#thanks sir I detest your response

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Diabolical 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, violence, extreme profanity, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Billy Butcher

Summary: your neighbours has some strange friends.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“Ah, cunt!” 

The man’s voice rolls under your door. His accent adds a certain slant to his words that makes them sound even harsher. You hover your mug in front of your lips, steam curling from the freshly brewed tea, as your eyes drift over in detest. 

You lower it and carry it with you to the door. You lean in to see through the peep hole. The same dark hair, the same long black jacket with the patch on one shoulder, and the same lumbering form. He thumps again on the door across the hall. 

“Hughie, open up, ya skinny cunt.” 

He uses that word again. Your lip curls and you huff. He keeps on. 

You slide back the chain and your adrenaline pumps into your chest. You flip the lock back slowly and pull the door in an inch. You peer through the space as the man checks his watch and grumbles. 

“Where are ya, Hughie?” He grumbles and shakes his head. “Big fucking stick bug, won’t answer ya phone, won’t come to the door...” 

“It’s not very nice language, is it?” You chide. You’re just as surprised as the man as he stands straight and freezes. He turns to you stiffly as you let the door open a little more. 

“Eh? And who are you, then?” He tilts his head this way and that as he growls. 

“I live here. Who are you?” You say defiantly. You sip your tea to keep your nerves under wrap. 

“Wouldn’t you like know, sweetheart?” He snickers. “Oi, you ain’t happened see the skinny one lives over here?” He jabs his thumb behind him. 

You stare at him. You shake your head again. His eyes narrow and flick up and down. 

“Too good for the likes of us, eh? You and your fancy porcelain? What’s that? Royal Daulton Cuntware?” 

You gasp and bat your lashes. “Excuse me, I haven’t been rude. I’ve only asked you to keep it down. Other people live here besides your friend and they don’t appreciate hearing your profanity every morning.” 

“Eh,” he gives a crooked smirk, “you listenin’ for me, sweetheart?” 

“I don’t know you, sir, and I shouldn’t like to.” 

“Ain’t ya so proper? Sirs and shouldn’ts and tea.” He taunts. 

You take a breath and back up, “I would only appreciate a little consideration, but thanks. Have a lovely day.” 

“Oi, go on and hide then, darling.” He tugs on his lapels and squares his shoulders. He chuckles again. 

You stop the door before you can shut it all the way. You bristle at his laughter. “I don’t think you’re funny.” 

He chortles again. He steps closer and you go rigid. You can’t measure up to a man like him. You still the tremour in your hand before your tea can slosh towards the brim. 

“Well, I think you’re right hilarious. Why don’t you go on? Tell me, eh, are you more offended by the shit on my boots or the onion on my breath?” 

You steel yourself as you grip the door tightly. “Don’t come any closer.” 

“Ah, I don’t got that sorta time. Whatcha think a brute like me would do then?” He stops and plants his feet wide. 

“You needn’t be so impolite--” 

“Needn’t--” he mimics. Before you can stop yourself, the tea splashes across his face and chest.  

You recoil as the porcelain drips in your hand and you gape at his stunned grimace. His blue eyes flash and you kick the door shut as you retreat. You put the chain in place and twist the lock. You press your back to the door and listen, heart pounding, and wait. 

His treads scuff on the floor and he sighs. The floor groans as he moves and you watch his shadow beneath your door. Yet, no banging comes at the door. 

“Ah, bollocks, that’ll stain.” His grumble follows him down the hall. 

You have no idea what you were thinking. A man like that is dangerous. You don’t need his name or anything else. You can tell just by looking at him.  

You’re not the sort to associate with the type. You didn’t think your neighbour was either. Then again, you only know Hughie because he dropped a sock in front of your door. He didn’t stay to chat as he snatched it and chased that pretty blonde inside. 

You turn and stand on your toes to see through the peephole. He’s gone but you don’t dare go out and make sure. You’ll do best not to show your face again. Just drink your tea and hide, like you always do. 

[lovelykhaleesiii]

Baby Fever!

HEADCANON

PAIRING: Aegon ii Targaryen x fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,046. 

SUMMARY: Baby fever strikes King’s Landing once more, although this time, its next victim is Aegon ii Targaryen, himself... And he blames/thanks you entirely. 

WARNINGS: breeding kink to the max, lactation kink, DILF!Aegon, swearing, NSFW, mentions of male masturbation, mentions of p in v sex, mentions of dark!Aegon, swearing, degradation kink. 

A/N - it’s coming to 3am for me, and I literally just wrote this fic about Aegon with baby fever. nothing more or nothing less, but it’s everything <3 thanks to @bibli0thecary ‘s ask, I cannot get this DILF out of my mind, so consider this a request fulfilled!!!  

let me give this man all their heirs in the world, please. ps I’m sorry, I just found the gif so relative here. please Sir, teach me SEX ED. 

Aegon has breeding kink written all over him: when he meets his significant other, that’s enough to set it off. 

He was never that warm to the idea of having his own offspring, and yet, the possibility stirred in the pit of his stomach and top of his twitching cock when seeing you. 

If anything, he approaches it more as a feral need to claim you, to have some sort of possession over you, rather than actually fulfil the obligation/responsibility of having a family, nor wanting one of his own free will. 

He was actually quite reluctant to the idea of fatherhood, considering his own experience with Viserys was one he had grown to detest, turning him off from the entire concept. 

That was until he stumbled across you playing around with his toddler nephew, Joffery and a few other younger, highborn children of the royal court. Often the older women, busy in gossip and wine, would leave their children from the younger women to babysit: often reasoned with the logic that it ought to prepare the maidens of the court to motherhood. 

Seeing how maternal you seemed, watching you intently from a distant, the children seemed to favour you, playfully engaging with you, the innocent sight warmed Aegon’s heart

A dull throb pulsating in his hard cock. 

If it was heirs his Council wanted, heirs he would provide only if you would be the one to birth them. 

Soon enough, he found himself mindlessly masturbating to the thought of you swollen with his babes, your tits tender and plump with the milk,  naturally made in preparation in the months coming, dripping from your sensitive nipple, practically overflowing. 

Seeing the milk unnaturally leak, as you beg for him to latch and suck, desperate to relieve the heaviness and tension in your breast. He was certain he would suck you dry, before the babe is even born.  

And the idea of fucking you some more, even whilst evidently pregnant, knowing that despite being full of him already, he could still pump his seed inside, plugging you up completely, as his seed spills out, you just helplessly groaning and moaning for relief. 

The scene replaying in his mind, he often overcame with excitement, furious at himself for wasting is potential seed, that he could’ve wilfully secreted in you instead. 

Dark!Aegon would no doubt, force himself onto you, using his political/social position in the realm as an advantage, you either agree and “allow” him to fuck you until you grow and swell great with his child, or you refuse and he confines you to his chambers himself, or more so his bed, thrusting his girthy, throbbing cock inside, stretching you out until he sees his bulge deeply buried peaking atop, pumping his load inside, until he feels completely drained and you teeming. 

Although (fanon) Aegon, would lure you, growing impatient by the second however, he often becomes abrupt, wishing to hasten you into the act of consummating. Now that the betrothal is settled and finalised, you feel no need to wait, you figure he is to be your husband soon enough regardless. 

“I’m going to fuck you full, filled to the brim of my seed, until I feel my son or daughter kicking from within.”

“The idea of your belly swollen and heavy, back just aching from carrying my babes all day long, begging me to carry you, like a lazy whore.” 

“And fuck these tits will grow abundantly with your sweet, motherly milk. Nourishing my babes, like the good Mumma that you are. Perhaps, I ought to treat myself to your treacly taste, I do deserve it. I am the one responsible for doing this to you, you will do well to remember that, wife.”

“I need you to fuck a babe into me, Aeg. Make me a Mumma, I’ll have as many bubs as you want, just like that.”

“Perhaps enough babes to repopulate Old Valyria, restore it with our bloodline.”

“You’ll be the prettiest, most stunning Mumma I ever did see, and it’s all my undoing... Look at you all needy for my cock, desperate for me to spill my cum inside of you, such a fucking whore for me.”

He’d be so touchy and feely with your changing body: a hand constantly on your bump, feeling the babe beneath move against their father’s familiar touch. 

Even his voice would earn some haste movement or kicking, always earning a heartfelt smile from him.

He’d always be embracing your body, a hand snaked around your soft, wide waist/hips, even groping your ass. 

He thrives having you sit on his lap throughout your pregnancy,  squirming to get comfortable, grinding against him, you can feel a dense, aching bulge beneath your ass cheeks. Initially, you advise against it “Aeg, I’m heavy now, you won’t like it.” “Try me baby, just sit.”

Aegon would be against anyone trying to touch your belly, besides the maester and his mother: “everyone else can fuck off, there is no need for them to touch you at all.”

He is greatly entertained by the sight of seeing you waddle around the castle, knowing it was his undoing, a hand instinctively cradling your belly, almost as if you’re in a protective mother mode. 

The idea that you’ve outgrown your maiden gowns, because of his babe growing healthily inside, it pleases him.

At first you feel self-conscious of your pregnant / post-partum body, yet Aegon is swift to squash your doubts: “if anything Y/N, you look the sexiest pregnant, fuck it makes me feral, baby.” 

Nonetheless, Aegon’s dream much like his predecessor to conquer, became a reality. 

Soon enough, you’d given birth to multiple, healthy children, all close in age, for Aegon struggled to contain himself. Having to remind himself upon each birth, you required some time for recovery. As soon as the maesters deemed fit, he would be on you. 

Eventually, he grew familiar to the role of fatherhood, and became more and more comfortable with each new addition. 

He loved his children equally, tougher on the boys although, he has a softer spot for his little daughters, spoiling them endlessly. 

In return, the children love you both dearly, thankful for you to be their mother, and Aegon their beloved father. 

general taglist - @evenstaris​ @chompchompluke​ @fan-goddess​ @malfoytargaryen​ @ilikeitbetterangsty​ @bibli0thecary​ @m1ndbrand​ @connorsui​ @teamaemond​ @elegantsplendour​ @randomdragonfires​

Aegon taglist - @who-told-you-this-was-butter​ @sylas-the-grim​

[dreamywriter143]

My Dearly Detested

Status: Part Three (7 part Mini-Series, 3/7)

Genre: Enemies to Lover troupe, Angst, Rude Neteyam, Comforting Lo’ak, some fluff, Romance, violence.

Warnings: Depictions of blood, Battles and cursing. Rude Neteyam😭. Reader is older then Neteyam by 1year.

Parings: Neteyam X Y/n (Reader)

Summary: Neteyam hates Y/n. He never liked how she always bested him in everything and never once sought the praises he was accustomed to. She had no one, yet she had everyone in the palm of her hand. He despised her, and that wasn’t going to change anytime soon. The but happens when the RDA threat comes and Jake tasks her with watching his sons? Neteyam can’t help but grow a newfound hatred.

Word count: 4.5k

A/N: Sorry it took so long! I hope ya'll enjoy!

_________________________________________

Y/n’s Ikran lands beside Lo’ak’s Ikran with a screech of alarm, occasionally glancing back at her rider out of concern.

The entire ride back to the base she was able to feel her rider's pain through Tsaheylu. She was able to feel her suffering and the numbness that spread throughout her. Y/n bites her lips harshly to hold back a whimper, her hand shakily reaching out to rub her Ikran in reassurance as she quickly disconnects her kuru.

She hops down from her Ikran, who nudges her head against her shaking body to help her stand. “Thank you” Y/n whispers, clenching her hands into fists to ignore the pain.

She rounds her companion stopping in her tracks as her legs wobble beneath her. Her eyes trace over to where Jake stood in front of his sons and mate, Tuk hugging her mother tightly as Kiri worriedly assessed the damage on her brother.

Y/n quietly trudges towards the group, her ears pinned against her head realizing the lecture she would be in for. She had disobeyed orders just like his sons, she was on the same boat as them.

Y/n catches how Neteyam shifted uncomfortably, and how he blinked rapidly as if to keep himself from crying.

“You're supposed to be spotters, you spot boogies and call ‘em in-from a distance! Does any of this sound familiar-get here!” Jake roars with anger, gesturing for Lo’ak to step closer. His eyes stop momentarily on Y/n, his nostrils flaring in anger. Turning back to his sons he shakes his head in disappointment.

“Jesus I let you two geniuses fly a mission and you disobey direct orders!”

Y/n looks over at Kiri who examines her brother in worry. The stinging feeling of fear settling deep within her stomach. She felt her heart sink as she noticed the traces of blood over his chest, her fault for not taking care of him. For not protecting the sons of her leader.

“Kiri, can you help your grandmother with the wounded? Please?”

Kiri reluctantly turns her attention to her father, “My brother is wounded”

Seeing Jake grow more impatient, Neteyam raises his hand in a stopping motion, his eyes still trained on the ground below him. “It's fine” Neteyam whispers, stepping away from his sister who sighs in reluctance.

“Babygirl please. Tuk go with her, go”

Kiri huffs, pulling away from her brother to head for her grandmother's tent.

Neteyam lifts his head to face his father, noting movement from his peripheral he takes note of how Y/n had joined them. Her stance wobbled as she stood near Lo’ak. He bites down the hiss that threatened to break through knowing she was getting an up close and personal view of him getting chewed up by his father. How humiliating.

“Dad-sir, I take full responsibility” Neteyam turns his attention back to his father, ignoring her gaze that he felt hot against his skin. Lo’ak who was beside Y/n turns to face her, his face contorting to look of concern seeing her face look pale as she limped to stand by his side.

“Yea you do, that's right. ‘Cause you're the older brother you gotta act like it.” Jake growls, his mate stepping forward to intervene. Neytiri stares deep into her mate, her eyes holding great disappointment, she opens her mouth to speak only to be caught off by another.

Feeling a bit of courage Y/n speaks up, her voice small compared to her leader's booming tone.

“S-sir your son is bleeding” She says softly, her concern for the male outweighing her own pain at the moment. As much as Neteyam irked her, she couldn't help but worry.

At the sound of her voice the family turns to face her, Jake glaring into her tiny figure as Neytiri and Lo’ak both scrunched their eyes in concern. She didn't look well, she could barely stand properly, and Neteyam had also taken notice. His tail flicked behind him in alert, his heart dropping when he caught how her breaths came out ragged

“And you? I gave you a task, an important mission to fight alongside Neytiri and you blew it! You disobeyed my orders and left her alone-”

“Ma’Jake” Neytiri interjects her tone dangerously low. She felt worry pang through her as she gazed at the girl in front of her.

“-What if she had gotten hurt? Huh? The point of you being there was to assist her! if you stayed at your post you could have spotted the enemy ships…. I had higher expectations for you Y/n. You've disappointed me today”

“I’m-m s-sorry sir…”

Y/n looks down, blinking rapidly to suppress her tears as well as clear eyes of the black splotches that invaded her vision. Neytiri hisses at Jake, her tail swishing behind her stiffly.

Neteyam took a tiny step forward, his heart hammering against his chest. He thought watching his father belittle Y/n would bring a sense of happiness or accomplishment through him but it did the opposite.

He felt the need to shield her from his father's eyes as she looked down at the ground, her head hung low. His eyes trail down her form, eyes blowing wide when he catches the sight of crimson that nearly stops his heart.

“Ma’Jake, what she-”

“Y/n?” Lo’ak calls in alarm, stepping closer to the wobbly girl in concern . At his tone Jake's eyes soften looking over at Y/n. He feels color drain from his face as he notices the metal piece lodged into her thigh.

A gasp escapes Neytiri as she stares at her in horror, and the pool of blood that surrounds her.

It's as if Neteyam lost control over his body for a moment when he had registered where the blood was coming from, his legs carrying him towards her with no regard to his own injuries.

“M’sorry” Y/n mumbles, her body losing all strength as her vision blacks out. She goes limp falling towards the floor. The only thing she remembered before she was sucked into the abyss was a warm pair of strong arms catching her just in time, and a sound of someone calling for her with urgency.

“Y/n!!!”

~~~~~~~~

Y/n groans, her eyes fluttering as she tries to adjust to the dimly candlelit room. She frantically looks around as the previous day's events flash across her mind.

“Y/n” Tarsem’s soft voice calls, causing her eyes to snap to him. Y/n first notices that she is in the comfort of the Tsahik’s medical tent, surrounded with helpful gear and tools Mo’at would use for healing.

“T-Tarsem?” Y/n croaks, the pain from her leg stinging like crazy. She glanced down to her bandaged up thigh, the pain had subsided greatly but she was still able to feel it. Especially the numbness around the thigh rendering her immobile.

Tarsem rushes to her side, kneeling beside her with his eyes creased in concern. Y/n tries to sit up to which he gently pushes her back into the comfort of the cot she laid upon.

“W-what happ-”

A violent fit of coughs racked her body, her throat feeling dry as she tried to speak. Tarsem pulls her up half way, bringing a cup of water to her lips which she greedily gulps down. Her breath heaving as she tried to compose herself,

“What happened?” Y/n asks as she was able to settle down, with his aid she was able to sit up, her hand reaching down to gingerly trace over the heavily bandaged wound. Her eyes dance over to the bowls that were set up beside her, rags filled with blood placed in the bowls of water, staining the blue water crimson.

“You fainted due to blood loss. The injury-the wound was terribly deep. You’ve bleed so much you…you could have died!” Tarsem winces through clenched teeth, his hands forming fists by his side. Now that Y/n was sitting up right and up to his level she was able to see the tears stain along his cheeks.

“H-how long was I out for?” Y/n whispers, noting how it was only Tarsem by her side. She cursed herself for feeling a bit saddened that Neteyam wasn't present, but who was she kidding? She knew he hated her, but why did her heart want him there?

“Two days. Mo’at wasn’t sure if you’d wake. Your wound kept bleeding and she had to change your dressings many time” he informs, making Y/n wince at the news.

“That must have been awful, I’m ashamed to have put that much burden on her” Y/n mumbles to herself. Tarsem’s eyes snap to her face, his soft eyes squinting in anger.

“Are you kidding? You are worried about Mo’at taking care of you and not over that fact you almost died Y/n? What the hell were you thinking coming onto the battlefield like that?” Tarsem growls, his brotherly instincts taking flight as he keeps glancing at the bandaged wound.

“I had to! Lo’ak and N-Neteyam were there. You know it’s our duty to-“

“No! It’s my duty! I should have done something about it. I shouldn’t have given Lo’ak that gun in the heat of the raid. If I had been more alert you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t have..” Tarsem chokes on his words.

He felt responsible for Y/n, always has. The moment she started living with his family, he knew she would become the sister he never had. When she wanted to become a warrior like him he had mixed feelings, a part of him was ecstatic to have such a devoted student. The other half was afraid of having his baby sister out there in danger.

He knew the consequences of making her a warrior, but when Y/n stressed how she wanted to respect her departed parents by becoming a strong warrior, he knew he had no room to argue.

“Tarsem, it’s not your fault” Y/n says sternly, her voice trembling under the weight of her current state. Tarsem shakes his head. It was his fault, he felt it. This wasn't becoming of him as a future powerful warrior to serve the Olo’eyktan. Mistakes were made he would make sure it would never happen again. He would protect what was important to him.

Some rustling outside the tent caused the two to turn towards the entrance. Lo’ak’s head pops into the tent, his eyes widened with happiness seeing Y/n awake and alert. He quickly rushes in followed by Kiri who is carrying a basket filled with herbs.

“Y/n, you're awake!!” Lo’ak exclaimed, he crouches down to her level, his hand reaching out to carefully stoke her cheeks. He desperately wanted to pull her in for a hug, but the guilt in his heart prevented him from doing so.

“I’m fine! I’m not that fragile, guys” Y/n teases, Kiri takes a seat on the other side to inspect her wound. She smiles to herself noticing how the blood didn’t seep through the new bandage. Proving her prayers had been answered.

“Y/n” Lo’ak calls softly, retracting his hand a to sit cross legged on the cool floor. His ears folded against his head, his tail twitching nervously knowing Tarsem was watching him like a hawk.

“I’m sorry for…everything. Neteyam wouldn’t have come after me if I didn’t disobey orders and you wouldn't have gotten involved. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt saving Neteyam,”

Y/n flushes dark purple at his words.

“H-how” Y/n stammers, her bashful eyes landing on each Na’vi who nods.

“Yes, mom saw you from the air. She saw how you put yourself in harm's way as the bomb went off. You saved Neteyam.” Kiri informs, grinding some of the herbs she had bought with her, Y/n nods, forcing a smile. She couldn’t help but wonder if Neteyam knew.

“Neteyam knows” Tarsem says quietly, making the blush on Y/n face worsen and the knot in her stomach grow. Not only did the Na’vi who hated her guts, got lectured by his father but he also knew Y/n saved him. How mortifying. Y/n sighs knowing that this would only strength his hatred towards her,

“Don’t worry about it Lo’ak. What matters is that we’re all fine and that you learned from your actions . Best not repeat them, yea?” Y/n says softly, making Lo’ak smile in appreciation.

“I won’t!”

“Good, now can you please get out, you skxawng! I need to asses her!” Kiri butts in with an unimpressed roll of her eyes. Lo’ak chuckles before placing his hand over Y/n’s resting hand over her lap, giving it a light squeeze he quickly walks out to let Kiri do what she came here to do.

“I’m glad you ok” Kiri whispers, adding the herb paste into some water, Y/n slightly cringed at the bitter smell that engulfs her senses as she passes over the cup which she reluctantly accepts.

“Thank you and Mo’at for helping me. It was stupid of me for being so careless” Y/n chuckles, her eyes landing on Tarsem who still paced around in the tent. She looks back at Kiri who acknowledges how odd Tarsem had been acting.

“Let him be, he has been worried sick over you the past few days” Kiri whispers, noting how Y/n slightly furrowed her eyebrows as she recalled the words Tarsem had sent her way before the Sully siblings arrived.

‘He was worried, he even blamed himself’

“Y/n” Tarsem calls, coming to a halt.

“Yes?”

“For the next few weeks you’ll be land bound no more flying until you’re fully healed-“

“Bu-“

“No buts! It’s Tsahik’s orders. Right Kiri?” Tarsem glances over at Kiri who agrees enthusiastically at his words. Y/n groans in annoyance, taking a sip of the bitter liquid Kiri had supplied to her, a disgusted shiver going down her spine.

“I’ll let mother and father know that your awake. In the meantime rest, I’m being serious. If I see you out of this tent, there'll be consequences ” Tarsem hisses the last part, his tail thumping behind him to convey how serious he words were.

“Yes, I understand” Y/n murmurs, her ears folding in defeat. Seeming happy with the response Tarsem nods to Kiri before quickly exiting the tent.

“Don’t worry, he is just acting like that out of love” Kiri whispers, seeing the firsturated look on Y/n.

“I know….I just feel useless not being able to do anything”

“We’ll, get used to it. Mo’at knows how stubborn you are, she’s going to have someone in this tent over the course of the night to watch over you. Make sure you don’t…escape”

Y/n hums, glaring at the remaining medicine in her cup. Letting out one sigh of defeat she drowns the entire drink in one go, gagging as the thick liquid travels down her throat.

“H-how’s Neteyam?” Y/n asks after a while. Sticking out her tongue in disgust at the taste of the medicine.

Kiri frowns at her words. Cleaning up her equipment she brought with her. “He’s ok, Mo’at was able to treat him right away after he was able to catch you-“

Y/n flushes in embarasembt at her words.

“But other than that, he hasn't come by once to check if you’re ok.”

‘Well….that’s not a surprise’

~~~~~~~~~

Over the past couple of days Y/n’s days mull together as her boredom reaches a new high.

With a constant eye on her she was unable to escape the tent under any circumstances, much to her dismay.

During the day Mo’at would be in the tent tending to warriors while watching over her, and overnight Y/n would be under the watchful eye of either Kiri, Lo’ak or Tarsem’s parents. They would always alternate but not once didn’t Neteyam step into the tent.

A couple of hours after she woke up, Jake and Neytiri rushed into the tent. Jake expressed how furious he was over Y/n when she disobeyed orders but he stressed how he was glad that she was safe. Neytiri didn’t let go of Y/n’s hand the entire time she was by her side. Thanking her for protecting her son.

Kiri and Tuk were the best company Y/n had, they always kept her busy with engaging conversations not related to her injury so she didn’t have time to sulk over it.

Lo’ak was also great company but his constant stories of what he was able to do in his free time now that he was grounded from flying, only made the older female Na’vi feel envious each time.

And despite loving Tarsem, Y/n disliked when he was in charge of her the most. He seemed to worry over her more then his parents. Always blaming himself despite what Y/n assured of him. The man tortured himself with his regrets. Never seeming to want to live it down.

“Drink this, and don’t think of getting Lo’ak to throw it out for you. I’ll figure it out and I’ll double your dosage for next time” Mo’at threatened, placing the cup by her bed. Y/n forces a smile, her stomach dropping at the threat that held malice.

After the current day Mo’at was getting ready to leave for the comfort of her own tent.

“Don’t worry, I’ll finish it. I want to be able to leave as soon as possible” Y/n says softly, glaring at the green liquid that seemed to taste worse day by day.

“Good” Mo’at grumbles before heading out and leaving her alone.

The tent falls silent with the occasional sound of the wind hitting the chimes placed above the entrance, Y/n shuffles herself around for a comfortable position, not bothering to look up when the entrance ruffles, indicating that someone must have come inside.

“Hi Lo’ak, I’m sorry for-“

Y/n freezes once her eyes land on yellow orbs that stare into her own. She felt tiny under the gaze, the Na’vi’s posture stiff as he closed the entrance behind him. Y/n gulps in slight fear, looking down to her clasped hand that began to sweat.

“Y/n” Neteyam calls sternly, stepping closer to her.

Y/n chooses not to look up, waiting for him to speak again. After recalling that Neteyam knew about her going out of her own way to protect him Y/n was glad he didn’t make the effort to visit her. And now that she was alone with him she felt her stomach churn.

“Why….why did you save me?” Neteyam asks gruffly, causing the smaller girl to flinch.

After moistening her lips she peers up slightly. Her lips part as she tried to find her voice, clearing her throat in the process.

“I don’t know what you mean. The explosion was so severe that we ran into one another” Y/n didn’t know why she thought of lying, maybe it was the embarrassment she felt or the way Neteyam clenched his jaw in anger.

“Y/n I’m not stupid. I was there, I felt you go out of your way to cover me. I don’t need anyone to tell me when I was aware the whole time”

“It was in the heat of the moment”

“You always do this!”

Y/n furrows her eyes at his raised voice, his veins on his neck protruding out due to his anger. Y/n found it harder to respond to him as she watched him sigh out, bringing his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

“You always go out of your way for others putting yourself in danger. Does it please you to feel superior? Do you like feeling like a hero?”

Y/n flares her nostrils at his words, her eyes twitching in anger.

“What the hell Neteyam?! I do what I must for my clan. For my people…for my leader. I don’t do it for glory or fame. Like you” Y/n seethes, her fangs poking against her mouth. Neteyam’s eyes glow in anger in the dimly lit room. His own fangs breaking through with a hiss in response.

“Hah, well, it doesn’t seem like it when you are always praised for your actions.” Neteyam laughs dryly.

Y/n’s ears fold against her head, cursing at herself for even worrying for a boy like him who couldn’t get his head out of his ass due to his ego.

“I’m done with this conversation. I’m sorry I saved you, I’ll make sure no one acknowledges what I’ve done-“

“That’s besides the point!!”

Neteyam paces around the tent, his steps carrying him closer and closer towards the entrance.

“You….you”

Neteyam’s back faces her when he comes to a halt, heaved gasps of anger escaping through him as he recalls something of the past.

~Flashback~

“Wow you’re so cool Y/n!”

Y/n smirks triumphantly as her finger working over the arrow head she was busy carving at the moment. Neteyam sat in front of her, his eyes drinking in the way her finger worked tirelessly against the sharp edge, sharpening it with precision. Great precision for a 10 year old.

“Really? Thanks! Tarsem taught me, you'll learn soon enough and I’m sure you will be better than me!” Y/n encourages which only widens Neteyam’s smile. His eyes shine with admiration as he glances between the girl and the arrow.

For as long as he could remember Y/n was always a part of their clan, always wandering around and trying to learn something new everyday. He couldn't help but feel drawn to her carefree yet strong spirit. He wanted to be like her, as a 9 year old, Y/n looked like a perfect idol for him. Other than his father and Tarsem who had been the hot topic amongst the clan for a while now.

“You think? You’ll help me, right?” Neteyam asks, his eyes gleaming with hope. Y/n chuckles, turning up to meet his eyes. He felt his heart rate quicken, he felt his stomach erupt with a fluttery feeling as they looked into each other's eyes. She was the prettiest female Na’vi he had ever seen, and seeing her in such a light only made him feel this weird feeling more and more as days progressed.

“Of course! But I don't know everything. You’ll have to ask Tarsem.” Yn says making Neteyam frown.

“No! I only want to be taught by-”

“OW!”

Neteyam flinches at the sound of Y/n yelping in pain, his eyes widened, his breath hitched in fear at the sight of crimson dripping onto the forest floor. Y/n clutches her finger, shakily clutching the wound tightly. It wasn't a large cut, but it was deep enough for blood to come pouring out, scaring the poor boy.

“Y/n!!”

Neteyam reaches out to clutch her hand, fear and worry blinding him. Just as his fingers brush against her she quickly pulls away, evading him while smiling nervously.

“I'm fine! It's fine! I'll just go the Mo’at to get patched up!” She says reassuringly, making Neteyam frown at her words.

“Let me see it, how bad is it? Neteyam asks, his voice shaky, he reaches out again only for Y/n to stand up, him following her mom even in confusion.

“Neteyam it's fine, really. You of all people should not worry over a minor cut! It nothing”

“What do you mean? Why can’t I worry over you?”

Y/n rolls her eyes playfully, taking a step away from Neteyam who watches her with furrowed eyes.

“Because you are like my baby brother. How would I feel if I let my baby brother worry about me?!”

Neteyam’s ears flatten against her head. He didn't know why but the term ‘Baby brother’ sent a sickening feeling through his gut. He didn't like it, not one bit.

“Baby brother? You see me as a baby brother? What's that supposed to mean?”

“C’mon Neteyam, you're younger than me. And I should be looking after you! Not the other way around dummy!” Neteyam’s head dropped at her words.

The first feeling Neteyam felt surge through him was anger, the feeling of being incompetent sitting deep with his tiny form.

Was this her way of saying he wasn't worthy of her? That he wasn’t good enough for her? That she didn’t believe he could protect her?

“Is…that all I’ll ever be to you? A ‘Baby Brother’ who has to be protected by…you??”

“Is that wrong?”

~Flashback end~

“You've always been like this” Neteyam whispers , his back still facing Y/n as she fiddles around with the cloth draped over her legs to prove warmth. Feeling confusion ring inside her as she clears her throat.

“What?”

“You've always been like this. You always acted like it was you against the world, you never wanted anyone's help or anyone to care for you. You made me feel….you made others feel useless…”

“Neteyam. I don't know what you mean?”

Neteyam laughs dryly, still refusing to turn around and face her. The way he clenched his hands into fists, his veins protruding along his arms in anger didn't go unnoticed by Y/n who gulped nervously.

“Nothing, forget it. It doesn’t matter to you how anyone feels as long as you are covered. And that…makes you the most selfish person in the room”

~~~~~~~~~

Y/n couldn’t seem to get the argument she had with Neteyam over her head for the next couple of days. After that day he never came around again and Y/n tried not to focus on that. She didn’t know why he became so cryptic near the end but the fear from his words stung deep making her question herself.

“So that’s why I be late, is that ok?” Lo’ak says, tilting his head as he waited for Y/n’s response.

“Sorry, what?”

“I said Spider and I have an adventure planned in the afternoon tomorrow. I might be late coming in tomorrow,”

Today Y/n had finally gotten some good news regarding her injury. It has healed splendidly, but Mo’at still wanted her in bed rest for the next few days for observation.

“Just you and Spider? Where will you be going?”

“I don’t know, we’re going to do some tracking” Lo’ak says nonchalantly. Y/n frowns, something in her stomach didn’t sit right at his plan.

“Lo’ak, I’m dying of boredom just by sitting here all day. Can I come with?”

Lo’ak smirks, his eyes lighting up at her rebellious words.

“Now, that’s what I’m talking about!”

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

Netayams scowl didn’t leave his lips as he rode beside his parents. Though he got all the duties Y/n had prior to her injury that left her bed bound, none of it made him any happier.

He didn’t get anything out of accomplishment , only due to the fact she wasn't here to do them herself. And she was in her current state due to him, it sent a bitter taste along his tongue the more he thought of it.

The com around his neck buzzes to life as Lo’ak whispers on the other side. Neteyam internally frowns as he listens into what Lo’ak informs, his father answering back gruffly. He knew that Lo’ak would disobey rules and venture out to the old shack. So typical of him to get bored just to do the very thing they were warned about.

“Who’s we?”

Neteyam listens carefully, his eyes scrunching with worry for his family.

“Me, Spider, Kiri, Tuk…and Y/n”

Neteyam felt his heart drop, his mind drawing blanks. There were avatar soldiers near them and Lo’ak had their baby sister tag along with them. That alone got his blood to run cold, what caused his heart to beat painfully was the thought that Y/n, who was still very much injured, was also with them.

The girl Neteyam hated seeing hurt.

__________________________________________

A/N: I’m so sorry for the delay! I hope you guys enjoy and Breathing Pt3 will be out soon!

Taglist:

@afro-hispwriter @bigbootahjudy @sasuvke @a-blog-name-2003 @arminsgfloll @notmonroe @mahalkomarvel @jackiehollanderr @briacreations96 @naynay2808 @universal-s1ut @lili-of-the-dream @cumikering @baebinana @empiricsad @aspen-sprout @jjkclub @thehoneymushroomhealer @cherrymoon4 @zoetrope1997 @hannabanana-09 @annyis @yhern05 @hanatsuki-hime @b-tchymoon @jackiehollanderr @verveta345 @hana-yuri @slythermania @mrslandryy @kimberlyshailany-blog @perfectlypinkcat @qtkat @inolaphoenix @camilo-uwu @aphroditeisamilf @bakugouswaif @camilo-uwu @aphroditeisamilf @napalm-springs @moldavitefully @elizarikaallen @verveta345 @mikeyswifie

[vgckwb]

P5R: Rebel Girl (A FeMC Story/P5R Rework) Chapter 172: The Other Side

After Okumura’s press conference, SIU Director Ono was on the phone. “WHAT HAPPENED?!” shouted the voice on the other end. “You gave him the formula, correct?!”

“Of course sir,” Director Ono. “I gave him the cake with the formula in it. He should have had a mental shutdown. I don’t know what happened.”

“Grrrrrrr,” the other person hissed.

“However, we aren’t done yet,” Ono said. “After all, chess is only won when the king is taken, and I am not the king.”

“True…” the voice on the other end replied.

“We just have to keep them off your trail,” Ono continued.

“And how do you propose we do that?” the other voice asked.

Ono chuckled. “Well, we just need to lead Miss Niijima down the wrong path.”

“How?” the other voice said. “As much as I detest her meddling, I have to admit she’s pretty cunning.”

There was a knock at the director's door. “OPEN THE DOOR SIR!” Sae shouted.

“Unfortunately, this conversation needs to continue with a surrogate serving as my lawyer,” director Ono said. “Although I assume you have some thoughts already.”

“Of course, but I’d prefer we have our stories straight,” the other voice said.

“Very well,” Ono said. “The lawyer and I will have this settled by morning. ” He hung up. “Come in!”

Sae barged in. “YOU’RE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE MENTAL SHUTDOWNS?!”

“Now, who said I was?” Ono retorted.

Sae was shocked at her boss’ indignant response. Still, she persevered. “Okumura did! On live TV!”

“Oh right. That,” director Ono said, more annoyed than displeased.

“I DEMAND ANSWERS!” Sae shouted.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the time right now,” Ono replied. “I’m going to turn myself in.”

“Wha?” Sae said.

“Now now, you may question me in jail,” Ono said, “but first I need to talk with my lawyer.”

Sae glared at him. “You can represent yourself just fine.”

“Perhaps,” Ono said. “But in a situation like this, having another party is beneficial. Besides, I doubt people would believe I’m innocent if I decide to represent myself.”

“You claim to not be guilty?!” Sae said.

“Of course,” Ono said. “Innocent until proven guilty.” Sae scowled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to head down to the station. I believe they’re expecting me.” Director Ono walked out of his office, leaving Sae standing alone.

He walked down to the station, turned himself in, and then made a phone call. “Hello sir?”

“They’re on their way,” the voice on the other end said.

“Thank you,” Ono said. He hung up, and waited patiently in his cell until his lawyer arrived.

Once director Ono was face to face with his lawyer, his lawyer said “It seems we have much to discuss.”

“We do,” Ono replied. “Why don’t we begin with how to deal with Miss Niijima?” Ono and his lawyer began their discussion.

Meanwhile, Sae walked back to her office in defeat. Riko looked at her, worried. “Are…are you alright?” she asked.

Sae let out a long sigh. “The director is turning himself in.”

“That's a good thing, right?” Riko asked.

“I’m not sure,” Sae answered.

“How do you mean?” Riko inquired.

Sae pondered a bit. “He didn’t seem all too bothered that he was implicated in one of the biggest cases in this nation’s history. I think he's planning something.”

“But what could it be?” Riko wondered.

“I don’t know,” Sae said. “But as long as I am on the case, I WILL get to the bottom of it!”

“Of course,” Riko said. “Do you want to stay longer? Or maybe get a bite to eat?”

Sae looked at Riko. “I guess getting something to eat wouldn’t be so bad. But I don’t know what I’m in the mood for.”

“I know what always cheers me up,” Riko said.

“Of course,” Sae said. “Lead the way.” The two women left the office to get a later dinner.

Meanwhile, Akechi was watching the press conference and was stunned. “Huh. I’m guessing that that wasn’t intentional.” He smirked. “Still, you can’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” He got out his phone and made a call. “Hello?”

“Make this brief,” the voice said.

“I take it you’re busy trying to get a handle on the situation,” Akechi said. “Very well, I’ll be brief like you asked. I’m thinking of publicly investigating the director. After all, it would be suspicious if I seem to know more about what’s going on than I should.”

“Very well,” the voice said. “We do need a public face like yours once things settle down.”

“I appreciate your kindness,” Akechi replied.

“Pretty soon, all of Japan will,” the voice said.

“Of course,” Akechi said. “Good luck.” He hung up. He began laughing. “On the one hand, things are more complicated, but on the other hand I get to speak a little more freely about the company that that piece of human garbage keeps. Silver linings, I guess.”

The next morning, Sae arrived at her office to see a group of officers waiting for her. “What's going on?” She asked.

One of the officers presented their badge. “You’re Sae Niijima, correct? You’re in charge of the mental shutdown case?”

“Correct,” she replied, uncertain of what was happening.

“And you know that your boss was implicated in that case?”

“Of course,” Sae said. “What is going on?”

“Unfortunately, we need to freeze your investigation for a bit to go over the evidence,” the officer said.

“WHAT?!” Sae said, getting angry.

“Now now,” the officer said. “We just need to make sure he didn’t tamper with the investigation in any way.”

“This is RIDICULOUS!” Sae protested.

“No ma’am, it’s protocol,” the officer responded.

Sae seethed for a moment, before shouting “FINE!” She marched in her office. A little bit later, she came out with a bucket of papers and harddrives. “This is EVERYTHING I have. Are you happy?”

“Thank you,” the officer said.

“Good,” Sae huffed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

“Um, I told you your investigation is frozen, right?” the officer said.

“I have other cases!” Sae protected.

“Such as…?”

“Fraud, embezzlement, and if you don’t leave in the next five seconds, obstruction!” Sae answered.

“Yes ma’am, the officer said. “Let’s go.” The officers nodded, and headed off.

Riko arrived just as they were leaving. “Is everything alright?” she asked.

“No,” Sae said. “Just…leave me be for now. I have cases I have to work on.”

Riko was hesitant. “Very well.” She closed the door, and sat down at her desk.

Meanwhile, inside of a house, director Ono was on the phone again. “I see…Well, Niijima is nothing if not diligent. It’s a shame we couldn’t get her out of the office for a few days, but no matter, we’re still ahead in this game. I have my bail posted, and once we’re done stringing her along, we’ll give her what she wants…Along with a special surprise, of course…Of course, we just have to make everyone focus on this battle, while obfuscating the rest of the war. Win or lose, the King will remain unscathed…Well thank you. It will be glorious…goodbye.” He hung up. He sighed, content. He picked up a book and started reading it. He chuckled. “I’ve been meaning to read this for a while. Sometimes, the strangest opportunities give you the time you need to do what you’ve always wanted.”

At work, Sae was listless. She had been working on her other cases, but she couldn’t help but think of what was going on. Finally, she’d had enough. “GAH!” she screamed, slamming her desk. “I HATE THIS!” She stood up and flung her chair away.

Riko cautiously opened the door. “Um, do you…um…?”

Sae looked at Riko. At first it was a glare, but the more she looked at Riko, the more it calmed down. After all, this wasn’t her fault. She sighed. “I guess I could use a break…”

“How about sushi?” Riko offered.

Sae smiled. “I’d like that.” They left the office to grab some sushi.

As they were eating, Sae was surprised. “Wow, for this price, this sushi cannot be beat!”

“Hm hm,” Riko chuckled. “I know it’s not better than some of the more expensive places, but you do get a real good bang for your buck.”

Sae smiled. She took another bite. She then pouted. “Say… What do you do when you don’t know what to do?”

Riko looked up at her. “You wanna know what I do?”

Sae was stunned, but pleasantly surprised by Riko’s answer. “Sure.”

“Close your eyes,” Riko instructed.

Sae did so. “OK.”

“Now, imagine yourself looking in a mirror,” Riko continued.

“Alright,” Sae said, as she began imagining it.

“But this is a special mirror,” Riko said. “This mirror doesn’t show you as you are, but how you see yourself. Now tell me, what do you see?”

Sae began focusing on the mirror. The image of herself as is didn’t change so much. But the scenery changed drastically. “I’m…outside of the office…taking questions from reporters.”

“Ms. Niijima, how did you do it?”

“They’re calling this ‘the crime of the century’, and they’re saying you solved it.”

“I’m…a hero…And after that…I’m the director of the SIU…I’ve made several changes, and influenced policy…”

“How are you influencing it?” Riko asked.

“Well, that’s easy…” Sae replied. “I talk with the new Prime Minister often...”

“Hey sis,” Makoto said.

“Prime Minister,” imaginary Sae replies.

“Stop! You don’t need to do that, you know,” Makoto said, slightly embarrassed.

“Your sister…I see…” Riko replied.

“And then..” Sae continued. “...I’m touring the country…giving speeches…inspiring others to be the best that they can be…becoming a figure for young women to look up to for decades to come.”

“Well that sounds wonderful,” Riko said. “Now, I need you to tell yourself that that is you.”

Sae was puzzled. “Why?”

“Are you questioning me?” Riko asked.

“No, no,” Sae replied. “Alright. That…is me…” Sae was then overcome by a feeling of elation.

"Hm hm, see?” Riko said. “No matter what, the you you aspire to be is always with you.” Riko took Sae’s hand. “And so am I.”

Sae smiled. “Well thank you.”

“Hm hm, you can open your eyes now silly,” Riko said.

“Huh,” Said said, opening her eyes. “Right.” They shared a giggle together. “Let’s finish this sushi OK?”

“OK,” Riko said. They started eating.

Sae took another look at Riko. “Thanks.”

Riko swallowed the sushi she was eating. “You’re welcome.” They finished eating, and headed back to work.

Later in the evening, Akechi was over at the Minamoto residence. He was sipping some tea. “Ah! Your tea is magnificent as always, Tamako,” he said.

“Why thank you,” Tamako replied. “If I’d have known you were coming over, I would have saved you some dinner.”

“That’s quite alright,” Akechi said. “Not that I don’t enjoy it, but I’m not here for long.”

“Places to go, and criminals to arrest?” Lena joked.

“Well, I mean…” Akechi said, somewhat flustered. “That’s not entirely untrue.” Lena giggled. “However,” Lena noticed his more serious tone, “it’s a lot more than that. As you may be aware, Mr. Okumura’ got a visit from the Phantom Thieves. And during his confession, he made a bold statement on the ongoing endemic of mental shutdowns. And the person he named is…a very big name to say the least.”

“Right…” Lena said. “I saw the conference.”

“I thought you were out with friends?” Tamako said.

“Well, we still watched it,” Lena countered. “I mean, it’s pretty big news.”

“I suppose,” Tamako relented. “But maybe you should focus on having fun.”

“We did,” Lena said. “I even brought you back some stuff.”

“And I appreciate it,” Tamako said.

“Anyways…” Akechi interjected. The Minamoto women shared a small giggle before returning their attention to Akechi. “Because of all of this, things are going to get complicated. So I’ve just come here to explain that…I might be less…available…”

“Oh,” Lena said, somewhat disappointed.

“However,” Akechi continued, taking Lena by the hand. “I want you to know that you are always at the forefront of my mind. And that no matter what happens…I love you.”

Lena’s face turned beat red. “Eh, uh, wha…” she said in a stupor.

Akechi chuckled. “That said, things have freed up on my end in a different area, but with everything going on now, it won’t be enough to make up the difference.”

“You know,” Tamako interjected, “you could just leave this to the authorities. I know you’re a smart cookie, and, well, I don’t entirely trust the authorities, but…”

Lena shook her head. “That’s not who Goro is. He seeks justice, no matter what it takes. It’s part of the reason…I love him.” Tamako was surprised.

Akechi was blushing now. He then laughed. “Right. You understand me. Of course you do.” Lena smiled. “However, I have been keeping a secret from you.” Lena was stunned. “And with what’s coming next being so up in the air, I feel like I can’t keep it from you anymore. You need to know.” He took out a picture and handed it to Lena.

Lena, heart beating a mile a minute, looked at the picture. She was confused. The picture was that of an ordinary young girl, no more than eight, wearing a pink dress and sporting a yellow bow in their hair. “Who is this, and why do you have their picture?”

Akechi smiled. “That’s me.” He took a sip of his tea. Lena was confused. Once Akechi finished sipping his tea, he concluded “I am trans.”

Lena looked at Akechi and the picture again in disbelief. “Huh…”

“Are you perhaps disappointed?” Akechi asked.

Lena collected herself. “No, just surprised. I…didn’t know.”

“Well, I’ve been careful not to tell many people,” Akechi said. “In fact, I believe one of the few people that knows is you, right Tamako.”

Lena turned to her host mom. “You knew?”

“I was the first one he told,” Tamako said.

“She was really helpful in changing my records, and setting me up with some of the things necessary for me to begin transitioning,” Akechi explained.

“I see…” Lena replied.

Akechi stood up. “Well, this has been nice.” He walked to the door. “See you later.”

Before he could open it, Lena shouted “Goro wait!” Akechi looked back at her. “Um, well, uh, you see, I know you’re busy and stuff, but if you don’t mind putting things off, well, some of my other friends and I are going to watch another friend of ours at a gymnastics meet tomorrow. So, do you want to come with?”

Akechi was a little stunned, but smiled. “Very well. I suppose if it’s tomorrow, I can make it. Besides, I wouldn't want to miss a chance to spend time with you.”

Lena smiled. She walked up to him and said “Thanks.” She gave him a kiss, and then put her head on his chest. “You’re the man of my dreams.”

Akechi smiled back. “And you, the woman of mine.” He hugged her gently. Slowly, they loosened their embrace, and Akechi headed back home for the night.

Meanwhile, Sae arrived home. As she entered, Makoto asked “How was your day?”

Sae thought back on tre frustration of her being sidelined, but then thought about the lunch she had with Riko. “It was fine.”

“Glad to hear that,” Makoto said.

Sae sat down. “It was stressful at first, but I just needed to recenter myself.”

“I know what you mean,” Makoto said. “Sometimes you just get lost in your own head and have to start again.”

“Of course,” Sae said. The Niijimas enjoyed a nice dinner, and then they headed to their rooms.

Into the night, Sae was dreaming of the mirror trick Riko had taught her. Every passing moment made her more and more happy. She reached out to the mirror, only to notice that the hand she was reaching out with was covered in a black glove. “Huh?!” She said. The Mirror switched over from Sae’s ideal self to a reflection of something she wasn’t quite sure of.

It was Sae alright, but she was dressed in a skimpy black dress with a set of fishnet stockings and matching corset that, were it not for the dress, you could see everything. At the top of the dress was a black choker with spikes on it. She had a black hat adorned with gold roses and playing cards, and her face was heavily made-up. She had tattoos on her arm, and as she turned, she noticed that she had tattoos on her back, which the dress did not cover. She grew concerned. She looked around and saw that she was in a casino that looked malicious in nature. “What’s going on?" she demanded.

Sae woke up in a sweat. She was breathing heavily. “You OK honey?” Riko said.

Sae looked at Riko, who was in bed next to her. “Just a bad dream.”

Riko put her hand on Sae’s face. “It’ll be OK. Just go back to sleep.”

“Aright,” Sae said. They shared a kiss, and fell back asleep.

Sae woke up for real this time, pale as a ghost. “Wha…?” She looked next to her. She was alone. She flopped back down. “...Probably too much sushi…” she rationalized. “...Yeah…” It took a few minutes, but she went back to sleep.

[ghastaurey]

Sometimes posting your art on twitter goes places

[pensoluv]

SAGAO AU work 2

Tw: yandere, cult, punishment, a bit of crack

You attempt to discipline your cult with various methods. “A very peculiar experience.” Albedo notes. (Gen z humour and vine references are included ehe.)

“RiSe AnD sHiNe, my lieges!” You stroll out to the front of your residence, and shout with a megaphone. You were lucky enough to have learnt a bit of craftsmanship recently, and you stayed up to make the device, with the scraps of ascension materials which your cult members had left behind. Now that you live together, you expect disciplined ‘disciples’. If you’re gonna have a cult, it’s gonna be a girlboss cult. If you have to hear Kaeya say you’re slacking off again, you’ll be snapping off a head soon. Figuratively. Maybe.

‘I sure hope they relish in my mercy now, before the sweetness passes. Some of them couldn’t even pick up their leftovers.’ you think.

The more sensible adults came as quickly as they could. As appreciation for their eagerness to do as you decree, you produce in-game skins, as in costumes, to change them from their pajamas/half-changed attires into. You revel in their surprise, and hope it’s pleasant for them.

“Good morning, Jean, Diluc, Ningguang, Zhongli. Albedo, Amber. Could you please get the rest of them? I’d rather see how wiling you all ’d be to obey me, rather than using my powers. Thank you.”

You smile warmly. As soon as they’ve fully processed what you’d asked of them (with their waking-up brains), they went back inside immediately.

While most of them respond with solemn responses, Amber returns the warmness with an enthusiastic “Yes ma’am/sir/lord!”.

The kids followed them out soon. The four kids (who were living with the rest of the members because they need caretakers) had decided to be good, so you might let them have extra treats afterwards. Also because you have been a nice elder sibling of sorts to them, albeit also being omnipotent. You let them sit nearby. As for Noelle and her peers, they were frantically dressing in their normal clothing. At least they’re trying!

The rest of them were either ignoring you, or legitimately fast asleep. Annoyed, you shout again. This time with the strength and with the annoyance you have had as someone who has been working with unruly bastards. Perhaps you’d been too lenient.

Once the team have wrung all of them away from their bedsheets, you decide to make them stand in the ‘military formation’, whatever that is. You’re not sure if your memory is rusty. It’s been a while. You finally announce your ‘evil plot’.

“Dearly detested mothertruckers, wakey wakey, it’s time fo skool!” You said in a semi-mocking tone as you look at the less obedient ones. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t pissed about the disrespect, especially after you’ve been super nice to them for the whole week. Heck, you started to make their breakfasts in the early mornings. Not today though. Time for retribution.

“You have 15 seconds to arrange yourselves in proper lines and formation in a rectangle. I ain’t got no sleep because of y’all, and if you don’t cooperate, y’all ain’t gon’ get no sleep because of me! Go!”

Kaeya, clearly messing with you, stubbornly stood there. “What are you going to do, Lord y/n?” He teased.

‘Icebridge dude’s getting cocky from his customised breakfast from yesterday.’ You caught on. ‘I’d make him go to Inazuma on a depressed Italian pizza instead of a boat if I could.’

You notice Zhongli about to get his spear out, and silently shook your head to him. He retreats his hand. Best geo archon indeed. You turn your gaze back to the peacock personified. He looks exactly like the smug blue parrot from Rio.

“Kaeya. I can control everything in this world, including your fellow cult members. If you don’t want to catch their hands,” ‘or deez nuts-’ “do as I say.” You glare at Kaeya. Before Kaeya can rebuke, Rosaria kicks him and he shuts up. For the moment anyway. You continue your speech.

“I’ll give you all 20 more seconds, in return for revoking Kaeya’s handmade breakfast privileges and afternoon sleep privileges for the week.” Kaeya suddenly falls to his knees, to everyone else’s surprise. ‘Oh? Are you falling for me?’ You know it’s not, and you know the exact reasons. Primarily from your adjustion of his in-game gravity. Partly because he has to mine and skip the resting time. ‘Good’, you muse. This isn’t the first time they’ve seen your powers, and it won’t be the last either.

“Since you have decided to creep me out with your recent stalking, unconsented pounces and lack of respecting boundaries, all of you have to choose one of these tasks to complete, after standing for 10 minutes. Popsicles and water/enslaved moisture are allowed, but no more. On to the tasks.

One, write fan fictions of yourselves. You have to do presentations like how I had to, when you all went crazy and tried to beat the living spirit out of me, when I first arrived. Yes I hold grudges because you haven’t completed your redemption arc properly yet.” You shoot a death stare at Raiden Shogun. The electro archon electrocuted you the hardest. “Xingqiu should understand what I mean. Ask Kokomi or Albedo if you have to. I will bonk you with Itto’s club if I have to.

Two, mine every ore nearby, and shout out the song I’ve taught Venti two days ago, as you mine. The almighty rickroll. Or you could wear a maid dress instead as you mine. No hiding under cloaks like Diluc’s. You will be mining with swords instead of claymores.

Third, apologise, to each other, to me, to the kids. Promise to never do anything without proper consent, unless you’re going to the bathroom. Swear on my name to follow my rules. If you fail, you’ll have to memorise all the trauma/lore I had to go through because of you all. You’ll have to recite it and identify the correct memes I will have shown you as I check your work. One mistake and you’ll have to fight a boss.

Every time I catch you do creepy stuff onwards, you’ll have to fight Dvalin, Andrius, and me at 10% power within 5 hours. You’re all getting passes this time because I still have silvers of hope for you all. Do you understand?”

You don’t wait for their replies because the kids are hungry and you’re gonna bringing them to have breakfast. It’s good that you let them go back to sleep just before making the adults responsible. If the punished have death wishes, they could come and challenge you. Your powers as their god/goddess has been fully rushed back within these few weeks, and you have no tolerance left. They will repent to their lord if they wish to be in your presence. Anyways, you should go get fresh a va ca dò s, croissants and other food items. As well as the snacks you mentally took notes to promise the kids with.

You decide that the first few more obedient ones get to slack off a bit in their tasks. Just because you feel bad. You’ll tell them in private later.

It’s tough being their god/goddess, huh.

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 2

pairing: Tsukishima x f!manager of Sendai Frogs genre: sexual tension/crack/fluff/slow burn warnings: lots of swear words, tsukki being a a closet softie wc: 6k (lol no chill as always)

[a/n]

Sorry for the delayed update. I added almost 1k words just to solidify the characters to give depth even more to the story. Feel free to reread. (It's totally not because I started a different series altogether.)

When I say this is slow burn, I meant sloooooooowww burn. 

Let me know if you want to be part of the taglist. :)

AO3 

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

What were you even thinking? Actually,  why weren’t you? Had you used at least two brain cells of yours, you wouldn’t have momentarily lost your mind and kissed Tsukishima. You could’ve justified your actions if you were drunk, but you ingested not even an ounce of alcohol that night.

History will remember yesterday as the day a a sober you and a very displeased Tsukishima who found yourselves smooching publicly in the middle of a club. You’re just glad that no other member of the team goes to the same university you both go to. Else, you'd run the risk of getting seen.

Were so touch-deprived that you couldn’t resist even Tsukishima? And what about him? Why did he get along with it? You don’t think he actually hates you. Hate is such a strong word. He just exceedingly dislikes you. So why would he make out with you? Maybe he thought of it as a way of finally standing up to you?

Ugh.

You’re thankful that you didn’t have training yesterday. You were a mess the whole day trying to make sense of what happened. Not that you’re any better today; you’re still baffled as fuck. But you’re glad you had that day off so you wouldn’t have to face him immediately. 

For the first time ever, you’re dreading going to the gym. Even if you’re tired or you lack sleep, you’ve never felt distressed as the manager of the Sendai Frogs. All this because of Tsukishima. But can you really put the blame on him when it was you who initiated it?

“Good morning, y/n,” Eiji, the captain of the team greets you.

“Morning, Eiji,” you say back. Even though he’s older than you, you dropped the salutations already, same with everybody else. 

“You okay?” he asks worriedly. 

“Oh! Yeah, absolutely! When am I ever not okay?” You toughen it up and erase the troublesome kiss in your head. You are their ever shining manager, first and foremost. Anything outside of that has no place in this gym. 

“Never. It’s almost scary actually,” he answers with jest.

“Right? ‘Cause I’m a freaking goddess.”

He gives you a noble bow. “Indeed, you are, my lady.”

You giggle softly. Your players really are the best on and off the court (except for Tsukishima). “Go do your drills instead of buttering me up, ‘captain.’” He gives you a mock salute then jogs off towards the net. 

“Y/n!”

You saunter off to your coach after you were called. “Yes, Coach?”

“Can you help tape the blockers?” You nod willingly, quickly discarding unnecessary thoughts of Tsukishima. 

“Tsukishima’s free. Go start with him.”

You almost flinch upon hearing his name.

‘Great,’ you groan internally as you get the wrap from your kit and drag your feet toward the source of your uneasiness. But what did you expect? Of course, you’d have to deal with him sooner or later.

“Morning, Tsukishima,” you greet him with forced normalcy, acting like nothing’s wrong. As you take his left hand and you’re instantly reminded of what happened the other night -- how this hand gripped your waist while his mouth moved against yours… how his skin felt against the palm of your hand as he towered over you, body against body in a dance so dangerous and so hypnotizing that you lost yourself in the moment.

You tried your best to calm down yesterday, but seeing him right now makes you want to smack yourself from your momentary insanity that led you to kiss him.

Instead, you give him the nicest, brightest smile to channel your frustrations as you start taping his fingers. You just hope and pray that he doesn’t bring it up.

“Morning,  manager .” It was an indirect jab at you. Even when he says it with a dead tone, you know he’s taunting you by addressing you as manager - a tortuous reminder that what happened last Saturday night wasn’t forgotten.

Instead of yielding to the provocation, you respond with your own. You might have messed up, but you’re not letting him get the upper hand. “How was your weekend, Tsukki?” 

“Horrible,” he quickly answers without even thinking.

“Ditto. What happened to yours?” you ask with fake curiosity, already knowing why. Even if you didn’t kiss him then, he was already acting up like an angsty teen forced by his mom to attend a children’s party within the neighborhood.

“Went to a disgusting party.”

You nod pretentiously. “Mine’s horrible too. I got g-”

“I didn’t ask,” he interrupts.

“Well, you’re still going to hear it,” you respond just as distastefully as he cut you off. “I got groped by some perv, but I kinda punched some good manners unto him.” You release his left hand and take his right one to tape it as well. 

“And?” He asks.

You shrug your shoulders. “That’s it. After that, I just went home from how  horrible  the experience was.”

You look up to him, meeting his sardonic gaze paired with a raised eyebrow from what you just said. You know that he understood that you were referring to something else other than the perv incident as horrible.

“How about you? What happened to that disgusting party of yours?” you press on.

“I bumped into someone I didn’t really want to see.”

“And?”

“Do you really wanna know how horrible it was for me?” A smirk creeps up on the corner of his mouth as he asks. There were many times before that you’ve wanted a taste of Tsukishima’s vile sarcasm, just to know what he’d say to you. Today is not one of those times. You don’t want him using that reckless kiss against you. 

“Actually, no. I don’t really care.” You let go of his hand you just finished working with and look around to look for anyone you could use as a distraction from Tsukishima’s attempt to retell the kiss from his perspective.

“Kogane!” you brightly call the setter as you bounce cheerfully towards him. 

Even if you don’t show it, Tsukishima knows he’s gotten under your previously impenetrable thick skin. He detests what happened last Saturday. The more he remembers it, the more he abhors it. The only reason he’s not totally hating himself for getting swept along with your shit is because he knows you hated it too, probably more than he does since it was you who kissed him first.

His smug grin only spreads when you march to Kogane with that cutesy act you only show to players from opposing teams to unsettle them before matches. You take both Kogane’s hands and beam at him. “Do you want me to tape your fingers?”

“Y-you don’t have to, y/n. I can do it myself!” Kogane blurts out, panicking at your sudden closeness and physical touch.

“But I love taking care of you guys,” you pout at Kogane, which only makes the setter blush a shade almost close to red.

Tsukishima follows you to help his babbling, flustered teammate.

“You’re going to kill him, y/n,” he says as he passes by you and Kogane who now looks like he stopped functioning.

You blink at Kogane, realizing what you’re doing to the poor guy.

You must have been really bothered by Tsukishima and unknowingly projected it to someone else.

Tsukishima sneers as he sees you try to ease Kogane from his severe fluster but only make it worse by rubbing his shoulders. 

A dash of pride and satisfaction swells on Tsukishima’s chest as he watches you get agitated with the situation you, yourself caused. Getting back at you feels even better than he imagined it would be. 

--

Even though you and Tsukishima are in the same class, you don’t really notice his presence. Sometimes you’d even forget you’re classmates. Now, though, you are more aware of the fact that he’s actually there than you ever have.

“Alright, class. For your main project this semester, I’m going to have you partnered up. You need to come up with a comprehensive report on mating behavior of reptiles. I’ll randomly generate your assigned reptile.”

You groan. Another collaborative work in the same subject. You don’t like working with others because you don’t want to adapt to anyone’s schedule. You like to get things done ahead of time. You hate procrastinating because you don’t want your uni requirements getting mixed up with potential tasks from your managerial job, especially whenever tournament seasons come. 

The last collaborative work you worked on is a group project where you did most of the work yourself. You wouldn’t have minded if you didn’t have fucking freeloaders as groupmates.  The little shits made you do 90% of the project because you wanted it done early.

You just pray that this time, you get to be paired with someone responsible. You tap your pen on your desk while you wait for your name to be called.

“L/n and Tsukishima.”

You drop your pen at your professor’s announcement. It bounces twice on your desk before rolling to the floor, but you don’t move to pick it up. Your gaze immediately flies to where Tsukishima is seated and find him glaring at you already. You almost want to laugh at how ridiculous this entire situation is.

Seriously? Were you a serial killer in your previous life or something? Did some higher power decide to punish you for your grave sins like this? 

Whatever. You’re not having any of this shit. 

You wait until the class is over and approach your professor. “Sir. I’d like to do this project alone.” Or at least with someone else. 

He continues to type something on his laptop, not bothering to look up at you, as he asks, “Why is that?”

“I just feel more comfortable doing things on my own, Sir. Please.” You try to give him your nice student smile but his eyes don't leave his screen.

“Then what? Have you increase my workload?”

Shit. You forgot that this particular professor of yours is known to not budge to anyone. You scramble your brain for another excuse.

“Sir. Can I do this project alone?” you suddenly hear Tsukihima’s voice behind you.

Finally, your professor closes his laptop and eyes you two unenthusiastically. “My answer is no to miss Y/n, so my answer to you, Mr. Tsukishima, is also no. I don’t know what the deal is between you two, but you’re doing this together.”

You can’t help but scowl despite being right in front of your professor. If it wasn’t for that darn kiss, you would’ve loved working with Tsukishima. Even though you don’t have the same classes, his schedule won’t be that hard to match up with because you two have the same training days. Secondly, he’s smart. You won’t have to carry the whole weight of the project. 

“You know what, I’ll reconsider.” A glimmer of hope lights up in your chest as you hear your professor’s words. “I’ll allow you two to work individually — but with an automatic ten point deduction for this project.”

“No,” you and Tsukishima respond at the same time. 

“Great! You’re already getting along swimmingly.” Your professor picks up his stuff and stands up. “Enjoy,” he waves a dismissive goodbye and leaves.

You slowly turn around to face Tsukishima and find that you share the same lour that he has. You cross your arms and lean on your professor’s desk. “Guess we’re together, Tsukishima.” 

--

You allowed yourself one week to compose yourself before you agreed to start the project with Tsukishima. You still saw him at training days, and even then, you tried to have the least amount of interaction with him so the ‘incident’ wouldn’t be brought up again. Meeting him for a project where it’s just you two is different and you needed time.

As much as you don’t want to be with him, you told yourself that it’ll be over soon. You just pushed the kiss in the back of your head and convinced yourself that it was just a stupid kiss. It didn’t mean anything. He probably just went along with it out of spite, so it’s best you think of it as a spur of the moment madness. That way, you won’t be bothered if he sordidly brings it up again. At least now, you can go back to your usual, cheeky self around him.

You’re about to text Tsukishima that you’ve arrived at the station you agreed to meet up at but you already see him there standing while he’s scrolling his phone with his usual white headphones on.

Unfortunately for you and him, the reptile assigned to you two are crocodiles. It’s the worst possible assignment you could get among the roster of reptiles assigned. You need to travel all the way to Wakabayashi for a legitimate crocodile farm to observe, compared to other reptiles which are easily accessible with nearby zoos in Miyagi. You just pray that you’ll only need this one trip to get all the data you need for your report.

You walk towards him and instantly regard how he looks. Despite being in the same university, you don’t see him around much. Even in your sole class together, you’re seated way too apart from each other to even look at each other’s direction. Not that being seated beside each other would’ve made a difference. You’re not friends. There’s no need to talk to him since everything that’s volleyball-related is relayed through line. To you, he’s just one of your players. As far as you’re concerned, the only Tsukishima you’re aware of is the one sweating his white shirt and training shorts during practice. 

To have this much involvement with him outside the gym is throwing you out of your usual loop. You continue studying him at a distance. Today he’s wearing white plaid pants, black turtleneck (probably long sleeves) with a lighter shade of black coat on top, and a brown wool scarf. He also has a gray bonnet that makes his blonde locks frame his face nicely. 

What the heck? Did he always dress like this even in class? How come you never noticed? 

He finally notices you. He puts down his phone and removes his headphones. “How long have you been there?”

“Wow, Tsukishima. You look kinda hot,” you blurt out without thinking.

His eyes expand at your statement that came out of nowhere. “Huh?!”

“Oh, sorry. That must’ve been random. But you look really good though. I kinda feel like I’m meeting a date,” you say with objective candor as you continue to stare at him. 

That catches him completely off guard. The other day you’re on the edge around him. You weren’t even paying much attention to him during training, but now you’re back to being a headache whose mouth knows no bounds as you faze him with your unfiltered thoughts. Now, it’s him who is uncomfortable again with your thorough eyes scanning him approvingly. 

“As if I’d ever date you,” he snaps back at your remark to which you scoff at.

“I didn’t say you would. Maybe you’re forgetting, I’d never go out with a member of the team.”

“Right. But kissing one is totally fine, huh?” he retaliates in an instant with a condescending look. He waits for your reaction, eager to see you distraught and bothered by it. To his dissatisfaction, you don’t behave in such a way. Instead, you sigh defeatedly.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. I got a little crazy that night,” you say casually to a degree that you sounded like it was just a petty accident. “You kissed me back, so I’m sure you were too. Right?” 

The last word is conniving, and he can tell why you phrased it that way. You’re leaving him no choice but to disregard what happened or else it’s going to seem like it meant something to him. The hell it does. It simply resurfaces back on his mind sometimes because of how unpleasant the memory is. 

‘Devious woman,’ he snarls in his head.

It should be okay. Your reason for what you did can also be his excuse for how responded to it. What he didn’t like is that he hasn’t even managed to make the most out of that incident, while you immediately found a way to undo the grave you dug for him to bury you into.

Plus, the only advantage he sees out of partnering with you for this project is the possibility of being able to pester you the way you pester him during practice. Obviously, that’s already thrown off the window. Now, there’s nothing in it for him for the duration of the project. He is left with nothing but the fact that he has to endure your company. To think that he’s already so miserable when this afternoon has barely even started.

“Yeah,” he answers with contained resentment. “Can we go on the bus now?” He asks to deviate away from the topic already. He was hoping he could still use the incident to unnerve you, but it’s for naught now. 

He enters the bus first and assumes you’ll follow him, which you do as you take your seat beside him. You get your shoulder bag and take out a notebook.

“Can you take a look at this outline I made for our report?” you ask while you hand him your notebook opened at a certain page.

“I can’t read while the bus is moving,” he says then waits for a lame comeback from you. But you don’t comment about it. Why must you keep on being such a wildcard?

“Ah, okay. I’ll just tell it to you then,” you smile at him. “This trip is going to take long. It’d be a waste of time to not make use of it, right?”

He groans internally. Why must you be right all the fucking time?

He also made an outline last night, but he didn’t tell you because he thought it’d be better if he just did the data-gathering himself and let you take the pictures the report should have. He forgot that you’re not as irresponsible and carefree as you present yourself to be.

He listens to you explain your outline, looking for flaws in it for the sake of his grade and also for his self-satisfaction. And he does find a few.

“You should have separate discussion points for mating characteristics for male and females. I’m sure they have distinct traits. Also, I think we should include more than just one species, preferably three if the farm has it.” He continues, “Maybe we can note certain unique behaviors per species. It would be inconclusive, but it would still be nice to include it as a commentary.”

He hopes to extract even just a tiny hint of embarrassment from you for he’s thought of it better than you did. But you just stare at him for a good few seconds before you break into a dazzled smile.

“Oh my God. Yeah, you’re absolutely right!”

You open your notebook and scribble the changes in your drafted outline. “Is there anything else?” You consult him genuinely. You accept his criticisms with an open mind, which vexes him even more. 

“Nothing,” he grumbles.

“Alright. Let’s just revise it again once we see what’s on the farm.”

He doesn’t bother replying anymore since you’re once again right.

He puts on his headphones again to drown out whatever chatter you plan to have with him since you’re done discussing the project for now. Instead of bugging him, you take out a bunch of readings and focus on them intently, completely ignoring him. 

With nothing to entertain him aside from the music on his ears, his peripheral keeps going back to you and how hard you’re concentrating with the papers in your one hand and a pen in the other. 

He removes one muff of his headphone from his ear and asks you, “Don’t you get motion sickness?”

You really must be into what you’re studying because you flinch when he speaks, causing you to drop your pen. 

He feels responsible for it so he leans down to pick it up, but you also do the same. As you both reach down to grab your pen, your temple collides with his. 

“Ow,” your fingers go to massage the spot, failing to notice as he does that your faces are too close for comfort. He watches you wince for a quick while before looking at him, finally realizing that he’s within a proximity familiar to you both. 

It’s reminiscent of that night except this time, the natural light affirms that it wasn’t just the ambiance of the club that made you attractive enough to pull him in and share that heinous kiss. With your well-lit features, he can see that you’re thinking about the same thing he is.

Your eyes fall on his lips and for some illogical reason, he does the same.

Like last time, you’re the first to act on it. The major difference is, instead of leaning in, you retreat. You sit up straight with your fingers still on the side of your head and smile graciously at him. “It’s fine, Tsukishima. I’ll get it,” you say, which he finds half-witted because he’s still bent down and he can already grasp the pen.

He sits back up and hands you your pen. You use the hand on your temple to get it.

“Oh, thanks.” You stare at the pen for a second, then tuck it in your pocket. “Anyways, yeah. I don’t have problems reading in a moving vehicle.”

You dive back to his question and disregard what just happened. It works for him. He’d rather not think about it as well. 

“Have you not seen me scrambling paperwork on our bus rides to and from tournaments?”

“No.” He prefers not to pay attention to you. Hell, he pretends you don’t exist when he can. So naturally, he doesn’t know what it is you do when you’re not being your pestering self. It pains him to admit it, but you do get shit done -- efficiently, too. He should be glad because at least, you won’t be like his previous groupmates.

Still, just you being … you, ticks him off.

You laugh out of nowhere. “For someone who doesn’t speak much, you’re so fucking transparent.”

He frowns, not being able to grasp what you meant.

“Okay, look. I like pissing you off. I really do. And you, you don’t like me a lot. But for this project. Can we pretend that I’m not your annoying manager and you’re not the nasty Tsukishima I know?” 

“How the fuck can I do that when we see each other almost everyday as such?”

You roll your eyes and smirk. “Right. What was I even thinking? Go ahead and be emo with your music over there while I study here, yeah?” You pat him on the shoulders twice with that patronizing grin you always give him before pulling your pen back from your pocket and focusing once more on your readings, completely paying no attention to him for the rest of the trip.

—

As soon as you reach the crocodile farm, Tsukishima suggests that you two roam the area separately to cover more ground. In reality, he just wanted to get rid of you even for just a few minutes. He needed a break from you.

He does so by taking his time strolling around the place, observing how the area is situated. It looks like a park with its vast lush green environment and man-made waters to habituate the crocodiles. There are four main areas: the museum, the hatchling house, the zoo, and the breeding pens. He first goes to the museum, looking at the skeletal structure of some crocodiles. It isn’t really significant to the project but he can’t help admire it.

When he realizes that he’s taking longer than he initially thought, he starts looking for you. He sends you a text, but you don’t reply. You had gone to the zoo’s direction so he assumes you’re somewhere around that area. 

When he does find you, you’re not alone.

There you are near a crocodile pen, getting friendly with a guy he’s sure you just met.

It’s so familiar. The only difference is that you’re not wearing the Frogs’ jacket and you’re not in the Sendai gymnasium. He walks towards your direction, not caring if he’s going to cut off your little chat. You’re there for the project, not to snag some random bozo.

As he closes in behind you, he hears your conversation.

“Actually, birds are more closely related to dinosaurs than crocodiles. You couldn’t tell, right?” you explain with zeal. 

Tsukishima stops in his tracks at the foreign feeling in his chest. Wait a minute. Is he actually impressed? Moreover, what the heck is he impressed for? You should know that. You are both in a higher herpetology class. Even though it hasn’t been discussed during lectures, it’s natural that you know that. However, the guy you’re talking with isn't as enthusiastic. 

“Can’t blame you though. Crocs and dinos share the same sexy vibe with those chill eyes and scaly skin. Also, look at those smokin webbed feet. Fucking work of art, dude. You feel me?” you press on fanatically.

The stranger looks at you with a forced smile, obviously weirded out by your ‘passionate’ description of the reptile. “Yeah, sure. I have to go now. Bye,” the guy bows and storms away from you. 

You turn your attention back to the lowered pen in front of you with a satisfied smile and shudder when you see Tsukishima already there beside you. 

“Gah! You scared me. Why didn’t you say anything?” you ask with your hand still on your chest.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you creeping out that stranger.”

You tither at his answer. “Glad you didn’t. It was fun seeing him all freaked out.” 

He finds it weird. He thought you just had an aversion towards athletes. That’s why you keep driving away anyone who’d approach you during matches. Apparently, that’s not the case.

“He looked like he’d follow you back to Miyagi if you didn’t go all freaky nerdy on him.” 

You jeer at his comment. “He could follow me to the ends of the Earth and I still wouldn’t give him my number. I’d rather date Mr. Crocodylus siamensis over here than boring dum dums blinded by how hot I am.” 

“Then why do you entertain them?” he follows up.

“Caaaauuusse it’s fun to see them squirm,” you declare cheerfully as you veer your gaze at him. “Why the sudden interest with the way I handle men, Tsukishima?”

You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your lips tugging up to form a playful smirk. “Don’t tell me you suddenly find me interesting?”

You really do know how to push the right buttons to provoke him. He grits his teeth from your audacity.

“I’m joking for fuck’s sake! My god. I already know that even if it’s just the two of us on this planet, and we’d have to procreate to restart the world population, you’d rather choose to doom humanity than have anything to do with me.”

Among all the correct things that came out of your mouth, that was the only thing he could verbally agree with. “Good you know,” he retorts. 

You don’t seem to take offense though. You still keep your unwavering smile as you get your phone out and take a picture of the Borneo crocodile. 

“Should we go see the breeding pens now?” you ask nonchalantly, dismissing the previous conversation like it was nothing. 

--

You both decide to hire a designated tour guide to assist you while you observe the crocodiles, particularly the ones for breeding. 

“Hi, Ms. l/n. I’m Sara and I will be your guide for today,” she introduced herself with a dedicated smile.

“I’m so thrilled that you and your boyfriend decided to learn more about crocodiles for your date,” she adds. 

You and Tsukishima glance at each other before turning back to her. 

“She’s not my girlfriend.” “He’s not my boyfriend.”

You both say simultaneously, except yours sounded like a friendly correction while his sounded like a dead announcement. 

“We’re just classmates for a project,” you correct her.

She bows apologetically with embarrassment and worry. “I’m so sorry for assuming that.”

“No worries, Sara,” you reassure her before Tsukishima says something unnecessary. “Can you lead us on the breeding pens? We’d like to observe the whole thing.” 

“Of course. Right this way.”

Aside from the mishap earlier, you find Sara competent at her job as she fills you in with details not included in the sign boards in the pens. She gives you information about the mating process that you didn’t find when you researched about the subject. You assume Tsukishima’s thinking the same because he doesn’t say anything out of the blue.

“By any chance, will we see a pair mating today?” he asks after a while.

“I’m not really sure, Mr. Tsukishima. It’s really up to the animals.”

You tug on Tsukishima’s sleeve when you catch sight of one crocodile latching himself on top of another.

“What?” he asks irritatedly, but follows your line of sight. 

“Oh, lucky. There you go.” Sara announces with a pleasant smile.

You get your phone and your notes. You multitask listening to Sara, taking photos, and scribbling notes on your paper pad. 

On the other hand, Tsukishima multitasks observing the crocodiles in action and observing you. 

You’re asking important questions to the guide while juggling other tasks. Yes, he doesn’t like you and loathes being partnered with you. However, that doesn't mean he won’t cooperate with you. He won’t mind if you ask him for help, but you seem to have even forgotten that he’s there. 

He grabs your phone from your hand, garnering a confused look from you.

“I’ll take the photos. You take down notes.”

You flash him an honest, grateful smile. “Thanks, Tsukishima.”

Then, you proceed with the things you’re doing more at ease. 

He can’t tell who he’s more pissed at, you or himself. Something about that display of productivity and wit unnerves him. It’s as if it’s telling him that his chagrin over you is unreasonable because you’re actually reliable when it counts. What’s worse is you’re completely oblivious to it. In fact, you’re almost ignoring him.

Goddamn it. What’s he doing? He’s completely distracted now from the project and is solely focused on you. He quickly shakes it off and calms himself down. His attention should be on the reptiles, not you.

He turns his attention back to the crocodiles, but the mating act only lasted a few minutes. After that, you both barrage Sara with an array of questions that she looked too overwhelmed by the end of your tour. 

You’ve covered almost everything for the day and it’s already around 6 in the evening when you get on a bus on the way back to Miyagi.

“That was fun!” you comment ardently with an abnormal shine on your face when you sit down on the bus on the way back. He wears his headphones on before you start a conversation he’s not willing to have. From his peripheral, he sees you turning to him and as he predicted, your mouth begins moving while you animatedly narrate words he could not hear. 

He’s already acting as if he can’t hear nor see you, but you still don’t stop. Knowing you, you will not stop until you make sure he notices you. He wearily removes his headphones only to see you not saying anything and only mouthing words with hand gestures. 

“Seriously?” He scowls at you. He’s already exhausted at having to deal with you even for just half a day, but you still have the energy to mess with him. 

You cover your mouth with your hand as you snicker but it erupts into a hoot of laughter shortly. You gasp ridiculously after you ride out your stupid amusement from poking at his patience. “Tsukki, I swear to God. You make the best faces,” you say while wiping away your joyous tears.

“Were you even going to say something worth listening to?” he questions sourly.

You study him then shake your head. “I think you’re tired, so let’s just discuss what we gathered next time. You can go ignore me now,” you tell him with an understanding smile despite the slight banter.

You tilt your body in his direction and hoist yourself up a bit to put his headphones back yourself like it’s no big deal.

You settle back into your seat while he stills on his seat, stunned with what you just did while you get your readings again and shrink to your own bubble. You don’t seem to make anything of it, so he doesn’t as well. It was very you to mindlessly get on anyone’s —  particularly his — personal space anyways.

He increases the volume of his headphones and tries to relax. Yet, his attention keeps swerving back at you every now and then. You’re really concentrating hard with your brows burrowed while you stare at your hand-outs. After a while, he notices you bobbing your head from the corners of his eyes.

He can tell you’re as tired as he is and trying hard to fight the sleep that’s taking over you. The bunch of papers you previously held are now clutched on your lap.

On the last bob of your head, you snap out of it. You blink repeatedly and return your eyes to your readings again. To no avail, you’re shutting down with your eyes fluttering when you try again. You look like you decided to give it a rest and put your papers back in your bag. You cross your arms and lean back to your seat. 

He feels relieved that you finally yield to your physical exhaustion. He doesn’t need an additional bullet point to his list of why he can’t fully hate you. Also, you won’t run your mouth at him if you’re asleep.

He feels the soft thump of your head on his shoulder. You probably did too as you suddenly bolt up and tell him ‘sorry' which he only understands based on how you mouthed the word. You lean back again and try to settle back to sleep. But when you start dozing off, you sway to the other side of your seat which is the aisle of the bus.

He grabs your shoulder to prevent you from tumbling down to the aisle. Your disoriented self looks around, alarmed at his sudden touch.

“Just fucking lean on me,” he spits out, irked that he has to say it out loud. It’s not like he pushed you away. You could’ve just stayed as you were and he would’ve turned a blind eye at it out of recognition of the effort you put in today. He’d just consider it one of those times that you do something annoying and he just ignores you as a response.

You regard him with dazed eyes. You open your mouth as if you’re about to say something but decide against it as you shut your eyes again and you let your head rest on his shoulder. But even then, your head still falls forward from time to time. He puts a hand on your forehead to settle you back on his shoulder and slides a bit downward on his seat to accommodate you. 

Jesus Christ, you can study in a moving vehicle but can’t even do a simple thing like sleep properly on it. Why does he even have to adjust for you?

He heaves furiously in contrast to your steady breathing, letting him know that you’re easing deeper to your sleep. 

He distracts himself by looking at the window, witnessing the unmoving dark sky and the changing scenery below. He lets out a sigh.

Maybe he should’ve just accepted the ten point deduction.

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

taglist (those crossed out can’t be tagged - pls check your settings?)

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

[tommydarlings]

All the good girls go to Hell | pt.1 - Poor little girl

pairing: mob!tom x reader

warnings: kinda sexual tension, daddy kink? kinda kidnapping, one swear word at the end

w/c: 1.2k

Requests: OPEN

Summary:  y/n has always been a quiet and shy girl. She was a typical good girl. And that's exactly what Tom Holland aka. the most feared man in the world wants. A good girl, but will that work?

y/f/n = your friends name

masterlist

“He sat fire to the World around him, but never let a flame touch her”

---

"How do you mean you won't make it?!" Tom shouted through the phone with an annoying voice.

"There are more opponents here than we would have thought sir," Anthony explained through the phone. "And who should pick up my girl now you idiots?!" Tom cried frustratingly.

"Can't you do that?" Anthony quietly asked with a bitter voice. "What did you just say?!" Tom replied shocked. "That's not a problem, is it?" Anthony quietly asked his boss.

"You know what? Okay. I'll get the girl with the private jet while you two idiots do your job "Tom said quickly before he hang up.

Tom didn't think he'd have to get the girl that will soon be his, but there he sat, in his millions of dollars expensive private jet to pick up his treasure.

 y/n's pov:

I sat comfortably on my bed in my room and talked to my friend on the phone, y//f/n, when I suddenly heard someone trying to open my door. Therefore, I live alone, and my parents or friends usually never come to visit me, so, it could not mean anything good. A few seconds later, a man, dressed in black, stood in my room.

"I c-call y-you back y/f/n, okay?" I said into the phone before hanging up.

"Hello darling" said the mysterious man. "I think you're in the wrong house, sir"

 Ohhh, the girl had no idea what she was doing to him when she said 'sir'.

"No, I'm right and you, my little one, will come along with me now," He said with a smirk on his face.

He came so close that he was right in front of me and the door was free.

"If I run now, maybe I could make it then and escape" i thought. Of course, i thought that would be a good idea and jumped towards the door. But i did not get far therefore within a few seconds he held my wrists in his hands and pressed me against the wall.

"Uh, uh, where do you think you´re going princess?" He asked with a grin on his face.

"Please, let me go, I didn't do anything to you," i whined as i got tears in my eyes. "That's right princess, you didn't do anything to me," He leaned on, so that he could whisper in my ear, "But you have no idea what I'm going to do to you."

That was the moment when the tears started to fall and i thought of the worst things.

Will he rape me?

Will he torture me?

Will he-

But before i could think of the bad things, he let go of my wrists and loosened his tie.

"W-what are you doing?" i asked  with a quiet and fragile voice. But he said nothing and made only a 'come here' move with his fingers. Slowly, i stepped away from the wall and stood in front of the man. However, he walked around me so the he stood behind me and whispered in my ear, "Do you like roleplaying?" i started to sob because i knew this will be the moment where i will get raped. After a few minutes of giving no answer, the man became impatient and grabbed my throat from behind and whispered again, "I.asked.you.something, darling, and I think it's pretty rude if you don't answer, huh?"

I didn't know what to answer. I haven't done roleplaying yet, I´m not a virgin anymore, but i had no idea about that kind of thing.

However, the man waited long enough and wanted an answer. He wrapped his one hand around my hair and yanked my head back, so that we both looked deeply into each other's eyes now.

"You know, princess, I'm a pretty impatient man, and I'm a man who gets everything he wants. And by everything I mean everything. If you don't answer the question then you answer at least this question now, Are you a virgin? "he asked with a rough and deep voice.

"No sir" I answered quickly and briefly while tears ran down my cheeks. The man smirked and answered in a deep voice, "Good"

He let go of my hair before he asked, "So you've never done roleplay before?" He was still behind me when I shook my head 'no' in response, but that was too less for him.

"Words princess" he growled as he slowly caressed my arms with his fingertips.

"No sir," I replied with a broken voice because of all the crying, but he apparently didn't care.

"Then we will have a lot of fun my love" he whispered before he blindfolded me with his tie.

"W-what are you doing?" I asked quietly as he took my hand and started walking. "You will come with me darling" he replied.

"But why?" I whined.

Maybe I shouldn't have said that.

He turned around so that he stood right in front of me and took my chin into his hand.

"I thought you were a good girl, but do you know what good girls do?" he asked me.

„No sir“

"Good girls, don't ask questions, good girls do what is required of them, and I ask you to be quiet now and follow my rules, did you understand me?" he whispered with an rough voice.

„Undertstood"

„Understand what?“

„Understood… sir?“

He grabbed her chin even tighter than before.

„Understood... daddy?“

He leaned forward again so that he could whisper in my ear.

"Good girl"

I detested this man and hated him, but his voice, and this 'good girl' made my knees go weak.

He dragged me further outside until he stood still and scooped me up in his strong arms. And of course he placed both of his hands on my butt.

"C-could you please remove your hands-"

„What? Should I remove my hands from your ass? No. Didn't you listen to me before? I will do with you what i want and when i want it, alright? "

This was once again a moment when i couldn't hold it together and the tears started to stream down my cheeks again.

„Yes … daddy“

"Good girl, even learned something"

He went into the jet with me and put me on a cozy bench before removing the tie from my eyes. All i could see was pure luxury.

Gold decorated benches with beautiful tables in front of them and on one table stood a champagne bottle with two glasses next to it.

"Do you want a drink?" the man asked. "No, thank you," i replied shortly before wiping away my tears.

He also noticed the tears and knelt infront of me.

"Stop crying, okay? It will all get better and easier"

"You don't know that" i growled.

Unfortunately, this was not the smartest idea of mine.

He got up and grabbed me by the neck, so i almost stopped breathing.

"Now listen to me darling, I'm the boss here, okay? That means I'll make the rules and tell you what to do, and if you disobey me, oh, then I'll have to punish you and believe me if I tell you you don't want to be punished by me princess. Either you play after my rules and be my good girl and listen to me, or you will experience the consequences, capiche? "he said with a rough voice as he pressed his hand more firmly on my neck.

"Yes daddy"

"That's a good girl"

He sat down on the place right next to me and said,

„Oh! Sorry, forget to introduce me, I'm Tom, Tom Holland "

And that was the moment where i realized that I'm in deep shit.

permanent Taglist:

a/n: Ahhhh! Hope you like this one! There will a be much more diffrent stuff in the story! :) ily,liz <3

“All the good girls go to Hell” Taglist:

@goodgirlgonetom

@quacksonlover81

@strawbrryserena @sushiinmidnight

[ace-in-a-shopping-cart]

Stolen Moments (Love Letters)

Word Count: 5,848 CW: Mentions of violence, cursing, hospital

Gavin opened his messages, desperate to hear some news from Nines. Instead of getting a message from Nines telling him he was fine and ready to return home, he got an automated message from the repair hospital telling him he needed to pick up his personal effects, more information in an email to follow. Gavin switched over to his email and found a large file.

He sat down at his terminal, ignoring that it was his work device and he was on the clock, and opened it to find over two hundred messages from Nines, all addressed to himself. The email itself said that Nines, as his professional partner, was mostly his responsibility and property and that Gavin was responsible for his bills and the choice to repair or replace him. He needed to come to the hospital by end of day and make the decision.

Gavin scoffed. “I guess some things still haven’t changed no matter how progressive people pretend to be.”

He reread the last line until it set in that Nines’ life was in his hands. He jolted out of his chair, the seat rolling back until it hit the side of someone else’s desk, and rushed to Fowler’s office. He threw the door open, not caring that the captain was in the middle of a meeting.

Gavin didn’t bother with preamble, getting straight to his point. “Sir, I need the day off.”

Fowler sighed, moving things around on his terminal for a bit. “You’ve got days off saved up. Go ahead.”

Gavin thanked him, rushing out the door and to the repair hospital. He just about crashed through the doors and made a beeline for the receptionist. “I’m looking for an RK900 unit who goes by the name ‘Nines’. What room is he in?”

She looked up at him, expression bored. “Serial number?”

Gavin frustratedly gave it, having memorized it long ago, and waited impatiently to be told where he was. When told, Gavin didn’t bother thanking the receptionist before he was off to see Nines. It was agonizing having to wait for the elevator, even worse having to stand in it as it went up, his fingers tapping on his leg the entire ride. His eyes scanned the room numbers, getting frantic with the thought of not getting to him in time. When he found the room he’d been told was Nines’, he went directly inside.

Nines was alone in the room. He was lying on a white bed, his chassis exposed from his toes to his neck. His head and neck were the only things that still had his skin on it, looking for all the world as if he were peacefully sleeping despite the LED that kept a steady yellow light. Gavin sighed in relief at him being there, despite the numerous injuries he still sported, and pulled a chair over to sit next to him. He held his hand and grabbed his tablet from his bag.

“Alright, tin can. What’d you send me?” He opened the large folder, looking at the abundance of files that were inside it. Turning his head to Nines, he joked, “Any idea where to start?” Sadly, Nines stayed as silent and still as before, not a word to be spoken.

Gavin kissed the back of his hand, running his thumb over a crack in the plating. He turned his attention back to the tablet and scrolled down through the file names. Each one had a series of numbers as a name, something Gavin quickly figured out was a date. Scrolling through them, they were in chronological order. He only found it fitting to open the first one and go from there, wondering what they could be.

Detective,

The other day, we were talking on a stake out. I mentioned there being more to admire about you than to detest and have just now realized the error of not continuing that thought. I admire your work ethic, the way you have a single-minded drive to complete the case assigned to us. I appreciate how gentle you are with victims and those you like. You may not notice it but care is in every word you speak and every action you make for those you genuinely consider to be loved ones and the few victims we’ve spoken to. I’ve noticed your actions softening toward me, even as your words stay as harsh as they’ve ever been. I might be wrong, but it seems you’ve come to care for me yet wish to continue our ribbing as something more friendly. If this is your way of extending an olive branch, I am more than willing to accept it and will continue to banter with you.

Gavin smiled as he looked back at Nines. “Thank you so much for understanding me, you barely held together stack of rust and bolts.”

A voice laughed but it wasn’t Nines’. Instead, Gavin’s attention was drawn to the doorway where someone in a white lab coat, a small pin on the lapel reading ‘they/them’, stood. “I see you arrived.”

Gavin stood, laying the tablet on the bed but not letting go of Nines’ hand. “Who do I have to tell that this man is a person who deserves every right to live and fight as anyone else?”

They laughed again, coming inside the room to lean against a wall. “That would be me. I’m Ash Windlock, head of Simon Repair Hospital. I apologize if the message made it seem more urgent than it truly is.”

Gavin clenched his jaw, having to force himself to take even breaths. “What’s Nines’ condition?”

“I’m not going to lie. He’s in some pretty bad shape. We can only repair the body, not the coding and neural pathways he developed by being deviant. Right now, our best team is gathering to do a surgery, as repairs have taken to being called, as soon as we can. I’ll update you when that happens.”

Gavin’s hand held Nines’ just a bit tighter. “How well do you expect that to go? What do you mean, you can’t repair his code?”

“The surgery is expected to be a full success. When an android becomes deviant, their code changes in ways the programmers weren’t equipped to handle. It would take too long for them to learn the new coding that is specific to every android just to be able to repair them without fear of damaging the new coding and, thus, the deviant. Even if that were possible, RK900s are extremely rare in this part of the world, not many having been found and awoken. So, it’d take even longer to figure out his specific neural paths. That’s time we don’t have. So, while we can do everything in our power to repair his chassis and wiring, we can’t do anything about his mind palace unless he does something about it himself. He went into low power mode when he was damaged and we don’t know if he’ll come out of it after the surgery.”

Gavin nodded, struggling to process the amount of information that was just pushed onto him. “Okay, yeah, I’ll sign whatever permission waver you need me to when it comes to the surgery as I’m closest to next of kin while Connor is out of town. Just, charge the bill to the DPD, he’s under their employ.” Connor should be back by that afternoon but they didn’t need to know that.

They nodded. “I’ll be back in a moment with the paperwork for next of kin.”

Gavin sat back down, fidgeting with Nines’ fingers as he usually did when nervous. “While we wait,” he spoke to Nines, hoping it was like a coma where he could still hear him, “how about I look at another one of your files?”

This one was a video, a few days after the writing. It didn’t seem like much, just a video of Gavin flipping through some files while he worked. There were captions on it, little things being picked out. Gavin's bouncing leg, how his dominant hand was tapping a tablet pen against his fingertips and knuckles, the half full cup of coffee that Gavin had sitting on his desk, the mess of a desk that he knew like the back of his hand. Other things were noticed too, the way Gavin’s brow was furrowed as he concentrated, the clump of hair that’d fallen over his forehead, his nose wrinkling, the slight redness on his fingers from the repeated tapping of the pen, even the creases of his jacket were picked out as important. The video couldn’t have been more than two minutes of Gavin working but it said a lot about what Nines thought about him at that time.

Gavin looked back up at Nines, lying so still on the bed he would have looked dead to anyone else. “Did you really have a crush on me back then, toaster?” His voice was light and teasing. He wanted Nines to be awake, to tell him to stop with the android jokes, to tell him Gavin had been crushing long since Nines had, to tell him all sorts of things.

A video. Gavin walked down the stairs, Nines staring up at him. Suddenly the scene paused and became monochromatic, as a white outline of Gavin reached the bottom of the stairs, a grey outline of Nines leaned forward to kiss his cheek. The outlines reversed until the white outline matched with Gavin again and the scene unfroze, the world filling with color. Gavin passed Nines and the android turned to follow.

Another one, edited to follow that. Gavin sat at his desk. The world paused and faded again as a grey outline of Nines approached with a coffee cup, kissing the top of Gavin’s head and placing the cup on the desk before leaning into him and running his fingers through his hair. The images reversed and instead Nines simply handed him the cup, Gavin giving a brief, “Thanks.”

Three more scenes similar to those followed in sequence, where the grey outline tried to interact in a romantic way with the white outline before Nines inevitably didn’t act on those thoughts.

Gavin sat and stared at Nines, his grip on Nines hand tightening just the slightest bit. “You should have told me sooner, dumbass.” His voice was soft, softer than he ever spoke to anyone besides Nines.

Windlock came back in with a tablet that Gavin had to fill out. Other repairs Nines had previously had, if he knew who did those, if he knew who originally built him, signing a bunch of things that came with medical power of attorney. When he handed the tablet back, he was told they’d operate in a half hour.

Another video. This one was different, footage of a garden. Gravel crunched under footsteps and animals were heard but not seen, water. Nines stopped by a pond and glanced down, brushing a stray strand of hair back into place. His shirt had a simpler collar than normal and was a lighter shade of black. He leaned back, continuing on the path. Images of Gavin appeared along it, some sitting on benches doing random actions, others walking beside Nines for short periods of time. One of them came up to Nines and started talking about the case at the time, Nines participating in the conversation.

Gavin looked from the tablet to stare at Nines. “Were you dreaming about me?” His voice was quiet, bewildered yet flattered.

The next ten files were similar things, Nines’ dreams about Gavin and videos of Gavin doing mundane tasks that wouldn’t be considered special in any way. At least, none that Gavin could tell. As far as he was concerned, the videos of himself that had been overanalyzed were sweet but he didn’t understand why Nines kept them.

Soon enough, a group of people came in and took Nines away to the operating room. Gavin was allowed to stay in the hospital room but was warned the operation would last several hours. He reluctantly put down the files Nines had addressed to him, files he was quickly realizing were simply labeled with his name and may have been misinterpreted as for him when they were just about him, and pulled out a book instead. He tried to lose himself in a plot line but was too anxious to do so.

Calling Tina got him nowhere, her phone off while she was on patrol. He’d taken the day off to be with Nines so wasn’t technically allowed to work on case files. Besides, nothing felt the same without Nines being there to help him. So, he reluctantly pulled up the files again and selected the next one, a video. There seemed to be a lot of those.

Gavin smiled as Nines approached, coming to stand next to him on his balcony. They were quiet for a moment, both looking out at the city. Nines looked at Gavin, his sensors again cataloguing small things about his appearance. “I need to tell you something.”

Gavin looked at him, eyes trusting. “Shoot.”

Nines’ eyes shut briefly before he looked at Gavin again. “I’ve developed feelings for you.”

Gavin blinked, his posture changing from relaxed to attentive. “Okay, that’s something.” He took a deep breath, letting it out with a laugh. “I guess it’s ironic, you telling me that just as I realize something about myself.”

Nines head tilted to the side. “What would that be, Detective?”

“I’ve, somehow, also developed feelings for you.” He shook his head. “I dunno how I’ve done it, but I’ve come to really care for you.”

Nines took a step forward, towards Gavin. “What does this mean for us?”

Gavin shrugged, looking up at him. “What do you want it to mean?”

Nines leaned down. “I would enthusiastically pursue a romantic relationship with you if you say you would like that.”

Gavin smiled, leaning up to kiss his cheek before heading inside. “I wouldn’t say no,” was tossed over his shoulder.

In the top right corner of the screen, Gavin’s name came up highlighted in blue. Under it, highlighted in white, the word ‘companion’ changed to ‘lover’. Nines followed Gavin inside.

Gavin didn’t realize he was crying until a tear dripped onto the screen and he frantically pulled his sleeve over his hand to wipe it away. “Damn android,” he muttered, not truly angry with him. 

They were slow dancing. Gavin’s head rested on Nines’ shoulder, one hand placed on his other shoulder while Nines had a hand on his waist, their other hands clasped together. A small pop up in the corner of the video identified the song as Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis. They were turning in a slow circle as the notes played. It was a peaceful moment until Princess walked into the room, screaming for food, and the charm was broken with laughter. Nines pulled Gavin into a kiss briefly before Gavin went to feed the cat.

Gavin took a deep breath. He remembered that night, remembered the hard day before it and the cuddles on the couch afterwards. He’d never been able to remember what song they’d been dancing to, it blurring into just another generic love song at the time. He wondered if they’d ever get the opportunity to dance to it again.

Gavin,

Every day, my soul rejoices in being able to see you, to wake up to you being there with me. I want it all. I want the quiet domesticity that comes with waking near you, that comes with you making breakfast while I feed Princess. I love being able to get ready for work with you, even if that means we end up discussing the cases in the shower and while you shave. I love being able to work with you, to have you as both my work and personal partner. I enjoy getting you coffee as you look over the case files, to make sure the desk is still in the organized chaos you left it in, your files and trinkets spilling over onto my pristine desk. I probably enjoy that more than most would think I do. However, I love watching you from afar as I wait for the coffee, watching the way you sit and interact with your environment, how you hold yourself while you read.

There’s a hidden beauty in the way people do things when they don’t think others are watching, the little mannerisms they pick up that are just for themselves and are all their own. I’m so glad you’ve let me into your life enough to feel comfortable showing me those and I hope that I never betray that trust.

I love being able to drive home with you, to relax after a long day and curl up with you. I relish the fact that you will fall asleep in my arms, that you trust me enough to keep you safe while you’re unaware of the world around you. I love being able to have you fall asleep on the couch and trust me to carry you to the bed, the ability to fall asleep beside you.

Gavin, darling, I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life. You’ve been a driving force for me, a guiding light. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve influenced so many of my choices. Thank you, dear, for helping me find life in deviancy, for helping me find love in turmoil.

Gavin wiped a tear from his eye, vision turning blurry. Nines didn’t usually use pet names for him, sticking to ‘Gavin’ and ‘Detective’ to the point that the latter felt like an endearment. It felt nice to see the endearments from him. He really hoped Nines would pull through and be okay. He couldn’t imagine living life without him at this point, he relied on him so much. He shifted in his seat, trying to get a bit more comfortable, before clicking on the next file.

A video. This was a memory that Gavin could fill in the smaller details for.

Nines was on his back on the couch. Gavin was laying on top of him, arms curled around Nines’ sides. His head rested on Nines chest, their legs entangled, while Nines’ hands carded through Gavin’s hair and over his back. They were watching an old rerun of some cop show that not even Nines bothered remembering. Nines’ shifted, kissing the top of Gavin’s head. He hummed, holding a constant note for longer than a human could.

Gavin looked up at him, chin resting on Nines’ chest. “Why do you do that?”

“Do what? Kiss you?” He chuckled. “Because I like to.”

Gavin smiled but pressed his hand to Nines’ side. “No. The humming thing. It sounds like a cross between a cat purring and the whirring of a fan. Are you okay?”

Nines nodded, smiling. “It’s kind of like a cat’s purr too in that I only do it when I’m content and safe. It’s also a way of doing a self-diagnostic of my systems as it tests both vocal modulator and fans.”

Gavin leaned forward to peck Nines on the lips before laying his head back on his chest.

Gavin sniffled, wiping a tear from his cheek. He hoped to get the opportunity to lay with him like that again soon. He believed Nines was going to pull through this, that he was going to get through the surgery fine and that he was going to come back to him. He had to.

“Detective.”

That sounded so much like Nines that his name was halfway out of Gavin’s mouth before he realized it was Connor, not Nines, that was standing in the hallway with his hands behind his back. “Oh. It’s just you. What do you want?” His voice was flat, none of his usual bite left.

Connor smiled, taking a step into the room, closing the door behind him. “Officer Chen overheard some of your conversation with Fowler and logged into your computer to gather information. She sent that information to me and I just now arrived to do anything with it. Scans indicate that you haven’t eaten in the past twelve hours. I suggest we deal with that first. What do you wanna eat?” His LED swirled yellow as he probably pulled up a list of nearby restaurants.

Gavin sighed, feeling the exhaustion of the day kick in. “At this point, you can pick. Give me whatever you think is best. Just! No fish, and no zucchini.”

Connor tilted his head. “That’s not in any medical files you have available. Am I correct in assuming that’s personal preference?”

Gavin nodded. “Can’t stand the texture of either of ‘em.” As he fully tuned into the real world, he pulled his shoulders back and grimaced at the sounds of all the machines and the buzzing of the lights.

“Okay, there’s a Chinese restaurant nearby that has some meals that look good. What do you want from there?”

“Uhh, sweet and sour chicken with noodles.”

Connor nodded. “I’ll go get that for you. In the meantime, how is my brother?”

Gavin filled him in on the details before Connor went to grab the take out for him. While he waited for his food, he opened the next file, another letter. This one was small, as if it were hastily written. From the date and what Gavin remembered, it was from a time where they’d been covering a case with a lot of violence and they’d been split. The letter reflected Nines’ frazzled emotions during that time as it wished Gavin good health and it was a small goodbye if Nines didn’t make it. Gavin was glad he had.

Another round of videos detailing Gavin doing mundane things followed the letter, many of the scenes now domestic as well as professional.

Connor came back and put the bag near Gavin. “Did you need me to stay? Tina only told me to check on you, not stay with you. If you want me to go, I will.”

Gavin thought about it. A year ago, he would have snapped for Connor to leave instantly, not seeing him as anything but a machine with nothing to offer. Now, he knew Connor was alive and actually trying to reach out. Gavin let a reluctant smile drag a corner of his mouth up. “You can stay, if you want. I’m not sure if you’ve got the time for it but you’re more than welcome.”

Connor smiled, gracefully sinking to sit on the floor. “I cleared my schedule to be at your disposal.”

Gavin groaned, letting his head roll back. “Am I that bad?”

Connor shrugged. “Hank was taking the rest of the day off already so it’s only natural for me to as well. Besides, Nines is kind of like my little brother. I want to be here.”

Gavin took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Gavin picked up the tablet again and looked at the next file.

Gavin,

Happy first anniversary. I don’t know if you expected us to last this long but I’m grateful we have. I’m grateful for every second I get to spend with you. I don’t know where I would be right now if I hadn’t met you, if we hadn’t been partnered. I’m so glad I have you as both the best detective partner I could ask for and a most amazing lover. It warms my soul every time you forget I’m not human, especially when it’s tacked on to an android joke. Those instances make me know you care so deeply for me and love every part of me.

You taught me to take life slowly, to savor what I have. That sentiment has been applied to every part of my life. I savor stakeouts, holding you in my arms, feeding Princess, even doing paperwork and being on the hunt. They are all good to me simply because they are part of my life and because you are there.

I don’t know what life would be like without you. I’m so used to you being with me every step of the way.

Gavin looked up as footsteps approached the room, hoping it was Windlock with news on Nines. The feet passed the room, the person casting a shadow across the frosted glass of the door, and kept on their way.

A video. Nines was sitting on the couch, reading, when Gavin’s voice called from the bedroom. Nines’ HUD measured the level of distress in his voice as high and he went to investigate.

Gavin had torn the bedroom apart, a pile of things on the bed. Nines scanned him, noting the disheveled appearance and lack of caffeine along with his elevated stress signals. “What’s wrong, Gavin?”

Gavin turned to him, tears in his eyes. “I can’t find something I need and today’s been bad enough.”

Nines nodded. Gavin’s unmedicated ADHD could be a lot to deal with after a long day. He stepped forward, pulling Gavin into a hug, his hands rubbing soothing circles along his back. “What do you need me to do?”

Gavin sighed, melting into the contact and stability that came with the hug. “Could you scan the room for my tablet pen?”

“Of course.” Nines moved his head and time froze, going down to grey and white. He located the pen easily enough, it’s black shape standing out starkly. He chuckled and released Gavin to pick it up. “It was right beside your tumbler.”

Gavin took it, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “Sorry for making such a fuss over something so small.”

Nines reached out, his hand cradling Gavin’s cheek and thumbing at his tears. “Nothing is too big nor too small for me to help you. I understand your stress and I know the way you get. I’m perfectly content to help you find something right in front of your nose.” To punctuate the statement, he leaned forward to kiss Gavin’s scar.

Gavin wiped a tear from his eye. “Come back to me soon, tin can.”

Connor looked at him. “Did you say something, Detective?”

Gavin shook his head. “No, nothing.”

The door opened and Windlock came in. “Detective Reed, the surgery is complete.”

Gavin sat forward in his chair, resisting the urge to pace. “How did it go? Is he online yet?”

They shook their head. “Unfortunately, his neural network is still non-functioning. However, the surgery was a success. His chassis is intact and functioning again, every bicomponent in its place. His skin isn’t on as he’s not online to do that. Would you like to see him?”

Gavin stood, gathering his things. “Yes, please.”

Connor stood and approached Windlock. “Is there anything more you can tell us about his status? Have you at least figured out why he isn’t online yet?”

They shrugged. “I’m as in the dark as you are, RK800. Any insight you can spare would be helpful.”

“Okay, I’m ready.” Gavin slung his bag over his shoulder. “Lead us to him, please.”

Nines was almost the same way as how he’d left Gavin three hours ago. His skin was retracted below the neck, letting the white plating show, and he was lying so peacefully that for a moment Gavin almost thought he was just sleeping. Gavin walked over to the chair closest to the bed and sat down hard, leaning forward to take Nines’ hand. “I’m here, toaster. I’m right here.”

Connor placed a hand on his shoulder and Gavin was distantly aware of him asking for Windlock to leave them be. Gavin’s entire focus was on Nines even as he knew there were only a few more files in the folder to get through.

He held onto Nines’ hand with one of his own, letting his partner know that he was there and wasn’t going anywhere, and pulled the tablet from the bag by his feet.

The next file was a series of pictures. It seemed Nines was sentimental in that regard. All the way from first meeting up until just a night ago, they were pictures of Gavin doing various things. It started as just Gavin doing work at his desk, moving to crime scenes and the break room. Photos of him doing mundane tasks and midchase. The time stamps moved past their getting together and the pictures became more domestic. Gavin waking in Nines’ arms, sleeping on the couch, Princess coming home for the first time. He’d documented her entire growth process from stray kitten to spoiled adult.

Gavin smiled at Nines. “You really do have a soft spot for that cat, don’t you? Maybe it’s about time we get her a playmate.”

“I’ll leave you two be for a moment. I need to speak with someone.” Connor slipped out of the room.

Gavin opened the next file, shifting to sit beside Nines on the bed now that Connor was gone.

A video. Gavin was cooking breakfast as Nines fed Princess, their usual routine. Nines came up beside Gavin, kissing him on the cheek. “How’s the bacon coming along?”

“Pretty much done.”

“Good.” Nines turned the burner off and took the spatula from Gavin’s hand. Somewhere, music started to play and Gavin chuckled as Nines pulled him into a dance. It was sweet and short before Gavin was released to finish making his breakfast.

Gavin smiled, recognizing that morning from only a few days before the incident. He gripped Nines hand just a bit tighter as he clicked on the last file.

The last video. Nines was standing on a roof. Gavin was down on the ground, watching out for their suspect. “Hello down there.” He muttered to himself, not loud enough to carry.

He stepped away from the edge, pacing the length of the roof. “Is it weird to think that I’m bored? I’m an android with the internet at my fingertips, I should be able to wait for a few minutes.” He sighed. “I guess that’s the trouble with living and working so closely to you, time is meaningless and a minute is too long for you.” He chuckled. “You’re so used to moving so fast that slowing down is a difficult task for you. That’s okay, though. I like it that way.”

The door to the roof burst open and Nines sprang into action, launching himself into a fight with their suspect. They grappled for a moment, both trying to pin the other and get a better grip. In the end, Nines backed them toward the edge.

“I now know,” he was still muttering. “No matter how much time has passed, no matter how much time will pass, you truly are the love of my life. This is why . . . I’m doing this.” He took a final step backward, diving off the roof and taking their suspect with him.

Gavin sat in shock as the video ended, almost waiting for it to finish or replay or do anything but leave him there with that information and the knowledge of why Nines had been damaged almost to the point of no repair.

He looked to Nines, laying so still on the bed. “Why? Why’d you feel the need to do that?!” He released Nines’ hand to stand. “There could have been some other way! You could have called me! You could have used lethal methods!” He hit Nines’ chest with a fist too weak to do any damage to a human. “You don’t need to sacrifice your-damn-self just because you feel like it!” He knew he was shouting but he didn’t care.

A hand touched his arm and Gavin jolted to look at Nines. His eyes were open and his hand was hovering in the air. “I knew you would catch me.” His voice was weak and full of static but Gavin was so happy to hear him he cried, tears spilling down his cheeks.

Laying down, Gavin threw his arms around Nines. They lay there for what felt like an eternity and an instant, simply holding each other and comforting themselves that the other was alive and safe. Nines ran a hand up Gavin’s back, cupped the back of his neck, then began to softly card through his hair. His free arm curled around Gavin and pulled him close, holding him and feeling him and making sure he was real. Gavin pulled one arm down, curling it by his side and grounding himself by grabbing a fistful of the bedsheets, and let the other rest over Nines’ torso and had the hand sit on the white chassis of Nines’ shoulder.

“Did you look through the folder?” Nines’ voice broke the silence, not filled with as much static as before.

Gavin nodded, turning his head to look at the tablet resting innocently on a nearby table. “I watched, read, and looked at every single file in that folder while wondering if it would ever be added to again.”

Nines pressed a kiss to his neck. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I should have warned you or tried a different path.”

Gavin shrugged and turned back to rest his head on Nines’ shoulder. “I’m just glad you’re safe.” He paused for a moment. “The engineers said they could repair your body but your mind was too damaged for them to do anything with.”

Nines’ head rested against Gavin’s, his hand never slowing in Gavin’s hair. “I know. I heard bits and pieces of it, especially toward the end of the surgery and just now in the room. While they were spending all that time fixing my chassis and biocomponents, I was working on my coding.”

Gavin laughed, his jubilance at Nines being okay bubbling up. “An AI that fixes its own code, would you fucking look at that!”

Nines chuckled. “The irony isn’t lost on me, Detective. However, it’s simply the world we are living in where an android is capable of modifying their own code. Still, it was hard and taxing work to rebuild my own functions line by line. I shall be back to myself in no time at all, I assure you.”

A knock at the door caused them to abandon their conversation. Gavin turned onto his back to better see who came in before calling for them to enter. Connor stuck his head in, eyes lighting up at the sight of Nines. “You’re awake! I’ll go get Windlock, you two stay put!” He shut the door and left them with the sound of his fading footsteps.

Nines let his head fall back against Gavin’s and his hand hold Gavin’s, interlacing their fingers. “Who did he go get?”

Gavin did his best to explain as he sat up, cradling Nines against him. Connor came back with Windlock, who gave Nines a clean bill of health and said he was free to be discharged. Gavin ran home and got him some clothes as Connor dealt with the paperwork.

That night, Nines recorded another instance of Gavin falling asleep and marveled at just how lucky he was.

I don’t currently have a taglist for DBH but you can check out my masterlist before sending an ask to be added!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Great Expectations 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power imbalance, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Professor Holmes' class is your most difficult, but he's about to make it even more challenging.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes (modern AU)

Note: It was a drabble then it weren't.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You're not certain. Not at first. But when are you ever confident in anything?

Yet you're assured by the dark curls and vibrant eyes, the slanted brows never devoid of judgment. More than anything, it's his posture that confirms his identity. Professor Holmes is staunch and indomitable even as he browses shelves of antique style pens; crystal, wood, and brass. He considers each as he would every word of a term paper. 

You're doubt turns to what to do next. Do you say hello? Or pretend you don't see him? Would he know either way? You're fairly convinced he can't pick you out of the lecture hall. 

So you do what you do best and fade into the scenery. You trail along the shelves and dip around the other side, putting your attention to the spools of thread, organized in a perfect spectrum of hues. As you mindlessly touch the thread, your mind wanders back around the row.

You would never expect to see the professor there, though honestly, you've never thought of him outside the classroom. You avoid that as much as you can, you stress enough over his unattainable standards. His is the only class which has you below an A. 

You contemplate the silver twine. You've been looking for the very thing and yet the price is much above your budget. All that for some shine? 

You move on, turning around to the balls of wool and needles arranged from thinnest to thickest. Your ears are pricked by the familiar timbre. The professor's voice carries as easily as in the lecture hall. You try not to listen but you can't help the instinctive decipher of each syllable. 

"Are these genuine silver?" He asks, presumably of a passing associate.  

"Um, I'm not sure, sir," the squeaky adolescent reply is met with an impatient sigh. "I work in the back." 

"Work in the back doing what? Sorting stock? Do you not know what you put on the shelves?" Professor Holmes' disapproval is unmistakable.  

His tone make you want to run. It is the same detest wrought into the feedback scribbled in the margins of your assignments. If it isn't perfect, it's not acceptable. 

You should go. You don't have the money to waste on hobbies you don't have time for. Nor do you relish an encounter with the very man responsible for your lack of free time. 

You make sure to walk toward the far end of the aisle and avoid any possible sighting. The very thing you meant to distract yourself chases you from your procrastination. Two days before your paper is due, and you've not even touched the readings due for that week's class discussion. 

📕

You’re barely awake as you claim a seat in the melancholic lecture hall. The coeds are silent, only yawning between slurping from paper cups, or slumping dangerously over the narrow armrests. There’s a dour commiseration in the air; a sort of resignation. 

Papers are handed in and yet the outcome is almost assured; Professor Holmes will surely find at least a dozen reasons to dock marks. Sometimes it seems even the font can draw his ire. Yet, there is more to be done. He will expect a lively discussion before that three-hour block is done and if he doesn’t get it, you will all sweat for it. 

You flutter through your notebook. Unlike your other courses, the paper is crinkled and the writing is erratic. Each week sees you with at least another twenty pages added to the reading list. You don’t understand how anyone can keep up with it all; the work alone is as much as all your other classes combined. 

You jump in your seat as his even-keeled voice rolls through the air. He hardly has to project as his baritone fills the large room. You look up and fumble for your pen. Professor Holmes doesn’t permit devices. The last person caught merely looking at their phone was dropped from the course. 

You chew the end of the pen as he begins his introduction, but not without a sharp remark about your midterm papers. It’s as if he’s already made up his mind that you’ve all failed. There’s no bell curve in this class, just an impossible mountain. 

“To make it simple,” his accent lilts off his tongue, “I’ve decided we will do things a bit differently this week. I will have you sort yourself into groups and each will discuss an assigned article. At the end, we will reconvene and you will nominate a member to present your conclusions. You may use our usual guiding questions for these purposes.” 

You nod and furrow your brow thoughtfully. The idea of splitting into groups is daunting on its own. It’s one thing to put your hand up amid the wide sea of your peers but it’s another to parse yourself down into a smaller group amid strangers. Despite weeks of sitting side-by-side, you don’t really know anyone. They all seemed to have made friends before that and made no effort to find any more. 

“Well, off you go,” Holmes flicks his fingers, “you’ve two minutes to arrange yourselves. I’m no kindergarten teacher, certainly you can figure it out.” 

There’s a low murmur then a lull before anyone moves. You hear the chatter that connects the smaller pairings to each other; aren’t you in my econ class? Oh, you were at the Delta party? You gather your notebook and stand, searching for an in. 

“Um,” you approach the nearest cluster of bodies, “room for one more?” 

It’s as if you’re invisible. You wince and clear your throat. Before you can try again, a deeper ahem comes from behind you. You crane to see over your shoulder. Professor Holmes stands at the end of the row, one brow arched as he crosses his arms. His old-fashioned vest strains as his chest bulges against the buttons. 

“Eh, she’s in need of a group. Have some manners.” 

You’re surprised by his intervention, but grateful. You try to smile but it’s probably more of a pathetic simper, “thank you, professor.” You nod and turn back to the other students. 

“Uh, sorry, yeah, can I tag along?” You ask. 

They shrug, none of them daring to ignore Professor Holmes. You sit at the edge of the group, heat speckling up your back in embarrassment. The others as good as ignore you as they go back to complaining about their papers. 

“I didn’t sleep,” a blond you think is named Ethan mutters, “fucker had me tearing out my hair.” 

“Yeah, I was supposed to go to a Barbie party but I need this class,” a pretty redhead rolls her eyes. 

There’s at least ten other students circled between three rows. You glance around at the others as they bow and chatter in kind. You shuffle your notebook in your lap and lean in, trying to seem involved. 

“Right then, you,” Holmes points to your group, “take Jones et al,” he moves his finger towards the next group, “Halloway,” he continues down the list of readings as silence pervades the space.  

It isn’t until he bids you to start that anyone dares speak again. The professor paces at the front of the room, hands in his pockets, as his longs stride take him from one end to the other. As you watch him, he seems to sense it, and his blue eyes meet your own. He hardly reacts before he puts his attention back to his repetitive route. 

“Alright, so Jones et al,” you redirect your attention as your peers continue their griping over lost sleep and shitty coffee. “So uh, we should go over main arguments first--” 

“Didn’t read it,” Ethan scoffs and two girls giggle. 

“I don’t know how that tight ass thinks we have all day for the stuffy bullshit,” another guy snorts. “Some of us get laid.” 

You blanch and chew your lip. You look around and receive only agitation and indifference. 

“Since you’re such a smarty pants, why don’t you do the presentation, huh?” The redhead chirps, “you always have so much to say.” 

You frown. You only put in what you need to get a decent mark. You’re hoping the discussion grade can save you from your disastrous first assignment. Besides, aren’t you all facing the same foe? Shouldn’t you be allies? 

“Well, we should talk about the article a bit. Did anyone else read it?” You insist. 

You don’t get an answer, only scoffs and sneers. Shoot. You look down at your notebook and shrink into yourself. It’s just like high school. You’re the one building the diorama by yourself until midnight. You’re the one doing all the talking in the class debate. 

You scribble notes in the margins as the other garble on about some party and the new cafe opening up at the Student Centre. You keep a hand on your neck as the heat builds under your skin. You should’ve just stayed on your own, not that you have much of a choice. None of them even want to acknowledge you. 

Professor Holmes calls time and you pop your head up, catching your glasses before they can bounce off your nose. You fix them as the lecture hall hushes and you all twist and turn to see the professor. He walks up the centre aisle and points to the group in the very back. 

“You, come on,” he demands. 

There’s crinkling of paper and scratchy coughs. A guy in a polo sweater stands with a cluster of lined paper in hand. He reads out with fractured syllables as if he can’t make out the writing. Professor Holmes sighs and you glance over at his scowl. He’s not impressed. 

“Right, and beyond the obvious, what were your final reflections? Did you have a single thought about the author’s narrative on the consequences of the railway on colonized communities?” He pauses and waits, tapping his clefted chin. Silence. “Mm, absolutely compelling,” he remarks dryly. 

You gulp as your group fidgets. Holmes jabs a finger at another group, calling out a student by name, “thank you for volunteering.” 

The woman with the buzzcut stands, looking nervous as she peers around her group members. She sways and wets her lips, playing with the ring around her lower lip. She laughs nervously before she begins, pausing and umming and ahhing. 

“Enough rambling,” Holmes shakes his head and turns toward your group. Your eyes go wide as the rest peek over at you. You rise as the professor stands just at the end of the rows. “Ethan, you seemed to be doing most of the talking, let’s hear it.” 

Ethan grimaces and sends you a look. He shakes his head. You shrug. You don’t know what to do. You offer your notebook and Holmes clucks. 

“I’m sure he can do it himself, he’s a big boy,” Holmes insists, “let’s hear your take on Jones et al. They have some rather interesting arguments about the cultural significance of the Silk Road, did they not?” 

Ethan exhales and stands, a tick in his jaw as he faces the professor. You chew your cheek as he stutters, “well, what we were talking about was that... er, the Silk Road... um...” 

“Yes, yes, you made some rather intriguing arguments about the Gammas, didn’t you? And how you have so many important things to do, eh? Well, Ethan, if you can’t keep up, you don’t have to bluster,” Holmes reproaches, “your boasting does suggest incompetence over importance.” 

Ethan chokes. There’s a low titter of laughter from further back as the rest of your group stares at their hands. You hug your note book and lower your head as well. 

“Come on, then,” Holmes wags his fingers and calls your name, “stand up. Let’s hear something coherent.” 

“Oh, uh,” you lift your chin as Ethan falls into his chair with a snarl. You get up and focus on your notebook. You swallow tightly before you get your vision to clear, “typically when we think of the, er, Silk Road, er, we fixate on, uh, on uh, on the movement of goods such as dyes and, and, and rice...” you can’t help your stuttering. You just know the professor will have your throat next, “but Jones et all argue that, ummmm, um, the movement of peoples and contact between various cultures is just as... as important--” 

“Ah, yes, someone has done their work,” Holmes proclaims with a clap. 

“All of you. One thousand words on your groups assigned article by the end of the week. You may drop them off at my office.” 

“What?” Several students burst out in shock. 

“It is an individual effort, yes? Not a group project. You have until Friday at 6pm.” 

“Professor,” a woman whines from the back. 

“Would you like a thousand more words?” He turns to face the lecture hall completely, “no, alright then. I can be generous. You may go early so that you can catch up on your readings.” 

He smirks and tilts his head smugly. He spins on his heel and strides down the low steps to the front podium. You glance down at your notebook and slowly flip the cover. 

“Fucking browner,” Ethan growls. 

[whumpwriterforlife]

I love your writing! You write Nyx(and Cor & Crowe) so well! I don't know if it's alright to send in more requests, so feel free to ignore this, but I would like to request forced to kneel with Nyx. Please continue to share your writing as you like, it never fails to brighten my day!

It's most definitely alright to send more requests, don't worry! Here you go, forced to kneel with some badass Nyx. Thank you for your continued support and interest in my writing, it means a lot to me <3

BTHB - Forced to Kneel

Those crossed in blue have been done, pink ones have been requested.

Fandom: Final Fantasy XV

Characters: Nyx Ulric, Crowe Altius & Cor Leonis (with mentioned Libertus Ostium)

Whumpee: Nyx Ulric

Word Count: 1749

Warnings: None

Can be found on ao3 here

--

“Down on your knees!”

Nyx rolled his eyes and made no move to comply as he stood there, surrounded by a handful of armed men. He flipped one of his kukris, studying the blade for a moment before sliding it back into its sheath. The other was still in his grip, ready for action. Nyx shook his head and looked at the man in charge. “And why would I do that?”

The man scoffed, something dark and dangerous flashing across his face. Nyx frowned. There was a condescending tone to his voice as he spoke, “You’re not a very wise man, are you, Glaive Ulric?”

“Wise enough to make it past your security without being detected.” Nyx shrugged. He didn’t let the fact that the man knew his name phase him. It was a poor intimidation tactic as far as he was concerned, considering he had had his name and face plastered on news — against his wishes — on numerous occasions because apparently he was the poster boy for the Kingsglaive, regardless of his stance on the matter.

“Yet foolish enough to come without any backup,” the man pointed out as he slowly sauntered closer. A brave move for a man who was noticeably smaller than Nyx and clearly not a fighter. Then again, he had two armed men flanking him, one on each side. “Did you really think it was going to be that easy to get through my men and free your friends?”

“Did you really think that,” Nyx paused to glance around the hall, “five men, plus yourself, would be enough to stop me? You know my name, you know what I’m capable of.”

He didn’t even wait for his words to sink in before he threw his kukri and warped. He landed in front of one of the underlings and struck him to the temple, knocking him out. He could kill them, it wouldn’t take much, but the men could be interrogated and used to bring the whole organization down. Nyx also detested needless bloodshed. Underling Two tried to come at him with a knife but Nyx moved out of the way and disarmed him with a twist to the wrist. Panic flashed across the underling’s face as Nyx hooked his hand behind his neck and threw him against the wall.

Two down for the count, four to go.

A gunshot echoed in the hall, and Nyx grunted as he felt something rip through his side. His kukri slipped out of his grasp, clattering across the floor, as his hand dropped to his side. His hand came back red with blood. Nyx hissed but there was no time for him to worry about it as underlings Three and Four charged at him. Underling Three had a stun gun in his hands and Nyx could hear the nasty crackling sound coming from it as it came alive. He ducked under Three’s arm, wincing as his side protested, and grabbed him by the wrist. Underling Four didn’t realize Nyx’s plan until it was too late and he was writhing on the ground as the electricity coursed through his body.

Underling Three cursed and twisted in Nyx’s grasp. The stun gun fell to the floor but Three managed to break free and shove Nyx back. Nyx stumbled a bit, Then underling five was on him, throwing punches at him. The first couple Nyx managed to block just fine but then one got past his defenses and landed right above his injured side. A strangled noise ripped out of Nyx’s throat as he instinctively curled around the wound protectively. It gave Three and Five enough time to grab his arms and force him down to his knees.

“Stay down!” one of the underlings ordered.

Nyx hissed, baring his teeth, as his knees hit the floor and pain reverberated through his body. His chest heaved up and down, breathless, as he tried to push past the white-hot pain. He still had a job to do. A hand snuck into his hair and wrenched his head back as the man in charge came to a stop before them.

“Well,” the man began, his face twisting into a smile that looked all kinds of wrong, “It would appear that, yes, five of my men were enough to bring you down.”

Nyx bristled at smug words. “Good for you.”

The man glanced at the two underlings that were holding him down and brushed them off. “You needn't hold him down, just stand guard. I have a feeling he won’t be trying anything again.”

Nyx’s eyes narrowed, and he could feel the hesitancy in the two underlings as well as they let him go. This man was either extremely brave or stupid, possibly both. Nyx lowered one of his hands over the wound on his side to apply pressure. He had fought in worse condition. It would hurt like a bitch to keep going but Nyx wasn’t one to just give up. “Why is that?”

Behind the man, a door opened and a handful of new underlings piled into the room. Nyx rolled his eyes but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. The man had called backup then. The plan was coming along nicely. That didn’t mean Nyx didn’t think the man wasn’t stupid — he most definitely was.

The man looked down at Nyx with an unreadable expression. “I find it curious that the Crown could only spare one single man for this rescue mission. Of course, there’s been rumors about how some important people find the members of the Kingsglaive more expendable, but I couldn’t bring myself to quite believe that. Intriguing.”

Nyx shrugged. “Are you sure I came here alone?”

The man frowned at him, a calculating look on his face. Nyx just flashed him one of his more charming smiles. The man’s eyes narrowed and he turned on his heels to look at the newcomers. Nyx could see him tense as he shouted, “Who’s guarding the glaives?”

“Rendell, Sir,” someone responded.

The man dug out his phone and tapped furiously on it before bringing the phone to his ear. Nyx just watched him, his smile never wavering. A minute passed. The man didn’t get a response. The phone cracked against the floor as the man threw it with a frustrated growl. His eyes were filled with fury as he locked eyes with Nyx.

“What did you do?” he snarled, pointing an accusing finger at him.

“Me?” Nyx asked innocently. “Nothing. Well, I did bypass your security, get here and knock out a few of your guys but you already knew that much. Now I’m kind of… well, bleeding all over your floor. Sorry about that.”

The man stormed over to Nyx and pushed him down with a foot to the chest. Nyx winced and gritted his teeth to stop himself from crying out as his side was jarred.

“Don’t expect me to believe that. Something is going on, and you know exactly what it is,” the man told him in a low, icy tone. His foot moved down on Nyx’s chest and over the hand he was using to apply pressure on the wound. Nyx stiffened, a sharp curse leaving his lips as the man put more weight on the wound. “Tell me, and I won’t make you suffer.”

Nyx laughed but it came out strained. “Did you ever consider— that maybe I’m not the rescue party,” he said and groaned when the man’s foot shifted. He still smirked though, despite the pain. “That maybe, instead, I’m the decoy.”

The man’s face twisted with fury but before he could do anything, Nyx had summoned a knife from the armiger and thrown it across the room to warp. The room burst with activity and noise, the doors on both sides of the hall flung open as other glaives rushed in. Nyx faltered as he landed from the warp, sinking down onto his hands and knees. He lowered one of his hands back over the wound and hissed. Getting shot sucked big time.

There was a crackle of magic next to him and Crowe appeared next to him. There was a deep frown on her face as she took in the way he was holding his side. She muttered something about idiots under her breath as she moved Nyx’s hand aside to inspect the wound.

“Dammit, we need to get you to the medics, now,” she told him. She pulled Nyx’s arm over her shoulder to help him stand up. “I don’t have any potions left.

Nyx groaned, leaning heavily on Crowe. Despite being smaller than him, Crowe was strong and supported him with little trouble. Nyx licked his lips and swallowed hard. “Did they- the others, they okay?”

“Yes, they’re all fine. Some were a bit roughed up but nothing a few days’ rest won’t heal,” Crowe said as they started walking. “You, once again, are somehow in the worst shape. You fought them, didn’t you? When you were explicitly told not to.”

“Bah,” Nyx muttered, “The situation called for it. Can you- I think I left one of my kukris there.”

“I’ll have someone get them,” Crowe promised. “Then I’ll call Cor and let him know you were being an idiot.”

Nyx rolled his eyes but regretted it as the world spun in his eyes. “You two… mother hens.”

“You should make that three, I think Lib is waiting outside,” Crowe told him and Nyx could hear the amusement in her voice.

“Of course he is,” Nyx scoffed but then his voice softened. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

A few minutes later Crowe left Nyx with the medics and stepped aside to go through with his threat to call Cor. Nyx grumbled about it, telling her to wait until he was in the hospital and already taken care of but she wasn’t having any of it. So, in the end, Cor was waiting for Nyx at the hospital when the ambulance got there. The doctors wanted to keep him there for a while as they needed to dig out the bullet before they could use any curatives on it. Cor never once left his side. It was nice and made Nyx feel all warm and fuzzy which is what he told Cor, in his special high-on-painkillers way that was mostly incoherent mush. Cor just laughed and subtly recorded it to send to the group chat that had him, Crowe and Libertus in it.

[anarchyduck]

Peas in a Pod

Day 20 Alt Prompt: De-Aged 

(posted it on AO3 yesterday, forgot to post it here oops) AO3

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

“So let me get this straight,” - Tony massages his temple in effort to soothe his growing headache - “There was a wizard.”

“Yeah,” Ned nods. “And he was shooting off fireballs, like real fireballs, and it was awesome and kinda scary and-”

“Ned. Ned. Find the shortcut to the point. Because nothing explains” - Tony gestures towards the couch - “that.” 

Ned blushes with embarrassment and nods . “Right! Sorry, sir. So, uhm, Pete was fighting the wizard guy and he was doing really good! Was totally kicking his ass! And then the wizard like, shot him with some kind of purplish black energy ray stuff? Like it shot right out of his hands. Then the wizard was gone and Pete was… like this.” 

Tony eyes the kid on the couch. Same curly brown hair. Same doe brown eyes. It’s everything else that’s wrong. Peter is sixteen, a teenager, and this kid looks like he’s no more than five years old. 

As for Peter, well, he looks content watching videos on Ned’s phone. Some children’s cartoon about dogs or something, Tony didn’t quite catch it. But the kid likes it and he isn’t crying anymore so Tony counts that as a win. Judging from the confused state the kid was in upon arrival, it’s safe to assume Peter’s memories are wiped. Or, rather, memories of his life in the present day which is a problem in and of itself.  

“So,” Ned’s drawl catches his attention. “What are we going to do?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “We?” he shakes his head. “No, no, you are going home.” 

“What about Peter?” 

Yeah Stark, what about Peter? 

“He’ll go with his aunt.” Tony says simply. Easy enough solution. 

“You mean you can’t like, fix him?” Ned asks. “What if he ends up staying like this forever?” 

Tony waves off the teen’s concerns. “He won’t.” he assures. “Whatever the wizard guy hit him with will probably wear off in a couple hours. Easy peasy.” After all, the kid couldn’t stay like this forever, could he? That is just absurd. 

----------

The effects don’t wear off. 

Two hours later and Peter is still a child. Ned is gone, reluctantly dragged out by Happy who also delivered clothes that fit the kid better so he’s no longer swimming in the Doctor Who shirt Tony assumed belonged to one of the boys. During that time, Tony contacts May to fill her in on what’s going on. The woman is stuck at work (“We’re incredibly short staffed today, it’s ridiculous.”) and unable to leave before her shift is over. 

It leaves Tony in charge of the kid which, while normally wouldn’t be an issue, he suddenly finds himself out of his depth. Teenagers, he can handle. No problem. They could be reasoned with. But small children? 

“Mr. Tony?” 

Tony jumps, spinning on hell with his hand pressed firmly against his heart. “Holy shit!” he gasps.

Peter flinches back, eyes wide and looking as startled as Tony feels. Then his bottom lip begins to quiver. 

“No no, don’t cry.” Tony says in a rush. “I didn’t mean to scare you, kid. You snuck up on me. Ought to put a bell on you someday.” 

That earns him a giggle which washes away the rising guilt. “Uncle Ben says that too.” Peter says. “Says I’m really good at sneaking.” 

“You are good at sneaking.” Tony affirms. “What are you doing down here anyway? Thought you were watching TV?” Least that’s where Tony left him. Kid was content with watching the cartoon with the dogs and he figured he could get some work done tracking down the wizard guy. 

“I was, but it’s over now.” Peter says dismissively, his eyes already wandering the workshop. Then he actually begins to wander. Tony watches him, contemplating on whether it’s a good idea to let a four year old wander his workshop. It isn’t exactly kid proof and if he knows anything about kids (which is very limited) it’s they like to touch everything. And put things in their mouths. 

“What’s that?” Peter asks and Tony leans to the side to look past the monitors and equipment to see what the boy is pointing at. 

“Oh that’s DUM-E.” 

The robot chirps in response, clicking it’s claw as it peers curiously at the boy. Tony takes a couple steps towards them, immediately thinking Peter might fear the robot. Much to his relief, the boy’s mouth is agape with wonder and eyes equally wide. 

“Wow!” he gasps. “Hi DUM-E. I’m Peter.” Peter reaches up to pet DUM-E’s extended arm, giggling as the robot chirps at him. “So is he a robot?”

“Yep. I made him.” 

“You made him?” Peter gives him the same look of wonder and amazement. “Wow. Are there other stuff you’ve made?” 

“I’ve made a lot of stuff.”

And so Tony gives the kid a proper tour of the workshop. Like his older self, Peter is sharp minded and incredibly smart. He asks questions Tony doesn’t think a four year old would know to ask and hangs onto every word Tony says. When he introduces Peter to FRIDAY, the kid is so ecstatic he can’t sit still. It warms his heart to know Peter keeps that same excitement as he aged. 

After the tour, Tony brings him into the kitchen to feed him a late lunch. The kid sits on the kitchen counter next to him, watching Tony’s every move. PB&J sandwiches are the easiest thing he can fix and turns out to be the kid’s favorite.

“So you’re a superhero?” Peter asks curiously. 

“Sometimes.” Tony replies as he spreads the peanut butter onto the bread. 

“Like Batman?” 

“Kiddo, I am way cooler and richer than Batman.”

Peter giggles and Tony thinks it might be the cutest goddamn thing he’s heard all day.

“My daddy is like you.” the kid says suddenly.

“Oh yeah? How so?” Tony asks, finding himself equally curious. He knows through his early research into Peter Parker that the boy’s parents are deceased. Father worked for OsCorp, mother worked for some type of law firm. Aside from the atrocious choice of working at OsCorp, both of them seemed relatively normal. 

“Because he makes stuff. B-But not robots like you do. He makes other stuff and-and he white wears a coat and he helps people.” Peter gives a long, wistful sigh then and adds, “I want my daddy and mommy.” 

Tony freezes, butter knife stuck in the jar of jelly. Quite suddenly he remembers something else about Peter’s parents. 

They both died in a plane crash. 

When Peter was four years old.

The man internally panics, mind going blank on what to do, what to say because what can you say? 

“Mr. Tony?” Peter’s little voice draws him from his internal crisis. He tilts his head, looking at him curiously and, dare Tony say it, concern. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” Tony sniffs and finishes up the kid’s sandwich. “Yeah, totally fine kiddo. A-OK. So you want this cut up?”

“Yes.” Peter replies, apparently moved on from the incident. Yet, as Tony puts the knife to bread in order to cut, the kid shouts, “No! No no, not like that! You have’ta make the X.” 

“Huh?” Tony looks a little helplessly from the kid to the bread.

“The X!” Peter leans over and traces an X on the sandwich. “Like that!” 

Tony cuts it up according to the kid’s desire and it’s only then that he sees what the kid means. “Yeah, guess it does look like an X when you cut it, huh? Well, here you go kiddo. Eat up.” He slides the plate to the boy’s side. 

Peter takes a large bite and hums with approval as he chews. “‘Ood yob!” he says around his mouthful. It’s the additional thumbs up that makes Tony chuckle. He grabs a juice box from the fridge for the kid, something teenage Peter would have rolled his eyes and grumbled about. Toddler Peter says a polite ‘thank you’ and picks it up with fingers covered in grape jelly. 

He decides to capture the moment for May and pulls out his phone. “Heads up, kiddo.” he says and takes a picture. Peter is caught in a half smile, peanut butter smeared on the corner of his mouth. There’s a glob of jelly on his shirt that’s run down the image of Thor’s hammer. 

“I wanna see! I wanna see!” Peter instantly demands. 

Tony moves to stand next to him and flips the phone for the kid to see the picture. Peter grins and immediately reaches for the phone. “Uh uh, sticky fingers.” Tony says, which gets the kid giggling about being called ‘sticky fingers’. He moves the phone out of reach and sends the image off to May. 

“So,” Tony says. “What do you want to do after lunch? TV? Go play with DUM-E? Whatever that wannabe Merlin did to you took away your powers, or maybe just suppressed them. Maybe we ought to run some tests to figure that out.” 

On second thought, maybe not. Teenager Peter detests needles; he imagines little Peter hates them just as much. 

“DUM-E!” Peter says excitedly. 

“You’re going to spoil that bot, kid.” 

---

“Thank you so much, Happy.” May says as she steps into the Tower’s elevator. “You really didn’t have to pick me up. I could have drove.”

Happy directs FRIDAY to take them to the penthouse then shakes his head. “It’s no problem.” he says. “Boss wanted to make sure you got here quickly and with that guy who attacked Peter still running around-”

“Right.” May sighs. “Well, guess he could have done worse things than turn Peter younger. At least him and Tony seem to be hitting it off.” She smiles fondly as she recalls the image Tony sent her. She only hopes Peter has been good while they wait for her.

“Yeah, well, the kid’s grown on him.” 

“I feel a little jealous, honestly.” May admits. “Peter was so cute when he was little.” 

The elevator comes to a stop, the doors slide open to the entrance of the penthouse. It’s oddly quiet inside and the lights are dimmed. “Tony?” Happy calls out as he and May walk through the foyer into the living room. 

It looks like a tornado hit it. There are papers thrown about with childish drawings covering them. A sheet covers the kitchen table which has been pulled away from the dining area and there are mini marshmallows covering the floor with some sticking to the large windows that overlook the city. A device that looks like a mini catapult sits on top of the table next to a pile of marshmallows and markers. 

May follows the chaos, finding the TV on with the Incredibles playing on a low volume and both Tony and Peter fast asleep on the couch. Peter is still a toddler in every way May remembers, sleeping with his head on Tony’s chest. There are stickers on their faces and she spots marker smears not only on Peter’s arm but also on the hand that’s resting on Peter’s back. 

“Did you find-” Happy starts, quietened as May shushes him. He comes to her side, expression softening at the sight. “Least they kept each other busy.” he remarks. 

May nods in agreement as she pulls out her phone to take a quick picture of the two. “Like two peas in a pod.” 

[taking-over-his-life]

The old shop

Written by my old friend Colt.

On a bright autumn day, when the low angle of the sun, the sudden warmth of Indian summer, and the riot of scarlet and yellow leaves all cast a spell over the Virginia countryside, I set off for a drive, with the car windows rolled down. Intense glare alternated with deep shadow, as the road wound through fields and woods. It led to a town called Hapsburg, where it became Main Street, nearly deserted on Saturday afternoon. I parked along the sidewalk, and got out to stretch my legs.

The buildings were of red brick or painted clapboard, one or two stories. Shop windows were empty, or contained faded posters, long out of date. I walked past a café, a drugstore, a lawyer's office, and a barbershop, all closed. Next came a shop that sold old furniture, chipped plates, sentimental pictures, obsolete farm tools—the debris of former households, past lives.

In the display window, draped over the back of a chair, as though the wearer left it there minutes ago, and would soon reclaim it, was a black leather jacket. Creased and scuffed, it had evidently seen hard use. So casually was it thrown on the wooden chair—was it also for sale? I tried the latch, and the ancient shop door opened. A bell jingled sharply overhead, as I stepped inside.

A pale, thin man seated behind a counter barely looked up from his newspaper. His eyes were watery blue or gray, and his hair was sparse, showing the scalp. I pretended to look at a dusty shelf of books, then wandered to the back of the shop, which seemed to have nothing of value. At last, I returned to the front. Except for the man at the counter, there was no one else.

The black leather jacket was compelling. I touched a sleeve—the leather was thick and heavy. I searched for a tag, a price, a label, but found nothing. On the shoulder, a red patch bore the legend: "Hapsburg Motor Patrol." "Go ahead," the man said. His voice was unexpectedly clear and strong, despite his age. "Try it on. You'll be the first, since it just came in. Who knows, this may be your lucky day."

I slipped my arms into the sleeves, shrugged the weight of the leather over my back, and tried the zipper, which worked smoothly.

"A perfect fit," the man said, "like it was custom-made for you. There's a mirror, if you don't believe me."

It was uncanny, but the old leather jacket did fit perfectly. Stiff yet pliable, it was already molded to my shape, broken in by the previous owner.

"Whoever wore it must have had exactly the same upper body size," the man said.

"So you don't know who owned it?" I asked. "Anything about him?"

"Not a clue."

"What about the patches? Will I be arrested for impersonating a police officer?"

"Oh, don't worry about that. The town police department disbanded years ago, when the county took over everything—schools, taxes, roads, jail. The county police wear a different uniform, not that red patch. As it stands now, that jacket is a collector's item, a genuine Hapsburg Motor Patrol issue. Quality leather—they don't make them like that any more. The badge is missing, of course. It went in that reinforced hole in the chest."

The leather creaked, as I flexed my arms and walked to and fro. I inhabited the jacket, inhaled the smell of leather, and felt slightly giddy.

"There's plenty of wear left in that jacket. It will keep you warm on the road, and protect you in case of a spill. When you're riding, that is. Yes, sir, it fits you like a glove."

"How much do you want for it?" I asked, trying not to sound desperate.

"That depends on how much you want it," he answered, suddenly shrewd. His pale eyes glittered in the shadowy interior.

Though I detest haggling, I was unable to take off the jacket. I named a price, a round number, which I hoped was low. To my surprise, the man instantly agreed.

"Sold!" he shouted, as though at an auction.

I reached for my wallet, anxious to complete the transaction before he changed his mind, or before I did.

"Like I said, that leather jacket was meant for you. What are the odds that someone would walk in here, exactly the right build, with an eye for police memorabilia?"

"So you don't know where it came from?"

"Sorry, my friend. It could have been someone cleaning out an attic, getting a house ready for sale, winding up an estate. Wait! Now that you mention it, some other things came in with the jacket. Here's a helmet, the standard police type."

He handed me a white helmet, and I lowered it over my head. Snug, but comfortable. I started to ask the price, but he cut in.

"At no additional cost—special today. And check out these beauties." He rummaged behind the counter, and produced a pair of black leather riding boots.

"Somewhat the worse for wear, but you can replace the heels, and shine them up like new. Here, try them on."

Hurriedly, I untied my shoes, and shoved my feet into the tall boots, folding my pants inside the cylindrical shaft. Amazingly, the boots fit. I wiggled my toes, rocked from side to side, and strode a few paces. Like the jacket, the boots felt eerily right, as though I had worn them for years. Looking in the mirror, I caught my breath.

Instead of the man who entered the shop, an ordinary citizen like millions of others, I saw a police officer, a motorcycle cop, a figure of speed and power, a member of an elite squad, albeit from decades before. The fantasy was exhilarating.

"Do you want a bag?"

Abruptly, I remembered where I was, in a dusty junk shop, in a forgotten country town. I took off the helmet.

"No bag, thanks. I'll wear it."

"What about your shoes?"

"Oh. . . yes."

I handed the man my shoes, which he dropped into a crumpled paper bag. He handed the bag back to me, with a wink of his gray eye.

Jacketed and booted, as though dressed for a costume ball, I exited the shop, and blinked in the dazzling sunlight. The air was growing cooler, and the sun would soon set. With the helmet under one leather sleeve, and clutching the paper bag, I strode to my car for the drive home, through the inflamed countryside.

In the following weeks, as the weather turned cold and windy, I sometimes wore the leather jacket. As promised, the thick, back skin kept me warm. It did not attract attention, other than a smile or nod of approval. The thrill I felt on first putting it on mellowed, and in a way, I grew into the jacket.

One day, it occurred to me to search the pockets. An inner zipper revealed a small black and white photograph of a man standing beside a motorcycle. He appeared to wear the same jacket and boots, with the same white helmet on his head. He also wore a police badge, a silver star on his chest. His posture was upright and confident. The photograph bore no identification, no name or date. It was impossible to tell the man's age, or where the photograph was taken. Still, I was convinced that this was the officer who owned the items I had bought.

His uniform included a pair of riding breeches, tailored snug at the calf and flared at the thigh, almost as though inflated. It was a picturesque style, something that went out of fashion long ago. I could not recall ever seeing such a uniform on the street. In color, the riding breeches were dark, with areas of sheen. Were they made of black leather, too? I placed the photograph in a dresser drawer.

Though out of sight, the image haunted me. Who was this man, in purely physical aspects so much like me? What were his tastes, his habits, his personality? What was the police officer's story?

With no conscious intention, I began to read classified ads for used motorcycles, and I looked more closely at those I passed in the street. I wondered what type of motorcycle my officer rode. What type would a small-town police department be likely to have? When a neighbor parked a motorcycle in his front yard, a machine much like the one in the photograph, with a "For Sale" sign attached to the seat, I did not hesitate.

The neighbor, an engineer who would soon move to another city to start a new job, taught me how to ride the motorcycle, and he gave me advice on maintenance and repair. My luck continued in the form of a mild winter, which allowed me to ride on weekends, gradually learning how to handle the motorcycle on narrow roads, and in traffic. Though not especially powerful, it was quick and responsive. I wore my leather jacket, boots and helmet, of course, and sturdy jeans. By spring, I had become a confident, if careful, motorcyclist.

One Saturday, as the trees were coming into leaf, and the air was newly fragrant, I set off to ride through the green landscape. I started with no destination, but the road became familiar, as it wound through fields and woods. Just as it did six months before, it led to Hapsburg. Slowly, I cruised Main Street, looking for the old shop where I had bought the leather jacket, the same one I was wearing. Not seeing it, I turned around, and rolled in the opposite direction, but still failed to find the dusty display window. I parked, pulled off my helmet, and stood in the middle of the street, baffled.

A place I did not remember, a combination art gallery and custom frame shop, hinted at economic revival. Clean, freshly painted, with a gleaming steel and glass door, it was open for business. I entered, and at once was greeted by a young man with black hair, dark brown eyes, and an eager smile. After browsing the drawings and paintings, all by local artists, I explained what I was looking for.

The young man grew solemn, and said he would be right back. He walked briskly to a storage room in back, and returned with a large envelope, which he handed to me. Scrawled on the envelope, as a kind of address, was the phrase:

"For the man in the leather jacket, when he returns."

I studied the envelope for a moment, then asked:

"How can you be sure that this is for me?"

"The junk shop you describe was here, this space. I cleaned it out, renovated, put in new lights, and so on. A lot of work, you can imagine. The previous tenant passed away, I was told, and he left the shop as you saw it. I never met him—a retired police officer. Nothing of the contents was worth saving, but I did save one thing. That envelope was lying on the counter."

I lifted the flap, and extracted something heavy and pliable, made of black leather.

"Looks like a pair of pants," said the young man, clearly interested.

"Yes," I said, "or riding breeches. I saw them in a photograph."

"Awesome! They match your jacket and boots. Want to try them on?"

"I don't need to. They're exactly my size. Don't ask how I know."

"Okay, I won't. Strange things happen, even in Hapsburg. But here's the really strange part. They told me that the old man passed away more than a year ago. So how could you have met him here last fall?"

I shrugged my shoulders, and the leather jacket creaked. I slid the breeches back in the envelope, and tucked it under my thick black sleeve.

"Thanks," I said, turning to leave. "And good luck with the shop."

[viscountessevie]

To Lady Paige, With Love [Part 2]

Main Pairing: Eloise Bridgerton x FemOC! Paige Crane [Reference to Past! Marina Thompson x Paige Crane]

Series Summary: A WLW Rewrite of To Sir Phillip, With Love - featuring my OC Paige Crane, Phillip's twin sister. What happens when Eloise Bridgerton writes to Phillip after the death of his wife but her letter gets intercepted by his twin sister who loved more Marina than he ever did?

Chapter Summary: After corresponding with Eloise for over a year using her brother's name, Paige is mourning Marina's first death anniversary. All Paige wanted was some peace and quiet but little does she know, she's in for a rude awakening

Trigger Warnings: Grief, Brief Mentions of Previous Death/Suicide Attempt, Depression & Anxiety

Part 1 - Prologue: Take Me To The Lakes

Chapter 1: Right Where You Left Me [February 1823]

5:48pm. That time would haunt Paige for the rest of her life.

'Time of death: 5:48pm.' the doctor had said. The moment Marina was officially pronounced dead, Paige screamed. She could still hear the echoes of her own scream every night she spent in Marina's room, sobbing herself to sleep. It had been a month since she died. Paige truly understood what Marina felt and went through.

The grief, pain and sadness was all consuming. She was drowning in her own emotions. It made her want to throw herself into the lake and join Marina. At least drowning in the lake was tangible. It was a tangible way to match the melancholy she was feeling. Through the pain, Paige had learnt that when people take their lives, they don't get rid of the melancholy, they simply pass it on. Paige had become a victim of Marina's pain being passed onto her.

She knew that everyone was dealing with the loss on their own but she was just so angry with Phillip and the children and even the staff. Pretending like Marina was never there. The worst part is, she couldn't fault them for it. Marina wasn't there, at least not mentally present. The last month has eased off her anger. She nearly bit Phillip's head off when he came back from his business trip the day before she passed.

"You should have been here! I may love her but she's still your wife!"

"I had a very important specimen to pick up, you know that, Paige." He said gruffly. She was so sick and tired of him using his experiments as an excuse to neglect his family.

"I know that!" She snapped at him, "These trips are getting ridiculous. You can't keep using them to run away from your responsibilities. You made a commitment to her and your children. You completely abandoned them!" Her voice cracked with anger. Now Phillip was getting frustrated with her and snapped back at his twin.

"Do you think I wanted to carry those burdens? I had no choice in the matter! I had to be the one to clean up the mess George left behind!"

She stepped back at her brother's outburst. He never yelled. He refused to be their father. She knew she had crossed the line. She softened her expression.

"I shouldn't have yelled, I apologise. But so help me God, you will not repeat that to her or the children. They are our family, Phillip, 'not a mess George left behind." Her voice was low, laced with a cold fury.

"She's resting now but you should go see her. I'll give you two some privacy." Paige made her suggestion sound like a demand. There was absolutely no reason why he should neglect his duties as a husband now. She wasn't going to let him off the hook for it. She quickly slipped into the room to kiss Marina's forehead. She allowed Philip in and headed off to tend to the children.

Then there was that dreadful conversation where Amanda openly admitted that she was glad her mother was gone. Paige knew on an intellectual level that's not what Amanda had meant. She meant she was happy her mother was happy even if it meant she was gone. But emotionally, it destroyed Paige to hear that.

It was exhausting to feel like the only one who truly cared for Marina. She had all these emotions welled up inside her, screaming to be let out. Yet she felt like she couldn't talk to anyone. The children played and carried on as per normal. While Phillip had stopped taking his trips to avoid the children, he has hidden away in the Greenhouse more often. He refuses to talk about her. What else could she expect from her twin who represses the slightest hint of human emotion. God forbid he let himself feel sad.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that everyone processed grief in different ways. She needed something to get her mind off things. On cue, Miles came in to deliver the mail. She gestured for him to hand them over and he took his leave.

She flipped through the envelopes, none addressed to her. Of course no one would write to her and the only person who would, died. She was about to put down the pile when a name jumped out at her.

From: Eloise Bridgerton No. 5, Bruton Street London

She remembered Eloise like it was yesterday. They spent some time together during their first season. She came as a package deal with Penelope Featherington. So when Marina had struck up a friendship with Penelope, Paige found herself spending a lot of time with the two of them. The four of them were quite the formidable group during that first season. Paige remembered how many suitors Marina had received. Unable to deal with her jealousy in a healthy manner, she did what she did best, ran away from her emotions. She poured herself into a friendship with Eloise. Somewhere along the way, she had developed feelings for the clever Bridgerton. She recalled how she did her best to repress those feelings. Even though at the time, Marina and her were nowhere close to courtship, Paige still felt like she was being unfaithful to her.

There was just something about Eloise that had drawn Paige to her.

She shook her head rather violently, as if trying to shake those memories away. How could she be thinking of that when she's supposed to be grieving Marina? She set down the letter, leaving it for Phillip to read it later when he finally comes out of hiding.

She stood up to head to Marina's room to mope. It almost seemed like she had taken Marina's place as the Romney Hall's living ghost. What was the point in living your life when the person you wanted to spend it with was gone?

But rising questions about Eloise's letter stopped her. For one, why was it addressed to Phillip rather than her? She knew it had been well over a decade, but had Eloise forgotten her already?

Her plan to mope for the day had been abandoned and she picked up Eloise's letter once again. She picked up the letter opener and impulsively ripped it open.

Sir Phillip Crane —

I am writing to express my condolences on the loss of your wife, my dear friend Marina, I remember her fondly and was deeply saddened to hear of her passing .

Please do not hesitate to write if there is anything I can do to ease your pain at this difficult time .

Yrs,

Miss Eloise Bridgerton

***

Oh. She was just as lovely as Paige remembered her. This was too kind of a letter to delay it's response. Paige went to her room and sat at her desk. She pulled out her stationary kit and fetched herself some parchment and a quill. She quickly penned down a response.

Dear Eloise —

I hope you remember me from your first season. Marina was a dear friend to me as well and I thank you for your kind note on behalf of Marina. It was thoughtful of you to write asking after us.

I offer you this flower attached as thanks. It is called an Eden rose also known as the Pierre de Ronsard, named after the great French poet.

Did you know that it reaches an average diameter of 10 centimetres. The large flowers are very full with 55 to 60 petals. Due to their weight the cupped, globular flowers tend to bow their heads.

It was Marina's favourite flower. She loved the carmine-pink on the inside and ivory on the outside. I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.

Sincerely -

*

She stopped short before she signed it off with her name. She had finally stepped out of her moment of impulsivity. Insanity more like, she thought to herself. She felt awful for invading Eloise and - by extension - Phillip's privacy.

She couldn't send this! How was she going to explain it?

*

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

I am absolutely mad and stole my brother's mail because I used to fancy you when we first debuted together in our first season.

Yours Sincerely, Paige Crane

That would certainly go over well. She would be lucky not to be locked up. She stared at her original letter and ripped it up. She detested the thought of Phillip striking up a friendship with Eloise. Deep down she knew if he became as enamoured with her as she once was, he'd make her his wife. It might have only been a month but she knew her brother. He needed a mother and wife for the children. There wasn't a doubt in her mind that he was already planning to look for one.

He had already taken Marina from her. As twins, they grew up sharing everything, starting from the womb. Everywhere Paige went, Phillip was there. They even had parallel careers. She just wanted this one person to herself. It was selfish she knew but she wanted to keep her London past for herself. Even if it meant never letting Phillip see the letter and responding on her own.

She rewrote another note without a second thought:

Dear Miss Bridgerton,

Thank you for your kind note on behalf of my wife. It was thoughtful of you to take the time to write to a gentleman you have never met. I offer you this full bloom flower as thanks.

It is called an Eden rose also known as the Pierre de Ronsard, named after the great French poet. Did you know that it reaches an average diameter of 10 centimetres. The large flowers are very full with 55 to 60 petals. Due to their weight the cupped, globular flowers tend to bow their heads.

It was Marina's favourite flower. She loved the carmine-pink on the inside and ivory on the outside. I hope you enjoy it as much as she did.

When it came to signing off, she hesitated for a moment at her dishonesty. Then the anger of having lost most of her life and identity to Phillip came up. That was motivation enough for her to scribble the last line of the letter:

Sincerely, Sir Phillip Crane.

***

Letter Correspondence From March 1823 to March 1824 Between Paige Crane & Eloise Bridgerton

Dear Sir Phillip -

Thank you so very much for the charming flower. It was such a lovely surprise when it came attached to the envelope. And such a precious memento of dear Marina, as well .

I could not help but notice your facility with the flower's scientific name and seemed to be knowledgeable about its properties. Are you a botanist?

Yours, Miss Eloise Bridgerton

*

Eloise’s response had come quite quickly in a week. It was no easy feat hiding the letters from Phillip. He was the Lord of the house after all. Paige was lucky enough to have a friend in Miles. She had been the one to stop Phillip from being let go. She had named him her personal assistant instead. She coyly asked Miles for a favour and requested that all of Eloise’s letters be directed to her. He looked at her with utter confusion when she asked.

“Whatever are you up to, Miss Crane?”

“Miles, you know you can call me Paige. We are friends, aren’t we?” She had a mischievous shine in her eye that told him she was up to something.

“I suppose… that doesn’t answer my question, Paige.” He said her name pointedly. She chuckled at him, he was hilarious. She knew she made the right choice keeping him employed.

“Friends trust each other. I promise I will tell you everything down the line.” She shot him a look of promise. That fixed the issue of being found out was solved easily. All she had to do now was enjoy the correspondence.

She still had not been able to break her habit of crying herself to sleep in Marina’s room every night, but these letters took her mind off the grief momentarily. She couldn’t thank Eloise Bridgerton enough for that. She read back Eloise’s response and grinned. Eloise was as charming and eloquent as always. She was clever enough to pick out Paige's interest in plants just by her rambles. Paige also noticed how Eloise was clever enough to end her letter with a question. What a sneaky lady, now Paige had to reply. Not that she was complaining. She was rather happy to have revived this old connection.

She pulled out her stationary and penned her reply. She stuck close to the truth while using Phillip's qualifications. Just because she wasn't allowed a formal education at Cambridge didn't make her any less knowledgeable than her twin. She devoured his textbooks during his University days. She most likely would have beat him to an honours degree in Botany had the fairer sex been allowed to study in Universities.

She followed Eloise's lead and ended her letter with a question as well. She vaguely remembered Eloise’s interest in humanities but she wanted it confirmed from the lady herself.

*

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

Indeed I am a botanist, trained at Cambridge, although I am not currently connected with any university or scientific board. I maintain my own garden at Romney Hall, in my greenhouse. Are you of a scientific bent as well?

Yours , Sir Phillip Crane

The reply came another week later. She smiled at being correct in her assumption. They started going back and forth every week, until a year had passed.

*

Dear Sir Phillip —

Heavens, no, I have not the scientific mind, I'm afraid, although I do have a fair head for sums. My interests lie more in the humanities; you may have noticed that I enjoy penning letters .

Yours in friendship,

Eloise Bridgerton

*

My dear Miss Bridgerton —

Ah, but it is a sort of friendship, isn't it? I confess to a certain measure of isolation here in the country, and if one cannot have a smiling face across one's breakfast table, then one might at least have an amiable letter, don't you agree?

I have enclosed another flower and a book for you. This flower is Centaurea cyanus, more commonly known as the cornflower. They are a personal favourite of mine, especially for its vibrance in colour. They are actually grown as a weed in cornfields, hence where it derives its common name from. Quite beautiful for a weed, wouldn’t you agree?

As for the book, I would like to share a piece of my literary heart with you. You will find a copy of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in the package. I regard it as a brilliantly complex novel that tackles the existential questions of creating life in such an nuanced manner. I would love to hear your thoughts on it.

With great regard, Phillip Crane

*

Even though it was a friendly exchange of letters, Paige considered sharing her favourite flower and novel a way of elevating the friendship. They were a part of her identity. A part that she was willingly giving away to another to cherish and hold. It was a big step for her and that terrified her. She was scared of developing feelings for someone else. She could not bear to go through it again.

She knew no sane woman - despite being a child of Sappho - would give up the security of a husband and run off with another woman. Most of the sapphic women Paige knew were far too caught up in the social norms to ever step out of their comfort zone into a realm of possibilities of a free life with her. She knew she got lucky with Marina and that Phillip didn’t care enough for Marina to be bothered with their love affair. He also loved his sister enough to be happy with his wife, even if he didn’t understand how she could love a person who seemed to be made of sadness. Paige knew he never understood, but he didn’t have to. Marina and her understood each other and that’s all that truly mattered until the end.

While Eloise has never stated whether she felt that way about women, she did seem like a child of Sappho. The way she had interacted with potential suitors during that first season, or rather the way she didn’t. She hid away from every suitor that came her way. At times, she would pull Paige away to the lemonade table to avoid them, whenever Penelope was too busy dancing with Colin. The way she scoffed at marriage. She just seemed content in her independence. Paige had admired that about her.

*

As always her next letter did not disappoint:

Dear Sir Phillip —

Thank you for the book and flower, I truly appreciated them. I have always found sharing books recommendations with companions is like giving them a piece of yourself. So I thank you again, for gifting me a piece of yourself. I promise to cherish it.

And I have read Frankenstein before! It truly is one of its kind. I could go on for hours on end about how much I love this book and how brilliantly crafted it is. Perhaps, should we ever meet, we could discuss it over tea one day.

The cornflower was wonderful, thank you. I do love how it seems to shine a brighter blue in the sunlight. I think it might be my favourite flower as well.

Yours, Eloise Bridgerton.

A dreamy sigh escaped Paige’s lips as she drank in Eloise’s latest words. Paige had never felt more seen and understood. Eloise expressed the sentiment of Paige’s intent with the book and flower exactly. Paige might have used her brother’s name, but she knew in her heart Eloise knew her - even if it was not by her given name. She found the line about meeting and discussing the novel over tea, a rather bold choice. Was Eloise inviting her to tea?

She sighed when the sobering truth hit her. Eloise wasn’t inviting her. She was inviting her brother. She knew what she had to do - politely shut her down.

Dearest Miss Bridgerton —

You took the words right out of my quill. Those were my exact intentions when I thought of sending my favourite flower and book over to you. I am very much honoured that you cherish an important part of myself. I truly appreciate it. Truth be told, I appreciate you and our friendship.

Perhaps, one day. Tea does sound lovely.

What mischief have you been causing as of late? I am always excited to read your recounts of your daily adventures.

Yours as always, Phillip Crane. * Over the next few months simply flew by for Paige, the letters giving her a reprieve from her grief. They talked about anything and everything under the sun. She learned everything there is to know about Eloise Bridgerton. They exchanged childhood stories, more books between the two of them - Paige found out that Eloise’s guilty pleasure was Jane Austen’s romance novels - and held full conversations of various academic subjects. Her most prized possession was Eloise’s old copy of Persuasion filled with Eloise’s notes and thoughts on the book. Paige’s heart soared the moment she received it. It was Eloise’s version of giving Paige a piece of herself. She hadn’t read Persuasion before so she was glad for the recommendation. The botanist couldn’t help but laugh as she read the novel. Anne and Captain Wentworth’s story seemed to mirror hers. Their 7 year separation felt rather familiar to having not seen Eloise since their first season.

Before she knew it, a year had passed. She was startled when she saw the calendar on her desk when penning her latest letter to Eloise. 14th February 1824. It was the day Marina attempted to kill herself a year ago. Tomorrow would be a year since Marina’s last good day. And two days from now, on 17th February 1824, Paige would have to be met with the sobering reality of Marina’s death anniversary.

The holidays had been hard as it could be. The empty chair Marina had previously occupied was staring at Paige while her family carried on with their jovial Christmas dinner. She couldn’t understand how they could simply get on with their lives while she felt like a piece of her was missing. Yes, Marina was not much for festivities but sitting beside her and enjoying the food they cooked together was the highlight of Christmas. It was the only time Marina felt well enough to help Paige prepare the feast.

Marina’s birthday had been the hardest to deal with of course. She would have been twenty and eight then. Paige visits Marina's grave at least once a week. It calms and soothes her intense moments of grief. Sitting by the grave on Marina's birthday was a new kind of pain. Knowing that she was taken from the world far too early. Knowing that she should have been there right beside Paige. It was the hardest Paige had cried since Marina had died.

She had no idea how she was going to deal with her death anniversary.

She just knew she needed time to herself. She looked down at the letter she was going to write and found big splashes of tears all over the parchment.

"Blast it!" She cursed and crushed the paper, tossing it into a nearby bin. She was furious with herself for forgetting. For allowing herself to be happy when she didn’t deserve it. She wiped her tears angrily and quickly scribbled one last letter to Eloise.

Dear Miss Bridgerton —

These letters have brought me such comfort over a very difficult year. I cannot thank you enough for it, Eloise Bridgerton.

I do regret to inform you, I would like to pause these letters for the month. I require some time to process and mourn Marina's first death anniversary. I'm sure you can understand it will be a rather difficult time.

Thank you for understanding and do take care, Miss Bridgerton.

Yours, Phillip Crane

Paige could barely get through the letter without feeling guilty. Feeling guilty for abandoning Eloise so abruptly. Feeling guilty for using her as a distraction from her grief over Marina. Most of all, she hated how she can't seem to remember the smallest things about Marina. She was forgetting her love's memory and it was driving her mad. She tried her best to conjure up how she smelled, the sound of her voice, how she was. Paige found the little details escaping her. Memories slipping through her fingers. She detested this. She didn't know how she had gotten to this point.

She had allowed her corresponding flirtation with Eloise to soothe her pain. But her pain was the one thing she had left of Marina. Letting it go meant letting go of Marina. Paige absolutely refused to do that. If she forgot Marina, there was no one else to keep her memory alive. Phillip and the children certainly didn't care for it. Marina would be lost to history.

*

After delivering the letter to Miles to be mailed out, Paige found herself in Marina's room. She laid on her bed, aimlessly and feeling vacant. She was sure if someone walked in they might mistake her for Marina herself. Paige felt her melancholy creeping up her throat. It threatened to choke her, snuffing all the light out. She sat up and tried to breathe. She was feeling an unusual amount of panic rising within her.

She got out of bed and looked out the window. The lake was in perfect view. Of course, that’s where Marina had gotten the idea, She thought to herself bitterly. She looked up at the sky, imagining her lover was up there somewhere happier. Somewhere calmer, where she had found peace.

“I’m right where you left me, Rina.” She whispered softly. It had been a while since she spoke out loud to Marina but it had brought her so much comfort in the early days of dealing with the grief. For a moment, she could pretend Marina was still there. Then she didn’t have to deal with the all consuming guilt and loneliness that came with losing the love of her life.

Marina might have been the one who died but Paige felt like the ghost. Spending most of her days in Marina's room, sitting still in a corner, almost like she was the one haunting it. She heard what the staff said. Something along the lines of, "What a pitiful sight." And "She deserves better than to replace Lady Marina's disposition." They were valid in their concerns but Paige couldn't care less. This was the way she knew how to grieve and mourn and she'll be damned before she lets anyone dictate the way she feels.

Looking into the reflection of the lake from the window, she could still remember the day Marina walked into the lake. It was terrifying how crystal clear the memory was. It felt like she was frozen in time - forever cursed to be twenty and seven - forced to relive the last few days of Marina's days. The memory of her walking into the lake, Paige having to rescue her, staying by her side the next three days and the moment she died. They swirled around Paige's mind constantly. It was particularly worse since it had been a year.

She was paralysed, unable to find the will to do anything else. So she went back to bed. She sat there, silent and frozen in time. The servants walked past all day to ask her if she was alright. She barely managed a nod.

She swore she could hear a hair pin drop at how silent everything was. Deep down she knew her life stopped the moment Marina had died. Eloise's letters may have made her feel like she could move forward. However, the gaping hole in her heart today proved otherwise.

Everybody moved on. She couldn't. So she settled and stayed there, dust collecting on her pinned-up hair. She knew everyone expected her to find a new purpose or a fresh start. She could have tended to her own garden like Phillip was doing in his Greenhouse on this day.

Yet all she found the energy to do was sit and stare out at the lake. She stayed right there for the next two days. She just wanted the next worst few days of her life to pass her by so she would not have to deal with them. Just until the 17th had passed.

*

Of course as the saying goes, there is no rest for the wicked. All Paige wanted on the 17th of February was some peace but little did she know, a certain Bridgerton would be making their way to Romney Hall.

It started out like any other day. Except for the Crane household, there was a somber remembrance of Marina’s first death anniversary. Paige was relieved that she didn’t have to share the burden alone and that her brother had the decency to acknowledge it. He didn’t bother reminding the children but they were young so she let it slide.

Since the staff had honoured her request of being left alone, around noon Paige dragged herself out of bed to get herself some lunch. Marina would have wanted her to mourn respectfully, not join her up wherever she may be. Paige was on her way back to her room after picking up her meal of roasted mutton with rice and gravy - Marina’s favourite dish - when she overheard a curious conversation between Gunning and her brother.

"Sir Phillip," Gunning said, clearing his throat. "We have a caller." "A caller?" Phillip echoed. "Was that the source of the, ah..." "Noise?" Gunning supplied helpfully. "Yes." "No." The butler cleared his throat. "That would have been your children." "I see," Phillip murmured. "How silly of me to have hoped otherwise." "I don't believe they broke anything, sir." "That's a relief and a change." "Indeed, sir, but there is the caller to consider."

Phillip groaned and Paige immediately knew what he was thinking. Romney Hall hadn’t received callers in years. He was probably wondering who on earth would be calling on this day of all days. Paige didn’t think much of it until she passed the front door on her way up to her room when she spotted a familiar face on the other side of the door.

Eloise Bridgerton.

What in the devil was she doing here?! Paige mentally screamed to herself. Gunning and Phillip’s conversation had faded to the background, drowned out by the mental grind of Paige’s mind. She snapped out of her melancholy and had to come up with a way to cover up the consequences of her actions. Just when she needed it, Miles walked past her. She immediately grabbed him. He looked surprised and a little violated if you asked him.

“Miss Crane! What on earth?” “Miles, how many times must I repeat myself? Paige is perfectly fine. I apologise for grabbing you, I am in need of your service.” She said guiltily, looking over at the front door.

He gave her a curious look, “What did you do now, Paige?” He rubbed his eyes tiredly.

She shot him a glare, “I would snap at you for that but you are quite right to ask. I think one of my letters to Miss Bridgerton might have been misinterpreted as an invitation to come over to Romney Hall.” She gave him such a pitiful pleading look, he had to help her.

“How can I be of service, Miss - Paige?” He corrected himself the moment Paige shot him a murderous look. “I need a plan. If the truth comes out, neither of them will forgive me.”

Miles had never seen her so panicked and scared before. For someone who detests her brother, she really did love him. Her blooming feelings for Miss Bridgerton had become apparent over the last few months. He gave himself a moment to think of a plan.

"Yes, sir. She's here to see you, after all." They both heard Gunning say to Phillip.

Paige looked at Miles with wide eyes. They had officially run out of time. This was sealed by the sounds of Phillip’s footsteps making their way to the corridor Paige and Miles were hatching a plan in. Before Paige could push Miles to distract him, her dear brother had brushed past them and opened the door. She cursed to herself and watched helplessly as the two strangers who had technically never met interacted. She made her way to stand quietly behind her brother, listening to every word. Paige's heart nearly stopped when she heard Eloise's voice after all these years.

"Sir Phillip?"

[mr-and-mr-diaz]

First off, you're an amazing person w/ gr8 blog. Second of all, I hope you don't mind me saying it? If it's weird or creepy, please, disregard. Don't want to make you uncomfortable. Third of all, I came to your tumblr from ao3 and specifically the pirate fic and ma'am (sir? Neither? Wanted to use honorific and "my kind dude tends to not be *that* universal, sadly). It. ROCKS. If by any chance you feel like continuing it, I'd be forever in debt. Also hope you don't mind reviews via anon tumblr? ♥

ANON!! My answer to this ask is so long overdue I literally have no words. When I first recieved this ask in my box I was warmed through--thank you so much for your kind words! I determined to myself I would NOT send an empty response, would only publish this with the chapter in hand!! And then life picked up like crazy and I never seemed to have a spare BREATH to sit down and write this AU well enough that it would be worth reading. AND NOW I FAINLLY HAVE IT!!! Two more chapters for ya, I really hope you enjoy!!

P.S. Also, I refuse to be called ANYTHING except My Kind Dude from now on, that is the best address ever! 

The Damned Disgrace--Buddie Pirate AU, Chapter 2

"Dios mio, you're useless."

Buck looked up from where he'd been struggling to swab the deck and met the glare of Captain Nash's angry first mate--Diaz, and sighed. He'd already been on the ship a fortnight, and while Chimney had fit right in, used to hard work and quickly picking up the vernacular of the other pirates, Buck stuck out like a sore thumb. He wasn't used to manual labor, having spent his life behind books and papers, and had no instinct for it. He tried, oh did he try so hard, but his clumsy hands struggled to complete work that someone else had to repeat later to make sure it was done right. And the pirates who didn't ignore him were usually laughing at him. What few acquaintances he'd made in his past life had been in academic circles. These men had no patience for or interest in unusual trivia about far away lands, or wonderings about what the world would be like if mankind lived under the water and fish lived on land. 

Buck was red with sunburn, blistered all over--on his back, his forearms, and face from sunburn, and his hands, fingers and feet from work. He ached everywhere. 

He looked away from Diaz and went back to stubbornly pushing the mop around the deck.

I won't be useless! I won't go overboard. I'm going to work hard and they'll help me find Maddie and bring her home! and if I get to shoot that thrice-damned Commodore Douglas too, well that would be a boon from God--

"Stop. Just stop."

Buck stopped, his heart sinking. He dared not look Diaz in the eye again, already knowing the derision and anger he would see there.

Sure the other pirates ignored him or laughed at him behind his back. But Diaz? Diaz detested him. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to Buck but definitely not the first time he'd loomed nearby, sneering at Buck's pathetic efforts to work as part of the team and fit in.

"We should've left you back at the port."

"What? No! No, I swear, I'm learning--"

"Learning what? How to smear muck around so someone else has to clean up after you? Again?" Diaz sneered, kicking at the mop. Buck's hands twitched around it, every blister flaring up painfully. Diaz's eyes caught it and he suddenly leaned forward. "Show me your hands."

"What...?"

"Show me!"

Buck carefully placed the mop against the rail of the ship and carefully unfolds his hands, wincing as the skin flares in pain with each motion.

"Dios...! Come with me."

"Wait, but I have to finish the--"

"NOW!"

***

Buck followed Eddie down into the ship, down down, past Buck's sleeping berth with the other sailors. 

Buck looked around in trepidation. Is he taking me to the bilge? To the brig? The bilge was full of seawater, the brig a confined, rat infested cell where only the most unfortunate went.

They kept walking.

"Uh, Diaz, I... I swear, I'll work harder, I just--please don't--"

"You're not working any more today." Diaz replied shortly and threw open a door. "Hen, I've got the cabron for you. Destroyed his hands and he thinks he's magical enough not to get gangrene or something. Can you fix him up?"

The woman inside raised her eyebrows. "You don't usually bring me people, Eddie." She was dressed like the rest of the sailors but her clothes were neater and better kept. 

"They aren't usually this stupid." Eddie growled. 

"I... sorry." Buck mumbled, defeated.

"Don't worry about this one. He's always angry about something." Hen chuckled, and Diaz's scowl deepened. "What's your name?"

"Ah, Buck. Well, Evan Buckley, but... just Buck is okay." He felt another twinge in his heart as he said it. It was Maddie who had named him Buck.

"Buck it is. Come sit and we'll have a look at those hands."

Buck chanced a sideways look at Diaz, who was still standing there, muscled arms crossed. "Is he...?"

"Eddie was just leaving, weren't you, Eddie?" Hen's tone brooked no argument, and to Buck's surprise, Diaz obeyed.

Buck sat and held his hands out. Now that he had a moment to focus on them they hurt even more, and he could feel some of the injuries oozing. "I'm sorry, I tried to-- but--" he stopped abruptly as he felt his throat thicken and his eyes started to wet. You are already the most pathetic creature on this ship, you will not make it worse by whining about it. Silently he held his hands out, head down. 

Hen sucked in a breath. "Eddie was right to bring you here. If you let these wounds get any more infected than they are and gangrene set in I might have to remove one or both of them."

Buck swallowed around a sob. As a teacher and writer, his hands were his life.

"I'll clean and wrap your hands for you." Hen continued softly. "That should be able to prevent it from getting worse, so long as you promise not to use them for the next few days and come down here every day for the next week so I can make sure they don't get worse. Okay?"

Buck nodded silently.

"Buck."

He looked up at Hen. She was wearing a kind smile and that was enough to completely undo him. A single tear slid down his cheek and he reached up a hand to stop it, but Hen wouldn't allow it. "I need to wrap these first." Her eyes and smile were all compassion. After two weeks in a foreign world with no friends on board it was a balm to Buck's soul. He kept his head bowed as she cleaned and wrapped, let the tears fall silently, unchecked. When she was done, she reached out a hand and clasped his shoulder. "The sailors are used to losing people and because you’re greener than most, they're expecting you to die. They don’t want to get close to someone they’re gonna lose. But if you stay alive they'll warm up eventually, don't fret it."

"Then.. why are you...?"

Hen snorted. "I walk to the beat of my own drum on this ship, Buck. Always have. And I've decided I like you, dumbass hand damage and all."

Buck sniffed. "Thanks."

Hen nodded. "Go to the captain and tell him that I've ordered light duty for you--no using your hands except to carry light objects. Errands only for you for the next two weeks."

"But Captain Nash said--if I'm not useful--"

Hen chuckled. "His bark is bigger than his bite. Besides, I'm pretty sure he's taken a liking to you too."

***

"Buckley."

"Uh, Captain. I... Hen, the doctor--" Buck choked off with a derisive snort at himself. Did I really just stop to explain to the captain who his doctor is? "Uh, she said I should tell you that I'm..." He held up his bandaged hands. "Light duty. Errands."

Captain Nash's face clouded and his brow furrowed as he took in the state of Buck's hands.

"But I swear, I'll be useful, I don't--please, don't throw me off the ship--"

"Buckley." One firm word and Buck silenced. "You'll rest today, and starting tomorrow you'll work as an errand boy around the ship. Messages, parcels, meals for sick crew. And anything Hen or I asks you to do, you do without question."

"I--yes. Yes, sir. Captain."

Nash looked up at him, his eyes showing the smallest glint of kindness. "A teacher's hands are his life's blood, Buckley. See to it you take care of them." Nash turned to gaze out the window of his office and sighed. "If you're very lucky, you'll need them sooner than you think."

Buck's pulse heightened. "Are we near Commodore Douglas's ship, sir?"

Captain Nash sighed. "Not as close as I’d like to be." He turned back to Buck. "Dismissed."

Buck nodded and left for his hammock.

Chapter 3

The next day he showed up bright and early at Captain Nash's office only to be sent down to Hen. Hen took one look at him and started loading a crate with various medicines and infusions, talking rapidly. For each bottle, Hen explained what it was, who it was for and why. Buck paid careful attention so he could keep up. Rote memorization and processes? He was back in his comfort zone.

"...garlic and chamomile for Wes, he ate something at port that we're still trying to get out of him. Then cat's claw for Lea, her knuckles are hurting her again. And that's all." Hen hesitated, thinking for a moment. Then she mumbled something under her breath before grabbing a few more vials. "Actually, got a few more. These are to be dropped off outside Eddie's quarters." 

"Diaz? What are they for?"

"Eddie knows what to do with them." No further explanation came and Buck nodded at the dismissal and left, running around the ship to deliver the medicines to each ailing person. When he arrived at last outside Diaz's door, he paused, looking over the bottles. It made no sense to be bringing so much medicine to Diaz’s quarters. Buck had seen him just this morning, looking as healthy as ever, muscles rippling while he hauled canvas with the men. What is this for? Buck shook his head to clear the thoughts--no use risking his newfound equilibrium by prying. He hastily dropped the bottles outside Diaz's door, knocked and departed.

He followed this routine for the next week, deviating at times in the afternoon to run errands for the captain. But every morning started the same--Hen dropping several bottles and vials into a box for him to deliver around the ship and he running around as fast as he could to get it done quickly and efficiently. Each time, he would find himself hesitating outside Diaz's door, awash with curiosity at what the medicine could possibly be for. It wasn't hard to puzzle out the various vials, even though Hen hadn't identified them. Some were the same bottles he delivered elsewhere, others he recognized from his studies. Willow bark, cat's claw and ginger--pain relief.Chamomile, dried cherry, valerian, and peppermint--muscle relaxers. It was a mighty amount of herbs for the average aches of a day's work even as strenuous as the work Diaz did. 

So who is it for? Buck wondered again as he approached Diaz's door to drop off the bottles. He had just turned to leave when he heard a thump on the inside of the office followed by a yelp of pain.

Good God, that's a child. There's a child in there!

Horrible images came to the forefront of Buck's mind as he imagined why Diaz might be holding a child prisoner. A child who would require so much pain relief. His skin paled in horror and he dropped the box.

I need to help! But his hands were still tightly bandaged and the door was latched shut from the inside. Buck thumped against it with his shoulders to no avail. The sturdy wood would not give.

If only I could unlatch it from the outside... Then he had an idea. He picked up one of the envelopes he was delivering for Captain Nash. It was thin but strong. Carefully, he eased it between the door and the latch, pressing the envelope between his bandaged hands to keep his grip. 

With a click the latch came free and the door swung open.

Buck braced himself for what he might see and ventured inside, closing the door behind him.The room looked like the captain's, if smaller and simpler. Diaz's bed was neatly made, and soaked in sun from the window. His desk was neat and cleared off. The room was empty.

But I heard a child, I know I did!

Buck started looking around, when he heard a whimper of pain from the direction of the desk. Quickly he hastened over and pulled out the desk chair.

There, curled in the desk well and looking nothing like the skinny, dirty, or abused waif Buck had expected, lay a child. He looked clean and healthy, if in pain. He regarded Buck with large terrified eyes, his hair clean and curling every which way.

He was adorable. And as sure as grass was green, he was Diaz's own child.

So what is he doing hidden away in here?

The child whimpered again, obviously still in pain and Buck lurched away, back toward the bottles and vials he'd brought from Hen. "Here, let me help you, Hen sent me with a bunch of..." He fumbled with the bottles, pulling out the chamomile and the willow bark. "Here, this should help." The child shied away from him, curling deeper into the desk well with awkward jerky movements that only seemed to hurt him more.

"Oh God, please let me help, here, let me..." Buck backed up far away to give the child room and then gently pushed the vials at him. "Here. They're directly from Hen, don't worry. I haven't opened them or anything. See?" The child looked between Buck and the bottles, but didn't say anything.

"And--here, I'm leaving okay? Nothing to be afraid of, I'll leave you so you can climb out of that desk. It looks--God, you look like you're hurting so badly, is there anything I can do to help?"

The child still didn't respond, only regarded Buck with the same terrified eyes and Buck took it as his cue. He hastened to his feet and hurried to the door, away from the room. He was about to step out when he heard the child gasp and whimper again. He froze. 

The child won't let me near him, but I can't leave him like that. 

Diaz! Diaz can help him!

"I'm going to go and get your father, okay?" Buck took another step toward the door.

"Don't!" A small plaintive voice called, and Buck paused again.

"I can't just leave you like this... Wait, did your father do this to you??"

"No, no!" came the small cry. "He's the best papa ever. And..." the child paused then continued in a stronger voice. "He'll kill you if he finds out you know about me."

Buck's body froze in place. "Surely not--" The child cried out again, and Buck hastened back to the desk. The child was panting now, but still wouldn't move. "Oh, for the love of God, please let me help you!"

"Can't... don't... trust... you." Christopher panted in between pained gasps.

"Oh God, please--" Buck's voice broke and he felt himself start to cry. "I can't--you're hurting. You... I was a schoolteacher before I got onto this ship, I love kids, I swear I just want to help, please!" He reached out his bandaged hands toward the child. "Look, see? I couldn’t hurt you even if I wanted to! I--I swear I won't tell anyone about you on this ship, I'll never speak to you again. Just let me help you settle yourself more comfortably, you need to take some herbs for the pain..." He was blubbering now, his view of the child obscured by tears. He tensed as he felt small hands grasp around his bandaged hands.

"Please help." The boy whimpered.

He sobbed in relief and crooked his wrapped hands so they became large hooks to grip the child and carefully, oh so carefully pulled him out of the desk well. By this time he heard the child begin to cry as well, still on the floor. Buck quickly swiped his eyes with his threadbare sleeve to clear them. "There now, that's a bit better, I'm sure. Let's get you settled into the bed and I'll mix some medicine with water to relieve the pain.”

Buck carefully lifted the child, who whimpered at being jostled. Carefully he laid the boy on Diaz's neatly made bed and hastened back to the bottles and vials, pulling corks out with his teeth and pouring a the various powders into a tin cup. He filled the cup the rest of the way with water from a pitcher on the small wash stand and stirred it to mix before offering the cup to the child.

But the boy only shook his head, crying more."Don't want it. It tastes h-horrible." The child's big eyes were red from crying and Buck's heart broke.

"Oh, shh, there there. Yeah, I won't lie to you, it’s going to taste pretty bad. But once you drink it, you'll stop hurting so much and then you can relax and sleep or play." Buck clumsily rested a wrapped hand in the child's hair.  "How's that sound?"

Still the child shook his head.

"Okay, how about this?" Buck took a theatrical sniff and wrinkled his nose. "I'll drink some and then you have to drink the rest, okay?" None of the ingredients were harmful to someone who wasn't in pain. "Deal?"

The boy looked at him, surprised. “Really?” Buck nodded and the boy sighed. "Deal."

Buck grinned, then made a big show of sniffing the contents of the glass. "Ohh blurggh," he shuddered theatrically, and heard the slightest huff from the bed. "Oh boy, here we go." He took a sip then screwed up his face and shook it rapidly back and forth like a dog. "Heaven and earth, but that's awful!" The child giggled and Buck continued with his performance, making gagging noises and funny faces. "You must be the strongest kid I know to drink this every day."

"That's what Papa says, too." The boy smiled.

"Well, he's right. I don't think I can handle any more." Buck made one more funny face and the boy laughed again. "Okay, you ready? I'll count to five, and then you drink it all as fast as you can, okay?"

The child hesitated. "How much is five?"

Buck turned to him, eyes wide. "You don't know...?" Then he paused. No use making the boy feel bad for something that wasn’t his fault. Besides, this was Buck's specialty. "Five is a number, you'll see. I'm going to count a few numbers, and when I say five you drink that down as quickly as you can so you barely taste it, okay?"

The boy nodded. "Okay." 

"One, two, three, four... five, go!"

With Buck's clumsy assistance, the child drank down the mixture, screwing up his face just like Buck did. "Urgh."

Buck laughed. "I think you made a funnier face than I did." The boy reminded Buck of his own students. He missed children, their bright-eyed optimism, their enthusiasm for exploring the world around them. "I hope I don't die for meeting you, kid. You're just about the nicest person on this entire ship."

The child smiled. "Christopher."

Buck returned his grin and held out a bandaged hand. "Nice to meet you Christopher. I'm Buck." Christopher reached out in jerky movements and shook Buck's hand, both of them giggling at how clumsy the exchange was.

"I hope you don't die either, Buck." It seemed that the medicine was starting to work. Christopher was relaxing and his smile wasn't edged with quite so much pain anymore.

"In that case, I should probably run before your father finds me. those big strong hands of his would tear me in half like paper." Buck stood, patting Christopher on the head once more before turning away.

"...Buck?"

"Hm?" He turned back. The boy was starting to fall asleep. 

"Can... Can you come back and visit me again?"

What a terrible idea. "Of course, Christopher." Buck rummaged up a brave smile. "I'd love to see you again." An idea occurred to him suddenly and he straightened his shoulders. "I'll even teach you how to count to five all by yourself if you want?"

The boy's tired eyes lit up. "Yes. Yes please..." His eyes slipped closed and he fell asleep.

Buck smiled, feeling warmed for the first time in weeks. Carefully he gathered the scattered items for the rest of his errands and slipped from the room, latching it behind him.

[hunnyuwu]

To Call You Mine || Wayv Kun

Premise : While you could practically have anyone in the world, there was only one man you could ever see. When would your strict assistant of many years finally see you as a woman, instead of his boss?

Pairing : boss! reader x assistant! Kun

WC : 2.5K

Warnings : alcohol consumption, suggestive themes (but nothing risqué [PG 13])

~ ~ ~

You sipped at your beverage from the wine glass coiffed between your fingers, simmering within your own in the most uneventful area of the large hall, the corner by the food. You quietly observed the premise of the room as different business owners, CEOs, assistants, and everything in between were walking around, discussing business matters, propositions: better known to you as the same old crap.

You exhaled as you swirled your drink, recapping all of your encounters from your rounds. You, as the only daughter of the man with one of the most successful, expansive corporations around the world, you had no choice but to take over the fame and fortune of your father some day. And what better way to integrate your daughter into your multi-billion dollar corporation than to drag her around to these boring, ass-kissing business gatherings?

The only thing you appreciated about these experiences were the exquisite dining services. You made a mental note to give the service your best regards later.

“Miss?”

You slowly, but gracefully redirected your attention towards a man who stood neatly in front of you, surely another money hungry bachelor that wanted a handful of your father’s fortune no doubt. A scowl threatened to reveal itself along your brow line, but you composed yourself to impose the image that your father wanted you to portray.

“How could I help you, Sir?” You asked delicately, expecting the usual spiel about how beautiful you were, and how he would like to court you as soon as possible. You would never buy it, and honestly, your father didn’t blame you in the slightest, but he did wish for you to wed a wealthy businessman someday. A man who could benefit the survival of his long-built empire.

You detested this wish, but you couldn’t completely disobey him either.

“I believe you are the daughter of Mr. L/N?”

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes by biting your inner cheek, instead shooting him a sugary smile instead.

“That would be correct, Sir.”

“Oh, that’s fantastic! I was actually-”

“Excuse me.”

You and your companion were abruptly interrupted by a familiar voice, an involuntary smile bit at your plumped, red lips.

“Ah, hello Mr. Qian.” You greeted, silently speaking to him through your eyes.

“I’m very sorry, Sir, but I have orders to bring Ms. L/N elsewhere for the time being. What is your business with her?” You couldn’t help the smirk lining your lips as you saw the man confronting you immediately crumbling underneath your assistant’s intense gaze.

Anyone would be intimidated by thee Qian Kun if he wasn’t happy with them.

Anyone.

“Ah, I was just giving her my best regards! See you soon, Ms. L/N.” Before you or Kun could even utter a peep, the man was alright out of your sight, causing your shoulders to slump with relaxation.

“Thanks for saving me, Kunnie!” You squealed quietly, completely out of character of yourself... for those who weren’t Kun.

To put it into perspective, Kun had been your butler since the both of you were in your pre-teens. Kun’s father was your father’s butler of many years, helping him from just being a successful businessman to a global tycoon. 

You didn’t like calling Kun your butler, though, so he was officially listed as your assistant in all his records. While Kun was quite icy and brisk with you earlier in your partnership, he soon warmed up to you as you persistently bothered him. You two had a warm relationship, but at times, you wanted more.

Rich, gorgeous men were just not your type, especially since everyone was after your soon-to-be inherited fortune. 

No. 

The warm, sweet Kun was exactly your type; it had been particularly difficult withholding these sappy feelings whenever you were around the man.

Unfortunately, you really had no chance with him.

As you flirted and hinted at any romantic feelings between the two of you, he always swiftly diverted the topic to something else. It had been hard for you, but you always kept up your perfect exterior regardless.

Besides, no child of your father would ever be caught slipping publicly, or privately.

“It’s simply my job, Ms. L/N.”

Dragged back to your current reality, you were unfortunately met with the professional Kun, the man who was nothing but business.

You pouted, a small whine escaping your lips.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Kun Kun? You should call me Y/N.”

He shot you a wary smile, already telling you your answer.

“That simply wouldn’t do, Ms. L/N.”

You groaned in disapproval, but you didn't’t further your argument. It was a lost cause whenever Kun was dead set on something.

~~~

“We are here, Ms. L/N.”

You quickly opened the car door before your assistant could come and open it for you. The said man gave you a dirty glare, still reaching a hand out for you to take. You decided to humor him by gently grabbing the pads of his fingers, sending a flirty wink his way.

He only humored you by giving you the whites of his eyes.

“Love you too, Kun.”

“Nothing personal, Ms. L/N. I will be going home now.”

You felt your heart sink to the depths of your stomach as you watched Kun swiftly round the expensive vehicle, departing from you as soon as he humanly could. Your teeth clenched down on your inner cheek, your hands balling up.

You couldn’t do this anymore.

“Kun!”

Kun froze as he opened the driver’s door, directing his attention to you. You toyed nervously at the hem of your expensive gown, starting to regret you actions as you observed how handsome Kun looked. His glasses sat nicely on the bridge of his nose, his tie slightly loosened from his activities throughout the day, the button of his navy blue jacket already undone, giving him a sexy, raw, loosened version of him that simply drove you insane.

“Yes, Ms. L/N?”

You gulped down the lump growing in your throat, actively forcing down the anxiety plaguing your mind and heart.

“Could you join me at my place for a little? I’ve been getting a little lonely these days.”

Kun silently examined you, obviously startled by your request. You saw him sigh a little, looking down at his expensive watch before looking back at you. Hurt twinged your heart from his evident need to depart.

“You know what, it’s-”

“No, I’ll stay with you, Ms. L/N.”

Your breath hitched as he locked his car, passing by you with a little smirk as he walked toward your modern accommodations with his hands tucked in his dress pants. You stared his at his firm back, wondering why you even did this to begin with. All you knew was for now was that your feelings for him were growing more clear each day.

“So, what did you have in mind, Ms. L/N?”

You hummed as you prepared the room that you and Kun were in, starting to realize that this was the first time that you had let a man into your residence late at night, other than your father of course. While you were officially a grown woman, you were still a late bloomer at heart, something that you didn’t necessarily know how to feel about at times.

“He’s just Kun, Y/N. Stop freaking out.”

“What was that?”

You flushed, not realizing that you spoke aloud. You cursed yourself out for initiating this whole situation to begin with.

“Nothing! A-Anyways, let’s drink some wine and talk for a little?”

Kun rested his chin on the back of his hand, giving you a look that you couldn’t read.

“Then I couldn’t drive home.”

“You could stay over then! There are plenty of extra rooms here.” You offered with a sweet smile, oblivious to the dangerous smirk that grew on Kun’s lips.

“Don’t be so loose, Ms. L/N. You simply can’t just offer to let men stay over at your house, even if you do have an uncountable number of rooms.”

You reeled at his implications with a gasp.

“Kun, don’t be weird! You’re my assistant, my father trusted you, so I trust you.”

Kun’s smirk grew soft, a twinkle lighting his brown irises in the dim setting.

“Of course, Ms. L/N. Let’s have some of that wine you you spoke of.”

You two did just that, drinking and comfortably chatting from the sunset to the emergence of the night’s stars, breaking down certain barriers that you never thought could happen.

“Hmm, Kun, could you answer something I have been wondering for awhile?”

He chuckled, that beautiful beaming smile that you had grown so fond of over these years lit up his features for the millionth time this evening.

“I have been this whole time, Ms. L/N.”

You, on the other hand, were not so relaxed as you silently plucked up the courage to do something that you would have never done while sober.

“Are you seeing someone? Romantically, I mean. Like earlier, it seemed like you were in a rush to see someone.”

The smile slipped off of his face as fast as the palms of your hands became sweaty. You gave him an awkward, lop-sided smile, but you were only met with a serious look in return.

“Would it matter if I was seeing someone right now?” He said cooly, stealing all of the warmth in the air around you two, suddenly replaced by a chilling atmosphere. Your face screwed with perplexed guilt, scrambling for your response.

“N-No, I-I was only curious! Sorry for bringing it up, Kun.” You apologized with the aura of a kicked puppy as you stared down at your reflection within the red wine you held.

“Then let me turn the question onto you, Ms. L/N. Are you seeing someone at this current time?” He muttered eloquently, leaving you speechless. You looked at him past your wisps of deranged hair.

“I believe you already know the answer to that, Kun.”

“And why’s that?” He questioned mercilessly, sensually leaning back onto the arm of the sofa you two sat on. You didn’t know why his whole demeanor changed, but you were intimidated like the very first time you met him, but for a whole different reason.

“I can’t say I’m into gold diggers if I’m going to be honest. Besides, you see me every day, I think you would have met any potential suitors by now.”

“I can’t say I blame you, but I was under the impression that you were already infatuated by someone?”

Your eyebrows pinched together in pure confusion as you digested his words. Did he already know you were into him?

“It’s just I’ve noticed that you have been acting differently lately. Am I reading too deep into it?”

While his words were innocent, his tone was definitely not.

You couldn't tell if Kun was fully aware, and intentionally lowering his tone to a growling octave, or if he was under the alcohol’s intoxicating submission. All you knew was that his voice was doing things to you, sending you into a tingling frenzy emotionally, mentally, and most certainly physically.

Trying to wade through your unhinged mind, you knew you were going to spill something in a matter of seconds, whether that be your wine or your feelings, you didn’t know.

“Well, I guess I have noticed someone recently.” You started, hesitant of your words even in your drunken state. Kun nodded along with you, effectively urging you to say more.

“Would you judge me if I told you who it was?”

“Not at all, Ms. L/N.”

You sucked in air through your teeth, giving a weak attempt at calming your racing heart. The flush at the tips of your cheeks were effectively masked by the fact that you were under the influence of alcohol, thankfully.

“I-I like you, Kun.”

The room you were in stilled in a pregnant pause, allowing you to bask in the aftermath of your confession. You set down your wine glass as you were scared that rejection would rip your heart apart in a matter of milliseconds. You wordlessly watched his features remain stone cold, his whole being exemplifying a living statue.

You were taken aback as Kun gently set his empty wine glass on the glass coffee table beside you, mimicking your prior motions, not removing his eyes from your figure for even a second. Your throat became plugged up as you saw Kun slowly remove the navy dress jacket he wore, quickly rolling up his white long sleeves to his elbows, exposing his toned forearms.

Really a sight to behold.

“I’m glad to hear that, Ms. L/N.” He stated calmly, giving your poor spine whiplash at the serenity of his state. Your eyes widened to their capacity as Kun leaned forward onto his hands, crawling to your side of the couch. The nature of his movements reminded you of a predator encroaching on its prey before pouncing.

He stalked his way to your stiffened posture before ending up face to face with you, his hands planted by the sides of your curled up legs.

You slunk back, admitting defeat in this hunter and hunted game.

“But I guess it’s unfortunate that I’m just a measly assistant, then.”

Your jaw dropped with anticipation, shock overloading your inexperienced system. You quivered as you felt his large hand graze your calf like he was worshipping a fragile object. The pad of his middle finger drawled up the sensitive skin as if he wanted to absorb every part of you.

“I bet you’re curious as to why I refuse to call you by your first name.”

Confusion overshadowed your excitement for a brief second as you tilted your head like the clueless little puppy you were.

“I am curious.” You said simply, eager to feed your curiosity.

“Hmmm, is that so?” He whispered, trailing off to a wistful sigh.

You wanted to whine at his lack of explanation, but instead, a light squeal stole your voice as his hand landed and squeezed your hip. Striking electricity stole your senses and your skin burned with shame and a hint of lust.

“It’s because I made a certain promise with myself...”

The hand that cradled your hip traveled to the very tip of your chin, Kun tilted your head to parallel his face to yours. His beautifully-proportioned features looked down at you with hooded eyes, eating you up like you were his last meal. You didn’t dare mutter a word under his searing leer.

“That promise being that I could only call you Y/N,”

Your lips parted with shock as you registered the very first time that Kun had ever said your first name to you, a prickling sensation crashing through your extremities. You certainly didn’t imagine this being the scenario it would happen in.

Kun inched his way towards your face at a lagged pace, leaving only a couple of centimeters to spare before pausing. For the nth time tonight, your breath was swept away with the wind leaving you in an asthmatic state. His lips graced over yours, leaving goosebumps rippling over your skin.

Your eyes fluttered closed as your jaw jutted out with need. You were ready to hear whatever he had to say next, the fatal words that would leave you spell-bound

“When I can finally call you mine.”

~ ~ ~