A breath of air. Freedom. Something that could make you find out who you truly were, what you enjoyed. Something that would drive you to rebellion against their plans for your future.

Although now old enough, you had never known anything but obedience. In the beginning, you had been quite proud of yourself for being such a truthful daughter, but there was no denying in the fact it was getting extremely lonely and suffocating. They would always remind you how you did not belong to the people of this country, but these were just empty reminders because neither did you feel like you belonged to the rich teens of the same social class. Never in your life had you felt as lonely like you had done next to them. It had been on a fancy party, that obviously, held business purposes, that you had realized the aggravating truth. The superficiality of those you were forced to integrate with. They did not really care about you, whether you were a good person or not. They did not bother to know what you enjoyed and whatnot. They only wanted to befriend because they knew you had many treasures, overflowing money. The more money you owned, the more they wished to acquaintance with you.

That was not the reality you wanted to live in. Those were not the people you wanted to associate yourself with.

☾☾☾

"Are you sure that you do not want to come with us, honey?" Your mother asked once again and a frown twisted your lips when she gave your hair a firmer pull with the brush to get through the tangles in your hair. Scented candles were spreading a refined fragrance of vanilla. There was a certain nervousness tickling the inside of your tummy and you inhaled the calming scent for comfort. The candles dimly illuminated the bedroom together with the lights adorning the fancy vanity mirror in which you were sitting in front of. In the mirror, you could see your mother's reflection as she swept the brush through your long hair, something that she loved to do before you'd go to sleep although you had grown out of that age a long time ago. It served as an opportunity to bond with you, to talk with you about how the day had gone, how you were feeling, and you appreciated every second of it.

Her figure sparkled like the finest diamond underneath millions of spotlights. The clock ticked nine in the evening, which you didn't find late at all. Nonetheless, your body was already framed by a beautiful nightgown. It had been a gift from your mother and it wasn't a surprise how it ad became your favorite clothing. You just loved how the silvery garment embraced your body ever so perfectly, its delicate fabric combined lovingly with your pearly skin. But the beautiful nightdress was nothing compared to the reflection of your mother right behind you. That emerald green dress of satin was really doing her justice and you could just not seem to take your eyes off her. She looked absolutely gorgeous.

"Yes mother, I don't feel too well, but don't you worry about me. You should go and have fun with father." You sent her a small smile through your reflection and you hoped that she wouldn't notice the urge in your voice. Your mother smiled back with a nod and placed a peck on the crown of your head.

"Alright then, we'll be back home late so don't you wait for us and go to sleep early, okay?" They were going to attend one of their rich friend's parties out of town and obviously, you had lied about being sick. You weren't feeling particularly enthusiastic to go to another of those parties. They were tiresome and always the same. There were only a few teens of your age at those events and you always found it aggravating, the way it was so clear that they wanted to befriend you only because you were rich too. You knew that not all of them were like that, but to your nonexistent luck, you hadn't met any better. You were tired of these sumptuous surroundings, you wanted to see something different for once, something that wasn't gold and diamonds.

As soon as the noise of your parents' car starting up resounded from outside, you were quick to dig up your favorite red lipstick from your make up pouch. Carefully, you swiped it across your plump lips and pressed them together to spread its scarlet color evenly. The rouge and highlighter applied on your cheeks enhanced your already beautiful features extremely well, you had never felt so pretty. The sparkles on your eyelids and the unusual length of your lashes were so luscious, giving you a hard time deciding where to look.

Fighting the urge to bite your lip, you pulled out the dress that your friend had lent you for this specific occasion. In the beginning, you had tried to refuse, knowing that you had more dresses than you could've asked for back at home, but the girl had been so insistent. She had without any delicacy told you that the way you dressed would've kept away the guys which had left you quite offended, you found nothing wrong with the way that you dressed.

The black dress was, to say the least, tight- tighter than what it looked like while on a clothing hanger and you couldn't help but feel extremely unsure whether you'd ever feel comfortable in such clothing. Its fabric hugged your curves perfectly and the blinding sparkles complimented your milky skin, making it shimmer likewise and you were so astonished by your own reflection. Never had you known that you could've looked like you were doing now. Your eyes fell onto your chest where your cleavage wasn't too exposed but was nonetheless was the most revealing thing you had ever worn and its naked sensation covered your body like chills on the edges of your skin. The image of your mother's widening eyes at the view crossed your mind and you begged the Gods that they wouldn't find out about your escapade.

Knowing that butlers and maids were still roaming around the mansion, you opted with tiptoeing to the back door, your black heel dangled from the tips of your fingers. It was slowly dawning on you that you were for the first time doing something you were absolutely not allowed to do, something that would disappoint your parents. But something for yourself, when was the last time you had done that? The question replayed in your head until it silenced the restless doubts clouding your mind. While tying the heels around your heels you could still hear the tiniest voice in your head telling you to let it be, to not risk anything, that it wouldn't be worth it. But the adrenaline-accelerating your heartbeat was stronger and before you knew it, your legs had already started sprinting towards the street where your friends would pick you up. The noise of your heels clicking into the concrete echoed into the night.

☾☾☾

Obnoxiously loud music was blasting through the speakers and the way it was hearable even when outside the Latin themed club made your lips twist into a frown. The music was in a foreign language that you could've guessed was Spanish. Your girlfriends were radiating excitement with every inch of their bodies as you stood in line and their faces were enlightened by bright smiles while their hips were already subtly swaying to the music. Upon observing them, you remembered something they had said about music and becoming one with it. You couldn't comprehend what that had truly meant, how you were supposed to do that?- The fact that you had never danced anything but ballroom dance struck you in the face and made you feel like maybe you weren't supposed to be there after all.

Before you could indulge yourself with more self suppressing thoughts, you were pushed inside the club. A surprised gasp left your lips at the extreme change of temperature inside. It was hot, extremely hot, and stuffy. It hadn't been even a minute inside there and your lungs were already longing for oxygen and fresh air. The dance floor was overflowing with people that danced with their bodies tightly pressed together. But that was not what startled you the most.

Your heart leaped out of your chest upon the foreign view, the Latin music pulsed into your headache while your eyes tried to distinguish every movement taking place in front of you. Some hands were thrown up in the air while others were sensually tracing the shape of the other's body. You were shocked, scandalized by the amount of physical contact in front of your eyes. But deep down, a strong intrigue was surging from where you had suppressed everything you could've already been by now.

You wanted to let yourself go like that too.

Oh gosh.

With excited cheers, your friends had already stormed into the crowded dance floor, leaving you utterly confused and out of place, alone by the bar and completely miserable. A sigh pushed past your lips, you should've expected this to happen, they were always one step ahead while you were still trying to integrate yourself in this reality that you did not even know whether you liked or not.

Letting your eyes observe the people dancing, you were to be surprised when they suddenly started cheering extremely loudly and the crowd formed some space for a couple dancing together in the center of the floor. Intrigue surged within you and you squeezed your eyes to get a sharper look. The young man did not look Latin, and yet he moved as if it was that exact blood running through his veins. His hips rolled swiftly and his hand curled around his partner's breast for the quickest second until it was tracing the outline of her thigh by his waist, pushing it back down. Your mouth was hanging open in astonishment at the extremely...Sensual moves he had just pulled off. They were scandalizing for your innocent eyes, and yet, upon watching, butterflies had fluttered their wings wildly in your belly. Not much attention was paid to the girl, you just couldn't find it in yourself to take your eyes off that man who was like a strong magnet to your eyes, stealing every single spotlight there was to take.

His hair was dark with streaks of red melting into his black locks, reaching his nape and his fringe parted neatly on his forehead. The button-down shirt hung loose on his body as he moved, though most of the buttons were popped open for everyone to see the way sweat glistened on the smooth skin of his chest along with the many necklaces placing themself right in between his defined pectorals. Your little staring game was abruptly interrupted when his eyes suddenly met your gaze and you felt yourself flaring up, immediately turning around to face the bartender. For some reason, your throat was feeling extremely dry. Embarrassment was all you could feel. Great. Not only were you on your own but also embarrassing yourself in front of handsome guys. This was not how you had planned for your little rebellion to go. It was painfully obvious how you had never been here before. Regret started kicking in, why had you thought that doing this was a great idea? What part of your brain had convinced you that going to a completely new place you knew nothing about had been great?

And as if that hadn't been enough, a tipsy guy who could've never been up to any good had found interest in your lonely figure by the bar, reaching you with a playful smirk on his lips.

"Can I get you a drink, gorgeous?" you groaned inwardly yet kept your composure on the outside as you shook your head.

"Thank you, sir, but I'll decline." You refused politely and your answer brought a frown on the man's face. "No need to be so formal sweetie, don't be shy, I insist." His eyes twinkled mischievously upon watching you and you felt shivers going down your spine.

"I insist too, no thanks." You gritted through your teeth, hoping that the man would finally understand that no meant no and you shouldn't have to repeat yourself. Though he seemed really stubborn as he slid closer to you, elbows leaning against the bar counter as the cocky smirk on his face only grew wider. Sigh, he was a lost cause, did he think you were playing hard to get? "Oh come on!" He whined, tugging at your hand which you immediately yanked out of his hold.

"What do you think you are doing!?" You felt yourself raise your voice and the boy raised his hands in defense as if he hadn't just attempted to invade your personal space.

"Why so feisty?" He cooed, the alcohol in his system rended him incapable to understand your signals as to his overly sweet smile just grew fonder second after second. Truthfully, you wanted to leave and you were about to until you felt the slight touch of a chest brushing against your elbows when someone stood behind you.

"Alright," A sultry voice called, directed to the person who was bothering you. "I think it is time to stop bothering the lady, hm? Before I tell the guards." The man spoke calmly while sounding rather friendly, but you caught on the hidden threats underneath the sugarcoated words. Relief washed over you when the man huffed annoyedly and left without another word. Turning around, you felt as if your tongue had tied itself into a tight knot upon seeing the person looking down at you. Indeed, it wasn't any other than the young man you had seen dirty dancing on the dance floor just a few moments ago. To say that you were surprised to see him right behind you was a huge understatement. For some reason, your heart had started pounding excitedly in your chest when you met his sparkling gaze. His eyes who were like the finest green emeralds intrigued you more than anything, but you were not going to let him notice that.

"Everything okay?" He asked, concerned, and you almost forgot to answer when so engrossed into his perfect looks. How did this man look like he just came out of the hottest vintage movie even with sweat glistening on his skin? Quickly regaining your senses, you gave him a nod and a faint smile. "Yes, and thank you, sir, he was not going to leave me alone."

"You can call me Baekhyun," He introduced himself smoothly, finding your politeness very unfitting for the environment, but was nonetheless endeared by your impeccable manners as he sent you a playful smile. You had to fight the smile from breaking on your lips at the way he had just managed to introduce himself without having you ask for it.

"Are you here by yourself?" He finally asked what he had been dying to know, to which you could only shake your head dejectedly.

"I'm here with my friends, but instead of helping me integrate, they immediately jumped into the crowd." You explained, not bothering to mask the disappointment behind your words. Truthfully, maybe your imagination had been very different from what the reality was. Your friends were great dancers while all you had ever learned was ballroom dancing for the luxurious parties that you would be forced to attend. You had imagined how your friends would've dragged you with them to the dance floor and encouraged you to come out of your comfort zone, but that had been nothing but a pretty image that your imagination had created.

Baekhyun's eyebrow quirked at the information and you could tell that what you had just told him did not sit well with him. But as if a light bulb had enlightened above of his head, his eyes suddenly widened with excitement and he extended his hand toward you. The smirk on his lips made flowers bloom, tickling your insides while his green orbs allured you to place your hand in his, but you did not give in just yet.

"Then would you let me attend you?" Baekhyun offered sweetly, using the same polite manners that you had shown him before. You couldn't lie to yourself, you were extremely tempted to run your fingertips against his beautiful inviting palm that was so eagerly waiting for you to hold it, whose skin seemed like silk underneath the blinking neon lights of the night club.

Deciding to play hard to get, you returned the sugarcoated smirk, quirking a curious eyebrow. "I rejected the other man, what makes you believe I will go with you, Mister?" You challenged, but Baekhyun did not look the slightest taken aback by your advances, instead, he leaned his side on the counter to come slightly closer to you. In his orbs shone mischievousness mixed with confidence and you could already see your defeat coming, he knew exactly what he was going to use against you.

"Well..." He murmured huskily, and his sultry voice was still so clear in your ears even though the loud music was vibrating through the walls. Eyelashes kissing his cheeks, Baekhyun gave you a little glance from underneath his lashes before meeting your eyes completely, daring to tuck a couple of your stray hairs behind your ear. You had no idea why you had let him do that while the touch of the previous male had disturbed you so greatly. Yet, Baekhyun had been so careful, so gentle while never letting the confidence in his demeanor dare to crumble. You felt entranced, anticipating what he would say next with that pretty voice of his.

"You were watching me so intently while I danced, it seemed as if you were dying to let loose some too, am I wrong?"  No, he had been completely right, indeed, within that minimal eye contact you had shared as he had danced, he had been able to figure out exactly what had gone through that mind of yours.

Not knowing how to respond to his accuracy, you looked away in contemplation, lips tugged between your teeth. You could not tell if you were like an extremely predictable book to Baekhyun, or if he was just really skilled in reading people's expressions. For when you had left him hanging to try and fight back, he had rolled his eyes as if knowing exactly that you were solely trying the hide the fact that you wanted to dance. "Oh come on Kitten, just give in," He encouraged you knowingly, grabbing your hand and tugging you with him where everyone was letting loose.

That night ended up being slightly blurry because of the many delicious strawberry ciders you had drunk. You were not yourself, the sweet and fizzy alcohol had taken its toll on you. Despite everything, there were some things that your fazed conscious wouldn't miss. And that resulted to be the many laughs bubbling from your throat at the funny things Baekhyun would say. Baekhyun's beautiful voice and his warm breath fanning the shell of your ear. His delicate hands gripping your hips tightly from behind while his chest pressed against your back. Baekhyun; a beautiful stranger and yet a well-known dancer in the clubs. Baekhyun who had not needed to stay with you the whole night as he had done. Baekhyun who took you home.

Baekhyun who would've forgotten about you the morning later- And then there was you, who would've remembered as if the most precious memory.

☾☾☾

03:00 am

The streets were asleep as you quietly made your way to the porch, keys dangling from your perfectly manicured fingers. Even though nighttime, the heat had never budged the slightest from the air, leaving a thin layer of sticky sweat on your skin after the extreme dance session back in the club. The picture of Baekhyun dancing with you was still freshly imprinted into your head, so clearly so that you could still recall his intense green eyes and sensual movements right in front of your eyes. How the neon lights had painted his milky skin in every color. You knew you were probably never going to see him again. But this was an experience you were going to write down, one you would treasure dearly. Because it had finally made you realize something about yourself.

You had loved dancing. Even if not so very talented, you had adored every second of the freedom you had gotten when completely abandoned to the music pulsating through the speakers and into your veins. The friends of yours had never understood your complaints. Sure, maybe you had everything you could have ever wished for; an overflowing wealth, a luxurious house, every dress you wanted within a matter of seconds. But what meaning, what benefit would all of these things give to you if you had no freedom? You were bound to comply with anything that your parents had planned out for your future, and if you dared to speak against it, you were going to be considered a shame to the family, a failure.

Just a little puppet, that was what you were after all.

Fear clenched your heart upon seeing the dimmed lights of the hallway from the windows. A part of you told yourself not to be surprised about what was going to occur, but the uncertainty was too strong. You had broken the rules, your parents' trust, and now, two very important things to you were balancing upon a scale. Their happiness and your freedom.

Which one were you going to value the most?

The door closed with a click behind you and you held in your breath nervously. For as soon as you had stepped inside, footsteps had already been hearable coming from somewhere within the house.

No more holding back, you told yourself. No more.

"Where have you been!?" Your mother's hysteric whisper came your way, her eyes pooled with what seemed to be worry and fury. She was taking deep breaths while trying to tame her anger, the hair was slightly tousled and you understood that her distress had been genuine when you noticed that she hadn't even bothered to remove the glittering make up from her face. Something that she normally would do right away when back home, as it would damage her skin if kept for too long.

Meeting her gaze, you answered calmly, "I was out dancing with my friends." Your words were sincere as you spoke, but your calm demeanor had failed their purpose to tranquilize your mother. Blood rushed to her face while your father was running his hands soothingly down her arms.

"How insolent!" She yelled with disbelief and anger dripping from her lips. She stormed toward your figure and you felt freeze in your spot. With your feet glued onto the floor, your heart started crashing against your ribs and its noise was resonating within your ears as if the most powerful bass.

"How could you sneak out like that? Without saying anything?!" Your mother's voice was gradually becoming more breathy the more she spoke. Tears gathered in her pretty eyes. "Do you know how worried we were?! Don't you ever dare to do that again!" Teeth dug into your lips. Your fingers were shaking against your sides. Heart drowning in guilt but all at once pulled away by the strings of restraint, a flame had burst within you, and it had already grown into an untamable fire.

"But you would not allow me to do anything, this is the outcome, mother." Her eyes widened at your statement, and before you knew it, a loud noise resounded in the hallway as your mother's palm collided with your cheek. You gasped for air at the burning sensation taking over the side of your face, the shape of your mother's hand lingered on your cheek.

"How dare you,"

You had no idea what took over you at that moment, infinite courage that you would one day regret to have taken over you. A rage so strong, enough to cloud your senses and make you talk back to your parents. Tears were offuscating your view and quick puffs left your trembling lips. For how long were they going to keep you locked in this house, expecting you to be okay with it? Just for how long were they going to keep you from living your life however you wanted to?'

"Oh, I dare mother!" You screamed back, " I've asked of your permission so many times but you just would not budge. Never have I ever disobeyed you, I've always lived up to your expectations and done everything you wanted me to, but why do I not deserve to choose for myself this once?" Despair clawed through your voice and your parents were looking back at you with shock and confusion distorting their faces. Though, it quickly morphed int exasperation.

"What have we ever not given you to make you this unhappy?" Your father questioned dejectedly, " Why would you act so ungratefully?" Ungrateful? You wanted to laugh, but you swallowed down the lump in your throat.

"You do not understand, father, I..., I feel trapped, I don't feel like I am the person I want to be, like this," By now, all the energies had been sucked out of your body by the intense conversation. Your muscles were screaming for rest while your eyes begged for sleep. But your parents wanted more explanations.

"I want to experience life on my own, to make my decisions, to find my friends, and create relationships."

That they were confused was e big understatement. Their spoiled minds could just not wrap themselves around the fact that you might've felt much more comfortable in an environment that was not necessarily the sparkling reality of richness and wealth that you had been born into. "W-what?" Your mother stuttered. You inhaled deeply as an attempt to collect your emotions and find the right words.

"I do not want to limit myself to the way we're living right now. Neither do I want you to decide on my future. Please," You pleaded, "I beg of you, try to understand and consider what I am saying." Nonetheless your tries, the confusion didn't subdue from your parents' faces. "What could you ever find out there that is better than what our world has to offer?" Your mother scoffed, blinded by her society, induced to not know any better- to not even try and see what more there was to life.

"Mother..." You coaxed, hoping that your composure would ease her upset mood, "I think I want to try out dancing." There. You said it. You could only squeeze your eyes shut in front of the blow that was about to come. Because of that, you missed the way your mother's eyes widened with shock. Your father had his silent ways to deal with the news as he kept quiet, probably battling with himself within his thoughts. Compared to your mother, his patience would last the longest while the smallest of things could send your mother ballistic.

"No. Absolutely not." She concluded, making you snap your gaze to hers, letting her see the disappointed tears merging within your orbs.

"But why?!" You cried, looking at your father this time, pleading him silently with your eyes and you were to be disheartened by the doubt on his face. It did look like he had something to say, but your mother beat him to it, and he did not oppose it.

"I should not even have to explain myself." The level of unfair was making a very strong desire to scream surge within the darkest pit of your being, the frustration and rage you were experiencing at that moment was the strongest emotion you'd ever felt. Never in your life had you seen yourself reacting this way to your parents, with your blood crazily boiling in your veins and a restless strength in your body that made your fingers curl into fists.

"And this is the end of the discussion. We are not playing around, we are here for strict business. Remember that." Your mother threw the cold truth upon you, mercilessly. "No more escapades at night and no more of those friends of yours. I should have known they were nothing but a bad influence." She snarled, scanning your body from head to toe.

"Now change out of that...Dress, and go to sleep. I do not want to hear such nonsense from you ever again." You had always loved and respected your mother for the brilliant woman she was, as a person, and obviously in her abilities within the business. But this, the way she just broke your heart to shreds and ripped you from your freedom, you were afraid you could never forgive that. Not this time

☾☾☾

Tension. That was probably not the appropriate word to describe the thick, awkward aura that floated in the air when you and your parents sat the dining table for breakfast the next morning. The crisp scent of the freshly toasted bread along with the newly washed strawberries set on the table would have by now made your stomach grumble excitedly. But seeing their faces had been enough for your hunger to get chased away. They spoke casually though it was obvious how last night's argument was weighing down on their shoulders.

A deep sigh left your lips when you finally had enough and stood up to leave. Swinging your purse up your shoulder caused your mother's eyes to find you warily.

"Where are you going?" She urged with an accusatory tone in her voice. Swallowing down the need to snap back, you answered calmly: "I am going out for a walk around the blocks. Just like I do every morning." Indeed, that was a part of your daily routine and you almost smirked when your mother's lips pursed together. For she could not take away something that you had been doing since your arrival in this country, and it was not going to change because of a fight.

As you made your way through the busy streets you wondered what place to visit, your morning walks were always a great opportunity to explore new areas that you could find near your home. A soft breeze fluttered your shirtdress, making a sweet hum tumble down your lips at the refreshing contrast against the unbearable warmth from the sun. But most of all, you loved the noise of the cicadas singing in the summer heat, the fragrance of coffee deriving from the many cafeés down the streets. The chatters, the children playing.

The more you walked and looked around, the more posters on the wall started appearing, announcing a Latin dancing contest. Its bright colors caught your eyes right away and without any hesitation, you ripped the piece of paper off the wall to have a closer look. In four weeks. You had no experience, and yet, even for a little moment, you couldn't help but imagine yourself dancing in the middle of a stage, standing out in between all the other couples as you danced a dance that was different from the others. One that screamed freedom. Just the thought made your legs feel ticklish, your heart beat excitedly in your chest. Oh, how you wished to participate.

Your train of thoughts was abruptly interrupted by the noise of two people screaming. Brows furrowed on your face, you looked around, only to find out that the hollers were coming from a glass door just a few meters away from you. Without thinking, you followed the noise and entered the little building. There was an empty reception and not too far away, an open door, in which you could make out a man and a woman conversating animatedly. You quickly realized that it hadn' been a simple conversation when the girl suddenly swung her palm to the man's cheek, imprinting her hand onto his face with a scarlet red. The noise echoed loudly and without being able to contain your curiousness, you scurried closer, getting a glimpse of how big that room actually was. Its walls were covered by mirrors, reflecting the two people from every angle.

"You're such a jerk Byun Baekhyun! Do that damn dance contest on your own!" The girl shrieked before storming off. Her thundering gaze met yours for the quickest second, and it had been so extremely chilling that you praised the Lord that she did not stop to talk to you. Her loud stomping responded in the small studio, resembling such noise as of a pack of horses.

Byun Baekhyun...Baekhyun, that name sounded incredibly familiar indeed. A little gasp left your lips when you gave the man a better look. Of course, how could you ever forget those black curls with flaring scarlet streaks melting within his strands? The green jewels that were his eyes and the low cut shirt flaunting his toned chest? His whole figure was familiar, well, except that red handprint on his cheek, that is. Stifling a little laugh, you allowed yourself to be seen and stepped inside what seemed to be a practice room.

"Are you okay, sir?" You called out softly, "I think I can feel that slap on my own cheek," You could not refrain yourself from teasing the man while gracing your fingers on your own face. Upon hearing your voice, he snapped out of his gaze and you were surprised when the confusion on his face did not last longer than a second. The realization made a smile curl his pretty lips, and only then did you notice how a golden ring was embracing his protruding underlip, rendering him unnecessarily attractive.

"Oh? Isn't it the lost kitten from last night," Baekhyun recognized you immediately and a  pleasant feeling fulfilled you. Perhaps, what you felt was a tad stronger, you realized. Inside of your chest was a whole jungle of flowers blooming and you were uneasy with the fact that you could not explain to yourself why you were feeling that way. The whole night you had told yourself that you were probably never going to see him again, and yet, there he was right before you, only the next day.

"How can I help you, Princesa?" For a second, you were completely taken aback by the sudden endearment that had rolled off his lips. The fact that your cheeks were clearly flaring up for him to see flustered you to no end. You were no master in the Latin language, but you knew enough to know how flirty he had sounded. It hadn't been random of him to call you that, by saying princess, he was very clearly teasing you about the polite manners you had shown yesterday in the club and how painfully they had contrasted with the environment.

"Well, I..." You started once back to your senses, a bit confused as of how you were going to answer the question since you were not sure why you were there either. The dancer quirked an amused brow and you cursed your cheeks for heating up uncontrollably. Truthfully, the man had the most intense- the most entrancing gaze you had ever encountered, and the blame you put on his beautiful eyes as well as the red eyeshadow placed on his waterline to give further depth to his stare.

"I was just taking a walk when I stumbled here, what kind of place is this?" Although the difficulty to answer just a few moments ago, the question you had asked was nothing but genuine.  For the shortest moment, you caught on the distressed feeling flickering on his face before he masked it with a confident smirk. To be honest, he conveyed it so well that you for a while wondered if you had hallucinated his previous expression.

"This is my dance studio." The word dance made fireworks explode in your chest as you showed Baekhyun your eager expression.

"Woah! So you are a dance teacher!" You exclaimed, not being able to contain your enthusiasm. This was the perfect opportunity. Your mother could do as much as keep you away from your friends and going out at night, but she could most definitely not stop you from doing whatever during the day. She was constantly busy with work, so you figured out she would not even notice your further absence. Baekhyun bit his lip hesitantly and your eyes moved on their own as they took in the way his lip ring disappeared behind his drilling teeth.

"I used to teach, but that's not the case anymore." He explained without any details which only made your interest grow.

"May I ask why? I apologize for listening to your conversation with the lady, but I believe you were going to participate in the dance contest?" At this point, questions were flowing nonstop out of mouth and Baekhyun had to hush you to answer.

"You're a curious one, aren't you?" He murmured with a hint of sarcasm to which you only smiled sweetly at him. Normally, he wouldn't have given in so easily, but your curious demeanor was endearing to him and he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his pretty lips. "Why don't you take a seat?" Baekhyun offered, leading you to a round glass table where he kindly took out a chair for you before his own.

"Where were we...Ah, yes, the dance competition." Baekhyun pondered out loud while taking a seat in front of you. You had noticed how he was purposely ignoring the first question you had asked, but without taking it personally. In the end, you had known each other for barely two days, and for all you could know, it might've been a sensitive topic for him.

"The Latin dancing competition takes place every summer, and the price they offer is very high," A little smirk quirked the corner of his lip at the thought of money and it took all of you not to blush at the way he leaned his cheek onto his palm and stared intently. "And as you may have seen, or, eavesdropped."  Baekhyun raised his eyebrow playfully, the smile never faltering. "I was going to participate but my partner dumped me just now. I might have to pass on this one." He played it off cool by slouching against the backrest of his chair, almost flawlessly masking his true disappointment. Almost. His smile was as always, so incredibly charming with those pearly white teeth peeking by his lips,  but this time the sorrow in his green eyes lingered.

You hadn't really thought through your words before you pronounced them, much less paid attention to any possible consequences, all you knew was that you had to take the opportunity that had opened itself right in front of you.

"It would be a pity if you gave up at the cause of your partner. Perhaps I'll come off too strong but," You hesitated, "Maybe I could...replace her?" That was what managed to wipe the smirk off his face, expression morphing into one of pure astonishment that quickly shifted to doubt.

"Oh, kitten, It's not that easy." He refused, "A lot of training is involved and I am afraid that you are not cut out for this kind of dancing." Now,  as nice as he was trying to sound, it did not manage to keep you calm. Why would he say that when he did not even know anything about you?

"Why are you so quick to judge me?" You fired back without letting him finish what he was about to say. Baekhyun looked at you knowingly while he stood up from his chair and offered you his hand challengingly. Gulping loudly, you took it and stood up as well. Had you not been as nervous, your thoughts would have probably wandered away to heaven because Baekhyun had unfairly enough, the most beautiful hands you had ever seen- ever touched, his skin the closest thing to silk on earth. Your breath lost itself in your lungs when you suddenly found yourself being pressed against his toned chest. Lifting your gaze up, you met Baekhyun's green oceans, and only then did you realize how incredibly close the two of you were standing. From his parted lips escaped small breaths that landed on your skin. It was inevitable, being extremely conscious of every part of his body that was touching yours. Your thoughts swirled into one big mess and you found yourself in a daze.

Baekhyun's body held a warmth that to you resembled the feeling of sun rays warming up your skin when shivering. All you could wrap your head around was the way his body shaped so perfectly against yours. Though, the comforting sensation did not last long when you suddenly broke into a cold sweat. His hand that had been between your shoulder blades had started wandering down in a painfully slow manner and you found yourself completely unable to react until his fingertip surpassed their limit that was the small of your back. The palm of his large hand cupped your bum easily, making your chin drop.

"I-I," You stuttered, struggling to find your voice back. "Sir! Would you keep your hands to yourself! Dear God," The words tumbled out of your lips one after another as used all of your strength to push him away from you. Heat was gathering on your cheeks as your hands were restlessly fixing your dress, then pushing your hair behind your ears as an attempt to cover up for your sudden outburst. You were confused to see Baekhyun being the least fazed by your actions. He sighed and took and sat back down on the chair.

"See? This is exactly what I mean," His hands gesticulated towards you as he spoke, "I am not just mindlessly judging you, you may not remember that well, but we danced together yesterday night and you became a rock at the sole touch of my hands." Teeth drilled into your lip at his words.  You wanted to fight back but you knew that would bring you nowhere. The memories from last night were indeed foggy and you could not recall that well, you were sure Baekhyun was not lying about your reaction to his touch.

"Do you know any Latin dance genres?" He then asked, to which you could only answer with a small no.

"But I can work on it! I promise that I'll work hard!" You insisted, only earning a sigh from the man.

"Sweetheart, I don't doubt your will to do this, but you are too...Too proper," A cringe twisted your lips when he said that, making you feel as if you were hopelessly trying to enter a world where you'd never belong.  "And three weeks is such a limited time, it'll never be enough for the required skills of the competition." The more he spoke, the more your hopes were crumbling into nothingness, why was everything in your life working against you? All you wanted to do was to try something new, something that could help you shape your being.

Small tears crystallized in your lashes, "Please...Baekhyun," You begged underneath your breath. "This means a lot to me and it is my only opportunity,  I promise I won't let you down, I'll work hard and I'll pay you whichever amount you need- just, please," You found yourself getting emotional at the thought of this opportunity disappearing before you could even reach out for it. At this point, even though you were begging the dancer, you had no actual expectations of him. You did not know each other and he owed you nothing. You would understand if he'd decline.

"Hey, hey, no don't cry-" Baekhyun panicked and stood up to get next to you. His arms found their way around your shoulders in the hope to console you. " Fine, I'll do it just stop crying, okay?" He eventually gave in against his will. When he saw you calming down he allowed himself to sigh, inwardly telling himself that he wouldn't lose anything by doing this, that he might as well do it for himself too.

"I'll teach you and we'll do the competition, but expect hard training," The feeling of relief and gratefulness was overwhelming you to the point of your lips forming into a smile that you wholeheartedly directed to him. Your nose almost bumped into his as you did, sending your heart berserk within your chest. The fragrance of his cologne was washing over you like water and you found yourself urging to inhale it deeply, but fought against it.  The dancer showed no sign of nervousness at the close proximity, moreover, he was smirking teasingly down at you as he brought his lips to the shell of your ear.

"Hard training, and lots and lots of...Touching."

A massive gasp left your mouth and his melodic yet evil laugh echoed in the practice room. But at the end of the day, you were officially going to follow your newfound dream.

☾☾☾

When you had told your parents that you were going to start working out, it hadn't been a complete lie. In the first week of training, Baekhyun had really not cut you any slack with the physical strength and that explained why you would return home with muscles screaming in pain and sweat trickling down your temples.  You hadn't known all too well what you were getting yourself into when you said that you wanted to dance.  A night out with your friends hadn't reflected what it really was like to indulge in the world of dancing, and you were realizing it all now. There was never a shortcut to reach the best results, the only way was through blood sweat and tears, as cheesy as that sounded.

You were watching yourself intently in the mirror as you moved to the music. Baekhyun had shown you a couple of moves for you to imitate, and when he had executed them they had looked extremely smooth and easy- but it was definitely not the same thing when you were trying to recreate them with your own body. Your dance teacher didn't seem satisfied with how you were doing either, but instead of nagging he moved from his spot by the wall and stood right behind you. The gap between your back and his chest was so extremely minimal that you could physically feel it. You felt yourself tensing up when Baekhyun's warm breath landed on the exposed skin of your shoulder.

"You are extremely stiff," He murmured lowly while placing his hands on your shoulders and shivers thundered down your spine. "Relax," he continued to gently dig his fingers into your skin, pressing on to relieve the tension in your muscles.

"I'm sorry," You whispered, "It's hard to go all out with your eyes on me all the time," It was true, it couldn't completely excuse your nonexistent skills but Baekhyun's intense stare was the main reason for your shying away from giving your all.  You were surprised when he didn't tease you because of what you said, but the more you thought about it, the more sense it made. Baekhyun was a dance teacher, he probably knew better than to make his students feel insecure with his snickers.

"I understand, then inhale deeply," He instructed, his voice just a soft hum over the loud music from the speakers. "And close your eyes." When you did as told, you found yourself breathing out in relief when his hands had started massaging your shoulders, eventually relaxing your whole body. It didn't take long before Baekhyun's hands had started trailing lower until they found the curve of your waist. With teeth drilling into your lip, you fought the urge to push them away and let him do his thing. You kept your eyes closed and tried to concentrate on the music rather than on the foreign feeling of Baekhyun's touch. It had nearly been two weeks and you still could not help but squirm away whenever he'd put his hands on you. You could tell that it was extremely for him that was going to be your partner, but he was keeping it in every time without complaints. Gently, he guided your hips to sway along with the rhythm.

Your eyes fluttered open at the noise of Baekhyun's defeated sigh and the loss of his touch. A wave of relief washed over you when he finally let go of you, for some reason, you would feel so overwhelmingly nervous when close to him and it made it hard for you to function properly. There was something about him that made your thoughts swirl, something that continuously pulled at the strings of your heart and you were not sure whether you wanted to acknowledge what it was. You were afraid to lose yourself. Indeed, Baekhyun was like the sweetest sex on the beach, where the sweet flavor would coat your tongue but its strong alcohol hit you hard without your conscious.

You turned around to meet his gaze. "You're still very tensed in your movements," He stated, making you blush when his eyes raked your figure one last time, "We'll stop here for today." You were taken aback by the fact that he was cutting short on the lesson by a couple of hours, but when you saw the growing smirk on his lips, you knew he was up to something.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" You eyed him weirdly which only caused him to chuckle, a sound that would often tickle your heart like the softest feather.

"Tomorrow bring your swimwear because we're going to the beach."

☾☾☾

The sand was scorching hot underneath your feet so you scurried to the shore as quickly as you could, only to let out a relieved sigh at the refreshing water washing the burning sensation away. Palm trees reached the immense blue sky and rustled by the wind, although the sun was warming the city over thirty degrees, the sea served its embracing and a little salty breeze. Soon enough, Baekhyun who had been taking his time reached your side.

"Alright, let's get to it right away." He announced without wasting a single second, arms crossing his stomach to grab the hem of his shirt that as usual, flaunted his toned chest but left some space for imagination as well. Your hands went to do the same but eventually slowed down in their movements when your eyes pulled themselves to Baekhyun's undressing figure. Lips drilling into your lips, the logical part of you was doing everything to stop staring, but the curiosity was so unbearable. As soon as the v-lines disappearing underneath the waistband of his trunks came into your view you snapped your gaze away and nervously fumbled with the buttons of your dress. Oh god, oh God, oh God- just how were you going to function when he looked like that?  

"I know that you were staring, kitten." As if it hadn't been enough, Baekhyun had felt your gaze and was not going to miss the chance to get under your skin.

"I was not!" You lied although it would be futile, Baekhyun was eye-candy, and he very aware of it too.  With the unusual hairstyle that made sense only him; mullet gracing the nape of his neck and red streaks melting into his black locks. With his green eyes that underneath the glowing day-star shone like glittering emeralds, not to mention the smile of his that could within seconds melt your whole being, warmer than summer itself. And his skin? Its color reminded you of sweet caramel and its smooth surface made you want to run your fingertips along with it. God was surely very biased when he created this human. How was he so unfairly beautiful? How could you not stare?

Throwing your dress over your shoulders and into your bag, you hurried to where Baekhyun had already entered the waters. The hairs on your body stood up at the contact with the cold water, but you loved that feeling, it was shooting against your heated skin.

"So," You stole a glance at Baekhyun from underneath your lashes, still a bit too conscious of him to look at him. "Why the beach?" You asked and brought your hands behind your back to try and seem a little less tense. Before you knew it, Baekhyun was already standing in front of you with his gorgeous self, not giving you any choice but to trail your eyes up his muscled stomach, continuing to his throat and finally his face that was currently extremely glossy because of the sunscreen he was wearing.

"We are going to," Baekhyun walked around your figure, standing right behind you where he took ahold of your hands to break their hold of each other. "release the tension in those pretty hips of yours,"

"Hey!" You scolded although your cheeks were already set on fire. But as always, he would only laugh heartedly, content with your reaction to his teasing. This time though, since he was behind you, you did not get to see the way his eyes twinkled with endearment.

"Close your eyes now," And just like that, he was back to his serious self. Closing your eyes, you inhaled the sea scented breeze to calm down your heart that had gone frantic upon Baekhyun's hands gripping your hips gently. "Do you feel the waves?" he murmured softly and you only nodded. "Dancing is a sign of freedom, you know? Just like the waves, you're allowed to have your own rhythm, your own color, when dancing, you are allowed to be exactly who you want to be," Baekhyun's words were like the softest caresses on your wounded heart.

"Now follow the waves, and sway gently," his voice at that moment was the most mellow thing that had ever kissed your ears. "Left and right," He hummed repeatedly. You felt yourself move along the guidance of his hands on your hips, gently following the rhythm of the sea. This was it, you were doing it and without messing it up!

The heart was swelling within your chest and you couldn't help but proceed to close the gap and press your back to Baekhyun's heaving chest. His grip on you somewhat tightened when you did, and his chin landed to rest on the curve of your shoulder.

"Baekhyun," You smiled happily, "I think I got a hold of it now- oh my God," You couldn't contain your excitement as you exclaimed the words while never interrupting your swaying motion along with Baekhyun's. Tickling butterfly wings spread in your belly when you felt him smile against your shoulder, the coldness of his lip ring sent shivers down your spine while his breaths fanned your skin.

"Then we'll wrap up here and I'll treat you on a well-deserved helado."  

That was how you found yourself standing in line with Baekhyun to get some ice cream. Soon enough, the girl behind the counter was handing you your cone with strawberry flavored ice cream.  You watched as Baekhyun handed her the money, not leaving without sending her a sweet smile, a wink, and a subtle gracias. The girl blushed madly but it was evident how the simple gestures had made her happy.

"Are you a player, or what?" You grumbled, not being able to hide your annoyment. Truthfully, you knew that the fingers clenching your heart were nothing less than jealousy, but you were not going to admit it. The answer provided was though, not what you had expected.

"No not really," He shrugged his shoulders, "I just like to make girls feel pretty, nothing wrong with that, right?"

"Well, am I not pretty too?" You demanded- gasping out loud when you realized that you had spoken your thoughts without reasoning. The heat was clouding in front of your face, and it wasn't any better when Baekhyun chortled so prettily like he always did before standing right in front of you with an adoring smile that could've stolen your heart on the spot. Your stomach flipped when his fingers gently reached out to curl some stray strands of your hair behind your ear.

"You're beautiful, darling." He spoke ever so sweetly as if honey was dripping off his lips and you had to put the ice cream against your mouth to hide the blossoming smile that could've given you away. A playful snicker played on his face as he bent down to your level and placed his lips at the opposite side of your cone, tasting the sweet flavor.

"Strawberry's my favorite," Baekhyun justified his actions with a glint of mischievousness enlightening his pretty orbs.

In this hot summer, there were many things that could warm you up. But none of it could nearly come to compare to Baekhyun's twinkling smile when he told you that you were beautiful.

☾☾☾

Three weeks in, and the fact that you and your parents hadn't had a proper conversation after that fight lingered in the back of your head, no matter how much you tried to suppress it.

The distant noise of the fan blurred into the loud music vibrating from the speakers and the mirrored room reflected your every move as you danced. In the second week of training had been so much progress, to the point where you and Baekhyun could sweep across the dance floor without you stepping on his feet. You had learned so many dance moves to execute with Baekhyun that you were astonished by yourself. It was not easy, being lifted up in the air, to slide underneath his legs, or to simply spin back into his hold. It required so much physical strength from both parties- and well, in this case, you were the only one in the need of training. As for the sensuality, Baekhyun knew you were a bit uncomfortable with it still, so he was taking things slow. The fusion of Latin dances that was dirty dancing involved a great quantity of physical contact that you had never experienced before- and to be suddenly feeling hands all over you was a hard pill to swallow. Difficulties aside, the two of you had started working on the choreography and as much as you wanted to shy away, you were ecstatic to have come this far.

Your eyes locked themselves on your figure in the mirror as you danced alone in the room, practicing on a few solo dance moves that Baekhyun had taught you. Those were also extremely important when dancing with a partner, to be able to move your own- to shine on your own even if for a few seconds before returning to the male. Ever since the happenings at the beach, you had been able to feel so much more comfortable in your skin, in the idea of giving your body away to the music and its waves. Baekhyun's words had helped you appreciate the music more- so extremely so, that whenever you were dancing was when you felt the freest, the most beautiful you'd ever been.

Arms gracefully waving and hips swaying smoothly, you looked absolutely gorgeous when pumping your chest, when your feet executed the Latin dance moves perfectly.  If it wasn't for your concentration going completely to your reflection, you would have noticed how Baekhyun had been leaning against the door frame, following your every movement as if you were the most intriguing movie he'd ever seen. His teeth bit onto his lip upon watching as if trying to contain himself.

Indeed you were, the most beautiful person he had ever seen.

☾☾☾

Heavy breaths were parting your lips and all you really needed to feel was something cold and refreshing against your sweating back. Although the fan was at its maximum, it was not enough to soothe the hotness of the summer day fused with hours of intense practice. With a huge sigh, you let your body slump down onto the cold floor, feeling relief wash over you at the contrast of temperature. Baekhyun looked at you with a stunned expression but not long after, he did just the same and laid down next to you. His chest was heaving up and down in a quick manner as he sought to catch his breath, his locks slightly wet of perspiration fell messily down his head, giving you a full view of his shiny forehead.

Outside, the cicadas were singing and the people had started retreating indoors during the warmest time of the day. You rolled onto your side, placing your arm underneath your head for support and glanced at the boy next to you. Baekhyun's eyes were closed and hadn't you known better, you would've through he was sleeping, though you were aware of the fact that he was simply relaxing. You couldn't help but take advantage of the situation to shamelessly observe him. The thin eyelashes that kissed his slightly flushed cheeks glittered into the afternoon sun, its orange shade painting Baekhyun's tan skin, rendering it golden. Oh, how was he so ethereal? You could just not wrap your head around it, at times like these you would find your heart blossoming within your chest- your breath hitching because it felt as if an angel was laying right beside you. Perhaps he really was one, for when he danced he seemed as light as a feather, when he danced you could feel the passion radiating from his whole being. It was like he found life in the action of moving to the music.

"Baekhyun?" You found yourself whispering lowly, just in case he had been actually sleeping. The said male turned his head in your direction and quirked an eye open, a questioning hum left his parted lips that were as always, adorned by a thin and golden lip ring.

"If I may ask, did you have any motives behind joining this contest?" You had been extremely curious about this since the very beginning and you hoped that Baekhyun would trust you enough to answer this time. To your dismay silence was all you got back, your words lingered like thick tension in the air. When you started to think he wouldn't answer was when Baekhyun parted his lips to speak, taking you by surprise.

"This studio has belonged to my family for a very long time, in fact, my parents used to teach people of all ages to dance. I used to teach too." The playfulness that he would often hold in his demeanors was now nowhere to be seen. Baekhyun spoke every so softly, his voice fragile and solemn as if the tiniest shards of memory from the past would cut his heart open again.

"Though late in my parents' career, things started going south and they could no longer keep on teaching. Back then, I was young and still burned with such passion," He recalled while staring at the ceiling, "I did not fully understand the weight I put on my shoulders when I said I'd take care of this studio. I did not want them to sell it, too many of my memories linger in here- I felt as if I would be ripping a piece of my memories and throwing it away if I just let them give it away." All you could do was listen to his sorrowful voice, silently yearning to be the one who could soothe his grief.

"By joining, and hopefully winning the dancing contest, I would've used the price to revive this dance studio and open it again. I am barely keeping it with the paycheck that I have now, I am constantly jumping from a part-time to the other."

"I think you still have so much of that passion, Baekhyun." You said meaningfully, not being able to help it, you gave in to the urge to reach out for his face. He had been laying so close to you, enough for you to feel the scent of his faded cologne mixed with sweat, something that dazed you greatly. Baekhyun leaned into the caress of your soft fingertips, letting out a soft sigh that thunders run down your body. You wanted to scream at the way he was making you feel, wines were growing within your chest- flowers were blooming and their roots carved his sweet name into your heart.

As the pad of his thumb softly traced the corner of his mouth, you watched as Baekhyun bit down on his lip as if holding himself from taking your gentle fingers in with his lips.

"How about you?" He eventually asked, and you found yourself letting everything you had been holding in for yourself out to Baekhyun, your heart spread before him like an open book for him to read. At that moment you realized that you could trust him. You trusted Baekhyun. Baekhyun who listened to everything you had to say, who never removed his tender gaze from yours. Baekhyun who drank up every emotion seeping from your voice.

That afternoon, you were provided with a pair of words that had kept you from sleeping. Words that you had never thoughts about- but now could not stop recalling.

"It's so brave of you to follow your dream, and I'll help you for as long as you'll need me- but, please, don't give up one good relationship with your parents, before you know it, they'll be gone and all you'll have is regret. "

☾☾☾

The competition was nearing within the blink of an eye, it was still hard to grasp as it only felt like yesterday, the day you had sneaked out to a dance club with your friends. You could not believe it, one time should have been enough, really. But there you were again, in the middle of the night tiptoeing with your heels hanging from your fingertips. Your parents were asleep since hours ago and part of you felt guilty for doing this again. Ever since Baekhyun had said those things, you had started speaking with your parents more genuinely in the hopes of digging up what you had lost during that massive fight. Truly, they had been happy to make peace with you again, especially your mother who had felt responsible for your behavior. Though, you were still doing these things behind their backs- meeting Baekhyun and dancing, which had been something they had banned you from doing since the very start.

It was with a heavy heart that you exited through the mansion's backdoor, wore your heels, and as quickly as possible ran to where Baekhyun was going to wait for you in his car.  

The nightclub was as expected, as crowded as it could possibly be, which made you wonder whether you and Baekhyun were going to make it to the dance floor without losing each other. In the beginning, you had been rather hesitant when Baekhyun had suggested that you'd go together. He had explained how it was a great place to practice dirty dancing since there were many people dancing at the same time and that was sort of how the competition was going to look like too, even if less crowded. Eventually, you had agreed, telling yourself that you could use it as an opportunity to work on the slight stage fright you had. But truly, the real motive was that Baekhyun was extremely skilled at convincing people, a real charmer that is.

A live band was performing famous Latin songs to which no one missed a single beat of, passionately, they were singing along to every line. Your eyes scanned the crowd, only to see countless couples dancing ever so skillfully- resembling what Baekhyun had looked like the very first time you saw him. A wave of insecurity hit you without warning and you started wondering whether you'll ever look like that when dancing too. Was your mediocre self an embarrassment to Baekhyun who was well known everywhere? You could only wonder while the said male grabbed your hand in his and brought it above of your head, to which you took the cue and spun around a couple of times before retreating to press against his chest. Sweat trickled down your temples and you rolled your body along Baekhyun's, following his every motion, matching it with your own. His hands that had started traveling along your body sent a heatwave down your vertebrae. Fingers ghosted their way up legs- resting on your hip while the other sought to trail the line starting from between your collarbones, down to the space between your breasts. Before Baekhyun could even do so, you had already pushed his hands away.

You had no idea what had gotten into you when you had done that, it had been a good moment to try and finally get used to the fundamental part of what you wanted to do, and yet again, an inexplicable sensation that urged you to shy away got the best of you. It was not giving Baekhyun a chance to even circle his arms around your waist, for you had already sent them away. This had not been the first time you'd done that, that you couldn't take his touch had occurred on many occasions during practice. Fear gathered in your chest when you saw Baekhyun's expression darken and that was when you realized that he was only going to take that much before exploding.

Baekhyun's fingers harshly wrapped around your wrist as he dragged you away from the dance floor to a corner of the nightclub where the two of you could speak with a bit more tranquility. The excitement that had manifested in his orbs at the beginning of the night was completely gone, now replaced with something that you couldn't quite pinpoint. You had never imagined that you'd ever see him as raging as he was now, or hence- that you'd ever be the reason for his current dark expression. The heart drummed furiously against your chest while it echoed loudly in your ears, blurring the loud music out completely.

"Why do you push me away all the time?" He finally spoke, words gritting through his teeth, "Are we playing around or what? How do you think of doing the damn competition if you keep on doing that!?" Playing around? He thought you were playing around? You wanted to laugh, though the growing lump in your throat stopped you from doing so. You had explained this to him before- and yet- why would he say that to you? It was still so foreign to you and you were truly trying your hardest.

"I'm sorry, I can't fucking help it okay!?" You shouted, "I am trying!" Small tears were surging at the edge of your eyes, turning Baekhyun's figure blurry in front of you.

"Well, you're not trying hard enough!"He threw his hands in the air, every inch of his being screamed frustration and anger. "I feel like a damn idiot whenever you do that," Baekhyun had never once complained at you, he had respected your limits and trusted you when you said you were working on it, but even his patience had a boundary, and at this moment it was as if the glass had overflowed.

"Every time we make progress it's like we fall back to step one because you're being like that! If you are so uncomfortable with me, why are you making me do this? You're wasting both of our times." Although his chest was heaving heavily for more oxygen, he kept going and let out every frustration, every doubt that he had kept to himself until now.

"If you really want to do this competition, you should know that one of the biggest components for dancing is trust toward your partner, but if you can't bring yourself to trust me, then what the hell is the point?" Baekhyun's words were a hard pill to swallow, but deep down you knew that he was nothing but right. He had every right to react like this- after so many days of hard training, after trusting you and telling you the wounds of his heart, and yet, you still could not trust him?

"I'm sorry-" You breathed out, reaching out for his soft hands, "let's just do it again, please." You attempted through your shaking voice, but nothing could waver Baekhyun's anger as he yanked his hands out of your hold, leaving you completely shaken.

"No, I'm done." He shook his head with disbelief, "Come back when you are not afraid." You could not help but frown. Afraid? Was that really it? Baekhyun might've been right when he said that you were fearing,  but the prideful part of you refused to admit it. You kept telling yourself that it was just his own perception of you- he was wrong. You had gone this far, you had broken the rules to come to this point, the last thing you were was scared.

"I am not!" You denied furiously.

"Yes you are," He said, not leaving his ground. " just admit it. You've might come all the way to this point, but deep down you're still afraid of change, of the new things that are about to come."

"Tell me, do you really want this dream of yours? Or maybe you are too scared?" The dancer scoffed, not glancing twice at you before turning around and leaving you with hot tears streaming down your cheeks.

☾☾☾

"You look stunning, sweetheart." Said your mother sweetly when you stepped out of your room. Your body was hugged by a beautiful chiffon midi dress and your face adorned by a light makeup look that enhanced your features in the most natural of ways. A shy smile displayed on your lips at the compliment, it had been a while since you last wore such an elegant dress. The floral pattern glittered mildly and you felt yourself shining underneath your mother's adoring gaze. She had given it to you as a gift,  telling you that today was a special occasion and that you just had to wear it.

Seven in the evening and the sun was painting the immense sky in its delicate purple and pink colors as it hid behind the horizon. Streaks of orange melted into the clouds and the stars were waiting for their turn to show up. As the car pulled up by the restaurant, you recalled it to be the same location as where was going to take place. In fact, you were stunned to see the immense dance floor in the middle of the restaurant, the round tables surrounding it. In the background was a live band playing calm jazz music that quickly blurred out with your conversations.

All you had known when preparing for this dinner was that it was going to be extremely important for your parents' business career. Hopefully, they were going to seal the deal with this other company and become partners once and for all. Obviously, you were going to act your best and help them make the best impression achievable. You and your family had already been seated by the table when the other couple came, your parents were ecstatic to finally meet them and stood immediately up from their chairs to welcome them warmly. Bright and pleasant people, they were and the way they treated you with such familiarity caressed relief over your once anxious heart. Just like your parents, they seemed to be in their fifties. To your surprise, they also had an only child, their son whose name was Jongin.

The male had impeccable manners when he first presented himself, gracing you with his sparkling smile and a light kiss to your knuckles. Truthfully, if it hadn't been for a certain person refusing to leave your thoughts, you would've felt more motivated to get to know the gorgeous boy sitting next to you at the round table. Ever since your fight with Baekhyun at the nightclub, you hadn't found it in yourself to show yourself in front of him. There were many reasons, and the main one was that you were, ironically enough, afraid. Perhaps he had been right all along. You were scared, so scared that it was hindering you from taking it a step further. You had been able to follow your dream until now because you knew that your mother and father had no idea of what you were doing behind their backs. But dancing on that floor was going to expose yourself to everyone, letting everyone know that you had completely given yourself to dancing and its world. As immature as it might've sounded, the past few weeks, the idea of participating to that competition had still felt like a distant dream, something that you might've not to be able to reach after all. Somehow, you had grown used to dream, you were okay with imagining it without it coming true. But before you knew it, it had become nothing less than reality and it was stealing your breath.

Why hadn't anyone told you that chasing a dream would be so scary?

No, you were expecting too much. Every new reality was bound to seem intimidating at first, but the fear was nothing impossible to overcome.

Perhaps, you were a simple coward after all. Why were you now, in your thoughts comparing yourself and envying every successful person you knew? What was there to envy, when you had been the only one limiting yourself, hindering yourself from reaching your dream?

"What do you think honey?" Your mother's sugarcoated voice broke the train of your thoughts and you cursed yourself for not paying attention to the ongoing conversation. The beginning of the dinner had consisted of the elders talking about business, to which you and Jongin had absolutely no clue how to fit yourselves in the conversation. You had shared a couple of words with the male but had eventually drowned in your own thoughts.

"I am sorry mother, could you repeat yourself?" You smiled hesitantly, and the two ladies who seemed to have bonded rather quickly snickered excitedly.

"Me and Mrs. Kim here were just thinking that it would be absolutely lovely if you and Jongin got to know each other! Don't you think?" Currently, there was seastorm going on in your chest. The heart was crashing violently against your ribs as you watched your mother's eyes form into crescents. Her words might've seemed completely harmless to anyone else, but you knew better than to believe her endearing smile.

"I'd love to get to know your daughter, ma'am." Jongin joined the conversation, speaking honey-coated words that did nothing but please the two ladies.

"I am sure you and Jongin will find so much in common!" Mrs. Smith exclaimed enthusiastically, "Who knows, something lovely might bloom." You were not sure if your expression was still the smile you had plastered on your face or if it had morphed into a wince, but you were trying to seem as eager as the happy male next to you. Though, a lump was forming in your throat, making it hard for you to breathe.

"Mother, may I speak with you for a while?" Your voice felt like thick syrup as you uttered, by now, your chest was heaving anxiously for more air.

"What is it, honey?" She said worriedly once the two of you had reached one of the restaurant's balconies, for you had absolutely needed the sharp inhale of fresh air that you had taken as soon as you had stepped outside.

"What was that all about, mother?" Regardless of your attempts to stay collected you were instantly betrayed by your shaking voice.

"What do you mean? Is everything alright?" Worry displayed on her face as she took in your upset figure. How your fist had been trembling with anger, how the blood had flushed your pale cheeks. You knew she was pretending to be clueless.

"Mother! Stop beating around the bush, are you arranging something between me and Jongin?! Please, tell me you are not... I beg of you." The teeth drilling into your lip had started drawing blood and you winced at the pain, but what broke you the most was your mother's silence.

"Are you serious?" You gasped, "Mother, you had promised to never involve me in arranged relationships! I am not doing this, never!" It was gradually becoming harder to keep the volume of your voice low, the burning tears had been blearing your view and you wanted nothing more than to let out your frustrations and cause a scene.

"Sweetheart..." She sighed defeatedly, "Try to understand, the company-"

"The company?!" You were only going to take so much before reaching your limit. Oh, how could you have hesitated to dance because of your parents when they had been intending to such things to you? Was their company what they valued over their daughter? Because if that was the case, you were not going to stay a second longer to listen to her excuses. You felt betrayed, broken, and lost. You might've hurt their feelings by choosing a different path, but they had repeatedly tried to strip you off of your freedom. This was not going to occur a second time.

"I am leaving!" The dinner, their partners, and the company could go to hell, for all you cared. You could just not force yourself to be in there another second. Your mother's voice calling after you was echoing behind you, but not once did you stop to hear her out.

The moon was a whole in the middle of the pit black sky while the smaller stars danced all around it. Even during the night, Havana was pretty much alive. Pubs and nightclubs were welcoming tons of people who were in for a good dance and a refreshing drink on this hot summer night. Though this time, you gave none of that any consideration- all you wanted to do was see him as soon as possible. Your feet moved quickly down the street as you held in the sensation threatening to burst into loud cries. On a night like this, what was the possibility that Baekhyun wouldn't be out dancing with talented girls? The thought made cold fingers dig into your heart and you could only hope to find him where you were desperately trying to reach.

As you neared Baekhyun's dance studio, so many emotions were taking place inside of you that you didn't know how you could handle them all at once. The overpowering anger and the sorrow bringing tears to your eyes, the frustration- the fear. You found yourself yearning after his playful smile, his soft fingertips tracing the surface of your skin that could reassure you with their warmth. If he was not in there- if you wouldn't be able to tell him that he had been right all along, that you were scared, so immensely scared- you were afraid you were going drown in your own sorrow.

A burning sensation was crawling inside of your limbs as you ran the last distance, hands shakingly grabbing the handles of the glass doors and your heart flipped in your chest when it opened easily. Your loud breaths mixed with the drumming heartbeat echoing in your ears was all you could hear until his voice shattered the panicked state you were in.

"Who's there?!" A breathless Baekhyun entered the reception and your gaze searched desperately for his. His features that had been twisted into a frown softened upon seeing you in that state. Your name rolled questioningly from his tongue. "Hey," Baekhyun beckoned worriedly, "What's wrong?" The simple question had been enough for you to finally burst into loud sobs. It had been years since you'd last cried like that. Cries that closed up your throat, making it hard for you to breathe, those cries that clenched your chest as if chains tightening around your flesh.

Everything was wrong, just nothing was going in the right direction.

Baekhyun embraced you tightly when you had rushed towards him and immediately, your erratic heart was finding tranquility in his sweet scent that you inhaled. His hand was oh so tenderly brushing through your hair while the other brought you closer to his soft chest. "Tell me what is wrong, hm?" Baekhyun whispered in your ear, afraid to break you any further if he'd speak any louder. Your low hiccups brought him to tighten the hold around you while his head buried deeper into your neck. "Please, baby, tell me who did this to you?"

It had taken a few minutes for you to catch your breath, but eventually, every happening had spilled from your lips and the male had listened intently to every word you had said. Talking to Baekhyun was for some reason so extremely easy, he wouldn't do anything specific, and yet just the fact that it was him embracing you made you feel as if your little wounded heart would forever be safe in his gentle hands. You hadn't known what you had expected Baekhyun to say once you were done speaking your feelings, but as something that was so him, he took you by surprise. Wordlessly, he had threaded his fingers through yours and led you away from the reception, entering the all too familiar practice room. The lights were turned off and you could only look at him confusedly.

"When I am feeling down, there is nothing better than dancing to lift up my mood." Because of the dark, you could not see his face too well, but his green eyes remained as bright underneath the glittering moonlight shining through the windows. Normally, you would've hesitated the slightest when Baekhyun reached an inviting hand towards you, but this time, without a single doubt you placed yours in his.

' When your chest met his, you felt as if brought to a different dimension, where all that mattered were your matching heartbeats melting into one melody.

Your connected hands were brought into the air, spinning you around before brining your back against him abruptly. You were never going to back away ever again. This time, you let yourself love the fireworks erupting in your chest when Baekhyun's tender fingertips traveled along your ribcage. You responded to every grind of his that graced your back. You let yourself shiver eagerly when you leaned your head on his shoulder and his nose slowly trailed down your neck, where his moist bottom lip stuck to your skin, so eager to kiss it. There was no music playing but regardless of that, you were moving along the dance floor as if it was. All you could really focus on was Baekhyun's beautiful palms caressing every inch of your body whenever he'd lift your leg to rest it on his hip, whenever he'd guide your hips into swift motions and your hands would rest on his broad shoulders.

There was no music you could give yourself away to, but you did not mind. The beat inside of your chest had already dedicated itself to one and only person.

And all you wanted to do was to give yourself to Baekhyun and his comforting embraces.

So when you were tilted towards the floor while held by his strong arm, you let his fingers tickle your skin. You let Baekhyun feel your throbbing heart when his hand palmed your breast, only to a second later have him trace all the way down to your thigh. Your hands were still resting on his shoulders when he lowered himself in front of you and despite the fabric of your dress, Baekhyun's fingertips still managed to leave a trail of fire tingling down your body. His palm fisted an ounce of your dress as he stood back up, flicking his wrist, he spun you around.

That night you had let Baekhyun hold you the way you'd always pushed him away from doing. You had let him dance with you like the competition was taking place at that very moment. Now, all you could do was ask yourself why you had been so afraid of it when Baekhyun had been so thoughtful, so careful and delicate when holding you. There had been nothing to be afraid of, and now you felt extremely silly for having felt the way you did.

You had loved every single second of warmth when basking in his arms, when washed by the dazing freshness of his musky scent. What you had been doing all this while was falling, and falling, but Baekhyun had already caught you. So, it felt alright.

☾☾☾

Petrified was probably the best word to describe what you had felt when your father had announced another dinner date to celebrate the successful partnership, at the very restaurant you had visited last week. You were scared and nervous, to the point of having your stomach churn, but there was no going back. You did not want to act like a coward anymore, you were done running away from your own dream.

Regardless of the anxiety settling in your chest, you dressed in the most beautiful dress you owned, one that would flaunt your beautiful shoulders and shimmer underneath the spotlights and flutter around your milky legs with every step you'd take. The soft pink pressed glitter on your eyelids rendered your orbs sparkling with life while on your cheeks caressed a delicate rouge. You were aware of how beautiful you were looking specifically for that night. In fact, Jongin who had met you at the entrance of the restaurant had not been able to take his eyes off you.

The establishment was even more crowded on this day than it had been last time, but it was completely understandable. The dancing competition taking place was a big deal and people from every part of Havana had come to watch it. Everything seemed completely ordinary at your table, your parents were having an animated conversation with their business partners and Jongin was listening to them with intrigue. Though they had no clue of the real motives behind you excusing yourself to the restroom. As soon as you had been out of their view, you rushed to the changing rooms behind the stage. Dancers were flooding the area, looking both excited and nervous as they paced left and right. Some were fixing their hairstyles while others warmed up before the competition. Frantically, you searched for Baekhyun in the mass of people- barely finding him, but you could've recognized those scarlet streaks anywhere, truly. Without wasting any more time, you hurried to where he was standing. His hair was brushed back with strokes of gel and you were surprised to see that his button-up had only three buttons popped open, just so that he could look a bit more proper.

"Baekhyun," You called breathlessly. The male turned around looking distressed, but upon viewing you it soon morphed into astonishment until the ring caging his lower lip quirked as he beamed adoringly down at you.

"Tan hermosa," Baekhyun susurrated sultrily, his words so sweet and his eyes completely bewitched by your gorgeous self. It seemed as if for once, the tables had turned and now you were the strong magnet to which his orbs couldn't pull away from. The compliment made heat gather on your cheeks, still, you returned the favor, "You don't look so bad yourself, sir." A chuckle left your lips when he playfully bowed forty-five degrees.

A voice resounded from the speakers on the ceiling and announced the time remaining until the contest would begin. Ten minutes to go and the jelly-like sensation was starting to hug your legs. Just waiting aimlessly felt way too nervewracking for you, so you opted to sit in front of one of the many vanities, picking up the lipgloss you had brought with you from home. Baekhyun followed you like a lost puppy and stood behind your sitting figure, gawking into the mirror to see what you were doing. You twisted the cap and the make up product opened with a satisfying pop. The male seemed intrigued by your actions as you slowly swiped the gloss across the plumpness of your lips and you saw him lowering down to your level in the reflection. Baekhyun's eyes fluttered close for a second as he ran his nose down your neck, inhaling your scent before opening them again and directing his gaze on your glossed lips.

"Can I have some?" He murmured huskily against your skin and shooting stars flew down your spine, you had to physically fight the urge to bite your lip at his flirtatious antics. A cute little pout made its way in his face when you shook your head, his confident demeanor crumbled within seconds.

"The competition will be starting in five minutes, may the couples head towards the stage!" The same voice from a while ago spoke and the moment Baekhyun's hand found yours, everything melted into a blur. The few minutes you waited before the stage felt as if they hadn't even existed and suddenly, you were standing in the middle of the stage with ten other couples surrounding you. Baekhyun's right hand held onto yours while the other pressed you to him by the small of your back. The spotlights flashed on and the music started echoing against the wall, swiftly, you and Baekhyun caught its beat as if it was your own heart pulsating.

Baekhyun and you had been the youngest couple to dance that night, and in addition, the one dancing the most sensually. It was hard to miss the way Baekhyun spun you around by flicking the hem of your dress, how his hands had so rawly groped your bum, or traced your chest as if painting on air. You separated, flashing a few solo moves; pumping your chest and extending your leg, outlining it with graceful fingers. Baekhyun was grooving with a proud smirk on his face, loving the way you had learned to become one with the music. His fingers clasped gently around your chin and induced you to step closer. Arms circling your waist, your tilted body drew a half moon before returning to press against your partner, bodies rolling against one another.

Baekhyun was standing right behind you when the music had halted for a few seconds. His face placed so extremely close to yours that you were swallowing every breath he heaved. His mouth was too eager and Baekhyun had not been able to contain himself any longer from capturing your lips in his. Gladly, you responded to his kiss and barely got to feel his confident tongue tasting your lipgloss before the music continued and you parted, continuing with your dance.

All the contestants were extremely talented, though no one had stood out as you and Baekhyun had to the judges. The youthful passion you were spreading was stealing every spotlight. It was like you and he owned the stage, it was your performance and the others subdued to the background.

The song came eventually to an end and the restaurant was filled with applause and hollers. Adrenaline was still fresh and flowing through your veins and you found yourself jumping into Baekhyun's arms right then, feeling the overflowing happiness flowering in your whole being. The corners of your mouth were aching due to the bright smile reaching your ears. You had finally done it, and you had been perfect. Baekhyun buried his face in your shoulder, and you could feel on the curve of your arm that he was no different from you with the bright grin splitting his features.

"You were amazing," He spoke close to your ear, voice still breathless. The judges had been quick with announcing the couples reaching the finals. At that point, both of you were just extremely joyful to have participated, even if you wouldn't come further, you were happy to have done it together.

You thought you had misheard the speakers when Baekhyun's and your name articulated, earning a round of praising applauses. The lad was looking at you with just as much shock, silently asking you with his eyes if you had just heard what he had.

"Oh my God," You gasped, throwing your arms once more around his neck, hugging him close. "This is great, Baekhyun. I'll train harder for the finals and we'll win and you'll be able to open the dance school again and-"

"Wow, wow, slow down, kitten." Baekhyun's laugh vibrated against your chest, his green orbs had become sparkling crescents. "It's lovely that you're so eager, but don't speak too soon." It was true that maybe you had gotten a little too excited, the competition was not over. But you did not regret saying those words at all, the delight on Baekhyun's face was so contagious, so beautiful that you'd say it a thousand times again if it meant having him laugh like that. The latter leaned closer to your ear, eyes looking at something, or rather someone afar.

"Do you know those people? They have been staring for a while," Baekhyun whispered pointedly and you could already guess what was going on. Indeed, you had been nothing but right when locking gazes with your mother and father who wore unreadable expressions on their faces. It was like they couldn't quite wrap their heads around what they had just seen, wether they were astounded or angered. You expected at least a good handful of scolding when you walked to them with Baekhyun trailing behind you, but was to be surprised when your mother failed to hide the hint of amusement in her emotionally void voice.

"I did not know you could move like that." She stated, eyes searching for yours, "I do not know what to say...That was not all too grave." The last part had been muttered underneath her breath but to her dismay, you caught on it and couldn't help the slightly teasing smile directed to her.

"You would've known sooner if you would have let me, mother." There was no hostility as you spoke, the topic was not supposed to discuss any further, and she understood that. Her gaze moved from you to Baekhyun who had been following your interactions until now.

"And who might this handsome lad be?" Your mother then quirked an eyebrow, scanning his figure from head to toe as if he was a candidate of some sort. Baekhyun, as smooth as he was, reacted quickly with a charming smile, bowing down to hold her hand and kiss her knuckles, making a fluttered blush appear. Not forgetting about the other parent, Baekhyun greeted your father as well.

"This is Baekhyun, my dance partner and...friend." You established and your mother nodded but raised a skeptical eyebrow, she had seen the kiss you had shared on the dance floor but decided not to comment on it. Your father on the other hand did not look the least happy about the man next to you, but he let it be, not wanting to take away the bright smile from your face.

With your arms leaning against the railing, you inhaled the crisp evening air that the balcony was offering. The purple sky reflected limpidly onto the sea in the distance,  It had been an incredibly long night and the events were still swirling messily in your head and as an aftermath of all that dancing, you were feeling a bit dizzy. Nonetheless, there was relieved smile gracing your face, because everything had gone well.

"I did not know that friends are supposed to know what your lips taste like." Baekhyun's husky whisper suddenly snapped you out of your thoughts, and you could only look at him shockingly. He was smirking teasingly at you and your cheeks that had without a doubt turned scarlet because of his statement and not anything else.  

"I-I," You stuttered and unable to answer properly, but Baekhyun paid no mind to that as he stood in front of you, putting your arms around his neck. Immediately, your fingers found their way through the long hair on his nape, earning a sweet hum where he had placed his lips underneath your ear while his thumbs were drawing gentle circles on your hipbones.

"I think we should change it to Boyfriend, what do you think? You chuckled heartedly.

"I think you are right."

☾☾☾☾☾☾

Big thanks to my little angel @byunfirstlady​ for making the prettiest moodboard for me! I love you hunie <333

First important disclaimer!! This oneshot was heavily inspired by the movie Dirty Dancing 2 Havana nights, so if you recognized some scenes or the whole one-shot, well now you know why.

I truly wish that this was not a complete mess and a failure, I am having a lot of issues with writing recently. But it is getting better since I managed to write this. As I write, I am constantly feeling as if it isn't good enough, as if it's just bad and that it'll feel too conscious about it if I post it because it's bad. Honestly, it's so damn ridiculous. I am trying to get through my thick skull that not every shot has to be so damn deep or perfect. I just feel that maybe I could've written something better with these 17k words- or simply expanded the story a bit? But the most important thing to me is that you like it, obviously. So if you do, I'll shut up about this ahah.

Also, I need to stop being that Karen!! So prideful and easily discouraged by seeing talented people out there. P, you can't be the best at everything, you can't expect so much of yourself. Stop. It. FFS.

I have finally finished writing this and I have no idea what's in this massive one shot!! Truly, I am not kidding when I say my head is dizzy from finishing this in the entire week. I want to fix the remaining errors but I can not bring myself to read through this shit once again, I do not have the strength to do that. I am sorry for the negativity in this message, I just felt like sharing the concerns I've been having for a long time now.

If you read everything until now, I deeply thank you and I hope this one-shot was to your liking. As always, I love you all so much and am truly so grateful for the people supporting me and asking if i am writing stuff because it does motivate me so much when you do! Please, do comment lots and tell me everything you think! I'd appreciate it so much. Until then, have a beautiful summer and follow your dreams! 🥰💖💖💖💖💌

[blacknailpolishonguitarstrings]

From Above

Magic was a very interesting thing. Powerful but fickle. Healing and caring in the right hands, yet wicked and deadly in the wrong ones. Dangerous. Magic was convenient, but used to its full potential only by a select few, and more often than not, by the ones in the wrong rather than by the deserving ones. As such, magic held many secrets that had yet to be discovered. Amongst those many unexplored areas, ghosts and death were some of the most obscure branches of magic. Wizards and witches knew next to nothing about the Afterlife. Ghosts were the imprints of departed souls, and could of course stay in the world of the living if they wished to do so, but they were forever attached to one place. What no one knew, or at least, remembered, was that if one poured enough emotion into the remembrance of a certain deceased person, their soul would be able to perceive what was happening in the world of the living at that precise moment. The souls of the dead had constant access to their past, of course, they were capable of thoughts and feelings, and they could see what was happening to everything and everyone in the world of the living, but as time passed, that connection grew feebler and feebler. The Dead distanced themselves from the Living more and more the longer they were gone, drifting further away from that thin barrier of Reality, and only a strong emotional connection could bring them back. That is how James and Lily Potter found their old friend Remus Lupin at their grave.

“James,” said Lily softly, resting a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

The logistics behind their ability to touch and feel each other were still unbeknownst and confusing to her, yet they were both ever so glad for it. Being dead…well it wasn’t fun. You merely existed. A lone, wandering soul. Yes, one was able to see the world and witness just about anything they wished, but that connection was unstable and weak at best. Both Lily and James felt themselves slipping away a tiny bit more with each day that passed, and it was an underlying knowledge, a cold hard truth, that someday they would simply cease to exist and fade into nothingness. But for now, they held on, with every bit of strength left in them to the real world. They had the urgent need to stay “alive” as best as they could, given their condition, for Harry, the son they would never see grow up, for Remus, their best friend, who was all alone now, and for Sirius, the one person who was slowly but surely getting dreadfully closer to James and Lily with every minute he spent in that cell, isolated, lost, in pain.

“What is it, love?” Asked James, looking up from the concert taking place in a small pub in London he was watching.

“Look, over there,” replied Lily, pointing into the far distance.

The world stretched beneath them like a small map they could observe closer whenever they felt like it, skipping from place to place in a matter of seconds. In the direction Lily was pointing towards, a grey, cold, graveyard stood in the middle of a town, namely, Godric’s Hollow. And among the marble tombstones, a lone figure kneeled in front of two joint headstones which shone bright and white in the evening, brand new, adorned with wreaths of white lilies.

Remus Lupin. In front of their graves. Behind her, James gasped.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He whispered, already knowing the answer.

“I think so…James, do you feel it? The connection?”

“Yeah, I think I do, it’s almost as if he were…pulling us in.”

Suddenly, they found themselves right above the graveyard, with a direct on-look on it.

“I…I feel close to him, I think his magic is calling us towards him or something. Merlin, this is so strange, how does this even work?” Said Lily, puzzled and slightly frustrated.

“I’m afraid I don’t know much more than you. It must be some form of ancient magic, or maybe Death magic, who knows…in any case nothing we were taught at Hogwarts,” answered James thoughtfully.

His wife nodded in agreement, remaining quiet as she watched her best friend below her. Remus’ shoulders were sagging under an invisible pressure, it appeared as if he would sink into the ground on which he was kneeling at any given second. His hands were hidden in the depth of his old, brown, worn-out coat’s pockets.

“They’re probably balled into fists,” thought Lily knowingly.

Oddly enough he wasn’t crying, and he did not look particularly afflicted. On the contrary, he seemed…numb. He was just there. With no purpose, no emotions, no hysterics, no cries, nothing, he was just there.

“I wish we could talk to him, or at least know what’s going on in his mind,” said James abruptly, interrupting her train of thought.

At that precise moment, Remus pulled out his wand and waved it briefly over the headstones. The fresh flowers on the two graves disappeared in small puffs of sparkles, telltale signs of magic, which hung around fleetingly in the air before vanishing as well. He waved his wand again, and several dark green sprouts spurted from its tip, softly dropping to the ground, small roots snaking into the mushy earth. The plants began to grow in size, intertwining until they formed a complex woven arch of spikes and leaves stretching across the two graves. Here and there, pearlescent white flowers bloomed. White roses.

“He remembers,” murmured Lily, tears welling up in her non-existent eyes, pricking her skin, sliding down her cheeks.

“Oh, love, of course, he does. Besides, those lilies were truly atrocious,” James laughed, but through the rumble of his chuckles, Lily could hear the affliction and the sorrow, thick and overwhelming.

She sighed, hugging him.

“If only we could communicate somehow,” she repeated her husband’s words.

There was another curious thing about magic: it had the uncanny knack to listen to one’s feelings, and sometimes, it was lenient and amalgamated. That is how Lily and James found themselves right next to Remus, still invisible, still unperceived, but there nonetheless, with him, instead of above him. They were both too troubled to think about the trick behind it, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as if they were real again. If Lily hadn’t known any better, she would have sworn she felt the chilly autumn wind whisper through her formerly auburn hair, she would have sworn she felt the gravel crunch and roll under her feet, she would have sworn she felt her tears slide down her cheeks and freeze on her clammy skin right before they tipped past her chin, and she would have sworn she felt the texture of Remus’ wool coat under her hand as she placed it longingly on his shoulder, heat radiating from him under her palm. But she knew it was nothing more than a mere wish, sometimes she even wondered if she ever truly felt James’ touch, or if it was yet another fragment of her imagination, a shard of her shattered past. Neither of them was sure anymore, if they still resembled their former selves and had a partly physical form or if they were simple spirits, shadows of people, slivers of energy.

Lily and James stood there for long minutes beside their friend, quiet, not daring to move, just watching him, being there with him. Lily would have given anything to know what was going on in his mind, but he remained silent. Finally, as the last few pale rays of sunlight tinted the grey sky a light golden before being swallowed by the night’s shadows, a hoarse whisper escaped his lips:

“I miss you…I…I’m so alone now and I don’t know what to do.”

His head hung low, dull chestnut curls hiding his face, but Lily could tell he was crying by the slight shake of his shoulders. Her heart tightened, clenched by pain, that is if it still existed somewhere.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” he continued with more vehemence. “I don’t want to live like this anymore!”

Remus had almost shouted the last few words and looked as if he were about to say something else when the sudden crack of Apparition cut him off. Albus Dumbledore appeared between the gravestones, dressed in dark blue robes, looking tired, eyes wary.

“Remus, I assumed I would find you here. I am very sorry but I must interrupt your mourning, there is an urgent matter I must discuss with you. Will you—“

“Professor,” interrupted Remus, finally looking up.

His eyes were puffy and red, and ill-defined traces of tears lined his hollow, bony cheeks. Lily couldn’t help worriedly noticing how much thinner he had gotten, bones pocking out from beneath his coat.

“Do you believe Black killed James and Lily and Peter?”

Next to her, James flinched at the question; Remus hadn’t called Sirius by his last name in years.

“I…I am afraid all the evidence point to that, nothing is indicating otherwise,” answered Dumbledore quietly but resolutely.

“NO!” Vociferated James. “SIRIUS DID NOT KILL US, PETER, THAT TREACHEROUS RAT DID! SIRIUS WOULD NEVER DO ANYTHING LIKE THIS! HE IS MY BROTHER! HE ISN’T CAPABLE OF MURDERING ANOTHER HUMAN BEING!”

“James! James! They can’t hear you, my love, as unjust as this is there is nothing we can do!” Said Lily sadly, attempting to calm her husband down, yet her voice shook with contained fury.

Remus said nothing for a while, looking pensively into the distance, watching as the sun finally set, but something in his gaze had hardened.

“So he killed them,” he declared at last. “Black killed his best friends, those who gave him everything, and he abandoned me and betrayed me too…”

“No! Remus! Listen, it’s false! It’s not what it looks like! Dammit, Remus, listen to me!” Begged James desperately, trying to grasp his friend’s shoulders, but his hand went right through him, slicing through the air.

“He killed them,” repeated Remus bitterly. “I guess the Black in him won, after all, joined Voldemort, didn’t he?”

“I suppose so, yes,” nodded Dumbledore.

The words hit Lily like a punch in the gut as James sunk with a defeated and miserable sigh next to her.

“Old fool,” he mumbled.

[mrstransformersfanfiction]

Title: New Beginnings

Disclaimer: my OCs I designed belongs to TorianScriber2012

A/N: So it was meant to be a one shot but apparently I decided to do a very short mini series. Writing prompts I thought out yesterday. A little dabble in the alternate universe of and I definitely was upset when Bayverse movie killed Jazz.

I feel need to doze some love to this little bot character that didn't deserve to die in Megatron's hands in the movie and Jazz is cool! I'm kind of working on the title and haven't come up with one unlike the crossover I was working on. That's my primary goal. I did have many series one shots in mind but I might turn to series.

Summary: (AU) What if Jazz have a human partner to protect and still is alive? William Lennox asked his student, Esther Tseo, a graduated soldier on the NEST team to bring her Autobot guardian home. What can possibly go wrong when her family meets Jazz?

Graduation

Chapter one

Esther Tseo was finally packing her bag. It was time to go home and she only got one week leave. After all, she promised her mum that she will come back home and to the rest of her family.

She now triple check on her items in her luggage until there was a knock on the door. The new recruit soldier went out to the entrance to find herself face to face with her commanding officer: Colonel William Lennox. Esther gave a salute to him.

"What did I say about formality when not on duty?" Lennox sighed.

"That I don't have to salute you when on duty?" Esther replied cheekily at her CO.

"Yes. Relax, kid. Come to my office." Lennox declared to her. "I got three things I want to go over with you before you go back home to Hawaii."

Oh scrap. Esther had a feeling she knew what he'd wanted to discussed with her about and it was something she hidden not just from her Autobot guardian, Jazz, but also to her teacher and wasn't surprised at all if her mum did blabbed out her medical condition to him.

The young female officer followed her mentor out to his familiar office. The loud ruckuss outside was considered normal within the military base from the Autobots. There is always training involved especially hand to hand combat or else weaponary designed courtesy by Wheeljack.

In passing, Jazz waved at her and Esther smiled at her guardian in response. The lady returned a friendly waved at him. Once the colonel and Esther walked into the office, Will threw the file back on the desk and gestured her to sit down. His student took the sit.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a heart condition?" The colonel rested his chin on his knuckles.

"How did you find out I had one?" Esther's eyes widened in shocked.

"Answer the question, kid." Will said very firmly and raised a finger at her sternly. "I'm only going to asked once." He looked already stressed out. There was a huge concerned in his tone.

Esther sighed and slumped back to her sit. There was a whole lot of reasons why she didn't declared her medical condition onto the paper and wanted to try her luck. She always felt that Will was like a father that she never have. She pondered his request.

"Because I didn't want my medical condition to be an excuse, to get in the way and I wanted to try my luck, to see how far I can get." Esther admitted to him guiltily to him. She gazed at the floor when she answered.

Will walked over to her. He clasped onto her hand and the other, lifted her chin up with his finger. Reluctantly, Esther returned her gazed to him. She pictured the whole conversation Will must had with her mother and can imagine how her mother berated at him in her panic voice in clear desperation.

"No. You won't be dismissed from the NEST team. That's a promised. But, I spoke to your mum and she's pretty determined to get you off the military service. You know I had to follow protocol after an injury report, Esther. I am behind you one thousand percent because you were the best candidate soldier I ever seen in the field. I will personally vouch for you and fight for your case.

"All I asked in the future is not to keep anything from me. So I can take all the necessary precaution. Personally, I would not even have minded even if you told me back then. I can also see that serving with the NEST team means the whole world to you. I understand you also gotten closer with your Autobot guardian, Jazz.

Esther nodded in agreement. The last part was very true. She become very accustomed to Jazz and he was the one who taught her how to drive a vehicle because she didn't have her license. Plus, a good opportunity for the duo to learn the road rules. She looked apologetically at her teacher.

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to lie to you. That wasn't my intention. I guessed I wanted to hold off the matter for as long as possible. All my life I wanted to feel normal and I didn't want anyone to choose for me. I wanted to be able to choose a path for myself." Esther told him truthfully.

"You didn't lie to me, kid. Trust me. We all kind of found out on our own to be honest with you." Will massaged his eyes with his palms. He stiffled a yawned. It had been a really long day for all of them. "Okay. First up, after this meeting, I want you to see Jazz. He was worried out of his mind about you when he found out and didn't stopped hassling me all week about human anatomy and medicine.

Esther grinned. That definitely sounded a lot like Jazz. She can imagine her Autobot guardian personally walking beside him, annoying the hell out of her superior officer around the base. She didn't dare to speak but merely listen to her boss who'd continued in a business way of the day to day schedule per usual. Will definitely looked rattled.

Though, she can imagine Jazz's reaction and the entire scenario in her head, where her guardian was poking for further information when he wasn't meant to and after her last encounter with the Decepticon made him all very jumpy. It was his job to know everything.

"I'll be honest with you, Esther. Jazz actually found out on his own too and did a quick scan on you when you were unconscious the last time you were at the infirmary. I want you to apologize to him too in person. He looked pretty offended you didn't tell him because he felt you were family to him even though you're not by blood.

At his words, Esther felt a wave of guilt erupted in her heart. Her stomach churned uncomfortably. She didn't intend for Jazz to worry or the fact to feel that way. This was one of the main reason why she didn't want her medical condition to be known because everyone worries. Esther always considered herself to be a very capable independent person.

"Secondly, what I wanted to talked to you about, and I know it sound totally ridiculous or unnecessary, is to let your family meet Jazz. I put my hand up: this isn't my idea. The idea belongs to Optimus. So you had to try to convince him and believed me, I tried. Optimus wanted to introduced himself to your family. But, I put my foot down on that. Personally, I think Jazz will be more than enough for your mum to handle. Will assured his student.

He noted Esther looked on the verge of hysterics amusement now with a mix emotions shown on her face. Her face tells him all. At this, Esther couldn't helped but to burst off laughing at what he just told her. She could imagine Jazz being in her tiny occupied garage and knowing her Autobot guardian, he definitely couldn't sit still all day. There are a lot of incidents scenarios Esther was certain anything can go wrong in one day.

It took her awhile to settle down from her hysterical giggling that Will know all too well. Even Lennox cracked a smile at her. He had expected her reaction would be like this and didn't blame her. It was nice to see Esther looked like she was back to her normal self from her injury trauma incident encounter with the Decepticons attack at the base.

"No. Absolutely not, sir! This — This is a terrible idea. A total catastrophe in the making without a doubt. You don't know my mum. She have a temper and definitely will have a meltdown if she ever meets Jazz in person. No way! I will be more than happy to tell you the reasons why. Don't get me wrong. I love Jazz very much and like spending my time with him too because I learned a lot from him. He's a great teacher too.

"I have a very nosy neighbour with her two pet dogs, parks up the damn drive way like she owns the damn shit, plus her other relatives that drives up all the time to blocked the road and definitely there will be more than a few incidents while Jazz is on guard duty." Esther finished and blurted out completely.

Will placed his hands on her shoulder. "Calm down, Esther. Take a deep breathe. I totally agree with you what you are saying and don't think for one minute I haven't consider the consequences that can occur without neither of our knowledge.

"I was definitely thinking along those lines. Because, the first time Ironhide met my wife, Sarah, was exactly what your mother's reaction would be and when my daughter met Ironhide, she went absolutely bananas and started calling him Uncle Ironhide.

"I also did a lot of thinking and as crazy as the idea sound, I am incline to agree with Optimus fully because he was the one who'd led all of us to victory. So, I asked Optimus if he would be obliged to be in a human holoform which the Autobots are working on right now. I know is a lot to take in too.

"But, he's also right about your recent encounters with the Decepticons musn't happened again. His greatest fear is any of us to be hound onto the Nemesis warship for any sensitive classified information interrogated by the warlord. Optimus is usually worried about everyone's safety.

"And one last thing, Esther...I don't want you to feel awkward or intimidated or get the wrong idea or anything. But your mum gave me an earful earlier and she insisted I should stay at your sisters vacant room while I'm at your place for the week to talk about why you should still be with the military service." Will informed her. He even looked embarrassed.

"My mum said what?!" Esther yelped. She covered her face with her hand, now embarrassed in return. "I'm so sorry sir and I am totally embarrassed she cornered you like that! Let me speak with my mum." She reached for his phone and was about to dial home.

But Will stopped her mainly because he didn't want to also deal with her mum personally and definitely have enough of an earful for the day. At this, he realised how Esther and her mum is very alike: persistent and determined with no avail. One of the qualities that Will admired her very much and liked.

Esther turned to him when Will clasped his hand around hers. She never seen him this way: terrified at the prospect of an earful from a woman. Poor Will. She looked amused and sympathetic at the same time. She even forced herself not to smile about it. Her mum can be a push over person sometimes.

"N-n-n-n-no! H-h-h-hear me out, kid! I'm also going to be honest with you on this, one hundred percent! Because I took a deal with your mum. She said I had to convince her why she should let her daughter stay on, to show her the kind of man I am and I told her, that you are my responsibility and will do everything in my power to keep you safe." Will explained seriously.

Esther's heart was racing now. Her insides melted into tiny little pieces as she said it and wasn't why she felt so emotional right now. Will represented to her a way her father never did. All the young girl knows is her father walked out on the family when she was very little. Will was determined to go to extra length just for his modest student.

He wouldn't admit the real feelings towards her mainly because he was married and decided at that moment he will seal that feeling to lock away in a box never to be opened, ever. Very reluctantly, Esther sighed for the second time and nodded in answer, too stunned to comprehend anything else and too shocked to utter a word back. Her voice seem to be lost.

There was a moment there when they looked into each other in the eye. Will gripped onto her hands very tightly.

To be fair, Esther never looked at him in a boyfriend manner more like a father figure she couldn't explained even to herself. Sure, they'd spend every day at the base. So why was today any different? They had been alone everyday in the base together at the NEST team.

It wasn't until then Esther managed to find her own voice. She felt awkward indeed because she noticed his married ring on his finger on his left hand. She felt heat rise up her cheeks completely. Silent fill the room for a short while. Until, she spoke in a croaky voice.

"Uh, sir?" Esther gesture her head at her hand where Will gripped firmly on.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Will rubbed the back of his head in embarressment. He cleared his throat just to clear the uncomfortable tension. "I think that covers everything. Please. Don't call your mum. She knows we're coming over. I just feel your mum is a bit of a pushover sometimes. She's a great mum. But she's something else."

"Welcome to my world, sir." Esther smiled appreciatively at him. "Now you know why I stayed with a family friend of mine who's like a second mother to me. I don't mind people being protective. I just want to feel free and be independent."

"And you will be. Don't forget you got a job waiting with the NEST team." Will reminded her. At that moment, he looked immensely proud. "Congratulations Esther. Happy birthday. You completed all your training very successfully." His eyes twinkled with happiness genuinely.

"Thanks boss." Esther grinned broadly. A true smile Will witnessed on her face.

"You're welcome, kid. You earned it. I think we'd covered everything we need today. I truly understand why you hide your medical condition. I'm very impressed with how you carry yourself out. I'm super proud of you, today, Esther. I'm very proud. You are one of the best student I ever trained, kid." Will concluded.

"Thank you, sir." Esther couldn't helped her routine formalities. Will groaned only to earn a chuckle to his now former student.

"Kid, you do know you can call me Will when we're not on duty right?" Will smiled at her knowingly.

"I know. It's just traditional culture to respect the elders. Oh, and you might want to add in on the paperwork I got learning disability." Esther added casually now she was more inclined to trust her former mentor.

Will swiped his face with his hand. He still couldn't believed how she'd managed to keep that piece of information quiet or even her medical condition for that matter.

"Jesus Christ, Esther. One of these days, I'm going to have a heart attack." It was Will's turn to sighed and he rested his knuckles onto the table. "Duly noted. Enjoy your day. Happy birthday. Please go and see Jazz. You're free to go." Will said dismissively.

"Thanks...Will." Esther stood up. She made her way to his front door until she was stopped by her former teacher behind her who'd called out to her from the distance.

"Oh and Esther," Will tapped the side of his chin with his finger with a thoughtful look plastered across his face. "I feel I owe you a last explanation."

Esther gave him a questioning look at him. "How do you mean?"

"You know how your mum often writes letters after letters and electronics letters to the court house to petition to be exempt from the field?" Will said honestly to her in the open.

Esther's heart sank like a stone discouragely and felt her chances at the military base was slim. This should be good, she thought hopelessly at this situation.

"You should know Jazz was the one who'd interfered with it all and brought all the letters to me and trashed her emails that was about the exemplary from the base. In fact, he tore it out the paperwork in anger.

"He cares a great deal about you for your future and so do I. I just hoped you put more trust in us and don't feel like you got to do everything by yourself and let people in sometimes. That's all I asked. He's actually a pretty bad ass and had a real knack of interference too. Don't apologise to me, just see him. Be glad is not Ironhide that is your guardian." Will advised her seriously.

At this new knowledge, Esther let out a low whistle. Suddenly, out of the blue, she threw her arms around Will and hugged him tightly, forever grateful for their actions that they were the reason she made it this far to graduation. Will's face flushed brightly when his own student gave him a kissed on the cheek.

"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! You're the best! Where's Jazz?!" Her whole face lit up.

"Uh...in Wheeljack's labratory...tinkering again..." Lennox patted her on the back lightly and felt awkward when he almost keeled over.

"Whoops! Thanks Mr William Lennox! Yeah. I'll see Jazz now!" Esther flung the door opened, closed the door lightly behind her and ran on ahead to find her Autobot guardian. It was clear that this was the best birthday present she'd ever received. A graduation. A job and a home. What more could she want?

Will sighed and stared after his former student. "It's William Lennox."

[deadenginescribbywibs]

Reunion - Prologue

After the battle there was an impromptu information session held in a damp and chilly bunker half a mile up from the ruined compound. Night was already closing in, as were reporters and the few family and friends tied to the heroes who weren’t present at the battle. May Parker, Happy Hogan, Cassie Lang, Clint Barton's wife and kids. 

“We need to be prepared,” Captain America said, still beaten and bruised but no longer sporting dirt in his teeth, “just in case anything else happens- In case anyone comes from another time.” 

And so the remaining heroes sat in October weather in the concrete room, some falling asleep- from the cold or their injuries, who could say. He talked about what he could. The battle of Wakanda five years prior, chopping off Thanos’ head, Natasha, Tony. When he couldn’t choke back the tears, Sam took over, and when Sam couldn’t continue, it was Rhodey. Towards the end it was Rocket who carried the meeting, and in the back, Peter Parker kept his eyes firmly on the ground. Nearest to the door and too cold from the draft of impending winter wind, he listened to the drone of strained, sometimes tearful voices. When it was over, wrapped in a damp blanket, Peter wondered if this is what it meant to be an Avenger. 

---

Peter always imagined the Avengers having a lot of energy, at least that was his impression from Germany. What he saw now wasn’t a group of unlikely heroes rising to meet challenges head on. They were just ghosts, like him, and he felt he could fade away at any moment. 

His phone rang, probably Ned or May. He had nothing to say, so he didn’t pick up. 

--

The boy sat in the hall all alone. At least it was warm, a far cry better from the two freezing nights sleeping on cots outside the upstate Avengers facility. Peter rolled his shoulders in their joints and stretched his neck. His head was still pounding, the last reminder of the physical toll of Thanos. Even safe inside, Peter’s mind was still on the battlefield, on Titan, and Tony’s face when he started to dust away, the desperate grip trying to keep him alive.

Peter started at the sturdy hand landing on his shoulder. 

“Hey.” Steve Rogers stood at his side, blue eyes fixed on the sign on the far wall. MORGUE. “Thanks.” 

Peter shrugged his shoulders and averted his eyes. “For what?” He croaked.

“For staying with him. Tony never liked to be alone…” Tears stung at Peter’s already red rimmed eyes but he held them in, body tense. After a moment's hesitation Steve sat down in the other dingy little mint green chair and crossed his arms. The silence stretched on until it was comfortable. 

Eventually Peter fell asleep, head resting on Captain America’s shoulder.

--

Steve was just trying to stay awake. 

“What’s up, punk?” Bucky strolled up the hall in his green sweats and grey long sleeve shirt, metal hand tucked into a pocket. 

Steve gestured at the teen asleep on the floor a few feet away. “Babysitting.” 

Bucky’s eyes trailed over the small figure huddled under the wool blanket pressed up against the wall, a hospital gown balled up under his head. “Jesus, we can’t get the kid a bed?”

Steve shook his head. “He wouldn’t leave if he could.” He nodded to the ‘Morgue’ sign. 

“Starks?”

“Sort of.” 

--

By the third day they were able to disperse somewhat. It took time to get communication and transportation back online through SHIELD, and to get the unhoused heroes into some kind of temporary lodging while waiting for spaceships and quinjets to be repaired. A side effect of many of the heroes being stranded on Earth and more specifically in New York, however, was that they ended up at the lakehouse of one recently widowed Pepper Potts. For having just watched her husband die and the near destruction of the universe, she was managing as well as could be expected. 

Peter was sharing a spare room with Thor and Rocket and Peter Quill, and although he hadn’t been alone in a week- or a week and five years, depending how you looked at it, the sounds of breathing in the dark room were a comfort compared to the clinical silence of the medical wing hall. 

At 4:40am his stomach rumbled. Peter groaned. “No.” He turned over under his covers, but the hunger wouldn’t let up. After days without food running on a super metabolism, his will finally broke at 5:13am and Peter slunk out of the bedroom tiptoeing over beings big and small alike. 

The kitchen was dimly lit. Outside, a small lake glimmered under a moon hanging low like ripe fruit, illuminating the trinkets and cups and pictures in the modest but modern kitchen, not the place he pictured Tony retiring into but nice nonetheless. It was homey. 

He didn’t have an appetite per se, or at least the nausea was still battling against his will to eat, but Peter eventually settled on a box of crackers in a cupboard. He plunged a hand into the crinkling plastic liner and stuffed a handful of saltines into his mouth greedily, and suddenly parched, Peter reached for a cup for water. Next to the haphazardly placed drinking glasses were a row of pictures, the first, Howard Stark he recognized from history books, and the next he wasn’t sure, but the last in the line made Peter’s heart skip a beat. Tony and Peter posed for a photo for his Stark Internship, peace signs poised and smiling giddily. He’d thought it was the best day of his life. He must have been standing staring at the picture for a long time, because by the time Peter broke out of his melancholy, the stars had faded out of sight in the early morning sky. 

There was a faint shuffling to his side. Peter turned to see Pepper Potts in her bathrobe, not a trace of makeup on her face, a tissue in her hand. She’d been crying all right. 

“Oh.” She said faintly seeing Peter standing at the counter, the photo lying in front of him. “I didn’t see you Peter. Sorry, I just woke up feeling-’ Pepper gestured at the room in general as if to say ‘I just watched my husband die horrifically and now our retirement home is filled with sad heroes and I don’t know what to do.” But Peter didn’t say anything. He presented her with the box of crackers. “Still not talking much, hey?” She sniffled and ran a hand through Peter’s hair before reaching into the box of crackers. “Me too.”

Pepper bustled around the room preparing coffee. When she placed a mug next to him she noticed the picture and picked it up silently. She traced her fingers over the frame. “You know, he did it for you, Pete. He loved you.” Peter could have sprinted away at lightning speed, a rush of guilt balling up in his chest and stomach telling him to escape, but he forced himself to stand very still. Pepper kissed the top of his head and turned back to her coffee, smiling still. “He can rest now.” 

--

So there was some crying in the shower. One might call it hysterical, but Peter thought he did okay considering. If he’d gotten in before taking off his pyjamas, well. No one was around to see.

--

“Move over.” A voice grumbled over him. Peter was back in bed again that morning of the third day, and judging by the light slanting through the windows, it was probably still early. Thor stood over him looking quite gruff. “I can’t sleep on the floor anymore.” He said it politely enough, so Peter scooted over until he was laying practically at the edge of the double bed. Thor collapsed onto the other side and it hardly took a moment for him to fall fast asleep. 

Not wanting to consider why they had given him the bed in the first place- “He slept on the floor outside the morgue. If Tony could have seen-” Peter rolled over to check his phone. 39 Text Messages, 9 Voicemails. Peter groaned, he scrolled through the latest messages from May. 

May (6:43am)

Call me when you can. 

May (6:48am)

And text me that you’re okay. 

May (6:49am)

I larb you.

The familiar guilt returned and with it, the nausea. Peter thought he might throw up if he had to talk on the phone. He wanted to see May more than anything, more than seeing Tony again, more than eating a hot poptart right out of the toaster, but he couldn’t. It would break her heart, and with the sad eyes he was already getting from the Avengers collectively, Peter couldn’t do that to anyone else. He hastily replied. Larb u 2.

When Thor rolled over a moment later Peter found himself trapped under a huge outstretched arm. Being too tired to lift it- Thor must weigh 800 pounds, it was so heavy- he resigned himself to being crushed. With just bird calls and Thor’s faint snoring and Rocket and Quills quiet breathing to be heard in the room, Peter fell back asleep. 

--

That afternoon the Avengers seemed to be doing better. Rocket banged around in his spaceship now housed in the backyard with Nebula’s help. Quill was checking out Bucky’s motorcycle, though the assassin still seemed very uncomfortable at the lake house in general. Steve Rogers came and went on his bike. Peter thought he was taking comfort in doing damage control, if only to spare Pepper from doing it. She was taking a nap on the couch. 

The house was mostly quiet and so Peter was taking a moment of refuge to sit on the back porch with a cup of tea and his wool blanket. He didn’t know where it had come from, honestly, and it was outright filthy and dingy from getting dragged around the battlefield and the SHIELD compound for days. He was just drifting into space when the screen door swung open and a young brown haired teen stepped out. Peter recognized him as Harley Bennet, though they’d only met a couple times before the Snap and a couple times over video since the battle. 

“Peter.” He said, and Peter stood up shakily in his blanket. Harley extended a hand but then shook himself. “What am I doing-” and he pulled the younger boy in for a hug. When they pulled back Peter gave him a weak smile. “How’s it going here?” 

The young Avenger just shrugged his shoulders. A moment later a bounding blur of dark brown hair and blue pyjamas burst through the door. “Harley!” 

“Morguna! In the flesh!” He called, sweeping her into a spinning hug. “What’s up, lil sis?”

“I’m sad.” She said suddenly pouting. Peter grimaced. To his surprise Harley knelt down by her side. “Me too. But you know what Tony said about being sad?”

“What?” She asked innocently.

“It’s nothing blowing stuff up can’t fix.” He whispered. 

And so that’s how Peter, Morgan and Harley found themselves in the barn that afternoon, a frightening weapon tucked under Harley’s arms. The former two were still in their pyjamas, and all three wore safety goggles although Morgan’s were on askew. Peter reached over to adjust them and gave her a pat on the head, she smiled at him. 

“Nobody tell Pepper about this.” Harley said with wide eyes. 

“Don’t chicken out.” Morgan whined and received a rakish grin in return. 

“I won’t. I’m not. Listen. Tony talked about-” He made a funny gesture, “alien invasions sometimes when I was a kid, and it got me thinking, what would I do if they came? So I made this gun.”

Peter eyed the glowing gun suspiciously. The thought that this was a Very Bad Idea was starting to sprout in his mind. “I mean, it’s a potato gun, okay? It’s not like Tony was going to give me real ammo.”

“Com’n!” Morgan cried, and Harley grinned again. 

“Alright okay.” Harley shouldered the gun over the very poor barricade they made from a tipped over wheelbarrow and a barrel, pointing it at a bale of hay for Gerald’s lunch. “Check it out!” He said, and yanked on a lever which started a worrying, high pitched buzz. It cranked a couple times and sputtered. “Oh, come on.” Harley said, giving it a bat with his palm. Suddenly the gun fired up, and Peter just reached out to grab it just in time to point it at the target when it erupted, launching several potatoes at criminal velocities. “Ah!” They cried. The potatoes hurled through the bales, strands of hay cascaded everywhere, the potatoes made a hulking splutter sound on the other side as they crashed through the wood plank walls, splintered wood shot out the other side and someone cried “Oh my fucking god. Are you serious?!”

It was Rocket. Harley, Peter and Morguna looked at each other, at the erupted hay bale, at the light streaming through the hole in the wall, and at the potato gun. “Oh my god!” Peter whispered loudly. 

“Whoever that was, you are about to be dead.” Rocket said from outside. Peter grabbed the gun, hurled it under the nearest vehicle, grabbed Morgan and Harley and launched all three of them into the hay loft. 

Rockets shadow appeared before he did and he looked menacingly at the overturned wheelbarrow and scattered hay as he came around the corner. “Seriously? Whoever that was, come out now so I can shoot you in the face.” 

Morgan giggled, Harley and Peter covered her mouth, perfectly still in the scratchy hay. “Shh!” There was a strand poking Morgan right in the face, and she wrinkled her nose again as it itched. Nebula came around the corner looking just as unimpressed. She glanced over the scene and then at Rocket. “Children’s games.” She said.

“I got hit in the ass with a fucking potato.” The racoon complained. 

“Get over it.” She said walking away. Rocket glared into the dingh of the room. Morgan’s nose crinkled again and she shivered, and just as Rocket turned away, she let out a sneeze. He pinned the three of them with a look, probably marking a small oddly shaped mound of hay in the loft. The three children stayed very still and quiet for a second. Morgan looked at both Peter and Harley with huge brown orbs. After a moment Rocket rolled his eyes and looked off in the distance, probably at Nebula. “Well I can’t go and shoot Tony Stark’s kids in the face, can I? Where’s Quill?”

As soon as he rounded the corner, Morgan started giggling and squirming to get out of the hay causing it to slide out from under their feet until they all tumbled down onto the ground, Harley and Morgan giggling and tittering the whole time. They looked at Peter and started laughing anew. He looked down, his shirt was full of hay like an overstuffed scarecrow. 

“How far along are you?” Harley snickered. Peter huffed a laugh too. 

--

Tony’s ashes arrived that night. Pepper kept it quiet. She tucked the red silk bag into an old arc reactor Peter had never seen and placed it carefully into her dresser drawer. Peter watched from her bed. It was one of the only quiet spaces in the house around dinner. A bit of sensory overload and fatigue made him silent and sullen that afternoon and as soon as she caught wind she’d corralled Peter into bed with a cup of tea. They kept silent company, and when she was done, she sat in the occasional chair in the corner brushing out her hair while they watched TV. Eventually she started in on her cuticles, then disappeared to retrieve laundry from the dryer. 

“May is coming up for the funeral.” She told Peter handing him a freshly laundered hoodie. He pulled it on, it said MIT. Peter felt like he should tear it off immediately. “She’ll be here in the morning. Your apartment is still occupied,” she frowned, “I think you’ll have to stay a little longer.”

“Thanks.” Was all he said, but he accepted a bundle of socks passed to him.

“Are you sleeping okay? I heard Thor is sharing the bed with you.”

“Yeah.” Peter huffed a little. “It’s not so bad. He’s dead asleep most of the time.”

Pepper smiled knowingly and cocked her brows. “At least it’s not Bruce.”

--

Bruce was still in the hospital and for that Peter was grateful. The sight of Bruce’s burnt arm was enough to send the teen into a panic attack. 

Overall, Peter wasn’t so hard done by. After all, there were heroes strewn literally all over the property. Drax, Mantis and Groot slept in closets and hallways, Carol Danvers and Nebula camped in the backyard. Bucky Barnes and Captain America were at an abandoned motel not far up the road, and Sam and Rhodey took over the dining room at night. Harley slept on the couch, and Morgan in her own room was undisturbed. Rocket slept in a bed of clothes in a dresser drawer in Peter’s room, and Quill slept on a burnt mattress on the floor that had been pulled out of the Milano. Valkyrie had returned temporarily to Asgard with the help of Thor wielding Stormbreaker, but Thor stayed behind for, well… Peter had to imagine it was emotional comfort. He was the only other Avenger as pathetic as Peter, the boy thought, watching the huge hulking form curled up on the couch, cups of yoghurt strewn about the coffee table. Thor had been catapulting between emotions since the battle, but mostly he was just tired. 

“Can I ask you something?” Peter said about an hour after sitting in the otherwise quiet living room. Thor shrugged, now in one of his morose moods. “How old are you?” 

“Fifteen hundred, give or take. The years aren’t as important when you are as old as Asgardians are.” 

Peter sat in thought for a while. The house was starting to show signs of life, laughter could be heard outside and in the halls sometimes, he even thought Pepper sounded alright talking to Happy on the phone that day. “Do you do birthdays?”

Thor shrugged. “Sometimes. Every fifty years or so. We had one at my inauguration, although looking back, maybe it wasn’t the right moment to celebrate, as it set my brother on a path of destruction that eventually led to Thanos killing him.” He supined. His nose was stuffed up. 

“Oh.” The boy sat a moment longer sensing the sadness wash over the man, but even if he wanted to join Thor’s wallowing, Peter was starting to feel the pricklings of relief swell up under the surface tension of his grief. “We should have a birthday. Tonight. To celebrate.”

“...To celebrate?”

“To celebrate.” It didn’t sound all that convincing to Peter either, but anything was better than this. 

--

They had a birthday. It was cramped. Like, really cramped. The seventeen people in the vicinity of the house were stuffed into the little kitchen, Morgan sat on Thor’s lap. The god of thunder was dressed in a little pink frilly apron. Harley was sticking a ridiculous number of sparklers on the cake in the other room with the help of Rocket and Drax. Bucky and Nebula stood stolidly in the back hall, Carol Danvers stood in the back door. Pepper sat next to Thor, and Quill and Mantis were eating icing off of a spoon. Sam stood in a narrow broom cupboard holding his beer to his chest. Steve Rogers stood behind Thor, a beacon of comfort and resolution in the sea of calamity. Groot sat on another stool playing his video game, and Rhodey sat by Peter on the other side, very much on board with a drink in his hand. “This is great.” He said. “Nice one Parker.”

“Thanks.” Peter croaked. He felt more awake than he had in days. Morgan braided Thor’s beard while they waited, and when the cake came out, they sang Happy Birthday haphazardly while Harley carried the cake. The sparklers burst into a ball of flames as soon as the cake was set on the table. Thor scrunched up his face, “Fiend!” and shot the cake with lightning, strawberry icing exploded in every direction. Pepper laughed first, then Rocket and Drax laughed, Mantis and Quill laughed and Harley, Morgan and Thor laughed, and soon everyone was laughing, and Peter was laughing too. 

--

“That was a good call.” Sam said idling up to him that evening. Peter found solace on the back porch. The lake was beautiful to look at in the night. “Morale was running a little low.”

Peter’s mouth quirked up into a smile. “Thor’s morale was low. I dunno about everyone else.”

“Everyone else too. You just get better at hiding it when you get older.” He tucked his chin. “I know we just celebrated his like thousandth birthday-”

“Fifteen hundred and something-” Peter corrected.

“-But Thor’s not that much older than you are. Maybe a bit. He’s younger than Steve.” Sam said definitively. 

“Well everyone’s younger than Steve.” 

“Good point.”

--

This time when Peter went to the snack cupboard in the middle of the night, Nebula and Carol were in the kitchen sitting in relative silence, and Rhodey was reading in the other room.

“Hey.” He waved. Nebula and Carol nodded. 

“Is Thor snoring again? I can go punch him.” Carol joked. Peter smiled bashfully.

“It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

“It’s Quill that’s worse.” Nebula supplied. That was probably the first time she’d ever spoken to him, and he nodded guiltily. 

“He’s been mumbling in his sleep.”

“About what?”

“Kevin Bacon. He, uh…”

“He was in the movie footloose.” Carol said. Nebula rolled her eyes. 

“Of course.” 

“Well, I guess if Peter’s up that means it’s bed time.” Carol stood up groggily. “Nice sitting in silence with you.” She chirped to her companion. Nebula nodded. Carol ruffled his hair on the way out.

What remained of the birthday cake sat on the counter so Peter grabbed a fork and took a huge mound. Nebula was looking past him, and when he turned around to follow her line of sight, he saw the picture again, the one of him and Tony. 

“You were Stark’s ward.” She stated. Peter didn’t immediately reply, eyes shifting sideways out the far window. “He was the first person to ever be kind to me without expecting anything in return.” She caressed the exposed panel of electronics running from her forehead to her crown. “After the battle on Titan he fixed my head using metal from his own armor. And... he taught me how to play paper football.” 

“That’s just how he was.” He mumbled around a mouthful of cake. In the other room, Rhodey was smiling into his book, eavesdropping. He had a new prosthetic exo-support pulled from a backup supply in Tony’s garage. 

Still looking at the photo, she continued. “Thanos was my father, and people will shudder at the memory of him for eternity. But he's not the one people will ask about.” 

Ears hot, Peter swallowed around the lump ever present in his throat, but there were no tears now. If anything, he was relieved. He shoved another forkful of cake into his mouth and stood up, striding away from the table. From the other room Rhodey piped up. “Oh my god. Was that the most words you’ve ever said?” Nebula raised her middle finger. “It gets worse. Who taught you that?” 

She smirked. “You can blame Barton.” Rhodey rolled his eyes. 

“Of course. That guy is a douchebag.” It sounded bad, but Rhodey said it warmly and smiled as he returned to his book. Peter swung back around with the platter of cake and set it down in front of Nebula. 

“You’re pretty cool.” Then he asked hopefully. “Can I fix your headpiece too?”

--

They used Tony’s battle armor, the one he’d been wearing when he died. It was piled up in the garage, or at least what could be salvaged. Burnt, cracked, bent and shredded, the sight of it served a visceral reminder of the battle. Until now, no one dared go near it. 

It took time for Peter to build up the nerve to touch it, and before he could, Nebula pried a piece off the left arm. She might as well have pried his heart from his chest, but Peter quelled his nerve and set to work, pilfering tools from Tony’s lab like Pepper said he could. By the time the other Avengers rolled around, Nebula had a new head plate,  striking gold cut from the last Iron Man ever made. Over the brow it was inscribed, “MK2.”

--

May arrived bright and early that morning and the first thing she did was hug Peter, then pulled back, then hugged him again. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my-”

“May. It’s alright. I’m fine, see?” Peter said, holding out his arms. 

May Parker was not one to be fooled, however, and scooped the boy into her arms again. “My baby boy. All grown up and saving the universe.” She swept a tear from her eye and then turned to Pepper, sweeping her up as well. Pepper might have needed it, she sighed deeply. 

“Are you holding up okay?”

“As well as expected.” Pepper sniffled pulling away. “It’ll be nice to have another normal person around the house. There are too many manful tears happening here.” 

May was introduced to Harley and Morgan, then to the rest of the Avengers. The lot of them and others returning from afar were changing into funeral clothes. Soon the funeral would be over, and that would be it. The Avengers would dissemble, and Peter would be on his own. 

--

During the funeral he held back his tears. It was hardly his first time burying a loved one. He stayed quiet and still, and when it was over, he sat on the dock with Morgan while the adults reminisced about Tony, and about Natasha. “I miss daddy.” Came her little voice from his side. 

Peter nodded mutely, swallowing his sadness. The wind over the lake blew their hair back, and Peter rubbed little circles on her back as she sniffled. “Don’t you miss him?” She asked. He nodded again around the lump in his throat. When he couldn’t hold back his tears he wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his suit. “Your dad was my hero.” Morgan rested her head against him. 

“He was your dad too.” 

He couldn’t respond to that, he didn’t know how to explain the complexities of their brief relationship to his mentor’s actual blood relative, so he just stayed silent. Maybe in a few years, Morgan would understand that she was Tony’s only child, not him. But then Peter thought back to Pepper Potts in the kitchen at 5am making them a pot of coffee in the dark, and Peter wasn’t so sure. 

“He did it for you, Pete. He loved you.” 

--

Shuri took Peter for ice-cream at the diner nearby. They walked in their funeral clothes despite the rain and sleet that started that afternoon, and the ice-cream compounded the cold, but it was fun. “And so I asked them-” She recounted, “why couldn't they unlock my phone. They said it’s company policy. So I took it apart right then and there and manually unbricked it. And guess what?” She laughed, she had ice-cream on her lip and Peter was suddenly struck by how attractive she was.

“What?” He gushed back. 

“They banned me from the store.” 

Peter laughed while she lamented about getting tossed from a Tek-i-Mobile. By the time they arrived back at the house, covered in freezing mud and rosy cheeked from the wind, he was feeling almost normal. 

--

That night- the last they would spend all together, there was a Mario Kart tournament. Even Pepper clad in pin striped pyjamas joined in the cajoling, Morgan sat in her lap. Shuri, Peter and Harley had the obvious edge, but Rocket was a close competitor. Bets went around. Money changed hands. Then Quill and Thor got into an argument and it ended in a milk gauntlet challenge, at which point Pepper banished them from the house and they threw up milk in the backyard. 

“I’m sorry about this.” Peter told Pepper seriously. Somehow, this was his fault. She heaved a little sigh and smiled. 

“Believe me, if you’d spent much time with them before, you’d know to expect this.” She paused for a moment and her nose wrinkled as she smiled, just like Morgan. “Tony would have loved this.” And she snapped a picture on her phone. 

At that moment, Peter knew he would give anything to have Tony back. What he didn't know was that soon, he would.

[kieraswriting]

Searching for Home Chapter Three

Masterpost

Emile screamed, twisting and thrashing, struggling to get his feet to touch the ground so he had enough leverage to break free. 

“Don’t, don’t, stop! Please!”

“Get him to shut up!” Someone growled. 

“Let go of me! Let go! Please, let go!” Emile pulled hard, but several hands held his limbs and more were forcing his wings open. 

There was a sudden pain as several of his feathers were yanked at. Emile let out an angry cry, his mother’s heritage coming out in his voice and making it more piercing. He thrashed and scrambled, trying to get away, but it was practically a crowd on top of him. 

They learned to pull one feather at a time, ripping them out. 

“Why?” Emile screamed. He was biting at any hand that came close to his mouth, so they hadn’t managed to shut him up yet. “You can’t use them!”

“Oh we know how to use them, little harpy.”

“I’m—“ Emile grunted and thrashed. “Not!”

Another feather was torn from him, and Emile let out the loudest, most piercing shriek he could manage. The hands holding him stilled for a second, and he tried again to get free, but they just got back to ‘work’. 

Then he could hear a sound. A very familiar sound of heavy wingbeats. He let out another shriek. 

Suddenly the people covering him were scattering, and Emile got up quickly, running away from them and towards the dragon that was landing nearby. He ducked down between the dragon’s talons, as a plume of fire rushed out, and the rest of the thugs bolted away screaming. 

Emile was suddenly grabbed by the talons and lifted into the air. 

“Remy!” He yelled. “You could’ve let me ride!”

“I told you to stay away from the towns!” Remy retorted, flying out over the water. “And now look what a mess you’ve gotten yourself into!” 

Emile was dropped onto the ground of the small island that was indisputably Remy’s. Remy landed and pushed Emile with his snout until he could see him clearly. 

“Your wings, Em…”

Emile’s spirits fell at that, and he actually looked at his wings. They were a pleasant brown, a bit lighter on the underside than the outside, and just a bit too small to really fly with. He could glide, and get up in the air a little, but that was it. But now, he couldn’t do even that. The feathers he had left were crushed and smeared with quickly-drying blood. His wings hurt, both from being forced open and certainly from ripping out his feathers. He wasn’t entirely certain he could even grow the feathers back after the trauma his wings had been put through. 

“That’s it, you’re part of my hoard now,” Remy declared. “You don’t get to leave the island without me.”

Emile tore his gaze away from his ruined wings. He stepped forward and hugged Remy’s neck. 

“I’m ok. I know I scared you, but I’m ok now.”

Remy let out a rumble. 

“You want to be all protective and keep me safe, and I appreciate that, but right now, I could really just use my friend.”

Remy’s grumble stretched out a long way before he started shifting back. He never looked completely human, but he could get reasonably close to it. 

He hugged Emile back, awkwardly patting his back above his wings. “Want me to help wash some of the blood off?”

“Yes, please.” Emile’s voice was getting thick. Now, safe from the danger, with his loss really sinking in, he might just start crying. 

Emile sat down, and Remy got some water and a cloth to try to gently clean his wings. But it hurt. Oh, it hurt. The cloth hurt, and the saltwater hurt, but what hurt most was feeling the large gaps where there were no longer any feathers. 

Emile broke down into sobs. 

Remy tried to comfort him, but that was usually Emile’s part of the relationship. He cleaned up his wings as best as he could and offered many hugs. 

It was much later, when Emile was mostly cried out, that Remy said something that actually cheered him up a bit. 

“So I’ve heard a bit of news about the bastard.”

“You have?”

“Mmhmm. Heard he was a ways south, joined up with a pirate ship and he’s trying to woo a mermaid.”

Emile let out a wet, shaky laugh. “You think he’ll get her?”

“Dear God, I hope not! It’s enough having you, I couldn’t handle another.”

Emile’s laugh turned into giggles, still tinged with tears. “I thought you liked having me around.”

“But could you imagine a little bitty one? With a tail?”

Emile’s giggles came faster. 

“What if this one can’t talk to us. Poor kid would go their whole lives thinking their mom was the only one.”

“Mermaids can talk!” Emile said through giggles. He must be so desperate for something happy, because every word out of Remy’s mouth seemed like the most hilarious thing he’d ever heard. 

“Can when they’re older. What if when they’re little they just speak like fishes?” Remy let out a series of gurgling noises that had Emile laughing harder than ever. 

“And you know what else?” 

“Whahat?” Emile laughed. 

“We call him the bastard, but it’s actually us. We’re the bastards.”

It wasn’t even that funny, but Emile was on the floor laughing hysterically. Remy just laid down on the floor next to him, telling dumb jokes until Emile begged him to stop. 

Once he stopped laughing, Emile was hit with a wave of complete exhaustion. Remy brought a pillow and stroked his hand through Emile’s hair, letting out a soft rumble. 

Emile’s eyes slipped closed. “Thank you, Remy.”

“You’re welcome,” Emile heard, before drifting off. Though just before he was completely asleep he thought he heard faintly, “I’m gonna torch the monsters that think they can do this!”

[kingreywrites]

You’re always there, mon frère

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 3004

Summary: "Flynn! Buddy, do you hear me?!" The voice was directly above him now and it was- Flynn was pretty sure that it was Lance, but with the rain, his friend sounded weird. A little choked up, perhaps. And how could he be above him? "Flynn!" Lance called desperately, "Flynn! Answer me buddy!"

Read on ao3

Note: Happy Teengene Appreciation Day!! Thank you @carlyrider for organising it, I hope you’ll enjoy this!

Flynn was cold. That was the first thing he noticed, but it wasn't enough to wake him up fully because, after all, he was used to sleeping in the cold. And the wet - it was wet too, he realised, but once again, not the worst conditions he had slept in. Well, most of the time, he and Lance would- not cuddle, he wouldn't say cuddle, but they would manly share body heat and Flynn would often snuggle- uh, get closer to Lance because he was a literal human furnace, and things would be okay.

Lance wasn't there, though. He was cold, and wet, and Lance… Where was Lance?

"...ynn! Bu…"

It was raining, Flynn understood, a little more conscious now. It was raining heavily, and there was thunder, and he was wet because… he didn't find a roof? It was weird. He always managed to find a roof in these circumstances - he hated the cold with a passion and once, Lance got so sick that he feared-

Yeah. He hated the cold. Where was Lance? Was he cold too?

There was some noise above his head, and he felt something that was definitely not rain fell on his face. Pebbles? He should really find a better place to sleep, but he was too tired and too cold to move now. His head hurt. And he was tasting dirt, somehow?

"Flynn!" someone called from faraway. "Flynn, where are you?!"

Flynn groaned, and got more dirt in his mouth for his trouble. With all of this rain, his hair must be a mess now, he would have to take care of it thoroughly. Would Lance accept to go steal more hair products? It was a vital necessity, for sure, Flynn just had to convince him of that - and considering Lance didn't exactly have hair, it would be difficult, but Flynn Rider wouldn't back down from a challenge. Except if that challenge was getting up because, for now, that wasn't happening. Maybe he could borrow something from Stalyan? Nah, not worth her anger, Flynn thought with a frown that he regretted immediately as a flash of white hot pain made him groan once again. Ouch. His head hurt. Where was- where was Lance?

"Flynn! Buddy, do you hear me?!" The voice was directly above him now and it was- Flynn was pretty sure that it was Lance, but with the rain, his friend sounded weird. A little choked up, perhaps. And how could he be above him? "Flynn!" Lance called desperately, "Flynn! Answer me buddy!"

Flynn grimaced and opened his mouth, but no sounds came out. Why was Lance screaming in the middle of the night? Why were they both outside? His head hurt more and more as he woke up progressively, and Flynn had half a mind to simply go back to sleep. It would be less cold, less wet, and definitely less painful.

Then again, Lance sounded really scared. Maybe Flynn would stay awake a little more - just to check that it wasn't another spider related incident.

"Flynn! Fly- oh come on, Eugene Fitzherbert!" Lance yelled, his voice echoing sharply inside Flynn's head.

"Hey," Flynn groaned, louder this time, "don't call me that." His exclamation wasn't that loud, but thankfully, Lance heard it anyway.

"Sorry, sorry, I just wanted a reaction," Lance apologised, still sounding far away.

Flynn shifted and regretted it immediately, stars bursting behind his eyelids as he cried out. He might have lost some time, because when he finally felt like he wouldn't be sick, Lance was back to calling his name frantically.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake," he coughed into the dirt, before taking a deep breath and - finally - turning entirely on his back. It hurt, to say the least. Gasping, the rain falling right into his mouth, Flynn finally realised that Lance wasn't above him because he was flying, but because he was down in a… ravine? Random crack on the Earth? Anyway, not good.

And, if he had turned the other way, he would have fallen to his doom. Further down to his doom, exactly.

"Flynn, buddy, please stop moving," Lance pleaded, his head popping up a few feet above him. "I'm coming to get you, okay? Just- stay put!"

"Not sure… where I would go," Flynn breathed in answer, but Lance was already gone. And, it was still raining. What a day.

Honestly, he didn't remember how exactly he managed to fall here - he assumed he fell, since his entire body was screaming at him, most of all his head. Gingerly, he tested his hands and feet, and thankfully, he didn't seem to have anything broken. Being a thief didn't really allow for broken bones, and Stalyan would have probably been angry with him for being incapacitated - even now, she would probably blame him for his injuries. To be fair, he didn't remember how he got them, but innocent until proven guilty - it was not his fault until he discovered it was. Sadly, Stalyan often assumed the reverse stance, blaming him for things he didn't even do until he apologised for it. He was already imagining the argument about this in his head, and how he could try to calm her down, when it struck him.

He wouldn't argue with Stalyan. He- he left her at the altar.

Suddenly, everything came back to him in a rush - his decision to leave her, supported by Lance; taking part of the Baron's treasure for themselves as a goodbye gift; being chased down by his men, fighting under the rain, being pushed… being pushed to his death by The Weasel.

He remembered falling, and thinking that this was it. He was going to die. And the worst thing? He didn't even regret leaving Stalyan behind. She- they- Lance had been right about her since the beginning. Then Flynn hit the ground and didn't think about it anymore. He had been lucky to fall on something midway, instead of all the way down the ravine, because that was probably the only thing saved his life.

Well, lucky wasn't exactly the word here, but he would take it.

"Flynn! Still awake down there?" Lance yelled before leaning over the edge again.

"Yeah," he answered half-heartedly, shivering from the unrelenting rain.

He wasn't sure Lance heard him, but he must have seen him move enough to be reassured, because he turned back for a moment. Flynn waited in silence, feeling oddly numb as he thought back over everything he did to get them in this situation, his head still pulsating painfully with his heart. Gently, he put a hand above his ear, but took it back with a hiss. Between the darkness and the rain, he wasn't exactly sure that it was blood on his fingers, and decided to act as if it wasn't. If he didn't see the problem, there was no problem, for sure.

Lance threw a rope down. He pulled it harshly three times, but whatever he had anchored it on held.

"Lance," Flynn called, trying to sit up and failing miserably, his arms too shaky under him.

"Flynn, don't move, I'm coming!"

"No, no, Lance, it's too wet," he yelled back, "you'll slip!"

Even from down there, Flynn could see the glare Lance threw his way. "If you think I'm leaving you here, you're wrong!"

"The rule is-"

"I don't care about the rule! Jail is one thing, I won't leave you to die here!"

It was rare for Lance to sound that angry. Flynn closed his mouth, biting back his answers, because he knew he wouldn't be able to convince his friend not to do it. Which didn't mean he wasn't scared off his wits when Lance started to make his way down as carefully as possible. Lance nearly lost his grip at one point, and Flynn nearly had an heart attack at the sweet age of sixteen, but, thankfully, Lance caught himself and only kicked down pebbles into Flynn's face. On purpose, he'd bet, because he thought Flynn was being an idiot.

Lance jumped the last few inches, immediately going to Flynn's side, hands hovering above him.

"Are you okay? Is anything broken? How many fingers do you see- wait, I'm not supposed to hide my hands behind my back, I-"

"Lance, Lance!" Flynn interrupted, bating his hands away feebly. "I'm fine, help me up."

Lance nodded, put one arm under Flynn's and yanked him upright which- bad idea.

Very bad idea.

When he came back to himself, Flynn was on all four, heaving, and Lance had one hand around his waist to keep him off his face, and the other doing soothing circles on his back. It would have been sweet, if not for the nearly constant hysterical babbles in Flynn's ears as Lance panicked. Flynn didn't know where Lance heard all this stuff about head injuries that he was reciting, but it did sound grim worded this way. He really didn't want to slip into a coma either.

"So," Flynn croaked, "what a break up, huh?"

If he hoped his joke would calm Lance down, he hadn't anticipated the tears in his best friend's eyes as he looked at him sadly. Flynn sighed and - carefully - sat up, Lance steadying him.

"I thought- I kept searching for you, but I thought-"

Lance swallowed, unable to finish his sentence, and Flynn thought he understood. Falling in a ravine didn't have the best chance of survival. He would say he was sorry, but he didn't think Lance would appreciate it, so he patted his arm feebly instead. His head was pounding right up to his eyeballs, which was weird sensation in itself. Lance rubbed his eyes to get rid of his tears, and Flynn didn't even tell him that it wasn't useful since it was still raining on them - he was nice like that. And tired. Very tired.

"C'mon, don't fall asleep on me," Lance said, jostling Flynn enough to make the pain flare up again. "Sorry, but we need to get out of here."

"I- I don't think I'm climbing up that rope, buddy," Flynn answered, shivering a lot more now that Lance had gotten up again.

He also felt woozy and since, despite all appearances, he wasn't a complete idiot, he knew his hands were shaking way too much to have some sort of grip. Especially under this rain. Take that, Stalyan - he did know how to think before he leaped. Which wouldn't help him out of this situation but at least he could finally have the last word on that argument. Why was he thinking about her again? His head hurt a lot.

"Yeah, we'll find a doctor, don't worry," Lance said, and Flynn realised he must have talked out loud. He wasn't sure any doctor would accept them as patient - they didn't have any money left - but it was a nice sentiment. "And you won't have to climb up, I'll take care of it."

Before Flynn could wonder what that meant, Lance was back before him and, in one swift movement, got him on his back. He would have sputtered a protest immediately, if not for his spinning head.

"A piggyback? That's your grand idea?" Flynn hissed through his teeth as he breathed against the nausea, arms tightening unconsciously around Lance. 

"You've got a better one?"

"No! Doesn't mean this one isn't stupid!"

"Well we can't stay here! You need help and we need a warm shelter and-"

"If you slip we're dead!"

"Don't let go and I won't," Lance snarked back, squaring his shoulders and jumping to start climbing up. Flynn yelped, and tightened his legs around his waist, not about to deconcentrate him now that their fates was in his hands. Quite literally.

From his vantage point, Flynn could see how Lance was straining to get both of them out of here. He could see him palms get hurt against the rope, could feel the rain running down his hair, could hear Lance's grunts and realised that he was glad to have him in his life. Maybe Flynn was an idiot - but at least, he had a best friend.

"I'll miss Stalyan, though," he whispered vaguely, forehead on Lance's shoulder.

"Hey, hey, you promised you wouldn't let go Flynn," Lance said in a panic, feet slipping against the rock.

"Didn't promise anything."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Did too! You've got a concussion, my word is worth more than yours," Lance concluded harshly, "so don't sleep."

Flynn hummed, Lance grunted, and thunder roared above them - it was all very dramatic. Once Lance was less freaked out about it all, he'd probably appreciate the setting of his daring rescue, since nothing was cooler than appropriate scenery. It would be a story for the ages... if they didn't die.

Lance cursed under his breath as he heaved himself up for the last few inches, falling heavily on the ground with Flynn still on his back. He crawled to get them both further away from the edge, before sprawling entirely on the ground. Flynn though he should try to move, since he was essentially squashing Lance, but his head was pounding and he really didn't want to.

"We're alive," he drawled ironically, and Lance snorted in answer. They were alive, and soaked to the bone, his head was still hurting, and he was pretty sure that Lance's hands were too, from the friction. Ah, and the Baron's men were probably still on their tails - or Lance's, at least, if they thought he was dead already. Yeah team.

After a while, Lance helped him lie down on the ground as he sat back up, and Flynn looked at the sky, trying to stay very still. The clouds were still dark and menacing, but he felt like the rain was falling a little less heavily. Flynn raised his hand to his head again, still flinching when he made contact, but with this new light, the fact that he was bleeding was undeniable.

What was the protocol in use when he did see the problem? He didn't remember right now, but it wasn't good.

Lance leaned over him and Flynn realised that he was talking, but he hadn't listened. He felt dizzy, as if his head was slowly floating away from him and that- that was weird. Lance frowned, moved away, and Flynn nearly asked him to stay, before he caught himself. Huh. The head injury was really messing with him. That, and Lance was the best way to keep the rain out of his eyes. Yeah, that was totally it.

Flynn closed his eyes but Lance immediately shook him, trying to keep him awake. Sadly, it only heightened Flynn's dizziness and pain, and he thought he mumbled something that made Lance look scared, but he didn't remember what - he closed his eyes again and lost consciousness before he even understood what was happening.

------

Flynn was warm and dry. That was a nice change from the last time he woke up, though he didn't realise it immediately, still too groggy. His head still hurt but the pain was dulled now, something faded in the back of his mind. Right here and then, as Flynn woke up slowly, he could have swore he hadn't been this comfortable in years…

If it wasn't for the elbow digging in his ribs.

Once he felt it, Flynn was unable to ignore it. He tried to shift away slowly and, when that didn't work, he pushed the arm away. At first, he thought he won that battle, but the arm came back with a vengeance, covering his stomach in a heap as a loud snore escaped its owner.

"Lance," Flynn growled, already missing his sleepiness, "move."

"Shut- Flynn?!" his best friend yelled, startled awake, while Flynn cringed away from the loud noise. "Flynn," Lance said more softly, "you're awake!"

"Yeah," he grumbled sarcastically, something that Lance obviously didn't get as he started talking fast about how worried he had been. Though, Flynn knew his friend - he totally got that he was being annoying, only, he liked to be.

Now that his eyes were open, he saw that they were both on a bed that Flynn didn't recognise at all. His hand climbed to his head but only felt the bandages that were on top of his wound.

"Told ya I would get you to a doctor," Lance winked, proud of himself.

"Yes but how are you planning to pay them?"

"I... uh, have my ways?" he answered nervously.

Flynn frowned, and saw that weird tick Lance always had when he was feeling guilty about something - his eyebrows took this strange position on his face and it outed him as a liar every time. His thought process was slowed due to his head injury, but it didn't take long for Flynn to understand what exactly Lance could be feeling guilty about.

"Oh I can't believe you," Flynn complained, "you stole from our stolen treasure?! We said we would do fifty fifty!"

"See, I wouldn't say stole, exactly-"

"Of course you wouldn't!"

"It helped you in the end! That has to count!" Lance insisted, and Flynn punched his shoulder in answer - not too strongly, but Lance was a big baby and whined about it anyway.

Then, he settled back on the bed, ready to go on with his nap.

"Isn't this my bed?" Flynn grumbled half-heartedly, getting comfortable again.

"Hmm."

"And you- ah, doesn't matter," he sighed, accepting his cuddly fate.

Only because Lance was a warm presence beside him and that he was still feeling cold. And maybe because he seemed to have scared Lance back there, so he wanted to make him feel better. And perhaps it made him feel a little better too, to have his best friend with him - because, despite their ups and downs, he knew that Lance would always have his back, even if it meant going to pick him up from a ravine.

Lance snored and hugged him closer - and Flynn smiled and went back to sleep warm, dry, and happy.