#whenever someone he cares about leaves his direct line of sight. because the last time that happened... well...

[sergeantsporks]

[Gives Darius separation anxiety] [Gives Darius separation anxiety] [Gives Darius--

[secretariatess]

Kylin 44

            Vicious had not settled down in the night, and Kylin could not blame her.  He and Ime had a restless night as well, the images of the transformation playing in their heads.  She knew where the bag of eggs were and stayed as far away as her rope allowed her.  When Kylin greeted her in the morning and attempted to feed her, she refused, watching the eggs with round eyes while her ears went in all directions.

            When Kylin recorded the incident in his journal, he had skipped illustrating any part of it.  None of the previous illustrations had been able to prepare him for what he witnessed, and he could only pass that knowledge by writing that he hoped no one else would have the same experience.

            As few words as possible were spoken in the morning.  The grimness of the situation had left little room for small talk.  Every so often, at least one person would glance at the tops of the trees, as though they were expecting the strix to appear so suddenly.

            Kylin gathered the group he had been given, gave a nod to Shaelren as his only farewell, and then struggled with the task of convincing Vicious mount while carrying the eggs.  When he was finally up it was only a matter of minutes before she was a sweating mess.

            As they traveled, one of the hunters broke off branches they passed and whittled them into stakes, dropping them in his saddlebags when he was finished.  Whenever they paused for any reason, he grabbed a handful out of his bags and discreetly tucked them into his fellow hunters’ saddlebags.

            And pausing was not uncommon.  Any time a sound above them was heard, their horses were halted, bows were gripped and arrows were reached for.  They waited until Kylin gave them the all clear, when nothing else could be heard.

            As much comfort as his hearing gave him, he was also apprehensive about its ability to hear the strix.  Owls in general were silent flyers.  Even the sharp ears of Elves had a hard time picking it up, much less a half-Elf.  Who was to say that a strix didn’t keep the owl’s deadly silence?  He had only heard it last time because of its clumsiness.

            The tension only got worse when night fell.  A part of Kylin wanted to continue.  The sooner they got to headquarters, the better.  But it was clear that Vicious’s nerves could not take much more.  He called for a stop and set up a shift schedule.  It became unnecessary as it was difficult for any of them to sleep.  In the morning, they were just as ragged as the night before.

            It was a sight of relief when they stepped in view of headquarters.  Kylin put Vicious in the care of the horse master, who was greatly alarmed at her condition.  Kylin could only give him a grim look before sprinting off to find Vivienne, leaving the hunters to explain what was going on.

            Vivienne was in the beast wing of headquarters, located at the base of the cliff and taking up nearly the entirety of the bottom.  Not only did it contain Vivienne’s office and quarters, but it also had enough space for whatever the Beast Master brought in.  Vaguely remembering Vivienne mentioning that she had a peryton fawn, Kylin waited outside of the beast wing, having someone else go in and inform her.  If the eggs stressed out Vicious, there was no telling what kind of stress it would cause the peryton fawn, and he wasn’t going accidentally find out by stumbling on Vivienne while she was caring for it.

            He did not have to wait long.  Vivienne hurried out when she got the message.  She beckoned him in and steered him into an empty section.

            The section was clearly meant for a bird creature.  In the middle of the room was a table carved to help simulate the feel of a nest.  Cabinets lined the walls with special bird-proof latches.  The room itself was circular and the wall were wooden, giving the sense of being in a tree.  Vivienne gestured for Kylin to drop the eggs into the middle of the table.  She opened one of the cabinets and pulled out balls of light, affixed to arms to attach to the table.

            She pointed the lights towards the middle, sticking her hand in to test the temperature.  When she was satisfied with the heat they gave off, she turned her attention to the five black eggs.  She did not say anything as she poked and prodded them, carefully turning them over and inspecting them for cracks.  She ended her inspection by lightly tapping each one and pausing, seeing if anything would be done.  Then she straightened, arms folded and chin in hand, brows furrowed.

            “Are they dead?” Kylin asked quietly.  Speaking too loud seemed wrong.

            In response, she picked on up and held it up to one of the lights.  Nothing could be seen through the dark shell.  “Hard to say. As ya’ve likely noticed, they’re way too heavy. But they don’t respond to anything.”  She placed the egg back with the others, sighing heavily.  “They may never actually hatch.”  She looked over at him.  “Did ya just come across the eggs, or was there something that tipped ya off?”

            Kylin hesitated a couple of moments before describing the scene that he and Ime had witnessed, and the attack that they likely only survived because it was so very new.  How he noticed that there was a hole in the three and suspected that there might be eggs.

            “Vicious hated the whole thing,” Kylin said.  “I think she could sense what it was that turned them.”

            “And ya found this near the sealed tree?” she inquired.

            He nodded.

            “I think that settles it, then,” she said darkly.  “Scaring things in the forest to move them in places they shouldn’t be and popping up corpse flowers is one thing, but turning animals in these unnatural beings means that that evil has gotten too strong.”  She inhaled deeply.  “I know it’s really for Rei to declare the evil loose, but we have to start preparing for the worst.”

            His blood ran cold, but the rest of him went hot.  “The worst”?  That could mean so many things.  Creatures, beasts, and all sorts of things that were on par or worse than the strix.  The destruction of the villages.  The destruction of the Rangers.  Images flashed across his eyes, giving him a glimpse of what was to come.  And even if they did manage to survive anything the waking evil gave them, winter was coming.  Shelter and food could not be easily found at this time.  The devastation of the seventh village was bad enough.  It was only luck that the sixth village did not receive more damage than it did.

            “The forest will not be as we know it,” Vivienne explained, unaware of the visions he was seeing.  “We will be treading in unfamiliar territory. The only help we have is from the Rangers of the past who were there the first time. We need a list of what they faced, and how they handled those threats.”

            Both of them stopped, focused on the nesting table.  One of the eggs was rocking, cracks beginning to appear at the top.

            “Talon glove,” Vivienne said brusquely, pointing to one of the cabinets.

            Kylin swiftly sprung to the cabinet, unlatching it and tossing her a thick glove.  She caught with one hand and slipped it onto her right hand.  With her left hand, she pulled out a dagger.  Kylin grabbed another glove for himself, and stepped back over to the table.

            Pieces of egg were sent hurling through the air, smacking the walls around them.  One even embedded into a wooden cabinet.  Out of the hole that was left, a winged arm forced its way through.  It was quickly followed by another winged arm.  Both had taloned hands, the ends razor sharp.  The arms pushed itself out of the shell, popping up a head between human and owl.  Even as it was forcing itself out of its former abode, it grew unnaturally fast.  Halfway out of the shell and it was apparent it would not have been able to fit the whole of itself back in.  In a flash, Vivienne grabbed the back of its neck and slammed it against the nesting the table.  There was a glint of the dagger as she swung it high for momentum and brought it down on the strix hatchling’s neck.

            As the dagger was raised again to finish what was not complete, two other eggs began to hatch.  Kylin waited, hand poised for the first one that showed its face.  When the opportunity arrived, he coped Vivienne.  His strix, however, seemed prepared for the fate that awaited it.  It quickly twisted itself to snap at his covered fingers.  It raked its taloned hands against the glove.  Despite its thickness, Kylin could feel the material beginning to tear.  He brought his dagger down with as much force as possible, hoping to end it in one go.  Unfortunately, it was not the case.  The other hatchling popped its head out of its shell, shrieking at him as it lunged to protect its sibling.

            Vivienne’s gloved hand lunged out and caught the hatchling by one of the wings.  It turned its rage against her, grasping her covered arm.  Vivienne winced as the talons pierced through the material and into her skin, but made not other reaction otherwise.  Kylin, when his hands were free, forced the hatchling against the table to give Vivienne a better opening.  One of the remaining two eggs began hatching.

            It thought itself prepared.  It sprung up from the shell, launching itself at their faces instead of their arms.  It only succeeded in gaining a more painful death as both Kylin and Vivienne used their daggers to defend themselves, pinning it down when it backed off.  It more tries than its siblings, but finally, its head was separated and its fighting limbs dropped on the table limply.

            The nesting table was now covered in strix feathers, dark blackish-red blood, and the remains of the strix hatchlings.  The last egg did not move, made no indication that it was going to hatch, as though it had learned from the others’ mistake.

            Muttering angrily under her breath, Vivienne pulled the glove off her hand and inspected the puncture wound she had been given.  It was clear even to the untrained eye that it went deep and could not be brushed off.

            “I’m gonna take that an’ drop it in an enchanted box on my way to the med bay,” Vivienne said viciously, jerking her head at the last egg.  “That way, if it does hatch, it’ll have to perform all kinds of gymnastics. In the meantime, I want you in the library making that list until further notice. I’ll let Rei and the other masters know about this danged situation.”  She spat on the remains of the hatchlings before snatching up the surviving egg.

            She swept out of the room, pausing at the entrance as she waited for Kylin to follow suit.  He glanced back at the mess on the nesting table one more time before leaving himself.

            It was all too tempting to ask himself the question of how things could possibly get worse.

            But he would not ask it, because he knew he was going to find out, whether he liked it or not.

[theonewiththefanfics]

Best Friends My Ass (one-shot)

Synopsis: Being in love with your best friend whom you’ve had since childhood can be tough. Being in love and being dumb can make it tougher. Meet the Reader and Harry. They’re the latter. And everyone’s fed up.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: fluff, maybe little bit of angst, tiny bit smutty, but not a lot

Warnings: swearing, two idiots pining for one another

Word count: 7524

Even when Harry was little, he’d known he’d have an odd path in life. Just because it was odd, didn’t mean it’d be bad, but it would make him absolutely stand out in the crowd.        When Y/N was young she didn’t see herself having any extraordinary adventures. Sure, she’d travel and explore the world with its secrets, but she didn’t have any plans to draw the attention of the masses. That was until Harry’d come into her life.        They were both young, still kids in that tender age where childhood crossed into teenage years, when they met. For Harry, it was like one of those scenes in the movies where the pretty girl walks into a room and a billion fans make her hair look like the wind is sweeping through it, and her eyes glisten like gemstones. Also known as the 'love at first sight' scene.        For Y/N, it was hard to keep her breakfast down as she walked inside the classroom, twenty pairs of scrutinous eyes on her, trying to figure out if the new girl was a predator or prey.        Luckily for Y/N, the biology teacher wasn’t a total witch and didn’t make her present herself to the class, and just pointed to the free seat next to a curly-haired boy. Luckily for Harry, that free seat was right next to him.        With a sigh, she dropped her heavy backpack beside the chair, giving the boy a shy glance, and was surprised to see a genuine and large grin right back at her. It wasn’t the kind people gave when they had bad thoughts. It was the kind people gave when they were truly excited and wanted to give a good impression. Y/N’s chest grew warm at the thought she might actually make a friend that day. And she did.        “I’m Harry.” He extended his hand for her to take, the grin never leaving his face.        She gave him a big, relieved smile. “I’m Y/N.”        Ever since then they were not only lab partners in classes they shared (which was biology, physics and math), but also in mischief. Together they managed to enrage Anne, annoy Gemma and absolutely horrify Y/M/N, and whenever one went down, the other made sure to go down as well.        So when a few years down the line, Harry had told Y/N about his idea to audition for X-factor she wasn’t surprised one bit.        “I mean, as long as you don’t trip and break your nose on stage, you’ll be fine.”        For that, she received a slap on her arm from him.        “I’m just saying!” Y/N defended herself. “You’re great at singing, Mrs Aberdeen certainly thinks so, you don’t have two complete left feet, and you’re alright to look at.”        That for the first time since the decision and application had been submitted, made Harry smile. He loved how easily Y/N was able to lighten the mood, to take his thoughts away from the bad, and just erase them with her wit and smile.

       “Besides.” She nudged his shoulder with hers and then intertwined their fingers. “I, Gem and our Mums will be right there for you. Won’t even blink until the end of the performance.”        With how her insides trembled in excitement and fear for her best friend, it truly seemed to Y/N she hadn’t blinked at all on that fateful day. Her breath hitched when the judges were talking. She couldn’t even remember what they said, all of it turning into white noise.        And then he got through, and Y/N screamed so much she was sure she’d blown out Anne’s eardrums, and had hugged Harry so tightly she was afraid she’d broken a rib. But with his victory also came a fear, because, for the first time in Y/N’s life, she was terrified as to where she’d stand in Harry’s. Since day one it’d been secure, but now, with the newfound fame of X-factor and who knows what kind of an amazing future, she didn’t know if he’d throw her to the curb, simply forget about the mundane friend from high school or maybe use her for something.        But it wasn’t like that. Not one bit. After insane hours of rehearsals, Y/N was one of the three people he always called. It was her, his Mum and Gem. Always. And he loved to listen to her speaking of what was happening at school, how the lessons were, which teacher turned out to be hooking up with which. As much as Harry knew he was made for the extraordinary, he loved the ordinary Y/N brought in his life. She was his safe harbour. But what he never agreed with were her own thoughts she was meant for a simple life, so he took it upon himself to bring a little bit of eccentricity in hers, as he explained how he’d gotten united into a band with four other boys, now going by ‘One Direction’, and it was his mission to join his newfound friends with the most important friend he'd had.        “This is Y/N,” Harry introduced her to the guys after one of their late-night practices, one where they weren’t being filmed. “If you do anything that even mildly upsets her, I’ll kill you in your sleep.”        The slap against his arm made him let out an ‘Ow!’ while the rest of the boys laughed and welcomed her with open arms.        In a weird way, Y/N became part of the band. She didn’t sing or play any instruments, but she was always around, gave her input on songs and setlists. That kind of closeness made all of the fears and doubts about losing a place in Harry’s life disappear. She was his personal hype-man while at the same time knocked him down a few pegs whenever the fame started to get to his head.        She was there for his highs and lows, for the break-ups and break-off in the band, and watched as he ventured into a solo career as much as she could with school and all, but when summer break rolled around it was like Harry couldn't get rid of her even if he tried. Not that he wanted. Sharing the success and happiness with his best friend was one of the biggest rewards he could have.        And Y/N would never admit it because it’d boost Harry’s already elephant-like ego, at least that’s what she said, but she kind of liked the attention she received because of him, especially because most of it was pleasant.        Had she been terrified that being known as Harry Styles best friend would make people think she was just a gold-digger, seeking fame and leeching it off from him? Yes. And there were people like that. But ninety-five percent of what people said on her social media accounts was actually nice, some even said ‘thank you’ that there was a person like her in Harry’s life to keep things real, and most importantly – cared about him through it all.        Harry also saw those comments; he loved to read about how people saw just how much Y/N cared, and it kind of stirred something in him. He didn’t know when exactly, but it was around the age of twenty-four for him and twenty-three for Y/N when he started looking at his friend in a different light. And it bloody terrified him. He didn’t know if she felt the same, and the thought of putting his heart on the line like that only for the possibility of it being crushed was the scariest thing ever.        He did, however, have an inclination as to what incident had prompted them to surface. The feelings that were. It was a night after a party. Y/N was on winter break from her master’s at uni, which meant he used every opportunity to spend time with her.        The hangover was real, I mean it’s what you got by mixing vodka, tequila and beer into an empty Sprite bottle and chugging it. Harry stumbled over sleeping bodies on his way to the kitchen in search for some leftover pizza he was sure he and Y/N in their drunkenness had ordered, as well as to make two cups of black coffee. He knew she hated the taste, but cold junk food and bitter coffee always did the trick with her. That was when he’d found her.        Although he’d woken up in Y/N’s room, she hadn’t been next to him. Instead, as it turned out, she’d gone on a food search sometime before him and had passed out on the couch, a Cookie Monster onesie on her body, but most importantly his signature pearls around her neck. And one of her hands even rested against her collarbone, as if scared someone would take them away from her.        That’d been the first time his heart had flipped in his chest at the sight of her, but most definitely not the last.        He did however keep this change in his emotions to himself. He wasn’t really sure what it was, so it would be unfair to dump that on Y/N and have her figure it out for him because he didn’t know where she stood on her own, let alone do the work for him.        Luckily, despite the tornado of feelings, their friendship didn’t falter, and when his Vogue cover came out, he was incredibly nervous for people to see it, but especially for those who mattered the most to him, like his Mum, sister and Y/N. Especially Y/N, for her opinion had become the most important one outside his blood relatives. After all, all his thoughts went to – if we dated, would she be as proud of me as she was of me as a friend?        Her support meant the most because he was away in the middle of filming; he had no way of getting physical comfort, so all of the messages, calls, social media posts and FaceTimes was the world to him, especially when Y/N sent a picture of herself with three copies of the magazine, two beside her head as she laid on her bed and one clutched to her chest, which she also posted on Instagram with the caption ‘Can’t hug you for real right now, so this will have to do. When I do get to you @harrystyles, I’ll crush your ribs with my love. And that is a threat.’        Then the comments came in from the rest, and one stood out more than the others.        Bring Back Manly Men.        At first, he felt odd about it. It didn’t really bother him, but at the same time, it made him sad. He knew that he was seen as somewhat of a controversial figure, as he painted nails, wore frilly blouses and now full-on dresses, which were all typically categorized as feminine things, but he never understood why a nail colour or the shape of a shirt suddenly became exclusively for just one gender. Which is why he was so grateful to have Y/N in his life.        “I mean, anatomically speaking, men should be wearing dresses and women trousers. It’s you who have all the dangly bits,” she said through a bite of food. “The Scots have been onto it since the beginning.”        Harry threw his head back in a laugh, shifting an arm behind his head. “So I assume your favourite pic is the one in the kilt?”        “Well, it did remind me of that awful punk phase I had back in school with all those safety pins, only in a more tasteful way, but no. My favourite one is you in that brown, grey off-shoulder jacket thing.”        “Why?”        Y/N wiggled her brows at him. “Shows enough of your cleavage but leaves enough for imagination.”        “Of fucking course.” Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Objectifying much?”        “What? I’m not going to deny that my best friend is a sexy beast.”        He wouldn’t say it out loud, but when she called him her friend, it made his heart clench in a painful way. Harry had been trying to be a bit flirtier around her, but given his open nature as it was, Y/N hadn’t seemed to notice it, nor had she seemed to notice how he looked at her while she was frowning at her computer screen.        Harry’d had relationships with some women who could be considered the most beautiful in the world, but if he’d had to say, in his opinion, who’d receive that title, it’d be Y/N. The way she snorted when she laughed too hard, the way small crow lines had already appeared next to her eyes from how much she smiled and the way her forehead creased when she was concentrating. It enthralled him to no end. He could read her life’s story on her face, how she’d lived and thought and experienced, unlike so many people he met who couldn’t move a muscle.        Though the reason she was so concentrated in that moment was because thousands of people had tagged her in a tweet of a woman, she’d heard of for the first time in her life (because Harry had been trying to keep that one off her radar), and what she saw made all the blood boil in her body more than any other hate comment had.        Without hesitation, Y/N atted her and tweeted “Bring back manly men. Please! Millions of people would let him raw them WHILE WEARING THE DRESS. I mean you tried, so I’ll give you the gold star you so desperately want, but that was pathetic.”        At that same moment, a notification popped up on the screen of Harry’s phone. He only had notifications on for one person, and when he saw what was written, he gasped, looking at Y/N. “You did not just do that!”        “What?” Y/N shrugged biting down on the chocolate bar she’d been savouring for the last half hour of their conversation. “I just said what everyone was thinking. Besides what the fuck does ‘bring back manly men’ even mean? Go chop some wood? Fight a bear in the Siberian woods? Have your ‘friends’ stab you to death at a political meeting?”        “You’re a menace.”        Y/N winked popping the last bit of the chocolate in her mouth. “Only to those who dare go for the people I love.”        His heart fluttered at the last word, but all he could do was mask it with a large grin and shake of his head.        For another hour they spent talking, Y/N kept hyping Harry up, tried to get as many plot details of the movie he was filming, while he avoided as many spoilers as possible and attempted to steer the conversation somewhere else, but when that happened, Y/N jumped onto his music, which he had told her all about. In fact, there wasn’t a music video made without her approval, and neither would his next one be. “You’ll fly out to see me film for ‘Treat People With Kindness’, right?”        Y/N sighed, giving him a sad smile. She hated disappointing Harry. “I’d love to. But you know with everything going on, I don’t think I’ll be able to.”        “Phoebe Waller-Bridge will be in it.”        She gasped, in real excitement. “Well, why didn’t you say so from the start?!”        “So that’s what this friendship has come to. I’m just your gateway to celebrities?”        “Harry you’ve always been just my gateway to the people living in LaLa Land.” But she let out a small breath much like she’d done before. “I really do want to come, Harry. You know that; I miss you like crazy. But Phoebe or no Phoebe, I don’t think I can.”        Harry bit his lip nodding, but he still needed to try one more time. “Is there anything I can say or do to get you here?”        “Get me a private jet and a quarantine mansion?”        “Deal.”        “Woah! Wait!” Y/N pretty much jumped up from her position in bed. “That was a joke! Harry Edward Styles, I swear to God, if you try an –“        But with a giant grin, he just blew Y/N a kiss and ended the call.        She was quite terrified if she was being honest, that Harry would do what she’d asked. He already had once. It'd been around Christmas time while she was still in First Year at uni, and she’d seen a glistening necklace at a jewellery store display. She hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even uttered a word, but just seeing the sparkle in Y/N’s eyes, was enough for Harry to make the decision and gift it for her.        When the next day, around five AM her time, she got a call from Harry’s manager Jeff, she was ready to rip both of them a new one, an e-mail with a plane ticket popping up in her inbox.        “I swear I’ll poison your drinks when I see you,” she’d grumbled, but couldn’t hide the excitement as she threw everything she could in the suitcase. “And no one will find your bodies, mark my words, Azoff.”        He snorted. “Yeah, tell that to the FBI agent listening in on this call.”        “Fuck. Gave myself away,” she said softly, giggling right after.        “You know he’s stoked beyond belief.” Jeff piped up. “He literally jumped out of the bed this morning, and during the dance rehearsals he didn’t miss a step.”        That made Y/N’s heart warm. “Well, you can tell him to curb it a bit. Otherwise, I’ll just stay at the fucking mansion – which, by the way, it was a joke, Jeff! I’m pissed enough he’s spending money on me as it is, let alone such a chunk on the plane, you didn't have to get me an actual mansion.”        “You know, for you, he’d give away all of it.”        “Yes, well, he might need it for his funeral, if he keeps spending it on me and on shit like this.”        The man shook his head but didn’t say anything else. He wasn’t the only one trying to drop hints to Y/N that Harry felt something more, but he’d leave it to the man himself. He didn’t need to possibly ruin everything, and have her decide not to come. His client was nightmare enough without her around, because Harry was like day and night when Y/N finally arrived on set for ‘Treat People With Kindness’.        To say he enveloped her in a hug would be an understatement as he didn’t let go of her for ten solid minutes, having grabbed her by the underside of the thighs and sat down on the ground just so he could prolong the feeling of being with Y/N.        The fact that she’d actually gone for it and hadn’t scolded Harry too much for spending that insane amount of money, for having brought a small piece of home to LA with herself where they were filming, made him now fully acknowledge the true extent of his feelings, especially as she didn’t pull away from their embrace, rather hid her face in the crook of his neck.        I mean, in the end, he did have to let her go because everyone had to get back to shooting, but not before Y/N had stripped the meticulous jacket from him, and went to have a glance at herself in the large mirror, one of the costume designers playing along and adjusting the clothing on her body, as if she was going to be the one performing.        Harry felt someone slide up to him and he looked over to his left, a smiling Phoebe standing there. She nudged his shoulder with hers. “You’re in love with her, aren’t you?”        He nodded, looking back over to where Y/N was still looking at herself in the mirror, wearing the heavy jacket as if it was nothing like it was made for her. “I’m a cliché, I know. But I can’t help it.”        “Of course, you can.” She squeezed his side. “All you gotta do is tell her.”        But it wasn’t that easy. Comparatively, getting Y/N to appear in the video was easier than coming to terms with the fact, all they’d ever remain would be friends if he didn’t do anything.        Yet the shoot for the video ended as quickly as it had started, and Y/N needed to fly back to the UK to defend her PhD paper, and Harry had to go back to filming ‘Don’t Worry Darling’, thousands of miles stretching between them once more. And Harry was a romantic, he couldn’t confess over FaceTime. Besides, he wanted to make it a special evening for her, plan something out, rather than risk a shitty connection cutting him off mid-word.        He hated it though. It’d been almost four years since Harry had realised his feelings had developed from just friendly into romantic, and still, he hadn’t said anything. Even the people who’d never met Y/N in person like Florence Pugh saw what was going on.        But unlike the cast and crew of ‘Treat People With Kindness’ who had to deal with his pining for maybe a couple of weeks, it’d been almost half a year for her at that point. Did she just want to call Y/N and tell her how Harry felt? Sure. She’d had enough of him coming into her trailer only to fall down onto her pillow and whine. But it wasn’t her place. So instead, she was going to figure out a way to get Y/N to the set and make him tell her himself.        Getting Harry’s phone away from him should’ve been the inspiration to the next ‘Mission Impossible’ script though, because it took her literally a whole day to fish it out from his coat's pocket, and she only had about ten seconds to find Y/N’s number (which wasn’t that hard given how it was the number with literally hundreds of calls next to it) and put it in her own phone.        Once their filming was done for the day, Florence rebutted Harry’s invitation to a movie night, saying a massive headache was coming on, so he wished her a good night and with slumped shoulders went to sulk on his own. Which is why she practically sprinted to her own trailer to finally call Y/N        An unsure ‘hello?’ greeted her ears before she responded. “Hey, this is Florence… Pugh.”        That stunned Y/N into silence for a few seconds before she spluttered out a greeting and said ‘hi’ as well. “Not to be rude, but how did you get my number?”        “Stole it from Harry’s phone. Look, he’s miserable. Keeps moping around, and I can’t take it anymore. Last night I found him crying in his pillow with your shirt over it.”        “What? Why?”        “Because it didn’t smell like you anymore.”        Y/N’s heart broke. “Why didn’t he tell me anything? We just talked, and he said he was fine. God, that man is so dumb sometimes.”        “Is there any way you could find a way to get here?” Florence asked biting down her lip.        She heard Y/N sigh at the other end of the line. “I’ll – I’ll try and figure something out. Have to know what’s going on at work, I mean it has been like two months since the video, so maybe…” She was more so talking to herself, but then remembered about Florence. “Listen, can I give you a message when I find out if my boss will let me?”        “Of course!” The actress was excited about the possibility of Y/N getting here, as long as it got Harry out of his depressive mood.        “Oh, and I’ll need to know what kind of restrictions are on set. I’ll figure something out with flights and quarantine, but I have zero clue as to what’s it like where you’re filming.”        Florence waved her off, even though she couldn’t see the motion. “Leave that to me. Just get your ass over here before the guy cries himself dry.”        It was a struggle though on all three ends – Harry was still moping, because not only had Y/N’s shirt lost its smell of her, but homesickness was hitting full force, Florence was getting more and more desperate as she attempted to take his mind off of things, but nothing seemed to work, and Y/N was trying to get on any possible flight to Harry while arranging two tests and an AirBnB she could self-isolate in for two weeks while attempting to set up her work from afar at the same time.        Two days after Florence’s call, Y/N sent her a message ‘Flying in tomorrow at 4 AM. Don’t tell Harry. He’ll feel even shittier cause I have to stay alone in quarantine. First test came back negative.”        She sighed in relief at the message and immediately texted back ‘i’ve got you a set pass ready, just need a picture. selfie will do. also, masks are mandatory on the lot, so bring those.’        Immediately Y/N sent a thumbs up, and a picture of herself she didn’t absolutely despise to be used on the ID card. All that was left was to pack. And spend two weeks in an attempt of not going crazy with anticipation before seeing Harry.        Those two weeks turned out to be worse than the two months between the music video shoot and going to the filming lot. Because throughout then, Y/N knew her only access to him would be through FaceTime, but to be about twenty minutes away from the man without the ability to touch him was pure torture, but at least Harry seemed completely oblivious to the change in her surroundings.        As they still continued on with their calls, not once did he mention her background, or how the paintings suddenly had managed to switch positions or the fact that Y/N didn’t even own paintings. She was sure she could’ve been missing an arm, and he wouldn’t have mentioned it with how tired he looked.        “Have you even slept, Har?”        “Not really,” he groaned, getting more comfortable in his bed. “We’ve had a bunch of early shoots and then late nights, ‘cause we need to get the continuity for the scenes, and then the day’s full of Zoom calls, and well, I can’t not call you.”        Y/N scoffed, scolding him. “You know damn well I won’t be offended if we sacrifice a couple of calls for you to get some proper sleep.”        “I know, but I will.”        Y/N sighed, knowing in a way it was her fault. She could tell him she no longer was hours of time zones away, but rather watched the same sunset and sunrise as him, but she also knew Harry, and he would be unable to stay away from her until her quarantine was over.        She was quite happy she’d sat through the fourteen mandatory days, because when she got on set, even though Harry was usually good at keeping his composure during a scene, despite the mask, he’d recognise Y/N anywhere, and all of the lines flew out of his head.        “Jack?” Florence’s hand came to cup Harry’s cheek, trying to bring him back on track. “You alright?”        But he didn’t even care about improvising to get out of the flub as his lips were split apart by a grin, and he dashed away, a loud ‘CUT!’ ringing throughout the set, but Harry already had Y/N in his arms, spinning the girl around.        “Best friends my ass,” Florence murmured as she went to the two.        Harry was speechless, Y/N’s face in between his hands as he looked her up and down. “How are you here? What? Why?”        “Thank Florence.” Y/N gave an attempt at motioning to the actress with her head. She set the whole thing up.”        Harry’s head whipped to his scene partner. “You knew Y/N was here for two weeks and told me nothing?”        “Your brain short-circuited when you saw her! You wouldn’t be of no use on set at all if I had.”        Harry scoffed, throwing an arm over Y/N’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s get away from this meanie.” But as he walked away, he looked over his shoulder and mouthed a grateful ‘thank you’ to her.        All Florence could hope for was that he’d get it together and confess, but it didn’t seem like he was in any sort of a rush. Y/N was set to be there for three weeks, but the thought of the woman leaving without knowing how Harry felt, leaving him in a sea of his own heartache, made her miserable, especially after a night they’d all spent together.        Harry really wanted Y/N to get to know the people he worked with so he invited the ones closest to him for a movie night, during which he himself had been the first one to actually fall asleep, of course.        For most of it, as ‘Westworld’ ran on in the background, he spent curled up in Y/N’s lap, his head resting against her chest with her fingers weaving through the shortened locks. She had to get used to the length, motion automatically wanting to go on longer than it was possible to. Soon enough, the soothing motions lulled her to sleep as well, their bodies leaning into one another and perfectly fitting together.        As tired as Florence was of seeing Harry, a person who’d become her friend now pine for someone so hard, it was absolutely heart-melting to watch the two interact. Everyone could see Y/N had the same feelings as Harry did for her, only she hid them a bit better. A little, but not by a lot.        No friends acted the way those two did around one another. Sure, people could be touchy, but not like that, not with such intimacy behind the motions. She felt like she was being a little creepy as she pulled out her phone to take a picture, but it was too cute not to.        A loud noise from somewhere outside set made Y/N shoot up straight, and Florence held her breath as she clutched onto her phone, having swiped it accidentally into video mode and filming the whole thing.        “No,” Harry whined, a hand reaching up for Y/N and grabbing at her elbow. “Come back. ‘S too early.”        She just nodded, grumbling something unintelligible but possibly along the lines of ‘don’t make me throw hands’ before laying down and snuggling into Harry’s chest.        Florence let out a large sigh of relief and decided to get some sleep as well before their annoying four AM alarm woke them up for set.        This time it was the other way around, as Y/N whined for Harry to ‘come back and keep her warm’.        Florence watched as Harry slipped out of Y/N’s grasp, but not before pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead and a whispered a promise to ‘see her when the Sun’s up’. The second the trailer door was closed, she slapped his shoulder, and Harry gasped in shock. “What'dya do that for?”        “Stop that! Stop that stupid dance!” She stomped her foot on the ground. “I’m sick and tired of watching you watch her with that dumb longing expression on your face. I can’t take it anymore. Why do you think I went through all that trouble to get her here?”        “I told you I would!”        She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Look, I know it’s not my place or anything, but she does like you. A lot.”        Harry threw her an uncertain gaze. “And how do you know?”        “Because that woman spent two weeks in self-isolation just to see you! She’s gone through how many of those awful Covid tests just to go and visit you! She’s dropped everything for you, has supported you through so much, and never fails to boost you up.”        “That’s what friends do.”        “No.” Florence shook her head. “That kind of loyalty… that’s what people in love give. I haven’t talked to my best friend in like a month. What’s the longest you’ve gone without speaking to Y/N?”        And with that question, she left Harry to ponder not only his feelings but the girl’s he was in love with as well. Because if he had to be honest, the reason he’d been dragging everything out, the reason he’d stayed pining for Y/N for years on end was that he tried to write everything she did off as something a childhood best friend would do.        The truth was more terrifying than anything because once that came to light, it’d change everything, and Harry didn’t know if he was ready. He wanted it, desperately so if it meant Y/N becoming someone he could love freely and openly, but not if by the end of it, she'd disappear from his life, leaving a hole the size of his heart in his chest.        His thoughts were cut short as someone knocked on the ‘Hair&Make-up’ door, and an assistant let in a pouting Y/N. Well, he couldn’t’ see the pout behind the mask, but he definitely knew it was there, making a smile come on his own face.        She plopped down in an empty sofa and crossed her arms. “I was cold.”        Harry snorted, wanting to shake his head, but didn't as to not ruin the hair stylist’s work. “You’re always cold.”        “And you’re a living furnace.”        “ ‘S that why you like cuddling? Leeching off my warmth?”        The same assistant who’d let Y/N in handed her a cup of coffee, which she was ready to kiss the woman for, but opted for a ‘thank you’. “We’ve established I only use you to get to other celebs. What makes you think I wouldn’t use you for those sort of things.”        For a moment, the trailer settled into silence, as Y/N enjoyed her morning coffee while the crew kept doing their own work.        “It’s so weird,” Y/N piped up, eyes racking up and down Harry’s body. “Don’t even wanna really look at you like that.”        He let out a mock gasp of hurt. “What d’ya mean? Am I suddenly repulsive to you?”        “No!” she let out a laugh. “It’s just odd seeing you without the tattoos. They’re such a huge part of you, even the dumb ones. Can’t really imagine you any differently.”        “Would you love me any differently without them?” The question was bold, even though he knew she did love him, he had to start making moves.        “No,” Y/N shook her head. “I don’t think so. I believe I’d be a different person then as well, but I’d love you all the same. As long as you’d do the same with me.”        Harry nodded looking down at his hands then back up at her, catching her eyes through the reflection in the mirror. “Don’t think there’s a dimension out there where I don’t love you.”        “I mean that is a bold statement,” Y/N said, sipping on the remnants of her coffee. “What if I’m like a weird, cat-skinning psychopath in one dimension? Would you love me even then?”        “Jesus Christ, Y/L/N, do you just normally come up with those gruesome scenarios or is it a hobby?”        She wiggled her eyebrows, standing up and throwing away the paper cup. “There’s a reason I have a VPN and clean my search history. I’ll see you in your trailer?”        “Yeah.” Harry nodded and smiled. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.”        The next half-hour he kept hyping himself up, about how he was actually going to do it, but Florence intercepted him right as he was turning down the way his trailer stood. “How are you gonna do it?”        “I – “ Harry huffed and placed his hands on his hips. “In the beginning, I had like a whole romantic outing planned, but… I’ve dragged this on long enough, so I think I’ll just tell her.”        “Okay, good.” Florence nodded and slapped his shoulder in approval. “And if I don’t hear that trailer rocking, I will throw you in a ditch.”        Harry’s eyes widened at the statement, fully knowing she meant her words, but she was already half-way down the track, blond hair swishing behind her back.        It was then or never.        Slowly he opened his own trailer door as if it was Y/N’s place not his, but by the looks of how she’d sprawled out on his bed, she had made herself right at home. Just like she’d done it on the first day of school, but just with his heart.        “Hey!” She smiled looking at him. “You ready to film?”        “Yeah, but umm… I kind of wanted to talk to you beforehand.”        Y/N’s brows furrowed at Harry’s serious tone, so she sat up, nodding. “Sure. Is everything alright?” “It’s nothing bad, at least I hope you won’t take it in a bad way... I’ve actually been wanting to tell you this since that winter’s break party you had while doing your masters...” He let out a small chuckle but seeing Y/N’s eyes widen in a panic he stopped. “Oh, God,” she moaned. “You have a kid! Oh my God.” “What? No!” Harry spluttered. “Why the hell is the first thing you assume that I have a kid?” “I don’t know!” She was now standing facing him completely. “We’ve never had secrets between us, especially for as long as you’ve apparently kept them, what am I supposed to think? Maybe one of the girls you hooked up with got pregnant, and you’ve been hiding the fact you’re a baby daddy because you know I wouldn’t be able to keep the fact I can be the cool drunk aunt to myself.” All of that came out as is she’d prepared it ages ago. “Well, no.” Harry shook his head stepping closer so he could be chest to chest with Y/N. “I’m not anyone’s baby daddy. At least I don’t think so, but umm... when that moment would come... when I have a kid...” He looked up at the ceiling and sighed before lifting a gentle hand to cup her cheek. I wouldn’t want you to be the drunk aunt. I um...” There goes nothing. “I’d kinda like if you were the mom.” “Of course, I’ll be the Godmother!” Both of them said at the same time, making the other’s brain stumble over the words said. “Wait, mom?” Y/N’s question was breathless. “Like donate my eggs or some shit?” “No like, I’ve been in love with you for close to four years, and I wanna try and build a future with you, where you’re more than just my best friend.”        “Oh.”        That was all that managed to escape her mouth as he fully opened his heart, and Harry couldn’t lie – it shattered. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it was more than that. “That’s...” Y/N huffed sitting down on the bed. “That’s a lot to take in Harry. Like a lot.” “I know.” He sighed and sat down next to her. “Which is why I’ve been pushing this away for as long as I could, but... it was time. It wasn’t fair to you or me to keep on living like that. Look.” Harry took her palm in his. “Whatever you want us to be, we’ll be that. I - I mean I’ll be heartbroken if you say you don’t feel the same, but no matter what you tell me now, I won’t let you leave my life. I love you, and I’m in love with you. This is your choice which way you chose to go with.” Y/N shook her head, interlacing their fingers and finally looking up at him. “I don’t want you to be heartbroken. It’s the last thing, I’d ever want to see you like. And umm well, if it takes me using the pair of ovaries I have to admit I’ve been in love with you too to change that, I guess I’ll have to say it. I’m in love with you too.” Harry’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears of happiness, as he looked at Y/N like she’d hung the stars in the sky. Not that it mattered. He always looked at her like that. “You mean it?” “Yeah,” she chuckled, wiping away a few stray pearls from her own cheeks. “I guess I always thought I’d end up the drunk aunt in your life, so that’s why I thought you’d ask me to be whatever future child’s Godmother. But I love you, and I’m in love with you too.” “Can I – “ Fuck, Harry was too giddy for his own good. “Can I kiss you?” And when Y/N chuckled, nodding he swore he already was in heaven. “Yes, please.”        At first, the touch of his lips was gentle, almost afraid, but the second he pressed them to Y/N’s, and she gasped at the sensation, it became full of lust as passion, years of pent-up pining and angst and just plain old stupidity surfacing and morphing itself into a steamy make-out session.        In a split second, she was sprawled out on Harry’s bed, his toned body leaning over hers and teasing hands moving along her sides, making her squirm and ache for more of his touch, but she wasn’t the only one who wanted to explore a body with a new mindset of what was possible.        As Y/N moaned from Harry’s tongue invading her mouth, her hand couldn’t help itself as it slid down his chest, and her finger flicked against the button of his trousers.        “Can I touch you there?” Y/N whispered against his mouth, and Harry eagerly nodded.        “Please. Been dreaming about this for literally years.”        Smiling, she allowed him to continue and explore her mouth with his tongue, intoxicated on one another’s taste. In fact, Y/N was so far gone just from the kiss, she forgot how a fly worked and needed Harry’s help to open it.        “Get back here,” she grumbled as he chuckled, having leaned up a bit to make it easier for her to get the offensive piece of clothing off. “We’ll see how you fare with a bra.”        “Oh, I’m an expert.” His hands trailed to her shoulder where he snapped one of the straps against her skin, making her yelp.        “You do not want to do that when my hand is an inch away from your dick.”        But the threat had no merit to it, as she dipped her palm behind Harry’s boxers while his mouth went to soothe the sting and leave a little mark on her skin, which he’d get to admire later on.        The second, Y/N wrapped her hand around his cock an involuntary moan escaped into the air, as she gripped him. Fuck, she couldn’t wait until he was inside her, because, and it might sound a little cliché given how they were best friends who’d fallen in love with one another, but she was one hundred percent sure, he was made exactly for her.        But no matter how much she twisted her hand or how gently or roughly she rubbed the tip, he couldn’t get hard, and Harry was on the verge of tears, which Y/N saw and instantly pulled away, cupping his face.        “I’m sorry,” he choked out. “Fuck, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”        “Hey!” Y/N cooed. “None of that. It’s alright. Shit happens.”        Harry nodded understanding that she was right, but he still felt shitty and well, he felt insecure about it. “I just. Fuck. Usually, when I think of you, I’m hard in like a second.”        And although all Y/N wanted to do was smirk and tease him about the fact that he thought of her while wanking himself off, that wasn’t the right moment.        “I promise, you turn me on, you do." He sniffled. "This had never happened before.” But Y/N wasn’t offended or sad, and her laugh wasn’t mocking or trying to hurt him.        “Harry you’re dead tired.” She cupped his cheek with one of her hands, and if he’d been ice cream he would’ve literally melted. “You had to wake up at four in the fucking morning and won’t go to sleep until two the next day. Let yourself rest a bit.”        “But,” he whined and then huffed. “But I wanna love on you. Wanna show you just how crazy I am about you.”        “And you will. You know I’ll always hold you to your word. But this won’t be fun for either of us if mid-fuck you suddenly collapse on me asleep. I don’t need to go to the A and E and explain the broken nose is because my boyfriend decided to take a nap while shagging. A nap on my face.”        But Harry hadn’t really heard anything she’d said after Y/N mentioned the b-word, a dopey smile on his face. “I’m your boyfriend? You really want me like that?”        “I mean I would prefer if you were Phoebe…”        Harry pinched her side, making her squeal before tackling her in a hug. “Shut up!”        And that’s how the two fell asleep (and were woken up twenty minutes later by an assistant in a panic given how Harry was supposed to be on set in five minutes)  – wrapped up in one another’s arms, smiles on their faces, and no longer best friends, but lovers.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64​ @supernaturalbaesduh​ @breezy1415​ @crazy--me​ @thatawkwardlittlefangirl​ @sea040561​ @staryeyedgirl​ @deathbyarabbit​ @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91​ @dalilx​ @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns​ @averyrogers83​ @in-the-end-im-still-trash​ @gallifreyansass​ @dewy-biitch​ @avxgers​ @unlikelygalaxygiver​ @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees​ @bnhvrdy​ @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl​ @sj-thefan​ @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue​ @im-squished​

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15​ @breezykpop​ @girlboss99​ @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist​ @alliyjane​ @sirtommyholland​

A/N: I loved writing this so much :)

P.S. my tags are always open

P.S.S. I don’t take requests, sorry. Also, please don’t repost my story on other platforms (wattpad etc) without specific written permission. 

[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

read on ao3

Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Merthur soulmate AU where they can always find each other:

Leon fulfils his self-appointed “older brother” role by helping them get away with it, and Morgana decides the son of her new guardian wasn’t so bad after all, if he came with such a great friend.

Part 2   Part 3 Part 4

This was requested a little while ago, also Homophobia doesn’t exist in this world and maybe that’s unrealistic but I literally don’t care, let me have this.

Everyone has a soulmate. It’s a fact of life.

No one really knows quite how it works, only that it’s something magical, and has been around since before recorded history.

Everyone can find their soulmate. They feel a tug in their heart, that always pulls them in the right direction, no matter what. No matter what obstacles or distance separates them, they may always be united, they may always find their way home.

Soulmate bonds were the one piece of magic that King Uther left untouched when he started his purge, for he was bonded to Arthur’s mother, and despite his cruelty, he could never find it in himself to deprive others of such a feeling. 

(Besides, they were so ancient and global, there’s nothing he could’ve done to destroy them; easier to save his pride and leave them be.)

Very rarely, only a few times in a century, a pairing will appear whose bond is so strong, the compass in their hearts works in a slightly different manner.

King Uther’s son, Prince Arthur, and heir to the throne of Camelot, was one half of such a special pairing.

~

The first time the Prince disappeared, he was five, and meant to be taking a nap.

This meant that his nannies hadn’t even noticed he was gone before he reappeared in his bed, and no one in the castle knew of his little adventure.

To say Hunith was surprised by the appearance of a very young, very blond child in her kitchen was an understatement. 

The last thing she was expecting to see when she turned around from laying her three year old down for a nap, was a noble-looking boy, who definitely hadn’t been there moments before.

After she recovers from her shock, she glances over at the front door (still locked) before looking back at the child with concern. She took a step towards him, and crouched down before quietly speaking:

“Hi there sweetie, how did you get in here?”

Child!Arthur ignores her, instead taking a wobbly step towards Toddler!Merlin, and without looking away from him, asks:

“Who’s that?”

Hunith is taken aback at that, and looks more closely at the child. He was clearly in sleep clothes, but they were made from expensive fabrics, and he looked chubby and happy and healthy, not like most young children around these parts.

She steps in front of Arthur again to try and catch his eye:

“Why don’t you tell me your name, and we’ll try to find your mum?”

Arthur looks at her only briefly as he pouts, before side-stepping again and regaining his line of sight to the dark haired toddler (still sleeping):

“Don’t have a mum. And dad’s busy. I wanted to find my person.”

Hunith tilts her head at that, but before she can ask what he means, Arthur finally looks at her properly, and begins speaking again:

“Are you my person? Or is it him? Nanny Marge says everyone has a person, and we can always find them.” he says it with confidence, and a self satisfied nod.

Hunith blinks, she knows all about soulmates, everyone does, but that still didn’t explain how the child had just appeared:

“Well, my name’s Hunith, and that’s my son, Merlin. Where are you from?”

Arthur yawns and stumbles towards Merlin, wrapped in blankets and laid in the corner. Hunith goes to grab him (Merlin was a fussy toddler, and it took forever to get him to sleep and she really didn’t want him to be woken up again.) but relaxes as Arthur sits cross-legged about a foot away from him, not ripping his gaze away for a moment.

He looks back up at Hunith sleepily, obviously starting to feel the effects of not napping:

“Mer-lin. I like that name. Like the birdy. I’m Prince Arthur of Camelot, son of King Uther.” He says the last part like it’s been rehearsed (it has) and Hunith stifles a gasp as she finally realises what’s happened.

Her old love, before he left, had told her of the rare pairings that appeared occasionally. The soulmates whose bond is so strong, they simply have to wish to be in the others presence, and they will appear there.

Truth be told, Hunith thought it was just a story. Soulmates are fairytale enough, but being able to appear at their side whenever you so wished? That was the stuff of love-stories and legend. Yet here stood a child, who claimed to be a Prince from another kingdom, who should be safely locked away in a castle several days journey from here. And all he seemed interested in, was Merlin.

Hunith wasn’t really sure what to do with this revelation. Not that she wasn’t glad her son had a soulmate, but her son’s soulmate was heir to a throne that would order a pyre for Merlin, even as a child. Merlin was floating spoons and lighting candles and knocking over cups before he could even crawl. Camelot was no place for him, at least not right now.

What if he accidentally did magic in front of the Prince? Would Arthur be scared, would he hate his own soulmate? Or would he not yet understand and tell someone accidentally? Would the King order his own son’s soulmate killed, if he found out?

Hunith shook the questions from her mind for now. Merlin was asleep, and she needed to figure out how to persuade Arthur that he needed to go back home:

“Arthur, that’s a lovely name. I know you want to find your person Arthur, but I think it might be best if you go home, before someone starts worrying, don’t you?”

Little Arthur yawns again, but pouts:

“I don’t want to go back. It’s so boring there, no one except Leon lets me play anything, and Leon’s busy.”

Hunith holds in a sigh, she can imagine life is difficult for an heir to the throne, especially with a father like Uther. She crouches down to his level again:

“I know sweetie, but you don’t want anyone worrying, do you?”

Arthur waits a moment before shaking his head forlornly. Hunith hopes she’s persuaded him, the only way he would go back is if he wanted to, she couldn’t force him. And she really didn’t want to have to journey back to Camelot on foot, and have to explain to the King why she had his son:

“No. I like Nanny Marge, and dad is always mean to her when she loses me.” Hunith frowns at that, but before she can say anything, Arthur stands on wobbly legs, and looks at her with determination:

“Ok. Bye-bye-”

He looks to Merlin again, and whispers his next few words, like he didn’t want to wake him:

“Bye Merlin. I promise I’ll come back-”

He looks back to Hunith again:

“Please can I come back? Leon says I should ask permission before going to someone’s home, so can I please please come back?”

Hunith worries her lip with her teeth at that, they were soulmates, she couldn’t exactly say no. But she also didn’t want to encourage the little prince to just disappear whenever he was bored:

“I... of course, Arthur, you’re more than welcome. But not too often, and not for too long, OK?” she tilts her head in question, and smiles when Arthur gives a decisive nod. 

She holds in a smile as the Little Prince (what she had affectionately been referring to him as in her head) scrunched his face in concentration, closing his eyes. After a few seconds, he disappears with a pop and a few sparks, and she lets out a breath of relief, hoping that he had returned safely.

She stands still for a moment and blinks, seemingly trying to process all that had happened. She hums thoughtfully, before looking lovingly towards her son, and muttering to herself:

“I have a feeling that your future just got a lot more complicated, my love.”

~

For the next year, Arthur would pop in and out of Hunith’s house once a month or so. He only ever came when he was meant to be having a nap (the only time he was really unsupervised during the day).

Luckily, it would appear, that he and Merlin shared nap times; Merlin can’t accidentally expose his magic to the Little Prince if he was asleep every time he appeared.

Over the visits, Hunith learnt as much about Arthur as she could. He knew Gaius, which she was definitely relieved at (and sent a letter to him explaining everything the day she found out they knew each other). Someone in the castle knowing where Arthur had disappeared off to, if anyone ever noticed, would help.

She also found out who Leon was, the son of a noble, an aspiring knight-to-be, around twelve years old to Arthur’s six (both he and Merlin had birthdays at some point between visits), and that he seemed to be the only person around who allowed Arthur to have a little fun every once in a while.

After a little coaxing, she found that Arthur didn’t really know anything about his mother, only what Leon could remember, because Uther refused to speak of her (she thought that was a little heartbreaking, but hid it well).

Arthur kept his word, and never stayed for longer than ten minutes, but Hunith worried; she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold Arthur off for very long. He had visited around thirteen times, and Merlin had been asleep for every one of them. 

Arthur would want to wake him up eventually, to actually talk to his soulmate, and who knows what Merlin would do.

~

Eventually, a few months before Merlin’s fifth birthday, Hunith sat him down and told him what had been happening. That he and his soulmate were very special, and that Arthur had been visiting whilst he was asleep.

To say that Merlin was excited was a vast understatement, and Hunith had to quell her panic when he asked if he could visit Arthur where he was:

“No Merlin, I’m sorry, you have to stay here, remember?-”

She frowns sorrowfully at Merlin’s pout and teary eyes, before schooling her face into a smile and continuing:

“But I promise, next time he visits, I’ll wake you up and you can play together, does that sound fun?-”

She chuckles at his excited nod:

“But only if you don’t use your gift sweetheart, Arthur might not be as good at keeping secrets as you or I am, so we’ll have to wait until he’s older, do you understand?” she whispers that, hoping that it would be easier to convince him if he thought of it as a fun game, instead of a life threatening secret.

Merlin thinks for a minute before nodding:

“Yes mama. No magic until he’s older.”

Hunith pats him on the head, taking a deep breath and preparing herself for Merlin to repeatedly ask her how long until Arthur visited.

~

So that’s how it goes for several years, Arthur visiting Ealdor when no one was paying attention, he and Merlin playing quietly, with no magic, for a while, before Arthur popped back home.

Hunith was grateful for the current simplicity, but she knew it couldn’t last. Merlin had been asking more and more if he could visit Arthur, and it was only a matter of time before he snuck off without telling her.

That, and the magic problem.

Arthur had spoken of his lessons, how according to everyone at home, magic was evil. Merlin always looked so sad at that, and Hunith was grateful for the fact that Arthur didn’t sound so sure. But she also knew that it was only a matter of time before Arthur was convinced by his father’s determined hatred, and she didn’t want to see the heartbreak on Merlin’s face.

The first time The Little Prince spoke of an execution, he was eight, and Merlin had just had his seventh birthday. Merlin cried as Arthur described it, and Hunith had to stop the anger at Arthur growing in her: it wasn’t his fault, and he didn’t exactly sound happy about it at all.

If anything, he seemed almost as upset as Merlin and when Arthur had noticed Merlin’s tears, he stopped talking immediately and bit his lip, looking to Hunith worriedly.

Hunith clenched her jaw before wrapping an arm around each of the children, and speaking to Arthur quietly as Merlin still sniffled:

“Do you think you can keep a secret, Arthur? A really big one, from everyone? Even Leon and your dad?”

He nodded vigorously, and Hunith gives him a weak smile before looking to Merlin, who stared back at her with watery eyes:

“Go on then Merlin, I think he’s old enough to know, don’t you?”

Merlin nodded this time, a little more hesitantly than Arthur, but he looks to his soulmate anyway.

Arthur stared back with wide, worried eyes, and gasped as Merlin all but whispered:

“I was born with magic. I am magic.”

Arthur looks scared for a split second, before he shuffles close to Merlin and taking his pudgy hand in his own. He thinks for a second, before looking at Hunith quickly, and then Merlin. He gives a firm nod as he says:

“I don’t care, and I promise not to tell anyone. If you have magic then it can’t be evil, and when I’m King, I’ll make sure everyone else knows that as well.”

Hunith lets out a sigh of relief, feeling like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders as Arthur’s short arms pull the three of them into a tight hug.

~

The first time Merlin disappears, is almost a year later. Arthur was nine, and Merlin was only a few days away from being eight.

During Arthur’s last visit, he had told them of a new addition to the castle, a sad, dark haired girl called Morgana, a year older than him.

He explained that something had happened to her parents, and his father had taken her in.

Merlin seemed concerned at that, and Hunith had a feeling that it would only be a matter of time before her son decided he wanted to help her (the boy was dangerously empathetic, he teared up at even the thought of other people suffering).

When she found the scrawled note on the table (Arthur had begun sneaking books with him, and he and Hunith would sit with Merlin, teaching him to read and write as best they could) with backwards letters and misspelt words, she almost panicked.

But she sat herself down and took a deep breath, knowing that Arthur had managed to keep the secret so far, and that Merlin could just reappear if he found himself in danger.

That didn’t stop her from scolding a sheepish Merlin when he returned half an hour later.

~

Arthur and Merlin had organised it on their previous visit. Arthur would make sure that he was locked safely in his room at a specific time, and Merlin could come to him for a change. Then Arthur could go get Morgana (and maybe Leon) so he could meet them. 

Morgana had only been there for a month or so, and she had yet to warm up to Arthur. She was quiet, but had a sharp tongue when she chose to speak, not that that had put Arthur off quite yet. 

He was still determined that they would be friends, and Merlin was great! So what better way to get Morgana to like him, than to introduce her to Merlin?

Merlin was overjoyed when he appeared in Arthur’s room, the bedchamber being larger that the footprint of his entire house back in Ealdor. The bed itself was what he found most impressive, it was so huge and soft! And there were so many blankets and pillows! Merlin quietly thought to himself that he should come here more often.

Arthur was nervous. Excited, but nervous. They’d known each other for years now, but this was the first time that Merlin was actually seeing his home. What if he didn’t like it? What if he didn’t want to be soulmates anymore, because he preferred his own home?

(”Although-” The Little Prince started to think, “if Merlin decided he wanted to stay in Ealdor, I think I would just stay with him. ‘Gana can do all my boring King stuff here, and I can go be a farmer with Merlin.”)

Those nerves disappeared the moment he saw the grin on Merlin’s face. Arthur showed Merlin where to hide, just in case, whilst he went to fetch Morgana. He had already told her he had a surprise, so it shouldn’t take too long to persuade her to follow him.

Arthur found her in a flower garden hidden round the back of the castle, she gave in and allowed him to drag her by the hand to his chambers with only minimal grumbling. She did however glare as Arthur pressed a hand over her mouth when she went to question why they were hiding from everyone who passed them in the corridors.

Eventually they were stood outside Arthur’s chambers, but before they enter, Arthur turns to Morgana and whispers conspiratorially:

“This is a secret so you have to promise not to tell anyone, kay? Not even Leon or my dad.”

Before Morgana could reply, she gasps, looking over Arthur’s shoulder with wide eyes.

Arthur turns and bites his lip as he sees Leon (now 15, and well into his initial Knight training) leaning against the wall casually, arms folded on his chest, and an eyebrow raised:

“What is it that no one is meant to be telling me, My Lord?”

Morgana stands in silence, hands folded in front of her, trying to appear as casual as possible as Arthur stutters:

“Oh... err... nothing Leon. I just wanted.... I wanted to show ‘Gana what I learnt on the piano this morning!” He hears Morgana huff behind him, she hated when Arthur called her that, and had said as much to him, but he didn’t seem to care.

Leon raises his eyebrow even further as he begins walking towards the two children:

“Is that so? Well why is that such a big secret? Don’t you want to show me too?”

As Leon stops in front of Arthur, towering over the boy, he puts his serious “I’m-potentially-about-to-tell-you-off-if-you-don’t-start-telling-the-truth” face:

“I... uhh... wanted it to be a secret! Until I get better! Then I can show you and dad!”

Morgana struggles not to mutter complaints at his terrible lying as Leon sighs:

“Arthur, what have we said about lying? It makes communication hard, and makes it difficult for people to trust you, and will only lead to problems later on. Would you like to try again?”

Arthur looks to the floor as he shuffles again, and Morgana feels just a little sorry for him. Not that she would say that.

Leon sighs once more and crouches to his level, forcing Arthur to meet his eyes. He gives the young prince a small smile as he speaks:

“If you don’t want to tell me Arthur, that’s fine. “It’s a secret for me and Morgana” is a perfectly acceptable answer. But lying isn’t. If you promise me that you aren’t doing anything naughty, then I’ll trust you, but I would feel better if another adult did know about it.”

Arthur looks up at him at that, surprised. His father would never accept Arthur keeping secrets from him. He replies quietly:

“It’s a secret for me and Morgana... and an adult does know about it... sort of. And it isn’t bad, I promise! Buuuuut-”

Arthur fiddles with his hands as he looks to his door briefly, before looking back at Leon:

“-if you promise to keep it a secret too, then you can see!-”

Arthur pulls his face into a scowl before continuing:

“-but ONLY if you promise!”

Leon hums exaggeratedly, and rubs his chin:

“Well... I promise to keep it a secret IF it isn’t naughty, or hurting anyone. How does that sound?”

Arthur’s face breaks into a grin and he nods, before opening his door and stepping inside. He quickly waves the others in and shuts and locks the door behind them, taking their hands in his own:

“You can come out now Merls, I’ve bought them!”

Leon and Morgana were astonished when a skinny, semi-grubby, obviously peasant-boy, came crawling out from under Arthur’s bed, and had to hold in gasps.

Merlin stands awkwardly as Arthur grins at him, and waves nervously to the new-comers:

“Hi... I’m Merlin. Me and Arthur are-”

Before he can finish, Arthur excitedly interrupts him:

“He’s my soulmate!”

The room is silent for a while, Merlin getting more nervous by the second, Arthur practically bouncing off the walls with excitement (and being oblivious to the awkwardness), Morgana being marginally surprised but taking it in her stride, and Leon... well... Leon was absolutely freaking out. But you wouldn’t know that from looking at him.

After only about a minute (but it feels like forever for Merlin), Leon stutters some words out:

“Arthur where did you.... why... where did you find this kid??”

Arthur looks to him in confusion as he stops jumping up and down:

“I told you. He’s my soulmate.-”

He puffs up his chest and puts his hand on his hips, looking extremely proud of himself as he continues:

“-I found him all on my own. I’ve been visiting him forever, but I wanted him to come here for once, so he could meet ‘Gana.”

Morgana breaks out her stupor at that, and looks at Arthur incredulously before looking back at Merlin:

“Hi, Merlin.” with a small smile, which Merlin returns.

Leon takes in a deep breath, wondering how the hell he was supposed to deal with this. The Prince had... kidnapped a commoner? Without anyone in the castle noticing?? What??? Nothing in his lessons trained him for this.

He shakes off his confusion and finally looks away from Merlin, and to Arthur:

“Wait... what do you mean you’ve been visiting him? When have you been going? And where?”

Arthur swayed on the spot, trying to look innocent:

“At the beginning I went when I was supposed to be napping. Then I would go when I was meant to be doing self-study. I only go once or month or so, and not for very long. Merlin’s mum is always worried about someone missing me.”

Leon takes another deep breath:

“Arthur... how did you sneak out without anyone noticing? And how did you get Merlin in?”

As much as Leon wanted to solve the problem of “there is a random commoner child in the prince’s room” thing, he was also greatly disturbed by the fact that two children, who hadn’t even hit double digits yet, had been sneaking in and out of what was meant to be a heavily fortified, guarded, castle, for years.

Arthur seems to have a realisation at Leon’s questions:

“OH! Like this!”

With that, he runs out the room, and Leon goes to follow him, but the prince manages to shut the door just before he got there.

Morgana is looking on all of this with mild confusion and shock, not really understanding what was going on, but happy to wait quietly and see what would happen.

Just as Leon goes to open the door, he hears a pop, followed by a voice from behind him:

“See!” Leon freezes and he hears Morgana gasp.

The teen turns around slowly, to see a grinning Arthur stood next to a cheerful looking Merlin:

“Uhh... Arthur, how did you do that?-”

Leon begins panicking, the only thing running through his head is “sorcery!” and whilst he would like to believe that Uther would never harm his own son, with the way he was going with the purge... there was no guarantee.

He rushes forward and grips Arthur’s shoulders:

“I need you to tell me how you did that, right now Arthur, it’s important.”

Arthur frowns as he replies:

“I told you. He’s my soulmate. I just have to want to be with him, and I can be. Merlin’s mum says it’s super rare, and that makes us special.” Morgana once again gasps at that before smiling, and speaking for the first time since she said hello to Merlin:

“I heard about that! Two of the nobles in my old home could do it. It IS rare, but sometimes soulmates can blink and be next to each other, if they wanted that!”

Arthur and Merlin nod enthusiastically at that, and Leon sags with relief, now that his mind and heart weren’t racing so much, he did remember briefly reading something about that during his studies. And if all of this was just soulmate magic... then they should be safe.

Though by the looks of the boy... probably still best not tell Uther about it. He doubts the King would be pleased about his son being bonded with a peasant.

“Ok... ok.-”

Leon turns his attention to Merlin:

“-You said your name was Merlin? Does someone know that you’re here?”

Merlin nods as he replies:

“I left a note for my mum. But I can’t be too long though, or she’ll worry.”

Leon looks surprised at that:

“You can read and write?”

“I taught him!” comes proudly from Arthur. 

Leon nods again and re-locks the door behind him, before gesturing at everyone to sit on the soft rug together.

After establishing that Merlin had only arrived just before Arthur went to fetch Morgana, Leon says that they can sit and talk for another 15 minutes or so before Merlin had to go home.

Arthur pouted at that, but a look from Leon stopped him before he actually complained. Morgana and Leon spent the time asking questions about Merlin: where he was from, and how old he was, and about his family.

Merlin was shy at first, but Arthur had been talking about Leon forever, and Morgana seemed nice, even if she did look a bit sad sometimes.

After their time was up, everyone gave Merlin a quick hug, and Arthur promised he’d try to pop over at some point next week (Leon definitely had to stop the momentary panic at that).

Merlin disappeared with a pop, and Arthur made Morgana and Leon promise not to tell once more. Once they promised, they each wondered off Morgana to an afternoon lesson, Leon to s training session, both deep in thought.

Arthur smiled to himself. He didn’t like keeping things from Leon, because he was the only one around who was any fun, and Morgana had definitely seemed happier. So his plan succeeded!

~

It continued like that for some time. Arthur was the one who went to Merlin’s most often, but occasionally Merlin would go to him.

Morgana slowly started cheering up, recovering from her grief, and the three of them (almost always overseen by an always-worrying Leon) loved spending time together, and playing in the safety of Arthur’s chambers.

Thankfully, Uther never questioned it, happy that his son and his new ward seemed to be getting along finally.

The first time Merlin woke crying from a nightmare that was filled with smoke and fire, he was twelve.

He appeared in Arthur’s room within seconds, wanting nothing but the comfort of having his soulmate next to him, and Arthur woke to the quiet sniffling of a distraught Merlin perched on the end of his bed. 

Before he’s even fully awake, he has him wrapped in a hug, and is stroking his hair in an effort to calm him.

There may not be guards stationed outside his rooms during the day, but there were at night, and would be until he turned 18 (still four and a half years away), so they needed to be quiet.

They fall asleep curled up next to each other, clutching hands, and Merlin sleeps through the rest of the night without a problem. (They both wake with a start as a servant knocks on the door the next morning, and after the quickest hug they’ve ever shared, Merlin pops away, back to his own bed.)

That begins to happen more and more often, and after a couple weeks, Merlin is sleeping in Arthur’s bed most nights. 

He isn’t quite sure if he sleeps so much better because the bed is worth more than his entire village (it’s so comfy!), or if his magic is more relaxed with Arthur by his side, but either way, the nightmares stop almost entirely.

Hunith realises fairly quickly what’s going on, and does worry briefly if going to the place his nightmares took place in was the best, but Merlin seemed happier, and less tired, and once he promised to always be back before the servants came into Arthur’s room, she was a little more ok with it.

(She also made Merlin and Arthur swear to tell Leon, just in case. She hasn’t met Leon of course, but the boys talk about him and Morgana constantly, and she was grateful that the boys had someone other than Gaius (who hadn’t actually met Merlin yet) to look out for them. At this rate, Leon wouldn’t be surprised if all of this caused him to have a heart attack before he was even officially knighted. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

Once Arthur finally persuades Merlin to tell him what his nightmares are about, he’s horrified. It’ll be then that Arthur will begin to be more vocal about his objection to the executions, and ask questions about magic. Uther always punishes him of course, but Arthur just learns to hold his tongue instead.

Merlin cries, Morgana smiles widely, and Leon is speechless, when Arthur tells them that:

“When I’m King, magic will be everywhere! Of course people will have to be careful with it, but in the same way us knights have to be careful with swords. Isn’t that right, Leon?”

Leon goes pale at that, and takes a few moments to respond:

“Right... well. Just.... make sure you do your research Arthur, and that you know all the facts, and do NOT, no matter what, ever tell your father about this. Do you understand?”

Arthur nods glumly. He’s tried to change his father’s mind in the past, and it got him nothing but bruised knuckles and an hour long yelled lecture and extra training hours with the knights.

Leon looks to a sniffling Merlin next, and asks him what’s wrong. Arthur holds in a worried gasp, and Morgana raises an eyebrow (even at 14, she was incredibly observant and smart, she knew what was up).

Merlin grabs Arthur’s hand, but looks up at Leon through thick eyelashes, and mumbles so quietly, Leon barely hears it:

“Promise you won’t get mad? Or hate me?”

Leon has a bad feeling that he knows where this is going, but he puts a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder and gives him a soft smile:

“I could never hate you Merlin, promise.”

At that, Merlin bites his lip, and glances at Arthur quickly, before looking to the fire in the hearth. Leon furrows his brow in confusion, and Morgana hides an excited smile as Merlin mumbles under his breath:

“Give me a dragon.”

Leon gasps and takes a step back as the flames flutter, as if blown by a strong wind, before morphing into a miniature dragon.

The royal sorta-siblings look on in wonder as Merlin screws his face in concentration, eyes glowing golden, and Leon stares, speechless.

After a few minutes of the dragon flying around the large fireplace, it fades back into the flames again. Morgana whispers under her breath:

“That was amazing!” and Arthur smiles proudly as Merlin takes in deep breaths. He’d never held it that long before, and it had worn him out slightly.

He looks back to Leon (who is still staring dumbly at the fire) and furrows his brows in worry:

“You did promise... you’re not scared of me are you?” He looks close to tears again, and the tremble in his voice grabs Leon’s attention once again.

The older teen gathers the three of them in a tight hug, before whispering (worried someone would hear, even though they never have before):

“Of course I’m not scared of you, Birdy (an affectionate nickname, started by Morgana, and picked up by everyone else, much to Merlin’s chagrin), you just have to promise to be careful. I promise to try my best, but if someone else finds out I probably won’t be able to protect you, Ok?”

At that he pulls back, but grips Merlin’s shoulders tightly, worry written all over his face. When Merlin only nods infinitesimally, Leon shakes him ever so slightly, and gives him a desperate look:

“OK??” Merlin nods more vigorously, and mutters out an “I understand, Leon.”

Leon lets go and sighs, looking to the floor and fiddling with his hands hidden behind his back (one of the many rules he learnt growing up as a noble: fidgeting is a sign on weakness).

He takes in a fortifying breath and moves his hands to his sides before looking out the window, noticing that it’s almost dusk and looking back to the three children with a smile:

“You best get home Merlin, it’s getting late and I don’t want your mum to worry. Same time next week, ok? Next time we see each other, I’ll be a knight.” He says it with a grin, and smiles light up on the other’s faces as well. They were young, but they knew how much this meant to Leon, especially Arthur, who was about a year into his training.

Merlin gives everyone a quick hug, lingering a little longer on Arthur (like always) before stepping back, and disappearing with a pop.

~

The secret is revealed when Merlin is 15 (Arthur being 16, Morgana being 17, and Leon being 22).

The four of them had agreed a next meeting time, like normal, though they were having to be far more careful. With Arthur being older, he was being saddled with more and more responsibilities. His training hours and lessons were longer, he was expected to travel away from the city more, and he shadowed The King whilst he undertook his duties for the rest of the day.

Uther had mentioned Arthur’s soulmate in passing a few times (that always incited a hidden smirk from Morgana, and a nervous gulp from Leon, if he was around).

But Arthur always managed to derail the conversation and avoid the topic by saying something along the lines of “Finding my soulmate is important to me father, but not as important as learning to be the best King I can be for the kingdom. I feel the pull everyday, but until I am steadfast in my abilities and duties, it will remain unimportant to me.”

Uther always looked partially sad at that, he had loved Arthur’s mother, his soulmate, very much. But mostly he is proud at Arthur’s confidence and determination and loyalty.

If only he realised that Arthur was lying through his teeth, and had decided when he was incredibly young that he would happily hand all of it over to Morgana, in order to lead a simpler life with Merlin.

Anyway.

The next meeting time had been agreed. But bandits had been sighted causing trouble a few hours outside of the city, and Arthur was called to attend an emergency council meeting.

The page didn’t leave his side for a second, leading him straight to the council-room, meaning that Arthur couldn’t pop away for even two seconds to warn Merlin not to come.

He just had to hope that the meeting was over quick, and he could escape somewhere solitary before the young Warlock came around.

He was so close.

He paid close attention during the meeting, making excellent suggestions and being generally helpful, in an effort to speed things along. This backfired in a way he didn’t quite expect.

The meeting ended, knights sent to deal with the problem in the manner decided, and councilman heading back to whatever it is they did when not in meetings (at this point Arthur still doesn’t know, and is too afraid to ask). 

The Prince had almost made it out of the door before Uther called him back in. He halts in the doorway, and Morgana, ahead of him in the hallway, looks back, giving him a fearful look and mouthing “Give him an excuse! Hurry!”

Arthur turns back to the room (now devoid of everyone but The King and himself):

“I apologise father, but I was in the middle of-”

Uther gives him a stern look, and crooks a finger towards himself:

“Come. Here.”

Arthur schools his face, appearing blank, as he re-enters the room and shuts the door behind him. He stands to attention in front of his father, and figures this is just another part of the meeting he would have to hurry along. 

He glances at the shadows on the wall quickly, he should have another few minutes, as long as Merlin didn’t get too excited and appear earlier than he’s meant to.

“I wanted to congratulate you today Arthur. You did very well-”

He places a hand on his son’s shoulder and smiles hesitantly:

“-I... I’m proud of you. You’re learning well, picking things up quickly. You understand the workings of court and council near fluently now, and Sirs Kay and Leon tell me that your combat training is going astoundingly.”

Arthur’s resolve crumbles a little at that, and he almost forgets his desperation to leave the room:

“I... thank you, father. I’m trying my best to do you and the kingdom proud.”

Uther nods firmly at that and removes his hand, stepping back, the tender moment over as quickly as it had begun:

“Good. You are dismissed for the day, go back to your studies.”

Arthur struggles to hold in a relieved sigh as he bows briefly before turning around and almost rushing towards the door. He is too late however, and just as he reaches for the doorknob, he hears the tell tale pop sound from behind him. He freezes as he hears:

“Arthur, where the hell-” quickly interrupted by his father roaring:

“WHAT SORCERY IS THIS?! GUARDS!”

Arthur rushes to turn around and grabs Merlin’s hand, pulling him to the side as guards burst through the door he was just stood in front of.

All of them raise swords at the terrified boy that Uther was pointing at, and Arthur quickly positions his body between them and Merlin:

“NO! Don’t hurt him! Please!”

Morgana rushes in just moments after the guards, and spots the boys immediately, stepping around the knights and standing next to Arthur defiantly. Uther looks affronted before yelling, red-faced:

“What is the meaning of this? Explain yourselves this instant, and get away from that beast!”

Morgana tightens her jaw as she takes Merlin’s other hand protectively in her own. She can feel him shaking, but knows he is too scared to just disappear again. She’s secretly grateful for that. If Merlin disappeared now there would be a manhunt and demands of explanations. The King might believe them if they can show him the truth (the same way the boys had shown her and Leon all those years ago).

“Please father, just listen. Merlin is my soulmate, it isn’t sorcery, we simply have a bond stronger than others-”

At Uther’s still-angry snarl, Arthur straightens his back, and takes in a breath, standing still and strong:

“You will NOT harm him. I would lay down my life before you lay a hand on him.” The guards falter a little at that, but still keep their swords raised.

Arthur hears Merlin take in a shaky breath at that, and squeezes his hand slightly. Morgana nods her agreement and Arthur gives her a brief, grateful smile as she says confidently:

“The same goes for me, if you wish to harm Merlin, or separate him from Arthur, you will have to order your guards to strike me down first.”

Uther lets out a growl at that:

“Soulmate or not, he used sorcery to appear out of thin air. That is treachery!”

Arthur huffs before shouting back:

“NO! Just ask Gaius, or Geoffrey. Occasionally, there are soulmates whose bond is stronger than normal, just ask Gaius-”

Arthur gives Uther his own growl as he continues:

“-And like I said. I would challenge you yourself, before I allowed anyone to hurt him.”

Uther slumps slightly and narrows his eyes at his son before telling one of the younger guards to fetch Gaius and Geoffrey immediately. He does however tell the other guards to keep their swords trained on the boy, and Merlin almost takes a frightened step back, only stopped by Arthur and Morgana, who hold him steady.

Arthur and Uther remain in a hard staring contest for the few minutes it takes the guard to return, Gaius and Geoffrey in tow.

Gaius glances at Merlin in surprise, but covers it quickly as he returns his gaze to The King as he growls:

“Tell me all you know of soulmate bonds.”

Geoffrey speaks first, confusion in his tone:

“My Lord?” 

Uther levels a glare at him as he yells:

“NOW!”

Geoffrey is taken aback, but replies immediately:

“Well My Lord, everyone on this earth has a soulmate, someone whose soul is bound to your own. The bonds provide a compass of sorts, meaning that one can always tell what direction their soulmate is, and, with practice, roughly how far away they are. No one is certain of how these bonds come about, though centuries of research show that they aren’t harmful in anyway, and other than incredibly rare, extreme, cases, the two whose souls are bonded are a perfect match for each other; bound to fall in love-”

Gaius jumps in here:

“And in even rarer cases, My Lord, a pair may appear whose bond is so strong, they have further... abilities. This pair of souls will be able to appear to each other at will, only needing to wish to be in the other’s presence. They are also able to disappear again, but may only transport themselves to the position they were before. Academics are even more perplexed as to how these bonds are forged, though the only known pairs with such a bond have all gone on to achieve great things.”

Gaius resists the urge to look towards the three teenagers, and keeps his placating gaze on The King, who does seem to be calming slightly. Uther looks to Geoffrey for confirmation, and the librarian nods, adding:

“It is incredibly rare sire, but possible, and proven.”

Uther is considerably less angry now, but the guards don’t relax, and neither do Arthur or Morgana as The King speaks again:

“How would one prove such a bond, and differentiate it from sorcery?”

Gaius jumps to answer this question, trying to keep control of the situation:

“Well one could simply ask for a demonstration-”

He gestures to the teenagers still huddled to the side:

“-I’m assuming that these...?-”

At Uther’s stiff nod, he continues:

“-might I ask Prince Arthur to leave the room, the door shut behind him, and demonstrate his ability?” Uther looks angry for a moment, and Morgana tightens her hold on Merlin as he takes in a scared gasp. After a few moments of deliberation, The King looks to his son and gives a slight, but firm, nod.

Arthur gives Merlin a quick smile, and reluctantly lets go of his hand before saying:

“I’m only leaving him if the guards sheath their swords, and step back-”

Uther goes to interrupt him, but Arthur continues harshly:

-And THAT, is final.”

Uther gives a nod once more, and the guards cautiously put their swords away. Arthur nods at Morgana, and she takes his place directly in front of Merlin as he walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Morgana can feel Merlin shaking behind her, but she grits her teeth, and squeezes his hand. She meant what she said, she would force the guards to cut her down before she allowed them to hurt her friend.

A second later, she hears the tell tale pop, and smirks slightly at the astounded look on Uther’s face, not having to look to know that Arthur was now stood behind her.

Uther still looks slightly disbelieving, but before he can say anything (or God forbid accuse his son of sorcery) Gaius speaks up:

“I have both ancient and modern literature on the subject My Lord, if you would like to read about it.”

Uther lets out a sigh, and purses his lips before looking to the physician:

“Very well. Have them ready for me tonight. Everybody out! I wish to talk to my son and this... boy.”

Gaius throws one last glance to the three teenagers, before shuffling out the room, closely followed by Geoffrey and the guards. Morgana stays in place.

Uther looks exasperated before saying:

“That includes you, Morgana. Out-”

Morgana interrupts him angrily:

“No. I will not leave. Merlin may be Arthur’s soulmate, but he’s my friend as well. I won’t allow you to hurt him, or speak down to him.”

Uther looks enraged once again, but Arthur speaks before he can start yelling again:

“I shan’t talk about it unless Morgana is allowed to remain, father. She has been nothing but loyal and protective of Merlin, and as his soulmate, I appreciate that greatly. She stays.” 

Arthur thought about demanding that Sir Leon be summoned as well, but he didn’t want to get the man into trouble, he had already done so much for them. And besides, Arthur is fairly certain that if he continues to order his Father around like this, he’ll lose his temper once more. There’s only so many demands someone can make of the King before context becomes unimportant, and it becomes a matter of pride.

Uther grits his teeth once more before nodding, and muttering out a quiet “Fine.”.

The King straightens himself, and regains his regal composure before speaking once again:

“Merlin, was it? Bring yourself forward, boy.”

Morgana goes to argue, and Arthur looks insulted, both about to retort against the tone and choice of words, but before they can say anything, Merlin pushes between them, to face Uther head on.

He gives a small bow, but maintains eye contact, and speaks once he raises again:

“Yes sire, my name is Merlin.”

Uther scowls as he looks him up and down, and Merlin can feel Arthur and Morgana fuming either side of him.

“You look like nothing but a farmer. I will not have my son and only heir, bonded to a peasant.”

Merlin goes to retort at that, indignant at having his worth as a person lowered by his class status, but before even Arthur can speak up, Morgana steps forwards angrily:

“I told you, I will not allow you to speak down to him. Merlin is a wonderful person. Kind, and compassionate, and wise beyond his years; he’s twice the man most of your so called nobles are, you will treat him with the respect he deserves, or the three of us will leave right now.”

Merlin is taken aback at that. I suppose because it’s only ever been the three of them, and Leon, he’s never really seen Morgana angry. Sure, he’s listened to her rant about the unjustness of Uther’s laws, but never anything like this. The display of somewhat aggressive protectiveness from her definitely makes him tear up a little.

Uther’s face turns red at her demand, and he looks about ready to kick off again, but Arthur steps forward, in line with Morgana (once again, leaving Merlin protected behind them):

“As she said father. Merlin is my soulmate, whether you like it or not. I will not leave him, we will not be separated, and that will never change. If you can not speak to him respectfully, then you won’t speak to either of us at all.”

Merlin takes Arthur’s shoulder and pushes himself forward again before saying quietly:

“Arthur, no, he’s your father. I don’t mind, it’s fine, maybe I should go?”

Arthur doesn’t look at him, but takes his hand wordlessly, gripping it tight as he glares at Uther (who looks slightly taken aback at the offer).

Morgana once again takes Merlin’s other hand and says:

“No. We’re resolving this now, and The King is just going to have to come to terms with the fact that someone’s status does not define their worth.” She looks pointedly at Uther at that, and the older man sighs, rubbing his eyes slightly, before gesturing to the council table:

“Fine. Arthur, Morgana, Merlin, take a seat, and we shall discuss how we plan to move forward.”

~

END OF PART 1

Part 2 is up! Part 3 is up!

Let me know what y’all think :)

[saphirered]

Can I request the Mighty Nein funding out the reader had been hiding a kinda injury

I hope it turned out the way you wanted it! Thanks for requesting 😘

(Caleb)

Caleb is no stranger to physical injury and has embraced his squishy wizard nature. You however have covered up many injuries in the past, letting them heal on their own as you always had before you had handy clerics around to fix you up. Old habits die hard and unlucky for you, when he’s not nose deep in a book Caleb will see right through your brave face act.

Upon finding out you’re injured Caleb would simply sit you down. He’ll take it upon himself to tend to your injury despite your best efforts to convince him you’re fine and it’s just a scratch. He knows better.

Silence. You’ve never managed to get a word out of the wizard when he’s caring for your ailment. He’s completely focussed but will listen to you talk so his silence is not rooted in concentration.

Caleb won’t mention your injury to anyone. It will be your little secret but you’ll be able to catch him staring at you, and when you meet his eye he’ll give you a little half smile; a nonverbal ask to see if you’re alright.

(Beau)

Training accidents happen but hardly ever exceed bruises. A sparring match gone wrong may have ended with you getting a bo-staff to the ribs with a little too much force but you play it cool. It’ll be fine. Just some bruises. You assure Beau you’ll sleep it off and it wasn’t that bad.

Beau’s not entirely convinced and definitely pries until you come clean. Persuasion isn’t Beau’s strong suit but she makes some solid arguments, and threats that leave you forced to reveal your secret.

Upon seeing the injury Beau will curse like a sailor, telling you you should have told her. Best not to mention the trouble breathing… Wether you want to or not she’ll go get the clerics to fix you up despite any and all protests.

Beau will keep grilling you for weeks, bringing your injury up as ammo in any argument she needs won and will keep a close eye out. She’ll refuse to spar with you but we all know Beau likes her training and with you being one of the very few actually able to keep up (sorry Fjord) she’ll give in and beg you to train with her again, this time more mindful of her actions.

(Fjord)

Fjord may play cool but he tends to be a worrywart and when he already has enough on his plate you be mindful not to stress him out by facing him with anything else. That includes you getting a pretty heavy hit from an enemy in combat.

Back on the ship you resign yourself to the lower deck and cargo hold duties as to stay clear of Fjord’s direct line of sight. You’d take the crows nest but an injured leg will do you no good climbing.

Bad weather and a leg injury at sea do not mix well and you, being slammed into the side of the ship unable to get back up sends Fjord in overdrive. He’ll help you below deck to a safe spot and prepare for basic care until one of the clerics can come fix you.

Fjord’s seen enough injuries; others’ and his own and knows well enough what you got didn’t come from your little tumble. He’ll be extra tentative but scold you for not saying anything and telling you you should tell him in the future.

Regardless of the clerics’ opinions he puts you on bedrest for the next few days until he feels like you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t count on being allowed to go up to the crow’s nest for a while though.

(Veth)

Having taken a tumble down the stairs while reading a book and conversing with Caleb (who you had to swear to secrecy) you deliberately stayed clear of Veth unless you had any sort of object to lean on to support yourself.

It’s more out of embarrassment you’re hiding this one even though your ankle hurts like a bitch. Every time you, Caleb and Veth are in the same room you’re sending the wizard death glares when he holds back a comment or laugh at your desperate attempts to keep this a secret.

Veth’s a mom and if there’s one thing moms are good at it’s figuring out when someone’s hurt. The moment your facade falls through, she’ll go into overdrive, pushing you to lay down on a couch or similar soft surface area, rushing to get you extra pillows and the likes.

Be prepared to have Veth hoover over you until you’re in the clear. She’ll do whatever she can to make you comfortable and brings you some trinkets to pass the time. Maybe don’t ask where she got them because they were definitely not in her previous possession.

(Jester)

It was gonna be an epic move! You’d jump down, weapon at the ready to stab down into the creature; death from above! Didn’t go as planned as you got swatted out of the air by the creature before you could strike down.

Luckily no one saw. After the battle you just claimed the plan fell through and you had to improvise. Meaning, you gritted through the pain of being rag-dolled into a cavern wall, got back up through the pain and back to battle.

If only Jester hadn’t asked you to help harvest the monster parts so you could sell them. You could barely carry your weapon, swinging it; different story. But Jester is persistent and you couldn’t just refuse the cute blue tiefling so you obliged gritting through the pain hoping no one would notice you taking a quick breather every so often.

Jester did notice and came to inspect your work, with a tap on your shoulder you feel a radiant warmth spread through you, making breathing and moving in general a lot easier. A thanks is in order and you’re sort of glad Jester keeps this on the down-low.

“Next time just tell me, okay?” Jester makes you pinky promise and you know that’s binding so you better keep your promise.

(Caduceus)

There’s a reason why you leave the cooking to Caduceus. You’ll happily cut some vegetables but try to stay away from anything else throughout the process of preparing food. When Caduceus asked you to watch the stove and add some spices to the food as he rushed to the pantry to get some more ingredients you were worried…

What should you do? Caduceus didn’t tell you how much to add of anything. Maybe you can just sniff the spices? Yeah, that sounds right. Opening the small jars and pouches one by one go through. You add a little of the fragrant ones and a bit more of the neutral spices.

One sniff of a red flaky powder sends you into a coughing fit, your airways burning like a blazing fire. Water doesn’t help. If anything it makes it worse. You get your breathing and cough under control but you do not trust your voice and scalding throat so when the firbolg returns you keep quiet.

No responses from you are a bit odd and what were you thinking you could keep anything from this man. Caduceus calls you out on your behaviour asking questions that need words and not nods, shakes, shrugs or the likes.

Upon you trying to talk he immediately knows what happened. Putting on a quick brew, in a short time you’re presented some tea to remedy your burning throat. It may not be your worst injury ever but it surely is an uncomfortable one. You gain a new appreciation for the dead people tea.

(Yasha)

You felt like you couldn’t do anything but try to hide the bleeding gash on your side, luckily covered by your clothing. Yasha had already gone through enough, last you needed her to deal with is the knowledge she injured you severely when under the control of someone else.

Back to normal you head into the next fight. For some reason you’re faltering and making mistakes you otherwise wouldn’t. Yasha notices and will be at your side in an instance to defend you but a single enemy blow sends you unconscious.

You can confidently say that opening your eyes to a raging barbarian pouring the contents of a healing potion down your throat is one of the most terrifying and admirable moment’s you’ve witnessed in your life.

Yasha asks when you got the cut since your bloodstained clothes don’t 100% add up. Tempted to come up with an excuse Yasha has you figured out. Prepare for endless apologies and a guardian angel watching over your shoulder threatening anyone with even remotely malicious intent into thinking twice about their actions.

(Mollymauk)

Molly will pretend he hasn’t noticed you’re hiding anything when he’s caught on you are being secretive. You’re entitled to your secrets.When he finds out you’re injured that’s no different. Unless it’s something that could be the death of you he’ll play along. You’re stubborn so you get to feel the consequences of your stubbornness.

He’d ask you to help him with this new routine he’s been working on or push you to spar with him. He’d make sure you have to pay extra mind as to not make it hurt as bad as your injury does when resting because that’s when the severity of your injury becomes clear to him.

Molly would deliberately make everyday tasks a little harder. You’re doing dishes? could you carry the heavy tub of water? Setting up camp? Keep pressure on this or hammer that into the ground. Will put your things out of your reach where you’d have to climb or jump to get them.

He’ll keep these shenanigans going until either you come clean about your injury or he really gets worried to the point he’ll have to step in for your own wellbeing. The former usually occurs leaving him smug and willing to carry you claiming to be your daring saviour.

Depending on the severity of the injury he’ll be a pretty decent caretaker spending time with you and assisting you whenever you need it. When it’s not as bad anymore he’ll be teasing you as much as he can. He won’t make you forget your stubbornness and pride gets in your way of admitting defeat and we all know he loves winning the game.

[imkylotrash]

Golden

Pairing: Sky x reader

Requests: The reader is Stella’s sister but Sky is secretly in love with her and he confesses. Anonymous

and

Could you write where sky is with a princess of solaria (Stellas sister) and they attempt to keep it secret from Stella and set before the summer of the events on the fate the winx saga is set.

A/N I paired these request because they were so similar and would have the exact same plot line. Will be doing this to a couple of the requests since they’re so similar. 

“Free at last!” you exclaim as you walk out the doors of Alfea with Sky in tow. You’ve finally finished your last exam and now it’s time to just enjoy the summer. 

“So, what’s your plans then?” Sky asks propping his arm around your shoulders. There’s nothing new in this but you still get butterflies. At this point, it’s just a given whenever he touches you. 

“Oh, you know. Travelling through the realms, visiting all my rich friends. I may even buy a yacht just to pass the time.” It’s a bit of an inside joke between you and Sky. He knows you’ll have to return to Solaria and face the dragon. 

“What about you? Will you be alright?” You’re a little worried about leaving him here. Stella had decided to dump him just days before the exams once again proving that the girl had no regard for other people. Needless to say, you weren’t the biggest fan of your sister. She always tried to live up to your mother’s expectations and acted more than royally around school whereas you had decided that the disappointed frown your mother wore every time you saw her actually suited her face. 

“Yeah,” he says shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “I’ll be fine. I have Silva.” It’s right then and there you decide that there’s a greater need for you here than hiding away back in Solaria. 

“You know, my mother is already profoundly disappointed in me. I don’t think it would make much of a difference if I were to stay.” Sky’s smile is brighter than the sun when he realises you’ll be staying right here with him. 

“Thank you,” he says hugging you tightly. He’s never been one to share him emotions easily but over the years you’ve learned to decipher his many facial expressions and there was just no way you would leave him right now. Your mother is as delighted as you expected when you tell her of your plans for the summer but you figure she’ll forgive you at some point. The way you see it, there’s a throne waiting for you back at Solaria and you want to enjoy freedom as long as you possibly can. Sometimes, you catch yourself wishing that Stella was the older sister. She’d be much more suited for the royal life but there’s a strict code of conduct when it comes to heirs and you’re the first born so the crown will eventually be placed on your head.  

“You won’t be returning with me?” Stella asks as she’s packing up her suitcase. Her tone in stern already setting you off. 

“I’ll be spending enough time there once I graduate.”

“Oh yes. The ever-repeating speech on how this is your moment of freedom and you won’t give it up for anything,” Stella mocks clearly upset to be facing mother alone. You feel a pang of guilt knowing what you’re sending Stella back to but the two of you have never been able to see eye to eye especially when it came to mother’s expectations of her daughters. 

“You’re welcome to stay here at Alfea if you’d like.” It’s an offer made to be polite because you know she’ll never accept it. 

“Please. Someone has to be responsible and return home. Our people look to the royal family for support. We can’t all pretend to be someone else.” 

“I’m not pretending, Stella. If I could give you the crown, I gladly would. If I had my way, I’d be just another fairy attending Alfea.” It’s a discussion you’ve had more than once and it’s always the same outcome. You don’t want the crown and Stella does but your mother would never allow the two of you to switch. Stella doesn’t say goodbye when she leaves and you’re okay with that. Instead you head out to find Sky. 

“Ready for the summer of your life?” you ask him and he smiles. It passes by too fast. The picnics out on the field, Silva training with you, walks in the forest at night. It’s nothing grand but it becomes the perfect summer on the final day when Sky pulls you aside as all the students start to arrive. 

“I have to tell you something. I’ve been wanting to all summer but I was scared I might ruin it.” Your heart skips a beat but you tell yourself that it’s probably not what you think it is. Rather than making assumptions, you stay quiet waiting for him to speak. 

“When this summer started, I thought I’d spend it alone and heartbroken over Stella but then you stayed. And I know it seems insane since you’re Stella’s sister, but I just can’t help but feel the way I do around you,” he smiles. It’s too good to be true. There has to be some kind of catch or problem in your way but right now everything feels perfect. You carefully take his hand and intertwine your fingers with his and Sky’s cheeks turn red. He’s always so gentle and kind so you know you’ll have to make the first move. As you stare into his eyes, you notice little specks of green mixed with the blue. You finally close your eyes, lean in and kiss him. Something you’ve wanted to do since you laid eyes on him the first time. You pull away with a huge smile plastered on your face thinking this moment is perfect and then you spot her. 

“Stella.” Thankfully, she hasn’t seen you but it’s only a matter of time before she’ll spot the two of you. Hand in his, you drag him with you behind a tree keeping you out of sight. 

“Of all the things I imagined you’d say after our first kiss, Stella wasn’t one of them.” He’s teasing you but you feel horrible. Despite your many differences, you do care about Stella and it would kill her to know that you’re dating her ex-boyfriend. You’re not even sure if she’s properly done with him or not and just thinking about her finding out about the two of you is enough to make your skin crawl. 

“She can’t know,” you plead looking into his eyes. He has to understand the importance of it. She’s not strong enough mentally to handle this. 

“Hey, relax,” he says cupping your cheeks, “how about we keep it to ourselves until we know what this is?” You know you don’t want to give him up but you don’t want to hurt Stella. His offer gives you him and keeps Stella blissfully unaware of the relationship which is good enough for you. 

“Okay. Just you and me, no one else can know.” 

“Please just kiss me,” he whispers leaning in and you don’t know how you could ever refuse him. Over the next few weeks, you and Sky have stolen moments between classes and nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms. You know you shouldn’t but you love him. One night you whisper it when you think he’s sleeping and he almost gives you a heart attack when he whispers it back. 

“I thought you were sleeping,” you whisper-yell trying to hide your face in his chest. 

“You’ve been turning around every two seconds. It’s impossible to fall asleep,” he chuckles wrapping his arms tightly around you. 

“I’m sorry, I have a lot on my mind,” you sigh. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks turning on the lamp by his bedside table. It showers Sky in a golden light making him look more angelic than human. It’s not fair how some people look so beautiful without even trying. 

“Yes. No. Maybe. I don’t know where to start,” you reply sitting up and leaning your back against the wall. You want to tell Stella so you can be done with sneaking around. As much fun as it’s been, you’re getting tired of watching Stella try to flirt with him because she decided he was good enough after all. Of course, he’s been turning her down but it just doesn’t seem to click with her. But you also know it’s a risk telling her since she’s not likely to congratulate you. 

“I guess I’m just tired of sneaking around,” you finally say. He signals for you to lay down with him again and you have no reservation as you crawl into his arms. 

“I’m ready for it when you are. Frankly, I just want to tell everyone you’re mine so the boys leave you alone.” 

“Please, you literally have a whole fan club waiting for you at every corner giggling and blushing if you even look in their direction.” Sky has become very popular now that he appears single and you can’t blame them. He is ridiculously handsome and more importantly, he’s kind and patient and warm. Right about now, he’s your favourite person in the whole world. 

“I do not,” he protests but even he knows it is the truth. His face is serious when he says: “Maybe we should tell her. I know you wanted to protect her but we can’t hide it forever. You’re expected to marry at some point and so am I.” 

“I know. I know. I just feel like a horrible sister.” This feeling of guilt comes as a surprise. You’ve never been that close but you don’t want to be the reason she’s hurting. 

“You’re not a horrible sister. Everything you’ve done these past few weeks has been to make sure she didn’t get hurt. It’s not selfish to want to be happy, Y/N.” But that’s just it. You’re already far too aware of your own happiness. It’s the reason you always stay away from Solaria and the expectations of the crown. It’s why you’re lying in bed with Sky right now. You've always put your own happiness first and you’ve never had a problem with it until now. 

“I’ll talk to her first thing in the morning then.” He kisses you one last time before you both fall asleep. You wake up to a note from him informing you that Silva had added a morning practice which meant you had no reason not to march into Stella’s room right now and tell her about you and Sky. 

“Can I talk to you?” you ask entering Stella’s bedroom. 

“If you must,” she replies not even bothering to look at you. 

“I don’t know how to say this so I’m just going to say it. I’m dating Sky,” you force yourself to keep going even as she goes completely rigid, “and I have been for a while now. I’ve kept it a secret because I never meant for this to happen and I didn’t want to hurt you. But it’s getting serious now and I needed you to know. I promise I’d never ever go for him if I didn’t have feelings for him.” She’s quiet for so long you’re worried she might just never speak to you again. 

“I’m not happy you kept it from me but I suppose if he has to date someone else, it wouldn’t be horrible if it was you.” Relief floods your body as you realise that she’s not breaking and she doesn’t hate you. 

“Thank you.” This is about as heartfelt as it’ll ever be between you and Stella. You share a moment locking eyes with each other before she turns her back to you. 

“I’m going to go then,” you say slowly backing towards the door. Stella doesn’t say anymore but the fact that you’re still breathing is a much better reaction than you’d dared hope for. Immediately after you head to the training grounds to find Sky. Once you spot him, you run right into his arms and he lifts you from the ground. 

“I love you,” you say kissing him in front of everyone. It’s so freeing to know that the secret is out. 

“I love you too.”

[whump-town]

Ambushed

Warnings: attempt sexual assault and Emily's potty mouth

No Pairings

Summary: A bathroom break goes very, very wrong

It's whumptober so I have to at least try this month to make things awful. Also, this is for @olivinesea, who has been waiting on this fic for months... maybe longer

Hotch’s order had been for Reid to follow him, that it would be the two of them departing tomorrow morning at four a.m. for Charleston, West Virginia. The way Hotch had marched across the catwalk with his file spoke measures about his mood before his clipped tone did. The second Hotch roughly called his name Reid flinched, looking pleadingly to Emily. Knew he was the target and was pleading with her to find some way to save him. With a sigh of resignation, she leans her head into her palm, knows what she’s about to put herself through for the sake of Reid and Hotch.

If Hotch has a problem with her rather blatant insubordination, he doesn’t say anything about it. He comes in and sees her, her go-bag at her feet and two coffees in hand, and raises an eyebrow. Ultimately, he carries on his path towards their SUV. Sharing not a word just a glance that she takes to his equivalent of a motion for her to follow him. She knows his silence to be of low social battery drained by the early morning and fatigue, nothing personal.

Besides four a.m. is way too early to be talking to anyone.

It gives him time to think, to try and not sour this entire trip with his bull in a china shop mood. He’s just unsettled, has this awful feeling in his stomach that he’s grown accustomed to developing whenever they take cases in the mountains. It’s not that he is afraid of them, this isn’t a matter of ghosts or monsters, but there is so much uncertainty every time you enter them. He spent his entire childhood roaming the Appalachian Mountains, knows them by their many dimensions. Chasing squirrels, knee-deep in rotting leaves every fall. The cooling breeze sweeping through pine needles, snakes striking at ankles. The trees swaying to tunes unrecognizable to his ears. Hearing his mother’s voice calling his name, turning to find nothing but shadows. Knowing someone, something, is watching around every turn.

Quantico is about all the Virginia he can handle, the city nestled warmly where the southern Virginians rarely touch it but northern Virginians are everywhere to be seen. The accents not so thick and the city full of tourists-- people from Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, etc. Fewer woods to get lost in.

Charleston?

He’s going to be neck-deep in the mountains everywhere he looks.

Emily’s here so that’s bound to make this whole trip more interesting. With her annoying wit and much to be desired charm. It’s like she can feel him thinking about her. With a yawn Emily sits up in her chair, shooting a sleep-stained scowl at him. She rubs her fists into her eyes, attempting to force herself back to awareness. “That coffee went right through me,” she tells him, clearly annoyed. She’s prone to oversharing but, for some reason, with him, it’s so much worse. He assumes it’s just because she knows it exasperates him. Doesn’t anger him but he typically sighs and shakes his head.

Secretly, he likes it. The way she’ll invade his person like no one else has the courage to. Casually laying across the couch and putting her feet in his lap or leaning against him. Talking like they’re lifelong friends and not two people distantly connected for the last twenty years as enemies, tied together by their hatred for one another. Only recently having learned there’s something more, still a nice enough connection that binds them as friends.

She squirms in the seat, bladder a little too full to be comfortable. The darkness outside consumes every indicator of where they are on the road. She can hardly make out the tree lines and aside from yellow precautionary signs aligning them with the turns on the road, there are only thick, choppy clouds of fog. It’s a little after five-thirty so they still have to be in Virginia. “Where the fuck are we?”

He grunts, furrowing his eyebrows at her explosive fuck cutting so harrowingly through the peaceful silence. It’s not an unusual occurrence, he’s used to the way she effortlessly tears through the walls and caverns he builds up around himself. “Strasburg.”

She groans, “really?” She should have made Reid come on this stupid trip. She could still be in her own bed, pressing snooze and rolling back over. Instead, she’s got to pee so freaking bad and she doesn’t know if Hotch is in one of his “no stops” moods or not. He’s such an asshole about making stops when they’re on the road. “I’ve got to take a leak, boss, so… We’re looking at a bathroom stop soon or new detailing on these seats.” She looks down at the worn seats, runs her fingers over the loose seams and torn fabric. “Not that they couldn’t use it.”

He seems more agitated with her oversharing than with having to stop-- looks like a bathroom break in her future.

She stays silent for a few minutes, just watching what she can from outside her window until the next town comes into view. She shoots him a glance, wonders if he’s actually going to stop, and breathes a sigh of relief when he uses the turn signal, pulling them in that direction. There was no way she was going that long without a bathroom break.

Hotch pulls the car into park, frowning when he sees the lack of lights guiding their path to the gas station and even around the side of the building where he knows the bathrooms are bound to be. Leaving them standing in the dark facing the woods. She’s already unbuckling, moving quickly so she can go pee, but he beats her out of the car. Opens his door first and announces, “I’ll go with you.” She frowns, cuts his back a dirty, confused look but doesn’t say anything.

He’s already standing on her side of the car when she gets out, glaring ahead at the empty field and then towards the woods.

“So you do care,” she mumbles, bumping her shoulder against his. “You don’t want me to get eaten by a bear.”

He grunts, still half-distracted by the darkness and the threat it presents.

She’s imagining him fighting a bear. “You know,” she keeps his pace, curiously looking around as they go. “I think you’re a really tough guy,” she says, “but Hotch vs. A Bear just… I’m rooting for you, really, but I’m not stopping to see who wins. No offense. I think you’d put up a good fight but I think, as a general rule of thumb, watching your friends get mauled to death by Pooh does not fall into the typical bonding experiences that strengthen dynamics.” She’s rambling, not in the same way Reid would have. At least with Reid, Hotch would still likely have the semblance of not only control -- the timing to include himself in conversation -- but also a clue about what the in the world they’re even talking about.

She sees him glare at her and so she glares back, “I said no offense!”

“Go to the bathroom, Emily.”

She smiles as she makes her exit, feeling triumphant with herself. She’d seen that little smirk, not a quirk of lips detectable to the naked eye but the way his eyes had flipped up. Looking to the stars, eyes searching up and away from her. A Hotch smirk and the very best kind.

Distracted by the graffiti all over the walls she hears the faint thump of something outside and humorously wonders if it’s a bear. “Hotch v Bear”, round one, and she’s in the damn bathroom.

While she’s washing her hands her stomach growls and she wonders if he’ll end up following her into the gas station too if she goes in for a snack. The man’s a shadow when he’s worried. She’ll probably try to reach for a snack and find him right underfoot mean-mugging the cashier for no apparent reason. A snack though… She’s starving and maybe if she’s feeling feisty enough she’ll start an argument with him until he gets a snack too. It’ll entertain her for a while.

“Hey,” she frowns when she steps out of the bathroom and finds that he’s not there. Not leaning against the wall like she thought he’d be. “Jesus, did that bear really get the--”

A gun cocks in her ear, slow but unmistakable.

“Slowly put your service weapon on the ground and raise your hands.”

She’s frozen in the spot. Eyes glued to their shadows cast out far around them. Drawn out caricatures of them.

“Do it or I’ll kill your friend.”

It wasn’t a bear.

She reaches for her gun, steady and slow movements. Her fingers curl around the metal and she wonders if she’d be able to move fast enough. That there’s a good likelihood if Hotch isn’t within her line of sight that he’s already dead and if she doesn’t do something she will be too. But she can’t risk it.

“Rob!” the man grabs her gun before she’s got it on the ground. Jerks it back from her grasp. To their left, coming around the section of the building facing the woods and completely dark, another man steps out. He’s younger than she is, probably thirty-fiveish, and dressed in work gear. Jeans that have plaster and paint stains and a t-shirt that is stained to the point of no return. “Get the G-man.”

Rob nods, disappearing just as quickly as he’d appeared.

“Listen--” as soon as she can open her mouth the gun taps the back of her head. A sharp warning followed by the order to shut up. No negotiating then.

A grunt turns both their attentions to the side of the building. Hotch stumbles out before Rob. His hands bound in front of him by rope and when he looks up to find her she watches him blink blood out of his eyes. There’s an open wound across his forehead, blunt force trauma split the skin open and now the wound weeps fat crimson tears down his face. His mouth is taped shut, deep grey cutting into his pale mouth. He’s disoriented enough to fall, tripping over his legs as he’s shoved forward.

Rob keeps a gun pointed at his head the whole time but looks to the man behind her. Waiting for the next instruction and as the man gives them she watches Rob react the same she does. Whatever is happening here Rob is an accomplice but he’s not in charge.

“Walk.”

The gun nudges her forward. She bites back her anger, annoyed with this constant nudging business, but her voice is still laced with it. She can play even-tempered but it’s going to take more control than she wants. But she has to play along. Unless she wants to die tonight or, worse, watch Hotch die. “Where?” she asks “Tell me where I’m walking.”

“The woods,” her answer comes, grunted and annoyed. “Now walk.”

Rob pulls Hotch up to his feet (so he’s stronger than he looks, Emily notes) and pushes him forward again. Hotch manages to stay standing this time, bringing his bound hands to his face to swipe at the blood. The glimpse she gets of his blood-stained fingers is what brings her to motion. To be close enough to inspect the wound herself.

“Straight ahead.”

She steps forward, shivering as the wind blows and she’s reminded that despite it being the middle of June it’s likely only sixty degrees out here. Getting out of the car, she hadn’t been planning on being kidnapped. If she had maybe she would have grabbed her jacket. Her fault, she supposes lack of forethought on her part.

As she steps into his gait, the two of them shoulder to shoulder but not close enough that she thinks Rob or the other man will say anything she glances over at him. A look she means to use to articulate her worry and to ask if he’s forming a plan on how to get them out of this. She’s met with his blood-stained eyes. He doesn’t know how they’re getting out of this. It hits her hard, unforgivingly.

If he’d set his shoulders and sent that haggard, worn look she’d understand he thought they were up against fools not even worth the exertion of escaping from. That the bump on his head pissed him off more than hurt him. Something akin to annoyance would mean he already had his plan, she should wait for the cue. Here, in the place she’s searching for his tactile brilliance, is trauma. He’s locking it down behind walls as quickly as he can but she still sees it. Trapped, they’re trapped and he’s blanking on what to do.

Well, maybe he gets a little leeway. He did get hit in the head.

So, fine, she’ll do it herself.

Can you fight? Dave said it was creepy, the conversations they passed through glances, and now she’s hoping creepy is enough to keep them alive.

He looks back, one glance over his shoulder, and gives a sharp nod.

Good.

Next comes the part she’s not really sure how works. The part where she never actually says anything at all, they just move together. Concisely at the same time. She moves for the unknown man and Hotch knows to go for Rob. Both trusting that the other can handle their target. She can hear Hotch take Rob off his feet at the same time her body smacks into the unknown man. The air is taken from her body, leaving her to pause for a dangerous second as her body fights to get it back. His elbow swings sharply into her cheek, smacking dancing lights behind her eyelids.

She’s trained for this kind of stuff. This shouldn’t be so hard.

It’s a bit of a panic, throwing her hands down. Just punching down blindly and hoping the blows land.

There’s a gunshot-- it takes her too long to recognize the sound. Her ears ring and her body aches. The wrangling limbs, the man underneath her, stops as they all identify who it is overcoming as the largest threat.

It’s Rob, blood-flecked across his face.

Hotch’s blood splattered across his face.

Emily screams, disembodied as she throws herself towards Rob but she’s stopped, grabbed by the hair, forced back down through the leaves, and sticks. The leverage pins her to the man’s chest, both pulled upright. All she can do is stumble back. She’s immobilized by the forearm he presses against her windpipe. “I oughta kill you,” he growls, smacking the gun against her temple. Not enough to draw blood but it cracks, makes the area of her scalp throb. “Stupid fucking bitch,” he pulls her tighter, ignores her fingers scratching at his skin as he cuts off her ability to breathe. “Both of you. I should have just killed both of you in that damn bathroom. Started with the G-man and I could have had hours, until day-light, with you trapped in that bathroom.”

He eases his hold on her not out of preservation of life but in his realization that he’s angry with himself for being so reckless. He and Rob had never had problems before. One woman wasn’t all that hard to control and after seeing Hotch and Emily walking so close, bumping together they thought it could be fun. Force him to watch and see if that makes this any more fun. To see him bargain for her life or sit there lifeless in his resignation that he could do nothing.

But Hotch was stronger than he looked.

“No!” her voice is scratchy from the pressure had against her throat. Combined with her desperation it cracks, pops like roaring embers in a hearty fire. “Stop! You’re killing him! Get off of him!”

Rob has Hotch pinned to the ground, his hands around his throat.

The other man holds Emily still, prevents her from being able to pull herself away. This isn’t how he’d intended for this to go but, he has to admit, this is fairly interesting as well. He’d expected it to be G-man that was forced to break. A big strong guy like him doesn’t take losing well. Feeling Emily shiver and cry in his arms is nice. Her desperation hums in his veins, arousing him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He doesn’t want to lose that just yet.

“Get off of him, Rob.”

Hotch’s arms are still bound, all Rob had to do was push him over. It was over in a flash, leaving Hotch face down in the dirt one second and watching the trees above him fade out as Rob pushed down harder against his windpipe, his fingers digging into his neck. He couldn’t move. Unable to do anything more than turn and twist his hips, his arms pressed into his groin where Rob had immobilized them the second he threw his hips over Hotch’s.

Rob doesn’t let go, not immediately. He pushes down a little harder, wants to feel the snap of the other man’s neck but his name is called again. This time, not the light order the first had been. Rob doesn’t release Hotch and with an annoyed huff, the other man raises a gun. Emily cries out again, stunned by the gun right by her head, and flinches falls with a crash to the floor when the trigger is pulled. Her head a roaring buzz, trying to swivel its way off her neck. No matter how hard she pressed down on her ears she feels the throbs of pain as if her head was swelling. The world pulsing.

Rob’s dead.

She looks up and she’s looking right into his eyes. Shocked and open, not expecting the betrayal of his partner.

“Hey beautiful,” the other man crouches down beside her. Takes advantage of her confusion, of her shock. Her friend dead. Knowing she’ll follow soon after. “You never told me your name, you know. I’m Mark.” He strokes her hair back from her face, pushes her down to the ground.

Fighting is futile.

She had a chance with Hotch. Their odds nearly even, two against two. Even tied up and bleeding, they’re a threat that can’t be replicated and certainly not by an Unsub. Not one who takes women from gas station bathrooms in the ugly hours of the morning. Not ones dumb enough to take federal officers.

But it’s over.

It’s over and Hotch is dead.

“Don’t cry,” Mark whispers against her throat. He wipes her tears away with the back of his finger, shaking his head and mockingly comforting her. “But,” he holds her head, tenderly cupped in his palm. “You’re so pretty when you cry.”

Emily turns her head from Mark’s hand, finds herself looking at Hotch. His still body, head turned away from her. This is how it ends. Hotch dead and she’s powerless. She’s left his turned cheek, even he can’t bear to see. So she looks to the scar under his ear from New York, the hearing he lost and never fully recovered. A scab from shaving this morning. His hairline, the greys that were popping up around his temples and ear. Still sparse enough that he doesn’t look aged by them. And the blood. The wound Rob inflicted on him in their initial meeting. It doesn’t bleed now, it hadn’t been agitated in their fight. Color had started to creep into its edges, bruising to further demonstrate its anger in having been disturbed so violently.

Now he’s just dead.

She tries not to make a sound when Mark gets her pants undone, tries to make out unaffected. His hand cups at her hip, cold fingers curled around her. There’s a certain level of invisibility she’d felt on the other side of the yellow tape. After years of having used her body to get things, to win Ian Doyle’s trust and eventually his secrets, she’d thought herself too clever for this. Got too comfortable, perhaps. Surrounded by the likes of Hotch and Dave and Spencer and Derek. How many times had she stripped down to just an undershirt, leaned in too close over one of their shoulders just because she felt comfortable? Knew they wouldn’t hurt her.

But she’s losing.

After all the ways she’d won, all the ways she’d found victories in men’s selfish desires, and now she’s laying in the woods. She’s losing.

She’s going to die too.

But she doesn’t.

She jerks, unprepared for the sudden sharp pain across her temples. Her hands coming up to protect her ringing ears and not expecting the dead weight of Mark over top her. She writhes away, feels something hot and wet landing on her breast, sliding down her ribs. Sticks and rocks push against her shoulders but she fights with a terrified panic, crying in her blinding fear. Her fist connects hard with an audible crack of bone against bone and everything stops.

She pushes herself up and back, the back of her hand swiping through blood and sweat across her face. Leaves give beneath her, too slick with dew to hold properly as she moves backward. Sticks dig into her skin. Rocks turn over as she kicks them. Until she’s got an actual picture of what’s happening. Until her brain can work over details.

Mark is on his chest. His head split open, a terrifying weeping wound. Shot.

“Hotch?” she’s removed. Only partially aware of things as she takes them in. Of Mark’s death. Of the damp ground beneath her. Of the chill in the air. Of her own pounding heart. Of Hotch laid out on his back, eyelashes fluttering but open. Gasping sounds -- from her and from Hotch. His chest rising quickly with his shallow breathes.

Her knees scream smart pain as rocks and twigs dig into her flesh, deadened leaves chilled by the night’s air seeping through the material of her pants. She doesn’t even realize she’s moving, it’s automatic. It’s uncontrolled. “Hotch?” she touches his cold skin, taps at his cheek an indistinct beat she hopes will raise him from whatever unconscious solace he’s found. He breathes, shallow but audibly as his body tries to work again.

She touches his throat, grazes her fingers against miserable, chilled skin. He’s alive. Despite all the odds. Despite what she’d seen. Alive.

She cries as she leans forward, pressing their temples together. Cheek to cheek, their cold skin warm against one another. “I thought you were dead,” she sobs, fully allowing herself now to break. To feel the terror and isolation she’d felt thinking he was gone. Killed right in front of her. “You fucking bastard,” she holds onto his clothes, feels his hand come up and his fingers fumble to grasp her. To feel her alive and well. “I thought you were dead.”

He lets out a huff of breath, as close to relived laughter as he can manage. “Me too.”

She pulls back just enough to look down at his face, his pale lips twitching up and the blood caked across the side of his face. “I’m never going on a road trip with you again,” she says.

He nods, breathlessly whispering, “fair.”

She shivers, the breeze picking up. “Can you walk?” They can’t be that far from the car. She’s already pushing her hands into his pants pockets before he can answer, in search of the keys. Distracted to the point that she misses when he shakes his head. When he admits things are a little worse than what she thinks. “What do you mean--” and she looks down, his left hand shakily lifting off his abdomen.

“Shit!” she pushes his hand back over the wound. The first thing that comes to mind is to ignore the problem but that’s not very rational. “Why couldn’t it have been a bear?” That seems like it really beats watching him bleed out in the woods. She lowers her head, turns away from him for a second. She can’t lose her cool. He just saved her and now she has to return the favor. At this point, she refuses to go home without him.

Her earlier remark about bonding has aged like milk.

Something cold nudges her hand just faintly grazes her fingers. Despite everything they’ve been through in the last hour she still flinches, tries to move her hand away from what she suspects is a spider. There are sticks poking her back and ass but she’ll be damned if she’s going to become a jungle gym for a spider to crawl all over. Except she looks down and finds fingers, Hotch’s right hand pushing at her fingers.

It’s candy. Slowly, trying to find her courage and work through her panic, she lifts her palm back up. Looks at the stark contrast of his white mint on the decaying leaves.

She laughs.

They say nothing and yet they share an entire conversation. All glances, his pain pinching at the corners of his eyes, fatigue weighing him down quickly, and her slight humor over his grandpa candy. The mint is crushed, it hadn’t survived their rough journey well. “Are you trying to tell me my breath stinks?” she asks, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow to dare him. A playful sort of smirk on her lips as she declares, “Because I swear to God, I’ll punch you in the balls, Hotch.”

He smirks and as he opens his mouth a branch cracks, a flashlight shines right into their eyes.

“Hands up!”

Emily raises her hand to cover her eyes, wincing. “We’re -- We’re federal agents!” The flashlight lowers just a bit, enough so that she can see it’s a man standing before her.

“Your buddy hurt?” he asks.

Emily looks down, Hotch is already looking back at her. He’s shivering now and she knows whatever is about to happen is all on her. “Shot,” she answers. “Some guys they… they ambushed us? Dragged us out here.”

The man nods, “can he walk?”

She looks back down, Hotch’s eyes sinking shut, fighting to stay open. “I -- I don’t know? Maybe?” No. No, but she’ll drag his ass out of here if she has to.

“Alright,” the man steps forward, and Emily tenses. “I ain’t gonna hurt you little lady but you ain’t getting that big fella up without some help.”

Hotch remembers very little of what happens next. Standing seems to pull all of the blood from his body, at least there isn’t any in his head. Everything is confusing, a strange man is on his left and Emily on his right. He wakes up in a truck bed, rocking back and forth. His head in Emily’s lap and the cold wind grabbing at the blanket pulled under his chin. “We’re almost there, Hotch. Just hold on.” But she sounds like she’s underwater. Far away.

And then everything is still.

“And that’s how I saved us.”

He follows the sound of the voice over to his right, to Emily. She’s sitting up in bed, legs curled underneath her. There’s a chunk of gauze taped to her temple but she’s not wearing a hospital gown. She looks good, nearly restored to the Emily Prentiss he’s used to seeing around the office. The others are gathered around her, Dave smirking at what must have been a rather grandiose retelling of what happened.

“Technically,” he rasps, “I saved you first.”

Emily’s face betrays the first thing she feels hearing him. He’s been laying there for four days, unresponsive. He’d been on a ventilator the first two days. Throat nearly swollen shut from Rob’s attack, bruised badly. But now his eyes are open and he’s challenging her, picking a fight having been awake a whole minute. She's weirdly thrilled to see him glaring at her, too high and too exhausted to hide it.

“Are we really going to start keeping score?” she asks.

His eyes burn, they’re too heavy to keep open. He lets them slide shut, smirking still. A moment passes, maybe longer, and he feels a hand take his. Plastic sitting uncomfortably against his palm. It takes him a moment, the drugs trying so hard to pull him back under. It’s the mint he’d given her.

She doesn’t smile now, they share no knowing glances.

He hums, closing his hand around the mint.

“Considers us even,” she whispers.

He manages to crack his eyes open just a sliver, voice is completely gone but she just barely make out what he says: “not a chance.”

[lilxberry]

The Guilt Of A Lover - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

You tend to be quite off-put by other women when you’re with the love of your life, even feeling guilty when there truly is no need to for you to feel so. Natasha herself tells you as such.

Warnings: Lil’ bit of language. Jealous Natasha. Oblivious and paranoid reader. Pretty much it tbh.

Words: 2,072

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

_______________

You sat there, admiring your red headed girlfriend as she took down yet another agent in training. You were always in awe of how he body moved when she was up against an opponent. Plus, you had a great view of her ass right now so were as happy as can be during your break from training. 

Natasha looked at you and sent a cheeky, subtle wink towards you. You grinned at her like a fool. She was in every way the perfect woman for you. She’s the woman 

Just as you stood up and took a final gulp of water from your bottle, ending your break, one of the trainees, a young blonde girl, steeping in front of you, blocking your path.

“Hey, I was wondering if you could train with me and help me out with my stance.” Josie-Jessie-Jade, you hadn’t really cared to remember her name, asked as she played with a strand of her hair, twirling it around her slender, manicured finger. A tell-tale sign of flirting which you hadn’t noticed.

But Natasha did.

The girl had been flirting with you non-stop during the training sessions you helped lead. She had always found an issue which you just so happened to be the only one who could fix it. ‘Not like there’s any other superiors she could ask.’ Natasha thought bitterly as she watched on from the corner of her eye.

“Uh-sure. Why don’t you get into position and I’ll see what needs you’re doing wrong.” You instructed the young girl who giggled as she turned to get back on to the matt.

Once there, she plants her feet atop the cool surface, raising her arms out in front of her and bending her knees ever so slightly, sticking her ass further out than nessicary. 

You sighed heavily through your nose as you witness her positioning. ‘How did this girl even get as far as she has with S.H.I.E.L.D..’ You leisurely walked towards her, noting what she should do to make improvements.

“For starters, your knees are bent too much, that can throw you off balance.” You tap her knees until you’re satisfied with the amount they’re straightened. You proceeded to move her feet so they face a more efficient direction. Lastly, you moved to behind her, ready to correct her flimsy, half-arsed positioning of her arms.

“Your arms should be more bent. Bring your elbows towards your body, this will help you protect yourself.” You gripped her elbows with a gentle but firm grip, pulling them back inwards towards her torso. 

As your arms reach around each side of her, she pushes herself back into you, her back being forced to come into contact with your chest. “Like this?” She feigns innocence as she asks in a sickly-sweet voice, puffing her chest out, making them fall into your line of sight. 

You clear your throat and quickly detach yourself from her, making sure you advert your gaze from her eyes as she turns around. “Yeah, just like that. Keep practicing.” With that, you walk out of the training room hastily, leaving Josie-Jess-Jade confused and frustrated.

Natasha notices your quick departure and frowns, concerned about the one she loves. 

She turns her gaze towards the younger girl, a burning anger in her eyes as she stares for a moment. Natasha swore she would find out what was wrong later. 

Oh boy, she sure did. 

_______________

Natasha had yet to see you all day after training had concluded. She could tell something had upset you and had a possible reason as to why you were so quick to exit the room.

Ever since you two had started dating, you had always been mindful and concerned of your girlfriend, putting her before yourself. She knew that you hated the idea of hurting her or betraying her and whenever you thought you had, you would be over cumbered with guilt and then profusely apologize after some time to scold and punish yourself with horrid thoughts.

For as long as Natasha had known you, you had never betrayed her once. The multiple occasions you’ve said you had done so was purely an overreaction on your part. 

--- flashback ---

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to look at her. You know I’d never look at anyone else in the way I look at you. I’m so, so sorry. Please forgive me.” You spoke as you buried your face into the crook of her neck, holding her tightly, afraid that if you loosened your vice like grip around her waist for a millisecond, she’d leave in an instant. You’re breathing was erratic, clearly panicking about whether she’ll leave you ‘cause of your ‘slip up’.

“Y/N, seriously, you’ve done nothing wrong.” Natasha soothed into your ear, stroking your hair gently. “Just because you happened to look up from your phone the same time as that girl bent down, it doesn’t mean you messed up. It’s not like you were actively looking at her tits baby.” She cooed, trying to add humour into the situation but you clearly felt just as guilty as you did before.

“Babe, the fact that you looked away instantly just shows you not only have respect for me and our relationship, but to other women as well is one of the reasons I love you but please stop feeling guilty for something that’s not worth it.” Natasha continued.

You planted a small kiss upon Natasha’s shoulder before fully raising your head to look down at your girlfriend. “I love you.” You spoke quietly, afraid what would happen if your voice raised even a decibel higher.

Natasha looked into your eyes, still seeing the guilt you hold behind them and sighed. “I love you too, Y/N. Now, how about we finally head down to the living room for movie night?” She smiled as a small smile had broken on to your face also.

“Sure.” You grabbed her hand, interlocking your fingers with her before leaving your shared bedroom and heading to the elevator, ready to wrap your arms around your girlfriend on the couch whilst you and the rest of the Avengers watch Short Circuit.

--- end of flashback ---

Natasha has always loved your honestly and dislike towards disloyalty within relationships but sometimes, she felt as though you sometimes overreacted when someone flirts with you. 

She hates how you beat yourself up when you feel guilty about something you couldn’t have done anything about in a situation you were thrown into unwillingly.

As she walked along the hallways of the compound, she noted Steve, Bucky, Sam and Clint further up in the direction she was headed towards talking. Once Natasha got closer to the quartet of men, she asked of your whereabouts. 

“Last I heard, she was down in the lab, sitting quietly with Bruce and Tony.” Clint had answered his friend. The other three men nodded in agreement.

Natasha smiled in thanks before making her way towards the main lab that usually occupies Tony, Bruce and yourself.

finally reaching the lab, she was about to open the door when she heard the voices of the three of you talking clearly.

“I still feel bad, man. Whether something was on accident or not shouldn’t be an excuse for that.” You said in a solemn, guilt-ridden tone. “What makes you think she’ll say yes to marrying me if I’m constantly looking at other people!”

Natasha’s breath hitches at the mention of marriage. You wanted to marry her. A huge grin made its way on to her face, cheeks nearly splitting at how far her lips had upturned. The rest of your conversation was all but muted to her as she thought of being your wife.

Before the three could continue with their conversation, Natasha had opened the door and alerted you and the science bros of her entrance. She smiled widely towards you whilst you looked like a deer caught in the headlights of an on-coming truck. She paced quickly towards you then surged forward to connect her lips to yours.

Your eyes had widen in shock before quickly closing as you melted into the kiss, responding to the affection with just as much emotion. You held on to her hips with a feather-like touch, as if afraid she’ll break whilst her arms snake their way around your neck, pulling you deeper into her kiss. 

Before either of your lungs could collapse in on their selves from lack of oxygen, you broke apart. She grinned up at you as you looked down at her with a dazed expression embedded into your features. You hadn’t even noticed the pair of scientists leave their lab to give you two some much needed alone time.

“So, you wanna marry me, huh?” Natasha whispered in a playful tone. The blissful and content expression was quickly wiped off of your face as she said that and was quickly replaced with a deep red blush and a look of embarrassment at the fact that you had been caught red handed.

“I-uh-I,yeah, I uh-I’ve been meaning to ask you for a month now but I guessed it was never the right time.” You chuckled and smiled sheepishly down at your girlfriend.

“Or is it because whenever you plan to ask, you “mess up” and have to apologize.” Natasha had added air quotes around mess up as she truly believed that you have never done so once. Obviously, you’d beg to differ.

You looked down guiltily, scared to look the red head in the eye. “I’m sorry. I know I messed up again. She asked for my help and then I just kinda saw them. I’m so sorry. I get if you want to bre-”

You were cut off by Natasha gently pressing her soft lips to yours, them moulding together perfectly. She pulled away just as quickly as she had initiated the kiss and leaned her forehead on yours. “Ask me.” She whispers, eyes searching your own for something neither of you knew truly what for.

“What?”

“Ask me. That is, if you still wan to marry me.”

Realisation quickly crossed your features. It was almost comical how your eyes had widened and your mouth drop open into an ‘O’ as you frantically search your pockets for the velvety box.

Soon enough, you found the cuboid container and grasped it into your hand as you retracted it from your pocket in a tight grip. You dropped down on to one knee and cleared your throat at least 20 times before you attempted to speak. 

“Natasha,” The clearing of your throat had apparently not mattered as your voice had still broken into a higher pitch when you spoke her name. Quickly clearing your throat of the dry lump, you attempted your proposal once again. “Natasha, will you marry me? I did have a whole speech about two papers long but I forgot it, sorry.” Your sheepish smile barely concealed your nervousness as you waited for an answer.

“Yes, Y/N, yes I will marry you.” Natasha spoke as she nodded vigorously. You were stunned for a moment before speedily recomposing yourself and pulled the ring from the box to place upon your now fiancé’s finger. 

After you slipped the simple yet elegantly beautiful ring upon her slender, pale finger, she tugged you up with a huge burst of strength before once again plummeting her lips on to yours, kissing you feverishly, conveying both of your love for each other.

The kiss was soon broke and both your eyes had opened to reveal each others beaming smiles towards their loved one. “I think we should tell the others.” Natasha suggested.

“We already know. congratulations. Now, don’t fuck in my lab.” Tony spoke, soon followed by a scalding from Bruce and congratulations from the rest of the Avengers.

“Maybe we should do Banner and Stark a favour and keep their lab sanitary.” You chucked as you spoke. “There are a million places more comfortable that a lab for those kind of activities.”

“Well then, lead the way.” Natasha spoke with a hint of playfulness.

You smirked and grabbed the back of her thighs, signifying her to jump, which she did so gracefully, wrapping her legs around your torso and your hands move to hold her up by her ass. “Yes ma’am.”

And with that, you left with your fiancé to consummate your engagement with the love of your life, leaving behind the guilt of a non-existent issue.

_______________

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Yo I am in love with every female marvel character I swear

My first Natasha fic which I really enjoyed writing

I hope you enjoy

And as always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter One

Finally! I’m sorry this took so long, I’m a nervous wreck.

Notes: this was originally a warmup for character interactions/setting. It is very dialogue heavy.

\\ Warnings: alcohol //

A single tumbleweed was all that crossed Scott’s path when he arrived in the Red Desert. It was rather comical, he stood and watched it roll away until he couldn’t see it through the sheets of sand blowing over the ground.

In the distance, the only mountain located in the desert biome loomed over the horizon. Imposingly backlit by the red, swirling, tendrils of the world border. Most residents kept away from the thing, as it was meant to give off an unsettling aura. Although Scott never minded it. The wall of his room was almost right up against it after all.

On top of the mountain was a barely visible “castle”, which looked as if it was built by someone wearing a blindfold. The inhabitants of the castle, and the aptly named “Monopoly Mountain” could be accurately described as menaces.

Clumsy when it came to forward thinking, and leaving hidden traps around so frequently that traveling through any wooded area required either a very long stick, or someone willing to take the business end of a TNT trap for the team.

They also happened to be Scott’s nearest allies. It hadn’t always been pleasant between them, but circumstance led to circumstance, and now Scott was making his semi-weekly visit to Monopoly Mountain to shoot the breeze.

Typically the only person at the base would be Grian. Scar liked to make himself elusive by causing problems elsewhere and returning late into the evening with a story to tell over dinner.

The base of the mountain was void of a bubble-elevator. To reach the top one must climb an absurd amount of stairs. Scott huffed and resigned himself to the task in front of him.

As his perspective grew higher and higher the rest of the map revealed itself. The roof of Joel’s house peeked over a swathe of trees, and the tall barricades of Dogwarts stood out as a stark silhouette against the sky. Scott took a few minutes to regain his purchase, shielding his eyes from the whipping wind.

The season was gradually descending into winter. Made obvious by the deciduous trees’ leaves choking out the last of their green pigment for fiery shades of red and orange. The weather was far less pleasant to endure. Everywhere outside of the Red Desert had to deal with bitterly cold conditions, although there hadn’t been snow yet, the sky churned with a constant overcast. Threatening to storm at the drop of a coin.

Scott rubbed his arms to fight off the oncoming chill and continued his ascent, hoping someone had installed a fireplace since the last time he visited.

Finally he rounded the last of the stairs and gazed up at the tall, thin roof of the Sand Castle. The Red Desert flag strung on the tallest rooftop flapped around in the wind. Pizza, the pet lama, grunted in Scott’s direction when he approached the front door. He hesitantly reached out to pet her (she bit him once and he’d never fully gotten over it) from over the fence of her pen, and she let him rub her fluffy bangs.

Scott knocked on the door three times and gave Pizza one last pat, anticipating someone to open the door. It would be a shame if he’d hiked all the way out only for nobody to be home.

Thankfully, the door swung open with a welcoming screech of it’s hinges.

“Hey dude,” Grian welcomed him from the front steps.

“Hey,” Scott greeted in return, “may I come in?” he asked.

“Of course! It’s freezing out here,” Grian replied and stepped away from the door, which slammed with a squeak behind the two of them.

Scott closed his eyes and waved to the resident enderman, who greeted him with a friendly, distorted “hello”. A furnace was running to warm the living room.

Scott took his coat and hat off. He draped them over the arm of the couch before swatting a layer of sand from the cushion and sitting down, observing the scene in front of him. There was always something going on in there.

This time, a myriad of blueprints were strewn across the floor. Each of them depicting heavily annotated structures and what looked like plans for redstone. Grian had planted himself on the floor with a pencil, and was furiously erasing a line of text.

“What’s that?” Scott pointed over his shoulder.

“These,” Grian held one of the outlines up to the other’s face, “are the blueprints for our secret bunker,” he explained.

“You hear that? Secret Bunker, so don’t go telling anyone about it m’kay?” He tapped the paper with the end of his pencil.

“Okay, fair enough. Is that redstone?” Scott slid another sheet of paper towards them with his shoe.

“Yup. I’m gonna equip it with a lava trap,” Grian said proudly.

“And this one will work?” Scott teased.

“Hilarious,” Grian pushed the other’s shoulder, “yes it will work, it’s going to be my best yet,” he assured.

“Oh good! That’s not a very high standard to meet then,” Scott congratulated.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Grian mocked back, “you better be careful what you say with twenty five reputation points,” he said.

Scott threw his hands up in surrender, still laughing at how the other man’s ears turned red.

The house fell into a comfortable silence after that. The sound of scribbling and wind served as a calming ambience. Scott intermittently shared a few words with the enderman, who seemed to understand more of what Scott said to him than the other way around.

“Hey, Grian?” Scott turned over on the couch to face his friend.

“Yeah?” The other said without looking away from his work.

“Do you think you would have still been friends with Scar if he hadn’t died from that creeper?” Scott asked.

There was a pregnant pause, then Grian said, “I don’t know. I never thought about it,” he doodled absently on the margin of his paper.

“Hm,” Scott replied halfheartedly. He mainly asked because whenever he visited Grian was alone. If they were even home at all. Other than that him and Scar were always attached at the hip.

“Why?” Grian asked in return.

“I don’t know, forget it,” Scott waved him off. Not wanting to get into it.

“When’s he gonna be back?” he asked instead.

Grian sat up and stretched his back, “uh, I don’t know actually. He said he went to gather resources but you can never really count on him doing what he says he will,” he explained.

“You didn’t go with him?” Scott asked.

“I don’t want to babysit him anymore. If he gets in trouble that’s not my problem,” Grian said. He stood up and wandered over the the kitchen, carefully avoiding the blueprints on the floor.

“Ha! I would drink to that one, Jimmy is the same way sometimes,” Scott replied and watched as Grian contemplated the contents of their cooler, reaching in and pulling out a bottle of red wine.

“Well then, let’s drink to it,” he held the bottle up with a grin.

“Where did you get that?” Scott vacated the couch and made his way over to his friend, taking the bottle and studying it, “I haven’t seen the fruit of the vine in years!” he recalled.

The bottle had clearly been tapped into before, although not much was absent from its contents.

“I have my ways,” Grian rummaged around in a cabinet and pulled out two glasses.

“I would say it’s too early for this, but for once, it’s five o’clock somewhere,” Scott uncorked the bottle with a satisfying pop and poured each glass a third of the way.

Grian cleared his throat, “To the safety of our stupid partners,” he raised his glass.

Scott nodded in return and connected their drinks with a polite clink, then they drank to the sentiment.

The conversation traveled to the dining table, which was more of a booth. Talking points ranged from preparing for winter to future plans to expand their bases.

“I’m not going to get anything done with the weather coming on,” Scott complained over his drink, “I don’t handle the cold very well,” he downed the last of it.

“Well you can always move in with us for the season, the attic is vacant,” Grian offered.

“Never in a million years. I’d rather be sick at home than spend a week living with barbarians,” Scott refused the offer.

Grian rolled his eyes, “it is not that bad,” he defended himself.

Scott raised an eyebrow and shoved his hand in between the cushions of the booth. Pulling up a handful of sand, which he deposited on the table.

“We live in a desert! What do you want us to do about it, of course there’s some sand in here,” Grian threw his hands up.

“Some?” Scott repeated.

“Okay,” Grian glanced under the table and shuffled his foot around, which scraped across a layer of sand, “a lot of sand,” he corrected himself.

“Get a vacuum. For the hundredth time, get a vacuum,” Scott demanded.

“We have a broom that works perfectly fine,” Grian stood up and opened a linen closet to reveal a single broom leaned up against the wall.

Scott didn’t comment on it, but he had a feeling that broom never left the closet.

The conversation was effectively halted when the front door screeched open, letting in a gust of wind and sand. It blew a few papers off the floor and scattered them around the living area.

“Hey,” Grian called out, “Scar? You back?” he asked.

“Yeah,” came from the front of the Sand Castle.

“Okay! We have company by the way,” Grian prefaced.

Scar’s head poked around the doorframe, he waved at Scott who returned the gesture.

“What have you guys been up to?” He inquired at the sight of the wine on the counter.

“Just hanging out. It gets a bit lonely up here you know,” Grian closed the linen closet and took Scar’s backpack from him. He opened it and looked at the contents.

“Oh, you actually did what you went out to do,” Grian revealed a bundle of wood from the bag.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Scar crossed his arms.

“Never mind, go wash up. I assume you’re hungry,” Grian opened a pantry and took some spices out, “are you staying for dinner Scott?” he asked.

Scott leaned out of the booth to check the time on the clock above the door, “mmm, yeah why not. I’m already here,” he decided.

“Let me just page Jimmy and tell him I’m gonna be home late,” Scott patted all his pockets but found no sign of his communication device.

“Hey Grian? Can I use your pager?” he requested.

Grian fished around in his back pockets and pulled out his pager, tossing it towards the other who caught it with both hands. Scott thanked him and flipped the screen up, selected the address he needed to contact, and typed out a short message. Making sure to say it was from him and not Grian before sending it to Jimmy.

“What’re we making?” Scott asked once he finished, intent on trying to help in the kitchen.

“Well, it’s Spaghetti Friday,” Grian declared and revealed a bag of Rigatoni pasta.

“That’s a thing?” Scott inquired, taking the bag and examining the packaging. It was pretty simple, mostly cardboard with a plastic window. Presumably from the village on the other side of the map.

“We’ve gotta have some fun around here, come on now Scott,” Grian said.

“You’re right, how can I help?” Scott said. Grian side eyed him.

“You can add the salt when I say you can add the salt,” he offered. Scott crossed his arms.

He wasn’t that bad at cooking. He’d only burned a few things, smoked the house out for three days once, and set scrambled eggs on fire.

“That one time was just a rookie mistake,” Scott retorted. It’s not like he did it on purpose.

“A rookie mistake that almost burned your flower forest down. I wouldn’t let you near the kitchen if I was Jimmy either,” Grian set a pot down on the stove.

Scar came back in the kitchen then, and was pulled into it almost immediately.

“A man can’t even sit down in his own house without his culinary skills being put up for debate?”

Grian laughed at him, sliding the pot under the water pump.

“That’s not an answer at all! Can you or can’t you?” Scott demanded to know, holding a salt shaker.

“I can cook,” Scar’s gaze wandered into thought, he started counting on his fingers, “pasta, assorted vegetables, mac and cheese, cornbread, mashed potatoes, and I can bake a half decent carrot cake,” he recited.

“I worked in a supermarket before the borders. We made some of our own stuff for the bakery and the buffet,” Scar said. It was the first mention he made of what he did back when things were normal. At least to Scott.

Scott was pleasantly surprised. He nodded, seeing as he’d been given a satisfying answer.

The spaghetti went off without a hitch, Grian was surprisingly good at making it. Scott had the sense that he’d done it many times before.

“Remember, you can put the salt in but you can’t take it out. Here taste the sauce and tell me if it’s alright,” Grian fished a spoon from a drawer and handed it to Scott.

“Hmm,” the other pondered after trying a spoonful, “maybe a bit more salt?” he suggested.

A window was propped open to let the steam and heat out. It was getting dark now, and the world border stood out against the purple hues of night falling over the server. The brightest stars made themselves known to the east as the sun set to the west. It was peaceful, the wind had died down. Scott wondered if anyone else was watching.

Personally, he enjoyed stargazing a lot more. His servermates knew next to nothing about the cosmos, which made him wonder who was teaching them about the greater universe. Clearly they’d never been out there.

“Yo,” Scar called him out of his trance. He handed the other a ceramic bowl.

“Thank you,” Scott said and waited to serve himself.

The spaghetti was pretty good. Decent meals were hard to come by, especially with the limited resources outside of villages.

Over the course of dinner, Scar explained his excursion of the day. He had been gathering wood to stockpile for the winter months (no wood in the desert, better to have a source available and not have to hike out and get more constantly) when he came upon Etho’s base.

“It’s entirely made of wool,” he recounted.

Grian raised an eyebrow in confusion, “All of it? Why?” he mused.

“Dunno. There was nobody around,” Scar replied.

“You didn’t steal from them did you?” Scott interjected.

“Not this time,” he said, which earned him a jab in the ribs from Grian.

The three laughed it off and switched the subject to current server affairs. Who had the best gear, everyone’s respective allies, the phantom problem, and the pros and cons of a vacuum.

“Well, I would say this is a fine work of spaghetti,” Scar complimented when he was finished.

“Indeed, couldn’t have done it without Scott. The best salt dispenser among us,” Grian agreed.

Scott tried to look offended but couldn’t repress a smile. He stood up, about to take his bowl to the sink; but Scar insisted that he was the guest, so he handed over his dish and sat back down. Preparing his “i’m out of here” pleasantries.

He settled on, “Well, I’m out of here,” after a few more minutes of banter.

“Okay! Thanks for keeping me company dude,” Grian gave Scott a hug as thanks.

“My pleasure,” Scott replied.

Scar offered to accompany Scott back to the Hobbit territory, but he refused.

“No need Scar, you’ve been out all day. I’ll be fine,” he assured as he adjusted his hat and jacket for the chilly walk home.

“Alright then, let me walk you out,” Scar proposed instead.

Final waves and good wishes were exchanged and Scott started back down all those stairs. It was quiet, save for the gentle buzz of the world border which sat right against the Red Desert.

Lost in thought for most of the journey, Scott traveled into the dark canopy of leaves. There weren’t many mobs out due to the moon being in its Waning Crescent phase. Scott rubbed his hands together and shoved them in his pockets, wishing he’d brought his mittens.

As he crossed over a clearing, an arrow whizzed over his shoulder. Scott ducked down in surprise, turning around and expecting to see a skeleton, but there was nothing there except a dreadfully dark bank of trees and a vacant plot of land.

Scott squinted into the darkness.

Then the handle of a weapon was brought down on the side of his face, and all the lights went out.

[fan-of-encouragement]

Honey I'm Still Free

This is a commissioned fic that @danniburgh wrote for me, and I'm absolutely In Love. Her commissions are open as of posting this, and she's amazing.

Marcus Pike × F!reader

No warnings, just fluff and mention of Marcus's past bad relationships.

He was new.

A new face to know.

And he was cheerful; almost too cheerful.

He was happy; you met him as a happy man, self realized, self assured, self-centered but not egotistical; he was kind, and he was good. And he was happy.

Marcus Pike arrived at the D.C. FBI office and you were the one that gave him the welcome tour; in between directions and pointings at where which room was located and who worked where, he told you almost everything about himself and that kicked off an unexpected friendship. One that began inside the four walls of his office and the four walls of yours, and the glass walls of the shared conference room that separated them and that most often than not, was used as a lunch room.

When you met Marcus, he was a once divorced, newly engaged man that was waiting patiently for his bride to arrive and live with him what he described as a life he wanted; he told you everything he had to tell about his girlfriend and how he felt, deep inside of him, that she was the one.

Until she broke up with him.

Then, as if by magic, or as if someone had flicked a switch, Marcus changed.

You didn’t understand, whenever you analyzed it, why a woman would leave a man like him; whenever you put a little bit of thought on the matter you came to the same conclusion: there was no good reason. The truth of the matter was, even having met Marcus for no more than a month when that went down, that he was a good man. And everyone that walked around him or worked with him or even talked to him knew it.

Marcus Pike was a good man with a good, kind, warm soul that radiated nothing but care and love for others; he was stern and he was good at his job; he managed a team like no other agent you saw before but, at the end of the workday; when all the reports had been signed, when all the field agents had called in and Marcus lit his desk lamp to finish the last of the paperwork of the day, when the floor was quiet enough to hear the cars drive sporadically on the highway next to the building, he was craving for something more. Something he didn’t have and he was desperate for. Love.

Six months into you knowing Marcus, as he laughed at a bad joke you told him, with his head thrown back and his lids closed and the wrinkles on the sides of his eyes showing at full contrast, you realized you had fallen in love with him.

But you didn’t fight it; it felt right. You knew he was still struggling with the fact that two serious relationships in his life had failed in what he described as a miserable, sad, incredibly stupid manner. 

The remnants of that pain were still noticeable; when he looked outside the window for more time that he wanted to admit, whenever he heard a certain song on the radio, whenever someone mentioned any lines from Casablanca, the glowing ashes of the hot, scorching pain he had yet to get rid of and extinguish could be seen from his eyes.

You knew and you understood him; he needed time; he needed support to get out of the house in flames he was inside of because of people that didn’t know what they wanted. And you, as he hugged you goodbye, resolved you were gonna be there for him.

As you drove home, you realized there was some selfishness behind your resolution; but you figured out as much. You were in love with him, and besides trying to help him be himself; as you had met him or better, you hoped, just further back in your mind and your heart, he would notice you were there. Waiting for him to be the man he wanted to be.

When you opened your front door and you slipped out of your shoes, you thought of how would he react if you told him you were falling in love with him; you knew he wouldn’t let you wait for him like a damsel expecting a brave prince or a knight in shiny armor galloping to you on a mighty stallion. But you weren’t dropping everything until he decided he was better… You were just hoping he would notice you were there. And that was rightfully enough reason for you to do it. 

And you were his friend.

The next morning you texted him before going out to work if he was in the mood for some pancakes; immediately getting a big YES in all caps as a response. You drove to your favorite diner; which had quickly become his too. And walked out of there with two white plastic bags filled with pancakes for him and waffles for you.

“Oh my god, bless you!” Marcus let out as you walked into his office with the two big bags. You gave him a smile as he moved his stuff to the side so you could put the bags down.

“Since when are you devoted, Mr. Pike?” you teased, when you put the bags on the desk and pushed his towards the other side, towards him.

“Since my best friend brings me breakfast,” he raised his eyebrows and pulled out the styrofoam packet from the bag and a plastic fork “how much do I owe you?” Marcus asked as he opened the plate and bit his lower lip when the chocolate chip and strawberry pancakes saluted him from the dish.

“Nothing?” you replied, doing the same with your honey caramel waffles, Marcus rolled his eyes.

“Then lunch is on me.” he shrugged, lifting his tie and loosening it a bit from around his neck, throwing it on his shoulder, you scoffed and saw him dig into the pancakes with a small smile adorning your features.

“The least you could do, baby.” you teased, making him smile through his pancake bite.

When lunch hour arrived that same day; he knocked on your door and opened it before you could say come in. He stuck his head inside your office and smiled at you.

“Lunch?” he asked with his eyebrows raised and his small smirk on his face, you reciprocated his smile and nodded, standing up from your chair and closing your computer.

“What are we ordering?” you asked as you walked around your desk and he opened the door wide.

“No, we’re going out.” he let out lowly. You narrowed your eyes as you crossed the threshold and he started walking towards the elevators.

“To what do I owe this honor?” you asked, following him, Marcus chuckled.

“What do you mean?” he said as he clicked the elevator button to call it.

“You’ve never taken me out to lunch, Marcus.” you remarked, the elevator doors opened and he frowned.

“Really?” he questioned, you nodded and hummed in affirmation as the both of you walked into the metal box. “why?” he chuckled.

“What do you mean why?” you laughed at his reaction.

“I mean…” he started, crossing his arms on his chest “we’ve been close almost since I arrived, don’t we?” you nodded with a small smile on your face, Marcus blinked a few times “I feel like we would've gone out together, at least once…” he said with a shrug.

“No, not once.” you remarked again as the elevator door opened on the basement parking lot and you walked out.

“Well, that’s on me, then, I’m the asshole friend.” he let out as he nodded his chin in direction to his car, you chuckled.

“Not an asshole, a busy friend.” you tried to reassure him as he remotely unlocked the car and the both of you hopped inside at the same time. 

“I shouldn’t be busy for you, anyway,” he muttered, pushing the ignition button to turn on the engine. “I mean, you’re the one that helps me the most around here, I should be more grateful.”

“Nah,” you whispered as you buckled your seatbelt “I’m just the coworker that doesn’t like to see others struggling.” you teased with a smile as he backed up the car, he looked at you for a split second and sighed, calling your name.

“You know you’re not just my coworker.” he muttered, getting out of the parking lot and incorporating into the traffic. Your smile grew.

“No?” you turned to see him, knowing exactly what he was going to say if you dropped the question that was dangling on your lips, he shook his head. “then what am I?” you asked with a low voice that you hadn’t use in a long time because you didn’t find the time or the place to use it. But, as you were sitting inside the car of the man you were growing deep feelings for, with the tiniest opening to his heart and his mind, you decided to bring it out again.

Marcus almost slammed the brakes of the car. He felt his breath hitch in his throat and as he stopped the car on a red light; he turned to you.

“What?” he whispered. You raised an eyebrow and shrugged slightly.

“What am I?” you repeated the question. Marcus knew the look you were giving him; god he was sure he wouldn’t get that look from anyone anymore, and he had sworn to himself that he wouldn’t look for that look in any woman he met. But there it was; your gaze was deep on him, your lips were loose and open just slightly towards him, your eyes were steady on his and he felt the despicable, gut wrenching feeling of the most deep, disgusting, ingrained insecurity inside his mind and inside his chest that made him think of nothing but his trained instinct of fight or fly.

“My friend.” he whispered out just as the light changed to green. You smiled to yourself and looked out through the window, letting out a sigh.

“Good,” you let out, “besties.” you teased. Marcus let out a nervous chuckle and nodded. He didn’t say another word until he stirred the car to the restaurant’s parking lot.

__

Marcus heard two consecutive knocks on his door and lifted his head from the massive email he was reading.

“Come in.” he let out on a sigh as he stretched on his chair, and rubbed his eyes; the light of the computer wasn’t helping his sight.

“Brought you coffee.” he heard you, he opened his eyes and saw you closing the door behind you with your hip and two carton cups that were steaming.

“My lifesaver.” he smiled at you and shifted on the chair, you sat in front of him and handed him his cup.

“Cream and no sugar,” you let out “so you don’t get sleepy.” he smiled.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked, you rolled your eyes.

“The occasion is ten thirty at night and you’re still here.” you said, Marcus sipped his coffee and raised his eyebrows.

“You’re here as well.” he shrugged.

“I just finished,” you let out “kinda was waiting for you.” Marcus frowned, you leaned down and rested your back on the chair.

“Why?” he let out, tensing his shoulders.

“Wanted to talk to you.” you muttered, gazing at him. Marcus wanted to shrink on the chair and flee from the room, but he didn’t, he stayed at his full height of 5’11” and tried to hold your gaze.

“Okay? something happened?” he asked with a low voice, you shook your head twice and saw him partially relax.

“Marcus, how long have we known each other?” you asked him, he frowned a bit but looked at the surface of his desk.

“Almost a year, why?” he replied and you hummed in appreciation at it.

“You know why, don’t you?” you said, biting your lip and smiling at him.

“I have a suspicion.” he muttered.

“Good, so should I just say it?” you asked, Marcus shook his head immediately.

“Please, don’t,” he whispered, you were expecting his reaction so you just nodded “I’m so sorry.”

“I understand,” you smiled again at him and Marcus felt his chest contract inside his torso “I was just… making sure.”

“Honey…” he let out, you shook your head.

“Really, I get it.” you winked at him, taking your coffee and standing up.

“Wait,” he stood up as well, “am I gonna lose you?” he asked, trying to reach to you, you raised your hand and he took it.

“Of course not, silly,” you gripped his hand “I’m gonna be around, just let me know if you need me.” you said, Marcus nodded and you slipped your hand off his.

Marcus saw you leave his office and let out a deep sigh once you had closed the door. He threw himself on his chair and dropped his head back to look at the ceiling. God, what was wrong with him?

He tried to reason with himself as he started to breathe normally; you were amazing. He was sure of it because he saw you almost every day. You were beautiful and attractive and funny. You were smart and so damn capable it made him feel beneath you even when you were at the same rank; you meant a lot to him and you, for some reason that didn’t fit inside his head, never hesitated to tell him how much he meant to you, too.

And it was so damn obvious how you felt about him because you didn’t even bother to hide it; he admired the way you just showed it without advertising it and how you just didn’t let it affect your job or your life.

Jesus Christ, you were in love with him and he was there, sitting in his office after you just told him you understood him; you’d stayed close to him despite him being trapped in his own insecurities, despite the barrier he had put between you and him, despite looking at him clutching at the past and wrapping himself around his tragedies like an orphan child would do to a warm blanket.

You were there for him, loving him and caring for him as best as you could, even when you knew he was processing and working to be out in the open again; even when you knew it took him time to comprehend that he shouldn’t feel embarrassed or sad anymore.

Holy shit; you were there all that time and he was just choosing to be blind to what you were doing; even choosing to shove away all the deep, warm, involving love he felt for you.

Marcus stood up from his chair once again and he rushed to walk around his desk and out of the office, walking the few feet there was between his office and yours, he knocked a few times and opened the door; about to burst out his words, then he noticed the office was empty. He checked his watch. It was ten minutes past eleven and he cursed himself for thinking you meant you were going to be around literally.

He rushed again to his office for his things and his car key, desperately trying to order words inside his brain as he all but banged his foot on the elevator floor and trying at the same time to calm the fuck down as he walked to his car.

Marcus was sure it was a good idea with poor execution; he was a romantic at heart he should go pick up something that would tell you he just took his head out of his own ass and realized he was also in love with you; but the feeling of just tell you everything was stronger and was driving him crazy. He was driving like a madman through the highway that led to your apartment, and when he pulled over and looked at the building, he nodded to himself.

“Just say it, Marcus.” he muttered to himself, opening the car door and walking out.

The easiest part was to walk to the front door, buzz himself in and walk up the stairs to the fourth floor; the easiest part was stepping through the hall and towards your door and knocking on it three times.

You opened the door and the easiest part was over; you were in your pajamas; a silk, shimmering top and shorts too short for Marcus’s own good.

“Marcus, what’s going on?” you asked. He cursed himself inside his head. He had forgotten each and every word of the three point argument he had built inside his head on the way to your home; he saw his thoughts pour over his head and melt at your feet and he did nothing else but stand there, in your threshold; with his mouth dry and his eyes on your body. “Marcus?”

You frowned and stepped to the side, grabbing his forearm to pull him inside. Marcus had been in your apartment before, but he knew then it was different.

“You okay? I’m getting worried” you muttered. Closing the door, Marcus shook his head and tried to steady his heartbeat, failing.

“You told me to let you know if I needed you, right?” he asked, barely audibly. You nodded. Marcus licked his lower lip and sighed, “I kinda need you now.”

“Yeah, absolutely, what happened?” you told him, stepping closer to him, raising your hand to his arm.

Marcus felt a bolt of confidence because of your touch. He breathed in deeply and smiled at you, making you frown again.

He put his hand hesitantly on your waist and he felt you stiffen. His eyes traveled from your eyes to your lips and back, and he stepped even closer to you with a smile on his face.

“You’re here.” he whispered, leaning towards you to grab your lips in his with a kiss you didn’t expect, but didn’t dare to deny.

[writingindulgence]

Illumi x F.Reader - Expectation

Pairing: Illumi x Female Reader

Story tags: Arranged marriage, typical Zoldyck behaviour, angst-ish, heavy manipulation, ILLUMI, unhealthy one-sided dependence : ) my guy just toxic

3,200+ words and why? I don’t even like the dude. Also, two points of view.

The sound of fancy porcelain tea cups clinking against the glass table is soothing, along with the warm rays shining on your face. Times like these are what you are thankful for. The smell of purposely picked flowers, arranged to please the eyes. Not the stench of trash dumped for the sole convenience of other countries. Colourful butterflies and bees, instead of flies and disease ridden rats. A home cooked meal ready for your consumption rather than scraps of rotting food that you more often than not nearly died for.

Kukuroo mountain is infinitely more beautiful compared to Meteor City.

“(Y/n) dear, it’s unbecoming of you to make noise with your tableware,” a powerful feminine voice chastates your mistake. The woman sitting opposite you is none other than Kikyo Zoldyck. Or as she forces you to call her, mother.

Your heart flutters in relief, an apologetic expression weaving onto your face. She must be in an agreeable mood since her fan hasn’t struck your hand. Sometimes you are let off with a warning if she spots a blunder on your part. Sometimes, she resorts to physical punishment. It always depends on whether or not a family member said anything to ruin her day. In fact, any matter concerning Killua will set her off in a positive or negative direction.

Just like Illumi whenever you bring up his younger brother.

“I apologise mother, I’m too excited because Illumi is returning,” you proceed to take a sip and this time around, gently settle the tea cup down.

A content hum comes from her direction, her visor flashing for a split second. “Oh (Y/n), you’ll make such a good wife one day.” She picks up a fork gracefully and stabs it into the cake she asked for from the family cook.

The compliment ignites a multitude of feelings in your chest. It spreads out, only one thought in your mind.

How immensely grateful and happy you are to hear it.

Many of your friends from when you were young, starved to death. Some were beaten up by other desperate residents. Others lost their will to fight, a state you threaded on a magnitude of times.

Being taken away by the mafia one day was what gave you back the spark, a life in the city no more out of your reach. Until you figured out what type of work they wanted to sell you and other kids for. Stories from the older girls back in Meteor City came rushing back.

Your bloodlust and instinct to survive are what happened to change your life for the better. Out of all the line-up of children, you were selected by the Zoldycks. Instead of being the pet of some old pervert, you found a home within the assassin family.

There were many times when you felt like giving up. When the training you went through was worse than simply dying. However, you promised yourself to never throw away the chance you received all those years back.

You were indebted to the Zoldycks.

Hearing words of encouragement from one of the people you looked up to the most brought tears to your eyes. You wiped them away with your thumb.

Mother is a role model to you. It helped when you found out that she originates from Meteor City too. In a sense, it is easier to place yourself in her shoes and strive to achieve what she did. Being an amazing assassin, wife and mother.

A sudden scraping of a chair brought you back to the presence, startling you into a defensive pose. The knife under your sundress clasped in your hand.

Out of the corner of your eye you notice Kalluto coming out from behind the bushes, his paper fan also ready for action.

“My Kil, what is he doing?! Quick, we have to stop him. Kalluto go call for Milluki right now!,” she orders shrilly before running into the mansion.

Without hesitation, you rush after her. It is expected of you. A nagging feeling in the back of your head also foreshadows that whatever is going on, it will have dire consequences if not stopped.

Killua is in the foyer, being kept idle by the servants. But not for long. You can see the irritation growing on his face, his muscles tensed.

You’ve known Killua since he was a baby, having been inducted as a future family member when mother was pregnant with him. There’s no doubt that if something wasn’t done, it would lead to a messy aftermath.

A few seconds after you make it inside, Milluki shows up and the servants are all dismissed.

“Kil, my little Kil, what’s wrong? Why did I hear that you’re leaving to take the Hunter’s Exam?,” mother’s voice is aghast, the idea of her favourite child abandoning the nest filling her with pain.

You too are taken aback at the news, a protective sensation coursing through you. Your fingers flex at your side.

“It’s boring here and I heard that the Exam is difficult so I’m going to test my skill,” he shrugs her worry off and spins his skateboard. Your heart begins to pound uncontrollably.

Hearing the disrespect, Milluki steps up and lashes out at Killua. “You brat, what’s with that arrogant attitude you-,”

“Stop that!,” mother’s voice sharply cuts him down.

She begins pleading with Killua to stay, her voice cracking multiple times. It pains you to watch someone you respect growing so desperate.

Killua is too young to understand what he’s putting the ones around him through. Of course, a rebellious phase is healthy-

A prickly discomfort surges through your head and you clutch it. Your unexpected movement grabs everyone’s attention. You try to brush it off, not wishing to be a burden.

It isn’t expected of you to be one.

“Killua, you should stay here. The world is a dangerous place,” your words try to reach him. “Illumi is coming home today,  why don’t we-”,

“I don’t want him around! Just leave me alone,” he angrily interrupts. The air grows heavy. Heavier than it’s been since the beginning.

Mother gasps in shock at his behaviour since Killua never really yells at you. Yes, he gets annoyed as much as any other kid but when he shouts, he doesn’t really mean it.

It’s expected of you to coerce him into calming down.

“You’ve changed during the past few weeks (Y/n), after Illumi came back before leaving again. Anyway, I will kill you all if you try to stop me,” Killua promises in a cold voice, his blue eyes a piercing ice.

This rouses an onslaught of insults from Milluki and a mix of agony and happiness from mother.

However, you’re currently stuck in your own mind, reflecting on Killua’s comment. It is true that during the past three weeks you doted on him more than ever before. Usually you try to split your attention between him and Kalluto when you have free time. What changed?

Nothing should have changed, Killua is the priority of the family.

A high-pitched scream echoes around the foyer and your clouded head awakens. The sight in front of you freezes your blood and it takes immense strength not to bite your tongue.

Mother is kneeling down on the ground, her hands covering her bloody face. Before you can take a step, Milluki rages and charges at Killua. The young boy bounces back and proceeds to plunge the knife into his older brother. Milluki curses and grabs his wound.

On impulse, your hand is already equipped with a knife and you’re ready to protect yourself as well as mother Killua.

Killua mistakes your movements as an attack and strikes his own knife across your arm. A long gash appears on your skin, the blood seeping out moments later. You take in the pain as punishment. Punishment for letting it get this far and failing.

You’re a failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.Failure.

Taking the chance to escape, he kicks his skateboard up and runs out.

And you were helpless to stop him.

*

It’s been a while since Illumi has been back home on Kukuroo mountain, his previous mission requiring him to travel across multiple locations. The target was a cautious person so they moved from place to place, leaving lousy decoys. That did not impede Illumi at all, it was simply an inconvenience at worst.

After all, nervous-wrecks are the ones who put their emotions out on display. They are the first to slip up due to the fact that they care about others.

Which is concerning because Killua is at a stage where he is showing his rebellious streak more often. It is crucial that he can snuff it out before his dear brother falls further down the slope of idiotic fantasies . In which case, it is a slight relief that (Y/n) is here. She tries to keep Killua in check in a subtle way instead of hanging over his shoulder or perpetuating his moody behaviour.

Though the last time he visited there were hints of her growing soft and losing her devotion of raising Killua to be the next head of the family. He is ashamed to confess that it irked him to some degree. It’s expected of her to put her desires down for what he wants. And he wants Killua to be the next head.

Even so, he thought that he dealt with this the last time.

However, imagine the surprise he felt when his mother came wailing to him, begging him to follow her little Kil to the Hunter’s Exam. To think that instead of a joyful family reunion, the news of his stray younger brother reached his ears before anything else.

That won’t do.

Currently, it’s close to midnight which is the time (Y/n) comes to his room to say goodnight. Why she even bothers is beyond him. The effort of keeping up with formalities could be used for better activities. It’s already indisputable that they are arranged to marry in the future at the request of his parents, so there is no reason to be close together in any romantic sense.

In fact, Killua will succeed as the head which is why there is no point in thinking about his own future.

A sigh leaves his mouth.

There is only one positive outcome that came out of this whole arrangement. He has an extra set of eyes and he’s sure that she will listen to him without question. All he has to do is play into these formalities and she’s wrapped around his finger.

An affectionate hug here, a tiny smile there...Normally he’d be concerned that a future Zoldyck , even if not by blood, would be so easy to deceive. However, since every carefully planned step is coming from him he’s not surprised in the slightest.

It’s expected of (Y/n) to be loyal, just as much as it’s expected for Killua to take over the family business.

The wooden clock hanging opposite his bed strikes 12 but there is no sign of (Y/n). She never runs late.

The fact that she hadn’t even greeted him when he came back is also unusual. Normally she’d be pacing in front of the entrance door but today his mother took over that role. He heard that she got injured by Killua but (Y/n) has experienced worse so what’s the fuss?

It’s not his problem, he’ll just take a bath before bed. She’ll come running eventually.

~

Illumi’s right arm is beginning to grow numb. He hasn’t moved from the water in over an hour. Not because he needed a break to relax, taking time off for yourself is inefficient. No, he hasn’t moved because he’s been waiting for the familiar steps and hesitant knock to come from outside his room.

Discerning who someone is from the sound of their footsteps and how they carry themselves is second nature to any professional assassin. For instance, Milluki hovers in one spot when walking while Kalluto creates soft patters with his toes.

On the other hand, (Y/n) always shuffles her feet forward just before his door. It takes her approximately 2 seconds to knock when she’s unsure, 1 second when she’s in a normal mood and 0.5 whenever she has news deemed worthy enough for him to hear. Reading the mood of someone before they see you face to face is important.

Coming to terms with the fact that today she won’t pay him a visit, he steps out of the bathtub, water dripping down his naked body. He throws on a plain black bathrobe and leaves the bathroom. Giving his bed a quick-over, he walks out the door.

Guess it’s time for him to pay a visit instead.

If he actually bothers and gives it some thought, it’s not a mystery as to why he hasn’t even seen her shadow today. She’s ashamed. Ashamed of being a failure for letting Killua go.

Her scrambled mind is most likely trying to piece together what she should say. How she should ask for forgiveness and repent.

He wonders if she’s starving herself or if she’s contemplating about going to the self-confinement room.

Normally he’d push her into whatever she makes up but a stick approach by itself won’t be enough. There needs to be a push and pull factor involved if he wants her to listen to him unconditionally.

And what better way than to appear before her, disheveled and still wet in his robe? She’ll jump to conclusions.

Further guilt will set in, how she unnecessarily worried him by skipping the usual goodnight. His state will continue feeding her imagination, connecting unrelated dots to make her believe that he cares for her.

Truly, a puppet and its real master.

Soaking footprints follow behind him on the floor, the dim candlelight making them difficult to notice. He knocks once before letting himself in and shutting the door, back turned to the only other person inside.

A small gasp penetrates the silence and a rush of steps follow suit, stopping just behind him.

“Illumi, welcome back,” (Y/n) is the first to speak. He stays silent.

A nervous shuffle. “Is..everything okay?”.

The voice quietens downs the more she speaks. That should be enough for now.

He turns around and looks down at her concerned face, with no emotion of his own. Her eyes widen a fraction after registering his condition. Before she can open her mouth to question him further, Illumi crinkles his eyes and smiles.

“It’s nothing. I was just worried since I didn’t see you today,” he gazes away, giving her enough time to fix her expression. It’ll be harder for him to get her to open up if she thinks that he sees through her lack of control.

“I missed you too-,”

Presumptuous to think that he missed her.

“-and I’m sorry for not saying anything. I just…,” she stops right before confessing her shortcoming.

He doesn’t provide her with any more time to compose herself, a full day is already generous. Grabbing the door handle he gives it a slight tug but her hand shuts it and pulls his sleeve. That’s new. (Y/n) rarely takes the initiative.

He allows her to drag him over to the bed, slightly curious about her next move. Is she trying to entertain him as an apology or simply trying to put distance between him and the door?

Both tactics aren’t half bad when it comes to simple targets.

He sits down on the covers and analyses her.

A long white nightdress, face ready for bed, barefoot, and a long knife wound going up her arm.

A shred of pride for Killua’s work passes through his head but he doesn’t showcase this. If by any chance she spotted the look, it would demolish the picture he wants to paint.

(Y/n) kneels down in front of him and takes his hand into hers. It’s warm, though not as soft as it used to be. Her breasts rest atop his knees.

His attention migrates from the sudden action to her face, looking for answers. He made sure that she will only expect affection coming from him, not the other way around. It would be too tiring to keep up a loving demeanour- no, scratch that. It wouldn’t be tiring but the expectations would eventually rise and it would result in less time spent on bringing up Killua.

Oh, he zoned out.

(Y/n)’s eyes are full of regret and desperation, the hand holding his trembling just enough to tell him that today’s event is eating at her. Is she waiting for him to say something?

Finally after what feels like an unprecedented amount of time, the scene unfolds.

Her smaller hand pulls his to her face and rests it against her cheek. The second his skin touches hers, he detects slight heat radiating. She must have not treated the cut. The knife was probably dirty too, Killua slacks off in that regard.

“I’m sorry for being a failure, I’m very sorry Illumi. I have no excuse,” the apology flows out of her mouth, bottom lip quivering. The pain of looking at someone she disappointed forces her eyes to shut close. Her free hand latches onto his thigh and she digs in before continuing.

“You can slash my other arm as punishment. Or hang me upside down in the self-containment room,” she throws out. “But please, please don’t give up on me. I can do better Illumi”.

And as if to prove how determined she is, her eyes open up again, staring deeply into his own. Unwavering. Confident.

Though the thumb that he has under her jaw gave the hammering pulse away.

1,2,3. 1,2. 1,2,3.

He stretched out the silence, pretending to ponder over his answer. The unsettling emotions influencing her thoughts will prove beneficial when he flips her assumption around.

He removes his hand from her cheek and moves the one on his thigh to her side. (Y/n) adopts a look of relief, believing that he agreed to her conditions of punishment. What he’s about to do is infinitely more cruel though.

She catches her breath when he follows her example and kneels in front of her. He pulls up the sleeve of her nightdress that’s slipping down before grabbing her shoulders, gently.

“How can I not give up on you when you give up on yourself,” he lectures her, peeking down at her wound. Make the target question their actions.

An expression of remorse adorns her face, a downward tug of the mouth.

He pulls her in, arms encircling and resting on her lower back. The material of the nightdress is light enough for him to make out the feeling of skin.

“Though I won’t give up on you.” Affirmation and a moment of reassurance.

One of his hands travels deliberately slowly up to her neck. It rests on the back of her head, fingers entangled in her hair. Illumi locates the present that he left her the last time he visited and pushes it back into her head. It has moved slightly out.

This prompts (Y/n) to hug him in response, her previously hanging arms now resting comfortably around him. Good, as for the finishing line.

“Though your failure is a disappointment, I know that you will not repeat the same mistake, because you

love me, right?”.

Her head moves to rest between the crook of his neck, nodding in agreement. She doesn’t ask him if he loves her.

It’s expected of her not to.

[cosmicjoke]

Alright, just got through with chapter 57 and 58 of Attack on Titan, and as usual, I have something to say, haha.

I wanted to focus here on a few specific moments that stood out to me.  Other than Levi being a total bad-ass!  

I think what struck me most here was Levi’s reaction to his team getting killed, and the brilliant way Isyama framed that in relation to what the 104th were saying about him just moments before.

I think in a way this sequence highlights one of the most heartbreaking, tragic aspects of Levi’s character, which is that he’s terribly misunderstood by most people, and very few people understand or can relate to the kind of life he’s had.  The sense of alienation and the gap between Levi and the rest of his squad stands out starkly in these two chapters, and I want to go into why.

Near the end of chapter 57, we see the 104th discussing their situation, and talking about Levi.  Jean says that even if Levi orders him to kill, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do it, to which Connie agrees for himself, and accuses Levi of thinking he can make people do whatever he wants by using violence.  Sasha then jumps in, claiming that’s what he was doing with Historia, likely, she thinks, so he can more easily control her when she becomes Queen, and implying that Levi’s humility with the Reeves company was some sort of act.  Mikasa then chimes in that she’s always thought there was something “off” about Levi, but that she thinks their best course is to continue to follow him for now.  There’s real anger, even disgust among all of them towards Levi.

What strikes me about their continued anger toward Levi is that, none of what Levi tried to explain to them after the confrontation with Historia got through to them at all.  They weren’t really listening, and weren’t really hearing him.  They just saw him roughing up a young girl, and that was it.  They didn’t try to understand where he was coming from, or why he might have been so upset in that moment.  Sasha makes the absurd and wholly inaccurate accusation that Levi must be power hungry and that he uses violence to gain power.  Of course, Levi is the character in SnK least interested in any kind of power, or control over other people.  He just wants to rid the world of the terror of Titans, and the oppression their presence forces onto humanity.  He couldn’t care less about power for himself.  He wants HUMANITY to have power.  So Sasha’s accusation here is particularly hurtful, I think.  Thank goodness she didn’t actually say something like that to Levi’s face, who’s sacrificed so much for so many. 

The next panels are particularly heartbreaking, then, coming on the heels of this conversation between the 104th, when we find Levi sitting on the rooftop with Nifa, and he starts talking about Kenny with her.  We know what happens then, with Kenny dropping in from behind them, and shooting poor Nifa in the face, killing her, and nearly killing Levi too.  The two other members of Levi’s team are killed shortly thereafter in similar fashion.  Levi’s reaction to this is just simply heart-wrenching.  The look on his face as he realizes what’s just happened is one of pure horror and anguish.  He looks seriously devastated.  Especially when he ducks away from Kenny’s second attack, and he gets a direct line of sight on Nifa, and sees how her face has been blown clean off.  He has to look away from her, his eyes clamping shut and his teeth gritted in obvious despair and pain, before he’s forced to flee and leave her body behind.  We see so much EMOTION on Levi’s face in these panels, the true depth of the pain he feels whenever any of his comrades are killed.  It affects him to his very core.

These panels of Levi, juxtaposed against the panels of the 104th talking about Levi like he’s some sort of heartless monster, like he’s unfeeling and uncaring and only wants power, are particularly affecting.  Because it exposes the unkind, even almost cruel things the 104th are saying about him as patently false.  They think Levi is cold and uncaring, but we see from his reactions to Nifa and the other two soldiers under his command being killed by Kenny and his crew that he actually cares more than any of them.  Every death hurts Levi more than anyone.

That lack of understanding from his own squad is really painful to see, and really heartbreaking, almost tragic, I think.  That they so entirely misunderstand him.  We see that too with Mikasa still holding so much of a grudge against Levi, barely at times able to contain her disdainful glares towards him, still holding him beating up Eren against him like he did it for nothing more than a good time.  She doesn’t consider or care about the real reason behind it, which was that it was necessary in order to save Eren’s life.  

That leads into my next point I want to discuss, about the disconnect between Levi and his squad, and their inability to understand him.

After being chased and shot at repeatedly by Kenny’s squad, being himself nearly killed more than once, Levi finally makes it back to Armin and the others.  We see panels of all of them watching Levi fighting back against Kenny’s crew, who are all shooting at and trying to kill him, and they all have looks of shock and horror on their faces when Levi kills one of the men by cleaving him nearly in half.  Levi then makes contact with them and informs them that their plans are shot and they have to simply escape.  Levi tries to explain to them the situation, and impress upon them the danger they’re all in, that there are more of Kenny’s squad up ahead waiting to ambush them, and that they might not even make it out of their situation alive.  He tells them that if they have the chance to kill their enemy, then they have to take it.  This leads into the big, dramatic moment with Armin and Jean in the wagon, with Jean hesitating to pull the trigger and nearly getting himself killed because of his hesitation, leading to Armin having to kill the MP for him.  

I think the shock with which the 104th look at Levi when he kills these MPs, and their initial critical judgment towards him for his violence, is really important to note, because it shows that none of them truly have any concept of what it means to fight for your life against other people.  They’ve been in battles with Titans, and watched their fellow soldiers get killed by Titans.  But none of them have ever had to fight against or kill another human being just to survive.  In that way, none of them have any true concept or grasp of the darker side of human nature, or the kind of desperation that comes from a life of extreme deprivation and struggle.  Other than the last five years of their lives, in which their world was turned upside down by the Titan invasion, they’ve all, before then, had relatively comfortable, contented lives, with homes and families, in which they were very much provided for.

Levi, of course, had none of that growing up.  He spent the first 25 years of his life living in total uncertainty and struggle, where there was never enough of anything, where every scrap of food had to be fought for, where there was never enough money, and where you never knew who was going to stab you in the back just to get for themselves what you had.  In a world where he had to fight every day of his life just to survive, and where if he hesitated in any way to defend himself, he would be killed for that hesitation.  A world that truly operated by the rule “kill or be killed”.  

Jean’s hesitation to kill the MP, and the results of that hesitation, throws the disconnect from their experiences in life with Levi’s into stark relief.  They don’t understand that kind of desperate struggle to survive, the way Levi does.  They’ve never had to kill other people in order to keep living, or to keep their friends safe, and so they can’t begin to understand why Levi is the way he is.  Their judgmentalism towards Levi at the end of chapter 57, and their shocked reactions to his killing of the MPs in chapter 58, highlight their own ignorance as to what Levi’s been through in his life in a really powerful, and heartrending way, and it reminds us as readers, too, of the remarkableness of Levi’s own compassion and understanding for everyone else.  Levi’s had a harder life than anyone else in the SC, and yet he’s constantly able to show understanding and compassion towards everyone around him.  The LACK of compassion that the members of his own squad show towards him, then, their lack of understanding or attempts to understand where he’s coming from , is a particularly bitter pill to swallow.  It’s sad.  Of course, through these experiences, I think they come to better understand Levi, and their respect for him continues and grows.  But it felt incredibly jarring and was really painful, to see how before that they were so ready to judge him and make such false and hurtful accusations against him, while Levi had, and continued to show them incredible kindness and consideration.  It shows, in an incredibly moving way, how someone who comes from nothing can often have more compassion and kindness and humanity than those who come from a world of comfort and privilege.  

[wondernimbus]

battleground — draco malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x female!reader

request: could i kindly request a draco x reader where they get into a fight before the war, and draco chooses to stay a hogwarts and voldemort but reader pushes herself in front of him to save him? but they both survive 🥺 if it's too complicated dw about it :)

a/n: i tweaked the request a little bit but this is set when the slytherins are sent to the dungeons during the battle of hogwarts! also it isn’t explicitly stated in the text so just in case there’s some confusion, the reader’s parents are death eaters

The cold stone hallway leading to the Slytherin common room is eerily quiet despite the hundred or so Slytherin students trickling into their common room. No one bothers to quell the uneasy tension hanging in the air or makes a move to address the sounds of chaos coming from just up above them, a mere stone floor away.

But at the very middle of the pack, there is someone shoving past people on her way back towards the way they came. Back to the first-floor corridor; back to the war. No one pays her much heed. Everyone is too busy lost in their own conflicted thoughts, and even if they do register the fact that there is a girl among them turning back to head into the very battle they were kicked out of, they make no move to stop her.

Somewhere along the back of the group, she catches sight of a face that brings with it a sudden rush of relief. [Y/N] pushes past the crowd of students clad in green until she stops right in front of him, grabs onto his wrist and drags him along.

The last of the Slytherins have filed into the common room. [Y/N] and Draco stand in the middle of the cold dungeon hall, illuminated only dully by the torches hanging on the walls.

[Y/N] wastes no time. She leans in and presses her lips to his, and it's all force; there is no time for passion or tears or dramatic farewell. She kisses Draco like a starved man, lips all pressure and no tenderness, and Draco kisses her back with just as much fervor, hands gripping onto her waist almost desperately as he holds her to him as close as he can.

And they would stay like that for as long as they can if only they are allowed to, but there is a war to be fought and there are people to be saved. So [Y/N] pulls away, breathless, forehead on Draco's and their lips mere centimeters apart as they breathe in each other's air the same way they have done so many times before.

Draco can think of no words to say; all that leaves his lips is a breathless exhale of her name. Just her name.

[Y/N] nods just a fraction of an inch as though she understands completely, and in a way, she does.

Against her will, she pulls away, fingers gently gliding down his shoulders and down to his middle, where they rest almost hesitantly. In a voice just as quiet as his, she whispers, "I need to go up there, Draco."

Silence. She opens her eyes only to find that he is already looking at her, gaze unreadable. A feeling of uneasiness settles in her stomach.

"Up where?" He's frowning. His hold on her waist has tensed.

"I'm going to fight," [Y/N] says, and her voice is throatier than usual, like a lump has already formed in her throat.

Draco blinks. There's a crease in between his brows; she reaches up to smoothen it out with her fingers out of habit, but his hand flies to her wrist and holds it there, hovering just above his lips.

"You're going to fight," he repeats, still frowning.

[Y/N] swallows. Nods. "And you should, too."

Draco stares at her, brows furrowed. It's at rare times like these that [Y/N] can't quite figure out what he's thinking, but she guesses that it's something along the lines of—

"You can't," Draco says, shaking his head. "You can't. I won't let you."

She reaches up and gently pries his fingers away from her wrist, but his grip on her only tightens. "Draco."

"I'm not letting you risk your life."

She stares at him for a moment, brows drawing together in the middle just like his, but the way she is looking at him is a sharp contrast to his suddenly stern gaze—she looks incredulous, like she can't believe what she's hearing.

"I thought you'd understand," she says, tugging her wrist out of his grasp and taking a step back. A foot of space rests between them, but for some reason it suddenly feels like they are thousands of miles apart. "I can't just hide here while people risk their lives to save—"

"What—to save ours?" Draco cuts her off, scowling. It's unimaginable to think that mere moments ago they were entangled in each other's arms, kissing as though the other will slip away if they don't hold on tight enough. Coldly, Draco says, "They'd throw us to the wolves if they had a chance."

"To save everyone's."

"Don't be ridiculous. If they saw you fighting alongside them, they wouldn't hesitate to turn their wands on you."

"And how do you know that?"

He advances towards her, and for a brief split-second [Y/N] thinks that he's about to kiss her again, but all he does is grab the black and green necktie hanging around her collar and hold it up for her to see.

"Because of this," he snarls. "The moment anyone fighting against the Dark Lord sees you're a Slytherin, they'll think you're an enemy. And the moment any of the Death Eaters see you fighting against them, they'll think you're a traitor—which you are—and they'll kill you. You'd be fighting against both sides."

She scoffs, the first few traces of anger surfacing. "You are making assumptions."

"It's the truth and you know it. You have no choice. Stay here and save your life." He grabs her hand and tugs her towards the direction of the Slytherin common room. The dungeon door has closed. There is no one left in the cold stone corridor but them.

But [Y/N] wrenches herself away from Draco's hold. "I can take care of myself and I am fighting," she says sharply, a sense of finality in her tone. "And I would have asked you to fight by my side but it seems like you'd rather stay and hide here like a coward." The final word escapes the confines of her lips without her even realizing, but the anger in her chest makes it hard for her to feel guilty for it.

"If wanting the love of my life to live makes me a coward then so be it." Draco turns to face her, jaw taut and his eyes flashing. "You're asking me to let you put your life on the line—"

"I'm asking you to trust me—"

"And what happens if you die? What do you suppose I do?" he hisses, and then, his face contorting into a sneer, "I apologize for my selfishness, [Y/N] but I'd much prefer other people die than you."

She scoffs in disbelief. "Always a selfish prick, aren't you, Draco?"

[Y/N] doesn't mean it. Of course she doesn't. But the frustration in her chest is reaching boiling point and the words that leave her lips do so without her even pausing to think about them.

Doing little to mask her scorn, she snaps, "I'd rather die in battle than sit back doing nothing while innocent children are slaughtered."

"Those innocent children hated us for the house we were sorted in," Draco sneers. "They saw the green on our robes and they made sure to stay away from us—they spoke ill of us and spread vile rumors about our families and you're willing to sacrifice yourself for them?"

"And you want to let them die just because they disliked us." She doesn't phrase it like a question.

Draco clenches his jaw. She would have been able to feel the slightest empathy for him if he showed even a tiny bit of guilt, but he holds his gaze in hers resolutely and shakes his head. "I don't want to die for them. And you shouldn't, either."

Her lip curls. "You disgust me."

And it scares her because she isn't sure whether she means it or not.

In one swift movement, [Y/N] reaches up and roughly yanks the green Slytherin tie hanging around her neck. "I don't care what they think about us or what you think about them," she seethes through bared teeth, throwing the necktie at Draco's feet as she holds his gaze with just as much fieriness as she sees in his. "But I refuse to stay here while those people risk their lives fighting for what they believe is right—what is right."

Draco narrows his eyes at her, lips drooping downwards in a scowl. "Even if it means fighting against your parents?"

Her parents. The people who had raised her her entire life and made her believe in things she held true not so long ago. Things that entailed the uselessness of Muggles and Muggleborns alike. Her mother and father, who once cruelly punished her for helping a lost Muggle boy when she was no more than a mere child eager to offer a helping hand.

Parents—do they really deserve to be called that?

With her jaw set, she nods. "I'm done doing things for them. It's time I make decisions for myself."

A cold glare is all she has left to offer Draco before she turns her back on him and walks away, wand in hand.

Part of her understands. She knows that Draco is not much different from her. He has told her stories based on his own experience; stories just like hers that tell tales of pureblooded prejudice and exiled blood-traitors in the vicinity of his own home. But even if he hadn't found enough comfort in her to tell her, she still would have known.

She recognized the look in his eyes the very moment they first met. It was the very same one she saw whenever she looked in the mirror.

But [Y/N] has been luckier than most. Somewhere along her journey to what some would call self-discovery, she'd found something a great deal more important than bloodlines and family trees. Though hesitant at first, she met and came to know people whose blood was perhaps not as magical as hers but whose hearts were purer than any other she had ever seen. Purer than hers, certainly.

She came to know Muggleborns who viewed her as an equal, and everyone else along with her. Muggleborns who treated everyone with kindness not because of the blood in their veins but because it was right.

And because of them [Y/N] has learned to differentiate what is right and what is wrong; what is important and what is not. Now she knows fully well which category one's blood type falls under. She may have been a little late on the uptake, but if risking her life is what it takes to redeem herself, then so be it.

But Draco has a harder time wrapping his head around things. [Y/N] understands; truly, she does. He has been raised to think a certain way and so has she—but if she can break out of the box that her parents have caged her in for so long, why can't he?

Just before she disappears behind the staircase leading away from the dungeons, she stops, and with her gaze fixated on the stone steps, takes a deep breath.

"People like us—" she begins in what was meant to be a stone-cold voice, but her voice is shaky for the first time that day. "They think we're a lost cause. They think we're cold-hearted and we're rotten to the core because of our last names—and you're right—because we're in Slytherin. But if you don't want to fight against the Dark Lord because of your hatred for the people who looked at us as though we were devil's spawn, then at least fight because you want to prove them wrong."

From here, she can make out the sound of spells hurtling through the air and people screaming from up above. She hears panicked voices of people a tiny part of her feels as though she recognizes. Voices she must have heard in her classes. Voices she could have heard in the hallways or in the Great Hall. And despite the fear in her chest and the voice in her lovesick heart telling her to stay with Draco, it's those voices that urge her to put one foot in front of the other until she emerges in the middle of the first-floor corridor, right in the heart of the battle.

—

Death. Chaos. Destruction. She sees it everywhere around her—in the corridors and the classrooms she grew up in, and in the Great Hall, where the large glass windows have been reduced to mere shards and the long house tables have been flipped over and cracked to splinters.

Why take this away from her—from everyone who has lived their childhood in that castle?

For so long Hogwarts has been her sanctuary. Her safe place. The only place in the world where she feels as though she could be at peace. And now it is nothing more than crumbling stone foundations and broken glass and soot and dust.

Jets of red and green light whiz past her almost every step she takes. Fear: she feels it in every fiber of her body like a parasite waiting for the right moment to consume her whole and render her immobile. Part of her wants to run back down the dungeons and join Draco and the rest of the Slytherins—it is so much safer down there—she doesn't have to narrowly dodge recklessly-aimed curses every corner she turns, wondering which one will finally hit her—which one will kill her—

But then she sees none other than Colin Creevey amongst the blur of destruction around her, and just like that she remembers why she's here.

"Colin!" she yells, darting forward. He stands in the middle of the corridor, wand drawn in front of him but looking so lost and confused he might as well have just been an innocent passerby unfortunate enough to come across the Battle of Hogwarts. From this distance [Y/N] can tell he is shaking but no one seems to notice him amongst all the madness; "Colin!"

His name tears out of her throat again as she wills her legs to move as fast as they can, weaving through all the dueling and in some cases, brawling—and she doesn't know what she aims to do, exactly, but she just knows that she has to protect this timid little fifth-year Gryffindor who she has treated like her brother for so many years. The same one who, despite her infamous blood-smattered family tree, was one of the first ones outside of Slytherin to treat her like a normal human being.

She shouts his name again, and somehow, despite all of the noise and the yelling and the sounds of spells being cast all around them, Colin hears her; his eyes meet hers and they flood with relief and recognition, flood with the same bright light [Y/N] has grown so familiar with—

And then the light dies out.

[Y/N]'s entire world freezes.

"No," she gasps.

From behind Colin, a jet of bright green light hurtles straight towards him and hits him in the back—he jolts forward at the impact, and then falls to his knees. A half-moment later, Colin Creevey crumples to the ground, lifeless.

She skids to a stop. A dry sob leaves her lips as the hand holding her wand falls to her side.

No.

—

Five minutes.

Draco spends five minutes in the chilly dungeon corridor, staring at the stone steps [Y/N] had disappeared through only moments before.

If he walks up those steps, it will be to the sight of the school he has come to call his home destroyed. He will see numerous spells hurtling through the air, some finding their targets and others lodging themselves into stone and causing walls to crumble in on themselves. He knows that he will bear witness to a nightmarish scene, but that is not what has Draco hesitating: what stops him is the thought of fighting alongside students just like him who will give him mistrustful glares, as though they are waiting for him to jinx them when their backs are turned.

And perhaps worst of it all is the fact that he will have to fight against familiar faces. He will recognize his aunt, his uncle, his best friend's father, his own parents. And he will point his wand at them and hope that his curse hits them before theirs hits him.

Draco is scared.

He doesn't know if he has enough courage to climb those steps and fight alongside people who barely trust him, and fight against the people who have raised him.

But he can't lose her.

He may be scared, but he can't lose [Y/N].

So Draco unravels his Slytherin tie from his neck, takes a deep breath and walks up the stone steps. He can't lose her—not in this lifetime. He loves her far too much to care about who he has to kill and who he has to fight alongside.

The rest of the world be damned, so long as he doesn't lose her.

—

"You killed him," she whispers. Tears are in her eyes but they haven't quite fallen yet, and despite the invisible hands that have reached into her chest and started squeezing her lungs to a pulp, she manages to say louder, "You killed Colin."

[Y/N] looks up at the Death Eater standing amidst the countless fierce duels. She thinks she hears him laugh behind his mask; cruel and jeering and oddly familiar.

She doesn't pause to think. As soon as the feeling floods back into her arms, she cries "Stupefy!" and a burst of red light explodes out of the end of her wand.

But the Death Eater deflects it with little to no effort. He lets out another laugh, this time louder.

[Y/N] is sure of it this time: she knows that voice. She catches sight of a strand of long platinum blond hair trailing beneath his hood and recognizes him even before he reaches up with one hand and wrenches the mask off of his face.

"Foolish girl," Lucius Malfoy snarls, stopping a mere few feet away from her. "Instead of saving your own skin, you decide to betray the Dark Lord and your own family along with him."

He brandishes his wand; a jet of green light rushes straight towards [Y/N] and she cries "Protego!" at the very last moment, stumbling a little upon impact.

Lucius advances forward, long black robes billowing behind him as [Y/N] backs away, wand trembling slightly in her hand. "You care far too much for those who do not deserve your sympathy," his face contorts into an ugly, spiteful glare, "For Muggles and Mudbloods and filthy blood-traitors—"

"Stupefy!"

Just like the one before it, Lucius deflects this one effortlessly. His upper lip curling contemptuously, he stops in his tracks, wand still pointed at [Y/N] as her chest heaves with deep, heavy breaths of both anger and grief that hasn't quite gone away. "I have always wondered why my son adores you so much."

Another jet of red light bursts from [Y/N]'s wand, but her attempts are futile.

"But he will move on," continues Lucius. "He will forget you and wed someone who is worthy of being a Malfoy." And then the jeering smile on his face droops and intent floods his features as he sneers, "I just have to get rid of you first—Avada K—"

"Petrificus Totalus!"

This time, the spell hits Lucius and his limbs snap to his sides before he topples to the ground, spine rigid.

But [Y/N] hasn't even opened her mouth.

Standing right behind Lucius Malfoy is the last person she would have expected to see—

"Draco," she breathes.

Draco's wand is still drawn and his eyes are blown wide, mouth slightly agape as he stares at his father, who lies face-down on the ground unbeknownst to the fact that it was his own son who had cursed him.

Shock is etched into every inch of Draco's face. He is just as stunned at his actions as [Y/N] is. But when he snaps himself out of his trance and finds it in him to tear his gaze away from his father, the first thing he does is stride towards [Y/N], pull her to him, and hold her with the desperation of a man who has been longing for his lover for centuries.

"You—your father—"

"I know."

"Draco," she exhales into his shoulder, breathless. "Draco—"

"Are you hurt anywhere?"

"No—no, I'm okay."

Draco takes a deep, shuddering breath and nods. Keeps nodding.

And when he takes her hand in his and runs with her to the courtyard, where there are more Death Eaters to fight and more innocent lives to protect, he can't help but look back and catch a last glimpse of his father on the floor. His father, who is still rigid and unmoving, at the mercy of Order members who might stumble upon him.

Draco doesn't regret it.

The rest of the world be damned—including his own father—so long as he doesn't lose her.

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Prologue

plot: ehehe lemme leave this blank for now as this is only a prologue genre: fluff, crack, slow burn, eventual smut, sexual tension, angst at some point wc: 2.7k

[a/n]

I am reeling just from finishing this one because Tsukki is my boy (Kuroo ily too i swear)

Who writes 2.7k words of prologue? lol me

I’ll set up the masterlist when I’m done with the 1st Chapter.

Thank you so much @oii-sugasan​ and @haikyuu-is-for-lovers​ for the betaread! :)

Let me know if you wanna be tagged

Chapter 1 || masterlist

You aren’t just annoying. You’re a fucking menace. Every time he goes to the gym, your presence is like a plague. You're just a manager, but sometimes he thinks that you think you’re the assistant coach. There’s nothing he’d love more than to shower you with the nastiest, most off-handed comments, just to shut you up and wipe the cheery grin that taunts him every time he sees you. 

Seriously, you’re all over the place -- you talk to all members of the team as if you’re a player yourself, you nag everyone to take care of themselves outside training like you’re their older sister, you hand out self-gathered information on upcoming matches as soon as matchups are announced, you scamper around the gym tossing balls, assembling the net, doing whatever the hell you can get your hands on, all the while wearing those stupid shorts that distract the majority of the team, especially the new members. 

As his eyes follow you, you suddenly turn around to face him, breaking him from his reverie. Even when you’re halfway across the gymnasium, he can see the sharp playfulness that you always exude whenever you talk to him. 

“Tsukishima!” You wave at him with that disgustingly sweet grin. “If you’re done staring at my sexy back, you can start your blocking drills, okay?!” you shout with a voice loud enough for everyone else in the gym to hear.  Tsukishima feels multiple sets of eyes glance towards his direction and he ‘tsks’ in annoyance under his breath.

He immediately walks away. He refuses to hear more of the unnecessary and untrue prattles directed at him by you.  

He hears footsteps follow him. Judging from its pace and heavy strides, he already knows its Kogane without even looking

“Oi, Tsukki. Do you like our manager?”

He doesn’t understand why Kogane is whispering when you’re half a court away from them. More than that, he doesn’t understand why Kogane assumes he likes you. For one, you were wrong: he wasn’t even staring at you. He was staring randomly at nothing while thinking  about how irritating you are and you just happened to be at his line of sight. 

“I don’t see anything to like about her,” he replies passively. 

“What? Why? She’s super helpful -- and pretty too.” Kogane, just like the rest of the team, believes so. Even Kyoutani is fond of you because of that one time you received his spike on full force. You rolled on your back from the sheer power of it but you were able to receive it perfectly, making the whole team go wild when you did, with him as the only exception as he found it inane. 

“If you think so, go confess or something then.” 

“You know we can’t!” Pink stains begin to surface on his teammate’s cheeks, obviously infatuated with you. Then again, this is not new to him. It was a basic reaction from anyone whose dick is more functional than their brain.  Maybe it’s because you’re the only female so close to everyone else. Honestly, he really doesn’t know. But one thing’s for sure. Kogane has 0 chances with you, and neither does every player of Sendai Frogs. 

He remembers the conceitedness you displayed even in your first year as a manager. You two became part of the team almost at the same time. He was two months in when the former manager introduced you to the team. As she finished introducing you, you whispered to her to add something. It went something like ‘oh, umm. y/n-chan also said that no one from the team can’t date her.’ Even the former manager looked at you weirdly but you were just there beaming as you bowed to everybody. 

They thought it was a joke, but when you became a full-pledged manager in less than six months, you announced it yourself. 

‘I know I’m kind of cute, but I won’t ever consider dating anyone from the team. Okay?’

You announce it with a sickening smile every time there are new members, reminding everyone else that you’re untouchable. 

It’s fucking atrocious, to him at least. Unlike the other players from his team, he’s not shallow enough to fancy you just because you’re not disgusting to look at, or that you did your managerial duties so exceedingly well.

He grits his teeth. He hates it. How can someone so chaotic as you be so effective in managing the team. What grinds him even more is that you go to the same university he does, and even there, your presence stinks. He once had a class with you only to find out that you’re not as dumb as you make yourself out to be. 

It’s infuriating. He can’t wait for the day you mess up -- only then would he finally get the chance to diss you. He’ll turn that shit-eating smile of yours upside down. 

--

Man, nothing boosts your mood better than bugging Tsukishima. When you felt his sinister stare boring at your back earlier, you just couldn’t waste the opportunity to say something about it. He just ignored you, but the scowl on his face was enough response to satisfy you. 

The truth is, you have nothing against Tsukishima. Yeah, he has a sharp tongue and a vile attitude, but hey, he’s a good team player. He doesn’t speak much, but he gets shit done in matches. Despite his foul personality, he’s actually manageable: he listens to you and he rarely shows up late. He’s not particularly motivating to look at, but he still does what’s asked of him. For some reason that you don’t know, he still hasn’t spat out his usual, rancid remarks towards you. You know he’s itching to, and honestly, you’re kind of curious of what he’ll throw your way. 

Still, for the last three years he kept his mouth shut even though he looks at you like you’re the most unpleasant being he’s ever laid eyes on. 

“Y/n!”

You jog towards the team coach, Coach Mira. “Yes, Coach?”

“Do you like Tsukishima?” she asks curiously. The question is funny to you but you hold back the laughter and smile instead.

You like Coach Mira a lot. She’s more like an older sister than a coach to you. You’re free to share a few laughs with her, and she values your input to the team. Maybe it’s because you’re both women drowned in a sea of male athletes that you sort of have that innate connection. 

“No, Coach. Why?”

“Cause you pay attention to him the most.”

“I don’t see what’s to like about him,” you veer your gaze towards his direction, watching his scowling face as he walks away, Koganegawa following closely behind him. You can’t hear them, but the sight is already amusing as it is. “I just like putting him in place whenever he’s being extra nasty,” you add. 

“If you say so, y/n. Honestly, I don’t really care if you go out with one of them.” 

You wave your hand back and forth like you’re swatting a fly. “No way, Coach. They’re like little boys I’m taking care of.”

She sweeps her gaze behind you, scanning all the players present in the court. “Can’t say they feel the same way though.” Then she looks at the same person you’re looking at. “Well, maybe except for Tsukishima.”

“That’s why I like messing around with him the most,” you admit with mirth as you watch Tsukishima get away from Kogane.

--

Everyone in the gymnasium is staring as they enter the arena. If there’s one thing opposing teams remember about the Sendai Frogs, it’s their female tandem of a stone-cold coach and a ‘hot,’ bubbly manager who walk side by side in front of the whole team, not the players.

It’s not really an issue for Tsukishima. He doesn’t really care. Shimizu had the same reputation back in high school. But you? You’re not Shimizu. You aren’t even close.

And you, being the chaotic mess that you are, you milked the attention. Whenever someone blatantly gapes at you,  you’d wave at them. You’d even entertain those who openly flirted with you. In retrospect, he should find it despicable. Rather finds it entertaining. So does the rest of the team.

When the Sendai Frogs reach their spot, a guy wearing a Tamaden Elephants jersey approaches you shamelessly. A brave (maybe a little bit foolish) act, considering you’re with the whole team.

“Hi!”

You turn around and greet him just as enthusiastically, maybe even more.

“I just want to say, great game from last season, he says as he scratches the back of his head. 

Liar. 

If the guy really wants to acknowledge the team’s play from last season, he’d approach one of the players. He also wouldn’t have that stupid blush on his awe-struck face. 

“Thank you! Great game indeed,” you return the compliment.

As soon as the guy starts fidgeting, Tsukishima can already guess what comes next: it’s either a date or your number.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Tsukishima sneers at how predictable the scene is, and he can’t wait to see what comes next.

You beam at the guy. “Sure! It’s number 1.”

He still smiles even though he’s obviously dumb-founded. “Sorry, what?”

“My number, right? It’s 1. Cause we’re number 1 in the district,” You say with that fake innocence that isn’t really fooling anyone.

“...Uhh.”

“Go Sendai Frogs!” You cheer out of the blue and as if an automated response, the rest of the team, even Tsukishima (though lifelessly), answers.

“Sendai Frogs fight!”

The loud baritone of deep male voices drew the attention of other people in the area, brightening your face up even more as you focus on the guy in front of you again. He looks scandalized by what just happened. 

“How about you? What’s your number?” you ask, pushing the guy to a mental corner as Tsukishima and his team glares at him while waiting for how he’ll answer. An embarrassed blush replaces the previously infatuated one as he realizes that he shouldn’t have made the mistake of hitting on you. 

“I-I’m not really sure,” his voice loses any shred of confidence it once had.

“Oh. That’s too bad,” you feign sympathy. 

“Yeah.” The guy looks down. “Guess I’ll see you around,” he adds before retreating defeatedly.

“Bye! Nice to meet you,” you wave cordially. ‘Whoever you are, newbie elephant,’ you say to yourself as you watch the unfamiliar member of the Elephants go back to his team, a team you wiped the floor with last season.

Until now, you don’t understand why people still even bother. You welcomed the flirtations, but never really went out with anybody. You’re not really opposed to getting in a relationship, but like -- Gooood! They’re all so uninteresting. Rejecting them is more fun than the mere prospect of dating them.

You feel a familiar touch on your shoulder. 

“Good job boosting the team morale,” Coach Mari says in a volume that only you can hear as she pats you.

“Thanks, Coach!” You grin at her praise. 

You turn around to check your players and your eyes instantly land on Tsukishima who had just put on his white headphones and began scrolling at his phone. Around him, everyone else has already started stretching. 

You bounce your way to him, knowing that you’d instantly get his attention even without saying anything. But even with you ogling when you stopped in front of him, he still doesn’t budge.

“Tsukishima.”

No response.

‘Heh,’ you snicker internally. He never fails to amuse you when he tries to ignore you. 

“Tsu~ ki~ shi~ ma~” You bob your head sideways, popping at the opposing sides of his phone so he’ll notice you.

You don’t miss the minute twitch of his eyes as he drags his phone closer to him in an attempt to shut you out. 

Tsk tsk. He should know better by now that you're not the type to back away. 

You go beside him instead, tiptoeing so you can see what he’s so busy looking at. As soon as your arms touch his, he puts down his phone and irritatedly removes his headphones. 

He’s shooting daggers at you, making you giddy with excitement as he looks like he’s about to say something you. You hold his gaze with a raised eyebrow and subtle smirk that you couldn’t suppress. Did he get fed up already? Is he finally going to say something?

‘Do it. Do it. Do it,’ you chant in your head. 

He takes in a painful deep breath instead. “What?” The single word contains so much disdain that you want to cackle so bad. 

“Shouldn’t you be stretching?” you query.

“In a bit.”

You leisurely shake your head with disapproval. “I know you’re a lazy ass fucker sometimes,” you begin. “But you always help us win. You’re our meanest, tallest, best blocker.” Your gaze drops down to his ankles and travels up.

“So,” you continue, dropping your voice amusedly, “stretch those gorgeous, God-given, legs you have.” Your eyes linger on his thighs before landing up to his face to smile sweetly at him. “Will you?”

This is one of the moments you’re pretty sure he won’t dare talk back at you. Why? Because you’re one hundred percent right, and he knows that too. 

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hate it.

He glares at you for one second and walks towards the rest of the team to join them. 

--

Playing at the professional level, he always considers one match to be a big win already, even if it’s just the first match of the regular rounds. Ever since he became a starter for Sendai Frogs, he was not allowed to slack off even for one rally. He could take the lecture if it’s from Coach, but he couldn’t stomach it if it’s from you. 

Even before the match started, you were already on his grill, pestering him just because he wasn’t warming up yet. He was pissed the whole game and put extra effort than usual to make sure that you won’t have anything to say after. 

“Um, excuse me.” A girl from Red Rabbits blocks him on his way to the restroom. “Tsukishima, right?”

He can tell that she is trying her best to look nonchalant, but the familiar tint on her face is telling.

Tsukishima had never understood girls who approach him for anything remotely romantic. Does he look like he’s interested? It’s not that he’s not open to the idea of dating, but he finds it unpleasant when people go after him because they like how he plays. Worse, for some obtuse reason like him being ‘cute.’

“Yes. Why?”

She smiles at him bashfully with her arms crossed behind her. “I’m also a middle blocker. I was really inspired with how you read block so well. If it’s okay with you, can you teach me how you do it?”

Why would he do that? He’s already a senior college student who’s also a professional athlete. He has no reason to go out of his way to teach someone read blocking. Especially someone who’s already supposed to know it since (as she claims) she’s also a middle blocker. Judging from where they currently are, someone from Division 1 no less. 

“Sorry. I’m really busy,” he says bluntly. 

“Oh, okay. Sorry for bothering you.” She bows then takes off immediately. 

He watches as the girl from Red Rabbits scampers off as quickly as humanly possible. Did she really think he’d agree to it?

He is too occupied to notice the faint sound of footsteps behind him, and only when you speak does he notice your presence.

“Aww, poor girl going out of her way to ask you out.” 

He groans. Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be checking on the team since their match just ended.

You fall into step beside him as he brushes your comment off and continues heading for the rest rooms.

“I didn’t ask her to,” he calmly responds despite your irksome presence. 

“How are you going to get a girlfriend like that?” you ask exaggeratedly as if not getting in a relationship will lead to his ruin.

“I don’t need one.”

You gasp. “Damn, Tsukishima. Men your age are all about raging hormones. Where do you put all that raging testosterone?”

He purses his lips in a corner, his jaw tensing at your remark. Men his age? You talk as if you’re older when you’re in the same year he is.

Also, what the fuck?

Now you’re nagging about his personal life too? You’re already aggravating as the team manager. Now you’re even sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.

His blatant irritation must have shown in his face because you suddenly let out a giggle. “My bad, my bad. Don’t look so scary. Geez. Where you get action is none of my business. I just followed you to let you know that we’re leaving in twenty minutes.”

You turn around, about to go back but stop before you make the first step. “Oh, and we have a meeting later. I did the stat sheets of the game and gave it to the coach already. Great blocking, Tsukishima!” You pat his shoulder twice with a proud smile, then saunter off back to the arena. 

Damn it. If only you aren’t so good at being a manager, he would actually be able to dislike you to the fullest. Not only that, he wouldn’t feel that silly, tiny contentment he felt upon hearing you.

Chapter 1 || masterlist

Taglist:(those crossed out can’t be tagged)

@ameliaxo @suikrem​​ @akaashisslave @tsumurai​​  @babythotshq​​ 

[jenomark]

PART 1: LUCAS, THE BOYFRIEND

➔Pairing: Lucas x Reader (Female) | Ten x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Smut (+ angst, + fluff, + plot) ➔Warnings: vaginal penetration, passionless sex, exchanging money for sex, very light bdsm and mentions of pegging ➔Word count: 5,107

➔Summary: You don’t know what you do. You don’t even know who you are. Some would call you a whore. Some would refer to you as a sex worker. All of your clients would say you’re damn good at your job.

MASTERLIST

  It hadn’t rained in months. It felt strange to hear it coming down hard enough to drown out Lucas’ snoring. You laid in bed and listened a little while, wishing that it would lull you back to sleep somehow. But your eyes were wide open and they kept searching for the clock Lucas kept on his bedside table. 2:45 a.m. 3:14 a.m. 4:20 a.m. Time kept moving as you stayed still, eyes occasionally glancing up at the water marks on his ceiling, and hoping the rain wouldn’t drip through.

 “Lucas.” you whispered. 

  When he didn’t stir, you sat up in his bed and reached for your phone. He slept soundly on the nights when you had sex, which suited you just fine. You didn’t want him turning over in the night and asking you why you weren’t sleeping. 

  You unlocked your phone, your password far more complicated than it needed to be. You and Lucas once got into an argument when he asked you what you were hiding from him. You felt too exposed, for someone with something to hide. You felt like you no longer belonged to yourself, and he felt hurt that you didn’t want to share what secrets you kept.

  Unread text messages: 56   Unread emails: 134

  Your phone wallpaper was a photo of Lucas during Christmas of last year. He was smiling and holding up a gift you had bought him: an expensive watch nestled in black satin. You remembered the moment well. He opened the box and nearly dropped it to the floor when he realized it was the same model of the one he’d been lusting after for years. Every little boys dream was to own an expensive watch just like their father, and Lucas was no different.

“We can’t afford this.” Lucas had said.

  You, not we. You had wanted to say it, but his family was around the Christmas tree and all eyes were on you. It was true that Lucas could not afford the watch with his low-end salary, but you could. Of course, you had to play the part of the lowly office worker with a salary fit for someone shoved into a shoebox apartment.

“Don’t worry about it,” you had said to soothe him. “You’re worth every penny.”

  And Lucas was. You were with him because he was the first man in a while to make you feel alive. He used to be more daring before he got older, used to make you laugh so hard you’d nearly piss your pants. Like all things, the older things get, the harder it is to keep them in good condition. Your relationship with Lucas never failed on the surface, not really, but there were too many things brewing underneath. You were a lot like the watermarked ceiling: barely holding it together.

  You checked to make sure Lucas was sleeping before opening your inbox full to the brim with emails from men. The descriptions were all the same: I’m tall, handsome, and worth your time. The names all basic and no doubt aliases, were lined in a row for as far as you could scroll down. Every once in a while, you would entertain one of them and look at their email, expanding it so you could see their plea. Pick me, I’m a winner. 

  Tonight's lucky winner was a twenty-three year old artist. The picture attached was of a man smiling, his whole face lighting up at whomever was behind the camera. He looked barely legal, and definitely too cute for what he wrote in his description

WinWin, 23. I want to fuck you raw and parade you around town to all of my friends.

Not today, kiddo. 

  You closed the email and set your phone back in your lap. You wondered how much longer you could keep it up.

     You were dreaming of him, which you did often. He was sitting at his kitchen table, his tie undone and resting around his neck, and a newspaper spread out in front of him. You waltzed into the kitchen in a bouncy dress, announcing your presence with a slight clearing of your throat. The picture felt very old school, static-y lines and scalloped edges. Like a dream of the past, you were bordering in housewife territory, red lipstick turning grey in the black and white film. He looked up immediately to smile at you over his shoulder. The camera panned to reveal a table with food set on it, and two children sitting in chairs.

“Is it almost ready?” he asked

  All you wanted to do was go kiss your dream husband and wrap your arms around him. You wanted those kids to pull faces, like they were really disgusted their parents were still in love after all the years. But you couldn’t move. You looked down and your little kitten heels were stuck in quicksand that was dragging you under too fast. He couldn’t save you. He didn’t even care, just went back to his newspaper. It was all white noise.

  You woke with a jolt, shooting up so fast that Lucas came out of the bathroom. A toothbrush was hanging out of his mouth, and he wasn’t wearing clothes. 

“Bad dream?” he asked, toothpaste spitting in all directions. 

  You looked at his body, just trying to collect your thoughts. Lucas assumed you were checking him out. He started flexing his muscles to make you laugh, showing you all the parts of him he’d been working out lately. You smiled for his benefit and held your hand to your chest.

“Nightmares,” you said. Lucas went into the bathroom to rinse his mouth. When he came back out, he was heading towards his wardrobe.  “Are you leaving for work so soon?”

“Gym.”

“Again?” you asked. “You went last night. Isn’t it true that if you go to the gym too much you’ll leave a very disgruntled and lonely girlfriend behind?”

 When Lucas wasn’t working out, he was at work. During the day, he was the terribly intimidating Veterinarian assistant, his pink scrubs and puppy pin making all the Great Dane’s growl in his direction. From another direction, all the women who worked there practically swooned when he walked his muscled body through the door.  

You got out of bed and opened the blinds. “The rain stopped.” 

  The view was terrible, but he got what he paid for. You watched the little old lady from across the other apartment building hang her clothes on a line. When you turned back to talk to Lucas, he was silently masturbating.

 “Oh shit,” he breathed.

  You closed the blinds quickly before he practically tackled you, lifted you into the air and swung you around. 

You screamed like you were being murdered. “Lucas! Put me down.”

  He lifted up your pajama shorts and smacked your ass. His laugh was loud and boisterous, and you couldn’t help but laugh with him. He dropped you on the bed. His big cock was swinging between his legs before he took it back in his hands and continued stroking himself. You weren’t in the mood for sex, but the sight of him standing over you made it hard to resist. 

“I have to be at work.” you said, your eyes on his cock.

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.” he laughed.

  He took your ankle and pulled you to the edge of the bed, sliding you across the sheets like hot butter in a pan. You were taking off your shorts and panties while still denying him access.

“I do!” you said. “And I need you to drop me off at my apartment so I can get my things.”

 You didn’t need to tear your tank top off. Lucas pulled the spaghetti straps off on either side to reveal your breasts. His big paws were on you as he moved closer. Without wearing a condom, he pushed himself inside of you, both hands holding either breast while he thrusted.

 There was no talking as you fucked. Lucas took your leg and placed it on his shoulder. He kissed your calf softly. There were always tender moments like that, where it felt like it was only him and you that existed in the world. His eyes were big and brown and full of love whenever he looked at you.  You hoped that when he looked into your eyes, he didn’t just see his own reflection peering back at him.

  You felt something swell inside of you with a big wave, before quelling. Lately, you couldn’t seem to orgasm with him. There was a mental disconnect somewhere between him and you, but that didn’t stop you from pretending. You moaned and told him you were coming, even though you and him could feel yourself drying up.

  Lucas lifted your ass up and held your body as he moved, his pace too fast for you to enjoy. You just stopped moaning and stared at him, your mind completely blank. Whenever he came, the veins in his neck popped out. You were expecting him to come inside of you, but when he pulled out and came on your stomach, you let him. You held him as he collapsed on top of you, his big body making it harder for you to breathe.

  Dressed in his gym clothes, Lucas sat in the driver's seat. The drive over to your apartment was silent, mostly because Lucas still hated that you hadn’t moved in with him yet. The other reason was the awkwardness that existed after you both had sex. You laid on the bed for far too long with his semen pooling in your belly button. Not bothering to hand you a towel to clean up, he very quietly got dressed. 

  Lucas had never came on you before. He had always been the romantic look-me-in-the-eyes-as-I-fill-you-up type of guy. It’s not that you didn’t like it, just that it was so out of character you were wondering if something was wrong.

“Do you want me to come inside?” he asked.

  You snapped out of your thoughts, leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I think I can handle it on my own.”

  You got out of the car and walked up your steps without looking back at him. You went inside and closed the door behind you, leaning against the wood to regain your nerve.

  You didn’t like Lucas being anywhere near your apartment. He was insecure that yours looked a little better than his. Whenever he was there, he had a million questions about the things you owned. Why they were so expensive. Why it seemed like you had never lived there. You assured him it was because you spent the majority of time at his apartment, but there was always a bitter taste left in both of your mouths any time it was brought up. The other reason was that you weren’t sure what he would find if he looked hard enough.

 You ran up the stairs and unlocked your second door. You could never be too careful. Inside, you were met with a musty smell. You didn’t bother cleaning as you went, just tore through the place gathering what you needed. You stopped briefly to look at yourself in the mirror, at the way your pantsuit hugged your body. Business professional is what the saleswoman had said. It’s what all the men want. 

What do you know about what men want? You wanted to ask her.

  You moved on, click-clacking your way to your bedroom. Your bed was unmade, and there was trash strewn everywhere. You opened the door to your walk-in closet, grabbed a duffel bag and started shoving lingerie into it. You picked up a pair of handcuffs and threw them aside. Rifling through your things didn’t help you find what you were looking for. You cursed out loud and sat down in your closet, leaning your head against the wall. 

“Must be in the other apartment.” you whispered, trying to recall where it was.

 By the time you made it back to the car with Lucas, he had fallen asleep. You tapped the window and apologized for taking so long.

  Lucas pulled up in front of your office building. He hadn’t asked why you brought a duffel bag, because after his nap, his attitude was so damn chipper that he couldn’t stop smiling. He leaned over the console to kiss you.

“You know what?” he said. “I’ll walk you inside.”

There was a panic in your chest. “No, baby, it’s okay.”

  He didn’t hear you. He was halfway out of the car. Lucas opened your door and held out his hand for the duffel bag. Reluctantly, you placed it in his hand and got out of the car.

“So, what time do you work until?” you asked, your eyes on the bag he was holding.

“Late day,” he said, taking your hand with his other. “I won’t be home until after dinner. Save me some?”

“Of course.”

  Normally, Lucas would lead you, but it was your place of work, so you did the leading. You opened the door and walked inside, your heels tapping against the marble. The woman at the front desk and the security guard both nodded at you at the same time before looking back to what they were doing. You guided Lucas to the elevator.

“Are you done the same time as always?” he asked. “I can send someone to pick you up.”

“No, that’s okay.” 

  You stepped into the elevator. You weren’t the only people in there. Luckily the office building was so big that you didn’t need to know everyone. He held your hand the entire ride, giving it a little squeeze. And every time he did, you were forced to look at him and smile.

“This is me.” you said, stepping out. 

  A glass wall separated the hallway from your offices, gold lettering etched on all of the doors. Lucas had never made it this far up, so his eyes were taking in everything like a greedy child.

“This looks expensive,” he said. “No wonder they pay you so well. Maybe I should quit and get a job here.”

  You laughed. It was obligatory. You leaned on your tip-toes and kissed Lucas at the same time you ripped the duffel bag from his hands.

“Call you during break?” you asked.

Lucas smiled. “Yeah,I’d like that. I love you. Have a good day.”

 You could tell he didn’t want to leave. He was too curious about what was behind the glass wall. He could see people milling about, stacks of papers in their hands. There were cubicles and privacy offices, a break room that was too high-tech for a plain office building. 

“I love you, too,” you said. “If you just go down to the ground floor I’m sure someone can help you find your way out.”

  You waited until the elevator doors closed to walk through the glass ones, crossing the threshold like you were walking into a new world. As soon as your heels stepped down into the grey carpet, you walked a little looser, your hips swinging. You did feel professional. And as eyes were on you in every corner of the room, you were the one person who knew exactly what men wanted.

  The office. You didn’t belong. Everyone could smell it on you, that new car smell that always seemed to drive right onto their floor and disrupt everything. For many of them, you were something they couldn’t afford. Oh, how they’d love to test drive you, though. As soon as they got a tasty look at you, all cream interior and buttered seats, all eyes seemed to avoid meeting yours. You sashayed across the floor in peace, your eyes scanning cubicles and the people coming and going.

“Hey.” a familiar voice called.

  You ducked down beside a cubicle. A woman sat in a chair, her long legs bare and freshly waxed. She crossed them and swiveled her chair to face you. You picked up a paper from the floor and shoved it in your pockets. 

“You’re early.” she said.

“Needed time to change.” you shrugged.

  You put your hand on her shoulder to lift yourself up and kept walking. No one stopped to talk to you, and there was something lonely in that feeling you couldn’t put your finger on. You stopped before a door, one of the only non-glass ones in the whole place. Your manicured fingers against the shiny door knob made you pause. You caught your reflection for the second time that day, the distorted figure grimacing back at you.

  You would never open the paper so brazenly in front of other people, but it was the calm breath you needed before you opened the door. It was what would launch you, truly, from this office into the next part of your journey. You opened the paper and stared at each letter burning a hole in your retinas. 

             Sweetie, I miss you. Today’s advice is to never look behind you.

  You tucked the paper in your bra. Every inch of you wanted to look behind you, but instead, you opened the door to the dark closet and changed your clothes.

  You stepped out of the closet dressed in clothes one would find in the mens department. Sweatpants that could be worn playing basketball, a grey sports t-shirt with faded writing, and a black windbreaker. Your sneakers were white with little worn marks on the side, and your hair was thrown underneath a ball cap. If anyone thought you were crazy for entering as yourself and exiting as someone socially male passing, they didn’t bat an eye. 

  Passing by the cubicle, the woman whistled. “If I didn’t know you, I would have you bend me over this desk right here.”

You smirked. “Only if you pay me enough.”

  You threw the duffle over your shoulder and kept walking, all of the confidence in the world in the way you moved. People still looked at you, but it was in a new, illuminated light. You walked through the glass and made it to the elevator. 

“Excuse me.” you said, weaving your way past a man.

“No problem.” he said, eyeing you up as he stepped out. He stared at you until the doors closed.

  In the lobby, you waved hello to the woman at the desk and the security guard. Both were unbothered by your new attire. You swung open the front door and stepped into the sunlight where a black, unmarked car was waiting for you.

“Am I too early?” you asked the driver.

“Right on time, miss.”

 He opened the car door and you slid in, the leather feeling cool, even through your sweatpants. In a fancy car like that, you felt underdressed, but it was all in the job description. He shut the door and went around to the drivers side, any chatty banter he may have started falling short of his lips.

You took out your cell phone and unlocked it.

  Unread text messages: 72   Unread emails: 212

You looked at the very last message from Lucas sent right after he left:

             I love you more and more every day. See you when I get home.

  Trees. That was all you saw. Streets with trees lining them, parks with the healthiest limbs and most luscious green leaves. They stood proud and strong, only wavering with a slight wind. Occasionally, when you were lost in thought, they played against the glass of the car window, a kiss of a leaf here and there, as if to say, “Welcome, open your eyes.”

“We’re almost there,” the driver said. “He asked that I don’t escort you inside. I expect you know your way around.”

  You nodded, making eye contact with the driver in the rearview mirror. He was judging you, you could tell. He wasn’t new, by any means, but the lifestyle took some getting used to. When you first met the driver, you were scared of what he  thought of you, but now you didn’t spare a single thought for him at all.

 The car came to a stop in front of a three-story brick building, its red face powerwashed to pristine condition. There were flower boxes on every windowsill and forest green shutters. A wreath on the door felt welcoming, but only if you were someone who liked open invitations. In the neighborhood, that might have been plausible, but only you really knew what lay beyond the oak front door, its stained glass windows more expensive than Lucas’ monthly rent.

“Thank you.” you told the driver.

  You stepped out of the car, your sneakers crushing a twig. It was the only blemish on an otherwise clean street. You closed the door behind you and held your duffel bag in your hand. The driver waited a beat before driving off, his strict time schedule unable to be rearranged if you chickened out.

 But you would never chicken out. Before you was a place you had been to many times. Anyone who looked out of their window would recognize you, even if the flavor of you didn’t sit well under their tongue. As you ascended the stairs, no one bothered to push aside their curtain for a glimpse of the girl dressed in baggy clothes, every trace of her from this morning vanished completely.

 You walked right in.

  You were met with a smell that hit you instantly: cinnamon. Candles burned on a foyer table, the wick barely black. 

Just lit, you thought. You have to be around here somewhere.

  The home inside was cozy, deep blue accents and unexplainable modern art tucked into corners of the room. It was the home of someone with an eye for the unusual, but whose very facade made one feel more comfortable with themselves. You walked further inside, your fingers touching along the walls. When you were away, you missed the smells terribly.

“Where are you hiding?” you asked. “Little kitten.”

  You walked further inside, your shoes still perfectly on your feet. At his request, he wanted you to keep them on. You never asked why, but you expected that after you left, he got on his hands and knees and scrubbed his floor after your every footprint, in his bid to serve you. 

“Don’t you miss me?” you asked.

  There were so many doorways without doors. You weaved in and out of rooms, taking your sweet time to make sure he could hear you trampling through. You touched some things softly, and others, haphazardly. You didn’t wince as a part of a measuring cup family fell from its hook, clattering to the ground loud enough to make your teeth hurt.

“Tenny,” you said. “Come and play.”

  You wandered up the stairs, your manicured fingers tapping against the wooden railing. You let the duffel fall to the ground when you made it to the top, and rubbed your shoulders.

  If the downstairs was grandmother chic, the upstairs looked like the hallway of a sex club.The walls were deep sapphire and velvet, gold tassels dividing each door. You walked down the center, looking foolish and out of place. On your right, you went in through the first door to an empty bedroom. You looked around but could find nothing. 

“This is taking too long,” you said. “What if I just leave?”

  A sound tipped you off. Your head snapped in the direction you heard it coming from: the very last door on the left. You walked towards it, stopping before it. You rubbed the wood, massaging it in your palm. 

“My little kitten.” you cooed.

  You opened the door to find him in plain sight. His arms were above his head, his wrists strapped to a mechanism chained to the ceiling. He was naked and blindfolded, and there were headphones around his ears so he couldn’t hear anything. You stepped in but didn’t close the door behind you. You stood in front of him, watching as he mouthed the words to a song. When you pulled the headphones down his neck, he gave a little shake.

“You were right under my nose the whole time.” you said.

  You walked around him. His joints looked like they were straining too much. He could hardly keep himself up right. And yet, he began to smile as you made your way back to him.

“How long have you been waiting?” you asked.

“An hour.” he said, his voice hoarse.

  You took off his blindfold and was met with the most mischievous eyes. He looked you up and down, his cock twitching right as he got to the sneakers on his carpet. You had been in the room before, so all of the sex toys and contraptions lining the walls didn’t bother you. People liked to play, and in your line of work, you would do whatever they wanted for the right amount. 

 His name was Ten. He was your age, but there was something about him that felt older than your years. His eyes were that of an old soul, his body young and supple. You scraped your fingernails against his chest and watched him close his eyes and quiver.

“Should I leave you here for another?” you asked.

He shook his head. “I need you to hold me.”

  Ten was one of your favorites. It wasn’t so much about the sex but the companionship. Sure, there were things he did and wanted you to do to him that were a bit different, but your attachment to him was hard to explain. 

“Before I hold you,” you began. “I need to know I can’t disappoint you.”

He opened his eyes. “I don’t think you ever could.”

“You put too much faith in me.” you said. 

  You reached up to unhook him from the ceiling. He whimpered in pain as his arms fell. You massaged his shoulders and brought him against your bosom. Ten’s hair tickled your chin. You were scared to tell him that you forgot his blanket, that it was in your real apartment with the life you hid from Lucas. 

 You wrapped your arms around Ten and kissed the top of his head. You owed him honesty, so you opened your mouth and told him that you forgot the thing he wanted most from you. Tears welled in his eyes, and for a second, you thought about breaking the arrangement and asking if he wanted his money back, but Ten took your hand and started leading you out into the hallway.

“We can do the comfort blanket next week,” he said. “This week, we’ll do something else.”

  Briefly, he showed you the man he was when you weren’t there. He was straightened up and assertive, his eyes more disobedient. It was rare that you were privy to how he was when you weren’t there, but it was always refreshing that somewhere underneath it all, there was something you liked to think of as a friend.

  Ten brought you to a room with only a bed in the middle of it. An island of sadness is what you always thought of it. You remembered when you had found him there sprawled on his stomach, his puckered, wet asshole waiting for you to fuck it. You did as he asked, the money too good to turn him down.

  Ten waited for you to get on the bed by yourself. Before you did, you made sure no hair was peaking out of your ball cap before you stretched your body across the sheets. Ten climbed in and tucked himself into the side of your body. He moved down so that his cheek was pressed against your stomach.

“Tell me you love me,” he said. “And that you’ll never leave me.”

You let your fingers smooth his hair. “I love you, Kitten, and I’m never going to leave you.”

  You fell asleep on the car ride home, the sound of thunder waking you up just a stop away from Lucas’ apartment. You groaned because, for once, your sleep was dreamless. It was too good of a thing to wake up from.

“Drop me off at the corner,” you said. “I don’t want anyone to see me.”

  You had ditched the clothes at Ten’s place and changed back into your pantsuit, but you had hat head and felt like your body had been run over by a truck. You cuddled with Ten for six hours in the same position, your body aching more than his was when he was chained up. You cracked your neck and got ready to jump out of the car as soon as it stopped, just in case someone in the neighborhood was nosy enough to tell Lucas.

“Thank you.” you said for the second time that day.

“See you next week.”

“Yeah.” you sighed.

  You got out and walked the last block to his apartment. The duffel was in your hands, but it was empty. If Lucas asked, it was once full of office supplies the company let you borrow that you needed to return. He would buy into the lie. 

 You let yourself into the darkness, removed your shoes like you were a zombie, and thought about collapsing right on the floor. It wasn’t even that late, but there was something about being deceiving that sucked the life out of you. Deciding against it, you walked your way to the bedroom and flipped on the light. 

 After you usually left Ten’s, you felt too soft to the touch. Some nights, you cried the whole car ride, missing something you didn’t know what you were missing. Often, you would climb into Lucas’ arms and make the most passionate love to him. You just needed to be near him, to make sure it was him who would never leave you.

  Everything looked the same as you had left it, only Lucas’ gym clothes were on the floor and one of his drawers was half hanging open. You went over to it and stuffed his shirts down so it would close properly. Your fingers lingered on the soft fabric. You brought his shirt up to your nose and buried your face in it, inhaling deeply. When you went to put it back, your hand knocked into a small jewelry box.

Uh-oh.

 You took the box out and opened it. A diamond ring sat nestled in black velvet, the name of the jewelry shop printed in silver script on the lid. Feeling dizzy, you snapped the lid shut and shoved it back where it was.