#And you know the angsty part in which they just keep going without addressing any of this just for Marco to fucking die

[twpsyn-who]

Soulmates AU in which the red string of fate shows up when a life altering moment takes place between you and your soulmate. Like, Eren killing two grown man to save/help Mikasa kind of important. A moment that changes at least one of them.

And, you know, because this is about JeanMarco as always - these two dorks filling their gas, Marco telling him why he's a good leader and stuff and Jean watching him, shocked about what he's saying... Then he takes notice of the red string tying him to Marco and his eyes widen even more in shock, like it both made no sense and all the sense in the world. Marco doesn't even notice until he's done talking and sees Jean's reaction and his reaction is something similar to 'Oh', both because Jean was his soulmate and because that moment meant something important to Jean. And they're both so awkward, not knowing how to process this.

[wings-of-ink]

I have come with yet another angsty ask! *bows dramatically*

(I dont know if youre planning to put this scenario in one of the bad endings so please feel free to ignore or omit some details) MC dies (Hurrah!) ROs go through MC's stuff, or if OOC, Oswin goes through MC's stuff and give other RO a letter/finds a letter addressed to them. According to MC's hobbies/skills they might find a weapon, a scarf/cape (needlework mc), random trinket (trade mc), recipe for favorite food of RO (baker mc), etc. MC wrote the letter in case they die and wanted RO to have a piece of MC to remember them by. What would the RO's do with the gift? How would they honor MC's gift? Would they use the gift everyday or as often as they can? Would they store the gift in a precious box and take a peek at it every now and then? Would they just shove it as far as they can because just the sight of it hurts them so much? Love lots to you author <3

Every time I see you in my inbox, this is the mental image of you I get:

So, at the end of my tale there won't be "bad" endings necessarily - there definitely could be, and if my mood takes a dramatic downturn…well, maybe MC won't be safe after all (kidding, it saddens me to think of them perishing after everything they go through). Anyway, the MC will have choices and each choice has its ups and downs - and consequences. Depending on how you reason with them, they may seem like bad endings (if that cheers your twisted little heart up).

Starting out with a gut-punch right away with this one…I'll write these with the context that they were together a long time - partnered up, had a family if they wanted, etc…This wasn't after a short-term relationship sort of deal - which makes this infinitely worse.

After this, I may need to hold back on any MC death scenarios for a while, lol. My widdle heart is very much attached to them. Even though I'm technically the one that keeps, like, torturing them...but, ignore that.

Oswin:  Has a penchant for keeping these things with him. He'll carry MC's weapon for the remainder of his life - he'll wear the trinket - stitch the item into his clothing - make this recipe every week. It must be near him at all times. He waits for the day they can be reunited.

Zahn:  They hoard it, keep it in a safe place and look at it frequently. If it's a recipe, they learn to cook it. Everything else they need to touch often. They press it to their face and speak to it. It hurts, but they need to.

Duri:  They want to…but they can't stand to look at it. It's too much. They have it in a box they hold as sacred. The box they can touch, feel the presence of the item within without reopening their grief. They can honor MC by going to the places they dwelt together, knowing that a part of their spirit still clings to them. 

Rune:  Their memento stands at the center of an ornate private shrine. Its setting is in the finest stone and metals that money can buy. They make themselves see it. MC's memory will live on through their pain. They sit at the shrine, light candles and play their lyre, dedicating songs to their love until they can sing together again.

???:  "You always did have a way of shining light into my darkness."

[xatsperesso]

Don't mess with the teachers of Babyl

Another 'what if iruma got kidnapped'! But not as angsty as the last one

Hope you enjoy!

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A student was taken

He was taken from right under their noses, by a teacher.

They’re going to regret this. They’re going to regret this oh so much.

–

Iruma was not having a good day.

His day started great, actually. He was taking an exam to see if he’s strong enough to protect those dear to him! And, admittedly, he wasn't that strong. He let Chima-chan’s heart get popped, but! That means he now needs to get stronger! And his team still hasn't failed! They’ve survived a grand total of 24 minutes against the teachers of Babyl!! That’s a feat!

And then he got kidnapped.

But Iruma’s gotta say that he’s impressed! The teachers are really determined to act their parts! For a minute their Iruma truly thought that Atori-sensei was dangerous… but! Grandpa has yet to intervene, so he must really like acting! And Iruma admires that!

He is upset to have been taken out, and he’s been so close. He must have let down Chima-chan and Vine-kun, getting taken out like that when they've worked so hard.

And now he’s waiting for Atori-sensei to take him to the drop-out tent. It’s kinda boring in this cocoon. He keeps hearing Atori-sensei speaking, but he can’t really understand a word. it's all muffled gibberish to him. It's kind of weird that Atori-sensei didn't just let him walk to the tent after popping Vine-kun’s heart. He also can't hear any other voices, not even Kalego-sensei. He’s sure Kalego-sensei would have scolded Atori-sensei for using excessive force like this. He looked so serious when fighting Atori-sensei!

Maybe Kalego-sensei is protecting them? So they haven’t lost yet? Yeah, maybe Atori-sensei thought to take him out first and then pop the heart, but couldn’t. They’re such amazing Kouhais! And he’s glad Kalego-sensei didn't just decide to pop their heart!

…those 6 minutes seem to have been dragging on for a while, though. He hopes Atori-sensei doesn't forget to let him out.

“You can’t go after him-”

“He’s taken one of our treasures-!”

“He’s taken my student, but if we attack now, we won't take down the ones behind this-”

“He took Iruma-sama-”

“We need to know who’s behind this so it doesn't happen again-”

They were fighting among themselves. Those who weren't were barely holding back Dali-kun from…they’re not really sure. Either murdering Atori, which they don't really mind that much, or murdering Kalego, which they very much do mind. None of them have what it takes to handle the abnormal class like Kalego does.

Balam-sensei looked at the Chairman. He’s surprised he was still standing here and didn't go off after Atori and Iruma. He looks… rigid. Shocked, and on the brink of committing genocide. He seems in no state to be the decision-maker right now. But, he is their chairman, and they can’t really take a decision without him. He needs to get the chairman out of this stupor.

“What do you think we should do, Principle?”

So he put him on the spot.

Now all the eyes were on the chairman (Except for Dali-kun, but he’s in his wicked phase, so it’s not that surprising)

“Kalego-kun is correct,�� Ifrit quickly put Dantalion in a head-lock to stop whatever he was gonna do “We must find those behind this attack. But, we can let Dali-kun stalk them, make sure they don't mistreat our treasure” and Dantalion was gone before the chairman even finished his sentence.

“Kalego-kun, Opera-kun, make sure he doesn't attack Atori-san. Of course, unless Atori-san has stepped over the line, then feel free to educate Atori-san however you like!” and once again, the demons addressed disappeared, this time waiting until the chairman was done talking before flying after Dali-kun.

“Balam-kun, Ifrit-kun, please deal with Shiida-san. The rest should calm the students down. The stress may cause some to enter their wicked phase! please make sure they don’t harm their fellow classmates if they do enter their wicked phases” With that, he started moving, but his eyes stayed on Oswell a moment too long.

“..Orias-kun, please come with me” Everyone gave Oswell sympathetic looks. This is the first time a lot of them saw their chairman pissed, and none of them wanted to know how he acted when someone threatened one of his people.

Balam and Ifrit shared a look and started searching for Shiida. They found her literally in the next corridor, her posture tense, and looks like she was ready to fight. Before either of them could apprehend her, she looked Balam in the eyes, and something in him hesitated.

“What,” She started, her voice shaking with barely repressed rage “Did…Atori do?”

“What..did he do…to Iruma?”

They never had a chance

Atori, idiot, dead Atori, should have known not to attack Babyl school.

Baal, cocky, arrogant Baal, should have known better than to target one of Sullivan’s family

Shiida, innocent, naive Shiida, should’ve come and told them right away if she really didn't want Iruma to get hurt, but Sullivan is satisfied enough with the information he got from her, so he'll deal with her later. 

Kalego and Opera managed to convince Dali not to attack Atori the second they found him, whispering promises of all the things he could do to everyone who put his treasure in danger, and if they were patient now, they can make sure it never happens again. For how dangerous Dali is in his wicked phase, it’s laughably easy to manipulate him.

Soon, Opera was calling Sullivan to let him know that Atori seemed to be heading toward a mansion built on a famous river. Sullivan’s response was that backup is on the way.

“If you’re sure that’s where Atori is headed, Get Iruma back now” He ended the call, and Opera relayed the information to his companions. 

A blink later, and Dali was holding the Iruma’s cocoon in his arms, cradling him gently, and whispering reassurances to him.

No one commented on the red footsteps he left behind.

They quickly got rid of the silk engulfing Iruma

"Iruma-kun!" They all screamed at a kinda dazed, very confused Iruma. Did the exam finally finish? Why are they screaming his name?

"Uh, hi sensei-?" Opera suddenly grabbed his face and started… checking him over? Were they worried that he'd suffocated in the cocoon? And Kalego-sensei was poking at his limb like he'd gotten hurt, but he's fine!

"Shenshei, Opera-shan, I'm fine" he looked behind them and there was Dali-kun, but he was acting kinda strange? He was staring at him weirdly, and doesn't blink 

He doesn’t think he could win a staring contest against Dali-kun. 

"'Fine'? Yeah, of course, you're fine after getting kidnapped" Kalego muttered as he continued checking him over, and casting a small healing spell just in case. Just until they hunt down Buer to check this reckless idiot over.

"Kidnapped?" Iruma asked with all the innocence of a toddler that has yet to learn how to fly, which made everyone freeze.

Slowly, Opera directed Iruma’s head to look him into his eyes so what he tells him will really reach his head that, apparently, has been swimming amongst the cloud while he was being kidnapped. 

"Iruma-sama," Iruma looked into Opera's eyes, and he’s really questioning whether all humans are this naive or it's an Iruma-only thing 

"You have been kidnapped"

Silence stretched for a moment, and all the adults were staring tensely at Iruma, waiting for whatever response this child could give to being kidnapped. 

"Oh," he starts "haven’t gone through that in a while" 

Wait what?

"Wait, what?" 

"Yeah, it's the first time a teacher tried to kidnap me. Normally it'd be a creep in a corner, but if I'd known I was being kidnapped I wouldn't have just let Atori-sensei take me"

"Let's just..take him to the school"

"I'll be reporting this, information to Sullivan-sama"

"I'm going to hunt everyone who has ever wronged this child"

"Dali-kun! You don't have to carry me-!"

"He's right, Dantalion-kun. I can hold him while you go after those in the castle" 

"Will you two just put him down? He has two working legs and two working wings, he can move on his own!"

–

Baal was sitting impatiently in his office, waiting for Atori's return. He'd gotten word that the idiot has left the school quickly, so he's probably fucked up the very easy instructions he's given him.

How hard is it to just follow the plans Baal stays up all night forming? Do they always have to destroy everything he does? There's no way the plan was so hard this time that Atori would've fucked it up in a week. All he had to do was to not attack children. Is that very hard to do, people? Is it that hard not attacking a bunch of high schoolers?

A sigh escapes him as he rubs his forehead, already feeling the headache that'll grow once Atori tells him why he fled the school. A commotion could be heard from behind the door and Baal sighed even harder, because of course. Of course, the first thing Atori would do is pick a fight with literally everyone in the building. 

Just as Baal was about to get up and stop the nonsense going on outside, the door exploded.

Fire, blue and hot and greedy, engulfed everything in the room and threatening to engulf Baal with it. Vines suddenly appeared through the ceiling and from the ground, shooting and piercing the chair Baal was in a moment ago. If Baal hadn't jumped these vines would have-

An arrow, strong and bright and so full of magic, shot through his chest, knocking the breath out of him. And strong hands wrapped around his neck and banged his head onto the floor.

He couldn't move.

The presence above him, still holding him down, was too powerful for him to do anything. There are only three demons who could dream of bringing him down like this

"Baal-kun"

And apparently, he’s angered one of them

"Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"Sullivan! What is the meaning of this, attacking me like that!"

"Oh, so this is how you want it to go?"

The hands squeezed tighter, threatening to just break his neck with a single movement. 

"I did not attack you, Baal-kun. You simply went missing, just like Behemolt-kun did. Everyone knows this, Baal-kun, how is it that you don't?"

–

They've thought that everyone knew by now. No matter who you are, or what status you have. No matter how rich or poor you may be, or how much of a big shot you think you are.

No one messes with the teachers of Babyl.

And no one may touch a single hair of their students. 

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And that concludes the mairuma ideas that have stuck into my head and refused to leave. Hopefully I'll get other ideas or else I'll be super bored.

[mercy-burning]

Your Favorite — Part 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Y/N and Spencer decide to keep seeing each other in secret. Category: SMUT (18+) Content: Adults w/ age gap, cockwarming, heavy petting, penetrative/unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral sex (both receiving), degradation, exhibitionism, fingering, cum play maybe? Word Count: 7.5k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | MASTERLIST

NOTE: This is... *nervous laugh* this is pure filth. Like... It’s nothing but sex scenes, y’all. Buckle in. (Also the end is a lil angsty so watch out hehehe)

———

JULY 8th

"You're sure you guys are okay without me for a little while?"

I love my mom. Really, I do.

But if she delays her bath for any longer than one more second, I'm going to burst into flames.

Thankfully it seems that Spencer is patient enough for the both of us. "Positive. You deserve to relax a little. Go. Take your bath, we'll be fine."

Mom looks to me for extra reassurance, and I give it to her with a nod.

"Okay. I'll try not to be too long."

She turns and kisses Spencer, long and lovesick, and I want to barf. What's even worse is that when she pulls away and pats my head before retreating up the stairs, he's smiling. And he's supposed to, I know that. Part of him obviously cares about my mom, and even if he's only fucking me on the side, the fact remains that he goes to sleep next to her. That's the way it has to be.

But it still makes me incredibly envious.

It's a problem.

Mom is upstairs now, but our rule is that unless we know for certain that she's not coming into sight or earshot anytime soon, we remain distant.

Still, I make my distaste for their affections known. "You guys are gross..."

Spencer laughs, his hand sneaking over the couch cushion and grazing the end of my skirt. "Jealous, are we?"

Of course, I have to make it difficult for him. "You're a genius, you tell me..."

"Hey now... You're lucky I'm giving you any attention at all... Besides, you know the rules."

I glance over at him, practically crumbling apart at the seams under his intense gaze. It's one I've gotten used to as of late, one that rivals every smile I've ever seen him give my mother.

"Doesn't make it any easier," I mumble, glancing down at where his fingers are still toying with my skirt.

"I know..." He reaches out and touches my hand, and my skin tingles. "Come here."

Even though I can hear that the bath water has only just started running from below, I comply all the same. I scramble off the couch and return on his lap, straddling him and nesting my fingers through his hair while I lean in to kiss him.

He welcomes me with open arms and an open mouth. The moment our tongues brush, I sigh and melt into him, needing desperately to be as close as possible. Our kisses then are languid and wet, and soft. We don't want to get carried away in case we need to be alert and jump apart, so it's best to keep our bodies controlled.

But as I'm learning, around Spencer, controlling myself is painstakingly difficult.

A whine escapes me when his right hand slips under my skirt and rests along the inside of my thigh, and I shift, silently begging him to give me more.

"So impatient..." he mumbles over my mouth.

I pull away and slide my hands down over his neck and shoulders, my hips rolling forward as I pout. "I haven't had you all week. I'm lonely..."

It's true.

Once all my STD tests came back clean and I got my birth control figured out and solid, the first thing he did was tell my mom he wasn't feeling well and texted me the address to his apartment. And after I told her I was meeting up with a friend, I drove over there and got my brains completely fucked out. We spent all day under the sheets, on the couch, over the kitchen counter, and then on the floor, until I had to go home and pretend like it never happened.

Since then we'd only slept together once, and that was just over a week ago, quickly while Mom ran to the store for an onion of all things. And then Spencer had been busy with consulting on new cases that his old job wanted a little help with, and once he had free time, Mom insisted they go on a date weekend.

I pout harder, stomach churning at the memory of the look he gave me before they left—a silent, sweet goodbye that had left me empty and wanting.

But he's just amused.

A smirk ghosts over his lips, red and a little puffy from the pressure of my own against them. "So I definitely can't trust you to be quiet enough to fuck you properly..."

That warrants another whine and another roll of my hips, and I can feel his hand gripping my thigh a little tighter.

"Please... Spencer, I need you..."

His name rolling off my tongue must be what makes him give into me, because I barely have time to react before he's kissing me again, using both of his hands to lift the back of my skirt up and knead my ass.

"Wait... Are you wearing..."

I grin over his lips, wiggling my ass into his touch and utterly turned on by the fact that he knows what underwear I'm wearing just by touch.

"Mhmm," I answer, nipping his bottom lip. "Your favorite..."

The sound that rumbles in his chest as he crashes his body against mine has to be the sexiest thing I've ever heard. He's obviously trying not to be loud, but it's hard, and that makes the sound strained. He really wants this, wants to keep me, and to do that he has to refrain from going absolutely primal right now. He has to do anything to keep this quiet.

So he pushes me off of him, and I pout, thinking he's given up until we can get a true moment alone.

But I know that isn't the case when he spins his finger and then starts undoing his pants.

"Turn around, sweetheart," he huffs, slipping his pants and underwear down just enough that his erection emerges free. "You're gonna sit here, keep quiet, and keep my cock nice and warm, understood?"

Don't have to tell me twice... I'll fucking take what I can get.

So I spin, back up, and move all my clothing to the side, my skirt lifting as I nestle into Spencer's lap and hold my panties to the side. He laughs at my eagerness, though he isn't laughing much longer once I sink down onto him and get in real close. His hands come out to grab my chest and pull me flush against his own.

The way he stretches and fills me has my eyes rolling back, a long, happy sigh falling from my lips. I wish I could say I'm being dramatic about it, but I'm really not.

I'm genuinely relieved and satisfied with the burn.

"There's my girl," Spencer muses through a sigh of his own, his breath fanning gently over my neck right before he gives it an open-mouthed kiss.

His hands slip under the baggy sweater I'm wearing and run along the planes of my stomach, then up and up, taking the fabric with him until it rests above my bare chest. Being exposed like this, right in the middle of the living room while my mom is just upstairs, excites me more than I think it should.

While Spencer kisses and licks at my neck, his hands now gently kneading my breasts, I squirm.

He doesn't like that very much.

"Ah-ah," he warns, squeezing me tight and pulling me into him more. "Relax..."

He hooks his legs around mine then, spreading them apart and somehow filling me deeper. I whine, leaning my head back onto his shoulder and trying not to roll my hips.

Instead, I settle for clenching myself around him, and that seems to be the right move.

"Atta girl... Lay back and relax... Just feel me filling you up nice and slow..."

"Mmmm," I respond in kind as his hands loosen and glide down my body.

He's light with his touch, though the kisses on my neck feel hungry, and his cock feels heavy and thick inside me. It's a beautiful contrast, really, making me feel so full and yet so light, like I'm a raincloud.

Soon his fingers dip under my skirt and cover my hand, which is working at keeping my panties off to the side. He traces the curves of my fingers with his own, mumbling praises and scattering kisses along the side of my neck. And I'm distracted enough that I almost don't feel his other hand make gentle contact with my clit until I gasp from the sharp sensation.

I can feel his smile against my skin as he starts rubbing in slow, precise circles.

"That feel good, princess?"

"Uh huh," I breathe out, trying to keep still. My other hand digs into my knee in hopes that I can stay grounded and focused on keeping still. But despite that, I'm feeling rather calm. Satisfied...

Right where he wants me.

"Mmm..." He hums happily into my skin, continuing to kiss my neck while working my clit.

And I have no idea how long we lay there. It feels like it could be hours.

The TV is on, but we're not paying any attention to it. In the back of my mind I know that Mom could be done with her bath at any minute, but it's been too long without Spencer inside me... And even though he's not actually fucking me, just having him this close and feeling him touch me, fill me, breathe me in...

God, I never want it to stop.

I'm almost on the verge of coming, but he removes his hand from me and slides them up my stomach again.

I whine at the loss of orgasm, but he pays it no mind. "Here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna start moving..."

I start to get excited, wiggling in his lap a little.

With a dark laugh, he brings his hands to my breasts, kneading them gently and nipping my earlobe. Getting my attention...

"But you're not gonna stop until I fill that slutty little cunt with my cum, got it? I don't care if you come more than once. I don't care if you come at all... I don't care if your mom comes down here and sees..."

I swear I almost come on the spot from his words alone.

And then his voice is somehow even darker, seeping through my skin and settling into the very deepest parts of me.

"You will not stop until you make me come, am I clear?"

I wouldn't deny him if I could. I'm so damn whipped by this man, so eager to please and be near him that he could ask me to do any fucking thing on the planet and I would.

My rational brain might have second-guessed that feeling if it hadn't been horny as fuck...

And so I get to it, maneuvering my hips and working Spencer's cock like my life depends on it. And honestly, it kind of does, because if my mother comes down and catches us I'm dead.

Despite the urgency, though, I relish every second of it. I try to remember every sensation vividly because I don't know when I'll get to feel it again. So every time I sit back down on his dick, I clench it on the way up, because I know that drives him wild and it also means I get to feel him grab me tighter.

I can't see him, not even really when I turn my head, but I can picture how he's probably biting his lip, trying not to be loud. His eyes are probably shooting daggers at the ceiling, praying to the heavens above that my mom won't come down.

But it looks like the heavens above have decided to damn us to hell.

That unmistakable sound of the drain in the tub rumbles through the ceiling and down the inside of the walls as the water travels through the pipes, and my heartbeat races faster than it ever has.

Spencer tugs my hair then, pulling my head to meet his shoulder once more. "You better hurry, little girl..."

That's when I finally come. My cunt throbs and shakes around him as I bounce as quietly as I can. His grip in my hair is tighter, urging me to keep going, and the sharp sensation seems to extend my orgasm a little.

I whimper and whine as I feel it, and that seems to be what does him in.

"Fuck, Y/N, that's it... That's my girl..."

Four more bounces from me is all it takes, and then he's holding my hips in place. He grunts as quietly as possible into my shoulder and fucks into me slowly, filling me to the brim with his cum and breathing harshly into my skin.

I can hear Mom walking around upstairs, most likely getting dressed, which means she'll be down any minute...

"Time to get up, princess," Spencer whispers a moment later, letting go of my hips.

I turn my head into his neck, whining. "I don'wanna..."

"I know, I know... But you have to."

I know he's right. But I can't just get up and lose him so quickly. I want to hold on for as long as possible.

So I tilt my head up and bring his lips to mine. Thankfully he doesn't reject me, instead returning my affections and sighing into my mouth. He's still sheathed inside me, and I can feel his cum very slowly starting to drip down.

I have to get up now...

My mouth reluctantly parts from his and pouts. I expect him to return it with a sad smile, but his lips are rather mischievous.

He smirks, lifting me off of him and quickly pulling my panties back in place. His cum instantly soaks into the thin, lavender fabric, and it only reminds me of his absence.

But then Spencer spins me around on the heels of my feet and presses his hand firmly to my clothed, sopping wet cunt under my skirt, rubbing it in and making me whimper out at the overstimulation.

"I missed you," he whispers sincerely. Sweetly...

I can't help but smile as I lean down to kiss him one more time.

"I missed you, too."

JULY 23rd

I've been looking forward to this weekend since Mom brought it up after her bath—A call from work. A weekend business trip across the country.

She would be gone for almost a whole week.

Spencer's already started on his coursework for the next school year so he'll be busy most days, but at night? That's when he's all mine.

The only hard part about this, really, is containing my excitement. Just yesterday Spencer got me alone and warned me that I better keep my cool and be patient. Though, the way he said it was hardly a bad thing considering it gave me an excuse to feel his hands on me, even in the laundry room where, more or less, this had all started.

Even now I can still feel their warmth and their heft as they grope and paw at my breasts while he attacks my neck with sloppy kisses.

But right now he's not here, and as much as I can't wait to spend the week with him, my mom is also going to be gone for that long.

Just because I'm fucking her boyfriend on a regular basis doesn't mean I don't still love her.

Though, the thought of it all makes me a little uneasy—I don't know what the future holds. I know Spencer obviously cares about my mom, but if it really gets to a point where they've been together long enough, would he ever marry her?

And then what?

It's one thing for him to be my mom's boyfriend, who doesn't live here and only stays when he can... But it's a whole other one to be my stepfather. And what if my mom wants to have another kid?

No.

I'm not even going to think about it... If it ever gets to that point, then we'll deal with it, but right now I've only known Spencer for nearly 2 months, and it's way too soon to be thinking about any of that right now.

"You gonna be alright without me for a week?"

I curl into Mom's side, laughing and thankful for her distraction. "I spend almost a whole year away at college without you, I think I can survive five days."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I wish you could just stay here with me forever."

"Ha, no you don't. I'm a menace."

"Only when you eat all my food and then complain that you're starving..."

My eyes roll affectionately. "Mom. That was one time, and I was fifteen and dramatic."

She kisses the top of my head and then rests her chin on it. "Then my point stands... You were only a menace when you were fifteen. Now you're an angel."

I can tell she's sincere, and when I tell her Thank you, it feels incredibly deceitful—Especially when she starts humming my favorite song and brushing through my hair with her fingers, just like she used to do to get me to sleep as a kid. The foggy feeling it sends through my bloodstream reminds me that I'm definitely not the same person I was back then.

Although, it is true that some things never change, and within minutes I'm soundly asleep in my mother's arms.

———

When Spencer and I are sending her off at the airport the next morning, my heart thrums wildly in my chest.

"You have Spencer's number in case of an emergency?" she asks me in a haste.

"Yes, Mom. For the thousandth time, I have his number, and I have Grandma's number, and I have just about every other number you've ever given me for emergency contacts."

She gives me The Look.

"Yes, I have it. And I'll be okay. I love you."

"Oh, I love you, too," she says, pulling me in for one last breath-reducing hug, though, that's not truly what knocks the breath from my lungs.

She goes to Spencer next, reaching up to give him a goodbye kiss. I'm expecting it. I'm okay with it.

But this is unlike any other kiss I've seen them share, and it admittedly makes me jealous.

Spencer almost has her off the ground, pressing her close to him and kissing her deeply. Her hands weave through his hair as he tilts his head, and this time I can see his tongue slip into her mouth.

"O—kaaay, my eyes are burning... Thank you for that..."

I know I can get away with that because it's a completely normal reaction to seeing your mother make out with anyone, so I don't feel bad about it one bit. And I especially don't feel bad about the warning look he gives me over my mom's shoulder when she comes to give me another hug.

But then she's gone, and minutes later we're leaving the airport parking lot, and I can't seem to shake my jealousy. Even when his hand rests politely on my knee.

The whole way home I only barely acknowledge his presence, giving him half-hearted smiles and remaining mostly still when he glides his hand higher up my leg. By the time his fingers slip under the hem of my skirt, I think he knows something is up, because it stops there.

He waits until we get in the house to bring it up.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

I plop myself down on the couch with an overexaggerated sigh. "Kinda..."

I know Spencer used to be a profiler, and really, it's not that hard to figure out what's wrong with me. But it's still a little scary how easily he just knows.

"You know I had to," he says, walking over and standing in front of me. "Keeping up appearances and whatnot."

He's right. And it's a consequence of what we've decided to do, so really I'm in no place to complain.

Still, I reach out and pull him in by the belt loops, leaning my face in rather close to his crotch. "You know... Actually, I think you just like making me jealous..."

The smile that dances over his lips is amused and downright sinful. "Oh?"

"Mhmm," I drawl, sliding my hands to the front of his pants and rubbing him through the fabric.

He laughs. "Yeah, you are pretty cute when you're all huffy."

With big eyes and a fluttering in my stomach at the way he looks down at me, I feel that pressing of jealousy start to lift off my chest. I know that within an hour he'll have me pinned under his body somehow, and the thought allows my response to come out clearly and without question.

"So how are you gonna make it up to me?"

———

We're already out of our clothes by the time we make it upstairs. And when we finally get into my bedroom, I'm about to shut the door and then Spencer stops me.

"No one's home, sweetheart... Leave it open."

He takes two steps and has me in his arms, his hands sliding down my back and resting over my ass. And when he gives it a squeeze, he grins down at me. "You're gonna be loud for me, understand?"

"Hey, that's on you," I tease, wiggling against him. "You want me loud? Make me loud."

His grip on my ass gets tighter as he pulls me closer, and I yelp out. "Don't challenge me, little girl... You'll regret it."

I laugh then, calling back to his earlier statement. "Aw... You're pretty cute when you're all huffy..."

"Alright, fine."

The next thing I know, I'm on my knees, and his hands are rooting in my hair. The rough carpet underneath me already burns, but I know in the end it's gonna be so worth it.

Spencer brings me close to his exposed crotch and tilts my head up to look at him. "I'm gonna fuck that attitude right out of your pretty little mouth, got it? And you're not gonna do a damn thing but take it like a good girl."

I would have asked him if that was a threat or a promise if he hadn't immediately shoved his dick in my mouth. It has me wet in an instant, the way he just pulls me onto him and starts fucking my face with an urgency that seems to contradict all the time we have. He needs me now, with no time for teasing or pleasantries, and I fucking love it.

Which is why I do as I'm told, enjoying every second as he holds my head still and snaps his hips forward, his velvety smooth cock gliding over my tongue and down my throat with ease. It doesn't take long for my eyes to water, my vision going blurry and my body growing hot. My face is angled straight ahead, but I still find a way to look up at him, and from this low angle?

It's the best thing I've ever seen.

No matter how many times I've been on my knees like this, staring up at Spencer as he loses himself at my hands (or rather my mouth, if you want to get technical), I swear I could never tire of it.

His eyes are glaring down at me as he concentrates, his arms are out in front of me as they hold my head in place, and his pubic bone and sculpted hips are right there, moving ferociously in front of my eyes. He's so deep in my throat for a few seconds, holding me down while I gag around him, that my nose is buried in the soft trail of hair that gathers on his skin, and I want to stay there forever.

But my gag reflex isn't much durable for more than fifteen seconds, much less forever, so I have to pull back.

Spencer pulls me off of him completely, a trail of spit following my lips and then detaching until it lands along my chin. I blink away some of the tears that had gathered in my eyes and pout up at him.

"What's the matter, sweetheart?"

"You're supposed to be making it up to me..." My voice is scratchy and a little hoarse now, but I know it'll probably be worse if Spencer really thinks he can make me as loud as he says (which I truly don't doubt for a second).

He tugs me up by the hair, and I whine as I get to my feet, my knees aching already. And then his mouth is on my cheek, gently kissing away a tear. "Aw, I thought you liked having my dick in your mouth..."

"I do..."I giggled a little, nestling into his body and feeling his erection, now slick with my saliva, press up against the inside of my thigh. "But I like it better in other places..."

"Mmm, you're right... I do, too..."

I certainly hadn't been expecting that answer.

But it doesn't surprise me when he walks us over to the foot of my bed and pushes me onto it. "Hands and knees, princess."

My knees still burn from the carpet, and I'm sure this squeaky-ass mattress won't alleviate the pain at all, but if there's one thing I've learned since having sex with Spencer it's that pain is all part of the pleasure.

So I don't question it. My limbs submit to his simple command, and once I turn away from him and perch myself on my hands and knees, I can feel him climbing on the bed and crawling up the backside of my body. His hands roam my ass and my waist, and within seconds he has his cock nestled against me.

He moves nice and slow at first, dragging the length of him through my slick cunt and ghosting the skin of my backside with his hands.

"Remember... Nice and loud, okay? Wanna hear how good I make you feel."

Like I could ever deny him. Even though I like to tease him and push his buttons, I couldn't think of a single thing in the moment that I'd ever deny him.

So he finally pushes into me, stretching me out well and good, and a low groan slowly rolls off my tongue like a waterfall. And I'm not doing it for his sake; It's like he draws it out of me like a syringe, and I'm utterly powerless against it... Against him.

Like I need a metaphor to explain how I'm well and truly his bitch...

"There she is..." Spencer breathes, reaching the very deepest part of me and staying there. "There's my obedient little girl... Tell me what you want."

I turn my head to get as good of a look at him as I can, and give him the pout to end all pouts. "I want you to fuck me, hard... Please?"

His answer is a gentle push forward, his body leaning over mine to take my hands and pin them behind my back, which pulls me up towards him so that my back is nearly flush with his chest. His hands are so big that one of them is able to hold both of my wrists while the other gathers my hair and tugs.

I feel like I'm being held by a bungee cord, especially when Spencer starts snapping his hips and pounding into me roughly. My knees are pushing into the springs of the mattress and lifting again with each thrust, and I can't help the stream of whimpers and shouts that escape me at the whole experience.

He lets go of my hair in favor of reaching around and palming my left tit, his pace never faltering for a second. Everything he's doing is precise and swift and so fucking good that my eyes can hardly stay open.

"I'm hearing you, pretty girl, but I don't think you're quite loud enough..." he grumbles in my ear, letting go of me and gently pushing me back down on the bed. He slips out of me and I whine at the loss, but I don't have to worry about it much longer when I feel him lay down over top of me and slam into me hard.

I yelp out, my hands reaching out and clutching the comforter for dear life. Spencer's hands, meanwhile, push up off the mattress on either side of my hips to lift himself up, and then he's grabbing my waist and pushing me into it while he fucks me.

When I instinctively shove my face down and try to muffle myself, though, one of his hands leaves my waist and comes up to tug my hair, pulling my head up. His hips pause, pressed deep into my backside, and I can feel how he's struggling to keep still.

"Uh-uh... No one's home, princess... Let it all out..."

He pulls back and plows into me again, and this time his pace is frustratingly slow. With each slam forward my voice grows louder, begging him for more with incoherence until I start to feel myself grow tense with pleasure.

"You're almost there, baby, I can feel it," Spencer breathes. His voice is far away, and I wish he was closer, his breath on my neck and his lips not far behind. But for now I gladly settle for his hands, tight and bruising on my hips, and the force of his pelvis as it collides brutally and wonderfully with my ass.

What finally brings me sweet release is the sound of him grunting out one word. A command. And once again it's like I'm powerless under his spell.

"Come."

I do, and he fucks me thoroughly through each wave. Even once I've finished, he chases his own orgasm for minutes.

By the sounds he's making and the way his hips falter here and there, I can tell he's close, but he wants to make it last. I want to tell him that we have all weekend, to maybe tease him a bit, but I'm so fucked out and incoherent that I couldn't have said a single word if I tried.

So I lay there and take it with a weary smile on my face, ever the whiny, whimpering mess that I am, and patiently wait for the moment he decides to let go.

And when he does, it's the most glorious feeling in the world. I'm tired, yes, but never tired enough to lift myself and wiggle my ass back into him, clenching myself around him and relishing in the way he grunts out my name. He empties himself into me, and I hum, positively satisfied and warm.

Before I know it, I'm sinking down within the comfort of my blankets, and I rest my head in my arms, the pillow still a little too far out of reach. And though I'm content, I still whine out sadly when Spencer retreats and leaves me feeling empty.

I'm about to tell him to get over here and cuddle me when I feel his weight redistribute, and it isn't long before he has his head between my legs, his tongue acting as a net for the cum that drips out of me. He barely touches me, only the tiniest of flicks with the tip of his tongue darting over my skin. I can't tell if I'm thankful because of the relief or if I want the burn to go on forever.

In the end, I don't really have a choice.

He pushes his tongue up, sweeping over my dripping cunt and cleaning me up. Suddenly his mouth is everywhere, making the most delicious sounds and bringing me closer to another orgasm, and all I can do is let it happen. My weary smile is joined by a fluttering pair of eyelids and a string of whimpers that are so small they don't dare drown out the words Spencer is grumbling between my legs.

Some of which, I can hear, sound out, "Another one..."

His finger adds to the mix, coming up and rubbing my clit in tight circles as he finishes cleaning up the mess he made, and within seconds I'm a writhing mess at his undoing.

I'm not sure how long it lasts, only that one second I'm tensing with another orgasm and the next I'm having my limbs moved.

Spencer is beside me in an instant, his face coming into view as I feel my breathing slow to a steadier pace. The longer I wait, the more focused I am on his features, soft and even a little concerned as he strokes some of the hair from my face.

"How are you feeling?"

The smile that beams across my face is just about the most natural thing I'd ever felt. And it seems to bring out those bright glints of adoration in his eyes that only ever serve to make my heart flutter, which makes what I tell him even more true.

"I'm happy."

JULY 27th

Waking up to Spencer next to me, while a daily occurrence these past few days, is still possibly the most surprising and comforting feeling in the world.

Our bodies never part. From the moment we lay down to sleep until the moment we wake up and decide it's time to start doing necessary daily things, not one inch of skin is untouched. Even when showering.

I think back to yesterday morning, where he dragged me out of bed because he had to pee and didn't want to leave me. I was slumped over the backside of his body while he went and then in his arms again while he ran us a shower to wake up.

It brings the widest smile to my face, however sleepy it may also be.

"What are you smiling for?"

I squint one eye open and see that Spencer is staring at me. I hadn't expected him to be awake.

"Just thinking about yesterday..."

He tightens his grip on my waist and pulls me even closer, my face instantly drawn to the crook of his neck. "Mmm," he hums as I nestle in and press a sleepy kiss to the bare skin at the column of his throat. "Which part?"

"Our shower."

I feel his thumb then, rubbing back and forth over my hip as clearly as I can feel him smile against the top of my head. "That was fun, wasn't it..."

"Mhmm," I agree. My lightly tongue traces over his collarbone before I kiss it again. "Our shower is much better equipped for sex than yours."

"So... What you're saying is that shower sex is out of the question this morning?" he confirms with a laugh.

"That's exactly what I'm saying..."

"Well then, princess, what uhh... What alternatives do you think we should try out?"

I start to laugh when he pulls my leg up over his waist and hoists me over on top of him. My face remains buried into his neck, though I trail my lips up and up until I reach his jaw.

"Hmm... What if I just ride you and see where it takes us?"

When my lips finally reach his cheek, Spencer shifts and captures them in a long, butterfly-inducing kiss before pulling away with a smile and brushing the hair from my face. "I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

It helps that I can already feel him hardening beneath me, and from the moment I felt his hands on me, I'd been aroused.

Though, as soon as I line him up and get ready to start our morning the right way, his phone rings on the bedside table. I'm tempted to keep going, but he half pushes me off of him when he reaches and reads the name.

"It's your mom."

That instantly kills my mood.

With a dramatic sigh and a pout, I hop off of him and curl up under the covers, letting him answer.

"Good morning," he chirps rather happily, and I try not to imagine my moms smile on the other end of the line. Thankfully I can't hear her, but I can still see Spencer smiling as he greets her and goes through all the pleasantries that come with a long distance relationship; I miss yous and how are yous...

I wonder if he really does miss her. He must, at least a little, right?

I'm staring straight ahead now, picking at my nails while I wait for them to finish talking, but something feels off.

I can feel Spencer's eyes on me.

But then he asks, "What are you wearing?" through the phone with a voice so playful and seductive, and I snap my head around, glaring at him.

"Really?" I mouth.

The smirk on his face makes me want to chuck his phone across the room.

"Mmm," he hums, looking me dead in the eye. And the next time he speaks, I swear he's talking directly to me. "Why don't you take it off... I want to talk you through some things..."

I know my mom is hearing the roughness in his voice through the phone, but right now I can see his eyes, hungry as they rake over my body once I slowly peel the blanket away and reveal myself to him, and I know that his main goal isn't to get my mom off.

It's to finish what we started before she'd interrupted.

"Touch yourself for me, baby? Nice and slow. Just relax..."

He softly crawls over to me, keeping the phone to his ear with one hand while the other takes my knees and spreads them apart.

I start to touch myself as instructed, but he swats my hand away and winks, nestling between my legs. I lean up on my elbows and tilt my head, wondering where he's going with this, when he leans his other cheek into my thigh.

"You know what I'd do to you right now If I was there?" A small pause. And then, "I'd use my fingers to slowly stretch you open... Feel you contract around me..."

His fingers do exactly like he says, and I have to stop myself from making any sound. The evil grin growing on his face as he does it all makes it even harder.

"I'd finger-fuck you nice and slow," he continues in a voice just above a whisper. "Until you're begging me for more."

When his eyes meet mine, once more I want to lean forward, snatch his phone, and smash it on the floor. I want him to utterly devour me, without any interruptions or avoidances at getting caught.

But he's such a fucking tease.

Mom must be talking on the other end, because Spencer is silent, slowly fucking me with his fingers and watching them intently as they disappear inside me. Entranced... The thought of her speaking to him and holding his attention makes me jealous— Sure, he's fucking me right now, but really, she's the one calling the shots.

I lean my head back in frustration, letting out the tiniest of whines and grinding my hips up into his hand, hoping and pleading for more.

A low laugh leaves him. "Please, what?"

It's not lost on me that my mom must have asked for more from him at the same time I did... It cements just how absolutely fucked this whole situation is, and yet I can't help but clench around his fingers in earnest, silently pleading with him to go on.

He removes his fingers from me and I sigh out, trying not to disrupt their call.

"And... How would you like me to fuck you?" he asks, looking at me with an evil grin and knowing damn well I can't actually answer.

After he gets her answer, he climbs up on his knees and spreads my legs further, throwing one of them up on his shoulder while he leaves the other on the bed. Since he only has one hand to work with, he gestures to it and I help him out, lifting my other leg up to my chest and holding it with one arm to let him get inside at a good angle.

"Yeah, and how do you want it, baby?" He lines himself up with me and very slowly sinks the head of his cock in, holding it and running his hand along my stomach. "I'm thinking... I'd like to fuck you so slow you're practically writhing beneath me..."

I stick my tongue out at him, and then without warning he slams into me. I bring a hand to my mouth and bite down on my finger, trying not to make a sound.

"You're gonna be patient... And you're gonna let me take my time... Until you're nice and desperate... Whining out for me like a good little whore..."

Each sentence is punctuated with another thrust, hard and deep, followed by a short pause, and it's all I can do not to cry out his name and beg him to go faster.

Mom must be talking on the line again, because Spencer doesn't say a word as he fucks me. His pace doesn't pick up or slow, and his own self control starts to recede—I can see it in his features. I can also feel it in the way his free hand grips my leg. He wants to go faster, he wants to lose control, and this is killing him just as much as it's killing me.

But then he pants into the phone, his voice breaking a little as he pauses and rolls his hips into me, slow and burning. I whine into my hand as quietly as possible, and he asks the question that will seal my fate.

"Where do you want it?"

I wait, clenching around him and praying for the result I want.

And then he laughs. "Yeah? You like when I paint you with my cum, huh?"

I shake my head, silently begging him to resist and stay inside me, but he only shrugs as if to say, Sorry about your luck, and then pulls out, leaving me whiny and desperate.

Just like he said.

And then, he comes all over me, stroking himself fast and hard. Even though I've still yet to feel any sort of relief, seeing him in front of me like this, feeling his warmth dance across my skin in warm spurts, and hearing him groan out as he watches my body gladly accept it all...

It's quite honestly the most satisfying thing I've ever seen.

I can't say I'm not happy, though, when he slumps down and pants, sighing out a few goodbyes to my mom and then tossing his phone on the floor when she hangs up.

He smiles at me then, and I pout.

"You're evil..."

"Mmm, you love it," he drawls, leaning down and starting to dart his tongue over the mess he made on my stomach. Meanwhile his finger finds its way inside me again, and I feel myself start to turn into a writhing mess once more.

And he's right.

I do love it.

JULY 29th

Approaching the front door with Mom in step behind me, knowing that Spencer awaits for her on the other side isn't what makes my heart jump out of my chest.

It's the look on both of their faces when they see each other.

Though I push Mom forward to go see him, it nearly breaks me seeing her run into his arms. He picks her up and spins her around, reminiscent of their little moment at the airport, and the pure happiness on her face specifically makes my stomach twist.

This time it isn't jealousy.

It's guilt.

She's... incredibly happy. I don't think I've ever seen her this happy before. She's positively beaming as she hugs him tight and buries her face into his chest.

And when he looks past her head and looks over at me, I feel it.

The heartache.

Spencer's eyes burn holes into my own, and fill them with a sympathy that makes me feel more wounded than comforted.

I wonder then if he can see it on my face; The way I'm trying not to break down and cry... The way I'm only holding myself together by the weak smile I'm wearing, both to assure him that I'm fine and also to feign happiness for my mother, rather than the aching envy and sadness that festers within every crevice of my soul.

I offer to grab more of Mom's things from the car and dart right back out the door to avoid them for a little while. Maybe to also get some fresh air, even though I'd just been outside less than a minute ago.

After flinging open the trunk of the car, I take a deep breath and squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my chest start to tighten at the realization that I might be starting to fall in love with him.

A man who isn't mine, and who could never be.

———

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[bitsandbobsofwriting]

A rogue Druid’s “please join us” speech to Merlin triggers a few things:

Gwaine tries to commit regicide, Leon confronts his (understandable) fear of Dragons, and Merlin has a full on mental breakdown.

The knights are left to pick up the pieces and all of them consider following Gwaine’s lead.

ANGSTY ANGSTY 

TW: Blood, death, nightmares. Physical and verbal abuse. A very brief implication of potential suicide/self harm.

Everyone notices the sudden changes within the group, it would be hard not to notice.

No one has any clue what happened though.

One day, everything is fine. If they think back, they realise Merlin had seemed a little... nervous? Maybe? But other than that, everything was fine, normal.

But the next day? From then until now, a month later? Everything was different.

Arthur seemed much angrier. He flew off the handle over the smallest mistakes, he worked the knights so hard in training that at least three of them had to go to Gaius for treatment everyday, and he didn’t seem like he planned on letting up any time soon. He snapped at everyone, even Gwen and Gaius, which was unheard of.

Merlin seemed... quieter. The knights, Gwen, and Gaius barely saw him, but when they did, he flinched at even the slightest noise; his eyes constantly darted around, looking for a way to escape, and he wouldn’t let anyone touch him.

They were worried, but Arthur was so constantly furious that no one dared bring it up with him, and the one time they tried to ask Merlin, he came up with some ridiculous excuse and ran away. They thought they had barely seen him before, but after that they didn’t see him at all for at least four days.

They also noticed how both of their worrying moods seemed ten times worse when they were with each other. Even just being in the same room, made Arthur angrier, and Merlin... they didn’t want to think it but... more scared.

After three weeks of this, they gathered together, and put into place their emergency plan. Leon would speak directly to Arthur, and Lancelot would speak directly to Merlin.

Of all of them, they were the most trusted by each target, and were the most likely to get answers, and the least likely to get a bad reaction if answers were refused.

They were... pretty wrong. Merlin reacted in the same way as he had to the group two and a half weeks ago. Which is odd, because he normally tells Lancelot everything, and not only did he not tell him, he lied and came up with excuses.

Leon was much worse for wear. He showed up a while after Lancelot, pale and miserable. Arthur had just yelled at him a bunch and assigned him extra patrols.

A few days later, they were all still struggling with what to do when Arthur informed them of a quest that was to be undertaken. They were... nervous, to say the least. Going on any sort of dangerous trip with Arthur in this state was bound to go badly, but they could hardly refuse, and they definitely couldn’t bring up the issue again.

So they resigned themselves to it. Gwen wished them luck, and made sure to give Merlin an extra tight hug before they left, and Gaius slipped a few extra medical supplies in each of the knights packs, just in case.

Apparently, patrols of Camelot Knights kept going missing. Whole groups of soldiers, in one very specific area near the border, were just not coming back.

Arthur could hardly justify sending more patrols out, so despite his foul mood, and his desperation to stay away from everyone, he took himself, his five best knights, and his manservant.

Elyan could’ve sworn he heard Arthur mutter something along the lines of “As if I’d leave you here unsupervised.”, to Merlin, the tone far less jesting that it might’ve been a month ago, but he kept it to himself. They were travelling and camping together, there would hardly be an opportunity to share without Arthur and Merlin there.

And like they were all expecting, the trip was hell.

Awkward silences that not even Gwaine could fill, Merlin looking close to tears the whole time, and Arthur constantly looking like he’s considering extreme violence.

Merlin even rides at the back of the group (unheard of), doesn’t complain even once about anything (even more unheard of), and the few times he does speak, he addresses all of them by their titles (down-right panic inducing).

They, of course, realise it had been a trap far too late, and before they even had time to shout and draw their swords, the camp fades around them.

~

When they wake an indiscernible amount of time later, they have been stripped of armour and weapons, and have been shackled.

They appear to be in a circular, one-room hut, the knights spaced equally and chained to the wall. Their cloaks remain, but any chainmail or armour they had been equipped with was gone, leaving them in the thin clothes they wore underneath, completely unprotected.

Merlin stood in the middle of the room, looking very confused. Once he noticed the knights stirring, he tried to take a step towards them, but frowned when he realised he couldn’t get within a arm’s reach of them.

Once the knights came around fully, they realised that whilst Merlin couldn’t move all that much, they couldn’t speak.

Arthur looks to Merlin with fury written all over his face, and pulls violently on his chains. Merlin flinches back and gasps out:

“This has nothing to do with me, I swear!”

Before the rest of the knights have time to change their expressions to one of confusion, a man walks through the door. Everyone’s gazes turn to him quickly, and they take in his appearance.

He looked like a Druid... but not quite right, like he hadn’t actually been to a camp in a while. He wore neutral colours, browns and greens, but despite his calm demeanour and gentle face, he looked a little crazed.

Where Druids stand calmly and walk softly, this man rushed in and fiddled with his hands, eyes darting around the room at everyone’s faces.

When Merlin goes to demand he introduce himself, the Druid holds a hand up, silencing him (no magic, just a gesture), and begins to speak:

“Who I am, does not matter. But I do know who you are, Emrys. I shall explain it your friends first, so they don’t get too lost.-”

The Druid smiles sadly, and turns to the knights, all of whom (apart from Lancelot) stare on in confusion at the melancholy resignation on the Druid’s face, and the dread on Merlin’s. Still unable to speak, and with very limited movement, they reluctantly resign themselves to listening to whatever speech the villain of the week had come up with.

“-Emrys has been being seen in prophetic visions for centuries. Whilst Uther Pendragon was destined to start the purge, Emrys, or as you know him: Merlin, is destined to stop it. He is said to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past present and future. He can bend the very elements of the world, bring down armies, turn cities to ash with a flick of his wrist. But destiny also foretold of The Once and Future King. Most have accepted that Arthur Pendragon, is said king.-”

Merlin was stiff but panicky during the Druid’s explanation, having realised that for whatever reason, he didn’t have access to his magic right now.

He could feel it buzzing under his skin, but every time he tried to pull it forward, it abandoned him, burrowing deep into his soul and hiding.

Merlin was tense and angry, angry that the chance to tell his friends the truth himself had been taken away, but his statue-like stillness is broken as he frowns and flinches slightly at the thinly veiled disgust in the sorcerer’s voice as he says Arthur’s name.

The Knights look confused, and very much shocked, their gazes flickering between the Druid and Merlin, but he refuses to meet their eyes.

“-Together, Emrys and the Forever King are destined to bring harmony and peace to the world, to restore magic’s place alongside the non magic, to inspire compassion, and stop the unjust genocide that Uther started.-”

Arthur and Leon shuffle uncomfortably at the mention of the late King and his sins, but are more focused on the other shocking revelations. The other knights (again, bar Lancelot, who is staring at Merlin apologetically) seem invested in the story, though they’re clearly confused.

Arthur was made aware of Merlin’s magic a few weeks ago, but despite Merlin’s choice to tell him willingly, he had reacted badly, and in his rage, hadn’t allowed Merlin to explain himself. The other knights were, of course, unaware of this, though they quickly put two and two together.

Despite Merlin’s best efforts, Arthur had stayed in the dark about the whole Emrys-prophecy-destiny thing.

The Druid gives each knight a short assessing gaze, seemingly to make sure they were paying attention.

He turns his attention back to Merlin, who is trying very hard to keep his expression blank (and failing) as he listens:

-”And how long have you waited, my friend, for Arthur to play his part in destiny. Ten years, of having the prophecies shoved down your throat by idealists, being told that you have no choice but to serve a man who would see your head on a spike should he know who you truly are. Ten years in the service of a man who has caused you nothing but pain, given you nothing but nightmares.-”

Merlin flinches and looks away. Every magic user in, or even near Camelot shares the same nightmares, all caused by the Pendragon Reign. There’s no need for a discussion about it, no need for a denial. 

“-His father ripped your family apart. He himself stood at the grave of your best friend and told you he was evil, he himself killed the woman you loved-”

Arthur frowns in confusion at this. Merlin had never been in love. But he quickly doubts himself when he hears Merlin gasp quietly, and looks to him to see a tear slip down his cheek. 

Fury flashes quickly across Lancelot’s face, obviously knowing the story, but he covers it quickly, and no one is the wiser to the anger slowly growing in his chest at what this so-called Druid was putting his friend through.

The Druid speaks his next words quietly, though still loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, as he lifts a soft hand and gently wipes away Merlin’s tear:

“-I know what you see when you close your eyes. I know why you are so exhausted. But do they? Have you told them?-”

The Druid nods his head in the direction of the knights, but doesn’t break eye contact with Merlin, who sniffles slightly before looking to the floor in shame. 

“-Of the smoke and flames that you choke on when you sleep? You dream of pyres built just for you, built by the people you care most about. Even when you are awake, every second you have your eyes closed, every time you blink, you are forced to picture your so-called King with a sword at your throat, as if the scene were painted onto the back of your eyelids.-”

His voice had risen as he spoke and he had begun to pace, anger growing at the pain his Lord had gone through. He practically spits the word “King”, like just saying it disgusts him. 

Merlin remains quiet, but he has a steady stream of tears down his face as he looks back at the Druid with despair. The knights watch on in anguish as they see the way he is suffering. 

Arthur stops feeling angry and confused, and starts to feel a little guilty. Not that he would let it show; he stares on blankly.

Everyone wanted desperately to believe that the Druid was lying, manipulating them, that Merlin would deny it. But he didn’t. And that told them all they needed to know.

The Druid stopped his pacing, coming to a stand still in front of Merlin and cupping one of his cheeks softly with his hand. The knights pretend not to see Merlin lean into it slightly as his tears continue to fall.

The Druid begins again, speaking softly once more:

“-Were those fears unfounded? Were those nightmares irrational? I see the terror in your eyes. I see how petrified of your King you are.-”

Merlin lets out a shaky breath and glances quickly to Arthur, before looking back at the man in front of him.

The King is taken aback, and the knights are furious at the flash of fear on Merlin’s face when his gaze had momentarily met Arthur’s.

“-What did he do, when he found out? When you bared your soul and gave him nothing but honesty, and undeserved apologies. What did he do?-”

Merlin lets out his first audible sob, and the Knights pull at their chains slightly, desperate to comfort their friend. Arthur slumps back, remembering his actions as if they were mere hours ago.

One of Merlin’s hands lifted to cover his mouth as he chokes back a second sob, but the other lifts subconsciously to tug at the scarf around his neck.

The Druid lets a single tear escape his eye as he waves his hand gently, the scarf disappearing with the gentle golden glow of his eyes.

Merlin seems too distraught to notice; and moves both hands to clamp tightly over his mouth as tears stream down his face. His shoulders hunch, but not enough for any of the knights to miss what the Druid had clearly been trying to expose; a thin, barely healed scar along the base of his throat. As if a sword had been pressed there.

The Druid’s eyes lose focus slightly and he frowns as he ghosts a finger over the scar, seemingly asking the next question to himself:

“-Nightmares on the back of your eyelids, or visions of the future, hmm?-”

His eyes refocus, and he cards a hand through Merlin’s hair, trying to calm the man’s heartache as the knights stare on in horror. 

Arthur resists the urge to look towards his knights, not wanting to see the disgusted glares he knows they’re sending his way.

The Druid pauses for a moment in his speech, waiting for Merlin to calm slightly before he quietly continued:

“-And what has he done since then? Has he allowed explanation? Has he seen the error of his ways and tried to understand? Or has he called you a liar, and a traitor. Has he called you a monster, whilst demanding that you continue to serve him?-”

Merlin’s breathing grows deeper as he struggles to control his sobs. He lowers his hands to be clenched at his sides, shaking, as the Druid softly places his hands on his shoulders.

His next words are spoken even quieter, though the knights can still hear him and the deadly anger that’s barely concealed in the man’s tone:

“-Has he laid hands on you, and called you a beast, while you cowered in fear, knowing that if you defended yourself he would see himself proven right?-”

Merlin let’s out loud, gasping sobs once more as the Druid’s hands travel softly down, from his shoulders to his wrists. There, he looks down, sorrow on his face as he carefully lifts Merlin’s sleeves, bunching them around his elbows.

The knights decide then and there they are going to protect Merlin no matter what, no matter from whom, as they each see the handprint shaped bruises littering Merlin’s arms.

“-He has hurt you, over and over and over-”

As he speaks, the Druid hovers his hands over the bruises, his eyes glowing softly golden as they heal.

“-And you despair, believing yourself worthless-”

Merlin flinches, and his sobbing grows more intense as his face is taken in soft hands.

“-waiting on a Golden Age that he refuses to bring. He is cruel, and unjust, how many more times must he hurt you? How many more of our people will the Pendragon line slaughter, out of misguided hatred? How much more sleep must you lose? How many more nightmares must you endure? You have stood loyally by his side for a decade, and had to stand and watch as he continued his father’s legacy, forced to believe it was destiny.-”

The Druid says “destiny” as if he hates the taste of the word in his mouth, the bloodshed of the past almost thirty years clearly having made him lose faith in the prophecies.

Merlin’s breathing has calmed slightly, and the knights aren’t sure whether to be relieved or frightened, as the Druid desperately continues, clutching Merlin’s hands in his own:

“-Too many lives have been lost, too much innocent blood spilt. Haven’t you yourself been forced to kill your own people to protect this False King from the consequences of his own actions?-”

The knights think too soon as Merlin’s breathing and sobs grow erratic once more. The manservant almost falls to the floor, his eyes clenched desperately shut, and only the Druids hands on his shoulders keeping him upright:

“-I was young, and naïve once. I too, believed in Arthur Pendragon, I believed in the prophecies, I believed he would a great king and a good man-”

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Merlin’s as he gently says:

“-but he is not. He has failed you, and failed our people.-”

The Druid steps back, but still holds Merlin’s shoulder tightly as he gives him a pleading look.

The knights know what’s coming before it is said, and with the anguish and desperation and grief on their friend’s face? After they learned what their benevolent King had done? Well... they wouldn’t have blamed Merlin for saying yes.

“-I ask you to join me, Emrys. I know it’s difficult, to give up on a man you gave so much of yourself to, but there is too much Uther in him. It’s time, and you know this, to rewrite destiny. Dig your own path, liberate your own people, bring magic and compassion and harmony back to the world yourself.-”

Merlin, though distraught, still looks doubtful, and the knights hold their breath as the Druid continues, becoming more and more furious at their inability to speak. 

All of them have tears in their eyes, if not falling already, even Arthur, though he has remained still and blank through the tears.

“-I know the flames you fear, the sword’s edge, the gallows’ drop, the axe’s fall. Do not let our kin continue to fear those things, do not stand by, waiting for the Pendragon tyrant to change, and allowing sacrifices to be made in the mean time.-”

Merlin’s sobbing begins again, and the Druid kisses him softly on the forehead before kneeling to the floor, gripping Merlin’s hands and looking up at him desperately:

"-You are Emrys, Lord of the Druids, and Conduit for all magic of this world. Not some servant that an entitled brat can toss around and treat lesser than the dirt he walks on. You are my King, our King. Not him.-”

He stands again and grips Merlin’s arms tightly, most likely leaving more bruises in place of the ones he had healed.

Merlin doesn’t notice the pain, but shakes his head stutteringly, still crying.

“-Do not let your people lose you to Arthur, as Arthur lost himself to Uther. To give up on him is painful, but the screams of your kin, burning for their gifts, echoing in your skull day and night?-”

The Druid’s hands move up to grip the sides of Merlin’s head, and he shakes him ever so slightly, his tone frantic and pleading:

“-That is worse. That is pain he will never understand, and certainly never care for. Join me, please my Lord I beg you, for our people.”

One of the Druid’s hands slides lower, to softly cup Merlin’s cheek again, but the other drops entirely.

The knights have never resented being magically gagged more than in this moment. They could do nothing but watch on in horror as the man summons a dagger behind his back.

The Druid is clearly waiting on his response, and Merlin is too distraught to notice the consequences of a wrong answer, tears flowing quickly down his face and ugly sobs forcing their way out of his throat.

Arthur watches in terror, knowing that this was his fault, that every shitty, selfish decision he had ever made had to led to this point. And the knights knew it too.

All they can do is pray to every deity they know the name of, that Arthur has done enough damage for Merlin to say yes. And oh, what a terrible thing to pray for.

The Druid softly strokes Merlin’s cheekbone with his thumb as the Warlock takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He looks up, meeting the gaze of the man opposite him before croaking:

“I... I can’t. Arthur is a good man, I have faith that he will-”

Before he can finish his sentence, the dagger is thrust up into his chest, his words stuttering to a stop and his red-rimmed eyes growing wide at the sudden, agonising pain spreading throughout his body.

Merlin is vaguely aware of the knights pulling roughly at their chains, but he pays them no mind as blood gurgles up his throat and he frowns, struggling to hear what the Druid was whispering in his ear:

“Then you have forsaken your people, and so I shall forsake you. Traitor.”

With that, Merlin is dropped roughly to the floor, dagger still imbedded in his chest as he lands on his side. Blood spills from both his mouth and the wound, eyes unfocused but heavy as the tears continue to overflow.

The knights are silently screaming, thrashing against their chains as their friend chokes, but Merlin ignores them in favour of smiling gently at the soft feeling of nothing, growing outwards from his chest.

He frowns once more, as though remembering something, and his eyes go glassy as two words escape from his mouth, barely a whisper:

“I’m... sorry...”

An apology to whom, no one knows, but with those last words his body goes completely still, the pool of blood still expanding beneath him, and his eyes unseeingly staring just to the left of The King.

No one in the room can tear their eyes from Merlin’s pale corpse, face now a mess of tears and blood.

The Druid looks down at him with an odd mix of contempt, and genuine sorrow. He had obviously waited long enough that his resentment of Arthur had bled into his feelings for his so-called saviour, but still grieved for what could have been.

The Knights look at him in horror, all understanding that they had never been lucky, they had just had Merlin. He had never asked for thanks, or recognition, or reward. He had kept them all safe, at great expense to himself, and now he was dead.

Lancelot seems the... calmest, though he still cries like the rest of them. He had, in theory, known of the pain Merlin was in, but had he known it was plaguing him to this extent... well perhaps he wouldn’t have been so loyal to Arthur.

Arthur himself stares at Merlin with nothing but terror and agonising grief. He had done this. If he had just let Merlin explain, if he had just given him five minutes, instead of bruises and nightmares and fear, then he would still be alive. 

If he hadn’t been so selfish and cruel, perhaps hundreds of people, just like Merlin, just as scared and innocent as Merlin, would also be alive. 

Merlin had spent his entire time in Camelot trying to convince Arthur that he wasn’t his father... and Arthur had gone and proven him wrong at every turn. And even then Merlin still had faith, still called him a good man.

The silencing spell still has hold over the knights, so they cry and scream and thrash soundlessly as the Druid finally rips his gaze from the body at his feet.

He steps carefully around Merlin to stand in front of Arthur. The sorrow clears from his face, leaving only contempt and rage left to be directed at the man in front of him. Arthur does not look up, keeping his tear stained face focused on the floor, even as the Druid begins to speak:

“You see what you have done, Arthur Pendragon? You think magic is the thing that corrupts, but it is not. It is you. Emrys was meant to be a saviour, a God, a guiding light to help our people to safety, but you tainted him, reduced him to nothing more than a sad, scared boy, and then reduced him further, to a corpse. My hands are clean of blood Pendragon, but yours?? Oh, yours are drenched in it.”

Arthur slowly lifts his distraught gaze to the Druid, but quickly widens his eyes at what he sees.

Merlin stands behind the Druid, eyes glowing golden, tears once more streaming down his face as he grips the handle of the dagger, still buried in his chest.

The bloodstains grow even larger as he grimaces slightly and pulls it free, before wordlessly forcing it through the Druid’s back.

The man lets out a sudden gasp, and looks down to see just the tip of the blade poking out where his heart should be. He gargles something, words that no one can make out, before Merlin pulls the dagger out again, and his body crumples to the floor.

The knights and Arthur can feel the silencing spell release them, but none of them make even a noise as they stare in shock at their tormented, but very much alive, friend.

Merlin drops the dagger from his hand and it lands with a splash in the mixing puddles of blood, before he himself falls harshly to his knees.

The others finally break out of their stupor, once again pulling towards their friend. Their cries and shouts of his name can be heard by everyone but him as he leans forward, placing his forehead against that of the lifeless Druid.

His cries grow erratic again as he whispers apology after apology, and every heart breaks even more at the sight before them.

They know why he apologises, they know why he grieves, even over a man who had tried to... had succeeded in killing him. The death of yet another of his own kind who was sick of waiting, who was rightfully angry, was not something to be celebrated.

They had thought, at the beginning of this, that they would get through whatever the Druid threw at them, they always did. But this, the brokenness of one of their dearest friends, was not something that looks fixable.

Merlin finally sits up again and he sobs louder, still deaf and blind to those around him. Lancelot has just enough time to yell at the others to cover their eyes, as a gut-wrenching scream escapes the Warlock.

They’re almost blinded, even with their eyes tightly shut and their arms thrown up. The scream is the loudest, and most anguished they’ve ever heard, and the force in which Merlin releases his magic completely eviscerates the hut they had been chained in.

Each of them is thrown violently backwards, and their chains crumble to the floor with the rest of the building as they try to find purchase on the ground. None of them are hurt too badly, and they’re grateful for the fact that even in this state, Merlin’s magic seems incapable of really causing them any damage.

The scream ends, and the knights look up to see Merlin sat in the middle of the crater he had created, staring blankly into the middle distance. Tears still stream down his face, but he doesn’t move and he makes no sound, just kneels there with his blood soaked hands on his lap, palms towards the sky.

It takes a few moments for the knights to regain their senses, but once they do, all hell breaks loose.

Gwaine immediately gets to his feet and makes a rush towards Arthur, fully intending on throttling him, screaming obscenities as he went, but Percival and Elyan jump forward, grabbing an arm each and dragging him away as he curses the King and the Sky and the Gods.

As much as Percival and Elyan were not impartial to killing Arthur right now, Merlin was the priority, and as much as he may have deserved it, Merlin would never forgive them if they hurt the King.

Arthur seems to be unaware of the attempt on his life made by one of his most trusted knights, and just stares blankly at an equally blank Merlin.

Lancelot and Leon make a bee-line for the Warlock, but stop just short of touching him, not knowing how he would react. 

Leon nods gently at Lancelot, clearly having picked up that this knight had already known at least part of the story. Lancelot returns his nod, before moving forward slowly. The body of the Druid lays untouched at Merlin’s knees, and the knight removes his cloak, laying it over him, before reaching a slow hand towards Merlin’s shoulder.

He finally makes contact after a little hesitation, whispering his name as gently and as comfortingly as he is able with tears still leaking from his eyes.

Merlin doesn’t react at all to Lancelot’s touch, not even when he takes his bloody hand, or shakes his shoulder slightly; just sits and stares and cries.

Leon gulps before reaching forward himself. He grabs the dagger from besides Merlin and tosses it behind him (he didn’t like to think about that action too much. He has no idea what state his friend is in right now, best to not have any sharp instruments within his reach when he came to.) before lifting his hand to wipe away the man’s tears.

Arthur stares upon all of this in horror from his position sprawled on the floor a few metres away.

Elyan and Percival have just about managed to calm Gwaine, and they begin making their way to Leon, Lancelot, and Merlin, but before they get even halfway there, Arthur finally speaks.

His voice breaks, and is barely audible, but everyone hears him nonetheless as he murmurs:

“I did this...”

Gwaine makes another run at him, regaining his anger, and Percival and Elyan just about manage to grab him before he commits regicide.

Lancelot and Leon look up at him sharply, but when Lancelot lowers his gaze and continues to try and rouse Merlin, Leon holds the King’s gaze, and says strongly:

“Yes. Yes you did, My Lord.”

Arthur’s face crumbles even more, and Leon glares at him with venom for a few more seconds, before giving Lancelot a soft pat on the back, and walking towards the other three.

He mumbles a few harsh things that only Gwaine can hear, who responds at first with more anger, but then resignation. The First Knight gives the man a pat on the back and nods knowingly at Elyan and Percival. No one, not even Gwaine, pretends to miss the meaning of “be ready to catch him again” in the gesture.

Arthur stays in his position on the floor as the four of them walk softly towards Merlin and Lancelot, but before they get there, everyone’s gazes are drawn to the shadow in the sky, getting closer and closer.

It moves with an alarming place, and their anger at Arthur is momentarily forgotten as he scrambles up and screams:

“DRAGON!!”

Gwaine, Elyan, Percival and Arthur rush forward to stand between the beast and the other three. They have no armour or weapons, but like hell were they just going to let it get to them.

Lancelot looks up to see the white, horse sized beast land heavily in front of The King, his eyes widen and he jumps up, rushing forward to push between the others.

Leon moves to hold a still unresponsive Merlin behind his back protectively, but frowns in confusion when Lancelot yells at Arthur (who had been about to run at the beast):

“NO! No don’t hurt her! She’s Merlin’s, don’t hurt her!”

Everyone looks at him in confusion and fear as he slowly approaches the Dragon, she had been growling lowly at first, but seemed to perk up when she saw Lancelot.

Lancelot gives her a small smile, and holds his hand out, allowing her to come to him, before quietly saying:

“I’ve never been more glad to see you, Aithusa. Merlin is over here.”

He turns back towards the others, and calmly, but forcefully says:

“Move. She needs to see him.”

Gwaine nods after a moment, trusting Lancelot, and moves out of the way. Arthur goes to argue, but Elyan and Percival roughly shove him to the side, clearing a path to Merlin and Leon for Lancelot and the new, slightly terrifying, arrival.

Leon looks up fearfully, still in front of Merlin protectively. He stares at the Dragon for a few moments, breathing deeply, before looking up at Lancelot. Lancelot gives him a weak smile, and a nod before saying quietly:

“He’s a Dragon-Lord. She can help him, it’s ok.”

Leon gulps, before nodding, and stepping out of the way. He doesn’t move too far, obviously still affected by his last encounter with a Dragon, and watches with unconcealed suspicion as Aithusa prances around Lancelot at his nod.

The others crowd closer as well, looking on in confusion, awe, suspicion, as Aithusa slowly approaches Merlin.

She lays down at his side, gently pressing her head onto Merlin’s hands, still in his lap. Her mouth opens and Leon gasps as she blows a gentle mist up into his face. Merlin’s back straightens and the knights can see his eyes come back into focus as he blinks.

They all stare with bated breath as he gulps, and begins to notice his surroundings; looking in fear at the crater around him.

Merlin is broken from his growing panic as Aithusa chirps softly from his lap, and his head whips down, only now noticing her.

The knights let out a collective breath as he smiles, very slightly and very briefly, but still; after what they had just seen him go through they would take anything. He leans his head down, and wraps his arms around the creature. She chirps once again, louder this time, as she uses her tail to push away the forgotten Druid’s corpse. 

She curls her body around Merlin protectively, and he collapses even further into the semi-embrace she’s giving him. The knights smile slightly, relieved that Merlin seems responsive, and safe, before they take slow steps towards the two of them.

She whips her head up quickly and growls at them, digging her front claws into the ground. They take in sudden breaths and stop moving, wary, but she stops growling when she looks to Lancelot.

The others stare on in shock and confusion as she tilts her head slightly, and Lancelot nods as he quietly says:

“They’re friends, it’s ok.”

The creature seems to nod, and the others follow behind Lancelot as he begins moving towards Merlin again.

He crouches down, and gives Aithusa a well-received scratch on the chin, before he gently places a hand between Merlin’s shoulder-blades.

Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and finally Leon follow suit, sitting carefully next to the Dragon, but unlike Lancelot, they don’t touch her, or Merlin. She may seem safe and loving and on their side, but she was still a Dragon.

Arthur moves a little slower, not sure if he’s welcome (he’s not) but when he gets within five feet of the group huddled on the floor, Aithusa lifts her head and growls again.

Elyan and Percival are shocked at the sudden movement, but Gwaine smirks, and Leon nods his head approvingly (though he’s still understandably... nervous). Lancelot looks back at a shocked and still tear-stricken Arthur, and speaks. His voice is quiet, but his tone is vicious:

“They have a mental link; she sees what he sees. It might be best, Your Majesty, for you to stay away.”

He doesn’t bother to watch Arthur’s reaction; he turns back and begins carding a soft hand through Merlin’s hair. He flinches only slightly before relaxing under the soft ministrations, and Aithusa gives Lancelot an affectionate lick on the arm.

The other knights do see the way that Arthur flinches, before he gives a shaky nod and takes a few steps back. He goes to say something, but the tears in his eyes overflow, and he turns to walk away.

Gwaine’s smirk grows slightly before he drops it entirely and turns back to the others, no longer caring what Arthur got up to. He is the first of the knights, other than Lancelot, to be brave enough to reach a hand forward and stroke Aithusa gently.

Elyan and Percival hesitatingly follow his lead, and Aithusa chirps happily at the attention. Leon’s gaze follows Arthur as he walks towards the horses.

They were far away, well out of the way of Merlin’s blast, but even with the distance Leon could see they were shaken. Thankfully they had been tied to the trees, otherwise he’s certain they would have bolted.

Leon finds it only slightly surprising that he feels no sympathy for the King. There’s only so much you can forgive a man for. When Arthur finally reaches the horses and begins untacking them, he looks away, back to Aithusa and Merlin.

Everyone can tell that Camelot’s First Knight is still rather shaken at the presence of the Dragon, but when Merlin looks up slightly to see him still sat there, unwilling to leave him, his heart swells a little.

Leon meets his gaze and gulps, but returns Merlin’s shaky smile.

The other knights smile as well, glad that Merlin was feeling at least a little better, and Percival speaks quietly, not wanting to spook him (or the Dragon):

“Hey, there’s our lucky charm.”

The other knights give him questioning looks but Merlin just chuckles slightly, before sitting up properly, and focusing his attention on running his fingers over Aithusa’s scales, picking out grass and mud.

Percival looks indignant before replying, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world:

“What? You honestly thought that tree branches only fell if there was a fight happening, and then only fell on the enemies?? The rock-falls? The fires even when it was pouring with rain?? The miraculous solutions to end-of-the-world type problems?? Come on, guys.”

The others look taken aback at that, but Lancelot just smiles knowingly. They all look to Merlin, who has managed to wipe the blood from his face with his sleeve, and he just shrugs slightly.

The rest of them, bar Leon, let out small huffs of laughter, and continue to stroke Aithusa, knowing that Merlin almost certainly isn’t ready for an actual conversation yet.

Merlin looks at Leon’s pale form assessingly, before a look of realisation crosses his face. The knight is tense, and staring at Aithusa’s sharp teeth with worry, but his gaze is quickly drawn to Merlin when he reaches a shaky hand towards him.

Merlin gives him an understanding smile, and crooks his fingers, encouraging the curly-haired knight to take his hand. Leon does so, and his breath hitches as Merlin lowers their intertwined hand to rest on the top of Aithusa’s head.

Leon lets out a slow breath as he feels Elyan’s supportive hand on his back, but relaxes fully when he sees the sparkle in Merlin’s eyes. Anything to make their Warlock happy in this moment. And forever, probably.

Gwaine looks at Leon out of the corner of his eye, and says lowly:

“I’m fairly certain I’m going to try and kill him if I look at him again, so what’s the King up to?”

Merlin tenses slightly, but Leon squeezes his hand and he relaxes again. Lancelot raises and eyebrow and before Leon can reply, he says:

“What, no princess?”

Gwaine narrows his eyes before gruffly saying:

“Princess was an affectionate nickname, and I’m not feeling all that affectionate towards him right now.”

The others nod knowingly, turning their attention back to Merlin and Aithusa. Leon leaves his hand in Merlin’s, but looks at Gwaine before saying lowly:

“He went to deal with the horses. Now we know we no longer need a quick get-away, they need untacking and feeding and watering. They were pretty spooked by... they were pretty spooked.”

Leon looks back at Merlin when his hand gets squeezed, to see him frowning slightly. Leon catches his eye and gives him a small smile, but Merlin just gets teary-eyed again, before sniffing and muttering:

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to I just... I’m sorry.”

Only a single tear has time to fall before Lancelot has his hand on Merlin’s shoulder again (comfortingly), and Elyan has his hand on Gwaine’s shoulder (forcefully). Leon shakes his head softly, and responds in a gentle voice:

“You don’t have anything to apologise for Merlin, we are the ones who should be sorry, for not being able to protect you.”

Merlin’s frown deepens, and he goes to retort, but Gwaine beats him to it, obviously trying to keep the anger out of his voice:

“From the so-called Druid and from him. We should have done better.”

Leon can feel Merlin’s hand begin to shake, so he squeezes it once more as Merlin shakes his head and speaks, his voice sounding stronger already:

“It’s not his fault. He was just shaken and scared and I should have-”

Gwaine clenches his jaw, struggling to keep control of his rage, but Elyan grips his shoulder tighter in warning, and replies in his stead, interrupting Merlin:

“There’s no excuse Merlin. All of us have been attacked by magic, but equally, all of us have been attacked by swords. I mean look at Leon, giving Dragons a second chance after what happened. I would perhaps understand brief anger, but there is no way to justify laying his hands on you in such a way that leaves bruises, and certainly no justification for putting a blade to your throat.”

Merlin frowns, and looks like he wants to argue, but once again, a knight beats him to it, Lancelot this time:

“No, Merls. We know how much he means to you. But what he did was wrong, there’s no rationalisation. We all know that you’ve already forgiven him, and that’s why we can’t yet. Probably not for a while.”

Merlin sighs, looking pained, and Leon uses his other hand to tilt his chin up:

“Not to say that we won’t ever forgive him. But someone has to be angry at him for what he’s done, and Lord knows you aren’t gonna do it. Consider us your stand-ins.”

Merlin smiles slightly, and Leon considers that a win, returning the smile and nodding slightly to himself, before looking back down at the Dragon, now seemingly asleep, and purring, on Merlin’s lap.

Elyan releases the death grip on Gwaine’s shoulder, when the now much calmer knight, with a smile on his face, says:

“So... you have a Dragon??”

Merlin chuckles fondly, before looking to him and saying quietly:

“Yeah. Her name is Aithusa. I’m surprised she came alone, Kilgharrah usually doesn’t like it when she runs off.”

Lancelot winces slightly as the other knights look shocked, before Percival says:

“Kil-what-now? There’s another one??”

Merlin grimaces slightly, before looking to Leon worriedly and tightening the grip on his hand:

“Uhh... yeah. Kilgharrah is the name of the Dragon that... attacked Camelot a few years ago.-”

Leon straightens his back and gulps, but doesn’t remove his hand from Merlin’s, nodding at him to continue:

“-I didn’t have control over him until right at the end. I told him to leave and never come back, unless I called him-”

Lancelot makes a noise of realisation as he nods, and interrupts Merlin:

“That’s probably why Aithusa came alone. You didn’t call for her, and technically we’re still within Camelot’s borders. He couldn’t come even if he wanted to. Poor sod is probably clomping around at the edge of the border freaking out.”

Merlin looks to Lancelot and nods, satisfied to feel Leon relax a bit, before looking back to the First Knight apologetically:

“-He does feel really bad at that. He just wanted to get back at Uther for the whole... genocide thing I guess. But that’s no excuse. I just didn’t want to be the one to be responsible for killing the last Dragon, even if Kilgharrah personally might’ve deserved it at the time. That was all before Aithusa came along.”

Everyone nods in understanding, before focussing their attention back on Aithusa. She really was like a giant puppy, even if they had to be wary to avoid her claws as she twitched in her sleep.

Merlin sighs, looking forlorn once again as he realises how exhausted he is, knowing that they’re going to have to get up and make camp at some point. 

He can cope with an awkward, tense silence between him and Arthur easily enough, that’s what the last few weeks had consisted of. But an awkward and tense silence between everyone? Elyan and Percival inwardly fuming? Gwaine outwardly fuming? Leon and Lancelot being all protective? He’s not sure he can deal with that.

At Merlin’s sigh, Lancelot tilts his head to catch his eye. His brow creases as he says softly:

“What is it, Merls?”

Merlin looks up, still squeezing Leon’s hand, before quietly replying:

“Nothing, I’m just tired. We have to re-make camp at some point and I’m not sure if I can deal with everyone being so...”

He waves his free hand around loosely, and Lancelot huffs out a laugh, before kicking Gwaine, getting everyone’s attention:

“We have to go make camp. But Merlin is exhausted, and doesn’t want to deal with any of this shit tonight, so we’re all going to have to play nice for the time being.”

Gwaine growls, and quickly retorts:

“Like hell am I gonna treat him with-”

Lancelot kicks him again, harder this time, and Elyan replaces the harsh hand on his shoulder before forcefully saying:

“Right now, it doesn’t matter what Arthur deserves. Merlin needs peace and quiet, and that’s what we’re going to give him.”

Gwaine grumbles, but begrudgingly nods, and Merlin gives him a grateful smile. 

The knights all stand up, and Merlin shakes Aithusa awake, giving a small chuckle when she stretches like a cat.

Once she takes her weight off of his lap, Merlin follows the knights to stand, almost falling over at the weakness in his legs. Leon and Lancelot catch an arm each, steadying him as he shuts his eyes tightly, willing the dizziness away.

He feels a hand wipe the hair from his forehead, and opens his eyes slowly to see Percival checking him over with an assessing gaze:

“I’m fine, just tired, a little dizzy.”

Lancelot nods in understanding, humming slightly:

“Hmm. I’m not surprised, you haven’t done anything this big in a while, and I doubt you’ve slept well in the last few weeks.”

Merlin gives him a sheepish look as he shakes his head, but it’s Elyan’s questioning gaze that Lancelot responds to:

“I found out by accident when I first met him. Our Warlock isn’t very good at keeping secrets.”

He says it with a small smirk as he looks back down to Merlin, who’s looking indignant:

“Hey! I managed to keep everyone else from finding out.”

Gwaine looks guilty as he raises his arm quietly:

“Actually uh... I knew. I mean not about the whole Emrys, prophecy thing. But the magic stuff, yeah.”

Merlin looks at him, shocked. The other knights share his expression for just a moment before they laugh at the look on Merlin’s face:

“How?!”

Gwaine puts his arm down and laughs again:

“Mate... we met in the middle of a tavern fight, in which shit started literally flying about the moment you joined in.-”

He shrugged, before casually continuing:

“-I figured you would tell me when you wanted to. Until then, it wasn’t my secret to know. You also have me to thank for backing you up every time The Prick asked if I saw you at the tavern.”

Merlin laughed and nodded his thanks, before looking over to where said Prick was setting up camp, a few metres beyond the edge of the crater.

His face fell slightly and the others follow his gaze, tensing slightly in anger when they saw what he was looking at. Merlin takes his arms from Leon and Lancelot, finally feeling steady on his feet, before quietly saying:

“Come on, we might as well get this over with. I’m starving, and tired, and Aithusa will get bored if we don’t start entertaining her.”

Everyone turns around to see Aithusa (now she was sure that her Lord was ok), prancing about in the crater; chasing birds and digging holes.

Merlin raises an eyebrow and everyone else chuckles slightly. Gwaine pushes Lancelot out of the way and takes Merlin’s hand, beginning to walk determinedly towards camp. Everyone catches up quickly, Leon taking Merlin’s other hand when the man had reached out to grab his cape.

Gwaine looks down at Merlin, seeing how nervous he is, and says:

“So. How long until she’s big enough to be ridden? I want you to take me flying, Merlin.”

Merlin chuckles, and looks back to see Aithusa happily trailing them:

“Not for a while. Dragons grow slow, so it’ll be another few years at least. Plus she’s got some issues with bone growth that we’re still trying to fix. She’ll be fine in the long run, but her development is taking a lot longer than normal. She still can’t speak.”

Everyone stops at that, and Merlin’s arms get yanked back when he continued walking. He turns to see Leon giving him an incredulous look:

“Dragons can speak?!”

Merlin tilts his head in confusion, before laughing and tugging them forwards again:

“Yeah. I forget that Uther basically erased all knowledge on Dragons, but they’re just as intelligent as we are. Kilgharrah would like to think that they’re more intelligent, but he’s always been a cryptic, egotistical bastard.-”

The others follow his pace and nod, but the mood darkens as they almost reach the camp. Merlin continues faintly, but quickly:

“I’ll tell you everything I know when... when we get back.”

Leon squeezes his hand, knowing that he was about to say “if”, assuring him that “when” is the right word.

Arthur looks up at the group and gulps from his place next to the fire. He straightens up, the anxiety showing clearly on his face, but before anyone can say anything, Aithusa jumps in between him.

He falls back at the sudden movement and she begins to growl; he widens his eyes as she stalks slowly towards him.

Gwaine smirks again, the others managing to keep their faces blank, but Merlin looks shocked, before he jumps forward and puts a hand on the Dragon’s back:

“Aithusa no. He’s a... friend. It’s ok, he’s-”

Arthur jumps to his feet and interrupts him:

“No, no it’s fine. I’ll... go... sit over there.”

He gestures behind him, and walks quickly away from the fire, sitting just within the fire’s light, the evening dimming around them.

Aithusa tilts her head, snaps her jaws at him once more before completely changing disposition. She begins bouncing around the fire, chirping happily and playfully trying to catch floating embers in her claws.

Merlin smiles slightly and the other knights (bar Gwaine, who is glaring very pointedly at Arthur) chuckle at her antics, before they all sit in a semi circle on the opposite side of the fire to Arthur, Merlin in the middle.

The Warlock is once again wedged protectively between Leon and Gwaine, and he fiddles softly with Leon’s cape in his lap as he stares fondly at Aithusa.

Elyan moves to the packs, unloading food and water and cooking pots. Merlin gets up to help, but Gwaine pulls him back down by the hand and holds on firmly as he says:

“You’ve been through enough. We can put up with Elyan’s shitty cooking for a couple nights.”

Merlin tries to pull away with a “But I can-” but Leon grabs his other hand, holding him down and interrupting:

“Absolutely not. You said yourself that you’re tired. If Elyan needs help, he can ask one of us.”

Merlin huffs sulkily and Leon laughs, stroking the back of his hand protectively.

Leon had known Merlin just as long as Arthur had, and whilst they had virtually nothing to do with each other the first few years, they were still friendly acquaintances, even then. Leon knew full well that it was Merlin who would have a hot meal left in his room after a late patrol, and Merlin always appreciated how Leon kept as many weapons in the armoury in as good nick as possible, so Merlin didn’t have to deal with it.

Besides, even before they knew each other’s names, Leon always found Merlin’s reactions to Arthur’s stupidity funny. He could hardly say it out loud, being the Perfect Knight and all, but he always thought it was a good thing that Arthur had someone at his side keeping him humble, and calling him out in ways no one else would.

Of course they had gotten much closer over the years, as did all of the knights, thanks to Merlin. Currently, Leon was feeling just a tinge of regret at being so grateful for Merlin’s presence at Arthur’s side; he had never really thought about how difficult being that man’s babysitter would be, especially now he knew Merlin had magic. And some sort of destiny.

Time passes fairly quickly whilst Elyan cooks, the others taking to heart what Lancelot had said and trying to keep a quiet, but easy conversation going.

They ask Merlin various questions about Aithusa, Kilgharrah, the Druids, the weird name that he had been called. He answered them all easily enough, but they notice the way he hesitates when they ask about his magic specifically or the prophecies, so they steer clear of those topics.

They’ll definitely want to know the whole story eventually, and they’re practically buzzing with desperation to ask Merlin to show them something magical, but they know that now is not the time.

Dinner is finally served, and despite Gwaine’s statement, it wasn’t actually that bad. Mainly because every time Elyan went to add something to the pot, he would look back desperately at Merlin, and took into account the shakes and nods of his head with a grateful smile.

He did struggle to cover the scowl on his face when he delivered Arthur’s bowl to him, replying to The King’s quiet “thank you, Elyan” with an even quieter “don’t mention it” .

Dinner was eaten quickly and in silence. They hadn’t been unconscious for long, and hour or two at most, but they had all worked up an understandable appetite, Merlin especially. He would never ask for seconds, but knowing that, Elyan gave him an extra big serving without a word.

They entertained themselves after dinner by throwing the last scraps of meat to Aithusa, watching her jump and flip and fly about the camp. Merlin had objected at first, but gave in when he saw the small grin on Leon’s face, and heard the way the others were laughing. The City was only a few days ride away, they could always hunt on the way back.

It didn’t take long for her to tire out and curl up at Merlin’s feet to sleep. Like Merlin had mentioned, Aithusa was developing slowly, and she normally couldn’t fly very far; it must’ve taken a huge amount of energy and effort for her to get all the way here. But like the Knights, she was very protective, and there was no way she could not check on her Lord, after she and Kilgharrah had felt the anguish he was in.

As Kilgharrah once again crosses Merlin’s mind, he sighs, and makes mental note to call him in the morning, when he had more energy.

Merlin is distracted from his thoughts when the camp goes silent all of a sudden, and Gwaine reaches over to squeeze his hand. He looks up in worry, to see that Arthur had stood, and walked a little closer, though he made sure to stay the other side of the fire.

Merlin tenses slightly. He tries not to let it show, but he can knows that he failed when he feels Leon’s hand firmly in the middle of his back. Hidden from the others, but a silent reassurance.

Arthur gulps, obviously nervous, but he meets Merlin’s gaze, flinching at the slight fear in his eyes:

“Merlin, I know nothing I say will-”

He’s interrupted by Gwaine growling and standing suddenly, stepping in front of Merlin protectively, but it’s Lancelot’s harsh words that cut him off fully:

“Not tonight, Arthur. We’re all tired and angry so just... not tonight.”

Arthur clenches his jaw, and blinks away tears before nodding:

“Yes, I... I understand.”

With that, he sniffles slightly before taking a step back. He looks to the floor as he mumbles something about checking the perimeter, before slowly walking away from the camp, into the night.

Merlin lets out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, and relaxes slightly as Leon runs his hand over his back. Gwaine stares after Arthur for a few moments, deliberating on whether or not to follow him (and presumably, kick his ass). Merlin reaching up to take his hand and pull him back down makes his mind up, and he settles back into his seat, Merlin’s small hand clasped between his two larger ones.

Percival speaking up breaks the tense silence:

“It’s late and Lance is right, we’re all tired. If we want to make quick work of the journey home, and have time to hunt, then we should get some sleep.”

Murmurs of agreement float up around the group, and Gwaine, voice still tense and angry, says:

“I’ll take first-”

But he’s quickly interrupted by Elyan, softly laughing:

“Absolutely not, Gwaine. If you’re left alone we’ll all wake to find the King dead in the morning.”

Gwaine raises a challenging eyebrow, not denying anything, and Elyan huffs, Percival muttering:

“Fine. But I’m taking it with you so you don’t get a chance to smother him.”

Gwaine gives a sarcastic looking smile, before ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly and walking towards the fire. He adds another log, grabs his bedroll, and settles down against a tree, Percival sitting at his side.

Everyone else gathers their rolls, and whilst normally they spread out, they all seem rather desperate to stay as close to Merlin as possible.

Normally he would complain, they all snore, and Merlin is definitely expecting nightmares tonight, but he can’t find it in himself to send them away, and to be perfectly honest, he's certain that they would just move back the moment he closed his eyes anyway.

The Warlock finds himself tucked under Lancelot’s arm, with Leon a respectful distance away on his other side, though still within arm’s reach. Elyan settles somewhere below his feet, and for the first time in weeks, Merlin finds himself fully relaxed. 

Aithusa sleepily moves from her spot by Merlin’s feet, to curl up with Gwaine and Percival, and Merlin smiles at the thought that she not only trusts his friends in general, but trusts them enough to leave Merlin in their care. Dragons are protective and possessive creatures, and that trust speaks volumes.

Merlin is still a little miserable, and he almost resents himself for still being scared of Arthur despite his obvious regret, but... with all that happened... well. You can’t really blame him.

He’s got a gaggle of very protective knights around him, one of which he can vaguely hear trying to persuade another to commit regicide when no one was looking.

He has time to huff out a small laugh as Lancelot pulls him closer, before he drifts off; much quicker than he thought he would. He was comforted by the warmth behind him, the presence at his feet, the guardians watching over him, and the hand reaching towards him in the dark, just about close enough to lay fingers over Merlin’s heartbeat.

No nightmares plague him that night, and he doesn’t even wake to the warning growls sent Arthur’s way when he eventually returned to camp.

The next few days, hell, the next few months would probably be difficult, but he finds himself not as anxious now he knows he won’t have to face it alone.

~

THE END

I don’t think I’ll write a part two to this, but if someone wants to extend it, feel free, same as normal: credit and tag me :)

I’ve had the whole speech written out in full in my phone notes for like two months, but only recently got round to actually turning it into anything. I hope ya’ll enjoyed it!! I wanted to write something hella angsty so....

I’m fairly certain whatever I write next will be the dead opposite of this (FLUFF fluff) but honestly who knows.

Let me know if there’s anything specific you want my thoughts on :)

[ectonurites]

it actually really bothers me that tims head burns never come up once in red robin, especially once steph started showing up. it didn’t feel fair that they kept his anger with her but never elaborated on why it existed in the first place, i’m glad he still owned his end of things but the writers made him out to seem super unreasonable with her the whole time when he honestly wasn’t

IT DRIVES ME NUUUUTS!!!

I think the last time Tim’s actual reasons for being mad at her even gets alluded to is during Battle for the Cowl stuff when he mentions people getting hurt because of her:

(Gotham Gazette: Batman Alive)

But even at this point he’s drawn without any lasting scars from everything and it’s just not addressed. This scene in Red Robin just feels like him being a jerk (which like, he is being a jerk about it but again the anger doesn’t come from nowhere)

(Red Robin #2)

The thing is Red Robin is a continuation comic, theoretically you’re supposed to have read Robin before this and know what’s going on… but it’s still a separate book which means readers are going to hop in starting with it, and the writers should provide stronger mentions (or even the little editor note boxes!) to explain stuff like that when it’s important context.

Then irt the scars themselves…

(Robin #181)

I understand to an extent not having them as a consistent part of how he’s drawn after because you want him to retain his classic look or whatever… but I just wish even on his neck there was some form of scarring we could see- like look how severe that was! I know they were gonna have his hair grow back fine, but like if they’d kept some of the scarring visible on his neck then him letting his hair grow out as long as it did in Red Robin would make total sense because it could be a way of him trying to hide the scars!

(also just… give me a moment to imagine an angsty situation where Kon keeps commenting Tim needs a haircut like he did during Adventure Comics #3 and eventually Tim snaps at him about it saying he can’t because then people will see the scars… him then needing to explain what happened in Gotham at the end of Robin and Tim’s trauma and insecurities around it… i love hurt comfort 💕)

[luminari-mc]

My Human, My Sunshine - Part 1

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort.

Pairing: GN!MC x Mammon

Word count: 5194

Summary: Mammon finds himself lost in the human world. Meanwhile, MC can't get ahold of Solomon, their phone dead silent.

Warnings: N/A

A/N: My first writing piece for Obey Me! It's kind of a long one so I recommend you grab a snack or two during it. While this part is occupied by a good amount of text messages between Mammon and someone else, I'm already thinking of writing a part 2 which will have way more dialogue. In the meantime, please enjoy this little scenario I came up with after listening to a song that set me in an angsty mood. :)

______________________________________________________

Wet. Cold. Exhausted. And completely lost.

Mammon felt all of those, and yet, his legs kept on marching into the dead of night, his jacket covering his head despite being too drenched to protect him from the rain anymore. Each time a droplet of water came rolling on his cheek, his wrist would come to brush it off, and Mammon would let out an annoyed groan. If only there were any shops open, but the city was definitely asleep. He was thankful for the crashing sound of the rain on the ground around him, along with the smell of the wet asphalt keeping himself awake, otherwise, he surely would have gone crazy by now. The demon had even lost count of how many hours he had been wandering through the streets, how many mailboxes he had checked, how few passersby he had come across, only to receive negative answers to his questions.

And so Mammon kept on walking, not sure where to go next. But he felt sure of one thing: he wouldn't stop moving until he had found what he was looking for. Be there rain, or no rain. Lost or not.

"Tch, the human world's weather really sucks..."

As he walked on the pavement, his brow furrowed from the lack of new clues as to where his destination was supposed to be. His eyes caught sight of a bakery he had already walked by earlier during the day, its gentle light piercing the darkness that had been accompanying him for far too long now. Mammon's brow furrowed slightly at the sight- he knew he had gone in circles time and time again, but seeing it confirmed once more rubbed him the wrong way. Despite that, he decided to walk towards it, and took shelter under the entrance's porch. Surely the owners wouldn't mind him checking his phone for a few minutes, right? Right.

Pinching between his fingers the precious D.D.D. he had tucked under his shirt to protect it from the rain, Mammon looked at the map again. His stomach dropped for the upteenth time upon seeing the address still showing in his search bar, the letters and numbers taunting him. A knot formed in his throat as he tried his best not to scream at his screen.

"It wasn't there, you idiot..."

His mouth formed into an angry pout. Mammon looked into the list of potential addresses he had made throughout the day, and all had been crossed out. He felt his jaw clench- not only was he left with no addresses, no other clues, no humans to help him, but also that stupid rain surely would keep on falling for the rest of the night.

He was truly cursed.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do now?!" Mammon groaned, his free hand reaching upward to grab at his hair in frustration.

Yes... that was a good question. What was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he could ask help from any of his brothers, or from the angels. It had already been a miracle a witch he knew accepted to snuck him into the human world without anyone knowing, but there was no way he'd get any more help from her without offering his own life in exchange. And contacting Solomon was absolutely out of the question, for his own obvious reasons that he still was suspicious of the guy.

For the longest time in a while, Mammon felt alone. More alone than he had ever been before. He had promised himself to go on this search on his own, stupidly thinking that it'd be over by the end of the day, and look where that got him. Lost in the human world, on the verge of catching some nasty human virus from all this rain that had poured on him, and without anyone by his side.

The grip on his phone tightened, the hand holding it shaking slightly as the anger was starting to consume the demon. Even Mammon's patience had its limits, and he was starting to reach it.

"Dammit, where the hell are ya-"

A pathetic yelp escaped his mouth as he looked in fear at his phone, which had buzzed for a very short second in his palm. Wait, was it a notification? But from who? He had taken all the necessary precautions before leaving, so who was still able to reach his number?

His mind ran through all possibilities as he quickly checked his screen, the name of the sender making him open his eyes wide.

Leviathan: Mammon!!

Leviathan: Where are you???

Leviathan: You promised me you'd play this new game with me after coming home from RAD, don't tell me you forgot?? It's been HOURS.

Leviathan: Also the others say they can't reach your DDD and Lucifer is seriously pissed!

Leviathan: And I know you didn't break your DDD, that wouldn't explain why I can send texts now and the others still can't. Even though mine didn't work before.

Leviathan: But do you know how much time and effort it took me to find a way to bypass a blocked number?? Well guess what, the same amount of hours since you broke your promise!

Leviathan: You're reading this, right? Then send something! Anything!

Mammon backed even more into the porch of the shop, his eyes stuck to the screen of his phone. All of the blood rushing to his head suddenly made him forget he was cold in the first place. Of course Levi would be the first to find a way to contact him.

The demon's chest rose as he breathed in heavily, his hands slowly wrapping around the phone. It took him a hot minute to get ahold of his trembling fingers so as to not make any typos, his mind debating whether responding was a good idea or not, even as he hit the send button.

Mammon: Sorry Levi, gonna have to postpone the gaming session.

Mammon: I got business elsewhere and I'm not sure when I'll come back home, if ever.

Leviathan: Ew stop sounding so gloomy, you're almost starting to sound like me and tbh it would be kinda creepy.

Leviathan: That still doesn't tell me where you are! I know it's like a common thing for you to get into shady stuff on a regular basis but even Lucifer seems concerned, and weirdly enough he's not even trying to hide it???

Leviathan: He's been pacing back and forth in the common room for 20 minutes and won't let go of his phone it's starting to creep me out.

Leviathan: Hey huh, if you really were in big trouble you'd let us know, right? Like, even by typing a secret message to let us know that you got kidnapped or whatever?

Leviathan: Nevermind, I really don't see why you'd even get kidnapped, so it HAS to be that you chose to disappear by yourself.

Leviathan: But anyway! It's been 2 months now since everyone's been acting weird and I've seen and heard you enough to CLEARLY see that you're getting worse but finding trouble with witches or whatever won't help you feel better. And yes I know you've been faking being fine the entire time!! Don't think you can fool me!!

Leviathan: Believe me and the hundreds of figurines I bought!! I thought they'd help and it's somehow doing nothing, I feel like the worst fraud of an otaku EVER!!! How can I call myself an otaku when I can't even find joy anymore in the things that make an otaku what he is??

Leviathan: It's like I'm losing my identity! Wait no screw that, it's not just me, we've all been losing it!!

The three dots of a message being typed disappeared and reappeared, and Mammon couldn't do anything but watch the messages of his brother pop up one after another on his screen. A sense of guilt surfaced inside of him, and it only made him frown. It's not as if he hadn't thought about asking Levi for help, before getting himself into this mess... but for both of their sakes, he had decided that it had to be him coming here, and only him.

But suddenly, just as he expected his brother to send another message, the three dots disappeared, and didn't come back right away. Mammon's focus on his phone increased at the unexplained absence of new texts from Levi, and he waited, expecting him to continue the chain of messages he had started. But nothing followed.

It wasn't in Levi's habits to suddenly stop texting in the middle of a flood of texts. The demon gripped his phone tighter, worry beginning to grow within his mind. Was it because they were in different worlds that their phones couldn't reach properly? Or worse- had Lucifer found him out?

His heart almost skipped a beat as the three dots reappeared under his eyes, before letting another message pop up.

Leviathan: wait

Leviathan: waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait

Leviathan: OMG NO WAY

Leviathan: MAMMON TELL ME YOU'RE KIDDING

Mammon: I literally haven't said anything?

Leviathan: YOU PERFECTLY KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT

Leviathan: DON'T TELL ME YOU'RE IN THE HUMAN WORLD RN??

Shit.

How did he even find out?! Well... he could only assume that it wouldn't take a genius to figure out where Mammon could have gone if not anywhere in the Devildom, but still, why did Levi have to type it out? His plan was supposed to be flawless after all.

Mammon: Sorry bro, I can't say where I am.

Mammon: I know Lucifer's bound to check all of your DDDs sooner or later and that's only gonna help him find me.

Mammon: And like I said, I have something to do, so I can't come back.

Leviathan: Wait! I'll delete all of our messages, and I'll even destroy my DDD if it means you tell me why you're there

Leviathan: Actually no don't even answer, there can only be one reason you took that kind of risk

Leviathan: Is it... because of MC?

Upon reading their name again, Mammon felt his stomach sink. The eyes of the Avatar of Greed closed almost instantly as if to avoid reading it, the damp air whistling through his teeth as he breathed in deeply. Of course Levi would figure that out too. Any of his brothers could have.

The demon leaned his head against the wall behind him, his eyes opening and staring into nothing as he contemplated telling Levi about his plan. It wasn't as if he had any backup plans considering the situation he was in, after all. And Levi had the advantage of being at home, and having access to technology and magic that could improve his search further. But the thought of Lucifer figuring everything out still haunted him, making the hair on his skin stand straight.

And yet... At this point, he had nothing else to lose.

Mammon: Ya gotta promise not to tell anyone about this.

Leviathan: Who do you take me for? I'm not a snitch!

Leviathan: Especially if it's about MC.

Leviathan: But huh... what about Lucifer? You know that if when he finds out you went to the human world, he's going to kill you.

Mammon: Fuck Lucifer.

Mammon: I'm tired of hearin' him say he's "taking care of it". He clearly knows something but won't tell any of us and I'm tired of not getting any news from MC since they left the Devildom 2 months ago.

Mammon: And what's with his excuse about them not havin' their DDD anymore to contact us? I call that a load of bullshit.

Mammon: Something weird happened and Lucifer's too stuck-up to let us know what it is.

Mammon: So I'm done waiting around to see when they'll come back, or IF they'll even come back. So I'm going to get them myself.

Mammon: Problem is, I went to MC's place, and they weren't there. Their neighbor told me that they moved out a while ago with, get this, "a guy with white hair".

Leviathan: ??????? Solomon?????

Mammon: I'd bet my Demonio and all the things I possess that it's him.

Mammon: Not only Lucifer's in on this secret thing about MC, but Solomon too. I've already booked him an appointment with my fists if he did anythin' to them.

Mammon: Hell, even Diavolo and Barbatos seem to be in it too, which sucks even bigger time.

Mammon: So that means it's just us 6 who don't know shit. I wasn't about to play nice and dumb for Lucifer any longer.

Leviathan: Mammon

Leviathan: I never thought I'd ever write something like that to YOU

Leviathan: but

Leviathan: you sound super cool rn!! That just makes me wish I could have gone too!!

Leviathan: Pleasepleaseplease let me help!!! I'm also worried about MC and I miss having them here. The atmosphere at the house has sucked ever since we realized we couldn't text or call them anymore and I huh... kinda miss seeing them around the others too.

For a split second, Mammon considered taking a screenshot of Levi's last message to sell it as "the proof that the Avatar of Envy can control his jealousy!", but now wasn't the time for that. He had Levi's approval for helping him find the whereabouts of MC, and that's all he needed at the moment. He hadn't even noticed his lips turning into a small grin upon reading his brother offering his support.

Mammon: Alright Levi listen.

Mammon: All I'm tryin' right now is to find where MC might be.

Mammon: I don't think they left the place I'm at, but I ain't about to search at every damn house there is here. Would take too much time anyway.

Mammon: So can ya use your shut-in powers and figure somethin' out? Like I don't know, catch their human phone's signal or whatever through hacking?

Leviathan: Lol? I'll let you know it's not because I spend my entire days in my room that I know how to find a human phone!

Leviathan: I know how to hack yeah, but I don't know how to hack human technology! Not that I maybe tried once or twice and it resulted in failure each time.

Leviathan: But huh... I could try?

Leviathan: Let me ask Satan if we could use magic too.

Mammon: Satan? Levi, are you stupid? Last thing we want is to get more people to know about what I'm doing.

Leviathan: Oh huh yeaaaah, about that.

Leviathan: I should have told you sooner, but when I stopped answering earlier it's because Satan caught me texting you.

Leviathan: But he actually knew you had left to the human world! So we don't have to worry! He's on our side... obviously.

Mammon: Then the two of you get on it.

Mammon: And don't catch Lucifer's attention.

Leviathan: Yeah!

Leviathan: I'll let you know when we've found something.

Leviathan: BRB!

And then just like earlier, Levi's texts stopped appearing on his screen. A sigh left Mammon's lips as he closed his eyes, and the demon allowed his body to slide against the wall behind him until he was sitting on the ground. As he stretched out his sore body, the second-born finally realized that after two whole months of not getting to hear MC's voice, seeing their smile, getting to touch them... he had gotten closer to finding them, all thanks to his brothers. He had let Lucifer's intimidation get the best of him throughout all this time, but not anymore. No matter whether his older brother would catch wind of where he was, and what he was doing, Mammon would never stop trying to bring back MC where they belonged. With him, in the Devildom, back with the family they had found and grown to love.

Closing the messaging app with his thumb, the picture of MC he had set as his D.D.D. background seemed to radiate like the sun. How dared them all try to separate his human from their first man? From the one who'd they come to whenever they had a nightmare and couldn't fall asleep? The demon who'd hug them as tight as possible in their bed after a long day at RAD? The one who'd had the chance to fall asleep with them, getting the absolute honor of seeing their face so close to his, and who'd protect their dreams from any bad thoughts and scary nightmares?

The anxiety that Mammon had worn on his face all day slowly disappeared, and a small smile was placed upon it instead as his eyes met MC's in the picture.

"I'm almost there. Ya just gotta be patient a little more."

I'll find ya.

Time went on as Mammon waited for any news of Levi and Satan's research. The rain showed no sign of clearing soon, and the demon was starting to doze off after spending his entire day without taking a single break. He could have almost fallen asleep if it hadn't been for the owner of the bakery opening the door to close his shop and asking him to sit somewhere else. So Mammon moved from one spot to another, and took shelter near another store instead.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting on the stone steps he had sat on, his phone's screen flashed a bright light as a new notification from Levi appeared from the top. Quickly passing his wrist on his tired eyes, Mammon tapped on the new message at the speed of light. The contents made him gasp, and for a second, he had almost forgotten how to breathe, as his now wide-open eyes were glued on the content of the message.

A full-on address, along with a picture of the place.

Mammon instantly stood up at the sight of the picture, the memories of his day resurfacing in a flash. He remembered very clearly seeing this particular building sometime during his search- its height had been making it stand out very easily amongst the other buildings in the city. Nobody couldn't mistake it with anything else.

Mammon: This is it?

Leviathan: Yeah, we placed down a map and confirmed it was there.

Leviathan: Satan actually found a book in his room with a spell that can help find a person's specific item with just some of their DNA.

Leviathan: So we went to MC's room and found some hair that Satan used for the spell, along with his phone so it could narrow down the list of MC's items.

Leviathan: I didn't think Satan's room could look even more of a mess, but he spent 10 minutes shoveling through his collection and now you can't even see the floor or his bed anymore lol

Leviathan: Anyway now that you got what you wanted, go and check if MC is there!

Mammon felt his legs move on their own as he flipped his jacket above his head and stepped under the rain again, a confident grin now brightly adorning his face as he typed on his phone to reply.

Mammon: Thanks Levi. I'll owe ya one.

Leviathan: Find MC and bring them back. Then you can consider us even.

Mammon nodded, a newfound hope filling his entire body and mind. After confirming that Levi had ceased texting him, the demon turned the phone off. He opened his hand to drop it on the wet floor, and let his right foot crash down upon it, the object almost breaking in half. Mammon promptly gathered in his hand the shattered item, now completely unusable, and threw it down a nearby sewer before letting his excitement take the best of him and sprint further in the direction of the building from the picture. At least, now Lucifer wouldn't be able to track him down with it if Levi and Satan got caught.

The more distance he covered, the more Mammon could swear he was about to take on his demon form at any moment. The thoughts of MC began to fill his head even more, as if they were the one pushing him to find them, to get to them as soon as possible. For the first time in 2 months, Mammon felt truly alive.

"Almost there. The Great Mammon's coming for ya, MC!!" he let out in the form of an encouragement to himself, his legs having found their energy again as his form was engulfed further into the city.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Anxiously pacing around the room, their head low and their phone in their hands, MC was growing more and more impatient. They were supposed to receive an update from Solomon about three hours earlier in the form of a phone call, but no matter the amount of messages they'd spent in the hopes of the wizard finally answering them, all they received was a dreadful silence. Grabbing a nearby chair, they let their body fall onto the seat as their fingers typed yet another message. They couldn't really understand how they had come to grow so persistent when it came to getting Solomon to reply to them, but having no other person to talk to ever since they left the Devildom 2 months prior would do that to anyone, they assumed.

'Solomon, sorry, I know I'm sending a lot of texts, but you said you'd visit today and I'm starting to be worried and... honestly a bit lonely. I thought going out today would help, but I just sat in the park for an hour before going back home and not doing much of the day.'

'You were supposed to meet with other wizards today, right? I hope nothing bad happened. But in case you're alright, all I'm asking is just one reply to at least get some sort of human connection. Not that I had a lot of it in the past few months.'

They felt their throat tighten upon writing their last sentence, feeling the frustration spilling out of their own words right back into their face. But who could blame them?

2 months without seeing, hearing, or even texting their friends back in the Devildom. 2 months without receiving a single visit from Luke or Simeon. 2 months spent exclusively with the company of Solomon, who had been acting strange ever since and had made them move out of their home under the excuse that it was to "train them at magic in a more private setting". But more importantly... those had been 2 months without having Mammon around, and MC would lie if they said they hadn't spent several nights crying themself to sleep, wondering how the demon was dealing with their absence.

The memories of their latest departure from the Devildom played in their head like a movie as they placed a hand on their forehead. Everything had seemed alright at the time, with them getting to say their usual goodbyes to the brothers, wishing to see them again once the new year at RAD would start, foolishly thinking that they'd get to spend their time hearing their voices on a daily basis once they were back in the human world. And before they could understand, their DDD had been taken from them, Solomon had been more present in their life than ever before, and for a reason they still couldn't grasp, it was as if the brothers had vanished from their life completely. No news whatsoever. Complete radio silence.

Just thinking back to this period, and how they could have probably caught that something was up as soon as Diavolo asked for their DDD after the brothers had left... it just made them want to puke.

But nothing could make them want to do so as much as the long-awaited reply of Solomon appearing on their screen.

'Hi MC. I'm deeply sorry I couldn't get ahold of you throughout the day. I won't be able to visit you today, since my services are still required here. Besides, it's getting late. I recommend you go have a good night's sleep as soon as possible.'

'If everything goes smoothly, I should be able to come back tomorrow. Then, we'll be able to go walk wherever you want. How does that sound?'

'I need to be going, but I shall wish you a good night. Take care, MC.'

And just as quickly as he had answered, Solomon went silent again. Leaving them in this apartment they had grown to hate, this prison cell he had put them in. A place where no fun could be found for them. MC didn't even bother sending anything else after that.

Their head sunk even lower, until their forehead slowly met with the hard surface of the dinner table. The phone faceplanted onto the wood as MC's hands turned into hard fists, a deep groan shaking the walls of their throat. It was hard not to let the tears escape their eyes, but instead, they opted to punch the table several times as hard as they could, until they felt their anger diminish.

How long was Solomon going to act ignorant towards them? How long was he going to ignore their pleas to get news from the Devildom, anything that would let them know why they couldn't contact the brothers, Diavolo and Barbatos? Even if the lords had been in some sort of trouble... they'd still find time to talk to their human, right? There was no way Mammon, the one they loved, wouldn't try to reach them one way or another... right?

Him who had been so clingy in such an adorable way every time they'd be at the House of Lamentation, he who had revealed to them that there wasn't a single day where his thoughts wouldn't drift to them no matter how hard he tried...

No. No amount of important duties would explain why Mammon of all demons, would ignore them like that.

They missed his antics. His entire being. The warmth he'd bring them each time he'd hold their hand before tucking his face into their neck like a pouting child, desperately trying to sneak one or two kisses in there, in the hopes he'd get to hear that sweet giggle of them. It wasn't for nothing that Lucifer had come to name them the chaotic duo of the House of Lamentation. They were two parts of a whole.

And yet, the world had dared to separate them. And MC was tired, oh so tired of not having their other half near them. The only feeling they had left, was one of pure desperation to see their greedy demon.

"I'm not asking for much... even a single word would do." MC replied to no one as they turned their head to rest their cheek onto the table. They closed their eyes, the anger slowly being replaced by a profound exhaustion. Could they really do nothing but act normal around Solomon, and accept that this was now their new life? No demons, no angels, just... humans around them?

Before they could slap the thought away, a loud banging coming from the entrance door made them straighten in their seat, their head turning towards the hallway in a panic. Their heart pounded inside their chest as the banging seemed to go on forever, until they used the back of their chair to push themself up, their legs shaking.

"S...Solomon?" They asked, way too silently for anyone to hear, and fully knowing that the person behind the door couldn't be the wizard.

As if they were waiting for an answer, MC stood there, their hand grasped onto the chair. The banging was insistent, demanding, angry. At this time of night, there were few reasons they could think why someone would mistreat their door in such a way, and MC wasn't sure they wanted to find the reason for it.

That is, until the person behind the door finally let their voice be heard.

"Oi, MC! Ya can hear me right?! Come on, open the door!"

It didn't take long for MC to let the familiar voice enter their ears, and it took less time for them to nearly stumble over the chair as their legs moved in a hurry to lead them towards the door as quickly as possible. Their hands messily trying to open the locks on the door, they were sure their mind had just played a trick on them, and the person outside was going to leave them completely disappointed, but they didn't care. This voice they could only remember so well despite the time since they had last heard it, was simply inviting them to open the door, to check for themselves whether it was true, or just a nasty joke played by their brain.

But as the last lock was undone, and the door was swung open, MC couldn't do anything but just stand there, their mouth agape.

Mammon kept on drawing breaths, his wet hair stuck to his forehead and drops of rain falling from his clothes onto the floor below, so much so that it had started to create a small puddle underneath him. As if the person who opened the door wasn't the one he expected, the demon took a step back, letting his eyes wander up and down on the human he had in front of him, almost in an attempt to check if it was really them. He too, couldn't stop his mouth from hanging open at the sight.

The two of them just stood there for a few seconds, taken by so many emotions at once that they weren't sure what to do. But right as Mammon took a step forward, his mouth opening some more to let out words that he so desperately had wanted to say for so long now, MC's face contorted into one of pure sadness before they rushed towards him. Mammon greedily welcomed them into his arms as they jumped and wrapped their arms around his shoulders, and their legs around his waist. They buried their face into his neck, the warmth of their tears mixing with the rain on his skin.

His embrace only tightened even more as they mumbled his name amidst broken sobs, the sound ever so close to his ear that even though he had his eyes firmly closed, he might have cried on the spot too. But he had found them. He had them in his arms again. After what had seemed like a million years, finally, they were back where they belonged, and he was back with his human.

Almost as if they were about to be pulled away from him, Mammon placed a hand on the back of their head, wanting to protect their entire being from harm no matter the cost. He still wasn't sure why it had taken so long for him to reunite with them despite the obstacles, but at the present moment, nothing else could matter.

The lord had finally found them, and he wasn't about to let anyone interfer between their happiness once more.

"I ain't letting you go." He whispered through gritted teeth, his head lowering into their shoulder. "Ever again."

[goldentournesol]

Not in That Way

*gif not mine, found on Giphy*

(Spencer Reid x fem!Reader)

The one where Spencer’s TA falls in love with him.

Length: 3.3k

A/N: VAGUE SPOILERS FOR S15 AHEAD! AGE GAP (10 years). Read at your own risk everybody, very angsty. NO PART TWO’S WILL BE WRITTEN. enjoy :)

masterlist

It wasn’t hard, really. It wasn’t hard at all to fall in love with Spencer Reid. In fact, it was the easiest thing she’d ever done. It came so easily that it shook her to the core.

Really, what’s not to love? He is a badass FBI agent with a heart of gold, he can literally recite almost any book to her on demand, and it certainly doesn’t hurt that he looks like he’s been sculpted by a coveted artist.

She didn’t know though, she didn’t know how easy it would be to be completely enamored by someone. She didn’t know what kind of life she’d be stepping into when she’d applied to become his Teaching Assistant. She’d heard from her peers that there was a part-time professor who had been looking for a TA. She signed up without a second thought, desperate for any kind of connections that could possibly help her with her PhD in forensic psychology. When she’d learned that he was a certified genius whose other job was to be a real life superhero, she hoped and prayed he’d pick her application.

She was over the moon when she found out that he did indeed pick her out of all the students who had applied. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. She’d seen his university ID photo on the website and thought he was attractive, but seeing him in person was almost magical. The camera definitely could not quite pick up on the subtle gold flecks in his irises or the silky sheen of his hair. And that smile. She was sure she could drown in it forever.

After being chosen and going through a number of interviews, Y/N learned just how meticulous Dr. Reid was in everything he did. She helped him create the syllabus as well as build his lesson plans. Over the semester, she would go over his grading since he had the tendency to give students the answers instead of making helpful comments on the papers to make them think and reflect. She’d also learned about his particular aversion to technology, which meant they had multiple meet-ups when he was in town just so she can walk him through certain systems, like the university’s portal system as well as the email. She also showed him how to pose his answers as questions instead, explaining that sometimes, he shouldn’t answer their incomplete thoughts because it's an undergrad class. Also, with his unpredictable schedule concerning the FBI, she would often step in and teach his class whenever he was away on a case.

They’d become good friends outside of his office and classroom, probably closer than they should have been. He was just too likeable and she was always eager enough to hear what he had to say, thus a bond between them was born and reinforced each time they saw each other. He was so thoughtful, it shocked her. Once he’d heard her mention that she used to love collecting keychains when she was a child, and made sure to get her a new one from each state he’d visit thanks to his trips around the country. Her previous boyfriends were beyond disappointing in comparison to say the least, and they weren’t even dating. He knew her favorite coffee order by heart and often had it ready with a fresh croissant whenever they met at the university’s coffee shop and if they were meeting at his office, he’d take them to go. 

It was little things like that that made her fall in love with him. And she knew, it’s not like she didn’t, she just chose to hide it with every cell of her being. Crushing on your professor is pretty common amongst university students, but being a TA and being desperately in love with your professor was a whole different kind of story. 

She already admired his intelligence in class immensely, however hearing his stories from his time out in the field made her heart grow three times the size of normal. His stories ranged from being about geographical profiling, to action-packed anecdotes, and even funny moments with the team.

Was she constantly impressed by him? Yes.

Was she constantly worried about him? Also yes.

Which is why she’d practically made him adopt the habit of texting or calling her every time he landed in DC. They’d been chasing this unsub, Lynch, for months on end and he’d informed her that they were finally close to getting him. The last time they talked two days ago, he was feeling confident. But then it was just silence. He hadn’t texted her, he hadn’t called her. She didn’t even know if he was back in DC. Her mind took her places she didn’t want to go. He’d gotten so good with keeping her updated that this silence was turning her blood into ice water.

She’d left 11 missed calls so far. But she didn’t give up, she was determined to hear from him. The next morning she tried again, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut in a silent prayer.

“Hello?” Someone finally picked up, a woman.

“Hello? Who is this? I’m trying to reach Spencer Reid.” Y/N said into the phone, voice clearly on the edge of tears.

“Oh you must be Y/N Y/L/N. You’re Spencer’s TA. I’m Penelope Garcia, I work with Spencer.” She said into the phone evenly, calmly.

“Yes, I am. Did something happen to Spencer? He hasn’t contacted me in two days. Why do you have his phone?” Y/N worried into the phone. She could hear every heartbeat, loud and clear.

“Spencer is in the hospital. There was an explosion yesterday and he hit his head really hard. We found him passed out in his apartment this morning.” Penelope answered. Y/N’s eyes widened and she felt the tears slip from her eyes quickly. The panic began to set in.

“C-could you please text me the address?” Y/N managed to whisper into the phone through her tears.

“Of course, sweetie. He’s going to be okay. His mother is here, I’m assuming you know about Diana?” She asked tenderly.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Y/N said, already rushing to put on shoes and looking for her keys.

The drive to the hospital wasn’t long, but Y/N felt like it took ages to get there anyway. Her breathing was uneven and her eyes were already swollen as if she’d been crying for days. There was a bad, bad feeling reverberating around in her chest. She’d somehow floated through the hospital like she was running on autopilot. 

She’d found the room and met eyes with a blonde woman adorning two identical blue puffs in her hair. She would have thought they were adorable if she wasn’t panicking her heart out. She spotted Spencer laying on the hospital bed with oxygen tubes hanging around his ears and inserted into his nose. The sight made her stomach lurch. Something about the way his usually pink lips were drained of their color made her want to sob until tomorrow came. Beside the bed on the other side sat Diana Reid, a tall woman with short blonde hair. She’d seen her in photos before. Diana merely stared at her with a hint of a smile.

She stepped in the hospital room, swallowing down the bile in her throat, “H-Hi, I’m Y/N.” She waved tentatively into the room, almost unable to keep with the tensity of the two women’s gazes. She wiped at her eyes and stood at the foot of Spencer’s bed, “Is he going to be okay?” She asked, staring at the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest. That way it was reassuring to watch him. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she stood.

“The doctors are hopeful.” Penelope replied, assessing the young woman who just entered. She was much younger than she previously thought she was. Although she had no idea what to expect when it came to Spencer’s academic life, he was always surprising her.

Diana sat still and silent in the hospital chair, a pensive expression draped across her features. Penelope sensed a tension in the room and looked towards Diana, “Hey, Diana, would you like to come with me down to the cafeteria to fetch some jello for Spencer to eat when he wakes up?”

Y/N sent Penelope a sidelong glance filled with gratitude. She tuned out the sounds of Diana telling Penelope the story of the first time Spencer had jello as they exited the small room. She immediately pulled up the chair closest to his bed and grasped his hand tightly. She let out a shaky breath at the contact. Cold, his hand was so, so cold.

“Oh, Spencer, you scared the shit out of me.” She whispered, pressing her lips to the back of his hand quickly, “I could have lost you today...and-and I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if that would have happened. I know you probably can’t hear me, but I still have to say what I’m going to say. I have to. For myself. So here goes,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, “there’s nothing that scares me more than losing you, and that thought alone terrifies me.” She sniffled, wiping away her tears, “What I feel for you terrifies me, Spencer. I didn’t know I was capable of loving someone so deeply until I met you. And...I don’t know what to do with all this love, I want to hand it all to you, let you see yourself the way I see you, but I can’t do that. I can’t.” She held back an incoming sob, whispering, “I can’t ask that of you.” 

She bowed her head and rested it along his forearm, her silent tears soaking through the hospital sheets. The fear of grieving for him outweighed the fear of rejection. She’d never forgive herself if he died without knowing how big of a space he occupied in her heart. She didn’t know if she was brave enough to tell him to his face while he was awake, but this was a start. Solidifying her feelings was a start. And man, were they solid.

A few minutes later, her phone began to ring because of an endless stream of emails. There was a class today, and she’d have to teach it. She went back and forth from her phone to Spencer’s face and released a deep, heavy sigh from the pit of her chest. She stood from her seat and hovered her hand over his cheek before allowing it to rest timidly on his skin.

“I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.” She paused, chewing on her lip, “I love you.” She said softly, fresh tears making their way back to the brim of her eyes. She pulled away from him and exited the room swiftly. 

Spencer’s bleary eyes opened slightly to just barely catch the sight of her disappearing into the hallway from which she came. Seconds later, Penelope and his mother came marching in, seeing his open eyes.

Penelope set down the cups of jello nearby and Diana made her way to her son quickly. He could barely keep his eyes open for long enough. It was a small achievement but they both held onto it dearly. 

Hours later, he blinked his eyes open again as he heard his mother and Penelope conversing about his favorite type of cloud. Diana leaned over her son’s bed and set a comforting hand on his shoulder. He stared at her fondly.

“Am I alive or is this heaven?” He asked, smiling slightly.

“You are very much alive.” Diana smiled broadly at him.

Garcia had since gone back to the office to assist the team in finally closing the Lynch case. Spencer was just waking up from yet another snooze. 

Diana looked at him closely, sometimes he felt she was the profiler in the room, “She told you didn’t she?”

Spencer rubbed at his eyes slightly, “Who are you talking about?” He yawned.

“The pretty girl who was in here earlier.” Y/N’s name had slipped her mind the second she said it. Spencer stared at his mother incredulously, shocked at just how clear her mind was at the moment. Diana took his silence as an affirmative and nodded at him.

“You should tell her.” She said definitively. For a moment, he doubted if he understood just what she meant, but he understood.

“How did you know?” Spencer asked curiously.

“I told you, a mother always knows. And I saw the way she looked at you. She deserves to know, Spencer.” Diana said.

She deserves to know.

The thought tumbled around in his head for days after he was discharged from the hospital. He was on medical leave for the moment but as soon as he could see straight, he took the train to her apartment. He’d been there a few times, they’d had a few casual dinners there while grading papers together or coming up with future lesson plans. His hands were on the verge of trembling as he knocked on her apartment door. The numbers nailed on the door mocked him as he stood waiting for her to open.

She frowned at the sound, she wasn’t expecting anybody. She pushed her laptop to the side and stood to straighten her pajamas, making her way to the door. She ripped it open as soon as she saw who it was.

“Spencer! Oh thank goodness you’re okay! I’ve been worried sick about you.” She threw her arms around his middle tightly, making him stagger a bit from the impact, but he enveloped her in his arms anyway. The contact was very welcome.

“Hey.” He smiled into the hug, his heart spilling with gratitude over being worthy enough of her attention. They separated from the embrace and she stared at him with a look resembling wonder.

“What are you doing here? I thought you still had a few more days off until you had to get back to work. Come in, come in.” She moved aside to let him in. She also moved a plethora of blankets and textbooks off the couch to make space for him to sit.

“I know, I’m sorry for kind of coming over unannounced. I didn’t mean to intrude or anything.” He eyed her matching set of cartoon character pajamas as he took a seat, making a mental note that it was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. She blushed under his gaze but shook her head nonetheless.

“Oh come on, you know you’re always welcome here. Can I get you something to drink? Some water or coffee, maybe?” She asked.

“Water’s fine.” He smiled, leaning back into the couch. She nodded and made her way into the kitchen. Spencer’s shoulders untensed for a moment and he hadn’t realized that he’d been carrying so much of his worries in them around her. She came back with the water and took a seat next to him, angling her body to face him. He muttered a thank you as he sipped from it, unsure how to approach the situation.

“I wanted to thank you. For coming to the hospital to see me. That meant a lot.” He met her eyes and saw a flash of panic dance across her irises. How did he know she was there? Penelope probably told him, right? He couldn’t have heard her.

“Of course, Spencer. It’s the least I could do.” She smiled sweetly. His heart cleaved in his chest as he stared at the sweet girl in front of him. 

What did he ever do to deserve her friendship? 

He fidgeted with the glass in his hands, a silence beginning to drape over them.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, noticing his fidgeting. 

He took a deep breath and set the glass down on the coffee table in front of them. He turned his body to face her and reached for her soft hands. Her breath hitched at the intimate contact, butterflies erupting in the pit of her abdomen.

“You are a remarkable person, Y/N. I’m so lucky to have you in my life. I see the absolute worst that humanity has to offer on a daily basis, but you have made it your mission to make my life easier. And you do, honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” He said with soft eyes and a half-laugh. She smiled back, she could practically feel the rush from his words directly in her brain.

“And it is an honor to be loved by you,” his voice hesitated to say the word, his eyes darkening with regret as he continued. Realization snapped into place for her as he said, “but I can’t give you what you need.”

He had heard her. He knew.

Her blood ran cold as she tore her hands away from his, as if the skin on his hands had the ability to burn her. He frowned as he watched her frantic eyes search his for any semblance of dishonesty. Her throat closed up over all the words that fought to surface. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came up. Instead, tears sprung to the corners of her eyes.

“What?” She whispered, brokenhearted and momentarily in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He tried to console her but she was past the point of consolation. 

“I-I understand.” She nodded painfully, tears cascading down her face before she even got the chance to wipe them away, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s completely unprofessional.” She swallowed an incoming sob as best as she could.

“No, I’m glad you told me, but if I’m being honest, I knew long before it. This isn’t about professionality, I don’t care about that. But I care about you, a lot.” Spencer said softly, staring at the young woman in front of him. She shook her head, utterly devastated and doing her best to shield herself from his gaze. Thoughts escaped her as her heart took a deep-dive to settle in her abdomen.

“And I thought I should let you know how I feel. I love you, Y/N,” he paused, “just not in that way.” The soft voice he used was completely useless against the harshness of the words. 

She tried, she tried her absolute hardest to suppress the incoming sob, but those words just about broke the dam. She rubbed at her eyes, nodding. He tried to set a comforting hand on her shoulder but decided against it. She took a deep breath and stood up from the couch. 

That was enough humiliation for the day.

“No, no, I completely understand.” She said, voice wobbly and eyes ringed with red. He frowned up at her at the sight of her being so upset. 

“Will you be okay?” He asked as he stood up from his seat. She laughed slightly, this man had devastated her, broken her heart with a few simple words and still wondered if she’d be okay. That’s Spencer Reid for you. The question made her heart ache and long for him more. His simplicity and good intentions made her question why the world wasn’t kind enough to let her have him.

“No, I won’t. And I probably won’t be okay for a long time. Because I will keep meeting men and keep comparing them to you so, until I stop doing that, no, I won’t be okay, Spencer.” She answered with a surprisingly stable voice. He frowned and nodded.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, stepping forward to cup her cheek and gently use his thumb to wipe the remainder of her tears. Her glassy eyes bored right into his, her lips wobbling at the contact. She then closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into his palm, soaking in his warmth one last time before he tore himself away from her completely and showed himself out of the apartment without looking back.

That was when she allowed herself to fall apart. He heard her heart wrenching cries from behind the door and hesitated, but decided to walk away anyway with a chest heavy with regret.

She will never be enough for him, she thought.

He will never be enough for her, he thought.

[bestintheparsec]

As Does the Snow

Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You and your neighbor, Frankie, get snowed in together. 

A/N: I wrote this down when the power was out while I was—you guessed it—snowed in. Nothing too deep/angsty in this (for once), just softness. Thank you for reading and I hope you like it!

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: none, some obvious tropes (snowed in, there was only one bed)

*Masterlist pinned to my page

~

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, prompting you to drop the pile of clothes you’re holding to answer it.

“Hey, Santi,” you answer the familiar friendly voice on the other end.

“You lose power yet?” he asks, slight concern in his tone.

“Just about an hour ago,” you reply, peering out the window. The sun’s still out, so you’ll be okay for a few more hours until it sets.

You’d all been expecting the power to go out, of course. The news has been tracking a seemingly out-of-nowhere snow storm that’s been headed your way, starting its impact a few hours earlier. You hadn’t expected to lose power so soon, though—it usually takes a lot more ice or wind to damage the lines. You’ve been preparing as best as you can for the cold nights ahead. With the lack of heat and power, it was bound to be a long night or two.

“You have everything you need, right?” he asks after a short silence. Santi and the other guys, most of them, live closer to the city and away from the countryside that you'd chosen to live in. With the way the roads are, everyone's been warned not to drive if possible. Not that there’s anywhere to go.

“Yeah, I always do—”

“Listen, I was wondering if you could go stay with Frankie during this whole thing,” he chimes in.

Frankie lives across the street from you—you’ve been good friends with him ever since you moved in years ago, even becoming a part of his group of ex-military friends when he introduced you to them, and you'd fit in like you’d always belonged there. It’s perfectly reasonable that Santi would ask you to go stay with your friend to hunker down during a storm. You would all stay with each other if you could, but seeing as that’s impossible and you and Frankie only have each other right now…yes, completely reasonable.

Fuck, who are you kidding?

What seems like a long time ago, you realized you had feelings for Frankie. And, by some luck—or not—you found out they were reciprocated.

But things don’t always work out the way you want them to; hell, it seems like things never do. At the end of the day, you both had wanted to pursue something more with each other, but life got in the way, just as it often does. You both had a lot going on in your lives back then, things you had to deal with and sort out alone. Ultimately—awkward conversations and deep talks and all—you’d both decided it was best if you simply stayed friends, lest things become overcomplicated.

And so you did. Despite this small history, things haven't really been awkward since then. He’s still a good friend to you, one of your best friends, really, and the subject hasn’t been mentioned again ever since.

Only, you haven’t really moved on. You haven’t been much good at leaving the feelings behind you, either. At first you just kept shoving them away, trying to convince yourself that you felt nothing at all whenever you were with him, nothing except friendly love for one of your best friends. But despite your best attempts not to, you found yourself slowly falling more for him. Being close to him for this long has made it even harder for you to move past it.

Not that you've addressed any of this again.

Had you sorted out the things you were dealing with back then? Maybe. But you’d both decided on what was best, years ago, and given that Frankie hasn’t brought it up again since, it’s likely he wants to keep things that way. Time tends to help some people to move on, where it drives the knife in deeper for others. Frankie’s been on plenty of dates since then, even a relationship or two. So you know you were probably just a momentary interlude in his love life, someone he stopped thinking about in that way long before you could ever even think about moving on. You're nothing more than a good friend to him now. And so you've kept your continued feelings for him to yourself, allowing them to thinly layer your friendship like a light dusting of sugar that’s never quite sweet enough to stand on its own.

But the thought of sheltering with him for a few days? You're not sure if you can keep your feelings contained if you're with him for that long and with that much free time to get lost in your thoughts. But given the seriousness of the storm, you were both bound to end up at one or the other's place, anyways.

You must have been silent for a little too long, because Santi speaks again, breaking your thoughts. “You can watch over each other, that sort of thing. Besides, you know how he can be…” he trails off, waiting for you to answer.

“I—yeah, I’ll go over there,” you finally agree, nodding to yourself. “I was going to check up on him eventually, anyways. I’ll go over as soon as I finish up what I’m doing.”

“Sounds good—let us know if you run into any trouble. We’ll find a way over there if we need to.”

You mutter a quick thanks and remind them to stay safe before hanging up, tossing your phone onto the couch with a resigned sigh. Moments later you pick it up again, quickly sending a text to Frankie to ask him if it’s alright for you both to bunker together for the night. Which he quickly agrees to, of course—you’ve spent many evenings over at his place, or his at yours.

Really, you don’t know why your brain’s suddenly trying to make this weird for you. You’ll bring some snacks and blankets, and it’ll be just like any other Friday night you’ve spent with him. Not weird. There’s nothing there (at least on his end) for you to feel awkward about.

You shake your head and finish your emergency preparations, trying to be done with it before it gets dark so you can head over to Frankie’s.

~

Exhaling deeply first, you ring Frankie’s doorbell.

“Coming!” His deep voice calls from inside.

You shove your hands into your pockets then change your mind, moving them to grip anxiously onto the straps of your backpack. Another few moments pass before you hear Frankie trod to the door. He answers it with a soft smile plastered on his face, the same one he uses every time he greets you. Immediately taking the bag you’re carrying off your arm, he beckons you inside and you follow, shrugging off your backpack.

"Did you need help with anything?" You ask, dropping your bag onto the ground and looking around the darkened place. The windows are covered, there's flashlights and candles out on the table, and a couple cases of water are stacked in the kitchen.

He’s layered up in clothing just like you are—a familiar flannel button-up peeking out from under his jacket. His hair is messy like he’s been running around all day, which he probably has been from the looks of it. If you had to describe it, he looks like...home.

Stop it, you mentally chastise yourself.

“Nah, I’m just making some final tweaks,” he remarks, walking over to pull the living room curtains shut. “The house is warm enough for now, but it won’t be long before it starts feeling like the inside of a fridge in here.”

He turns back to face you with a different sort of smile on his lips, a gentle expression you can’t quite make out.

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie’s been in deep for you, too. He knows you'd both agreed not to date, but over time he's come to greatly regret that decision. It was the right one at the time, but he can't help but wish things had gone a little differently. There’s no one he’d rather be around, and any and all dates he’s been on over the years have failed for the same reason—they’re not you. They could never be you.

Chances come and go, and his has gone. In more ways than one you’re a light in his life, someone he couldn’t ever deserve, and somehow he’s lucky enough to have you in his life at all—even if it’s just as friends. If he’s a better person now, a lot of it’s because you’ve been there to pick up the pieces, the same way he does and will always do for you without a second thought.

But something you can’t help him with is the fact that he’s fallen for you, hard, long after you’d both agreed to just be friends. And he keeps on falling.

He knows people change their mind all the time, but he’s been unwilling and unable to bring it up again with you. For all he knows, that agreement had just been your gentle way of telling him “it’s never going to happen.” He doesn't want to risk scaring you off and losing one of the best people in his life.

Frankie comes back to reality, watching you smooth out the front of your shirt.

“Okay, well, I brought some of my blankets in case we need to pile them up…” you say, pointing to the large bag you brought. “And since your stove is electric, it looks like we’ll be eating snacks for dinner.”

“That’s bold of you to assume,” he retorts, walking over to the kitchen. With a silly gesture, he proudly uncovers a large dish full of one of your favorites.

Frankie is certainly no chef, but he can put together a dish or two, even going out of his way to learn how to make the things that you both love. He puts a hand on his hip, amused by the surprised look on your face. “I made it before the power went out. They did teach us some things about preparation in the military, you know,” he teases, dimple on full display.

“And here I was packing junk food and sandwiches, like a loser,” you jest, grinning back at him. Frankie somehow always manages to make your life a little better. He beams and your chest constricts at the sight.

"Oh, we'll definitely need those for later," he reassures you with a grin. "If the guys were here that'd all be gone before the worst of the storm even hits," he adds, making you laugh.

Some of your favorite nights with Frankie are the ones that are completely uneventful, ones where you relax after a long day of work and binge your favorite snacks while watching some crappy movie on the couch. Then again, it's always the little things that make you happy when it comes to him.

~

Once you've had your dinner you both get comfortable next to each other on the couch, chatting about life and nothing in particular, the way you often do—minus the lack of electricity and a mostly dark room that’s barely lit up by a couple of small camping lights Frankie has. No doubt the other guys would make things a lot more chaotically entertaining if they were all here, but you’re happy it’s just the two of you now—even if it does make it harder for you to think straight at the moment.

Frankie says something that makes you chuckle and you look up at him, noting the delicate smile on his lips and the way it almost balances out the tired lines under his eyes.  He meets your eyes, and if he looks like he wants to say something else, it's probably only in your mind because he doesn't.

The wind outside makes itself known, rattling the windows in its wake. You're suddenly grateful you'd agreed to come and stay with Frankie. Although you’re lucky to have a shelter, these kinds of storms are best when you don't have to ride them out alone.

You also become hyper-aware of how intimate the moments you share with Frankie are. At the end of the day, you're glad he's in your life, even if it's not the way the younger version of you wanted. You still have him and he has you, and that's really more than you could ever ask for.

A chill suddenly makes its way through you.

"Are you shivering?" Frankie stops talking mid-thought to ask you.

"What? No, I—" He cuts you off with a chuckle and shakes his head, reaching down into your bag. With a quick movement he pulls a beanie on over your head, purposely tugging it past your eyes as you laugh and playfully smack his hand away.

"Watch yourself, Morales," you attempt to glare at him as you smooth down your hair, but fail to contain your smile when you see that goofy twinkle in his eyes.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he concedes and raises his hands in mock surrender. The grin is still on his face as he moves to fix the beanie on your forehead. Another quiet chuckle escapes his lips until his fingers move away from your forehead, accidentally grazing along your cheek.

It’s not the chill that makes you both fall abruptly silent.

It’s almost as if the wind wiped the grins off your faces as Frankie looks into your eyes with an intense gaze. His hand still hovers along your cheek, neither of you seeming able to move. You’re suddenly grateful that it’s impossible for him to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears right now. Your imagination must be getting the better of you again, because you almost believe that there’s something wistful about the look on his face.

But just like that, he drops his hand and you both avert your eyes.

“It’s, um...getting late,” you break the silence. “We better get settled before it really starts getting cold in here.”

Frankie clears his throat, nodding in agreement and standing to pile some blankets onto the couch.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“Um...you know I don’t have the guest room set up. There’s just the bed in my room. You go get cozy, I’ll take the couch.”

"What? I'm not gonna steal your bed, Fr—"

“And I'm not going to have you uncomfortable in my house,” he brushes you off with a wave of the hand. “It's fine, querida, really. You know I've knocked out on this couch more times than I can count." Your chest warms at the sound of his pet name for you. It's harmless, just something he's always called you. But for some reason it makes your face warm to hear it this time.

“No, I mean...isn’t it better if we share? I think the whole point is to keep our bodies warm. It’s easier to do that if we’re in one room.”

He finally meets your eyes again, holding your gaze as though there's more than one thing on his mind, then runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I...Are you sure? I really don’t have any problem with—”

You smile softly at him, trying to hide any indication of awkwardness in your tone. “Yes, Frankie, it’s fine. Really. Besides, we can stack all our blankets together this way.”

He smiles back. “I have a big, fluffy one we can use, too.”

~

All the remaining heat in the house has definitely dissipated now, leaving behind a frigid chill. It's bearable for the time being, but leaves your skin covered in goosebumps anytime you expose so much as a sliver of skin to the air. The last time you checked, the snow had already made a significant cushion to the ground outside, and was still going strong.

You've been in bed for an hour or two, huddled into a ball underneath several layers of blankets and refusing to move because it only makes you colder to shift the air around.

Frankie's asleep next to you—you assume he's asleep, anyways. Neither of you have said a word in a while, and with the pattering sounds of snow falling outside, you're getting drowsy yourself. Still, you haven't been able to fall asleep, not even when you jam your eyes shut. It's too cold, for one thing, and for another, it's difficult to ignore the fact that he is right next to you. It's a big bed and there's a decent space between you, but still.

You shift positions yet again, trying to wrap yourself tighter in your section of the blankets. You move to readjust one of the blankets that's gotten pushed away, accidentally bumping Frankie's arm in the process. You grimace, hoping you didn't wake him.

"Your hand is like ice," Frankie's quiet voice suddenly fills the room.

"Oh—Sorry. I thought you were asleep," you mutter back, your voice muffled by the blankets.

"No. It's hard enough for me to sleep even when there's not a historic snowstorm going on." He jokes, though you know it goes deeper than that for him.

Not really knowing how to respond, you remain silent. Rolling onto your side facing away from him, you tuck yourself further into the blankets before resolving to pull them up and over your head entirely.

Frankie's soft laugh rumbles next to you. "Seriously, your skin is frozen," he tells you. “You’re like the opposite of a space heater right now,” he chuckles and you can hear the grin on his face.

You push the blanket off your face, feigning a groan. “Freezing weather and a lack of heat lends to poor circulation, Francisco.”

"I know, I just…maybe it would…it might be warmer if we slept closer together." His voice is so soft that you can’t help but think how nice it would be to fall asleep to the sound of it every night.

When you don’t answer right away he quickly adds, “Or not—I wasn’t trying to...I didn’t mean—Sorry.” Frankie shuffles uncomfortably under the covers.

“No, you’re right,” you murmur hesitantly, barely louder than a whisper. “It...would probably help.”

A beat of silence.

Then you hear Frankie gently move his pillow over towards you, scooting himself in until you can feel his warmth against you. He doesn’t move again at first, you only feel his chest rising and falling against your back. But ever so slowly, he wraps an arm over you, the weight of him sturdy and comforting. You can tell he’s tense—hesitant—until you place your own hand on his, holding him closer to you. Feeling you make yourself comfortable must put him at ease, and he relaxes around you. Neither of you say a word, just lay there sharing each other’s warmth.

You’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder on some late nights on the couch before—things two normal, friendly people do, right? But you’ve never let yourself think too much about it. You can hardly help it now, reveling in the way you feel safe in his arms, fitting perfectly along the curve of his body. You are warmer, although some of it may be because of the way your pulse is just a little bit quickened. You wouldn't mind if you had to stay like this forever.

Frankie quietly exhales, his breath warm against the back of your hair. “Better?” he finally speaks, his voice gravelly and hushed, not much louder than the sound of snow hitting the window.

A pause. “Yeah.”

You feel him relax even more, burying his cheek a little more into the space above your shoulders. “Let’s try to sleep, then, querida.”

And just like that, Frankie Morales manages to make you fall a little bit more in love with him.

It’s then that you realize—it’s always been simple with him. Everything is always...easy with him. Nothing’s overcomplicated or messy; it’s just you and Frankie. It’s what drew you to him first, long ago. It wasn’t the outspoken openness that that others had, nor the confident resolve, but the quiet way he cares for you. The way he manages to always make you laugh, even at the times when it’s almost impossible to. The way he makes you feel so whole that you forget there was ever anything missing in the first place. That’s how he found his way, permanently, into your heart.

For Frankie, it’s always been you. You’re a grounding presence to him, someone who’s made him familiar with peace again over the years.

He lies there listening to the sounds of your breathing, sure that you’re finally fast asleep. He feels sleep coming over himself, too. He knows he’ll sleep a little easier tonight with you. He’ll weather anything when it comes to you. That’s how he knows, and convinces himself that once this storm business is over, he’ll tell you. For now, he lets himself follow you into slumber. His last conscious thoughts are of how he wouldn't mind having you in his arms like this every night, and if it weren't for your warmth lulling him to sleep, he might've confessed to you right then and there.

 ~

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[firelxdykatara]

Katara x Aang :3c

are you trying to get me in trouble

-cough-

no but in all honesty, my genuine feelings about kataang boil down to three major points: 1. it's boring, and does not jive thematically with either of their character arcs, to the point of, 2. actively hampering character development on both sides, and 3. katara deserved better.

points expanded under the cut. (please, if you're a kataang shipper and you see this, just keep scrolling. i've tagged it appropriately and put the bulk under a cut and at this point that's literally all i can do lmfao.)

send me a ship and get my (brutally) honest opinion!

1. It's Boring: This is the most subjective point on the list (I mean, in fairness, it's all subjective, but I have evidence from the show and post-canonical materials to support my other points; this one is just preference), but there's just... nothing to kataang. It's cute (when it's not actively aggravating), and... that's about it. It's not even that I dislike friends-to-lovers as a shipping trope (though it's not my overall preference), because there are a lot of friends-to-lovers couples that I do ship (kanej comes to mind, also will/elizabeth from potc, karolsen from supergirl, romione and hinny from hp, among others), but one thing that I think all of those couples have that kataang doesn't is that both sides of the pairing are teens or adults when they get together, with teen/adult dynamics and issues and stories to deal with, rather than one half being a teenager and the other being literally prepubescent.

And don't get me wrong, I have no problem with age gap ships in general. And as far as atla goes, Katara, at 14, has the same age difference from Zuko (16) as Aang has from her, and it's never stopped me--because both Katara and Zuko are well into puberty when they meet and I have no problem picturing them being into one another and growing together as they enter adulthood. Aang, on the other hand, is a child. And he acts like it. Which wouldn't be a problem, if the show weren't expecting me to believe he is a) ready for a romantic relationship, and b) ready for one specifically with Katara, who is not only older and far more mature but is specifically cast as his caretaker in a very maternal role for the entire show's run.

This show asks me to believe that a teenage girl well into adolescence is going to be attracted to and develop romantic feelings for a pre-adolescent child--and it asks me to believe this while showing us otherwise that Katara's type is actually older boys with fabulous hair and angsty pasts in all of her other potential romantic dalliances--and then enter into a relationship with him, all while ignoring the elephant in the room that is the fact that she was basically acting like his mother for the entire series to that point. (Something that is heavily lampshaded earlier in the very same season.) That just stretches the bounds of credulity way too far for me, especially when there's no evidence that Katara herself would get anything out of their romantic relationship.

There's nothing there for me to sink my teeth into. No delicious development, no parallels where they help each other grow, no internal conflicts that they have to work through together, nothing. Certainly no reason for me to actually believe Katara feels (or would grow to feel) anything for him other than the platonic affection of a caretaker. I can easily believe she loves him dearly, as a friend and quasi-little-brother, but I just can't see that developing naturally into romantic love--not the way it's presented in the show.

And even if they did manage to at least make the development of Katara's feelings believable, unless they changed something fundamental about the nature of their relationship, it'd still be boring, so.

2. It Actively Hampers Their Character Development--On Both Sides: I've written before (extensively lol im so sorry) about how kataang is actively detrimental to Katara and to Aang. In short (because ye gods this post is already getting long enough), Katara is narratively harmed by being shoved into a relationship that completely ignores her stated feelings--a relationship that had been presented as a one-sided puppylove crush for the vast majority of the series--and it inhibits her growth as a character in ways that become far more obvious in the comics and lok, where the very same creative forces that lead to her beginning a relationship with Aang in the first place reduce her to 'the Avatar's girl' and very little else, all the way through to the end of LoK (where she is a Healer and the Avatar's wife and, again, very little else).

As for Aang:

As to how this relationship is detrimental to Aang (other than the comics and LoK nonsense)? Just take a look at book 2, when he’s trying to learn Earthbending from Toph. Katara constantly coddles him. Much of the time, she’s afraid to be anything other than gentle and understanding with Aang--partly because of her fear that if she pushes him too far, he’ll run away. (Which he does, several times.) But sometimes, what Aang needs to grow is a sharp kick in the slats, which Toph was more than willing to provide--and which worked. Katara was great for teaching Aang to waterbend, but he needed more than that to grow as a person. And he can’t get that while he’s in a relationship with someone who will apologize for getting upset when he was very explicitly neglecting her.

In addition, it is pointed out by Guru Pathik at the end of Book 2 that one of Aang's chakras is blocked by his attachment to Katara. Aang takes this to mean (incorrectly) that he has to stop loving her in order to become fully realized as an Avatar, but this is actually part of the problem--because the issue isn't that he is in love with Katara, it's that he's possessively attached to her. He believes himself entitled to her love in return, rather than selflessly loving someone regardless of whether or not they return that affection. (This is obvious come the EIP episode, where Aang demands to know why he and Katara aren't in a relationship already--because he kissed her without asking [or even checking to see if she'd be ok with kissing him], which he phrases as mutual even though it very much was not, and he gets angry and violates her boundaries when she says that she is confused and doesn't want to think about it right then.)

It is his attachment to Katara--the need for her to return his love, the belief that she will and it is only a matter of time before he gets what he wants--that he was supposed to let go of, not his feelings for her in general. Unfortunately, while he pays lipservice to doing this (far too late for it to be useful--if he'd stayed with the Guru for five more minutes and unlocked his chakra there, that battle would've gone very differently), he almost immediately backtracks on that development come book 3, and there isn't another single whisper of Aang maybe growing up and moving past his one-sided and possessive crush and realizing that even if Katara doesn't feel the same way, it doesn't mean she loves him less or that their friendship is less important.

What really needed to happen, for Aang to grow as a person and become fully realized as an Avatar, was for him to grow up. To realize that his feelings were not of paramount importance, and that even if he was in love with Katara, he was not entitled to her love in return. He should have been able to move past his need for her to love him back, in order to get past that stumbling block, unlock his chakras, and regain the Avatar State in time to face the Firelord. But he didn't. As a result, they had to find some other way to just give him the Avatar State (a well-placed rock) and the means to defeat Ozai without killing him (the deus ex lionturtle) and his entire character arc just fell apart in the third act rather than reaching a satisfying conclusion.

3. Katara Deserved Better: This really ties into how her romantic relationship with Aang hampered her own development, but I'm still bitter enough about it that it gets its own bullet-point. And the biggest single reason I could never ship kataang--the thing that would've turned me off even if there were substance and a halfway decent storyline for them--is the fact that Aang kisses her without her consent (for the second time) in Ember Island Players, Katara gets angry at him and storms off, and then..... she walks out onto the balcony to make out with him.

With nothing to bridge that gap.

It's bad enough that a show aimed at children had a scene where the child protagonist kissed the object of his affections without her consent when she didn't want him to (made explicit by her angry reaction)--and this is absolutely an issue when the show is aimed at children and it may well be the first experience they've had with consent issues portrayed in media--but this moment is never addressed again. Katara just decides--completely off-screen--that she does love him Really and walks out to make out with him in the epilogue. There's no conversation, no apology for violating her boundaries, no discussion of why that was wrong or any indication that Aang understands what he did and why it upset her. They don't have a single one-on-one interaction between that kiss and the epilogue, and the only other time they are on screen together, Aang yells at her and storms off.

So, even leaving the comics and lok aside, Katara deserved much better from her own romantic plotline. In fact, she deserved to have one, rather than simply being the oblivious object of Aang's affections, given a couple moments where she blushes but otherwise remains completely ignorant of his feelings (she looks shocked and upset when he kisses her prior to the invasion, and then she completely forgets that even happened because she's confused as to what Aang is even talking about during EIP until he brings it up; that's not the behavior of a fourteen-year-old girl who was kissed by someone she was developing romantic feelings for), before the epilogue where it becomes clear that she figured all of that out off-screen and had feelings for him after all.

She's a main character, not a side-character written in solely to give one of the mains a love interest. She deserved a romantic plotline of her own. (She could have had one with someone else, with very few changes made to what was actually on-screen prior to the epilogue, but that's another conversation entirely.) She deserved to have her feelings considered at all important by the person she was going to be paired with in the end, rather than having him just assume she felt the same way and then get mad at her for never giving any indication of it when he'd never asked about her feelings to begin with. She deseserved agency in her own romantic narrative, and she just didn't get that with Aang.

So yeah, at the end of the day, my biggest issue with kataang is that it involved doing Katara dirty, and she's my favorite character and she deserved so much better damnit.

[randomtwistedlife]

Two Ghosts

Pairing: Reiner Braun x Female Reader

Summary: You are on a recon mission in Marley and run into Reiner. Little angsty. 

Note: I just finished the anime and the manga and there are a lot of feelings and hence, this one shot was born. One huge spoiler regarding Reiner. If you know what I’m talking about, you can read this. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, spoiler ahead. POV shifts between reader and Reiner. 

Based on Two Ghosts by Harry Styles

Feedback is appreciated.

We're not who we used to be

We're just two ghosts standing in the place of you and me

Trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat

You pulled the hood of your cape onto your head as you weaved across the sea of people. Glancing at the setting sun, you let out a curse. You were late. His letter, which was tightly clutched in your hands, had instructed you to meet him at the specified address tonight as soon as the sun set. Even though he hadn’t written a lot about himself, most likely afraid that the letter would fall into the wrong hands, you knew it was him from his handwriting and the way he wrote the words.

Jean was here. In Marley.

You had arrived in Marley a little over a month ago on a recon mission. The mission was simple — infiltrate Marley, specifically Liberio, because that’s where the Warrior program was, scout the high ranked officials, and understand the socio-political situation. It was the solitude and the feeling of otherness that was hard to deal with. Everyone on this side of the sea hated you. Well, not you specifically, but your kind. You just wanted to talk freely with someone. Though Eren was here as well, he wasn’t an option. He had been here almost as long as you, but visiting him at the hospital would raise too many eyebrows considering Eren’s secret identity was not supposed to have any family. And so you stayed away. But now Jean was here.

Your face hurt from smiling so much. It was hard to remember the last time you had been this happy. You would tell him all the information you had been able to gather till now and then, you would drink and eat and have fun with your friend. Just one night of fun - you deserved that after everything. You had already thought of all the questions you were going to throw at him. You wanted to know how everyone was doing back home — Armin, Mikasa, Connie, Sasha, Commander Hange, and Captain Levi. Thinking about your home and your friends left you with a sense of longing. Closing your eyes, you brushed aside the melancholic feeling. You will reunite soon. Walking a little faster, you looked up to locate the bar you were supposed to meet Jean at and that is when you bumped into him.

                                                            ~~~

Reiner sighed. He had just dropped an enthusiastic Gabi at her home, and all he wanted to do now was get drunk and fall asleep. Sometimes, being around Gabi was tiring for him. The girl was hell-bent on inheriting his Armoured Titan thinking that it was the biggest honour in the world. How could he tell her otherwise? He himself didn’t know what he believed. He did, however, know that he didn’t want his cousin to go through what he did. But how does he explain all the anger, and the sadness, and the guilt that is buried deep inside of him to a 12-year-old when he himself couldn’t make any sense of his feelings?

If he hadn’t been lost in his thoughts and was watching where he was going, he probably would have avoided the collision altogether. When he finally realised what was happening, it was too late. There she was, her face covered behind her cape and walking straight towards him. The moment she crashes into him, Reiner holds her shoulders to help balance her. As he does so, he notices the piece of paper she was holding fall down on the road.

She apologises, so does he. As she walks past him, he bends down to pick up the piece of paper and calls out to her.

“You dropped something.”

She turns, and the world around him fades away.

                                                            ~~~

You have been on enough battlefields to understand what people mean when they say, “Time moved slowly” but this was the first instance you fully understood what “Time stood still” meant. You don’t know how long you have been standing on the street. Jean’s letter left forgotten in his hands. He cannot have that letter; it could compromise the entire operation. But at this moment, you can’t seem to care. You should snatch the letter and run away, but you don’t. You just stand there staring into his hazel eyes.

Long gone is the young boy that you looked up to. His hair is longer and his sharp cheekbones are now slightly covered under his goatee. You had grown up in the last four years, but so had he. His eyes were wide and staring back into your own. You opened your mouth to say some something - anything - but words wouldn’t come out. You could hear a loud thudding - maybe it was your heart or maybe your head, you weren’t sure. Your mind was blank all because he was standing in front of you.

Reiner Braun. The boy you had fallen in love with. The boy who was responsible for the death of your family and friends. The boy - no, man - who could still make your heart flutter.

You had known that there was a high possibility of running into him, but you still volunteered to be a part of the infiltration. Maybe you wanted to run into him. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Move! Speak! Do something! You screamed internally, but you felt frozen to your spot.

“Y/N,” he spoke, his voice shaky.

Your heart skips.

“Y/N,” he calls out to you.

The sound of his voice accelerated the already rampant pounding of your heart, and it felt like it would burst any second.

He took a step towards you. You took a step back.

“No,” your voice soft but firm.

You couldn’t face him after everything he had done.

                                                              ~~~

The one thing Reiner had wanted more than anything in his life was to see you again. Of course, he never expected that to ever come true. Ever since his return from Paradis, he has spent a countless number of nights thinking about how if he ever met you again, he would tell you everything and you would forgive him. He never expected that to happen either, but isn’t that why they are called dreams? Late at night, he could hope to see you again. In his dreams, he could imagine spending a life with you.

And now here you were. Standing right in front of him.

The young girl he had fallen in love with was now a beautiful woman. Not that you weren’t beautiful before. Back when he was pretending to be a soldier of Paradis, he had seen you covered in blood, sweat and grime several times and you were still the most beautiful human to ever grace the planet in his eyes. Your hair, which looked much shorter than the last time he had seen you, was framing your face. Besides the guarded expression that you wore, your eyes were locked with his own.

“No,” you spoke as you stepped away from him.

His throat went dry. His palms moistened and he could hear the crinkle of the piece of paper he was holding as he clenched his hands. Reiner couldn't be certain that this wasn't a dream. His hands were itching to touch you, to feel the smoothness of your skin, and to confirm that you were indeed standing in front of him.

“I —” he spoke again, but stopped. What could he even say? That he was sorry? A simple ‘I’m sorry’ wasn’t enough. He knew he could never atone for all the violence he had ensued; for all the people that were dead because of him. The apology that was stuck in his throat was too little, too late.

You tilted your head slightly, and Reiner saw how your guarded expression slowly changed into something else. Your eyebrows narrowed and your face flushed a deep shade of red.

“Reiner,” you spat out his name.

Although he was expecting it, the venom in your voice startled him. The air between the two of you had shifted, becoming much more tense. His glance flickered from you to his surroundings. He could feel their watchful gaze on the two of you. Everybody in Liberio knew who he was. The people walking by seemed quite interested in what was happening between the Armoured Titan and the woman he was with. Looking back at you, he realised things could go south quickly. Hastily, he reached for your arm, without giving you a chance to fight him, and dragged you to the nearest alley, away from prying eyes.

“Back off, Braun.”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“And you shouldn’t have been at my home, but things don’t always happen according to plan now, do they?” you retorted.

“I know this doesn’t count for anything, but I’m sorry. If I could go back in time, I would do things differently,” he admitted.

You looked away, breaking off the eye contact, “Well, you can’t.”

The slanting rays of the setting sun shone on your face, making you seem more alluring than ever. He was so screwed. 

                                                             ~~~

His admission caught you off guard. Did he regret doing what he did? Was he genuinely sorry? He did apologise, but how could you trust what he said? You had trusted him once, with your life and your heart, and look what happened.

“Was any of it real?” you asked.

Your eyes were trained on the cat rummaging for scraps in the alley dumpster, but your ears were straining to hear his answer. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, specially if he confirmed he had merely used you for his mission.

“Yes. All of it. All of us,” he replied.

You turned your head and risked a peek in his direction.

“I — The mission was to break the wall, blend in, and bring the Founding Titan to Marley. You were never supposed to be a part of it.”

His eyes were focused on you.

“I tried really hard, you know. I tried not to fall in love with you. Annie and Bertolt realised what was happening as well and tried to keep me away from you, but we all know how that worked out,” he chuckled ruefully. “You were fierce when you protected and stood up for your friends. You were sweet and kind and understanding. You had been through so much —” his eyes cast downward “ — and yet you still could love and be kind.”

He looked back up at you. “By the time I realised what you meant to me, it was too late.”

You screwed your eyes shut. No, this couldn’t be happening. Four years. It had taken you four years to heal your heart and here he was breaking down your walls all over again.

“Stop,” you whispered.

“You deserve the truth, (Y/N)” he spoke softly.

You shook your head and opened your eyes. They burned with unshed tears.

“I never meant to hurt you, and I would spend the rest of my life making things right. I loved you.”

All this time you had been telling yourself that the bond you had shared with Reiner was nothing but a lie. He never cared about you. You were simply a means to an end for him. But the words spilling from his mouth were enough to turn your world upside down. You looked up as you felt the heat from his body. You could feel his breath on your face. Were you two standing this close before?

“I love you,” he whispered.

Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes jumping from his lips to his eyes. Reiner leaned in and you let him. You parted your lips and felt him washing over you like a wave of warmth. Your entire body tingled. The kiss started soft and slow with your arms locked with his. He took a step back when the two of you came back for air.

“I’m sorry, I needed to do that —” he started speaking, but you placed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding your body close. He pulled you in, claiming your mouth once again, this time hungry and intense, until your knees gave in. His hands were on your hips and he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing. He moved the two of you so your back touched the wall. His body was pressing into yours and you inhale his scent. He still smelled like the boy who won you over years ago.

The two of you come back for air and he presses his forehead against yours.

There were a million thoughts running through your head. Reiner couldn’t know why you were in Marley, he couldn’t know about your friends being in Marley either, and oh shit, you were supposed to meet up with Jean. But right now, none of that mattered to you. All that mattered was that Reiner was here, with you, kissing you.

“I love you too, Reiner.”

                                                              ~~~

If an ex who killed your friends and family tries to walk back into your life, please run far, far away.

[crescentsteel]

Keeping a Secret - Part 2

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

[a/n]

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

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

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

AO3 

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

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

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

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

Ugh.

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asks worriedly. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/n!”

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

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

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

You almost flinch upon hearing his name.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Horrible,” he quickly answers without even thinking.

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

“Went to a disgusting party.”

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

“I didn’t ask,” he interrupts.

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

“And?” He asks.

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

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

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

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

“And?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tsukishima follows you to help his babbling, flustered teammate.

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

“L/n and Tsukishima.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what? Have you increase my workload?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Devious woman,’ he snarls in his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nothing,” he grumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of course. Right this way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Part 1 || Part 3 || masterlist

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[ot7always]

My Fair Lady

Word Count: 8.1k

Pairing: Crown Prince!Taehyung x Captain of the Guard!Reader

Genre: Historical/Fantasy AU, fluff, smut, angst

Warnings: Sparring (swordfight/fistfight), I’ve literally never fenced in my life I’m sorry for any errors, pining, mentions of battle scars, angst angst angst, angsty sex, crying during sex (and not in a sexy way), unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, it’s super angsty but I promise it’ll be okay

Rating: 18+

Summary: His brother unable to spar with him that day, Crown Prince Taehyung comes to you in need of a partner. 

A/N: This fic was such a wild ride of a writing experience, and I literally lost chunks of writing because of my laptop crashing multiple times. But this fic is my baby, please let me know what you think!

Huge thanks to @wwilloww​​ for beta reading for me, and also @peekaboongi​​ for crying with me as I wrote.

Tagging @moonmintrails​​ @ppersonna​​ @irissilujm​​ @dee-ehn​​

Masterlist

--

You gaze swept across the palace training grounds, hands clasped firmly behind your back. You watched as your soldiers trained, whether it be alone or with each other, and kept an eye out for any glaring errors – incorrect form, weak footwork, and the like.

As the youngest Captain of the Guard in history, it was your duty to ensure each of your soldiers, men and women alike, were in prime condition. Though the position was not passed through bloodlines, you had taken over from your father following his retirement from duty. He was a very well-respected man, and you were determined not to disappoint him. You would continue to prove time and time again that you deserved the honour of your place.

You kept your eyes forward even as you sensed a tall presence settle beside you, taking on a similar stance to your own.

“My Lady,” a deep voice greeted. Your nose crinkled at the title. While it was true your family was of noble station, you much preferred to be addressed as “Captain.” You sought to distance yourself from your cousins who enjoyed hosting fancy balls and tittering about the latest messenger visiting from overseas.

You gave the man beside you a brief once-over, eyes quickly returning to your soldiers in the field. The Crown Prince was looking particularly fresh today, white cotton shirt laced neatly and tucked into black pants that moulded to him like water. His dark curls appeared freshly washed, small tendrils swaying in the wind, having escaped the small tie at the nape of his neck. He smelled suspiciously of lavender. Perhaps he had been delving into his sister’s perfumes once again.

“Your Highness,” you nodded curtly, ignoring the pang in your chest at his appearance. While you tried to put up a good front, you were not immune to the Prince’s charms.

“You know I don’t like when you call me that,” he smiled bashfully at his feet before turning the entirety of his attention to you. “I am in need of a favour,” he continued, gaze imploring.

“What can I do for you, Your Highness?” you responded, suppressing a smirk when you heard him sigh at your words. Having grown up around him, even sharing lessons and training together before you surpassed his abilities, you would consider the two of you friends – more, even. However, you had an image to keep up, barriers that needed to be kept in place lest anyone question your ability to prioritize the royal family’s safety without distraction.

“I require a sparring partner.”

“Do you forget yourself, Your Highness?” you grinned at the notion. Not many dared to challenge you to a fight, and the last time Taehyung matched you in skill he was perhaps a foot or two shorter.

“I beg of you, Captain. My brother is feeling out of sorts and I am in need of a distraction. I have been meeting with courtiers all morning and I cannot begin to express how tiring-”

“He’s taken ill?” you cut in, eyes wide and tone laced with concern as you finally turned to give the Prince your undivided attention. His younger brother was only 15, and you had developed a soft spot for the boy over the years. The plague which tended to come and go from your Kingdom was no joke. While many recovered, many more slowly but surely lost their lives.

“Don’t worry yourself too much, My Lady. Our doctors have assured us it is simply a minor ailment.” His heart warmed at your obvious affection for his brother, knowing how much you cherished his younger siblings. He wondered whether he himself held a similar place in your heart. “Let’s not concentrate on that which will resolve itself quickly in time. Rather, I am still in dire need of a partner. Please?” he appeased, giving you his best impression of a pout. You tried not to crack a smile at the resemblance to his sister.

Your hesitation did not last long – you found it difficult to deny Taehyung anything, not that he asked much of you very often. “Very well, then. Though, we are not exactly dressed for the occasion, are we?” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. It was true. Having only recently left a meeting with those who would accompany Their Majesties to town the next day, you were dressed in a white blouse, dark leather bodice laced on top. While your leather boots allowed for sufficient footwork, the suppressed movement of your torso was not exactly ideal for a fight.

“We both know that you are more than capable of fighting in such attire. Come,” he said, giving you no time to refuse before you were led to the central combat ring. The ring was often used to host friendly tournaments and was clearly visible from any spot in the field.

“Are you so keen to showcase your defeat to my entire squadron?” you teased, shooting the Prince a grin as you caught the foil he tossed to you. Light, thin, and dull, it ensured you did not cause any serious injury lest you accidentally hit him. Cotton, after all, was not the most ideal material to prevent bruising. As for you? Well, you didn’t plan on getting hit anyway.

You took up your position opposite him, bent slightly at the knee, sword in hand, opposing hand clenched comfortably behind your back. You watched as Taehyung settled into the same posture. You clicked your tongue in disapproval upon seeing his form. Shoulders tense already, you sighed. Well, you would just have to see if he fixed his error later on.

“Ready when you are, Sweet Prince,” you smirked, exhaling a laugh as his face flushed. It was a nickname given to him by the men and women he’d seduced and bedded over the years. Even if he’d invited them into his bed only once and never again, they never stopped singing his praises. A part of you was desperate to know what he did to impress them.

“I don’t have all day, Your Highness,” you called out, smile slowly lighting up your face at his embarrassment. A lie, of course. If he asked you to stand there and wait for hours while you simply stared at each other you would do it. You liked to tell yourself it was because of your royal duty, but in reality you had never been able to say no to him, even in your childhood. There was something so charming yet shy, so mature yet naïve about him, that had you wishing for his happiness at every moment. He was a walking contradiction you wanted nothing more than to solve.

Having collected himself, Taehyung launched himself at you quickly, sword flying its way toward your shoulder – easily parried. You figured the two of you would ease into a proper match. After all, neither of you were properly warmed up, and you refused to listen to the Prince’s complaining of sore muscles if you could avoid it.

You remained light on your feet, focusing solely on defending against his basic lunges rather than attempting to retaliate. That would come in time. It wouldn’t be so enjoyable if you didn’t toy with him just a little, right?

After several minutes of rather simple steps, you figured you were ready to break a sweat. The next time his blade swung at you, you batted it aside and thrust your own at his chest, tip poking into his shirt before he could even blink.

“Come now, Your Highness. Shall we see what my father taught you?” you taunted, backing away to your original position. Your heart warmed when you saw the fire light in his eyes at the challenge, his playful expression temporarily replaced by sheer focus. You couldn’t conclude which was more handsome.

The next time he flew at you, it was with newfound ardour, the clink of metal on metal a familiar symphony to your ears. The Prince was skilled, you would give him that. Not that you were surprised – you recalled a time in his youth when he dedicated himself fully to training in this exact spot.

You gave yourself fully to your reflexes, blade swinging left, right, and circling round as you blocked his attacks. Quickly side-stepping a stab toward your neck, you grinned. Despite your original hesitance, you were enjoying yourself. Seeing the sweat form on Taehyung’s brow from his effort, you were happy to see him dedicate himself to something so completely. His technique focused on agility over power, something well-suited to his long limbs and lean muscle. You were the same – fight smart, not hard, your father used to tell you.

Backing away suddenly, Taehyung pouted slightly as he caught his breath. “I can tell that you are going easy on me, Captain. At least try to hit me, I swear to you that I can handle it.” You chuckled at his words.

“Very well, Your Highness. Though if I may point out, perhaps it would serve you better if you relaxed your muscles more. How can you expect to hit me when your shoulder fails to follow through?” you chided. Taehyung bit his lip at your words.

“My apologies, Captain. I find it difficult when I am near you.” Your brows furrowed, unsure whether you heard correctly. He has trouble relaxing around you? You preferred not to pick apart such a statement.

In answer, you lunged at him, a tide of satisfaction flowing through you when he moved immediately in response. You allowed him to continue on the offensive, though this time you followed up every few parries with a riposte, ensuring you never actually hit him with your blade.

Steel was flying through the air so fast it was a blur, your focus lying solely on the flurry of blades between your bodies. You quickly lost track of time, though based on the slight burn in your calves the activity must have gone on for quite a while.

It became almost like a rhythm – feet dancing, you blocked thrice, circling around for a responding thrust. Little did you know, in your focus you missed Taehyung’s wistful glances as he took in your appearance – gaze sharp, hair around your face flying as it escaped your tight knot at the back.

While you did your best not to make contact, your efforts were not perfect. Because as the Prince stepped left rather than right as you had expected, your blade made full and hard contact with his abdomen, confirmed by the faint oof that accompanied the motion. Broken out of your trance, you stared wide-eyed. “My apologies-”

You let down your guard for only a moment, but it was enough for him to swipe your blade aside, his own resting right between your collarbones. Raising your eyes to meet his own, you found only a grin, no sign of pain. That little-

“KIM TAEHYUNG!!!” you bellowed, ignoring the nearby gasps at your blatant show of disrespect. The eldest soldiers only shook their heads in dismay, having become used to your antics over the years. You whipped the side of his blade with your own, force enough to send it flying out of his grasp. “I was worried about you!” you shouted, stalking your way over to his retreating body, met only by a full-bodied laugh and hands raised to defend himself.

He took hold of your shoulders, keeping you at arms’ length as you glared up at him. The look only sent him into another fit of laughter. “The look on your face was magnificent, Captain,” he snickered, ignoring the betrayal on your face. “I’m perfectly fine, also. You needn’t worry so much-”

“Oh, you will not be fine by the time I’m done with you, Your Highness,” you seethed, picking up his discarded blade only to chuck it at him with just a little more force than necessary. “If you wanted a fight, Kim Taehyung, you’ve found one. I will pray for your recovery.”

Taking up your position for the third time of the afternoon, you scanned his features opposite you. He had no blaring weak spots, though you would be surprised if he did after all his years of training. He was fast, though you would bet that you were faster. Defeating him at his full capabilities would not be extremely easy, but if you gave it perhaps 80% you supposed you could be done within minutes.

“Any last words?” you goaded, grinning at the fleck of worry that crossed his face. “You look afraid, Your Highness.”

“It is perhaps in my best interest to remain a bit afraid, My Lady,” he chuckled lightly, eyes keen as they awaited your first movement. The narrowed your eyes, taking him in, planning your actions. He’s not wrong, you thought. Everyone in this field was just a little bit afraid.

Taehyung jumped when your blade made contact with his own, a high-pitched screech ringing out as he fought you off. You gave him no time to contemplate his own actions before you lunged relentlessly at him, delivering strike after strike without pause. He was forced to remain on the defensive, putting in his full effort to parry and step away in time.

Despite his struggle, you were impressed he was able to keep up with you as well as he was. He’s been training more, you noted. His improvement was clear compared to the last time you fought only several months ago. However, in a game of stamina, you were sure to win.

The top of your bodice dug sharply into your chest as your breaths quickened, but you were no stranger to discomfort. Over time you had learned to put aside such trivial things. Aches and pains were part of your job, and you’d be damned if you didn’t do it well.

Unwilling to let go of your pride, your steps quickened, Taehyung’s blade moving frantically to keep up but inevitably slowing slightly as you did not give him time to breathe. If you hadn’t focused all of your energy into this alone with no distractions, you perhaps would have poked fun at him.

When his sword arm lagged only slightly behind, arms slightly too wide, slightly too open, you struck hard. Batting his blade to the side only centimetres above where he held it in his grasp, you simpered, watching his shocked face as his blade went flying. His eyes darted between you and the blade, metres away, seemingly contemplating whether to give up or to pounce on it.

“What now, Little Prince? If this were a battlefield, would you simply cower in fear?” you coerced, eyes predatory. Perhaps it was sadistic of you, but you relished in the look of dismay in Taehyung’s face. He’d been thoroughly defeated – it was only a matter of how long you would draw it out.

Tossing your own foil to the side, you stretched your limbs before beckoning him over, fists positioned in front of you. It was a petty move and you knew it, for soldiers were much more well-versed in hand-to-hand combat than the Crown Prince, who was known to favour his swords and bows.

Taehyung had no complaints, however. A fight was a fight, after all. As he came after you with one, two, three jabs to your chest, you danced aside as you evaded easily. The difference in speed between his punches and sword thrusts were clear, the former much less practiced than the latter.

You unfortunately had not thought this idea through, because your options for victory without injuring the Prince were limited. While you were aware Taehyung would not mind, it would not be the best image for you to beat the life out of the Kingdom’s Crown Prince in open view of a squadron sworn to protect him.

“Are you so eager for my company that you would draw this out?” he joked, a weak punch toward your face easily shoved out of the way by your forearm. “Or perhaps you find pleasure in cornering me, My Lady?”

“You think so highly of yourself, Your Highness. Is it so disconcerting to find yourself put in your place every so often?”

“Quite the opposite, I think. I’ve never enjoyed myself so much,” he beamed, eyes shining. “I’ve quite missed you, Captain.” You faltered at the admission. While you loved to give him a hard time, you knew he was well aware of your fondness for him. However, you don’t believe you’ve ever said something so forthright to each other, and the statement awakened something in you that you thought you had buried deep.

Noting your slightly frozen state, Taehyung charged at you. However, you would not be fooled twice. The audacity of this man-

Twisting your arm to grab hold of his, you leaped forward. Suddenly taking the force of your full weight, Taehyung had nowhere to go but down, groaning as his back thudded against the canvas floor. Knee digging itself into the Prince’s ribcage below you, you sighted your previously discarded blade nearby. Grabbing hold of it, you held it to his throat.

“Yield,” you whispered, words escaping you much softer than intended. He made no effort to move, only staring up into your face with unspeakable emotion.

“And what if I am happy where I am, My Lady?” he murmured, taking in your appearance. Chest heaving, escaped hair wet with sweat, blouse crinkled – you were perhaps the finest sight he’d ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. Though his words might have been taken for humour, you saw the look on his face. He didn’t even attempt to mask the desire, shameless through and through.

Before you could even think to respond, smatterings of applause broke out across the field at your victorious display, though they could not even begin to understand what was happening between the two of you. Moment broken, you quickly hopped up, helping Taehyung to his feet but avoiding his gaze. You were afraid to admit how much your heart fluttered when you heard his words, afraid of how much it would hurt when you would be forced to walk away and never speak of this moment again.

It was for the best.

“Y/N,” he called out softly, hands reaching for your own, but maintaining a respectful distance. Your eyes flew up to meet his, unused to hearing your own name in the palace nowadays. The look he gave you was honest, sincere. “Do you feel this too?”

You paused. Though he didn’t quite say what this meant, you could guess. In fact, his knowing gaze told you he only wanted you to admit what he already knew. The man had always been perceptive, and you had more memories with him than with your own family. You were certain he was familiar with your every expression. After all, you could write novels about his face – the way his eyes shone in his passion, the way the corners of his lips twitched when he was repressing a scowl.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Pleading ignorance was the best defense. Admitting to your desires was foolish, and would not change your circumstances. You knew this was deeper than physical desires, but that just made it all the more impossible. Princes were destined for arranged marriage – nobody could simply form a relationship with a future King, least of all the soldier who has pledged her life to his parents. No, a proper relationship was not within the realm of possibility. But neither could you lay with the Crown Prince in good conscience – how would the public trust you to put the King and Queen’s safety above all else if you were warming their Prince’s bed?

Every option to act on your desires was fated for failure.

Taehyung’s hands moved from your palms to your wrists, his thumbs pressing into your pulse firmly. “Your heart is racing,” he murmured, eyes staring into your own as though he knew your every secret. “Why do you hide it?”

“You know why,” you stated, voice soft. “Of course I feel it, but it matters not.” The admission coming from your own lips shocked you. You had danced around each other for years, orbiting each other like binary stars, but you’d never admitted your attraction to him.

“It matters to me,” he whispered, thumb stroking at the soft skin of your wrists with care. “Come to my chambers after dinner.”

Your brows shot up at the suggestion. This was not a light request. You were no longer children, no longer laughed in his company until the maids shooed you away, chiding you for making so much noise.

This was real. As much as you grew to accept your desires, you had never even fathomed acting on them. Not when you knew it couldn’t last – not when your reputation, perhaps even your position, were at stake. “Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Please,” he begged, staring into you with an expression you would liken to a puppy begging for scraps. You attempted to turn away, but he only followed. “Please,” he repeated, noting your conflicted expression. It was hard to deny him anything when he was looking at you like that, but even harder to deny yourself when every part of you wanted nothing more than to say yes.

“Very well,” you breathed, sealing your fate. “I shall come when the clock strikes eight, Your Highness.”

--

You couldn’t do it. As much as your heart craved him more than anything, you couldn’t. He was untouchable. If you were any other person, if you were just a court lady, you would jump at the chance. It wasn’t a secret that the Prince has had many partners, and nobody gave it a second thought. But to be with you?

It was improper. Impossible. How could you be trusted to do your duty fully and objectively if you’d laid with the Crown Prince?

After bathing, you made your way to his bedchambers, clad only in a loose blouse and cotton pants, hair flowing freely around your shoulders, still wet. You could not join him in his bed, but he at least deserved a rejection in person rather than your absence.

Knocking lightly on the door, you were startled when it swung open, your arm still raised. He gave you such a sweet smile it was almost painful, still dressed in his earlier attire but hair loose around his face. You stepped into the room, taking in its appearance, having not seen the room in years. It smelled of him, of vanilla and lavender and musk, a scent you would breathe for the rest of your life if it was possible. The room was exactly as you remembered it, mostly barren if not for the set of throwing knives on display – a gift from your father for the Prince’s coming-of-age.

“I’m so glad you came-”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off, turning to face him. “I came to put a stop to this before it’s begun, Your Highness. You're trying to start something that will be too painful to cease.” Your words struck him, and it physically pained you to see his face transform from excitement to distress.

“But I am not imagining what we have, am I? I have longed for you for years. Am I wrong to think you have too?” he pleaded.

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Your Highness. We can’t possibly do this – think about it. Not only that, I cannot have the palace thinking I earned my position through your bed. There are so many reasons we cannot – I want you but I cannot have you!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you couldn’t help it in your grief. Eyes brimming with unshed tears of frustration, it hurt to look at him standing so close, and yet so out of reach.

At your anguish, Taehyung reached for your face, thumbs wiping away the tears you didn’t even notice had fallen. His tenderness only sent another wave of sorrow through you, chest heavy. “I’m sorry. I know it was selfish to call you here. I know this is easier for me than you. Please forget I ever asked.”

“I know it’s wrong, but...”

“But?” he urged gently.

“Is it so foolish that I want it anyway?” you whispered. You looked at him wide-eyed, gaze pained, searching his face as if it held the answers to the universe. For you, perhaps it did.

“Y/N...” he begun, the sweet sound of your name coming from his lips the final nail in your coffin. Denying that you wanted this more than anything would be the greatest lie you’ve ever told. It was brash, and stupid, and irresponsible, but you wanted to feel this at least once. You wanted to indulge in his touch, his affection. You needed to feel his hands on you, his mouth on your skin, and you didn’t know if you would ever be brave enough to accept him again if you didn’t do it now.

“It can only be once. Nobody can know.” You couldn’t risk the noblewomen catching on to your activities. They were unusually observant, and you didn’t doubt their abilities to discern your relationship with even the faintest of hints. Taehyung knew better than anybody that the palace ladies treated gossip as currency, and word traveled especially quickly on matters involving him. He nodded at your words, but the grave look on his face told you he wished things were different.

“I will cherish our time together, My Lady” he breathed, but his conflicted expression spoke volumes. “We don’t have to do this-”

You shook your head, closing the space between you until your chests were pressed together. Stomach in knots and chest tight, you ran your fingers along his broad chest and down to his abdomen before wrapping them loosely around his waist. You would savour every touch, make note of every expression, save away every delightful noise from his lips, and you would pray for it to be enough to satiate you for a lifetime. Because it had to be.

Tilting your head back to meet his eyes, your heart nearly leapt from your throat at the look on his face. The adoration, the warmness – but most of all, the pain. This was torture for both of you, and you knew it. It was selfish and self-destructive, but the two of you always seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in each other.

Without speaking, you reached up to grab hold of his head, yanking it down to smash your lips together without ceremony. He responded with fervor, moving against you, arms tugging until there was not even a millimetre of space between your bodies. You tried not to think about the desperation in your movements, the saltiness of the tears still present on your face. You dragged your hands over the planes of his chest and down to his biceps, nails digging in slightly when he bit at your bottom lip.

Harshly tugging his shirt from his waistband, you traced your nails up his bare skin, relishing in the uneven breath he let out in response. You would dedicate yourself to memorizing every inch of him. Every dip, every curve would be ingrained in your mind for eternity, your hands tracing patterns into his skin like a brush on canvas.

He did the same to you, his large hands finding their way beneath your blouse and chemise, lifting them both above your head to toss them to the floor. You were bare underneath, having planned to leave for your own bedchambers only minutes after arriving. He sucked in a breath at the sight of you on display entirely for him. His careful fingers traced the scars on your abdomen, accumulated through years of training and fighting on the frontlines. While ugly, you were not ashamed – these were proofs to others and to yourself that you would put your Kingdom above all else.

Bending at the knee, he traced his mouth down your jaw, down your throat, kissing you reverently as he continued his path. Passing over your breasts, he moved lower to mouth gently at the scars littering your belly, his gentle presses causing new tears to spring to your eyes. Was this how it felt to be worshipped? To be loved?

Taehyung took in the sorrow painting your features, but did not comment. There was nothing to be said – he understood perfectly. Perhaps if he pressed his face more firmly into the softness of your skin, he would spare you having to see the twin look of despair he was unable to hide.

Sliding a hand into his hair, you softly brushed it away from his face, gently pulling his chin up to look at you. Your heart wrenched at the sight of him, eyes looking at you as though you were a treasure, as though you weren’t the thing causing him so much pain. As though you wouldn’t leave him alone after this.

Tugging lightly at the collar of his shirt, he quickly got the memo, shucking it off in a direction you didn’t see, too focused on what was just revealed to you. If not for the honeyed gold of his skin, you would have been convinced he was carved of marble. You traced the lines of his body, a tiny smile breaking through at the shudder he gave when your nails scratched over his nipples. Though your actions were slow, he did not rush you. He only watched the awe in your gaze, eyes wide as though if you blinked, he would disappear. The childlike wonder in your face warmed his heart, pleased that you would let your guard down here with him.

You blinked out of your stupor at the sensation of a warm hand on your cheek, the sight of Taehyung’s soft grin at your antics lighting a small fire of embarrassment in you. “Bed?” he asked lightly, nuzzling his face into your neck. The hot breaths near your ear sent a shiver down your spine, tugging him ever-so-closer as you nodded in response.

Pulling away from him, you tugged lightly at the drawstrings to your pants, biting your lip when you saw the Prince follow your every movement. Taking his hands into your own, you brought them to your waistband. “Help me,” you breathed, heart racing at the knowledge that you would soon be laid bare to him.

He took a deep breath before releasing the knot at your waist, tugging your pants ever so slowly down your legs. He knelt at your feet, removing the fabric from your ankles until the only cloth left on your body is your underwear. Eyes falling on your face, he thumbed the waistband, looking up at you in question. At your quiet “please,” he removed that too, your folds revealed to him, shiny with your arousal.

Groaning at the sight, Taehyung latched onto your clit before you could even process the movement, the sudden pleasure making you weak in the knees. He sucked at your bud lightly, taking pleasure in the way you sunk your hands into his hair to ground yourself. When you wobbled slightly in your bliss, his left arm rose to hold you steady at the waist.

When his other hand rose to thumb through your folds while his mouth continued its ministrations, you moaned out. Eyes falling down to observe the Prince, the sight brought a small whimper to your lips, your hips grinding down onto him. He looked absolutely sinful, his eyes heavy-lidded as he delved into your heat with such abandon, focused entirely on your pleasure. When he inserted a finger into you, quickly followed by another upon feeling your wetness, you were sure you would have fallen if not for his arm holding you steady.

“What-” you started, but ended up cutting yourself off with a loud moan at the sensation of his fingers scissoring inside you. “What happened to going to bed?” you managed to get out, utterly breathless.

You let out a gasp when he pulled from you abruptly in response, picking you up at the waist and throwing you onto his mattress. You had no time to reprimand him before he was spreading your legs, mouth and fingers returning to you as he joined you on the bed. Any words were stolen from your throat at the stretch of a third finger, your hips bucking up to get closer to the source of your pleasure.

“You taste so good,” he moaned out, panting. You didn’t miss the way he grinded his clothed crotch into the sheets, heat shooting through you at the sight. When his fingers curled inside you, the heat spread throughout your whole body, abdomen tight and walls clenching tightly around his fingers. You were so close to the edge, it would take only one breath before you fell over.

“Give it to me, please,” he pleaded, tongue flicking over your clit as his fingers continued to nudge that spongy spot inside you. Needing no more encouragement, you fell apart, moans forced from your throat, hips grinding against him as he worked you through your orgasm. When a dull ache begun to replace the pleasure, you pulled away from him, pushing him onto his back.

His arousal was clear, his cock straining in his tight pants enough that it must have hurt. Though, his face held no complaint, only dazed wonderment clear on his features, almost as if he still couldn’t believe what was happening. He let out a sharp hiss as your nails traced the outline of his cock, his teeth biting furiously at his bottom lip.

Deciding not to torture him after the ecstasy he brought you, you tugged his pants and underwear down in one go, Taehyung groaning in relief as his cock sprung free. The tip was angry and red, the slit leaking precum. After freeing him of his clothing, you reached out a hand to pump lightly at his cock, noting the way it twitched in your hold. It looked almost painful, the vein running up the underside big and angry.

You began to lower your mouth to him, eager to return the pleasure he gave you, but were halted by a gentle hand on your cheek. “Please,” he begged, “I can’t. I need you,” he expressed all in one breath, eyes pained and needy.

Taking mercy on him, you rose, shifting until you were seated in his lap, mouth seeking his out. He cried out into your mouth at the sensation of your slick folds rocking against him, grinding down onto his cock. Hand reaching down to position him at your entrance, you pulled your face away to watch his as you sunk yourself slowly onto his length. The moan you let out at the stretch was crude, and it didn’t appear that Taehyung was faring any better, his breaths coming in pants, eyes screwed shut.

He’s beautiful like this, you thought, your own eyes wanting to badly to flutter closed, but your need to take in his every expression won out. Your head tipped back in pleasure as you seated yourself fully, moans escaping as you rocked against him, his pelvis pressing into your clit.

Losing yourself in the sensation, you fell forward to bury your face into Taehyung’s neck, his scent only adding to your pleasure. His hips rocked against your own, thrusts shallow, both of you letting out low moans at the movement. The friction against your clit had your abdomen tightening again, his tender hold on your body the best thing you’d ever felt. But as the pleasure reared in on you again, it was at that moment you remembered the totality of your situation.

You would never get this again.

The thought was like ice-water thrown over your head. How could you have forgotten? His cock deep inside you, his hips rising to meet your own, his hand clutching at the small of your back, his moans – it was all temporary.

You shoved your face tightly into his shoulder, hoping your sob would disguise itself as a moan. But at the shaking of your shoulders, Taehyung paused his actions, hand rising to cradle your head. “Y/N?”

“Tae,” you cried out, heart wrenching. It wasn’t lost on him that this was the first time he’s properly heard his name from your lips since your promotion – no teasing, no games. His heart broke at the sound, your sobs guttural, and he wanted nothing more than to take the pain away. The gravity of the situation brought tears to his own eyes, unable to suppress the emotion any longer.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he whispered, your head lifting to meet his glassy eyes. Your eyes were red-rimmed, your lips quivering. This was an agony that only the two of you could ever understand.

“Taehyung, I-” you faltered, choking on a sob. I love you. You couldn’t say it. What good could it bring you now? But your eyes spoke volumes, the emotion clear on your face. He knew how you felt just as much as you knew how he felt.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated, tears finally escaping his eyes as he tugged you closer. There was no way to be more intimate than this, arms cradling each other as you cried, his cock still nestled inside you.

It would have to be enough.

As your bodies shifted minutes later, the friction against you had you shivering, remembering the position you were in. You pulled your head from his neck to gaze at his face, his eyes meeting your own. It hurt, but there was sad acceptance in your eyes, mirrored in his own. You tried to force a small smile onto your face, but you were unsure whether it appeared as a grimace. You instead elected to press a soft kiss to his lips, eyes falling closed as he returned it.

You rocked your hips together slowly, relishing in the light sighs and quiet moans of the other. Your movements were tender, careful, full of love and affection you would never get the chance to verbalize. When you felt your release creeping up on you again, you arched your back, grinding into his pelvis. Wanting to help you along, Taehyung grabbed hold of your hips, holding you steady as he thrusted up into you, every so often holding himself deep, grinding against you. The emotion of it all had your breath caught in your throat, your orgasm washing over you in gentle waves as you writhed against his body.

You could tell he was coming undone, his thrusts erratic, breaths heavy as he pulled away from you to leave open-mouthed kisses on your collarbone. You moaned at the overwhelming sensation of his movements so soon after your orgasm, but you wouldn’t dare rob him of his pleasure. Not now, not like this.

Groaning loudly, you felt his cock twitch inside you as he continued his thrusts, feeling the warmth of his release coating your walls. He shook in your arms, and you couldn’t bring yourself to confirm whether he was overwhelmed with pleasure or sorrow.

Letting out a whine as you pulled yourself off him, you wiped the mess between your  legs on his sheets. His maids would clean for him come sunrise, and you were anxious to escape the room before you lost yourself fully to despair.

You allowed yourself to bask in his presence momentarily, laying alongside him for several minutes before you rose to get dressed. You kept your back to him, unwilling to show weakness despite your vulnerability only moments ago.

“Stay,” he begged, his voice still husky from the passion you’d shared. Your heart sunk at the suggestion. You wanted nothing more than to stay, but every minute you spent here knowing the outcome only shattered you a bit more.

Fully dressed, you made your way to the door. You could still feel where his hands touched you, where his lips pressed against you, where his cock had been inside you. “I’m sorry,” you breathed, misery colouring your tone. You turned to him, taking in his bare appearance for the last time. You stared, hoping to burn the image into your retinas.

“I know,” was his only response. What more was there to say? Your eyes swept over each other, locking this moment away in your hearts forever. Finally, you turned back to the door, turning the knob and stepping out into the hallway without looking back. The sound of the hinge falling into place behind you felt like waking up from a dream, the period at the end of a sentence.

Your tears fell freely and silently as you made your way back to your chambers. Your heart ached a bit more with the increasing distance, every step leaving a piece of you behind.

It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? You supposed whoever could claim such a thing had never loved like this. Because walking away left your heart in a million pieces, the only glue that could piece you back together still staring at his empty sheets, the dip from where your body once laid still warm to the touch.

--

Months went by without speaking of that night. The tonic you’d taken upon returning to your room had worked well, your body having bled weeks later. You had still talked to Taehyung – you had to; your duty required it. But the pain never ceased, only dulled. You told yourself you would move on, that there was no use in dwelling. But the heated glances you caught him directing at you, desire and heartbreak in his eyes, always took you right back to that night.

He hadn’t been with anyone since – not that you were listening. You couldn’t help but to overhear the palace ladies gossiping, spreading word of the Crown Prince denying their advances. You didn’t know what to do with the information.

Having just returned from mapping out Their Majesties route to a neighbouring city, you returned your horse to the stables. While not necessary, you much preferred to prepare yourself for every possibility of attack, taking note of any weaknesses in visibility along the path. Every second counts when you’re under attack, after all.

“Captain!” a voice called out to you urgently. Having just handed off your horse to the stablehand, you turned to meet the man, his hands on his knees as if he had just run a mile before coming here. “I have been looking for you everywhere, Captain. Their Majesties have requested your presence in the throne room.” Unusual, since you had met together only this morning, but you would not keep them waiting.

“Thank you, sir. I will head there now.”

--

You went directly to the throne room, pausing outside to nod to the royal family’s assistant stationed outside. He smiled to you briefly before pushing the door open.

“Captain Y/N to see you, Your Majesties.”

“Let her in, thank you,” a kind, feminine voice rang out.

You stepped inside quickly, taking a knee until the King gestured for you to stand. “I deeply apologize for my appearance, Your Majesties. I had just returned from planning our route for tomorrow and thought it better not to leave you waiting.”

The King smiled at you, the warm-hearted expression reminding you of Taehyung’s. Your chest ached at the thought, but you kept a blank expression. “Hard at work as always, I see. We had something we would like to discuss with you.” At his words, you noticed that not only were the King and Queen present, but Taehyung was stood off to the side as well. Your heartrate increased slightly at the sight of him.

“Your Highness. Forgive my disrespect, I had not seen you there,” you bowed respectfully, ignoring the heat that rushed through you at his appearance. His hair was loose, his outfit form-fitting. He was beautiful. You tried not to think too much on what he looked like beneath the clothes. “What can I do for you, Your Majesties?”

“Captain, my son came to us earlier today with quite the startling proposition,” he began, and your brows furrowed in confusion. When he failed to elaborate, you spoke up.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean, Your Majesty.”

“You see, he came to us in a frenzy and asked, ‘Father, what would you say if I wanted to marry the Captain of the Guard?’” You froze, eyes wide. Marry? You? Taehyung? Your heart pounded violently at the notion.

“Sire, I promise you this was not my idea. I apologize-”

“My dear, do not panic. We are not angry. But we wanted to ask your thoughts.”

“Your Majesties, I couldn’t possibly marry your son.” You made effort not to look at the Prince, lest your composure fail. “I have no lands to offer. No gold, nothing. I cannot offer you any alliance, I cannot bring anything to your family,” you turned to Taehyung, his expression unreadable. “You cannot marry a soldier,” you whispered, heart breaking once again as the possibility was dangled in front of you, lingering just beyond reach.

“Captain, do you know that the people adore you? That they sing your praises when we pass through their villages?” the Queen asked, a bright smile painting her features. Your face grew hot at the mention. “Your soldiers respect you. Your hometown throws festivals in honour of your birthday. Dare I say that you’re more popular than us?” she joked, giggle chiming lightly through the room. Taking in her appearance and mannerisms, it was no question why Taehyung was as handsome and as loved as he was.

“Ma’am, of course not,” you responded, hand raising to awkwardly scratch at your head. You were unsure where she was going with the statement.

“You’ve earned the Kingdom’s trust, Captain. You’re perhaps the most loyal person I’ve ever laid eyes on. Might I also add that you are not just some nobody? Your family has served ours for generations. You are of noble birth,” she stated matter-of-factly. “Do you consider yourself so unworthy?”

You paused at the question. It did not seem to be a trap, and the Queen was certainly not one to be malicious. Glancing around the room, you noted the King and Prince were observing your reaction expectantly. It was not an environment good for your nerves. “A soldier is not fit to be the future Queen,” is the statement you settled for, attempting to maintain a mask of indifference.

“My dear, do you remember what you told me only a few years ago? When I asked you if you were afraid of trying to accomplish what nobody else in history has?” the King’s deep voice rang out. Your gaze snapped up, knowing exactly what he was about to say. Oh no...

“‘Damn history. I will write my own history,’ I think it was.” Chuckles broke out across the room, the Queen tittering, Taehyung snickering. You’d never told Taehyung about that encounter, embarrassment flowing through you every time you thought about it. You focused your gaze on your feet, face burning at the reminder of your words.

“I have since learned to control my words, Sire,” you muttered ashamedly, fingers tangling together.

“Y/N,” the King’s voice called, grabbing your attention once again. “You have guts. Daring. You’re smart, well-trained. And there’s nobody I would trust to guard my life more than you.” You bit your lip at the praise, struggling to hide a proud grin. Being praised by the King was a feat not many experienced. “It would be an honour to call you our daughter.”

You stared, slack-jawed, processing his words. You didn’t notice Taehyung approaching you until his fingers laced with your own, his opposing hand moving to raise your chin. The open affection on his face, the love - it was everything you’d ever dreamed of and nothing you’d ever dared hope for. Your breathing quickened as he sank to his knees in front of you.

“Please,” he beseeched, vulnerability clear on his face. “Spend eternity with me, together. Will you marry me?”

Tears filled your eyes, but for once they were tears of joy, not tears of despair. You dropped to your knees to meet him, arms thrown around his neck. He barely had time to catch you as you threw yourself at him, bodies the closest they’ve been since that night in his bed. Raising your head to lock your eyes on his, you knew the same love you had for him was written all over your face.

“Yes,” you cried, hands raising to cup his jaw. “Yes.”

[i-make-questionable-choices]

And Then There Were Two

Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Blood, Injury, Character Death (alluded to).

Word Count: 1,655

Summary: Regardless of how hard Dean tries to keep everyone safe, some things are still out of his control.

A/N:I have been sitting on this one since fucking January, it was complete, it was edited and for whatever reason my brain was like: don't post it. So here I am finally overcoming that bullshit to tell you that one: I am alive. And two: this is going to be the start of a crap load of angsty oneshots because this is the first square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo card: Amputation. As always, please leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed!

“Y/N!”

Being weightless was strange, your stomach lurched as your body was whipped backwards. It was almost like being on a rollercoaster when the seatbelt wasn’t super snug and you kinda got jostled around a bit.

Except this time wasn’t just a tiny bit scary. This time was terrifying.

You hit the rocks with a sickening crunch, and there was no doubt in your mind that you had broken most of your ribs. You could almost declare yourself lucky -  the angle at which you had hit the wall had saved your head from being crushed like an empty soda can; and you simply tumbled down to the ground - almost.

The rocks in this area were prone to crumbling, and a net had long been installed on the cliff face to keep any of the loose cracks formed by erosion from breaking off completely and served as just an extra second for anything below.

When you had collided with the wall, however, the weight of your body sliding against the rocks had severed the net.

And the boulders came crashing down.

“No!”

Deans second cry of anguish was accompanied by the agonized screech of the burning wendigo; Sam had managed to get close enough with the blow torch in that brief moment of chaos to set the monster alight.

It was as though hell were raining down on you, the dust from rock hitting rock eluding your eyes as you tried to heave yourself up and out of the way, only for a softball sized chunk to hit you in the back and send you sprawling since more.

And then you couldn’t move.

The pain was unbelievable.

A screech ripped through you, loud enough to be heard as the final boulder hit the ground with a deafening crash. Loud enough to make Deans heart freeze in his chest.

Loud enough to make Sam’s drop into his stomach.

Their safety disregarded, the pair rushed towards where they had last seen you, shoving what rocks they could to the side with hysterical strength.

If Sams heart had dropped to his stomach before, he didn’t know where it was when he saw you.

The back of your shirt was tattered, soiled with blood and grime from the rocks where it had scraped across. One particularly large gash where the small chunk of rock had hit you.

As he took in the limpness of your form, he barely noticed Dean come to his side, trying to take in what neither of their minds wanted to accept that they were seeing.

Your arm, from the middle of your forearm and down, was pinned under one of the largest boulders from the collapse.

Already there was blood trickling towards you, small snakes leaving the shelter of the rock to pool against your face.

Dean threw himself against the rock, unable to grasp that even with the two of them, the rock that pinned you was simply too large to be moved.

Sam was too shaken to stop his brother, tentatively, he brushed your hair out of your eyes, relieved to feel the faint fluttering of your breath against his skin, and to see your eyes closed, you were, at the very least, not in pain.

He looked up at his brother.

Dean had collapsed against the boulder, in the faint moonlight, Sam could see tears budding in the corners of his eyes, mimicking those he felt himself.

“Dean-”

He stopped himself, loathing the way his voice cracked, hating the resignation to the inevitable.

“I know.”

Sam wondered if he hated that even more; Dean would always protest when any plan of theirs put one of you in harms way. He would always insist that there could be more options, even if that might drag things out so long as you and Sam were safe.

They both new there were no alternatives here.

Dean crouched beside you, shrugging off his jacket, then his flannel, the former of which he covered you with and the later of which he began to wrap around your arm. Accepting the stick from his brother he looped into the fabric, finishing off the tourniquet.

Neither brother bothered to check the time to ensure it didn’t stay on to long. There was no point.

Hesitantly, Sam retraced his steps to where he had dropped his knife. It had fallen from his hand as he ran towards you. When he had first gotten it he had appreciated the sedation at the end. Not to much to make it stick itself in a monster and not want to pry out, but enough to bite through the bones.

He hated that now, even though he knew he should be grateful, it was their only way of getting you out from that boulder.

Dean had hardly moved when he returned, still crouched over you, but one hand now cradled your cheek while the other rested underneath your head as if to protect you from the hard ground.

Sam could hardly keep his voice from cracking when he addressed his brother.

“You’re gonna have-”

“Don’t.”

Deans voice was so final, so flat, that Sam sagged from the power of but one word.

Without Sam having to finish, Dean moved his hands to steady you, one resting on the back of your shoulder, the other one your mid-back. The spurt of blood at the first saw of the knife was sickening, and Dean had to turn away lest he throw up. His heart seized in his chest as you tensed under him, and he steeled himself to hold you down to keep your thrashing at bay.

Your eyes shot open first, darting about before they fixed on his face, then on Sam’s blade that was sawing through your upper arm. As your body lurched, Dean prepared himself for a scream, only to have you vomit what little snack you had eaten before the hunt, and they pass out once more.

The sound Sams blade made as it sawed through your bone was spine chilling and part of Dean was relieved when it was over, the other part was even more inclined to vomit. 

 Barely seconds later, your body shifted as the knife severed the last of your skin and what was left of you arm slumped towards the ground.

Sam, who had discarded his own flannel alongside Dean, reached it over and wrapped it around and over the stump; he too could feel a sickness rising his stomach, the reality of what he did hitting him like a freight train.

As Dean scooped you up, gently maneuvering you over his shoulder, he met Sams eyes for the first time since the rock slide. Just like himself, Sam had silent tears racing down his cheeks, despair visible in the depths of his eyes. Dean longed to reach out and hug him, but more pressing matters were at hand.

The pace they made as they rushed towards the Impala was astounding. The hike out had taken them almost and hour and a half. It only took them half the time to make it back to the car. The whole time Sam had has his phone out, searching for a signal to call 911, Dean had tuned him out 4 minutes ago when he had started talking to the dispatcher.

They were to meet the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Fortunately the road out to Deadman’s Cliff was quiet and Dean didn’t have to worry about how fast he went as he pushed the Impala to her limits.

Sam, who was riding in the back keeping, albeit pointless, pressure on your arm, and checking that your were, in fact, still alive, had had to brace himself against the roof and seats a few times as Dean burned around corners much faster then they were meant to be taken. Sam would later wonder how they hadn’t crashed in those moments.

Only when they heard the wailing of the ambulance, nearly an hour from where they had began their drive, did Dean ease up on the gas. Fortunately for them, the ambulance was about ten kilometers down road, so they had just enough time to make a safe stop without the car flipping over.

It seemed unreal as the paramedics leapt from the ambulance, the bright lights of the interior felt fake as he watched them unload the gurney for Sam to set you on, they strapped you in, protecting your neck with a cervical collar before pushing you in. He hardly could process time as he watched Sam climb into the ambulance the doors shutting as Sam turned back to look as him and then the ambulance sped away, leaving a broken man standing in the middle of the highway.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, it could have be seconds, or minutes, maybe even hours; but eventually Dean snapped back into reality. He could no longer hear the wail of the ambulance, or see the bright lights even on the vast expanse of plains. He could feel the tear stains on his cheeks though, could feel the aching in his heart, and the terror in his mind. As he made his way to the Impala, he could feel a strange numbness seep through him.

He and Sam had done all they could to help you, but you had still gone almost and hour without basic wound care, resulting in a high chance of infection. The blood loss and the shock wouldn’t help you fight it off; and you had gone two whole hours without any professional help. Even then, the paramedic’s were still limited in what they could do to help you. And with a sinking feeling, Dean realized that your death could be coming far too soon.

It was too much, with so many feelings left unsaid, and so many more coursing through him, Dean Winchester sat behind the wheel, and wept.

-

Supernatural Tags: (open)

Dean/Jensen Tags: (open)

@akshi8278​

Bad Things Happen Bingo Tags: (open)

@badthingshappenbingo​

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I'm ECSTATIC that you guys are open again!! May I get a few long and angsty sterek fics with a happy/fluffy ending? preferably hurt!stiles and protective!derek if you have any. Bonus if there are any Alive Hale Family fics as well! Thank you for everything you guys do!

Sure!

Glory of the Dead by thedarknovak

(10/10 I 41,926 I Mature)

In the wake of the death of head Whiterun guard Jon Stilinski, the newly orphaned Stiles has no where else to go. Sure he could stay with Melissa, but he wants to escape he wants to see Skyrim. So he goes to the only place he could think of. He goes to Jorrvaskr, the same place his best friend Scott had gone to a year prior. He wants to make his father proud, he wants to become an honorable warrior and make it to Sovngarde. Then he thinks why would the Companions ever want a slim half Breton as an prestigious warrior of their ranks.

Or when Stiles joins the Companions

Or when Stiles was given a choice of being given the blood of the wolf, but the choice is made for him when something terrible happens to him. Stiles struggles accepting that he’d now be joining the eternal hunt.

Will Stiles or Derek address the very apparent feelings both of them share for each other? Will Stiles find a way for Derek and him to make it to Sovngarde?

So here begins the Adventure of Stiles Stilinski, hero, werewolf, mate. The dragonborn has a run for his money with Stiles around.

Burning House by witchgrassi

(1/1 I 46,133 I Not Rated)

For as long as he can remember, Stiles Stilinski has dreamt of the house in the woods.

I'll Throw Us Stars, Stars, Stars! by ChrysX

(15/15 I 46,985 I Mature)

In an alternate universe where everyone is some sort of shapeshifter, Derek Hale the 30 year old chief editor of ''Alpha to Ωmega'' magazine has just come out on the winning side of a difficult adventure with his health. He is finally in a really good place in his life. He has a job he's great at, a loving family and the perfect girlfriend by his side. The only thing he wishes for? A child of course! That's where Stiles Stilinski comes in the picture. The 18 year old photography student who somewhere along the story ends up working for Derek... and also is somehow pregnant with his child. But neither of them knows that!

Not With a Bang, But a Shiver by captaintinymite (augopher)

(11/11 I 51,148 I Explicit)

Eighteen years ago, Earth froze over. You either adapted, or you didn't survive. A group of nomads arrived at the coast, settling at the small shipyard. A lone barge, laden with containers, sat frozen in port.

They fashioned a functional society at the docks. Survivors came from all over, drawn to the Bear Beacon that burned atop a stack of shipping containers. Everyone did their part to keep it safe. The most skilled went out on the sea ice and sought out seals. The bravest ventured up into the forest to the junction of two frozen rivers. Yet... No one ever crossed that line.

There were stories of men who wore the skins of wolves and preyed on the weak. A young shaman, however, knew the real story. Men didn't just wear the skins; they were the wolves. If his people didn't cross into their territory, then they were left alone. Until one day, one pack strayed over the line and attacked first. In a desperate bid to escape, the shaman found he'd stepped over the boundary where he met a young, handsome wolf who had been warned to stay away from humans.

Neither could stay away from the other, and their romance would set in motion events no one could foresee: The thaw.

The Second We Said ‘I Do’ by Jiaxing

(19/19 I 53,056 I Mature)

Stiles is an aspiring digital artist who is struggling to open his own advertising company. He’s also in ‘friends with benefit’ term with the rising pop idol Theo Raeken. One day, his father summons Stiles home and tells him that his deceased mother had one last wish that has not yet fulfilled by them. Her will was: to see Stiles marries one of her best friend, Talia Hale’s, children, once Stiles graduated from uni. Half-heartedly, because it was his mother’s wish and motivates by the fact that his father threatened to freeze his allowance and capital to establish his company, Stiles complies to be married off to the Hale. He’s supposed to wed Cora Hale, Talia’s youngest daughter, a petite brunette. He may get to like his bride, since he’s into brunettes. However, on the wedding day, his ‘other half’ is not petite at all, and definitely not a brunette. Not only he’s a he, the said other half has a face of a serial killer, despite all his hotness. That day, Stiles is married to one Derek fucking Hale.

Are you the one by fullmoontonightt

(6/6 I 57,248 I Mature)

If you’d told Stiles that one day he’d be the star of some stupid soulmate searching reality show, he probably would have laughed in your face.

Yet, nothing was less true today.

When Stiles enters mtv's reality tv show 'Are you the one' he doesn't expect anything serious to come from it. He especially doesn't expect to meet the love of his life.

This is Yours by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 73,347 I Mature)

‘Lance’ had one hand against the back of his neck beneath his hood, and the other gripping the back of Derek’s head, sucking on his tongue almost lewdly while rocking his hips forward into Derek’s. A groan slid its way up his throat, and Derek broke the kiss, biting at the other’s full bottom lip.

“Seriously,” he said loudly, “what’s your name?”

“It’s a secret,” the other informed him, still smiling impishly, then dove in for another kiss.

Derek decided to let it go for now, he had the rest of the night to get a name out of him.

Followed by the past by Amatour424

(!2/12 I 90,806 I Explicit)

“Just to be clear: you want to give a good fuck like, a literal fuck as a birthday present to Derek Hale,” Scott said uncertainly, his voice laced with confusion.

The pack nodded to his statement, one by one.

“He'll be 30, and we want him to spend this special night in a very-very pleasurable situation. Like any good pack would do for their leader. He deserves it,” Boyd smirked at the human boy.

******

Stiles left the town after his graduation with his boyfriend. He moved back after some serious shit happened to his father. Now, he's alone, without any friends, with a lot on his shoulders. He finds himself in the middle of a horrible misunderstanding, which will maybe lead him to a life he always dreamed about.

[dinandgone]

The Attack.

Part Four of the ‘Blood and Beskar’ series.

The Mandalorian x Fem!Reader (Eventually) 

Word count: 4.2k

Warnings: Season 1 Spoilers- mostly follows canon, with a few little extra bits sprinkled in, Swearing, Violence (She’s an angsty one), injury/ trauma- blood, unrequited feelings(or are they?), Cara Dune (idk if she should be a warning but in this fic I like to think of her as more of an OC)

A/N~ Oof the reader goes through the works in this chapter. I am so grateful for every like, comment, follow or reblog. I know it’s not much but I started doing this because I was bored and didn’t expect anyone to read it let alone like it. So thank you, I hope you enjoy this chapter xxx Feedback is always welcome :)

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“Bad News. Can’t live here anymore,” Mando addresses the village people 

You turned to look at the Mandalorian. Could he have been any blunter?  When he doesn’t move to soften the blow of the statement the villagers burst out in cries of frustration and confusion. What’s and whys being thrown left right and centre.

“Nice bedside manner,” Cara comments, staring at Mando’s head. 

“Think you can do better?” Mando sasses, gesturing for Cara to take the lead. 

“Can’t do much worse,” she replies, sarcasm lacing her tone.

Smiling, and standing upright Cara walks forward to address the crowd of villagers, whilst, Mando leans against the wall in a huff like a child. Social skills weren’t really his strong suit, but in his own stubborn way, he had tried. You chuckled to yourself, this earned what you could have presumed was a glare from the Beskar helmet to your right, you didn’t respond, just turned back to focus your attention on Cara who was trying to keep the peace. 

“I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear, but there are no other options,” Cara argues 

“But you took the job,” Stoke shouts, rousing the crowd once again. 

“That was before we knew about the AT-ST,” You shot back quickly, gathering the villager’s attention to you. 

“What’s that?” Stoke asked 

“The armoured walker with two enormous guns, that you knew about and didn’t tell us,” Cara replies sternly. 

“Please, Help us!” The crowd erupts once more 

“We hired you!” 

“We have nowhere to go,” Omera states, bringing her daughter closer to her chest. Her statement yet again aimed at the Mandalorian lounging against the wall behind you. You watch as she continues to stare in his direction, the feeling that you had felt yesterday when she had shown you to your hut and completely ignored you bubbled in your chest. Were you jealous? No, she was just asking for help. You had no right for these feelings anyway, he wasn’t yours. You sighed and re-entered the conversation. 

“Sure you do. This is a big planet, I’ve seen a lot smaller ” Cara reasons

“My grandparents seeded these ponds!” Caben argues and the crowd continues to shout. 

You understood their frustrations, their home was being taken from them and you knew what that felt like. But you struggled to find a probable solution. 

“I understand, I really do, but there’s only three of us,” Cara says. You smile at your inclusion, even though the circumstances were poor it was nice to be treated like something more than a babysitter. 

“There’s at least 20 here!” Stoke counters gesturing to the rest of the adults in the group. 

“We need fighters, let’s be realistic,” Cara exclaims 

“We can learn!” Another voice shouts, followed by pleas.

“I’ve seen that thing take out entire companies of soldiers in a matter of minutes!” Cara yells, you could tell her resolve was wearing thin. 

“We’re not leaving,” Omera states, eyes trained on Mando behind you. 

“You cannot fight that thing.” You repeat sternly stepping forward, eyes on her.

“Unless we teach them,” Mando voices from behind you. You turn to look at him in disbelief, joined by Cara glaring at him angrily. She lets out an exasperated sigh and turns back to the crowd. 

“We can discuss a plan in the morning,”

You don’t listen to the rest of the conversation, as you notice how Omera’s focus is on Mando, and how he’s staring in return. You roll your eyes, turning your attention to the child who’s playing in the dirt beside the hut. Picking him up you begin to follow the others who have started walking to the barn to discuss the plan further. 

You sat on the floor with the kid in your lap, stroking his ears and letting him play with your shirt in hopes of getting him to fall asleep. His movements were slow, you could tell he was tired, but his babbling still continued at a normal rate. You were barely listening to the conversation, too focused on the kid snuggling in your lap when you heard your name mentioned. 

“Will, Y/N help us fight?” Omera asks turning her attention to you. 

Before either you or Cara could reply Mando steps in. 

“No,” He replies gruffly

“Wait! Why not? I am more than capable,” you argued, your eyes shooting daggers at the dark visor of his helmet. 

“I said no,” Mando counters roughly, holding your stare. 

You open your mouth to reply, but your answer dies in your throat. Don’t say anything you will regret you thought to yourself. So you continued the staring competition you and the Mandalorian had started, refusing to back down. 

“Please,” Omera sighs, placing her hand on Mando’s arm, looking up at him “We’re going to need all the help we can get,” 

Mando glanced down at the hand on his arm and then back to Omera’s eyes, then back to yours. “You will stay, and take care of the children,” 

Right. You huffed to yourself. Of course, you were the babysitter. Why would you be asked to be anything more? About to argue back, you looked at the kid, asleep in your arms, you’d promised yourself you would protect him no matter what, and you were going to do it. You glanced back to notice Omera’s hand was still on Mando’s arm, you didn’t like it. Not one bit. You stood and made your way to the barn door without looking back. 

“Putting the kid to bed,” You grumbled, leaving the others. 

Cara chuckles as you leave the barn. She’d been observing your actions, and how much your demeanour changed when the Mandalorian was around She’d noticed the way you tensed whenever Omera got close to him, and how that would set you up to be in a foul mood, which would usually end in you bickering with the Mandalorian. But she also noticed the way the Mandalorian would steal glances of you from time to time, like now as you walked away to your hut, he’d brushed Omera’s hand of his arm and the dark visor of his helmet trained to the door you had left not moments ago. She smirked, this was going to be fun to observe. 

You walk back to your hut, the sleeping kid in your arms. Once you’d looked at him, all the anger and frustration you felt melted into the background. You had to protect him no matter what. Even though it was your job, it was something you felt you had to do, you’d break every rule and give your life to protect this kid. That much you were sure of. 

You place the sleeping child in the cot and rock it gently making sure he stays asleep. Once you’re satisfied he was sound asleep you take off your thigh holster, and remove your blaster, placing the knife and the blaster on the pillow, you sit pulling off your shoes. 

Your peace is squashed moments later by the familiar metallic sound outside the hut. The sour feeling you harboured from before returns, making your blood boil. You hear a soft goodnight from what you would assume was Omera, and you let out a scoff just as the Mandalorian enters the hut. He turns to you and you can tell that he’s analysing you the moment your eyes meet the dark visor. 

“Goodnight,” You say bluntly only adding to the tension surrounding the both of you, you turned over in your cot to face the wall.  

The Mandalorian is confused. He doesn’t understand why you were suddenly so off with him, he didn’t want you in front taking out the walker because he needed you to care for the child if something happened. He realised that he just wanted you to be safe. He sighs looking at your frame once more, then lies back into the cot, slowly falling into sleep. 

-----------------------------------------------------

In the morning Cara and Mando explain to the villagers the plan. The two of them would draw out the raiders, whilst the rest of the village would defend the farms, and you would care for the children. 

The village went straight to work preparing for the fight, half of the village worked on building barricades for the edge of the village whilst the other half worked on expanding the krill ponds, in order to get the AT-ST to fall into. 

Each day you helped on both projects dividing your time, between chopping logs and digging trenches. At the end of each day Mando and Cara would train the villagers in close combat with sharpened branches. By the end of the week, the village was prepared. 

The morning after, Mando and Cara stood in front of the group of farmers. You sat with the child on your knee, waiting for the chaos that was about to unravel. 

“Okay, who knows how to shoot?” Mando asks the crowd. 

Unsurprisingly, nobody in the crowd raised their hands, as the continued to look at each other nervously. That was until Omera raised her hand. Mando nodded his head and moved to the crates full of weapons, passing out blasters and a modified pulse rifle to Omera. Of course, she knew how to shoot, and of course, she’d get a more complicated weapon, you rolled your eyes. Shaking your head in the realisation of your petty thoughts.

The rest of the villagers aimed their blasters at the frying pans ahead and the blaster shots hit pretty much everywhere but the targets. You notice Omera hit the frying pan dead in the centre, causing Mando to look down at her, clearly appreciating her skills. Yet again you found jealousy bubbling away in your chest. Maker, this is pathetic you thought to yourself. You clenched your jaw and tore your gaze away from them. Jealousy wasn’t going to protect the kid, you needed to get over yourself and focus on your own plan. You turned away and walked towards your hut keeping the child at your side, placing him in his crib when you entered the hut. 

“If it wasn’t for you kid, I’d be long gone,” you confessed, stroking his soft ears gently as you sat back against the cot looking out of the door. 

-----------------------------------------------------------

As the sun began to set, you knew it was time for the plan to be put into action. Mando and Cara would go and provoke the bandits bringing both them and the AT-ST to the village.

Cara had come to check on you, and make sure you knew the plan and what you had to do. You both walked to the middle of the village where the people were busy getting ready for the fight to come. You and Cara walked towards Mando, close enough to hear Omera talking to him. 

“We’ll be ready for them,” you heard her say as you got closer.

And after that, they just stood there looking at each other. You took a deep shallow breath and looked away at the children playing to your left. Your breath caught Cara’s attention and she stopped walking to look at you. She saw a flash of hurt in your expression before it changed to a blank expression. She looked back to Mando, who was beginning to walk over to where you both stood. 

“I’m going to round up the children,” you mumbled before Mando could reach where you stood. 

As he watches you walk away, Mando looks to Cara, hopefully conveying the question he wanted to ask, she just shrugged, beginning to walk out towards the forest. He follows catching up to her when he reaches the treeline. 

“Care to explain why she couldn’t come with us?” She asks referring to you.

“She needs to look after the kid,” Mando states plainly, walking through the bushes 

“So, it’s got nothing to do with the fact that she’s the furthest away from the danger, when you know she can look after herself,” Cara inquires 

Mando huffs in response. He was just making sure that the kid was safe, and he knew you would keep the kid safe. He trusted you, that’s all.

----------------------------------------

After gathering all the children in one of the huts furthest away from the trenches, you wait, your heart in your throat. The children are huddled together, their faces show expressions of fear and your heart breaks. You know the feeling, it reminded you of the day the empire attacked your planet, and your family were killed, you weren’t much older than the eldest children there. 

Your thoughts are interrupted, by the distant sounds of shouting and the deep thud of what you guessed was the AT-ST. The children become restless, some starting to cry at the noise of blasters and shouts. You move forward to soothe them. 

“It’s going to be okay, I promise nothing is going to happen to you, I won’t let it, but I need you to keep quiet okay,” You say in a hushed tone bringing your finger to your lips to indicate the need to be quiet. 

The low thud of the AT-ST stops but you don’t hear the explosion that was expected, the blaster fire continued piercing through the air. The sounds of foreign shouts were getting louder, nobody was supposed to get this close, they weren’t supposed to get past the barricades. You knew what you had to do. You turn to the children, placing the kid in one of the eldest’s lap. 

“You look after him okay, I need you all to be super quiet for me, I promise I’ll come back,” You assure them, swiftly leaving the hut and guarding the door. 

The outside air was foggy, the red shots of blaster fire blistering through the air in both directions. You notice the AT-ST still had to fall into the trench, it was so close just one more step. 

Your focus is then brought to the shouts of raiders close to the hut. You pull out your blaster and knife preparing for the fight. The first raider that comes into sight you take out with a single shot, along with another to your left. The next raider charges at you, and you swiftly move out of the way slashing your knife at its head, you kick out catching the back of the raiders thigh, causing it to fall to one knee, you raise your blaster and shoot. Two more raiders appear from the fog charging at you, one lunges at you as the other moves forward, you manage to block one advance but not before the other slices your thigh. You cry out in pain, throwing your knife into your opponent’s chest, bringing your knee to the others face, landing a punch to its side. But it senses your weakness, and runs at you straight on, tackling you to the floor, losing your grip on your blaster you fall, the raider placing his hands around your neck choking you. You find it hard to focus, your vision becoming blurry, as the raider strangles you. But in the back of your mind, you remember your promise, to look after the kid no matter what. You regain your focus, your hand searching on the ground for your blaster, grabbing its handle and pulling it to the raider on top of you, pulling the trigger. His grip loosens, and you gasp for your breath, just as a large explosion erupts on the edge of the village. The walker had fallen. The village had won, the sound of cheering erupted through the air. You push the raider’s body off you and crawl your way back into the hut, collapsing against its wall trying to gain your breath back. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” You reassured the children, closing your eyes, focussing on your breathing. 

-----------------------

Mando’s immediate thoughts were you and the kid, he rushed to the hut where the children were. He noticed the bodies of five raiders outside the hut. Shit. They weren’t supposed to get this far. He walks over to the entrance of the hut noticing the trail of blood, he rushes through the door. The children are still huddled together, the child in one of the older one’s lap. Mando looks over to you, you’re propped against the wall, eyes closed, your breathing was rapid but shallow. His eyeline drops to the large gash in your thigh, blood pooling beneath your leg, his heart drops. You look up, your eyes meeting his through his visor. 

“Oh hey Mando,” You chuckled, causing you to wheeze, then wince in pain. 

He moves forward towards you, lifting you up bridal style carrying you towards your shared hut. Shouting to Cara that he needed a med pack, he places you on your cot, he uses his blade to cut the material surrounding your thigh, so he could assess the cut, it was deep, blood still trickling out onto your exposed thigh. 

“Mando, you could at least buy me a drink first,” You chuckle gesturing to the torn fabric. You smiled deliriously from the blood loss. 

“Maybe another time,”he laughs softly, as Cara arrives at the hut with some bacta patches and a syringe. He injects the bacta into your thigh, you hiss in pain but then calm as the cool solution runs through you bloodstream providing quick pain relief. 

You manage to sit yourself up as Manda bandages your thigh, too high on the pain relief to acknowledge how close his hands were to your bare skin. 

“Thanks,” You wheeze, coughing again. This draws Mando’s attention to your face, and then your neck where dark bruises were forming in the shape of fingers. 

He points to your neck, ”What happened? Who did this?” he asks, his heart pounding out of his chest. They weren’t supposed to go anywhere near you, and now you could’ve died. 

“It’s fine the other guy came out worse,” you chuckle, lying back down into the bed, your eyes feeling heavy. 

The last thing Mando hears from you is the small whisper of  “Did what I had to, to keep the kid safe.” you close your eyes, your breaths evening. 

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You wake the sound of children playing outside the hut, your mouth was dry and your head a little fuzzy, as you try and piece together how you’d ended up in your hut. You groaned as you sat upright, a plate of food had been placed at the side of your bed. You smiled and picked it up, eating the contents quickly, as if you hadn’t eaten in weeks. You look to your thigh and see it perfectly bandaged, only the dull ache from the wound. Wow, bacta really does do wonders you thought to yourself. As you turn to assess your surroundings you notice a pile of folded clothes at the end of the bed, it was another one of Mando’s shirts and a pair of trousers. You smiled, taking a deep breath of the shirt as you placed it over your head, it smelt like him, it made you feel safe. You shimmied on the pants and pulled on your shoes and made your way to find the Mandalorian, to thank him. 

The kid was sat surrounded by the village children, playing games and laughing. You smiled at the sight, he was safe. You see Mando talking to Omera, so you sit with the kid and wait for the right time, to thank him. You turn and start playing with the kid. Mando and Omera walk closer to where the children are playing, close enough so you can hear their conversation. 

“He’s happy here,” Omera observes

“I’m leaving the kid here, the life I lead isn’t safe for him,” Mando responds 

Your heart drops Was he leaving you here too? Or was he going to hand you in? Why had you expected any different? He’d found a place for the kid, and here there was no use for you, your job had been fulfilled. You’d go back to being alone, or half-dead in a cell in the middle of nowhere. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, as you turn to stand, you look at Mando just as he turns to see you walk away from the village into the forest. 

You find a quiet clearing near the edge of the woods and sit against the nearest tree. Tears were spilling down your face, and your mind moved as a sickening pace. You close your eyes, attempting to maintain a steady breathing pattern. 

The sound of a twig snapping to the side of you causes you to open your eyes, looking that direction of the sound. Before you can stand a heavy fist meets the side of your face, you jerk to the side trying to keep your balance. You look over to see one of the bounty hunters from Nevarro, the beeping of a tracking fob resonating in your ears- he was here for the kid. 

You raise your hands and call out to him, “Hey, look just take me I’ve got a bounty on me too, its a pretty big one, just leave the kid and the Mandalorian and take me okay,” 

The bounty hunter doesn’t move just stares at you, hand moving to his holster. Okay, so we’ll do this the hard way you thought. Before, the bounty hunter can draw his blaster you move, ducking and extending your leg out kicking the bounty hunter from his feet. You run deeper into the forest, in the opposite direction to the village, if you give him a hard time maybe he’ll leave the kid and just take you. One payment is better than no payment right?

Before you can get any further the bounty hunter tackles you to the ground, you fall hard, the pressure excruciating on the wound on your leg. You cry out, thrashing against the bounty hunter as he cuffs you behind your back, hauling you up to your knees. You try to jerk backwards, in an attempt to knock the hunter off his feet but you’re not strong enough. The butt of the hunter’s rifle connects with your head, and he drags you to the edge of the forest, setting up his rifle. 

“Please just take me, don’t hurt the kid, just take me, you can kill me and still get my bounty,” You plea, your eyes blurring from tears and what you were certain was a concussion. 

The bounty hunter ignores your pleas and adjusts his scope and places a finger on the trigger, aiming at the child. You try to call out to warn them but your voice is broken and only a wheeze escapes. You look over to see the Mandalorian, with his helmet between Omera’s hands, slowly beginning to raise it off his head. You’re overwhelmed with sadness and regret, you’d failed at protecting the child and you’d failed at expressing your feelings. You close your eyes, expelling more tears down your face. 

A single blaster shot rings through the air, and you hear the body drop beside you. 

You look over to see the bounty hunter’s body a smoking pile on the ground. Cara stands above it with a hardened stare, which softens when it moves to you. She helps you up and just as she helps you out of the cuffs Mando appears from the treeline in front of you blaster raised. He looks at you, then Cara and then to the body on the floor. He kicks the body over to reveal the tracking fob, picking it up, he turns to face the village and the tracking fob blinks rapidly. 

“They know you’re here,” Cara states, glancing at you 

“Yes,”

“Then they’ll keep coming,” 

“Yes,” Mando replies, placing the tracking fob on the ground and crushing it beneath your boot. 

He turns to you. “Why did you run off?” He states roughly.

Your eyes widen. He didn’t ask if you were okay, he just cut straight to the direct questions. Anger bubbles in your chest. 

“I overheard you talking to Omera, Mando, about leaving the kid here, and considering I’m such a big inconvenience to you I thought you’d be taking me back to collect your bounty or dropping me off on the nearest planet!” You yelled the tears starting to well in your eyes again.

He doesn’t respond. Unable to deal with his disappointment you walk back to the village, wiping away the tears on your face, and hissing when your thumb grazes against your split lip. 

--------------------------------------

The Mandalorian stands there silent staring at the empty space where you were just stood looking up to see you walking back to the village. He turns back to Cara, hoping she’ll answer some of his questions. 

“She could’ve been killed why did she run away, reckless actions get people killed,” Mando gruffly complains. 

“You really are as stupid as you look,” Cara scoffs, crossing her arms across her chest. 

“What are you talking about?” Mando asks 

“First of all, she could’ve died yesterday, she killed five raiders in order to save the kid, and just now she practically screamed at that hunter to take her instead of you and the kid, she was willing to die so that you could get away!” Cara yells pointing her finger into the Mandalorian’s chest, then walking away to the village

Instantly, regret fills his chest making it hard to breathe. You’d fought to keep him and the child safe and he hadn’t even asked if you were okay, only bombarded you with questions. How could he be so insensitive? You’d been hurt twice now and it was his fault. 

He had to make this right. 

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