#but first he was the sandpaper that allowed them to be able to meet in the middle without those bumps getting in the way

[grizzersmamma]

Uncle Tiger | König x F!Reader | Part 1.

Summary: You've come down with a frightful illness and König is left to fend for himself with the children. Luckily for him, Horangi comes to the rescue. Will the two be able to manage without you?

Notes: A continuation of One Surprise, Two Surprise & Negotiations and Defeats. There will be a second part to this fic, I just didn't want it to get too long. Would people actually be interested in a proper series rather than just random snippets?

Pairing:  König x F!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Illness.

Series Masterlist: Here

CoD Masterlist: Here

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König had been planning for today to be a fun day for you. A comfortable morning of nothing but sleeping in, cuddled up with him and not needing to worry about getting up to feed the twins. He had already defrosted some bottles of your manually expressed milk in advance, so he could feed them without disturbing you. 

Later in the day, you would head out into the city to meet up with your friends for lunch, introducing them to Lukas and Anna for the first time while König would remain at home to catch up on some of the housework that the both of you had begun to fall behind on. Afterwards, while you enjoy an afternoon of retail therapy, he would spend it catching up with Horangi.  

Unfortunately, life has recently decided that it doesn’t care what König has planned.  

You had woken up with the worst sore throat you can remember, struggling to so much as breathe without it feeling like sandpaper is being scraped down your throat. Every cough that tears through you has your body shaking violently, causing you to curl in on yourself with weak whimpers. A fierce fever has left you delirious, refusing to do anything but curl into König’s side, leeching the heat from his massive body.  

It had physically pained him to pry your arms off of him so he could get up and feed the little ones, abandoning you to a rapidly cooling bed. He does his best to be quick so he can return with some water, medicine and a mug of warm tea.  

After ensuring that you’ve downed both the painkillers and a full glass of water, König offers you another blanket, tucking you in tightly. There’s nothing he would prefer to do then climb back into bed with you and let you bury your snotty face into the crook of his neck, drooling all over him like you had been doing earlier. But he can’t risk catching whatever illness you have, not with the potential of passing it on to Lukas or Anna.  

“Is there anything else I can grab for you, liebling?” König asks quietly, half out of the door.  

You simply groan at him, burying further into the pillow under you with a huff.  

König gives a tiny laugh at the dramatics but decides to allow you to rest. He’ll check in on you again routinely, but for now he needs to focus on the two babies starting to whine from their nursery. The two little ones are laying in their shared bassinet again, grumbling at one another due to the lack of attention from their parents.  

Anna lights up when she sees her father, squealing in excitement. Her little arms flail and her legs kick out, cooing up at him and trying to reach out with grabby fingers. “Hallo, Anna,” König hums, offering one of his hands to the little girl. She grabs onto it, pulling it close to her chest so she can nuzzle her soft face against the rough calluses.  

Her brother just blinks at the two of them, accepting the hand König offers to him but barely paying it any mind. He’s always been much more interested in watching what his sister is doing than attempting to do things himself, entirely enthralled with the way Anna giggles while inspecting their father’s fingers.  

Lukas reaches out one of his own hands to try and grab the hand Anna is currently playing with, uninterested in König’s other hand. He wants the hand Anna has, not a different one. He starts to whine when he’s unable to steal it from her, kicking out in annoyance while his eyes start to fill with tears at this terribly cruel treatment.  

Anna stares her brother in the eyes, before shoving König’s hand in her mouth, gumming at one of his fingers.  

König attempts to calm Lukas by gently tickling the boy’s stomach, desperate to draw his attention before the child can start screaming. “Look, you have a hand right here,” he tries, waving it in the boy’s face. In a last-ditch effort to stop this from devolving into tears, he pulls his hand from Anna and offers it to Lukas.  

The relief he gets from seeing his son’s face light up is short lived as almost immediately Anna shrieks. Her chubby little hands start grasping for the hand unfairly stolen from her clutches, fat tears already rolling down her cheeks. “No no no, you can have this hand here, liebe,” he sighs, watching as the tiny girl swats at his hand, only wanting the one Lukas now has.  

Hostage negotiation was easier than keeping these two content.  

He eventually settles on moving both children from their crib and into the living room so that he can hopefully get some housework done while keeping them somewhat entertained. The two baby rockers you had invested in have been nothing short of a godsent, providing somewhere safe and comfortable for them to rest while you and König run around the house.  

Lukas enjoys sitting in the rocker, more than happy to relax and simply watch the world around him, waiting patiently for one of his parents to provide him with some attention. Anna, on the other hand, would quickly grow bored, whining and wriggling about to try and catch someone’s gaze. More often than not, Lukas will be playing with the brightly coloured toys attached to the rocker, while Anna excitedly squeals at her mother and father.  

Unfortunately, both babies seem to be able to sense something is amiss and are determined to make it impossible for König to get anything done. The moment he tries to step away one of them will burst into tears, screaming and sobbing and flailing about until he comes back again.  

Anna was particularly bad – always being the more social of the two – shrieking until her face was bright red and her little voice had grown hoarse. In the end, only three dishes are washed and two of them dried, before König has to give in and scoop the little girl up again. She immediately calms upon seeing her dad again, offering him her signature gummy smile when she’s lifted up and pressed against his chest.  

With a sigh, König sits down on the carpet, letting Anna rest her back against him as she sits in his lap. She’s having her own little conversation in baby-talk, one of her tiny fists gripping at the soft material of his pants. Occasionally, she will squeal at her brother, trying to draw him into her very important discussion.  

The morning is otherwise quiet, with only the soft sound of birds chattering just outside the window and König is hopeful that you’re getting some peaceful rest now that the little ones are somewhat content. The temperature has recently been much warmer in the past few weeks and the countryside seems to have sprung back to life, filling the world with newborn animals and vibrant flowers.  

It is the perfect weather for spending time outside on the grass. The outdoors is a favourite of Lukas, the little boy obsessed with the beautiful bulbs that have recently bloomed in the backyard. He grows most upset whenever König stops him from shoving any of the various plants into his mouth, staring at him like he’s just been insulted.  

Sadly, it seems that getting some fresh air recently hadn’t done you much good, judging by how ill you are.  

After a few hours have passed and they’ve had some playtime on the carpet, König sets the two babies back down again for a nap. He has the chance to check in on you again, making you down some more medication and another glass of water to ensure you’re still hydrated. You had barely touched the tea and it had long since grown cold.  

He brings you a fresh one, gently encouraging you up into a sitting position after stacking several pillows behind you to ensure you’re as comfortable as possible.  

“How are the babies?” You weakly choke out, voice scratchy and raw. You’re forced to take a sip of your tea to stop yourself from coughing too much when the irritation at the back of your throat continues to get worse.  

König perches himself on the end of the bed, wishing he could crawl closer to you, but settling for gently resting a hand on your leg. “They’re having a nap right now, but they’ll be due for feeding soon.”  

You nod, unable to really respond and instead sipping at your tea in silence. Despite the pain you’re in, it’s a comfortable silence that follows, you simply resting, battling against the urge to fall asleep while König simply offers silent support.  

A knock on the door breaks the moment and König gently pets your knee, “ah, that will probably be Horangi,” he hums, visibly cringing. In all honesty he’d completely forgotten to tell his friend that their fun day together would have to be put on hold. “Will you be okay, mein Vögelchen?” he asks softly, reaching out to gently take the mug from your hands as it was beginning to droop dangerously in your sleepy state.  

He hears you mumble something, but you’re clearly about to drift off. After placing your mug down on the bedside table, he moves your body so that you’re laying down buried under the covers.  

König closes the bedroom door as quietly as possible, before rushing toward the front door, just as another knock rings out. The sound is particularly loud in the quiet house and König holds his breath, praying that the children haven’t been disturbed. It’s all silent for several long seconds, only for the inevitable sound of sobbing to come from the nursery down the hall. 

With a sigh, König deflates a little, reaching to unlatch the chain keeping the front door closed and pulling the door open.  

“Hey König,” Horangi offers him a relaxed grin – or at least König assumes it’s a grin, it’s difficult to tell for sure with the mask covering the lower half of his face – sliding off his sunglasses, Horangi is about to step inside, when he pauses, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Is that your kids? I thought they were going to be out with the missus?” 

“She isn’t my wife... yet,” König mumbles, knowing the tips of his ears are probably bright red. He knows he always gets so flustered whenever the discussion turns to his relationship with you, blushing like a teenager talking about his first crush.  

Horangi just snickers at him as he’s led closer to the sound of crying, “König. Buddy. That woman adores you, lives in your house, looks after your grandmother while you’re away and has had your children.” 

“Ja, I know, I know,” König huffs, picking at his fingernails. He would love to marry you, but the thought of actually having to propose? That’s enough to set every single one of his nerves alight. He doesn’t doubt you would agree to it, not with how many times you’ve proven how dedicated you are to your relationship with him, but anxiety is a cruel beast.  

He forces himself to shake off the thoughts, finally answering his friend’s question. “Unfortunately, she is quite sick at the moment, so we will be watching the children while she rests. If... If that’s alright with you, of course, I know you came here so we could game, bu-” 

Horangi quickly cuts his nervous rambling short by waving his hand, unbothered. “Relax, I’m sure we can play another time. I was far more interested in meeting my niece and nephew anyway,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets.  

“Your niece and nephew?” König asks, chuckling.  

“We are brothers in all but blood, no?” the man hums, “that makes your family my family.” 

When they reach the nursery, König can clearly see that Anna is the one creating all the racket, little arms flailing about to ensure her displeasure is known. He picks up Lukas first, handing him off to Horangi before gently shushing the girl when he leans over the cradle again, scooping her up and automatically starting to bounce her up and down.  

Horangi accepts the small boy from him, leaning Lukas back so he can rest comfortably against his arm, staring up at him. “Annyeong, Lukas,” Horangi coos, lowering his mask so he can offer the young child a smile, “I’m your keunappa.” The baby is entirely unperturbed by the large gash on the side of the man’s face, blinking up at him with a curious coo.  

König can’t help smiling slightly when Lukas starts chattering away to Horangi, tiny hands playing with the mask hanging in front of him. “Lukas isn’t usually so talkative, especially with strangers,” he admits, happy that the boy is comfortable with being held by Horangi.  

“That’s because I’m his favourite samchon,” the other man offers König a toothy grin, clearly very pleased with himself.  

König snorts, rolling his eyes, “Hong-jin, you’re his only uncle.”  

Horangi simply sniffs, indignant. “Good, then there will be no doubt that I am clearly the best.”  

He laughs a little harder at that, genuinely touched that Horangi seems to be so invested in his honourary niece and nephew. “Well, I’m glad you like them both already,” he grins, brushing a kiss over the top of Anna’s head, “I’m sure we’ll be just fine looking after them on our own.” 

And just like that, König manages to jinx everything.  

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #könig call of duty #konig x you #konig x y/n #konig x reader #horangi call of duty #kim horangi hong jin

[neil-jortson]

Many people refer to Neil as the glue that held the foxes together, right? Well I think a much more apt metaphor would be that he was sandpaper that smoothed the rough edges of the team. He helped bridge the gap between the upperclassman and the monsters not by pulling as hard as he could but by whittling away at the sharpest, most painful, aspects of their attempts of friendship.

#his intent was to glue them all together but you can’t glue a bumpy surface do another bumpy surface #the sides would never connect if he hadn’t pushed them around a little until their grooves matched up #then he could glue them together #but first he was the sandpaper that allowed them to be able to meet in the middle without those bumps getting in the way #am I crazy? I might be crazy #my apologies #aftg #Neil josten #aftg hc #aftg thoughts #tfc #tfc hc #tfc thoughts #this like will probably show up in one of my fics so shhhhh

[azsazz]

Walk Away

Azriel x Reader

Summary: You feel lonely because Azriel is being overworked and you never get to see him anymore. Confrontation occurs.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,649

_________________________________________

It wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Why you thought you could have a normal conversation with your mate about taking a break every once in a while from his duty was beyond you. You knew that his job was important to him, to his High Lord, to the Night Court, but you were feeling that sense of longing and loneliness grow day by day, twining from your heart like a vine of sharp thorns, crawling down into the bond that seemed much more like a void these days.

A pit of emptiness where there used to be warmth and love and the two of you never wanted to be away from each other for even the slightest of seconds, always connected in some way whether it was a hand splayed across your lower back, your pinky finger latched around his, or his shadows caressing you. He was a constant.

You didn’t know when it started to get like this. When his position had become more important than even something so simple as checking in on each other, a kiss to the cheek in passing…you were almost positive he didn’t even come to bed most nights, either falling asleep in his work or arriving after you fell asleep and leaving before you woke. 

You thought that seeing him again would mend whatever had caused the two of you to drift apart, but instead it just hurts.

Finally, you had him where you wanted him. When you slinked into the study and shut the door tightly behind you, catching Azriel off guard. His head was buried deep in an endless stack of paper, eyes tired and shadows draped across the comfortable chair behind him, spilling lazily onto the floor. Seeing him like this, clearly overworked and underappreciated made your heart ache.

But Azriel wasn’t the type to care. If someone needed him, he’d be there, no questions asked. If Rhy’s needed him to sort through the mass of paper in search of anything that could help, he wouldn’t sleep until he finished the task. If Cassian needed a second to go with him to the Illyrian war camps or if Feyre needed a companion while she set off to do High Lady deeds, Azriel was there.

But what if you needed him just as much?

It was like the two of you were strangers, you standing awkwardly by the door, picking at your cuticles nervously while shifting your weight from one foot to the other. You felt like you were intruding, he made you feel like you were intruding with his quick glance up at you then returning right back to where he left off. Dismissive.

“Hey,” you speak softly, staying in your spot far away from him, like a timid animal in the wake of its predator.

“Hello.” His response is curt. There’s no inkling of relief that you’re there, like just your presence alone could make the situation better. You swallow against the tightness in your throat.

“How are you Az?” you don’t even know what to say. This was so unlike the two of you, not being able to find the words to say.

He sighed, closing his eyes for too long to be considered a blink. They burned with tiredness and it felt like sandpaper, the way his lids dragged against his eyes when he opened them. 

“Did you actually need something or are you just coming in to bother me?”

Your heart stops for a moment, cheeks burning a blazing red as you furrow  your eyebrows at him in confusion. Bother him? The two of you had barely even seen each other in weeks, how could you be a bother to him?

In a burst of fury and courage, your voice strains to keep calm, “Yeah. I’d like my mate back.”

His head snaps up, hazel eyes now wide and meeting your own. He’s tired, you can tell, and when he’s this fatigued there’s only three things you’ve known him to do. The Shadowsinger’s first favorite thing to do when he was on edge or irritable was allow the ever-constant mass of shadows to shroud him, swallowing him whole and disappearing into that comforting caress of pure night. 

Secondly, he would winnow up into the sky as high as he could manage, letting himself freefall, completely relaxing every aching muscle in his body for a moment and just being one with the wind, before he snapped his wings out, banking harshly, and soar the skies for hours. 

And lastly, he’d seek out one of his brothers or another compatible opponent - though there weren’t many who could last very long against him - to completely deplete the rest of his energy in the sparring ring. There was something about the familiar weight of weapons in his hands, blood on his fists that calmed him, made him actually want to sleep.

Lashing out verbally had never been his thing.

Azriel was usually all gentle words and soft caresses around you, not this agitated, brooding Illyrian, looking and acting much like the ones he hated with his entire being.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he scoffs, and even rolling his eyes is an effort, but he promised Rhysand he’d get this done, and he will.

“You don’t have time for me ever as of late,” you admit, crossing your arms over your chest as you will the familiar stinging in your eyes to stop. You will not let him see you cry over the way he’s acting.

It’s not like you aren’t capable of finding your own ways to occupy the time he works, it’s that you had heard so many amazing stories of what it was like to find your mate when you were young: that it’s like taking an extra breath that your lungs didn’t know they could take or finally figuring out that feeling that was missing from your life, filled with the pure and unyielding love from your mate. You had dreamed of the day you found your own, chasing that feeling for years, and when you had met Azriel, you knew that feeling would go above and beyond what any story had said.

“I have a lot of things to do lately, (Y/N).”

“And I know that Az,” you yield one step closer, heart aching in your chest. All you want to do is go to him, wrap yourself around him and hold him tight, but you force yourself to stop. “But you don’t have to work this much. There are other people that are willing to help you, you know. I get that Rhys is High Lord, but you can say no.”

Your mate opens his mouth to speak, no doubt a foul retort to your sour words, but thankfully it is cut off by the large door to the study opening.

“Hey Az, you ready to–oh, hello (Y/N).”

You can’t force yourself to look at the High Lord, can’t seem to look away from your mate who stands from his chair, stretching his arms over his head and shaking the sleepiness from his body. His bones creak with relief, finally moving from the positions they’d been in for so long, hunched over the wooden desk.

“Ready.”

The High Lord chooses to say nothing else. Anyone could feel the tension and anger in the room between the two of you. Azriel’s steps falter for a moment as if he’s going to veer off course from his beeline to the exit and come to you, but he decides not to, and you’re left blinking back tears as you stare at the chair he’d just been sitting in.

_________

It’s Mor who finds you, sitting in the very seat your mate had left from hours ago, feet tucked up underneath you. It had been awhile since you forced the tears to stop, letting your anger wash over you instead, glaring at the papers before you. You’d considered burning the damned things, and if it wouldn’t get you into serious trouble with the High Lord you had no desire to speak with again, you’d do it in a heartbeat.

She pops her head inside, perfectly plucked eyebrows raised up at you and a cautious smile on her red painted lips. “There you are.”

“Here I am,” you agree with a slight nod. Your voice is rough and monotonous, it doesn't even sound like your own.

“Do you want to come out with Feyre and I tonight? We’re going to Ritas.” she asks. No ‘what are you doing here?’ or ‘are you okay?’, skipping over the formalities and right to the point.

You wonder if Azriel or Rhys had sent her to keep you occupied and out of their way. You grind your teeth, fingers digging into the rich brown leather armrests, seething in your seat. 

If they wanted you out of the way, oh you would get out of the way.

Letting your rigid body go lax, you push up from your seat, a wicked gleam in your eye, “Absolutely.”

She returns your smirk with her own beaming smile, a knowing look in her eyes, “Great! See you at eleven!”

___________

You spend the rest of the hours leading up to your night out pampering yourself. You take a long, soothing bath with your favorite scents added in, then take your time picking out the perfect outfit and setting it out on the bed for later. You even let the twin spies do up your hair and makeup, sneaking in mentions of what exactly you’ll be up to tonight, knowing that they will relay the message to your mate.

It’s just after you’ve smoothed down your dress, the material made of the darkest of black velvet, giving yourself one last look in the mirror, chin held high. Azriel had had the dress made for you as a gift, the sort of gift he didn’t want you wearing around anyone else besides him as it was a bit on the revealing side.

Naturally, because you had made sure your mate had caught wind of your plans for the evening, he arrived as you were turning towards the door.

He was covered in dirt and was that blood? You couldn’t ignore feeling the pain in your chest but you could opt not to say anything about it. He seemed to be okay, other than the obvious lack of sleep. The Shadowsinger looked like he could collapse from utter exhaustion at any moment, but when his eyes grazed up and down your body his spine went stock straight, flaring his drooping wings behind him, and he growled softly.

“What is this?” he asks, his voice is darkness incarnate, smooth and lethal.

“I’m going out,” you reply simply, trying to match his tone. If he was going to speak to you that way, you would offer him the same treatment.

“Not in that you’re not.”

“This?” you ask, fisting the fabric by your thighs and twirling around in a circle, your face painted a mask of fake shock, “I figure someone may as well enjoy it.”

And perhaps you shouldn’t goad him into a fight…especially when the bonded female side of you wants to clean him of his wounds and help him into bed. You are having none of that, forcing that urge away and reveling in the hurt instead.

His hands are clenched tightly at his sides and he’s nearly vibrating with anger. His cobalt siphons flare with his temper before he releases a practiced breath through his nose. “I’m sorry, is that what you want me to stay? Will that get you to stay?”

You bristle at his words. He doesn’t want anything to do with you but he doesn’t want anyone else to deal with you either? The man before you must clearly be delusional.

“No. It will not get me to stay,” you bite back, stalking towards the door. You nearly make it too, before a cold tendril of shadow snakes around your wrist and pulls taught, halting your movements. 

You stare down at it with an icy glare. 

He wouldn’t even touch you.

“Now you want something to do with me?” you spin on your heel, furious. Your mate nearly flinches at the look in your eyes. “Not when I’ve been needing you for the past, however long–” you wave your hand, frustrated because you can’t even think about how long this has been going on between the two of you. “Because you’re Rhysands puppet, right?”

“He is my High Lord, and yours too for that matter. We shall respect his requests.”

“He’s a dickhead who sends his friends to do his dirty work, and for what?” You seethe, “He’s the most powerful High Lord in Prythian but he doesn’t use his powers to his advantage, the fuck is the point of that?”

Azriel’s balled hands relax, flexing his fingers in and out of fists like he can barely restrain himself from strangling you. But the words are already out of your mouth. 

“He has a family to think about.”

“And you don’t?” You cry, exasperated.

The Shadowsinger’s response is silence and your heart burns in your chest.

“You don’t think of me as your family?” Your voice is quiet but the tremor is clear. You hug your arms tightly across your chest, staring at your mate patiently.

“Family doesn’t treat each other the way you are.”

“Family doesn’t treat each other the way Rhysand treats you either, Az, or the way you treat me for that fact. Wake up.” You laugh wetly, trying to blink back the tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him to see you cry, don’t want your friends to ask about your smudged makeup after you storm out of the room. 

Your attempts are futile. He’s been a faithful servant to the Night Court for as long as he can remember. Finding his mate wouldn’t change that.

It’s not like you were even asking for a lot. All you wanted was for him to spend a little more time with you. Surely Rhysand could understand that. Maybe you weren’t enough for Azriel. The thought swarmed your mind. Was he working so much to avoid you completely?

“Family doesn’t get sent on suicide missions,” you say, swallowing past the thickness in your throat. You need to leave, you know you need to leave. This is not the two of you. This is not who you want you and your mate to be. You can’t sit by any longer and watch your mate work himself to death and treat you like this. It isn’t fair to either of you.

“Where are you going?” His voice is gruff, demanding, his own throat raw with emotion. 

You shrug, turning away from him. Ignoring his question, instead you answer, “I can’t stand by and watch you do this to yourself anymore. Not when you don’t care what it’s doing to the both of us.”

“I have to do this (Y/N). It’s my duty to serve this court.” And maybe you do hear that pang of fear in his voice, almost a hysterical tinge, the strike you feel in your own body as it reflects the emotion coming from your mate. But it’s too late now.

You allow yourself one last look at him over your shoulder, your hand resting on the brass knob again. He’s only moved a single step closer to you, his shadows coiled tightly around him like they’re trying to comfort him. His hazel eyes are the widest you’ve seen as of late, pried open with the fear of losing you. He stares into yours, almost begging you not to go. If he said it out loud you would, but he doesn’t. He’s too prideful, too out of touch with his emotions, too scared to say anything to Rhys.

He lets you walk away.

#azriel #azrielxreader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel/reader #shadowsinger #spymaster #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acomar #mate #azs_azz

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 13

Summary: Terrified of losing Y/N, the Darkling lets his defenses fall.

Warnings: angst, slight fluff, sexual content

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine // Part ten // Part eleven // Part twelve  

=================================

“Stay with me”, the Darkling trembled as he rushed back to the camp. He held her body close to his chest, her head slumped right where his heart beats thunderstorms in her name.

She’s slipping away, he can feel it. The injuries she suffered and the power she used weakened her irreversibly.

He should be angry with her, enraged, but he had no strength to spare for violent emotions. His heart couldn’t bare much more than the pain he found himself drowning in. It wasn’t the pain of his own wounds, rather the pain of her parted lips and ragged breaths that came like final gushes of air her lungs released.

“HEALER!” He shouted, hoping, praying to the Saints he never believed in before.

“HEALER!” There was something in his screams for help, an unimaginable pain behind it.

Y/N’s fingers twitched, her chest rising in a strange manner; what should expand with an inhale suddenly draws in, a paradox he had seen in dying soldiers.

“HEALER!” It was the kind of scream that went straight for the heart.

Everyone tensed, following the Darkling – a man who never showed genuine emotion other than rage. His call for healers felt like a cry from the heart and soul that stretched across the foundations of who he is. The anguish tore through him as he saw a healer run toward him.

Letting out a shuddered breath in relief, he collapsed to his knees. “Not me!” He growled as the healer tried placing her hands on him, “Help her! Save my wife!”

Nodding, the healer looked down at Y/N with wide eyes. Another healer arrived too, then another, and another.

The Darkling refused to let her out of his embrace as two of the healers tried to take her away. “No!”

“We have to take her”, the first healer insisted. “She doesn’t have long and we have to act fast and that’s not going to happen while you’re clinging to her!” Eyes wide, she covers her mouth as it dawns on her who she’s speaking to. “Respectfully, General.”

Staring at her with raw suffering, Aleksander licked his trembling lips. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her temple instead of her forehead – forehead kisses in this moment would feel as if he’s kissing her corpse before her final rest. 

He couldn’t stomach that thought.

“If you die, I’ll never forgive you”, he whispers. 

This isn’t how it’s meant to be, how it’s supposed to be. He could never believe anyone ever loved anyone the way he loves her.

Nothing ever made him so frightened as the thought of losing her.

“Take her”, Mal tells them. Looking down at Kirigan who seemed incapable of standing back up on his own, he realized he had to take over.. “And send someone for your General. Send everyone for the wounded in the field.”

Aleksander looked up, jaw clenched and eyes swimming in tears he has yet to shed.

“I’m not leaving”, Mal quipped. “She’s my General.”

Y/N wasn’t able to scream, despite the pain darkening her mind. She tried to focus on her breathing, on staying alive. The only awareness she had was of Aleksander’s arms around her – she felt his scent. When he touched her face, when he tried to gain her attention, she couldn’t open her eyes. Her ears kept ringing, mixing with a rumbling inside his chest. She managed to blink her eyes open once, just one more time to see him, but all she managed to get was a glimpse of his chin and beard.

She wondered how he’d look without it, if it would make him seem boyish, softer. Maybe it would have erased the burden on his shoulders - they may be wide, but they shouldn’t have to carry all that weight alone.

Suddenly, his scent was gone. She tried to reach for him, but her arms could not move, hanging freely instead. Cold seeped in, clinging to her insides, wrapping itself around her heart.

Slowly, her agony had faded. The pain gradually lifted, dissipating like fog. For a moment, she wondered if this is what death feels like – no more pain? No more suffering? Being alone and cold?

Despite everything, if she had a choice, she’d embrace the pain. If pain means she would return to him, to his warm arms, she’d gladly suffer.

Dizzy, confused, she felt herself being pulled up into reality. The disjointed haze receded enough for her to make sense of the world around her. Her eyelids feel heavy as she opens her eyes, the edges of her vision flickering. Blinking fast, her eyebrows knitted as her vision blurred.

‘Aleksander’, she wanted to call, but couldn’t say a word. 

How odd it is that he’s the last one she thought about when she thought she’d die and he’s still the first one to come to mind when she wakes? 

She no longer felt cold. He always had the ability to keep the cold away.

Sniffling, she jerked her hands away as she became aware of another’s touch. Sitting up on a table she was laid upon, she pulled herself aside before looking to the one who touched her earlier.

“It’s just me”, he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I needed to see you.” His voice is soft, sweet like honey.

Scoffing, she narrows her eyes at him and the cup of water he held out for her to take. Her mouth is dry, her throat like sandpaper. She may be angry with him, but the water he held out felt more important than their fight.

“Are you in any pain?” He asks, watching her drink all of the water in one go. “I could have them come and take it away.”

Letting out a loud sigh, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Raising an eyebrow, she licked her dry lips.

“Can they take you away?”

Snorting, he suppresses a smile. As long as she’s capable of annoying him, she’s going to be fine.

“What were you thinking?” Threading his fingers through his hair, Aleksander frowned. “You could have died.”

“Would have saved you a lot of trouble in the future”, she quips. Standing, she stumbles.

Feeling his hands on her waist, Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. Even now, when she’d like nothing more than to walk away, her body reacts to him. Looking up at him, she inhales sharply as she sees the tears in his eyes.

“I’m scared”, he admitted and she blinked.

“Of what?” She frowned, “Me?” Does her power frighten him? Because it frightens her.

He shook his head, “Of me”, he looked at her. His hands trembled as they touched her skin, “I’m scared of hurting you.”

“I’m scared of you hurting me, too.”

Dropping his hand, he takes a step back. “I don’t think I’m capable of ever hurting you.”

“Tell that to my neck”, she remarks. Her hand brushes over where his hand had tightened its grip just the night before, fixing his gaze on him. He seemed to regret it.

‘Good’, she thought. ‘I hope it haunts him, because it will haunt me.’

“I apologize”, Aleksander swallows thickly. He can’t remember the last time he apologized to someone. A part of him questioned if he ever apologized for anything he’s done in his unusually long life. “I had no right to act the way I did.”

“You once told me I could choose the way to punish you if you ever hurt me”, she takes his hand, intertwining their fingers.

Aleksander nods, “I’m a man of my word.”

“What’s your name”, she asks. “Real name.”

His eyes locked on hers like magnets of different polarities. Isn’t that exactly what they are? She’s his polar opposite in every way, fated to attract.

“Aleksander Morozova.” He uttered a name long forgotten; a name he wanted to forget. 

Aleksander was a weak boy who failed everyone that cared for him. He was soft, young, naïve and a damned fool for ever believing Grisha would ever be free. Even now as he elevated their status, Grisha had to serve a human – the Tsar.

Her eyes held barely contained anger. As her hands clasped, a few stray flickers of light appeared on her fingertips. Unclasping her hands immediately, she raised her chin up. “I want to know everything. Tell me your story.”

“And when will I hear yours?” Darkling demanded, swiping his thumb under his lower lip.

“You seem to mistake this for negotiations”, she maintained eye contact defiantly. “Last night you told me to either go back to the Palace or to cross the fold and return to my father. It’s a choice that would easily mean I can choose to stay with you or leave and never look back.”

Placing a hand on his chest, Y/N smirked. “You can either tell me the whole truth or watch me leave.” She spoke through gritted teeth, “Don’t push me unless you’re willing to lose.” 

Cupping his left cheek, she allowed a luminescent glow cast a light on his handsome features. She was angry, so angry and tired and her own power often terrified her. For once, she wanted to use it for her own benefit rather than hide it.

“What good will it do?” Aleksander’s bottom lip quivers as her light illuminates tears collecting in his dark eyes. “You’ll hate me as they all do. Even my mother saw me as a monster.”

“I’ve seen what you really are. And I never turned away…what makes you think I will now?”

She felt his jaw clench under the palm of her hand as he swallowed thickly, “You would if you could see my heart, all of it.”

Exhaling through her nose, she shook her head. Her eyes soften, her lips parting. How could she ever be indifferent to his suffering? She wished she could be colder, to leave him in tears and not look back. Hearing his words, his belief that he’s unlovable tugged at her heartstrings. 

"Have you no faith in me?"

In a fight, they’re lethal, but around each other their armor is gone.

“I’ve waited for you for centuries. I dreamed about you for hundreds of years before I ever saw your face. I longed for you, missed you, died and lived for you.” Taking her face in his hands, Aleksander bends. His forehead meets hers as his nose brushes against the tip of hers.

“Ever since I laid eyes on you, my dreams have been clearer, focused on you. And in my dreams I am kissing your mouth and you’re whispering ‘where have you been’”, his eyes overflow with tears as he continues with a fractured smile. “I say, ‘I’ve been lost, but I’m here now’.” 

Swallowing thickly, he felt as if his heart was breaking. “You’re the only person who has ever been able to find the real me. You saw me underneath all the darkness.” Reaching for her hand, his fingers tremble. “I was waiting for you without knowing it. I’ll make up for all the mistakes, for all the years I was supposed to be kissing you.”

“So why is it so hard for you to be honest with me?” She whispers, her hands trembling as they hold onto his shoulders.

His frown deepens, “Why weren’t you honest with me?”

“You once joked and said I’m no Inferni”, she shrugged. “You were right about that. My mother was. Father never knew about either of us. Your turn.”

“I was honest”, he sighs. Stepping back, he frowns. “I told you my name, I answered your questions about the black heretic.”

Reaching for him, she felt her heartache intensify once his tears began to flow freely across his cheeks.

“Don’t”, he recoiled from her touch. She wrapped her arms around her own waist, hurt by the rejection. 

“It’s not easy for me to talk about my past. It’s as if I’m cutting myself open, letting the ugliness spill out. It’s not painless.” Swallowing thickly, Darkling’s eyes widen as he tries to hold back more tears from escaping him. “It would have been simpler to close myself off and find an unremarkable lover who’d never dare defy me, but I keep taking the risk because I want to be with you and I hope that one day you will feel the same way about me.”

“I want”, she stopped, tucking her hair behind her ears. 

His voice was quieter, “What do you want? I’ll give you everything.”

“I don’t know”, she replied honestly. “I’m hurt, Aleks. You hurt me after you promised to protect me.”

Running a hand across his face, wiping his tears away. He averts his gaze. Watching her break because of him deepens the cracks in his poorly stapled, bleeding heart.

“What do you want”, she looked to him with a weight in her chest. How can loving someone hurt so badly even when the love is reciprocated?

“Never mind what I want”, he turned away. Facing her now would have chipped away at his fragile sanity, so he did what a coward would – he hid.

“You asked what I want”, she placed her hands on her hips. “I want to know what you want.”

Shaking his head, he let out a breathless chuckle. “You”, he smiled. “I’ll always want you.”

Closing the distance between them, she closed her arms around his neck. Before she could reach for him, he gripped her by her thighs and lifted her effortlessly. Wrapping her legs around his waist on instinct, she got lost in the rush of blood to her head when he pinned her against the table behind her. He paused, searching her eyes. 

Whatever he was looking for, she hoped he found it.

“I don’t own you”, his eyes flicker to her lips as she sinks her front teeth into the soft flesh of her bottom lip. “I never did. Human or Grisha, you always owned me. I was just too blind to see it.”

Brushing his lips against hers, Aleksander smiled in resignation. His eyes are so different in moments like these, softer than she ever imagined eyes could be.

“Your silver tongue won’t get you far”, she struggled to keep her eyes open with his lips a whisper away. “But you’re free to try.”

She felt his burning gaze, finding it hard to concentrate on much besides breathing. He observed her, capturing her soft, naturally charming and appealing nature. She’s genuine and sweet, the reason why everyone’s head turns when she walks into the room.

How did he not realize it before?

She’s the sun.

She always was. 

He always did squint angrily at her like he does with the fireball in the sky.

Y/N’s hands ran up and down his chest as her lips claimed his - passionately, roughly, determinedly. Without a word, she started to unbutton his kefta, her cold fingertips brushing his warm skin - until she lost patience and ripped the bottom part wide open, pressing her palm against his chest as he broke the kiss.

“Are you sure?” He raised his eyebrows in concern.

“I’ll be mad at you tomorrow. Kiss me”, she ordered, drawing a smile on his lips as she pulled him closer, her lips reattaching to his, her teeth sinking into his lower one.

Pushing him onto the floor, she didn’t waste time. Her bottoms were down so quickly he hardly had time to take a proper breath before she unfastened his pants too.

Heaving, Aleksander could hardly get enough of the view on top of him - her beautiful mouth opening in pleasure every time she sunk down on him, her eyes rolling back into her head, her hands placed over his chest to keep herself steady. She speeds up, prompting his loud, uninhibited moans that drew an honest smile upon her lips. He trusted up and into her as his high hit fully, taking her by surprise. She gasped, his thrust giving her an unexpected release as she clenched around him.

Gasping for breath, she laid on top of him. Y/N was very aware of his arm around her as it pulled her close, his hand on her hip, giving it a light squeeze. He leaned into her, his lips pressing a tender kiss to her temple, making her tingle with anticipation of something more - something she shouldn’t think about after their argument.

How can she trust his change of heart has nothing to do with the fact she’s the Sun Summoner? How can she ever trust him at all?

Clearing her throat, she pulled herself off Aleksander. “Put something on, someone might come in”, she told him as she secured her pants back on. She could hardly look at him, afraid he’d weaken her resolve. She couldn’t forgive him so easily, even if her heart ached for him.

“Let me in”, a voice from outside the tent made Y/N look to the entrance with a frown.

She crossed the distance swiftly, her hands ready in case she had to use her sword. She goes to place her hand on the hilt only to find her sword is not on her.

It’s a good thing that’s not her only weapon.

“Hey!” She shouts at the Grisha as they pulled someone away. “Stop!”

“General?!” Mal laughs as he manages to look back at her, fighting against the Grisha.

“Mal?” She chuckles, glad to see he’s still alive. 

“Leave him alone!” She orders, feeling a presence behind her. She didn’t need to look to know it’s Aleksander. Unfortunately for him, she wasn’t in the mood for anymore talking.

“You’re alive?!” Mal goes in for the hug, but his eyes catch a glimpse of Kirigan’s glare and he slowly backs away. “We need to regroup.”

“How many have we lost?” She frowns.

“You’re Grisha now”, Aleksander speaks up. “You don’t have to fight for the humans.”

Glancing over her shoulder, she scoffs at him. How could he even think she’d give up on her people now? 

“That’s not something I’d like. I enjoy my humanity.”

She was the flame who lit his life on fire and while he was burning, he wanted to thank her for it and ask her to stay a while longer. Darkling nearly chuckled at the thought of calling her fire, but she is and he craves the burn.

The Darkling wanted Y/N to be the one addicted to him, in equal measure as he was addicted to her. He wanted to give her a reason to stay with him, if not for love, then for lust. He’d find a way to her heart in the meantime and knowing they’ll have a forever comforts him, but he needed to have her in every other way until then.

He knew he could make her truly happy if she’d let him and he wasn’t about to let her go.

Not without a fight.

Watching her walk away with the soldier, he clicked his tongue. Mal, whoever he is, poses a threat he needs to handle.

Swiftly.

=============================

A/N - I struggled so much writing this chapter, hope you guys like it. I’m probably gonna pass out now, I’m exhausted. xx

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06 @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren  @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl @yagorlemmalyn @gonehopelessgirl @fefethecoffeeaddict @naughtynecromancer @poison-of-the-ivie @strawb3rrydr3ss @supersouthy @theilliterateironman @evyiione @kimoranelson03 @wizardwheezes @woodsabby6 @liajiah @its-carlerrr​ 

PART 14

#the darkling x reader #the darkling #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #general kirigan x reader #kirigan x reader #general kirigan #shadown and bone

[whaleofatjme1920]

please scenario where him and his s/o have been besties with toby since they met as proxies when they were young and when they meet up later in life they confess 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Parking Lots, and Surrounded By Your Group and His

[Ticci Toby X GN!Reader]

[Warnings: mentions of death? Nothing major though.]

[AN: I changed the prompt,,,, ever so slightly,,,????]

When the crickets sing in the grass and the breeze is warm and gentle, Toby can’t help but be reminded of a simpler time when he would spend his afternoons catching bugs and eating ice cream on the front lawn with you. He can still hear your laughter as the sun begins to slowly sink below the horizon before the fireflies begin to make their appearance.

He used to spend hours on said front lawn catching them with you, listening to you speak and interjecting with his own jokes. The two of you always had such a grand time together, even when his father would angrily call him back into the house.

Toby didn’t know what love was when he was young, but only that he had it. Every little touch you gave him, the smiles and giggles, they were all small micro expressions of some kind of love - as much love as a child could give. Toby didn’t know how much he adored you. Growing up, the two of you had grown closer and closer. He saw you blossom into a young adult alongside him. Well, he didn’t really blossom, but more so choked his way into being a young adult. And you were by his side for it all, even the hardest, darkest days.

When he lost his mother and sister, he called you in a panic, his voice rough like sandpaper and creaking like wood. He was frantic, unable to form proper sentences. You threw out your evening plans and hopped in your car, driving like a mad man over to his house, ready to console him. The air felt still, cold and slightly clammy as you drove nearer and nearer to his house.

There, on the front porch waiting for you, head in his hands and tears drenching his form was Toby, unable to process the world and everything and everyone in it. He looked so broken and downtrodden as he clutched at his clothes tighter, rocking himself and hugging what physical part of him he could.

Your heart tore into pieces as you parked, then rushed out of the vehicle to hold him. “Toby, Toby!” You called out, tears welling in your eyes as you bounded up to the distraught boy.

He furrowed his eyebrows and blinked away more tears, letting out a strained sob as he picked himself up off the rickety wooden porch, meeting you part of the way. He felt the breath leave his lungs as you crashed into his arms, burying your face into his chest.

“I’m so sorry,” you mumbled like a mantra into his chest, letting him hold you tighter and tighter to the point you couldn’t breathe.

Toby didn’t let you go that night.

The last time he saw you was in the parking lot of your high school. Toby had been grieving the loss of his mother and sister, becoming more and more withdrawn into himself. He’d honestly been withdrawing from you as well, and that concerned you more than anything. So, to remedy this, you took matters into your own hands and forced him to meet you in the parking lot after school.

The two of you sat down on the hood of your car, talking about the world and its wonders and the things that are better left unsaid until late, late in the night.

Toby felt so at home in your presence that he was able to block out the voices for just a little longer. He reveled in the sound of your laughter and the presence of your being. He was just… Lighter than air to be with you.

But all good things must come to an end, and unfortunately, your parents desiring you home had brought the time the two of you shared together to an end.

“I love you, Tobes, you know that right?” You murmured as you hugged him for what you didn’t know was your final time.

“O-Of course I d-d-do,” he whispered back, nose burying into your hair. “I l-love you,” he said, tears threatening to spill once more.

The two of you remained in each other’s embrace before you parted from him, and he let you go for the final time.

And Toby felt alone, oh so alone.

So alone that he burnt down the village to feel its warmth.

There’s only been like, three moments in Toby’s life when he’s been surprised. The first being meeting you as a child, the second being the loss of the two most important women of his life, and the third? Being taken into the arms of the Operator.

He’s a proxy now, does his job well, and is with a group that sometimes tolerates him. He’s in a better place than when he was a child under his father’s roof.

“We’re going to work with another group tonight,” Masky says, a slight sigh lingering on his lips.

“W-Who are they?”

“You know Wallace, don’t you?” Hoodie suddenly cuts in.

Toby nods. He likes Ruth and Nyein, the other two he can live without.

“They got a new proxy,” Masky continues. “And they want us to take them for the evening. So, I guess we’re only working with their runt,” Masky finishes more to himself than anyone else. He brushes his fingers through his hair and pats his pocket for the car keys. “C’mon, might as well head over. Gonna be a bit of a drive.”

Toby glances over his shoulder at Kate, who is watching reruns of Judge Judy and slowly nodding off. “And s-s-she gets o-off scott f-free?” He teases lightly as he stands up, pushing his chair in across the checkered floor. He cracks his neck loudly before walking over to the sofa, his gloved hand rustling Kate’s hair.

She sleepily laughs. “Have fun and be safe, boys.”

“Get some sleep,” Masky chuckles, watching as Hoodie rustles her hair just as Toby did before heading out.

Toby zoned out a bit on the car ride to wherever the meeting place was. He always tended to zone out, but he couldn’t shake some weird buzzing in the back of his head. Something about the way Masky and Hoodie are talking about Wallace’s newest runt…

He doesn’t often remember things from his life before he became a proxy. The Operator made sure of that so he wouldn’t be too heartbroken to continue his job. But he’s always been able to remember you - more or less. Little glimpses, the feelings associated, you were never easy to get rid of.

Instead of mentally traumatizing him further, the Operator allowed him to keep his thoughts and feelings associated with you. Most days, Toby’s dim love for you spurred him forward.

“Time to go meet a runt,” Hoodie says, voice only slightly amused by the way the word ‘runt’ rolls off his tongue.

Masky parks the car and then shoves the keys into his pocket, nodding that it’s okay for everyone to get out of the car.

Toby stretches briefly in his seat before sliding out of the car, taking in the crisp night air. He takes a gander at his surroundings for a moment before locking eyes on a group of people. Wallace and his group - Toby narrows his eyes at the two men before catching Ruth and Nyein. His favorite proxy that’s not part of his group and his favorite independent other than Jeff and EJ. How nice.

Masky begins to walk over to meet the other group leader with Toby and Hoodie close behind. He looks tired, which is usual for him, but happy to see that Nyein is excitedly waving. “Heard you had a runt for us?”

“Sure do,” Theo says, looking over his shoulder. “C’mon out, they’re not going to bite you.”

“What, are they scared of us?” Hoodie chuckles as he puts his hands into his pockets. He glances past Theo to see a dark shape moving in the backseat of the car.

“It’s like, their first day working with people that aren’t us,” Wallace attempts to explain. “And from what we can gather, they only entered this life because of-”

“Toby.”

The name that pours from your lips sends Toby’s head and heart spinning. “E-Excuse me?” He barely manages to choke out as you step forward, pushing aside Wallace and Theo, looking at the much taller man with stars in your eyes.

“Oh my gods, Toby, is that you?” You whisper, still walking forward to meet him like a dream.

Toby’s eyes widen as he looks at you, no, stares you down. You look so much different than when he let you go as a teen - you’re all grown up now! Some things have changed about you, but other things have stayed the same.

Both your group and Toby’s give each other confused looks as if to ask the other if they knew about this before you rush forward, face planting into Toby’s chest.

He takes in a sharp breath and embraces you, laughter bubbling up from his throat. He takes in your sweet scent and picks you up, moving you from the group as he begins to twirl you and babble on about how much he missed you.

You giggle, tears falling like drops of rain from your eyes before you feel yourself planting back down into the parking lot, your attention focused on him and no one else. Your stomach is fluttering with butterflies as you look up at the teary eyed man. “How have you been?” You ask quietly, closing your eyes as Toby leans down slightly to rest his forehead against yours.

“Never better.”

#ticci toby #ticci toby x reader #ticci toby headcanon #ticci toby scenario #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta scenario #x reader #reader insert #fluff #loki fluff

[tsukishumai]

Chemical Reaction - Kuroo Tetsuro

Summary: When the universe hands you a second chance, will you be able to move on from the mistakes of your past? 

college!Kuroo x fem!reader

a friends to friends w/ benefits to lovers type of deal.

Warnings: some light NSFW, slow burn, aged up characters, mentions of smoking, mentions of alcohol, fingering, cursing, and a little heartbreak. angst to fluff

Word Count: 7.3k (it goes by fast, I swear (′ꈍωꈍ‵))

A/N:  Jesus... this started out as a prompt, but it snowballed into whatever the hell this is. And it was supposed to be done by Kuroo’s bday T-T but better late than never! I poured in a lil extra love into this, pls give it a shot, lmk what you think, and I hope you enjoy !

Your history with Kuroo Tetsuro went back a little bit further than you’d like to admit.

He had been in your class for all three years you were at Nekoma, but you had really only popped onto each other’s radars second year.

He had been assigned the seat next to you, and while you were upset that your best friend, Eri, had been sat all the way across the room, you didn’t exactly mind the view.  

Right off the bat, you knew this was going to be trouble for you.

The guy was cute, funny, and smart. How hadn’t you noticed him before?

“Hey, L/N-chan,” he said, already making you blush with the addition of the honorific, “I have many chemistry jokes… but I’m afraid they won’t get a good reaction!”

You couldn’t stop either the face palm or the giggle that slipped out of your lips.

Kuroo was an easy person to get along with. He always greeted you in the mornings, and never really bothered you during class. On the rare occasion he stayed in the classroom for lunch, the two of you would strike up a conversation, but it never went past the surface.

Until about halfway through the school year. Your teacher had assigned a project that required a partner.

You looked to Eri, only to find the little traitor pairing up with the guy she had been eyeing since first year.

You sighed, not even mad at her for trying to shoot her shot.

“Want to be partners?” your head shot to the boy next to you.

“Uhm. Sure!”

And so it went like this; the project was due at the end of the year, requiring a research paper, and a 7 minute power point presentation.

Once or twice a week, the two of you would meet up at the school library either before school or after your club activities.

Kuroo was smart; smarter than you but you’d never say that to his face, so more often than not, the two of you would finish what needed to be done that day, and spent the rest of the time just talking, and getting to know each other.

By the third time the two of you had gotten kicked out by the librarian for laughing too much, Kuroo suggested meeting at his house on the weekends.

Surely that doesn’t mean what you think it means right???

It doesn’t, lmao. This guy was a good student, he made sure you guys finished your parts, because there was no way he was going to get anything less than an A.

Oh, you guys finished a little early today? Great! L/N-chan! Help me with my receives!

As the weeks pass by, there was a mutual progression in the relationship, neither of you seeing each other as project partners anymore, and falling into a comfortable friendship.

For Kuroo, that is. You, on the other hand, just became way too good at acting like you weren’t falling in love.

The school year is coming to a close, and you turn in your project.

Surprise, surprise! You guys got an A.

Seriously, the teacher said she was going to start using it as an example for the future students.

You couldn’t even be happy about your passing grade; you were too sad that your time with Kuroo was ending.

“Well, it was really fun being your partner this year,” you said, and Kuroo cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Why do you sound like someone’s dying,” he joked, “Anyway, Kenma said he bought a new game, but it’s multiplayer. What time are you coming this weekend?”

Bitch, ya heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

For a little while, you were content with things being like that. You had become good friends with not just Kuroo, but Kenma as well. You guys weren’t always together, but definitely made a point to make time for each other.

While you guys were usually busy during the week, club activities, homework and school taking up most of your time, Saturdays at Kuroo’s had become a thing well into your third year. As much as possible, you would try to attend his games, and he would try to bring you snacks when he knows you’re stuck studying.

You tried really hard not to read into the things he would do for you.

Surely, he’s also held Kenma’s bag while walking him home, right?

He’s memorized his whole team’s schedule; it’s nothing special if he also has yours memorized.

You know that he only brought you lunch today because he had to share half of his when you forgot yours.

All normal friend stuff, right! Right?!

“I met a cute girl the other day,” he said to you absentmindedly one morning before class.

Wait. Your chest shouldn’t feel so tight, should it? Your eyes are swimming, and your head is floating. Every breath feels like lead in your lungs, and you kinda wished the ground would swallow you whole.

“Oh, Really?” you tried to be nonchalant, and hoped he didn’t notice the shakiness in your voice.

He nodded. “Yeah… she’s kinda funny.”

But you were really funny, weren’t you? You were the one that made him laugh like a hyena, made him clutch his stomach and gasp for breath, right?

“Is that so?” your mouth felt like sandpaper, “Why don’t you try taking her out on a date?”

You wish you had never said those words.

You knew the girl he was talking about; you had seen Kuroo approach her in the hallway.

She was your teammate in the track and field club; not one of the fastest, but she was beautiful, kind, friendly, and Kuroo was right – she really was kind of funny.

“You should have told him first, you know,” Kenma had mumbled from next to you once, eyes never leaving his game while yours quickly shot him a glare.

It was just the two of you at the lunch table – Kuroo mumbling an excuse about having plans with another “friend”.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kenma just rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

You spend the next few weeks avoiding him; it was easier since he didn’t sit next to you in class anymore, you weren’t really replying to his texts as often, you stopped visiting him and Kenma at practice, and you had missed the game you had told them you would try to go to.

You were kind of starting to realize that it was mostly you that had to go and seek them out.

Now that you weren’t doing these things… where was he?

You would catch a glimpse of Kuroo when he would visit your teammate during practice; he would try to greet you but you’d only shoot him a tight smile.

So when you heard a loud knock on your door at eight o clock in the evening, the last person you expected was the roosterhead himself.

“Hey,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I could tell something was bothering you, and I’ve been trying to give you your space, but… it’s been weeks now so, I just have to know… Are you avoiding me?”

You didn’t really know what to say, if there is even anything else to. Even with your head down and eyes trained to your feet, you could feel the burn of his gaze.

“I...” the deep timbre of his voice always managed to give you chills, “I miss you.”

Is he fucking serious right now? He’s so smart, yet he can’t put two and two together? He can see his opponents’ moves before they happen, yet he can’t even see you standing right in front of him?

“I have feelings for you, Kuroo,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Kuroo’s eyes widened by a fraction, his mouth slightly hung agape, dumbfounded by your seemingly random confession.

Except, it wasn’t random to you. You’ve been harboring these feelings for months, and after hurting yourself by staying silent for so long, you decided that you deserve better.

You’ll accept whatever the outcome, if that’s the price for your peace.

“Y/N…” it took him a long time to finally speak, and you try to ignore the fact that this is the first time he’s called you by your first name.

His face clearly showed his struggle to get the words out. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I –“

You raised your hand. You didn’t really want to hear any more than that.

“It’s okay,” you said, giving him a small smile.

And with that, you shut the door on Kuroo Tetsuro.

You do your best to move on, smiling and laughing with friends you wouldn’t usually talk to you, ignoring the ghost of your past that haunt you every time you walked passed by Kuroo and your teammate down the hall.

You throw back a laugh at whatever the person next to you had said, turning away to miss the fact that Kuroo’s eyes always followed you wherever you went.

Graduation day came and in the blink of an eye, your days at Nekoma were behind you.

The days passed, the seasons changed, the flowers bloomed, and then they died.

You started university, moving to a different city and living with the very same best friend whose betrayal to quench her own thirst became the catalyst for your greatest heartbreak.

You’ve forgiven her for that though, you guess.

Life in college was the breath of fresh air that you needed.

New things to learn, new places to discover, and new faces to help you forget the scars of old ones.

Years pass by, and while you’ve allowed yourself to feel the touch of others, allow them to make you laugh, allow them to make you cry, you’ve never really allowed yourself the luxury of falling in love again.

Who has time for that any way?

Definitely not you. You just needed to finish your undergrad, and get into med school.

You had plans for your life, you weren’t going to compromise your dreams just for another person, and no matter whom you dated or how much they liked you, this fact had always rubbed them the wrong way.

You were finally starting your last year at your undergrad, quite possibly one of the most important years of college, what with your thesis, med school applications, and your entire future pretty much on the line, no big deal.

Your first class of the day was chemistry. You had been avoiding the last chemistry class required by your degree, all of your friends telling you that it was one of the hardest classes they’ve ever taken, and so naturally, you ran away for as long as possible.

The class wasn’t due to start for another fifteen minutes when you walked in, giving you a perfect opportunity to grab a seat of your liking.

You ended up choosing one in the third row – you knew that if you sat in the back, you wouldn’t pay attention.

You take out your laptop, books, and all required materials, using this free time to check any emails from your professors.

You were checking the time – 5 minutes left until class started – when you were interrupted.

“L/N-chan?”

Your feel your body stiffen up at the sound of a voice you hadn’t heard in years.

You turn your head to your left, hoping to all the gods that maybe you were mistaken.

“Kuroo?” you said in disbelief, and oh honey… you could not believe he was standing right before you.

Kuroo seemed like he hadn’t changed at all. His hair seemed a little bit more managed, he was a little bit taller, his muscles filled out his shirt better… but he still had the same goofy smile on his face, and that undeniably mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“What are you doing here?” you blurted out. “I thought you went to a university in Tokyo?”

“I did, but I transferred this year,” he said, “This university has a great marketing program.”

“I can’t believe it,” you mumble out, more so to yourself than him, “It’s been years.”

He gave you a smile. “It has.”

He took the seat next to you, much to your surprise. You almost wanted to open your mouth in protest, but what could you say? ‘You can’t sit there’?

You were thankful that the class had only gone over the syllabus, because you didn’t hear a word the professor said.

When you told Eri about it later, she just laughed.

“I always thought Kuroo-san was a nice guy,” she commented, her back turned while she cooked the both of you dinner.

“I never said he wasn’t,” you said, throwing back the rest of the wine in your glass.

“What, you still like him or something?” Eri teased, plating the noodles she had created and setting it in front of you.

“Of course not,” you grumbled, stabbing at the plate with a fork, and the amused look on Eri’s face tells you that her silence was just to placate you.

The next few weeks of the semester went by without any incident.

Kuroo stayed in the seat next to you, and you didn’t let yourself wonder why.

You were proud at yourself for being able to talk to Kuroo the way that you were; he still made the same stupid chemistry jokes in high school, but now you felt like you could laugh at them without choking on the air around you.

It was easy.

Until it wasn’t.

“Alright everyone,” your professor began one rainy morning, “We’re about halfway through the semester, and this is usually around the time I like to assign a little project.”

All of a sudden, you felt a strange feeling of déjà vu.

“Now, it’s only going to be worth about a third of your grade in the class, so I suggest not slacking off on this one. This is going to require a partner, and before you go texting your bestie that you want to ‘link up’, I’ve taken the liberty of assigning your partner for you.”

Oh, Christ. You were praying you wouldn’t get partnered up with a dead weight.

“When I call your name, raise your hand so I could introduce you to your new partner.”

You waited patiently for your name to be called, but Kuroo’s had been called first.

“Kuroo Testuro.”

Kuroo raised his hand.

“Your partner will be... let’s see here… ah, L/N F/N!”

No. No fucking way.

Your arm involuntarily raised, the professor nodding his head in acknowledgement.

You slowly turn to face Kuroo, who had an unreadable smile placed on his lips, your professor’s voice droning on in the background.

“Well,” he said, laughter laced in his words, “Isn’t this familiar?”

At first, you felt incredibly apprehensive at the thought of being partnered with your high school crush, but at the end of the day, you were actually incredibly thankful.

Kuroo was just as smart and diligent as he was back then, and you had every confidence that your project was going to get the highest grade.

You tried to make it a point to meet in public places – cafes, libraries, and the like.

But soon, Kuroo suggested that it would just be easier and more comfortable to meet at either your place or his.

He only ever came by when Eri was home too, which would have been fine if the smirk on her face didn’t make you so nervous.

You noticed that his roommate was always around when you came over as well. You learned his name was Bokuto, and though he was a little loud, his presence was actually a little comforting.

Honestly, it all felt so… nostalgic. Whenever you would finish your work for the day, then the two of you would spend the time talking, catching up, and laughing at stupid jokes, almost as if the two of you were friends again.

Almost like nothing happened between you at all.

“Hey,” you started one day, curiosity getting the better of you after a particularly steamy conversation about past relationships, sitting on the floor with your iPad on your lap and homework strewn about all over the living room floor, “Whatever happened between you and that girl from high school?”

Kuroo just gave you a sad smile, and you thought she must have broken his heart pretty badly.

“Oh that…” he waved it off, “That was a mistake. A big one.”

You figured it was better not to ask any more questions.

Eri walked out of her room soon after Kuroo left that night, her arms crossed and leaning against the door’s archway as she watched you wash the dishes.

You guys are getting pretty close,” she mused.

She couldn’t see you roll your eyes. “Well, yeah, we were pretty good friends in high school.”

Eri let out a humorless laugh. “I stand by my statement that Kuroo-san is a nice guy,” she said, walking up next to you to place a hand on your shoulder, “But I haven’t forgotten how long it took you to get over what happened.”

Your hands stilled in the soapy water for a second, but you chose not to say anything.

“I’m just saying,” Eri started to walk back to her room, calling out her last words behind her shoulder, “Be careful.”

Eri’s words echoed in your head whenever you were with Kuroo.

Every time he offered to pay for your food, you made sure to insist you’d pay for it yourself. If he tried to grab your bag from your shoulder when you walked, you’d hold on tighter and say you were fine.

You didn’t avoid him like you did before, but you made every attempt to keep him at arm’s length.

It seems your attempts were all for nothing, however, when the semester ended.

“Amazing job,” were the words that came from your professor when giving your passing grade.

“We did it,” Kuroo said happily, the two of you making your way out of the class, “It’s finally over.”

“Thank god,” you laughed back.

“Hey,” Kuroo started, though he was looking at everywhere but you, “Bokuto’s gone and visiting his boyfriend for the weekend, but I was wondering if you wanted to come over for drinks later?”

You blinked, trying to even your breathing.

“You know, to celebrate the end of the semester, and acing that nightmare class.”

You should say no, right? Wait, but you’re grown now. You’ve moved on from what happened back then. The two of you did work really hard this semester, what’s wrong with celebrating your achievements?

“I think we’ve earned it,” Kuroo laughed.

“Yeah,” you said, and you were glad for it just from the smile that spread on his stupid face, “We really have! I’ll be there.”

“See you at eight?”

You nodded at his words as he waved goodbye, going your separate ways.

Ten hours later, you were sitting next to Kuroo on his living room floor, sake cup full to the brim as BNHA plays on his TV.

“Ah, Deku’s in the hospital,” Kuroo slurred, sake sloshing out of his cup when he pointed to the screen, “That’s a shot!”

The two of you threw back the warm liquid, and you were kind of worried that it didn’t taste like anything anymore.

“Kuroo,” you laughed, “We’re only on the second episode… and I think I’ve taken, like, twelve shots at this point.”

“This was your idea!”

“Well, I have another idea,” you started to get up, causing Kuroo to get up as well, “Let’s order take out!”

He laughed at your red face, agreeing with you.

You started to make your way to the couch, but all of a sudden, you felt dizzy, a head rush taking over your senses as you stumbled over your feet.

Kuroo caught you before you could hit the floor.

“You okay?” he laughed, and the sound of it elicited a laugh from your own lips.

In a second, the two of you erupted in giggles, snickering at nothing in particular while his strong arms still held you in place.

Suddenly, you were hyperaware of his touch on your skin, and you let your eyes trail from the strong hands around your waist, to the golden honey eyes that were already staring at your face.

You can’t exactly remember how, but the next thing you knew, you were pinned under Kuroo on his bed, his soft lips moving in tandem with yours while his hot tongue took over your whole mouth.

Your arms were looped around his neck, and he slid his calloused hands up your arm.

You felt his hands grip onto your wrists before he pulled them off his necked and pinned them onto the mattress.

You took in a deep breath once he disconnected from your mouth, planting a trail of kisses along your jaw line and down to your neck, before you slid his tongue across your supple skin.

You shivered, acutely aware of the fact that he has you trapped.

“Be careful,” Eri’s words echoed in your mind.

Fuck, you tried to think but it was hard when Kuroo just threw his shirt across the room, hovering over you with chiseled abs and defined muscles.

The heat returned to your body when he lowered his head, and popped a hard nipple into his mouth.

Your body arched at the feel of his teeth grazing against your skin, goosebumps racing when he dipped his hand beneath your underwear, a slender finger gliding down your folds before inserting into you.

You weren’t prepared for the intrusion, and he captured the gasp that came out of your mouth with his lips.

He was now holding down both of your wrists with one hand, never realizing that he was that much bigger than you.

He slid out his finger, bringing it to his mouth to give a long lick, before dipping his hand back down, and pushing in two.

You threw your head back when Kuroo curled his fingers, wondering how the hell he was able to find your g spot so quickly.

You felt like an animal caught in his trap, caged in with your arms pinned down, no choice but to let Kuroo draw out your orgasm while he pumped and curled into you, circling his thumb over your swollen clit.

Your legs were shaking while you screamed out his name, embarrassed that you were cumming so hard when he hasn’t even actually fucked you

He didn’t give you a chance to recover from your orgasm

In one swift movement, Kuroo let go of your hands and pulled out his fingers so he could grab a leg in each hand to fold you over in a press.

You don’t even know when Kuroo had taken his pants – or yours – off, and you didn’t have time to wonder.

A moan escaped your lips at the feel of his length filling you up, and you distinctly hear Kuroo tell you to say his name.

“Kuroo,” you moaned, bringing your hands to his shoulders, grasping at his body.

Every buck of his hips shot a jolt of pleasure throughout your body, unable to escape the feeling with Kuroo holding you down in place.

Who the hell would want to escape from here anyway?

“My first name,” he growled, quickening his pace when he felt your walls tighten around his dick.

“Tetsuro!” you screamed without a second thought, the brutal rhythm Kuroo has set driving heat onto your stomach, repeating his name over and over even after you feel your pussy gushing all over him, your cum dripping down from his shaft to his balls.

“Fuck,” Kuroo growled out, driving into you one last time before he spilled hot white, trying hard to catch his breath while coming down from this high.

The two of you lay together in the darkness for a while, your head on his chest and his arms around his shoulder.

The silence that surrounded the room was comfortable; almost like a bubble of peace that neither of you wanted to pop by saying anything.

“Be careful,” Eri’s fucking voice told you, yet again

While you didn’t regret what had just happened between you and Kuroo, doubts were beginning to creep in your mind.

What the hell was supposed to happen now? You’re not sure if Kuroo was expecting this outcome when he invited you over for drinks, but it happened, and you’re not really sure where to go from here.

You’ve already built a life for yourself – one that was truly yours – and you had a path that you had every intention to follow.

Would Kuroo be like every other guy and run away when he finds out you’re not compromising your plans for him? Would you even want to try to fit him into your plans?

You shake your head.

Jesus, get a grip. A guy dicks you down /once/, and all of a sudden you’re thinking about this shit?

“Y/N? You okay?” He asked from beside you.

You lift your head from his chest, sitting up so you could lean your back against his headboard. Kuroo was quick to mirror your actions.

“Kuroo,” you begin to tell him, and he frowned a little at the sound of his last name, “That was… amazing.”

Kuroo blushed a little at your compliment, though he knew it didn’t stop there. “…But?”

“But,” you bit your lip, “I’m not really looking for anything serious right now.”

Kuroo didn’t respond right away, but maybe that’s because you just kept babbling. “It’s just… I have so much going on with school, not to mention grad school applications are due in a few months, and who knows which university I’ll end up going to after graduation…”

You finally had the courage to look at him, and you caught a glimpse of what you would have thought was sadness in his eyes if it hadn’t been blinked away so quickly, soon replaced with that same unreadable smile.

“Whatever you want, Kitten,” he replied, “This doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is.”

You let out a breath of relief.

He walked you home that night (or morning, considering it was 1am), still trying your best to set boundaries even though you pretty much let him thoroughly wreck you.

He didn’t give you a kiss goodbye, instead sheepishly waving when he sees you entering the door to your apartment, saying he’ll shoot you a text tomorrow.

You thought things would be weird between the two of you after that night, but you were happy to find that it wasn’t.

You had managed to rekindle your friendship with Kuroo – meeting up to study, grabbing lunch if you had the time, maybe catching the occasional movie.

Though, you didn’t tell Eri about the added benefits.

(Kuroo Tetsu-hoe) Today: 12:37AM

You up?

[To: Kuroo Tetsu-hoe] Today: 12:49AM

Yeah, doing my Lit. paper.

(Kuroo Tetsu-hoe) Today: 12:50AM

Wanna do me instead?

[To: Kuroo Tetsu-hoe] Today: 12:58AM

Say less.

ou didn’t have to tell Eri about the added benefits – she wasn’t dumb, where else would her roommate be going in the middle of night?

You’ve had other men before, going through your fair share of sexual experiences before climbing into bed with Kuroo.

But he was still managing to show you new things, reaching spots you never even knew existed before, putting his mouth in places that made your eyes water and lungs burn from gasping for air.

You can’t explain the feeling you get when he’s running his hands across your body, and when he stares at you and nothing but you while he’s pumping into you and making you feel so full in more ways than one, it’s something akin to a chemical reaction.

There was one time, when he took a belt, secured it against his head post before he brought your legs up to –

“Earth to Y/N,” Kuroo said, waving a hand in front of your face.

“Sorry,” you said, shrugging your shoulders, “I was having a flashback.”

Kuroo smirked, knowing exactly what you meant.  

The two of you were lying in bed, your back against his chest and a strong arm wrapped around your waist.

You laid your hand on top of his, fiddling with his fingers and reveling in the calm that always came from being with Kuroo.

“What you thinking about?” You ask, and the way he stiffened up in your grip let you know that something really was bothering him.

It took him a little longer than you’d like before he replied.

“Do you ever feel like… you want more?”

This time, it was you that stilled in his arms.

“Be Careful.”

You turned around to face Kuroo.

“I thought we talked about this?”

Kuroo’s eyes searched your face, for what, you have no idea. But you stared back with just as much intensity, hoping that he would find the answer he was looking for.

Fear. That’s what was written all over your face.

Kuroo let out a humorless laugh. “Forget I said anything.”

He stood up to put his boxers on and slipping on a shirt before heading out onto the balcony that was attached to his room.

You gave him a few moments before getting up to gather your clothes from the floor, silently putting them on before you joined him outside.

You find him leaning against the balcony railing on his forearms, a cigarette lit in one hand.

He doesn’t turn his head towards you, but he does offer his cigarette, and you take it quietly.

You bring the white filter to your lips, taking a deep drag, closing your eyes when you feel your head get lighter, and releasing the smoke from your lungs.

“Kuroo,” you started, voice nothing but a soft whisper, “I’m sorry… I didn’t – “

He raised a hand to stop you.

“It’s fine,” he replied. “Like I said, forget I mentioned anything.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Hey,” he said, taking his cigarette back from you and taking a drag himself, “Kenma’s having a party this weekend. They’re inviting over some old classmates from Nekoma. He says he misses you. You should come.”

Your ears perk up at the invitation, excited at the thought of seeing your old friend and a little happy that he’s moving past the subject.

"Kenma? Is having a party?”

Kuroo laughed. “Alright. Yaku is having a party, but we’re doing it at Kenma’s place. It’s actually not that far from here, just one train ride.”

You chuckled, shaking your head knowingly.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” you agreed, “But, uhm… I’ll just meet you there?”

Kuroo nodded. “Yeah. I’ll just meet you there.”

You didn’t see Kuroo the rest of that week.

You weren’t sure what it was – he wasn’t ignoring you, he replied to your text messages and answered your calls.

But he hadn’t once asked you to come over. And after what happened that night, you were scared to ask him to come over.

The night of Kenma’s party came, and you entered to find way more people than you had expected. You didn’t recognize more than half of the people there, but relief washed over you when Yaku threw an arm around your shoulder.

You didn’t see Kuroo right away when you arrived, but you were too distracted at the joy from seeing some of your old classmates.

You were half way through a game of beer pong with Lev as your partner before Kuroo was able to make an appearance.

He made his rounds, saying his greetings to everyone before stopping at you, giving you a friendly one armed hug.

You didn’t want to admit that you were a bit sad at the generic greeting.

Was it because maybe… you want…. mor –

“Y/N! Shoot the damn ping pong ball,” Lev exclaimed, and you were shook out of your reverie. 

Kuroo excused himself, saying he was going to the kitchen to make himself a drink, but you were too focused on winning your game to notice.

Before you knew it, you lost three to two against Kenma and Yamamoto, cursing at Lev for forcing you to carry the team on your back.

By this point, the alcohol had spread all through your system. You were still able to walk straight, but with considerable effort. The words that came out of your mouth were just a little slurred, and you were kind of having a hard time controlling the volume of your voice.

“Where’s Kuroo?” you asked Yaku, who instantly shot a hand up to rub his ear.

“Jesus, woman, you don’t have to yell, I am /right here,” he grumbled, but he still let you sling an arm around his shoulders for support. “I thought he went into the kitchen to get some drinks?”

That’s right, he said that. But that was hours ago. Where could he be?

You stagger away from Yaku, pushing your way past unfamiliar bodies to get to the kitchen.

The first thing you saw when you tripped into the kitchen was Kuroo, dressed in a fitted black shirt and blue jeans, looking every bit the Greek God he was as he leaned against the counter. His arms were crossed atop his broad chest, a drink in one hand.

He was talking to someone, and you thought you recognized the long black hair that flowed from the back of their head, but were too distracted studying the veins that protruded from Kuroo’s forearms.

You opened your mouth to call out to him when the person in front of him stepped up, pressing their body into his. She uncrossed his arms and snaked two long arms around his neck.

You recognized her in that instant.

It was his ex from high school.

Looking down, you were surprised to see your clothes dry, because it felt like someone poured a bucket of ice water directly on top of your head.

“Be careful,” Eri’s words echoed in your head for the ten millionth time.

Yet here you were

In the same exact place you were a little over three years ago.

You scoffed at yourself.

Well, there’s nothing else for you here now, is there?

You shoot Yaku and Kenma a quick text in a group chat to let them know you were leaving.

The air outside was cold, your breath coming out in puffs. You wrapped your jacket around a little tighter, cursing yourself silently for not wearing a scarf cause it’ll ‘ruin the outfit.’

“Hey, the party’s that way.”

The sudden voice behind you nearly made you jump ten feet in the air.

“Jesus, you really are like a fucking cat.”

Kuroo chuckled.

For some reason, the sound made you angry. You kept walking, following the path of dimmed street lights that led you to the train station.

“Yeah, but home’s this way.”

His heavy footsteps trailed behind you.

“Great, I was getting tired of the party anyway.”

“What are you doing here?” You finally turned your head to him and asked.

Your voice was surprisingly clear and even, despite the unsteadiness of the ground beneath you.

“What do you mean? I’m walking you home.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s late, and you’re my friend.”

‘Friend’. The word made you wince, even though you were the one that drilled the idea into his head.

“I saw you talking to your ex,” you grumbled, crossing your arms and turning the other direction.

You could practically feel his smirk.

“Oya? Is that jealousy I’m hearing in those words?”

You felt your face get hot.

“Of course not!”

- “I thought we were just friends?”

“Will you shut up for once in your life, idiot!”

He wanted to tease you some more, but was stopped by the pensive look on your face.

“Why would you leave the girl that broke your heart behind just to walk me home?”

Kuroo looked at you with a confused expression.

“Girl that broke my heart?”

You nodded. “When I asked you about her, you said she was a big mistake.”

Kuroo stopped walking. You turned your head back to look at him curiously when he doubled over in a full bellied laugh.

“Are you laughing at me?!” You asked incredulously, giving him a glare from where you stood.

“You... you think she’s the one that broke my heart?”

Kuroo wiped a fake tear from his eye.

“Wow. That was a good one.”

“What the hell are you going on about, Kuroo?”

The jovial look on Kuroo’s face slowly faded, the entertained smile on his face shrinking his lips into a thin line.

“Y/N, she didn’t break my heart.”

Now it was your turn to be confused.

“You want to know why I said she was a big mistake?” Kuroo took a step towards you, “It was because of her that I lost you.”

Your jaw dropped.

Kuroo ran his fingers through his hair, ruining the perfectly waxed locks that he had spent thirty minutes styling.

“Please don’t run away when I tell you this.”

You couldn’t move your feet even if you wanted to.

“The only reason I ever brought her up to you in the first place was because I wanted to see your reaction. I wanted to know if you would get jealous. But without hesitation, you told me that I should just go ahead and date her, and you know dumb young men and their pride... then... it just... snowballed into something I didn’t even...”

Kuroo couldn’t finish his sentence.

Your vision begins to shake.

“But... but I confessed to you!”

“Yeah, then you slammed the door in my face and stopped talking to me!”

You couldn’t deny that.

“Do you have any idea how confusing that was for a teenage boy? I had no idea what the hell was going on, one day, I blinked and I was stuck with a girl I didn’t love while I watched my best friend smile and laugh and walk passed me like I never even existed.”

You swallowed the guilty lump that was caught in your throat.

“All I knew was that you weren’t around anymore; you weren’t there to make me laugh with your dumb jokes, you weren’t coming over and leaving your presence all over my room, nothing, it was all gone, and it all felt so fucked up. Being without you felt so fucked up.” 

Had Kuroo always felt this way? Were you really so busy running away from him that you couldn’t even see that he was hurting too?

“Now the universe or the gods or whatever brought me back to you, and it’s like everything makes sense again, and fuck, all I want to do is just show you how much I’ve missed you, how much I care, how much I love you.”

You gasped, and you were waiting for Kuroo to try and take those words back, but the resolve was painted in his eyes.

“But all you do is just keep me at arms length. You wanted to be just friends when I wanted everything.”

You choked back a sob, tears were now steadily streaming down your face.

Kuroo closed the space between you, wrapping one arm around your waist while bring his other head to wipe at your tears with the pad of his thumb.

 “She wasn’t the girl that broke my heart. You were.”

He moved to place his fingers on your chin, tilting your head up to force you to look at his eyes.

He wanted you to see that he meant every single word.

“If this is all you’re willing to give me, I’ll take it. I’ll break my own heart. Every day, over and over again, if that’s what it takes to be with you.”

His voice was in a whisper now, bringing his lips to kiss both sides of your cheeks.

“Because I love you.”

He brought his hands to cup for your face before pulling you in for a kiss.

This wasn’t anything like you’ve ever experienced before.

Every time his tongue brushed against yours, you felt all the love adoration he was trying to convey in this one physical act, hoping he could transfer it all into your lips.

It felt like time stopped just for the two of you, to have this moment in the middle of the sidewalk, bathed in the orange glow of the street light that hung above you.

He pulled away finally, resting his forehead on yours for just a second before he engulfed you with his arms.

His head rested on top of yours, feeling the vibrations as he spoke.

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” he said nervously. “Do you want something more?”

You wiggle out of his grip just so you can move your hands up to caress his cheek.

“Tetsuro... I love you so much.”

Later that night, in the safety of your room and away from Eri’s judgmental eyes at the two of you stumbling in and giggling through the door, you trace small circles on Kuroo’s chest with your fingers while Kuroo had an arm wrapped around you tightly.

“Hey, Tetsu,” you broke the silence with a whisper, “What if I end up going to grad school that was... further away?”

Kuroo couldn’t help but smile and shake his head. You were never going to change.

Not like he would ever want you to.

“Y/N... we didn’t talk for three years, and not once did I stop thinking about you. A little distance isn’t going to get rid of me.”

You try to bury your face in embarrassment.

If he had to spend every day of the rest of his life reassuring you that he’ll be by your side no matter what, well - that’s just too easy.

You find yourself holding onto him a little bit tighter, making a silent vow that never again were you going to push away Kuroo Tetsuro.

#haikyu #haikyuu #haikyuu!! #haikyu!! #haikyu smut #haikyu imagines #haikyu scenarios #kuroo #kuroo tetsuro #kuroo smut #kuroo drabble #kuroo x reader #kuroo testsuro x reader #kuroo tetsuro imagines #hq #hq!! #hq hc #kuroo tetsuro headcanon #kuroo x y/n #kuroo x fem reader #haikyuu!! imagines #haikyuu!! scenarios #kuroo scenarios #kuroo tetsuro scenarios #kuroos birthday #kuroo tetsuro hc #kuroo hc #kuro

[yeojaa]

( GHOST IN MY BED. )

Sometimes, hating someone is the only thing you can do. 

pairing.  jjk x (named) f!reader.

genre + rating.   rockstar!au.  e2l (exes n enemies!).  angst.  general.    

tags / warnings.  the angst is heavy in this chapter.  there’s also mentions of drunk driving, a reference to drug use, and really, just a lot of sadness.  proceed with caution! 

beta reader(s).  @hobi-gif​ and @periminkle​ i lob you both! 

wc.  2.8k

chapter one.

You’ve barely moved an inch, rooted to the spot by fear and sadness and three long years of distance.  It feels far too strange to be so close, to see him somewhere other than an illuminated screen.  You know you should say something, do something - anything - but every tired bone in your body is telling you to run and that’s something you can’t do.  Not after you’ve come so far. 

So you take a deep breath - deep as you can manage without bursting the dam that packs itself with flimsy sticks and stones - and step forward.  It feels monumental, far more than a single footfall. 

He’s watching you, carefully, as he’s always done, with awe written into every line still visible beneath bandages.  You see the way his jaw tenses, how the muscle works in agitation and hopelessness.  He’s holding himself back, much to your surprise.  You think you only recognize that because you know him so well.

And then you remember - you don’t know him at all.  Not anymore.

Because he might seem like the same boy you’ve loved for most of your life, but he’s nothing but a ghost now.  A figure from your worst nightmares, draped in white linen and gauze.  

His hair’s far longer than it’s ever been, sweeping over the sharp contours of his cheeks, past the singular scar he’d gotten in third grade.  It curls over his ears even in its dishevelled state, looking in desperate need of a cut and yet endearing all at once. The way he stares at you remains the same - intense, achingly familiar - and his smile - a little battered and bruised now - stretches like pavement, concrete and grounding.  

You hate that it does something to your heart, the delicate frame of your rib cage rattling with the way the organ nearly launches itself out of your throat and into his hands.

You take another step.  Jungkook doesn’t look away.  

“I missed you,”  he says, as if you’re an old friend, someone who’s come to hold his hand.  As if he hadn’t broken your heart into a million pieces and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen him since you managed to piece it back together.  

How you’d managed to rebuild yourself after that, you’re not sure.  You’d collected the broken bits, filled the cracks with gold, and mended it into something different.  A bit flawed and imperfect, but whole - stronger and illuminated.  You’d done that all on your own.

That doesn’t mean it doesn't still beat for him, just a little.  

A part of you aches to return his words.  It’s halfway off your tongue when you cut it off, severing it with a bite of your teeth and a resolve that just barely holds on.

You reach his side - still a good foot from the edge of the bed - and settle into the worn leather chair to his right.  It’s comfortable, surprisingly so, but you can’t find it in yourself to relax.  You’re ramrod straight, line of your spine strung like a bow.

It’s hard to look at him directly - to recognize the parts of him you’d once called yours - so you don’t, instead allowing your gaze to bounce across the room.  There are large bouquets of flowers against the few surfaces, all larger-than-life arrangements that look at odds with the barren body that’s laid up beside you.  You wonder, idly, who they’re from.  Friends?  Family?  Your heart stutters.  Fans?

There’s a bag and personal effects on the couch.  Black leather, exorbitantly expensive, embossed with his initials on the interior pocket.  The gift you’d gotten him for your last anniversary - the same one he’d nearly lost on tour despite the fact that it cost you more than you’d have cared to admit.  Something like anger simmers in your stomach at the sight of it.

When he speaks again, you’re still glaring at the bag, unable to tear your eyes from the supple material and all the memories it carries.  

“Pumpkin?”  

The nickname tears you from your reverie.  You can’t help the way you suddenly stare at him - all wide-eyed surprise.  “What?”

Something close to relief floods his expression, spilling like wet paint over the curve of his mouth, the corners of his eyes.  It spreads delight into every inch, unrelenting and unrepentant.  “I said I missed you, Pumpkin.”  He repeats himself not because you haven’t heard him but because he wants that reaction again - the one that tells him everything he needs to know.

You resent him for it.    

“Please don’t call me that.”  You wish it were stronger - that you were stronger.  It’s hard.

You know you shouldn’t love him anymore and that none of this should affect you.  After all, he’d thrown your heart into a blender with three shots of vodka and chased it down with some pills and cigarette smoke.  He’d filled all the space you’d given him with other things - riches and women and thin white lines - and he’d had the audacity to be surprised when your own sadness had slipped in, too. 

He’d always imagined you’d keep it locked up, held so closely he’d never have to face it.  You’d thought so to, really.  Hadn’t expected the way it spilled out regardless, too much misery to be kept in a little glass house. 

There was only so much you could take before it all came crumbling down. 

So, it’s hard.  You love him because he’s him and you’re you and that means more than you can possibly put into words.

“Don’t call you what?”  It’s almost patronizing, like he can’t quite believe his ears.  

“You know what.”

He scoffs - a low, broken sound that catches halfway out, muffled by chain-smoking and not nearly enough sleep.  “You never used to have a problem with it.”

“We were together then,”  you retort quietly, sandpaper grit and burnt coffee bitter. 

“Just tossing me aside then?”  

You’re not quite sure where he pulls it from - the sheer, idiotic confidence he somehow fits into his words, framing them like you’re in the wrong.  You wonder if it comes from years in the spotlight because it certainly wasn’t there before. 

“Don’t say it like that.”  What’s meant to be reproachful comes almost pleading, soft and sad and stained with saltwater.  

“Then don’t tell me what to do.”

The silence that falls is paradoxical, miserable and fulfilling all at once.  

It hurts in the worst of ways, sparking from the tips of your toes to the tops of your ears.  It feels like being outlined in neon - vivid pain in shades of pink and green that burn through your veins.  Proverbial I told you so’s curl over your ankles and around your heart, little reminders that this is who he is now and every path would’ve led you here anyway.  Parallel lines meant to converge only once before diverging once more.

“I’m sorry.”   His apology feels infinite, as if it’s meant to make up for multitudes.  “I just…”

Nothing further comes.  You don’t know what you’d expected. 

“It’s fine,”  you say, even though it’s decidedly not fine.  Absolutely nothing about this was even remotely fine.  You weren’t even really sure why you’d agreed to come.  You were still working through all your reasonings, turning them on their heads in hopes of receiving an answer other than the glaringly obvious ones that spilt out like salt grains. 

“Is it?”  Something about how he speaks, how the question seems so small, prompts you to meet his eyes.  You wish you hadn’t.

There’s an infinite galaxy swirling in his irises, a million words he hasn’t spoken.  They beg to be loved regardless, to feel even a semblance of the warmth your smile had once offered.  It breaks your heart all over again, splitting it into pieces where the cracks and crevices haven’t quite fused together fully.

“I missed you, Pumpkin.”  You don’t have it in you to rebuff him.  Not when he reaches for you - a feeble gesture that pulls his figure close, entire bruised frame reassembling like a shuddering skeleton.  He’s starry-eyed and intoxicating, drawing you into the Jungkook-shaped supernova you’re helpless against.  “I missed you so fucking bad.”

“Jungkook.”  

His name sounds like it’s about to break apart just like your heart, shattering wide open into a thousand splintered fragments.  

“Please don’t do this.”  Not again, you think.  Not after all this time.

“I can’t,”  he says and it’s shipwrecks and car crashes, misery in the form of broken teeth and battered bones and endless blue in his eyes.  “I need you.  I need you.”

It doesn’t escape you that you’ve heard these words before.  You’d tucked that memory into the furthest corner, up and above your head in a shelf that you’d never touch.  You’d folded it away into the box labelled JEON JUNGKOOK and tried to forget about it.  You haven’t been able to.

It bursts out now, bouncing around your skull and in your ears - a feedback loop that won’t stop.

“Please.”  You try again.  

He’s gripping your hand so tightly - with a strength that feels far too much for someone only a day past a terrible accident - and it feels white hot and alive.  Where his skin touches, he burns candle wax and coaxing - honeyed and warm.  You imagine you’ll peel the drippings off later and be left with scars in the form of his hands.  You wonder just how much more you can take.

“Please.”  You try a third time.  It’s feeble, frayed from holding on too long and too tight.

He hears it just as well as you. 

“Stay with me.  I don’t have anyone else.”

A part of you wonders how true that is.  Surely, he had his family - his lovely parents that you’d practically considered your own.  You can’t imagine they’d leave him here to rot. 

Your resolve still crumbles, just a little, from the topmost pillar. 

Ever the opportunist, Jungkook watches the fall of your Roman empire with rapt attention, hopeful as a new god.  If only you weren’t so easy to read - full hand laid out on the table. 

“What happened?”  You pose the question in place of an agreement, words offered in the same instance you remove your hand - or try to, anyway.  It doesn’t get very far.  He seems adamant in keeping your fingers twined, knuckles stark white and riddled with tension.  You wonder if he’s oblivious to it or if he just doesn’t care.  It wouldn’t be the first time.

So focused on the way he holds you - claims you in the iron shackle that he deems he needs - you almost miss the way his features contort, rolling through a myriad of emotion before settling into a defensive mask.  

You hadn’t expected a bared soul or a confession of all his sins - you knew enough of them already - but you’d hoped for some semblance of honesty. 

By his expression, you wonder if you’ll even get that. 

“I was in an accident.”  It’s short, terse and held tightly between his teeth.  

You don’t mean it in any way but observational.  “I see that.” 

He still takes it the wrong way, scowl fitting like a glove.  It steels his jaw and hardens the line of his mouth, the moulting of purple over and around his eye doing little to hide the storm that grows in his stare.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You can feel a headache coming on - the first pinpricks of it just behind your eyes and at your temples.  It forms in bits and pieces, a silhouette of a man that burns your retinas and makes your grit your teeth. 

“Nothing, Kook.”  It comes far more tired than you expect it to, weighed down by something you can’t quite place.  It feels like you’ve run a marathon in this small room.  You wonder if this is what it’s always like - draining and miserable and reminiscent of the hell of tenth grade gym class.

“I’m sorry.”

How many times has he said that now?  Will it ever be enough?  For him?  For you?

You shake your head, a slow gesture that doesn’t really register at first.  You’re so used to appeasing him - even three years later - and it comes of its own accord, bobbing your neck on your shoulders like second nature.  You could hold it back, but you seem just as intent on repeating yourself as he does.  “It’s fine.”

Maybe this is what the two of you are destined for - two lost lovers stuck on a merry-go-round.  

“It’s not fine.”  He’s released your hand now - you try to ignore the sudden, overwhelming disappointment that crashes into you like a tidal wave - and uses the bruised, bandaged one of his own to scrub down the side of his face.  It’s a surprisingly tired gesture, as if all of a sudden the weight of his situation has settled on his shoulders.  You barely catch the words that fumble out next, hidden behind the palm of his hand and the ink that swirls over his ink.  “I just…”

You’re hopeful for a split second.  Hopeful that he might let you in, despite the fact that you know you shouldn’t even be knocking at that door. 

“I don’t want you to look at me differently.”  It comes so small, your heart clenches in your chest. 

Then you wonder - what had he done?

“I won’t.”  It’s not a promise but it sounds like one, filled with sunbeams and reassurance.  You wish you could offer it any other way, maybe with careful regard and just the right amount of distance.  Instead, you’re committed, poker chips piled high on green felt.  All or nothing.  You can’t help it.

“I fucked up.”  

For the first time, you see him as he was those years ago - full of promise and hope, eager for a taste of the unknown.  You see him as the Jeon Jungkook you’d known and loved, vulnerability threaded through all five feet ten inches of his frame.  

You want to help him.  You shouldn’t, but you do.  “You can tell me.” 

“We just finished the tour.”  Pride colours his answer in glimmering strands of gold, threads that glint as he speaks.  Charisma oozes out of every pore, shimmering like precious stones hidden behind his molars and within his stare.  It’s easy to understand how he’s done so well for himself.  “I was… celebrating.  You know.”  You certainly don’t, but you nod along regardless.  “Things got a little out of hand.”

His attention seems far away, focused on something you can’t see.  He continues carefully, cherry picking his words.  

“I probably shouldn’t have driven.  She—”  Everything comes to a stuttering halt, his doe-eyed stare suddenly finding yours with alarm.  “—I mean, they.  Uh.”  The damage is already done.  You can feel it taking root - that same hurt you’d felt creeping into your throat before you’d stepped foot into this space.  You swallow it down as best you can, tearing your gaze from his to train somewhere on the cotton that rests in his lap.

“Go on.”

He’s stuttering just a bit, because he can’t help it.  He knows he’s been caught.  You know he’s been caught.  Gone is the Jungkook you’d once known.  You see him for all he is yet again - a poor boy dressed in leather and lies.  It hurts far more than it should.  

“Uh.  W-w-we were in, uh, the car.”  The intensity of his gaze feels like two little laser beams.  You can practically feel them burning through the top of your head as you refuse to meet his eyes.  “I was— I was drunk and I didn’t— I didn’t see the other car.”

You’ve heard enough.  

You wonder if the way you’re staring at him now is the way he’d most feared.  It must be by how his face falls, crumples like a house made of playing cards.  

“I’m glad you’re okay.”  You mean it - really, you do - but that’s the only thing you can give him.  

For his and for your sake, you need to leave.  Now.

“Please remove me as your emergency contact.”  Your voice wobbles, falling apart as you speak.  You worry the tears will follow soon after.  You can barely make out his expression, the wetness crowding heavily along your lashes and turning everything into a strange amorphous blob.  

It’s getting harder to breathe the longer you stay.  Each step towards the door feels like your head on the chopping block.  Once you cross that threshold, it’ll be severed clean off.  You’ll leave your heart in this room, with this boy who hasn’t grown a single day in the last three years.

You think he must be speaking to you but you can’t make it out.  Everything’s muffled, like you’re underwater and about to drown.  It fills your ears and steals your senses, narrowing your focus to the polished steel door handle that’s just within reach.

“I’m really, really glad you’re okay.”  It’s all you can manage before the dam breaks and you’re throwing yourself into the hallway and the waiting arms of your brother.  You don’t know how to stop the noise that rips out of your throat, wet and desperate and barely coherent.  

Yoongi was right - you shouldn’t have come.

author note.  this was quite short but it didn’t feel right with another scene added to it.  the next chapters will move the story along a lot more.  ty for reading!  💖

tag list.  @jalexa83​ 

#thebtswritersclub #ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #heartsforbts #magicshopnet #networkbangtan #cypherwritersnet #bts #bts au #bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jeon jeongguk #jungkook au #jungkook imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #bts angst #jungkook scenarios #work.zip #ghost.doc #jungkook.doc

[queerbrujas]

then it vanished away from my hands (part two)

pairing: nate sewell x eva navarro word count: 3.6k for this chapter (6.1k total so far) rating: T warnings: same as before, lots of angst and this won’t have a happy ending

part one | part three | read on ao3

The mutation in her blood was not known to inhibit physical abilities. None of the studies had indicated even the slightest possibility of immunity to vampire venom.

once again thanks to @crowsintheisland for the text post that inspired this entire fic—and uh, i’m sorry?

—

part two: everything that’s under my skin

The transition can last anywhere from twenty minutes to several hours.

The exact duration is impossible to predict with certainty, as is the intensity of the pain she will endure, or the extent of the physical transformation.

(She has now heard all about Nate’s, how extreme it was—the worst the Agency has known since its establishment.

But things are easier now than they were three centuries ago, in the middle of the ocean, with… with everything that happened to him.

Things are easier.

There are substances that can dull the pain, if not counter it entirely. There are measures in place to make this go as smoothly as it possibly can. She will not have to suffer like he did.

Not least of all because she is choosing this.

That is a difference.)

Once the transition is complete and deemed successful, she will, in all likelihood, pass out from exhaustion. Nearly everyone does.

(Nearly everyone, of the ones who survive.)

She will then stay at the facility overnight, under observation until her condition becomes stable.

In addition to any of the common complications that might arise from the process itself, she will be monitored for out of control, violent tendencies upon reawakening (this is not a rare occurrence among the newly turned, she has been told), or for any unexpected reactions her blood might have to the vampire venom.

This will be the most difficult, painful period. Anything that touches her skin will feel like sandpaper. The slightest sound will be too loud.

There will be screaming. Thrashing. She will want to tear her skin apart and climb out of her body.

(A body she may or may not recognize anymore.)

This is expected.

And there will be the hunger. She will have to learn to live with this. Control it.

Over the next few days, her senses will stabilize. It will still be painful, and it will take much longer to learn to dampen them if she so chooses—but she will learn to function despite the pain. It will be a dull, constant ache she will grow used to.

She will then be reintroduced to people other than Agency medical staff.

Nate will be first. His presence is likely to be the only one she will be able to tolerate at this point.

(He will not be allowed to see her before this. This is for the best.)

Then the others.

Morgan.

Adam.

Farah.

In that order.

Then Rebecca.

(Because she is Agent Rebecca Navarro, the handler of Unit Bravo. Not because she is Rebecca-comma-her-mother.)

Her first feeding will be supervised, once again, by specialized staff.

It will not be human blood, not the first time.

Human blood is too intense, too flavorful, and it risks overwhelming her already fragile senses. It will give better results for her to work her way up to it over a period of time.

(She wonders who was the first to arrive at this conclusion, and how they had done so, but this has been Agency policy for at least a hundred years.)

Then, later, there will be tests.

Her blood will be studied again, analyzed for the way its unique composition might have changed or been influenced by the turning process. To assess if it retains any of its special properties, or if it is now indistinguishable from that of a regular vampire.

Eventually, she will be allowed to leave the Facility, and move back to the Warehouse.

She will meet with the fae counselor again. Twice a week, at first, then once weekly. This will continue for the next few months.

Once they deem it appropriate, she will be cleared to go on missions again.

Things will continue as normal.

With Eva finally, fully, a part of this world she has had a foot in for years now.

—

These are the things Eva had been prepared for.

The things she had researched, been informed of, agreed to. This is how things were supposed to go.

(Everything had been outlined in the paperwork she had signed, laid out for her in meetings and sessions the minute she had formally expressed her wish to turn.)

These are not the things that happened.

What did happen is something that has never, for as long as the Agency has had records (and the Agency has records dating back a very, very long time), happened before.

Failed supernatural turnings happen all the time, even under the supervision of the Agency.

Bad reactions to the venom, to the bite. People who are not strong enough, physically or mentally or emotionally.

People who are simply unlucky. It happens.

The strain of the process has claimed many lives.

The Agency tries to minimize the risk with all their prior assessments, but the odds are still not, never, favorable ones.

Eva knows this—this is what she agreed to.

In the end, it was a simple matter of probability—a 50%, 60%, 70% chance of death was always better than the eventual 100%.

(Always better than the knowledge that she would eventually waste away, and that her family—that Nate, her Nate—would have to watch. That she would have to see the already very obvious gap between them grow wider and wider with each passing year.)

It was the only thing that mattered that she had a chance, rather than none at all.

All or nothing.

This is what she agreed to.

But it has never happened before, for as long as the Agency has records, that the bite of a vampire, with the intent and the ability to turn, has absolutely no effect on the person who receives it.

No transformation.

No pain.

Nothing.

Eva’s blood has been studied in as much depth, its properties determined with as much precision and certainty, as the Agency’s technology and reagents have allowed.

The results have been—had been—deemed conclusive.

She was found to be immune to pheromones of all types, siren song, aura reading, precognition, tracking abilities, mood amplifiers.

All of this she has experienced firsthand during missions.

She is not immune to toxins, poisons, spores, paralyzing agents, venoms, or magically inflicted conditions.

This she has also experienced firsthand.

The mutation in her blood was not known to inhibit physical abilities. None of the studies had indicated even the slightest possibility of immunity to vampire venom.

And yet.

And yet. Here she is.

A still-bleeding bite on her neck.

Still human.

—

That night, she does not sleep.

She stays at the facility overnight, as she was meant to.

For very different reasons than she was meant to.

No one knows how to react to what has happened, Eva least of all, so she does the only thing she can trust herself to do: try to find an explanation, a solution.

Something that will allow her to move forward.

The medical staff is just as bewildered as she is, almost as eager to find out why it didn’t work.

There are more tests.

There will need to be more tests, later.

More studies, things they had measured before that will need to be measured again.

Her blood is drawn, sent for quick analysis.

There is no trace of venom in it.

It shouldn’t have disappeared so quickly. It shouldn’t have disappeared at all.

It makes no sense.

—

Nate is as panicked as she is forcing herself not to be.

(He has never done well under stress. This, too, has not changed.)

There is that tightness to his mouth, that slightly more forceful way he shoves his hands in his pockets.

It is so easy to revert to old habits. Especially ones that are hundreds of years old.

He tells her she should sleep, tells her they can work this out in the morning.

(Tries to soothe her when all she wants is to solve this.)

This was not part of the plan. Her hands are shaking.

Nate takes them in his—unsteady as he is right now, the contact helps. It always does.

He is probably right: it makes no difference to have the tests carried out at three or eight in the morning. But it is about the feeling of activity as much as it is about activity itself, and if she stands still she might go mad.

Too often she falls into action as a replacement for feeling.

It is so easy to revert to old habits. Even if they are not hundreds of years old.

She takes a deep breath. Lets Nate’s proximity ease her a little.

Nate is right.

She will—they will—figure this out.

It will work out.

It has to.

—

Over the following weeks, once the initial wave of panic subsides, Eva falls into a routine.

She does not have obligations to the station or to Wayhaven anymore, so she dedicates herself entirely to the Agency.

Unit Bravo is still sent on missions. She is still expected to take part in them, as she was before.

Her life at the Warehouse continues much the same as it was. With Nate, with the others.

She has always been good at compartmentalizing.

Every moment she does not spend with them, however, is now spent at the Facility, in the lab, meeting with doctors and scientists.

She doubles down on the research she had already begun to specialize in: supernatural biology was always going to be her field of study, a chance to put her skills and previous knowledge to far, far more use than she had ever managed as an officer, as a detective. From the moment the Agency started to trust her she had requested to be kept up to date on findings and developments, had requested permission to be included in research programs—to varying levels of success—and spent much of her free time studying what was already known.

(There had been many long, comfortable evenings spent with Nate in his library, reading treatises and books she still couldn’t believe ever made it to regular, human publication. He’d laughed softly when she’d brought that up, once, as she lay on the couch with her head resting on his lap.

“I mean it,” she said, sitting up with a half-laugh of her own. She’d been reading a tome from the early 20th century that detailed the regeneration abilities of phoenixes. “How did anyone take this seriously enough to publish?” She turned the book to look at the cover again. “And this was a regular publishing house.”

That, in turn, led to a fascinating conversation about humans’ tendency to ignore anything that disrupted their worldview too much, and the extent to which the Agency had in fact been connected to that “regular publishing house”, and how Nate knew the person responsible for the publication of that specific book.

The amount of actual studying she managed during those evenings always varied.)

Her newly acquired clearance now grants her access to tests and studies that she can sign off on herself, that she doesn’t need to request from Rebecca (or from anyone) with the hope that they’ll be approved.

Old habits come back, forgotten from her days at university, from a different life. She finds herself slipping into the same rhythm she had been so comfortable with, once—but there is a strange calmness to it even underneath her fevered, focused drive; something soothing about losing herself in slides and results and research.

This is what she had wanted, years ago, before the police, before Bobby. This is exactly what she had wanted.

She has so much of what she had always wanted.

And yet underneath that feeling, there is something else that is slowly, very slowly growing.

Very slowly taking root.

She does not look at it.

She does not think about it.

(Please don’t let it be taken away.)

She does not think about it.

She keeps herself busy.

—

When the Agency clears it, she contacts Verda again.

Eva knows he still has the blood test results from the Murphy case, from Janet Greenland. His research led nowhere, but it remained untouched.

He’s happy to hear from her—asks about her new job. She tells him she’s working in a lab that would make him jealous, would make even the City people jealous. She makes a joke about the Agency’s budget; he laughs.

It’s so easy.

(She is glad to hear his voice, and she asks with genuine interest about Eric and Cara and Lacey—they are doing wonderfully; little Lacey just had her birthday—but it is still so, so easy to lie.)

It is just as easy to convince him to send her his findings. The Agency, it turns out, is a wonderful excuse for pretty much anything, and he is all too happy to help her.

It ends up being yet another dead end. Janet Greenland’s blood had the same properties as her own, and Verda’s analyses say far less than the Agency’s.

There is nothing new in them, nothing Eva didn’t already know.

Another closed door.

(And that feeling is still there. Roots and vines spreading within her.)

—

It has been months.

She is no closer to finding a solution now than she was then: every door closes as soon as it opens. There had been another attempt—a different vampire, an Agency representative she didn’t know—it didn’t matter, it still didn’t work.

There have been tests and studies and even the possibility of turning into a different kind of supernatural—nothing, nothing. Nothing seems to lead anywhere.

It has been months, and she is too aware, too painfully aware in a way that she can’t ignore that months easily turn into years and she is not thirty years old anymore, has not been for a while.

It has been months and the roots and vines that grow within her have taken hold, have reached her throat. That thought is still there, that feeling.

She wakes up in the middle of the night and she can’t breathe.

It takes a terrifying, delirious moment to realize she is in her room—

(in their room, hers and Nate’s, their room in the Warehouse)

(and she’s not sure what she was dreaming except that she is left with that feeling of being on the edge of an abyss, of being about to fall)

—and Nate is there, he is always there, warm hands and strong arms and he is holding her against him, whispering into her ear—in languages she does not know but which have become familiar to her because they are his—until she can breathe again.

He whispers to her in Spanish, too, and in the middle of the night, lost as she feels, it hurts.

Hurts in the full, aching way his love has always hurt, in the way that makes the unshed tears of years past want to finally fall.

They don’t.

She blinks them away, buries her face in the crook of his neck.

“Jaan, love,” he says later, later, after her breathing has settled. His voice is all concern, all sweet care, spoken against her hair. “Sleep.”

He knows he won’t get her to talk, not when she is like this. He has learned her moods and her disposition, knows them better than she herself does. But she hasn’t slept through a night in weeks, and the worry in his voice mirrors the way his hands trace shapes on her skin, warm, soothing.

She doesn’t respond.

“I will figure this out,” she says instead. I have to, she doesn’t say.

She doesn’t look at him.

She’s not sure, really, if she’s saying it to Nate or if she’s saying it to herself.

He draws back, puts the smallest amount of space between them. Hooks a finger under her chin, tilts her head up so she can meet his eyes.

God, those eyes.

Those eyes have always been her undoing.

The purest, darkest brown (and she can’t see well enough now in the low light of their room, but she doesn’t need to, she knows them by heart, could bring them to mind at any moment—there is an even darker ring around the iris, long dark lashes framing them), warm and blazing in a way that stirs her alive.

“Eva,” he says, simply (and yet not, because there is nothing simple about her name in his mouth). It pulls her back from her thoughts, as it always has, as it always does.

(It’s in the way he says it. He has always said it the way it’s meant to be said, the way very few people in her life ever have. The subtle inflections of his accent shape themselves around it instead of forcing it into a different sound and those two syllables have never sounded so right as they do when he says them.

The name of a person you love is more than language. She’s not sure where it’s from. He quoted it to her once.

I summon you back by saying your nombre. This one she knows. It stings, in that same full, beautiful way.)

It’s too much.

His eyes and her name and his voice and his arms and the warmth of him around her and the vines in her throat. Too close. Too close.

Too much.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Her voice cracks. She hates that it does.

Nate blinks, once, twice, before his frown deepens with even more concern and even more love and even more care.

Those are not words heard from her often or even at all. I apologize, if she needs to, if she feels it is warranted—reparations and actions but not this. Never this.

“What for, my love?”

I don’t know.

I’m sorry I’m falling apart.

I’m sorry I’m breaking down.

I’m sorry this is such a mess and I’m sorry I’m getting overwhelmed and I’m sorry I don’t know what to do and and and

Everything in her wants to push the words down.

So she drags them out of her throat.

Painful, painful, it has always been painful (it will never not be painful; her heart was not made for this) but it is pain she embraces, pain that comes from love and from feeling.

She would not, could not hide anything from him. Even if it means giving voice to that one thought that she has refused, refused to look at ever since she felt it make its home there.

Voicing it gives it shape.

Giving it shape makes it something that needs to be confronted.

(“I’ve cracked myself open for you and nothing has ever given me such pleasure,” she wrote once—it seems so long ago—in a letter she meant to give to him but never did. Finding the words, looking at the parts of herself that she hated—she wouldn’t have had a reason to do it were it not for the fact that she wanted him to know all of her.)

“I’m scared, Nate—I don’t know what to do, I’m fucking terrified. What if it doesn’t—what if I can’t—”

And she is sobbing now, words half-formed, tumbling out with the fear acknowledged.

And she knows he doesn’t want to hear this, she knows, it took so long to even have this conversation in the first place and it only happened because she’d been the one to push for it—

Nate holds her, and lets her cry.

“Whatever happens, you have me. You will always have me, I promise,” is the last thing she hears before she falls asleep again, exhausted, drained.

(She thinks he might be crying, too.)

—

Things are different, after that.

She feels—fragile.

Unmoored.

—

Finally, finally, the answer comes.

The results of those initial tests, the ones from years ago, the ones before Murphy—they provide the key.

It is not the mutation in her blood that is preventing the venom from working.

Her blood would, should be able to react to it.

Except—

Except that because of what Murphy did to her, half her blood is supernatural. Half the blood in her veins is vampire blood.

Only half.

Only the blood.

Her DNA remains unaltered, purely and uniquely human, but it's enough.

Enough for the venom to be absorbed without any effect or consequence, because vampire venom does not react with vampire blood.

Because supernaturals can't be turned into other supernaturals.

It’s conclusive, this time, (and trying to undo it would kill her, with such certainty that it is not even something that can be considered at all), and what a fucking joke it is—she would laugh if she weren’t so stunned, isn’t sure she doesn’t—she can never not be human because her body thinks it's already something else.

—

That feeling of dread that grew steadily with every closed door, with every negative result—it claws up her throat now. Spills out, nothing containing it anymore.

It was only a matter of time.

Her hands shake as she turns the key in the lock (and she catches a glimpse of the scar on her wrist and she almost screams) and she is fucking glad she kept the apartment in Wayhaven, now, as she shuts the door behind her and collapses to the floor, a wailing sound like a wounded animal's leaving her—

And then she is crying, sobbing on the floor of an empty apartment she hasn't been to in god knows how long, the palms of her hands pressed hard against her eyelids and still her mind is trying, trying, desperately reaching for any kind of solution, anything that will let her hold on to hope for just a little longer—

But there isn't one.

She knows there isn’t one and she can’t look away from it anymore.

Her whole life she has always found a way forward, a way out of everything; things have always worked out in the end, but this, this, this one time—

This one thing—

She can never be their equal.

This one thing that she wants—

That abyss between them that she had thought possible to bridge, had not thought she could not bridge will do nothing but grow wider and wider and wider until—

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

What the fuck happens now?

How does she—?

Fuck.

#the wayhaven chronicles #nate sewell #qbwrites #qbwritestwc #oc: eva

[fatandnerdy30]

Loki Helps a Boy

So this is the second installment to Loki Finds a Boy which so many people have been asking for. So I hope you like it!

@lokiismyhubby @laurenandloki @gt-marvel

It had been a two weeks since Peter had been found by Loki and the boy found he wasn't as scary as people made him out to be. He was curious and overly mischevious. But he had made sure not to be seen by the giant as he traversed the overly large tower. He had a few near sightings on his journeys to acquire the things his uncle needed for his sick aunt.

But it seemed like it wasn't enough, because May kept sicker. He sat by her bedside leg bouncing as he stared at her ashen face. Her breathing was heavy and raspy and when she coughed it sounded like sandpaper was trying to escape her lungs. Grabbing the towel from her forehead, Peter wet it again and placed it on her face half expecting it to sizzle with how hot to the touch she was.

Peter couldn't sit here any more and do nothing! He had to get help. Whatever help he could get. Running from the room he slammed into his Uncle Ben who looked shocked to see him. "What's wrong, Peter? Is May all right?"

"She-she's all right...but she just keeps getting sicker...I need to find help." He ran around Ben and ran to grab his bag and shoes, ignoring the wide eyed Ben.

"Peter if you're doing what I think you're doing it's not a good idea! If the humans spot you, they'll squish you flat! I won't let that happen to you!" The man reached for the boy' shoulder, but he just dodged him.

"I've already met one of them, Ben! He was nice and let me go...I think he'll do that again." Or at least Peter hoped that he would be coming back for May's sake. It was with that hope he ignored Ben's pleas and ran from the tiny home in the walls.

Using the beams and concrete ledges, Peter managed to make it to where he climbed down what seemed like so long ago now. Wiping his nose the boy dropped his rope and watched it land on the same shelf he thought he would lose his life on, but had made a friend instead.

Wedging his hook into the vent, Peter began to climb down, grunting a little bit from how tired he was from staying up as long as he could while Ben was running onto the garden floor to gather the herbs that weren't working on May.

"Well, well. You finally show again, little one." Loki's voice snapped Peter from his thoughts as he turned his head to see the black haired man staring at him from a chair with amusement. "I thought you had forgotten about me. You cut me to the quick." Loki placed a hand over his heart and smirked, but it died when Peter didn't laugh. Instead he stared at the man with watery eyes, his lower lip trembling. The giant rose quickly and made his way over to the boy, concern written on his face. "What is it?"

"My aunt....she....she's really sick and not getting better...I didn't know what to do, so I came here, but now I'm thinking it was a bad decision to come here...." Peter shimmied his way down to the shelf to give his arms a rest as he stared up at Loki's face. "Please...can you help me?"

"What are her symptoms, little one?"

"She's gray, her skin is hot and she's coughing a lot, her breathing is harsh like there's something in her lungs...I dont know what to do! I...I can't lose her...Ben can't lose her either." Looking up at the man, Peter fell to his knees. "Please....I have nowhere else to turn."

Loki smiled kindly and placed his hand up to the shelf, palm up. "Fear not little one. I do by chance know a way to help her, but...there is a catch." He sighed and shook his head. "I don't know if you are desperate enough, but it involves meeting someone else...perhaps multiple Midgardians."

Tp say Peter was shocked was putting it lightly. Would he have to meet the person? Or people? "What...what are Midgardians?"

It took a few seconds before Loki laughed low in his throat. "I forget you live on Midgard, so you would not know of their other name, but they are humans, which I am not. I am Asgardian, the prince of Asgard, brother to Thor."

The boy stared at Loki in shock while taking a step onto the man's palm timidly. He was speaking to a prince?! "I-I-I didn't know Mr. Loki! Should I be calling you 'your highness' or something like that?" Slowly he made his way into the man's hand, still a little nervous around the man's fingers that could literally crush him with so little pressure. So when Loki gave him a look, he tensed afraid he'd hurt the man's feelings.

"You will call me Loki, young Peter. I like you so you do not have to call me as such. As for the others living here...they show me no respect and Stark is the worst with his names..." The god shivered and brought Peter close to his chest as he started walking. "I will bring you to meet doctor Banner, for he is the most familiar with human illnesses. I do not trust the others to care for your aunt." Ever since his first meeting with the doctor's alter ego he had gained a certain respect for the man.

Beginning a brisk pace, they left the room and making sure no one was around before he started for the elevator. He didn't want to stop and explain Peter's existence especially when the boy seemed to be more than worked up about the woman's condition.

"I hope he knows what happened and how to treat May," the tiny boy said. He was gripping onto Loki's fingers like a life line, his limbs shaking as he felt the wind in his hair with each of the man's steps.

"I'm sure he knows. Just explain her symptoms to him as you did to me." Loki sent a reassuring look down to the boy who looked frightened. "Are you all right?" Peter nodded, though his lips were tightly sealed which made the prince smile. "Would it help if I did this?" Bringing the boy closer to his body he secured his hand this way there was no way he would be able to fall.

Feeling the heat behind him made the boy open his eyes and look to see green fabric pressed against him. He turned his eyes upward and saw the bottom of the man's chin and little else. And believe it or not, Peter did feel safer knowing that Loki was protecting him so he slowly let go of the fingers and sat back and was actually able to enjoy the breeze, smiling a bit. 'This feels nice,' he thought as he sighed letting the beating of the giant's heart under and behind him calm him down as well.

Loki tried to pay little attention to the being leaning into his chest as he made his way to the elevator. "You are not allowed past the thirtieth floor," Friday reminded him making the man roll his eyes.

"Yes I know you dimwitted machine. You tell me every time I enter this infernal contraption. Take me to Banner."

"I can't do that, Reindeer Games," the machine replied making Peter giggle. "He is on the fortieth floor."

"Then tell him to come to me you daft waste basket!" With a huff he stormed off the elevator and made his way back to his room. I swear that idiotic mainframe is trying to make me go insane." He then brought his hand up to his face, scowling at Peter who stared at him in shock.. "And what were you laughing at in there, hmm?"

The boy's face went red and he stared down at Loki's palm. "Sorry...I thought the name was funny."

"You would. That was one of the names Stark made up when we were in Germany. He was making fun of my helmet, it had long horns adorning it."

"I'll bet it looked really cool! Not like a reindeer at all!" Peter tried to make up for his laughing wich made Loki narrow his eyes and sigh.

"You are forgiven. This time. For now we must await the arrival of Dr. Banner." Loki walked back into his room to find his brother sitting on his bed staring at the door.

"Brother! Why do you have need of a doctor? Are you sick? Injured?" Thor got up and rushed to Loki's side, completely missing the small boy in his palm and began patting Loki down, much to the smaller's disapproval.

"I am fine, Thor...I do not need the doctor." He took a look at Peter, seeing how scared he was but the small being had agreed to this. "This boy does." Finally Thor brought his gaze down to his brother's hand and his eyes went wide.

"Is that...a borrower?" He was whispering but his voice still boomed. "I have only heard stories of them! How ever did you manage to capture it?" Thor went to poke Peter, but Loki brought his other hand up to block the impending finger.

"I did not capture him. He came to me of his own volition, isn't that right young Peter?" The by who was too scared to say anything just nodded. "See? Now stop scaring him and back away." He glared at Thor until he did that. He swore his brother was the thickest idiot of them all. How did he get the offer of King before Loki?

"I truly am sorry, little one. I did not mean to scare you. I was simply excited to see one of your kind. Please accept my apology." Thor bowed his head and Peter stood there looking dumbfounded as he nodded.

"S-sure..." Was a human apologizing to him!? He knew the people of this tower were weird, but this took the cake!

"Loki, I swear if you called me up here because you turned your brother into a certain type of toy again, I will gladly ask for those chains your brother used on you last time-" Bruce stopped as he stared at the tiny figure in Loki's hands. "Please tell me that's a doll and not an innocent from the streets.." He could not handle the situation if it wasn't a doll.

"He is not a doll, nor have I shrunk him. This is Peter, he is a borrower and in dire need of your help, doctor." Loki swept his hand forward and Peter was frozen in the dark man's gaze as they stared at one another. "Do not be afraid, Peter. He is a doctor and can help your aunt."

At that Bruce snapped out of it and a look of concern came over his face. "What happened? Is someone hurt?" He bent down to look Peter in the face, concern written on his features. "Tell me what happened?"

It took a minute for the boy to unfreeze, but his need to heal his aunt came out and he nodded. "It started last week with a cough, then May was having a hard time breathing now she can't even get out of bed. She's burning up and barely wakes up and every time she breathes or coughs it sounds like she's got something in her chest but nothing comes out."

Bruce's brows went down in worry. "That sounds like pneumonia, which is serious. Peter, can you get her out here?"

At that the boy shook his head. "Uncle Ben would never allow it. He's too scared of humans." But, if it meant May's life, he was sure Ben would approve. "Maybe...maybe you can talk to him through the vents? Tell him how dangerous it is if she's not taken care of...please?" Peter was really hoping his uncle would listen to the humans. May's life depended on it.

"Well...I can try." Bruce was stunned that this being smaller than his hand was sentient enough to feel emotions. He wanted to run so many tests, ask so many questions but right now he had another patient to worry about. "Where should I speak?"

"I'll get him to come to the vents. Mr. Loki? Can you please put me on the shelf? I can climb up from there."

"I can do much better than that, little one." Loki's hand started glowing a dark green and suddenly the boy was lifted in the air, his cries turning into happy laughter as he rose towards the vents.

"Thanks Mr. Loki! I'll be right back!" Peter started running through the walls using the ledges and beams to fling himself forward untl he was slamming his front door open startling his uncle who apparently was getting ready to go out. "Uncle Ben! Come on, I found a doctor! He says she has something called Pneumonia which can kill her! Let him help May please!" He was sweating and panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"P-Peter? Where have you been? Your aunt...she's not eating or drinking." He looked down at the ground sadly. "I think this may be the last for her."

Peter's head started shaking back and forth, tears falling from his eyes. "NO! Uncle Ben, you have to let this doctor take a look at her! Please! He can save her!"

Ben stared at the boy and nodded. "Where is he?"

"He's outside the vents...but...he's human." Peter winced when he said that and Ben's eyes went wide.

"H-humans?" He stuttered. "Peter how could you? You know the rules! Never be seen! Now we'll have to move and with May being so sick she'll never make it.." The man sat heavily on the armchair and stared at the boy. "You've doomed us.."

"No Uncle Ben! They're nice, I promise...please..just let the doctor treat May. I know he can save her, please! We can't...we can't lose her. Please." He whispered the last word and Ben looked up at him and finally nodded. Smiling, Peter raced into May's room and taking a look at her sick form got her to sit up. "Ben! Help me carry her please!"

Ben walked slowly into the room and collected his wife who woke to look up at him with confusion but he smiled down at her. "It'll be okay, May. I promise." He kissed her forehead and leveled a gaze at Peter. "If this doctor turns out to be just a scientist who wants to study us..."

"He's not like that. Now come on..." He started walking out of the house when doctor Banner's voice came through the vents echoing around them.

"Peter? Are you there? I've been trying to call to you for the past five minutes."

"Doctor Banner! We're coming out!" Peter helped carry May up the ledges and through the maze of bars before they reached the vents and he poked his head through. "Mr. Loki? Can you pelase do the green thing? May's too weak to climb down." The dark haired man nodded and in the next instant they were all lifted, Ben crying out and holding May closer to him as they were brought down to the dresser where the man tried to stand proud but his knees were quaking and he was trembling.

"Sir, there's no need to be scared. I'm doctor Banner. I heard your wife was sick. May I see her please?" Bruce kneeled next to the dresser and smiled softly as the man nodded and loosened his grip on May to let him see her face. "It's worse than you said, Peter. She'll need fluids and medication quickly. Mr. Parker I know its hard but please allow me to bring her to the med bay where my equipment is. Please."

Ben stared at the human for a moment before nodding. "Under one condition. I go with her." Bruce nodded and put his hand down next to the dresser and Ben stepped onto the palm, almost losing his balance but he righted himself. "You can lift us now, human."

Peter groaned and shook his head. Trust his uncle to treat the man trying to save his wife's life with an attitude. Suddenly there was pressure on the back of his shirt and he was lifted to look into Loki's eyes. "You, young one, will be staying with me until the deed is done and the doctor has save your aunt." He smiled and placed Peter in his palm. "Come. We can go and meander and look at the sights and hopefully not bump into Tony Stark."

A week had passed and May was up and feeling much better. Peter hadn't seen her since Ben had taken her up to the floor because Loki wasn't allowed up to the medbay but Friday told him multiple times a day how her condition was. So it was with anticipation that he was waiting on Loki's bed while the man paced and kept looking at the door. "Damn it all, where is that looney doctor? He said he would be here within the hour!"

"And this looney keeps his promises." Bruce walked into the room and frowned at Loki. "Peter could have come up and visited with one of the others."

At this Peter shook his head. "I..I don't know the others so I'd rather stay where I know people."

"And that's how we raised you." May's voice came from the doctor's hands and Peter smiled up and jumped trying to see her.

"May! You're okay!"

Loki who had been watching rolled his eyes and picked the boy up. "Go see your family." He brought the boy to Bruce's hands and Peter jumped off. He looked like he wanted to run to May but he knew she was still weak.

"Oh Peter...." The woman smiled and opened her arms to Peter who ran into them with a little sob.

"I'm so glad you're okay..." It felt good to be held by the woman who raised him and he held her as tight as he dared. He looked up at the doctor and with eyes he smiled. "Thank you," he said and buried his head into her shoulder. He was glad he had met Loki and that he had brought doctor Banner to save May. He knew they would always have a special place in their hearts.

#marvel g/t #loki of asgard #peter is a borrower #bruce banner #thor odinson

[hawklanthebard]

Fractured Diamond Chapter 4

(TW: Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault)

Mondo didn't know how long he sat there. He could see no indication of light anywhere in the room, although the cloth tied around his eyes didn't help either. The gang figured a blindfold would provoke more fear, thus better reactions, better screams. Not that it would even matter, Mondo couldn't even see if he wanted to. His left eye was swollen shut, and his right was sealed under a thick line of blood from his forehead. He figured the gang preferred it anyway for twisted aesthetic purposes. The cement chamber had proven to be soundproof, so it wasn't like he could call for help anyway, his throat felt like sandpaper. Every breath he was forced to take was agonizing, even shallow ones were labor. Every time his chest expanded was as if his ribs were stabbing him through his lungs and sides, fractures creaking against each other like an old wooden door. Breathing through his mouth would result in him gagging blood from where his rear teeth used to be, only furthering his burning chest. Breathing through his nose was his only choice, forcing him to take in the horrid stench of blood, sweat, and urine that lingered in the air. He remembered their jeers before leaving him in his "pigsty". He should've been humiliated, but breathing was taking up all the energy he had left. 

No one was coming for him. And why would they? What samaritan would wanna fought off one of the most dangerous gangs in Japan to save some lowly biker who probably screwed them over somehow? Was this the price for being in a gang? For being a Diamond? No, he wasn't a Diamond. Not anymore. Or maybe he never was. 

'Just a shiny piece of glass, shiny piece of glass, shiny piece of glass...'

Intrusive thoughts were nothing new to Mondo they were his only company at this time. Every taunting word stuck to his brain like a hair on honey. Not once did he try to shake them out. At first, he did, but eventually learned to like it. Like a dog learning his name, Mondo learned his place in the world. 

A faint but alerting metal clashing against a concrete wall crawled its way through Mondo's intrusive thoughts, he was too familiar with it by now. His body instinctively curled in on itself as much as his bindings and injuries would allow, which wasn't much, prepared to take whatever beating he was about to receive.

'...notadiamondnotadiamonddnotadiamondnotadiamondnotadiamond...'

Mondo wheezed in a small whimper as inside and outside voices blended in his skull. "..Okay...I...I get it..!" he slurred in a half-sob "I...I'm not a Diamond..! Okay..?! I get it...! You were right..!"

'notadiaMondnotadiamOndnotadiamoNdnotadiamonDnotadiamOnd..'

He jumped as something or someone grazed his bruised face. He cried out as loud as his broken ribs would let him. "S-stop...! I'm sorry, okay?! Jus...just lemme...lemme...d..!"

"--MONDO!"

He felt something touch his cheek again, but something felt different. Familiar. He hadn't realized his blindfold had been removed when he forced his swollen eye to open. He almost believed what he saw was real. 

Daiya, his brother, standing before him at eye level. His figure was silhouetted from the illuminated doorway, but there was no doubt it was him, Mondo recognized those sunset-orange eyes anywhere, glistening like dim but burning embers. But something was off about his face. It seemed to be stretched in an expression Mondo wasn't familiar with. Panic? That wasn't a face Daiya was known for. He always kept a cool front, no matter how fucked the situation was. His thick, black eyebrows were always furrowed, and his lips in a permanent half-smile to assure anyone he's ready to take on anything. So why does he look so scared? Mondo could see his lips moving, and it only took a moment to finally snap out of his daze and hear his brother.

"--ondo! Can you hear me?" he moved Mondo's crimson-caked bangs from over his eye, and Mondo was finally able to open it. 

"Gnhh...D-Daiya..?" he said in a hoarse whisper

Daiya rested his chin on his chest as he heaved a brief sigh of relief. "Thank god, thought I lost ya there, Lil bro." he half-chuckled, "It's okay, you're safe. We're gonna get you out."

'We?', Mondo thought.

As if hearing his thoughts, Daiya turned behind him and called out. "Michi, guys, he's over here! Come help me out with this!" 

"Got it!"

Another voice. Mondo recognized it; Takemichi, their youngest brother. Mondo was still trying to fathom it all, but there wasn't any room for doubt. This was all real, happening right before him, and he could not be more ashamed. 

Takemichi's darkened figure appeared through the doorway and froze where he stood, eyes fixed on Mondo. "Holy shit..." he breathed. Michi hasn't been in the gang for very long, probably less than a year now. He was still a middle schooler, still had some childlike innocence in him that was reignited after he ran away from his abusive household and found a new home with the Diamonds. Daiya wanted to preserve that innocence as much as possible, keeping Michi away from the action when things got bloody. So much, he wanted the boy to stay at the base while they rescued Mondo, but his stubbornness was like that of an ox. He was a Diamond, after all. Most times, Mondo believed him to be more so than himself.

An orchestra of boots stomping grew heavier and heavier until the room was flooded with Diamonds, all exchanging looks of shock and even concern when they saw the room and Mondo's fragile form. It was overwhelming, for them to see Mondo so pathetically mounted like this, like a prisoner, the fact that this image of him will be burned into their brains forever, Mondo felt as though he could just die right then and there if the universe showed him a glimmer of mercy. 

"Woah, stand back, guys." Takemichi directed the other gang members, "Give him some air. We only need a few men in here."

Daiya peeked over his shoulder to meet eyes with the gang. "You heard 'im. Clear out," he said in a stern tone, firm enough to command his team but soft enough not to frighten Mondo. Understanding the order, most of the members left while only a select few remained. Michi turned to Mondo and have him a reassuring smile before going to help Daiya. 

Mondo felt the two crouched on each side under his arms as the other Diamonds cut through the rope binding his wrists. Losing the support of the rope, he fell and would've crashed onto the concrete if Daiya and Michi weren't ready to catch him. He wished it was comforting as it was, but their support reignited his bodily pain. Crouching forward brought agony to his ribs, but straightening up burned the cuts on his back. He let out a dry painful groan. As if remembering, Daiya quickly reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a water bottle, offering it to Mondo's lips. Mondo winced at the sight of the object, visions of past events screamed in his head, but his thirst screamed louder as he chugged the bottle. 

"Woah, hey. Easy, bro, easy." Daiya cooed softly, as he directed Mondo to drink slower. He didn't blame him one bit but knew Mondo would only feel worse if he chugged it. Taking his time savoring the liquid, Mondo had finished the bottle, sighing a relaxed breath as best as his burning lungs would allow. 

Daiya returned the empty bottle to his pocket. He gazed at the rope still loosely binding Mondo's wrists and gently removed them. He winced at the raw ligature wounds, old and new blood alike, coating Mondo's skin. He heard Mondo weakly hiss in pain. He only dared to look at the rest of his body. That didn't matter now, the only thing that did was getting his brother out of this hellhole. "I'm sorry, bro..." he breathed softly. 

Letting Mondo's head rest wearily on his shoulder, Daiya scooped him up in his arms as if he were carrying him to bed when Mondo was a little kid. As they left the room, Mondo felt Daiya nonchalantly step over something, probably some fallen furniture, though judging by the disgruntled expression plastered on Daiya's face and the faint groan under his feet, Mondo figured it was more like someone. The hallway was littered with limp beaten figures of Reapers, only Diamonds standing above them, pinning them down under their feet, giving them a boot to the face if they so much as twitch. Mondo glanced at Daiya's bruised and bloodied knuckles. Of course, his brother wouldn't go on without caving in a few faces of his own. Daiya stopped in his tracks when heard a wet cough behind him, his scowl grown deeper.

"Hey, Owada..!" Several feet away from the Diamond leader lay the grey-clad Reaper leader, beaten and broken. One of the larger Diamonds stood above him with his foot on his neck, although judging by the man's unnaturally bent knee, it was apparent he couldn't return to his feet even if he wanted to, the stance was more for physical empowerment than provided security. The grey man spat out a few bloodied teeth before continuing. "How does it feel...when you lose a brother..?" he wheezed painfully but sternly. "Bet it makes ya feel...fuckin' powerless, knowin' you... coulda done some'in ta prevent it..! My brother...is gone...and so's...yer's. Tell me...how does it feel..?"

Daiya stood strong and firm as a diamond, his expression hadn't faltered. Barely even breathed.

The grey man growled, face contorted in hatred. "What? Ya don't remember me..?" his scowl turned into a sinister smirk. "He does."  

Daiya glanced down at Mondo's body curling up in reminiscent fear. He could only pray those words had an empty meaning. Still, he couldn't help but recall how fragile and painfully Mondo fell to his knees as if he were suffering from a terrible stomach ache. Bile crept up Daiya's throat. 

The man noticed the reaction and his grimace twisted further, showing bloodied teeth. "He knows my name. I...made sure...he never forgets it. He was...beggin' me ta stop, y'know. Beggin' for you...ta save 'im. His whimpers were so...beautifully pathetic. I wish...I recorded it for ya. But I figured it'd be better if ya...imagined it yerself. If ya didn't...drag ya feet, maybe...he'd still be your brother. But now...he's my pet." he let out a wet chuckle as he saw Mondo tremble like a leaf in Daiya's tensed arms. "Go on, boy...tell 'im..! Jog 'is memory..! Say my--" 

"Sasaki!"

Came a deep voice. Mondo would've thought he said that if his throat wasn't already so torn up from screaming that cursed name, his lips couldn't even form the word. He looked up at his brother's discontented face. Surely, he didn't. Another wet laugh from behind. A sharp pain shot through Mondo's heart. 

"So, you do know! Good boy!" the grey man cackled. "Try an' remember that now...! Remember the name...of the man who destroyed you and your brother..! I would say we're even...but there's no reason I can't still have fun with your gang..!" Daiya could feel Sasaki's eyes shift over to Takemichi. "Like him. He's fresh. Doesn't matter if 'e's...just a kid...He's in a gang...an' is better to...learn the hard way. Are you broken yet, Daiya Owada? Or do I...have--"

"Just shut the fuck up and listen, Reaper," Daiya growled, making it clear he wasn't finished talking. The grey man listened on, slightly disappointed at the white-clad man's retaliation. Daiya turned to gaze down at the man with eyes burning like the sun.

"I killed your brother Chisaki." his words flew from his mouth as if it were the most natural thing ever to be said. No hesitation, no remorse, not even a hint of regret. Mondo blinked and looked up at his brother. He couldn't remember the last time Daiya said something so cold, or if he ever heard him speak that way at all. Still, Daiya's eyes hadn't left his target. 

"He didn't seem to get my last message about staying out of our turf. He knew what he was risking when he crossed our path. And he paid for it. I pulled the alarms, I alerted the cops, and I left you all to die. I trust you and your colleagues have enough pattern recognition not to follow in his footsteps. Do what your brother couldn't do, and stay out of our way. If I ever see you or any Reapers on the streets again, it's kill on sight. Consider this business and personal." 

The grey man shuddered but let out a low, blood-curdling growl. "Do it, then!" he coughed and wheezed. "I ain't goin' nowhere, so...ya might wanna finish the job now! Kill me, an' there'll be no more Reapers, no one ta take my place..! So, do it! Kill me!" 

Daiya didn't turn back, nor did he respond. He just walked away, his gang followed, leaving the grey man broken on the ground. 

"Come back an' finish this like a man, Daiya Owada!" Sasaki cried, struggling to pry himself from the floor but to no avail. He heaved in one shaky breath after another as something wet splashed on his hand. 

Daiya heard one last pathetic scream as the door slammed behind him.

"OWADA!" 

#danganronpa #mondo oowada #mondo owada #Daiya Oowada #daiya owada #takemichi yukimaru

[thoseofgreatambition]

duet | {im}mature

description: you were supposed to be fred’s best friend. but you sure weren’t acting like it. 

a/n: this broke my heart to write, but i think a bit from fred’s perspective would be wonderful. again this is the wonderful wonderful story i am writing with @ickle-ronniekins and you have to follow her, i honestly owe so much to her because this is something i’ve always wanted to do and haven’t had the chance yet. 

DUET MASTERLIST

warnings: swearing, blood

wordcount: 5K

taglist:  @highly-acidic​ @feffffffy​ @sweetpeastrigger @stuckindilemma @georgeweasleyx @seppys-return-to-madness @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @iprobablyshipit91 @darling-details @laneygthememequeen @lupinsx @keoghans @helloallthethingsilove @waschbiber @dreamer821 @feffffffy @the-hufflepuff-of-221b @62442-am @wtfweasleyy @obsessedwithrandomthings @sleep-i-ness @shadowsinger11 @harrysweasleys @shadychaoticcollection @haphazardhufflepuff @afriendlyneighborhoodhufflepuff @hood-and-horan @geeksareunique @insearchofnewdreams @notstandingstill-imlyinginwait @lumos-barnes @thatfuckingliardavidtennant @slytherinqween @xinyourdreamsx @skiving-snackboxess @wildfire-whizbangs @dwarfwizard-from-panem @diary-of-an-onliner @answer-the-sirens @woakiees @black-widow-fangirl @theheirofnightandday @summerstardust @whysoseriouspadfoot @chocok22 @myhopesareanchoredinyou @siriusblackisme @illusivedaydreamer @zeeneee @writingwitchly @wolfpotter12 @obsessedwithrandomthings @carolinesbookworld @shadowsinger11 @pit-and-the-pen @summer-writes @peachesandpinks @gweaslvy @alpinewinchester @letsfightsomeorcs @theweasleysredhair @purpleskiesstorm @hxfflxpxffs @wand3ringr0s3 @finecole @angelinathebook @highly-acidic @90shermione @zreads @susceptible-but-siriusexual 

no smut taglist: @parker-potters​

Fred adored you. Truly. You were his closest friend, aside from George. The little Hufflepuff with the ribbons who’d shouted him down after a prank only four short years ago. The one who truly would tell him what you thought of his pranks. 

Perhaps that was a lie, but he liked your opinion more than most others. 

He often didn’t want to hear it, but that's beside the point. 

Now though? Now he wanted your opinion. His mother told him once long ago that the reason he got into such intense arguments was that he poked and prodded others until they told him what he thought was wrong, and then he would pounce. 

What utter rubbish, Fred thought as he stared you down from across the D.A. Room. All he wanted to know was why you were so against his suggestion that you come with them when they leave Hogwarts. 

Very simple. 

Not to mention how annoying it was that you were paired with Longbottom. All he ever heard was George prattling on about how much he missed spending time with you. If Neville weren’t careful he would catch the bad end of a Nosebleed Nougat. 

You for your part, seemed to be returning his gaze with an equal amount of fervor. In between longing glances at George. 

If Fred weren’t such a firm believer in keeping promises, he would have locked the two of you in a cupboard long ago to shag it out. 

Alas, he was frustratingly loyal. 

What a terrible flaw to have. 

It was towards the end of the meeting, when you looked near tears of frustration of being unable to figure out the expelliarmus charm, and George was fawning over you that he approached. Even Harry had left. 

“Y/N.” 

George shot Fred a warning look, a look that said ‘if you pick a fight I’ll knock you out’. 

Fred hadn’t been knocked out by George yet. 

It was like an itch he couldn’t help but scratch. Fred wouldn’t admit it, even if there was a wand pointed to his jugular, but he was every inch as self conscious as George. Perhaps even more. People who knew them always talked about how confident Fred was and how smart George was. How his twin had the more mature personality. 

Perhaps it was true, but the thought that he was missing out on something that others might have noticed dug underneath his skin and clawed against his skull. 

You took in a shaky breath. 

Fat tears on your cheek. Fred let out a grunt. He could be emotionally mature. He could be the more mature one. More mature than George obviously-- he could state things in a clear way, and even wait to say them. 

He could do it. 

This was a time to wait. “You want to be a healer right? No one’s going to come at you as a healer. Let’s go get you to the kitchens then to your dorm.” 

The little smile you gave eased his heart a bit. 

He’d always been uncomfortable when you’d cried. 

You were mad. He could tell. You were mad at George, Fred knew it like he knew Quidditch formations. You always got weird and pouty when you sat on the other side of the Great Hall. You could have asked to sit over with them. It was the weekend. Life was boring without a bit of risk. But you took your seat at the Hufflepuff table and kept looking back over at George. 

Fred wasn’t able to hang out with you either. Every free moment you chased after his twin. 

You were supposed to be his best friend too. 

You were a prat sometimes. And you were too wrapped up in your ‘unrequited’ love to notice it. 

With a huff, Fred followed you out of the hall as you tried to escape. Presumably to cry in your dorm room again instead of coming over to speak with them. 

Madness! What was George going to do, push you away?

And even if George didn’t want to talk-- which he always did-- you could have been speaking to him.

What had happened to best friends?

“Oi!” his voice was loud in the corridor, with his large frame and fiery hair it was easy for you to locate the sound. “Why are you running out without talking to us?” 

He meant ‘me’, but that was too messy. 

You frowned up at Fred, lip wobbling, eyes wet. It was hard to be intimidated by someone who looked like they were about to cry. “You seemed plenty busy, Fred.” When you turned on your heel and tried to stomp off, Fred followed you. 

Followed you through empty corridors, easily outpacing you. 

“Why won’t you come with us? Why aren’t you spending time with us?” 

“Why aren’t you two spending time with me then?” Your voice sounded like he’d brought sandpaper to an exposed nerve. 

“No! Stop turning it around! I have to listen to George pouting every day--” Of course talk of him is what gets you to soften. “Will you fucking stop with that!? Acting like your world revolves around him? If it did you’d come with us--” 

“I can’t come with you, I need to finish my schooling! Some of us are studying for a job that requires a complete education, Frederick! Not all of us can just run off without thinking--” 

There it was. 

“And our plan is bad because it doesn’t need us finishing up here?” 

“Will you shut up Fred? You’re taking words out of my mouth!” 

“Then say your bloody words!” 

Later on, Fred would be thankful that you two were in a relatively private location. 

“IT’S NOT MY JOB TO COME WITH YOU, ALRIGHT? I’M ALLOWED TO BE UPSET YOU TWO ARE LEAVING!” 

“IF YOU WERE OUR FRIEND YOU’D BE HAPPY FOR US--” 

“SOME OF US ARE EMOTIONALLY MATURE ENOUGH TO FEEL MORE THAN ONE THING AT ONCE, FREDERICK.” 

Fred felt himself pale, and pressed on despite George making his way over. 

“Nice enough of you to call me emotionally immature. At least I can say what’s on my mind.” 

Now you look every bit as hurt as he was. Good. Though, he had to admit, you looked much more intimidating now that you were getting truly angry. 

“Shut up Fred. The only reason you’re picking fights right now is because you’re scared about leaving!” 

“I’M NOT SCARED!” Fred’s voice bellowed and echoed down the hall. He shrugged off George’s hand on his shoulder. 

“You are! You’re scared and confused and nervous, you’re just too fucking proud to admit that you might actually care about the risk you’re taking!” 

“Will you two fucking settle down?!” Like always, George was trying to be the voice of reason. The mature one. 

What horseshit. And he couldn’t even go let off steam at practice. 

“Why should I calm down-- he’s the one who came over picking a fight!” 

“You’re the one pouting like a fucking five year old, aren’t you? Why don’t you tell George then why you won’t go with us? Been making him upset too but you’re too busy thinking about yourself--” 

You looked like you might cry again, though more than that you looked like you might smack Fred. “I shouldn’t have to explain why I need to stay here to be a healer! If you had any fucking sense of empathy you’d understand--” 

“Hey!” This time, George stepped between the two of you. Apparently, hearing George bellow was enough to stun you both enough to stop shouting for a bit. “Go walk it off, Y/N.” 

You gave George a look that Fred knew would bring his brother near tears later. George seemed near tears more than usual these days. 

It only made Fred want to argue with you more. You were so determined to deny that George obviously couldn’t love you, that you rejected the notion that he might be just as sensitive as you were about some of these things. You rationalized his tears and fears so far away from yourself that any guilt on your part seemed absolved. 

Fred opened his mouth to get the last word in, but stopped when he felt a rather rough grip on his shirt from his brother. He used his forearm and pushed him away. “Don’t touch me mate. I’m allowed to get mad at her.” You were far enough away that he could speak at least part of his mind. “Just because you like her doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to get mad at her. She’s my friend too. She’s been a prat, and she hasn’t been supportive enough even though she was one of the first people you told!” 

“She’s upset!”

“SO? We all are! She doesn’t support us. And I’m not going to spend the rest of the year watching her feel sorry for herself about it. I’m sick of watching you pine over someone who’s too stubborn to even try to talk to us in the hall.” 

Fred shoved past his brother and bit down his tears. He was mature. He didn’t spill either of your secrets. That was mature. Keeping secrets even when you were mad at the other person was mature. He knew that. 

Something hot and wet was falling down his face. It must have been raining, he thought, as he walked blindly outside into the autumn night. It rained often in Scotland. People were often so focused on the fact that he and George were twins that they forgot that Fred was exactly in the middle of the rest of the Weasley children. 

George complained to him once about not feeling like an individual, and like a good big brother, like someone mature, he bit his tongue and listened to his twin’s feelings. 

Of course he knew what it was like to play second fiddle. He got labeled as the ‘mean’ twin. The rude one. The hot headed one. There was truth in that, and Fred wouldn’t deny it, but it stung still. You’d been nice about it though. You’d called him bold. Knew him apart immediately. Sanded down his edges over the years. 

You’d called him your best friend last year. Laughed when he’d asked about George. Said you were always too nervous to tell George what was exactly on your mind. It was always so easy to talk to him you’d said. 

So why wouldn’t you talk to him anymore? If you were supposed to be his best friend, why weren’t you trying to spend time with him? 

Fred coughed into his sleeve as he finally ran out of breath. Eyes swollen. You were supposed to be his best friend too. You were supposed to prioritize him too. He was angry too about being kicked off the team. 

He wasn’t scared. This was going to be an adventure. Fred landed himself onto the grass, shoulders shaking. If he could shout, he would. But instead his teeth seemed to lock together. 

Fred Weasley didn’t get scared. The late nights he spent working on things where his heart wouldn’t stop pounding against his chest wasn’t fear. It was excitement, obviously. He wasn’t scared. He wasn’t scared reading about more muggle attacks. He didn’t get scared remembering that you and so many other of his friends were muggleborns. 

He certainly hadn’t panicked realizing what could happen to you and your family when you’d joined the D.A. 

Fred Weasley didn’t get scared. 

He didn’t cry either. His face was red as he rubbed his sleeve rather roughly against his eyes. The rain had gotten in them, clearly. 

He would show you. He’d show you he wasn’t scared. He’d show you that he was mature. He’d show everyone that this was a great idea, and he’d been smart convincing George to do it. 

Far off in the distance, a few first years were chatting amongst themselves, wondering why one of the Weasley twins was sitting alone in the grass, rubbing his eyes so harshly on such a perfectly clear night. 

George was sad. Fred didn’t like it when his twin was sad. It crawled under his skin. It scratched at his bones. 

Fred knew why his twin was sad, and it made him even more uncomfortable. 

You were also upset. Something that shouldn’t have bothered Fred as much as it did, seeing as the two of you were arguing at the moment. 

That didn’t matter though. Everything would be alright obviously-- he was the strong twin. He didn’t get sad like George did. He wasn’t going to be the type to lose his mind over someone not spending time with him, obviously. 

He would never make George admit it, but the younger of the two of them had always leaned a bit towards anxious tendencies. 

It was Fred’s job to keep himself strong so that George didn’t have to worry about things. 

Thinking about you again made him rankled. 

If you would just stop ignoring them, everything would get better. He couldn’t make you come with them-- and deep inside his gut Fred understood why you wouldn’t come, but if you would put everything aside everything would get better. 

George was shaking his head when Fred asked if he was going to come to breakfast. “Don’t feel well?” 

“It’s my stomach.” 

Fred frowned at his brother. If he were the type to be honest with himself, he would admit that he was making things worse for his brother. 

“Stay in bed then. Umbridge will only make things worse for you.” 

Perhaps he could have been more comforting. 

Perhaps he could have been better at explaining things. 

Perhaps Fred shouldn’t have argued with George after his argument with you. 

Perhaps Fred wanted someone to scrutinize his emotions like people scrutinized George’s.  

Perhaps that was a silly thought. Fred Weasley didn’t get sad, after all. 

When it was the three of you in detention it was easy to laugh it all off. Sure, writing in your own blood hurt, but you could all laugh it off imagining what may happen if you’d misspelled a word. 

It was an awful experience, but it was easier to forget when it was the three of you. 

Now though? 

“Keep writing, Weasley.”

Fred wondered if he would be able to knock the lights out of Nott before anyone could stop him. 

Being expelled wouldn’t be the worst thing--

Unless they snapped his wand. 

For the moment though, Fred settled on a glare before staring back down at the parchment in front of him. 

Just a little while longer. 

I must act my age.

Malfoy sneered at him from across the room, no doubt excited to have some sort of revenge from the beat down he’d gotten just a few weeks prior. “Yes, come on then George. Or are you illiterate?” 

Fred was about to open his mouth to make a crack, but you seemed to beat him to it. “That’s Fred.” 

You’d never spoken in detention before. Malfoy strode over to your desk, and you met his stare with another one, “What was that?” Astonished, Fred watched you rise to your feet, eye to eye with Malfoy who seemed to flinch and step back. “I said that’s Fred. If we’re here for detention, perhaps you’re here for a remedial lesson then since you can’t seem to understand two word sentences. Don’t get cocky Malfoy.”

“You’re the one who’s being cocky if you can’t even duel.” 

“Clearly I don’t need to duel you to send you off crying to the hospital wing.” 

“Miss Y/L/N!” Umbridge’s voice was shrill from her desk. “Another week of detention for threatening another student.” 

Instinctively, Fred grabbed his bag when the timer went off, ready to grab your sleeve and pull you out. Unfortunately it seemed Umbridge had another plan. 

“Miss Y/L/N. You’ll be staying behind. I need another twenty lines from you.” 

You shot Fred a look, as if you were reading his mind. Rarely could he read someone as well as he could read George.

This was simple though. 

Get going.

Fred knew your footsteps. He’d memorized them over the years. When he heard you walk by the statue he was hiding behind, he stepped out just enough for you to see him. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

You frowned at him, “I did. He called you illiterate.” 

Ah yes. Hufflepuff loyalty. 

Hufflepuff stubbornness. 

You two continued to stare each other down before finally Fred spoke again. “Your hand is bleeding.” 

“Stunning observation there.” 

With a scowl, he gestured for you to follow him behind the statue and down one of the hidden passages. “Let me clean it up for you at least.” 

You sat down on the cold stone floor once the two of you were far enough away to be heard, and continued to glower at him as he sat across from you. 

Fred kept your gaze inch for inch. 

“You’re being awful nice for someone who saw fit to yell at me for being shy.” 

“If you think that’s why I’m upset you’re just as thick as I thought.” 

Fred kept the edge in his voice, but he kept his touch gentle as he dabbed the blood off your hand. 

“How am I supposed to spend time with you two when you’re constantly busy with other people--” 

“You just come over!” Fred’s voice echoed throughout the passage, louder than he’d intended. However, he was on a roll. “You’ve been our friend for years, you already know our friends because they’re your friends too, you spent the fucking summer with us! You just come and sit down, but you’re too fucking set on George coming over to do that aren’t you? You’ve always got that love story stuck in your head. Can’t see past it far enough to think about your other friends.” 

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I spend plenty of time with my friends!” 

“Do you?” 

The lack of comprehension on your face was frustratingly astounding. Biting back the urge to start screaming like he’d been doing into his pillow the past few nights, Fred allowed his voice to sound as bitter as he wanted as he rubbed a salve onto your hand. “We hardly ever see you! Just have to watch you stare at us from across the hall. Do you think I don’t notice? It’s obvious what you think, that you’re wishing someone will come over and tell you it’s alright. You’re not the only nervous one you know! You’re not the only one who gets scared or anxious-- have you thought about that? Getting so upset when I offered you to come with us-- you could have just said no!” 

“I did say no!” 

“You got so defensive-- like we were attacking you! You’re a muggleborn, I wanted you out of here before things got nasty! Making it sound like a terrible idea-- for every Malfoy that says those terrible words to your face, there’s a dozen others who are too cowardly to. But now Voldemort’s back! Can’t believe you want to stay here where it’s so dangerous. Your career isn't everything! Being a healer can wait!” 

You were curiously silent, and if Fred were to snap out of his heated rant he would have noticed the odd expression on your face. 

“That’s another thing, Y/N! You’re always so caught on George! He’s not the whole world you know-- do you know what it’s like to hardly see your closest friend, and when you do see them alone they just talk about their crush? It’s bloody annoying! Makes you feel like you’re not a priority! Or hearing that your idea to leave is a bad one when you’re just trying to be brave--” Fred’s voice felt thick, his vision became blurry with tears but he continued. “I am brave! And just because I’m not George doesn’t mean I don’t get scared or sad-- Everyone always prattles on about how he’s feeling, I don’t feel wonderful all the time either! But I have to keep pushing on, like nothing is bothering me! Because this was all my fucking plan, and if I don’t push on all this work will have been for nothing!” 

Fred forgot sometimes, that you could read him better than you could read George. “I’ve made you feel looked over, haven’t I? Is that what it is Freddie?” 

He wasn’t supposed to cry. So why was he crying? “You have! You said I was your best friend, and then you just start ignoring me--” 

It was a strange hug that you wrapped him in. He had to crouch down on his knees to be properly held in your arms, but it didn’t stop him from crying into your shoulder as he continued to rant and rave. It wasn’t until his throat ached from speaking that he noticed you rubbing circles into his back or your hand in his hair. 

He was brought back to many years before, how it felt to be wrapped in his mother’s arms after a long tantrum. 

“I’m sorry Fred.” 

He pulled away, sitting on his heels and watched you rub your own teary eyes. “I should have thought more about how you felt. You’re right.” 

“Why won’t you just come over to be near us?” 

“I was scared you two might not want me there. You always look like you’re having so much fun.” 

His brow furrowed, what a silly reason. It hardly made any sense. “You’ve known us for years. You spent the summer with us. Why wouldn’t we want you there?” 

You gave him a very halfhearted shrug, giving the impression of someone who didn’t quite understand themselves. “Don’t know. Since all of this has started… haven’t quite felt myself. I’ve been burying myself in studying. Trying not to think of much.” you looked as if you were willing yourself up to say something. “Was that why you invited me then? Because you were worried about me?” 

“Someone’s got to-- you can’t even manage a simple disarming spell.” 

Thankfully, you had the grace to laugh at that, even with tears in the corner of your eyes. “That’s mean!” 

“It’s not mean if it’s true.” 

“I want to be a healer. I’m not leaving early. I’m bad at fighting, but I’m good at healing. So I’ll be  doing that during the war. I know you’ll do something silly and get your ear blasted off. Someone’s going to need to know how to patch it back on.” 

“I’m the smart twin. That’ll be George who does something that stupid.” 

You waved your hand as if it were all unimportant. “My point stands. I’m not afraid of Malfoy. I’m staying here and finishing up my education and I’m going to do well on my NEWTS so I can get into a good program.” 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” 

Again, you shrugged. “Can’t just let you two try to beat up everyone for me.” With a half smile as you wiped away your tears with your sleeve, “And I reckon I made you feel bad about your choice?” 

Fred hardly needed to nod as he shifted himself to sit beside you, arm squished against arm as you both leant back on the cold stone wall. “Didn’t make me feel good about convincing George to leave early.” 

“Ah. I should have known it was your idea.” There was a silence, as you took his hand in yours and tapped your fingers against his palm. “I do support you, you know. And I know your ideas and marketing will do well.” 

It was nice to hear you mention the marketing-- it’d been Fred drafting up the ideas for it. George tended to be the one to work out the specifics. 

“I just get sad thinking about being apart from both of you. And I could have said that better.” 

“We’ll miss you too, you know.” 

“Even if I’ve made you sad?”  

“Yeah. It’ll be hard for me to make you feel guilty about that if you’re all the way here in Hogwarts.” 

When you pinched his hand, Fred let out a loud laugh. 

“I could have said this all better. I’m sorry.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “It’s hard to talk about this stuff.” 

“It’s difficult to open up when we’re scared.” 

You read him too well. 

You knew that he did get scared, every once in a while. 

 Even if he’d never admit it. 

It was Fred who woke up first, shivering with an ache in his throat and his head with a rather harsh nudge to his thigh. 

“Why are you two in here?” 

He would have known that irritated voice anywhere. 

“Morning Georgie.” 

Fred sat up, and realized he’d fallen asleep using your forearm as a pillow. 

“Answer my question.” 

Fairly certain he had a fever, Fred looked up at his twin. “Clearly we had a passionate night of lovemaking, as evidenced by us both being fully clothed.” When George continued to scowl down at him, Fred let out a shrug and a cough, “Talked. Patched things up. Fell asleep.” 

George used the back of his hand to test the temperature of Fred’s forehead. “You’ve got a fever.” 

“Thank you Healer George.” 

“Oh shut up. I was worried about you.” 

“How’d you find us?” 

“Borrowed the map from Harry.” 

You finally began to stir, shivering just as much as Fred had been. 

Sleeping in a cold tunnel towards the end of fall truly was a horrible idea. 

“Why’s my arm asleep?” when you noticed George, you frowned a bit, “Why’re you here?” 

“He came looking for us. He’s jealous I got to spend the night alone with you because of our torrid love affair, and that’s something he wants instead.” 

Like always, the comment seemed to fly over your head. “We don’t have one of those.” 

“Don’t hide our love, Y/N.” 

George rolled his eyes, and offered his hand to help you stand. “You two are hopeless. Let’s get you to the hospital wing.” 

“Not going to help up your brother?” Fred chuckled as he watched George put his coat over your shoulders before helping up Fred and wrapping his scarf around his brother’s neck. While he was sliding mittens onto his brother’s hands he shook his head. 

“Just glad you two aren’t fighting anymore. Thought I was going to have a heart attack from the stress.” 

“Sorry Georgie.” both you and Fred spoke at the same time, resulting in an amused smile from George. 

“Hopeless. Just like I said.” with that, he slung an arm over Fred and wrapped his other around your waist. “C’mon. Now you both get to spend Saturday sick in bed. Terrible judgement, you two.” 

Fred grinned as you let out a tired laugh. 

Things felt a bit closer to normal.

#george weasley #george weasley oneshot #george weasley imagine #george weasley x reader #george weasley fanfiction #george weasley fanfic #fic: duet #my writing

[siennahrobek]

Somehow, it was both easier and harder to breathe once they were in hyperspace. There was a feeling that Cin had in the pit of his stomach, one he could not quite identify. Something of both dread and relief. It was an intriguing combination, of course, and something he would have to meditate on later.

He would have to meditate a lot later.

But there would be later. Right now, he had work to do. They all did.

Obi-Wan had gathered his makeshift council from just before the evacuation, with even a few more bodies, both jedi and clone alike, many heads of departments or former counselors themselves. It was a good varying selection that would probably prove beneficial to the rest of their journey.

Now the battle, the evacuation and the escape were over. Or at least, the immediate danger passed, Cin had very little idea of what would happen now. He had been so caught up in the fighting and urgency and danger, to his surprise he hadn’t even thought of the after. Would there be a safe place they could go? The Republic was against them, claiming them traitors and to be killed on sight. The Separatists were apparently virtually defeated and if they hadn’t been, they would have never, in a million years, granted the jedi and the clones sanctuary. Not that Cin really wanted to ally himself and the jedi with the people that would invade and massacre and enslave entire planets.

Perhaps a neutral planet? Mandalore was out of the question, even though Cin believed Obi-Wan may have had some ties to there, but it was in a complete state of chaos, last he had heard. Most of the other neutral planets were generally peaceful planets. It was hard to imagine that the newly formed Empire would let them stay that way. Any planet that dared to host them would be practically begging the Empire to come after them. He doubted any planet would touch them right now; the jedi were toxic. No one had to look at news feed to know that.

They had tried to commit genocide.

They had tried to kill them all.

Perhaps he should think deeper. Would they go further? Wild space, unknown territories, somewhere that was abandoned or not explored? He didn’t think he would mind reinhabiting an ancient and forgotten Temple. Any ancient Temple that wasn’t in the minds of the Republic or Empire or whatever government was running the show would be in need of repairs. That may be interesting, seeing what survived and restoring it. Building more. Or even creating a new one on a different world, far away from the Empire. Something new and big, something that gave both the jedi and the clones space to do what they do. At least, until they could figure out a plan to strike back.

Surely not the entire Republic would just accept this tyrannical rule laying down.

Cin had to believe that some people, some planets would not agree with the Empire.

He hoped they were vehement.

Some of the most experienced masters and heads of different departments stood around a war table, alongside a couple of the clones. Commander Cody and Captain Rex were the top two, alongside a few others Cin couldn’t quite recognize for more representation, he imagined. Or at least, more minds to contribute to the ideas moving forward. Any help would be welcome.

Masters Oppo Rancicis, Coleman Kcaj, Jocasta Nu, and Master Healer Vokara Che were several of the master jedi and jedi researchers that had been asked to attend, along with a few others. They stood in a circle along with Cin Drallig himself and Shaak Ti and Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Obi-Wan leaned against the table, his hands curling around the edge as he rolled his shoulders, staring at the map of the galaxy before him. It spread out for as much as the Republic new – or rather – cared for planets. Cin was fairly sure that Madam Nu’s archives probably held even more planets. All the planets were little dots, hyperspace lanes and territory markers spread across the picture. Shaak Ti had a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

“We are going to need a plan,” he announced, glancing up at those in the room, his eyes sweeping around the table, as if challenging anyone to say otherwise. He was in a bit of a tired and defensive mood, even Cin could tell. He couldn’t blame him, not after what he had to get through. Cin thought he needed a nap after this. A nap sounded good for the young master currently. It sounded good for virtually everyone currently. “Right now, we need to think of immediate needs before anything else.”

“Food,” one of the other masters nodded.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Now, we should have plenty of rations between the ships for everyone for some time, mainly because the siege on Utapau was believed to take more time than it actually did,” Obi-Wan explained, straightening himself and shifting his robes for a better appearance. That boy, always making sure he looked the part. Appearance was always something to look out for when around politicians, it was hard to break that habit, Cin imagined. “Do we have anything for the babies?”

“I already have some assistants working on inventory of what food and supplies we have,” Master Rancicis said, curled fingers moving around his hand, gesturing around. “We were able to bring quite a bit from our own stores from the Temple, almost all nonperishables, of course. We should have at least some things for the babies for the time being.”

“We will need to figure something else out, though. It won’t last long,” another master pointed out, worriedly, wringing her hands out. A bit nervous, Cin could understand that. The future was darker and far more uncertain that it had ever been in their lifetimes. Now, there was not the comfort of the Temple. There wasn’t the comfort of the Council making decisions or a place in the Republic. There wasn’t even the comfort of the ageless and timeless wisdom of their grandmaster. “I have a few ideas, if you would allow me?”

“Of course,” Master Shaak Ti nodded. She didn’t need permission. It had appeared, that she, Obi-Wan, and himself were heading up this journey. It would make sense, a little. Both she and Obi-Wan were Council Members, the only current ones among them. And Cin himself, he had more experience than most when it came to defense, leading and security. They would make a good team. Cin would have to think harder about the future, not just the present. “If you need some help researching or brainstorming anything, take anyone you need to assist. Our first priority is survival.”

“Right now, we have enough food and rations,” Obi-Wan concurred with a swallow. “I know for a fact we don’t have enough beds, how are sleeping and temporary living arrangements coming, if anything?”

Coleman Kjac spoke up, the Ongree master shifting his large fingers out of his robe, eyes calm and undisturbed. “One of your Lieutenant… Waxer, is it?”

The soldier in question nodded; Cin could feel Obi-Wan’s faint relief in the Force. This soldier he trusted, Cin noted and tucked away in his mind.

“He has been assisting me and a couple of others and crechemasters with arrangements once we had left the planet. For anyone who doesn’t have very specific needs, it turns out creche piles will mostly be the answer,” he tried a smile, but it mainly fell flat. It was hard to find anything even vaguely amusing at this time but very few would complain about going back to a time where they would all sleep together in piles. Comfort could be found there. “Blankets and pillows will have to act as beds,” Master Kjac explained, his tone dropping into something more fatigued. “There is much space, even with the other soldiers and ships, but we have had to keep the younglings away from the chipped soldiers, just in case.”

None of the current troopers had looked even the least bit offended, rather nodding in agreement.

“Speaking of which, how is de-chipping going?”

“Quite well,” Master Healer Che replied, calmly, stepping forward with her lekku twitching. “The surgeries are quick and all droids we have brought along are working constantly with volunteers. The troopers are rather…eager to get them out.”

Completely understandable in Cin’s mind. He probably would have been the first in line if that had happened to him.

“Injuries?”

“We have brought as much bacta as we could,” she continued, her frown deepening. It was a resource that didn’t often have much on hand. With the war, the Senate had allowed them a little more in their stores, which was a gift for them at this time but, as there were so many people aboard, he imagined it would go fairly quickly. “There is about one or two bacta tanks on the ship but luckily there is no one injured so much that they are necessary at this time. If we don’t need to submerge, I would say not too, just for the bacta supply.”

“Non chipped troopers have been helping out with the children,” Cin found himself speaking, gruffly. His voice felt like sandpaper, and he imagined it sounded like it too. “The survivors from the siege have been more hesitant; they…blame themselves for the most part.”

Obi-Wan stiffened, his gaze meeting Cin’s. The younger master often had a problem with blame, generally with himself while trying to get others not to be the same way he was. It was an interesting dynamic, although Cin wished it different. “I will speak with them,” Obi-Wan promised, quietly. “If they fear to be near the children, they don’t have to be around them as of currently,” he paused and looked back at the map. “We are unable to keep communications with anyone out in the field as of now, due to the Empire having our codes and us being in, well, hyperspace.”

“Sir,” one of the clones raised his hand, hesitantly. “I…I have a team working on new encryptions. We have been working on them for a while, but it isn’t something the Republic…er Empire would know about yet. Because they aren’t quite finished. But we can get them done pretty quickly, I think.”

Obi-Wan nodded and smiled, eyes nearly wrinkling enough for Cin to actually believe it was a genuine smile. They were all trying so hard. “Thank you, Menace. That is very much appreciated.”

“Is there a way to get at least a coded message across?” Cin asked, glancing at the clone, his eyes sweeping back. “Even if they can’t get back to us, we can give them at least some information?”

Menace nodded. “Sure, we can encrypt a coded message. Since the other generals probably are not in hyperspace and are rather, stationary, we have the equipment to send it out because we know where they are. However, it may take a little time to set up, we can probably get them done tomorrow.”

“You and me, will talk later,” Cin said, gesturing to him. This was good news; they could at least get some information to the other field generals, some instructions, something. He couldn’t imagine what was happening out there right now. “So, we can send those out. Obi-Wan, would you mind helping me?”

The jedi general nodded.

“Where exactly are we going?” Jocasta Nu asked, raising a flawless eyebrow. Somehow, she made that seem so easy and impeccable. Cin had spent years perfecting his own eyebrow raise. He was almost a little jealous.

“Kamino,” Obi-Wan answered shortly.

The roomed turned into a feared uproar, voices calling and arguing over one another in argument. Commander Cody’s eyebrows furrowed as Obi-Wan just sighed, running a hand across his face.

“ENOUGH!” Cin barked over the noises and voices.

Everyone knew better than to argue with that tone and they settled down.

“As I was saying,” Obi-Wan started again, shooting Cin a grateful glimpse. “We are heading to Kamino. I had warned a trooper I know of the impending danger long before we knew what was going on. Not only has he and Commander Colt been studying the chips in the clones, but they have also, on their own, started a mutiny and are defecting from the Empire,” Obi-Wan explained, calmly but Cin could feel the relief and even a bit of elation that he was projecting. No one would have known it unless they were paying attention to him specifically.

That helped the rest of the group as well and they shot apologetic glances at Cody and the other troopers.

“I have offered a place for them amongst us,” he said, abit quickly, trying to get the words out before an uproar would rise again. Cin doubted they would; most of the jedi liked the clones or had some positive opinion on them. Their fear had only been about their younglings and the chips, which was something Cin could understand as well. “I know I don’t have the authority specifically to do it without the Council’s permission but well, we didn’t have time and they are with us. Alpha-17 has made it fairly clear, we are stuck with them. Personally, I am quite alright with that.”

“Not that I mind the clones coming with us, they should know they are always welcome amongst us but that is a lot of chipped clones,” one of the masters noted.

“Alpha and Commander Colt have discovered a pulse that temporarily nullifies the chips,” Obi-Wan explained. “And I’m sure between our droids, Master Healer Che, their medics and their droids, we can get them de-chipped in very little time.”

“We should set up some rotations of guard duty,” Cin suggested.

“Guard duty?” someone asked, skeptically.

“Communications, any coming ships, chipped clones. In case anything goes wrong,” he added. “Any number of things could go wrong, and we cannot depend soley on those awake who take care of the ship during those hours to fix those types of things for us. They have their jobs, and we need to play our part.

“We can set up some rotation schedules,” Shaak Ti agreed.

“Everyone can help,” Obi-Wan murmured.

Cin and Shaak Ti’s gazes caught nearly in mirroring deadpan expressions. Even so, it was easy to see what she was thinking. He was thinking the same thing. Obi-Wan would be sleeping, not driving himself into the ground, if they could help it.

There was a little more discussion about the immediate future and even some a little further out, but they decided to wait to make any more big choices until they at least got to Kamino, hopefully when they could get communications up with other generals. Hopefully some council members, Cin thought.

“It appears you have things fairly well in hand, Master Kenobi,” the new voice had surprised Cin but he just looked towards Obi-Wan’s reaction than the speaker themselves.

Obi-Wan just looked up, calm and plain-faced. Only the bags under his eyes foretold his exhaustion. “I am just trying to get as many as I can to survive, master,” he answered, respectfully.

“You are good at that, surviving.”

It wasn’t quite a question or an accusation; a bit of a statement Cin supposed. Shaak Ti caught his eyes. “I think that is enough for now,” she announced, stepping closer to the table. “Even masters and professionals such as we need some rest,” she pointed out.

“I can start on a schedule,” Obi-Wan shrugged.

“Just for tonight,” Cin replied, a bit flatly. “You’ve been up and active for longer than most of us.”

He didn’t say out loud what everyone knew he was thinking. Obi-Wan hadn’t slept since before Utapau. He hadn’t really rested either. He had helped fight Count Dooku and helped rescued the Chancellor, start an attack on Utapau, fight and defeat General Grievous. Only to come back home, have his commander attack him unwillingly, and his apprentice, leading brainwashed troopers that Obi-Wan knew personally on his home to completely destroy the Temple and kill all the Jedi. And then, of course, fighting said apprentice and helping with the evacuation. It was a wonder he wasn’t dead on his feet.

Obi-Wan’s face didn’t change but he nodded slightly. “Of course. Just tonight.”

He didn’t wait for anyone else, but Lieutenant Waxer led him out of the doorway.

“Should we really let Kenobi be making leading choices?” another new voice Cin could not quite place asked quietly in the silence. “Don’t get me wrong, he is a great Jedi and warrior, but he is not really stable right now,” someone suggested. “And he isthe one who trained and was the closest with Skywalker. There is also the matter of Count Dooku-“

“Enough!” Shaak Ti, her voice booming to a point that surprised everyone. She was not one to raise her voice but when she did, everyone listened “Obi-Wan Kenobi isa leader and quite an excellent one. He has already helped lead us out of extinction. He knows how to survive in this galaxy and is one of our best chances at survival.”

“There is a reason he is the youngest Counselor,” Cin Drallig added crossing his arms over his chest. This would not get out, no one needed Obi-Wan to doubt himself more than he already did. “And needless to remind you, he was in charge of quite the portion of the GAR.”

“My brothers would follow him anywhere,” Cody insisted, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“You cannot blame him for Skywalker’s fall,” Shaak Ti continued and somehow, she seemed to straighten herself even further, continuing to tower over most of the others. “Do we fault Master Yoda for Dooku’s fall?” she questioned, eyes sweeping over every one of those present. Or at least, the jedi. Cin had a feeling the clone troopers were not worried about Obi-Wan’s soundness or leadership skills. “Tholme for Quinlan’s? Mace for Depa’s? Perhaps for those you that remember, did we fault Qui-Gon Jinn for the fall of Xanatos? No, not at all. Many of us spent years convincing him of otherwise. We cannot and should not blame Obi-Wan for Skywalker’s, no matter how far the boy has gone,” she affirmed.

“And as for emotionally stable, he will not fall apart right now,” Cin added, calmly. It was something he had noticed over the years. Obi-Wan never fell apart in the moment, not when there was conflict or danger or even war. It was always after, in the quiet moments when he could meditate, put himself together and calm everything down. Cin had seen it after the first war Obi-Wan had gone through, the months after being full of hyperattention and fear of any number of things that final dwelled into a bit of a breakdown later, when he realized he was not going back, and the danger had completely passed. “He is good at this,” Cin realized out loud. “He needs this to keep going, keep surviving and frankly, we need him too. We cannot toss him out of things because you think he may fall apart. That will just make it worse.”

“He is the only one aside from you, Master Shaak Ti, that is currently a Council member,” Madame Nu pointed out, her gaze piercing. No one could quite tell what she was thinking.

“So, I do not want to hear another word about Obi-Wan’s place among us,” Shaak Ti announced firmly, looking directly at every single jedi in the room. “Not even a whisper.”

No one spoke and had a difficult time keeping Shaak Ti’s intense gaze. It wasn’t that there was that much doubt but there was worry, concern, over everyone involved.

“He does not need to hear this, your doubt in him.”

***

For some reason or another, Commander Cody and Captain Rex stayed with Cin as the meeting adjourned. They didn’t really say anything, but he eventually realized why they had stayed with him. He was intent on finding Obi-Wan and getting him to sleep; they were as well.

True to his word, Obi-Wan was in his office, making a list with a few other officers, Waxer being one of them, to figure out who would all need to be notified for their duties.

“Have you figured things out?” Cin asked after his greeting.

Obi-Wan looked up and nodded. “Yes. Just for tonight, as I promised.”

“You aren’t on that list, are you?” Commander Cody asked.

Obi-Wan just scowled lightly. “No. I figured you would be upset if I did.”

“You have been active for quite some time,” Captain Rex added. “I think it is safe to say, all of us want you to get some sleep.”

The jedi glanced away as a few of the officers filed out. “I am not entirely sure if I can at this point. There is so much to do, so much to plan. So much…so much to think about.”

“There will be a time for thought, planning and meditation,” Cin promised, his voice low. “But right now, what your body and your mind needs is some sleep.”

He hesitated.

“I know your duel with Skywalker is haunting you, Obi-Wan,” Cin added, reluctantly. He didn’t really want to have this conversation with so many around, even if they were people Obi-Wan trusted. “Perhaps one of the medics has a sleeping aid for you.”

“One of the Jedi masters, he mentioned creche piles,” Commander Cody said, almost absentmindedly. Cin glanced at him; the commander seemed to at least know what they were.

Obi-Wan looked at him and nodded. “Yes?”

“Come with us, with some of the 212th. We are putting bunks together with the survivors of the 501st,” Commander Cody suggested. “We may not be Jedi, but we have been travelling with you for quite some time. You…you trust us to keep you safe on the battlefield. Can you trust us to keep you safe asleep?”

“Of course, I trust you,” Obi-Wan said quickly, as if he was offended by any notion that he didn’t. He quickly realized his mistake but by then it was too late. Within moments, Cody, Waxer, and Rex had dragged Obi-Wan out of the room and down the hall.

Cin just chuckled to himself and picked up the list Obi-Wan had curated, going through the ship and talking into his commlink, notifying masters and knights what was happening and what their duties were. It would be hours later, well into the night, that he finally finished and made his way towards a sleeping area. He had half a mind to just confiscate Obi-Wan’s office.

Speaking of…

The battlemaster found himself walking towards some of the barracks, finding where some of the men were sleeping. Sure enough, the survivors of the 501stand some of the de-chipped 212th had shoved bunks and mattresses together on the floor, sleeping haphazardly around and over one another, looking more like a weird lump of grassland rather than a pile. He chuckled. That was certainly how the creche liked to do it.

Within the near middle of it, surrounded by near identical faces was Obi-Wan, leaning against one of the soldiers and completely surrounded by others. There wasn’t a spot to be found within ten feet of him. He could even make out some younglings within the pile as well, although they were generally all older and few in between. He had a feeling that was because of the 501stfears.

“I do miss the days, sometimes,” Master Shaak Ti’s voice appeared next to him. “Where one could sleep wherever, in whatever position, in piles of loved ones.”

“It has been a while, hasn’t it,” Cin agreed and huffed, faintly amused. “But I’m sure we can find somewhere and some others to create an adult crecheling pile. Or, if you are feeling brave, join the actual crechelings.”

Shaak Ti laughed lightly and offered her arm. “Care to join me?”

He almost hesitated. Cin had originally intended on mostly staying up; there was so much to do, and the future was so entirely uncertain. But he curled his arm around hers and shot her smile. He would have plenty of time to stay up in the days and weeks and months to come. He may as well get some sleep while he still could.

“I’d be honored.”

#we are burning stars #we are burning stars au #order 66 #order 66 au #star wars #star wars fic #fix it of sorts #pro jedi #pro jedi fic #pro clone #shaak ti #cin drallig #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #waxer #clone trooper waxer #212th battalion #501st legion #they got away for now #so there is that #its a bit relief #but im sure that won't last #gotta get some sleep before ya know #padme amidala #cause that conversation will be fun #she says crazy sarcastically

[shibarirobot]

Aizawa fic - CH 5 - Entrapment

 18+ ONLY! SFW (for now)

Shouta Aizawa x Villian!OC/Reader(?)

CH1

CH4

Okay this chapter kinda fucked me up. I got very emo while writing this lmfaoooo, but again sooooooo sorry that I’m so inconsistent, I care about this story and I want it to actually be good before I post ((also I have the shittiest laptop on the face of the planet so I can barely use it)) more like I just dont have the patience to deal with it XD, mais oui! le chapter is done! Please enjoy! x

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The chair I’m strapped to is stiff and uncomfortable at my back. I haven't been able to move for awhile and it’s driving me fucking insane. My back aches, my thighs are sore, I can literally feel my pelvic bone, not to even mention the cracked rib still throbbing and I’ve started to remember the broken nose I gave myself. It’s hard enough to keep my head on straight, I can’t really seem to focus on the questions I’m being asked, let alone my answers. I’ve been here for hours, maybe days. I have no clue. I have absolutely no fucking clue. This dumbass, Detective Aiko just comes and goes, sometimes followed by a short man with a clipboard and glasses. He just asks a few questions and leaves, I’ve lost track of how many times he’s entered and left as quickly as he comes. This time he comes in dragging another metal chair and flips it around on the other side of the table, sitting on it backwards, like he thinks he’s fucking cool or something. He’s large, I’ll give him that. His thighs swallow up the chair easily and I’m surprised he can actually sit on the thing.

I look at him with my tired eyes. We’ve been at this too long, I’m so fucking tired and I can hardly hold his eye contact. My lips are so unbearably chapped they feel like they might split open at any moment, they might have actually, I can taste iron. I’m parched. My mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. I’m about to crack, I can feel it. “Water.” My voice is tiny at this point, crackly from the dehydration. “I need water.” My eyes start to sag and I press forward slightly, straining against the straps on my torso, skin raw beneath them after so much of my writhing.

Detective Aiko blinks at me from across the table and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He easily taps one forward and plucks it from the box between his lips. I can tell it’s a practiced movement, he does it without thinking. His habit has become muscle memory. He shoves the pack into his pocket again and retrieves a zippo lighter. If I was more conscious I probably would have rolled my eyes, if it didn’t feel like they might fall out of my head if I did. Of course he has a zippo, ugh. It’s like he learned how to be a cop from watching cheesy cop movies. He flicks it open and closed in a split second and the cigarette is lit. He takes a deep breath, sucking down the entire thing, inhaling so deeply that his chest puffs and swells almost double. He holds that breath for a long moment, releasing it slowly. I expect the smell of burnt tobacco, but there is none. The smoke pours from his nostrils in thick swirls, but it dissipates quickly, without a single trace that it had once been there.

I can see his eyes go glassy from the nicotine high, his shrouded eyes have barely left me. He stares at me like I’m a caged panther; cunning, dangerous, volatile. All things I might have been if I could possibly think straight. “You’ll get your water after you cooperate.” He shifts in the chair slightly, flicking the used cigarette butt to the side. It falls to the ground unceremoniously and I can only imagine how often he flings those things haphazardly and how many thousands he has personally littered into our environment. I’m instantly seething again. A moment ago, I had no capacity for anything really, and now I’m filled head to toe with rage towards this stupid fucking cop. This man withholding my fucking water, my fucking life source.

The thought that he’s actually killing me passes and I pull at the cuffs around my wrists. “Fucking water.” The chains scrape across the table and I can feel the blood on my mouth, my lips have definitely cracked in multiple spots, blood pooling between my teeth. “I fucking need water!” Now I’m just shaking the chains, trying to make enough noise to get him to give in, annoy him into submission. “Water!” His eyebrow twitches, he seemingly has a very short tolerance for my behavior now, no longer amused by my sass and antics.

He quickly rises from the chair and kicks it to the side, it goes clattering against the wall and loudly falls to the ground, tipped on its side. The sudden jolt silences me and the room is tense with the lack of sound. “Who do you work for?!” He yells at me, full chested. The same question Eraser Head asked me in the alley. Where my allegiances lie. There’s another moment of silence before I bust into intense, manic laughter. They still really think I work for someone?

My throat threatens to give out on me, but I can’t control the laughter. “Me, motherfucker!” I shout back, only not as full, my voice is dying quickly, my laughter soon falling with it, replaced by a hacking cough that I’m pretty sure just shredded the dry skin inside my very dry throat. That doesn’t really seem to satisfy him though. He just grunts and picks the chair back up, setting it upright, but not sitting down in it like before. He just stands there, so tall and trying to be intimidating.

He crosses his arms over his chest and scoffs at me just once. “So we’re gonna keep playing this game, huh?” He pulls out another cigarette and huffs it down just as quickly as the first, barely even savoring the drag. His eyes close and he shrugs. “I guess you don’t want that water.” He quickly strides out of the room, leaving me alone and tortured. I can’t move, my body is giving out, I can’t speak because of my hoarse, abused throat, I can’t do anything at all, but sit here. My mind flashes back to when I felt this way before, tied to a dining chair in front of my drunk birther. My eyes start to water and I am amazed that I even have the moisture left in my body to cry. The parallels are too similar and I can feel myself reverting back, the whimpering that’s beginning in the back of my throat. A couple tears start to fall and I’m slowly slipping into that mindset when I hear the door open again.

I try my best to harden my face, trying to mask the depravity that I had just been wallowing in, refusing to make eye contact with Detective Aiko as he rounds the table again and sits in that chair. He sets something on the table and I’m surprised when I look up, to see Eraser Head sitting in that chair across from me instead. There’s a water bottle on the table and I honestly have nothing to say. I’m overwhelmed by this change of events and the tears come faster now, silently streaming down my face. I feel so vulnerable and this man that I have only prodded and teased is the one here to help me. It’s like the universe is laughing at me, it feels like a trick, but one I’m knowingly and willingly letting myself fall into. I suck in a deep breath, hoping he won’t say anything about my tears. “They haven’t cleaned you up at all, have they?” His voice is low, but he honestly sounds concerned. I lamely shake my head, unable to tell him that I’ve been sitting strapped to this chair since the moment he left. He grunts shortly then stands, slowly grabbing the water bottle and cracking the lid open.

My tears lessen as I watch him, he’s looking at me like I’m a wounded animal and deep down I can’t blame him. All I’ve done since meeting him is lash out and hurt him. In spite of all that he reaches out to me slowly, the cold water bottle in one hand, the other gingerly gripping the side of my neck and tilting my head back. I look at him hesitantly. I’m just supposed to let him pour water into my mouth? That feels too weird, and intimate, and needy, but I can’t really pour the water into my own mouth, so I part my lips for him. He gently presses the rim of the water bottle onto my bottom lip, easing the cold, fresh water onto my sandpaper tongue. His fingertips graze the skin on my neck as the pad of his thumb softly wipes away my tears. It’s so gentle and intimate that I can’t help but cry harder. I’ve never felt such a sincere caress and it’s like my heart is breaking into a million pieces, astounded by the tenderness that I haven’t allowed myself to even realize I was missing. The silent resentment falling away for a moment and letting something new replace it. Adoration? Sympathy? Genuine gratitude?

I take in this new feeling hesitantly as I try to gulp down the water as quickly as he’s pouring it into my mouth. I relish in the feeling of the cool liquid on my tongue and into the back of my throat, soothing the burning I had endured for so long. The tears continue to fall even after the water bottle is empty and I realize his hand is still gently stroking my cheek in an attempt to calm my tears. He tosses the empty water bottle aside and peers down at me. I stare back up at him, my eyes starting to puff up from the tears I had just shed, cloudy with the residual moisture on my lashes. He’s even more beautiful now than ever before, caring for me so tenderly, and I think I understand now. I love him. I must love him. The way I was drawn to him before, it all makes sense. I’ve never felt anything like this before, no one has ever given me even a sliver of a second thought, but here he is. This man I don’t even know caring for a tortured criminal that’s done nothing, but awful things. It must be love. It must be... something at least.

I realize the moment’s been too long and I turn my gaze away, squeezing my eyes shut. I can’t help but feel embarrassed. Here he is helping me, giving me the water I so desperately needed and I can’t even choke out a ‘thank you’. Should I? Would he want me to? His hand falls away and I hear him start to shuffle to the door. Dammit. I’m breathing heavy, trying to catch my breath from the way I gulped down water like a dying horse. “I’m going to get a first aid kit.” I almost don’t hear him, but my eyes snap open. He’s coming back? To help me even more? Eraser Head is… going to tend my wounds… that I got fighting… HIM. This is all so bizarre and my head spins a little, but I can’t help the trace of a grin that tugs on my lips and the slight twinge of heat in my cheek.

I hear that knock on the door again, but before it opens I mumble out a small, drained. “Thank you.” My throat is still destroyed, but it’s enough that I hope he heard me. I guess I’ll never know if he did or even cared because the door opens and closes with no acknowledgment that I had said anything. Once again, I am left by myself, in this too bright room, strapped to a metal chair. As I sit here, it’s hard not to fall back into my miserable thoughts. Self loathing and what if’s come easily. What if that really was a trick? What if he’s never coming back? What if I just imagined the whole thing? What if he’s disgusted by me and just taking pity? I internally cringe at myself. That one is probably closest to the truth. He thinks of me like a charity case, someone who can’t help themselves. He’s a hero after all, that good ole savior complex will always rear it’s big, nasty head at some point. He’s helping me to make himself feel better, not to make me feel better. I sneer at myself. I almost fell into his trap, but no. I’m better than that. I was almost that dumb cunt I used to be, trusting people, needing others help. Fuck no. I promised myself I would never be that person again. I’m better now.

But then the indignation fades and all I’m left with is the reality of the situation. I do need his help. I’m broken and bleeding, strapped to a chair in an interrogation room. I start to cry again. It’s not a heavy cry, just one that makes you realize so much in such a short period of time. I cry as I realize I do need help. I need more help now than I’ve ever needed before. I’ve probably needed help this entire time and refused to see it, refused to ask for it. Asking for help never seemed like an option, it seemed like a burden. Yet, Eraser Head isn’t even offering me help, he’s giving it. Willingly. Of his own accord.

I continue to struggle with my thoughts on the situation far longer than I would deem necessary before I admit to myself it doesn’t matter because he’s simply not coming back. It’s been too long for him to have actually been going to get a first aid kit. He’s gone forever now. Poof. Might as well stop thinking about him. I can’t though. Can’t stop thinking about his perfect face, the way he touched my neck, the tenor of his voice, the scruff on his chin, the scar under his eye, the heat of his body behind mine. It all sends a thrill through me, but more than that, just a deep sense of longing. I yearn for him. I just want him to come back to me, I don’t care if he has the first aid kit he left for or not. I just want him to be present with me because everything just hurts less when he’s here. The open wounds mean nothing when he’s here. He’s the only reason any of my pain has ever been eased. I need him. I love him.

I start to allow fresh tears to fall, but my eyes are already welded shut from the fat tears I had shed earlier, too heavy to open and crusted over with dried tears because I still can’t wipe my eyes. The new ones gently come and allow me to crack open my eyes just slightly. I’m honestly on the brink of exhaustion, but my body has miraculously found a way to push forward. I’m taking a deep breath, trying to re-center myself. Get a grip on reality. Stretch my fingers and toes, get some feeling back in my aching body, crack my neck as best as I can. It’s not much, but it helps. I’m the only one that can do anything for me now. I start trying to survey the room to a closer extent than I had before, but honestly it’s still the same, too bright, all white room. I guess I can see a vent in the top right corner, but it’s too small for me to even think about escaping from. Not to mention, I can’t see a camera, so it must be in the corner behind me, watching, recording my every move. I grumble. There’s also the two way mirror, that I assume has had at least three people on the other side of it at all times. I’m completely under thumb.

I sigh, there’s not much I can do in this situation, and this dumb collar is still canceling my quirk. I’m chained up and defenseless. Fucking great. The door scrapes open again and I startled to see Eraser Head quickly invade the room, that wild look in his eyes again. The tips of his hair are flicking back and forth angrily, but not like it was before when he was erasing my quirk, more like… he’s just worked up. He’s breathing deeply, standing up straight and crossing his arms, a full 180 from his calm, gentle demeanor he had earlier. He’s actually quite intimidating like this and I start to shrink into myself, not knowing why his mood has changed. I didn’t do anything. He looks to the door and reaches out to flick his wrist in a ‘get the fuck over here’ motion. Detective Aiko comes into the room and unlocks my cuffs, releasing my arms from the table. He seems reluctant and I’m insanely confused by this sudden turn of events. My eyes are wide and I look to Eraser Head again, confusion evident on my twisted up face. “I’m taking you to the hospital. The collar will stay on and I will cuff you down when we get there.” He says it all so blankly and I’m even more confused that I was before he answered.

Detective Aiko doesn’t look up, he just grumbles out a gruff, ‘bad fucking idea’ before moving onto the straps at my torso, allowing me to pull away from the chair just a little bit. I struggle to force my muscles to keep myself upright, wanting to slump over and crumple to the floor. He undoes the one at my lap and I barely feel it because my entire bottom half has gone numb at this point. He lowers down further and unlocks the cuffs at my ankles, fully freeing me from the chair. I’m immediately elated to be liberated once again, getting overzealous and springing from the chair. Blood rushes to my head and my numb legs remind me how bad of an idea that is because I tip forward, falling into the metal table, the wind knocked from my lungs. I let out a wheeze and feel strong hands pull me back up onto my feet from my shoulders.

Eraser Head wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me flush to his hip to support my weight. I can feel his hero muscles swell as he pulls me off the table, shifting so we can shuffle towards the door. I’m still dazed and weak, trying to work with his movements instead of against them, but my legs can barely hold myself up and he ends up dragging me along with him more than anything else. My head is right next to his shoulder, tucked tight to his body and I press myself closer, nuzzling my cheek onto his collarbone. He feels so good against me. I’m so woozy, I feel like I’m dreaming. This all could be a mirage, I am dehydrated as hell. But it feels so real and so good that I just submit to it immediately. I press even further, trying to get up to his neck. Trying to be closer. The moment crashes around me in an instant as cuffs fall around my wrists. Damn. It’s Detective Aiko standing behind me, cuffing my wrists together and ruining the moment I was just having with Eraser. I glare up at him and he just ignores me, squeezing the cuffs tighter, too tight. I yelp, but he just looks over to Eraser Head like, ‘Really?’. Eraser grunts and holds his hand out for the key, he still has that wild look in his eye and I realize now that it’s pointed at Detective Aiko. HE’s in the doghouse, not me. Well, I am still arrested, but it doesn’t really feel like it when Eraser Head is personally escorting me to the ER, cuffs or no cuffs. Detective Aiko drops the key into his outstretched hand with an eyeroll.

Eraser Head spins me around, so I’m facing forward. My head is still dizzy, but my legs are starting to get some feeling back and I’m able to stand on my own now, even if I am a bit wobbly. He pulls me close to him again, gripping my bicep with one hand and supporting my weight with a hand on my hip. He’s taller than I remember him being. Glancing over my shoulder, I have to look up at him. His jaw is set, clenched with the anger he’s trying to hold back, silently seething. He’s still eyeing Detective Aiko with a menacing nature, I know his quirk is eye related, but it seems he also has a natural affinity for staring anyways. I watch him tuck the key into his front pocket, then grip my arm again, his hands are so large. I gulp, now realizing my ass is basically pressed up to his hip. He’s still taller than me, it's more like his thigh, but that doesn’t change the fact that my ass is on this man. My mind goes crazy as he holds me there, having some kind of stare down with Aiko. Neither of them has moved, but after a moment the detective shifts back with a grumble. Eraser Head grunts and guides me forward, supporting me as we exit the interrogation room.

Eyes follow us as Eraser Head leads me out of the room and down the hall. The receptionist at the front desk gasps when she sees me walking (semi) free. I can tell they all know who I am. I can tell they’re all scared of me. I don't need my quirk for that. I take advantage of the tense scene before me and grin, lurching forward at the woman sitting at the desk. Eraser Head is still gripping me firmly, so I don’t make it very far before he yanks me back to his body, but I do make it far enough to scare that bitch gawking at me. She screams and drops the phone receiver in her hand, stumbling backwards. I didn’t really expect such a dramatic reaction, did she really think I was gonna rip her head off or something? I’m fucking handcuffed… and doesn’t she fucking work at the police station? She should be used to this by now, why is she so fucking scared? Dramatic bitch.

Eraser Head pushes me forward, obviously still riled up from previous events. I stumble forward a bit, but his grip on me is so firm I couldn’t fall if I wanted to. We continue walking through the waiting lobby, until we reach two large glass doors. Outside the doors, it’s day time, probably late afternoon by the look of the sunlight. I take a deep breath, ready to take a step out those doors, ready to leave this awful fucking place, full of these awful fucking people. Eraser presses the handicap button and the door swinging open, the air is warm as we step out and it’s a little joy in this shitty situation that I bask in for a moment. When we step onto the sidewalk, I look up at Eraser Head. This protective stance, the hand on my hip, if I just ignore the handcuffs it’s like we’re a couple on a stroll. I smile up at him, thinking about how sweet he looks with his hair catching the late afternoon light. It’s golden hour and it settles on him nicely, highlighting his stark features. His eyes flick down to me and an expression of genuine surprise passes his face for a split second. He looks away quickly, a blush coating his cheeks, but his face returns to its stoic default.

We continue like this for a moment until we come up on his vehicle. I’m not sure what I expected, but a small wave of sadness washes over me as he opens the rear door, shoving me into the backseat. I didn’t really think he would put me in the front with him, but this feels so… impersonal. I guess that’s what we are. Impersonal. I mean, I don’t even know his last name. I slouch into the black leather of the car and pout to myself, feeling defeated. Eraser Head buckles me into the seat, leaning over me with his whole, big body. Heat floods my stomach and suddenly I’m feeling something… else. I huff, breathing in his scent, I can still smell the bergamot on him, but the other scent on him still eludes me. It’s sweet and musky, almost earthy. He pulls away before I can breathe in again, shutting the door on me, boxing me into this car alone again. He’s in the driver’s seat about 4 seconds later, but the silence of being alone again still stands out to me. I shake my head, and try to focus on the sounds of the car as he roars the engine to life and pulls out of the parking lot.

Thank you for reading! :)

I love reading yall’s comments so please leave a note for me! (see that double entendre hehe im so smart) 

but seriously, thanks for the love and the followers especially for only one fic

(also I hope u all can tell how much I fucking despise the cops for this chapter)

#Entrapment #YOU GOT OUT! #kinda #i would genuinely throw hands at aiko so just know im fully about that life #gratatatataaaaaaa #acab #aizawa #aizawa shouta #bnha aizawa #aizawa x reader #mr aizawa #bnha #bnha oc #bnha x reader #bnha shouta aizawa #fanfiction #fan fic #my hero fanfic #mha fanfiction #fan fic author

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Monsters and mushrooms

Tags:  @salamancialilypad  @whumpfigure @albino-whumpee @comfy-whumpee  @ashintheairlikesnow   @haro-whumps   @moose-teeth @vickytokio​ @yet-another-heathen​ @orchidscript

A Nature fun fact: Bioluminescent mushrooms do exist actually and snails have the habit to foam when distressed in order to deter predators and protect their soft body from tiny satans like ants.

Chapter 4

CW: emotional overload, negative stimming, fear of abandonment, hints at past abusive parent

Sahar hasted up to the farm, stumbling on the crooked steps.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to cry but he’d forgotten how to stop and the world around him dissolved into a melted aquarelle painting of leaves and grass and roots as he stormed past the house. 

He wedged himself between the root and the old stump they chop firewood on, eyes fixed on the axe still rammed inside, his back hitting the root over and over and over again, while he purged all the unwanted feelings from his body through movement. 

There would be bruises tomorrow, Sahar thought when his violent rocking finally slowed into a gentle rhythm.

His lips trembled around one long shaky exhale and his tears finally subsided. Their tracks were only crusty streaks of salt water now, not overwhelming aches.

Sometimes, Sahar hated his body, hated it for being overwhelmed by the stupidest things, hated to have a brain full of misfiring neurons at war with themselves. A brain that made it unbelievably more difficult to exist, as what he was, in this world.

Maybe this was some kind of divine punishment.

But for what?

“Sahar?” Moira’s head peeked over the root and her worried face peered down at his cowering form. “There you are, sweetheart.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, only tugged his knees tight to his chest, ready to hide his face from whatever scolding was to come.

There had always been reprehension when he hadn’t been able to behave himself. Until all of his mother’s angry words hadn’t been enough and she’d abandoned him. At long last. 

Ugly icky fear gnawed away at his insides, a sharp toothed beast he desperately wanted to banish but couldn’t. He rocked up against the root once more. Let his shoulder blades collide with it until he  felt the scratch of rough bark through his grey linen shirt.  

Sometimes his thoughts paused, stayed on safe routes and away from the maelstroms of his ever racing mind when he rocked or tapped or hummed enough. But now was no such time. .

Sahar’s thoughts spun and spiraled. Crashed violently into one another on their collision curses.

Please don’t throw me out. Away. I can behave. I can be disciplined. I promise. I promise. I promise. Please!

The curtain closed and left the window dark.

“Sahar?”

Wait.

There were no curtains here.  And no city streets. No concrete roads or bleeding knees.

Only warm earth under his fingertips. 

A long grass blade brushed his calf and Sahar closed his eyes to focus on the barely there tickle against his skin. The expansion of his ribcage, how it filled with the lavender scented air, inherent to his home, on every inhale and his eyes fluttered open.

“Yeah. I’m here.”

Here. Here. Here. And I can stay.

Moira began to heave Asmodea over the root with a loud huff that had Sahar instantly uncurl and twist around to take the snail with a firm, gentle grip from her arms. The snail immediately clung onto him as best as her soft slimy body allowed, wiggling in exasperated little waves until Sahar finally sat back down and put her over his lap.

“There, there baby. There you you you, there you  go.”

He couldn’t help but smile as Asmodea draped herself flat over his legs, making no move to retreat into her shining shell. It’s brown and black stripes still shimmered from the shower Sahar had given her yesterday. 

“Sahar? Can you listen to me?”

Hunching protectively over Asmodea, he gave a hesitant nod.  “Yes.”

Moira didn’t like it when she had to repeat herself. It made her livid when he or Ansgar ended up absorbed in one-

Ansgar.

Something hot and heavy lodged itself in Sahar’s throat at the memory of his furious gaze. Ansgar had never looked at him like this, ever before, but Sahar realized why, now, after he had a moment to collect his racing thoughts, to calm his hammering heart.  He really had been bad. Immature, thoughtless, utterly ludicrous.

But even so he knew. God how he knew.

Even after everything-

“Ansgar and Eric persuaded the… headhunter, to try his luck up in Berlin.” Moira began, lips pursed in displeasure. “Your house arrest remains nevertheless. Don’t give me that look. You’ve been irresponsible and ill-mannered, young man. No matter how good a reason you may think you had, you have to control yourself.”

A protest burned on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed the sizzle of anger down, buried it deep inside himself where all his other unsafe emotions were banished.

“I know. I I- I’m sorry.”

Moira shook her head with a sigh, grey curls swishing softly from side to side. “Just be better from now on and stay put for the next few days.  No strolling through the farm woods either.”

His fingers began to tap an anxious rhythm onto Asmodea’s shell, while her body pulsed in soothing waves over his thighs. One of her eyes gently nudged his forearm.

“What, uhm what, but if if if one of the snails, if one  gets lost and-“

Moira’s strict tone nipped his tender try at backtalk at the bud, rendering him silent for good.

“Ansgar and I will take care of that then. I have to go now. The others already left to check the InD-Unit’s for a possible breakthrough. I don’t trust one word out of this guy’s mouth, and I expect you to stay close to the house. Did I make myself clear?”

The scar on his arm stretched uncomfortably as he curled tighter around Asmodea, desperate for his friend’s silent support. Their soft body wiggled gently in response.

“Yes, ma’am.”

------------------------------------------------

“We gonna go pick glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms! Glowy shrooms!”

Mara shrieked, running in circles around Charlotte, a woven basket clutched tightly in her small brown hands. Her yellow hairband fluttered and the ‘thud thud thud’ of her prosthetic leg got drowned out by the other children’s laughter, hot on her heels in a tumultuous chase for the basket.

A small pale boy broke out into a bright grin as he caught himself from stumbling over the hem of his pants, way too long for his small, stubby legs.

“Did Julian steal Hanne’s clothes again?” Kaja emerged from one of the orphanage’s many crooked entrances with a box of flashlights under one arm. A bag full of pocket knives dangled from the other as she dodged a low hanging wooden beam with practiced ease.

Charlotte took the box from her with an irritated sigh. “I’m glad he’s wearing clothes at all, this time.”

“Are you sure you can handle them on your own?”

Kajas cocky grin vanished under Charlotte icy glare. Blue eyes frosted over as she yanked the bag from Kajas hands and shouted: “Everyone who does not want to stay home lines up here now! You don’t lose your flashlight and when I see one pocket knife flicked open for anything other than picking mushrooms you celebrate the festival in your room. Am I clear?”

The children’s excited shrieks died in an instant as they hurried to get in line, waiting obediently for Charlotte to hand every one of them their items and making a show off storing them dutifully away in their pants pockets and backpacks.

The perfect picture of orderly compliance.

Everyone knew it would last for as long as it would take them to leave the orphanages grounds.

___

 The academy yard’s gravel crunched under Gideon’s boots as he snuck away from yet another disciplinary task. He had scrubbed all the bathrooms to shine in the past, had assisted in the kitchen more than once, and had sorted the trainings gear enough times to know it by heart.

Sometimes he even understood why it always ended up like this.

What he couldn’t understand, however, was having to clean up the entire two story training hall because that stupid farm boy provoked him. For once, he hadn’t even done anything. At least nothing that wouldn’t have been deserved.

Not that the little shit had been helpless.

“Where do you think you’re going?!”

Gideon nearly choked at his upperclassman’s call. His hands clutched the spear’s strap dangling from his shoulder tighter and  he turned to face the young man who had hurried over from their living quarters. His dark thick brows were harsh, frowning lines in a permanently stern face.

“Berkan.” The corners of Gideon’s mouth twitched. He was really in no mood to deal with this stuck-up right now. “Just out for some late night practice.”

It wasn’t even a lie. He did want to get some extra training in, only someplace where he had some damn peace for once. Who could have thought the countryside would be even more suffocating than a life under his father’s roof.

Turning around before Berkan opened his mouth in protest Gideon hurriedly added,“Just finished the cleaning ‘n shit. Go look for yourself if you want.” before he skidded down the large staircase leading down from the academy campus.

Even if Berkan decided to check up on his task Gideon would be already gone by the time the other boy realized he hadn’t done shit.

 ____

 Sahar rubbed slow circles over Asmodea’s head, right between her antennas. It was one of her favorite spots, right after the underside of her foot, when Sahar would gently wipe it clean with a fluffy towel whenever she’d managed to get something unpleasantly stuck to her body. Like the godforsaken acidic tree sap she had blindly glid through on their first forest excursion.

Asmodea carefully extended one eye, gently poking Sahar’s other hand while she began to softly nibble his leg. The raspy sandpaper-like sensation made him chuckle and his fingers began to tap over the warm earth. 

“Hey, hey hey. I’m fine. Don’t, don’t worry.”

Another enthusiastic nibble made him smile, bright and toothy for the first time on a day unpredictable like a summer monsoon.

Sahar was just about to coax Asmodea from his lap and get some strawberry, when a gut wrenching shriek pierced the evening air. 

Something rustled through the bushes.

He shouldered Asmodea and sprung to his feet in one fluid motion, eyes fixed on the timberline and heart stuck in his throat.

Don’t tell me?! Did something break through the border after all?

His pulse hammered in his ears as Sahar listened to the sound of snapping twigs, to the rapid ‘thud thud thud’  coming closer with every second ticking by. His thoughts raced. Would he be fast enough to hurl Asmodea over the root? To jump after? His eyes snapped to the axe. Could he run at all?

The bushes parted.

Sahar was about to throw his friend over the root, risking an injury to her precious shell, when he saw who had screamed. His body froze dead in its tracks and Asmodea fummed in paniked protest. 

Mara had burst out of the thick bushes, covered in scratches, her little face blotchy and tear crusted. The yellow hairband that had been seemingly fused to her head was nowhere to be found and the glittering drawings on her prosthetic leg were smeared over with dirt. Sahar was kneeling by her side in an instant.

“Hey hey hey hey what- what happened? Mara?”

Wiping at tears rolling in endless rivers down flushed chubby cheeks, Sahar scanned her shivering disheveled form for injuries that, to his immense relief, didn’t seem to exist.

“Hey hey hey, It’s fine. It’s fine now. I- I’m here. Every- everything’s fine, fine now.”

“Nonononono.” Her tiny hands fisted in his shirt as she pressed her forehead against his collarbone, shaking and rubbing her head into Sahars skin.

Her fluffy curls brushed his chin.

“Monster. A monster. Monster at the glowy clea- clealing!”

“Glowy- what what what do, what do you mean?”

His hands tapped a rapid-fire rhythm over her shaking shoulder blades as Sahar tried to make some sense of her choked-off babbling. 

Sobbing, Mara dug the remnants of a squashed luminescent mushroom out of her pocket. The glowing blue pulp dripped down her fingers and painted sparkling droplets of night sky onto the muddy earth.

“Oh. Oh! The the The clearing! I know, I know, know now. That that that’s close. Were, were were you, were you- were- fuck.” Balling his hands into fist tight enough to leave crescent indentations in the soft flesh of his palm, Sahar forced a long breath in through his nose and out of his uncooperative mouth.

Slow now, sweetheart. Don’t get too worked up again.

“Were you and the others pick- pick picking- for the fest?”

Burying herself back against Sahar’s chest with a frantic nod Mara howled: “The others- the monster, the monster trapped them!”

A breakthrough. Fuck, fuck. Fuck! There must have been one.

She trembled as he held her at arm’s length, meeting dark panic hazy eyes with a determination he thought had died that fateful autumn night eight years ago.

“Listen Mara. I, I I go to the clearing and and and you run to to to the, run to the tea house. Every- everyone’s gonna be, be there warming up for for for for tomorrow.”

He hastily wiped her cheeks before hoisting her over the root. Sahar flashed her a wry smile, trying to look braver than he felt.

“Everything’s gon- gon- gonna be fine.”

Sahar willed his hands not to shake as he tore the Axe from the cutting stump and vanished into the woods.

#whump #whump writing #emotional whump #mutant whumpee #mutant whump #negative stimming #emotional overload #autistic mc close to meltdown #but his pet helps him calm down :3 #nothing better than snail snuggles #some flowers have teeth #sahar #gideon #charlotte #post apocalypse whump #post apocalypse story #post apocalypse

[calligraphist-artemisia]

Guiding the Way

Written for the Kidge Spring Event!

Prompt 5: Fern and Oak | Shelter and Strength

Years ago, @uraraaaaaaan mentioned wanting a Kidge Sentinel/Guide AU and I wrote down the idea, always intending to go back and write it. Finally, I have.

Summary: Sentinel/Guide AU. Pidge had long given up on meeting a Sentinel who would be strong enough to provide the balance she needed. It wasn't until her first day at the Galaxy Garrison that she began to see a glimmer of hope that maybe they were nearby.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

The first time Pidge felt it was during her tour of the facilities of the Galaxy Garrison.

It began as a low ringing in her ears, a sensation that was immediately brushed off as nothing unusual. She automatically tightened her emotional control as a foreign feeling of loneliness and hopelessness began to creep over her, pushing it away so she wouldn't become overwhelmed. She looked around and watched as a few others in her tour group, as well as a few cadets who were roaming the halls, began to shift in unease, some of them rubbing their ears or gingerly massaging their temples, as though hoping a physical reaction would ward it off.

The ringing intensified with a single pulse that drowned out all other noise.

One minute Pidge was standing and the next she was on the ground, slumped against a wall with her head in her hands, struggling to breathe. There was a hand on her shoulder and, as her hearing returned, she could begin to make out someone coaching her through a breathing exercise.

“Sh-Shiro?” she gasped out.

Takashi Shirogane smiled softly at her. “I'm here, Katie. Don't speak right now: just breathe. You'll be okay.”

As she lifted her head to look around, Pidge saw that not everyone was affected by the sound. If she had to guess, around one out of twenty people were affected the same way she was. She waited until her breathing had mostly evened out before speaking again. “What was that?”

“A Sentinel suffering from Overload,” Shiro said, sounding apologetic. “Commander Holt never mentioned that you're a Guide.”

“It's not really important,” Pidge lied. She knew he was curious about why she chose to keep it such a secret, but she was much more curious in learning why a Sentinel who was suffering so badly was kept in a place like the Galaxy Garrison.

“So, who's this Sentinel you mentioned?” she asked.

“Keith,” spat out a nearby cadet with brown hair, who was being helped to his feet by a girl with short blonde hair.

Shiro stiffened. “Cadet Hawkins is--!”

“Well, they can't keep him hidden forever!” snapped the cadet, jerking his head to look in their direction. His face paled as he got a look at who he had yelled at. “Lieutenant Shirogane, I'm sorry! I didn't know it was you!”

Shiro ignored him and instead helped Pidge to her feet. “Officer Johnson, I'll be taking Cadet Holt from here. I'll be sure to return her to her dorm by curfew.”

The woman clutched her clipboard to her chest and pursed her lips together in a thin line, but in the end, she didn't voice her dislike of the breach in protocol and allowed Shiro to whisk Pidge away. She ordered the remaining new cadets to reform a line and continued with the tour.

Pidge trotted after Shiro and waited until they were a suitable distance away before beginning her questioning anew. “Are you going to tell me what's going on? Who's this 'Keith' guy anyway?”

Shiro ushered her into an unoccupied room before answering. “Keith is an exceptionally strong Sentinel. Strong enough that we've been unable to find a Guide who is capable of bonding with him. I... That is, myself and some of the other high officers thought it would help if we moved him away from the Garrison, but it doesn't seem to have made a difference.”

Pidge's jaw dropped. “He's not even on the grounds? Just how wide is his range?”

“Immeasurable,” Shiro said with a grimace. “As you can tell, there are those who are unhappy with the way we've handled things, but they also believe that he's still within Garrison grounds. They cannot know how far away he is. There has already been talking of sending him to a... specialized facility to try and help him regain control.”

There was something about the tone Shiro used that made Pidge think that moving Keith to such a place would be the worst thing they could do. What kind of facility could help a Sentinel who was suffering from Overload, anyway? People had studied it for years and couldn't find an artificial way to prevent it or the Guide equivalent of Apathy.

“The only thing we can do is keep him as comfortable as possible and hope we find a Guide who is capable of bonding with him,” Shiro said.

Pidge remained silent as Shiro led her back out into the hall and picked up her tour where Officer Johnson had left off. All the while, she thought of the mysterious Keith and wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was the Sentinel she'd been searching for.

She came Online as a Guide at the age of 8 – much earlier than most and to the great confusion of her family, who had never considered preparing for such an event. It took years of talking to older guides, of being pulled out of school, of emotional outbursts, of failed attempts to find a Sentinel for her to bond with, and a very near-slip into Apathy before she was able to control her abilities enough to go out and be around crowds again.

As Sentinels and Guides were two sides of a single coin, so were Overload and Apathy.

For Sentinels, who were most well-known for their inhuman strength, excellent eyesight, and an enhanced sense of smell, Overload was the result of being overwhelmed by those physical senses in a way that was difficult to turn off without help.

For Guides, who were known for their sense of empathy (and who historically had been accused of reading minds because of the way they could sense emotions of those around them), Apathy was what happened when it all became too much. First came the maelstrom of emotions around them, followed by them overcompensating to try and regain control, which inevitably led to a full emotional shutdown.

Bonding was beneficial to both parties – and could be considered necessary for them to live long and healthy lives.

Because she came Online at such a young age, Pidge was an uncommonly strong Guide. She had to work harder than most to try and block out the emotions of those around her, as well as to keep her own under control. It also meant that she needed a Sentinel who was capable of providing the balance she needed.

“I want to meet him,” Pidge stated, interrupting Shiro in the middle of his description of the Gymnasium and the courses offered there. She stopped walked and gazed up at him, a stubborn glint in her eyes. “I want to meet Keith.”

Shiro hesitated for a moment and then nodded. “Tonight. After dinner.”

❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀ - ❀

Keith's morning began on a high note.

There was no bright sunlight streaming in from the windows where the heavy curtains couldn't quite cover. The temperature inside the house was just right – not too hot and not too cold.  Better yet, his blankets and clothing didn't feel like sandpaper grating against his skin. He got up slowly, taking the time to enjoy the peace and quiet while it lasted.

It never lasted for long.

He knew that from experience.

He shuffled across the floor into the bathroom where he took care of his usual morning ablutions before heading into the kitchen to prepare a breakfast of plain oatmeal, which was typically bland enough that he wouldn't become overwhelmed. It was when he uncapped the milk to begin heating it up that things went wrong.

Keith gagged, immediately fighting the bile rising at the back of his throat. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the milk, which Shiro had bought the day before, but the smell of it was still too much. He managed to twist the cap back on and shoved the carton into the fridge (which was missing a lightbulb to avoid agitating his eyes) before he dropped to the floor as his Overload kicked in and made his senses go haywire.

Suddenly, everything was too much.

His head throbbed in agony and Keith clenched his teeth, trying in vain to hold on, but it was all too much and darkness soon rushed up to meet him.

Keith didn't know how much time had gone by when he woke again. The house was still dark and quiet, but all of him ached from passing out on the hard kitchen floor and it took him a few long minutes to slowly stretch and try to alleviate that pain before he felt well enough to stand up and try to cook again.

The oatmeal was as bland and tasteless as ever, especially when made with plain water – Keith didn't want to risk opening the milk again – but it was inoffensive enough that he could force it down and truthfully tell Shiro that he'd eaten something. There wasn't much else for Keith to do after that. His head hurt too badly to do anything productive, though he knew he should, at the very least, attempt to meditate again.

It was something Shiro was always getting on him for; his friend was convinced that meditation would be the thing to help him, but how could it when he couldn't concentrate long enough to do it? How could it when it only seemed to amplify his senses?

Keith laid down on top of his makeshift bed and stared at the dark ceiling.

Hours passed.

Keith slipped into a state somewhere between being awake and asleep and only jostled free by the agonizingly loud sound of the front door unlocking and then squeaking open. Out of habit, he kept his eyes closed to prevent being blinded by the rays of the setting sun and because of that, his only indication that Shiro wasn't alone was the sound of a second set of much lighter footsteps following along behind him.

“Who's with you?” Keith asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

He heard the door shut and only then dared to open his eyes, focusing immediately on the young woman wearing the familiar orange uniform of the Galaxy Garrison. He couldn't muster up the energy to ask again and turned his head away in dismissal.

“Keith, this is Pidge,” Shiro said softly. “She's a Guide.”

Keith couldn't bring himself to react to the news. He'd tried to bond with so many Guides over the past few years that he had given up on ever finding the right one. He was too tired to keep trying.

Someone shuffled closer and Keith could hear Shiro saying his name, but it was as though he was speaking from a great distance. Was that... bad? He couldn't fully bring himself to care. What did it matter? Nothing mattered. There was nothing that could help him. Nothing.

A hand. Light and gentle over his own. Warm. Pleasant.

A voice. Soothing and quiet. Refreshing, in a way.

Perfume. Subtle. Soft citrus and something earthy. Like the forest after a thunderstorm.

And in the back of his mind, a tendril of worry unfurled and prodded him until he opened his eyes and he found himself face-to-face with a girl – Pidge, wasn't it? – with golden eyes. He blinked and relief blossomed across her face, echoed by that tendril creeping deeper into his mind.

They weren't his emotions, Keith realized all at once.

A bond. Slow to form, but effortlessly strong once it took root. He could feel it there and instinctively knew that all he needed to do was reach out and accept it. He breathed in and then out, slow and steady, all the while maintaining eye contact. He twisted his hand in hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“Hello,” Keith said hoarsely.

A tiny laugh bubbled up from Pidge's throat as she smiled, and Keith could feel the pop of joy inside himself, bursting bright like sunshine. “Hi,” she responded, slightly breathless.

Shiro settled onto the floor next to Pidge and Keith tilted his head to look at his oldest friend, taking in the traces of deep concern across his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't think of anything to say except: “I ate this morning.”

“Oatmeal?” Shiro guessed with a grin.

Keith nearly groaned. He hadn't meant to say that out loud!

Shiro chuckled as he stood up. “Why don't you two stay put and I'll see what I can make for dinner. Once your bond starts to settle, you'll both need to eat.” He paused a moment, looking down at both of them with a soft expression, and then strode across the room into the kitchenette, where he began searching the cupboards for anything edible.

Keith turned his attention back to Pidge.

Back to his Guide.

And it was as she introduced herself that Keith got the first inkling that everything was going to be alright from that point on. The longer she was there, the more the pain he felt so intensely before was easing away. Things no longer sounded as loud. The room actually appeared dark to him. (Actually, it was a wonder that Shiro could actually see in the kitchen. He should probably tell him he could turn on a light.)

Yes. Things would be better.

#voltron #kidge #kidgemas #kidge spring event 2021 #fanfiction #sentinel and guide AU

[redqueen-hypothesis]

maybe, home ➳ shaw (mlqc)

➳ PAIRING: reader x shaw (mlqc)

➳ WORD COUNT: 5191

➳ GENRE: sick!shaw, fluff

➳ SYNOPSIS: shaw falls ill and tries to hide it. you won’t stand his lies.

➳ REMARKS: happy yeeshaw day!! here’s to furthering the shaw agenda!!

He feels like shit.

Groaning, Shaw raises a hand to block out the sunlight currently assaulting his face, eyes squinting. His head is pounding like crazy, throat as dry as sandpaper. He wants to get out of bed and shut the damned curtains, but nearly retches the second he tries to stand, stomach heaving and the taste of bile bitter at the back of his throat.

Collapsing back onto his bed, he lets out a soft grunt, limbs aching. A cold? “Fuck.”

The ringing of his phone makes his ears hurt. A pained huff leaves his mouth, and he reaches for it, swiping the call button without a second look at the contact. “Who the fuck is it-”

“Shaw?”

At the sound of his name coming from your lips, Shaw pauses for a moment, mildly surprised, before realization catches up with him. He throws his head back to the pillows in flat out exasperation.

How could he have forgotten? He was supposed to meet you today at the train station at eleven, so that he could bring you over to the antique shop to choose prop materials for one of your shows.

Shaw glances at the clock sitting at his bedside table. Ten-fifty, he can still make it if he hurries. He’ll be late, of course, but you’ll forgive him after a light scolding, he knows-

“Shaw, are you still in bed?” He knows what expression you’re making, tongue pushed into your cheek with a pout on your lips. He can read you like an open book, every face you make etched into his memory. “You said to meet at eleven!”

“Heh, sorry. I overslept.” Shaw makes sure to keep his voice flippant, one hand bracing against the edge of the mattress as he waits for the nausea to subside. It doesn’t. “Ten minutes, am I right?”

He’s cold. Light shivers run up and down his body, although when he presses the back of his free hand to his forehead, his skin burns hot against his palm. No doubt about it, definitely sick.

“Hurry up! I knew you were going to be late as usual so I left later, but it seems like I’ll still be too early.” You complain, and Shaw lets out a quiet laugh at your words, fingers digging into the covers. He can hear the tinkle of a shop’s bell and quiet chattering, surmises that you must be buying your usual coffee at your favourite cafe now. You’re not too far from the train station.

He needs to hurry up. He wants to see you.

“I got you muffins, so you can skip breakfast and come right over.” You continue speaking, pausing for a moment when the barista calls your name to hand you your order. “I baked them myself, so you have to be my willing test subject and taste all of them, alright?”

You baked muffins for him. Goddamnit.

Shaw tries to get out of bed, he really does, but the second he gets to his feet, the room starts spinning in dizzying circles and he’s forced to stumble back to the bed, collapsing on the sweat soaked covers. A bitter chuckle leaves the back of his throat, one arm thrown over his face. What would you think if you saw him like this?

“About today,” Shaw swallows, throat scratching painfully with each word he speaks. “Something just cropped up, so I won’t be able to come. You know where the key is, just go ahead and take whatever you want.”

It’s a flimsy excuse, he knows, so patchy and full of holes he almost does laugh at himself. But he doesn’t want you seeing him like this, sick and weak and pathetic. That would be laughable, wouldn’t it? Him, weak?

“...Alright. The muffins will have to wait another day, then.” Shaw hates how disappointed you sound, even over the phone. He runs a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Rain check?”

You finally let out a little giggle at his joke, and the corners of Shaw’s lips involuntarily pull up at the bright sound. “Okay. I’ll see you on another day?” You sound so excited to see him again that his chest clenches in response - he blames the fever.

“Yeah-” He starts to say, but is cut off by a sudden coughing fit. Shaw holds the phone away from him as he thumps on his chest in an attempt to quell the hacking, but it’s too late, and he can already hear the concern in your voice over the call.

“Shaw! Shaw, are you alright?”

“I’ve got stuff to do, I’ll reschedule with you next time.” He interrupts, trying to stop himself from dissolving into another bout of coughing. “Gotta go.”

He hangs up before you can say otherwise.

Switching his phone to silent and tossing it to the side, Shaw slumps back onto the mattress, bare skin breaking out in goosebumps as shivers run up and down through his body. He feels fucking awful. His gaze falls on the shark plushie you’d given him as a birthday present on the bed next to him, its jagged teeth bared in a big, dumb smile.

Apparently, it reminded you of him. He still can’t see the resemblance.

“She doesn’t have to know.” Shaw tells the shark. It stares back at him with beady eyes, as if firmly disapproving of his lies. “Don’t look at me like that.”

The plushie isn’t cowed in the least by the threat in his voice. It just continues to look at him, eyes unblinking. It reminds him of you.

Shaw grumbles, and tugs the shark to his chest. It’s soft, the fuzzy material of the felt slightly ticklish against his bare skin. “You’re no help at all, you useless fish.”

He falls asleep curled around it, fingers clutching one of the fins tightly.

He kind of wishes it was your hand instead.

>>>

You can’t find it.

Taking your bottom lip between your teeth, you search about in your bag, brows furrowed. Shaw had decided to bail on you today, telling you that something had suddenly come up; and while you aren’t quite convinced, you’re sure he had his own reasons for cancelling on you so suddenly. You could go to the antique shop on your own (the key is under the flowerpot outside the entrance), but you don’t want to be there without Shaw. It just wouldn’t be the same.

Earlier, just before he’d hung up on you, you’d heard him coughing heavily and had been instantly worried for him. Shaw always seems so strong, so casual even in the most dire of situations, so you can’t quite imagine him sick. The thought is almost unimaginable, although you knew he’s human too, just like the rest of you.

If by any chance he is sick, well... you want to be the one to take care of him.

Hence, here you are - outside a warehouse (you’d almost thought you’d gotten the wrong address by accident at first), rummaging about in your bag for the spare key he’d given you for emergencies. You don’t know if this constitutes as one, but you’ve called him several times after he hung up - only to get sent straight to dial tone.

Worry tugs at you, urging your hands to move faster. You reach all the way down into the bottom of your bag, past the box of assorted muffins, and your fingertips touch cool metal.

“Yes!” You let out a little victory cheer, sliding the key into the lock, teeth clicking smoothly against grooves. A turn, a twist, and the door to Shaw’s home swings open, revealing a dark space beyond. You’ve never actually been to his home, but now that you’re here, you can’t help the sense of anticipation that fills you. What does his home look like?

The door opens into a huge warehouse turned studio apartment, industrial lighting and cables dangling from the ceiling and half finished graffiti covering the walls. The odd skylight punched into the roof here and there allows the late morning light to shine into the room, brightening up dark corners and illuminating a surprisingly well kept kitchen area.

Shoved against a wall at the far side of the studio are two mismatched mattresses pushed together, and there’s a pair of bare legs sticking out from beneath the blanket. Curious, you shift closer as if in a trance, and your mouth slowly falls open at the sight exposed to your eyes.

It’s Shaw, sprawled horizontally across both mattresses, fast asleep. Peeking out under the blanket with him is a familiar smile full of white felt teeth, and you find yourself grinning at the sight of Sharky practically being suffocated in Shaw’s arms.

“So cute.” You whisper to yourself, pulling out your phone to snap a picture. At that moment, Shaw mumbles in his sleep and rolls over onto his back, causing the blanket around his torso to slip down and reveal bare skin-

Oh my god.

Your scream must have broken the glass of the windows. At the sound of your voice, Shaw makes a confused snort in his sleep drunken state, his golden eyes flickering open blearily before they come to land on you.

He’s still naked.

You let out a squeak and immediately duck into a crouch, hands over your eyes. Your cheeks are on fire.

You don’t know how red you are right now.

“I didn’t see your... your...” Your mouth moves soundlessly, unable to form the word that is far too prominent in our mind right now. Your eyes are still squeezed tightly shut. “Your... dong.”

A second of awkward silence hangs between the two of you.

Suddenly, you hear a quiet laugh break out from above you. It’s soft, scratchy with sleep, and then two hands are at your wrists, tugging your hands away from your face. “Just say it as it is.” Shaw’s voice is teasing, and you can’t bear to open your eyes. You desperately just want the entire ground to open up and swallow you whole. His breath is hot against the shell of your ear. “D, I, C, K-”

“Stop!” You squeal in embarrassment, and he pulls you over until you’re barely holding yourself over him by the arms. You’re sure you’re about to spontaneously combust. “Shaw! Go! And! Put! On! Something! Right Now!”

He chuckles. “I’m wearing boxers.”

“That’s not clothes!” You squeak, beating at his chest with your fist, frantic. Your heart is hammering in your ears. “Boxers are underwear, not-”

A sudden, loud noise interrupts you in the middle of your sentence, and your eyes fly open to see him with both hands clamped over his mouth, trying to suppress his coughs. “Shaw?” It’s only then that you notice the dark shadows under his eyes, how pallid his complexion is. “You’re sick!”

“Just a little under the weather.” His voice is raspy, and he shudders a little as he takes a breath. Frowning in concern, you pull his head close to yours - missing the look of surprise that flits across his face - and touch his forehead to yours, brow furrowed.

He’s unbearably warm, and you can see a thin sheen of cold sweat on his skin. Definitely sick.

“You’re burning up!” You exclaim in concern, hurrying to tuck Shaw back under the blankets. He’s still wearing his usual casual, carefree grin, golden eyes glazed over with fever as he stares up at you. “Are you saying I’m hot?”

“Now is not the time for your jokes.” You scold, moving over to the kitchen area, pulling out a handkerchief from your bag and running it under cold water from the tap. Should you get him a glass of water too? “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick? You could have just cancelled today.”

Shaw lets out a defeated sigh as you turn around to eye him, one hand on your hip. His cheeks are flushed from the fever. “’m sorry.”

“Here, drink some water.” You step over to him, lifting the cup to his lips and he swallows greedily without protest, fingers latching around your wrist to keep your hand steady. You don’t know whether it’s from the fever, but your skin burns at his touch. “Why didn’t you keep yourself hydrated? You need to drink water to cool off.”

“Couldn’t get out of bed earlier.” Shaw answers matter of factly, slumping back on the mattress as if it’s no big deal to him. Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest as you wonder how long he’s had to deal with these sorts of situations alone.

Part of you wants to scold him for not relying on you more, but another part understands - he’s been independent since he was a child, and it’s hard for him to break old habits. Pressing your lips together, you place the wet towel on his forehead with renewed determination - you’re going to show him that he can rely on you.

“I’m going to take your temperature, do you have a thermometer? You could be running quite a high fever.” You ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Seemingly unconcerned, Shaw lets out an exaggerated sigh, cracking open one eye to look at you. “Ahh, and they said you could only see pretty nurses in a hospital. Think you could get a uniform to go with it?”

Your face goes flat. This little bastard... “How about I break something of yours and send you to the hospital in an ambulance right now?”

“Ooh, feisty. I like that.” Shaw chuckles, eyes slipping shut again. You stare at him for a moment longer and shake your head, moving over to the kitchen area once more. Now, if you were Shaw, where would you hide medicine?

“There’s no point looking for medicine, I don’t have anything but painkillers.” Shaw’s lazy voice shatters your contemplation over his cupboards. You glance at him, mouth pulled into a frown. “What do you mean, you don’t have anything but painkillers?”

Shaw raises an eyebrow from the bed, easing up so that he can watch you. You don’t think he knows how vulnerable he looks right now, a faint, half smile tugging at his lips and eyes hazy from the sickness. “I mean it. There’s nothing.”

“What about paracetamol?”

“Nope.”

“Cough syrup?”

“Expired a few years back.” Shaw shrugs, as if it’s completely normal. You stare at him for a moment longer, before you lift your own fingers to your temples, rubbing them in an attempt to ward off the headache you can already feel coming. How can one person be so bad at taking care of themselves? “Shaw, you have nothing.”

A laugh leaves him. “That’s what I said.”

That’s it. “You’re hopeless,” you declare, rooting about your bag for your purse. “I’m going to the pharmacist before you die from a cold-”

“You’re leaving?” The words are said so quickly that you’re a little startled, and when you look over at him, he’s staring at you with an oddly vulnerable expression that you’ve never seen on him before.

“Yeah, to the pharmacist.” You say, moving over to sit at his side, running your fingers through his bleached hair. His eyes slip shut at your touch, and perhaps subconsciously, takes your hand with his own to press it to his heated cheek. “Ahh, this feels good. Don’t go.”

You’ve never quite seen him like this before, so much more demanding with your affections that he almost reminds you of a child wanting to be spoiled rotten with attention. A tiny smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, bottled emotion swirling in your chest. “I need to get medicine because a certain idiot man doesn’t know how to take care himself.”

“Forget about him.” Shaw mutters, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in your side. You gasp, a little ticklish at his feverish heat, and feel Shaw’s grin against your skin. “Just stay here. The pharmacist is too damned far.”

“It’s a fifteen minute walk, Shaw.”

“Exactly. Too long.” Shaw complains, sucking at a spot a little over your hip and giving you a tiny nip. You yelp, tugging at his ear and he laughs. His lips are so chapped. “We can have so much more fun in that time-”

You stuff a pillow over his face. “No. You need rest.”

Shaw grumbles, but gives up when he sees the unyielding stare you’re leveling at him. “Fine, fine. Abandon this poor, sick man or whatever, you heartless woman.” You laugh at the put out expression on his face.

“I’ll be back soon enough. You need to sleep, however.” You try to pry his hands away from your waist, but sick Shaw is still miles stronger than you will ever be. “Oh, come on, you’re not going to get better if you don’t rest!”

“I want to rest like this.” Shaw fires back, plaintively locking his arms around and pillowing his head in your lap. His golden eyes squint up at you from below, a weak grin pulling at the side of his lips. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better, right?”

You eye him for a good second before a fond, exasperated sigh escapes your lips. “Fine, if you insist.” You begin combing through his hair, bleached strands slipping between your fingers

A mischievous glint sparkles in his eyes. “So, does that mean that we can-”

“Another word from you and I’m going,” you warn, a chuckle pulling itself from the back of his throat in response. Surprisingly, he doesn’t say another word and instead closes his eyes, tucking his face against your side, each breath coming out uneven and labored.

Just how sick is he, you wonder, tugging your lip between your teeth as you look down at his head in your lap. It doesn’t take long for Shaw to slip back into sleep’s hold, breathing evening out slightly and mouth slipping open slightly. You down at him for a moment, tracing his features with a finger, and finally pressing your thumb against his bottom lip gently. He doesn’t stir in the least, well and truly asleep.

Fondness tugs at your heartstrings. You lean down to press a kiss to his brow, smoothing his hair back.

“I’ll be back soon.” You mouth tenderly into his hair. Cradling his head in your hands, you gently shift it off your lap and onto a pillow instead, making to rise to your feet. Before you can, however, something latches around your wrist, and you look back to see Shaw grasping your hand tight with his own.

“I thought you were asleep-” You begin to protest, but when you look at Shaw’s face, you realise that he’s still completely lost to dreamland. His fingers curl around your hand involuntarily, an incoherent mumble leaving his lips.

It sounds like ‘don’t go’.

Looking up, you see Sharky tossed to the side of the mattress, awkwardly balancing on the tip of its nose and its tail propped up on a pillow. From this angle, the smile it usually wears has been upturned into a frown. Look at how he’s treating me, it seems to be protesting. A little laugh leaves your lips, and you reach over to rescue it. “I know you love him, Sharky, so don’t give me that look. Both of you have the same smiles, after all.”

You put the shark plush in his arms and Shaw finally shifts a little, wrapping his arms around the toy and letting go of your hand. Free at last, you rise to your feet and poke Sharky on the tip of the nose. “Take care of him until I get back, okay?”

Sharky doesn’t reply as usual, but you know he’s reluctantly agreeing. You cast your glance on Shaw, a gentle smile tugging at your mouth.

“Don’t worry.” You say, dropping a kiss to his temple. He doesn’t stir. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

>>>

There’s the sound of humming.

Shaw stirs slightly, half dangling between a shadowy world of dreams and reality, feeling more well rested than he has in ages. Strained notes of the familiar song drift past his ears, along with the sound of steam escaping a pot. His limbs and eyelids are heavy with sleep, tempting to draw him under once again, but he forces his eyes open, turning onto his side where the noise is coming from.

You’re standing at the stove, dressed in one of his old band tees and shorts, both far too big for you and hair thrown up in a quick bun, tendrils and wisps escaping to frame your face. There’s a pot sitting on the fire, and you stir it with a wooden spoon a few times before lifting it to your lips to taste it.

Shaw watches as a small smile of satisfaction spreads across your face, and you cover the pot with a lid once more, turning to wash up in the sink.

For some reason, he can’t take his eyes off your back as you continue humming to yourself. There’s a lump in his throat, a throbbing in his chest that he can’t blame on the fever - it aches, burns. Shaw feels full, so damned full, as if a gaping hole in him that’s been around since forever has finally been filled.

You look like you’re comfortable in his clothes, standing barefoot in his home and messing around in his kitchen. You fit seamlessly into his house, as if you were meant to be there from the very beginning.

Your name leaves his lips before he knows what he’s doing.

You whirl around and he sees varying stages of surprise playing over your face, expressions he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of. Then, almost in strikingly slow motion, your eyes brighten when you see him, your lips pull up in a smile, and your entire face takes on a vibrant air - as if you’re happy just seeing him awake.

“Shaw!” You say his name, hurrying over with a wet towel, wiping your hands on the shirt you’re wearing, his shirt. He can’t help but throw a hand over his face at the sight, an emotion too dangerously close to happiness bubbling at the back of his throat. He must still be out of it from the fever. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just-” He runs a tongue over his lips, feeling cracked and dry skin there. “Just need some water.”

“Wait a second.” Holding out the fresh towel, you gently dab at his face and mouth, before moving to wipe down his torso. He shivers a little at the chill, but then you cover him with the blanket once again, tucking him in. “I’ll get you a cup of water and some porridge, okay? You should eat something since you’ve been sleeping the entire day without any food. That can’t be good for you. After you’ve eaten that, you can take the medicine.”

Shaw groans as he looks up through the skylights, rubbing at his eyes. “... what time is it?”

“Early evening! You slept through most of the afternoon, but I managed to get some water and paracetamol into you when I got back from the pharmacist’s.” You call from the kitchen, ladling porridge into a small bowl for him. Shaw fixes his eyes on the sight, trying to commit it into memory. “You were quite out of it, so you might not remember anything. Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah.” Shaw cranes his head, stretching out his arms. When he sits up, his head isn’t spinning any more, and the nausea in his stomach seems to have subsided. “When did you put on my shirt? More importantly, why wasn’t I awake to see it?”

“My dress was getting uncomfortable, so I stole some of your clothes that were lying around. I hope you don’t mind.” You step over with a tray of porridge and a glass of clear water, sitting at his bedside and holding out a spoon to him. He doesn’t mind, quite the opposite, in fact. “Here, eat up. I’m no cook like Victor, but-”

“Feed me.”

Your eyes widen near comically at his words and Shaw lets out a short bark of laughter. And then you’re stuttering, a pink blush high on your cheeks as you try to find the words to deny him.

“Shaw!”

“What, you won’t help an ill person out? My arms are so weak they won’t even stay up, look.” He dramatically tosses his arms into the air before they fall back into his lap. “I’ll drop the spoon and make a mess all over the bed, so you need to feed me.”

You shake your head once, clearly aware that he’s teasing you. “You’re so annoying.” Still, you lift a spoon of porridge to his lips, turning your face away, too embarrassed to meet his eyes. “Here.”

Shaw does his best to restrain his laughter, leaning back against the wall to take in your expression, the shade of pink staining your face deepening into a rosy blush. “It’s too hot to eat. Blow on it for me.”

This time, you do gape at his shamelessness for a full five seconds before you regain your senses, sputtering furiously. “Shaw!”

The chuckles finally spill forth from his chest, nearly bringing tears to his eyes. Your face turns even redder at his clear amusement, and you reach out to pull at his ear painfully. “Stop laughing at me!”

“Ow, ow, okay.” Shaw can’t seem to stop snickering, and you puff out your cheeks at him. He lifts a hand to flick your nose. “When you react like that, who can resist teasing you a little?”

You scowl at him, but raise the spoon to your lips anyway to cool it down before holding it to his mouth. “Say ahh.” You still sound like you’re sulking.

Shaw opens his mouth obediently this time, amber eyes fixed on you with each bite he takes. The porridge is a little bland since he can’t smell it, but the fact that you’re feeding him makes each bite far more enjoyable than if he were alone eating alone.

He finishes the entire bowl in a matter of minutes, and doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up when he asks for seconds. Stomach finally satiated, he lies back down and watches peacefully as you clean up the kitchen, the light of the setting sun casting you in its soft, orange glow.

Shaw turns to the side to see Sharky lying on its side, looking at him. See? That wasn’t so scary, was it now? She’s going to accept you no matter what, and she isn’t going to leave. You can stop being so cautious now.

He grunts, eyes narrowing as he stares suspiciously at the toy shark. “I didn’t ask for your opinion. Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” Your voice comes from behind him, and Shaw rolls over to see you walking over. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, your skin cool to the touch. “Still a little feverish, but you should feel better soon.”

“If I stay sick longer, will you take care of me then?” The words leave his mouth before he can think them through, and you still at his bedside, eyes widening. Ah fuck, too emotional. He tries to play it off, donning his usual casual grin and raising a hand to ruffle your hair. “You know you love me too much to watch me languish in pain alone, yeah?”

Your answer is something he doesn’t see coming.

“Of course.” You bite down on your bottom lip, looking fairly upset and Shaw is caught off guard in an instant. Earnestly, you grab his hands, squeezing them gently. They’re so small and smooth compared to his. “Next time you get sick, just tell me. I want to be there with you, I want to take care of you, and I want to do it for a long, long time. So don’t be alone anymore, okay?”

Shaw stays silent for a long time, staring up into your eyes. They’re thoughtful and serious, not the slightest hint of humor or playfulness in them. A short bark of laughter leaves him, and he hates how scratchy his voice sounds. It’s all the sickness’ fault. “Damn, I could kiss you right now.” The warmth of your hands around his is something he never wants to let go.

“You can’t.” You scold instantly, moving to pull away from him. “You’re sick, and if you kiss me all those germs will definitely get into me, then I’ll get sick and you’ll have to take care of me-”

Shaw pulls you forward by the arm, and you tumble into his lap, faces dangerously close to each other. He can count every eyelash brushing your cheeks, see the way your pupils waver and dilate as they struggle between meeting his eyes and looking away. “Shaw, this is not what a sick person should be doing-”

“You’re so noisy.” Shaw comments, putting one hand over your mouth. You make muffled noises of complaint against his palm, but then Shaw leans in, so close that he can feel stray strands of your hair tickling his face, and presses his lips against the back of his hand.

The distance of a few centimetres suddenly feels all too far, and Shaw lets out a disappointed sigh, knocking your foreheads together. He hears your yelp, and stifles a chuckle in his throat.

With mild amusement, he watches as your eyes flicker open, stunned, before he pulls away. “That’ll have to do for now.” Shaw loves, no, lives, for your reactions to his teasing. He could watch them for hours and never get bored.

You sulk, pressing your hands against your reddened cheeks. “You’re awful. For a second, I thought you were actually about to kiss me!”

“Oh? You sound disappointed.” Shaw laughs, and you scramble to deny it at once. He watches you as you rant, completely unaware of the small, contented smile he’s wearing on his face.

He can see your dress thrown over the back of one of his chairs. Your heels lie next to his motorcycle boots at the door. You’re dressed in his shirt, scolding him for speaking nonsense, and he’s never felt warmer than he does now.

This sort of life is different, but okay. Shaw likes this kind of different.

A snort leaves his mouth at his own thoughts. He’s tumbling, head over heels, falling face first into the unknown. But it’ll be okay, because he knows you’ll be there with him.

��Are you even listening to me?” You complain, tugging at his arm and eyes clear and honest as they look at him. Maybe one day, he’ll ask you to come move in with him, and then instead of his house, this will become his home. At the thought, Shaw finds himself grinning, and ducks down to drop a playful kiss to your cheek.

It suddenly doesn’t seem so far off, after all.

“Nope.”

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