#please Thirteen treat him better than Ten

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Twenty-Five

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you��re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R - smut

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] Smut and extreme cuteness. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~5.2k

A/N : The final chapter. I really hope that this lives up to people's expectations.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN | CHAPTER ELEVEN | CHAPTER TWELVE | CHAPTER THIRTEEN | CHAPTER FOURTEEN | CHAPTER FIFTEEN | CHAPTER SIXTEEN | CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | CHAPTER NINETEEN | CHAPTER TWENTY | CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Chapter Twenty-Five

The trip from the hospital to the penthouse left you feeling exhausted and, by the time Billy was helping you change into your pyjamas you were struggling to keep your eyes open. His touches were slow and delicate, treating you like you were the most fragile and precious thing in the world. And, you could tell from the little looks he shot you that he was still blaming himself for everything.

A soft sigh slipped from your lips as he helped you into bed and covered you with the duvet.

“You okay?” He asked in a quiet, subdued tone.

“Still a bit sore,” you admitted, “but I’m glad to be home.”

“Home,” Billy repeated, smiling. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted you moving in to go, but I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too,” you sank back in the pillows a little more, “I’m glad we can just be together now.”

“Me too,” he fell silent for a few moments, watching as you struggled to stay awake. “Do you want to get some rest? I could -”

“Can you stay with me?” You asked, eyes suddenly wide open. “Can you hold me? I’ve missed you holding me.”

“Of course I can.”

You watched as he quickly slipped out of his red sweater and jeans, stripping right down to his boxers before rounding the bed and climbing in beside you. There was noticeable hesitation as he edged towards you, his arm carefully slipping over your chest so he could hold you.

“Is this okay?” He asked.

“It’s perfect, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me, sweetheart,” He muttered softly, smiling as your eyes finally closed.

“Love you Billy.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

After a few hours of sleep, you felt a little bit better. Billy was still beside you, scrolling through his emails on his phone. When he noticed you were awake, he smiled.

“How are you feeling? Need me to get you anything?”

“A glass of water would be great,” you answered, “and something to eat?

Billy gave a nod and quickly got out of bed. You watched as he left the room, phone in hand. He was only gone for a couple of minutes, you heard him making a call, obviously ordering dinner before he came back with your drink and handed it to you. Then, after a slight hesitation, he got back into bed with you.

“Can we talk about it?” You asked cautiously, after taking a drink. “Scott, I mean...”

“Why?” He tensed.

“I don’t know, I just -” you weren’t even sure what you wanted to say to him, what you wanted to ask, “- we didn’t get to talk about it at the hospital. Are you okay?”

“He’s not the first person I’ve killed.”

“It’s not the same; you were a Marine in a warzone. This is -”

“Murder,” he filled in the blank without hesitation, without remorse.

And, maybe that should have bothered you more than it did; Billy had killed a man for you. Admittedly, not a great man, and certainly not one that you were going to miss in any way, shape or form. But a life was still a life and you were certain that neither of you should feel happy about it.

Billy took a slow breath.”Look, you don’t need to feel guilty about any of it. I would have killed him even if you told me not to.”

“It’s not guilt, it’s just - I dunno, Billy. A man is dead because of me...”

“You could have died because of him,” Billy answered back without hesitation. “He tried to kill you twice. He called you a whore, said you weren’t worth it.” There was no missing the bite in his tone, or the way his hand curled into a fist. “You are worth it. You mean everything to me -”

“Billy -”

“No, I’d kill a hundred men like him if it meant keeping you safe. I’d burn down the whole fucking world just to protect you.”

And you knew he would. With anyone else you’d think it was hyperbolic, you’d think he was just saying what he thought you wanted to hear, but not Billy. That was the wonderful and tragic thing about him, about the way he loved you; it was a lot, it was everything he had, every ounce of himself. You’d never change that about him, and you’d never want to. That  was Billy. That was the man you loved, and loving him meant accepting him.

So, you nodded and reached for his hand, gently prising his tight fist open so your fingers could slip between his. 

“Okay,” you told him, and that was that.

It wasn’t long before your food was delivered and you couldn’t help but laugh that he’d chosen to order pizza, just like he had the first night he’d brought you back to the penthouse. You sat together in bed, eating pizza and watching TV until you finally fell asleep again.

Hours later, voices outside the bedroom woke you; Billy and Sam.

“Look, I appreciate what you did for her, but I think it’d be better for everyone if she came back to Connecticut with me,” you heard Sam say. “She needs people around her to look after her.”

“She has people here,” Billy answered. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“You can’t expect me to leave my sister here with a killer.”

“And you can’t expect me to let her go with the man who allowed that piece of shit to keep breathing after the first time he tried to kill her,” Billy replied. Your breath caught, torn between listening to more and calling out to stop them from fighting. “Anyway, I’ve seen your service record, you’ve got blood on your hands too.”

“You think I didn’t want to kill that fucker -”

“I think you had every opportunity and you didn’t. I won’t let her go with anyone who’s not willing to do everything to protect her.”

“I know you think you love her, but -”

“I do love her, and there is nothing I won’t do for her,” you could hear the edge in Billy’s voice, the anger that he was barely managing to hold back. “Look around, look at the life I can give her; she’ll always be safe, she’ll never want for anything. You want to take that away from her? You want to take her away from everything that she’s achieved here? Her friends, her new job?”

A silence followed and you didn’t dare breathe in case you missed something.

“You don’t know her like I do,” Sam stated and your heart sank a little but you didn’t get time to dwell on it.

“I know her better than you do,” Billy was quick to answer. “You see her as some weak little thing just because she’s your sister. But I don’t. I see a woman who’s not scared to put me in my place when I fuck up, someone who’s been through so much and has kept going. She’s carried the guilt for your sister’s death for years, even though it was an accident, a stupid mistake. She’s the strongest person I’ve ever met and if you can’t see that, then you don’t know your sister at all.”

Before that moment you hadn’t thought it was possible to love him more, but you soon felt tears welling in the corners of your eyes.

There was another silence before you finally heard Sam relent.

“Fine, but if you ever hurt her, I’ll kill you myself.”

“If I ever hurt her, I’ll let you.” Billy quickly countered and you could hear just how serious he was.

There were some more muttered grumblings between the pair, but the tone had changed and both men seemed to have resolved their differences. Sam muttered something about coming back tomorrow to say goodbye before leaving town again and, then, when everything had fallen silent, you assumed that he had left.

You didn’t mention any of it to Billy when he came to bed later that night, and didn’t in the days that followed; it didn’t matter, there was no way you were going to go to Connecticut with Sam, not when everything in your life was finally perfect.

Sam insisted on staying in the city a little while longer, wanting to make sure you were going to be alright before he travelled home. He came by to see you most days and, slowly but surely, the tension seemed to ease between him and Billy, and they were able to stand each other enough to make small talk without either getting snippy.

Your heart was racing when the police arrived at the penthouse unexpectedly a week after you came home from hospital. Billy and Sam insisted that you weren’t ready to see them, that you were sleeping, but you managed to get yourself out of bed and made your way out of the bedroom.

The second you did, Billy was at your side, taking your arm.

“You don’t need to -”

“It’s okay, Billy. I’ll be fine,” you told him, letting him help you towards the sofa. “I need to tell the police that I’ve remembered what happened.”

Everyone, the police included, seemed a little taken aback by the comment, but no one tried to object. You sat, grimacing but trying not to let it show how sore you felt - the last thing you wanted was for Billy and Sam to worry about you. Before you started, Billy insisted on getting you something to drink, which in turn led to getting drinks for both of the officers, Sam, and himself.

The two officers sat opposite you, offering up their names and a few pleasantries before finally getting down to business.

“You said you’ve remembered what happened,” the younger of the two officers asked, a boyish looking man who had a friendlier face than his older partner, “would you be able to walk us through it, everything you remember from leaving Mexico right up to the incident?”

You nodded, discreetly trying to swallow the lump in your throat. Billy sat beside you and you soon had his hand in your own, held on your lap.

“We had an argument,” you glanced at Billy briefly, “Billy surprised me in Mexico and I thought - well, I thought he was there to propose to me,” at that Sam almost choked on his coffee, “but he wasn’t. It wasn’t a big argument, it was silly really, and I was embarrassed.”

Billy’s hand gave yours a gentle squeeze.

“I decided to come back to New York early because of it. I wanted to finish packing up my old apartment so we could move in here when Billy got back, and I wanted us to have a day or two apart so I could get over my embarrassment,” you shrugged uncomfortably but managed to force something of a smile to your face.

“I took a taxi home from the airport, had something to eat, then I was about to try to get a couple of hours sleep when someone knocked on the door,” your voice cracked. You tried to lean forward to grab your mug from the coffee table, but winced as pain lanced through your abdomen. 

“Here, sweetheart, let me,” Billy reached for your mug as you sat back and, when he handed it to you, you caught something almost helpless in his eyes. “You don’t have to do this now if you don’t feel up to it.”

“It’s fine. I want to tell them what happened,” you told him, taking a quick sip of your coffee before continuing. 

“You heard the knock...” the older officer prompted.

“I thought it was just a delivery or something for Tammy - Tammy was my roommate - but it wasn’t,” again your voice threatened to break. “It was my ex-boyfriend Scott Hendrix.”

“And did you talk to Mr Hendrix at all? Did he say anything to you before he shot you?” The younger officer asked, furiously scrawling in his notepad.

“Yes,” you answered without hesitation, feeling Billy’s hand twitch in yours. “He told me he wanted money, he said he owed someone money and he thought I owed him.”

“And why did he think that?” The older one asked.

“He blamed me for his life falling apart,” you gave another awkward shrug, trying to ignore the pain in your side. “He went to prison for a DUI after crashing his car with both of us in it, the judge gave him a harsher sentence because I was badly hurt but -”

“She wasn’t just hurt, he was trying to kill her,” interrupted Sam. “She wouldn’t testify because she was scared of him and his family.”

The officers looked at you and all you could do was nod to confirm the story. 

“He tried to kill me because I wanted to leave him; I’d had enough of the drinking and the drugs. So, when he showed up and demanded money, I knew that was what it was for. He got angry when I said no and pulled a gun,” you looked down for a moment at Billy’s hand in yours. “He told me they were gonna kill him if he didn’t get their money -”

“Did he say who they were?” The younger one interrupted.

“No, he just said he owed a lot of money and, he figured, because I was with Billy I could get it for him. I told him no and tried to close the door, that’s when he -” when your voice broke again, Billy decided to intervene.

“Is there anything else you need? She needs to rest,” he stated, his grip tightening but this time not loosening even a fraction.

“How did you get that bruise on your cheek, Mr Russo?” The older cop asked, eyeing Billy for a second.

“I gave him it,” Sam answered, reminding everyone that he was still in the room.

“And why was that?” Asked the older officer.

“Because my sister had just been shot and I was looking for someone to take my frustrations out on,” Sam shrugged.

There was a moment of silence as both officers glanced at each other, as if deciding what to say next.

“You should know that we found where Mr Hendrix was staying in the city, as well as recovering a gun - it’s being tested at the lab to see if it matches the weapon that was used to shoot you,” the older cop explained. “Mr Hendrix was nowhere to be found.”

“What do you mean nowhere to be found?” Asked Sam.

“You mean that prick is still out there?” Billy added. The pair of them deserved an Oscar nomination.

“There was evidence found at the scene to suggest that Mr Hendrix had been badly injured, though we won’t know for sure until we hear back from the lab but, I can give you my assurances that the NYPD are looking for him.” The younger cop told you, offering a soft smile, as if he wanted to try and make you feel better about the thought that Scott could still be in the city.

“We’d offer to put a uniform on your door, but it seems like Mr Russo already has that covered,” added the older guy with a glance in Billy’s direction which, in turn, led to you looking at him.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Billy offered.

“Anyway,” started the older cop, draining his mug of coffee and placing it down before reaching into his jacket for his card, “I think we’ve got everything we need. If you remember anything else, my number is on the card. And if Mr Hendrix tries to contact you -”

“He’ll wish he didn’t,” Billy stated, letting go of your hand and getting to his feet. “We appreciate you stopping by, officers, but she really needs to rest now.”

The officers stood, muttering their goodbyes and telling you that you didn’t need to see them out, but that didn’t stop Billy from following them and making sure they got on the elevator.

“What the fuck that?” Sam asked around twenty seconds after the elevator doors had slid shut.

“What was what?” You asked, feigning ignorance.

“That - lying to the cops,” he sounded annoyed. “Have you got any idea how much trouble you’ll be in if they figure out you lied?”

“What was I supposed to do? Wait until they find something that might lead them back to Billy?”

“Sweetheart -” Billy tried to interrupt.

“No, you protected me, now I’m protecting you. Scott took enough from me, he’s not going to take you too, Billy. I won’t lose you,” you told him.

“You won’t, sweetheart, I promise you won’t,” he told you, sitting beside you and placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

“We protect each other,” and that was how it was going to be from now on.

You felt a little better with each passing day but Billy continued to dote on you, barely leaving you alone for a moment, even after Sam had decided you were well enough for him to return to Connecticut. He did his work from home, hadn’t been to the office in over two weeks, but as much as you loved having him around, something was missing. 

Him.

All of him.

He was treating you like some fragile thing with delicate touches and the sort of softness that felt like he was barely there at all. Of course, you understood he was being careful because he loved you, because he didn’t want to risk hurting you or causing you any sort of pain, but you knew it wasn’t doing either of you any good. He sated some of your longings with his fingers, and you’d given him more handjobs in the last few weeks than you had in almost eight months of being together, but you needed more.

You both had needs, but you were coming to realise that Billy wasn’t going to be the first to act, so you decided to take the initiative. You slipped out of the bedroom in nothing but a silk robe, finding him on the sofa. His eyes followed you as you approached and grew wider as you dropped the robe to the floor and climbed onto his lap.

Before he could even think to question you, you were kissing him desperately, pressing yourself against him and slowly starting to rock your hips. Billy easily lost himself to you for a few wonderful minutes and you felt him start to grow hard in his pants, but it didn’t last.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he muttered against your lips, sighing but not pulling back. 

“Then be gentle,” you retorted before capturing his lips again.

For a few moments he was content to kiss you, his hands running up your bare thighs to your hips, then your waist, but the feel of the dressing over your injury caused him to pull back again.

“I - I don’t know if I can be gentle.”

“You can,” you told him softly. “I don’t want you to fuck me, Billy, I want to make love.”

His breath caught and, for a few seconds, all he could do was stare at you awkwardly, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what you were asking him for, like something about your suggestion worried him. Your hand found his cheek, and you held his gaze.

“I don’t -”

“You do,” you told him softly, reassuringly, before taking his hand and slowly getting to your feet.

Billy rose slowly and let you lead him to the bedroom, where you slowly undressed him, running your hands over every inch of skin that you exposed. Once he was naked, his fingers lifted your chin and he just stared at you for a moment before, finally, kissing you. He held you close and carefully moved you onto the bed, placing himself on top of you, keeping his weight on his arms at your side.

Hesitation was etched on his features as he broke the kiss and stared down at you.

“You won’t hurt me,” you told him. “I trust you, Billy.”

His hips lowered and you felt the tip of his cock graze your clit and, after weeks of nothing but his hand between your legs, it made you shiver. He hesitated for a few seconds, but the moment he was pressed against you, the moment he could feel how wet you already were, he knew he couldn’t stop.

A long, relieved exhale escaped you as he finally started to move. The feeling of his cock pressing into you after so many weeks without it felt heavenly, and Billy’s soft groan told you he felt the exact same way. He moved so slowly that you could feel every inch as he filled you, and once you’d taken him all, he lingered long enough that you could feel him throbbing inside you.

Any discomfort you felt was forgotten the moment his hips started to draw back, your body already trembling beneath him.

“Billy -” you moaned, your fingertips pressing into his back.

Once he was certain that you weren’t in any sort of pain, he started to move with a little more purpose, not in his usual fast or rough way, but in a way that let you experience every single sensation.

“I love you,” he muttered breathlessly against your ear, lingering there and letting you feel every shallow breath against your skin, hearing every time his breath caught and every little groan.

“I love you too, Billy,” you moaned, angling your head so you could capture his lips in a kiss.

Your moans got louder, swallowed by Billy’s lips. Everything about it was perfect, everything was Billy. Fingers slipped into his hair and you heard him groan his approval, his lips pulling into a smile against yours.

“Mine,” you told him when your lips finally parted.

“Yours. Always,” he told you. “You feel so good...”

“So do you,” you moaned as he filled you again, your walls trembling and squeezing around him the closer you got to climaxing. 

It was like nothing you’d ever felt before, a level of connection with him that made you feel like nothing existed outside of you and him and the moment you were sharing. His movements got a little faster the closer you got and, from his barely restrained groans, you could tell he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

You moaned his name as you came, your whole body shivering with a pleasure you didn’t even know how to completely process. A few seconds later, he was following, twitching inside you as he emptied himself.

“Fuck -” he grunted, the movements of his hips turning awkward before finally stilling.

He leaned, his forehead against your and his eyes shut tight. You ran your fingers through sweat-damp hair, smiling and waiting for him to open his eyes. When he did, you could tell he was at a loss for words.

“That was amazing,” you decided to break the silence.

“I love you,” was how he chose to respond, pressing his lips to yours in a brief but wonderful kiss.

The room was slowly turning dark around you and, as much as you’d wanted everything that had happened, you felt exhausted. Billy slowly pulled out and moved to lay beside you, gathering you in his arms so you could rest your head on his chest while his hand gently stroked your hair.

Your eyes closed and you let out a slow breath as everything turned still and silent around you. Minutes ticked by, the steady drumming of his heartbeat almost lulling you to sleep. His hand in your hair had fallen still and you assumed that he’d fallen asleep. Everything about the moment was perfect, it was how you wanted to spend the rest of your life.

Then you heard it.

“Marry me,” he whispered softly. 

It sounded like he was testing the words, like he was trying them out to see how they sounded. You wanted to answer him, but the words wouldn’t come; he wasn’t asking, not really, he thought you were sleeping. So, you kept your eyes closed and, eventually, drifted off to sleep.

The next morning you woke to find Billy in an infectiously happy mood - obviously he’d needed last night just as much as you had. He made you breakfast in bed before surprising you and telling you that he was finally going to go back to the office. It felt like everything was going back to how it should be; you were feeling much better, he was going back to work, and in a week you’d be starting your job with The Bulletin. It was perfect. 

Billy left for work and you spent the day relaxing with a book, before throwing together a casserole in the kitchen for the pair of you to have for dinner - as much as you’d been enjoying Billy taking care of dinner since you’d gotten home, you were starting to get bored of take out. Once everything was ready, you returned to the armchair in the bedroom, alternating between reading your book and watching the sun set over the city.

He was later than expected getting home and, when you heard the elevator, you expected him to call out. Instead there was silence. It was enough to have you anxiously getting up from your chair and heading out to see why he was being so quiet.

You found him standing awkwardly, looking at the floor, a serious expression on his face. Your heart skipped a beat and dread started to coil in your stomach.

“Billy, what’s wrong?” You dared to ask, making your way towards him.

The suddenness of your voice startled him, and he looked at you like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

“Nothing,” he managed in the most unconvincing tone, making you panic even more.

“Is it Scott? Did the police find something?” You stopped in front of him, worry written across your face.

“No, it’s not -” he looked at you for a moment before forcing a breath. “It’s not that. It’s - I need to ask you something.”

Your heart stuttered, remembering his whispered question the night before, and all you could do was nod, not knowing what you could possibly say. Billy took a moment and, for a second, you thought you could see fear in his eyes, like he was scared about what was about to happen.

“I know we haven’t known each other very long,” he started, his eyes fixed on yours, “but this last few weeks has shown me that I can’t go back to living without you. I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it.”

Despite his obvious nervousness, you felt your lips pulling into a smile as tears started to well in the corners of your eyes.

“I love you,” he continued, “more than I thought I’d ever be able to love anyone, and that’s never gonna change.” 

Your heart almost stopped when he slowly got down on one knee and pulled a ring box from his pocket. His trembling hands opened the lid to reveal the ring inside; simple, delicate and elegant. Perfect.

“I know I fuck up sometimes and I piss you off, but I’m willing to spend the rest of my life trying to make you happy,” he looked up at you expectantly, even though he hadn’t actually asked.

Wiping your eyes, you smiled down at him. “Ask me the question, Billy.”

“Sweetheart, will you marry me?”

“Yes,” the word was instant, not even needing to think about it or consider any of it. Maybe it was crazy, but you’d been through more with Billy in the last eight months than most couples went through in a lifetime.

“Really?” His question, the confusion and relief in his voice, was enough to have you dropping to your knees in front of him, taking his face between your hands.

“Yes, Billy.” You told him again. “I will marry you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

His hand took yours, sliding the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit. You leaned forward to kiss him, tears of joy streaming down your face.

“I love you,” he told you softly. “We don’t have to marry straight away, we can have a long engagement, we can do whatever -”

You pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

“Take me to bed, Billy.”

A blink of an eye later and you were on your back in bed, Billy’s greedy lips and tongue on your pussy, driving you insane. Your fingers tangled in his hair and you could see the diamond ring every time you looked down at him. Crying out as sank his fingers inside you, and trembling as he sucked your clit. Even though Billy tried to take things slow, with teasing and measured movements, it had been so long since he’d gone down on you that you came after only a few minutes.

He lifted his head and smiled up at you, his lips and chin glistening, though he seemed hesitant and you could guess why.

“Don’t you dare ask me if I’m okay,” you warned playfully. “Just get up here and fuck me.”

Billy didn’t need to be told twice. He moved up your body like a predator and, when you reached for him, you could feel his taut muscles beneath your hands. God, you wanted him. You’d never stop wanting him. And just one look from him told you that he felt the same. 

He kissed you as he slid inside you, and you held him tight, moaning against his lips. When hips started to move, you could tell that he was still holding back. You moved beneath him, meeting his thrusts, silently begging him for more with every shift of your hips.

“Billy -” you moaned against his lips, you fingers curling in his hair again, “- I said fuck me.”

He started to move a little faster, sinking himself deeper with every stroke, his cock filling you in a way it hadn’t for weeks.

“Such a needy little pussy,” he muttered against your lips. “It’s all mine now.” 

His lips moved to your neck, sucking and nipping at your skin, driving you wild. And still - still you wanted more. Everything. You could hear him muttering and grunting against your neck, the word ‘mine’ leaving his lips, over and over. 

“I’m yours, Billy,” you moaned breathlessly, “forever.”

You pulled at his hair, causing him to lift his head from your neck so you could kiss him as you came for him, moaning into his mouth as your wall clenched around him. It was enough to drive Billy over the edge and soon you felt the steady pulse of his cock as he filled you.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned as he came, holding him tight as he stilled deep inside of you.

“I love you,” he told you between panted breaths, lingering inside you long after he’d finished, not wanting to sever your connection. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Epilogue

END NOTES :  I don't know what to say. Honestly. When I started this I expected maybe three of four people might take an interest but I've honestly been overwhelmed by all the likes, the reblogs, and the comments; it's really made this a joy to write. While this is the lat main chapter of the story, I will be posting an epilogue next week and, in future, I might do some one shots with with reader and Billy. But, ultimately, after everything I wanted them to have a nice, happy ending and I hope you all enjoy that.

Thank you so so much for for those who have been following for the last five months! ... I know, it really has been five months and my mind is blown. This is the longest, consistent writing project I've ever undertaken - for context, altogether, this fic is about 110000 words and 220 doc pages, which just sounds insane.

ANYWAY. I'm rambling. Tune in next week for the epilogue. And thank you again, whether you like/comment/reblog or just read along every week. You all made this such a wonderful and fun experience for me!! I will have a little update next week after the epilogue when I decide what I'm going to do next on this blog. Have a great weekend!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (I know it’s not working for everyone - if it’s not working and you don’t want to miss a chapter, I post every Friday around 7:30pm gmt)

TAG LIST

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[emilykaldwen]

The Maiden and the Drowning Boy | Aegon x OC | Chapter Seventeen

Rating: Explicit

Ships: Aegon II Targaryen x Abrogail Strong (Lyonel Strong's Daughter), Jacaerys Velaryon x Helaena Targaryen

Summary: As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, Alicent Hightower swaps the pieces on the board: Aegon will marry Abrogail Strong, Larys’ younger sister and heir to Harrenhal. Caught in the web of intrigue and political machinations, the pair must figure out where their loyalties lie, and what they mean to one another.

Tropes: Childhood Sweethearts/Friends to Lovers, Generational Trauma and Cycles of Abuse, It's All About the Character Development, Unreliable Narrators, Multi-POV, Canon Divergent, Bisexual Aegon II Targaryen, Book/Show Mash Up, Fix-It Of Sorts, Stopping the Cycle of Abuse before it gets us all killed, Team Neutral, fairy tale vibes meets victorian medievalism meets grrm

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Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine | Chapter Ten | Chapter Eleven | Chapter Twelve | Chapter Thirteen | Chapter Fourteen | Chapter Fifteen | Chapter Sixteen

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Author's Note: We've got Rhaenyra POV! We've got Aemond POV! We've got a surprise in the end! Thank you for all the support and patience. You're all getting this chapter early since I'm out of town for the weekend! Enjoy!

PLEASE PLEASE subscribe to the series page or my author page so you get updates when we start the next story! You're not going to want to miss it. (And follow @emkald-fic on tumblr if you read here!)

All my love to @vampire-exgirlfriend for her love and support and holding my hand through this chapter that just kept kicking my fucking ass. If you need more Aemond content, you must read, They Say I killed You (Haunt Me Then)! Now complete! (epilogue going up soon!)

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Parrying the Daggers Thrown At Us

Rhaenyra receives a letter. Aemond cannot find peace until he gets a taste of it.

Grandfather is still ill, much like we saw him last but he prefers his wheel chaired more oft than not…

Things have been tense, understandably so, but Queen Alicent has been cordial and has made sure we are comfortable and have what we need… 

Aegon and Aemond keep their distance, perhaps so they can glare all the better…

I do not know how to make amends for what happened… 

…and they say Aemond is taken by his pains at times, darkening his room as his head aches from his wound… 

I should make amends, it is right… 

What do you think I should do?...

Heleana has been the warmest… 

…we danced together at the feast and she was quite happy to do so. It is nice spending time with her…

Aegon is happy around Lady Abrogail and she laughs freely with him. He is not like how he used to be as much with her… 

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased to see how well she is treated…

Many houses were represented at Aegon’s nameday… 

Most seemed to wonder if Aegon would have been named heir and displace you but none came to pass… 

…they will inherit Harrenhal. I can see the wisdom in it as Luke will have Driftmark one day, but I think of Joffrey and Aegitsos and my uncles who do not have lands and holds to occupy them…

I love you much, Muñus, I hope you are well and that I will see you soon…

Rhaenyra ran her fingers over her son’s careful script, her mouth twitching in fondness amidst her worry of her zēapos. His letter was long, too much for a raven’s wings and she started from the beginning once she had read it through once. Twice. Her ribs ached as if Jace had been carved out of her to go on this journey and she shook her head, trying to let the feeling flit away on the breeze. Her eldest had a temper, much as she did in her youth, much as his father had, in the ways that drew her in. Time stole away much, and her own bouts of temper had cooled with each broken toy, each yelling fight, each ‘he pulled my hair!’ and ‘He pushed me and won’t share!’

The sounds of swords clanged in the yard and her gaze flitted from her son’s letter - pages crinkled in her grasp - to the courtyard below where Daemon was testing the new recruits to the Dragonstone guard. His silver hair was twisted back from his face in braids as he preferred, something about war and mindset and always be prepared.

He called something towards Joff and Aegitsos as the knight before him panted, having been bested against her husband.

Baela had not written, that much she knew, though Jace had said that she had found a friend in Helaena after a tense standoff. Rhaenyra had found the mention of it surprising, for her little sister, in the times she’d been around her, had been a quiet thing, eyes large in her face, gaze flitting to everyone and no one.

Helaena has been the warmest…

Helaena was not yet married. The match with Aegon had never come to pass.

The invitation lay on the table before her next to the plate of lemon cake she liked for her morning meal on days such as this.

The wedding of Prince Aegon of House Targaryen and Lady Abrogail Strong of Harrenhal…

In five moons, the spectacle would be held in the Riverlands. In five moons, the realm would look upon her brother once more, peacocked and pulled out, as Daemon sneered, by Otto Hightower to show him off as a contender, to put pressure on her father to change his mind. Her father had nearly twenty years to change his mind and still, he had not. Not even in her absence, cowardly as it sometimes felt to retreat and lick her wounds, had her father’s support of the claim and her family seemed to waver. Try as the Hightowers might to scream and spread slanders that would call for bloodshed, her father still would not be swayed. It was the sense of satisfaction that she had felt when he came to her defense in that shadowed hall those years ago, the heated of curl in it that no matter what, there could be no question as to his choice.

He had chosen her.

Even as the feeling waned over time to give over to those moments where she doubted, all the times he had failed to reign his wife in with her abuses and vitriol, the words her son had sent her bolstered her.

I think Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin would be pleased…

Harwin’s little sister, big blue eyes and red curls bound in braids, peeking curiously over the edge of Lucerys’ cradle next to Jace because ���She asked if she could see the baby and give him this,’ Harwin had said, as the little girl presented her attempts at embroidering a little dragon on a pillow. Little Abrogail, half Harwin’s, half Alicent’s. She had tried to bring the girl to Dragonstone with them. Would she not be happier away from the court politics with her brother and the quiet? Lord Lyonel had given her a surprised, then hard look, and Rhaenyra had felt chastened in a way her own father had never been able to evoke within her.

“I will keep my daughter with me, and should I send her away, it will be back to her home, at Harrenhal, with her brother.”

Grief washed through her like the crashing of the waves on the rocky shore below and she felt her own jagged edges inside of her. Lyonel Strong had been the best of them, putting the realm first, always by her side at every council meeting she attended, encouraging her, even as his face grew graver with each brunette curled boy she bore.

Violet eyes swept across the parchment again. A servant in the camp had tried to attack the girl, Jace said. Crept into her tent, assuming she would have been alone. Inquiries were being made, but as far as anyone could see, the man had just been a baseborn servant - blending in like no other. Rhaenyra pursed her lips and looked down at the training yard once more, fingers drumming along the stone ledge of the terrace.

She wondered how wrapped around Lady Abrogail’s finger her half-brother might be… and how opportune this moment was.

Alicent’s eldest was marrying and taking a seat in the Riverlands. It was not the bold choice that Rhaenyra had thought would happen. Surely one of the many Lannister girls, or one of the Baratheons - a great house who would be invested in their own daughter becoming queen would have made more sense.

Harrenhal, for the wealth and lands that it had, did not command armies the way the Stormlands did. It did not have endless coffers the way Casterly Rock boasted of. It was a moody fortress on the edge of the God’s Eye, surrounded by lush farmland and woods that were dark and deep and felt that you were somewhere fanciful, somewhere that didn’t hold dragons nor thrones, nothing except for a warm hand wrapped around her own.

The clashing and screaming of steel in the yard below pulled Rhaenyra from her thoughts, and away from the path of her sorrows and regrets. Turning her back to the sight below, she reached for her own parchment and quill, pushing aside the letter from Lord Celtigar.

Lady Abrogail… Good tidings on news of your approaching nuptials…

Aemond pursed his lips, his gaze rising from the book before him, a study on the Conqueror’s approach to the first Dornish war,to squint across the barrel room near the top of the tower that held the library in the Holdfast. He drummed his fingers upon the scarred wooden table, a fingertip running along the crescent burn from the time Abby had accidentally knocked over a candle while they were reading about Harren the Black.

He exhaled slowly, the way the Braavosi manuals advised and looked back at his book.

It had been weeks since his brother’s festivities, and the chill of the end of the growing season had crept in. It was not cold by northern standards, but the air cooled, the rains rolled in for the next several months, and angry storms fell over them  from the Narrow Sea, their winds piercing and frightening, as if they were dragons themselves in the winds that the Storm God rode, threatening to tear apart the Red Keep brick by brick.

Helaena’s nameday had passed with quiet fanfare, the lingering lords of the realm who had not left parading their sons in front of his maiden sister. As if any of them were worthy of a dragonrider, someone as clever and kind as Helaena.

It had been complicated over the past weeks since the talk in the garden, and Aemond still wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. What had been most surprising had been the strange sense of release when his sister let him go, leaving him to sit in the rain before Visenya’s statue, her words ringing in his ears. 

‘I would burn Dorne for you… but I do not want to leave behind a world of ash and bone.’

How desperate Helaena had looked, angry and frightened and full of hope as she begged not to have a husband, but a brother back. ‘How else am I supposed to protect her?' he had wondered. How else could he offer his sister protection and security if it wasn’t to marry her, to tie her to him so that she would never have to fear, never have to doubt her acceptance and those who loved her?

Aegon had not wanted to marry her. She was weird, he’d sneered. How miserable Helaena would be, how miserable they both would have been. Aemond had done the right thing. He’d stepped up, he had gotten Mother and The Tower to break the betrothal. Even if they had not promised him and Helaena to one another, that was alright, it would simply be a matter of time.

He had Vhagar. There could be no further doubt that he was truly a Valyrian. There could be no more doubt as to his place in the world. All that was left was his sister.

Guilt gnawed deep in his stomach, shame twisting around his throat when the thought filtered through. Helaena was not a bauble he needed to collect to prove something. Collecting her was not protecting her. Collecting her was not about her, but for him, and it was this knowledge that he had thought about constantly.

His sister deserved more than being a broodmare, to be a pawn in the games. The forced distance the last few weeks had given him, after Helaena pushed him from the proverbial nest, had left him unsettled and snappish.

The loud thud of a book hitting the stone floor reverberated through the room. A heavy tome, judging from the heft of the sound, followed by a soft giggling, a deeper snickering sound chasing after it before they muffled and fell quiet.

He knew, with the utmost certainty, why it had fallen quiet.

Ever since the betrothal, the grip on his best friend had been slipping. Oh, him and Abrogail were an unlikely pair, but few appreciated books and history as his cousin did. While digging in the dirt and helping Helaena catalog her collection had been fulfilling, there was something joyous in being able to have someone who understood the quiet and sanctity of the library, and who loved books and reading and learning as he did. Lyonel Strong had always indulged his questions when was young - far more enthralling than Mellos and Orwyle were, and he had fostered that curiosity in his daughter.

‘All she’s going to care about is making babies with Aegon!’ Helaena had cried, frustrated and angry when they’d been alone after the fight in the brothel. 

There was a soft cry, and Aemond scowled at his book before his chair scraped across the stone floor and he strode purposefully towards the source of the sound. The histories of the Riverlands were there - not just observational books, but the census, the trade information, things used by the small council’s not-quite-so-small army of clerks and counters and lawmakers. The section of the library that Abby had frequented since the announcement and that he had helped her with.

“Not here,” came the whispered whine, laced with laughter. Aemond rolled his eye as he turned the corner of the aisle. It was shadowed somewhat this far down, The strategically polished silver angled to bounce the light around so as not to pose a fire risk among the precious books, although the day was gray and cloudy and the light reflected was that of a lamp. Abby was pressed against the bookshelves, the blue and silver brocade of her skirts rucked up with her stockings on display, her legs at present, wrapped around his stupid brother’s waist. One arm was stretched out to grab onto the bookshelf behind her, and the fallen book that had been in its place was still on the ground. Aegon’s face was buried into her chest, or maybe her throat? 

He was half-blind, after all, sometimes details could be mercifully missed. Or ignored.

“This,” Aemond said, his voice even and dripping with every ounce of annoyance and betrayal he felt, “is the library, not a brothel.”

Aemond’s fists clenched at the disrespect both of them displayed to a place they knew  was important to him. At the announcement of his presence, Abby squeaked, Aegon’s arms tightening around her as she scrambled to lower herself without sending them both toppling. He held his arms folded behind his back, his hand scraping along his elbow as the pair of them got themselves in order and he shook his head when Aegon looked at him, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth. Abby had turned to straighten her gown.

“Are you really going to act like this?” Aegon said, for it was barely a question. “We weren’t in front of you and your book. You were the one seeking us out.”

“Because you both weren’t as quiet as you thought you were,” Aemond snapped. “It was distracting.”

A lazy smirk crossed across his brother’s flushed face and he wanted to punch him square in his stupid nose. Let him kiss his future wife with his face bashed in. “Well, my lady is distracting-.” There was a soft sound as Abby smacked Aegon’s shoulder, cutting him off with an exaggerated ow, the flinch was nowhere near the violent response that inhabited his brother when it was their mother doing the hitting. She peered around Aegon’s shoulder, her mouth just as swollen, her cheeks just as flushed and her features apologetic.

“We’re sorry, Aemond. Things just got out of hand. I shouldn’t have-”

“Don’t you apologize,” Aegon interrupted her this time, a fierce look on his face. 

“No, actually,” Aemond cut in, taking a step forward, using the few inches he now had on his brother to straighten his shoulders. “She’s right. Thank you, Abby, for apologizing. Are you upset that she has to apologize for you, since your self-awareness is worse than a billy goat ramming his head into things?”

Aegon’s mouth gaped in offense, his flush deepening. There was a bruise along his neck that was going to be difficult to hide. The glib nature of his eldest brother was a trial at the best of times, but this? “You know this isn’t your place to run about as you please. Shall I just unlock my doors, let you roll around in my sheets and over my personal things while you’re at it?”

“It’s the fucking library, Aemond. It doesn’t belong to you-”

Abby let out a startled cry as Aemond’s fist shot out, but as much as he would love to punch his brother, he shoved him instead, feeling the crackling of frustration, the rumble of Vhagar in his chest.  “Because it’s all yours, is that it? You mewling fucking kitten. This isn’t just my library, it’s hers too, but you don’t fucking care about anything that means something to anyone else if it gets in the way of what your limp cock wants.”

“Aemond, truly, we’re sorry - Aegon, no!” Abby’s voice was lost in Aegon’s growl as his brother came back with another shove, sending him back a few steps. Aemond laughed, a hint of a sound like the thin scrape of wind whistling through a crack. Yes, yes let the idiot push him around. Let him continue to pull his friend away from him, from him and Helaena both. His gaze darted briefly to the redhead, blue eyes wide as she pressed herself back against the shelves, before meeting his brother’s lighter gaze.

“You are a glib fucking fool, Aegon,” Aemond said lowly, his mouth curling as he readied for a fight, needing to expend the burn of flame inside of him. “I don’t care what the pair of you do, I’ll say nothing should Mother hear of it, but-” he stepped forward and shoved Aegon hard into the bookstack. The ancient wood creaked and groaned, but the stacks were bolted to the floor to prevent them from topping. A few books fell from the force of Aegon’s frame smacking into it. “Stay the hell out of my library.”

He did not look over his shoulder, even as Abby called his name, apology rife in her tone. He strode through the halls, calling for his horse to be saddled while he went to angrily pull on his riding leathers. The left side of his temple ached as it was wont to do when his face was full of tension. Helaena would make him tea, protect him in the quiet, but that was not meant to be today. The last he saw, his sister was in the gardens with Jacaerys. 

How he ached to wring the stupid bastard’s neck.

How bright he seemed to make Helaena laugh.

How betrayed Aemond felt by it all.

Why hadn’t Helaena said anything? Why hadn’t she told him that she didn’t want to be married? Why had she just let him wander around like a puppy and now left the fool?

‘But hadn’t she told you?’ a little voice drifted through Aemond’s mind and he paused in the lacing of his leathers. Had she not told him by pursuing that fool Warren Fossoway, and the time that he had spied her kissing him - for he had seen Helaena push the squire behind the carved dragon pillar by the gardens. 

‘But she would let me kiss her, she would kiss me, and she’d touch me and I her and-’ The flurry of thoughts ached as he pulled on his boots.

It would not hurt as much if it was anyone but Jacaerys.

The ride to the beach beneath the shadow of the Red Keep was a blur. The rock outcropping of Aegon’s High Hill was a craggy, sheer thing, but the beach below was one that Vhagar enjoyed sunning herself, a guard dog laying at the foot of the bed in a way. Her head lifted as Aemond approached, lowing in greeting and shaking sand from her scales. The tension in Aemond’s chest began to ease at the sight of her, and he approached, patting a gloved hand along her scarred neck, scratching along a vicious scar she must have received in Dorne. There were no words exchanged, not the way Aegon chattered with Sunfyre. Aemond’s bond with Vhagar was one of feeling, of such deep understanding that no words needed to spill from him. In no time, he scaled her great bulk and yelled out the command to fly, which his dragon responded with her own, what he assumed was excited, call in return.

Vhagar landed on the cliffs on the western side of Massey’s Hook, the bay below dotted with smaller fishing boats this far out from King’s Landing and away from the bustle of the capital. Rage and grief, anger and fear were a tempest in his gut and he rankled at the call of Moondancer as his cousin circled above them.

If Baela wanted this fight, then he would meet her, unflinching. Let her see what dragons were made of. They did not all reside on Dragonstone.

“Laodijes peldios!” Baela howled at him, her voice a sharp shout on the breeze, her face twisted and ugly with fury, fists at her side as she readied herself to hit him should he get within reach.

Aemond glared at her, the distance between them shrunk now to an arm length. Vhagar was a great shadow behind him and he could feel the sulfuric heat of her breath as she exhaled buffeting at his back. Moondancer was a little ways away, shrieking fearfully and Aemond could not tell if the dragon reflected her rider’s mood, or her fear of Vhagar.

“You’re a fucking fool. Daemon Targaryen is your father, your mother a Velaryon, and you still don’t realize that a dragon cannot be stolen.”

“You had no fucking right!” Baela snarled. “Vhagar was for Rhaena to claim-”

“If Vhagar had not wanted me, she would have eaten me and you damn well know it.” Aemond cut her off, watching her jaw click shut with a curl of satisfaction. “Vhagar chose me, not your sister. What? You want to kill me to give her another chance at claiming her? Is that what you’re here? To finish the job that you all started?”

“Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?” Balea cried, and this time, there was a choked quality to her rage. Aemond’s eye widened slightly and he leaned back from her, a curl of uncertainty that he despised. His words had been harsh, full of the anger that he had felt simmering these past years. Aemond shrugged it off. He had earned his harshness in this. He’d been the one attacked, the band of them setting upon him simply because he chose to claim his right as a Valyrian prince.

‘Why would my mother’s dragon choose you?’

Aemond ran his tongue over his teeth and leaned back on his foot, watching Baela gasp for air amidst her choking sobs, and turn from him to look out to the bay, towards Driftmark and High Tide.

He remembered his mother’s cries, her rage, her such careful and elegant control snapping as her voice cracked in the silence of the Hall of Nine.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“Why did Moondancer choose you?” Aemond asked. “Why did Moondancer choose you, and my egg never hatched?” Baela did not look at him but he could see the way her shoulders tensed. “Why didn’t you go find the guards? Why did you come, thinking a thief had stolen a dragon and Jacaerys brought his blade? Why did they give me a pig, pretending they had found me a dragon as they both had their own? Why did they do nothing but terrorize me with that fact for our childhoods?” 

Aegon had done it too, gone in on the fun, drunk on being the eldest. It had lessened considerably in the wake of Rhaenyra leaving the capital, even if his brother sought other ways to tease him - he’d never again mentioned his lack of dragon.

Aegon had come to him in his sick bed, his curls shorn, red eyed and puffy faced, tears on his cheeks, had knelt at his bedside and vowed to him. 

“We protect our own and I did not protect you. I do not care if you’ve claimed Vhagar, for I was not there for you when you needed me. It will never happen again. I will protect you. I will be by your side.”

Aemond had sometimes wondered how much of the words were his brother’s own, but he had known, with certainty, that the feelings were genuine. His brother was an idiot, and they butted heads, but his brother loved him in his own way, and for as angry as Aegon could make him, he loved him too. In his own way. 

He might admit that on his deathbed, unlike Aegon, who would only need to be in the depths of his cups and into the sad and tearful mourning edge.

“What do you know, Baela?” Aemond said, his voice even, coldness creeping along the edges. “Of fighting and scraping for everything that is owed to you?” He forcefully bit his tongue, copper exploding in his mouth as he broke skin, to keep from pressing further at the loss of her birth right to Driftmark for Rhaenyra’s folly.

“A prince has to scrape for all that is owed to him.” It was rhetorical, biting, and Aemond snorted, taking a step forward, his own gaze looking out at the water.

“You may have been an idiot child, but don’t play me for a fool.” It was impossible not to see how little Viserys thought of his second family, and he had seen it plainly on Jacaerys’ face, the surprise in witnessing it. “I’m sure your father relishes every word you send to him. His little spy.”

Baela’s lip curled in a snarl and she stalked closer. Aemond stayed where he was, watching her with a narrowed eye as Vhagar let out a low growl behind him. She did not move, did not lift her head, but her nostrils flared and Aemond felt the heat of her breath swirl around him. Baela’s eyes widened, and she paused, the indigo of them shining with tears. 

He turned his head slightly to look at Vhagar. “Ȳgha iksi,” he reassured her, feeling Vhagar’s displeasure seeping through him, her warning and the remembered rage from those years ago when she could not protect him or take away his pain. He reached for her snout, pressing his hand to the scar above her left nostril, rubbing against it. He turned his back to his cousin and brought his other hand up, feeling the anger hot as coals, hot as dragonfire in his chest. Vhagar was full of tension. He could feel it. Would she feel that way if it wasn’t him? If she was not so worried for him, would she recognize the girl behind him as the child that Laena Velaryon surely brought to her, as Aemond would have brought his own child? Had his grandfather, Baelon, brought his sons to this dragon before them?

The silence filled the air around them, the wind thick with tension. Aemond pressed his forehead to Vhagar, took strength from her, squeezed his eye shut and ignored the pain that lanced through his head and pulsed behind his scar.

The sob behind him was soft, and Moondancer’s cry was mournful.

“He’s your son, Viserys.”

“I did not mean to tarnish your mother’s memory,” Aemond finally spoke, his voice carrying as he looked, blind side towards Baela. “It was not done to hurt you, or to take something from you. It was… It was my only chance. And it’s something I don’t think you’ll ever be able to understand. I am… I am sorry about the loss of your mother. I did not have the opportunity to give you my condolences then, but I can give them to you now.”

The sound Baela made was strangled. Aemond turned to look at her. Baela was stiff beneath her red and black riding leathers, the metal rings in her hair tinkling as the wind tugged at her braids. He recalled the mourning child she had been sitting by her twin and Jace, the vicious yell she’d let out when she punched him in the nose that night, the howls and scream of pain. He felt Vhagar twitch and groan beneath his touch, another warning and he hushed her again, stroking her snout. He watched her gaze go towards Moondancer, who was crying fitfully, grounded still, her aquamarine wings more green against the lush grass of the clifftop.

“Do you want to pet her?”

Baela stared at him, the hostile lines to her face instantly slacking in surprise. “Skoro syt?” Her voice was small and wary, even as her eyes were wide with grief.

“My condolences,” Aemond repeated, and he found the words genuine. It was not Baela, nor her sister, or even his bastard nephews that rankled him. Oh, he wanted his revenge, He wanted what was due, but more of the blame lay with his eldest sister and their father. Of that, Aemond was secure in. He would gladly feed them both to Vhagar, to take an eye as payment for his mother.

His cousin shifted on her booted feet before whatever compelled her brought her forward. Aemond shifted, beckoning her to take her place by his side as he murmured words to Vhagar. Baela had taken her glove off, her slim, tanned hand reaching tentatively up before resting along the scar on Vhagar’s nostril.

They stood there for how long, Aemond was not sure, quietly beside one another as Baela grieved for the mother at the bottom of the Narrow Sea, and his own grief at what was taken from him.

“Do not mourn me, mother…”

‘But mourn the boy dead on Driftmark.’

It was not lightness or peace that settled over Aemond when he and his cousin parted later. He was not certain how much time had passed, only that after she had sobbed, they sat there in a strange, companionable silence eating hunks of bread and cheese and apple that Baela cut with a wicked blade. She did not give him thanks, she did not say anything, but Aemond took the offering of shared food as her own gesture of whatever truce was settled between them. The exchanged curt nods before parting, Baela northeast and away from the city to what Aemond assumed was High Tide and her grandmother and twin, while he circled back towards the city.

Aemond was not certain of the feeling he held except that it felt like he had scratched something out on a list, or deposited a burden that he was trying to carry with all his other, more cumbersome burdens. It was a closed door. That was enough for Aemond, and there was a part of him that wanted to march to his sisters and tell them that he had made nice, to have Abby’s warm smile proud with him, and Helaena’s little clap and promptly being the receiver of her latest mountain spider that Uncle Rodrik had brought her.

Instead, after entering the inner courtyard of the Red Keep and handing off his horse to one of the stablehands, he made his way to the gardens and to his own preferred solitude when the library - so recently desecrated - was not an option. No, Aemond needed air, he needed the statue of Visenya to look down upon him. There, where Helaena had snipped the strings and released him from the vow he had made, the goal that held him that was more about him than it truly was about her. 

Where his sister had set him free, and he loved her all the more for it.

The problem, he found, upon striding down the paved path and through the dripping ivy, was that his garden was not, in fact, as empty as he hoped. Wylla Karstark was kneeled in front of a bush of hyacinths, carefully cutting the purple blooms and placing them in a basket beside her. She was clad in a dove gray dress, the black fabric of her kirtle beneath poking out through slashes along her shoulders and puffed at her elbows. Her fox features were pinched in concentration and Aemond watched her for a moment, silent as she had clearly not heard his approach.

Wylla Karstark was an unknown. She was pretty enough, with a long nose and sharp jaw, gray eyes that flashed when she was annoyed, which was the majority of the time. She had a rather frustrating talent of being able to look down at him even as she had to arch her neck, for she was as petite as Abby was. Their joint misfortune, just like Aegon’s. She was also well read, their conversation at the feast turning from a mutual annoyance to discussing the book of poetry that he had seen her reading, which itself had turned into a rather long and in depth conversation on the Valyrian poet, Praxilla, whose work had survived by the grace of her living the life of leisure in Lys when the Doom happened. Wylla and his elder brother unknowingly shared a fondness for drinking songs penned by the scribe, although Aemond was smart enough to know he shouldn’t bring that up.

Not until he needed to.

“It is polite to speak when coming upon someone, Your Grace,” Wylla’s northern burr was arch as she focused on her task. “I would curtsy, but you can see I’m already on my knees.”

Aemond’s cheeks flushed at the turn of her words, and he was not certain if she understood how they could be taken. He decided that she didn’t, for she did not turn to look at him, seemingly unbothered. All for the best, he supposed, for Aemond did not think he could meet her gaze should she be facing him.

“Why are you cutting my flowers?”

“Your flowers, Your Grace?” Wylla laughed, a sharp, lilting sort of sound and he wondered if that’s what she sounded like when she sang. Did she sing? He had not asked her. “These flowers belong to Queen Visenya, for it is her garden, is it not?”

“It is my garden,” he pushed back, frowning at the back of her head, the mass of thick, twisted black braids kept in place with a woven, pearl hair net with wicked looking, pearl tipped hair pins to keep the heaviness of it in place. He flexed his hands, wiping them on his riding leathers as he approached. There were other flowers in her basket, like wisteria and some of the roses from the main garden. He sat, bending his one leg to rest an arm on while the other reached in.

Up close, he could see the red flush to her pale cheeks. He did not recall them looking so red when he saw her the day before, outside of the bit of sun all the girls had gotten during the sun.

Her smack was quick, the sound of flesh stinging flesh loud and he immediately pulled back with a hiss and a glare. “How dare-”

“Those aren’t for you,” Wylla said forcefully, the gray eyes of her bright in her face as she finally looked at him. “They’re for Lady Abrogail.”

Aemond had killed a man for the fox-faced woman before him without hesitation, and the knowledge of it settled in him still, generally buried over the past few weeks because he had no idea what to do about it. They’d been attacked in the night, and Wylla Karstark had shoved a knife between the man’s ribs without hesitation. So tall, Wylla Karstark seemed, so loud, filling up the spaces she was in without holding herself back, that he had so often forgotten how small she was.

Until she was there, in front of him, those gray eyes like the storm ridden ocean.

Aemond held her gaze, reaching back into the basket to pluck one of the deep purple, nearly blue anemones that she had gathered, twirling it idly between his long fingers before reaching up to tuck it behind her ear. Wylla was still beside him, her red painted mouth parted slightly, so he could see the flash of her white teeth behind it. Her cheeks deepend in their red to match the paint on her lips and Aemon hummed. 

Abby had been understandably shaken. Knowing her as long as he did, even with the smiles affixed to her face, he knew the signs as intimately as he understood Helaena’s or Aegon’s, or his own mother’s. Wylla Karstark was a mystery. She had been quiet, from what he had seen, but the wedding preparations had taken up much time with the girls, as well as her brother finally leaving the capital earlier that week.

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking, before he met her gaze. “Are you alright?”

Her inhale was loud. It trembled and she pressed her red lips together, her throat bobbing with a swallow and looked back at the flowers but did not move to cut anymore. Aemond did not push her, but only waited.

“Yes? No? Strangely yes,” she finally whispered. “I think that’s what bothers me more.”

“That bastard came in with intent to harm,” Aemond said. “If you didn’t kill him, someone else would have. You were incredibly brave.” None knew  where he’d come from. The assailant had been clad in the same red garb as the rest of the servants. A baseborn man. Waters or Storm, Aemond couldn’t remember, much like he had no memory of the man’s face before he stared down at it, red and wheezing before he killed him.

“At least it wasn’t Aegon,” Wylla whispered, her eyes wide, drawing his attention back to her. “What would have that turned into - him sneaking in for them to slobber all over each other. Me thinking he was an attacker and-”

The snort of laughter that escaped Aemond at the idea of it all could not be held back. He bent his head, gasping for air as his shoulders shook and it was only a moment before Wylla’s own peel of laughter joined his. It had been some weeks since he’d laughed, in the wake of what happened at the hunt drying up what little humor he’d indulged in. There was an infectious quality to Wylla Karstark’s amusement that he found comforting. Aemond looked at her, her face flushed from her laughter, and he leaned in, kissing her.

The laughter abruptly stopped, her mouth soft against his, still from her clear surprise. She tasted like oranges. Abby must have indulged in the sweet and sour orange cakes they had at the feast. Wylla did not respond, but she didn’t move away either and Aemond took that as acceptance, and he lifted his hand to cup her cheek, thumb swiping softly against the apple of it. Kisses with Helaena had been different - always expected, always ready, with her initiating many of them. The one time he’d kissed Abby, when they were little and Jace had dared him to, did not count. The both of them had made faces, vowing to never do it again. 

Kissing Wylla, though? He never wanted to stop, especially not when she reached up, the clippers making a soft thump along the grass to wrap around the end of the braid slung over his shoulder. She tugged it gently and Aemond broke away, blinking and gasping. “What?” he asked. “Should I have not done that?”

“Oh, you should have,” she reassured him, breathless and red faced. She licked her lips and looked at her fingers still wound around his braid, toying with the leather tie. “I was just reminded of something someone told me once.”

He cocked his head, mouth pursed. “What was it?”

The smile that cut across Wylla’s face was amused, the scar along the top of her lip giving a mischievous bend to her small, red mouth. “It was about how dragons purr when you pull their hair.”

Whatever thought started to coalesce about her late night conversation with his sisters was pushed right out when her lips found his.

I would love to hear your thoughts! Even if it's just a keyboard smash! Reblog to spread a story around so others may find it! I would love to hear your theories! What did you love? What are you looking forward to? Happy to have you here as always <3

[Next Chapter]

[magpiesbones]

I’ve never read or watched bnha (mostly because fanservice give me hives) but I am adjacent enough and have friends who are obsessed with it and. FRANKLY. it is CRIMINAL that bnha has the Most Interesting Character Setup Of All Time and then wastes her.

I am talking about Todoroki Fuyumi, of course. She should, logically, be the main character.

She should be the main character, for ease of writing and plot, because she is THE CLOSEST to almost all themes while being enough of an outsider to allow for some exposition. She also lives a thematically insane life. And she’s a side character! At best! HOW.

like okay first off: she has been a failure since birth, and not for gender reasons but for OTHER REASONS inherent to her genetics. Fantastic setup to explore parental neglect. She has been the mother figure in a survival mode family since her mother was institutionalized. How old could she really have been, ten? Thirteen at the most? THESE THINGS FUCK PEOPLE UP. You could have explored the ways in which Fuyumi believes that because she is ignored, if everyone else tried they too could escape physical abuse, which is, you know, a fucked up way to think. Eldest daughter syndrome to the maximum. Not only that but she literally knows her father is capable of pushing her siblings so hard they die. This is fucked up knowledge to have. We could have explored atypical responses to abuse.

She has very close experience with the idea that actually not all Heroes are good people, yet still believes in the institution. Incredibly thematically dense there. We can also connect this back to her home dynamic— Heroism isn’t a flawed system, criminals just need to try harder, like her siblings maybe, and Not Get Attention. This could be INCREDIBLY GOOD.

I’m frankly unclear on whether or not Dabi is her twin or not. Either way, what better plot twist is ‘our father’s abuse made my brother a villain and almost killed him’ I think this would definitely fuck her up a little. Or a lot. More than she was already, you see. Also, the sheer amount of parallels you could make in this situation. None of them were ever considered because the mangaka thinks women are ineffective and More Background Of Characters Than Men, but the possibilities are endless. I’m envisioning a situation where she realizes that Dabi does the same shit as her father thus rendering the hero/villain dichotomy essentially meaningless, and/or confronts Either Of Them with this information. That would require Fuyumi to have had character development enough to confront someone, and bc she is Fawn Response The Character, probably unlikely.

I am Very Much Aware that Fuyumi has a quirk and the quirk is Ice, not very powerful, etc. but how fucked up would it be if SHE got all for one and kept it Very Much A Secret. Fuyumi is now pitted against her littlest brother and discovering her Inner Potential For Extreme Violence at the same time, something that has no potential at all for going very very badly. Please picture this with me: Fuyumi is making dinner for the brother who they BOTH know is pitted against All Mights Successor, whoever they may be, and he is telling her all about his quirkless friend who is breaking records at his school etc etc. and she knows that once he graduates their father will put him against her in the publicity battle to the death, which she has decided she is Very Very Mad About. However I honestly think this shouldn’t happen. Quirk transference should be treated like a Later plot twist after you really get Used to the idea that a quirk is Inherent and unchangeable. This should shake her DEEPLY and ideally she should learn About All For One after the Hawks Reveal (child trafficking).

I don’t know if it’s canon whether or not Natsuo has a quirk. If he doesn’t this effectively renders Midoriya’s character moot, because here is a MUCH closer way to talk about quirklessness in this society. What’s Fuyumi’s take on this as de facto mother. What’s Fuyumi’s take on this as abused child? lots to think about.

The whole Eugenics Thing that endeavor is doing is pretty glossed over in the manga to my understanding. It is however SO fucked up, first of all, and second of all. The Implications this has on Fuyumi as endeavors only child (Canonically) capable of bearing children. How powerful is her quirk actually? Is she as powerful as Dabi but with ice? Would she ever let her father know if she was (was she hiding her power deliberately or subconsciously)? Do we think he was arranging her marriage before Shouto was born and he had his own success. What are Fuyumi’s thoughts on this whole Thing. I think Fuyumi would have a VERY nuanced take on abortion rights and no fault divorce.

What does Midoriya Izuku have? Plot armour? The power of friendship? A heroics hyperfixation? Does canon have a singular consistent theme tied to Midoriya, In Particular?

I realize that most of the fandom fucking hates Fuyumi, sometimes more than endeavor (why?), but she seems to be someone both Very selfless (she’s a teacher (I think), presumably salaried, who still lives in her parents house with her underage and severely abused brother and the abusive father, despite having the means and the societal pressure to move out) and VERY aware of the Power Dynamics in that house. Whether or not she genuinely believes that her brothers could manage to make peace with their father or if that is a peacemaking tactic, she’s clearly got Some Thoughts about her duty, responsibility in general, et cetera, that would have been literally fascinating to explore. Storytellingwise, I think it would be fascinating if this started as a genuine beleif that she had some character development about and then began using as a coping mechanism until she got enough character development to actually experience anger.

Just HOW do you accidentally create a character with THIS MUCH potential and then completely ignore her except as (it sounds like) a minor antagonist to a secondary protagonist. When she is SO perfectly placed to be the protagonist, in a fun little antihero type of way.

[dctvcollector]

Jack Harkness Meta

Oh look more meta from me....sorry it’s what happens when I have four days off and way too much to think about and watch and what not. @jazzforthecaptain can be blamed for my word vomit too as while I’ve been thinking about this their recent meta post on harksitel pushed me to actually post. 

This isn’t Supernatural related at least not completely, but about Jack Harkness and the reason why I’m looking forward to his full return. 

Jack is suffering from buttloads of trauma. From being left behind to figure out his immortality, to having to make difficult choices to save the world, to his family both found and blood. What has always bothered me is how his trauma is sidelined in both Who and his spinoff. 

Look I love Torchwood I do, but Jack is forced to suffer a lot at the expense of his team. Ianto betrays him, Suzie shoots him in the head, Grey and John bury him alive, Gwen forces him many times to reveal things he very clearly knows won’t end well, Alice shuts him out in her own grief. He is forced to witness death, after death after death. 

And Jack suffers all this in silence. Hell even his family trauma isn’t brought up as a healing moment but a complete stranger demanding to know the truth, who then messes with Jack’s head changing one of his cherished childhood memories. 

Jack’s mask is what people see and what they want to see. They don’t see the quiet, passionate broken man behind it. Even the Tenth Doctor is flippant about Jack’s questions  and while their flirting is cute it’s clear Ten doesn’t care about how cold his answers come across and how hurt Jack actually is by them. 

Jack has been coded since his first appearance as having fallen for the Doctor and Rose, but more so the Doctor since it’s the Doctor who gets the “You too huh” when Jack realized Martha was in love with Ten. 

The Big Finish audios go deeper into this with River and Jack having a deep conversation about loving the Doctor and what being in love with them is like. They also talk about the quiet moments they long for with Jack point blank admitting he wants a romantic picnic with the Time Lord. It’s delightful and sad because River is one of the few people who gets where Jack is coming from and she admits she hurts for him because of all he’s been through. 

Part of the reason I fell in love with Cas/Jack so fast is because Cas would understand Jack’s pain, but unlike others he would push past Jack’s mask and open Jack’s broken heart so he could start to heal. 

I’m seeing shades of this interaction with Jack and Yaz in the Dalek’s trailer. She easily calls him out for his need for validation and I’m convinced it’s her Jack is talking to when he’s discussing the Doctor and how endings happen with her. It feels like Chris is starting to do what I’ve always wanted for Jack, his vulnerable expression in that scene just breaks my heart because he’s needed this for years, to let go and finally stop being the soldier he thinks the Doctor wants and be the man he’s always longed to be. 

[souyaf]

KINKTOBER 2021.

welcome to souyaf's kinktober masterlist! for every day of the month of october, one fic will be posted. please take a look below to see what you can expect!

+THIS BLOG CONTAINS DARK CONTENT.

DAY ONE.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; DRAKEN

masochism + cock slapping.

+ draken is always in control in making you worship his cock. even if he’s the one getting slapped around.

DAY TWO

#BLUE LOCK; SHIDOU

consensual non-consent + predator/prey

+ shidou has a way of setting your heart racing with palpable fear. but it’s always a worthy reward in the end.

DAY THREE.

#GENSHIN IMPACT; XIAO

soft & sweet + loss of virginity.

+ xiao never understood the significance in a human’s virginity. but he’ll try, just for you.

DAY FOUR.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; MIKEY

free-use + body worship.

+ mikey feels a bit generous and decides to let a few choice members of bonten treat you nice.

DAY FIVE.

#BLUE LOCK; KUNIGAMI

throat fucking  + reassurance kink + size kink.

+ you’ve always struggled to take kunigami’s fat cock down your throat. so he decides to help you!

DAY SIX.

#GENSHIN IMPACT; TOHMA

incest + loss of virginity.

+ who else is better to take your virginity, than your wonderful, experienced big brother tohma?

DAY SEVEN.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; BAJI

public sex + consent kink

+ baji knows how much you love to be watched. and how much his friends want to watch.

DAY EIGHT.

#HYPNOSIS MIC; KUKO

wet & messy + loss of virginity

+ your boyfriend is suprisingly good at using his cock, and shows you just how he can ruin you for every man.

DAY NINE.

#GENSHIN IMPACT; KAEYA

anal + cockwarming

+ when kaeya is feeling mean, he has a particular way he likes to make you pay for it.

DAY TEN.

#BLUE LOCK; SAE

pussy spanking + ruined orgasms + dacryphilia

+ sae treats your pussy meanly as it is. even worse when he’s been gone a while and has missed watching the way you cry.

DAY ELEVEN.

#TEARS OF THEMIS; ARTEM

size kink + dumbification.

+ he’ll never say it but the way you turn completely stupid for him over his cock never fails to make him hard.

DAY TWELVE.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; SOUYA

painal + reassurance kink

+ an accidental ‘wrong hole’ incident leads both of you to discovering a new kink.

DAY THIRTEEN.

#BLUE LOCK; NAGI

pussyjob + corruption kink

+ nagi is obsessed with his cute little virgin girlfriend who cums so easily.

DAY FOURTEEN.

#HYPNOSIS MIC; DICE

incest + consensual non-consent + dacryphilia

+ your big brother dice likes when you fight back and cry for him.

DAY FIFTEEN.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; MITSUYA

body worship + loss of virginity

+ your boyfriend is the perfect man. who could resist him when he looks like that?

DAY SIXTEEN.

#GENSHIN IMPACT; KAZUHA

cunnilingus + pussy spanking

+ kazuha can be surprisingly mean when he wants to.

DAY SEVENTEEN.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; INUI

incest + soft & sweet

+ your big brother inui is just the sweetest.

DAY EIGHTEEN.

#HYPNOSIS MIC; SAMATOKI

cunnilingus + corruption

+ samatoki wants to eat you out after finding out no one ever has before.

DAY NINETEEN.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; SHINICHIRO

consensual non-consent + reassurance kink

+ your boyfriends favorite scenes are the ones where he 'takes advantage of you’.

DAY TWENTY.

#GENSHIN IMPACT; DILUC

ruined orgasms + wet & messy

+ for as rich and successful your fiance is, he’s kind of a himbo when he gets his cock inside you.

DAY TWENTY-ONE.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; NAHOYA

anal + wet & messy

+ nahoya is a menace, but luckily for you he’s damn good at what he does.

DAY TWENTY-TWO.

#BLUE LOCK; RIN

incest + fingering

+ your brother sae is so mean, but thankfully your other big brother rin is there to make it better.

DAY TWENTY-THREE.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; CHIFUYU

cockwarming + pussy spanking

+ sometimes riling your sweet, tender-hearted boyfriend up is well worth the punishment.

DAY TWENTY-FOUR.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; KAZUTORA

gun play + cockwarming

+ kazutora has a unique way of making you feel good. and he always gets you to cum harder than you ever could with anyone else.

DAY TWENTY-FIVE.

#BLUE LOCK; GAGAMARU

anal + reassurance kink

+ your boyfriend wants to try something new.

DAY TWENTY-SIX.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; SANZU

praise kink + throat fucking

+ he just thinks you’re such a good girl when you let him fuck your throat.

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN.

#TEARS OF THEMIS; LUKE

incest + ruined orgasms

+ your big brother luke is so mean in all the right ways.

DAY TWENTY-EIGHT.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; WAKASA

voyeurism + dumbification

+ your boyfriend decides to show off a little bit

DAY TWENTY-NINE.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; SHINICHIRO

overstimulation + corruption

+ your sweet boyfriend let's you play with his cock, since it's your first time and all

DAY THIRTY.

#TOKYO REVENGERS; DRAKEN

loss of virginity + soft & sweet + reassurance kink

+ your decision to lose your virginity to your boyfriend, draken, couldn’t have been a better one.

DAY THIRTY-ONE.

#BLUE LOCK; NAGI

loss of virginity + wet & messy + ruined orgasms + reassurance kink

+ sequel to nagi’s DAY THIRTEEN.

©2021 souyaf, do not repost, modify, redistribute or translate.

[likethecastle]

list of thoughts re: rtd coming back:

characterization oh my god—this is the main thing for me, I feel like this is what’s really been lacking in recent seasons so I’m very excited about the potential for better characterization, especially between doctor/companion(s)

he better have learned to treat poc characters better than he did in his first seasons (re: martha and mickey). he needs to learn from his mistakes, because he definitely made them.

please please please no white man as the fourteenth doctor I swear to god— 

also I saw someone else’s post about how he better have good lgbt rep after his criticism of loki and I wholeheartedly agree—hopefully in 2021 he’ll be able to do even better than back in 2005 without pushback

i don’t want him to do the whole gallifrey-being-gone thing—that worked once, but we do not need it again. like, don’t ignore where chibnall left off with the whole thirteen/gallifrey/master situation, but don’t intensify it or make the loss a focal point again. we’ve already done that. 

doctor who thrives on renewal and trying new things—I’m extremely pleased that we have reassurance of good characterization again (because that’s the heart of the show, really) but plot-wise and thematically, he needs to take it in new directions. no rehashing any major plot points he’s already done—no time war, no romance arc, etc.

actually, scratch that, he needs to rehash one major plot point: FIGURE OUT A WAY TO SAVE DONNA NOBLE

the 60th anniversary!!! I really, really, really wanted a good 60th anniversary even before this news (like day of the doctor was... fine, but also it literally only brought back ten?? billie was there but not actually as rose so personally I don’t count it). i want him to bring back every single  actor available. classic or nuwho. rtd1 AND moffat AND chibnall eras. anyone who wants to. just shove them all onto a set for 90 minutes. the character interactions are the point, not ~darkest hour~ plot points. 

I’m not sure if he’s writing it alone, but especially if he has other nuwho characters coming back, it could be nice for him to at least consult/collaborate with their writers

and generally I really need continuity with moffat’s/chibnall’s previous seasons. doctor who is a lovely continuous patchwork blanket that everyone works on, and everyone’s contributions are valid. the doctor and the show are in a different narrative place than in 2009. he needs to recognize that and build off it in a new direction accordingly.

in summary: what the FUCK brain.exe has stopped working

[snafu-maniac1]

Zuko deserved better

So I rewatched Avatar the Last Airbender recently and let me tell you......

I wanna murder several people.

Looking back on this entire series I’ve come to notice something. I watched the show just like any other audience member and only saw the good and the bad characters. One of these prime examples is Zuko. Zuko’s redemption arc has been praised as one of the greatest in history, succeeding where others have failed. But watching it all again......it wasn’t redemption. Not to me personally.

Before everyone gets angry and defensive at me, please finish reading my post and hear what I have to say. I do not wish to start any fandom wars or discredit or disrespect anyone’s opinion, this is just my personal psychological analysis of Zuko’s character....Sigh and let me give you a warning.

It’s gonna be LONG. 

So if you’re not interested or don’t want to hear it or don’t feel like reading something this long that’s fine, you can go ahead and just click away and ignore this post.

Starting from book 2. 

Now you may be wondering why I’m starting here and not from the start of Zuko’s childhood but I first want to address the one question everyone had been wondering since the series 2 finale. What would have happened if Zuko hadn’t sided with Azula?

My answer is.....that wouldn’t have happened.

Everyone’s been focusing on the entire arc where Zuko was struggling to accept that the war was wrong and how Iroh was trying to get through to him when he tried to capture Appa and afterwards, but here’s something everyone tends to ignore.

Why didn’t Iroh try sooner?

Why didn’t he try to stop Zuko before Aang came, before he’d gotten so deep and desperate to the point that he continuously committed heinous acts to capture the Avatar? People would justify it by saying Iroh wanted Zuko to realize the wrongs of his father and Nation by himself to shape him into his own person. But that is in no way the appropriate way to approach a physically, psychologically and mentally unstable and abused child. Zuko was a thirteen year old boy when he was burned and banished. This is where we go into his childhood. Zuko was raised like any other Fire Nation citizen. As we’ve seen in book 3 and in the Pirate comic book, The Fire Nation citizens were led to believe that the other Nations were ‘savages’ and ‘barbarians’. It villainizes the Fire Nation even more. The very fact that they would spread heinous lies against other people when they themselves were responsible for the war that ruined so many lives. But when you realize, what Sozin and the other Fire Lords did was a solid battle tactic. Making the opposing side out to be these horrendous monsters. Making lies or accentuating every one of their worst traits to dehumanize their enemies so that the people would not have any qualms about fighting them. All of the Fire Nation schools were taught these lies. And Zuko was no exception.

Zuko was a member of the Royal family. And from what was shown in the Avatar series, the Royal family was isolated from the rest of Fire Nation society. Zuko had no way of knowing what the other Nations were really like, no way of knowing the truth about the war and no one had bothered to explain it to him. The one person that could have, did NOT. And yet people had expected him to just automatically know that he was being lied to and that his people were the villains. Zuko’s only social exposure was with Fire Lord Azulon, Fire Lord Ozai, Dragon Of The West General and Crown Prince Iroh, his cousin Prince Lu Ten, his mother Princess Ursa and his younger sister Princess Azula and her friends Mai and Ty Lee. All of whom believed in the Fire Nation propaganda and all of whom had no problem in participating in the war and making jokes about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground. Zuko was under scrutiny and aggression from Ozai. Ozai was Zuko’s ‘handler’, his ‘groomer’. He groomed Zuko into a certain type of submissive and obedient behavior. Zuko was not allowed to show any type of emotion otherwise he would suffer severe repercussions. Ozai and Azula taunted Zuko for having a sense of compassion and with how he was ostracized in a war loving family, he began to believe his behavior and way of thinking was unusual. It was like Azula said to Mai, “Your mother had certain expectations of you and when you strayed from them you were shot down.” In Zuko’s case, the expectations he strayed from resulted in severe punishment. Ozai was willing to permanently disfigure and traumatize Zuko when he was a thirteen year old boy. It’s not unusual to think that his punishments towards Zuko would sometimes very likely be physical and many people even write alternate universes of the Avatar series where Ozai was even more abusive than he already was. He was a manipulative man who brainwashed his daughter into being his perfect, obedient little slave and manipulated his son into questioning his own sense of reality. He would tell him that Azula was born lucky and he was lucky to be born, cementing Azula’s view of herself of receiving everything she wanted and turning her personality toxic while he made Zuko feel inferior and faulty. If there was something wrong with him, his father would tell him and he needed to fix it. But he never could. He strayed towards his mother, who like Iroh, abandoned Azula because of Ozai’s manipulation and did nothing to help her like they ‘helped’ Zuko.

When Zuko was thirteen he wanted to ‘prove’ himself to his father by attending one of his war meetings. Zuko very likely only wished to do what his father wanted because by then, Iroh had abandoned him when he left after the Siege of Ba Sing Se, his mother disappeared and his grandfather and cousin were both dead. The only ones he had left of his family were his father and sister who both abused him and he only wished for their approval and their affection. Humans need mutual affection. Children who do not receive affection from their parents, tend to not take that type of neglect well. Because people need affection to properly function. Our parents love us from when we are young and that emotional connection is something very important to every human being’s mental state. However, Zuko’s only source of affection, his mother, was taken away from him. Azula herself, had no source of affection. Not from her mother, who thought she was demented from her father’s brainwashing, nor from her brother who feared her, nor from her father who used her as a tool. Returning to the day of the Agni Kai, Zuko wished to be of use to his father, he craved his affection because that is what the abuser does. They make you believe they are the only ones who can validate you and if you do not abide by their rules or follow their orders then you mean nothing. Zuko for the most part from what I could see in the flashback, held his promise and did not speak. But when he refused to back down when his people were in danger, Ozai was not pleased. This is because he is an abuser. He is Zuko’s ‘handler’ and when someone who is abusing another person witnesses this type of behavior, they have a feeling of loss of control. They desire control, they crave it, over the abusee especially. So when Zuko showed empathy towards the Fire Nation citizens and did not do as Ozai wished, he decided to ‘rectify’ that. In the most BRUTAL way possible. An Agni Kai. A public spectacle where he would establish dominance over his son, over his pawn and he would make a show of it. He would show everyone that HE was the one in control and NO ONE could defy him. When Zuko refused to fight Ozai, because of his love for his father, Ozai only saw that as a weakness. Ozai is a psychotic man. The fact that he did not have any problem in burning his son so cruelly shows that he does not have any sense of morals. Going back to Zuko, a thirteen year old child at the time, he had just been punished for disobedience, for straying from his father’s expectations, in the worst way possible.

Zuko did what many people would say is the right thing to do. He tried to defend his people from a cruel man intent on sending them to their deaths. But in doing so, he had defied his father and was punished for it. He was punished....for trying to HELP people. His life was essentially DESTROYED and he was thrown out of his home...for trying to help people. For showing empathy towards others. He was punished in the worst way possible for defying his father. His entire perception of right and wrong was thrown out of balance. He was taught that the war was right and that the Fire Lord, his father, was all knowing. And his mother tried to teach him kindness and her lessons of kindness got him punished. The amount of physical and mental damage he had sustained from such a punishment would in some cases be irreversible. Iroh was right there with Zuko and he did nothing. I CAN understand why he did not step in during the Agni Kai. He had been gone from the Fire Nation, his brother had taken the throne and he could have very well himself been punished severely for intervening. However, why did he allow Zuko to continue to believe he was the one at fault? Everyone of us has seen Zhao, has seen the way he treated Zuko during his banishment. Zuko very likely spent those entire two years before Aang’s arrival, being subjected to that type of behavior from everyone around him. All of them blamed him, all of them very likely said that he’d deserved what had happened to him. No one was on his side. He ended up turning aggressive and cruel towards others, because that was the way his father behaved and it was his empathy towards others that got him punished in the first place. He said in The Storm ‘the safety of the crew doesn’t matter’, just like the general that called the 41st division ‘fresh meat’. It was easier for Zuko to lash out at others and be aggressive than to let them see his vulnerabilities and hurt him for them again. It was the same with Song and her mother. Ozai tried to force him to be cruel, he tried to groom him the same way he did Azula. They dehumanized the other Nations and Zuko behaved the exact same way he was expected to. ‘Their compassion would cost them’. It was exactly the way his father wanted him to be. It was what Iroh did not wish for him, and yet despite claiming he thought of Zuko as a son, he did not in any way try to convince Zuko to give up his quest during the two years he had been searching for something that at the time was believed did not exist. The only instance we were shown of Iroh saying anything against his search, and even that is a stretch, was in the Western Air Temple episode where Zuko has a flashback of Iroh telling him that ‘destiny was a funny thing’ when Zuko said it was his destiny to capture the Avatar. Iroh had time to run the White Lotus, an antiwar organization for two YEARS maybe even longer and he did not think of taking two MINUTES to talk to Zuko, to ease him into realizing the wrongs of the war. Okay, yes he could have passed it off as character growth. But how do you expect a person, surrounded by people telling him he was at fault, he had no choice, either obey or never come back, to realize something like that? How do you expect an abuse victim to accept help all by themselves when their abuser forces them to depend on them? Did Iroh take him to some Earth Kingdom villages to see that they aren’t the vicious savages the Fire Nation portrays them to be? Did he take Zuko to the Southern Water Tribe to see the damage done to them at the hands of his own country? No. Instead he acted like an oblivious old man who had no interest other than Pai Sho and speaking proverbs that Zuko could not hope to understand.

Two years Zuko spent looking and looking and he turned desperate to the point that he was willing to do anything to go home. And then The Avatar finally returned. And then the people that Zuko was raised to perceive as brutal savages continued to stand in his way. And did Iroh intervene? No. He still did nothing. He allowed Zuko to continue his pursuit and turn into the worst possible version of himself. People say that Zuko should own up to the consequences of his actions. And he should. But would he have done those actions had Iroh stopped him earlier? Would he have done any of the things he did when the only remaining adult figure in his life had told him otherwise? Would he have listened to Iroh? The answer is yes. He was willing to do what Ozai had expected of him so why would he not listen to Iroh with time and patience instead of waiting till the last possible moment to do so? Children don’t automatically know right from wrong from the moment of their birth. They are taught by their parents, by the adults in their lives and Zuko had Ozai as his parental influence. And Iroh knew that. He knew the type of man his brother was and he did not try to overwrite his brother’s abuse to help his nephew until Zuko was already on the path of no return. When they became refugees Iroh still did nothing until they got to Ba Sing Se and until Zuko, again in an act of desperation, tried to capture Appa. That was when he FINALLY decided to step in. Three years since Zuko’s banishment, sixteen years of his father’s influence and abuse and he decides the very moment his nephew is close to the brink of insanity is the perfect opportunity to DESTROY his entire world view. He had worked day in and day out for two years before Aang appeared, only for his uncle, someone he TRUSTED, to tell him it was all for NOTHING. Two years of TORTURING himself. A year of fighting against his Nation’s enemies and SUDDENLY he’s being told it was all for nothing. When Iroh and Zuko reunited, Iroh told him he found his way again ‘on his own’ like how Zuko told Ozai he had to learn everything ‘on his own’. And they were both right. Zuko had no one to help him. He had to suffer through so much on his own, without anyone’s help and they’re SURPRISED he acted the way he did. When everything came to ahead in Ba Sing Se with Katara, people thought ‘Oh Zuko has changed he’s going to help Katara.�� And when he did not they HATED him for it. 

The reason for this is because Katara was the ‘good guy’ and Zuko was the ‘bad guy’. Black and white. Katara and Zuko shared a moment of understanding from both losing their mothers and Katara offered to heal his scar and he chose to side with Azula and both Katara and the viewers saw this as a betrayal on Zuko’s part. This assumption however is completely unjustified and unfounded. Everyone sees Zuko and the Fire Nation as the bad guys. The villains of the story. But Katara and the Water Tribes and Earth Kingdom were the bad guys in the Fire Nation’s eyes. Katara was the ‘savage’ standing in the way of Zuko going home. The Avatar was his home’s greatest ENEMY and THREAT. Had the situation been reversed and Katara had to choose between Zuko and the Water Tribe and her brother and father, people would have supported her choice because they were the good guys. Zuko’s people were the bad guys so it had to be the wrong decision and a betrayal to Katara and Iroh. But Zuko was an unstable, traumatized child who did not wish to believe his people were bad, who did not want to fight his home after he spent so long trying to capture Aang, his home’s greatest THREAT and ENEMY. Katara hated Zuko because he represented everything that the Fire Nation did to her family. And Zuko hated her because she was the ‘savage’ keeping him from his one way home. To Zuko, Katara was the bad guy. And looking back at their moment of sympathy where Katara said he betrayed her trust I can only ask one thing....how could Zuko have known that Katara wasn’t trying to trick him? Now, the viewers would automatically respond ‘Katara’s not like that! She wouldn’t do that!’ but the fact is, we the viewers KNOW Katara. We know she’s not that type of person because we got to know her through out the series. Zuko does NOT know her. To Zuko, she’s just another faceless enemy out to KILL his father. He chose Azula’s side because he could not accept what Iroh was saying to him because why hadn’t Iroh said so sooner? He did not want to join Aang’s side cause this was the AVATAR. The one out to KILL his FATHER and take down his HOME. When Zuko returned, he was conflicted about what he had done because he had begun to see how wrong his father and sister’s behavior and The Fire Nation’s war truly was. And Iroh cemented that further by proclaiming Zuko’s struggle was because of Roku and Sozin’s conflict when that was clearly not the case. Zuko was groomed and brainwashed by the Fire Nation propaganda like every other citizen but he was not dispelled from that belief by anyone. No one tried to make him question that belief. Iroh did not try to ‘help Zuko’ until the very last moment in Ba Sing Se. People believe Zuko betrayed Iroh because that’s how it’s supposed to be when Zuko was the ‘bad guy’ and Iroh was the ‘caring’ Uncle and ‘voice of reason’. And yet he did not think to ‘reason’ with Zuko before this entire mess even started. He did not in any way try to disrupt Zuko’s view of the other Nations or his father. In my opinion, IROH was the one who betrayed ZUKO. Iroh KNEW the entire time that what Zuko was doing was wrong. Zuko was a child who was not allowed to think for himself and Iroh KNEW Zuko was brainwashed by the exact same propaganda he himself had believed before he lost his son. If Iroh, who had believed in the Fire Nation for so many years, was unable to realize the wrongs of the war until his ADULTHOOD when he lost his son, how in the world did he expect a 13 year old child to do so? And Zuko became even more unstable and then he chose the Fire Nation.

When he realized it was wrong and went to join team Avatar, they were reasonably mistrusting.

Zuko’s redemption arc from a simple perspective, from team Avatar’s perspective was very well done. Team Avatar did not know what Zuko had been through. To them he was just another Fire Nation monster who had hurt them. To the audience, he was just another Fire Nation monster who had hurt the good guys. No one would think that deep into a fictional character’s perspective or psychological and mental state. No one would think past the ‘good guy’ and the ‘bad guy’. But one thing I cannot justify is Katara’s accusation of betrayal towards Zuko. As we have mentioned, Zuko and Katara were enemies who had a mutual hatred towards each other before his ‘redemption’. They had one single moment of shared empathy and understanding and that is NOT the basis for earned trust. What would Katara have done had she been in Zuko’s shoes? Fighting her enemies, fighting people she sees as nothing more than monsters and she has to choose between her long time enemy and her sibling and her home and her family. If she was in that position, she would choose Sokka and Hakoda and Aang and the Water Tribe over Zuko in a heartbeat because those are her FAMILY members and her FRIENDS and people would justify her because she’s the ‘good guy’. The hero. But Zuko is the villain so his actions automatically AREN’T justifiable. I understand Katara’s mistrust towards Zuko because of their history and because again, she doesn’t know anything about him or what he went through. But she cannot expect him to just automatically leave behind everything he’s ever known and ever believed in because of one single moment of understanding. Zuko should have done everything he could to make it up to the group because he owed it to them and they again, did not know any of his reasons for hunting them. But Zuko does not deserve to be labeled simply as ‘a bad guy turned good’ when he was NEVER a bad guy to begin with. When he was never even mentally stable enough to make that type of decision for himself. In today’s day and age Zuko and Azula would have BOTH ended up in a mental institution. And after all of the things he went through, Zuko was the one who ended up going back to Iroh and apologizing when Iroh was the one who abandoned him and then Zuko at 16 years old ended up as the leader of a nearly fallen apart country. He had to suffer through insomnia, assassination attempts and mental instability and abandonment. Iroh left to Ba Sing Se and only made two appearances in a total of SIX comic books after the end of the War and one of those was entirely brief. So while Iroh gets to enjoy the rest of his life selling tea, Zuko has to suffer the consequences for what his family did. He was also abandoned by Mai which brings me to another point.

Zuko’s toxic relationships.

Some people say they dislike Mai because she is emotionally abusive towards Zuko. It never occurred to me before but looking at it now, I have to say that I agree. In the comics after book 2 had ended it was shown that Azula used Mai’s childhood crush on Zuko to manipulate him into going back to the Fire Nation with her. And Mai.....I don’t even know how to get started on the entire mess that is their relationship. Mai is a person who does not like emotion. She doesn’t like to express herself and immediately shuts down anything even close to emotion. The same applies to Zuko. Zuko is a very emotionally unstable and insecure person. And instead of reassuring and calming him, Mai immediately cuts him off whenever he loses a handle of his emotions and just flat out ends their relationship on the spot. She gives Zuko no explanation, just gets angry at him and then all of a sudden when Zuko can’t take anymore and explodes she suddenly says she cares about him. Their relationship is toxic. Mai demeans his problems and things that trouble him. Quote “I just asked if you were cold, I didn’t ask for your whole life story.” when Zuko was nervous about going back home. She demeans his guilt towards Iroh and tries to make him feel better by ordering servants around. And then in the Boiling Rock episode she attacks him for his letter which is reasonable on her part, but there is the problem that despite being Zuko’s girlfriend, up until that point she was Azula’s subordinate first and foremost and she could have tried to let Azula know. Still was a shitty way of ending their relationship, I’m not gonna act like it wasn’t but I still wanted to put that perspective out there just for thought. Not to mention how she ended things in the comic books. The trust issue I understand. But I don’t understand how ONE single mistake would lead to her just immediately ending things instead of at least TRYING to work it out. She could have listened to him and seen why he was so upset and scared of messing up that he went to Ozai of all people for help. She did not stick by him when he needed her and that was what forever ruined their relationship for me. 

In simple terms, Zuko was a bad guy who became a good guy and redeemed himself.

In psychological terms, Zuko was an abuse victim who was brainwashed since his childhood, blamed for it and made into a scapegoat while his sister ended up in a mental institution because of her father’s influence and because the same people who ‘helped’ Zuko didn’t think she deserved it too.

So from what I’ve seen while rewatching the series....

Zuko never needed redeeming. Zuko needed help.

And he didn’t get it. 

[usmsgutterson]

Angelic- Kaz Brekker

OKAY, SO, I know that a lot of you have, in fact, sent requests, and I promise, I’ve got more than one in the works, but here’s a little filler while you wait for your request to be responded to!

It’s a bit ooc for Kaz, but that’s just cause he’s gone a little soft, in a way? 

ALSO: The crows and the reader are around 24 for this, you’ll understand why when you read it, and Jesper and the reader are adoptive siblings, sort of!

Fic type-

Warnings- none

Kaz Brekker had spent every waking moment of his life loving you.

You spent every waking moment of your life loving him, and even if touching wasn’t really apart of how Kaz showed his love, he showed it in other ways.

Giving you a sweater to sleep in, a shirt that’d always been too big or even a pair of trousers that’d he’d just not worn in a while, figuring that you’d find some way to make them look better than he ever could.

You had your ways, as well. 

Making sure to get him breakfast every morning, dinner every evening, and lunch in between. Cracking a joke when the time arose, knowing where he’d set his boundaries and not pushing them. Offering smiles, warm glances, making sure he’d get to bed at the appropriate times. 

Sitting, perched on a windowsill, knees near your chest, book clutched in your hands as you read, or no book at all. Maybe your eyes would be on the view from Kaz’s office as you quietly hummed a lullaby or a drinking tune, a sea shanty you’d probably have shouted alongside Sturmhond and the rest of his crew, forcing Kaz to bite back a smile as you’d let your guard down in those moments, eyes focused on the view and not at all paying attention to your surroundings. Kaz got to admire you in those moments, and he loved every second of it.

But, Kaz’s favorite time of the year was when business died down enough for him to be comfortable enough to leave Nina or Inej in charge of The Barrel for three days, when he’d get to usher you away from everything and out to the farmlands in Novyi Zem, where light pollution wasn’t nearly so common as it was in Ketterdam.

Colm Fahey, bless his heart, had agreed to let yourself and Kaz spend a couple of nights in his place while he visited Jesper and Wylan in the city to talk about their wedding plans. 

As you set yourself and Kaz up in the room Colm had given the two of you, Colm took Kaz aside. Made him tea, sat him down and let their silence stir. 

“You’re a lucky one, you oughtta know,” Colm murmured after a few moments. “Y/N doesn’t got much in the way of parents.”

“Are you insinuating to me that you think I’m going to propose?” Kaz asked, hand moving to the ring box tucked away in his pocket. 

“Yes,” Colms whispers were firm. “Jes let it slip, actually. All I’m saying is that--”

“If they say yes, your place in the wedding is up to them,” Kaz turns his head, glances up the stairs as his grip tightens on the ring box. “However, an invitation, at the least, is something that I can guarantee.” Colm smiled as he picked up his cup, finishing off the last of his tea and gripping his back with one of his pale hands. 

“I plan to do nothing but,” Kaz assured. “Tell Jesper I said yes to being his best man, and that he’s missed in the Barrel.” Colm just nodded, walking out the door thereafter.

“You treat them right,” Colm warns. For a moment, Kaz feels a shiver of fear go up his spine, but catches himself with a slight laugh. Torn down by my lovers surrogate father, he thought, shaking his head. I can’t believe it!

You two had agreed to meet in the farm, and as Kaz walked out, he spotted you, back pressed against a tree trunk, eyes on the vast sky. 

It was a bit of a distance, but Kaz walked it just fine, slumping down next to you and leaning his cane against the tree as the sunset slowly burned out, and the pinks, oranges, yellows, reds and purple hues were replaced by a murky, black sky.

“I love you, Kaz Brekker,” you murmured as he plopped onto the ground. “I love you so much it makes my heart ache.”

“You’ve always been my favorite investment,” Kaz joked, laughing as he felt your fist lightly hit his arm a moment later.

“Mr. Brekker!” 

“Mx. Brekker!” You froze at that, eyes wide, mouth agape, and Kaz, figuring that it was as good a time as any, pulled the ring box from his pocket.

“Y/N L/N, we’ve been together for eight years now. I’ve known you for over ten of those years, though, and each year with you has gotten better. Please marry me?” He held the ring out to you, and when you nodded, slid it onto your ring finger.

“This was my fathers,” you whispered. “Where’d you get it? I haven’t seen it since I was thirteen!” 

“Had Inej do some snooping,” he admitted. “Found it in a Fabrikators store in West Ravka. I’ve got your mothers wedding ring, too.”

“Give that one to Inej,” you quipped. “She’s my work wife!”

“Even while she’s killing slavers?”

“Hells yeah!” You shouted, arms going into the air as Kaz tucked the ring box back into his pocket. “Do you think she’ll ever come back? To Ketterdam?”

“Last Nina heard of her, she plans to return around Christmas,” Kaz took your hand, waiting for the rise of his past. When it came, he waited for the wave to fall. 

“I can’t wait!” You’d missed her like hell, which Kaz knew. “Goodness, I’ve missed her.”

“She’ll squeal with you about the engagement,” Kaz murmured. “Especially with Nina around. That’s a goddamn guarantee. You can never keep a room too quiet when you three are in one of your excited tizzies,” Kaz interlaced your fingers, and you pressed a kiss to his cheek without a second thought.

“You love me and my excited tizzies, Mr. Brekker,” you teased. Kaz almost touched his cheek as you moved away, resting your head on the tree as your eyes moved back up to the sky again.

“That I do, Mx. Brekker.” He loved every part of you, in every waking moment of every waking day. You were like a storm to him; a tsunami. You were chaotic and scary and delightful and terrifying all at once; a landslide of feelings throughout ten years and more landslides to come, he was sure. 

“The stars are always so much brighter here,” you whispered after a few hours of small talk and hand holding, with, of course, a few comfortably quiet periods in between when Kaz got distracted and his past rose up, when he ran his fingers through the grass to distract himself for as long as he’d needed. “Not all of Novyi Zem, of course, cause of the factories and apartment complexes in the city, but the farms!” 

“It’s quite wonderful, isn’t it?” Kaz pointed to a constellation when he’d noticed it, hung high in the air. “Look at that, it’s the bloody Sankta Alina constellation!” Kaz wasn’t one for saints, you knew he never would be, but he could name at least three constellations off the top of his head, thanks to Ninas astrology based ramblings.

“Woah!” You jumped, not understanding how you’d not realized it before. “It’s so big, too! What’s it, thirty stars up there?” 

“Sixty seven,” Kaz corrected. “Nina told me that before Inej came in and dropped your ring off.” 

“Saints,” you cursed. “Rather fucking angelic, isn’t it?” 

“Yeah,” Kaz murmured, but his gaze had long since moved off the constellation and back onto you. He pressed a quick, gentle kiss to your cheek and gave your hand a squeeze. “It really is.” 

[quillify-tries-to-talk]

Defense and Love

(A rewrite of that scene in Chain of Gold where Cordelia does not defend her brother when James calls him unworthy of his sister's love. Because I was angry. Because CC knows zero things about sibling interaction.)

Lemme know if you like it!

“I know you hate me for how I treated you in school, and rightfully so,” Alastair said. It was a wonder his voice was not shaking. “But however much you hate me, do not take it out on my sister.”

Please, the word hung from the very tip of his tongue, unspoken and desperate. His heart was galloping inside his chest with an almost painful intensity, even more so under Cordelia's watchful gaze. He couldn't break now. Not in front of her. She would ask, and how was he going to explain why he'd distorted into something he didn't recognize himself?

“Alastair," said Herondale in that low, cruel voice that took him back to the Academy, his own past coming back to haunt him, "you made my life a living hell at the Academy. But I’d never take it out on Cordelia. That’s something you would do, not something I would do.”

So he thought Alastair would hit his own sister. Good God. You don't know anything, rich boy, he wanted to snap. You have no idea what you're talking about. 

Perhaps it was his own fault. He’d hurt so many people in his quest to guard his family. His life had turned into one horrific, monotonous nightmare. Protect them. Protect Layla. Let her be happy. Let my mother be happy. Let Father never come back.

The rational part of his brain had taken over the reins. He stood up straighter, schooled his expression into blank, icy indifference, the mask he’d perfected at school. Let Herondale think what he wanted. Alastair had a job to do and he wasn't about to let patronizing sermons get in his way.

“I see how it is. In school I had the power, and here you have the power to lord it over me. What’s your game? What do you want with my sister?”

“Your sister,” James said, speaking with a slow, deliberate coldness. “Your sister is the only thing keeping me from punching you in the face. Your sister loves you, Angel knows why, and you aren’t even the least bit grateful.”

The words were more powerful than any Shadowhunter weapon. They ravaged the remains of his heart over and over again.

He was ten and watching his father trip on the floor of his bedroom as he collected the brandy bottles littered around. Elias had been too drunk to tell who’d been into his room.

He was twelve again and practicing the iratze. It will help Baba, he'd thought then, childish hope still guiding him through the dark descending over the horizon of their lives.

“You have no idea what I’ve done for my sister." His voice came out rough and shaking. Horror of all horrors, Cordelia was still looking at him as though seeing him in a new light. Did she agree with James? She could. She was thriving here. "You have no idea about our family. You don’t know the first thing—”

He was fifteen again and refusing to train with Layla for the hundredth time because his body ached like one giant bruise. It was Pounceby. His jaw and neck tingled with the sting of the phantom bruise. He was watching the hope in his sister's eyes die. I am sorry, he'd wanted to say then. I truly am. But I can't let you see this. Live, Layla.

Something knocked against his shoulder. Hard. Only his training, both physical and mental, kept him from stumbling back in surprise.

It was Cordelia. She’d come to stand in front of him, the way Alastair had done when they were kids whenever their father had been home. Like a shield, he realized in disbelief. He wanted to push her out of the way, but her outstretched arm only resulted in him shifting to the side so he could catch her expression.

Anger.   

He'd seen his sister annoyed. He'd seen his sister frustrated. He'd seen her distressed. He'd seen her scheme and calculate, always finding a way out of anything with her brilliant mind and ambition.

But never before had he seen her like this: dark eyes aflame, hands curled into fists, shoulders bunching up as though she was preparing to land a blow.

Oh. Oh no, no, no, no. A number of curses flashed through his head in all the languages he knew. Farsi. French. English. Urdu. 

He looked down at her, and his expression visibly softened. Alastair tried not to narrow his eyes. 

"James," Cordelia was saying. Her voice sounded normal. "You'd better go."

“Are you sure?” he said in a low voice. “I won’t leave you alone, Cordelia, not unless you wish me to.”

She seemed to rise taller, and in that moment Alastair was reminded why Cortana had chosen her. His sister looked the way their mother was, fire and embers and a gaze so piercing that the other person was left stuttering, though they'd originally come to scrutinize every inch of her. The colour of her eyes, her skin, why she covered her hair with a roosari.

He wished he had their courage. He wished he hadn't withdrawn into the shadows.

Thorns in your way, Esfandiyār, whispered Baba's voice inside his head. Why look back when you can look ahead?

But that would've entailed far worse consequences than a sermon.

Ahead? His thirteen-year-old, iratze-fumbling himself had wanted to snap as he'd stared at the glass sticking out of his foot, blood dripping on the floor. Ahead at your next bottle, Father? 

Cordelia's voice rang out in the hall, sharper than the crack of a whip. "I will say this once and only once, James Herondale. So listen carefully." She took another step closer and Herondale's eyes actually widened. In surprise? Or in whatever the hell had happened between them before coming home? Alastair thought dryly. 

"Do not for one moment think that you are my saviour," Cordelia said through her teeth. The words sent a jolt of surprise through him. "I am thankful for all your help, believe me, but my love for my brother has absolutely nothing to do with this."

A faint smile curled on the edges of Herondale's lips. "You still don't know what he did?"

Cordelia raised her brows, and oh there it was. The sibling resemblance. Clear as day in the anger cloaked behind disdain and a smile. "Why does my love for my family have to come between your feud?" she demanded. "Do I require your blessing to love them? You have notions about my brother that I would have expected from the Pouncebys."

He looked like she’d slapped him awake. "Daisy,  I—"

She took a step back, and the anxiety on his face heightened. Cordelia herself was trembling.

And Alastair? He still couldn't believe his eyes. He couldn't move, save to draw breath. The scene unfolding before him seemed like a fever dream. Cordelia didn’t know how he’d tormented Herondale and Fairchild at the Academy. She had no idea of the bomb going off when he’d been mere inches from the building. She didn’t know why everyone hated him so much. He knew, and perhaps he was a greedy monster for making his sister choose between her love and her family.  

She raised a silencing hand when Herondale opened his mouth. "You assume that you know my brother better than I do. You assume that I am still Daisy—the girl with pretty ribbons in her hair, who needs your help to distinguish right from wrong. I will find out what happened at the Academy, but I will not stand idle while you say Alastair doesn’t deserve my love. You don’t get to choose who does or does not deserve me." She smiled, eyes glittering with the storms of the night. "You hurt my family, Mr. Herondale, and you will face my blade.”

Silence descended. Herondale’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between Alastair and Cordelia. A flicker of longing passed across his face as he saw Layla, there and gone. Alastair was gifted with a long, hard, assessing look. 

“You may take your leave now," Cordelia said coldly.

James's expression shuttered. Was Alastair the only one who noticed his sister's wince? Guilt twisted in his gut.

"Very well, Miss Carstairs," Herondale said in a low monotone. "As you wish."

As soon as he was out of sight, Cordelia seemed to shrink, deflate. 

Alastair snapped back to his senses. There were a number of things demanding his attention but he crossed the room to catch his sister by the elbow, older brother once more. His head was still reeling with the impossible absurdity of what had transpired. 

"Layla?" He tested out the name hesitantly. "What? I mean, you shouldn't have—"

"He said you don't deserve my love." She turned to face him, and to his horror, her dark eyes gleamed with tears. Tears on my behalf, he thought dizzily. 

What was this day?

In all the eighteen years of his life, he’d been used to working from the sidelines, slow and quiet. People did not need to see his tears, his frustration at himself. Only the anger and the sneering indifference he put up to keep them away. It had always been that way, ever since he had held Cordelia in his arms as a confused two-year-old. 

She is so small, mâmân!

I know, joon. Will you promise to help her?

“Why, Layla?” he snapped, and she flinched. He wanted to hit himself all over again. “Why did you do that? Herondale is not wrong. I have hurt people. I have done horrible, despicable things. You’re going to lose out on potential allies because of me, do you realize that? How will you save Father then? I thought--” He broke off, not wanting to say the dreaded word.

She lifted her chin and glared. “You thought what, dâdâsh?”

It was jarring to have heard her defend him, even more jarring than hearing the language of his home, the language he’d spent years shoving down because it tended to attract the wrong sort of attention. It was jarring that she’d even noticed his trembling hands or the tears that were clawing at his throat, begging to be let out. It had been years since he’d truly cried but London seemed hell bent on breaking him. He'd never really thought how much he'd needed Cordelia by his side. How many years had passed with just pushing and pushing and pushing people away until time sped by and they simply grew out of their love for you.

His sister was no longer a baby. She was nearly as tall as him, looking him in the eye, silent and waiting. 

"I thought you-you... loved him."

She closed her eyes. "I do. I think so. It doesn't mean I stand by idly while he goes on insulting my brother. It certainly does not mean that I hold back on my own feelings." Her eyes opened. A wry smile played on her lips. “You keep forgetting that only I am allowed to insult you, Alastair.”

Hoarse laughter escaped him, and Cordelia looked delighted to have been the cause. 

Taglist: @youngreckless @eugeniaslongsword (look, your annoyance inspired me lol), @cant-think-of-anything @reesecarstairs @cherilyn-rose @carstairs-hopelessly

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mabel’s Worry

Collab with @clownwry! They’ve been super sweet and very nice, and after getting inspired by this post, I decided to write a full on-fic about it... but then it spiraled out of control, so enjoy an angsty story featuring the sweater twins!

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat up quickly, breathing just as heavy as an Olympic runner. She shook her head to clear it and she hugged her knees in self-embarrassment. It was just a stupid nightmare. Vague, no real plot, but still carried the overall message, the fear, anxiety, and still made Mabel’s blood run cold and sweat sparkle on her forehead. She needed to calm down, get herself together. Milk. Warm milk.

And so she quietly got out of bed and left her shared attic bedroom for downstairs. Despite being gone for nine months, she still knew this dark home by heart. She could walk it blindfolded if needed, but the moonlight leaking in through the triangular windows helped her in her journey. That and a small light coming from the living room. Like a moth to a flame, Mabel sleepily dragged her socked feet to the room and peaked through the doorway, half of her face hidden by wood and shadow.

Grunkle Ford was sitting in the armchair, reading a book in the light of a lamp. Mabel’s spirit was lifted, relieved and happy to see him, but she was hesitant to bother him. He was happy with his book, she really shouldn’t bother him with her own stupid problems. She should probably just go get her drink and go to bed and leave him alone. But then Grunkle Ford’s instincts alerted him of a spy and he looked up and instantly smiled.

“Mabel,” His blissful facial expression dropped suddenly remembering that she went to bed a few hours ago and it wasn’t quite daylight yet. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

This really wasn’t like her, for words to fail leaving her mouth, for her to be silent or non-vocal. But all Mabel could do was barely step into the light, hands behind her back, and shrug with her eyes to the floor. She was silent because she was afraid of what she would say if she dared to give herself the opportunity to talk. Ford grew more concerned, but he knew what to do; he had more practice under his belt now than he did months ago. He smiled softly at his niece, closed his book and sat it on the dino skull, and patted his thigh. “Come here.”

Mabel looked up and bit her lip. The dame broke over her uncle’s kindness. With watering eyes she ran into his lap and clung onto him tightly, burying her face in his chest and whimpering as tears left her eyes. Ford hugged her back tightly and petted her soft long brown hair. The girl might be thirteen, but that doesn’t mean she would stop having nightmares or no longer need comfort. Moses knows, as much as he would deny it, Ford still had nightmares and still needed reassurance. Not to mention it was well-earned after everything he and his family had been through… everything he put his family through…

Mabel was mumbling something into his maroon sweater. Ford thought it was moans, sobs, but as he listened he could actually make out words. “M’sorry… m’sorry…”

“Hey, hey.” Ford said softly. “There’s nothing to be sorry for, my dear.”

“... didn’t mean t’bother you…”

“Oh,” Ford cooed as gentle as a lamb. “Oh, sweetheart, you could never bother me. Never.”

Mabel sniffed. “M’sorry.” Whether she was still sorry for bothering him or sorry for being sorry was a bit unclear, but Ford decided it didn’t matter.

“It’s alright.” Ford eased. “It’s alright, my dear.”

After a few minutes of letting Mabel cry into his chest, Ford could feel Mabel make a sharp shiver in his hold. He got a pretty good idea, and so he gently had Mabel let him go. She whimpered like a puppy denied a treat, but she watched with sparkling eyes as Ford slipped off his maroon sweater, revealing a thin long-sleeved white undershirt, and he sweetly pulled it over Mabel’s head and smiled at her. She helped him by slipping her arms into the correct holes and she grinned as she now wore Ford’s old red sweater. Nearly every day he wore a Mabel Sweater she had made for her, whether she mailed it to the Stan O’ War while they were apart, or she gave it to him in person. Only every so often did he wear his old sweater, but they were both glad he did.

Mabel allowed her head to sink deeper into the worn yarn. Her senses and lungs were drowned in Ford’s scent, which brought along happy memories and good emotions. She hugged Ford again and he happily held her, petting her hair and just being there. 

A few minutes of silence passed, and Ford made a prediction that it was a good time to check on her verbally. “Feeling better? Mabel?” He looked down and Mabel was asleep, one arm still around him, one hand holding onto his undershirt. Ford chuckled warmly in his chest, slowly stood, and carried Mabel to the attic to tuck her in.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Dipper, they’re ready!” Mabel called.

Dipper hurried up the stairs and ran into his shared bedroom, plopped on the beanbag, and Mabel started the call on the laptop they had on the floor between the two beds. The grunkles answered at once, sitting at the table and grinning.

“Well hey there, gremlins! How was your week?” Stan greeted.

“Pretty good, just the usual school stuff.” Dipper answered.

“Did you get the package?” Mabel asked.

Ford grinned and picked up the large sealed box and placed it on the table. “Yes, perfectly intact! We picked it up in Pevek two days ago.”

“What?! And you haven’t opened it?!”

“Oh, well we thought we should wait until…”

“You two will freeze!” Mabel shook her head and smiled. “Open it and get warm!”

Stan rolled his eyes as he pulled out his pocketknife and cut the tape. “Sweetie, in the last two years we’ve been sailing you’ve sent us three trunks full of blankets, eight pairs of gloves, at least a dozen sweaters for each of us, six scarves…”

“Not that we don’t appreciate it, we always love your packages, my dear.” Ford interrupted. “But you work too hard. We’re never cold thanks to you.”

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Mabel said firmly.

“Oh wow! Mabel!” Ford gasped happily as he pulled out a new green sweater-vest with golden diamonds and a long-sleeved salmon button up. “This is beautiful!” Ford also pulled out a regular dark-orange turtleneck.

Stan noticed there had been two stacks of things. Ford had already taken out his stack, so the old conman grinned as he plunged his hand into the box and grabbed his new baby-blue sweater with a sailboat on it. “Sweet! And look here!” Stan pulled out another sweater, this one being a warm cream color with tiny pinetrees on the neck and wrists and waist of the sweater. “Wow, Mabel! Just when I thought your sweaters couldn’t get more impressive… this is so cool!”

Mabel blushed over the compliments. “I’m glad you like them. There’s still…”

“Oh, my dear, this must have taken you ages!” Ford pulled out one last item: a large knitted blanket to go with the others, this one made with very thick yarn that was as soft as the melody of youthful days. It was very large and could easily cover both men, and it resembled the sky perfectly, being dark blue with white specks.

“Thank you, pumpkin, this is amazing!”

Mabel grinned and said, “Just please stay warm.”

Ford smiled and nodded. “Of course we will. We’re always careful, my dear. And thanks to you I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be cold.”

Mabel wasn’t sure if she bought it, the number of times she saw their chattering teeth, tight jaws, and rosy cheeks and noses in pictures, but she decided not to fight it and she just smiled.

~~~~~~~~~~

There are some benefits to living in the glorious year of 2014. Many different forms of communication allow people to keep in contact, no matter how far apart they are. So not only did Ford, Stan, Dipper, and Mabel, text every day and send pictures and emails, they always had their Saturday night/Sunday morning video call. Always. So, of course, Mabel and Dipper were a little concerned when no one responded to their text messages to ask if they were ready for the call.

“Hey guys! Ready?”

“Rise and shine, sleepy heads! Can’t wait to see you guys!”

“Are you guys okay? We understand if you can’t make it this week.”

“Is something wrong? We’re not mad, but could you please text us.”

“Guys, seriously, this isn’t funny…”

“If we don’t hear back from you guys I will call the FBI! The CIA!”

“You guys do know how to use your phones, right?”

“Are you guys hurt?! ARE YOU DEAD?!”

Dipper looked up from his phone and across his bedroom. Mabel was in Sweatertown on her bed, buried in her favorite nightgown. Dipper sighed and moved to sit next to her. “Mabel, it’ll be okay.”

“They’re jerks.” Mabel mumbled from within the maroon yarn.

Dipper smiled and nodded in agreement. “Yeah, we’ll get payback when they finally answer.”

Mabel lifted her head just enough to peek at his twin. “But what if they never do…” And tears formed.

Dipper rubbed her back and said, “They will. I swear.”

But they didn’t. As time ticked from ten o’clock at night to midnight to even three o’clock in the morning, Dipper and Mabel stayed awake, waiting for a response, both of them knowing any attempt to sleep was futile. And when Mabel’s phone buzzed and rang for a video-call, they both dove and Mabel clicked the green button with a shaking hand.

~~~~~~~~

Stan gave his brother the mug of warm water. “You’re an idiot.”

Ford snorted and sipped the warm drink. “This isn’t coffee.”

“You don’t need coffee, you need to get hydrated.” Stan collapsed into the couch next to his brother. His eyes landed on the wall-clock, and he shot up quickly and ran for the bedroom. “DAMN IT!”

“What? What is it?!” Ford gasped.

“It’s Sunday!”

Ford groaned and slapped his forehead.

Stan grabbed his phone and found a dozen text messages from each kid and some missed phone calls. “Ah jeez, I know you’re wiped out, Sixer, but we gotta talk to these kids.”

“I don’t care if I’m on my deathbed, we’re calling them.” Ford hollered back as he loosened the grip of his blanket and Stan entered the room. His brother sat next to him and called Mabel’s phone.

At once Stan’s phone lit up with two distressed looking kids, both with wide eyes but missing their bedheads. “YOU’RE OKAY!” The two teenagers cried out.

Stan winced. “Kids, we’re really really sorry…”

“What happened?!” Mabel gasped. “Grunkle Ford, are you okay?! You don’t look very good, are you sick?!”

“Mabel, sweetie, I’m okay.” Ford eased. “I… erm, I fell overb-...”

“YOU FELL IN THE OCEAN?!” Mabel yelled in horror.

“Ssh, Mabel!” Dipper hissed, eyeing the door.

“Are you okay?! Are you on your way to a hospital?! Do you need anything? We can hitchhike…”

“Mabel, Mabel, please, I’m alright, Stanley’s been taking excellent care of me.” Ford said firmly. “I’m sorry we scared you, sweetie, but…”

“Well, good!” Mabel snapped, visibly angry and now full-on scolding. Stan and Ford glanced at each other nervously, getting flashbacks of scoldings from their mother. “You should be, knuckleheads! We can’t tell if you’re even still alive unless you tell us! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear?! If something happened to you… I’m glad you’re happy and doing what you love, but PLEASE don’t kill yourselves doing it!” Mabel bit her lip as she realized she was yelling, and she used the long sweater sleeve to wipe at her damp eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Aw, pumpkin, it’s okay.” Stan replied calmly. “You’ve got every right to be mad at us. I’m sorry, I should have at least texted you. But I honestly didn’t cuz I was busy keeping this dork alive.” Stan teased, elbowing Ford and making him smile. “So, yeah, that was really scary and that wasn’t fair, but he’s gonna be just fine and we’re both okay and you know that now. Right?”

Mabel held her knees and sunk her face into Ford’s old sweater, only her eyes and the top half of her face visible now, but she wasn’t looking at them. “Yeah… Yeah, okay…”

“Mabel,” Ford said firmly. “Mabel, look at me.” He waited until her eyes were on him, and he smiled softly and said, “We’re okay. I promise, we’re both okay.”

Mabel couldn’t help but return the smile. “Okay… okay…” She sniffed and lifted her head a little, but her chin was still happily buried in red yarn. “So, tell us what happened? Was it the Kraken again?”

Stan grinned at the opportunity for a story, and the kids happily sat and listened.

~~~~~~~~~~

Almost fifteen-years-old. Dipper should know better than to run off into the woods after a dangerous anomaly, but he did it anyway. Mabel stayed home to make sure the monster didn’t come back, and was soon reunited with her boys as they arrived, breathing heavily. Dipper was okay for the most part. His arm was hurt and he had a black eye, but he was okay, and their grunkles were only a little scuffed and there was a leaf or two in Ford’s fluffy hair.

Mabel hurried to Dipper, but instead of hugging him like the three guessed she would, she smacked her brother over the head.

“Hey!”

“Mabel!”

“You KNUCKLEHEAD!” Mabel screamed. “Don’t you EVER do that again, you hear?! Don’t you dare! What were you thinking?! You just HAD to go after it! Couldn’t go inside like a normal person!”

“Good to see you too, sis.” Dipper muttered. “I had it under control.”

“I don’t care! What if you never came back…”

Dipper blinked and interrupted her. “Aw, Mabel, that was never gonna happen.”

Mabel bit her lip, held herself, and looked away.

“M-Mabel, I’m really sorry…”

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up first, and then we’ll talk about this, okay?” Stan eased, sensing that they needed a time-out. “C’mon, kid.”

Dipper sighed and followed Stan to the bathroom where they kept the first aid kit, leaving Ford alone with Mabel, who was well prepared to talk to her.

“Mabel, my dear, you have every right to be upset with him…”

“How could he do that?!” Mabel looked up at her uncle. “How could he think for a second it’s okay to just run off like that?!”

Ford chuckled a little to try to lighten the situation. “You know your brother. He has high ambitions and is extremely curious.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Mabel snapped. “It’s still stupid and selfish! I know he needs to do what he loves, but doesn’t he know how much I need him?! How can he just leave me behind?!”

Ford stared at Mabel. Her voice was cracking, her lip was trembling, and something in her eyes was screaming to be heard. Ford thought for a second, then dared to ask, “A-Are you talking about Stanley and I as well?”

Mabel sobbed. She yelled out in pain and collapsed on the bottom step, burning her face in her hands, and sobbed her heart out. Ford was stunned to hear her cry so hard, in so much emotional pain. She didn’t even cry this hard over any nightmares, and he had dealt with a handful of them. Poor Mabel was crying so hard and violently she gagged and retched occasionally, her body torn if she could cry or not but it was out of her control.

Ford got on his knees before her, but did not touch her. It broke his heart to see her so upset. And he and Stan had done this? Whatever it would take to fix it, he would do it. He was reluctant, but if sailing around the world with his brother was causing this much pain for their girl, then they would both agree to dock for good. “M-Mabel…”

“I understand…” Mabel mumbled through her tears and into her palms. “I understand why you had to go… why you both wanna go… b-b-but what if something happens to you?! How many times have you both gotten sick or hurt or nearly killed?! I miss you all the time and I’m always worried I’ll never see or hear from you again!”

“Oh, Mabel, sweetie…” Ford reached out a hand to put on her shoulder, but Mabel threw herself into Ford’s hold and he hugged her back tightly.

“I get it… I understand why you have to go… so WHY do I still feel this way?!” Mabel sobbed, clinging onto his uncle for dear life. “I’m so angry and scared and hurt! But I don’t want you to stop, I want you to sail cuz I know it makes you happy, but I need you to be okay!”

A lot of things clicked in Ford’s brain. Why Mabel always sent packages full of warm clothes. Why she always asked what they ate. Why she always checked on them. Why she was very observant and asked if they were okay if something was slightly off. Why she easily got worried if she didn’t hear from them. And why she always hugged them like she never wanted to let them go.

 Ford blinked his stiff eyes a few times and forced himself to keep it together. “I’m so sorry, Mabel. You and your brother are everything to us. I love you two more than anything. If… If sailing causes you this much distress we can…”

“NO! No no no!” Mabel screamed in horror, holding on tighter. “No, please don’t stop cuz of me! I don’t- That doesn’t matter!”

“Mabel Pines,” Ford said firmly and readjusted his hold on her so he could look her straight in the eye. “You matter.”

“I-I know. I know.” Mabel breathed. “But… please don’t stop sailing cuz of me. Please. I don’t want you to stop. But… I want you and Grunkle Stan to be okay. I… I can’t lose you…”

A large lump was in Ford’s throat. He tried to swallow it away, but it didn’t work. He compromised and took advantage of the silence. He cupped Mabel’s right cheek with his left hand and wiped some tears away with his thumb. Mabel covered his hand with hers and turned her face into his palm.

“I understand, my dear. I do. And I’m so sorry. I swear, we won’t stop sailing unless we want to. You have my word. But I also swear to you that Stanley and I won’t let anything happen. We;re too scared of losing each other to let anything happen, believe me.” Mabel moved her eyes to his. “We will always come home. I promise.”

Mabel hugged her uncle again and cried into his shoulder, leaving him to rub her back and pray she would be okay. Ford opened his eyes and caught the sight of his twin at the top of the stairs. He must have heard Mabel’s screams and come to investigate, but decided to stay out of it. But a look from Ford told Stan that Mabel needed him too, so Stan climbed down the stairs, sat behind her, and hugged them both.

[berryblissbby]

Fiercest; devoted;

Pairing: Princess!reader x Guard/Warrior! Hajime Iwaizumi

Word Count: 9,500

Warnings: Use of blades and knives

A/N: Sooo this is the longest thing I've ever posted on tumblr and one of the longest fics I've ever written. Ive only even written a handful of things to completion before so please be kind (⩾﹏⩽). I'm currently reading TOG and this story was born from me trying to process HOF so if you see some parallels just look away! This is fanfic we borrow, not steal. And finally I must say, must I write a plot? Can’t they just learn to tenderly love each other in the end? 

AND! AND! Here's the pinterest board i made for this fic, i'm so sorry that all the references are white people omg, pinterest has shit diversity.

Summary:

The moonlight won’t let you forget, the sunlight brightens the truth.

You are his princess, and he is your warrior. Raised together Hajime is your greatest source of comfort when he suddenly pulls away, igniting your temper and flaring animosity towards each other. Either under the light of the moon, or the rays of the sun, you’ll fight it out, just like always.

 You were the princess of an empire. Heir of the kingdom that was the pinnacle of learning, healing and safety for anyone who wished to stay there. Books, music, and art were all treasured, and culture was allowed to thrive and breathe. Your court was beloved, held strong by devotion and loyalty, “the strongest court in the world” the people said. You were loved as well, by your parents and their people. Adored, you were their future.

 Hajime was a lesser by his kingdom's terms. In a kingdom of magic wielders, he was unwanted nobility. So he was sent to you, to your kingdom, where compared to your human court, with a little magical blood in him, he would be strong. He was to be your guard, to keep you safe, and when you were ready to rule your bond would be unbreakable.  

You were nine and he was thirteen . Delightfully shy- to adults- you lacked true friends. Hiding behind your mother, father or nursemaid, you could be found with your nose in a book. Even at celebrations it was the same, unless you convinced your mother or father to dance with you, much to everyone’s joy. 

 But then you had Hajime, and even though you were scared, with red rung hands and shifting eyes, he danced with you. Uncoordinated and silly, gentle smiles turning to grins and grins to giggles, you landed on the floor in a heap of laughter. Everyone could tell- when you were with him your timidness melts, and is met with ferocious quips and laughter full of love- that you would grow to be a shining queen. You didn’t worry, your child princess self, because when you were sat on your heaviest burden, your own little throne, he would be behind you. With his chest puffed up, his daggers sharpened and shining. Already your fiercest warrior and most devoted protector. 

 -

 You grew together, his dark eyes were always watching you, blanketing you in warmth. When you learned  how to fight and hold a dagger correctly he practiced with you, until your coordination and form were perfect. When you were strong enough for a sword he was right there as well, much to the captain of the guards dismay. You practiced together, but he never let you win. It was infuriating, his determined expression and unrelenting jabs. But “it’s for your own good” and you knew you'd best him one day. 

 -

 He snuck into your room, when your chambers were too big, and the darknesses fingers too long. He stayed in the chair in the corner, and listened to you talk until your words slurred and you fell asleep. Your maids usually find him still there, curled up, in the morning.

 -

 He was right beside you when you learned how to ride a horse by yourself at ten years old, with shaky hands and gasping breaths. And when you fell off- the one and only time- he picked you right off the ground, dusted off your dress, and growled at the stable master. 

 He wiped the tears off your face as fast as they fell. Your little hands gripping the front of his shirt begging him not to leave.

 Hajime pulled you to his chest, shushing you again. It was awkward, just two little kids clinging to each other, one barely old enough to comfort the other. But you needed him nonetheless.

 He was right there the day you got it, hanging off the rails of the round pin, pumping his fist in triumph as you and your horse trotted in circles.

 Looking over, a grin breaking across your face,  you met his own grin. It sent shivers down your spine, blooming in your tummy. You could see it, with that feral grin on his face, you understood what type of man he would be. He truly was a warrior.

 -

 He stood behind you when you first attended state meetings with your father, against the wall with the other guards. You had been terrified. You hadn’t known, really, what they were talking about, and you had been scared that they would ask you questions you wouldn’t know the answer to. But Hajime was there, and that made your words a little more steady. 

 -

 He was eighteen and you fourteen, budding into adolescence, and it seemed to be everyone’s business. He was turning into a man and you couldn’t help but notice, not that you would ever speak of it.

 He was leading you horse, walking you around the gardens. He liked to pick and choose when you should be treated as a princess. With swords in your hands he tended to ignore it, but at times like these, you were an heiress and he was an indentured servant.

 “I don’t understand”

 “It’s a tragedy, it's supposed to make you sad!” You say. “It’s about the ‘what if’s’ and the yearning, you have to focus on the yearning.” You giggle at your words, as you drag out your syllables. 

 You were telling him about your latest book, and how it had left you heart broken for the two lovers. With bad timing, and greedy people stealing their chances at love, they could never be together. 

 You always told Hajime about your books, you couldn’t help talking about the ones that you couldn’t get out of your head. He was an amazing listener, and you appreciated him dearly for it. Even though his face would remain blank and his eyes would shift all around you, looking for threats, he would always pay attention.

 He scoffed. “ Well, what if I don’t care about yearning, what if they’re just stupid? The answer was right in front of them.” 

 “That’s not the point Hajime,” you pout.

 He scowls up at you, stopping your horse. 

 “What?” You can’t help but laugh at both of your dramatics.

 “Just don’t let me catch you doing anything dumb like that,” he doesn’t let you answer, starting your horse walking again. ¨Idiots.¨

 ¨Hajime!¨

 You appreciate him, in every sense, always protecting you, in body and soul.

 -

 He was twenty and you sixteen. Your temper was epic, it shook the stone walls and snapped as easily as the ribbons on your dresses. But your heart was just as easily broken. You were a slave to your emotions and you could feel it, festering in you. You would never let it show to the court, but your family knew, and so did Hajime. There was little left of the girl who used to hide behind skirts.

 You didn´t know if it was a gradual process, or if you woke up to it one day, but suddenly you couldn´t stop watching him. You couldn´t stop admiring him. He was so big, and strong, and he made you laugh so hard. His hands were soft, and large. He was smart, catching things you hadn’t in meetings, and his voice would send shivers down your spine when he whispered in your ear, telling you things about the people you were surrounded by. Things that he had learned to keep you safe; precautions. You couldn't stop your cheeks from heating up anymore, they were perpetually flushed, and it was impossible to hold his gaze. Things that wouldn't have mattered before made you stutter. But what set you off, was when you would look up to him, when you expected to meet those cool eyes, they would be somewhere else.

 Before, when you had been upset, you would drag Hajime to the training rooms and throw him a sword. He would let you get a few hits in, before winning, of course. But only after you got everything you needed out. He was the cool water to your raging disposition. He had a sternness to him now, even though his fiery character could rival yours sometimes, he knew when to hold back. And when he did, his easy answers and cool voice were equally frustrating as they were calming. You shared more together while in those practice rooms swinging swords than anywhere else. But now you had lost the thing that had made it better.

 Now you only saw him when mandatory, behind your throne and next to you at meals. He seemed to be more interested in the guards and other warriors than you, so you ate in silence and read alone at night. You eventually requested a new guard, and your parents said no. You two were friends, and he was sent here for you, that would not be changing overnight. But he didn't feel like your Hajime anymore, your friend or defender. Because he wasn't paying attention to you anymore, not like he was supposed to. Or how you wanted him too.

 It made you burn when you looked up and he wasn't looking at you. The embers in your chest that would flare when you didn't get your way, when someone disagreed with you, when Hajime said something brash, were a roaring fire. You didn't understand why things had changed, where it had come from.

 You saw it, when his eyes met the older courtiers- well, older compared to you. You saw the eyes of the women on him, how they trailed over his broad back and strong arms. You knew that the lady’s had started taking their walks through the section of the palace they had previously thought of as unpalatable. They would bat their eyelashes and fan their fans in front of them as they walked past the training rooms, hoping to catch Hajime in only a thin damp shirt. It was infuriating.

 You took to ignoring him, long lonely months. It was intense, the war between you both, silently throwing glances at each other, both sets of eyes holding promises of worse words to come. He was a weight behind you at all times, dragging your heart deeper into a pit of solitary despair. He left you whenever he could afford, never letting your parents or the other guards see. You were kept safe, but it wasn’t comforting like before. The walks to your rooms after dinner were the worst, the internal battle inside you was tearing you to shreds. Should you talk to him? Confront him? Bear a dagger and rough it out? But he would leave you by your door and walk away before you could decide anything at all. 

 You had burned too bright, the fire in you now gone. The fury that had kept you warm was nothing but a cold pit in your chest.

 You were all alone, every day that knowledge split you open like a cold blade. You were determined to stay away from him, to not bother him, since he obviously didn’t want anything to do with you. But one day, it all became too much. 

 You had attended a dinner tonight, with a distant royal family. And they had said things to you that they had no right to say. They had spoken as if they had known you. They knew things about you that made your skin crawl. All of those things were somewhat common knowledge, but then they had started making assumptions about you, asking you things that if you were a queen you would have known the answers to. But you weren’t, you were a stupid little princess, with no one. And you felt so small. 

 The only thing that made it worse was when you realized you were bracing for something. After every one of their comments, you were waiting for one of Hajime's raging blows. For him let his temper go, just a little. To tell them how it was, to defend you. But it didn’t come, you looked over and he wasn’t paying attention. What happened to your warrior? Your watcher? Your protector?

 -

 You remembered a conversation between you and Hajime, before. It was late at night, Hajime was laying on the rug in front of your heart, his arm thrown over his eyes. Your book set to the side.

 The candles had all burned low, but the fire stood strong. It casted a blood orange glow across half of his body, the other half a stark blue. You didn’t know if he was asleep, and took your time admiring him.

 The side away from you, from your vantage point lounging on the couch, was flushed. His mouth was pulled down slightly, but it didn’t scare you. That looked like you’re Hajime, with sharp teeth and a barking laugh. Who felt everything thrown at him. 

 You didn’t know how he hid it so well, but he really did experience everything; he might conceal it, but it was in there.

 You looked at the other side of him, the one in a cold blue light from the moon coming in your windows. You wondered if that was what other people saw, the straight backed man, who knew who he was and what he stood for. 

You said his name gently, he grunted in response.

“Do you remember… that tragedy I read years ago, about the two lovers…” you explained a little more, trailing off.

He took a deep breath saying, “ yes, with the idiots.” 

You don’t bother hiding your pursed lips before you say, “what… what would you do in their situation, since they’re such idiots.” You pluck at a thread on the couch, not looking at him.

From your peripheral vision you could see him turn his head to look at the flames, and suddenly a wave of anxiety hits you, you're scared to know his real answer, his honest one.

You get up and walk to the window, and the stark difference in temperature makes you shudder. It was starting to snow, just barely. The moon was so bright, causing the gardens below your window to glow. The marble walkways mirroring back the moon.

“I would…” you look back at him, with a hand still on the window sill, and almost gasp. “I would run too, because I wouldn’t know any better, just like them.” He had sat up and turned away from the fire, his whole front blue and cold. 

You couldn’t stand the window anymore, and went to sit by the hearth. 

-

You think he’s run. He’s carried himself as far away from you as he can without abandoning his responsibilities. The gap between you is the largest thing you have ever felt. A dark ravine, and on the other side was him, with his back turned to you. Everything is blue, the moon won’t let you forget, it refuses to shroud out the light, so you can’t remain ignorant. You hate it. And every day, you come closer and closer to falling into that deep crack in the earth, reaching out your arms, stretching your fingers, feeling the rocks shift under your feet, pebbles falling into the dark pit, maybe to never hit the bottom.

-

 You couldn’t calm yourself even hours later, your mind would go back to dinner when you tried to read, and you couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, when it was too late to brandish swords or you were too young to hold one, Hajime and you would walk the palace halls. Running from guards not to be caught, jumping on chairs in forgotten sitting rooms, daring each other to grab things from the kitchen. All before putting his grumpy cool mask back on and escorting you back to your rooms. But you never dared walk the halls yourself, you were always too scared. Hajime... Hajime, he would always take you, and make you feel better. 

 You had been pacing your rooms, trying to find a way to fix your hurt. Trying to come up with any solution. Sitting down on your bed, you put your head in your hands, pleading with the tears not to fall. You wanted him to make you feel better again, you wanted to feel safe with him behind you, not cold and unwanted. 

 You didn't know what to do, really, you told yourself as you snuck your way into his rooms, holding your breath the whole way there, still scared. Closing the door behind you you leaned against it, and for a moment, it felt like before. He smelled the same and the room was so warm it made you shiver in satisfaction. But he was a warrior, so your moment of peace didn’t last long as he rolled over, almost reaching for a weapon before he realized who you were. 

 You tried smiling, but seeing him like that, with his dark hair messy, and cheeks ruddy from sleep just hurt you more. You couldn’t stop the quiver in your lip.

 “You've been crying,” he said, pushing himself off the bed slightly. You tried not to watch the blanket fall off his shoulders.

 Nodding, you turn your head, wiping away tears with your wrist, not looking him in the eyes. You took a moment, trying to calm yourself and almost took a step towards him, but you caught yourself. That made the tears come faster. If things had been like before, you would have ran to him. You won't have hesitated, you wouldn't be bracing for something foul to come out of his mouth. 

 But those things didn't matter, not when he finally sat up and opened his arms letting you throw yourself at him.

 He rocked you back and forth, pulling you onto his lap, cooing at you. “What’s wrong, what’s the matter my princess.” The vibrato in his voice echoed through you, made you want to melt, but it was also painfully familiar. 

 His kind words only made you cry harder. How long had it been since you had heard him speak to you at all? And it had to have been even longer since he had been kind to you like this, only reserved for when you were totally alone, and desperately in need. 

 There was so much wrong, but you could only find it in yourself to shrug. He let out a scoff. Pulling you back, you tried to hide your face, but he grabbed your chin to make you look up. He swiped a thumb under your eye, catching a falling tear. You almost smiled at his frown, how you had missed it, when it only promised light scolding, not cruel disregard.

 “I j-just... want you t-to m-make me feel better,” the last word comes out in another desperate sob and he pulled you to him again. 

 He hummed saying, “Don't tell me someone did this to you.” 

 You shake your head, burying your face in his chest. You didn't want to face the truth, that he had been so neglectful that he really hadn't seen what had happened at dinner.

 “Let's get you to bed, okay?” 

 You desperately nod, you had missed this so much. You had missed his kindness so much. You almost felt like little kids again, and he led you through the dim hallways clutching your hand. Like when you had first met.

 You woke up alone.

 Cold, sober reality washed over you like water, slithering down your spine. Oh. Things were not back to before. You hated Before, it taunted you. It laughed at you as you broke each time the word crossed your mind. Before was better, the most shining and brilliant version of what you had lost. 

 -

 He was escorting you across the castle, and you battled with yourself again. Just like always but worse, now that you knew he was still in there. The contrast ached more. You almost didn't say anything, but you passed by a set of windows and happened to look outside.

 It was spring, almost summer, and everything was green again. The hills outside rippled as the green grass swayed. Beyond the grass were wildflowers. You wish you and Hajime could ride out there and lay in them. But you couldn't- or, he wouldn’t.

 That makes you stop for some reason, and you walk up to the window looking out. He stops too, remaining behind you.

 “Hajime,” You say quietly. He doesn't say anything, facing forward.

 He wouldn’t look at you. He refused until you grabbed him as hard as you could with your little hands, not holding back when your nails dug into his wrist and forearm.

 He tried pulling back, but you wouldn’t let him. Grabbing one of your wrists he made you yield. 

 “I’m not... we’re not going to talk about this, not yet,” he said the words with shifting eyes, not able to meet yours for too long. “I can’t.”

 You had never minded him when he was his serious self, because you would always see the loving side of him eventually. When you were alone, when it mattered. But this, the firm cold shoulder, it wasn’t the protective one you were used to, it was cruel. 

 “Well,” you spit out, ripping your wrist from his grip, “ when you can finally tell me your secret, it better be important, because right now I don’t appreciate being ignored- ignored and...” you struggled to find the right words, your chin quivering, eyes filling with tears. Unloved? Unprotected? 

 “Whatever this is,” you gesture at him, the venom in your voice dissipating with each syllable. Until each blink yielded more tears.

 ¨You´re dismissed,¨ you tell him, you could make it to tea just fine by yourself.

 -

 You were furious, angry, livid. The only thing that dosed the ever flaming embers in your chest was the announcement your father made. You had known it was coming, but him telling everyone solidified it.

 He had called you and Hajime to his private rooms a few nights before, you two had met in front of the door.

 You were to decide which member of your court  would take the oath to be your protector and advisor. Everyone knew it was going to be Hajime, but sometimes a ruler didn't have such loyal followers, and they would choose from a selection. But your father wanted to follow tradition and tell you properly. You had come of age, it would be time for you to take up more responsibility, and this was the first step.

 You could feel him standing next to you, facing your father and mother where they sat. The emers in you were doused, replaced by a rush of freezing water that contrasted your hot tears. You couldn't imagine spending the rest of your life like this. You would be a horrible queen if this was the future that awaited you. 

 Before he made his oath to you, there was to be your birthday celebration. A frantic day of eating, receiving gifts and dancing. Who would you dance with?

 Tight lipped, you thanked your parents and walked out. You could hear Hajime behind you, and you didn't try to quiet your ragged breathing as the tears flowed. 

 They had threatened to fall when your father stood up at dinner and told your court.

 -

 It was your birthday, you hadn't danced with Hajime, and you always danced with Hajime. Everytime you could, you let your face relax and your smile melted away. You were exhausted. But someone asked you to dance.

 The man no older than Hajime, with fluffy brown hair and beautiful brown eyes, asked you with a hypnotizing smile. He spun you around and said the most outrageous things in your ears, you couldn't help the grin that spread across your face. 

 You would pass a couple and he would share their most treacherous secrets. Nothing too bad, just outlandish enough that you would blush and want to hit him- only lightly.

 He asked you again and again, until you finally had to say no, your face was hot, your skin was covered in a layer of perspiration and you were sure that your hair had fallen out of its updo.

 You made your way back to your seat on the dais, next to your parents. You didn't realize that Hajime had moved from his spot on the wall, blending in with the other guards, to stand behind you.

 Taking a seat, you hear a scoff. Straightening your back you almost don't believe it. Maybe it was the exercise, or the fact that you were feeling loose after laughing so hard. Or maybe it was because you were actually having fun, but you found that tonight- tonight you had energy. 

 You could feel it in your chest, that scoff has blown a harsh wind over those embers, fanning them a glowing orange.

 “Yes, Hajime,” you say, slightly turning your head in his direction. You tried to keep your tone light.

 He grunted, not saying anything. You place your hands in your lap. He won't even give you words.

 “Tell me,” you say, face blank, friendly tone gone.

 “Nothing, Princess.”

 How dare he scoff at you and pretend you were the crazy one.

 You spun in your seat. There he was, in his nice uniform, with your kingdom's mascot and colors. Your mascot and colors. Your kingdom's mascot and colors. The kingdoms that you would rule, mascot and colors. 

 The blades strapped around him were intricate; polished and shrap. He looked straight forward, not acknowledging you. He looks good, something inside of your chest whispered, but was whisked away as your eyes caught on the dagger on his belt, with the same color jews as his uniform

 You stood up in a flurry, so fast that he only had time to brace himself before you were grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down to your level. Nails digging into him all the while.

 “Follow me,” you say through gritted teeth. Pulling back looking him in the eyes, you tell him exactly what he needed to know. It was an order, an order from his future ruler. The exchange was so fast you knew no one would see it.

 Spinning on your heel you walked down the dais and straight into the crowd of dancing people as they desperately tried to not step on you.

 “Princess,” Your father said from his seat behind you. You knew he was objecting at your rudeness, but you didn't care, the act of disobedience spurring you on. You hear the music halt, only for a second, but you keep moving.

 You could feel everyone's eyes on you as you made your way further and further towards the doors out of the hall. Each breath wasn’t enough oxygen, and your vision spotted, but the chills rippling over your skin were addicting. 

 You knew Hajime was behind you.

 -

 You didn't answer any of his furious remarks as you grabbed his forearm, dragging him through the palace. You turned down a certain hall and he stopped talking.

 You threw open the doors of the practice hall, letting go of Hajime’s arm. Marching down the long open space, so big it could probably hold dozens of bodies, you open one of the cabinets across from the row of tall windows. The room was dim, and you don´t think of lighting candles.

 Selecting two swords, you slide one to him across the floor, to where he stood still at the door. He stopped it carefully with his boot, as it spun towards him.

 Looking up from the sword, he says, ”No.”

 “Pick up the sword, Hajime,” You say from across the room, sword in your hand. You’re not sure why you threw it at him, he already had one on his hip. Maybe because it was unfair, that he could always have one and you could not.

 He scoffed at you, leaving it on the ground. 

 “Pick it up,” You growled.

 He didn't have time to roll his eyes before the twin dagger to the one on his belt landed in the door frame, next to his head.

You watched his eyes flick to your hand, smoothing out your skirts, hiding the slit that led to your thigh. You switched your sword back to your dominant hand, breathing already ragged, not looking away from those sharp eyes as he picked the sword off the ground. 

 You stayed exactly where you were as he walked towards you.

 “You are b-”

 “I don't want to hear any of what you have to say about my behavior.”

 He rolled his eyes, stopping in front of you, getting into his proper stance. You mimicked him.

 “You are being a brat.”

 You swing for him, and he easily blocks, sending your sword arcing through the air, still in your hand. He sends a shallow jab at you, which you take a step back from.

 “What right do you have judging the people I spend my time with?” You say, jabbing right back at him, which he blocks with a sweep of his sword. “And when am I not?”

 You go for his left, which he dodges, and as he came around spinning to face you again, he swung low at the wide skirts of your dress. You hear it rip and feel the cold air hit your calves. Taking two steps back he observes you, lowering his sword, intentions clear. 

 He thought that would end your little fight.

 He thought that the ruining of your dress would make you stop, that you were shallow enough to ask for his mercy just because of a tear in your skirts. It made you furious, knowing he wasn't taking this seriously.

 You feint lunging at him, he swung from the right, and you blocked, swords suspended in the air for just a moment. 

 “Stop it.” You say, voice almost a whisper.

 You grunt and pull back. Circling each other, you watch as the moonlight brightens his face. The circling continues, and no words are exchanged, giving you time to think about what had been said, only making you more upset.

 You had faults, in moments like these, you couldn't hide your next move, anger making you just want to act. You swing at him, and he blocks. While your sword is up, he takes the chance to roll, and shove you backwards away from him. A dirty trick.

 “Stop what?” He says to you, looking at you from where you had stumbled a few steps away, face blank.

 You looked at him, with his back to the windows, face shrouded in darkness, and you hated him.

 Before you could think about it, before you could flinch and regret your actions, your arms were arching up, throwing your sword across the room. Watching as Hajime involuntarily followed its arch through the air, sinning blade spinning over handle, until it landed in a clatter. You watched him all the while, and saw his shocked expression before he could hide it.

 “I am your princess,” You growl, his head snapping back to you.

 “I am your princess!” You yell, taking a step towards him, chest pressed to his.

 “I am your Princess!” You scream, shoving him backwards toward the large windows.

 You pressed against him, leaning him back against the window sill. You stretch to your tiptoes, your hands clutching his shirt as you stare into his eyes. With all the venom you can manage, panting, you say, “I am your princess! I am your princess and you will do as I say!”

 “What are you doing?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed. You barely hear his words, or his sword clatter to the ground, your breathing too ragged, your heart beat too loud. You could feel it, in every part of your body, it echoed through you.

 And in that moment you can almost see him. That flash in his eyes, that tone of voice, his breath fanning over your face. He was your Hajime, only for a second.

 “Stop it,” you say, losing momentum with each word, “stop it.”

 He finally tugs himself free, ripping your hands from him. He doesn't let go as he presses you a few steps back and leans down to look into your eyes. 

 His eyes were dark, and you lost him again, the Hajime you want. You yearned to bang on his chest and beg for him back, but you don't dare break the delicate dance you two were in.

 “I see them,”  you hiss, trying to get in his face, “I see how they look at you.”

 “Who?” He spits.

 “Your courtiers.” You say the words as if it's a curse.

 He throws your hands down, taking steps to the door, still facing you.

 “Nothing?” You ask. “You never have anything to say anymore.”

 “Why does it matter?” Squaring his shoulders he looks at you straight on. 

 “Wh-”

 “Why does it matter if they look at me?”

 “It- I-”

 “Tell me why it matters, Princess, and maybe we can talk. I don't want part in your tantrums.”

 You watch him walk away, listening to every fading step, until you only have your breathing to fill the silence.

 -

 You couldn’t stop thinking about that night, it made you sick, haunting you with the memories of what you had said to each other.

 Maybe you had been wrong. Wrong to order him to follow you, wrong to act so brash, wrong to scream at him, and to accuse him of those things.

 You scolded yourself for acting that way, to let your temper control you. It had felt good, until you had crashed. 

 The option-less future spread in front of you. What would you do? Exhaustion was seeping into you, a new type of tired, one that you would do anything to amend. 

 If your temper wouldn’t fix your problems, you would have to try something else, even if it burned you from the inside out.

 -

 You called him to your rooms, something you had never done before. There was no need to call upon each other, you always knew where the other was

 Hajime found you in the chair in the corner, the one he used to stay in; you rarely used it.

 The last rays of evening sunlight were shining in your windows, cascading over your body.

 Your face was illuminated by the sun, every beautiful line and imperfection was open in the light. It made you glow, like you should have been kept in a painting so you could be adored forevermore. You were golden, hair caught fire, glowing like a beacon of truth. The heir of an empire, the hope of thousands. 

 “Majesty,” he bowed, something he had only done a handful of times, for special occasions. It felt forgien and stiff doing it there.

 “Iwaizumi” you said, it sounded like a song, a sigh and a prayer and a plea. But it wasn’t right.

 When was the last time you had called him that? Never, a furious voice in the back of his mind told him.

 “It’s almost time for me to choose.”

 He stood up straighter, meeting your eyes for the first time. There wasn’t that look in them like before, of hurt and hardness. Determination that you would power through. It was just a fact.

 It was almost time for you to choose the person of your court to swear a never ending bond with. To protect each other, in body and soul, to in turn protect your kingdom.

 You looked down at your hands, and he was compelled to take a step forward to make sure he heard you, but not too close. He had a feeling that if he took another step he would see your  red rung eyes, and he didn’t want to think about that.

 “I want it to be you… I'm sorry for that night, for yelling, and trying to cut you into pieces. But…” You take a deep breath and look out the window. “ I don’t know what’s changed, and I’m so sorry for how I’ve acted, and whatever I’ve done, but I want it to be you” 

 With those last words you looked him in the eyes. The anger was gone, and all he saw was a tired princess. His tired princess. You didn’t break his gaze, not saying anything more .

 He almost wanted to question you, the maturity in your words shocking. But he stayed quiet; that wasn’t his place anymore.

 You had said your peace, he knew, as he looked into your eyes, with your face passive. It was his turn now, to come to you and bear his teeth, to gouge the hurt out of his chest in to lay it bare for both of you.

 -

 Hajime had a memory he kept close to him, right on his hip. He might have kept it on his ribs, the ones that protected his heart, if that was where you kept daggers. 

 It was the winter solstice celebration from years before. Hajime and you were in your parents' private rooms, giving gifts.The two of you sat on the floor next to the fire, with your parents on the couch in front of you. 

 “Now this one is for both of you.” Your mother explained, handing you both identical boxes. “Open them at the same time.”

 You gave Hajime one look before tearing into yours. He didn’t get to see your reaction as he worked on delicately undoing the ribbons, but he heard your gasp.

 Resting in your hands was an exquisite, shining dagger. You gently held it up, and both your heads turned in to stare at it. 

 “Oh my…” You gawked.

 Hajime went back to his gift and opened it to an identical dagger. Twins. 

 He held his up, and you two compared.

They had blades of shimmering silver, with curved tips that looked sharp enough to split hairs. The handles were of matching silver formed into delicate patterns, inland with jewels that matched your kingdom's colors. The metal reflected the light of the fire behind you, flickering gold and orange, like the blades held the sun.

 Looking up to your parents your father explained. “I had those made for the two of you.” 

 You waited, but that was all he offered. Hajime watched you balance the dagger in your hand, turning it over and examining it. 

 “They’re beautiful.” You say.

 “I would hope that you don’t use them on each other, and only wear them for celebrations, but I doubt that is something that will happen.” 

 Hajime chuckled, looking down at his own dagger. The king might not have said it, but he had a feeling he knew what the daggers were for. 

 They were the two of you. Cut from the same stone, at each other with blades as sharp as diamonds, all while in your shining castle. 

 They were to remind you where you came from, that you two were one in the same, and that you were to work together. Much better to mar an enemy with the same blade than have the one that matches your in your gut. 

 “Thank you,” he said.

 Hajime looked at you, and you were smiling. Leaning over, your grin was feral, and he couldn’t help the electricity that went down his spine.

 “Do you know what this means?” You ask. “I need to get my dresses tailored.” 

 Hajime ruffled your hair, but your smile was burned into his memory. One in the same. Maybe his future queen really would be as strong as him. 

 Hajime could learn to like that.

 -

 Hajime was trained by your father and his men to be a warrior. Your warrior. While you were trained in how to fight men across oceans and continents, he was taught how to fight men with steel and teeth. You did give him a run for his money when you brawled, but he knew that he would never want to be facing you in a killing field, with an army at your disposal.

 Your cleverness was beyond him, not that you would ever give yourself credit for it. But you were still young, and when he caught something that you had missed in meetings or conversations, the sparkle in your eye, the way he knew you were in awe of him, was addictive.

 In all honesty, Hajime wasn’t your only lover, or admirer, you had many. Your parents were kind to you, your father could often be found making you giggle, especially when you were seated next to him at meetings. Your mother and you discussed books and music. You would often receive compliments from your father’s advisors and friends, which always made you blush in thanks. And your mothers lady’s loved to give you advice about clothes and any romantic endeavors you might go one. Not that there were many. The boys liked winking at you, and making you blush. Hajime tried his best to keep that to a minimum. Your court did love you, they loved the princess that was bashful and kind, but had the cleverest ideas at council meetings. You were the beautiful shining light, in your beautiful shining castle, and you would keep your court strong.

 Those were all things that Hajime knew well. Painfully well. Because he was always the first to notice. He had seen how they all cared and vowed to make sure that you would stay that way, that you were protected and cared for. So your light never went out, so your kingdom was always strong. He would do what he must, he would not let your court fall.

 So when he had looked at you and the light in your eyes had changed, he felt responsible.

 It wasn’t a bad change, just different. It only took him a short amount of time to pinpoint what it was.

 He couldn’t love you, not like that. He couldn’t let himself break you, because he knew he’d manage somehow, he was always a little heavy handed.

 What protector would he be if he broke your heart? If he was the first one to weaken you? To welcome you into the cruel world you would be entering, of choosing the best of horrible options, of lying and deceiving? He would not be the one to welcome you to that.

 -

 Maybe he was wrong, maybe you could take it. He wouldn’t be the one introducing you to the hurt, he could be the one to guide you through it.

 -

 He was surprised when he found you, always too afraid to wander the place at night. You were in a sitting room, long forgotten by the court, locked away and covered in sheets. 

 It was one of the rooms you would play in as children, with the furniture pushed to one corner; each and every one of the walls between the tall windows was covered in paintings.

 By now both of you had them memorized, whether that be by sunlight, candle light or moon light, both of you knew each of them well.

 You were only looking at one, standing right in front of it, your favorite painting of them all. 

 Hajime watched you, in the light of the moon, stare at the picture. Your profile was perfectly outlined by the stark light.

 “Tell me about her again,” he asked, voice carrying across the room.

 You spare him a glance before turning back to the painting.

 You take a step closer and take a breath. “Her name was Kiyoko.”

 You bring your hand up, and with only a finger you delicately trace the frame. 

“She was the most beautiful woman in the land, and the man who painted her was in love with her, but there were few who weren’t.”

 Hajime didn’t have to see the picture to know what it looked like, he had spent plenty of time looking at it with you. The girl was beautiful, with silky black hair, pale skin, and eyes that felt like they knew all, like they were windows into the fiercest storm.

 He knew the curve of her lips and the mole on her chin, and the pastel color of her dress. She was framed in a sea of greenery; plants, grass and trees all around her. Despite her pale dress and cool eyes she was surrounded by orange flowers, and in the corner of the painting, were perched crows.

 He wasn’t sure what made you stare at that painting like you did. Like you could see details that weren’t there. You had always said that when you looked at it, you longed for the frame to expand, for the picture to grow wider, to see what she saw.

 You also had a thousand questions for her, you wanted to know her as intimately as you knew her face. But she never answered, staring back with those eyes, until only Hajime was left to answer your questions.

 “She was loved by everyone, it was said that you would be blessed if she acknowledged you, and if she spoke to you, you were destined for the most devine heaven.” You move your finger from the frame to the painting, looking like you would touch it, but you don’t, only coming infinitely close.

 “She married the man she loved, and had a laugh that sounded like bells.” You bring your hand down and step back from the painting. 

 “You would be her most devoted admirer.” Hajime said.

 “I already am,” you smile looking down at your hands, “but I think she would have deserved a beautiful friendship.” 

 -

 It wasn’t a real story, her name was Kiyoko, that was the name of the painting, but each time you told it, it was different.

 Looking up to reply to Hajime, you met his eyes. On his face was a smile that delicately curved, turning his mouth up.

 That smile… the curve of his mouth, the sharp teeth behind it. It made your knees week, the relief of seeing it again.

 He took steps towards you, until you were standing shoulder to shoulder looking at her again. 

 “What do the crows mean,” he asked, encouraging you to keep going.

 You take a moment before answering. “They’re her other admirers, only to ever love her from afar.” 

 He hummed, and you swear you could feel it in your bones. 

 You turn to look at him, right in the eyes.

 “It matters… it mattered because you weren’t looking at me.”

 He tried to speak, but you stopped him. “No, listen to me.”

 He wouldn’t look away from your eyes, face cool.

 “I couldn’t- can’t- you just… you weren’t looking at me, and I didn’t know what to do. It’s unbearable.” Your words were so quiet, always so quiet in moments like these

 It seemed like he couldn’t bear to break the silence as he said with narrowed eyes. “You think I don’t know, that I didn’t see?”

 “You won’t break me Hajime,” you say with a scoff. He almost flinced, coming close but stopping. Like you had seen right through him when he wasn’t expecting.

 “You don’t know that,” he hissed, “I know, saw it, everything, and I made that decision. I won’t be the one to introduce you to that, to be the first one to hurt you.” 

 He spoke with his hands, and you watched them as they moved. They were so wide, well taken care of, you remember them being softer than expected.

 “You’re supposed to protect me,” you grit through your teeth. You don’t know if he can tell how flushed you are, but you know he can see the silver lining your eyes.

 “H-how am I supposed to protect this kingdom, t-this court without you! I can’t do it without you.”

 “You’ll do just fine,” he said, standing up straighter.

 “Don’t say that! Why would you- why would you say something like that.” 

It was getting hard to get the words out, every time he spoke you ached more and more.

 He was panting, like those words had winded him. His face was hard, unyielding. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and covered your wobbling mouth. A sick imitation of a comforting embrace

-

 He didn’t know what to do. His princess was shattering right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. 

 There was no one to point a blade at, no where to keep you safe. Looking at the tears in your eyes, he knew that this had been happening for a while. You were begging him to take his words back, any of them, but he wouldn’t let himself.

 Hajime resisted the urge to look down at his hands. He’d always been heavy handed, that's what he had said to himself. He was trying to shield you, gods-dammit, but those hands had done more harm than good when it really mattered.

 All he could do was watch you crumble in on yourself, while he stood feet away.

 -

 He was clueless. He always knew what to do. Your faithful, balanced Hajime was at a loss.

 You could see it, you blinked and you were there. No longer in that moon-bathed room, but outside, children again.

 How old were you? Nine? Eleven? How old was he? Thirteen? Fifteen? You were just children; the same as always. Had you even grown up, were you always clutching each other like this? So dependent yet so unaware of each other?

 You had never seen him like this, he lived with a sword in his hand and a shield on his back. His upper lip stiff, his will unmoving.

 But the man standing in front of you was desperate, with his hands splayed in front of him, like they would burn you if he got too close.

 Why couldn’’t you just say it, why were you two always dancing around it? Your own choreography, your own sacred, unique steps. 

 “I’m tired,” you say, shoulders dropping, eyes lifting to the ceiling.

 “I am too,” Hajime admitted.

 You closed your eyes tight, feeling more tears fall from your lashes. And when you opened them again, you were met with steel. Not like the steel of blades, but unforged steel, ready to be shaped, reborn.

 Looking into those eyes, the irises that framed hurricanes, it felt like those roaring winds blew right through you. Breathing life into you, fanning your flames. Maybe she could answer just one question for you.

 This is the last time, you vowed to yourself, no matter how it ends.

 -

 Hajime didn’t ask questions as you dragged him through the palace, his presence giving you a little more confidence than before.

 Up and up you went, just when he thought you were done taking him up stairs you found another set, and headed right to the top. You only felt him hesitate once, but you didn’t look back, and he followed. You made it to the top. A tower that was once a sentries station. 

 “How did you… isn’t there someone working here?” Hajime asked.

 You didn’t have to look at him to see the crease in his brow. “No, there’s no need to have anyone up here.”

 Your kingdom had been peaceful for years, if any attacks were to come, they would not be so often as to need guards on the lookout every day. Hajime knew that, so you followed. “I haven’t been sleeping, so I’ve just been walking around at night… and I wound up here.” 

 He didn’t say anything, but you knew what he was thinking. You never walked alone, the fact that you had been in that sitting room tonight was shocking. But you? Wondering up here?

 On one hand, you hoped that he was feeling guilty. On the other, you felt horrible for tearing him up like that. But you knew that was how he was feeling, he wouldn’t push it to the side this time. Not with it spelled out in front of him.

 Crossing his arms and leaning back, he gave you a look of disapproval, but you were no stranger to those cunning eyes. You tried not to dwell on the picture before you, slowly focusing into something- someone you recognized.

 You walked up to the window, leaning against it, staring at the slowly brightening horizon. 

 “Just tell me why.” Was all you said.

 -

 Hajime stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with you, hand on the cool window sill. The warmth that encompassed Hajime's side almost made him purr, you were so close.

 He took a moment to look at the view, the mountains in the distance, silhouetted by the rising sun. The dark sky was slowly becoming a splash of deep colors.

 “I don’t just protect you, your life isn't your own. What I do affects you, what I see keeps you safe. What I let you do… it could change so much. If I stumble, if I overlook something- so much is at steak. And I know what you were thinking when you looked at me.”  He paused as you nodded, and watched your eyes move from the horizon to the city nestled below the palace. “So I stopped, and you were pissed.”

 “I’ll be disappointed if you say you didn’t see that coming.”

 “Well, it worked to my advantage… until you woke me up that night…” 

 Your smile melted, but you didn’t say anything. Maybe he was bracing for something, that crackling irritation he was used to. But it didn’t come.

 Hajime stiled. Maybe this wasn’t him talking to his princess anymore, as you listened, as he spoke, he realized it was his queen in front of him. 

 “You hurt me. You were mine and then suddenly you weren’t.” He sat there and listened as your voice cracked

 “I’m sorry���

 You turned to look at him. “You can’t break me that easy Hajime, we’re one and the same, in sword and devotion. I want you at my back, I want you protecting me. I need you to want the same. I thought- I thought we agreed on that. So please… let me choose you.”

 “Please let me be your princess, please let me choose you, I want you to protect me, the right way.”

 With you next to him he could see the sunlight reflected in your eyes, how it made them sparkle, how the roofs of your city seemed to wink up at you with the last slivers of moon light. Telling him how much hope they had for you, how they knew that their princess would keep them safe.

 “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

 With that admission, you threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him and squeezing him as hard as you could. You took a few breaths before pulling back, still keeping your arms around him, looking into his eyes.

 “Let me be your princess Haji, please.” It was like you were looking for something in his eyes, not breaking the connection.

 “Always,” he whispered, leaning closer, not looking away.

 “But you aren’t my princess.” He watched your eyes flutter and he drew closer and closer, wrapping his arms around you, keeping you right against him. “You're my queen.”

 He met your lips, and you were the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. He didn’t think he could ever forgive himself if he made you feel like you had again. 

 And as the sun created the mountains, and it's morning rays illuminated you and Hajime, he knew that his hands might have broken you, but they had also put you back together. 

 -

 Pulling away from Hajime, you try not to look as out of breath as you felt. You stared into his slate eyes and felt like he had never left, that the time between you that had hurt you  was just a memory, a distant past.

 They say you can’t remember pain. Maybe its to give you the courage to forgive, to be able to try again.

 You watched his mouth as he said, “I'm a fool.”

 “Then that would make me a fool too,” you muse, tone playful.

 “No,” he said, shaking his head slightly, furrow in his brow. “We can’t have a queen who's a fool.”

 “Then what am I?”

 “An idiot,” you watched his mouth as he said it. His smile was crooked, like he was trying to hide it.

 “Like the lovers,” You breathe, your own smile spreading across your face.

 “Like the lovers,” he repeated.

 The word lovers echoed in your head when you decided you wanted to kiss him again.

 -

 With each breath, you felt the embers inside of you cool to ashes, blowing in the wind like ash. 

 You might have lied, that night wouldn't be your last fight, but it would never be like that ever again.

 Hajime and you were once again in the practice hall, but this time things were different. You were both giddy, as the early morning sun glinted in your eyes. You tumbled and swung your swords at each other, but this time it was laughter shared between you, not savage words.

 You felt like you two were dancing again. With your dress whispering around your legs, and the dagger that matched Hajimes visible around your hip, you felt like you had that night as children, when Hajime first taught you to laugh. 

 You weren’t upset, or nervous this time, as you gave each other bruises and sore shoulders. Because later that morning at the ceremony you knew who would be standing next to you, with his back straight and his shoulders down. Your fiercest warrior and most devoted lover.

[wtfevenismypage]

Observer, Not Profiler

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!reader

Summary: You’re similar to a profiler, but you can tell almost anything about a person just from a single glance. What they had for dinner, if they took a bath or shower, their name, favorite color, if they lie, even if they’re good in bed. You’ve been running from the government ever since you got caught hacking into their systems and since then you have been diagnosed with Extreme anxiety, anxious tics, and paranoia. But now the BAU need you’re help in Identifying killers.

Warnings: panic attacks, Strong language, mentions of murder and rape.4

A/N: I have no fucking clue what I’m talking about when it comes to the fake profiling, if it’s possible, or if trauma is how it’s caused, plus I’m exhausted so just roll with it please

“We have less than two days to find this guy before he kills again. What the hell are wee gonna do?”

Everyone sat in silence, contemplating and thinking about Derek Morgan’s words.

Sighs are heard all around before A youthful genius speaks.

“What if we brought someone else in? A-another profiler? Hotch, what about that girl from a few years ago, her friends said she could tell anything about anyone from a single glance? What if we brought her in?”

Aaron Hotchner rushes to his computer, frantically typing things into the screen and looks at the rest of his team.

“That should fish her out.”

Running from the government was difficult. You couldn't be in one place for more than a year, Never make friends, stay quiet, change your numbers and any personal information every six months, and if you see the police... Run.

You’ve lived like this for six years, ever since you were fifteen.

The reason you’re running is simple, yet hilarious.

Your best friend told you to hack into the governments to see if birds really do spy on us for the government. Of course you never found an answer because they already kicked you out before getting to it.

Then they came for you, at least ten swat cops raided your house, held a gun to your head as they searched the rooms.

When a group of profilers came in, and watched as you told them what they ate for lunch the day before, when they showered last, when the last time they had sex was, and shocked faces spread all around as you did the same with the swat cops, even though they were covered.

You’re currently watching you’re small T.V in horror, watching the news come unraveled.

“This woman has brutally murdered thirteen people, please, if you know anything, don’t hesitate to call us.”

Your face was plastered all over the news, every channel had your face on it.

You’ve never killed a single person. The closest you ever got was kicking a CIA agent in the groin and banging his head against your knee, but that hurt you more than it hurt him.

The woman speaking was a blonde woman with blue eyes, she has a petite stature that tells a lot more than any normal human would think.

Jennifer.

That had to be her name. She was an interrogator when you were originally taken in. 

Her face as you told everyone about the last time she had sex was hilarious. 

It was even better when it was confirmed to be true.

You frantically run around, grabbing a bag of runaway essentials and an apple before rushing out of your apartment and running as fast as possible, trying to get as far away as possible from this old life.

The street was littered with cops, they were practically on every street corner, talking to everyone they can see.

Panic and stress fill your senses quickly, causing you to break into a run down an alley way.

Yet of course, a few cops see you and chase you, because they’re cops and they see everything apparently.

You keep running, even when you feel like you can’t run anymore you keep running because if you get caught you’ll see them again, you know you will.

You’ll see those profilers.

They’re still chasing, but you start to slow down, unable to speed your slow jog to a run.

One of the cops tackle you to the ground, pinning your arms behind your back before shouting a slur of words.

But you can’t hear anything over the ringing in your ears.

you were caught. They think you murdered someone. Multiple people even.

A single tear rolls down your face as they cuff you, lifting you to your feet and dragging you away.

The team stared at you from behind the two-way mirror, watching as you twiddle your thumbs and stare confused as your head jerks to the side quickly.

“What’s up with her head?”

“Anxious Ticking, she was diagnosed with extreme anxiety and minor Paranoia soon after being caught. Anxious ticking is a system of these. she’s been looking over her shoulders for six years, so it’s no wonder she has these symptoms.”

Spencer answer’s Morgan’s question while looking at the young girl.

He was so intrigued by you. Another child genius like himself, hacking into the government at 15, and you could tell anything about anyone just by looking at them, yet you didn't like being called a profiler.

He was truly puzzled by you.

Your head tics to the side again, and you feel a red heat smack itself on your cheeks.

You knew they were watching you from behind the mirror, you just didn't know who they were. And ticking was always your biggest insecurity. You hated doing it in front of other people.

The door clicks open and you jump in your seat. You look up to see who it is.

A dark man with thick black eyebrows, he has a little beard and mustache, just covering his chin and upper lip, his build is lean and muscly, but not super muscly.

“Derek. Y-Your name is Derek.”

He nods with a kind smile, sitting down in front of you.

“Your name is Y/n.”

You nod and look down at your wrists, which are chained together with handcuffs.

“I didn’t... I didn’t hurt anyone...”

You whisper out with a shaky breath and tears in your eyes.

He nods knowingly, leaning back on the chair he’s in.

“We know you didn’t. We had to get you out of hiding somehow. This was the only way.”

You stare at him for a long time, shock moving in with the fear in your stomach.

“W-why? So th-that you could a-arrest me for hacking into the- the gov-government?” 

He looked at you, concern shielded by confusion as he stands, walking around you to the coffee machine. Your head swivels around, following his every move  with your eyes, making sure he doesn't hurt you.

The rest of the team watches as Morgan speaks, asking you about your age.

“tw-twenty one. I’m... I’m twenty one.”

They were in awe as they watched your eyes study Morgan, you travel all over his body.

“Y-you’re thirty three...You’re name is D-Derek and you’re thirty... three.”

“How the hell does she do that?”

Everyone looked at Reid, hoping for an explanation.

“It could be an effect of a traumatic childhood, often times children learn to just pick up behaviors but there have been a few very rare cases where they learn to pick up more than that. It’s dependent on their intelligence and education though. I’ve never seen a case like this though. It isn’t just looking and getting their name magically, it’s studying everything and narrowing it down.”

“Cool party trick. But shouldn't we be asking about how she hacked into the government at 15?”

“Well for one, she’s terrified right now, she wouldn’t tell us if we asked her. Morgan’s trying to get her to calm down right now. And two, if she was skilled enough, she could hack into the government. The techies of the government should have caught her as soon as she made her first attempt. I don’t understand how she made it through all of the firewalls and blocks.”

The team continued to watch as your wrists painfully slam together twice, causing the coffee cup in your hand to splash onto your lap. An embarrassed blush crawls up your neck as you apologize three times.

 Reid writes this down under your tics. So far he had head-jerking and wrist bumping.

“She doesn’t like when people watch her ticking. To her it’s embarrassing. Reassure her that it’s alright, chances are someone or multiple people have put her down about this.”

Spencer informs Morgan through the ear piece while you rub at the now warm spots on your legs.

“It’s alright, don’t apologize for it, it’s a natural instinct, we’ve seen it before.”

You turn to the two way mirror, once again made aware of the other people watching you.

“I... Ho-how many people are... Wa-watching?”

You ask, voice shaking in a low whisper that you only wanted him to hear.

“There’s six people out there, the rest of my team. You saw three of us six years ago, but two people since then have resigned.”

You nod at his words, feeling tiny again as your wrists slam together again.

There was Jason, he seemed scary, a serious look was on his face but his words were kind, he tried to calm you down.

Next was Derek, He was emotionally charged, he yelled at you every time you moved, but it was only in fear that you were going to hurt anyone else.

Then Elle. She was so kind despite carrying a gun, she held a normal conversation with you as if you were a scared girl, and not a criminal like everyone else treated you.

Next was Aaron, He scared you the most. he held a gun to you the entire time and spoke to you like you were scum, he treated you with confusion and sent tears to your eyes.

Lastly was the nameless genius. You never were able to figure out his name, you knew that he was a genius as you were, but you couldn’t tell a single thing about him.

“Is Elle there? can I talk to her?”

You speak, a small smile creeping onto your face. He chuckles and smiles, leaning forward in his chair.

“Unfortunately Agent Greenaway has resigned.”

The smile falls as you begin twiddling your thumbs again.

“W... What about the long haired man? He was very t-tall, and skinn-skinny... He-he’s smart... very smart... Am I... Am I able to talk to him?”

Derek thinks for a moment before standing up.

“let me check with the team.”

He walks away, through the door and leaving you alone in the room.

“She wants to talk with Reid.”

Morgan states as he walks into the room with the rest of his team, looking at Reid who looks pretty terrified.

“She doesn’t know his name.”

“Well it has been six years.”

“She has an eidetic memory. And it would be difficult for anyone to forget any little detail from the day she started running.”

“So should we send Reid in?”

“It’s up to you Reid. She doesn’t prove to be a threat.”

Reid stands up and looks at the girl with tears in her eyes one last time before slowly stepping into the room.

You jump at least three feat when the door clicks open, staring at the new man with wide eyes. He apologizes and sits down in front of you.

“Yo-your name is... It’s... I can’t... I can’t read you. I can’t ev-even tell how old you are...”

His eyes widen as he smiles a little bit, trying to calm your nerves.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

You smile a little at finally discovering his name, you’ve been thinking about it ever since you got away.

“Dr. Spencer Reid.”

The tears that cloud your vision finally fall, dripping onto the table.

“I’m sorry. I-I don’t know why I’m cry-crying...”

You stutter out, looking down to wipe your tears away.

“No need to apologize, it’s understandable considering the amount of stress you’re receiving right now.”

“Um... Am I... Am I going to jail?”

He doesn’t answer for a moment, thinking about what to say before scratching his head.”

“No I don’t believe so, There was no big harm done with the hacking, so The worst you’ll have to deal with is quite a bit of questioning. No, what we brought you in for is help. We understand you have the ability to profile people with a single loo-”

“No.”

You speak in a loud tone which causes Reid to jump a little, and the rest of the team is put on edge at your sudden tone.

“I’m not... I’m not a pro- a profi... I’m not one of you.”

You curse yourself in your head for yelling, you really didn’t want any of this attention.

“I understand that. I’m sorry, You are able to identify anything about a person by just looking at them, and we need your help with that.”

You look at the mirror, staring at your own reflection for a while before asking a question.

“I don’t have a choice do I?”

His lips stretch into a thin line, his cheeks puffing out where his lips end, and he shakes his head.

“Of course you have a choice. You can say no, and you’ll be free to live your life, or you can help us, we’ll pay you a respectable amount, make sure you have a place to stay for a few months, and make sure you can see your friends again.”

Tears flowed down your face freely when he said you could see your friends. Your friends were your entire life before this. After your parents kicked you out for being an athiest, you lived with your best friend since the age of 13.

“I... I’ll help... I’ll help.”

He genuinely smiles, holding his hand out with a small item in his hands.

“Go ahead and unchain yourself, when you’re ready the rest of the team and I are right outside and we’ll brief you.”

He drops the key in front of you before standing, awkwardly waving, and then he walks out leaving you alone in the room.

You try to pick the key up, but seeing as both hands are chained underneath the table, so you sit awkwardly, your gaze switching between your hands, the key and the door, but you can’t call out for Spencer, the panic in your lungs are taking all the air, not letting you speak. 

“Should someone help her?”

“No. I would like to see how she gets out of this.”

Hotch tells Morgan before watching you kick the other end of the table, bouncing the key towards you.

It slides into your lap, which you quickly thrust your hips up to get to your hands, and you get yourself out of the cuffs.

Your fist quickly comes into contact with your forehead, another new tic.

You look at the mirror again before walking to the door and grabbing the knob, twisting it open and looking inside.

Your eyes flashed over the six people multiple times, identifying their names and ages. Some from memory, and others from your knowledge.

“Thank you for agreeing to help us. If you’ll follow us please. Dave, I want you and Morgan at the crime scene again. JJ, set up a press conference. Reid And Prentiss, You two and I are working on victimology with Miss Y/n.”

[kalee60]

If it inspires you... maybe you could write an established relationship Steve and Bucky where they are completely in sync when it comes to the battle field and the kitchen but there’s one place they are like fumbling idiots. I don’t know where. No hard feelings if this sparks no ideas lol 😂💖💖💖

Oh Kay - this wonderful prompt you gifted me could have gone in so many different directions. And it most definitely inspired me to write something...

But it's neither a clever take on your words or a twisted storyline, therefore I have no apologies and I went the obvious route when filling your idea 😂 (why does my brain always try and get these boys naked?)

So this turned into something a little longer (of course), a little more ridiculous than anticipated, and features some very well intentioned Avengers and two idiots helplessly inept in love...

The fic made it to almost 5.5k and is also on ao3 here (with all tags necessary) if you prefer to read there instead, it'll be part of my stucky bingo fills - 'Sex Magic' and rated E for explicit sexual content 😉 so proceed below with caution...

Oh it's also the first time I've ever tried established relationship... hopefully I've pulled it off!

Steve was happy. 

He finally had a home to call his own, a brilliant team of coworkers, a place in the future and he had Bucky Barnes. After more years than Steve could count, Bucky and he had finally found themselves on the same page - different century, but on even ground. They’d kissed in the heat of the moment after a brutal mission, stated their affections clearly and decided after a breathless confession - to give forever a go.

Having been on the battlefield together for years, Bucky at his six and always there for Steve when he needed, and Steve, having had Bucky’s back no matter the situation (or trouble it got him into) - meant they had a solid base to grow from. And as soon as Sam took over the mantle of Cap, Steve was free to be himself for once, and although Nomad made appearances on the odd occasion, he and Bucky still fought flawlessly together, seamlessly, almost at one in their movements.

It was magical.

But not only were they in sync when under pressure and danger, that same energy continued into their modest but homely kitchen in their brownstone as they unlearned that boiling was the only way to prepare food. They wove around each other, hot pans and knives flashing in a dance as intricate as fighting while they spun about the kitchen, preparing dish after dish, including sweet treats for themselves and cat treats for Alpine.

Bucky and Steve were essentially one unit, an extension of the other in every aspect of their lives - except one…

They’d shared their first kiss, a declaration of intent less than a month earlier on the battlefield in the midst of chaos, and Steve had never felt sweeter lips against his. But it wasn't just the kiss that floored him, it was the all-consuming knowledge that Bucky was his, would always be his, that they were made for each other - that's what made it a perfect moment.

Afterwards, when they'd arrived home tired from the week-long operation, 'congratulations' and 'about times' ringing in their ears, they sat on the sofa staring at the other until Steve leant in, cupping Bucky’s cheek and slowly pressed forward. Bucky having the same idea, lurched up and they smacked heads hard enough to see stars. Chuckling with small smiles, they tried again, with Steve accidentally biting Bucky's tongue, and the third was a kiss so awkward and sloppy, it made Steve feel like a thirteen year old practising on the back of his hand again.

Steve wasn’t sure how he'd got it so wrong.

Bucky had laughed it off at the time, asking Steve if he wanted to watch TV, and with nothing left to do, he agreed. For two overly large war-torn men, they fit wonderfully; wrapping limbs around the other, holding tight like they'd never let go again. It was soothing, comfortable - right. And as Steve pressed soft lips to the crown of Bucky's hair while a documentary played in the background, he wondered why their attempt at kissing when alone, without an audience hadn’t worked.

Steve could only put it down to nerves.

Bucky was his best friend after all, he was the only one who remembered and knew Steve, knew everything about him in fact, there were no secrets - except for the almost one hundred year pining between them. The awkwardness had to be because of a change in dynamics, they were now more, they wanted more, and were so nervous and scared to adapt to something new, it had become an issue of self-confidence.

It would get better.

It had to.

The next morning when Bucky left for a briefing, he placed a kiss on the corner of Steve’s mouth, and when Steve jerked his head to the side to capture Bucky's lips, he somehow managed to press his teeth into the soft pink flesh, tasting blood. Bucky pulled back with a huff of laughter and licked his lips to capture the red stain before leaving with a wink and a goodbye. Steve flushed red, the heat on his cheeks burning enough that he jumped up and organised an impromptu run with Sam to escape the memory. The whole time Steve lamented to a cackling Sam, that he'd somehow forgotten how to kiss.

Sam was a dick.

It had officially been three weeks, three full weeks of 'dating' and even though their actual dates were wonderful, full of laughter and fun and exploration, it was when they crawled into bed next to the other that suddenly every kiss, every touch was fraught with danger and peril. And maybe it was because they were both supersoldiers, both familiar and unfamiliar with some of their strengths, they'd overlooked they were still prone to the usual calamities that befell non-serumed folk, they just bounced back quicker.

So when Bucky ground down hard enough it bent Steve's dick practically in two - well, it wasn't pleasant, and took over an hour for the tears to stop streaming, all while he yelled to a panicked Bucky there was no way he was calling Dr Cho over it and that it would heal.

It healed, but Steve winced each time he went to the bathroom for the following two days.

The love bite Steve sucked into Bucky's upper thigh on the way to taste his gorgeous dick for the first time, erupted into a blood blister almost immediately and Bucky instinctually jerked away, kneeing Steve in the temple.

He only saw stars for two minutes, but the mood died in a flurry of apologies while the mark on Bucky's skin disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

By Steve's count, they'd tried a total of ten times to initiate sex, to make each other feel good, and every single time something had happened to thwart their attempts.

Steve wondered if the universe was trying to tell them they were not supposed to get physical. That they were destined to be best friends without any benefits.

But Steve wouldn't give up without a fight.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You can stop laughing now,” Steve said with a sigh, taking a sip of his espresso while trying to ignore the spluttering of his other best friend.

“Oh I know, but I can’t. You kicked Bucky in the hip so hard it somehow threw his body out of alignment and he was walking with a limp for two days. And not the type of limp you want.” Sam was practically heaving in mirth by that stage.

“Why did I come to you for advice? I'm leaving.”

"No, no don't. I'm glad you came to me. But Barnes? I understand your reaction because I'd kick him so he couldn’t walk for days too - but obviously under different circumstances,” Sam added when Steve scowled at his words.

"I don't get it though," Steve complained with an exaggerated shrug. "We sync so well everywhere else. Christ, we even snuggle in such a natural way, that neither of us have had a real nightmare in a month. We are more than ready for the next step. Sam, you have no idea how much we want to take it - but the minute we try to get… intimate - it falls flat."

Sam took a long sip of his iced coffee, thick cream bobbing over the surface as he tilted the glass up. Steve winced at how sweet it had to taste, but he said nothing, remained quiet, knowing that Sam would have some advice at least.

"Maybe it's the way you say intimate? I'm joking, jeez Steve, don't give me your disappointed face. Look, I think you should set the mood, you know - music, candlelight, silk sheets and no distractions. Maybe some aromatic oils too, do the whole, 'I think you're sexy and I want you' gesture - make it obvious you find him desirable.”

“Aromatic oils?”

Sam smirked and waggled his eyebrows, “for a special massage of course.”

Steve flushed at the thought of having Bucky’s naked skin and hardened muscles under his hands, sliding and slipping as he loosened him up, ready to make Bucky fall apart, make him languid and hazy with want. Sam coughed and Steve realised he was letting his imagination run too wild, especially in front of company.

“You know what? I think I chose wisely for my replacement.” Steve grinned as Sam ducked his head, a pleased look gracing his features. “Thanks, Sam. I’m sure it’s a timing thing, we just need to make it sexy.”

Sam clapped his back, and with a wide toothy grin and a wink, said in a low deep voice, “you’re an overachiever Steve - you’ve got this.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve in fact, did not have it.

Maybe his first mistake was to massage Bucky on the sofa, not in their bed. He used too much oil and when Steve raised himself up, eager to flip Bucky over and finally take his hard dick in hand, the vinyl fabric in conjunction with Bucky’s skin was soaked and slippery. Steve found himself sliding and flailing uncontrollably, right off the sofa to smack his face into the coffee table, the mood disappearing in a peal of Bucky’s laughter. Steve couldn't even blame him, it would have looked a sight.  

After a long hot shower where Steve contemplated his choice in friends and their terrible advice, Bucky and he sat on a freshly cleaned sofa and watched Animal Planet while eating Thai. They ended up cuddling under Bucky's weighted blanket, falling asleep entwined, and just before Steve blacked out, he wondered if maybe Sam wasn’t the right choice for Cap after all. His plan stunk.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You do know I’m not that kind of Doctor, right?” Bruce reiterated for the third time, and Steve shrugged in response.

“I know. But at this stage it’s worth a shot. So Doc, any advice for me?”

Bruce sat back on the lone stool in his lab, hand cupping his chin as he thought. At least Bruce appeared to be more contemplative than Sam had been. “Have you tried to romance him? Take Bucky out for a nice dinner, partake in some Asgardian wine to loosen things up, before dancing, showing him that you're a gentleman - prove to Bucky how special he is to you. In my limited experience, the rest will flow from there with no problems.”

Steve nodded along as Bruce spoke, holding Bucky against his body as they danced across the floor wouldn’t be too different from fighting together, and they were in perfect harmony while out in the field. Bruce’s idea made perfect sense to Steve, had more of a familiar feel from Bucky and his early life, before the war than what Sam’s had. Sam's suggestion centered on the physical between Steve and Bucky, whereas Bruce was suggesting something subtle, emotional.

“You know what Bruce? Thank you, I think it might just work.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It did not work. 

Halfway through their fifth dance as their bodies started to meld together, barely moving on the dancefloor, holding each other's gaze as they whispered words of desire to each, Steve leant forward, their lips barely touching. And as Steve took in a breath, feeling Bucky’s returning exhale on his lips, the back wall blew out in an explosion, Bucky headbutting Steve in surprise, and suddenly they had Hydra operatives swarming them. Steve, as he took out three hostiles with his shield, wondered if he should talk to Dr Cho about the effects of concussion and if he could suffer them, due to his head seemingly taking the brunt of recent mishaps. 

Bucky and Steve fell into tandem together, their natural ability to fight kicking in, keeping the other safe. It was much more natural than dancing and Steve sighed, knowing romantic nights out might not be the right course of action for them. 

It took three days of intense fighting to take down the Hydra faction, and afterwards they were both too tired to speak more than a sentence, and fell into a deep sleep curled around the other immediately. 

~*~*~*~*~*~

Steve ignored Tony's unsolicited advice to take Bucky to a ski chalet and teach him how to toboggan, knowing freezing conditions and a small metal tube wouldn't be the best way to loosen them both up to get frisky. Plus Steve was still trying to work out how Tony even knew Steve had asked other people for advice about sex? Maybe JARVIS was spying again, though the AI had promised Steve he wouldn't.

But what was worse, was Peter Parker, at barely even twenty years of age coming to Steve, red faced and stammering, saying that he thought Steve should take Bucky to laser tag and the arcade to have some old fashioned fun. 

Steve at that point was at his wits end, so he tried Peter's plan. When Steve was confronted with all the bright, colourful and confusing machines, he almost gave up. Actual 'old-fashioned' and Peter's idea of it, were poles apart. Though, Steve found he was really good at Tetris and Bucky excelled at zombie shooting games. But it was when playing laser tag it all fell over, Bucky and Steve getting too competitive, and a tad physical, which ended up with them being kicked out and banned, after having to apologise to a bunch of wide-eyed yet excited fifteen year olds. 

Bucky's exclamations that there wasn't that much blood, fell on the deaf ears of the twenty year old manager who reprimanded them, saying that at their age they should know better.

It did not induce a night of passion afterwards. Although, Bucky purchased a console online and a bunch of zombie games that evening, including a bundle that included Tetris, so it wasn't a complete bust.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“So basically what you’re saying is that nothing has worked? You’ve been tiptoeing around each other for what? Almost two months now?” At Steve’s nod, Nat grinned, crouching down and did a handspring, legs wrapping around his neck, pulling him to the floor. “The way you are with each other, I honestly would have guessed you’d been screwing for years. If I didn't know you better.”

“That’s not helpful. I’m serious. We have a real issue.” Steve looked up from his twisted position directly into her green eyes and sighed, she loosened her legs and Steve ran a hand over his face and stayed on the ground. “What if we’re just not meant to be?”

Nat’s expression softened as much as it ever did, meaning her left eyebrow turned down for less than a second before reasserting itself into a perfectly sardonic position.

“Okay, my advice for what it’s worth, and just note that I’m extremely offended that you didn’t come to me first, I mean Sam - come on. But let it happen naturally, organically. Just like it took you a hundred years to own up to your feelings, wait until it feels right to have sex.”

Steve groaned, and stood up, “I’m not waiting another hundred years, Nat.”

“Jesus, Rogers. Fine. Go see Wanda then.”

“Wanda?”

“Use that big brain of yours, not the small one. She’s a witch, I’m sure she can help you out.”

Steve knew the surprise on his face wasn’t feigned. He’d not actually thought Wanda could do spells or the like, but the more he thought about Nat’s words, the more it appealed. Could some magical interference help them?

“Thanks, Nat - I’ll definitely think about it.”

In the space of him finishing his words and a smile forming - Steve was on his back again, Nat’s thighs wrapped around his neck as she squeezed with intent.

“You’ll see that I was right.”

~*~*~*~*~

That night when Steve tried to let things happen naturally, organically as Nat had suggested, Steve slid a hand up Bucky’s side, light as a feather, only for Bucky to squirm in laughter and throw his head backwards, smashing into Steve’s poor battered nose - which broke. It healed within seconds, but blood spurted out in a gush, coating the back of Bucky’s hair and neck. It took an hour to clean up.

~*~*~*~*~

He went and saw Wanda the next day.

~*~*~*~*~

“Well, I’m one lucky girl, first a visit and latte from James this morning and now you this afternoon with a pastry.” Wanda took a bite of the flaky dessert, one Steve knew was her favourite. “Alright Steve what can I do for you today?”

Steve’s immediate reaction was to ask why Bucky had been there, but knew that the two of them had a strong connection, Wanda helping Bucky through some of the residual trauma with her powers, and then their fast bond over Alpine - Bucky’s terror of a stray cat that took up residence in their apartment. Or took over would be more apt.

“I… err, I need your help with something... delicate.”

Wanda gave Steve the smallest smile, a knowing look in her eyes and Steve lost his train of thought for a moment, not sure he really needed another Avenger to know about his intimacy issue with Bucky. He almost chickened out, but Wanda leaned forward and grasped his forearm.

“It’s okay, Steve - you can tell me, ask me anything.”

Sighing heavily, Steve steeled himself, he was out of options.

“Alright -” Steve laid out plainly what had been happening, the awkwardness, the injuries, the sheer unluckiness they’d suffered each time they’d attempted to move their relationship forwards physically.

“And you came to me for...?”

“Help, I guess,” Steve said and looked at Wanda pleadingly, “Can you? I mean, with a potion or a spell or something of the like?”

Wanda slumped back in her chair, mouth opening to speak, but nothing came out, she remained silent. After a minute, she swallowed audibly then looked up at the roof, and if Steve didn’t know better, he would have thought she was rolling her eyes at him. Yet he knew that wouldn’t be the case, Wanda was polite to him, always had been, they were a team. Friends. Only Nat would take those liberties with him.

“Alright,” Wanda finally spoke and stood up, walking over to her kitchen cupboards, pulling out jars and bottles holding different liquids. And before Steve knew it, he was holding a small glass vial filled with a substance that smelt like vodka, but had rosemary and a slice of orange and a few other items bobbing around inside.

“What’s this?”

“Well you asked for a potion, didn’t you?”

“Really? I actually didn’t think you’d -”

“- Do you want the sex magic or not?”

Steve grasped the tiny bottle in his hand, careful not to crush it in his huge meaty hands.

“I do,” he said quickly and stood, pulling her into a warm hug, which she returned readily.

“Just take half an hour before you want to… well, you know.”

“Thanks, Wanda, you were my last hope.”

And as he walked out  the room, Wanda called out after him, “you’ll be fine Steve. I know this will work for you.”

~*~*~*~*~

It worked. 

Bucky was on his knees, mouth wrapped around Steve’s thick dick, swallowing and licking like his life depended on it. And Steve, well, he couldn’t articulate, could only stare down into those familiar grey-blue eyes that gazed at Steve like he was a conquering god, stare at the way saliva dripped down Bucky’s chin as he drew in as much of Steve’s hardness as possible, Bucky’s plush lips stretched taut until they’d lost most of their colour.

It was the most glorious sight of Steve’s entire life.

He didn’t want to think about Wanda in that moment, but he was eternally grateful to her. Bucky had disappeared into the bathroom about half an hour earlier - leaving enough time for Steve to drink the potion in one go, and before he knew it, almost half an hour to the dot, they launched at the other. For once there were no injuries, awkwardness, or pain - just hungry kisses, curious hands and moaning. A lot of moaning and grinding.

Then Bucky dropped to his knees, yanking impatiently at Steve’s pants until they all but ripped off, and sucked him down in the same breath.

Throwing his head back, Steve looked to the ceiling, fingers tangled in Bucky’s hair as Bucky hummed and gasped around his dick, sucking loudly, slurping and choking at times. But Steve couldn’t keep his eyes away for long. Bucky was too compelling, too perfect.

“God, you have no idea how you look right now do you, on your knees, mouth full of me?” Steve husked and involuntarily pumped his hips a few times. Bucky’s eyelids fluttered shut as he listened to Steve’s words, not complaining about the added pressure. “Born to take me, weren't you, Doll?”

Bucky practically squirmed on the spot, moaning and whimpering and Steve realised through the haze and bliss of what Bucky’s clever tongue was doing to him, that Bucky clearly had a thing for pet names.

“Do you want this large dick inside of you sweetheart? Do you want to sit on it? Take it deep into your body, let you take control and ride me until you come?” Steve should have been taken aback by his words, about where his filthy mind was taking them. But he was running his mouth, not thinking, letting what felt good flow off his tongue. And Bucky - he loved it.

Popping his mouth off the end of Steve’s dick, tongue immediately lathing up and down the shaft so as to always have a point of contact, he moaned loudly, wantonly. “God yes, Stevie - want you to fill me up, stretch me, want to feel you for days after, I want you to own me…”

Steve growled possessively, his fingers tightening in Bucky’s hair, pulling back so Bucky was jerked away from his dick, Bucky whining at the loss. Oh christ - that jar of sex magic needed to be marketed - it was phenominal. Steve had never felt so in control of a situation, so ready for anything, not scared, just willing to make Bucky feel good. “I want that too, baby, want everyone to know you’re mine.”

Yanking Bucky upwards, Steve devoured his mouth in a kiss, completely surprised that the potion had worked so well. Not only were they finally on the same page, they were doing it with no shame, telling each other exactly what they wanted and when, pleasuring with sensations and not overthinking, and the teasing - it was natural, it felt right. And Steve knew he was forever in Wanda's debt for the gift of her magic.

“I want to watch you prepare yourself, gorgeous. Want to see your fingers sliding in and out of your tight hole - a hole I’m going to own from tonight onwards.”

“Jesus, Steve, you’re killin’ me here.”

“Not quite yet, I’m not. Give me an hour and we’ll circle back to that.”

“Don’t speak to me like a rookie learning the ropes.” Bucky grumbled.

Steve smiled, “But aren't you?”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

Steve swallowed the rest of his retort when Bucky stripped naked to crawl up on their bed, spinning around to lay amongst the pillows, spreading his legs wide like he couldn’t wait to be railed. And Steve was unable to tear his gaze away from Bucky’s hole, his gorgeous and perfect entrance, one that would be puffy and leaking before the night was out - the superficial damage caused by Steve and no one else. A tight sensation welled in Steve’s gut, lurching when Bucky grabbed the lube, pouring liberally before starting to finger himself.

That was the point where Steve knew he'd made a grave mistake.

He wasn’t going to be able to watch Bucky open himself up, Steve was too wound up, too impatient and also too much of a control freak. He needed to ensure Bucky did a good enough job, knowing his girth alone was more than most people were used to. So when Bucky was two fingers in, sweat beading, eyes never leaving Steve’s face, Steve jerked forward and climbed up on the bed, positioning himself between Bucky’s legs. He lubed up his fingers to test the tightness himself, Bucky’s eyes opening in shock at the probing.

“Steve…” he stammered, “What are you doing?”

“Helping.”

Bucky sighed out a breath, relaxing into the intrusion as Steve pressed a finger in next to Bucky’s, and Steve shut his eyes, groaning; Bucky was so tight and hot, perfectly wrapped around Steve’s finger. Steve knew he was going to lose himself in Bucky’s body, was going to transcend, never be the same again and he couldn’t wait.

Steve ensured Bucky was a writhing panting mess before he even contemplated sliding into his tight heat. No matter how much Bucky asked for it, no matter the pleading, the begging (of which Bucky did so prettily, especially with the beginnings of frustrated tears in his eyes), Steve wanted their first time to be free of pain and injury, and by god was he going to deliver.

When he deemed Bucky ready, who pouted back to declare he was, hours ago, it only confirmed a surly Bucky was absolutely gorgeous to Steve, and Steve pulled him down the bed, spreading Bucky’s legs wide. Bucky sank back, allowing himself to be positioned, holding Steve’s gaze hotly as Steve pressed the tip of his dick against the loosened muscle of Bucky’s ass.

The first testing push felt like Steve was going to split Bucky in two - there was no way he would fit. But Bucky grabbed Steve violently by the back of the head, holding him tight in his superhuman strength.

“Don’t you fucking dare stop - not now.”

“Alright, sweetheart,” Steve said placating, “just don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Bucky replied adamantly, and Steve still wasn’t sure until Bucky husked out, “Trust me.”

And Steve did. He trusted Bucky more than anyone else in the world, the universe, and so he continued to press past the tight muscle and...

Oh.

Oh fuck.

He wasn’t expecting Bucky to feel so good, so tight, so perfect. Steve kept pushing, further and further, almost endlessly until he had to pull out an inch to gain more leverage, and the whole time he did this, the whole time he tested and pressed forward again, Steve watched Bucky’s face, looking for signs of discomfort. He saw none.

Bucky was slack-jawed as he stared into Steve’s eyes in a completely blissful state, and pride welled up inside of Steve, he was making Bucky look like that, giving Bucky what he wanted, desired. Steve and no one else.

It was both heady and compelling.

When Steve could push no further and was fully seated within Bucky’s body, he took a breath, then another, and although his instinct was telling him to thrust, take, pound, he didn’t. He’d promised Bucky something.

Grabbing Bucky’s waist, he spun them quickly; Bucky yelping suddenly at the change in position, and looking a little dazed, he ended up straddling Steve, thighs stretched taut over Steve’s large frame.

“Ride me baby.” Steve said simply, and Bucky melted, falling forward to kiss Steve’s lips passionately. Steve held Bucky close as a tongue snaked into his mouth, lips frantic and hot on his, so Steve jerked up into Bucky’s body, reminding Bucky of what he was supposed to be doing, earning him a gasp directly into his mouth.

Sitting up, Bucky pressed his hands against Steve’s stomach for leverage, and tested his breadth of movement, wiggling side to side before he started to move in earnest. Soon Bucky was bouncing on Steve, pulling up and slamming down, taking the pleasure he wanted for himself, and Steve, he lay back and watched the love of his life take every inch he could, and adored it.

After a while, sweat started to pour down Bucky’s temples, his eyes squeezed shut tightly in concentration as he speared himself again and again on Steve’s hardness, wringing pleasure out of every pore, and Steve knew Bucky was close - could tell by the shortening breaths. Licking his palm, Steve reached forward to grip Bucky’s gorgeously rigid dick as it bobbed freely before him, mesmerizing in its movements.

Bucky snapped his eyes open, capturing Steve in his intense gaze, a pleading spark in them, and what Bucky was asking for, Steve wasn’t sure - so he grasped harder and began to stroke. He was methodical, brutal, unrelatening and soon Bucky was clenching around him as come erupted from his dick, coating Steve’s stomach in sticky stripes, and Steve was desperate to taste. So he did. 

Trailing a finger through the mess while Bucky caught his breath, Steve relished Bucky holding him deep within his body, clenching and twitching around him as Steve slid one wet and come soaked finger between his lips, moaning at the unique and tangy taste. It was pure Bucky. His essence, and Steve was addicted already.

“Oh Buck, I’m going to suck you so good one day. You’re the sweetest thing, aren’t you?”

Bucky nodded his head in return, sated and hazy, his breathing returning to some semblance of control, and with a refractory period only superserum enhanced soldiers experienced, Bucky’s dick started to fill again, not quickly, but enough Steve knew from experience that the sensitivity would have abated enough to touch - to continue.

“My turn,” Steve growled, spinning them back over, crushing Bucky into the bed under his weight.

Steve didn’t wait for a response, just immediately pounded hard into Bucky’s limp, open and languid body. And at odds with the rest of his self, Bucky’s dick hardened against Steve’s stomach with every stroke, but Steve had become lost in the sensations, in how good it felt to be encased in Bucky’s heat, his warmth, of finally being closer than ever before for the first time and he couldn’t think straight.

Grabbing Bucky’s chin in one hand, Steve pressed their mouths together, panting into Bucky’s as he whispered words of love tempered with a stream of filth that had Bucky’s eyes rolling to the back of his head.

Thrusting harder again and putting all his strength behind it, able to without hurting Bucky, Steve went into a frenzy as Bucky writhed and moaned underneath him, nonsense words falling from his throat. Steve held on as long as he could, but it was too much, had taken too long to finally be inside of Bucky, and with a litany of ‘oh god’s’ Steve came deep inside of his lover, his friend, his forever and basked in the moment, knowing it was all thanks to a little potion bottle. 

As he caught his breath, inhaling Bucky’s scent, smiling down and kissing his lips reverently, Bucky looked up at him grey-blue eyes full of wonder and happiness.

Their smiles couldn’t be any larger.

Maybe magic wasn’t so bad after all.

~*~*~*~*~

“Judging by the way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other this morning at the team breakfast, I assume you gave Steve and Bucky some help and advice?” Nat asked Wanda as they sat in a wine bar downtown that night on their weekly catch up.

Wanda smirked, holding her glass up in a cheers to Nat. “Yep, Bucky came to me yesterday morning and Steve in the afternoon. Both seeking the exact same help.”

“And did your ‘sex magic’ work?”

“Of course it did - I used my best Vodka.” Wanda affronted that Nat would even question her, knowing the redhead was really teasing.

“What about the spell you used?”

“Well, I wriggled my nose for theatrics, added a sprig of dried rosemary that was stuck to the back of my fridge, and made my hand glow for a second. Some of my finest acting work I think.”

“Those boys just needed some inner confidence - I knew it would work.”

“Of course you did.”

“Damn straight. Tequila shots here please!”’ Nat yelled to the barman who looked way too eager to assist, even though the bar was packed. Nat left a hefty tip when their drinks landed before them less than a minute later, and picking up the glasses she handed one to Wanda. Wanda knew she was going to regret their night the next day. 

Clinking their glasses, Nat declared, “to sex magic and dumb idiots in love.”

“And to us for being excellent enablers and smarter than the lot of them.”

“I couldn't agree more.”

Wanda woke up the next morning wishing she could infuse potions, if she was able to, then her headache might not be so epic. She hid under the covers for the rest of the day. 

Romanoff was a bad influence.

[malulls]

The Darkest Part of the Sea- Chapter 4

Manorian Pirate fanfic

Manon had been sleeping for hours. Which was understandable considering the amount of blood she had lost. Ress was still trying to get the red marks off the office floor, but it looked like some of them would still be there.

Dorian's brain almost burned trying to figure out what the fuck was going on after Nesryn Faliq simply knocked Manon Blackbeak down, untied him and told him to go after her. Things only got more confusing when the two of them passed all the Ironteeth who had invaded the ship with Manon, the Thirteen, he supposed, passed out on deck.

Now they were all in the cellar, occupying the ten cells that were there.

Manon was in a cell far away from the others. First, because it was a little larger and she needed that space because of her injuries. Second, because it was the only one with chains. And Dorian couldn't sleep if she was in anything less secure than that.

He and Ruby spent a long time trying to get the arrows out and make the cuts stop bleeding. The prince didn't think they would be able to. But the white, almost clean strips that wrapped the wounds and the witch's steady breathing ensured otherwise.

- So she is alive and has stopped bleeding. Very well. Now Nesryn, by the gods, can you explain what the hell just happened?- Chaol asked without taking his eyes off Manon, as if he was expecting her to jump up and break the bars with her hands at any moment.

Nesryn Faliq, also known as Adarlan's best archer, was one of Dorian's best friends and had been ill for over a week after being stabbed by a poison-covered sword in a Valg pirate attack.

Everyone on the ship had some basic knowledge of how to treat injuries, but on more serious occasions they needed healers. Those traveling with them were all dead. Nesryn spent days shifting between unconsciousness and a few minutes awake. Dorian almost surrendered to the despair of thinking his friend would die when she spent two straight days blacked out.

- I woke up with Adrik screaming- She finally turned her brown eyes away from watching Manon and stared at them both- When I opened the door I saw a red-haired woman dragging him into the cellar, which obviously meant that you guys had done something fucked up and things had gone wrong. So I took the poppy explosives we bought in Eyllwe - yes, Dorian, I assaulted the weapons room and hid two of them in my bag, I even do that often, now stop interrupting me if you want to hear the damn story - and went up on deck with a crossbow since I didn't have time to prepare the bow. I didn't expect to stumble upon ten angry women, so I exploded one of the bombs without a second thought. Two of them were going up and ended up inhaling the poppy opium and went out as well. The other explosive I threw into the basement where the last two were. Most of the crew was smart enough to try to cover their faces. And those who couldn't, well, they are sleeping now. That was it.

That was it. As if taking down bloodthirsty pirates was as easy as buying a gooseberry pie. Chaol shook his head.

- So you just took down a bunch of scary women?

- Yeah, kind of. I think poppy explosives are the only explanation because it was almost... Easy? Honestly, what the fuck.

- Of course, those bombs cost half the gold we took to the harbor.

Dorian thought that all that gold had been thrown away, as the bombs were absolutely useless in the Narrow Sea, as the opium spread quickly in the mist.

- If you weren't my friend I would ask you to marry me right now.

She grimaced at Dorian and then pulled him and Chaol into an embrace. This surprised them both, it wasn't something she did very often.

- I'm glad you idiots aren't dead.

- We're glad you're not dead. You stayed in bed for a whole week. More than that. Are you sure you're all right?

The archer pushed them both away.

- Okay, enough hugging. Yes, I'm better, but I don't think I should be on my feet for too long for the next few days. And shall we go somewhere else, please? I don't want to be half a meter away from that woman when she wakes up.

-

Manon opened her eyelids and regretted it at the same moment. The shimmering golden light of a lantern made her eyes hurt. The witch blinked a few times before she got used to it and could see. The gentle rocking of the waves signaled that she was still on a ship.

She was in some kind of room-no, not a room-a cell if the bars were any indication. The places where she had been hit by the arrows were bandaged, but something was disturbing her. She tried to sit up, and froze in mid-motion.

Chains. There were chains on her wrists.

- Hello, witchling.

Manon sat up slowly. The prince was sitting in a small chair in front of the iron bars that locked her in.

- How long have I been sleeping?

- Three days.

- Where are we?

- Is this an interrogation?

She leaned against the wooden wall and lifted her chained arms.

- There is nothing I can do with this information.

- Then you don't need it.

Calm down. She needed to stay calm and keep the anger from consuming her. Then something hit her mind like a stone.

- My Thirteen. What have you done with them?

- They are locked up. And they don't stop asking about you, no matter how much I tell them you're fine. Maybe they'll be calmer now that you're awake.

- You mean they are all right?

- Of course.

She could have simply collapsed with relief, but she wouldn't dare show how much she really cared about them.

- Pirates don't leave their prisoners undamaged.

- I am not a pirate. And I have no reason to hurt any of them.

Good. They were intact. But they were still stuck.

- And what do you intend to do with me?

He shrugged and rose from his chair, taking a few steps into their tiny space.

- Your head is worth a few million. You have made an exorbitant number of people very angry.

- So you are going to kill me and sell me as a prize?

- No. But I might take you to Adarlan. You are the granddaughter of the high-queen of the deserts. What would she give to get her heiress back?

Panic was something Manon rarely felt. But the mere thought of what her grandmother would do to her if she knew she had been captured, what she would do to her Thirteen...

- The only thing you would manage with that is a war for imprisoning and kidnapping an heir.

- I didn't kidnap you. You gave me the right to arrest you and your crew the moment you attacked us. We are within the law.

She forced herself to stand. If she stood for another second she would become dizzy.

- What do you want?

- What ?

- What do you want me to do or give you to get me out of here?

- There's nothing I want.

- Everybody wants something.

- It's not something you can give me.

She stepped closer to the bars, as close as the chains would allow.

- What reason do you have to take us to Adarlan?

He moved until his face was right in front of her.

- So I should just let you go after you tried to rob me and threatened to kill my friends- Friends. He was a prince and called his subordinates friends- Should I let you go knowing that's exactly the first thing you will do once you're free?

Manon smiled at him, momentarily forgetting her panic and letting cruelty consume her face.

- I would have killed every single one. One. Of them. In front of you. Slowly. And I would enjoy myself immensely doing it. And after I got the ring, princeling, I would make you suffer until you were begging for death.

The two were so close that their breaths were mingling, the tension between the prince's and the witch's hateful glances could be cut with a knife.

- Then know that I don't feel a shadow of remorse for placing those chains around your wrists.

That was the last thing he said before turning his back and leaving. As the prince left, fear returned to her mind. She needed to think of something. Quickly.

The surge of strength that hatred had released in her vanished like smoke in the silence that enveloped her, and was replaced by a sudden exhaustion. The iron that covered the witch's wrists became unbearable.

Manon sat down again on the linen-wrapped seat that covered the wooden bank of the cell, trying to keep the desperation away.

-

Dorian felt as if he was breathing for the first time since Manon woke up. From where he stood on the ship's railing, the sea looked like a dark blue cloth swaying in the wind. The warm summer breeze was shaking the prince's hair and the white sails on the mast, moving the ship closer and closer to the Gulf of Oro.

He was trying to get the witch's words out of his head.

I would have killed every single one. One. Of them. In front of you.

The sunlight didn't keep the chills off his body. Even trapped, she could be terrifying.

- Is she awake?

Ruby joined him, leaning against the railing of the ship.

- Yes, she's probably planning our deaths right now.

- Oh, don't say that. I'm not sure if I'll be able to sleep at night.

Her gaze was distant, lost on the horizon as if she was waiting for someone.

- What's wrong?

- Nothing. I'm just anxious to get off this boat as fast as possible.

No doubt the entire crew shared this thought.

- We won't see each other for a few months after arriving in Adarlan.

- Are you going to Wendlyn?

- Yes, I need a break after that. I am going to see my sisters. And my mother wants to make sure that I'm still alive.

Ruby never talked about her father. Sometimes Dorian wondered if she even knew him.

- I'm surprised that you are anxious to get back. You hate the court.

- Do you understand the level of my despair? I can't look at your ugly faces anymore.

She kicked him in the shin.

- You've been hitting me a lot recently, you know. Ress is going to be jealous.

- Ress- She said, her voice full of mockery- Is too busy flirting with the red-haired witch to be jealous of anyone.

- She is pretty. - They all were. None were as beautiful as Manon, but still.

- Why is Ress flirting with her?

- She is the one who is flirting with him. Or anyone who is on guard. All the day long. She is as terrible as you are.

- Is she? I'll make a visit to see who flirts the longest.

- By all that is holy, no. You two are forbidden to stay more than thirty seconds in the same room. You would never leave.

- I am your captain, you can't forbid me anything.

- You only remember that you're in charge here when it's convenient, don't you?

- Who are we speaking badly of?

Ress leaned against the mast near the two of them, spinning a dagger between her fingers.

- You and your new girlfriend.

- Oh, I suspect she's cheating on me. Yesterday she was flirting with Chaol. He was horrified.

- What are you talking about me?

The prince's first mate came up on deck with Nesryn by his side. She had her bow and quiver on her back as usual, her brown eyes always watchful, always watching, like two eagles' eyes.

- Shouldn't you not be on your feet?

- I'm not an invalid.

- You didn't answer, what were you talking about me?

- About you? Nothing. Actually, we're complaining about the insufferable flirt Dorian is.

The prince rolled his eyes.

- Get over it.

- The fact that we spent an entire afternoon trapped in a tavern because you wouldn't stop flirting with the barmaid? And that when we finally managed to get you out, we were lucky enough to get out just as a circus was passing by and we were run over?

Dorian couldn't take it. He started to laugh. None of the four could keep their serious expressions any longer, and soon they joined the prince, laughing and reminiscing about stories and cursing each other until the sun disappeared and the sky turned cobalt blue, Manon's dark threats and the image of their friends' ripped bodies were finally far away from Dorian's mind.

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

I should've posted this last week but I was traveling and I couldn't translate, so as always, I'm sorry it took that long

And I didn't like this chapter so I'm sorry if is too bad

@positivewitch @awesomelena555 @darklingswhxore @hellasblessed @wandererbyheart @notyournymphetish @acourtofsjmtrash

[sasa-gay-yo]

Just Us (Chapter Eighteen: Silver)

←Chapter Seventeen 

Early 849

“Elias, can you take this order to Mrs. Los? Do you know where that is?” The boy looked up at me from the coffee beans he was grinding and nodded, taking the bag I handed him. 

“Can you also pick up some milk on the way? Try to get the one at the bottom of the icebox, yeah?” 

“Sure thing, Miss. Eva. What time do you want me back?” I looked up at the clock on the wall, noting that it was almost closing time. By the time he’d be back, I would be cleaning up already. 

“Actually, the milk can wait. Bring it when you come to work tomorrow morning. After you drop off the box to Mrs. Los you can go home.” His face lit up, knowing that I wouldn’t keep him to clean the floors today. With that, he took the money out of my hand and turned to wave with his left hand, just like Jonas, and walk out of the door. I rested my elbows on the front counter, looking around at the few people left in the café. I didn’t feel like cleaning, so I just finished grinding the coffee beans Elias left, waiting for the two tables to leave. 

Elias had started helping me at the café every day since he turned thirteen, the legal age of work, since his father had given up a career in hopes of revitalizing society through the Order of the Walls. Now being older, Elias was getting fed up with the way his parents started treating June and him, saying it was better to starve than forcibly take food from what the Walls supplied. At one point, the boy had stayed at my house the whole week, not wanting to go back home to face the men his father brought over who tried relentlessly to convert him. June was able to shield herself from this by always staying late in the bookshop taking on restoration projects that made her work for hours on end. She would always come into the café tired, needing a cup of coffee, but saying how it was worth it since she didn’t have to go home. At some point, Jonas, Ben, and I had talked about what we might do to help them. They could only stay over at our houses for so long until their parents would get too strict. This meeting we had was prompted by their father wanting to marry off June to someone’s son next summer. If he married her, especially to someone in the strict Order, she would have to quit her job and would not be able to take over the bookstore for herself. She cried to me that night too, Levi sitting in the corner watching her, only to let her sleep with me while he took the couch. When I told Levi about their situation, he could only get angry for their plight but could give no solution. No one knew what the solution was. All I could do was try my best and shield them from home life. However, I did plan to argue for June if her father pushed marriage next summer. 

Speaking of Levi, he was supposed to come over tonight and stay. They had just returned from a rather interesting expedition, and he sent a letter saying that Hange was keeping him locked down for her experiments before he could come. The day after tomorrow, he had to return to, again, plan the next expedition around Hange’s "master plan". The only detail I was allowed to know was the fact that it had to do with capturing a titan. I would have to ask him about that crazy want and how they were going to get a titan through Trost and back to HQ. Hopefully, he brought some of Erwin’s orders too. While most of the Scouts didn’t know about my existence, to keep business going, they ordered from me regularly. Whether it be basic supplies or bread, it came through me first, and then it went to Reeve’s if I couldn’t fulfill. Erwin and Levi were also trying to convince me that with the worsening of the famine, I should just come and work as a cook or stock worker for the Scouts, but I refused. If I left, Elias wouldn’t have money to support his family.

“Have a goodnight, now, Eva!” I waved to the customer who finally left, leaving their stray newspaper on the table, and decided that even if there were ten minutes left before official close, I would start now. As I turned around to get a broom, the knob of the locked door turned and then turned again before opening. Only two people had a key. With a smile on my face and one hand on my hip, I turned to face him. 

“This could be breaking and entering. I’m clo…” Turning to the door, hoping to see Levi, I saw four people standing outside the door looking in. They were all wearing Scout uniforms, and I thought at first Erwin could have sent them to pick up the order, but my raven-headed boy pushed through them, grabbing the key from the older-looking man’s hands. The others seemed like they were lost, not knowing what they were doing here in the first place. Their eyes were heavy too like they had no idea why I was here either. Why had their captain taken them here? I also had the same question.

“I brought them here at this time on purpose. Do you have enough tea?” Levi seemed to be the only one calm as he stepped into the café, walking to a round table in the center that would hold all of us. So he had brought them here… but who were they? It’s not like I knew any Scouts by name, and none of them seemed to be officers. We just stared at each other and Levi clicked his tongue, leaning back in a chair in his usual fashion. 

“U-uh, um, come in. Please.” I put the broom down, gesturing with both hands to have them sit down, and they all waited to see if Levi was going to protest before they stepped in. With the amount of Scouts gathering after hours, I made sure to lock the door and pull all the front shades down so no one from Mitras could think wrong of the situation. Well, I didn’t know what this situation even was, so they could be entirely accurate. Either way, seeing the normal, annoyed look on Levi’s face as he told the four to calm down made me a bit more at ease, walking to the counter to make six cups of tea. 

“Eva?” I looked up at Levi’s call and he had a finger pointing at the red-haired woman next to him, “Petra said she would prefer water, but she was too afraid to ask you herself.” The woman’s face flushed bright red to match her hair, and she held both of her hands up. 

“I-I… I’m not afraid! No! I just didn’t… didn’t want to bother you!” I gave her a soft smile and nodded before turning to get her some ice. They still were silent and I could feel Levi’s annoyance grow when looking over all of them. They had their hands in their laps or eyes looking anywhere but Levi and I. Petra. Petra. Where had I heard that name before? Levi and Hange both mentioned her. What were the other’s names? Maybe if I knew theirs’ it would spark a memory. 

“Does anyone want honey?” I asked, hoping you could get information out of them that way, but they were still all too nervous to answer. None of them could look me in my eyes either and I realized that Levi had probably told them some scary rules before coming here. I sighed. 

“I’ll just bring the whole bottle, yes?” I poured the correct amount of honey into Levi’s cup and put them on two trays, walking over. Levi had an empty chair next to him, one hand already resting over the top, and he pointed down indicating that’s where I was going to sit. When I passed out the cups of tea, they mumbled thank you under their breaths, still not looking up at me. It was almost comical now how afraid they seemed to be of Levi’s wrath if they did something wrong. I was now entirely too curious to see what he'd said and I was going to tease him for it to at least lighten up the mood. 

“Geez, Levi. Did you tell them I bite or something? Don’t worry, I’m not as scary as he is.” This didn’t help to lighten the mood at all, and they looked even more nervous now that I’d just insulted their Capitan right in front of his face. I’d have to remind Levi once again to stop being so mean to the cadets. Every time I would come to HQ, I would watch him outside Erwin or Hange’s window and frown at the punishments he so easily dished out. One time, I even caught his eye and shook my head, causing him to glare and make a cadet get up from doing the hundred push-ups he’s punished them with. 

Levi cleared his throat before sitting forward to address them.

“This is my Special Operations Squad,” He went around the table, “Petra Ral, Oluo Bozado, Eld Jinn, and Gunther Schultz.” They all bowed in their chairs, none of them daring to touch their cup of tea before Levi did. Were they being cautious of him or cautious of the drink I’d given them? Also, did they know who I was? My memory had sparked, remembering Levi talked about Eld, making him a second in command for this new squad. They’d formed a few months previous if what Hange told me was correct. Levi had told me the final lineup so I could confirm that he made the correct choices, even though I knew nothing about titan killing. He’d do that a lot more, asking me my opinion on a Scout matter, just so I could confirm his thinking was correct. One time I disagreed with him and he pouted all day. 

“I’ve heard of all you. The amount of titans you’ve all killed is very impressive.” Again, a chorus of nervous thank-yous came and Levi glared at their apprehensiveness. 

“This is my wife, Evlynn. She owns this café.” I had to swallow hard at whatever emotion came up in my throat as he introduced me as his wife. There had to be some form of reasoning for this, but it made my heart jump again. It had been almost two years since he’d made the promise to marry me someday, and he had yet to act on it. A girl couldn’t be that patient. I could see their eyes almost bug out of their heads as he introduced me as his wife too. So, they didn’t know who I was. Their faces all showed an intense form of disbelief at his words. They could tell just by us sitting next to each other the difference in personality. I was upright and smiling at all of them, making fun of their Captain, and Levi was glaring down at them, his voice being nonchalant about this situation. He almost sounded bored and annoyed he had to introduce me in the first place. 

“Y-You’re married?” The older man let out, making Levi roll his eyes. 

“Not yet. Soon. Why are you all so surprised? Wipe those looks off your faces.” This made me snicker, putting a hand over my mouth as not to ruin the “Captain” hold he had over them. Suddenly, this meeting was going to turn into a fun one on my accord. 

“Don’t be so mean to them, Lev!" You hit him in the shoulder, "They’re going to let you die on the field if you act like this. Please, introduce yourselves to me! One by one!” Again, they seemed disturbed by Levi and I’s juxtaposition, and even Levi turned his head, trying not to glare at me. It was obvious to him what I was doing.

“Eld Jinn. Second-in-command. Wall Rose. Ma’am.” The others gave Eld a weary look at his short introduction, finally looking into my eyes, but when Levi didn’t say anything, they continued. 

“I’m Gunther Schultz, Ma’am. My birthday is July 30th and I am from a small village inside Wall Rose.” This felt weird to me now. They were talking to me with the same prestige as they give Levi, which makes sense, but it was uncomfortable to me. I was probably the same age as all of them and I’m not in the Survey Corps. 

“You can all just call me Eva. I’m not a soldier, I’m a café owner.” Again, all of their gazes went to Levi to see if he would give them this permission. I frowned and glared at Levi. If he wasn’t such a harsh leader, then they wouldn’t be scared of me. I should be happy he’s letting more people know about me, but now it was just making me more annoyed at his treatment of people. 

“In this café, I rank above Captain here. Call me Eva. Oluo,” I pointed to him and he looked at me now, giving the same look Levi’s face would express, “Introduce yourself.” I felt Levi shift next to me, but it was just to reach over and drink his tea. 

“Uh… I’m Oluo Bozado. Like Captain Levi said.” I frowned again, crossing my arms. All their introductions were the same. 

“Any fun fact? How many titans have you killed?” I could see a smirk flit across his face. Ah, now I’ve hit the jackpot. 

“I’ve killed almost thirty titans on my own. Six within my team here.” I turned to Levi, and he side-eyed me. 

“Is that a lot?” I whispered, putting my hand to block my mouth, knowing for a fact that everyone could hear me. Levi smirked into his tea, hiding it with the cup, before going back to his normal face. He shrugged. 

“I have at least double.” The other three had to hide their laughs as Oluo’s jaw clenched. He so badly wanted to yell at Levi, but he knew that if he did, he’d be punished somehow when they got back to HQ. I may rank higher than Levi here, but as soon as they walk out the door, they’re at his mercy.  I just raised my thumb at him. 

“Well, work hard.” I knew my smile cut into his ego, and he sat back in his chair, moping. I turned to Petra, remembering her last name as some family who lived in Trost. I pointed at her and she almost jumped out of her chair. 

“You’re from Trost.” She quickly stood up and bowed, the chair almost sliding back to hit the table behind us. 

“Hello, Eva! Ma’am! I’m Petra Ral! My family is from Trost District! I’m a team player and am devoted to our Captain!” It was the others' turn to laugh at her, but this time they didn’t hide their snickers. She sat down slowly and Levi and I exchanged a glance. His glance basically said ‘She’s usually not like this'. I smiled again and just nodded. 

“I’m glad you’re devoted to such a meanie.” Levi gripped my thigh, which he placed his hand on under the table to try and control my language, but it didn’t work. 

“I can introduce myself then. I’m Evlynn Flynn, but you can call me Eva. I was adopted from the Underground when I was twelve, but I didn’t know Levi back then. My caretaker owned this café before he died, and then he transferred it to me. Levi and I met almost… Oh, has it been almost 5 years already? We met right after he got promoted to Captain.” I saw the way they squirmed under Levi’s gaze. They had questions they wanted to ask, but they couldn’t while he was there. I’d have to fix that. 

“Lev, can you go upstairs and get me a jacket? I’m getting cold.” He raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s the middle of sp-” I kicked him under the table and his glare increased, but he knew what I wanted him to do. With a groan and a big motion of his chair, he exited through the storage room door. As soon as the wood door stopped moving forward, Oluo jumped forward in his chair.

“How did you marry him?” It was a harsh whisper, but the difference in personality made me laugh. 

“We aren’t married yet. I still have a few months to decide if I hate him or not.” That didn’t make him laugh and he still gave me a confused look. Confused that I was with Levi in the first place. 

“Is he as mean with you as he is with us?” Petra cut him off. 

“Captain Levi isn’t mean! He just expects a lot from us, Oluo.” He rolled his eyes at her.

“You assisted us in three kills this last expedition and he goes,” Oluo dropped his eyebrow and squinted his eyes imitating Levi, “Petra. You should have gotten your own kills.” I had to give it to him, the impression was spot on and when I laughed, they all looked at me in silence. Perhaps the rest of them thought Oluo should’ve been more careful speaking in front of me, but my laugh scared them. 

“No, no. That sounds like him. I can just talk back to him where you all can’t.”

“I can’t imagine anyone talking back to Captain Levi,” Gunther said and Eld nodded in agreement, taking a sip. He didn’t talk much. That’s probably why Levi chose him for second-in-command. 

“There are so many things I could tell you, but I’m sure Levi wouldn’t appreciate it,” I leaned in to whisper to them and all four of them followed, “like how he likes his back rubbed before he goes to bed.” Just then, the stockroom door slammed open, hitting the wall next to it, and there Levi was with a sweater in hand. By how tight he was gripping it, I knew he’d been standing by the door listening for a few minutes, probably hearing everything Oluo said. Oluo had to know it too by Levi’s very specifically placed glare. 

“Thank you, Lev.” I could feel his annoyance at that too, me calling his nickname in front of his subordinates. This was a fun little game I knew I was going to get punished for later, but it was worth it. Levi cleared his throat to get everyones’ attention. 

“I brought you all here today because there should be no secrets between our group if we are to maximize teamwork. Moreover, like I would try to protect your family members, which I’ve met, you are expected to also protect mine. No one is to know of Eva outside of you four and various other Scouts. If I find out a rumor has leaked, I won’t hesitate to come to you four.” He, again, glared right at Oluo. I guess he's the troublemaker of the group.

“If you need a place to hide, you all can come here. I’ll lock him out.” Another harsh squeeze to my thigh. Another kick to the leg.

“Alright, you four may leave. Report to Hange Squad tomorrow for training.” They all stood up in an instant when Levi’s Captain voice turned on and affirmed him with a quick yes, Captain Levi! Before gathering to exit. While Levi stayed seated, I stood up and ushered them out, only to notice Petra and Oluo staring at the pastries leftover in the glass case. They probably thought they would be getting some and staying longer than this ten-minute conversation we had. Levi just wanted to get them out before I could say anything too embarrassing. 

“Would you like something to take with?” Petra was the first to wave her hands. 

“No, no. It’s fine, I was-” 

“Peach or apple? It might be the last fresh fruit I get.” One last time, she looked to Levi, who had his back turned to them drinking his tea, and then she nodded slowly. 

“Peach.” When I got back over to her, the three remaining pastries in the box, she was fumbling with some money notes and I shoved the box in her hands.

“You don’t have to pay. It’s for visiting.” Her eyes widened again. 

“I can’t take this! I have to-” I pushed the box harder into her hands, asserting that I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. 

“Pay me back by keeping Levi safe.” She stood there and stared at me for a few seconds, her eyes twinkling, before bowing sharply. It made me jump with the force she put into it, bending a full ninety degrees.

“Yes, Ma’am!” Behind me, Levi showed the signs of wanting to laugh. His shoulders tensed up and I heard one distinct cough. The others behind her were halfway there too. I just smiled and grabbed her to stand up, waving them off as they got on their horses. Once I got back inside, Levi had let his laugh go. 

“You’re so mean to them. Did you see how tense they were?” He took another sip and I sat back down, turning my chair so I could face him. 

“I’m not mean, I’m assertive. If I’m their Captain, I have to be strict with them.” I rolled my eyes at him and he mimicked me. 

“How old is Petra? They all seem young except Oluo.” Levi looked up at the ceiling to try and think about their ages and then shrugged. 

“I think Petra is twenty. She came to the Scouts the most recent out of all of them. The rest of them, I think, came a year after I did. I don’t pay attention.”

“They’re your team and you know nothing about them?” He scoffed and put the empty teacup down. I replaced it with my own, knowing I wasn’t going to finish. He promptly picked it back up and took a sip. 

“I know their combat and field abilities inside and out. I don’t need to know their birthdays.” I narrowed my eyes at him and smirked, poking his stomach. He swatted at my hand.

“I bet you know all of their birthdays, you just don’t want to seem soft.” I tried to poke him again but this time he grabbed my hand so I couldn’t.

“You’re one to talk. You didn’t know my birthday until last year. Five years you said?” I gasped, putting a hand over my heart. 

“That’s because you refused to tell me! You didn’t give me a gift until this year!” He huffed and grabbed my hand to pull me up onto his lap. This was a sign that he wanted to talk about something semi-serious. 

“What if I marry you for your birthday gift next year?” My eyes narrowed in doubt. 

“Is this one of the things you say you’re going to do and then end up not doing?” He almost choked on his tea. 

“When have I done that? Do you want to get married or not?!” I put my hand on my chin like I was thinking deeply about this. It made me think of the other’s reactions when they found out that we were in fact planning to marry. Well, he did introduce me as his wife. 

“You have to propose to me correctly.” He lifted his head and groaned before pushing me off of him and starting to get on the floor.

“We’ve had this conversation. Here I-” I held my hand up, looking at him down on one knee like I told him it worked. Frankly, it was a dreamy sight, him in his uniform on bended knee in front of me. However, one thing was missing. Maybe two. 

“Ring?” I held out my palm and he left out one big breath before standing back up. 

“You know, I’ve actually looked into it. Why the fuck do you look surprised? Yes. I did, I looked into buying a ring, and guess what? There’s no ring maker in Trost. Not one. That means I have to go all the way to the capital for your request.” I puffed up my cheeks at him, trying to imitate his pout. 

“And is that going to take Humanity’s Strongest another year?” He gained composure and grabbed the teacup again, brushing off his pant legs.

“If you act like this, it’ll take two.”

“I want to get married before I’m thirty.” 

“I’ll do you one better and get married to you on the day you turn thirty.” I glared at him and stood up to collect the teacups on the table that were barely half drunk. I was going to have to fight this man tooth and nail even though he was the one who said yes. 

“You’re turning thirty-two this year, old man. You’re the one who has to rush.” His eyebrow lifted as he got up too to join me by the sink and watch me clean his comrade's dishes. Like he usually does, he just leans on me and puts his arms on either side, hands resting on the edge of the sink. Hands that could help me clean these extra dishes too.

“If I recall, you’re the one who told me to live in the moment. Why rush?” I pointed at the pile of dishes in the rack. 

“You can live in the moment by helping me clean those. Or would you rather mop the floor?” He pushed himself off the sink, rolling his sleeves up to get ready to rinse off the plates and bowls leftover from customers. We just stood there like that, going through our method of rinse to dry, and letting the sun fade behind us. I stole some glances at him, but he was too busy focusing on cleaning the plates that he didn’t notice. I sighed in content and wished he could have stayed another day before he was swept up into meetings. 

“Can I come with you tomorrow to the HQ? We can use Erwin’s orders as an excuse and take my cart?” He just hummed and nodded, finished with the last plate, handing it to me, and turning to lean on the sink like always. It was odd to see the sunshine in Levi’s eyes, reflecting in the silver like a mirror. I didn’t have to turn around to see the sunset, I could just look into his eyes. Moments like this, regardless if it was an hour after he was rude to his team, reminded me just how much warmth he had inside of him. Even now, he was humming, waiting for me to finish. If only I could show Oluo this Levi, then he would understand why’d I want to marry a man like him. 

“Stop staring at me.” I smiled up at him. 

“No.” He clicked his tongue, turning his head to hide the blush I knew was coming to his cheeks. I turned back to finish the last few dishes in the comfortable silence that was created, and Levi just stood there looking out at the only open window again.

“Did you really have to tell them that you rub my back?” I put the last plate back in the cabinet, laughing. 

“What? Humanity’s Strongest doesn’t deserve back rubs?” Turning to face him, I put my hands around his neck and his hands instinctively rested loosely around my waist. He brought one hand up to push a piece of hair that fell out of my bun, back. 

“He does, but not everyone deserves to know that I get them. Like you. Not everyone deserves to get to know you.” 

“Oh, and you do?” We started rocking back and forth to some music playing in both of ours heads. Maybe to the song that he always hummed. Swaying left and right. 

“It’s reparations for the amount of mental trauma you bestow upon me by trying to out me to my comrades.” I paused in the middle, scoffing and letting go of him. He laughed once as I turned away from him, taking off my apron. 

“This was supposed to be a cute moment and you ruined it. You mop the floor.” 

The next day, early in the morning, we traveled back to the HQ, some of Erwin’s orders in hand. It was nice watching the sunrise, both Levi and I in the front bench of the cart, but over that time, I fell asleep again, resting on his shoulder. Only when he moved me off of him, making me wake up, did I know we were near HQ. That way, if anyone was awake, an hour before training, they wouldn’t suspect much but a supply run. Levi would hop off, I would wave him out, and then turn to the Quartermaster stockroom. This was the only person, besides the officers, who I would react with regularly. The only thing was, unlike the officers, the man didn’t know of Levi and me. Today, he wasn’t there either, so I left a note and put the supplies up. Next, was giving Erwin the pastries. 

Being trusted to walk through the Scout HQ alone was something I earned only a few months ago, by Levi’s standard. Still, the only places I walked to were his office, Erwin’s office, or Hange’s office. I would encounter some cadets, and they would bow, believing Erwin’s lie. It actually wasn’t a lie, I was making them bread and pastries, but they all thought I was related to Erwin. He said it was a way for cadets to understand why I would be in the officer’s quarters when other chefs or outside suppliers weren’t allowed. This means I had to be seen talking to Erwin every time I visited, which was starting to be a lot. I didn't mind though, it was nice to talk to him, and you two were creating a friendship slowly. 

“You know, if only I actually looked like you then some cadets wouldn’t question this sibling lie.” I sipped the tea he gave me, making sure if the cadets looked up to Erwin’s window, they would see us standing. 

“Your hair color is the same as my father's and no one knows that my mother also had blue eyes. If they ask you, just say you look like my mother.” I turned, leaning on the glass and looking up at him.

“And when they find out?” He put his coffee down, looking out the window again at the new cadets having sparring practice that Levi watched over. 

“Well, if they find out about your relationship first, it will help us because the new cadets think the officers have a sort of harem. If they find out we aren’t siblings, which will be a bit hard with their limited resources, it is an easy cover-up.” I laughed, covering it with my hand, and glanced over at Levi who was conveniently looking up at us. He couldn’t act out anything or even look at us too long, but I could read his look. He was hungry and annoyed at the number of kids they didn’t receive after the 103rd Cadets were disbanded. 

“A harem? Who’s involved?” He set his coffee down and decided it was time to get back to paperwork, leaving me alone at the window. 

“Most of the time it’s a combination of myself, Captain Levi, maybe Squad Leader Hange, and some other officer.” I laughed out loud this time, still leaving my gaze on the field below. 

“I better watch out or you might steal him from me, Erwin.” He chuckled too, shaking his head. I went away from the window, choosing to sit in a chair across from him. I was told to stay in here until Hange came and got me so nothing else would be suspicious. 

“I don’t think anyone is stealing Captain Levi from you, Eva. If you can get him to marry you willingly, I don’t think he’ll ever leave you.” I rolled my eyes and looked down at the papers he was working at. Hm. Why does the Commander seemingly have fewer papers than a Captain?

“Well, we aren’t married yet. You have probably a few years to take him away if you wanted. I recommend not doing that, however. His paperwork already takes him away from me.” I glared at the stack of papers and he knew then what I was talking about, yet he decided not to comment. Instead, he steered the conversation over that bump effortlessly. 

“I shouldn’t tell you this, but Captain Levi has asked me a few times about marriage… as if I would know anything about it, but I’ve given advice. I believe him to be apprehensive because he’s never been around someone married. Only a few officers in the Scouts are.” I put down my empty cup, pulling my legs up in the chair. 

“Oh, I know. He goes to Hange about “women” things too, but she’s not afraid to tell me all about it. I’m sure she’ll tell me more today. I’m glad you’re helping him though.” 

“I’d rather Levi leave certain things out when he talks to me, but I’m happy to help, Eva. Did you two ever figure out the bondage situ-?” My face went completely red. 

“- I’m going to kill him.” Erwin smiled.

“Please don’t. We need Captain Levi alive.” I glared at his playfulness. Over the past year or so, getting closer to Erwin, I see exactly what Levi means when he talks about him. A hidden devil. 

“Eva!” The door slammed open announcing Hange’s arrival after her squad had complete training. Moblit was trailing behind her too, “You will not believe what I have to tell you today!” 

“I will see you sometime later, Eva.” I stood up, giving a playful glare at Erwin, before walking out with Hange’s arm wrapped in mine. 

“Hi Moblit,” I said to the boy and he just nodded, walking behind us. I guess he wasn’t that much younger, me being older than Hange as well.

“So, I heard you met Levi Squad. How was it? How was it?”

“I barely got to talk to them. It was a five-minute conversation and then he kicked them out.” She turned around, looking at Moblit before we headed into her office. 

“You’re excused, Moblit!” I turned to wave to him, but she shoved me into her office. She turned around, slamming her back on the door, a wicked smile on her face. I would’ve been scared if I didn’t know this was regular Hange behavior. Whenever Levi let her in on a single thing about us, she would corner me to make me elaborate on a single word or sentence of his. Personally, I thought Hange was trying to live vicariously through us, even when Moblit was at her beck and call, but it didn’t bother me much. Levi said he talked to her about it once, but she was the only one who could get away with not listening to him. 

“I have been asked for advice, but I think you better just tell me so it turns out well in the end.” I raised an eyebrow and hopped up to sit on her table. This time, there was a new notebook and a lot more drawings of titans. This notebook looked worn and had a brown cover, unlike Hange’s usual green leather ones. I had the urge to open it while she was debating inside her head how to start this conversation. 

“Is this one thing I can’t tell Levi you’ve talked to me about?” She snapped her finger, pointing at me and nodding once. 

“Exactly!” She walked closer and leaned in like she was telling a secret in a room full of people, “He asked me what type of rings girls like!” I laughed out loud, shocking Hange when I had to hold my stomach too. Levi was still afraid to ask me these things and I wondered who he was going to for advice because it was pretty sound. Any gift he’d get me, minus the rose balm, was something that I liked and I knew he didn’t have any idea what was likable about it. Dresses and hair clips were not Captain Levi’s specialty. 

“Specifically you and no one else? Will I have three or four people asking me this same question?” She joined me on the table, moving to grab a pencil and a pad of paper. 

“Erwin and I this morning at our brief. The one where nothing gets done. He didn’t talk the whole time and when he did he asked that of all things. Must’ve been on his mind.” She nudged me, handing me the pencil to draw. Honestly, I’d never put thought to it, even when I’d look at Analee’s in awe as a little girl. Her's was too thick. Too gold. Too complicated. I needed to use my hands a lot at the bakery too, so it had to be something I could take on and off. And something I wouldn’t feel bad getting dirty. 

“I don’t have to draw it. Just a simple silver circle.” She looked at me, blinking twice, before grabbing the pencil from me. 

“Well that isn’t what I thought you would say. What about something like this?” She lifted the pad, showing me something she’d draw up with three stones. No. 

“I don’t want stones.” Her mouth fell open. 

“You have a man who probably hordes money stacks taller than him and you don’t want him to buy you something expensive? What about just one stone?” She quickly erased the two on the side and I shook my head. Levi did, seemingly, have lots of money to spend since he just put away his Military notes and didn’t spend it, but I didn’t care about that. 

“Receiving something expensive just because it’s expensive isn’t genuine. I just want something simple, Han. A silver ring. Maybe a bit thinner than normal.”

“Eva,” she put the pad down on the table, turning to grab my hands, “He’s not going to believe me if I tell him that.” 

“But that’s what I want, Hange. Tell him that I want him to have one too.” She groaned and let go of my hands, jumping off of the table to go to her desk. 

“He’s going to be annoyed with me again! He thinks you want some big, complicated affair and even I told him that you don’t expect that of him.” I turned to her, glancing again at the worn notebook. Maybe I’d ask her to look at it. 

“He said I wanted something big? Does he know that between the two of us there are exactly five family members and a handful of Scouts? Besides, I know he won’t agree to a wedding.” She held her hand up, shaking both it and her head. 

“I’m not too sure about that one. It seems he’s willing to do anything you want on this topic. He’s just mentally preparing himself.” I snorted, thinking about how long he’s made me wait since he first proposed the idea. 

“He has to ask me first before I can think about a wedding or a get-together. I also have to tell those same five family members that this is even happening. Dragging Jonas or even Ben to a wedding is hard to begin with, but a wedding they probably oppose? Not going to happen. I just told him we can go to the city center and have it done there. I’m content with that.” In a huff, she plopped down in her office chair, shaking her head and not understanding why someone would make this such a simple process. While Hange said she’d never get married, she always thought about the partying aspect of it. She also said that if she had the chance, she’d like to try to drink Levi under the table and a wedding was the perfect place for that. I was probably ruining her dreams as we speak. 

“So silver, thin ring. Easy to find, not easy to convince him that’s what you want.” I frowned and my hands went out to my sides. 

“I don’t understand why it’s so hard? It’s not like I’m spending money left and right!” The look in her eyes flattened, and she followed with a deadpan. 

“You spent almost five hundred notes on a new coffee machine because it was in a peach color.” I hopped of the table in my defense, but the door opened before I was able to. 

“What are you two yelling about in here?” I stood up straight, turning to the man of the hour, and just shook my head. 

“Just bad things about you.” He rolled his eyes at my smile, a faint one on his lips, before grabbing my hand and turning back to the door. 

“Bye, Hange!” I waved, and Levi just grunted.

“Do you even have conversations with her or does she just talk at you?” It was my turn to roll my eyes as I closed the door of his office behind me, following him to his desk. When he sat down, ready to start some paperwork, I sat the other way on his lap, chest to chest. This was our ritual, having found it out late one night when Levi’s heart couldn’t be calmed down from his nightmare. When he was stressed, this would calm him down easily, having my hands work out knots in his back and him able to bury his face in my hair to ground him. It was also just comfortable. Therefore, every time he would do paperwork, an always stressful situation, he would have me sit like that. Now, it was just muscle memory. 

“Conversations. You just don’t talk to anyone.” I lifted my hands to between his shoulder blades where he would always get knots. He sighed into my hair, scribbling something down on the paper in front of him. 

“I’m sorry to tell you this, but I just signed off on an expedition that falls a few days before your birthday.” I pulled back, looking him in the eyes and hoping my pout would turn around a military decision. Obviously it didn’t work, but he raised one hand to pat my head. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll still marry you when we get back. I’m a man of my word.” 

“Mhm, sure.” He scoffed and pushed my head back to where it was playfully. I complied, but this time I punished him but not massaging his back. 

“Your little kids graduate that day. Didn’t you say they’d come visit you or something?” I subconsciously traced his back, pulling myself closer to feel his heat. 

“The last letter I received from them was last year. In it he said they graduated at Trost, so once they are free, they can come to the cafe and wait for you all to get back from your expedition before joining the Scouts officially. I’ve heard they all three are doing pretty good though. Survived that winter hike you were talking about.” He just nodded, now paying more attention to his paperwork. 

“You said there were two boys and a girl? Sure they’re joining the Scouts if they’re doing well? Top ten usually go to MPs.” 

I shook my head, “No, Eren was quite serious about the Scouts. I don’t know the other two though. You’re assured one.” He huffed once in laughter. 

“Great.” 

“His resolve seems solid too.”

“Mhm.” I shifted my eyes to see how concentrated he was on his paperwork. When he had the tip of his tongue out, that’s when you knew he wasn’t going to pay attention to anything else. 

“Who knows if he’s a good fighter though?” 

“Yeah.”

“Maybe they’ll all go to the Garrison if they can’t fight.” 

“Yes.” 

“When are you going to the capital to get me a ring?” 

“Tomorrow.” I pulled away from him, trying to find his eyes, but he lowered his head, noting the mistake he just made. 

“Tomorrow?” I poked at him, my smile going from ear to ear. I could even see a little blush that painted his cheeks. 

“If you keep bothering me, it will be never.”

-

Trost was bustling that day, and rightfully so. I was three days away from finally being married, the two, slim silver bands hanging off a small chain around my neck, and the new cadets had gathered on top of the walls. There were even more people in the café than there had been these last few months. It was, honestly, a perfect day, and I hoped that this atmosphere would last for a while. The famine had brought down morale and business, so much so, that it was getting to the point where the café would only be open three times a week, and even then I would sit there in an empty space for hours with Elias doing his school work. Today, however, June and Elias were talking to their friends who had shown up to buy a slice of pie with their pocket change. It was fun to see kids be kids again, and I hoped that I could introduce June and Elias to the other three, seeing they were all close in age. June and Armin, they would like each other seeing they were both bookworms. Eren and Elias, well, they could gush more about the Scouts together, even when Eren is almost considered a Scouts. The possibilities were making me happy, the prospect of the next three days was making me happy, and I had gotten word that the Scouts would be back in the early morning unlike before. The day of my birthday. It really was an unusual day in Trost. 

It was warm too. Looking back on it now, I remember it being unusually warm for spring. So warm that I had to go and open the front windows of the café, leaning over the table that June and Elias sat at. I took a moment to marvel at the walls too, noticing the increase in people, and trying, even if it was too far anyways, to spot one of the three. Even if you were closer to the outer wall than the inner, they looked like ants all the way on the top. I closed my eyes, feeling the small amount of breeze run through my hair. It was a moment of peace.

And one I took for granted. 

There was a sound, larger than thunder, and it flashed. When I opened my eyes, coupled with the screams, there it stood. I didn’t even have time for fear to well in my eyes when a blast of air sent me flying into the edge of the window. I let out a gasp as my back slammed into the edge, knocking the wind out of me. It shattered the screens I had just opened too. There were screams all over the place and I didn’t want to open my eyes. I didn’t want it to be true. No. No. No. Why now? Why when all the Scouts were gone? It had been so long since I’d thought about the possibility of this happening, and now, when I opened my eyes again, shaking in fear, the Colossal Titan looked back. Like everyone else around me, I let out a piercing scream.

xx Ah yes, we’re finally here. Attack on Titan. No more sweet and cute moments :) maybe some,,,,,,

Chapter Nineteen→ 

Chapter Masterlist 

[witchygirl99]

your kagome/inuyasha fics are so wonderful! have you considered ever doing any miroku/sango ones? you'd do a great job characterizing them

I’m not going to lie, this is highly convenient. I could not have envisioned a better timed, nor better phrased ask.

PRESENTING:

A BIRTHDAY TEASER FOR @sapphirestarxx!!! 

Happiest of birthdays, darling. I am so, so sorry that I couldn’t finish this for today, I really tried! But this fic kind of exploded in the sense that what should have been like 10 scenes is now well over forty. So I need a bit more time. FORGIVE ME.

But please have this snippet for now and know that it is coming exceptionally soon, I promise you. This is possibly the most Canadian thing I’ve ever written. And before some of you go pffftttt ice dancing, may I present you with these:

So yes. Know that in this fic, Miroku is 100% horny on main and this is only rivaled by, you guessed it, the yearning. If interested, read on below.

The thing was–

The thing was that Miroku Tsujitani was very good at his job.

He’d been skating since he was ten, since his newfound guardian had absolutely no idea what to do with him and Miroku desperately needed some sort of distraction after the death of his father. There were plenty of other sporting opportunities, other hobbies, but Mushin didn’t know much outside of his tiny little town, and that tiny little town basically had one recreation centre with skating activities throughout the entire winter season.

It was good though. Miroku liked challenges enough that skating was something to dig into, and as it turned out, he was pretty good at it. Decent enough that the coach there, an older lady by the name of Kaede, thought it would be hilarious to partner him up with one of the girls for a duet.

Her name was Sango Kuwashima and she was tiny and fierce like a baby lion. She was quick to smile, but even quicker to punch, if Miroku did anything dumb. It was…revolutionary, considering all of his other friends had been treating him like he was about to break at any second. And at the time, maybe he was. Maybe he was only one good ribbing away from losing it completely.

But Sango didn’t seem to care, mainly because she didn’t know. And that made things infinitely better. Miroku started to prefer going to the rink more and more, spending time on the ice with the brisk air and Sango’s challenging gaze upon him. She was only a year younger but far more skilled. He had to work twice as hard to keep up.

And it paid off.

Like, it actually paid off.

Fast forward to twelve years later and Miroku was still ice dancing, still partnered with one Sango Kuwashima, and the two of them were sitting in the Kiss and Cry section at the 2018 Olympics, watching their scores appear and knowing, deep in their bones, that it wouldn’t be enough. There were six other performances. The chances of maintaining even a bronze would be nigh impossible. It was their debut Olympic year, and despite placing fourth and succeeding expectations, it was a disappointment all the same. It was heart-wrenching. After twelve years of blood, sweat and tears, of practicing for ten to thirteen hours a day, nearly every day, it was—

Well. He’d leave it at heart-wrenching.

Miroku still remembered the look in Sango’s brown eyes, haunted by their mistakes as she tried to breathe out the instant, negative reactions that always cluttered her brain. It was then, tucked away behind a curtain right before they’d be forced to speak with media that Miroku cupped her face, stared her dead in the eyes, and made a vow.

Next time, he had told her. Next time, it’ll be gold. Miroku had faith: in them, in their dedication, their skill, and their chemistry.

Because here was the thing:

What most people tended to forget was that part of their job was telling a story. Ice dancing was no different than shaking it on a stage, just with different shoes and a chillier atmosphere. They were two dancers in sync to a relentless beat and a tale begging to be told.

And yes, many of those stories were intimate. Intimate in the way of lovers, most commonly, but also intimate in friendship, in hatred, in wickedness and euphoria and every emotion in between. They were ice dancing partners: whatever she did, Miroku would be there, a personal consequence to the undeniable catalyst that was Sango Kuwashima. He would always be her counterbalance, her rock. He would be there to lift her, throw her, catch her, hold her. Miroku and Sango had grown up together, had been there for firsts and seconds and everything that lay after. They had cuddled in the backseat of minivans as Sango’s father took them to practice at six in the morning. They had cried together after losing their first major competition, hands clenched tightly together.

They displayed a form of intimacy in nearly every avenue of their lives together, intimacy built on trust, on ambition, on a partnership they had dedicated themselves to since they were fourteen.

So Miroku understood, really, when people looked at them and thought: oh, you must be together. Together-together. Not just…together. Romantic versus intimate, though very few knew the difference. Again, Miroku understood. The way he danced with Sango, the way he touched her— It wasn’t like regular people did that. They were trained to look at each other at all times, to maintain eye contact, to check-in constantly with the other. It was for their partnership, which meant it was for work. They were selling a story and they were so good at it that nearly everyone was a buyer.

Still, even when they tried to explain their near-perpetual singledom, other people didn’t get it. It’s only a matter of time, they said. Why haven’t you both just confessed, others demanded.

No, Sango would tell them, firm. No, it’s not like that, not between us.

And if Miroku maybe didn’t answer, or stared a little too long, or held on a little too tight, well…

Like he said: Miroku was very good at his job.