#she decides this in advance before i even confronted her about her silence

[bxdtime-ceai]

?

[pandorasprongs]

CHAPTER THREE | so inviting, i almost jump in.

'it's nice to have a friend' masterlist + playlist | previous chapter

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 3.6k

SUMMARY: jamie and reader go out for drinks and meet a familiar face that brings up a painful memory for both of them.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: i'd like to apologize in advance for this one because the end is just 100% angst so brace yourselves sorry :')

It was like deja vu. Over the past weeks, you and Jamie started hanging out on a regular basis. Late nights and weekends were often spent eating pizza, watching old movies, and searching for old schoolmates online. He even helped you re-organize your room when he arrived during one of your cleaning days. You uncovered a box of old toy rings that Jamie gave you every birthday of yours for five years.

Initially, Jamie would message you if he was on the way. But the more he came over, it went back to your usual habits of him just showing up at your door at random hours of the day. When you weren't home, he'd message that he dropped by and then you'd call him when you got back. He'd race over to watch another one of your favorite childhood movies.

You hadn't realized how much you missed it all till you started spending time with Jamie again. You missed it so much that you may have neglected to mention to Liv how often you were with him. Despite the mini-sermon she gave you weeks ago about confronting Jamie, you hadn't actually made any moves to do it. All of this started to feel normal, regular, and the thought of disturbing that scared you too much. Even if there were times where you were annoyed at how casual he talked about the past few years of radio silence from him. Or how he'd mention his Man City teammates and you felt like tensing up every time.

There was no need to bring it up anymore, something you repeated to yourself. Plus, you were noticing that Jamie was now closer to your childhood best friend than the one who broke your heart. But still, you were cautious around the footballers Jamie associated with. Even when the season started again and Jamie would offer to tour you around the clubhouse or reserve tickets for the games, you'd always politely decline. You're sure the AFC Richmond players aren't terrible people given how highly Jamie would talk about them, but better to be safe than sorry.

Besides, with his now swamped schedule, you hadn’t seen Jamie recently. The most you did was when he’d send messages before training or games to which you’d answer with a “Good luck!” It was weird in the beginning, given that when he was at Man City, Jamie didn’t do any of that, but you hoped that this meant he wouldn’t leave again.

The next time you did was the night after one of their games, which continued their winning streak, thanks to Zava. While you knew Richmond fans — well, Liv and Frankie — were absolutely ecstatic to have him, Jamie despised the guy. You stopped yourself from pointing out the hypocrisy of him hating the player for being self-centered and thinking highly of himself.

You guess it’s working though because now you’re watching Richmond secure their fifth win in a row with your neighbor’s kid, Ronnie. When her mom found out you were a Science professor, she practically begged you to tutor her kid (and occasionally babysit). Ronnie was in primary school, so the lessons were pretty simple and you’ve been doing sessions every week to help her out. You always rewarded her afterward with whatever she wanted to watch on your TV that was age-appropriate, of course. This time, — after running back to their flat to get her Obisanya shirt, — she decided on watching the game. 

“Zava’s incredible,” she murmured next to you, staring at the screen as if in a trance. You couldn’t help but chuckle at the reaction. The game was finished and so the channel was just playing match highlights, which for Richmond, were mostly their current star player. Sometimes, you’d spot Jamie in the background and even though the rest of the team was cheering along, he was having a hard time masking his resentment.

When you were finally able to drag her away from the TV, you heated up two plates of lasagna. Ronnie’s mom still hadn’t knocked on your door and you didn’t want to leave her alone in your flat, so she was having dinner with you tonight. For the most part, it was just like eating with Jamie. She was non-stop talking about the match which turned to talking about her favorite players and future games. It reminded you of Jamie as a kid, who’d go on and on about the exact same things.

As you’re washing dishes and Ronnie’s answering some extra worksheets, — she asked for them! — you hear the doorbell ring. You go over and find Jamie standing at the door, much to your surprise.

“Hey! Didn’t know you were coming over,” you say, but after noticing his exasperated expression, you tilt your head. “I know you don’t like a certain teammate, but I thought you’d at least be happy about the win.”

Jamie sighs. “I know." He gives you a weak smile, and you have to admit that even that simple act made your heart skip. “Is that lasagna?”

Jamie enters the room without warning and as soon as he does, your eyes widened remembering who else was there. You turn to the dining room table at the same time as Jamie and together, watch a 9-year-old stare in awe.

“Oh my God,” she let out. “That’s Jamie Tartt!” She walks over to you, leaving behind the worksheets. 

You lean over and whisper to Jamie, “Forgot to mention I’m watching my neighbor’s kid.”

But Jamie’s already jumped into celebrity mode. He crouches down and confirms, “That’s me.” He glances at her oversized jersey before asking, “You a fan of Richmond?”

Ronnie nods her head enthusiastically. “I’m Ronnie! Congrats on winning!”

Jamie chuckles, and thanks her. “Nice to meet you, Ronnie.”

You hear someone approach the door and clear their throat and you turn to find Ronnie’s mom looking curiously at you. You turn back to Ronnie — who has now launched into a full monologue about how much she loves the team — and exclaim, “Look who else is here! I think it’s time to head back to your flat, Neens.”

She pouts at that statement, but one look from her mom and she was waving goodbye to the player. You quickly collect all of her stuff scattered around the place and hand it to her mom, who seems too exhausted from her shift to even notice the other person in the room.

Once you close the door, you lean on it and sigh in relief. “Sorry about that. I sometimes watch her after tutoring if her mom isn’t back, yet.”

Jamie shakes his head. “Nah, not a problem. I love meeting fans. Real ego boost.” 

Yet another countless eye roll. “Calm down. You’re not even her third favorite player.”

Jamie scoffs, almost offended but after remembering the lasagna, he heads to the kitchen for a plate of his own. You walk beside him and after tripping over a loose marker Ronnie left, you fall forward. Jamie's reflexes kick in and he catches you quickly and you grab hold of his — really broad, you notice — shoulders to steady yourself.

Now you're stuck in a position that happens in almost every 90s rom-com you've watched: your feet diagonally off the ground with Jamie's hands gripping tightly at your waist. Both of you are too much in shock to move and simply look at each other with wide eyes. Your faces were close, too close to be platonic if it was intentional. So much so that if you leaned forward, just a little bit…

You snap out of the trance and move to stand straight up as Jamie lets go of you. You head over to the sink and quietly curse at yourself and that stupid blue marker. Things haven't been weird between you and Jamie for ages. And you weren't going to let the possible resurfacing of your feelings ruin that. Not again. Plus, if you were already burying your old feelings of resentment, why not add onto it too?

You go back to washing dishes when Jamie asks you a question. "Are you doing anything Saturday night?"

Given what just happened, your mind wanders off in the romantic direction before you shake your head. Instead, you respond, "I think you know better than anyone that I never do anything Saturday night." You reply as you wipe your hands. "Why?"

"Just wondering if you want to get a drink with me. Well, you get a drink and I get water 'cause fucking Roy’s banned me from alcohol till the season’s over. I just really need a night out. Fucking Zava, I swear." Forget the fact that he was technically at a night out with his teammates earlier; he more of just wanted a night out with someone who isn't so related to his football life. Or, he just really wants a night out with you.

You snort at that last comment but oblige anyway, ignoring the feeling of disappointment.

Jamie and you had only ever hung out together in the comfort of your own home. You'd just assumed that it was to avoid any unwanted press and since the bar he mentioned was one of those members-only pubs, it makes sense that the first time the two of you hung out publicly was there. But seeing as it was a pub, it's not going to be a romantic not-a-date date that you'll be going on.

Though, you soon realized how different it was from your usual places. Everyone there was dressed up so formally and you were glad that you picked the black trousers that you usually only wear to work over your everyday jeans that had paint stains at the bottom of them. Maybe you had worn it in case Jamie at the last minute decided to take a detour to a nice restaurant, but you were relieved either way.

The two of you ended up just sitting in the bar while Jamie complained about his most recent Twitter feud. Christ, you pray for Keeley Jones for having to deal with all his PR nonsense. When he starts shit-talking Roy for getting him up at 4 am for training, — “I thought he was joking!” — you end up tuning out of the conversation knowing how long the rant was going to be.

Your eyes drift off behind Jamie when you notice a familiar face. Suddenly, it felt like the walls were closing in on you. You could feel your breathing hitch and your fingers were scratching the inside of your palm. Before you could even consider doing anything, he reached you.

"Jamie Tartt!" The footballer's train of thought is broken and he turns to his former teammate to greet him. "Haven't seen you since you went off to be a reality star!"

Jamie simply rolls his eyes at the comment. "Well George, I haven't seen you since they forced you out of Man City!"

"They couldn't afford me anymore," He shrugs before his eyes land on yours. You shift in your seat and you can see the exact moment when Jamie notices how uneasy you've become. "And who's this with you?"

He doesn't remember you. And why would he? To him, you were just another crazed fan at a pub, one of many he's encountered over the years. You doubt that the memory of that night stuck with him the way it did to you.

"This is (Y/N), an old friend of mine," Jamie adds carefully and you build up enough courage to shake his former teammates' hand, but not enough to stay in this conversation.

"I'll let you two catch up while I get another drink." You explain, in an obviously fake cheery voice, but only Jamie spots it. He reaches out for your hand on the table to comfort you, but you swipe it away before he can.

You head off to the other side of the bar to order another beer, but you can't stop your eyes from shifting over to the pair of them again. Jamie looked so comfortable laughing and talking to George. You scoff at the sight. How could he act so chummy with that guy when he was the driving force for why the two of you ended on shitty terms in the first place?

Jamie's told you all about how he's been working on himself and trying to become a better person, but a part of you still feared that one interaction with that guy would unravel everything. He was an absolute prick; the number of fights and scandals Jamie had been in for his entire career was nothing compared to the amount George had in his first five years.

You wanted to trust Jamie, but he was always quick to change who he was when he was around certain people. You just hoped he had grown enough to not let his Man City "mentor" — too many of George’s scandal photos had a 19 to 22-year-old Jamie Tartt in the background — bring back the side of him he's tried so hard to erase.

You don't know how long they were talking, but by the time they moved over to the pool table, your vision was already starting to blur. The drinks just kept coming. Flashbacks from that night started to come in too: the spotting Jamie in the crowd, the confrontation, the holding back of tears, and the walk-out. You couldn't look over at the pair of them without an intense pain appearing in your chest.

Jamie looked back to where you were supposed to be seated and found you spacing out into a corner. It was the same dreamy and tired look you had the first time you tested your alcohol limit when your parents were out of town. Immediately, he abandoned the game of pool and rushed over to you.

"Maybe that's enough alcohol for tonight." Someone pulls the Cosmopolitan from your grasp and you squint your eyes to identify them as Jamie.

"Ha, that's rich coming from you." You can't remember how many times you've had to help Jamie sneak up the stairs and into his bedroom after a night out. "Aren't you still busy hanging out with that Man City prick?" Lack of tactfulness is the most obvious sign you'd drank too much.

"Woo, a little harsh there," You hear George come up to the two of you. You rush — well, more of stumble — forward to confront him, but Jamie holds you back. The retired footballer points out, "She's a feisty one."

"Let's bring you back to your flat, yeah?" Jamie offers softly, but you remove yourself from his arms and shake your head.

"I am perfectly capable of getting home by myself." You grab your clutch from the table. "Don't want to ruin another night for you guys, right?"

A pang of guilt visibly hits Jamie, but George is just left confused. You start to walk towards the exit and get to the door till you feel someone gently take hold of your left arm.

"You can't even see your phone clearly to book a taxi. I'll drive you home." Jamie's voice is low and whatever common sense you have left takes him up on your offer. He turns his head to say goodbye to George, but all the former footballer does is shout, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" following by a boastful laugh.

You clench your clutch at the comment, but Jamie brings you out the door before you can turn back and do something that'll land you on the front page of the Sun the next morning.

When you get to Jamie's car, he carefully helps you into the passenger's seat and puts on your seatbelt before getting into the car himself. Once the car starts, you take the chance to close your eyes in an attempt to remedy the throbbing headache you feel is already coming on.

You don't know how long you stay like that, but when you open your eyes, you're already at your building. You slowly get out of the car and once you make it to the sidewalk, Jamie asks, "Can’t believe you just downed a dozen drinks like a recent divorcee."

"I wonder why," You scoff and side-eyed him, unwilling to move your head from looking forward. You see the footballer's expression drop and suddenly you understand what Liv was going on about. You finally break. "How could you still be so friendly with him, Jamie! He’s an absolute arse and everyone in England knows it!"

"He was my teammate! And still a major name in football, even after retirement and all the shit he’s done. I didn't want to risk anything!" Maybe if you were sober, you'd accept that reason. There were countless alumni, tenured professors, and chairmen that you had to suck up to just to keep your job. But were drunk people ever known to be rational?

"Is that why you let him talk to me like that? Back in the pub?"

"You two barely spoke a word to each other," Jamie points out but you shake your head furiously.

"I mean back in Cardiff!" You exclaimed loudly and you knew for a fact that at least one of your neighbors had heard your outburst. But you didn't really care.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You went to walk up the stairs, expecting it to be the end of it. If Jamie didn't have anything to say, then what was the point? He'd let you walk away and tomorrow morning, you'd be back to normal and you can just pretend this night didn't happen. You've done it before.

"You said you didn't want to talk about that." Jamie finally speaks up.

"I thought I didn't," you admit, your voice levels lower than before. You continue walking when you feel a presence following suit. You stayed in that silence till you made it back to your flat. It's a miracle you didn't tip over on the way in, but spite was enough to power you through.

Jamie closed the door behind him and sighed, "I couldn't just ignore him at the bar."

Suddenly, any fear of confrontation seemed to disappear. Your anger resurfaced and you spit out, "You seemed just fine ignoring me for seven years." You turn to face him and for a second, the pitiful look in his eyes almost made you back off. Almost. "Or is abandoning your best friend easier when she's not some big-shot footballer?"

"I know you're mad," Jamie starts and you angrily run your hands through your hair.

"Yes, I'm mad, Jamie!" You shout and you watch him take a step back, but you don't falter. "I'm mad at you! Seeing George tonight just reminded me of it and how a part of me still fucking hates you for taking their side."

"I've been trying to apologize—"

"I know, Jamie, but I'm still pissed at you, okay? For leaving me like that! And for letting me leave that night! I mean, how could you? Just throw away a decade of friendship for some football assholes that threw you away the second they could." Everyone knew how Jamie's career with Man City ended and it was surely a sore spot for the player, but at that moment, you didn't care.

Before Jamie can even defend himself, you start again. "I... fuck Jamie, I loved you. You were my best friend. I would've spent every waking hour with you if I could've. But you couldn't care less about me, right? The moment someone more famous than me believed in you the same way I always did. You just stopped answering my calls, and my texts, and even my parents when they asked you for me! Worst of all, you didn't give me a single reason why!

"Honestly, I would've been fine if you did stop being friends with me, as long as you gave me an explanation. Even if it was for some stupid reason that I wouldn't understand or hate you for, because at least I could've moved on! Instead, I spent years wondering where it all went wrong. If I could've done something, anything to change what happened." You start to feel the strain on your throat and know for a fact that at least one of your neighbors would be eavesdropping, but you were finally letting it out.

Your voice comes out hoarse, "And then the next time I did see you, in that pub, you were a whole new person. A complete and utter prick, Jamie. After that night, I prayed that you'd come to your senses. Do the decent thing and apologize, even if it was just a fucking text or something. But no, you kept ignoring me and pretending I didn't even exist. So I forced myself to stop thinking about you. To stop caring about you calling me. To stop dreaming about you telling me you fucked up and that you were sorry. So I could move on with my life."

You look away from Jamie and around the living room in an attempt to stop the tears from flowing down. You were unsuccessful. "And after years, I did move on. I went to London, got a job, and stayed as far away as I could from football. From you. But God, you always find a way back to me, huh?

"It just had to be you who found me in Nelson Road that night. It had to be you who picked me up, who drove me home, and reminded me how happy I was when we were kids. So much so that I thought I'd be fine without an apology! As long as I had you back in my life, it'd be fine. But as you can tell now, it's not." The amount of alcohol in your system was wearing you down and you were starting to get tired.

You start to lose your balance when Jamie's there to catch you, but you harshly push him off you. He doesn't seem affected by your strength, but even then, he moves back.

  "Just get out, Jamie." is all you manage to say this time and after hesitating for a moment, he does. Now you're left alone again, only with your thoughts and the realization that any chance of bringing back what you had with Jamie was gone.

A/N: and that's that! i hope this teases the interlude nicely cause i'm sick of being so vague about that night since that's up next and trust me, it gets worse in that one... anyway i hope you all enjoyed this one!

TAGLIST: @moonflowersandsparkles @faith-alons26 @rexorangecouny @aiyaiy @thegirlthatwantedtowrite @giggling-sewer-ginger @katdahlali @higherthanheroes @guccilongboard @alipap3 @rockchickrebel @ellietartt @shineforever19 @skewedcherries @jamirtarttdodo @meg-ro @deepdarkvelvet @scaramou @rae4725 @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo (couldn't tag you for some reason?)

[thirstyforlulu]

Can I please have either headcanons or scenario of how Luke Valentine would comfort/reassure his female human s/o whose always been a bit chubby but has started slimming down a bit and she's worried that her large breasts are getting too small and he might not find her attractive anymore? Interpret it however you will hun; thank you in advance!

He was not expecting this at all

Your weight doesn’t matter to him, what matters is that you are happy

He was happy with the size you were when you started dating, but when you admitted to him that you wanted to lose weight then that’s what he wanted

When you started slimming down, he praised your progress, thinking that his support would make you happy, but he noticed the way you looked at yourself in the mirror

Finally, he decided to confront you about it, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you looked in the mirror

“Why do you look so unhappy my love? Isn’t this what you wanted?” He asked, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder

You jumped a little, then looked away, unsure what to say

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me yet.”

His kind words made your heart ache, and you realized you needed to tell him the truth

“Fine, but please don’t judge me.”

“I could never my love.”

You smiled at him before continuing

“It’s just, since I’ve been losing weight, everything’s been getting smaller. I’m worried that, you won’t like me as much with a smaller chest, that they won’t be enough for you.”

It felt good to finally get it all out, but you were still nervous about his reaction

After a moment of silence, he chuckled

“Really? That’s what’s been bothering you? My darling, my love for you is beyond skin deep. I adore you, everything about you makes me heart soar, and I don’t care what your body looks like. Well, I love your body, but only because you’re in it.”

He placed another kiss on your bare shoulder, squeezing you tighter

“D-Do you mean that?” You asked, voice cracking as happy tears welled in your eyes

“Of course I do. I want you to be happy and as long as you live and breathe, I will adore the body you inhabit,” He said, kissing your tears away

You were so overwhelmed that you continued to cry, but he stayed and kissed you over and over until the tears stopped flowing

He means every word that he says, even if you were mysteriously turned into a blob, he would do his best to adore you

[seherie]

pierce my heart (1.5)

(i)

That night, the city of Delhi, in the aftermath of another summer day, was a bowl of silence. Ram folds back the cuffs of his ivory shirt, a hum at the back of his throat as he aimlessly drifts through the streets. 'Like a ghost,' he could imagine Akhtar's remark upon seeing his closest friend out loose on the streets while everyone else compensated for the drowsiness of the days.

He reaches the outskirts of the city, a place he had been frequenting recently in hopes of seeing her again. Aadhira.

There was a musical quality to the syllables of her name, the way they rose and drew back down in a sweeping motion. Especially so when she was the one saying it. 

He had seen her a couple of times since their first collision a month ago. It felt as though she was suddenly everywhere. He saw her once in the folds of the crowd, wearing a red salwar that reminded him of an artery in full bloom against a wall of white. The second time was in the forest, her back poised and arched as she raised her bow to shoot at a target. He had silently observed her from atop his horse but couldn't seem to muster the courage to approach her.

Now, under the trappings of the moonlight, he haunts her usual hunting ground with the naïve hope that he would somehow come across her again. Ram wasn't oblivious. He was aware that what he felt for Aadhira was a complicated game of emotions that he wasn't even sure she reciprocated. And, in the off-chance that she did, any future with her would only serve to distract from his chosen path. The one he'd promised his father, a weapon in each man's hand.

Nevertheless, there was an intangible gravity to her, an attachment he couldn't seem to break, didn't want to either. And in these few moments of suspended reality, he found his hope rewarded, for he heard the familiar rustle of her bow and arrow.

"Miss Arjuna, is that you?" he calls out teasingly, referring to the words she'd first told him. (They call me Arjun's daughter, you know?)

"Ram?" her voice calls out, infinitely familiar yet unfamiliar, and he follows its sound to a clearing down south. 

His breath is momentarily stolen from him when he finally faces Aadhira, for the archer was not dressed in her usual scarlet red but rather in an ivory white that looked like a portion of the moon was trapped in its folds. Her salwar wasn't designed for the strenuous activity of archery either. It was a delicate fabric that billowed down her body as though poetry in motion.

"What are you doing out here so late at night? These are dangerous times, dear sir, and here you are, wandering about unarmed," the amused smile at her lips was warm, and she appeared to be pleasantly surprised by his intrusion.

"I couldn't sleep, so I decided to come out here in hopes that you'd at least shoot me this time, but alas, you have failed me once again," he sighs dramatically, coming to stand next to her. She laughs at that, lightly shoving his shoulder, though she is gentle in making sure not to hurt him.

"You really do have a death wish, don’t you?" she scoffs with disbelief, rolling her eyes at the charming grin he offers her.

"With your aim? I feel like the world's safest man," he teases, tapping his chest twice before taking out one of her arrows from the quiver fastened around her torso.

He makes it a point to take it out in close proximity to her face, the metal tip dangerously close to her skin, and she confronts his advance with a challenge in her eyes as though daring him to try. Though both of them knew Ram could never bring himself to hurt her, they found it amusing to test each other's limits.

Twisting the arrow in his hand, he lifts it to the moonlight, inspecting it carefully. She finds herself admiring the silver glow of his golden skin beneath the moonlight.

Aadhira's eyes carefully follow his movements as he reaches for the bow in her hands, fingertips brushing against her skin before retracting her prized possession. 

"Mind if I give it a try?" he asks, eyes pointing to the target she had been shooting. It was a good hundred meters away, yet the archer had managed to shoot perfect arrows into its scarlet center.

"Be my guest," she shrugs, and with a dramatic flourish of her palm, she invites him to shoot.

She watches with bated breath as he positions himself, his back becoming steel while his eyes trained upon the target. 

"What do I get if I manage to shoot?" he doesn't look away from the target, but he could picture the glint of excitement in her eyes and the lone dimple on her cheek. 

"That's a big if," she challenged, eyebrow raised.

"Just answer, Aadhira. What will you give me?"

She laughs at that, an endearing musical sound, before shrugging, "I don’t know, what would you like?”

“That’s something you’ll have to tell me.”

“Fine, you shoot that target, and I'll give you whatever you like."

"That's all I needed to hear," he grins before instantly letting go of the arrow.

The whizzing sound, once again like lightning muffled by clouds, resonates in the few feet of space between them before striking the scarlet eye of the target.

Aadhira's eyes widen at that while Ram punches the air in silent celebration, glancing at her sideways with an arrogant smirk.

"Looks like you're not the only ace archer here, huh?" he challenges, and her eyes narrow at his words.

"Beginner's luck," she scoffs, unaware of his history with targets and turns away, but he's just as quick to wrap his fingers around her wrist (her pulse now thrumming against his) to pull her back.

"You promised, Arjuna," he reminds her while her eyes fixed on their intertwined hands before finally looking up at him. Any closer, and their breaths would have been one.

"Fine," she huffs, "What do you want?"

He steps back, suddenly aware of their proximity and studies her face for a moment. An action that both embarassed and pleased her.

"Hmm, I'll tell you that some other day," he eventually says, a delighted grin at his lips as he gently placed the bow back in her hands, "Right now, I should probably head back home."

"What? How is that fair-"

"Goodnight, Arjuna!" he yells before she could say anything else, his face disappearing in the foliage, and the archer is left alone in the forest again, wondering whether her collision with the mysterious man had simply been a dream.

---

also tags cause i somehow keep forgetting : @manwalaage @maraudersfansassemble @aurora2238 @thewinchestergirl1208

[river-bottom-nightmare]

an (incomplete) list of things kon can do because lex luthor is his dad that people always forget about:

#1 : math - he's fifteen, and math comes easy to him (unlike a lot of people his age, or at least, his visible age.) a lot of things come easy to him, because when you have all knowledge in the known universe downloaded into your brain, things like advanced math don't bother you very much.

but it bothers his friends, because bart loses interest about three seconds into the assignments, cassie groans anytime "homework" is brought up in general, and tim hates the concept and execution of math so much that he'd rather hide in kon's room where he thinks no one will look for him instead of even cracking open a textbook.

but kon's pretty sure being a hero means you don't need any real world skills, and after his initial hesitation and disagreements, he realized that he genuinely wants these people to like him, to be friends with him. their math homework is easier than a breeze to complete.

#2 : tying a tie the ~fancy~ way - he's nineteen, and his fingers flow through a silk tie like a fish through water. the motions are beyond familiar, he could do them in his sleep. so is the action of pulling on a suit, pressing his collar, arranging his hair into a neat style. he's timothy drake-wayne's date tonight, and he needs to look the part. fortunately, luthor taught him how to look the part a long the ago.

the party itself is,,,,pleasant, he supposes. he spends most of the time as arm candy, tim's pretty little thing as his boyfriend sweet-talked investors and networked. but they both know that the tipsier people are, the easier they let slip secrets to someone they believe won't understand them, and kon gathers a wealth of information by the time he meets up with tim by the appetizer bar right before dinner.

tim tugs him close by his tie and kisses his cheek, then laughs when kon discreetly but disgustedly spits out the pickled salmon cracker toppings.

#3 : educated debating - he's sixteen, and in an argument with tim that's gone so off the rails that kon can't even remember what they were fighting about in the first place. wherever they started, they were here, now, kon on top of a table in an ice cream parlour screaming about how a socialist approach to taxes would boost the lower class, tim on top of a barstool screaming right back about how the middle class are the only ones paying taxes and socialism would only put more weight on their shoulders.

both of them are this close to busting out laughing, and the only reason they haven't been thrown out is because the employee behind the counter is frantically taking notes. kon can see it in tim's eyes, see the way the younger boy didn't expect to hold such a passionate and intense debate with him, didn't expect kon to be capable of it. it's a pleasant surprise, though; that much is evident in tim's barely-hidden grin.

the debate comes to a pause when bart smacks him with a spoon and tells him off for stepping on the speedster's ice cream, and the tiredness with which he collapses back into the booth is a good one.

#4 : efficient + effective workplace supervision - he's twenty, and wondering how in the hell people hadn't murdered the entirety of young justice when it was first founded. bart had graduated to being the flash's full time sidekick, and though he came to visit often, it wasn't the same. gotham was almost always on the verge of imminent disaster these days, and tim was one of the few ropes holding it together. kon missed him like crazy, but his few visits were all the boy could spare. cassie was in charge now, and she was a wonderful leader, but busy, always smoothing over relations between the team and the justice league and civilian offices.

so, somehow, that left kon to be the den mother to all the new younger kids, and somehow, kon was good at it. he knew exactly what to say to get people to listen to his commands, telling them to work on this or work on that, train for this and practice that. he tells them when to get some sleep and let the weight of the day roll off their shoulders, and when to push themselves to raise them higher than they ever thought they could go. unexpectedly, he finds himself liking it.

#5 : the splits

#6 : colour schemes + interior decorating - he's twenty-one, and tim's finally deciding to turn the nest into a home. bart, who had spent the last couple of years bouncing between allen-west-mercury households and was therefore accustomed to a home with a fire of love reaching every corner and every member of the family, was appalled. so was kon, honestly.

the penthouse that tim worked out of was cold and impersonal, sleek lines that angles that matched the limbs and contours of tim's body. but the shadows around tim's eyes had lessed over the past few years, his smile coming to his lips almost as easy as when young justice first learned how to work together. all it took was a little encouragement from cassie, and suddenly, all four of them were involved in a home renovation project.

cassie churned out ikea furniture like it was nothing, the three of them taking a break from their jobs to just watch her as she lifted one of their hardwood bookshelves with one hand. bart bought home goods and essentials from various department stores and ran around, stocking the house with them wherever he felt a saucepan needed to be hung (near the coat hanger) or a candle holder needed to be placed (on the kitchen barstools, because apparently those were decorative anyway).

kon, meanwhile, decorated. he painted rooms and bought curtains and pillows, yes. but he also sorted through every single souvenir and memory the four of them had managed to accumulate over the years, photographs and hacked-off pieces of giant robots and saved movie tickets and broken weapons. he gets his hands on everything he can find, then fills up tim's nest until it's brimming with a cosy warmth made up of the four of them.

still, it's an obnoxiously large penthouse, so there's empty and open space left over even after redecorating. it's tim who takes a breath and works up the courage to tell them, not ask but tell them, that he wanted each of them to have their own bedroom. so bart takes the largest guest room and turns it into an explosion of colour, and cassie spends too much time decorating a room that she won't even live in most of the time. kon conspicuously notes how tim doesn't bother giving kon a room, just dumps kon's backpack on his bed and clears room in his own closet. he does wrap tim in a ttk hug though, from all the way across the room, and drinks in tim's red flush.

#7 : speed reading (no powers) - he's seventeen, and just now realizing how competitive his best friends are. cassie had long since resigned herself to being the judge and the hander-outer-of-prizes (candy from the nearest convenience store) for the speed-reading competition, but tim, kon, and bart were still in the running.

eventually, though, the pressure from holding back his powers grew too strong, and bart slumped against the back of the sofa, mournfully opening his mouth so cassie could drop a candy into it.

and then there were two.

kon thought back to the confrontation that had started this contest in the first place, robin's offhand comment about how he had to be the one to collect the data files from the company office they were infiltrating, because he was the only one who could speed-read and retain information. that had spiraled into an argument, then a challenge, then a competition, with a clear rule not to use any powers.

kon darted his eyes across the page, soaking up every word, the pages like tiny knives on the pads of his fingers as he turned them. he lost track of the page count, just reading and reading and reading until he tried to turn the page and realized there wasn't a next one. he yelled in triumph, reveling in tim's defeated groan, and settled in for cassie's quiz on the contents of the book.

#8 : sophisticated meal and wine palette - he was twenty-two, and discovering that he really, really liked tim's shocked face. they'd been friends for years now, childish hatred turned into playful bantering turned into knowing each other inside out. still, every now and then, kon did something that forced tim's eyebrows high on his head, his eyes widening just the barest bit.

right now, kon was at a dinner party with the words moral support written across his forehead. tim could handle himself remarkably well, but there was tiredness lacing the smaller boy's frame, and kon could practically see the way the tips of his soul were frazzled. so kon let tim lean into his arm and whispered jokes about luna-with-the-big-ugly-purse and martonio-who-can't-do-a-combover into his ear. or, at least, he was.

somehow he'd been drawn into a good natured argument with the man sitting just two seats down from tim and kon. friendly opinions of food had been tossed back and forth, growing more and more heated until kon looked him right in the eye and said he liked prosecco with his prosciutto, internally crowing with satisfaction at their shocked silence and sighing with pity that none of the guests here would ever try that combination out of fear of deviation. once the man had regained his sensibilities, he shot back, saying the sixth course should never serve salmon, instead regaling the fish to the amusebouche or the cheese course. kon snorted and told him fish itself was going out of style, and if he wanted to impress guests at the next dinner party he hosted, he should try serving octopus.

tim's shocked face was a pleasant surprise, but seeing the stunned, controlled blinks of everyone around him as they realized he wasn't just a pretty face was satisfying as well. even more satisfying was when he and tim said their goodbyes; while waiting for the valet, tim pressed up onto the tips of his toes and whispered promisingly in kon's ear, i fucking love your competence.

#9 : manipulating people into hating him to justify his actions - he was eighteen, and he was screaming, crying, tearing his hair out. kon didn't know what he had expected. lingering fondness? grudging acceptance? maybe a small leap for a chance at love?

it didn't matter. clark didn't want anything to do with him. and he was eighteen now, which meant clark didn't need to take care of him anymore, didn't need to pretend to pay attention to him anymore. he'd made it quite clear.

maybe that was why he found himself hesitating before saying no to amanda waller's offer. he forgot about the warnings tim gave him, though, and waller pounced on that hesitation, quicker than a panther. it was easy, it was oh so easy to let himself go with her.

besides, they had a reason to hate him now. he hadn't done anything to clark. he hadn't asked to be made. but clark had wanted nothing to do with him anyway, and didn't that sting. so if people were going to turn him away now, it was going to be for something he did.

he didn't realize how bad he was spiraling, how close he was to stepping off the lighted ledge he'd been balancing on his entire life and tumbling into the darkness below. but cassie had a stronger punch than most grown superheroes, and bart had tenaciousness written into every strand of his ginormous hair, and tim gripped his jaw so hard his fingernails dug into kon's skin and told kon that he was getting his best friend back, no matter what the hell he thought he was worth.

maybe it was madness that made him throw himself forward, still wrapped in the lasso cassie borrowed from diana, practically mauling tim's lips with his own. he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to break down crying after he kissed someone, given past experience, but the three of them, his wonderful, wonderful friends, just hugged him tight, let him fight and shake and sob until all the rage was gone. it was the first time in a long while he'd done something in hopes that someone would look at him with love, not hatred.

#10 : waltzing - he was twenty-three, twenty three and giddy with how much time he had left. conner was with tim drake-wayne publicly now, so expectations were thrust onto him, expecting to be met.

kon tended to have more fun at events than tim ever did. granted, kon didn't have to deal with all of his coworkers drinking too much and exchanging money with secrets faster than drugs and asking tim whether or not his relationship meant he was open for still-young and handsome men who needed just a small escape from their wives. but tim wasn't trying very hard to enjoy himself either.

so kon was completely justified in tugging him towards the center of the room, in a patch of floor sparsely occupied, then pulling him as close as he dared. tim's panicked whisper of what!? was overridden by kon's laughter, but he muffled his sounds for a minute, letting tim hear the quiet music playing in the background (prerecorded and playing on speakers, not live).

understanding broke over tim's face, and he arched into kon's hold as easy as breathing. kon moved one of his hands to grip tim's wrist, and he twirled the two of them effortlessly, breathless at tim's flabbergasted expression. the rhythm was simple, and tim caught on quickly. one two three, one two twist, one two three, one two step, one two three, one two switch, one two three, one two three.

kon couldn't say they danced the night away, because a little while later tim took a break for a drink, then speeches were made, then dinner was served. by then, they were both entirely too tired to dance, longing for just a bed and a soft blanket and each other. but for those few minutes in the middle of a packed yet empty ballroom, kon and tim did lose themselves in the music, just a little bit.

i don't know shit about taxes or socialism. this got way longer than anticipated whoops. i'm tagging this "long post," but if someone asks me to put it under a cut, i'd be happy to

also jesus christ this thing is almost 2.5k words. im uploading it to ao3 later if i'm in the mood

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridg @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy

[vespersposts]

Wildchild [14]

Happy start of the month, everyone!🍂

Today I leave you with a transitional chapter of this story, which will soon take an interesting turn (or at least I hope so!).

🍲I would like to thank all those who read and honour me with their comments, they are very useful gifts to refine my skills and human contact is always enriching for me.🍲

I apologise for the slowness, unfortunately these are rather busy weeks in my other life.

I embrace you 🥧

V-

💣PS: I apologize in advance for any grammatical and/or spelling mistakes, English is not my first language (bear with me!).

"They're goldfish, I think " you smile at her, crossing the flaps of the light pastel-blue head and leaving her to fasten your belt, just as you did for her just before. You know Satsuki is happy, because her voice is sweet, she laughs often and hums to herself as she fixes your hair.

"Pink and blue, we're perfect!" she exclaims contentedly as she looks into the mirror that reflects your images. Your stomach hurts and you can't walk in traditional sandals, but as Tetsu rightly pointed out to you, you are good at dissimulating.

'You see? All together at the fair, like in the old days!" she tells you, squeezing you in a hug, before following you to your room and looking for her mobile phone to take some pictures.

Too bad that in the old days, the only person you spent fair nights with was Seijuro, with whom you carefully avoided talking, making one excuse after another.

"We should make it a tradition! Every year, no matter where we are, we could get together for the fair, wouldn't that be great?" she asks you and her eyes shine with such intense affection that you feel guilty.

"That might be an idea " you sketch, trying to ignore the fact that you couldn't bear to see what his life would be like without you, if only for one single night a year. Because he will move on at the speed of light: you know that in a few years he will have a partner who will manage to make him fall in love, become his wife and give him children. And he will be so happy with them, that you won't even remain a memory.

What a stomach ache.

Ten minutes and you will leave that house, ten minutes in which you walk hand in hand so as not to fall down the stairs, laughing with each other at every silly thing, but mostly at the excitement of that night, where your sweet friend has decided to give herself to her boyfriend.

"Do you think we should wait?" she asks you, noticing your sudden silence.

"I think you should do what you feel, without having pressure one way or the other. The more you think about it, the less the moment will be right" you explain to her, placing two glasses and a cool drink between you”. “ After all, the most important thing is your relationship and that thankfully is perfect" you smile at her again, taking a long sip.

"I just want him so badly" she sighs, cracking a smile because you've never seen Satsuki so serious , but you've never imagined Tetsu from that perspective either. 

“Then maybe it's just the right time, but you'll have to confront him about it “ you smile at her, holding her hand, and suddenly her eyes drop.

She retrieves her phone, scrolls through the latest photos in the gallery and sighs.

"It won't happen again, right?" she asks you "We won't meet here again to tell each other our secrets " she ends, resting her face on her hand.

"Maybe during the holidays, but on the phone it will be even less awkward, you'll see" you smile at her.

"Not if you're going to tell me about Akashi" she replies immediately.

" I'm not going to talk to you about Seijuro" you promise her " I'm not going to talk to you about anyone for a while " you smile, finishing your drink and looking up into hers, because you already know where that talk is going to go.

"I miss my friend, the one who used to date Daichan " she tells you with a crack in her voice.

"I know Satsuki, but she was an idiot" you tell her, trying not to let your annoyance show.

"You were happy " she contradicts you.

"I wasn't happy, I was just obsessed with him" you specify, putting an end to any possible debate.

When you ring the doorbell at Mr. and Mrs Aomine's house and see Natsume's satisfied expression, all the discontent that the mere thought of the sight of their son generates in you disappears. You smile at the compliments, hug her and thank her, confiding that no one had ever given her a yukata, let alone sewn it with their own hands.

"I've been wanting to do that for a long time" she tells you as Shinichi also joins in the kitchen, and immediately invites you to go out into the garden to take some pictures of Satsuki and you in the sunset light, while waiting for the males who are apparently late.

"I want to see Tetsu!" your friend protests, posing for your photographer who explains how the two of them have been lounging around all afternoon, only to realise they're not ready.

"I knew I should have phoned!" she pouts and you hug her, because she is so cute in her obstinacy.

'Why don't the three of you take a picture? " Natsume proposes, taking the camera from her husband's hands and pushing him between you "Shin-chan, your colleagues will die of envy when they will see it!" she laughs, so happy to play with you.

She gives you directions on how to pose, then returns the lens to her husband and she too gets snapped with her young protégés.

"Look at those three wimps!" you suddenly hear his deep voice and shortly afterwards you see him, wearing a traditional midnight-blue suit and a wry smile on his lips.

"Come and take your pictures now!" his mother cuts him short, arranging you like the figurines of a shrine performance. Testu greets you with a warm smile, complimenting your elegance, and you thank him because you know he is actually thanking you for not letting Satsuki down. You are so pleasantly surprised at how much that boy cares for Momoi, how he seeks her out with his gaze, in a discreet, but ever-present way. You feel happy at the thought that your friend is living such a worthwhile story, because despite her unwavering good mood, these have been difficult years for her too. Satsuki and Tetsu finally together. You see their hands intertwine, their lips turn into a shy smile and then his voice ruins everything.

"Come on mum, this way it looks like Testu and Satsuki's wedding!" he laughs, resting his large hands on his friend's shoulders to simulate a sea monster attack.

"Mind your own business Daichan!" interjects the bride, moving Godzilla's hands away, starting yet another skirmish.

"Guys, stop it or we won't have any light left to take these pictures!" the voice of Shinichi picks them up, thanks to whom, you not only have a decent memory of that evening, but you also manage to arrive incredibly on time at the fair, since he gives you a lift in his car, to your great relief.

If Daiki had gotten the kindness gene from him, maybe you wouldn't be so uncomfortable now that you have to carefully watch where you put your feet, given the unsteadiness of your sandals, and since asking him for his arm to lean on, is especially out of the question. 

"So where's your little boy?" he asks you and then calls back to his friend as well "Tetsu, you need to see this" he laughs, explaining in his own way what he thinks young Kenta would expect to get out of that evening.

Tetsu tightens his lips and is about to take his friend back, but you can defend yourself just fine.

"Aomine-kun, did you perhaps confuse Kenta's intentions with yours about Yoshiko?" you ask him, drawing his intense eyes.

"What would be wrong with that? " he downplays, just for the sake of provoking.

"Like you said, nothing if there was the intention and Kenta was at least of age" you smile at him.

"We weren't, and yet..." he reveals in front of your friends, returning your smile, and suddenly you feel uncomfortable, even though they knew all along.

" It was different " you try to close the conversation.

"Oh, was it, really?" he asks you in a tone so obnoxious that it closes your stomach. 

" Cut it off, Aomine-kun!" you hear Tetsu's voice as he stands next to you, resting a hand on your back in sympathy, but it's too late not to feel the pain of that wound.

The only thing you know is that it will be your last.

You don't care if it hurts, you don't care if you can understand where that need for confrontation comes from, enough is enough.

You take a breath and hold his gaze.

"It's different because I had feelings" you admit "It's a talk we've already had, don't treat me like a lousy idiot" you conclude, receiving a long, livid look in response. The talk stops here, as  the tuner's nephew arrives.

“ I was late to say hello to some classmates, sorry “ he quickly apologizes.

You smile and ask him if he feels like trying some typical food, because you have an upset stomach, but formally you're starving. 

"What about some ikayaki ?" he asks you and you nod, inviting the others to the stall as well, already knowing that they will find an excuse to leave you alone, so that things can calm down. You ask for his arm and he blushes a little, guiding you carefully down the crowded path, letting you know, in his nonchalant way, that he finds you elegant and is happy to be there with you. 

"Looking for the girl you like?" you ask him, seeing how his gaze wanders between the faces of the various groups of his peers crowding the main street.

He nods, picking up  two trays of food, pointing at one group in particular, the same one that is moving towards you and among which you recognise the faces of the konbini gang, then there's her. You smile and see her frown. She is brunette, has full lips and a candy cane twirling nervously between her fingers. 

This is going to be easy.

"Hey, Kenta's girl" one of the boys addresses you, making the others laugh and attracting the displeasure of some even more "You were prettier in a sundress" he says with a mischievous smile.

Your date stutters something, but is so embarrassed that you have to be the one to step in.

"What a boring guy you are... What a pity!" you huff "Girls like guys with imagination, don't we?" you ask Kenta’s personal favourite, who rolls her eyes and looks at you with a puzzled look. 

"She's not my girlfriend" your chaperon finally blurts out, a direct communication in full voice, so far from his nature.

You smile, because you noticed the candyfloss girl's relief .

"In truth, I forced him to take me to the fair because I didn't want to wrong a friend but... I think I'll go home, those sandals are killing me, K! " you admit, officially crowning the young man as  first knight.

"But I promised Aomine-kun..." he tries to counter, though part of him is tempted to join the little group of the girl of his dreams.

"Don't feel you owe him. He won't stay long, just long enough to get his girlfriend " you smile at him, finally releasing him from his commitment.

Now you must be a good girl and honour yours.

You look for a quiet, sheltered spot and dial his number.

You inhale and, despite everything, when you hear his voice you can't help but smile.

[sxftkxssxs]

Hi, I hope you are having a nice day.

Can I request The Arcana main 6 comforting a S/O that has social anxiety?

I completely understand if you don't want to because it's a complicated matter or you simply don't want to. So don't even worry about it ♡.

 thanks for requesting! :)

I'll try to write this as best I can, If i get anything wrong please tell me and I'll fix it as soon as possible !! (I got a little stuck on some of the scenarios so I might come back and fix them later on but i hope you like them anyways <3)

M6 With and s/o that has social anxiety

Asra

he understands, 

they might not experience it himself but they try to listen to anything you say about it

you end up coming up with a tiny solution, more of a distraction

if you have to do something in public and your social anxiety’s being a pain, He’ll let you mess with their hands, or Faust will make you hold her. 

He knows that there’s no way to fully “cure” your social anxiety so they’ll try to help in any way possible.

They try not to let you suffer it alone, he’s always there for you.

At least the shop isn’t the most famous place in town?

You start to feel the pit in your stomach, the nervousness. Before you can even try to overthink anything, Faust is slithering across your hands. “Friend! Calm?” You let a small smile slip. “It’s helping, Thank you Faust.” You drag a finger down her scales and she lets a shiver run through her. Asra is watching, smiling in awe at his familiar and favorite person. Yeah, he definitely got lucky.

Julian

you don't even have to tell him fully

his medical school background included mental illnesses,

while he knows you probably have your own ways of helping yourself, he wants to be able to help as well.

even if helping means just sitting in silence or cuddling at the end of the day

please tell him if he's attracting too much attention to the both of you

it's his natural environment to be in the spotlight, but he'll keep you out of it if you'd prefer

(let's be honest you obviously prefer it that way)

You groaned as you came home. Today sucked. You had to put yourself way out of your comfort zone, which resulted in that awful feeling in your chest and stomach. You had been nervous the entire day. Julian looked up from his stack of papers as you closed the door. He gave a sympathetic look, and opened his arms for a hug. "Let's go get ready for bed my dear." When you finally hit the bed, Julian basically turns you into a burrito. But it’s comforting, and he knows it. let’s hope you don’t mind being stuck with him bc ur kinda stuck in those blankets.

Nadia

She apologizes in advance

unfortunately for the both of you, being the countess and her lover puts you both in the spotlight.

she tries to keep you out of situations if she can but sometimes she either needs you or the situation requires both of your attention

when she does need you to address and issue with her she'll hold your hand, and chandra will be picking at your hair from time to time

please ignore the courtiers, all of them are kind of a pain besides volta

Nadia will give you ways to escape if she can tho <3

You tried to ignore the nausea that hit you as the courtiers all turned their eyes toward you. It was bad enough they were foul in court, but it felt like they were all laughing at you. Nadia placed a hand on your waist for support. “Ah, My apologies. It seems that there’s something we need to tend to. Excuse us,” There wasn’t really anything to tend to. Maybe a relaxing bath but who are you to complain?

Muriel

social anxiety bffs

no fr you both just cling to each other in social gatherings, Asra thinks it’s absolutely adorable

Muriel does know how bad it can be, so he helps in ways he thinks might work for you

Maybe it’s convincing Inanna into making your lap her chair for the day, or letting you hide behind him if you need to.

he’s so sweet about it, but truth be told you both try to avoid the big social settings

If you can’t avoid it you’re either together or complain afterwards

You planted yourself on the bed with a grunt. You’d had to go out and you got separated from muriel. That made today hell for the both of you, especially you. You’d been in the palace at a certain point, having to deal with some problems with Nadia. The palace is the exact opposite of where you want to be. A creak of the door opening pulled you from your thoughts. Muriel walked through the door, walking over to join you on the bed (as best as he could). Inanna laid herself beside the two of you. Even she felt exhausted. You snuggled your way in Muriels arms, finding a way to let Inanna in on the cuddle pile. “I’m never doing that again” “..me neither..”

Portia

oh you poor thing </3

she’s very adventurous, which can sometimes mean trouble, or even confrontation

if she sees that there’s confrontation coming she absolutely hides you somewhere and takes the blame lmao

does not let your social anxiety change her view of you at all, she still bugs you just as much to go out on adventures

pepi is your designated anxiety reliever

she’ll purr and lay in your lap to give you the perfect excuse to not move or go somewhere

Portia giggled at you, looking at the little ball of fluff on your lap. Pepi turned to be on her back. "Look at you two!" She placed a kiss on your cheek, giving pepi a little belly rub. "Pepi's been helping you unwind huh? guess I taught her well!" You let out a little giggle, pulling Portia into the chair beside you. You both spend the rest of your evening babying your favorite kitty and relaxing to the best of your abilities.

Lucio

I apologize for him

he's always gonna be attracting attention and i don't think you'd ever want to be in public with him

but he really does try to keep himself quiet for you!

since he's no good at that he tries to give you times to be alone with him and not bring spotlight to the both of you,

you really try to be near him but it doesn't really work out

the dogs will bark at him if he puts you in an uncomfortable situation, you can bet your life on it

Lucio knew parties weren’t your thing. That’s why you stayed up in his wing, away from where everyone was drinking and cheering. As much as he loves a party, he knows you’re more important. With Mercedes pulling on his suit he’s practically running through the halls to not fall over. She only lets go when you’re all in the same room. Melchior gives his sister a proud huff as you both decide it’s (absolutely) time for the party to end if Lucio wants you to survive in this castle. At least when everyone leaves you and the puppies get to give Lucio a piece of your minds :)

[dat-town]

not gonna miss this chance

Characters: Han Seojun & soloist!female reader

Genre: fluff

Setting: true beauty au, set a year after the tv show’s ending timeline

Summary: Your career is on the verge of ending, hence your management puts you up to do a duet with the infamous Han Seojun. You have heard too many rumours about him to keep track of and yet, none of them could have prepared you for the feelings that came with meeting him.

Words: 4.1k

Self indulgent little snippet because he deserves happiness too.

You had heard of Han Seojun before meeting him, of course you had. Everybody who was in the industry had heard of the hot trend of a Newstagram star-turned idol and his band's shining debut from a year ago. They were told to have snatched teenage girls hearts all over Korea with their good looks and soulful music. You had heard their title track and you had to admit it was nice but nice wasn't enough in a cut-throat industry like entertainment.

Look at you, starting training at twelve, debuting at fifteen and now barely twenty-one you were on the verge of becoming a thrown away doll. Once you had been called cute and the it girl of your generation and now? People were saying you got boring just because your music had matured. Gosh, you couldn't keep singing about first love like your hit song had been for the rest of your life for god's sake. Your last album had been a flop, your company had been losing money and you were still afraid that even with a year left of your contract, they would cut you. But your manager had begged them for a chance and here it was: a collaboration with the newest love of Korea.

But the thing was, Han Seojun had quite a reputation and you didn't know who to believe. Some said he was well-mannered and hard-working. Others gossiped that he was always flirting with his makeup artists and Chen claimed he had been rude to her even when he had just been a ‘nobody’. Not that you were particularly fond of Chen either but as a fellow solo female singer you were a tad bit worried how the infamous singer would treat you.

Well, standing in front of Move Entertainment, you were just about to find out. Taking a shallow breath you followed your manager's lead, bowing to the receptionist and getting into the elevator after taking your visitor's badge. You had heard the company has gone through many changes after the executives were replaced due to the revealed Seyeon scandal but everything looked expensive, shiny and new, unlike in your small agency.

“Hey, I’m Lim Heekyung, nice to meet you. Seojun will be in a minute, too,” a woman in a pantsuit walked up to you on the right floor with a confident smile as she introduced herself. She led you to a meeting room which was apparently customized for a few people only and started preparing papers. She looked excited which was a relief and nice to see, at least someone from Move Entertainment was happy for this project apparently. You were a bit afraid they would see you like a leech, trying to cling onto their new star’s popularity.

“Shall we start? Seojun is a fan of dramatic entrances anyways,” Miss Lim laughed joyfully as if it wasn’t new to her that the idol didn’t make it on time. Ah yeah, you had heard rumours saying that he had something on the company and that was why they were so lenient with him.

You sat in silence, let your manager do the talk about the collaboration project. Seojun could play the guitar, you could play the piano, apparently it was perfect for a ballad duet, though if you used instruments yourself it added to the preparations time. But luckily, there was a songwriter named Leo at the company who had already sent in a few samples specifically for Seojun, so you didn’t have to start from zero.

“Ah, I see you started without me. What did I miss?” A tall boy opened the door wide and flipped down onto the chair across you casually. He had grown into his lanky limbs and with those wide shoulders hugged by the leather jacket, helix earrings in one ear and soft brown hair brushed to one side, it wasn’t a surprise how many female fans swooned over him. But there were a lot of handsome boys in the business, just his looks – no matter how confident he was in them based on the way he carried himself – wouldn’t make a difference.

Miss Lim patiently let Seojun know about the advances and only when she mentioned your name, did the boy glance at you. His dark brown eyes had a sharp form, just as piercing as his gaze, but the cunning smile spreading over his lips softened it a bit. He looked at you as if he wanted to see through you, to figure out how he should have approached you. You expected a snarky or arrogant comment, but in the end, he just flashed a blinding smile at you, one you could see on his posters, before turning back to Miss Lim.

“What’s the schedule?” he asked simply and you both were notified about the deadline of deciding and finalizing the song, the dates of planned recording sessions and the photoshoot. Since there would be no promotion period, it all would be done within a month and half from start to finish. You were a bit relieved hearing that and leave Move Entertainment without any confrontation.

You thought you were good at masking your wary feelings since the further meetings went well and the first recording session went okay-ish. Although both of you had been a bit scolded by the producer for not putting enough feelings into your singing. He claimed that the demo sent by Leo was much more emotional which made Seojun scoff and mumble under his nose. The PD called it for a day, making you promise to practice for next time and one by one they all left. Your manager told you that he would bring the car while you refresh yourself in the bathroom, so you really didn’t expect anyone to wait for you when you stepped out of the restroom, much less Han Seojun.

"Spit it out," he bit out barely glancing your way as he leaned against the corridor’s wall.

"What?" you spluttered as you were really taken aback by his out of blue appearance and question. The guy let out a tired sigh at your obliviousness and pushed himself away from the wall just to walk up to you, towering over your height with his.

"You look at me as if I killed your hamster or something. Which rumour about me bothers you? I fucking can't keep walking on eggshells around you, especially when it's just the two of us," he tsked and you gulped at the sudden called out. You didn’t think it bothered him, or that he was considerate enough to ‘walk on eggshells around you’, you merely thought he was so distant from everybody. It was still better than what Chen had told you.

"Oh, I… nothing. It's stupid. Sorry," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed for your your actions but Seojun apparently wasn’t satisfied without a real answer as he carried on:

"I didn't bully kids in high school but I threatened ones that deserved it, I didn't only get a pity chance from the entertainment, one of our makeup artists is actually one of my best friends, I'm not…"

"Chen told me you are rude and arrogant and have no respect for girls," you blurted out to stop him from speaking because you felt like you didn’t deserve to hear all that. He didn’t owe you any explanation for the way he was. You were just co-workers for a project after all, you had no place in his life, nor he had in yours, so he shouldn’t have been that bothered by your opinion but you understood that he felt uncomfortable due to your silent accusations.

Hearing your hasty interruption, the singer scoffed, a laugh-like sound leaving his mouth.

"Well, I have no respect for girls like Chen who harass my friends and turn their lives into hell just to go on a date with me," he said and it made you blink slowly.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Check your facts before you go around believing such crap," Seojun stepped back with a roll of his eyes.

The whole situation made you feel made about how you acted, so you wished to apologise but it fell from your lips all too carelessly: "Sorry, I was just worried. This is my last chance, so–"

"Last chance?" the guy quirked a brow at you, curious but you quickly waved his question away.

"Nevermind, I just need this song to do well."

"Of course, it will. I'm Han Seojun, it will turn to gold under my hands," he grinned and made eccentric gestures as if he was about to do magic. You couldn't help a smile. “Or well, vocal chords.”

And turn it to gold, he did.

The rest of your recording sessions went smoother, even the previously grumpy PD complimented your for the development in your chemistry. Funny, you wouldn’t have thought that the wall pulled up between the two of you mattered that much, but at least you didn’t have a knot in your stomach, nor did you worry about every small thing you did around Han Seojun. He also acted more casual, more playful, joking around when both of you had a bit of time to take a breather. He snapped silly pictures, showed off with his height, smirked when he got too close but despite all his bravado and lowkey flirting, you believed even he wouldn’t have jeopardised his career over something like this.

Maybe that's why wrapping up the recording felt a tad bit weird: you got used to his presence, his jokes, his beautiful, deep voice that you could have fallen asleep to. Sure, sometimes he was cocky, a bit rough around the edges but he was a great singer and a fun guy. The project seemed to work out well and you loved it a lot, so you hoped the listeners would appreciate it as well.

But before all that you had one photo shoot together for the promotional pictures and the single's cover. You were grateful for the simple pastel colour background and elegant setting. The warm light latte colour and the clock in the background really fit the song's vibe. Luckily, your dress was decent and pretty as well, you didn't have to feel uncomfortable in it at least.  However, you didn’t expect that happy yelp coming from one of the makeup artists stepping into the dressing room. You turned to face the girl, wondering whether she was your fan judged by her excitement.

"Oh my! I'm so happy to finally meet you! Seojun told us about you so much!" she beamed at you which obviously took you back. Well, that you didn’t expect at all. He spoke of you to others? Ah. Apparently to the makeup artist who was most probably that certain one of his best friends he had told you about?

"Don't exaggerate, Imju, I mentioned her like what… once?" Seojun walked in on cue. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, trying to avert the topic. "How's Suho?"

You had know idea who that said guy was but after a moment or two you could breathe properly once again while listening to their chatting.

“Just the usual. He’s excited about your duet.”

“Of course, he is,” Seojun grinned, a bit snarky but you could hear the proud undertones of it. When he looked at you, you were surprised by him leaning close though as he quieted down until only you could hear it. “Don’t worry, Jugyeong is really good and just stop her if she gets too gossip-y.”

“Are you talking about me behind my back, hah, Han Seojun?” The pretty girl called Jugyeong raised her fist as if she was about to hit the idol but he just laughed it off and left you two alone when he was hurried onto the set to start with his individual shoots.

“Have you known each other for a long time?” you couldn’t help but wonder as you were seated to get your makeup from her.

“Ah, almost 4 years, I think. We went to high school together. Plus, he’s best friends with my boyfriend. Though, they are always bickering like a married couple,” Jugyeong chuckled joyfully as she started with the cushion. You closed your eyes, listening as she kept going on about the time when Seojun had been obsessed with his motorbike, getting into trouble with his mother. It was strange hearing about a whole other side of him, mama's boy but the image tugged on your mouth, making you smile even though you weren't sure you had the right to know all that. You also learned that Seojun's sister was dating Jugyeong's brother and you felt so involved with the girl's trust albeit it was your last meeting, you were sure Seojun must have only told good things about you.

Hence, you felt shy under his knowing gaze when you walked out of the dressing room. He must have known that Jugyeong couldn't shut up for the life of her, so he looked a bit uncertain, too, stretching the back of his neck, forcing a cunning smile onto his smile when you took your place next to him.

To fit the ballad's theme, the setting was a piano decorated with flowers and you were instructed to sit beside him as if you were about to play a four hands piece. As you did what you had been told, you were very much aware of the way your arms brushed, his long fingers over the keys close to yours, his smile small but genuine.

"Great, great, guys! Someone help her onto the piano and Seojun, stand in front of her," the photographer directed the next scene but before any staff members would have rushed up to you, the singer next to you shushed them.

"I can do it," he insisted as he stood up and looked you in the eyes, silently asking for permission. You nodded while holding your breath back before Seojun put his hands on your waist above the fluffy tulle skirt part and counting on three, he lifted you onto the lid of the beautiful instrument.

You crossed your legs, watching in awe as your pink skirt fell down on waves  but your breath hitched for an entirely different reason when you looked up, gaze meeting Seojun's feline eyes trained on you. You had never seen him look at you like that, lacking playfulness or suspicion or curiosity. He looked open, vulnerable, outright starstruck. Your lips parted meaning to ask something but your brain shut off when you heard the shutter of the camera go down and the director yelling compliments at you. It made you snap out of it and later, you blamed the evident blush on your cheeks on the makeup. Seojun blinked too, his guarded expression back in no time, finishing the photo shoot professionally, always lingering close to you, but never touching you. Even though you wouldn’t have minded.

"Hey," Seojun peeked into your dressing room just as you were about to leave, packing up, with a smile on his mouth and sparkles in his deep brown eyes. But unlike half an hour ago when he wore a fancy suit and looked at you like a prince would have looked at his princess, he acted just as casual as he looked in his denim jacket over dark tee. "Wanna grab something with me if you finished for today?"

His question took you back but first thing first you glanced towards your manager, eyes begging for permission which you had gotten with a sigh.

"Just be discreet and call me if you need me to pick you up," your manager shrugged, leaving you two alone with a knowing look that told you to be careful. You didn't need to be told though, you knew how much depended on the current public response to your image.

"Seems like a green light. Have you thought of anything specific?" you turned back to the boy with a subtle smile.

"Not really but I know a few less frequent, secluded places to avoid much talk about us," he said and you nodded, following his lead. Masks, caps and hoodies on, you barely talk on your way to the tent with the lovely ahjumma who welcomed Seojun (two heads taller than her) with a pinch of his cheeks and told you to get seated.

"Are you a regular here?" you inquire, carefully pulling down your mask since not many people are around.

"You could say that," the boy hummed letting you adjust to the place at your own pace, not pressuring you with extra reassessments about how safe it is there. Yet, he is so casual as if he wasn't afraid of a getting mobbed by Dispatch out of the blue. Not that it happened to you a lot of times but you heard stories and at such a crucial time in your career, you feared something like that more than anything.

"Do you want to come up to mine instead?" Seojun blurted out suddenly which made you wide eyed in a span of a moment as you splattered out a surprised yelp. "Come on, I don't mean anything by it. You just look really nervous being in the public," the singer said, his deep voice softening, soothing by the end and you needed to take a breather before answering. You didn't think it was so obvious but apparently you had never been a good liar with him.

In the end, you decided on going over to Seojun's place, so he asked the ahjumma to pack your food to go and you headed towards his flat a few blocks from the company. It was a small but cozy place, much softer and brighter than you expected, lots of pastels and photos of friends and family. While the boy busied himself in the kitchen, getting you plates, chopsticks and beer, you were encouraged to look around and you couldn't help but smile at his photos with not only his band members but high school friends, too. You had seen photos of his graduation with Jugyeong, then another one of his debut with her and another guy.  He was a recurring person on a lot of pictures, so you assumed that he was the so-called Suho.

"He's Jugyeong's boyfriend," Seojun affirmed as he walked up to you which you acknowledged with a hum and smiled at his photos with his sister and mother. The makeup artist was right when she said he was only tough on the outside.

"You knew Seyeon?" you whispered as your gaze shifted of a picture of three boys smiling widely into the camera. The middle one was the talented boy you had known  from the news of his committed suicide. Such a tragedy.

"Uhum. We were best friends. Him, Suho and me," Seojun nodded and without having to ask, he told you how they had gotten to know each other, what were their favourite past time activities and how they fell apart when he died. You could see he was hurting even now as he was talking about it, so you grazed your fingers against his knuckles as though to say you were there for him to listen, or whatever he needed.

Talking about his best friends and how a group of guys including someone named Chorong stuck by his side over the years warmed your heart. It was nice to know that not everyone had it as lonely as you who basically missed out on high school and memories from that time to be able to turn your dreams into reality. Your only friends were also in the industry but it made things both easier and harder.

"What about you? What did you mean by this being your last chance?" Seojun asked like a loaded gun but after everything he had just told you, you knew you could trust him with this and being in the industry for a while now, he must have understood, too.

You told him about the rising expectations, about your image and your company's ultimatum. It actually felt nice to talk about with someone other than your manager. Especially since Seojun seemed to understand exactly why you felt conflicted over the matter. You have given your youth to this dream of yours, so giving up on it would have felt like betraying yourself and everyone who believed in you but you weren't sure you could give it another 10 years of your life no matter how much you liked music. You had decent CSATs result, maybe you could have applied for a university program. Seojun even offered to arrange a meeting between you and Suho who was studying to become a proper songwriter.

You talked for hours and ate the tteokbokki even though it had gotten cold long ago and you couldn't remember when was the last time you had felt so light. You felt giddy even with just the tiny bit of alcohol in your system by the time you knew it was time for you to go.

Once you had felt relieved knowing that promoting your duet would be only one performance but recently, you started dreading the moment because that meant that you wouldn't have any more excuse to see Seojun. In the backstage, this time around you greeted Jugyeong like an old friend and teased to give Seojun a funny makeup before walking up to your  own assigned staff members. Your look was full of sparkles and glow fitting the silver colour of your dress, completing the ethereal vibe off the stage you were going to do and the beautiful song you had grown to love so much you held it close to your heart. The last rehearsals went smoothly and if you noticed Seojun's gaze lingering a bit too long, you didn't comment on it.

"Are you nervous?" he asked before the final recording and you knew it would have been unreasonable to deny it, so you replied with a small smile.

"A bit."

"Don't be. You're pretty and you'll do amazing," he reassured you and the way he said those words oh so easy. As if they were natural. As if he believed in you and maybe this was all the reassurance you needed because when you walked up onto the stage, not taking your eyes off his, it felt like it was just the two of you there. All the stress about not being good enough, about being judged for who you were and what you wanted to do with your life was subsided as you focused on the moment, just to sing this one song with one while trying to fight your heart's crazy beating.

You didn't really have the luxury to have crushes. You had always been concentrated on your work, you couldn't let yourself have distractions, especially since love scandals always affected girl worse than guy. At least that was what you told yourself for always putting up a wall around you and guarding your heart all too well. But during the past few weeks, between playful or flirty remarks, between smiles and ruffling hair, Seojun took apart your wall brick by brick even if he wasn't aware.

So it might have been only a few days since you had last seen him but in that rare moment of boredom, alone in your room, you realized that you missed him. Hell, you liked him and the feeling made me want to scream into your pillow as if you were a silly teenager. As if on cue, your phone buzzed with a new message and seeing the KakaoTalk ID made you shy.

duet partner, han seo jun

so...

i've been thinking

you

sounds dangerous but ok

duet partner, han seo jun

don't get sassy with me, miss

you

what have you been thinking about?

duet partner, han seo jun

that i don't want to miss my chance

there's this girl i like

i thought of asking her out

do you think she would say yes?

you

oh. well... why wouldn't she?

i mean, you are talented, handsome, funny and reliable

duet partner, han seo jun

and what about my job? it's busy and a bit crazy

don't you think it would be unfair of me to ask?

you

I think you should let her decide that

duet partner, han seo jun

okay

are you free on friday?

you

um, sure?

duet partner, han seo jun

cool, then go on a date with me?

[separatist-apologist]

You should do a one shot of Elain letting her inner fire out and yelling at the IC about using Elain to control Lucien AND going on and on about Lucien failing Feyre in Spring. (I mean we all know Tamlin abused Lucien both mentally and physically and its a bit hard to take care of someone else when you are being abused yourself. Ya feel me? HA)

This will be done more elegantly if you're reading I Know Places. I also can't help but feel like my Elucien reputation is becoming Night Court slander. This is my preface by saying I LIKE (most) of the IC, so this isn't dunking on any one person or being an anti.

Anyway don't send me hate if you don't like this (Send me Eris X Elain brotp prompts instead!!!)

Elain stomped through the city streets of Velaris, furious. Lucien was back in the city again, and yet he hadn’t come to visit. Things had been rocky, sure, but she thought they were doing better. They’d been exchanging letters weekly, she’d made him dinner—granted, at his apartment—and they’d even had that sweet kiss she still daydreamed about to the exclusion of all else. Yet, for the fourth time in six months, Lucien had come to Velaris, met with Rhysand, with Azriel, with Feyre, but not her. She’d been quietly polite about it the first time. He was a busy man, after all and probably had somewhere to be in the morning. She’d been quiet but less polite the second and third time, allowing her self-doubt and insecurity to creep in but now she was just mad.

If he didn’t want to see her, he should just say so.After four years of yearning and avoidance to get to where they were, which was practically no where given how far away he chose to occupy his time, he at least owed her an explanation.

She pounded on the blue front door that comprised his little town house. She heard scuffling and a muffled crash before the door flung open.

“Elain,” he breathed, clearly not prepared to see her, given how disheveled he looked. “To what do I—”

“Why are you avoiding me?” She demanded, crossing her arms over the silver cloak she wore. Frigid wind whistled around them, biting at her cheeks though she hardly felt the chill over her hurt and anger. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Ah…come inside,” he urged, stepping out of the way to let her in. Elain did as he asked, mostly to prevent making a visible scene she knew would work its way back to Rhysand and his inner circle.

“I understand if you’re too busy to spend time but not even a note?” She rounded on him once they were out of the foyer and in his living room. He reached for her cloak, ever the gentleman but Elain swatted his hand away.

“I do want to see you,” he replied softly, palms raised upwards in defense. Both eyes, one gold, one russet, watched her with apprehension, as though she were a bomb that might explode at any moment. She certainly felt like one.

“Then why don’t you?” She demanded, hands on her hips.

Lucien licked his lips. “It’s…complicated.”

Her stomach dropped. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“What?!” He panicked, taking a hasty step towards her. “No, just you. Only you, I swear.”

“Then explain. I’m not stupid, I can follow whatever is keeping you. I don’t want secrets between us I want—” She stopped herself before she could admit that what she wanted was to be in the same place for longer than a night.

“I need permission to visit with you,” he told her, dropping his hands with a sigh. Elain looked at him sharply.

“What do you mean…permission?” She demanded.

Lucien gestured for her to sit but Elain shook her head, her mind whirring. Why would Lucien need permission to see her? He’d been nothing but polite, he’d give her distance…they always had a chaperone, she realized. Save for once, right before he left to find Vassa, Lucien and Elain always had an audience unless she snuck out of the house. It was why she’d begun writing him letters in the first place. That was the only way she could speak to him without someone else in the room.

Lucien was watching her shrewdly, his lips pressed in a thin line.

“Do they think you’ll…” she couldn’t bring herself to say it. He laughed dryly.

“I certainly hope not.”

“Then why? No one cared about how much time Cassian spent with Nesta.”

“Well…I imagine it’s different when the High Lord trusts the mate in question.”

That didn’t make sense. She bit her bottom lip. “They trust you…you’re their Emissary…”

Lucien laughed again, plopping onto his cream-colored couch. “Emissary I may be, but trust me they do not.”

Elain frowned. “Because you’ll betray them?”

“Because I don’t want to be here,” he replied honestly, his every word condemnation. She could put it together now. Lucien was in Velaris for her, he’d left Spring for her, and he’d continue to be the Emissary on behalf of the Night Court for as long as Elain lived in Velaris.

“You don’t have to stay for me,” she assured him, crossing the wood floor to sit beside him. She took his hand and squeezed, looking up into his tanned, beautiful face. Lucien smiled at her sadly.

“If I quit, I’d never see you again.”

“Of course you would, we’re—”

“Do you imagine Rhysand or Feyre would just hand you over with my resignation? If that were the case, I would have taken you from here when we first met.”

“So I’m what? Bait?” She asked breathlessly. He didn’t respond but the steely look in his russet eye was answer enough. “Something to keep you in line?”

He shrugged but Elain was angry again. “I thought you were avoiding me,” she told him, pulling her hand from his. “I’ve been mad at you and all this time you were trying?”

“Elain—”

She spun on her heel and tore out of his apartment, well aware he was right behind her. She didn’t care. She wasn’t an object or a tool to be weaponized against her own mate, for cauldrons sake. She was tired of being treated like a pretty piece of furniture that couldn’t think for herself. She wanted the Nesta treatment, she decided, storming into the river house.

“You had no right!” She shrieked, storming into Rhys’ study. She’d meant to find Feyre first, but Rhys was there, sitting at his desk staring down at parchment. On the couch beside the fireplace, Azriel looked up, hazel eyes wide at the outburst.

“Hey Elain…Lucien…everything okay?” Cassian asked from a chair in the corner.

“No!” She continued, her chest heaving. If she didn’t say everything now, she’d chicken out; Elain hated confrontation. Rhys stood, his violet eyes glittering with emotion. A moment later Feyre skidded into the room, practically slamming into Lucien’s back.

“What’s wrong, Elain?” Feyre asked breathlessly, shoving past Lucien to touch Elain’s shoulder. “Did something happen, did—”

“Why does Lucien need permission to visit me?” She demanded, stepping out of Feyre’s grasp only to slam into the sold chest of her mate. “No one had a problem with Cassian breathing down Nesta’s neck, but Lucien needs advance written notice?”

“Whoa, that’s not how it went,” Cassian complained. “If anything, she was breathing down my neck—”

“Cassian,” Azriel murmured quietly, silencing his friend.

“You and Nesta are different,” Feyre tried but Elain didn’t want to hear it.

“So? I think Nesta could have healed perfectly fine without being…fucked—” she whispered the word, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, “Up against a wall.”

The mood of the room became immediately tense. Cassian stood; arm crossed over his broad chest.

“Elain,” Rhys warned. Lucien put his hands on her shoulders, squeezing his support. She didn’t have to do this. She could walk away, could tell them to shove it. She had to. Lucien didn’t understand, was good at sticking up for himself but she wasn’t. They needed to know.

“It’s shameful,” she told Rhys, looking him dead in the face.

“We just wanted to keep you safe,” Rhys told her, his voice very much implying she was on dangerous ground.

“From what? I thought Lucien was Feyre’s friend,” she challenged. “I thought he was your Emissary. How can you trust him with your politics but not his own mate? Why is it okay for Azriel to see me but not Lucien?”

Rhys’ took two steps forward, darkness rippling off his back. She’d overstepped, she’d openly challenged Rhys and, perhaps most damning, she’d done the one thing he’d ever asked her not to; discuss the almost events of Solstice. Azriel’s face paled for a moment as Cassian, Feyre, and Lucien all turned to look at him. “I’m not your political pawn,” she whispered, stepping closer to Lucien.

“You are my subject and you will sit down and stop talking.”

She felt the metallic tang of magic slam into her face, attempting to make her obey. Elain knew what Rhys didn’t, what she’d kept a careful secret until that moment. He couldn’t compel her; his magic had no effect. He wasn’t her subject. She never had been.

“Sit down,” he said again, his every word dripping in authority. She straightened her spine even as her hands trembled. “You can’t make me,” she replied, pressed as close to Lucien as she could get.

“Rhys,” Lucien warned, his own voice rich with that same magic. She shivered at the sound. Rhys glanced towards Feyre, exchanging some conversation silently between them.

“I want to leave,” she told them, her voice wobbling nervously.

“Elain…can we talk? Just me and you?” Feyre murmured, holding out her hand. “Please?”

Elain looked over her shoulder but Lucien was still staring at Azriel with a clenched jaw. “Fine.”

Feyre grabbed her hand and whisked her out of the room. In the hall, Nesta had her back pressed to the wall. She followed behind Elain silently, spine straight, eyes cold. The three practically ran down marble floors, up the stairs, all the way to Feyre’s room. She locked the door behind her, as if that would keep anyone out.

“What happened with Azriel?” Nesta asked the second the door was shut.

“There are things you don’t understand,” Feyre interrupted, ignoring Nesta’s question. “You can’t leave.”

“Are you saying that as my sister, or High Lady?” Elain whispered.

“Where will you go, Elain?” Feyre prodded. “Spring—”

Her laughter was practically a shriek. “Did you know the last time Lucien came home from Spring he had bruises all over his ribs? Couldn’t look me in the eyes when I asked what happened? What do you think happened?” Elain demanded. Feyre flinched.

“How can you send him back there and stand here and tell me I don’t understand the situation?” Elain pressed. “He’s your friend.”

“I know, Elain, I’m sorry,” Feyre interrupted breathlessly. “I care about Lucien, too but he’s cunning and—”

“And what is Rhys?” Nesta interrupted with an imperious smile.

“You suddenly like Lucien?” Feyre demanded, hands on her hips. Nesta scoffed.

“No, but I like watching Elain tell Rhys to fuck himself. And…and it meant a lot what you said about…”

Elain nodded.

“Don’t leave,” Feyre pressed, ignoring Nesta completely. “Move in with Lucien if you want just…just don’t go.”

“I want to do more than garden,” Elain whispered. “We’d still see each other…he’d still help you, if you asked because you’re his friend…and I’m your sister.”

Feyre nodded, her eyes glassy. Elain knew she was still talking to Rhys, trying to strike some sort of balance between the fight they’d just had and not making things worse. “Rhys is asking if Lucien will go to Day Court on his behalf…they have a lot of libraries…Vassa still is spelled and we haven’t been able to figure it out. Maybe you could go with him? If you want, I mean?”

Elain nodded her head. “I’d like to see the other Courts.”

“But you’ll come back?” Feyre asked, her voice small and Elain knew she needed to apologize to her sister. Feyre was trying…Feyre had been good for all those years, selfless even when she didn’t have to be. Guilt gnawed at Elain. She’d let her temper get the better of her. She crossed the room and hugged Feyre tightly.

“Of course I will. I’m sorry…I didn’t…I shouldn’t have yelled.”

“Wrong again,” Nesta said dryly. “You should yell more often. Tell Helion if he tries anything—”

“Helion won’t try anything,” Feyre assured Nesta. “Trust me.”

Nesta frowned. “He’ll take one look at her face and fall in love just like everyone else. How can you say—” “Rhys is going to talk to him.”

“He doesn’t have to do that,” Elain cajoled. “I can handleone High Lord calling me pretty.”

Feyre pinched the bridge of her nose. “It…it’s not appropriate, you have a mate—”

“I can handle it,” Elain said firmly, determined to do something for herself. “Promise.”

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by Rhys and Lucien in the archway. They looked tense; neither looked at the other. Elain wondered what had been said. Rhys looked from his mate to Elain before raising his palms.

“We…we worked it out,” Rhys assured her. “Don’t kill me.”

“I’m sorry I yelled,” she told him, not sorry at all. She suspected he knew.

“Day Court?” Lucien asked, brows raised, his face very much. She smiled.

“Day Court.”

[xbunnybunz]

Jealousy [Lelouch x Reader]

Summary: You love Zero, Lelouch loves you. Lelouch is Zero, and you are none the wiser.

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Date: August 10, 2014

----- 

“S-sir?

A meek voice echoed through the storage room, seeking the leader of the black knights.

Lelouch blinked from behind his mask and looked away from some paperwork, wondering who had confronted him. Could it possibly be...? Yes. Of course it was.

There you stood, fiddling with your hair and cheeks tinged pink, avoiding eye contact with your leader. Yes, as much as Lelouch had tried to convince you otherwise,  you had become a member of the Black Knights. ‘The problem is that Lelouch had tried to tell her, and not “Zero”’ Lelouch thought, aggravated. Lelouch recalled a particularly bad day in school; his identity was almost revealed by a mere cat, and after he had expended his energy into chasing the rotten animal, he nearly fell off of the school roof. So when you told him about your intention to join the Black Knights, he was anything but happy. Perhaps he had taken it a tad too far, because he could still remember how bitterly you had reacted after he told you to “get a hold of yourself;” that “a dangerous job like being a Black Knight was not meant for delusional fangirls like yourself.” Looking back now, he wished he had just taken his anger elsewhere. “What do you know about me,  Lelouch?” You snarled, stepping away from him. “Just because you knew me since childhood doesn't mean that you can judge my feelings toward Zero! You have no right to call me delusional-” “-Yes I do!” Lelouch narrowed his violet eyes, glaring a hole into your skull, “How can you say you love him if you've never even met him before? You’re risking your life for someone who will reject your feelings!” He watched as you froze and cast your eyes downward, red flooded your cheeks. “Yeah, Lelouch, is that what you think? That he's going to reject my feelings?” You ask, looking up at him, eyes shining with sorrow. “Well, that’s alright. He wouldn’t be the first time I was rejected, right?” Lelouch’s eyes widened slightly in disbelief; were you still hung up about that? "I'll be going now." You say, turning away from him. He wanted to reach out and stop you, but he didn't. He couldn't. He could lead an army and take down several nightmares with a single command, but he didn’t have the fortitude to stop a girl from leaving a room. Pathetic. Footsteps. Door. "Click." Then silence. Lelouch heaved a small sigh behind his mask and turned his body to face you. "What is it, soldier?" You winced at his words and shifted uncomfortably, pink turning to red on your cheeks "W-well, sir, I've been wondering about something..." Lelouch's purple eyes watched your face turn varying shades of red, scowling. Why didn't you act this way around him at school? Why did you blush and fidget in front of him now, when he was under a different name and a different life? Was the normal Lelouch missing something?! No… You had done this, but not anymore. Lelouch was touched. You had fallen for him twice, if that wasn’t love, then he didn’t know what was. Regrettably, he couldn’t accept your feelings, especially not here- not with this side of him. "Uhm..." You diverted your gaze from him, instead deciding to stare at an empty crate. "I've been wondering why you call me 'soldier' all the time, sir." Lelouch raised an eyebrow, which you couldn't see, of course. "Are implying that you not one of my loyal soldiers?" You quickly scrambled to defend yourself, "N-no sir! It's just that... That you call the other Black Knights by their real names, and- and-" You bit your lip and looked down at your shoes, feeling quite stupid for bringing up such a mundane question. "I'm sorry, sir. Never mind." Your cheeks were lit aflame. You were talking to Zero one-on-one at last, but you had only made a fool of yourself. Why would he call you soldier? Because you were a soldier, of course! Such idiotic questions... What kind of answer were you anticipating? "And you?" You blinked stupidly, taken by surprise. "Huh? Me?" Zero continued, standing up and leaning against a large crate next to him.  "Why do you call me 'sir,' and not Zero?" He recalled how you said Zero's name in his presence at school. You spoke it with awe, respect, and sometimes, to his chagrin: love. The name "Zero" never failed to pull compliments and praises from your lips- and although Lelouch should have been feeling pretty darn good about that- dammit all! That was not how it was supposed to be! You were supposed to love him, Lelouch! Not his alter-ego! He watched as you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, tempting him to claim those lips as his. How long has he been waiting for a kiss from you? A week? A month? A year? Goodness, who knew? He lost count a long time ago. Ever since he had declinced your romantic advancements in school, he found himself getting interested in you as well- a bit more than he was comfortable with. However, as anyone who was rejected would do, you were slowly getting over Lelouch. Unfortunately for the boy, your confesion had only ignited his interest in you- and it was swallowing him whole. What had caused your fondness of him? Why would you approach him about such a trivial topic? You couldn’t have found out about his true identity, right? At first, it was just these factual questions; nothing that would harm anyone. But in due time, he began wondering how you would react in certain situations. What would she do if I told her that I liked her as well? How would she react if I hugged her? Held her hand? Kissed her? Soon, he found himself thinking of you whenever he was able to; whether it be in class, while doing his homework, or during Student Council meetings. His curiosity had developed into a near obsession- or dare he say, an attraction. Lelouch had managed to suppress thoughts of you while he was with the Black Knights, and thank goodness for that. He couldn’t imagine the chaos that would ensue if you managed to worm your way into his mind, then. But now… There you stood, twiddling your fingers and chewing your goddamn lip in front of him. Lelouch couldn’t deny it. He wanted you, and he always got what he wanted… Just not like this. He didn’t want it like this. He couldn’t have you interferring with his plans to destroy Britannia, and he definitely didn’t want you to love Zero. In order to prevent any kind of intimacy between you and his alter-ego, he began referring to you as “soldier” instead of by your name. But damn it all to hell if it worked, because it didn’t. Each time he called you “soldier”and you called him “sir,” the tension between you two would double, and triple, and exponentially rise, driving him to the brink of absolute madness. You distanced yourself from Lelouch at school, and he knew that you were trying your best not to make things awkward between the two of you- he knew that you were trying to move on, but the more you pulled away from him, the less he wanted to let go. What was there to move on from, if he loved you back? Before he had a chance to recalculate his relationship with you, you had managed to slip out of his grasp… And right back in. Unbeknownst to you, you had fallen head-over heels for the same person twice. But this time, oh, this time, it was so much stronger. Your feelings of love, admiration and respect had mixed into one unidentifiable goop of emotion that was directed toward the leader of the Black Knights. And as if the world wasn't enough of a paradox, Lelouch found himself jealous of… Himself. His geass couldn’t help him here. He had sat down one day, completely weighed down by your flurry of emotions as well as his own. He was desperate for the tensions between you two to stop, and although he was ashamed of it now, he had written out a list of commands he could use to make you love him, and not Zero. Of course, it was in vain. He was Zero, and Zero was him. They were one and the same person, no matter how much Lelouch wished it wasn’t true. A single command would either make you hate Lelouch and Zero, or worse- love both at the same time. In the past month, Lelouch’s jumbled thoughts brewed faster and faster inside of his mind, whipping up into a horrible storm, and he had no one else to blame but you. What in the hell had you done to him? “That-” You say, yanking him out of his exasperating thoughts, “That would be inappropriate.” Lelouch took a moment to recollect his thoughts. Oh, right. He had asked you a question. “Tell me,” He said, his voice coming out raspily from behind his mask, “What makes you think that calling me ‘Zero’ would be inappropriate?” “W-well,” You stuttered, “I’ve only known you for a year, sir.” “A lot of things aren’t necessarily appropriate, are they?” Lelouch asked, ignoring your answer, “Because of their morals, humans cage themselves into a dead end. Wouldn't it be easier to forget them all and break free?” Break free… “I guess so…” You mumble, looking at your shoes modestly. “_______,” Lelouch tasted your name on his tongue, enjoying the sweet, yet acerbic taste it left in his mouth, “You say you’ve known me, Zero, for a year, correct?” You answered, surprised that he even knew your name. “Yes, sir- Erm, Zero…” You blushed upon saying the name, much to Lelouch’s distaste. He ignored it. That’s all that he could do, for now. Suddenly, you heard a loud “BAM!” The sound was harsh, and it grated upon your ears, echoing within the closed space that both Zero and you had occupied. You flinched and closed your eyes, preparing for the worst. When nothing came, you pried your eyes open, stunned to see one of Zero’s arms against the wall next to you, caging your body with his. With his other hand, he calmly pressed a button on the side of his mask. You stood, bewildered and astonished as you heard the whirring of gears, signalling the retraction of the back of his mask. “Z-Zero- what are you-!” “Humor me, _______.” He cut you off,  “Is one year enough time to fall in love?” Because I've known you my whole life... “O-one year… One year can do a lot…” You gulped, watching as Zero adjusted his mask to show his mouth. “Then, hell.” He whispered, leaning into your lips, “I must be completely infatuated.”

[ditzydawn11]

keep me safe

Neville Longbottom x reader

not requested

warnings: attempted sexual assault

2500 words

THIS STORY HAS MATURE THEMES. My heart goes out to all of the ladies who are a part of the 97%. You are strong, you are beautiful, and you are not alone.

When someone tries to hurt the reader, Neville steps in and protects her like the true Gryffindor he is. 

Neville was your best friend in the whole world.

In third year you had asked Professor Sprout to use her greenhouse to cultivate a plant for your own needs. You had a knack for potions and although you couldn’t stand Snape’s constant droning in class, your passion for the subject was unmatched compared to any other of your studies. 

You had been trying to create a potion that would allow your pet cat, Socks, to levitate. Ever since you first picked her out in Diagon Alley during your first year she had longingly stared out the window in your dorm admiring the owls flying outside. 

Obtaining the magical ingredients was no trouble, Snape often let you come and take what you needed because you were his top student. However, to make it cat safe you needed muggle cat-nip, something Snape definitely did not have on hand. 

That’s what led you to the greenhouse on a cold and rainy April morning with your small pot and bag of seeds in hand. You didn’t expect anyone else to occupy the small plant house at 7:00 am on a Tuesday so you didn’t bother to knock. You let yourself in and were startled to see another student with his back towards you tending to some plant. 

“Oh, hi!” you squeaked out. Before you could react, the poor boy dropped the empty pot he was holding creating a large crash and shattering the clay everywhere. “Oh I-I-I am so-so sorry. I-I didn’t know anyone w-was here,” he said between frantic breaths as he was focused on trying to pick up the pieces. “Don’t apologize, I should have knocked. Let me help you.” you kindly offered. You bent down onto your knees to his level to help pick up the broken pieces. “Here,” you said handing him a rather large piece that was still intact. Neville looked up to grab the piece from your hand. He was so caught up by his own clumsiness that he didn’t get a proper look at you. He was taken back by your beauty, the way your hair perfectly framed your face, the subtle red tint to your nose and cheeks from the cold, and the way your eyes sparkled in the early morning light. Neville could barely get a sentence out when your hands met exchanging the Terra Cotta. “Uh..thanks,” he said quickly looking back down at the ground.

You stood up and dusted off the front of your skirt. “I’m y/n by the way. Sorry again for startling you,” “Don’t worry about it. Oh um I-I uh I’m Neville.” “It’s nice to meet you, Neville, Sprout is letting me use the greenhouse to grow a plant of mine for a potion. So it looks like we will be seeing more of each other,” you happily stated.

From that moment on you and Neville became the best of friends. Though if you were being completely honest, you longed for more. You had gone out with a couple of guys on small dates over the years and Neville even took Ginny to the Yule Ball but you never really clicked with someone like you did with Neville.

Now you were in your 5th year starting to think about life after Hogwarts. Laying with your head in Neville’s lap under a big tree near the black lake you two discussed your futures and what you think you would do after graduation. “Hey Nev?” you asked interrupting the comfortable silence between the two of you. “Yes y/n?” he responded setting down the book he had been reading. “What do you want to do after we’re done with school?” you asked him while staring up at his face from down below. “I dunno, maybe teaching. I’ve pretty much taught you everything you know about Herbology,” he responded with a chuckle. “Hey!” you gave him a playful smack “though I do suppose I wouldn’t have passed my last exam without you basically teaching me the last chapter.” 

“What about you?” the brown-haired boy asked while playing with the ends of your hair. “I think I want to continue my study of potions. I mean imagine developing a potion to finally reverse horrible diseases and terrible curses,” you replied subtly referencing what happened to his parents.

You were the only person Neville had told the story of his parents to. Ever since then you always made an effort to remind him of how proud his parents would be of him. He often doubted his abilities but you how brave and capable he was. You would trust him with your life.

“If anyone can brew those potions it’ll be you,” he said in a quieter tone. “Aww thanks, Nev, I know exactly who I’ll be getting my ingredients from,” you said with a smile. Nightfall was approaching so the two of you made your way back to the castle for dinner. The two of you were an unconventional duo to everyone else but to you, you were best friends and wouldn’t want it any other way. 

Later that night you closed your eyes to fall asleep but your mind began to drift. You began to think about Neville which isn’t uncommon seeing that you spend most of your time together but you were thinking about him in a different way. 

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought of him like this before but what’s even worse is that part of you wishes it was this way. You had noticed a bit of...tension between the two of you on occasion. Like the time you couldn’t reach the top shelf in the greenhouse so Neville came up directly behind you to get the watering can for you. Or when you grabbed Neville from the library to go and watch Fred and George’s newest prank unfold and you held his hand the whole way there. You so wished that something more could blossom between you two but the last thing you wanted to do was jeopardize your friendship. I mean having Neville as a friend is better than not having him at all. You knew you could spend hours thinking about this so you just decided to roll over and try to get some shut-eye.

A few days later you were supposed to meet Neville in your guy’s usual spot after lunch, in the greenhouse, but he didn’t show. You figured he probably forgot (something he does quite often but you secretly think is absolutely adorable) so you left to go and find him. After searching for a bit you went to check for him in his dorm. Before you knocked you could hear faint sniffling from the other side of the door. You gently knocked and called out “Neville? Is that you? Can I come in?” After a few seconds of quiet the door slowly opened to a teary Neville on the other side. You instantly dropped your bag and gave him the biggest bear hug you could. You broke the hug and asked “Neville what’s wrong?  What happened?” “y/n why am I a Gryffindor? I’m so pathetic I can’t even stand up for myself,” he said through his sniffles. “Neville you are far from pathetic. You are the bravest, and most kindhearted, and loyal person I know. That’s why you’re a Gryffindor. Your parents would be so proud of you. I’m so proud of you.” you assured. It turns out that a few Slytherins sabotaged Neville’s potion in Snape’s class so it would explode everywhere. When Neville went to confront them he froze which caused everyone to laugh at him. You continued to hug him until he calmed down but you wished there was some way you could get Neville to believe in himself as you believe in him.

About a week later you found yourself sitting in the courtyard reading your transfiguration textbook for your test tomorrow. You were sitting on a small bench by yourself in a relatively secluded area of the outdoor space. You saw a figure approaching and looked up to see none other than McLaggen, someone who you often complained to Neville about on a regular basis. “So sweetheart, there’s a trip to Hogsmeade coming up and you look like you could use a date,” he said with a sickening smirk. “Bugger of Cormac,” you said as you began to collect your things. “Aww that’s no way to talk to me darling,” he said inching closer to you “you know I don’t like taking no for an answer.” Cormac McLaggen was just about the most disgusting guy at Hogwarts. He had asked out pretty much every girl in the school including yourself on multiple occasions. The answer was always a hard no but he couldn’t seem to get that through his thick skull. “I said I’m not interested now I have to get to class. Goodbye.” you hastily replied while trying to get as far away from the douchebag as you could. Before you could get very far he grabbed you and pinned you up against the stone hedge directly behind you. “What the fuck” you screamed as he began ripping open your uniform blouse and putting his hands on your chest and neck. You fought back as hard as you could but he was just too strong. 

What you didn’t see was Neville watching you from afar. He had been sitting with Dean and Seamus when he saw McLaggen make his way over to you. He knew that you would never stoop to that level but it did spark a kind of jealousy in him seeing another boy talk to you that way. When he saw him push you against the wall Neville reacted before he could think and sprinted over to you as fast as he could. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing Cormac?” Neville yelled as he pulled the asshole off of his best friend. “Just showing her what a real Gryffindor is like since she seems to spend all her time with you, a pathetic excuse of a wizard,” said Cormac as he began to get closer to Neville who was standing directly in front of you as a shield. “Don’t you ever come near her again? You hear me?” Neville threatened without any hesitancy or fear in his voice. “Yeah right,” McLaggen scoffed as he advanced on Neville. However, before he could do any more damaged Neville punched him straight in the face causing Cormac to fall to the ground. 

By this time a small crowd was beginning to form. McGonagall broke through the mess of students “What in the world  is going on here?” She looked at the scene in front of her and quickly put together the pieces. “I see, students get to class, I’ll be taking Mr. McLaggen to Dumbledore. We do not tolerate this kind of behavior. Longbottom, I trust that you will make sure Miss y/l/n is alright. Please take her to Madam Pomfrey if she needs anything. Very well.” and she grabbed McLaggen by the arm and made her way back to the castle. 

The crowd had dispersed leaving just you and Neville. Neville realized that he hadn’t even checked in on you yet because he was so disoriented from everything that just happened. He quickly spun around to face you. Your mascara was completely smeared, you were sobbing, and your blouse was ripped open leaving your bra and chest exposed. “Can I- can I touch you?” Neville softly asked not wanting to make you uncomfortable in any way. Instead of using your words you just collapsed into Neville letting his arms wrap around you in an effort to keep all the pain and ugly things as far away from you as he could.

You don’t know how long you two stayed like that but Neville pulled away eventually and used his thumb to wipe off some of your smeared black eye makeup and tears. “Here,” he said while pulling off his burgundy Gryffindor sweater and putting it over your head. He saw that you were still exposed and didn’t want anyone seeing you like that. “Do you want to go to Madam Pomfrey?” he softly asked while rubbing soothing circles on the back of your hand. You shook your head no “can we just go sit by the lake. I don’t want to go back and deal with everyone yet.” “Of course,” he replied. 

Neville guided you over to the lake and you two rested under your favorite tree. There were no words exchanged between the two of you. Just comfortable silence and a telepathic-like connection that told you that everything was going to be alright. Neville rubbed soothing circles on your back as you lay your head on his lap. You don’t know how long you two stayed there but you soon realized that you must have fallen asleep because it was nearly dusk and you were in Neville’s arms walking back to the castle. 

He carried you back to your common room and up to your dorm. Neville layed you down on your bed and tucked you into the covers. He made his way to the door but stopped when he heard you call out his name. “Hey, Nev? Could you maybe stay? I just don’t want to be alone right now.” “Oh, uh sure,” he said making his way back to you. He didn’t want to make you feel bad for seeming hesitant because honestly, he would love nothing more than to stay with you. However, the last thing he would want to do is to make you uncomfortable or seem like he was taking advantage of you in your time of distress. Plus with his massive crush on you, he gets incredibly nervous any time something remotely intimate or romantic occurs between you two. But he swallowed his nerves and kicked off his shoes to be there for you when you need him most. He would do anything for you. He crawled under the covers and kept a substantial amount of space between you two though honestly, the school-issued dorm beds weren’t that big. 

You didn’t say a word but gently turned over so you were facing away from Neville. You scooted closer to him and in a moment of bravery grabbed his hand from the opposite side of the bed and pulled it over you so you two were cuddling. You let out a sigh of relief partly from Neville not pulling away and partly from finally finding some peace from the stress of the day. 

“Neville?” you called out. “Yes y/n,” he called back. “Thank you for keeping me safe.” and soon after those few words left your mouth in the still silence of the room, you were asleep.

Neville let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and bravely planted a kiss on the top of your head. Maybe he really was a Gryffindor after all.

[smellsfaintlyofvanilla]

hi may i request a mikasa x gn reader soulmates au? maybe the tattoo/marks trope or the visions/dreams trope up to you :) thank you in advance!

Finally some Mikasa, I love her sm

Also, I wasn't super sure what specific tropes you were talking about, so I just kinda took an idea and ran with it, hope you don't mind.

Anyway, this POV follows Mikasa, which is different from what I usually do, a POV of the reader instead lol

Rosebud

(Mikasa Ackerman x Reader)

AU: Canon, soulmates AU (You have a unique tattoo that only you and your soulmate have)

Warnings: None

Category: Fluff

Summary: Mikasa was doubtful of soulmates, but an unexplainable force draws her to her soulmate one day, and Mikasa has no choice but to confront it.

Words: 2.7K

Mikasa never really believed in soulmates.

She thought the idea that everyone had a destined, unchangeable partner was ridiculous. The perfect person just "appearing" whenever the universe decided she needed them wasn't something she understood at all.

And yet, the evidence of her having one was splayed gorgeously across her back. Stretching from shoulder to shoulder, a large, beautiful tattoo was inked on her back. Feathered wings, outstretched and reaching towards nothing, and around them; roses. Red roses and thorned vines wrapping around the wings and budding up at the top, exposing a single rose bud on the nape of her neck. Though, it remained hidden behind the crimson red scarf she adorned.

She had kept it hidden constantly, lest her soulmate notice it and complicate things. For all she cared, she would keep it hidden forever, and her soulmate would be none the wiser.

She stared into her reflection in the mirror, collecting a small amount of water in her cupped palms and splashing it in her face, making sure her body was wide awake for morning training.

She turned around, staring at the tattoo with an indecipherable expression. She was still topless, not having finished dressing yet, giving her the opportunity to observe the art. Whether she believed in soulmates or not, she couldn't deny the absolute beauty of it.

Hesitantly, she slid on her bra and shirt, wrapping her scarf around her neck just enough to cover the rose. It could stay hidden a little longer.

Time came for morning training, and she suited up in her ODM gear. Today was race day; something that came once a week, where, in the morning, they would race through the forest with their gear, and the first to take a flag from Shadis on the other side was declared winner, and got double rations for the week.

Armin geared up next to her, his sleeves riding up his arms, revealing the tattoo on the inside of his forearm—a golden compass, opened and facing North. The glass covering the needle was adorned with small droplets of water, and foam, presumably from some body of saltwater, surrounded the accessory.

She looked away, choosing to ignore the way it made her heart twinge. Sometimes, rarely, she would indulge in the idea of having a soulmate. She hoped that, say it be true, her soulmate would truly understand her and care for her, and, most importantly, love her, something she unfortunately didn't experience a lot of in her childhood.

A shrill whistle startled her out of her thoughts—the first whistle. It signified 30 seconds until the start of the race, where he would blow it three times in short succession to start the chaos.

She lined up on the white line, drawn in the dirt with chalk, and stretched her arms over her head, releasing the tension in her body before the race started.

Finally, after a tense silence between the soldiers, the whistle blew, and all the Cadets instantly took off, whirring and spinning into the darkness of the forest.

Mikasa shot off, easily finding her place in the top three. Reiner was to her left, and, despite his large build, he managed to carry himself effortlessly, flying through the air like an eagle. And, to her right, the three week reigning champion—you.

Your hair blew behind your face as you pierced through the air, dodging the thick tree trunks and jutting branches as you flew towards the goal.

You turned your head, eyes meeting hers with a competitive smirk, wordlessly challenging her, temping her, even.

Mikasa perfected her form, leveling her body and shooting the hooks of her gear into just the right places to give her the highest momentum. She easily slipped past you, eyes set straight forward towards the goal as she stole the first place spot.

You swore under your breath, immediately thinking of how you were going to pull ahead of Mikasa during the home stretch.

You aimed your ODM gear at a tree in the distance, seeing if you could use the momentum to slingshot yourself forwards and towards the goal.

But, as soon as the hook buried itself into the wood, the wire twisted and stretched, clearly going on beyond it's limits. Still, you decided that would be a problem for the next gear inspection. For now, you could stand to damage your gear a little bit to pull ahead of Mikasa.

Mikasa watched, jaw slightly agape, as you sped in front of her, easily gaining a ten meter lead on her. Her daze lasted only a slight moment, as a loud screeching noise drew her attention away from your sudden lead.

She searched around for a moment for the source of the sound, until she located it right in your direction. Her eyes widened in realization—your ODM wire was strained, and started the fray as it twisted and stretched.

You seemed to notice your peril shortly after, but there was nothing you could do at that point. The last metal strand of the wire strand snapped, and it gave out instantly, still dug into the tree.

Panic immediately shot up your spine, bracing yourself for impact as your previous momentum shot your face first towards the forest floor.

Mikasa's eyes wandered involuntarily towards your stranded form, watching in horror as you collided with the dirt, kicking up a cloud of dust laying limply in the shrubbery.

Part of her just wanted to finish the race—since she was now in first—and claim her rations. But, a sudden, external force drew her to you, her body moving on its own as she rushed to your side.

Soldiers flew past her overhead, the buzzing and whirring in her ears making it difficult to tell just how fast her heart was beating all of the sudden.

She dug through the grass and shrubs for a moment, searching your limp figure. Once she found you, she pulled you up and out of the dirt. You were awake, but somewhat lethargic, staring up at her with droopy eyes. Blood trickled down your forehead and over your cheeks, dripping from your chin.

"Shit, Y/n...!" She cursed under her breath, scanning your body for any other injuries, letting out a heavy sigh of relief once she realized there were none.

"Are you alright? Does your head hurt? Can you walk?" She bombarded you with questions, pulling your body into her lap. She had no idea why she was so concerned with you all of the sudden, but the urge to make sure you were okay was absolutely overpowering.

"I..." You raised your hand the gash in your head, pulling it away and gazing at the blood coating your fingers. "...could be better, but I think I'm alright." You sighed, resting an arm over your chest out of exhaustion. "Hurts like a bitch, though."

Mikasa sighed, brushing the loose strand of hair from your face.

"Mmm..." She hummed, rubbing her temple as the roots of a headache started to form in her head. Terrible timing, though it was inevitable considering the sudden stress this situation brought her. "Still, I should bring you back. You don't look so great right now."

You sighed, nodded your head slowly, the pain of your fall seeping its way into your aching body as the adrenaline started to wear off.

You stood up, slowly starting to walk back to the barracks, but found your legs suddenly unable to support your body weight as you stumbled and collapsed forward. Luckily, Mikasa dashed to your side, wrapping one arm around your shoulders and the other over your stomach to support you and prevent your fall.

"Hang on." She muttered, moving in front of your to slink her arm underneath you, picking you up and slowly carrying you towards the barracks.

You immediately buried your nose in the crook of her neck, the head injury clearly clouding any sense of shame momentarily. You inhaled her subtle, yet sweet aroma, slowly dozing off in her warm embrace.

It took Mikasa a good few minutes to realize you had fallen asleep, once she had asked you a question for the third time and didn't get a response. Once she realized, though, she just moved the arm that wasn't supporting you up to your head, keeping your head in its place. For some odd reason, she found comfort in its being there.

Small twigs snapping and grass rustling, plus your soft snoring, were the only audible noises at this point, the other soldiers far too far away to hear. Even if the two of you were close enough, even the person in last place should've crossed by now. She paused to wonder if Shadis would mind both of your absences, but dismissed the thought. At least somebody had to have seen you fall.

She sighed, gazing up at the sky.

"What am I doing right now?" She wondered aloud, now that there was no one to listen. "Why am I helping you?" Her slender hand brushed through your hair, trying to make you as comfortable as possible while you slept.

She had no clue, honestly. She had always been a close friend to you, but to go to such lengths to comfort you, she wasn't sure why. And she wasn't sure, either, why your gentle breathing against her was so calming to her. Really, she had no reason to be feeling this way.

Her feet slowed to a stop in front of the main building of the Trainee Regiment. Slowly, she pushed the door open and walked down the corridor towards the nursing room.

Gently, she set you down on the bench, stirring you awake as you opened your eyes, scanning the new environment with confusion.

"Where are w-"

"The medical office." She cuts you off without thinking, rummaging through the nearby cabinet for bandages, or something to wrap your head in.

Finding the small, white roll tucked away in the back, she turns back to you, unraveling some of the bandages and slowly wrapping them around your head.

"It really isn't that bad, Mikasa." You stated, yet made no effort to stop her.

"Liar. You passed out on the way here." She deadpanned, finally finishing the bandages. Grabbing a small cloth and running it under the sink, she dabbed it across your face, cleaning off the dried blood.

"I didn't pass out." You huffed out, stubbornly.

"You were asleep almost the whole walk."

"Just a power nap." You concluded, making her giggle.

"Whatever you say, just... be more careful. You probably already have a concussion, we don't need more than one TBI per month." She joked, smiling bashfully as you laughed at her quip. Mikasa wasn't a jokester by any means, so to see her so comfortable around you was a shock.

Mikasa pulled the cloth away from your face, examining for any missed spots. She almost put the rag away, satisfied with her work, until she saw a little dash of red across your nape.

"Turn around. You have blood on your neck." She whispered, and you obeyed silently, turning around.

She outstretched her hand, preparing to wipe the crimson off your neck, until she noticed. That's not blood at all.

It was a rosebud.

She blinked once, twice, making sure it wasn't just her imagination. It was identical to the one she had of the back of her nape as well—she knew it far too well, she saw it every other morning.

Without thinking, she grabbed the head hole of your shirt, pulling the cloth down to your mid-back to get a closer look.

"Ack—! Mikasa what are-" You sputtered, confused by her sudden forcefulness, contrasting her previous gentle behavior.

She paid no mind to your protests though, gazing in amazement and bewilderment. It was the exact same as the one she had, a perfect replica.

Clearly, she had never thought to take in the beauty of it until now. Now that it was inked into your back and not hers, she could see just how marvelous of a drawing it is.

"Y/n..." She exhaled, so quiet that she was surprised the sound even passed her lips coherently.

"Mikasa, what's gotten into you?" You inquire, turning around to face her, pulling your shirt back up over your shoulders in the meantime.

The second your eyes meet hers, she throws herself around you, wrapping her arms so tight around your chest that you swore you couldn't breathe.

Tears threatened to prick at her eyes. No matter how much she didn't believe in it, the stories were true. The stories of how you'd feel when you first connect with your soulmate. And, guessing by the way your breathing faltered and your mouth hung agape, you could feel it too.

She pulled away, leaving you confused, but also a little colder without her body pressed so close to yours.

With no explanation, she raised her arms and slid her shirt over her head, causing you to flush bright red and start to panic.

"Mikasa, seriously, what the hell is going on-"

"Look." She turned around, and the winged tattoo was on full display. It matched yours completely.

"Mikasa, I..." You tried to think of something to say, but no words fell out. You didn't expect to meet your soulmate, not this early, not her.

She didn't know what to do, either. She never expected to meet her soulmate, and not in a place like the Cadet Corps. Though, she couldn't deny that she felt attracted to you, not just emotionally, but almost spiritually, like something unknown tethered the two of you together.

Slowly, she brought you into a more gentle embrace, slinking down in your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck, leaning into the crook of your shoulder. You instantly wrapped your arms around her in return, and you swore you had never felt more at home than in this moment.

Her hand moved to your back, skimming it back and forth over the spot where your tattoo laid—she knew it was there, even if she couldn't see it.

The two of you stayed there in comfortable silence for what felt like eternity, being so close to someone as important as a soulmate brought immeasurable relief and tranquility to the both of you. The dull throbbing in your head died down at the sensation of the warm, comfortable woman tucked in your arms.

But, the moment was cut off by the distant shouting and clamoring of soldiers, signifying their return from the race.

"We should get up." You muttered, not wanting your intimate moment ruined by sudden company.

Mikasa sighed, reluctantly shuffling out of your lap and onto her feet. "What about Shadis?" She inquired, sliding her shirt back over her head.

"I'll just say it's about the head wound, and that you're staying behind to help me." You smile, dusting more of the dried dirt off your uniform. "He'll understand."

"I doubt that." She sighed bluntly, stretching her stiff limbs over her head. "But still, I wouldn't mind spending a little time off with you." She admitted, grabbing the cloth of her scarf and covering her mouth in an attempt to mask her flushed face.

"Good." You push through the door to the medical office, making your way to your dorm room—which, by coincidence, you shared with Mikasa.

You plopped down on the cozy linen sheets, stretching your body out before yawning, patting the space next to you and inviting Mikasa over. She took the offer silently, placing herself on the mattress, sitting up and facing the wall away from you.

"You know, when I said to watch over me, that was only an excuse for Shadis." You muttered, wrapping your arms around her waist in an attempt to pull her down to cuddle. "I just wanted to snuggle a little bit."

She sighed. Not moving from her position, upright and facing the wall. "I know, I know soulmates should do romantic things like this, I'm just... very new to this." She muttered, embarrassed.

"That's fine." You yawn, arms retreating from her waist as you bury your face in a pillow, sleep already taking hold. "We have plenty of time."

She nodded wordlessly, even you were unable to see—sleep had already taken hold of you.

"That's okay," She turned around, stroking your hair and brushing a few loose strands away from your face. "I think I love you already."

Bleh, I'll proofread this in the morning.

Edit: I did not proofread this in the morning.

[itevilhag]

Till The End | S.R

CREDITS TO THE OWNER OF THIS GIF! Spencer Reid x POC!reader summary: The resident genius of the BAU just tied the knot with Maxine Brenner, but reader finally decided to let out her feelings- well not directly anyways. warnings: ANGSSSTTTT wordcount: 1k A/N: I am so sorry for the lack of descriptions here.  “Hi,” you greeted, smiling lightly.

“Hey,” he replied, reciprocating your smile. “Uhm- I know you’ve been dancing with your relative for hours, and I’m about to feel bad about what I’m gonna say but Dr. Spencer Reid, may I have the honor of sharing this dance with you?” you offered as you held your hand out to him with a small smile on your lips. “Well, In that came Ms. L/N, you shall” he accepted your hand reciprocating your smile, and led you to the center of the dance floor. As the slow music played in the background, your hands found their way to the back of his neck, as his hand settled itself on your waist pulling you closer, but not close enough to draw attention. “Hey, I know that Maxine has probably already said this countless times tonight but, you look handsome, like to the nines handsome,” you commented, with a small smirk on your lips. “Yeah? Well, I would say the same to you. You look beautiful, Y/N,” he replied. “Are you okay?” he asked, as the silence between you two drew out.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t be?” you look up to him, trying your best to muster up a (fake) smile.

“Nothing, it's just that... You look a bit sad.” he pointed out. And with that, you look away from him “Hey, you know you can tell me anything, right?”

No, Spencer, I can’t. Please not right now.

“Yeah, yeah, Spencer, I know that I just don't wanna ruin your night by pouring my shit on you, on your wedding day, because that would make me a horrible best friend, and I don't wanna be that, so…”

“There's nothing you can do or say that would ruin my night okay? So…” he nodded signaling for me to spill it out. Here goes.

“Well, there is this guy that I like, and I've sort of had these feelings for him for a long time- and I mean who wouldn't? The man's handsome, he's tall, charismatic, a good listener, a good friend, and very smart might I add,” you chuckled, as your heart rate basically picked up as you started.

“He sounds wonderful,” he said, a subtle smile appearing on his lips.

“Oh yeah, he is, he's very wonderful,” you replied.

“What's got you feeling down then?” he asked, confused.

“Uhm he's with someone now.”

“Oh,” he said, realization hitting him in the face.

“Yep. I was just too much of a coward to tell him how I really felt and, now he's happy with another girl. And I wished that I would have told him you know, but I didn't because I was afraid that he won't like me back and that I would lose him and I can't risk that. Because I love him too much to lose him, instead of confronting my feelings, I buried it deep in my heart somewhere until it fades away, but instead of making me feel better, I think it made it even worse. Because I was jealous of that girl, because she made him happy and I didn't, and I wished that I was her so bad to the point where I hope they would just break up so that I could be her or replace her, but it doesn't work that way, and taking her away from him would mean hurting him and I don't want to see him get hurt and I can't do that to him, because she makes him happy and he makes her happy. And seeing him smile even if though it isn't because of me, it's enough. If he's happy I'm happy. And I know it would take me a long time to get over him but I guess I'll be right.” you basically just spilled everything out to him, he was still pretty much clueless about who you were referring to, which you were glad for. It’s better that he doesn’t know that it’s him. It’s better this way.

And then he just stared at you, and you immediately saw sadness cloud his features.

“See this is what it was talking about earlier, look at you, now you look sad,” you point out.

“No no no it's not that, it's kind of like I was in the same position as you back then with someone else before I even met Maxine,”

“But whoever that guy is it's lost, that guy would have been lucky to have you,” he added, and that cheered you up a bit.

“Damn straight, but I mean it really isn't his fault and it's okay I guess, at least i didn't lose him, he's still my friend, and I love him so.” you shrugged.

“If I do end up meeting this guy at some point, I'm already asking in advance for your permission for me to kick his ass,” he said.

“Oh Spencer, permission granted.” you chuckled.

“But, jokes aside, are you sure you're okay?” he asked again.

“A bit, I got it out of my chest so...”

“Did you know that for women, recovery after a breakup or heartbreak was greatly hindered if not entirely stalled. As the number of splits increased, the mental health of women down-spiraled. And I know you two were technically not together, but I can see you hurting. We're here, okay? Me and the team, if you need a shoulder to cry on I'm just a phone call away.” he offered.

“I know, Spence, I know, and I might even take you up on that offer sometime.”

“Look, I'm not okay and you know that, but I'm certainly doing better. I just maybe need to take time to sort my feelings out first, and I know that it'll obviously take time but, I'll heal. So don't you worry about me, I'll be fine.” you stated. “Thank you,” “For what?” “for listening.” he just smiled down at you, before planting a soft kiss on your forehead. You saw Maxine staring at the two of you, and that gave you a window to let Spencer go. “Well looks like your bride's looking for you, so I'll let you go then.” Spencer walked away from you and back to Maxine’s side. You stood next to JJ, as she wrapped an comforting arm around your shoulder, and yours settled on her waist. Out of all the team members that recide within the BAU, JJ’s the one that knew what was going on. “You okay?” JJ asked. “I’ll be fine, JJ.” “We’re here Y/N, okay? You’re the strongest, bravest woman I know, you’ll get through this. I know you will.” “Thanks, JJ, and I hope I do.”

[dinner-djarin]

Next To You (Bucky x reader)

Just a little one shot I wrote after watching FATWS on repeat. (I tried to make it gender neutral but I may have missed something so I'm sorry if it's not!)

Rating: Mature

No use of Y/N

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: Bucky is having nightmares, and you're there to comfort him. Based on the Julia Michaels song If You Need Me. (so if the ending sounds dumb go listen to the song you'll understand why lol)

Warnings: Fluff & angst I guess idk, kinda dark themes, because well it's Bucky. Just two people who have definitely been through some shit. Oh ya that reminds me swearing. Suggested that intercourse has happened but nothing descriptive. A little (a lot) about trauma but mostly about nightmares. If I missed something pls lemme know, I don't want anyone to feel triggered reading. But if you can watch the show and be fine, you'll probably be okay with this.

Also just letting you know if I put ~ its cause I switch the focus from Bucky to reader, but I'm not switching POV completely its all written in reader POV.

Every night brought pieces of the past. He never knew which memory would be dragged to the surface once he let his subconscious take over - clawing and scrapping against the walls he put up, begging to be let out; to be confronted.

Some nights were worse than others of course.

He wasn’t sure how he was ever going to out run the monsters of his past. For a while he just stopped sleeping. It may not have been a permanent fix, but he thought some relief was better than none at all. He used to go days, even weeks, without sleep during the war, so he figured it might be the best way to silence the past.

Dr. Raynor, however, caught on quick.

A lot of her methods seemed like bullshit to Bucky. He could tell she was genuinely trying to help him, but he doubted anything she had anything to offer him that would prove to be effective.

But at the end of the day she was definitely no fool. He had a tough time lying to her. She didn’t take anyone's crap, and that might have been the only reason he trusted her, even a little. It may have been the only reason he actually gave it a sincere try (besides the fact he’d be arrested if he didn’t).

So he probably shouldn’t have been surprised when she caught on to his sleep strike. In fact she called him out on it only three days in. He thought he’d get longer than that. Even so, he was almost relieved. After only 72 hours he already felt the nightmares slowly creeping into the day. Every time a door slammed or a car horn blared his body tensed. Every time he turned a corner he’d reach for a knife he no longer carried. So maybe it was better to let his past haunt his nightmares. That way he’d be alone when the memories took over. That way he wouldn’t hurt anyone else.

But he made a mistake. He did what he told himself he could never do. He let you get too close.

Falling asleep in your arms felt better than any therapy session he could ever imagine. It was the first time in forever he could remember what it was like to be his younger self. The version of him that marvelled at the idea of flying cars; who thought he could save the world by enlisting. The dreamy eyed boy who was hopeful for the future, who thought he had a future.

Lying next to you made him feel in control, like his problems didn’t matter. He was there to keep you safe, and warm, and comfortable. He never thought he’d feel like that with anyone. He didn’t think he was allowed.

You didn’t question his metal arm for starters. When Bucky took off his jacket, after the hundredth time you insisted - “It’s like 100 degrees in here Bucky, please take it off, you’re gonna melt” - he thought he’d instantly regret it. But you simply looked at it with wonder for only a moment, before returning your eyes up to his own. Staring back at you, he saw the wheels in your brain click into place. He could almost hear your thoughts as you decided what your next move would be.

In the blink of his eyes you tore your shirt off and stood completely still in front of him. For a moment his emotions were mixed, and he worried where your sudden advancement came from, but then he saw it. A thick white mark slashed across your torso.

You took only one step forward before speaking. “It’s not exactly… I know it’s not the same thing at all. But the scars - the marks we carry - they’ll be with us forever, whether we like it or not. Even if they remind us of the worst pieces of ourselves, or the worst moments of our lives, it reminds us that we can move forward. And it reminds me that there’s something to move forward to. I don’t know…it doesn’t really make any sense but somehow it’s almost comforting.  To know that something will always be with us, till the end”

His mouth was on yours in an instant.

He had been hesitant to let anyone in. After coming back - after going through everything he’d been through - he felt like damaged goods. He worried that the minute he let himself be happy, everything would come crashing down again, and he had good reason to believe it. It just kept happening over and over. It seemed like every time he found even a small amount of peace, the battle made its way back to him.

But when he found you, when he felt you, he felt peace. The softness of your skin, the gentle wave of your hair, the light scrape of your fingernails against his back and chest, your quiet moans muffled by his own mouth on yours. Being with you made the horrors of his past melt away. Even when you clamped down around him and bit into his shoulder muscle, even when he knew you’d left marks all over his skin. Knowing they came from you made all the difference. They didn’t remind him of the wars he fought, or lives he took, or the atrocities he committed. The sting of your nails and teeth weren’t pains from his past, they were reminders of his present, of the possibility of a life he could have. With you.

But in the end he knew that it was all wishful thinking. He knew he wasn’t cut out for that type of future. He knew you deserved better.

So he decided to let you off easy, to disappear from your life, leaving your shared experience to the confines of your bedroom. A memory, nothing more. He knew he’d have to sneak away once you fell asleep, because that way it might not feel real. Everything that happened between you might disappear with him.

But then he fucked up.

He was waiting for your breath to even out, a sign he would take to mean you had fallen asleep, but after listening to the air rush out of your body, and watching your bare chest rise and fall, your hypnotic essence overpowered his will, and he fell asleep alongside you.

Only he wasn’t asleep for long.

Eventually the past caught up, as it always had a way of doing. Images, and sounds, and smells all came flooding back to his uninhibited brain - sleep made him an easy target. He was vulnerable to every torment he caused, and every mission he was forced to carry out. Tonight was no exception. His brain managed to sift through every wall he thought he had up, and trudge yet another painful memory to the surface. The image of himself taking life after life, cruelly and viciously. There was no remorse, no stopping him. He saw every crime lord and politician he was made to terminate. Until his brain moved away to a new idea. The image of a young woman. Innocent and pure. But in the way of his mission. The Winter Soldier spared none.

He woke up in a blind panic. His surroundings were unfamiliar. Something was wrong. Was he being held captive or-

~

“Hey,” you made yourself known to him, and he twisted his head back to see you sit up beside him. You were quiet, and a worried expression blanketed your face.

Is he angry, you thought for a moment? No. Your brain was tired, and it was slow to process. Not angry, scared.

You knew from the minute you saw his arm that there was more going on. You already had some suspicions, nevertheless you expected there to be something like this.

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other in silence. You watched him regain his breath, and you carefully shifted your legs to sit crossed underneath you.

His steel blue eyes cut through the darkness, pinning you down. You wondered what was going on in his mind, what he might be doing to regain his grip on reality. You knew this moment too well. The quiet. The darkness. The fear. Not sure of how to move forward.

You were scared too, but not of him - more like you were scared for him. You knew he must be going through something, and you wanted to be there to help, but you also knew that was easier said than done. “Being there to help” was a nice concept, but in reality - well things were generally more complicated. You didn’t know if it’d be alright to approach him, mainly because you were unsure of your role in all this. Were you really someone he wanted around when he was so obviously vulnerable? You’d never seen him so raw and exposed, like a wound you wished you could tend to, while also fearing that your interference could make things worse.

You knew he wasn’t going to ask for your help, you could see he wasn’t that kind of man, but maybe if you made the first step, and let him choose - maybe he’d let you in. So, you held out your hand and waited. After a moment, you saw him move, only slightly though. His eyes darted down towards your hand and he subtly lifted his fingers off the bed. But it only lasted a second. He froze again, hand hovering near yours, and that’s when you realized he had been reaching for you with his left hand. You had been wary to touch it before, you thought it was probably a sensitive subject. Something about the idea of touching his metal arm seemed more personal, if that was possible. Like only the most trusted people in his life might be allowed to… and maybe not even then.

You felt your own eyes drop to your lap, an almost nervous energy now emanating in the space between you. But just before you could drop your hand too, his fingers hesitantly entwine with yours.

You shot your eyes up to see his right hand grazing the palm of your left. As your gaze slowly elevated, you found your way to meet his own eyes, only to notice the very sudden change in them. Whatever fear or darkness hid their before had now melted away. You couldn’t place it, but whatever emotion he now held sent a chill from your core to your fingertips. A lump in your throat formed and for a moment, you thought you might never be able to breath again. The look in his eyes was almost soft, but with a hint of yearning. Fire was blazing through every nerve in your body, while a chill kissed your skin, making every hair stand on edge.

Feeling outrageously brave, you took your free hand up to his jaw and held him there, gently swiping your thumb over his cheek, and allowing your fingers to reach slightly past his hairline and to the back of his neck. You wondered if he could feel the raging storm of your emotions through your touch.

“You okay?” you managed to whisper to him.

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before” his answer pierced your ears with a hard tone, refusing to let any vulnerability resonate in his voice.

You shake your head at him, wishing he wouldn’t play pretend. “Okay then,” you mumble, letting your hand drop from his face. But as it fell, Bucky was quick to grab it, and hold it with a gentle squeeze. When you looked at him again, you knew he meant it as a reassurance, trying to tell you that he was okay.

~

He couldn’t handle the way you looked at him. Like you could see every thought in his head. A knowing gleam in your eyes told him that you didn’t believe him, and you’d be right not to. He wasn’t okay. He never really was. There was so much darkness surrounding him, poisoning every inch of his life. But you. Your touch was gentle and your voice was kind, and even though he had just seen your scar, he couldn’t help but think your world must have been so much brighter than his own. Looking in your eyes, he almost wished he’d never met you. He was so afraid that his pain might infect you too, the only good thing he had left. He wouldn’t ever be able to forgive himself if he let that happen; if he let his past ruin your future.

He wanted to leave, he needed to get out, before any of that could happen.

He slid off the bed quickly, and made his way to grab his clothes, but before he could you grabbed his hand - his left hand.

“Please Bucky don’t.” was all you could say. But the way your voice broke, on the verge of tears, fear of being rejected, of being left alone in the dark by the only man you ever wanted to let in - it was enough to stop his heart. He stood there, frozen from your touch. You kept his hand in yours, and for a second you worried it was too much. You worried you betrayed whatever trust you had built with him. Just holding his bare metal hand felt more violating and revealing than the fact that both of you remained completely naked. But you didn’t want to pull away. You didn’t want him to think you were afraid of him, afraid of the fact his hand could pulverize yours in a second - because you weren’t. You’d felt his touch. You knew how gentle and caring he could be. And you wanted him to see it too. That he wasn’t defined by his worst fears.

You pulled your body towards him, kneeling at the edge and facing him, “You don’t have to leave.” you spoke softly, as if he might be spooked and run off if you were any louder. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Please don’t push me away… I-”

Before you could finish, he was crashing into you. His tongue invading your mouth, like he was trying to soak up your unsaid words. His hands held your waist in place against his, steady and strong, but there was still resistance in his fingers; a hesitance to use too much force with you. You could feel how he feared he might hurt you.

Slowly you leaned back, feathering your fingers over his shoulders to guide him with you, and when he hovered over you, you let them slide into his hair, grabbing what you could and leading his head down…

~~~~

You lay there in the dark with your head on his chest, listening to his steady heart, feeling the crisp sting of metal graze your back. And even though you knew it was ridiculous, all you could think about was how you wanted to keep him safe. The man was stronger than any other human being, and probably thought you were fragile and helpless, and needed his protection more than anything. But still, you wanted him to be okay. You wanted him to know he could be safe.

“I’ll fight them for you.” you whimper quietly, suddenly worried that Bucky may have already fallen back to sleep.

“Huh? Who- what do you mean?” his words stuttered and tripped over his tongue. His half sleeping brain was suddenly running a mile a minute trying to decipher your statement. Who were you fighting? Why would you need to fight them for him? Surely he was more capable of fighting anyone off. He should be protecting you-

“The monsters” you said a little louder. The words feel childish and awkward in your mouth, and once you said them, you wished to take them back. But you decided to push forward, “if you want me to… if you need me… I’m here”

[juniorgman187]

Never Enough (Spencer Reid Drabble)

Summary: Ever wondered what Garcia wrote on that sticky note in the series finale? Read here to find out. When Reader, the new technical analyst, feels out of place at a party, Penelope’s sticky note and Reid’s kind words do just the trick.

A/N: This is a comfort piece for me, someone very introverted who never seems to do well in social gatherings. So this is dedicated to anyone who’s ever felt like they didn’t belong. You are loved. Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff, Drabble Content Warning: Fear of exclusion, loneliness Word Count: 2.4k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

All my life, all I’d ever wanted was to be a social butterfly. Their lives seemed so easy. People would naturally flock to them, what with their charisma, their confidence, their natural gift of being conversational.

I envied them for the sole reason that I was nothing like them, not in the slightest.

It wasn’t easy for me to keep a conversation going, even if I was trying my very hardest, which was often the case. I could never seem to commandeer the room in the way that someone extroverted could, and it was especially hard sometimes to feel a part of everyone.

It would be too easy to say I was invisible. Instead, I felt painfully visible, and entirely ignored.

Everyone could see my shyness peeking through, everyone could see how alienated I’d become, everyone could see my despondence, and yet no one bothered to change it.

No one cared.

My excruciating awkwardness had reached an all-time high at Krystall’s birthday party.

Agent Rossi was so keen on inviting me, and I was honored to go since it’d be my first bonding experience with the team outside of work. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to grow closer to them, otherwise, I’d run the risk of isolating myself even more. As if being brought in as the BAU’s new technical analyst to replace Penelope Garcia wasn’t enough of a reason for them to doubt, despise, and disrespect me, I was the introvert who had a hard time making friends - unlike my predecessor, who’ve I heard could make friends like nobody’s business. I knew I could never fill her shoes, much less fill the glaring void she created when she left, but still, I maintained my bright-eyes in hopes that I’d be enough for them, anyway. I was all too eager to get to know everyone as more than just my coworkers, with one exception.

Dr. Reid maintained an arm’s length distance from me at all times, and at first, I understood. I even empathized with him.

Besides SSA Morgan and SSA Hotchner, the only other person that he’d work the longest with was Penelope, and now she was gone, too, but the longer his rejection of me lasted, the more I was curious what he truly had against me, and the more I was less interested in changing that. Why would I work tirelessly at mending this broken friendship, if he wasn’t willing to meet me halfway?

I was more shocked that he, of all people, would be the most displeased with my arrival. When Agent Rossi replaced Agent Gideon, from what I heard, the transition wasn’t as rocky as mine. Dr. Reid was overjoyed to be working with him and to discuss all his books. When Jordan Todd, and eventually Ashley Seaver, took Agent Jareau’s place momentarily, he was happy to be working with them. When Alex Blake and Kate Callahan came in after Emily Prentiss, he welcomed them with open arms. So what was it about me that was so abhorrent to him?

I never outright asked, mainly because I feared confrontation and I also had no way of knowing if my curiosity would make the situation worse or better. But I should’ve. I should’ve marched right up to him and asked, “What’s your problem?”

Somehow, though, I finally got up the courage to do so tonight.

I watched as the team laughed at one of Rossi’s anecdotes, meanwhile, the inside jokes flew over my head, hindering that bonding experience I was so sure I’d get by coming here. So I stepped inside the house, wandering into a spare room, knowing I wouldn’t be missed.

I thought I’d only be there for a moment to get some “fresh air” even though I’d actually migrated from the outside to the inside, where there’d arguably be less fresh air, but that’d be my excuse if anyone came in. But I was forced to stay longer in the office when it finally happened.

I finally reached my breaking point.

It was building up all night. It started when I first stepped into the house. My confidence faltered almost immediately when I accidentally stepped on Rossi’s Italian leather dress shoe as I went to greet him. He told me not to worry, but of course, I did just the opposite. It was a minor bump in the road, something so minute, but still, it weighed on me thinking about how embarrassing it was that I dirtied something of his that everyone recognized as valuable.

My shame didn’t stop there. As I was talking with Krystall, there were many periods of awkward silence that I couldn’t manage to fill with words, so we each sipped at our wine until one of us would try to pick up the conversation. What’s worse was that we each knew the silence was suffocating, and I could tell we were both thinking of things to say to keep the conversation going, and yet, nothing worth saying came to mind.

And worst of all was when Penelope Garcia finally arrived at the party. Don’t misunderstand me - it wasn’t the worst part of all because she was bad - no, she was lovely. She gave me a welcome present - a Beanie Baby to put on my desk, evocative of her own style of decor, and I loved her for it, which made me hate her all the more.

Rossi’s house livened up when she came. Everyone flocked to greet her, laughter erupted and ricocheted off Rossi’s high ceilings. They were positively elated by her presence, truly happy. Which was the first time I’d ever seen them that way because frankly, they were never that happy with me.

It was a painful reminder that I could never bring what she brought to the team, and I could never be as good as her. And the general consensus I reached, sitting in Rossi’s office all alone with my glass of wine, was the same one I’d known for years now - I’m not enough.

And I will never be enough.

I hadn’t realized I was crying until a tear cascaded down my cheek, dripping right under my nose, forcing me to audibly sniffle it away. Using the sleeve of my cardigan, I desperately tried to wipe away the tears faster than they were spilling out, but it just wasn’t possible. In fact, the coarse fabric of my cardigan rubbing against my cheeks only made them redder, making the fact that I was unwell that much more obvious.

The sound of the doorknob turning sent me into overdrive, automatically engaging me into turning around and facing the wall so that whoever was coming in wouldn’t find me in the state that I was in. I sniffled a great big sniffle and fanned my face to dry it of any moisture that my silent sobs could’ve left.

“Sorry, Rossi, I was just getting some fresh air and I thought I’d check out your book collectio-”

When I turned around, Rossi wasn’t standing there as I’d assumed.

In fact, the person standing there was the last person I thought it’d be.

“Dr. Reid?”

He was lingering in the doorway, studying my face, to which I instantly preventing from continuing on any further by cowering my head and looking away.

“What are you doing here?” My voice had taken a tone of anger that I didn’t anticipate to be there originally.

“Are you okay?”

To my surprise, his question seemed sincere, but I couldn’t truly believe it was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just allergies from being outside for so long. The pollen and stuff, you know?” I rambled nervously.

“Oh, really? Are you allergic to the grass?” He asked in a joking manner, knowing I was lying but still asking so that he’d have the satisfaction of getting to see me try and work my way out of the situation.

“Yes, I am actually. The most common outdoor allergy triggers are trees, grass, weed pollen, mold spores, dust mites, cockroaches, and cat, dog, and rodent dander. Don’t you know this? After all, you’re the one with the IQ of 187 here, not me.” I tried to joke to lighten up the room’s heaviness, but clearly, it didn’t work.

By this time, I’d already turned back to face the wall, so Reid surely couldn’t see me, but I heard the door click shut behind me, and a wave of anxiety permeated my soul.

“What’s wrong, Y/N?”

I scoffed at his question, almost hitting him back with an “As if you care.” But I decided against it in an effort to preserve what little repose we had left between us.

“Will you please tell me what’s wrong?” He sounded like he was begging - like he was practically willing to go on his hands and knees to get me to answer, but all I could focus on was the feeling of his hot breath ghosting over my neck.

Goosebumps rose on my skins once he put his warm hand on my cold shoulder, which was bare from the absence of my cardigan and where it had slipped down to my elbow.

I flinched at the sensation, causing him to recoil.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that.” He quickly apologized, regret filling his eyes. “Um, you look nice by the way. I like the way you did your hair. A-and your dress. It looks nice.”

Not even giving a chance to respond to his compliment, I asked again, “Why are you here?” Pressing him to get the point faster before I had a chance to react at another one of his physical advances.

“I saw you leave the backyard and I thought I should check on you.”

“Well, you’ve checked on me, so you can go back now.” I didn’t miss a beat when responding, fooling him into thinking that I didn’t catch his words and their intentions.

“I just want to talk.” He replied, finally answering my question from before.

“Okay. Let’s talk.”

He took a seat on a chaise lounge sofa while I stayed standing by the bookcase in preparation for a quick escape if need be.

“I’m sorry I’ve been pushing you away. That wasn’t fair of me.”

Although I hadn’t expected him to apologize, I wasn’t going to be misled and naively accept his apology with no reservations.

“Why did you do it? And for so long?”

“I was angry. I didn’t want another person in my life that I cared about to walk away, so I thought maybe if I made you feel unwelcome, you wouldn’t want to stay. And she’d come back.”

It hurt to say, but at least I knew he was being honest.

“I accept your apology, but it’s not okay.”

“I know that.”

“Okay, are we good now? We’ve talked, so,” My hand gestured toward the door, suggesting he should leave, but he didn’t comply.

“I’m not leaving.”

“And why not?” The wine glass in my hand nearly shattered at the way my hand wrapped around it since its presence hindered me from being able to actually clench my fists.

“I didn’t come here to apologize, even though I should’ve sooner. But I came here because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Like you care.” I chuckled mirthlessly.

“I do care.”

I gave in, not wanting to fight him any longer, otherwise, I might cry some more from the altercation.

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not,” He shook his head. “I know you’re not fine. What’s really wrong, Y/N?”

I looked away immediately from his gaze, trying to hide the sheen that was inevitably coating my eyes from the presence of tears, but he would’ve known I was crying the minute I used the cuff of my cardigan to wipe under my nose again.

“I just . . . I feel so unconnected,” I whispered, the pain of my words stealing my volume. “I don’t fit in. And I’ve never fit in before, but I actually thought this might be my chance.”

“It still is. Just come back outside.”

“You don’t get it!”

“What don’t I get?”

“I just needed to take a moment to compose myself so I wouldn’t ruin the energy of the room. And I’d really like to do that alone, okay?”

“I know you don’t want me to go.”

“What?”

“You’re testing me to see if I’ll stay.”

“No, I’m not.”

“So you’re saying that if I left right now, you wouldn’t regret letting me walk away?”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I know you’re lying to me.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are. I know what it looks like when you lie. Wanna know how I know?”

I entertained his question out of pure frustration “How?”

“Because I pay attention to you. I see your mannerisms. I notice everything. Do you think I haven’t picked up on how you crack your knuckles when you’re nervous? Or how your stutter goes away when you talk about technology? Or how your fists clench, like how you’re doing right now?”

My eyes flickered to my fist that was wrapped so tightly around the glass, my knuckles were white. Out of shame, I loosened my grip.

“I pay attention because I care. And I’m sorry that I made you ever believe that I didn’t. What you do, and say, and think - it’s important. So no, I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here to give you the attention you deserve.” He sighed with a breath of relief. “I care more about you than whatever’s happening out there.”

And slowly, then all at once, that barrier between us broke down.

“I care about you. We all do. And when you’re ready, we can walk back out there together so that you can see for yourself just how much we care.”

. . . That night, I made nine more friends.

And the day we came back to work, with my Beanie Baby in hand, I rearranged my desk.

A folded up sticky note fell out from between two tables. I picked it up, recognizing the handwriting instantly.

Penelope Garcia.

Even when the laughter always seems to come from the other room and the world seems busy as it carries on without you, may you know this to be true. No matter who or what made you feel invisible, unworthy, unloved, or unseen, in this ever-moving world, there is still a place for you. And you are exactly in the place where you are meant to be.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

quote by morgan harper nichols

[brawlingdiscontent]

the men of metal, menacing with golden face, 3/?

a.k.a sequel to terrible with the brightness of gold

(cherik fic, viking au, subtle a/b/o, mature rating)

(part one) (part two)

Hi all, I am so sorry for the space between these updates! - I am so close to finishing my PhD (not in any history or medieval studies field, lol) and things are just really hectic with revisions, publications and syllabi, etc.

A reminder that the last chapter (from 5000 years ago) ended with Charles being graphically/violently threatened by a mysterious man. (See the link above if you’d like to re-read it.

Warnings: Slightly gory description, mentions/implications of violence and sexual assault, child death (not Charles’ kids)

----

In the end, they don't set off that afternoon. 

It’s decided in a council, a strategy meeting that Charles is not invited to, and reported to him curtly by Lehnsherr later that day that if they start off early enough it’s only most of a day’s ride to Eoforowic, and is the preferable alternative to the vulnerability of camping overnight. 

He sees almost no one before the Danish king returns to the tent bearing an evening meal. 

The man in question has forgone the advisors and trailing pages, leaving his subordinates behind for the night, as no loud voices or other signs announce his arrival. The denizens of the camp are likely off savouring the hours of daylight that remain in varied nefarious ways.  The long summer nights are not yet over, but in the tent it’s darker, shadowed but not yet dim enough to warrant a candle or fat lamp. The canvas walls seem to glow faintly with the strange quality of early evening light.

Charles has arranged himself in a defensive position, seated at the small table on the lone chair facing the tent flap. He took advantage of his time alone to redistribute a number of the furs from the main pile, making the corner where he intends once again to sleep more comfortable and well-padded. Together with the extra things Alex brought him--when, under the watchful eyes of the guards, they risked exchanging only a nod to confirm his task’s success--he fashioned a warm berth for himself. His current placement, with its slight chill, is a tactical necessity. He straightens in the hard, wooden seat. It’s best to avoid being caught in a prone position lest Lehnsherr take it as an invitation. 

When he enters, Lehsherr carries in two rough-hewn, steaming wooden bowls balanced atop an extra stool. 

“You must be hungry.” 

Charles scans him for ulterior motives, finding none for now. He hasn’t eaten since the food that was left for him this morning, but can’t seem to muster up much of an appetite. 

“Yes. Thank you,” he says anyway. He needs to keep his strength up. 

Lehnsherr sets the bowls on the small table, nudging one slightly towards Charles, and the stool beside it. He then turns away, once again going through the routine of divesting himself of his gear. If he notices or has any feelings about Charles’ rearrangement of his space he says nothing, leaving Charles to return to his own thoughts.

That afternoon, after the monstrous man retreated, slinking off to some other part of the camp while Charles stood shaken, Charles’ guards had suddenly and conspicuously reappeared.

As he was escorted back to Lehnsherr’s tent, Charles had, briefly, turned over the possibility of telling him what happened. Of what could be construed as nothing other than a violent threat. But the man hadn’t actually done anything, hadn’t even touched Charles. And what, even, were the chances that Lehnsherr would believe him—or that he would care? In any case what exactly could he expect the Dane to do? The bear-man, whoever he is, must be powerful, as he contrived some way—whether by bribery or sheer command—to send the guards away from their positions outside the tent. 

—Or, the thought had occurred to him, both disturbing and the most plausible yet, perhaps Lehnsherr had sent the man to threaten him, to warn him off and keep him in line. It is this possibility that is nearest in his mind as Lehnsherr wanders the tent.

“I trust you found your men well?” Lehnsherr questions, not turning from where he is folding his gambeson.

Charles contemplates several responses. Acerbic: ‘Alive would be a more accurate understanding.’ Another part of him wants to respond in anger, Logan’s blackened eye, the morning’s events, urging him to confront and accuse Lehnsherr. It’s an urge he knows is at least partly the product of fear. He presses his palms flat against the wood of the table and feels its uneven surface press back. In the end, exhausted, and unwilling to cause a fuss, he settles on, “I did,” then turns towards the bowl before him.

The food is hot, rabbit this time. Likely commandeered from one of the many the braziers and fire pits that dot the camp as he doubts Lehnsherr has had time for hunting. It is good, and Charles feels some appetite flare again, even when Lehnsherr has divested enough weapons and layers and joins him at the table.

A silence falls between them, not exactly awkward, but not quite comfortable either. On Charles’ end, it stems from reservation. Lehnsherr, conversely, seems content not to speak.

Charles steals surreptitious glances between bites. He studies the lines of the other man’s face trying to puzzle him out as the shadows in the tent begin to lengthen. 

He’s a man become even more confusing and inscrutable after the day’s events. If Lehnsherr had sent that beast of a man to threaten him in place of doing so himself, it speaks to a capacity for sophisticated psychological manipulation, one that goes beyond and complicates his reputation for sheer brutality. For all of Charles’ careful planning he hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that Lehnsherr might be worse than Shaw. He needs to know who he’s—getting into bed with, his mind supplies—getting involved with. Only then can he have any hope to defend himself. For who can say what will happen to whatever appeal he has—the tenuous sexual hold that had checked Lehnsherr the night before—once Lehnsherr finally gets what he wants and is sated. What then can Charles possibly do to hold him back, should he prove monstrous? 

He must have been more transparent in his observation than he realized, an act which once again is misinterpreted. 

“Relax, your Highness.” Lehnsherr says.  “I’ll honour your wish to wait. I won’t touch you.”  

“Until we are married,” Charles says aloud if only to remind himself, tracking with his eyes the slow advance of a line of shadow across the table.

“Until we are married,” Lehnsherr agrees, his voice carrying notes of something that has Charles turning back studiously to his food to avoid analyzing.

...

The sun is just ghosting above the horizon when they assemble to head off the next morning, gently bathing the plain in its orange-red glow. There’s a morning chill carried in the wind that batters at Charles’ cheeks. It wipes away the bleariness of the early hour, and makes him glad that extra furs were among the items that he’d requested Alex fetch. And yet the last edges of summer are holding on; it’s nothing compared to the winter they’ll face once the seasons change and even the memories of warmth fade.

Lehnsherr had woken him just before dawn, and they’d had a hurried breakfast in the tent by the light of a flickering taper. More of the flat, dry bread and some of the season’s last berries, foraged from a nearby bush.

They’ll be going overland to Eoforwic. It’s the slower route than sailing up the coast, which tells Charles that either Lehnsherr doesn’t want their journey observed or reported, or that he’s uncertain of what awaits them in Eoforwic.

Scanning the group, Charles counts about fifty gathered, all told. Enough to defend themselves if it came down to it, but still a small enough party to travel relatively unobtrusively. 

His horse gives a restless shuffle, tugging gently on the reins in his hands. A nobleman's former mount, certainly. Fine little features stand out in the saddle, tack, and gear. The rivets in the saddle bags are detailed in a star motif, points radiating out in blades of light, as only the very wealthy could afford. It was probably scavenged from its slain owner, or, optimistically, was given up by a defeated city relinquishing its riches. Londres had given up several hundred horses in the surrender.  

Lehnsherr, who’d gone off on an unnamed errand after seeing Charles matched with a horse, approaches once more. He’s leading not only a horse of his own, but a woman. Charles recognizes her dark eyes and small stature from the previous morning. 

“Charles,” Lehnsherr says without ceremony, “this is Angel. She’s here to assist you.”

He looks back over at her, as she returns his gaze placidly. Assist him? The road, travelling rough as they are, is no place for an attendant. Then, focusing on her smooth expression, it all clicks into place.

Assist him. Ha. More like spy on him. He quickly re-assesses the meeting he interrupted yesterday as an intelligence report. Interesting. Sebastian, with his more traditionalist views, would likely not have thought to assign such a job to a beta or omega woman. 

He manages, “a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Angel.” It’s a lie, of course, but Charles was raised with manners, and she can’t help the assignment she's been tasked with. While Charles is fairly confident in his charm,  Angel proves just as enigmatic as her commander, offering merely a hint of a smile and a raised eyebrow before turning to see to her own mount.

With eyes on him secured, Lehnsherr seems relatively content to leave him alone, as he heads up towards the front of the column to rally the troops.

They set off, and Charles easily falls towards the back of the group, ghosted by Angel. If he had any remaining doubts about her occupation, they dissipate after watching her subte, silent moments, even on horseback.

Travelling en masse, they alternate bursts of speed with walking breaks to keep a sustainable pace for the horses.

He is content to pass the first canter course just relishing the abandon of the pace, the uneven terrain below the horses’ hooves. The sun gradually climbs higher until he can feel the warmth of it on his hair, and the wind blows across his face. He basks in the experience of being out in the open, running wild (if not free) after six months of siege. 

The dusty roadside is lined here and there with dots of blue chicory, long stems stretching up tenaciously towards the sky. A flock of chaffinches, startled by their appearance, burst in flight. His spy, Angel, seems to have melted away into the group, perhaps prefering to operate in her usual mode when her targets don’t know she’s there. It is tempting to forget the circumstances and enjoy the moment. 

But Charles is too pragmatic, hardened by bitter experience underlined by recent events, to let this lapse in Lehnsherr’s attention (Angel aside) go to waste.

In the first walking break, he looks around at the stragglers in the second half of the party for promising targets of some reconnaissance of his own. Just ahead and to his left are two burly men engaged in animated discussion. Inching subtly closer, he’s disappointed but not surprised to find that they’re speaking Danish. He has so little of the language, certainly not enough to make reliable sense of their discussion, but at the least perhaps listening might improve his facility. He listens amongst the glottal phrases for repeated sounds he might begin to decipher.

“It’s a blunt-tongued language, isn’t it?” a warm voice addresses Charles from slightly behind.

He starts and turns his body in the direction of the sound—as pleased to hear the softer tones of Saxon as he is startled at the sudden intrusion—to find another rider approaching on his right.

He’s a young man, a little younger than Charles from appearances, and clothed in unusual attire. A flat sort of cap, fashioned from a vibrant dark red material, adorns his head. His tunic, where it peeks through his furs, is woven of rich fabric: not over-ornamented, but of a quality far surpassing the coarse weaves and eclectic dress of the surrounding men. He carries himself with a cool confidence, perched lightly on his saddle, relaxed and much more poised than any other of Lehnsherr’s men.

Charles pulls gently at the reins, slowing his horse’s pace to allow the other man to draw even with him. 

Even as he takes him in, the clothing stirs a memory at the back of his mind of a childhood long ago; Muslim traders at the Norman court. The memory is an old one; Sebastian’s kingdom was an insular one and didn’t get on with outsiders, let alone cultured guests from the learned centres of the world. 

“Forgive me for startling you, Your Highness,” the man says. Despite Charles’ deliberate choice to leave his circlet behind at the tent, it seems that Lehnsherr’s scene in the banquet hall the other night has left him no chance of anonymity.

“That’s quite alright. Though, you seem to have me at a disadvantage.”

“The name’s Armando, sir.”

“Armando.” He says, rolling the name around in his mouth. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” It's the second time today he’s offered these words, but he finds he can be more sincere with them when not faced with a spy. “And what is your role here?” He’s a figure somewhat misplaced among the rough-and-tumble Danes. 

“I’m a physician. Born in Cordoba, and trained in Alexandria.” 

A frisson of excitement runs through Charles at this announcement. “You speak Saxon very well for an Andalusian. Better than myself, and I’ve been speaking it almost since birth.” 

“Thank you. Once I had the first few, the next languages came easily enough.” He switches into Norman for the second part of explanation to demonstrate.

“How many others do you speak?” 

“Fluently? I’d say seven--maybe eight.” He cracks a broad, warm smile at Charles’ astonishment. “What can I say? I’m adaptive.” 

Mindful of his spy close at hand, Charles yet can’t hide his delight to be in the company of a fellow seeker in the pursuit of knowledge, one with personal experience of the madrasas of the learned world at that. Despite this, he tries to rein himself in before his enthusiasm overwhelms his caution. After all, no matter how much he may seem a kindred spirit, he doesn’t know Armando nor his agenda. And, after seeing firsthand the danger that lurks in the camp, he’d be a fool to count himself safe. 

They settle into a comfortable rhythm. It’s in the next walking break that Charles, between probing questions about the scientific and medical developments out of Baghdad, catches sight of a head above the crowd. His heart stutters, and he almost jerks on the reins impulsively. Riding up at the front, near Lehnsherr, but a bit off to the side. He’s easy to spot, rising nearly head-and-shoulders above the men surrounding him, stature and bearskin robe unmistakable.

“Armando, what can you tell me about that man?”

Armando follows his gaze to the front of the party, and when he sees the man to whom Charles refers seems to hesitate. 

“He goes by the name of Sabretooth. He leads one of the strongest factions among the Danish warriors.” He pauses so long that Charles thinks he might have to prompt again, before continuing. “He and his supporters are known for their unyielding savagery in battle. I’ve only ever seen the aftermath.” Armando looks towards the riders at the front, squinting into the midday sun at the outline of the man in question. His words seem improbably incongruous in the brightness of the day. “Going into battle they consume a potion to free them of inhibitions and drive away all traces of remorse. Many of his followers file their teeth, supposedly to more easily rend the flesh of their enemies. Except Sabretooth himself who they say likes the challenge of a duller edge.” 

Charles masks his disquiet with a wry remark. “No doubt a firm favourite of his Grace.” He had heard tell of such stories, whispers of viking cannibals, but had always assumed them to be over-inflations of reality. 

“You’re wrong about that, actually.” 

He looks back over, surprised. 

“I have the sense—mind you, this is just my perception—that His Grace dislikes him very much.”

Charles thinks on this. Armando’s explanation would seem to square with the disagreement he witnessed back at the camp. Furthermore, the man—Sabretooth—seems prone to unpredictable violence, of a sort that might irk someone as careful and controlled as Lehnsherr. And yet—

“If that's the case, why invite him on such a party?

Armando takes a moment to respond, looking between the two riders up ahead. “There’s a common saying in Alexandria. It translates roughly to: a wise man holds his enemies close to his breast but far from his heart.”  

Charles nods in agreement as he notes the appropriateness of it, thinking of the justification he had used to convince Lehnsherr to take him along even as he once again reconfigures his knowledge of the man. He, too, is an enemy Lehnsherr has held close. But before he can take the train of thought much further, the low blast of a horn signals the return to a canter, and it’s lost in the clatter of advancing hooves.

…

In the late afternoon, the first sign of smoke on the horizon alerts them. It curls above the treetops a little ways off the road. Too dense and heavy to be from a cooking fire. 

The nearby homestead is set back from the road, but after the party halts at another horn blast a few riders break away from the pack in its direction. Charles pulls his horse past the crowd of remaining men and follows after them.

It’s a desolate scene. What was formerly a cottage now smouldering ashes but for the charred edges of a door frame still standing. The field of crops outside is churned up and scattered. Crushed stalks of barley that were trodden under horses’ hooves are beaten into the mud. A handful of slaughtered animals lie along the path. But what is most evident is the woman crouched in front of the remains of the house, keening in grief. Her ragged dress is torn, at her side a small child with a soot in their hair and clothes.

Lehnsherr has already dismounted, handed off his reins to another rider in order to survey the scene. Charles follows suit without a thought, and once he gets closer, it unfolds before him tragic inevitability.

He sees the dead man lying a few feet away from the woman and child, his grotesquely splayed body telling the story of his violent end. Then, clutched in the woman’s arms, a boy. A mere child, perhaps thirteen summers. His small eyes are closed almost peacefully, his forehead smeared with clotted blood. 

Armando, who has followed Charles from the road, is quick to be rallied to aid. 

Insensible in grief, the woman seems to barely register their presence as they cautiously approach. The young child, likely too small to comprehend the events that have taken place, tugs on her dress to get her attention, until she at last looks up at them. Her gaze is empty as one beyond reach, already crossed over to the next world.

It strikes Charles deeply, who freezes, feeling her disconnection mirrored in his own. Dissociation is a strategy he’s used to make himself hard, hiding his emotions in a fortress to protect them from a scene that has and will continue to play out countless times across the countryside. Recognizing it now in this woman, he’s struck by its haunting unnaturalness, the hollowness it invokes.

Armando, who had gently nudged the woman aside to conduct an examination, looks up and shakes his head. 

The young child shrieks suddenly, drawing back and cowering behind their mother, who, past caring, doesn’t noticeably react. The cause is soon clear: having finished attentively examining the scene and damage, Lehnsherr is making his way over. To his credit, in response to the child’s dismay he slows his approach and spreads his hands wide in the universal symbol of non-aggression. It’s the only reason that Charles makes no move to stop him as he nears the woman and child, and crouches down.

Charles watches as he starts a conversation in Saxon, gently asking a question or two. He thinks he hears Lehnsherr quietly mutter a few words following the woman’s stilted responses. Then the man pulls an aged leather drawstring pouch from somewhere on his person, and produces several small, glinting coins which he hands to the woman.

A weregild.

Blood price for so much death and evil, paid for with some mere pieces of metal. He rails internally at his own impotence, safe behind a palace wall while people are suffering; dying. And at the authors of the violence, as Lehnsherr’s actions here have surely confirmed, the very men he rides with. 

He’s overwhelmed by a helpless rage that washes over him like a tide. 

“A few coins” the words come out flat, subdued. “Do you think they can repair the loss of a husband, bring back her child?” It’s an accusation but empty, anger deserting him as quickly as it arrived for a dull hopelessness. 

Lehnsherr turns to him, delayed. His gaze is a bit distant, as though he’d forgotten Charles was there.

“It will bring them food,” he says levelly, “buy them shelter for the winter. Nothing can bring back the dead.”

Charles stands there for an indeterminable span of time, consumed by the endless cruelties of men. By this tangible reminder of the pain caused and lives lost to men—no, not men, beasts, seeking only personal glory, an enrichment of power.

“You generals and your wars,” he says coldly and turns away, the smoke still stinging in his eyes.