#I’m sure they’re are others given it’s him but I’m curious

[legionnaireslover]

New Interview with BC in The Times!

Stephen Armstrong

Sunday May 19 2024, 12.01am BST, The Sunday Times

When did Benedict Cumberbatch go from aspiring actor to a star with the world at his feet? For some it was Sherlock, which started in 2010 and won him an ardent following of “Cumberbitches”. For others it was his Marvel films, including Doctor Strange, which was when the money started to roll in. But for his father, also an actor, it was a play his son did while at Manchester University.

“After Dad saw me in Amadeus at university, he put his arm around me and said, ‘You’re better at this than I ever was. I cannot wait to support your career. I’m so proud of you,’” Cumberbatch tells me. There’s a pause as he gathers himself, touched by the memory. “For a man to say that to his son is absolutely huge.” He grins. “And it’s not necessarily true … But the generosity to go, ‘Your turn now.’”

In previous interviews, for Sherlock and his Sky drama Patrick Melrose, I found Cumberbatch chatty, amusing and curious. Today, wearing a T-shirt, grey hoodie and cream cords, he is in a more sombre mood. He is prone to embarking on long trains of thought that sound as if he’s debating his answer as he delivers it. Perhaps it’s because he’s very tired, he says. When we last met, in 2018, his second son was barely a year old. Now he is a 47-year-old father of three boys, aged eight to four, with his wife, the theatre and opera director Sophie Hunter.

In his new television series, Eric, he plays Vincent, a dad in 1980s New York who loses his son, aged nine, near a dodgy disco with a history of child prostitution. He wasn’t sure about taking the job at first — filming was in Budapest and he worried about time away from his family, but he found the script compelling so flew back and forth.

Lucy Forbes, the director of Eric, says Cumberbatch drew on his own experience of fatherhood for the role. “We were filming a scene where he’s standing outside the school, he’s been drinking, and a single tear falls from his eye,” she says. “Five minutes before that he’d been kicking a football around. He stepped on set and wept. I said, ‘How did you manage that?’ He said, ‘Because I have three boys.’”

I relay this to Cumberbatch and he stirs uneasily. “I think drama can teach you an awful lot about yourself. If they knew where my mind was going in that scene, good luck, because even I don’t know. And I don’t need to play a bad father to realise my shortcomings as a dad.” He gives a brief laugh and shrugs. “I can’t escape myself completely. There’s always going to be elements of me at play.”

This may be why he loved the puppet work he had to do in Eric. His character is a puppeteer who runs a Sesame Street-style show called Good Morning Sunshine and Cumberbatch performs song and dance numbers with the aid of a marionette (he can sing well). “Puppets are like masks, they say the things that we can’t,” he explains. “They’re like jesters in a medieval court able to expose truths, lies, hypocrisies and idiocies. And they can risk things that we can’t.”

Cumberbatch is guarded about his family — “and this is where we come to my privacy”, he says to deflect any questions about his personal life. It’s something he has been careful about since becoming a father, and with good reason. He has been the subject of intense attention since he broke through as Sherlock Holmes — the former chef Jack Bissell was given a three-year restraining order in 2023 after he attacked and vandalised the Cumberbatch home while the family were inside.

Stephen Moffat, the co-creator of Sherlock, says Cumberbatch has always been conflicted about stardom and the attention that comes with it. “Stars need talent, appearance, the right role at the right age but also ambition,” Stephen Moffat, who was a writer on Sherlock, explains over the phone. “Benedict is not ruthless — but he wanted it. He was getting impatient. Everyone was saying he was the coming man in his mid-thirties. At the time we cast him, Martin Freeman was the show’s big name. And [Benedict] became a star in one night. He was on a motorcycle coming over to my house as the first episode went out and by the time he arrived he was a celebrity. Our phones were jumping off the table.”

Cumberbatch’s mid-thirties impatience was understandable. He’s from a family of actors — his father, Timothy Carlton, has a long career on stage and small screen while his mother, Wanda Ventham, converted early roles in Carry On films into regular comedy work in Minder and Only Fools and Horses. They played his parents in the third series of Sherlock.

Since Sherlock, however, his career has outstripped his parents’. He’s played Doctor Strange in six Marvel films, voiced Smaug and the Necromancer in three Hobbit movies, the Grinch in two and Shere Khan in Mowgli: Legend of the Jungle. He was never entirely of that blockbuster world, though, also playing Dominic Cummings in Brexit: The Uncivil War and Henry Sugar in Wes Anderson’s version of Roald Dahl’s story. As the superhero franchise world falters, his Eric performance delivers with the intensity of The Power of the Dog or Patrick Melrose, his 2018 drama about a posh Englishman struggling with addiction after his father abused him.

Eric is an emotional thriller written by the screenwriter and playwright Abi Morgan, whose previous work includes The Split and Suffragette. She was inspired by her time as a teenage nanny in New York and wrote it with just one actor in mind. “I thought [Cumberbatch] has got to be an asshole,” she says. “The surprise for me was that he genuinely wasn’t.” It co-stars Gaby Hoffmann (who played Adam’s sister Caroline in Girls), superb as Vincent’s increasingly estranged wife, and McKinley Belcher III as Detective Ledroit, a gay cop in a homophobic force investigating the boy’s disappearance.

The longer his son is missing, the more Vincent loses his hold on reality. He conjures up an imaginary giant puppet, Eric, to help him to find his son. Cumberbatch provides the voice for the beast and there’s rich, dark comedy in his battles with the plodding fluff monster, who trails him through the city offering dumb plans or mean critiques.

The New York we see is beset by problems, grappling with the Aids epidemic and widespread homelessness, which Cumberbatch got his teeth into.

“Mental health, homelessness, racism, sexism and a host of prejudices.” He ticks them off on his fingers. “We’re always told to arc away from that, or pivot is the term, I think, in PR talk. But drama should always have relevance, however sad.

“It has to speak to the world and have resonance. It doesn’t have to be worthy, but it has to be worthwhile.

“We may not have an Aids pandemic today, but we’ve had Covid, which created fear, it created isolation and created intolerance,” he points out, noting the battles over masks and vaccines. What’s unique to the here and now is the disconnect between us all as people welded to our phones, says Cumberbatch, who has said he subscribes to Buddhist philosophy. He sighs as he speaks about “the electric babysitter we carry around in our hands, which feeds a disconnect through the promise of connection. I mean, that’s a whole other conversation.”

Morgan based the show on her time as a teenage nanny in the city when New York looked just like it did in the movies — and the production captures that era’s look with precision. She wrote her story of “two little boys lost in the city” with just one actor in mind.

“We were pretty far down the line in terms of the scripts, and I knew Benedict had range,” she says. “He can do Doctor Strange, The Imitation Game, The Power of the Dog, Patrick Melrose. But I thought he has got to be an asshole, hasn’t he? The surprise for me is that he genuinely wasn’t. I suddenly understood why those actors get the big bucks they do because they get on stage or camera and there’s an alchemy.”

Cumberbatch has his pick of parts but says, “You gravitate towards things that mean something to you or the zeitgeist. It has to speak to the world and have resonance. It doesn’t have to be worthy, but it has to be worthwhile.”

He adds, “If there is a choice …” but he’s at that rare stage in an actor’s career where he can not only pick the roles he wants, but studios will wait for him. The Doctor Strange director Scott Derrickson recently revealed that Marvel postponed the movie’s release date from the profitable summer to the less bankable autumn to ensure they could cast Cumberbatch as the eponymous lead.

Eric shows Cumberbatch slowly collapsing from arrogant artist to hopeless bum in a grinding, catastrophic arc. He passes through so many states in the six episodes — does Vincent encompass themes from his entire career?

There’s the New York heroin addict of Melrose, homelessness as in Stuart: A Life Backwards (2007), where he plays a writer creating a memoir of a homeless alcoholic, and with the complex and unlikely solving of clues from a map scrawled on a wall, Vincent even resembles Sherlock Holmes.

“I see where you’re going,” he says. “But look, at one point I was the clever outsider scientist with problems communicating. The next, I was the know-it-all arrogant lead. Next, men wrestling with homosexuality, then posh people. Around the Oscar campaign for The Power of the Dog I was giving an interview at a film festival and somebody said, ‘You’ve played over a hundred characters on film alone.’ I was like, ‘Bloody hell!’ So there’s bound to be crossover.”

Many of his roles — including Vincent — are also troubled men with unsupportive parents, but he’s keen to stress his loving upbringing.

He muses for a moment and concludes: “I suppose that’s one of the best things about my career … I love that I make my parents proud.”

Eric is on Netflix from May 30

***********************

The Haters aren't going to like this one little bit. BC as a father and a husband (as well as many more things) is heavily featured in this article. There are DIRECT QUOTES from BC and the director of Eric referencing his sons.

It's a Haters' nightmare!

[sabertoothwalrus]

I’ve seen you post some labru stuff and I’m curious what your thoughts on it are. personally I don’t see it? I can buy Kabru having feelings for Laios, but I think Laios wouldn’t be interested in Kabru, so it makes me wonder why so many people ship them. (Tbh I feel like Kabru has more chemistry with Mithrun anyway)

Sorry if this ask sounds rude, I just genuinely don’t understand the appeal of the ship, but I want to understand and I trust your analysis of characters very much :] maybe there’s something I’m missing

I really like both ships, actually!

For labru, there’s sooooo much I could talk about. The inherent homoeroticism of being narrative foils. The inherent homoeroticism of being the king’s advisor. All of chapter 76. The fact that Kabru has mask upon mask upon mask, and Laios is the first person that made his facade absolutely crumble.

Kabru struggles with being genuine!!! Everything he says and does is so perfectly calculated, even when he sort of means it. But since Laios doesn’t get social cues, Kabru gets thrown for a loop.

I get so frustrated when people act like Kabru still hates Laios by the end of the manga!!!!! He killed those corpse retrievers for being corrupt, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to kill Laios. He has such a strong sense of justice, and knew that killing Laios would be a mistake. Because, after meeting him, he could tell he wasn’t actually evil. He’s strange, sure, but not evil.

Kabru DEFINITELY wants to be friends with Laios!! He was not lying about this!!!

But this last comic shows how much Laios wants to be friends with Kabru, too. He’s so nervous after calling Kabru his friend 😭 he doesn’t want to be presumptuous and fuck it up again.

Laios does show an interest in Kabru, at least when Laios thinks he’s interested in eating monsters too. Like,, what was up with THIS

Laios’s gaze is LINGERING. Plus, (this is before that bit at Thistle’s house when he forgets his name) he brings up Kabru when they first form their plan to eat Falin.

And maybe this is just because of my own personal experiences, but Laios reminds me a lot of my own girlfriend. I think they have a similar flavor of gay/aspec & autism combo where, had I not asked her out first, she probably never would have considered being interested in me. But she was very down when I did.

The tricky part about labru is more the political aspect. Regardless of whether you see Laios as aroace or not, he’s in a situation where he will probably get married. He had a fiancée before he was age 13, likely betrothed since he was a baby. He’s already comfortable with the idea of getting married because He’s Supposed To.

However, Laios is king, and could make gay marriage legal if he wanted to (He would probably do this for his sister and Marcille before considering it for himself ). But at the same time, I think Kabru would object to Laios making whatever policies he wants without considering the repercussions of how other kingdoms might react, especially when they’re just getting Melini off the ground and need lots of support from other countries. Laios and Kabru getting gay married anyway and dealing with the aftermath could make for a really compelling story.

I do think Kabru would be a good ruler. He’s already fit for it. He speaks a dozen languages, he knows people and their motivations, and likes politics. The manga already joked about Chilchuck’s daughters trying to marry a king, so it seems like noble blood isn’t too important, but Kabru’s foster family IS nobility. When it comes to heirs, I do like trans Kabru headcanons, but at the same time, I think it’d be cute if they adopt anyway. Kabru seems like he’d have strong feelings about adoption given,,, yknow.

The alternative version of labru to this is Laios gets straight married out of obligation, and Kabru is his mistress hdhdhshsj. I don’t know if I could see Laios doing that? or if Kabru would risk the scandal of being outed as Royal Advisor and Regent trying to seduce the king. It could go SO downhill. but maybe that would be fun.

NOW FOR KABUMISU.

I knew people shipped them, and I could see the basis for it while reading, but I wasn’t really sold on it until the very end. There’s something about “I had no desires left. I decided to create new desires, and one of them is you” that’s really charming.

There’s also something funny about “the demon ate my heterosexuality so I’m gay now”

I think it’s interesting that Kabru hates elves. He was raised by them, and he hates them. He hates feeling patronized by them. He made absolutely sure that elves wouldn’t take control over Melini, not just for his sake, but for Rin’s.

But Mithrun’s interactions with Kabru are founded on more mutual respect. Though, that’s not to say that Mithrun doesn’t still have his biases towards short lived races..

Where Laios doesn’t understand social cues, Mithrun does but just doesn’t care. For that reason, I think Kabru would enjoy spending time with Mithrun. It’d give him a break from his compulsion to calculate all of his social interactions. But at the same time, Kabru is the KING at bottling his emotions. Mithrun is blunt, but also doesn’t care enough to pry. If Kabru had anything bothering him, I could imagine him seeking Mithrun’s company to avoid thinking about it. Could make for a fun dynamic.

I do think it’s funny that Milsiril 1) took care of Mithrun for potentially 20 years and 2) is only four years older than him. I imagine this could lead to funny situations.

I don’t ship things for no reason! I think both of these could work platonically, romantically, one-sided, or even “requited but they don’t do anything about it.” Their relationships compel me and I think it’s sort of bad faith to brush off either like they’re nothing more than baseless yaoi pair-the-spares. To me, I see just as much of a foundation in the source material as farcille.

After all, dungeon meshi isn’t a story about romance, but it IS a story about love. It’s a story about life and death and grief and the love that comes with it. Regardless of shipping, these characters love each other!!! And I love talking about it!!

[janeyseymour]

Just Sex

Summary: Melissa is hooking up with the chief at the firehouse, so you decide that you can have your own fun.

WC: ~2.1k

After the failed relationship and proposal with Gary, Melissa has been going out to bars and staying out late at night. She finds herself in bed with quite a few men and women, and while she’s not thrilled that she’s back to this lifestyle, she’s impressed that she still has what it takes. Getting older did not make it any easier to attract people.

But then one night she sees the fire chief out at the bar, one thing leads to the other, and they’re in a friends with benefits sort of situationship.

Of course, all of this comes out when you’re renewing your CPR training certificate with the Abbott clan, and Barbara has made it quite clear that she’s upset Melissa didn’t tell her of this relationship before.

You had been busy trying to pass your test, but now it’s your partner’s turn to go, and you tune back into the world around you.

“But if I were gonna label it, I would say it’s just sex,” you hear Melissa tell her work wife in a low voice.

You don’t really know what she’s talking about, but you shrug it off. That is, until Janine comes back into the room and asks for the gossip. Barbara of course goes off, claiming that her friend of over fifteen years trusts her no more than a common street stranger. It becomes apparent to you that whatever hookup situation they’re talking about has been going on for a bit of time now. You feel a nasty pit settle in your stomach at that.

That pit only grows when you go out with the crew after the CPR course to celebrate the fact that you all passed. Of course, conversation leads back to Melissa and Jacob both having sexual relations with people from the firehouse.

“Well, I think I blew that one,” Jacob groans as he finishes off his aperol spritz. “But let’s talk about you, Mel Mel.”

“There ain’t nothin’ to talk about,” the redhead waves him off. “It’s just casual sex.”

“Casual sex that’s been going on for how long?” Barbara asks with a raised brow.

Melissa purses her lips as she thinks. “Couple weeks now?”

“A month,” Jacob cuts in. “C’mon, Melissa. When are you just going to admit that you like him?”

“I do not,” she states very clearly. “I just need something to take the edge off for me, and… he does that.”

“How kinky is it?” Ava asks, a smirk on her face.

Jacob opens his mouth, and Melissa very quickly shoves her hand over his mouth. “You say a word, and you’re out on the curb faster than you were out with Zach.”

The man’s eyes widen, and he nods quickly. She pulls her hand away from his mouth, and he breathes a deep sigh in relief. 

“I’m not looking for a relationship or nothing… not unless the right person comes along,” the second grade teacher says as she finishes off her beer.

Barb turns to look at her work wife with a curious face. She knows of the little crush that her best friend has on you. Melissa just nods at the kindergarten teacher’s silent question.

But you don’t take it that way, because you have no idea that Melissa has had her eye on you since before she broke it off with Gary. You see it that you have no chance with your favorite coworker at all.

Feeling as though you could burst into tears at any given moment, you quietly excuse yourself from the rest of the outing and head for your apartment.

“What was that?” Melissa furrows a brow and purses her lips as she gazes in the direction that you left.

“I’m sure it was just a long day for her is all,” Janine tries to come up with some sort of logistical reason as to why you would leave early. “I did have a meeting with her before school even started today, so she’s been up for quite some time.”

Everybody seems to accept that reasoning, and they continue on with their night.

The next day, you march yourself into Ava’s office bright and early.

“Girl, what are you doin? I’m tryna get this knot out of my back,” your principal groans as she shuts off her personal back massager.

“I need your help,” you tell her, not even bothering to acknowledge that she isn’t doing her job at all.

“With?” She leans forward just slightly in her chair.

You smile at her. “I know you know a bunch of people… set me up with someone?”

“Oh, girl,” she laughs. “What’s gotten into you? Every other time I’ve asked if you want someone, you decline!”

“Just… thinking I should get myself out there,” you shrug. “You know? If Melissa can do it, so can I.”

Ava’s jaw drops. “So this is about Melissa.”

“What?”

“I knew you had the hots for her!” the principal grins. 

“What? Not! I- I just figured, if everyone else can have at it, so can I?”

“Oh, girl,” she laughs in your face. “This ain’t you at all, but I am in full support of it. Give me til the end of the day, and I’ll have someone for you.”

You end up going out with a woman that night that Ava set you with, and you do end up actually liking her… and she’s pretty damn good in bed.

The next morning, you’re practically glowing while you drink your morning coffee in the break room. Julie, the woman that you ended up in bed with last night, is texting you about maybe meeting up again later this week.

And if you weren’t still in love with the redhead that comes in a few seconds later, you would say yes. Instead, you send her a text that says, Maybe. Kinda busy the next couple weeks.

She texts you back a picture… a rather scandalous picture. And you blush when you see it.

“What’s got you all giddy today?” the redhead asks as she leans over. She sees the picture before you can close out of it, and her eyebrows creep up her head.

“Who’s that?”

You shrug. “Just someone Ava set me up with.”

“Ava?” Melissa asks in disbelief. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“Not long,” you tell her. “It’s just sex, really.”

The redhead folds her arms over her chest. “I didn’t think you were like that.”

“I’m not, but I figured I might as well give it a shot,” you say. “Now, I have to head to my room to finish up some of my grading, but I’ll see you later.”

You don’t have any intention to see her later. And you don’t. You pull back from her and her group- although most of them still find their ways to you. It’s mostly just the redheaded second grade teacher that you avoid. And it happens that way for a few more days.

You’re in the break room heating up your lunch when Ava comes in. “Girl! Are you gonna text Julie back or not?”

Melissa makes her way in, and you sigh. “It’s just sex. I’m not looking for a relationship or nothing… not unless the right person comes along,” you unintentionally repeat what the second grade teacher had said out at the bar. The microwave indicates that your food is finished, and you pull it out before heading back down to your classroom for lunch.

You miss the scowl on Melissa’s face, but Ava sure as hell doesn’t.

“Girl, you jealous or something?” the principal leans in with a smirk.

“What would I be jealous of?”

“That someone else is hitting that hot piece of ass,” Ava says like it’s obvious. The second grade teacher rolls her eyes, but Ava continues. “I see the way you look at her. Practically undressing her with your eyes every time she walks into the room.”

Melissa crosses her arms again. “I can’t believe you set her up with someone if you knew I like her.”

“I was hoping it would give you a swift kick in the ass that she was gonna start hoeing it up,” Ava shrugs. “Now admit that you’re jealous before everyone else comes in here.”

“Okay, I’m jealous,” the redhead relents. “But it don’t matter anyway. She isn’t lookin’ for anyone- she just said that.”

“She said, and I quote, ‘I’m not looking for a relationship or nothing… not unless the right person comes along. And girl, you’re that person for her!”

Everyone else starts filing in, and Ava makes it so that she looks impossibly bored, although she is actually quite the opposite. “Okay, I’m leaving this snooze fest.” She heads out, but not before giving Melissa a subtle wink and tap on the wrist. “Get it, girl.”

That day, Melissa sits thoughtfully during her lunch period about what Ava said… maybe she’s right? But she can’t be sure, so after dismissal duty, the fiery second grade teacher heads down to the front office and bursts into the principal’s office.

“Schemmenti,” Ava grins. “You do it yet?”

“I ain’t doin’ nothin’ until I’m positive Y/N has a thing for me too,” Melissa sits down across from the woman. “So tell me what you know.”

Ava spends a long time telling the redhead about the various times she’s caught you checking Melissa and only Melissa out, how you always seem to linger around her during events, how the two of you are almost always partners for things now and how you being around always makes her soft and you absolutely bask in her warmth. She even confesses that you went down to her office to ask her to set you up because of Melissa.

“You convinced yet?” the principal asks after ten minutes.

Melissa bites her lip. “Yeah. Okay.”

“I’d make a move quick though. She said something about potentially seeing Julie today.”

“Isn’t that going to piss off your friend that Y/N might leave her for me?”

“She ain’t my friend,” Ava says as she files her nails. “I made a dating profile for Y/N and picked the first mildly attractive woman I saw.”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes,” the redhead pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Maybe, but ain’t you gonna go get your girl?”

Melissa stands from her chair and thanks the principal before rushing out and down your hallway. She hopes to catch you before you head out for the night. And of course, because you’re a dedicated teacher, you’re still there prepping for tomorrow. She knocks on your doorframe and leans against it.

“Just a sec!” you reply cheerily, not turning around yet. You’re hands deep in soil for the gardening project that your students will be participating in tomorrow.

“I don’t got a second,” Melissa says. You whip around at her voice.

“Hey,” you sigh, all joy in your voice gone.

“Don’t go out with Julie tonight,” the redhead tells you.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because I want you to go out with me instead,” she tells you seriously.

“You’re dating the fire chief,” you deadpan.

“I ain’t dating nobody because the only person I want to date is you,” the redhead admits.

That gets you to drop the dirt that is currently in your hands. “What?”

“I told everyone I was just having casual sex and wasn’t looking for a relationship unless the right person came around because… because the only person I would want to be in a relationship is you, and I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“Melissa, are you an idiot?” You ask her. “I’ve shamelessly flirted with you since you broke it off with Gary and practically thrown myself at you in hopes that you would pick me instead of some random hookup.”

She crosses the room, and she’s kissing you before you even know what’s happening. You instinctively kiss her back, and… wow. When you pull away, you quickly wipe the dirt off of your hands before pulling her in close again.

“Don’t go out with Julie tonight,” she pleads again.

“Don’t go out with the fire chief anymore,” you mumble against her lips.

She nods and mutters, “I already called it off. You cancel on Julie, and meet me at my place?”

You end up at Melissa’s house within the hour, and she wines and dines you. And then you end up in her bed seeing stars. Your legs tremble for what feels like forever before she makes her way back up to you.

“And just so you know,” she husks into your ear. “There ain’t nothin’ casual about this. This ain’t just sex.”

Tags: (and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @thesamesweetie @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @sapphicxrat @a-queen-and-her-throne @sunsol-22

[haknom]

BLOSSOM — YANG JUNGWON

pairing: enemy to crush-prince!jungwon x fem!reader

synopsis: wanting to confess to your enemy was never easy, especially when you both were too embarrassed to do so.

note: this was written like last month but i just never thought it was good 😭 // blossom by wei >>>

wordcount: 699 words // warnings: fluff, angst, and they’re both cowards and mean to each other.

LIVING IN THE SAME PALACE AS YANG JUNGWON, THE PRINCE OF THE FAMILY YOUR MOTHER ASSISTED, WAS NEVER EASY.

He never failed to irk your soul even if he was only breathing. Everything about him was aggravating, mainly his personality. The two of you didn’t get along at the start of your stay in the palace in the first place—he hated the thought of living with so-called peasants.

He was a stuck-up brat who only cared about wealth and what his friends would think. They all went to a prestigious school with high standards. You did too, but you didn’t fit in—not one bit.

Every time you walked down the halls, you were given dirty looks or something even worse. Still, that didn’t bother you. You were never phased by the opinions of others. Only your thoughts about yourself mattered.

That also could be the reason why Jungwon began to like you—4 years later. Yes, he was annoyed by the thought of having to spend every day with you under the same roof as him but maturing was all he needed.

Constantly teasing you and making you feel as though he didn’t care for you was only stage one of the five stages of grief—denial.

He sat on the grassy floor in their garden while picking at the newly bloomed flowers. Growing up, he loved the garden. He loved watching everything grow from a seed into something beautiful.

So, of course, he thought that could distract him and his constant thoughts of you but it didn’t. Here he was picking flowers for a bouquet to give to someone who wouldn’t leave his mind.

Stage two—anger. He was angry. He wanted to forget about you and his feelings, he really did, but he couldn’t. Seeing you every day only made things even harder. His face flushed even at the sound of your name. You had him head over heels for you and you didn’t even know.

He was too distracted to even notice the sudden figure that joined him in his flower picking. So, maybe the distraction did work?

“Hey,” you greeted, tired of waiting for Jungwon to notice you first. “What do you want?” He asked in his usual harsh tone. You rolled your eyes, shrugging it off. “Are these the ones you planted a few weeks ago?” You asked, delicately caressing the flower petals.

“Why do you ask?” He questioned while dusting off the soil from the flower stems in his hands. “Just curious.” You carefully removed your hands from the petals, too afraid to damage anything, and brought your knees to your chest.

“What’s the occasion?” You asked once again as you stared at the progress of the bouquet in his hold. “Please, is that a gift for someone?” You teased, earning a glare from Jungwon.

“Don’t get too giddy, it’s not for you.” Lies. It was definitely for you. There was nobody else who made his head spin or made him experience feelings of butterflies in his stomach like the way you did.

“You must be crazy. I wasn’t looking forward to any gift from you. With that snotty little attitude, I’m sure nobody from school was looking forward to it either.” You spat. Another lie.

After at least a year or two with the Yangs, you began to feel different around Jungwon. It was an odd feeling, not one that many would experience so easily but somehow, you did. It wasn’t the best feeling.

Not being able to think straight or avoid fumbling over your words when you’re around a certain someone you previously claimed to hate wasn’t the best feeling either.

It was quite embarrassing, to say the least. Yet, it still happened to you. Not being able to maintain your composure when arguing with Jungwon sucked. He always felt a little bit of pride and a ton of guilt after your banters were over but couldn’t bring himself to apologize.

Why? The reason was mutual; you were both too embarrassed. You didn’t want to admit you were wrong about anything, you always had to be right. The same went for Jungwon.

No wonder you two couldn’t bring yourselves to confess to each other.

PERM TAGLIST: @soov @redm4ri @ox1-lovesick @urszn @hanniluvi @dakkisz @dimplewonie @ddeonudepressions @xiaoderrrr @ja4hyvn @mmaplepastries @essmarye @w3bqrl @jennaissantes @yenqa @yeokii @yyunari @wvnkoi @strwberrydinosaur @gibbysupremeacyisreal @rikizm @teddywonss @simp4jongseong @whoschr @forjungwons @yizhoutv @yuviqik @itsactuallylina @hermitanatta

[silverflqmes]

I was curious about a HC for Sephiroth with a quiet S/O that loves to sing when they’re alone?

໒⦂ 𝐌𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐋𝐔𝐎𝐔𝐒.

notes. hello anon! i’m not sure if you just wanted one hc so i added a good amount to suffice enough for a post, hope you enjoy and that they are to your likings<3

genre. fluff + comfort

sephiroth x gn!reader.

⌗ sephiroth has known you to be a rather soft spoken individually, often reserved amongst others — though he didn’t particularly mind it. he had similar habits, anyway — if anything it made him feel less alone..

⌗ with him, however, you were thankfully a bit more talkative — as was he, with you. it just felt more comfortable for you both to fully express yourselves, especially your lover.

⌗ but something told your beloved that you were keeping some quirks secret.. certain little things — habits of yours.

⌗ particularly the melodic voice that greeted his ears one chilly evening when he’d arrived home from a dragged out meeting.

⌗ you had been so engrossed in whatever you were busy with, that you hadn’t even heard your boyfriend come in. normally you greeted him at the door if you were home- a cute little routine of yours and sephiroth’s — which made it all the more strange that you hadn’t done so.

⌗ given the late hours, part of him would have assumed you to have fallen asleep as a reason for not expressing your usual ‘welcome home, sephiroth!’ but would you have left the record player on..?

⌗ sephiroth tried not to question it and just assumed you wanted noise with whatever you had been occupying yourself.

⌗ only.. the record player was not in use. interesting.

⌗ with his enhanced hearing, the silver haired first decided to give into his curiosity, leaning against the cool wall as he listened in on that mellifluous tune.. and that was where he reached his conclusion.

⌗ the person singing was you!

⌗ for a moment sephiroth flushed and recoiled, thinking that perhaps he had intruded on your privacy somehow — which brought a slight feeling of guilt.

⌗ he hadn’t heard you sing before. maybe a soft humming while you were busy with your paperwork.. but not full on singing. were you not comfortable doing so in front of him? a mild case of stage fright, perhaps..

⌗ even still, he couldn’t help but feel lulled by your voice — at ease.

⌗ so much, that shinra’s famed hero hadn’t even noticed his body sliding down the solid surface, feline-like eyes fluttering shut.. until his rear made contact with the hardwood floor.

⌗ naturally, sephiroth.. given his height and muscle mass — would make a bit of a thud. guys look at that cushy tushy, come on which might have been ignored by him, since his focus was on your voice, but the sound had very much found your ears.

⌗ the song you’d chosen to sing came to an abrupt pause, concern overcoming you as you beelined out of your shared bedroom with a loud gasp.

⌗ “s-sephiroth..?!”

⌗ but your beloved was.. pretty much fast asleep, a serene smile on his lips with strands of silver framing his relaxed countenance.

⌗ now how could you possibly wake him up? he was likely exhausted from his work, the war in wutai — everything that came to mind regarding shinra.

⌗ a sigh left your lips as you tucked a lock of hair behind his ear before crouching to wrap his arm around your neck. no way would you allow him to sleep through the night like that. especially with his restless sleep schedule.

⌗ and so, you poured every ounce of your strength into your legs, lifting the two of you up with a slight wheeze. sephiroth wasn’t light by any means, but you wanted him to sleep comfortably — which in turn, kept you going with your ambitious, and quite possibly foolish, endeavors..

⌗ a few steps was all it took before you were easing him onto his side of the bed, prying off his boots and pauldrons so that he could relax better. there wasn’t any danger in your shared flat, so he could do without them for the rest of the evening. you’d protect him, anyway.

⌗ crawling into the space beside him, you then curled into his side, fluttering your eyes shut as you allowed sleep to envelope you, just as it had your lover.

⌗ when dawn broke and bled through the curtains, sephiroth stirred a little before opening his eyes slowly, allowing them to adjust to his surroundings — specifically you, cuddling into his chest.

⌗ had he fallen asleep so suddenly that you had to carry him into bed all on your own?

⌗ you murmured something incoherent, likely from a dream, as he smiled tenderly, pushing aside the thought to slide a gloved hand into your hair, petting you gently.

⌗ perhaps he wouldn’t move just yet to prepare breakfast.. and instead, enjoy your warmth for a little while longer.

⌗ however, he would have comments upon your wake, wanting to know why you’d hidden such a lovely voice from him all this time.

⌗ but, for now, it would just be him, his fluffy bedding, the morning rays, and yourself.

⌗ gingerly, the first class SOLDIER leaned in to press a tiny kiss to your temple, whispering a soft, “sleep well, my love.”

notes. i may have indulged a little here, but it’s sephiroth aiakwhdjsjs sleeping with him sounds so nice rn😵‍💫 ahem- hope it was good tho, anon!

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[tarttheart]

KNITWORTHY - JAMIE TARTT x YOU

summary: you pick up knitting and Jamie could not be more supportive.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: language

1.

The first time you made anything for Jamie, it was a plain pair of socks in a sandy beige colour. It was nothing fancy and you were certain one side was longer than the other. It had been a long time since you last knit so you were just happy to have finished something after impulsively picking up some yarn and needles again after work one day. Work had been manic and you were looking for something to help you unwind each night. Picking up the needles again just seemed right.

“I love them. Babe, these are fucking amazing,” Jamie proclaimed.

You probably would not have believed Jamie solely based on his words but his awestruck expression spoke heaps to how he felt. And, if that had not been enough, watching him proudly pull them on in the morning to wear to Nelson Road was all the proof you needed that the man was knit-worthy.

Knitted socks were not the most common sight around Nelson Road, especially not on one Jamie Tartt. Sports socks had long been his sock of choice until recently. While the beige socks had gotten a couple of curious looks, it was nothing too peculiar given how temperatures had dropped in the past week or so. It seemed a simple and effective solution to keeping warm, so effective that a few others decided to jump on the bandwagon.

“My toes feel like they’re at the beach in Chacala. I can hear the waves calling,” Dani quipped the first time he tried wearing woolly socks to training.

“Me too, boyo, it doesn’t even matter I look like I’m wearing my granddad’s socks,” Colin agreed.

2.

You had gotten hooked on knitting hats. After making yourself three in the span of a month, you were on the hunt for more heads to make beanies for. Luckily, Jamie kindly volunteered and even got involved with the process, choosing a bold, variegated yarn for his beanie. It took no time at all and within a week of casting on, Jamie was rocking his new headwear at Nelson Road.

It was definitely an unusual sight, not seeing an ICON cap atop Jamie’s head but with how chilly it had been, no one thought too much about it.

“I didn’t realise you wore beanies,” Keeley commented one day as she passed him in the hallway.

“Fuck yeh, I do now,” Jamie replied.

“Looks good,” Keeley offered and Jamie practically bounced away much to Keeley’s amusement.

He came home to tell you about how good your beanies looked and it had to be true because Keeley said so and Keeley knows all about fashion.

“Babe, babe, I think you could fucking sell these and making a fucking fortune,” Jamie continued excitedly and you laughed.

3.

Following the success of the first pair of socks, you knew another pair had to be made. It took a little while but when you chanced upon a yarn colourway called “Tart”, you were sold. Sure, it probably was not a colour in Jamie’s usual colour palette but it was a nice wine colour that you were confident he would look good in regardless.

The last pair of socks had been a real plain vanilla pair of socks and having had a little more practice now, you were ready to dive into something more textured for Jamie’s second pair of socks.

You were pretty proud of the end product and you swore Jamie lit up brighter than the New York City skyline when you handed them over. He had been eagerly awaiting their completion, watching you like a hawk each night and trying to figure out when you would have them done. One pair of woolly socks just was not enough to satisfy the man now that he had gotten a taste of toasty toes.

Jamie gave you no time or opportunity to wash the socks before he wore them. He needed these socks in his life right away and you were happy to oblige. Jamie excitedly wore his socks to Nelson Road the next day which caught a few more eyes this time. Afterall, it was even more of an unusual look for Jamie.

“Pretty sure those are hand knitted,” Bumbercatch commented from across the locker room one day as the resident knitting know-it-all.

“Yeh, his mum probably made it for him, bruv,” Issac said dismissively.

It had been a fair guess. Afterall, no one knew you existed. You were a naturally private person and you knew all that came with being Jamie’s girlfriend. What if it didn’t last and you had to then deal with all the fallout? Jamie understood and you agreed you two could go semi-public after Christmas if you guys were still together then. While Jamie had initially been disappointed, he came to really enjoy having something that was truly his. No media, no team chatter.

*

Jamie decided he had been benefitting too much from your new hobby without properly compensating you for your time and effort. Remembering that Bumbercatch was an avid knitter, Jamie stopped him one day seeking advice on tools he could get you to further your craft.

“What would you get as a present for a knitter?” Jamie asked Bumbercatch after everyone else had emptied from the locker room.

“Yarn is always good. There’s local yarn shop a few blocks away that has a good selection and they have some good tools too,” Bumbercatch offered.

With Christmas round the corner, Bumbercatch did not think much about it. Based on what he had been led to believe, Jamie was likely buying something for his mum.

4.

It had been a real labour of love. When Jamie had presented you with a beyond generous amount on a gift card and a set of fancy interchangeable needles, you knew you had to go big for his Christmas present. It had been a little hard to hide all the balls of yarn you had had to buy. It was even trickier trying not to make his present in front of him because you knew you would crack and tell him what it was the moment he gave you his big adoring eyes. But, all the late nights spent knitting out of Jamie’s sight and afternoons spent hiding in cafes to knit had been worth it.

“Babe, you fucking made this?”

You had been so excited to present him your pièce de résistance you were practically vibrating as he held up the cream cabled sweater vest. You knew it was not his usual look but it felt special making something not basic for Jamie.

“I know it’s not exactly the Jamie Tartt style but I wanted to do something more instead of just a basic knit. I would’ve made you a sweater but I didn’t want the sweater curse to come true so I thought maybe a vest would be a good loophole? You don’t have to wear it out or at a—…”

Jamie did not let you finish blabbering because he grabbed your face to plant an appreciative kiss on your lips.

“I’m fucking wearing this everywhere, love, this thing is fucking magic,” Jamie proclaimed and you were not quite sure what he meant by magic but you appreciated the thought anyway.

The first day back at training after Christmas had most buzzing. It was always nice and energizing to have a good break with loved ones, whether it was spent with their own families or Higgins’. But, when Jamie walked in in his cozy cream cabled sweater vest like he was in a hallmark movie, the whole facility stilled.

“Morning, lads,” Jamie greeted, paying no attention to way the room had quietened after his entry.

Bumbercatch nudged Colin who stood next to him, “I think Jamie has a girlfriend.”

“What’s got you thinking that, boyo?”

“That vest. It’s a recent release online by a big knitwear designer. It’s not a mum pattern. See?”

Colin and Isaac looked at the page on Bumbercatch’s phone and he was right. The vest Jamie was wearing looked almost identical to the one in the photo.

“It could—…”

Sick of all the speculations, Isaac turned and yelled out to Jamie, “BRUV!”

“Yea, man? What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

“Your vest. Who made it?”

“Oh,” Jamie paused for a moment before remembering that Christmas had passed and it was now safe for him to answer, “me girlfriend. She’s a fucking knitting genius.”

[bokettochild]

Through The Keyhole, See Another Life

Inspired by the giant flannel I've been wearing for the last week and how happy it makes me. This popped into my head at work because of it so.... here you go!

Fandom: Linked Universe

Characters: Time, Legend Four

Words: 1,954

Rating: Gen

Summary: The Chain are visiting the ranch, and while most of the other boys are finishing their chores, Time stumbles across Four introducing Legend to one of his guilty pleasures.

"Four, no." 

Time glances up at the very firm voice echoing down the stairs. He’s not sure if the boys even know he’s come back to the main house yet, not with the guest room being on the backside of the house and unable to see the door and all. Usually, someone would have noticed the sound of the door opening, but all the other boys are outside with Malon, helping with the chores while their smithy and veteran rested inside. 

The battle in his world had been a hard one, and as much as fairies and potions can do, they seemingly can’t prevent Legend’s chronic pain or Four’s migraines, both of which had been worsening for days even before arriving at the ranch. Malon, naturally, had insisted that both boys be allowed to sleep in today, and given they’d still been curled up tight in bed, tense and stressed even while asleep, he’d been inclined to agree.  

It appears they’re awake now though, no doubt having found the breakfast laid just inside the door of their room for them, since no one had known if either would be willing to risk the stairs to find something while the rest of them were outside working. Still, he’d probably better check. He's been a bit worried about the two, and now that Malon has ordered him inside (he honestly wasn’t kicked that hard! The cows are just big!) he has plenty of time on his hands while the rest of his boys finish their assigned chores under his wife’s guidance. 

“Why on earth not?” The smithy’s voice is a bit higher as it trails down the stairs to where he’s shucking off his boots and stretching out his back, feeling every one of his years, even the ones that technically didn’t happen. 

Legend’s sigh is audible even through the floorboards, a soft groan probably accompanying a motion. “Because I don’t want to get in trouble?” 

There’s a part of time that wants to snort at the words; the two heroes sound like children arguing about pulling a prank on their parents, but then the fact that he and Malon would be said parents in that situation hits him and it’s not as funny. Additionally, these are teen heroes, the idea that Legend is wary about it means whatever Four wants to do is either very dumb, very silly, or very dangerous, and he’s not sure which is the worse scenario. 

He moves for the stairs, ears tuned closely to the door above, but feet quiet so they won’t hear him coming. 

“I do this all the time, it’s nice! Come on, you’d love it if you let yourself.” 

Okay then, less a worry, he pauses, listening. They’d probably resent that, but he’s curious now, and still a bit wary. He has to remind himself that Legend and Four are, in fact, two of the more level headed heroes- most of the time. At any rate, they’re usually pretty responsible, so even if he’s more used to Wild and Wind and (Hylia help him) Warriors, he really shouldn’t doubt them so much. 

“Yes,” the bed upstairs creaks, “but you’re you. I’m me. There’s a big difference in how they’d react to you doing this- heck, Twilight would probably think it’s cute from you, and Sky definitely would-” definitely not dangerous then, or risky, or likely to cause damage of any sort “-but it’d be a whole different story with me.” 

“You’re just scared to try.” Four taunts, headache clearly gone. 

The bed creaks, like someone’s flopped on it. “Four, I am in too much pain to sit through Twilight chewing me out for being an ‘asshole’ again.” There’s a tick in the vet’s voice, a small hitch on the offending title. Come to think of it, his pup does tend to call the vet that pretty frequently. 

Four doesn’t pause though, continuing his insistence on...whatever he’s insisting. “Then don’t touch Twilight’s things, he can’t be mad on someone else’s behalf.” 

“He is.” Legend clips back. “frequently.” 

Does his pup really chew the vet out that much? 

“Blame me,” the smithy suggests, off-handed.” 

The bed creaks again, a longer one, most likely as it’s resident shifts to face the smithy. He can imagine the deadpan tired stare and heavy sigh that likely touches their young vet’s face. “That’s the definition of an asshole move.” 

“Then let me say it was my fault.” 

“Again, you’re different. They‘d excuse it from you, but as a person with my own free will, they will blame me for-” 

“Oh stop being a stick-in-the-mud!” Four huffs, petulant almost. He must be in one of his more childish moods, no doubt Red’s fault. It happens from time to time when they’re in a safe place and the smithy isn’t constantly around the other heroes. He didn’t think Legend would be allowed to see it, but maybe he’s wrong about that, because the smithy’s voice definitely has picked up the mannerisms of his more emotional aspect. “Just take this and put it on!” 

Are they....is Four trying to get Legend to play dress up of some kind? 

“Is that Time’s?” It’s hesitant, guarded, wary.  

“He won’t mind, or notice either, I expect. He never does.” 

Is Four getting into his things without his knowing? Since when? Time’s feet start back up the stairs again, only to pause once more at the vet’s hesitant voice. 

“You sure he won’t crucify me or something?” 

Malon’s going to kill him. That’s the impression he’s giving these younger heroes? 

“Just do it,” Four huffs, “stop being a baby.” 

And of course, insulting Legend is no way to get him to make the smart decision, whatever it is they're on about. He sets up the stairs again, creeping to the door of the guest room once he's reached the second floor and peeking around the door frame. The door’s still shut, but it’s little trouble to turn the handle ever so slowly and push it open enough to see what’s going on inside. 

He’s not expecting what he sees. 

Four is standing in the middle of the room, Sky’s embroidered undershirt hanging off of him like a rather short dress as he stares at the vet who’s still sitting on the bed where Time had left both of them early this morning. The vet, in turn, has similarly shed his own sweaty clothes, which he can see tossed over a nearby chair, and the pink-haired teen is currently drowning in what he recognizes to be one of his own tunics. The collar isn’t laced yet, but the vet is currently yanking at it to stop it trying to slip off a shoulder, struggling though because the sleeves of the outfit seem to have utterly swallowed his hands. 

Four giggles. Red is definitely fronting, although the smile he sees on the smith’s face is more like Green’s. “Let me help.” 

  “It’s just the sleeves,” the other boy huffs, “I got it.” He doesn’t. 

Time finds himself stifling a chuckle as he watches the vet fumble and fuss, switching between trying to free his hands and trying to tighten the collar. Any worries that the two were up to anything nefarious have long since vanished, although his will to see what they’re doing hasn’t. 

They look like actual kids like this, Four decked out in stollen finery and Legend drowning in Time’s own clothes, much too big for him, to the point that with the next attempt to free his hands, long sleeves flap freely and loose in an effort of some sort (he can only presume) to make them fall down naturally. That effort though is quickly forgotten, the vet’s face loosening, softening somewhat, eyes wide as he pauses and then tentatively flaps the sleeves again. Four giggles, and Legend’s chuffing laughter follows it as he grins as his trapped hands and the excess fabric that shakes and snaps with his quick movements. 

“Welcome,” the smithy sounds, “to the wonders of over-sized clothes. You’re welcome.” 

“I hate you,” Legend sighs, but there's not a bit of actual malice in the words as he flops back against the pillows on the bed, seemingly having given up on trying to fit into Time’s clothes and instead accepting his fate. The boy’s face screws up a moment later in confusion though, and he lifts a hand to his face again with a frown, sniffing slightly at the shirt sleeve. 

Time desperately, desperately hopes that Four didn’t steal that from his travel bag or dirty laundry. Except, he must not have, because Legend’s face softens again, this time into a smile, and he curls up a bit, burying his face in the fabric with a little hum that is strangely out of place for the harsh veteran they all have come to know. More so though, is the way Legend rubs his face across the fabric, ears flapping. It’s strangely adorable. 

“Nice?” Four is definitely gloating. 

Legend’s face rises for a moment out of the sleeves, a whole different person than Time knows, bitter-sweet smile and flushed cheeks. “’t smells like home.” 

Something in his chest clenches violently. 

There’s no such reaction from the smith though, who just looks pleasantly surprised, but nods it off with a smile, moving a bit closer and settling on the bedside, careful not to stir it and earning a brief look of thanks from the vet who is, now that he looks, still a bit pale and carrying tension around his shoulders and eyes. “Really?” 

“Yeah” violet eyes fall down to stare at long sleeves, hand flapping slightly inside again, but not enough to do more than make the fabric shift and shuffle a bit. “Time must use the same aftershave as-” a pause, a twitch of the face into a frown. “It’s a familiar scent.” 

It’s also a new one. Malon had got it for him for their wedding anniversary last year. He forgets what she called it, but she loves it, so he does too. On the road, it hardly matters what he smells like, but it makes him think of her and, like the captain says, it’s good to do small things for yourself even when traveling and fighting and struggling. Life’s not much worth living if it’s all harsh and you deny yourself even the small joys accessible to you. For him, that joy is remembering how his wife beams and showers him with kisses once he’s fresh faced again, but in the room before him, it can also mean stealing your team-mates' too big clothes and curling up in them when you aren’t feeling your best. 

The smile that pulls across his face as Legend rolls over to face Four better, curled up tightly in himself as the smithy laughs about something, both looking peaceful, is also one of those things. 

For a moment, a precious, fleeting moment, he can almost forget the two boys in the bedroom across from his own are heroes who have to save the world. Instead, he can almost imagine them waking up there and joining farm chores every day. No pain brought on by whatever these two have faced would exist in such a world and instead they’d be free to run wild around the barnyard, racing to finish chores or pulling pranks and making mischief like boys their age should be doing. 

It’s a nice picture, and not even properly bitter-sweet, even though he knows it can’t be, because they're still there in front of him, peaceful and content and chattering quietly, one of his boys curled up in his shirt and the other in Sky’s, both discussing scents and colognes and what smells signal home. 

[sandinthemachine]

Mortal Remains

König x f!reader

written for the request: "You know, if you wanted my attention, you didn't have to go to such extremes." With Either ghost or König? There's not enough fluff for my men.

I don't even know where to begin with this one. It's massive, the longest one I've ever written. I love it, and I hate it. It made me cry. I'm excited and terrified to see what everyone else thinks. I hope someone reading this feels at least one of those emotions while doing so (preferably not hate)

before I begin, thank you to @sprout-fics and @zwienzixes for being lovely beta readers, and a MASSIVE thank you to @itsagrimm for beta-reading, helping me work through ideas, giving me proper German translations, and all around being an amazing and supportive person. I would have given up on this without all the help.

Translations for the German will be at the bottom

Words: 12,450 (yeah...it's big just like him)

Warnings/tags: König is soft and pretends not to be, reader is afab but no pronouns used, canon-typical violence, piv sex, oral f!receiving, self-deprecation, lots of raw emotions, mental health is hard, fluffy ending

---

It started easy enough, as so many things do.

A week-long joint training exercise. Mixed teams, both 141 and KorTac. Something something bonding before the real mission. You hadn’t been listening.

You remember being excited to be teamed with Soap. At least you could get along with someone, you mused. You barely noticed the hooded figure, tall and sticking to the corners, merging with the lengthening shadows. What’s another ghost haunting your footsteps? Nothing special, that’s for sure.

The first four days fly by. Early morning patrols, always in pairs, tracking for signs of the other team. Finding nothing, you move to a different shelter, secure the area, sleep. Rinse, repeat.

The fifth day is different. There are ragged clouds cloaking the sun while the rest of the sky is completely clear. You’re not sure why you noticed that, but you did.

It was an early morning patrol, as usual, you and your partner sweeping around a centerpoint like you were analyzing a single massive clock. Northeast quadrant clear. Southeast clear. Southwest…a scuff in the dirt. You lean down, fingers tracing the air just above it, a black fleck catching your eye. You grasp it, finding it much larger than you originally expected and partially buried. You pull at the rubbery texture, curious. Distracted.

The ambush comes quietly. Perfectly so. The weight lands on your back with an abruptness that flattens your lungs, dropping you directly onto your hands. You might have twisted your wrist, but the pain of that is overshadowed by the thought of the immense beratement you’ll get from your NCO for failing so fast.

Yet the weight from your back is lifted as quietly as it arrived. You turn, rolling to your feet to find that it had been Gaz on top of you only a second ago. Now he dangles like a ragdoll in the air. The shadow holding him draws a knife, taps it against his throat. You're out.

Gaz sighs as he’s set on the ground, giving you a nod before marching off. You don’t return it, too busy staring at the man next to him.

You’d never noticed his eyes before. You’re used to Ghost’s eyes, dark and unyielding, cavernous black holes reaching into a skull long dead. Like he was born to wear the mask.

This man’s eyes couldn’t be more different. They’re pale, washed out, windows into a sky perpetually on the verge of snowfall, slumbering clouds cold and waiting.

They curve down at the corners, lending an air of melancholy to the only part of his face you can see. You wonder how he really feels behind that gaze.

You’re staring.

You clear your throat awkwardly, aiming to thank him before pausing. “I…I’m sorry, I never caught your callsign?”

The head dips down, draped fabric falling down his chest slightly. A nod. “We need to keep moving.”

And he’s walking past you.

-

Two days later, the training exercise finally comes to a head in a fierce brawl over the fake weapons cache. Knives and fists only.

The fight takes only a few minutes. Ghost on the opposite team notices your attempted ambush immediately, throwing his men after you. Your team is outnumbered, stuck in a hallway. But it doesn’t matter.

Ghost and the hooded man roll on the ground, tousling like a pair of tomcats, Ghost landing on top for just a second, raising his knife-

You’re there. Arm wrapped around his shoulders. Blade tapping against his throat. You’re out.

With that, the fight is over. Ghost moves with a grumble at the man under him. It might have been a threat. But the man doesn’t hear it. He’s too busy staring at you with grey-sky eyes wide. A child dressed as a dirty sheet-ghost. “I…I don’t know your-”

You thrust your hand out, yanking him to his feet. “We’d better head back.”

-

You feel him at your back throughout the debriefing. Rolling thunder clouds looming over your head, ready to burst at any second. Your tongue is between your teeth, lungs heaving. Soap whispers a joke in your ear, something about Ghost getting chewed out by the NCO. You can barely muster a smile.

You stay still as the meeting finally ends, waiting for everyone to filter out before you finally turn around.

As you turn, your shoulder knocks into hard muscle and you look up, craning your neck to take in the hooded face and the way his pupils are blown wide into dark pits. A gale you should take shelter from lest you be blown away. But for a moment all you do is stand there, watching your own pupils expand in the turbulent reflection.

Your teeth are carving marks into your tongue by now, and it takes you far too long to draw in a shaky breath and push past him. You have more training tomorrow. It’s sleep your body needs. Not…whatever this is.

He doesn’t say a word as you depart, but his eyes track your every move before the door shuts behind you.

-

Of course this is a night where you can’t sleep. Of course. You flip and roll, hearing your bed frame smack against the wall every time you shift until you get so annoyed you shove it further into your room and flop down on it again. It doesn’t do anything, of course. Just makes your insomnia a little quieter.

It’s nearly midnight by the time you throw your legs over the side in frustration, shivering at the frigid air before throwing on enough clothes to look decent and marching down towards the shared kitchen.

He’s there. Your luck is just perfect tonight. You take a step backwards, planning to flee back to the darkness of the hallway, but he’s already turning his head, shoulders jumping just slightly as you enter his view.

You crumple a little as he notices you, but it’s too late to do anything about it now. “Can’t sleep either, huh?” Your voice is rough as you walk over to the counter next to him, yanking an expired box of cereal from the back of it. Your arm brushes his as you pull it out.

You spare him a glance as you pry the old box open, snorting at his narrowed eyelids. You bet he’s scrunching his nose through that silly hood, too. You reach in, hearing a series of crunches as you rifle around. “Ah, there it is.” You pull out the clear bottle, shaking it triumphantly in his face. “This’ll knock you right out. 50/50 chance you get back up tomorrow.” You trail off, eyes traveling up and down him. “Well, maybe a bit better odds for you.” You chuckle half-heartedly, but it dies a second later.

You puff your lips out in a shaky breath, running your tongue along your teeth before giving him an awkward smile and raising the bottle to him. With that you leave.

-

As soon as you take a sip you spit it right back out with a blech. You’d forgotten how nasty the stuff is. You toss it into the trash can and flop back down with an irritated groan. How hard is it to fall asleep? It’s literally laying there doing no-

Your thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door, and upon swinging it open you find him, his looming shadow nearly blotting out the light from the hallway behind. It’s easy to forget how big he is when he’s not around. How strong he is. How…deadly.

But right now he’s leaning against your doorframe, hands tapping along his legs. “Have enough for two?”

You smirk a little at that, but as you step closer you feel the heat radiating from him, your shoulder blades clenching together as your mind begins to process something.

You’d sleep better for it. Perform better the next day. It would be good for you.

Your smirk deepens. “I have a better idea.”

As your hand tangles in his shirt you feel a tremble along his skin, but he doesn’t respond when you pull on him. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I haven’t had a drop. Shit’s disgusting.”

“Show me the bottle.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips as you fish the full monstrosity out of the bin to show him. He nods but still doesn’t move, and you find yourself rushing to assure him as heat rushes up your neck. “If you actually just want to drink, we can. We don’t have to do anything-”

“No. That’s not it.” Finally he steps fully into the room, letting the door swing shut behind him before he stalks to you. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you hiss, moving to hold onto him again, your mind swirling with exhaustion and old memories that you just need out, right now, and he’s right there and he needs it too, you just know it as he swoops down to grab you and toss you on the bed, both of you a mess to rip your clothes off now that the facade has finally fallen.

-

After the fog clears you find yourself panting on your stomach with him above you, caging you in with his forearms. Each of his stuttering inhales brings his burning chest and stomach against your back. Before the heat can become unbearable he pulls away, breaths still heaving as he tucks himself back into his pants.

Your eyes widen in surprise when he makes his way to your bathroom and comes back, washcloth in hand, to softly clean you up. As he finishes he pauses, thumb brushing the edge of an old knife scar running up your hip. “My callsign,” he murmurs, fingers tracing its length. “It’s König.”

And with that, he leaves.

-

You were content for that to be the end of it. You’d each gotten what you needed, after all. And as you stretch languidly across your mattress the following morning, an unfamiliar relaxation settles along your tense muscles. Yes, you would be more than happy to leave it at this.

But as the next training drill ends you find yourself faced with your cold barrack and the prospect of another sleepless night. Before you even realize what you’re doing your legs are moving, ready to go to the kitchen and-

He’s right there, startling as you nearly open your door into his face. He takes a step back, but you’re already holding your hand out and his eyes are burning into you as he takes it and lets you pull him in, lets you shut the door behind you before he’s lifting you with laughable ease and carrying you to bed.

-

You’re already burrowing your face into your pillow by the time he comes back to clean you up. This time his palm runs over a puckered mass on your thigh, a nasty burn scar from failing to dive for cover fast enough. It still hurts sometimes, but the pain is good. Reminds you not to be so careless again.

As you drift off completely to the feel of his warm hand taking in the old wound, you fail to notice the way his head has turned up, eyes running over your face. He contemplates brushing a finger over your hairline, tucking the wild flyaways behind your ear. But no. That would be too…friendly. That’s not what this is.

So instead he spreads your blankets over your now sleeping form, and with one last lingering gaze, leaves you to sleep peacefully.

-

You’re not surprised when you wake up to the empty room. It was what you wanted, after all. You had gotten another restful night out of it, and he got what he wanted. It was a fair trade. A great trade, even.

And as the training drills continue and you feel how naturally your body flows, how efficiently it executes your will when you’re actually well-rested, you find yourself seeking his company out more and more. Soon the pair of you have built your own kind of routine, him coming to you the evening after each debriefing when the leftover sparks of adrenaline are refusing to die out in you both.

He always lays you down on your stomach, opening you up with his fingers as he patiently works you through your first orgasm before letting himself take you. He’s always slow at first, but he finds you restless and impatient, urging him to go faster and harder, to knock you out for the night, to knock everything out of your mind that you never want to think about again.

You try to look back once only for your face to meet his hand. With gentle but firm fingers, he turns your head away.

Afterwards he’s even more delicate, wordlessly cleaning you up with a touch light enough to leave a butterfly unharmed. Although he rarely meets your eyes, his gaze and fingers take in your body, each time finding a new scar for his fingers to brush over like a chaste kiss.

You’re asleep by the time he leaves, and you like it that way. The two of you can crash against each other like blizzards raging and howling until you finally break into clear skies. And afterwards, you’re soldiers again. Well-rested, sure. But soldiers all the same. No hard feelings, either. You know he understands.

Soon you two find yourselves assigned to the same training team more and more. It’s natural, an unspoken communication flowing between you, and your superiors see it in the skyrocketing success rates. They pointedly ignore the way your stares burn holes into each other, keeping their eyes fixed on powerpoints and mission statistics. Not their business, they tell themselves. What matters is that you two do your jobs.

-

And then finally it’s time for the mission, a deployment in the middle of a remote and mountainous forest with terrible radio signal.

Like your first training, it starts easy enough. You’re divided into two teams on two separate mountains, and it’s just your luck that they put you on the team with no one you���re close to. Not even König. Maybe the higher-ups were finally sick of you two.

But you’re an adult. You handle it. You swallow the unease that comes with the teams not being able to contact each other. It’s simply too risky, and the signals are shoddy at best anyway. Base will come in for extraction if the other team succeeds.

With practiced ease you push yourself through two weeks of empty trails and summer-camp camaraderie as the talkative ones share jokes around the empty fireplace and the quiet ones listen from the shadows and chuckle their approval.

Week 3, everything goes to shit.

You should’ve known. You really should’ve known. The weather out here can change in an instant, clouds materializing from a clear sky’s empty expanse like an angry god throwing his rage down from above. You should’ve known the people here would be the same.

Before any of you knew the safehouse was surrounded, they were already through the doors.

You remember waking up to the creak of the old door with a groan, not ready to start your watch yet. The man on watch had been short and wiry, and you marveled at how shadows warp themselves against the light, twisting and turning to make one man look like another, tall and burly and carrying a-

CRASH!

The windows burst inwards in a crescendo of sparks and you’re scrambling backwards, reaching for your

BANG!

Dust from the roof is falling on your head, in your eyes and you’re blinking at the haze, the sting, your hands feeling the solid weight of your weapon and yanking it against you, and you’re stumbling backwards towards the

BANG!

and you’re stumbling forwards towards the

BANG!

And you’re on your knees crawling crawling

BANG! BANG BANG BANG!

crawling away from everything and your eardrums are hot iron seething in your skull and your eyes are being scratched by cats and there’s something warm on your face now and there’s something heavy thunking to the floor just next to you and everything is all dark, all the shadows are choking you and-

-grey. Not black. Not the black of the inside. Grey. A doorway. A hole in the wall. You’re on your knees, your hands are on the wall, you’re pushing yourself up, you’re running, and there are patters behind you and gurgling sounds and the volleys of automatic weaponry but your vision is finally starting to clear, you can see the treeline and all you need is to get there.

A roar surges behind you, and you spin into the sun. Heat slams into your body and you’re flung, a leaf in the wind, hard onto your back as yellows and reds surge in front of you or maybe it was behind you and now you’re a deer, eyeballs bulging out of your head and rolling in your skull as you run from a forest fire, angry and starving, only this fire has legs and they’re longer than yours and it’s following you, you just know it, you can’t hear it but you know.

You’re not a human anymore, you’re barely even an animal, you’re not thinking, you’re a scramble of limbs and an impulse. Run.

You try. You try so hard but there’s nothing carrying you, your legs don’t feel connected to each other anymore and they’re not even your legs you look down and they’re still there but you can’t…feel them?

Tilting. Tilting. Tilting.

Light. Burning light.

Fade to black.

No, wait. Not you. You’re still here. Your legs are wavy and jelly but still there.

You fling an arm out and feel something solid. Cold. Rough. Bark.

You made it to the trees.

There’s no time to celebrate. Behind you lights are still flaring, and with each passing second more bodies are falling to the ground, leaking out into the snow. You have to move.

-

The second safehouse is to the north. It’s your only way out, you know that. The rest of your team would be there.

Should be there.

Better be there.

Don’t think about it, don’t think. Just move.

-

The battle is fading behind you now and your blood is beginning to cool, settling heavy in your veins like the thick jam your mother used to make on warm summer mornings just as the sun’s rays flowed through your windows.

It would be nice to be there right now. Warm. Content. Full. Your stomach growls in agreement at the thought. You have some ration bars in your pocket, but you know it hasn’t been long enough to have one. You need to spread them out, make sure they can last.

Your stomach groans again, and you shake your head. To divert your attention, you take stock of the rest of your body.

You’re scraped and bruised, your head vibrating like…oh, what is it like? Like…your phone after you get added to a group chat you wanted nothing to do with. Hehe. You can barely remember the days when your problems were as simple as that.

You're letting yourself get too distracted. Anyways, as you were saying. You’re a bit battered and scraped up, alright. But no broken bones. No visible deadly wounds. And you still have your gun clamped to your chest with shaky arms. That’s all you need, really. Making it to the safehouse will be a breeze.

-

You’re halfway down the mountain as twilight begins to lighten to dawn, and there’s still no sign of anyone chasing you. It’s a bit warmer down here, and as you flex your fingers and toes you feel the sharp pins and needles radiate through them and force a smile. It’s good, you tell yourself. Means they’re all still there. You might just be in the clear now.

Then the sky darkens again, and it begins to rain.

Within a few minutes you can’t see your hand in front of your face in the downpour and you're forced to hide out. You find a fallen evergreen and burrow through its thick boughs, needles pricking your face and poking in your mouth with a sharp scent that settles behind your eyeballs as you force your way through, certain it will block out the worst of the rain. It doesn’t.

-

It’s past noon by the time the deluge finally lets up, and as you step out, cursing your shelter for all its faults, the slick earth shifts abruptly under you. With a cry, you are yanked off of your feet into a roll down the slope. You fling out your arms, grasping for anything solid, but the world is a mass of dirt and grey-brown snow-slush and you can’t stop yourself until your hip jams into a tree-stump. Hard.

You hiss, twisting your face upwards off the ground. Bad idea. The mud-slush runs down into your nose and you splutter, spasming and hacking up half the mountain. You move to wipe your eyes on your arm but only rub more dirt in them, gritting your teeth and hissing through them at the sting.

You push yourself onto your hands and knees with a whimper, gingerly feeling around your hip. Not broken. Just another bruise. What’s one more bruise? It’ll be fine.

You’ll be fine.

-

Your ankle is twisted. You’ve wrapped it as best as you can, but every time you put weight on it, you imagine a great big serpent with needles for scales is slithering under your skin, wrapping itself tight around the bones and squeezing.

Even worse, it's getting dark again. Fucking FUCK.

You should get yourself a thesaurus for Christmas. Fuck really doesn’t have much weight to it when you say it every other sentence.

Whatever. You’re fucking screwed.

Your clothes are soaked, you’re painted in dirt and runny snow and as soon as it gets dark temperatures are going to drop fast enough to freeze you right in place like a stupid fucking statue. Fuck this, fuck this so hard what do I do what do I do.

You bury your face into your hands, heels pressing hard into your eyes. It doesn’t matter that your hands have mud mittens anymore because your face is solid mud and you’ve had dark spots in your eyesight for hours and maybe if you rub them really hard this will all be a shitty dream your shitty brain made up and then you can wake up in your shitty cot with your blanket that’s too thin and it will be so fucking lumpy and uncomfortable and perfect. It would be perfect. Maybe König would be there.

What?

You’re breaking down and going to die in a few hours and you’re thinking of him? Some dude you fuck? What the hell is wrong with you?

He was really warm, though. And he was always so gentle afterwards. For hands that kill with such brutal precision, his fingers felt too delicate to be his when they ran along your body, mapping every scar and dimple like he was trying to memorize you. Like he was terrified that tomorrow he might wake up blind and never be able to see you again, so he needed to be able to recognize you by touch alone.

You didn’t even know what his face looked like, but you could get lost in those eyes, you think. You've learned that the skin above them stretches when he’s surprised, and the skin under them scrunches up when he laughs, so you think it must scrunch like that when he smiles, too. You’ve even seen the way his lids drift down to hide the way his eyes roll back when he’s bored.

What do they look like when he’s excited? When he’s angry? Sad?

You wonder what it would be like to look him in the eyes while you both fell apart. Would he look away and screw them shut? Would they water a little, as yours so often did?

Would he stay the night if you asked? Would he hold you? Would he…

No. This isn’t happening. No way in hell. You are not dying thinking of a random man you’ve barely spoken two words to. It’s ridiculous. It’s pathetic. You’re better than this.

You will not go out like this.

You yank yourself to a tree whose limbs burst forth in sprays of dark needles, your shoulders screaming at you as you pull yourself up on the branches, feeling like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. It’s pitiful. You swing your good leg up, grinding your teeth so hard your jaw pops as you pull yourself up to a thick fork and begin pulling down limbs above you, cutting through the ones around you, tying and weaving and undoing and redoing.

It is dark by the time you’ve finished, a thick nest of evergreen boughs settled under you and woven walls crushing you in. You have to curl into a tight ball to fit into it, but you can no longer feel the breezes from outside. You’ve stripped your clothes off and spread them along the walls as best you can, hoping they can dry just a little.

You thank the mud for clogging your nose. You don’t even want to imagine what you and your clothes must smell like by now.

Maybe by the time you meet up with the others you’ll smell so bad you’ll make one of the rookies vomit. Ghost did that last mission, and you and Soap nearly burst a lung as the poor guy emptied his guts over and over again.

You chuckle at that and try your best to fall asleep.

-

By the time you make it down the mountain the next day, your knees are knocking against each other with every step and your weapon is plastered with muddy slush that has frozen and melted and frozen all over again. The valley is even worse than the slope, with runoff from the rain congregating in a swampy mess that has you sinking up to your calves in some places. Lifting a leg in this feels like pulling yourself out of concrete, so you get really good at sliding each foot forward without raising it upwards at all.

You think the pressure from the mud is helping with the pain. You barely feel it when you move now.

Your jaw is clenched so hard you chip one of your molars.

-

You’re halfway through the valley when one of them finds you.

It’s funny how it happens. How you both stand in the mud staring at each other. How you both instinctively know who the other is through the curtain of earth camouflaging you both, yet each stand stock-still as statues anyway.

A second passes.

Two.

Three.

In an instant your guns are to your shoulders, fingers rushing to crush the-

Nothing happens. You squeeze. Squeeze again. The man shakes his gun and yells in frustration, the mud and ice having rendered your weapons unfireable.

But not unusable. The man’s head whips back to you with a growl and he lunges forward, his foot sinking into a deep patch and jerking him down face first. He throws himself up again, splatting forward another pace.

You slide backward, forcing yourself to slow down, to keep your feet under you as you move gut-wrenchingly slowly, searching for solid ground. He’s flailing and flinging himself towards you but the mud is slowing him down, and there’s a rocky patch right behind you. You’re going to make it.

He reaches you before you reach the edge, raising his gun and throwing his body behind a downwards blow. Yours is already coming up to deflect, but the blow sends you backwards, landing on your back with a splash. He’s on top of you, a hand shoving your face down as mud flows around it.

You thrash and wiggle, a scream cut off as your mouth fills with liquid dirt. Your hand is whirling all around and it catches something and you yank.

He howls as you pull his ear, sending him off-balance just enough to raise your head for a choking gasp before your palm is on his face, shoving him sideways. He rolls away from you, struggling to his feet as you’re on your hands and knees and your gun is in the mud but so is his. He tries to reach for it but he’s stuck, and in that precious heartbeat of time your legs are back under you, feet planted deep and wide.

He whirls towards you as you stand, throwing a punch at your torso that you know you can’t dodge, you can’t even move, so you throw your fist sideways, twisting, forcing all your strength into shoving from your rear leg so that when you catch his knuckles on your forearm they are savagely wrenched sideways with your momentum. His pinkie pops outwards with a crunch, and he falls back with a choked sob.

You grab your gun off the ground, throwing your whole body into a swing at his head, shattering through his palm as he tries to block it. You both fall sideways with the momentum but you find your feet faster, gripping the weapon through the slime coating it as you bring the stock straight down into his skull.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Your grip slides, dirt scraping more of your skin off with each blow, but he’s not moving. You stumble backwards drunkenly, falling onto your forearms again and army-crawling, gun held tightly in each hand, all the way to the edge. You flop on your back then, one eye on the body, and heave great breaths, coughing again and again until your body has enough and you curl inwards, choking out mud and throwing up even more. You try to even your breathing, try to filter the adrenaline out of your system so you don’t crash. In, out. In, out. In out in out inoutinoutinoutinoutin-FUCCCCCKK. You shake your head violently, over and over.

You take one last look at the body, only seeing it because you know where to look. A mud-covered shoulder pokes out of the ground, the rest already lost.

You can’t balance on your feet anymore, so you crawl away.

You don’t even bother to make a shelter that night. You crawl under a rotting log, ripping your last ration bar from your pocket and devouring it, licking the crumbs from your stained and tainted fingers. You curl up and fall asleep just like that, bones chattering and muscles spasming.

-

Helicopter blades wake you up in the morning. You’re on your feet, falling and jumping and running and falling, flailing your arms because you know those blades, that’s your team and they’re here for you and you’re finally free, you did it you did it you’re so proud of yourself you can’t wait to have a warm bath and then maybe even afterwards you can see-

The helicopter passes over you and disappears around the mountain.

You stare at it, deathly still. It’s just sweeping the area, making sure it’s safe to land.

But the wingbeats have already faded into the distance, replaced by a vast and engulfing silence. Time stretches out before you, and you’re still staring at the mountain.

Your stomach breaks the silence with a gurgle.

You flop down, shoving your face into the ground, and scream.

-

You press the button on your radio, cracking the caked mud. It clicks, and you hear nothing. Not even static. You click it again. And again, this time just to hear the sound. Rapidly you click it again and again and again.

You start laughing, your abs clenching and strangling your organs as you guffaw, thrashing around like a headless chicken, and thinking about yourself as a headless chicken makes you laugh even louder. Everything is just so funny, none of this is real, you’re on the Truman Show, you’re the biggest comedy in the world. It’s even funny that your laughter only comes out in squeaky wheezes. It’s all just a big joke. Haha. You can’t wait to tell someone.

You fall asleep just like that, grinning up at the sky with dirt in your teeth.

-

You wake up, stare into the sun, and go back to sleep.

-

You feel lighter.

Is this what it feels like to leave your body?

It’s not as bad as you thought.

-

You wonder if König will remember you.

-

The ground beneath you is moving, sliding under you and scraping along you.

There's no ground underneath you at all now, and something is pressing, and you feel your legs dangling and swinging all around you, the world spinning a jig and you the unwilling passenger. You think you might tell it to stop, but it doesn't listen to you.

You're yanked back into consciousness by a thundering vibration setting every bone against itself. You jolt upwards, feeling heavy pressure on your shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head. The world is black. Black and blue and blurred. Through the haze you begin to make out a white visage and two black voids that pierce through you.

This must be hell. You don’t want to be awake for your judgement.

Your consciousness drifts away again, blocking out the rumbling flight of the helicopter, completely oblivious to the warm bodies pressed in around you, speaking rapidly through their headsets.

Any more? Sweep around again.

There's nothing else here.

Ok. Let's bring these ones back, then.

-

You are still asleep as your body is carried into a hospital room, completely unresponsive as the nurses strip and bathe you with clinical precision. You don’t wake until hours later, seeing only a single nurse checking your vitals and bandages. Each hand and foot has been carefully wrapped, the angry red battlefield of blisters and exposed flesh meticulously covered in pristine, unblemished white. The nurse offers a smile as you fight through the haze, imagining you are underwater and slowly floating to the surface, watching the sun jiggle and warp through the abyss above you. Just bad blisters, the nurse is telling you. Very lucky. Very lucky. You think you might nod back. She’s right, of course. You’re alive, aren’t you?

-

Ghost comes by as you’re released the next day. They’ve rewrapped your hands in a bandage that gives you a little more flexibility, and he finds you sitting on the edge of the bed, staring into the white fabric.

The mattress shifts as he settles beside you. He doesn’t say a word, but his eyes are trained on you. Black voids in a mask of white.

“You left me,” you finally whisper, eyes still on your hands.

“What?”

You look at him, trying to see something in the face to get mad at, but his eyes are just a little wider than before. Confused, maybe.

“The helicopter…” you begin, voice scratchy, and clear your throat. “The helicopter flew right over me.”

“That wasn’t our helicopter.”

“It was heading back from the safehouse.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

“Oh,” you huff, sinking into yourself. “I…”

You stop as he clears his throat, shoulders expanding in a loud breath. “It’s alright. You were knocked out pretty good by the time our boys found you. Happens to the best of us.”

You nod, swallowing again, and wish someone else was here to comfort you, literally anyone but Ghost. “Is…uh…is…umm…is Soap ok?”

Ghost grunts. “Johnny took one to the arm, but he’ll pull through. I was just going to visit him now.”

You push yourself to your feet, proud that you only sway a bit. “Can I-”

“No,” Ghost cuts you off. “You’ll have time to visit him later. For now you need to go and rest. That’s an order,” he cuts you off as you open your mouth to protest. Your jaw shuts. Call it obedience, call it cowardice, but you find you just don’t have it in you to argue the point. You promise yourself you’ll see Soap in the morning. Well, later in the morning, seeing as it’s somehow 0100 hours already.

When Ghost leaves you slump, any need for straight posture gone with the departure of your superior officer. Trying to keep your breathing even, you will your legs to carry your body down the medical corridor. Just a little longer, you promise them, then you’ll get the break you deserve. But your body has had enough of your unfulfilled promises, and you find yourself forced to sink onto one of the shitty metal chairs littering the hallway. Just a little rest, and then I’ll go back to my quarters.

You wake to the familiar sounds of agony. Before your body has the chance to disagree, instinct has you on your feet again, hands grabbing at the thin air where your sidearm should be. My holster, my holster, where the hell is-

Your eyes land on the white-washed walls. Too clean. Too smooth. And your hands aren’t moving like they should, strangled by white fabric. It finally sinks in that you’re far from the battlefield, far from any fight.

The sounds continue, drawing your eye to one of the many nondescript doors lining the corridor. Someone having a nightmare, probably. Or reacting badly to a procedure, maybe. Either way, a problem best left for the nurses with their iron wills and their tranquilizers. You have enough bruises already. Best not add a black eye to the list.

A pitiful whimper sounds through the door, one that has your heart twisting like a towel being wrung out, sending all the blood to your throat and stomach.

Fuck it. What’s one more bruise?

Your fingers curl the handle down, and you shrink in on yourself as the door swings open on its own with a creak. You catch it and hastily shut it behind you, trying not to make any more noise.

The room is small enough that even the military-issue cot feels too big for it. The room is made even smaller by the man lying in the cot, arms dangling off the sides as he thrashes, his feet hanging off the end. You can see the crumpled blanket on the floor and automatically avert your eyes. The hood is still on, but below it he’s wearing an undershirt and boxers, and you realize this is the most of him you’ve ever seen.

You press yourself to the wall as he spasms again, a leg kicking out and narrowly missing you, causing you to notice the thick white bandage wrapped around his thigh, and the dark line slowly being painted along it.

Hesitantly you flick the lights on, wincing at the burn that rushes through your eyeballs, but he doesn’t even react to it. You have no idea how to wake him up without breaking a bone, so you press your back to the wall, slowly skirting along the edge of the room and staying as far out of his reach as you can, praying to whatever old ghosts are listening that he doesn’t wake up and go straight into murder mode. Or, you know, default alert soldier setting. This is a stupid idea.

As you approach his head you lean over as far as you can, stretching one arm out until the socket pops in protest. You poke his shoulder and leap back.

Nothing.

You take a step closer and lean in again.

You’re immediately interrupted by the door swinging open with a much-louder creak. You and the nurse both pause and stare at each other for a moment, startled, and you sheepishly move to straighten and pull your arm back.

With viper-like speed an arm shoots out to grab your wrist, capturing it in a deadly grip and you yelp, whirling back to the man in the bed and raising your opposite arm.

You freeze when you see his eyes, so wide they’re more white than color. He’s stock-still, fixated on you like a mouse caught in a cat’s gaze. Paralyzed by fear, praying. Shaking.

His hand is…shaking. “Hey, hey,” you coax, hesitantly pulling your arm back in so you can place it over his fingers. “It’s just me, big guy. You’re safe.”

His chest heaves outwards, and you feel his hand relax a little before his head snaps towards the nurse as she takes a step closer, cradling something small and cylindrical in her hands. “It’s alright,” she speaks directly to you. “I can take it from here.”

König releases the breath he’s held, shoving himself backwards on the bed with a shake of his head, prompting the nurse to click her tongue at him before raising the needle. You realize it’s a lot bigger than you first thought. “You’ll be fine,” she’s assuring him. “It will hurt a lot less once it’s done.”

König’s head turns very slowly, back up to you, and for a second you’re confused at his gaze, wondering why he thinks you have enough knowledge to give him any medical advice. Then you notice the way his eyes seem just a little too shiny in the light, the way his other hand is clenching and unclenching around the bedsheet.

You’ve always known him as the perfect soldier, quick and to the point, pin-prick precise, a dancing whirlwind of death. More monster than man. You know him as the one who laughs with every good kill, mocking the reaper of death with a smile. Look at how slow you are. I got here first. He’s the one who dances on the precipice of fate and spits over the edge.

Even sprawled out like this, sweaty and trembling, you are well aware of every flex of his muscles, of the strength he holds back in his grip. Yet as you look into the eyes of the storm you find that for the first time you see no hint of the giddy killing machine looking back at you. The eyes staring back at you from this big soldier’s body are those of a fragile little kid. And he’s terrified.

You gulp, your tongue catching on the back of your throat. “Yeah…yeah, it’ll be ok. I’ll be right here.”

Finally he relaxes, slumping back into the bed, and the nurse takes the opportunity to give him the shot. You feel his flinch in a wave of pressure radiating up your wrist and forearm, but his gaze doesn’t move. He keeps looking into your eyes until his own begin to droop and he sinks even further into the mattress.

Before his hand drops from your wrist you catch it, the skin under your bandages protesting at the sudden flexion. You choose to ignore it, settling down on the floor next to his bed as your own eyes begin to follow his. Even as your head falls into your knees and your body finally gives itself completely over to darkness, you refuse to let go.

-

You’re woken by something warm trailing along your hairline. You jerk, smacking the back of your head into the wall with an irritated grunt. König’s arm hovers in the air just in front of your face, and you turn to see him pressed to the edge of the bed, looking a little guilty. “Sorry,” he murmurs.

You should be, startling me like that, you want to say. But when you open your mouth, what comes out instead is “No, it’s ok, I just…I wasn’t expecting it.”

König gulps audibly, and the cot creaks as he pulls his hand back, shifting his body even closer. “You stayed.”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” he hisses, and you find yourself staring into his eyes again, only this time they’ve taken on their old torrential intensity.

Now it’s yours that are as wide as a child’s. You gulp, feeling the muscles of your jaw flex and unflex. “Ok,” you finally murmur. “I’ll stay.”

-

And you do. For two more nights König stays in the infirmary, weathering the steady rounds of nurses and bandage changes with a steely resolve even as his fists flex and twist into the sheets. You stay with him all the while, but he doesn’t reach for your hand again, not after noticing your own bandages.

The second night you sleep in the cot next to him at his insistence. You’re hurt too, he reasons. You need a real bed to rest in. He scoots himself to the back edge to give you room, and when you wake up he hasn’t moved.

After the third night you wake to his hand resting on your arm. It’s a small gesture. Innocent even. Yet still you find yourself contemplating it, barely saying a word as the nurses come to remove his bandages. You grind your jaw as you take in the puckered line of stitches running from his knee up to the edge of his boxers, looking away politely as the nurses help him into a pair of sweatpants.

You don’t even say anything when you let him lean on your shoulders, using your own aching body as a sacrificial lamb to transport him back to his barrack. Once you get him into bed you hover in the doorway, taking in the shadows of the walls, twisting your wrists back and forth, a habit you picked up to alleviate the pain from flexing your fingers. They’re in even thinner bandages now, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Maybe there’s nothing to say. You found him in a vulnerable situation where he needed a lifeline. It could have been anyone, he was barely lucid. Now he surely wanted to forget all of that vulnerability and go back to a time where he hadn’t needed help from anyone. Not even you. Especially not you. He was a soldier, after all. Fondness wasn’t in the job description.

Best not to say anything then. Just…leave and get this over with. Just like that. Yeah…easy. Really easy.

Your move to shut the door behind you is halted by him calling your name. Your real name. You didn’t even know he knew your name.

He calls it again, quieter this time, and you lean back in the door, eyes drifting across his room to him. He’s still sitting on the bed where you left him, only now he’s hunched over to rest a forearm on his good thigh. “Come back here,” he breathes, voice cracking, and it hits you right in your stomach, settling there like a wounded bird, flapping and screeching at you to stay away, you’re already in too deep, you don’t know how this will end.

But it’s too late. You’re walking forward, the door swinging shut behind you. Locked. You’re already reaching out for the hand he offers, only for him to reach past the bandages and grab your wrist. You pause at that, staring into the hazy depths of his eyes, pupils bursting for you again. Slowly, inch by excruciating inch, he straightens again, face coming closer to yours as another hand snakes around your neck to help guide you down to straddle his good thigh, moving your forearms to rest on each of his shoulders.

The bird in your stomach has moved to your chest, and you’re positive he can feel your heavy breathing even through his mask with how close you are. His eyes look down to your lips, and you wonder if he is going to lift his hood up and kiss you, your cheeks flushing in anticipation as he leans forward.

Only instead he rests his forehead against yours, eyes drifting closed. You feel your arms drift upwards with his inhale. “Stay with me,” he exhales. “One more night.”

You nod against his forehead, wrapping your arms around his neck and finally letting your own eyes close. Your breathing is slowed down now, and you find yourself enjoying the warmth you feel radiating from everywhere you touch him. One of his hands has spread against your thigh, while the other still rests along your neck, thumb tracing up and down your jaw. You know you could fall asleep just like this.

König, however, has other ideas. As you slump even further to him, both of his hands drift to your hips. You notice the movement, sighing at the pleasant sensation of his hands running over your body. You don’t notice the intention until he takes a deep breath, and in one smooth motion he has stood and twisted to lay you down on the bed, climbing on top of you. You gasp, feeling your heart stutter all over again, blood rushing to your core as you feel the fabric of his hood rub up your neck. His nose, you think.

Fuck, you want him. You want him just like this and any other way he’s willing to give, but you can’t, you shouldn’t, and you know you have to at least try to protest. You bite back a whimper as a hand drags up your inner thigh. “König, your leg.”

“I don’t care,” he growls. “Say my name again.”

You groan in protest and he pulls back, tilting your face up to his. “Is this not what you want?” He feels the way your jaw flexes and pulls away.

“Wait. No. I want this. You. I want you. Just…please be careful.”

He hears the last part, but he’s past giving a damn about his own body now. His hand is already undoing your belt and he’s leaning back to ease your pants and underwear off your legs, lazily tossing them to the side.

A harsh word escapes his throat as he looks down at you, but you don’t catch it through the blood rushing in your ears. “Close your eyes,” he orders, and unthinkingly you do, another growling swear reaching your ears. “So obedient for me.”

You hear the shuffling of fabric and feel a hand wrap around one of your knees, lifting it up for a warm tongue to swirl along the inside of it, for wet lips to place a sloppy kiss just above where his tongue had just been. His lips slide up again, and this time he sucks on the skin just slightly, and you feel your leg tremble as a tiny moan escapes you, but he’s already moving further up and this time sucking harder, and then further and harder and further and harder until he’s against your inner thigh and his teeth are sinking into you and you yelp his name, whining in frustration as he pulls back.

“No,” you pant, “don’t stop. Please.”

You feel a chuckle rumble in his throat and his nose presses into the bottom of your slit. You jolt, squeezing your eyes tighter as it slides up through you before pressing into your sensitive spot, and he inhales.

“Fuck,” you cry, tangling your hands in the sheets only to choke on a sound of pain.

König pulls back immediately and you shake your head at him, a sob on the edge of your quivering lips.

“Easy. Watch your hands.”

You grit your teeth and nod, relaxing your fingers and turning your palms up.

“Good,” he purrs as his hands hook under the backs of your knees, easily throwing your legs over his shoulders. As he settles back down you feel the muscles in his back flexing against your calves and moan before his mouth is even on you.

He hums contentedly at the sound, running his tongue along the length of you before swirling it around your clit. His lips pucker against it and he sucks, pulling away with a soft pop that has you clenching your legs around him. He moves in again, lazily altering between sucking and tracing his tongue just around your bud, feeling the way you flex against him, hearing the way you react to each movement, and committing all of it to memory before shifting his head so he can dip his tongue inside you. He groans at the taste, the vibration of it radiating up under your ribs and down through your legs. You’re quiet now, feeling how close you are settling heavy over you, drowning you in deliciously sweet honey.

He feels the shaking of your legs around him and returns to your clit as he slowly works a finger into you, curling it upwards to stroke at the spongy part inside of you.

You break quietly, choking on his name as the pleasure strangles your muscles and sets them briefly aflame, fresh sensations flowing through you as he continues to touch you just so, only pulling away when you sink into the mattress and your legs slip from his shoulders.

You hear the bed frame creak as he pulls back, running a hand up your thigh before the shifting sound of fabric hits your ears, and you feel the mattress sink down in different places as he shifts.

“Open your eyes.”

You do as he says, your disappointment at seeing the sniper’s hood obscuring his face immediately squashed by the realization that the rest of him is completely naked.

You’re seeing him for the first time.

Fucking hell, what a sight.

Your eyes rest on the delicious curve of his cock first, marveling at the pink tip and the thick veins running along it. You had felt his size on plenty of occasions, but seeing it for the first time is a new beast entirely, one that has you biting your lip and wiggling your hips like a teenager all over again.

But soon your eyes are taken in by the strong curves of muscle outlining his hips, and your eyes are traveling upwards to the delicious bulges of his chest, your own heaving at the sight. You find yourself wanting to trace the outline of each hill and valley of muscle that flows along his shoulders, down his arms, to the hands, wanting to run your tongue along the veins like raised rivers spreading down his forearm and across the back of each hand.

You wonder what his back looks like. You wonder how the muscles of his neck shift as he moves, what the outline of his jaw is shaped like. You are greedy and want to take everything he has, and at the same time you are desperate for anything he can give you. You’re a peasant kneeling at the feet of your king, ready to lick the crumbs he throws you off the floor.

His head tilts playfully, breaking you out of your reverie. “You like what you see?”

Your chuckle catches in your chest, only a tiny puff of air leaving your mouth. “Yes.”

His eyes scrunch a little, and you imagine he is grinning as he leans over, balancing himself above you. He moves back a bit, hand adjusting your hips as he positions himself. He looks back up at you, and you nod eagerly, your hands reaching up to grab his shoulders. He clicks his tongue, glancing at them, and with a groan you put your hands above your head. He moves one of his own to grasp your wrists, keeping them pinned as he sinks onto his forearms.

You feel the head of his cock running up and down your folds, and instinctively bend your back to give him a better angle, earning an approving hum that makes you even wetter. But as he braces himself and begins to drive into you, a strangled sound smashes through his gritted teeth.

Oh no. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

He doesn’t answer, only pressing his face into your neck, inhaling heavily as you feel his entire body stiffening against you. “It’s…it’s fine,” he hisses, his hand strangling your wrists. “Just …” he heaves another breath. “Ah... Ich… I…need a…moment.”

You sigh, wiggling a hand out of his grip to push his chin up. He lets you move his face back, and even in the dim light you can see the way the skin around his eyes has gone even paler than normal. “Get off,” you murmur.

He slumps, twisting his face out of your grip and keeping his eyes on the wall. He stays like that for a second before giving a swift nod and pulling out, maneuvering backwards on the bed and moving to get off.

“Wait!” you burst out, and he freezes. “That’s not what I meant.”

After another moment he looks at you in bewilderment, so you sit up and shift to the side, patting the bed next to you. Awkwardly, he crawls to it, nearly dragging his bad leg, stiffening again when you place your wrists on his shoulders. “Let me?”

After a second of staring into your eyes, he nods again, allowing you to push on him, laying him on his back before you straddle him and finally take your shirt off. You see his chest rise with a shuddering breath and before you really think about it you’re leaning down to lick a stripe up his sternum. Seeing his pecs jerk upwards on either side of your tongue emboldens you and you shift your head, running your tongue back down to circle over one of his nipples before you suck.

Immediately the muscles flex again and he pushes up into you. “Like that,” he snarls, loud and vibrating through your skull. You’re aching down there again, but you’re not done yet. You release him with a squelch, watching the patch of saliva glisten before moving to give the other nipple the same treatment, your heart leaping at the sounds falling from his mouth as he quivers under you.

“König,” you croon. “Touch me.”

He whimpers as you flick your tongue over the sensitive bud. “Where?”

“Anywhere. Grab my hair, squeeze my tits, just put your hands on me.”

You groan as he obeys, long fingers tangling tightly in your hair as his other hand spreads along your ribcage, thumb sliding over your breast. You sigh, leaning down to bite into his pec, moaning as his grip on you tightens. You kiss the mark left by your teeth before leaning back. His hands move to cup both of your breasts as you raise yourself up and sink down onto his cock. You’re too excited and you go too fast, and a sharp pinch of pain seizes at your entrance. You gasp, instinctively leaning forward to brace yourself on your palms, but his hands move to your waist, catching you before you hurt them any further.

“I have you,” he whispers, voice scratchy, and despite the pain you clench at the sound of what you do to him. He chokes on his next words, a groan coming out instead. “Do you need to get off?”

“No!” You whisper-yell back so quickly that he laughs, and despite everything you laugh with him. He runs his hands up and down your sides, feeling you start to relax a little, but not enough yet. “Tell me what you need,” he murmurs.

“It’s fine.” You close your eyes and try to focus on your breathing. “Just need…a moment.”

“Hypocrite.”

You shoot your eyes open to glare at him, only to see his chest shake with another chuckle at your scrunched-up angry face. “Your leg is sliced open, it’s not the same,” you scoff.

His eyes glimmer with the start of a witty retort before one of his hands freezes over your bottom rib, drawing his lovely gaze away from yours. His thumb is circling around a tiny hairline of a scar, bone-white and soft. You’ve already forgotten how you got it.

“This one,” he murmurs. “It is new.”

“How…how did you notice?”

“It wasn’t there last time.” His tone was quiet and matter-of-fact, like the answer was obvious, and it takes you back to every time his hands ran over you as you drifted into sleep. How long did he stay there after you fell asleep? How long did it take him to commit you to memory so well that a patch of skin even you had forgotten was instantly recognized as something new?

Your body has always been a means to an end, a vehicle carrying you rather than a full part of you. Batter it, toss it around, whatever you need to do to get the job done. And when your body protests, you treat it like any other tool you can beat into submission. Like your first battered old car that revved to life with a well-placed kick.

But now all you can think of is his hands running over you with thorough determination, acknowledging each new mark with a gentle reverence that was more than you deserved. Getting to know you in the only way he knew how.

For the first time in a long time, you’re reminded to see this body as something more than a bruised vessel you’re obligated to carry around. He reminds you to see it as something more.

Fuck, you think you might love him.

“König?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

His head tilts a little, his hand still running along your rib, and your cheeks flush.

Before he can reply, you gulp a little. “I…I think I’m ready.”

He hums again, his hands moving back to rest on your hips. You stay still for another moment, looking into his eyes. You don’t think you can memorize his body, not like he has yours. But you have memorized his eyes, have burned them into your mind so clearly you saw them even as you were trapped on that damned mountain. Thinking about him.

And now you think he might've been thinking about you, too.

You feel him twitch inside of you, pulling you out of your thoughts. Taking a deep breath, you raise yourself up slowly, feeling his hands tighten and take some of your weight, following your lead as you sink into him again, this time with a sigh that echoes his own. Slowly, hesitantly, you raise yourself up and down, feeling how easily he stretches you, how easily he could break you.

But he never has. The only pain you’ve gotten from him was caused by your own impatience. As you keep going, finding an angle that has him dragging across your most sensitive parts and making you even wetter, you become confident that there’s no chance of pain, allowing yourself to speed up.

His hands are steady as ever, guiding you up and down, but beneath you his shoulders and chest begin to squirm and heave. His eyes wander all around, and his breaths are scattered and staccato.

And his sounds. You’d never known a man to be so loud, and now you know you’ve been missing out all these years. Every grunt, every groan, every moan and whimper goes straight through your core, winding you up faster and faster. As you get closer his sounds shift, and you realize he’s started to stutter out words.

His eyes are hazy and unfocused but you can still tell they’re trained on you, and you urge your body to calm down for just a minute longer, just long enough to hear what he’s saying.

You can’t make out any of the words, but his hands are even tighter on you now and the way his voice shifts from growling to whimpering settles into a melodic language that has you crying out for him anyway.

Beneath your trembling body, he keeps going. “Never..told you …du bist wie ein Traum,” another whimper leaves his lips. “Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist.” He gasps as you clench tighter around him. “Du bist…du…Du bist viel zu gut für mich…Dein Lächeln und …und…” His eyes are watering and you slow down only for his hands to dig into you, urging you to speed up again. “Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als …”

His mind is lapsing again, his determined confession faltering into a fervent prayer sent to the only god he’s ever believed in, to you - moving over him and taking everything he is giving you, making him wish he had more, so much more than the desert-dry heart of a killer whose hands can only ever pull things apart. His thumb is over the scar on your rib again and his blurry vision is taking in the white of the bandage wrapped around your hands and it has him wishing his own hands could build something instead of destroy it just so he could put you back together again. You’re coming apart around him, crying his name, and he’s thinking of flinging his body in front of you, taking every bullet and blade meant for you, because his body is all he has to give and he knows how to sacrifice it, he knows he’ll gladly lay it at your altar, bloody and broken, if it could only mean making sure he’d never be surprised by a new scar again. Maybe you’d even remember him a little when he was gone.

He’s trying to tell you all of that, the messy syllables punching through his throat. “Niemals, niemals, nie,…” but before he can finish he’s failing already, falling apart under you and screaming your name and emptying everything he has into you.

It’s not enough.

You’re laying on top of him now and he tries his best to be gentle but his entire body is shaking as he rolls you off and staggers to his bathroom, slamming the door behind him and sinking against it.

He shatters in a whole-body-wracking sob.

You’re never going to look at him again.

He tucks his legs in, squeezing his knees into his chest, squeezing even harder as a burn radiates out from the stitches, trying to rein in his ragged breathing in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, he can save this and cover up the fact that he’s crying.

It was just meant to be casual sex. He wasn’t supposed to start caring. That’s not what you wanted. It’s not fair to you. It’s not your fault he let himself get emotional. And now he’s ruined the only thing you two did have, he wanted to make you feel better and now he’s made you so uncomfortable and…and…

He slams his forehead into his knees and sobs again.

He’s pathetic. Pathetic to think this could be something more. Pathetic to think he could have something more.

Everything hurts.

That’s what he signed up for, isn’t it?

That’s what he deserves.

A knock on the door has his head jerking back up, hands clutching his knees hard enough the knuckles just might pop through the skin. “Go away!”

“No.” Your tone is flat as he hears a thunk against the other side of the door, imagining you leaning against it and sliding down, mirroring him perfectly. “Not until you talk to me.”

“No.”

You sigh. “That's how it’s gonna be? Well, in that case, to quote a man I…admire very much, I can make you talk.” You drop your voice, trying and failing to mimic his battle growl.

He snorts despite himself.

You take that as a cue to continue. “For one, I’m not leaving until you do. You’ll be stuck with my annoying-ass voice forever.”

“I like your voice.”

“Oh…umm…thank you. In that case I’ll…I’ll steal all your knives and I’ll draw a kangaroo on your door and-”

“You wouldn’t dare,” he growls.

“Guess you’ll never know if you keep that door closed. And that’s not all, I’ll…I’ll steal those cheap chocolates we get every supply drop. Don’t deny it, I know everyone joked it was Ghost but I saw you take them all. You love those.” You smile, laughing a little. “On the other hand, I’ll fly to Austria right now if that’s what it takes to get some chocolate you’d really like. I’d even get you some of those waffle things you were telling Soap about that one time I caught you both raiding the snack cabinets. Well, I’d probably eat some of those. But I promise to save most of them for you. Just…please talk to me. I’ll…I’ll…” you’re cut off by your own squeak as the door opens and you fall backwards.

His hands are already there to catch you, and once you sit back up he stays there, half-crouched and awkward, eyes anywhere but your own.

Slowly, you open your arms, watching his head turn back to you.

In an instant he’s lunged into you, burrowing his face into your neck with an awkward grunt as he stretches his bad leg out to the side. You try to change to a comfier position for him but the man is like a brick wall.

It’s nice.

So you let yourself stay there, wrapping around him as he wraps around you on the hard floor. It’s a softness unknown to you both, two soldiers carved razor-sharp from solid steel. But as you let yourself sink into him, you find yourself liking the strange tranquility of this moment, the way two bodies made for war can still drape over each other and feel peace instead. Against all better judgement, against any scrap of common sense you have left, you find yourself yearning for a few less battles if it can mean more of this. You let your eyes close, imagining it for just a little while.

After a while, he pulls back, moving to lean against the wall and pulling you so you can balance on his uninjured thigh. You let your head loll onto his shoulder, face turned into the hood. His chin rests on your temple.

“Are you cold?”

He grunts noncommittally, eyes half-closed. “Are you?”

“Nooo,” you mumble, burrowing into his neck. He shifts, maneuvering you off his lap, only to grunt when he tries to push on his leg.

“I got it.” You push yourself up, moving to the bed to retrieve one of the blankets there, carefully wrapping it around both of your torsos when you settle back onto his lap. Your legs stick out, but you don’t really care.

After a while you feel his heartbeat begin to pick up again and adjust yourself to look up at him. His eyes drift to you before he sighs. “Do you…still want me to talk?”

You nod.

“Alright then. I will talk. I do not think it is what you want to hear.”

You bite your lip and try to keep your breathing steady as he continues.

“Back in the med bay. No. Before that.” He shakes his head emphatically. “When we were assigned to two different groups…No…Scheiße, I…”

You run a shaky hand up and down his chest. “It’s okay. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers dig into you for a fraction of a second, so quick you think you might have imagined it before his entire body is deflating, his head settling back against the wall. “They ambushed us. You weren’t there but…they hit us on patrol, hit us and ran before we could counter. I did not even see who hit me, I just look up one moment and down the next and the snow is all red and…” His voice drops to barely a whisper “Das war meines.” He trails off completely, a finger tracing circles on your shoulder. “I've been wounded before. I've accepted death before. This time...before I...while I was…” he exhales another irritated sigh. “I was on the ground and…wie sag ich das…ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte...I was thinking of you.”

He freezes, turning his head away and dropping his hands from you. But instead of moving away, you kiss a patch of skin just outside the hood, watching the muscle under it jump. “Is that all you want to tell me?”

He shakes his head.

“Do you think you can keep going?”

His head turns back to you briefly before he tilts it up to stare at the ceiling. “When I was in the med bay. Well, I…it went like this. I wake up and you are there and I think, König this is it, now you are finally dead. And then I feel the pain and I see the nurse and you were moving away and I couldn't…du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…” he shakes his head back and forth, back and forth. “Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…needed you to stay.” His head jerks down again, eyes boring into yours with all the intensity of a tornado, arms wrapping around you once again. “I need you to stay.”

You nod, holding him tight, the weight of the words unspoken tangling in your chest and constricting your tongue. Stay. With me. He won't ask for more than tonight, not when neither of you can even risk asking for a tomorrow. Stay with me. For as long as you have. A day, maybe. A month. Maybe you'll get out of this mess someday and get years.

Stay with me for a lifetime. Whatever lifetime we get.

You nod, whispering a promise into his skin. Always. Your fingers drift down along his leg, tracing just outside the stitches, your eyes following the line of gooseprickles that rise in their wake.

You feel more than you hear your name being whispered into your hair, and as you look up fingers wrap around your wrist, guiding it up over his hip, his ribs, his chest. Sliding around the edge of the hood, pushing it up, up, up. Until the fabric slides off. You gaze in awe, watching his jaw flex as his lips part to form a word whose sound hides in the back of his throat. Always. You look back into his eyes before surging forward, hugging him tight, tight enough to strangle, you think, but he’s already wrapping himself around you with equal fervor.

“You know,” you murmur, breath ruffling his hair, “if you wanted my attention you didn’t have to go to such extremes.”

He huffs a laugh, the air catching in his lungs with a choking sound. His grip tightens.

-

When you wake you find you’ve been moved to the bed, but his face is still buried in your neck, unmoving despite the soft light filtering in your window. You smile a little, watching the early-morning sky, perfectly clear and pale blue.

It matches his eyes.

---

German Translations

du bist wie ein Traum: You are like a dream

Ich kann nicht glauben, dass du wirklich hier bist: I can’t believe you are here

Du bist viel zu gut für mich: You are too good to me

Dein Lächeln und…: You smile and…

Ich weiß nicht wie ich dich loslassen soll aber du verdienst so viel mehr als: I don't know how I am supposed to let go of you (eventually) but you (clearly) deserve so much more than me

Niemals, niemals, nie: never again, never again, never

Scheiße: shit

Das war meines: it was mine

wie sag ich das: how do I say this

ich hab versucht etwas zu tun, mich zu bewegen aber alles was ich tun konnte: I tried doing something, moving, but all I could do

du warst da und dann warst du fast nicht mehr da und ich konnte nicht atmen. Ich…: you were there and then you nearly weren’t there and I could not breathe. I…

Ich konnte nicht ohne dich. Ich…: I couldn’t without you. I…

[loversj0y]

5 times wilbur helped you + 1 time you helped him

pairing: wilbur soot x gn! reader

TWs: hypochondria + drinking alcohol + sickenss + death mentioned

note: this was so cute to write ee i love a good 5 things + 1! this fic is very cutesy too, a good strangers to neighbors to friends to best friends to lovers moment!

taglist! @l0veb0mb1ng

word count: 6.2k

one

The record store managed to be both small and incredibly overwhelming. It was a cozy place, with gorgeous dark blue walls, soft lighting, and big windows. You’d decided to stop here on your way home from work given that you’d been living in Brighton for nearly four months now and have barely gone anywhere but work and your apartment. It was about time you’d looked at expanding your music taste, so a record store was the perfect place to try and find something new. 

At least, you’d hoped it was. You’d been browsing the place for a good fifteen minutes, just completely mindless as you searched for anything that could pique your interest. A few customers had come and gone, and you could tell the shopkeeper was getting a bit annoyed by your presence. There was one other person in there with you, but the sun was starting to set, so you could imagine that the shopkeeper wanted to start closing. You looked around again, eyes scanning the title cards. 

The Front Bottoms. You’d only heard a few of their songs, so maybe it would be good to give them a listen, and at least this way, you could get back home before the sun finished setting. You went to grab the last record, deciding it would be better than going home with nothing. As you reached for it, your hand quickly came into contact with another person’s, and you pulled your hand back quickly. 

“Oh, sorry!” You heard, turning to look up at the only other person in there. He was tall, soft brown curls peeking out from a beige beanie that matched his sweater. He was really cute as well, a soft flush covering your cheeks as you looked up at his smile that honestly took your breath away. 

You spent a moment remembering how to respond like a normal person before you spoke up, “Oh, no, that’s my bad!” You smiled softly, “You can have it, if you’d like, I’ve never really listened to them much.”

“Are you sure?” He gave you a soft smile that honestly made your heart melt a bit. 

You nodded, “Yeah, I’m sure, go ahead!”

He grabbed the record, holding it for a moment before looking back at you, “If you’ve never really listened, can I ask why you were going for it? I don’t mean to be rude, I’m just curious.”

“Oh,” you looked away, red dusting your cheeks, “I’ve been trying to expand my music taste a bit, so I figured I’d just come to a record store to find something that might catch my eye.”

He thought for a moment, walking away while talking, “Well, if you’re looking for suggestions,” he sorted through a few slots before walking over with a record, holding it out for you, “this band is one of my favourites, they have a really unique style and their lyrics are fantastic.” 

You took the record, looking down at it. The front cover showed a pair of knees with blood going down one leg and a bed behind the legs. An interesting cover, to say the least. You turned to the back cover, which was more simple, detailing the tracklist with the band’s name up top. 

“Los Campesinos!? I’ve never heard of them.”

He lit up like a kid in a candy store just from you saying their name, “Yeah, I mean, they’re not as big as they used to be, but they’re really good.”

You looked down at the record in your hand once again, before looking back up to the excited but nervous grin on his face and nodding. “Alright, yeah. Thank you.”

He perked up even more, stuttering out his next words, “Cool, yeah, alright.” There was a faint blush on his cheeks as he moved to go check out. 

“I hope you enjoy it, really, it’s one of my absolute favorite records,” he gave you a gentle smile as he finished getting rung up by the shopkeeper. He looked like he wanted to ask you something, but before he could, his phone started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket, cursing softly. 

“I’ve got to run,” he sighed, smiling at you once more as he headed towards the door, “it was nice talking to you.”

You tried to ignore the fact that your mood faltered a bit at the knowledge that he would have to leave, even if you’d only been speaking for about five-odd minutes. “It was nice talking to you too. Thanks for the recommendation!” You smiled, giving him a slight wave as he walked out the door, before purchasing the record. With a frown, you realized that you never caught his name.                                            

two 

It was raining. It was cold, and it was raining. It was cold, raining, and your arms hurt. You had walked half a mile back to your apartment in the freezing rain with a box of your things because your boss decided that your last work wasn’t “suitable for the brands image” whatever that meant and fired you. You’d cried about it on the first half of the walk, stressed over having to potentially find a new job. But now you were just tired, the rain was seeping through your coat to your skin, and you could feel the cold in your bones which was entirely unpleasant when carrying a shitty cardboard box filled with the contents of your entire office. 

You managed to get into the building, thankfully your downstairs neighbor was kind enough to hold the door open for you when she’d seen you struggling to open the door. That wasn’t the hard part, though, no, the hard part was somehow trying to fish your keys from your pocket without dropping the box of things and then proceeding to unlock your door. 

You pushed the box between your door and chest, trying to use the tension in order to get the keys out of your pocket.

You quickly got distracted by the sound of a door behind you opening. You didn’t really know much about your neighbor across the hall. You’d never actually met him, since it appeared you and him had opposing schedules for the most part. You were always out by eight A.M. to walk to work, and you usually only returned around 6 P.M.. From what you could gather, he usually left sometime around noon and only returned later in the night, though sometimes, when you couldn’t sleep, you’d hear him get back as late as 2 A.M..

 Because of the distraction, you ended up dropping the keys right onto the ground. You tried to carefully manuveur your way into picking up the keys, but instead, you were met with the sound of crashing as the wet cardboard gave way and fell to the floor, scattering your belongings across the hallway.

You sighed, crouching down to start picking things up when you heard a voice from across the hall.

“Oh, here, let me,” your neighbor spoke, leaning down to grab a photo that had fallen in front of his door. 

You looked up, shock flooding you for a moment as you finally got a look at your neighbor.

“You’re that guy,” you smiled, and his head whipped up alarmingly fast, “from the record store.”

He relaxed when you finished your sentence, a soft smile coming onto his face as he held out the photo, “Yeah, uh, hi. You live across the hall?” You nodded as you took the photo, and he chuckled, “Well, that guess the world is funny like that.” He helped you clean up the things, placing them inside the box for you.

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“Oh, no, I insist, trust me,” he gave you a warm smile, and you suddenly didn’t feel so cold anymore. 

“Thank you,” you spoke timidly

It didn’t take long before all of your things were recollected, and you carefully stood, unlocking your apartment door. You went to lean down to pick up the box, but your neighbor had already picked it up.

“I could bring it inside, if you want. It’s a bit heavy. Not- not that you can’t carry it, I- I just mean-” His nervous stuttering brought a laugh out of you, and he paused, face flushed as he looked up at you.

“It’s alright, I knew what you meant. That would be really nice, thank you,” you opened the door, holding it open for him as he carried the box in. 

“You can just place it anywhere on the counter,” you spoke, and he nodded, placing it on the countertop before processing the contents of the box.

He clearly knew what that box meant, but he didn’t ask about it. Maybe it was because of your red-rimmed eyes, or the fact that it was quite obvious that you weren’t having a good day, but he asked another question instead.

“How did you like the album?”

You shrugged off your wet coat, hanging it up before turning to him, a soft smile on your face, “It was a bit odd, but I really liked it.”

He lit up, “Really? Which one was your favorite?”

You thought for a moment, “I’d have to say A Heat Rash in the Shape of the Show Me State.”

If he lit up just from you saying you liked the album, he was set ablaze with happiness as you spoke, “God, that song is fantastic! It’s my favorite as well.”

You grinned, and after a moment, it occurred to you that you still didn’t know his name.

“Alright, so, things I know about you: you really like The Front Bottoms and Los Campesinos!, and your favorite song from Romance is Boring is A Heat Rash. Things I don’t know: your name,” you chuckled.

A blush returned to his cheeks, and he looked down sheepishly. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking back up at you, “My name’s Wilbur.” You smiled, “Wilbur. It’s nice to know you and meet you, in that order. My name’s Y/N.” 

“Pleasure to meet you as well,” he gave you a bright smile, before humming softly, “Do you want some hot cocoa?” You laughed, tilting your head a bit, “What?”

“Well, I was gonna run by the shops to get some, so I was wondering, if you wanted, I could bring you some. I’d imagine it would be nice after getting caught in the rain.”

You looked up at him, unable to hide the smile spreading across your face, “Yeah, uh, thank you, Wilbur. That sounds lovely.”

three

Sometimes you think the universe had it out for you. It had only been about a month and a half since you’d gotten fired, and while you were able to start doing freelance work, that didn’t mean that things were looking up for you. Not at all. Because sometimes, when the stars aligned, they didn’t align positively. 

You got the text an hour ago. Your boyfriend — well, now ex-boyfriend — Jared, sent some short message detailing just why he couldn’t stand you anymore. How your “love” had died out and lost its spark and honestly you couldn’t care. He hadn’t done anything in months, you were the only one trying anymore. You’d just hoped maybe he would eventually try. 

Regardless, you found comfort in the night sky. The roof was supposed to be off limits, but you discovered pretty quickly upon moving in that they never actually locked the door. Still, you didn’t make it a habit to come up here, just in case. But on nights like this, where you couldn’t decide if you were relieved or distraught, the quiet night sky always helped you feel somewhat consoled. You put on a nice pair of headphones and listened to some quiet music, allowing the song to drown out the sounds of the city. 

You closed your eyes for a few minutes, taking a deep breath. 

When you went to look up at the stars again, you were instead met with the concerned look of Wilbur from above you. You startled, sitting up and pulling your headphones off. 

“Wilbur! Holy shit, you scared the fuck out of me.”

You hadn’t seen Wilbur much since that day outside your door. He did eventually bring you the hot cocoa, and you had a nice chat but not much else after that. You saw him in passing sometimes, now that you weren’t working a 9-to-5 and could leave your apartment whenever you dictated, but you would only share a few words.

“Sorry, sorry,” he chuckled, a soft blush on his cheeks, “I didn’t mean to, I thought you’d heard me saying your name. Didn’t realise the headphones were soundproof.” 

You sat up, getting a better look at him. He had a pair of nice black pants on, as well as a large grey jumper. He also had a guitar across his back. You knew he played, you could hear soft strumming sometimes at night, but it was different to actually see him with it. He was also holding a half-empty bottle, and while you couldn’t see the label, you could tell it was probably vodka. 

“It’s alright,” you laughed lightly, “what are you doing out here anyways?”

“I could ask you the same,” he smiled, pulling the guitar off his back, “I come up here to play sometimes when my apartment feels too confining. You?”

You sighed, “I like staring at the stars when my head feels overwhelming. Makes it easier.”

He nodded, considering something for a moment, “Do you mind if I’m here as well? I won’t bother you, if you don’t want.”

“Oh, I don’t mind. Might be nice to have some company, actually.” 

You gave him a soft smile, and he returned the gesture, sitting across from you. He pulled his guitar across his lap, starting to pluck out some gentle notes. You looked up at the sky while he played, and it felt nicer than when you had been alone. 

The only thing that brought you out of the peaceful energy was Wilbur pausing his playing to open the bottle and take a drink. You watched him curiously.

“Do you want some?” He asked, holding out the bottle, “It’s just vodka.” 

Any other night, you would’ve said no. Any other night, you couldn’t justify it. Tonight? Tonight, you could. 

You nodded and took the bottle, taking a swig. You cringed a bit from the taste, setting the bottle back down between you both. Wilbur’s company was nice. He played delicate melodies, and for the longest time, neither of you spoke. 

The alcohol softened you, made you lose a bit of your filter. You were curious about Wilbur, and a conversation sounded comforting. 

“You… said you come up here when your apartment gets too confining. What did you mean by that?” You drew your knees up to your chest as you asked him, giving him a curious look. 

His hands paused for a moment as you asked, but he continued to play softly as he went on to speak. 

“I’m not used to staying in one place for long. I haven’t lived here incredibly long, but sometimes I have to fight that urge to just pack up and go. Being in my apartment makes that feeling, that urge stronger. Being up here makes it feel easier, because I’m not stuck in some room. I’m just up here with the sky.” 

You nodded as he explained, humming softly in lieu of a response. He took your questioning as an opportunity himself. 

“You come up here when you’re overwhelmed. What’s on your mind?” 

A sigh escaped you before you spoke softly, “A lot. I’ve lived here nearly six months, and it’s been… weird. Moved here for a job that fired me. Haven’t made an actual friend yet. My now ex-boyfriend gave up on our relationship. Lots of little things stacking into a pile that is currently tipping over.”

He continued playing as he listened and for a while you wondered if he was going to respond at all. Eventually he did, but it wasn’t the response you’d expected.

“You have me.” 

“What?”

“I just- You said you haven’t made an actual friend yet,” he shrugged softly, “I’d say you have. Me.” 

It took a moment — and you could see the nerves rising in him as you processed his words — but a grin split across your face.

“Thanks, Wilbur.” 

He chuckled, and you could just barely spot the pink tint on his cheeks. “You make good company,” he reached for the bottle again, taking another sip as he spoke.

“So do you.” You drank a bit more as well, and the two of you fell back into comfortable silence.

You both stayed out there until the bottle was empty, chatting lightly every now and then, but mostly just staying quiet while Wilbur played soft tunes. When you went back downstairs to your respective apartments, Wilbur kept an arm wrapped around you to keep you from drunkenly stumbling your way down the stairs. It wasn’t stressful or anything, both of you muffling laughter to try and prevent any complaints. He walked you to your door, staying with you to make sure you got inside your apartment. 

Once you had the door open, you walked in, but turned and leaned against the doorway to talk with him for a moment. 

He smiled softly at you, speaking in hushed tones, “Have a good night, Y/N.”

You smiled back up at him, “You too, Wilbur.”

He turned and walked across the hall to his apartment, getting his door open. Before he could close the door behind him, you called out softly. 

“Hey, Wilbur?”

He turned, looking back at you curiously. 

“Thank you.”

His smile widened, eyes bright.

“Don’t worry about it. And if you ever need company again, don’t hesitate to ask, alright?”

You nodded, before walking into your apartment, and heading to bed feeling relieved and light despite everything that should’ve made you feel otherwise. 

four

If there was any way to describe you, it was stubborn. Hence why, despite the severe cold and fever you had, you were still working. You were working from home on some graphic design for a law firm, so it wasn’t particularly hard, but the fever was definitely impacting your ability to actually understand the task you were supposed to be working on. 

Despite most of your work being done from home, you still made it a habit to leave your apartment at least twice a week to stop you from going completely stir-crazy. You followed a routine. Once a week you’d go out to get groceries and a coffee, and the second day was up to you to figure out what to do. Wilbur made that easier. Your rooftop trips became a common habit, usually going up there once a week, sometimes with snacks or drinks, to just talk. In a matter of about two months, he quickly became your best friend, and even though it was getting cold outside, you’d always gladly jump at the opportunity to head up with him and just exist. It was also nice to have him living across the hall; it made living in a new city easier to have your closest friend mere steps away. 

It also made it easy for him to notice your routine. More importantly, it made it easier for him to notice when your routine was off. Like this week, when you decided to forgo going out for groceries, deciding that you’d just deal with what you had since you weren’t feeling well enough to actually leave your apartment. That was the first time he noticed something was wrong. 

The second time was when he texted you, asking if you wanted to go up to the roof that night. You replied, that wasn’t the problem. The problem was what the reply said. 

‘ m niur sure im nto feelkibt to o good’

Your phone buzzed with his reply, a series of question marks that you couldn’t honestly gather the strength to reply to. You tried, for sure, but your message was less legible than the first, so you didn’t bother sending it. Because of how close you two had gotten, you’d also swapped emergency keys. Primarily because one night you dropped your key on the way in and had to take temporary residence on his couch while you waited for your apartment’s office to open, so you could get a replacement made. 

When he got that text, it worried him even more. When you didn’t respond to his follow-up, it made him worry enough to go knock on your door. You didn’t even hear the knock, head foggy from a mixture of sickness and attempts to focus. That brought an entire other wave of concern to Wilbur, and he felt panic begin to bubble up in his chest. 

He pulled out your spare key, opening the door quickly and eyes scanning the room. 

“Y/N?” He called out, seeing you sitting on your couch, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders as you stared helplessly at your laptop screen. 

You looked up, eyes taking a moment to focus. “Wilbur?” Your voice sounded weak, and your nose was clearly stuffed, “What are you doing here?” 

He relaxed when his eyes met yours, walking over to you. 

“I got worried. Your text was… less than readable. Plus, you didn’t answer when I knocked.” He looked over at your computer, “What are you doing?”

You groaned, tipping your head back. “Trying to work.”

“While sick?”

“I’m not that sick. Just a cold.”

He raised an eyebrow, walking closer and placing a hand on your forehead. “You definitely do not just have a cold. When’s your deadline?” 

“Next week,” you sighed, “But I want to figure it out sooner.” 

“And how’s that working for you?” He chuckled a bit, “If your text is anything to go off, I strongly doubt you’re doing your best work right now.” 

You huffed softly, closing your eyes for a moment, “Maybe I’ll take a break-“

“Nope! You’re done for today,” he hummed, happily picking up your laptop and moving it to the side table. 

“Will,” you whined out. Before you could even try to argue, you started coughing into your arm, gasping a bit for breath. 

He cringed a bit, but he gladly fought his own hypochondriatic thoughts to make sure you were alright. 

“Have you taken any medicine?” He hummed, walking over to your pantry and opening it. You’d be more baffled by his behaviour if it weren’t for the fact that raiding each other’s pantry was usually the first thing either of you did when you came over anyways. 

“Not since this morning.”

He nodded, grabbing something from the pantry. From your spot on the couch, you couldn’t see what he was grabbing, but he didn’t even give you a chance to look before walking over. 

“Go take a warm shower and put on comfy clothes, okay? You can take the medicine after. Sounds good?”

As stubborn as you were, it honestly sounded fucking fantastic. Maybe the sickness made you weaker, but you sighed, slowly standing. He reached his hands out, just in case you wobbled or fell. 

“Do you need help getting there?” He asked. Normally, someone asking that would make you want to kick them out and crawl into a hole to die, but with Wilbur, you sensed no malice or judgement in his tone, only genuine care and concern. Regardless, you shook your head, stabilising yourself enough to walk to your room. 

Your shower was quick, but the warm water did wonders. Your muscles felt immediately better, and your headache finally weakened just enough to make it feel relieving. Plus, you put on a big hoodie and some long pajama pants which helped you feel much more relaxed than the stiff clothing you’d been wearing before. You walked back out into your living room, seeing Wilbur standing at your stove. 

“Will? What are you doing?” You chuckled, walking over. 

He smiled, “I made soup. Go sit, it’s almost done.” “Did you make any for yourself?”

He faltered a bit, “Uh, no, I didn’t, why?”

You frowned, “Make yourself some too, please. I feel bad.”

“Will it mean you letting me take care of you?”

You nodded, and he sighed softly, a fond smile on his face. “Alright. Do you want to eat at the same time as me, or would you prefer now?” “Same time as you.”

“I should’ve guessed that,” he chuckled, “Okay. Just relax, put something on the TV. I’ll bring you the food and medicine once it’s done.”

You nodded, footsteps padding across the floor as you returned to the couch, this time curling up on your side, against the edge of the couch. You turned on some light music, knowing you wouldn’t have the energy to actually watch anything you could turn on. You closed your eyes, trying to relax as you fought off coughs and nausea waves.

You could hear Wilbur humming in the kitchen, and you smiled lightly. As stubborn as you were, it felt nice to have someone taking care of you. Especially since it was someone you trusted as much as Wilbur. You let yourself start to drift off as waves of exhaustion rolled over you.

You woke up from Wilbur gently shaking your shoulder.

“I’m sorry to wake you, but you need to eat,” he spoke quietly, not wanting to startle you awake. 

“Mm’kay,” you groaned out a bit, slowly sitting up. 

He helped you sit up, smiling and holding up the bowl. “Do you want to hold it or sit at the counter?”

You reached for the bowl, “If I move, I’ll probably cry,” you joked. He passed the bowl to you, and he sat down next to you with his own bowl. You started eating slowly, thankful that the soup wasn’t too hot. 

“This is really good,” you smiled softly at him, “thank you, Wilbur.”

He smiled, “you really don’t have to thank me. I want to take care of you.” 

You flushed lightly, looking down at your bowl and continuing to eat quietly. 

“Do you want me to put on a movie or something?” He asked softly.

You nodded, and he took the remote, putting on some random movie. It wasn’t long before you finished your soup, relieved at the feeling of having food in your stomach. Once he finished, he stood, taking both your bowl and his own to the kitchen. He walked back over with the medicine, holding it out for you.

You took the medicine easily, groaning at the taste. Wilbur was quick to hand you a glass of water before returning to the kitchen and cleaning up. When he got back, he sat next to you, placing a hand to your forehead.

“Your temperature feels better now.” He noted, letting his hand fall. 

You gently shifted, your head now leaning against his shoulder, “I still feel like shit.”

He chuckled, and an arm wrapped around you, causing you to lean into his warmth further, “The medicine should kick in soon. You should’ve told me sooner, and you shouldn’t have been working. It only makes it harder for your body to heal.” 

You groaned, “I thought I was fine. I never get sick like this.”

He hummed, gently rubbing your back and God, if it didn’t feel amazing, “You’ve been dealing with a lot lately. You need rest.” 

You sighed and nodded, “I know.”

“Just relax, alright?” he smiled, “I’m not going anywhere. Not until you’re better.”

Your heart warmed at the thought. You nodded before shifting and laying your head on his lap. “Is this okay?”

He nodded, a hand coming to gently thread through your hair, “Of course. You can sleep, if you’d like. I’ll be here.”

You smiled, eyes closing slowly. “Thank you, Wilbur,” you spoke softly, exhausting creeping into your bones and clear in your voice. 

“Don’t worry about it. I want you to be okay.”

You fell asleep quickly, a soft smile on your face. 

five

Things were starting to look up. Your freelance work was bringing in good money, and even better, you had a date tonight. However, it had been a long while since you’d gone on a date. So, you frankly had no clue what to wear. 

You took a quick shower, putting on a robe and blowdrying your hair. Once you were at least semi-presentable, you walked across the hall, knocking on Wilbur’s door. 

He opened the door quickly, a smile on his face, “Hey, what’s going on?” He chuckled softly.

You just smiled, “I have no clue what to wear. Can you help me pick?” He nodded, grabbing his keys and locking his door before following you to your apartment. 

“Just, sit on the couch, I’ll be right back.”

He sat down, smiling softly. Wilbur always looked good, and he happened to be cursed with either amazing or horrible fashion sense. Today was one of his amazing fashion sense days, a pair of nice jeans and a simple black button-up, plus a sweater over the top and the black Docs he always wore. He would definitely be able to help you choose. 

You walked into your closet, grabbing two options and walking back out to him, “Which one?”

He looked over the two options, thinking, “The black one. It’s a lot more date-night vibe, plus you’ve said that top makes you feel more confident.” 

You grinned, nodding quickly before going back to your room to change. You spent a bit more time getting ready, making sure your accessories were nice, fixing up your hair and your face a bit before taking a deep breath. You checked the time, only ten minutes until your date.

You walked back out, looking at him with a soft smile, “So? What do you think?”

He looked up from his phone, and a grin slowly spread across his face, “You look amazing. Seriously, you look absolutely fantastic.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, looking down a bit shyly, “Thank you, Wilbur. For your help, as well.”

He nodded, standing, “Of course. You know I’m always here if you need help,” he looked back down at his phone before he looked up at you, “So, you ready to go?” He grinned, holding his hand out towards you.

“I’m ready,” you smiled, taking his hand, “Where are we going, by the way?”

He chuckled, walking with you out the door, “It’s a surprise. It won’t be a long walk, though, don’t worry.” He smiled, and the two of you were off for your date. 

+1

Freelance work sometimes meant traveling. You hated being away from Wilbur, since you guys spent nearly every day seeing each other. However, there was a job a short flight away that was paying really well, so you took it and had spent four days on this trip. You were supposed to be there for a week, but you’d finished a lot faster than anticipated, so you were able to head home early. 

There was another reason you wanted to head home early too. Wilbur hadn’t responded to you in the past three days, aside from occasionally liking the messages you sent and sending the occasional heart. This wasn’t something new, there were days when Wilbur didn’t have the energy to leave his bed, let alone send a proper response. What worried you was that this was the first time you weren’t physically there to help him through it. So when you got the approval to head home early, you jumped at the opportunity and immediately booked your plane home. 

You stopped at your apartment first, dropping off your bags and changing into one of Wilbur’s hoodies and a pair of sweatpants before walking over to his apartment. You unlocked his door, a normal thing for the two of you now, walking in slowly. There were takeout boxes cluttering the kitchen, along with empty and half-filled cups littered throughout the apartment. You walked over to his room.

The lights were off, but you could see the light from his phone on his bed. He was asleep, his phone left open on some random post he’d been scrolling on. You locked his phone and put it on the charger, leaning over and gently kissing his forehead. He didn’t react other than shifting a bit in his sleep. You looked over him quietly. There were bags under his eyes, so he clearly hadn’t been sleeping much, and you could tell from the pile of laundry that he hadn’t done much to take care of himself. You let him rest, returning to the living room to start cleaning up. 

You spent an hour throwing things away and taking out the trash, and after, you washed the dirty dishes and dried them, putting them all back in the specific place he’d always put them. You wiped down some of the surfaces as well, knowing how he got sometimes about germs. You went to his room next, picking up all the clothes from the floor and taking them to the washing machine. You organized his desk as well, moving cluttered papers and notes of song lyrics and stacking them into a nice pile. You had your back turned to him as you dusted his room a bit, and you heard his voice.

“Darling?” He spoke softly, voice a bit raw from lack of use.

You turned, walking over to him and smiling, “Hi, Will.” You leaned down, gently kissing him. 

He kissed you back lovingly, reaching a hand up to gently cup your cheek. When you’d pulled away, his thumb gently stroked over your cheek.

“What are you doing back already?”

You smiled softly, lightly brushing back some of his messy hair, “Finished the project early. Plus, I missed you.” 

He cracked a gentle smile, arms slowly coming and wrapping around you. You let him pull you into the bed, wrapping your arms around him as well. 

“I missed you too,” you murmured against your shoulder. 

You held him tightly, the both of you lying there quietly for a while.

“How are you feeling?” you asked softly, looking at him with concern. 

He looked ashamed for a moment, head falling a bit, “Not great.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” He nodded after a while, taking a deep breath, “Just one of those times, I guess. I- I don’t really know what triggered it, I think my heartbeat was just a bit too fast the other night, and I was just so sure that this was it for me. And I just got so scared that I couldn’t do anything. It just ended up getting worse, and even if I don’t think I’m dying anymore, it just triggered a lot of bad thoughts, I guess. After a day, even standing felt exhausting. I felt paralyzed.” He sighed, and you gently kissed his forehead. 

“Well, you’re not dead. You’re right here with me. You’re okay,” you spoke softly, staring at him lovingly. It wasn’t often that his hypochondria overtook him so much, but you knew how hard it was when it did, even if you didn’t fully understand it. 

He nodded. “I know, I am. It just all got a bit overwhelming.” 

“That’s okay. It happens to all of us sometimes. You don’t have to feel bad for it, alright?”

He nodded, hugging you tighter. “Thank you,” he whispered out. 

You kissed the top of his head, “You don’t have to thank me, okay? I’m here for you, throughout everything.”

He squeezed you tighter for a second before relaxing, just holding you gently as he nodded. 

“How long have you been back?” He asked softly.

“A few hours,” you shrugged.

He frowned, “I’m sorry. You should’ve woken me up.”

You shook your head, “Don’t apologize. Plus, I made good use of my time.”

He tilted his head, “What do you mean?”

You smiled, gently playing with his hair, “I just cleaned up a bit. I wanted you to rest, and I wanted you to wake up to a clean place. I know that mess stresses you out, and I didn’t want it to add to the bad feelings.”

He looked up at you, and he looked around the room after, processing the lack of clothes on the floor and trash. When he looked back at you, he had tears in his eyes, “thank you,” he whispered, biting his lip and holding you close again, “you’re the fucking best.”

You smiled fondly, “Don’t worry about it, really. I want to take care of you the same way you take care of me.” 

He sniffled a bit, and you pulled him forward while he cried into your shoulder for a moment. 

You let him cry as much as he needed to, rubbing his back. When he’d stopped crying, you pulled away, looking down at him. “When’s the last time you showered?” You asked softly, no judgement to be found anywhere in your tone. 

He thought for a moment, “Three days ago, I think. I don’t remember, if I’m being honest.”

You nodded, smiling softly, “Well, I just got off a plane, so I’m pretty gross myself. Let’s shower, and then we can change your sheets? And I can make us some dinner?”

He nodded as well, sitting up slowly, “Okay.”

You sat up with him, holding his hand the entire time, “Rooftop dinner tonight?”

He smiled, bringing your hand up to his mouth, kissing it gently, “Yeah. That sounds really nice.”

[inoreuct]

thinking about mermaid sanji and sailor zoro,,,

the sky is cloudless, the sun’s glimmering off the calm water, the crew’s relaxing on the deck as they’re sailing through a clear patch of ocean; by all accounts, it’s a perfect day. luffy hasn’t gotten them into another shenanigan as of yet and zoro’s chilling up in the crow’s nest, half asleep and lethargic with the heat— and then he swears he hears laughter. and it isn’t coming from the ship.

he’s up on his feet immediately and squinting against the glaring light, wondering for a second if he’s seeing a mirage or a trick of the heat shimmer, because they’re sailing by a large, flat rock.

a rock with merfolk on it.

zoro’s shimmying down the mast in record time, ropes lashing around him as his boots hit the deck and he tries not to look like he’s running to the taffrail to catch a better look. (look, he’s curious, alright? merfolk aren’t a total myth, but they aren’t a common sight either.)

(that, and he feels oddly like someone has cast out a fish hook and it’s lodged behind his sternum, tugging him forward and forward until his hands are pressed palm-flat to the railing and he’s leaning over the edge.)

he hears that laugh again, rich and bright, wide eyes snapping to the mer who made it. golden waves shimmer over a leanly muscled shoulder, curling around a sharp jaw to reveal the mer’s pale, slender throat as they tip an oyster back into their mouth. leaning back on his hands — zoro is rather sure he is a he now, as a deep, smooth voice fills his ears, though he’s had enough tongue-lashings from nami to know not to assume — and tossing his hair back affords zoro a glimpse of a beautiful smile and bright blue eyes, blue as the goddamn sky. or maybe the sea. or perhaps the bioluminescent algae that had speckled the walls of this one cave that he’d been to ages ago—

he’s getting sidetracked. some sound must escape him, because suddenly a gaze so keen he feels his skin prickle is on him and he gulps involuntarily. and then for some reason, he opens his mouth. “are you a siren?”

the man’s curly brows narrow in irritation. “are you dead yet?” he snarks, casting zoro a flat stare and sighing in annoyance when zoro just stares back blankly. “no, I’m not a damn siren. lucky for you, we happen to be their… less bloodthirsty cousins.”

“less bloodthirsty meaning…?”

he shares a bored, bemused look with the woman on her elbows beside him, a mer with the richest purple colouring zoro’s seen in his life and a one-shoulder top made of shiny black kelp. “meaning we wouldn’t drag you down to the depths and feast on your carcass, but keep running your mouth and I might just change my mind.”

the mer’s tail is folded elegantly to the side as he lounges, fan-like tail fin trailing in the water, turning his body so that he can look at zoro properly as he tips back another oyster like it’s his god-given right. a tiny voice at the back of zoro’s mind whispers that this isn’t a good idea, whatever this is. it goes ignored. flaxen hair flutters in a slight breeze, sticking to the man’s milky skin in darker spirals where the tips are wet, and zoro’s breath catches as he watches the mer smile with teeth that are just erring on the side of too sharp.

the words register all at once and zoro lurches back, away from the railing, away from golden curls and blue eyes and pale skin. “what did you do,” he grits, resisting the urge to press the heel of his hand into his chest where it suddenly aches.

the mer shrugs. “nothing.”

“bullshit.”

“what’s the matter, sailor? feeling charmed?” that laugh, again, and zoro feels his heart throb. he watches the other man cock his head, studying another oyster in his hand, tilting the shell back and forth as he sucks on his teeth. “we can’t thrall,” he says finally, posture slackening with a sigh and a pout that seems to say what a shame as he picks up a knife and spins it deftly, shucking the shell open with a neat flick of his wrist. “only sirens can do that. whatever you’re feeling, whatever it may be, hasn’t been borne of any influence of mine.”

the oyster goes down and somehow, that sentence makes zoro feel even worse. it’s like he’s had the air punched out of him; he’s rooted, eyes wide, breathing hard as the mer makes a noise of pleasant surprise and pulls a pearl from his mouth, shimmering between his elegant fingers under the sun.

(zoro doesn’t know it yet, but he’s doomed. he was doomed from the start.)

*

back under the ocean, sanji has a crisis. he doesn’t see humans. he doesn’t meet humans. he and robin had just gone up to enjoy the sunshine and then this— this— brute swings by, with his stupid green hair and his three earrings and his obscenely grimy used-to-be-white shirt— sanji is fuming and he doesn’t know why. swimming laps back and forth across his cave isn’t helping either.

"might you possibly have something to get off your mind?" robin asks lightly, the pages of her book drifting in the water.

sanji does an about-turn and holds in a screech with all his might, forcing himself to relax with an exhale. "i'm just fine, my dear. peachy keen."

"you're making grooves in the floor."

"i'm redecorating."

he rolls the pearl from earlier between his fingers, squeezing it tight until his hand aches. "are you a siren, he asks," he mutters mutinously, fins fluttering as he throws himself onto a seaweed bed with a scowl. "how could a human be so stupid? if we were sirens he'd have been a waterlogged ball of moss on the sea floor by that point— and that hair. he looks like— like—"

"algae?" robin supplies helpfully.

"algae! sentient plant life, that's what he is, a kelp bed. water lettuce. duckweed, even." oh, he's so mad. that marimo pisses him off. the whole lot of them had sailed away, good riddance, because sanji never wants to see any of them ever again. they probably all smelled horrid anyway.

*

the merman's been following them.

the crow's nest is zoro's territory for a reason; he's the crew's lookout, and he's damn good at his job. for the past few days he's been seeing flashes of a broad tail fin and twists of golden hair. (he very firmly tells himself that he's not just seeing what he wants to see, because one, he might have one remaining eye but his eyesight is still as sharp as he keeps his cutlass, thank you very much. and two, why the hell would he want to see that merman? he isn't about to win any awards for his own manners but that guy had been stuck up and prissy and just rude. he's only been allowed to tag along this far because he hasn't presented himself as an outright threat. zoro doesn't want to see him. nuh-uh.)

(zoro sees things in his dreams, too. ocean eyes and a sly smile. a pale torso, knife in hand and teeth too sharp. he reaches out to see if the other man's hair feels as soft as it looks and he always wakes before he finds out.)

rum doesn't help to loosen the tension that settles against his spine at night, like he's waiting for something. he doesn't know what. anticipation, maybe, would be a better word— but that has a slight positive connotation, and— no. this man might not be a siren, but zoro’s enough of a sailor to know that it sure as hell doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous.

he can't afford to go off chasing pretty mermen when he has a crew to protect.

*

the ship docks for a few days at a barren island. sanji swims laps around the sandy coast and pretends that the thought of his the sailor being beyond his reach doesn't make an anxious itch ripple beneath his scales.

*

water splashes against the side of the boat, and zoro's at the railing in an instant whether he wants to be or not.

“hello, marimo.”

the merman treads water leisurely, golden hair swirling about his shoulders and gleaming in the faint lantern light. it's early enough after sunset that the stars aren't out yet and it's dark as hell. zoro squints.

a laugh echoes in his ears, light and melodious. already familiar. zoro tries to be mad about that. “a little more to your left, moron.”

“well, i can’t very well fuckin’ see, can i?” he scoffs, and bites back a gasp when the water starts glowing, what the fuck. his stupid heart stutters when he sees him, lit up with gentle blues and yellows from below, flickering with the push and pull of the tide and sweeps of that powerful tail. "hey."

"hello," the mer hums again, lashes long and wet enough that they catch the wavering light. "gonna tell me your name, sailor?"

zoro almost lets it slip. almost. but he bites his tongue as he feels a chill run up the back of his neck; sure enough, a glance over his shoulder confirms that nami is glaring at him. don't do anything stupid, her gaze says, and he turns away with a shudder. their navigator is a threat in her own right. "no."

"okay. marimo it is."

"you— that is insulting," he hisses, because it is. he is roronoa zoro. he came from nothing and made a life for himself out of it. he's one of the best swordsmen on the damn seas and he's part of the best crew he's ever known, and he's been reduced to, what? a floating ball of moss?

"it's accurate," the other man corrects with a smirk. "unless you tell me what else to call you."

zoro fumes, fingertips digging into the taffrail. he's sure his nails are gouging scratches in the wood. "no."

"marimo."

"shut up."

"mosshead."

"shut up!"

"algae-brained, kelp-haired, water cabbage-headed—"

"zoro!"

the mer finally stops, lashes fluttering as something passes over his face.

"my name," he ekes out, "is zoro." nami swears somewhere behind him.

the merman's lips part around the syllables of the word, before he draws in a breath and grins, smug. "okay, marimo."

"wh—?!" zoro throws his hands up in exasperation, scofffing. "you bastard!"

"i asked for your name. never said i would use it."

"you're a piece of shit, blondie."

"call me that again and i'll show you how hard i can bite," the mer sneers with all his teeth on show, blue eyes lit up furious, turning away as he prepares to dive and—

"wait!" zoro yells before he can stop himself, and he curses under his breath. ah, fuck it. already got one foot in it anyway. "what's your name?"

"...oh, darling," the mer sighs, half-amused and airy, his voice slipping away. "you're gonna have to work a little harder for that."

it feels like hours later when zoro steps back with a shaky sigh. the merman reminds him of a strong brandy he’d had what feels like lifetimes ago, burnt caramel and warm sugar and smoke with enough hidden bite to take you by surprise, to sink its teeth into you three shots down. enough to intoxicate if you weren’t careful.

he yelps when nami slaps him across the back of the head, faking a lunge at her with bared teeth even as he rubs a hand over his aching scalp with a huff. her nagging about being more careful barely registers. his hair's getting long; maybe he needs a trim.

(that little voice in the back of his head is wary. hesitant. but now it's asking what if.)

*

the ship docks again. this island is teeming with life, thriving, lush with rich green foliage and thick forestation— and beautiful women who all seem to find zoro the height of masculine appeal, apparently. sanji curls himself into a nook in the coral reef and lets his fins trail in the water, the corner of his mouth ticking up a little when a baby clownfish comes to nibble curiously at his fingertip. he's not sulking. he's not. that would be fucking embarrassing for so many reasons and he refuses to think about even one of them.

it's the first time that he starts to feel a little stupid. it had been all fun and games, in the beginning when he'd upped and left on a whim; curiosity and intrigue and the good old urge to stick his fingers in all the cracks this human had until sanji understood every part of him, laid out in the sand like the skeleton of a great sea beast.

but now he's so far away from home, aimlessly following a ship— no, not even a ship. following one person on a ship for no real reason at all.

the clownfish ducks beneath his hand, and sanji cups it carefully in his palm. "you're lucky you don't have to deal with romance yet," he tells it sagely before gently shooing it out of his hiding spot. the water above ripples. it's dark again; the crew must have returned to their boat for the night. sanji sighs and unfurls his tail.

it honestly seems like blind optimism at this point, but he really hopes he's not being played for a fool.

zoro's there when he surfaces, peering over the railing and backlit by the lanterns. sanji focuses and brings out his bioluminescence until the little cove they're in is filled with coloured light. "marimo."

"swirly brow," zoro greets in return.

sanji raises one said swirly eyebrow. "that's new."

"i've got more. blondie, of course. curly head. fishboy—"

"fishboy?!" he squawks, enraged. "fuck you!"

"you wish."

"more like the ladies did," sanji scoffs, and immediately wants to try drowning himself.

zoro frowns. "the hell you talking 'bout, curls?"

the burst of bitterness at the back of his throat is just enough to take him by surprise and loosen his tongue. "they were hanging off your arm like—" mm. nope. he's not gonna go there.

the swordsman's eyes widen like he's just realised something, and sanji does not like that at all. "you're jealous."

"no."

"you are!"

"fuck you," he spits, gills flaring. "i am not." he has no reason to be jealous. they are nothing. this— there is nothing between them.

zoro just grins. "catch."

a white thing drops downwards and sanji darts forward on instinct to let it fall into his cupped palms. "what, s'this supposed to be a present for me, marimo?"

"it's— yeah."

he opens his mouth to reply, before he realises what exactly it is he's holding.

the water lotus fills his hands, its soft white petals edged in pale pink, velvety against his fingertips. something catches in his throat and he dips beneath the water to submerge his gills, carefully holding the flower aloft. his heart squeezes.

the waves lap at the bridge of his nose, hiding half his face as he watches zoro rub at the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy. zoro isn't shy. sanji knows this much. he is loud and unabashed and unashamed with everything, with how he lives, with how he talks, with how he loves his crew and everything they entail.

but he looks almost— he's blushing, just a little, red across the tips of his ears as his gaze darts away, looking very much like he's mad at himself. "nami said it means strength and resilience, or something." the breath he huffs is harsh as he scratches at his nape. "i don't know, it's stupid, curly, i just—"

"sanji."

"what?"

"sanji. my name."

sanji doesn't want to know what he looks like as he rises out of the water to cup the flower to his collar. dumb, probably. rightfully so, because all of this is a very dumb decision and it's probably going to end in shambles with his heart broken into pieces in the silt but zoro— he looks up, floating on his back, and zoro's already looking at him with something that could be wonder, if sanji dared to name it.

"where did you get this?" he murmurs, tail fin creating large ripples as he swims a circle, holding the lotus like it's fragile.

"there was a pond full of them on the island. thought you'd like it."

"you don't know what i like." it comes out breathy. his hair melts against his shoulders as he tries to push himself closer, closer, across the space between them, like a fool. "you don't even know me."

and yet, he startles back when zoro jumps the railing, splashing feet-first into the water boots and all and shaking his head like a dog when he resurfaces. sanji shrieks and shields the lotus with his body, everything else momentarily forgotten as he whacks zoro with his tail just hard enough to send the sailor back underwater with a sputtered laugh. "you fucking brute!"

"i want to."

"that made no sense—"

"i don't know you, but i want to." zoro treads closer, and sanji's light ripples off his skin. his eyes are grey. warm granite and the inside of an oyster shell. "will you let me?"

sanji wants. there is nothing between them, but he wants there to be. he wants so hard it hurts. it feels like he's holding his heart in his hands and not a flower. it's the only way to explain how he's suddenly aching, hollow, in the face of something that isn't even a goddamn confession but feels too much like one. there is a flower in his hands and he wants.

“why?”

“dunno.” he gets a shrug, blunt and earnest as ever even as zoro’s mouth twists up at the edge. “maybe i’m charmed.”

he swallows hard, his mouth dry, and he doesn't want to say it but he has to. "if this is some sick thing about me being a mer—"

"wh—? no!" zoro blurts, and he looks so fucking horrified at that moment that it settles something in sanji's stomach instantly. "god, fuck, no. no. it's not like that. i swear on my life."

there are reasons why merfolk don't interact with humans. sanji grew up with the stories. he's seen the skeletons on the sea floor, mangled with the hunting tools of man, incomplete remains of his kin tossed away to their deaths, unable to swim or save themselves— still a better fate than the ones who never returned. the ocean is gentle after the burn of her salt; her waves are familiar, and her children are raised in their push and pull. captivity, at the hands of men for whatever reason, is never so kind.

he inhales sharply as callused hands cup his.

"i'm sorry," zoro says softly, rushed and maybe a little desperate, throat bobbing as his eyes dart across sanji's face. "i'm sorry. i didn't think of that at all."

"good," he finds himself replying as he looks down. "that means it didn't cross your mind."

a muscle ticks in zoro's jaw. "that's fucking sick, curls."

"i know." sanji's tone is matter-of-fact. "but it's what we have to deal with, sometimes." he deflates with a soft huff at the expression on the other man's face, looking away. "if you start saying shit like i'll protect you or whatever, i'm gonna smack you. i can handle myself."

zoro sighs through his nose, slowly, and his hands tighten around sanji's. "i know you can. i've watched you hunt. doesn't mean i can't be mad about it."

his eyebrows go up. "you saw me hunting?"

"mhm," the swordsman hums. "you're strong. fast. resourceful, too."

sanji preens. he knows he is, knows he’s one of, if not the best, but hearing it from zoro is another thing entirely.

"...also, my captain's been begging me to get you to fish for us because we're all crap at it."

that startles a laugh out of him, and he smiles so wide so quick that his cheeks ache. "that can be negotiated."

up this close, it's easy to see that zoro's hair is shorter than it was before, shorn short at the back and blunt enough that it just had to be freshly cut. the possibility of it being for him does something funny to his chest. the dark green strands are spiky, sticking up everywhere now that they're wet, and sanji wants so badly to touch.

he looks down at the flower in their hands, and he doesn't.

"this can't survive in saltwater," he murmurs instead, carefully putting his lotus into zoro's scarred palms. "take care of it for me."

he watches zoro trudge back to shore, one hand with the flower held above his head. he yells, "it better still be alive the next time i come check, marimo!" and he doesn't bother waiting for an answer. he knows zoro heard him.

sanji's gonna play this slow. he's gonna play this smart. and if zoro fucks up, well— he’s on friendly terms with a particular shiver of great whites.

*

zoro does not, in fact, fuck up. but now he’s constantly being given shit about his pretty merman boyfriend and as much as he pretends he hates it, he really doesn’t. luffy takes one look and declares that sanji’s crew now, zoro, you can’t hog him! dinners are now seafood more often then not, mussels and clams and all sorts of fish, even lobster when sanji finds out it’s nami’s birthday, and franky engineers some sort of transportable bathtub to get him on board.

(sanji brings robin around and franky falls all over himself making transportable bathtub 2.0, but that’s not the point.)

*

“bioluminescence, right? am i saying that right?” zoro asks, spinning this way and that as he tries to get a good look at sanji’s glowing tail under the water, eyes wide.

“mhm.” the mer lifts his tail fin out of the water, pulling himself closer so zoro can hold both of them up seeing as the pool they’re in is shallow enough to stand in. zoro’s hands twitch around nervously until sanji reaches out and grabs his wrist, pressing his palm flat to wet scales, and his chest aches at the look on zoro’s face.

the cave they’re in is small enough for every little sound to echo. sanji’s tail drips rhythmically, punctuated by the staggered breath zoro sucks in as he hauls sanji closer with an arm low over his stomach. careful fingers trace over the glowing patterns on his tail, fading upwards into his torso, and zoro slides a palm flat against sanji’s spine to lift him up as he presses their foreheads together.

“beautiful,” he breathes, reverent. the reflections from the water dance off his wet skin, and his eyes are mother-of-pearl.

sanji wants to touch, and so he does. he winds his fingers into zoro’s hair and pulls him down and kisses him, tastes salt and rum and the promise of blood when his teeth catch and zoro doesn’t shy from the bite. for the first time in a long time he is safe enough to let himself drift; his tail drapes itself over zoro’s side like a elaborate feather fan, and he giggles at the mental comparison.

he feels zoro smile at his laughter. feels calluses and gentle hands as zoro carries him back out to sea. tastes love when zoro pulls him in for one last kiss before saying goodbye for the night.

*

it starts with more flowers. then jewellery, intricate metalwork that would be hard to come by under the sea, fishnet cords and crystal pendants and pretty trinket rings, then daggers, silver hairpins with edges sharp enough to slice bone and a particularly beautiful watered-steel knife in a sheath of butter-soft leather. sanji cannot help but feel like he’s being courted, which makes no sense, because zoro knows nothing about merfolk courting traditions.

and then they talk as zoro braids shells into his hair the way perona taught him to (“you didn’t tell me you had a sister?!” “she just never came up!” “what do you mean she just never came up, marimo, what the fuck! this is important?!”) and sanji finds out zoro talked to robin about it, the sneaky bastard.

a tail doesn’t stop him from tackling zoro to the sand to kiss the crap out of him, braids unfinished and hair wound through zoro’s fingers. his heart feels fit to burst when zoro turns to ensure he takes the brunt of the fall because they both know how much sanji hates getting sand stuck in his scales.

*

the first time sanji gets hurt, zoro goes rather frantic.

it’s barely a scratch, just a slice near the base of his tail courtesy of a rock he hadn’t been able to avoid while hunting, but zoro bodily hauls him back to the ship between bouts of very concerned yelling and yanks off the black bandana always on his arm, scrubs it clean in hot water for good measure before wrapping up his wound, all while making sure no parts of sanji were drying out in the tub.

“marimo, i am fine,” sanji stresses for the twentieth time, shifting up to cup zoro’s face and sighing in resignation as zoro just shakes his head again.

“i don’t care,” the swordsman announces, throwing his hands up like deal with it. “i don’t care. no more hunting until this is completely healed.”

“it is a scratch. a scratch.”

“i don’t give a shit. you’re staying with me for the next few days.”

sanji groans and grumbles and bitches about it, and when zoro bickers right back it just riles him up even more.

(he stays put. he lets zoro scoop him into his lap with unnecessary care. he leans into the kisses zoro presses to his temple and he feels like crying because he is grateful. always.)

*

slavers attack the ship. sanji may not be a siren, but that does not mean he isn’t dangerous. he has his tail, and his knives, and his love for his crew. this is his crew.

he drags those slavers into the ocean and drowns them one by one.

*

now, sanji’s friend ivankov is a literal sea witch— so when they toss sanji an amulet and a wink on his birthday, sanji already knows it’s gonna be good.

the amulet gives him fucking legs.

only while he wears it, of course, but when he stumbles out of the surf like a newborn fawn zoro nearly chokes in shock. they spend the day falling over each other laughing as sanji tries to walk. he eats shit more times than he can counts and gets enough sand in his mouth for a lifetime.

later, there is a blanket beneath them and the moon above them and the endless ocean, shimmering under the light as zoro gathers his hair out of his face and kisses him so softly it hurts.

“beautiful,” zoro breathes. he preaches it like the truth. swears it like a promise.

their hands fit, calluses against calluses as zoro thumbs over the tiny patch of scales on sanji’s wrist, iridescent yellow-blue. their fingers lace in a motion they’ve done hundreds of times and still it never feels different than the first.

sanji lays back, and all he sees are stars.

[klausysworld]

would u be down to write Klaus x vampire hunter? I need that forbidden love angst and all that goodness!! I also may have seen a Buffy the vampire slayer post and couldn’t stop thinking about a Klaus x slayer relationship 🤔

Plot twist? She ends up getting pregnant!?!? I just need the juicy stuff loool

(this is gonna be a multiple part story FOR SURE! I can't lie I've had a very similar idea/scenario running through my head for the past few weeks so i'm really glad someone really wanted this too! The only reason it'll be multiple parts is so that it's easier to read and so that i'm able to add the build up how i imagined :))

Love is never simple

(Part 2 here)

Y/n was the first born daughter to Grayson and Miranda Gilbert.

When Y/n was born they had only very recently claimed Elena as their own, passing the two babies off as twins to those they knew. Fraternal of course for they were definitely not similar not for their looks nor their behaviour.

Elena was a mommy’s girl, she wanted to dress up and be the princess: have her hair and nails done, go shopping with her friends Caroline and Bonnie.

Meanwhile Y/n was more curious. She liked to follow her father, learn from his actions. She still spent time with the girls but given the choice to run around a field and swing a bat then she wouldn’t say no.

One day Miranda was unable to pick up the two girls from school, they were only young and couldn’t get a lift home. Grayson came straight from work and took the girls back there with him. Elena did as she was told, stayed in the designated room and wrote in her diary. Y/n decided to sneak after her father, wondering down a cold staircase to a dungeon of sorts. Men were walking with purpose in lab coats and barking orders at weak, pale beings in cells.

She could see card shot glasses filled with a deep red liquid laid out in rows on a tray. She held onto the railing of the stairs and watched as, who she assumed to be sick people, begged for the cups. Eventually they were given the small dosage, dark veins travelled down their eyes to their cheeks and sharp teeth poked into their lower lips.

A hint of fear swirled within her eyes, confusion and fascination. Something was wrong with these people. She peered closer, accidentally drawing the attention of one of the patients. His eyes narrowed before a small, cruel smile formed on his lips. It barely lasted a second before Y/n was harshly grabbed by the upper arm, causing a shriek to leave her as her head whipped round to see her fathers alarmed face staring back at her

“Y/n!” He yelled “you do not come down here!” Grayson hurriedly lifted her up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind him. “Where’s Elena? Is she still in the office?” He questioned in a panic and Y/n nodded quickly

“She stayed- I’m sorry Daddy- i just wanted to see” she whispered and he sighed, placing her down onto her feet and kissed her forehead.

“It’s not safe for you there” he warned

“What was wrong with those people?” She asked quietly and he clenched his jaw

“They’re not people Y/n…” he murmured “they’re…monsters…they just dress up as people”

They both looked at each-other trying to figure out what the other was thinking

“Dressed up?” She questioned curiously and he clicked his tongue

“Yes…see y/n, they aren’t humans. They just want you to believe that they are, they’re dangerous and it’s part of my job to stop them…to help real people be safe” he explained and she nodded

“You cure them?” She tilted her head, she knew her father was a doctor. Perhaps by stopping them he would make them people instead of monsters.

“If only that were a thing my little y/n….these beasts cannot be cured. Do you remember last summer when there was that…mountain lion on the loose?” He asked her and she nodded with a puzzled smile. “Well that creature hurt people, sent them to heaven…and because of that, the lion had to be put to rest” he told her and she nodded, viscous animals were put down, she knew that. “These beasts, they’re just like that lion. They’re viscous and they won’t ever be tame…they won’t ever feel love. They just want to hurt people.” He whispered, his eyes conveying passion as he spoke of the monsters.

“So you put them down?” She murmurs and he nods

“That’s right” he confirmed and she nodded back at him.

“Because they deserve it?” She utters and he smiled

“Exactly y/n, exactly”

And that was the start of a very twisted childhood.

Miranda was furious when she found out that Y/n had seen the Augustine vampires. They yelled all through the night, their angry voices sounding through the house which resulted in a frightened Elena and a crying Jeremy to climb into Y/n’s bed, all huddling together, looking to y/n for protection.

The next morning nobody spoke a word of the previous day. They ate breakfast, Grayson kissed the heads of each of his children and went of to work. Miranda got them all ready for school and dropped them off before going to work.

The system repeated itself until Y/n stepped out of line again. Tyler Lockwood had shoved Jeremy into a wall and called him names, Y/n wasn’t nearly as big as Tyler but threw punches just as hard. By the time the teacher had separated the two, both Grayson and Miranda were at the school beyond worried.

The school recommended Y/n went to a child’s psychologist to catch her anger management issues earlier rather than later. The same message was passed onto the Lockwoods.

But Grayson didn’t see a troubled little girl when he looked at his daughter, he saw someone strong, a fighter, a hunter.

With many disagreements and arguments, Miranda demanded that neither Y/n or Elena and Jeremy would ever be faced with the supernatural life as long as they were alive.

Grayson however didn’t listen. When Miranda took Elena out and Jeremy was at a friends, he would bring Y/n back to the vampires.

He showed her brain scans of a vampires brain vs a humans brain. He showed her a sociopaths and a psychopaths. He taught her what they had learnt, how a vampire thinks. How it behaves and why. He had her taking multiple self defence classes a week as well as personal training where she was allowed to used weapons, stakes.

On her 14th birthday, when everyone was getting ready for bed, Grayson came back into her room and gave her a box. Inside the box was a dagger, a very special dagger. One she had seen drawings of, heard stories of. And with it came the promise that one day she would get to use it.

Y/n was given weekly lessons on vampire history, all the way back to the originals.

By the age of 16 she was searching for them. For him. She wanted to see the one and only Niklaus Mikaelson. Supposedly the most ruthless, most dangerous and most powerful creature to walk the planet? The one who was supposed to kill her very very own sister.

Grayson didn’t approve of her wanting to seek him. He agreed with almost everything she did but not that. He couldn’t risk Klaus. Y/n could fight off a vampire, she was even able to kill a ripper while it was in a frenzy, but an original hybrid? At 16? He couldn’t guarantee that.

So she left in the night. She was gone four full days and nights before she returned. Miranda was in tears and begged her to never leave them again. Elena was angry and Jeremy felt betrayed. But Grayson could tell that Y/n had exactly what she wanted. She knew what Klaus Mikaelson looked like.

And when she placed a photograph of the beasts face on the table beside his glass, he knew he had successfully created a true vampire hunter.

Y/n had boards drawn, hidden from her siblings and mother and only accessible to herself. They held the locations of vampire nests, werewolf packs and witch covens all over the US. She began to form connections with witches. Shiela Bennet, Grams, was aware of Y/n’s involvement and although she wanted nothing more than to stay out of vampire business, she knew Y/n was in too deep to back out and she would protect that girl. She helped her get in touch with other witches, warned her of the witch trials that took place, where a hundred spirits would support her. In return Y/n promised to protect Bonnie, to never take advantage of her and to try her best to keep her away from vampires.

Everything was smooth for a while until that tragic night. One slip in the road and the car was in the water. Y/n had kicked and punched with everything in her to break the windows open, to save Elena, her mother and her father. But she watched as the life drained from their eyes, she watched as Elena tried to tell her how much she loved her. And then, in what she thought would be her last moment, she saw a figure force the door open with a supernatural strength. A vampire, Stefan Salvatore, saved both girls that night.

Y/n didn’t know what to think.

She understood that maybe he saved Elena because of the doppelgänger history that she had learnt of over the years. But she never understood why he would save her too.

Y/n had searched on Stefan before, the ripper. To say she was disgusted was an understatement, but now he was acting as though he was nothing more than a bunny muncher? Lies. There was darkness within him, waiting to be let free. He would kill them all. She was sure of it.

So sure that she broke into his house, only to find his brother Damon already there nursing a glass of bourbon. She observed the two brothers as they through each other from the window and hissed like feral cats. Like a mountain lion.

Damon didn’t even bother to hide his darkness, he was a monster in her eyes. Clear as the moon amongst the stars.

But before she could get her hands on the right stake, Grams was at her door

“Y/n, child, you mustn’t” she warned and Y/n frowned

“I will not have two vampires in our town, ruining my family.” She snapped back and Shiela shook her head

“Child, please” she begged “you have to trust me, trust me that you will need them” she whispered urgently

“Why would anyone need a vampire?” She sneered and Grams grabbed her hand

“Just believe” she uttered “they will not touch you, I can guarantee that not a hair on your head-“

“I don’t care if they hurt me, they will hurt Elena- Jeremy- Jenna-“ she listed, taking a pause before looking Grams in the eye “they will destroy Bonnie”

“You know I wouldn’t put her in danger, they will come and go. The older one of here for one thing, once he has it he will leave and the younger is nothing more than a nuisance” she tried to encourage but Y/n only shook her head

“You know that would be the easiest thing to believe. But they are not made to make friends, they are not here because they feel anything other than hunger. Hunger for blood and hunger for power. Your power, Bonnie’s power.” She threatened

“Y/n, you must trust me just this once. We will rid ourselves of these demons but we must do it right so that we do not become the monsters we fear”

And so with much reluctance, Y/n waited and watched.

She didn’t reveal any of her intentions, she just stayed quiet.

Even when the vampires escaped the tomb, she didn’t make herself known. When Grams died it broke something inside Y/n but it also made her stronger, she knew she had to protect her family, the Gilbert’s, the Bennett’s.

Not even the council knew she was in on it all. Grayson never told a soul outside of the Augustine community so that Miranda never found out. She helped of course, but at the end of the day when she watched Stefan and Elena beg for Bonnie to let them save Damon…Y/n just couldn’t decide where she stood. In that moment she froze, she watched Bonnie Bennet help a vampire and it confused her beyond belief.

And she witnessed it time and time again.

How could this happen? How could everyone in that godforsaken town so easily submit to those animals?

It was Damon who finally caught onto Y/n, noticing the pure disgust on her face when a vampire entered the room. The way she looked at Caroline after she turned, the inner battle she faced when Caroline cried like a child and begged Y/n to tell her everything would be okay.

He eavesdropped on Y/n’s conversation with Caroline’s mother, Liz. It was after Mason had outed the Salvatores and they were waiting for the vervain to leave her system.

“She isn’t my daughter anymore Y/n” she whispered and Y/n just stared back at the wall

“No?” She questioned slightly

“She’s a monster- my little girl is…my little girl is gone” she uttered, tears brimming in her eyes and Y/n’s thoughts stirred

“Gone” she repeated “it’s just a monster…dressed as Caroline?” She mused and Liz let out a sob

“How could this happen? They killed my baby” she cried over and over but Y/n remained emotionless. She wasn’t expecting Damon to be back yet, she wasn’t aware of the way he looked at her. The tilt of his head and the narrowing of his eyes. The shock he felt when he heard the question slip from her mouth

“Will you kill her?”

Liz looked up at Y/n, horrified to an extent as she slowly shook her head “I couldn’t…” she breathed and Y/n nodded in understanding

“Would you…would you have someone else kill her?” She asked quietly and Liz sat up a little straighter, looking at Y/n almost quizzically

“I…don’t know” she whispered “should I?”

That was the biggest question Y/n had. Where was the line drawn? The line between right and wrong, the line between human and monster.

Silence hung over them and Damon watched as Y/n pondered the idea, he could see the way her eyes glistened as she thought over the idea of tearing Caroline’s heart out and then he saw the guilt settle in and the confusion take over again.

“Maybe” she mumbled “maybe Caroline is truly gone. Maybe now she is just a hollow shell of who she is supposed to be and a violent, vicious animal” she stated unfazed “but then what if she’s still your baby girl? What if she’s everything she was and more? What if she’s…better” she whispered, a glint in her eye.

Liz couldn’t give and answer, neither of them could. Neither of them ever would.

By the time Y/n left, Liz was almost asleep.

Damon seized Y/n’s arm as she walked toward the front door and attempted to pin her to the wall only to be knocked off his feet and kicked straight in the gut. His hand automatically grabbed ahold of her ankle and twisted but nothing more than a grunt left her as she grabbed something, a glass, and smashed it against the side of his head. He let out a growl and lunged for her throat but her hand was in his chest in seconds. They both stayed completely still as she held is heart still inside his body, his fangs on display and pain clear in his expression.

A silent stare down happened before Y/n squeezed at his heart and forced a surrender out of him. Once she let go they both crawled away from the other and sat on the floor, facing the other with a contemplating look.

Eventually he spoke, “what are you?” He questioned and she scoffed

“Human” she stated as though he were stupid

“It isn’t human instinct to rip someone’s heart out” he raised a brow and she sighed

“Well maybe not every human but when we have things like you living in our town-“

“Things like me?” He laughed “oh you really aren’t who I thought you were” he grinned a grin of disbelief and stared up at the ceiling. “You think all vampires are monsters?” He murmured, glancing to her

“I’m not sure anymore” she mumbled and he hummed, his brows furrowing

“So…me…Stefan and Caroline are the demons and you? You’re a little angel?” He mocks and she rolls her eyes

“Nobody said or implied that” she sighed and he squinted his eyes

“So then what?”

“I don’t know.” She stated, angrier.

The both went quiet for a moment until Stefan walked in. His eyes were wide and confused. Both Damon and Y/n looked to each other, a look that said they needed to keep this quiet.

“What the-“

“Caroline thought I was gonna hurt Liz, she threatened me by grabbing my heart” Damon lied, a sarcastic smirk on his face which made the situation much more believable. “Y/n stayed to watch Liz, didn’t you?” He glared and she nodded

“Yeah, course, anything to help” she smiled and Stefan slowly nodded. Something wasn’t right but he knew he shouldn’t ask.

And from there stemmed an odd and twisted friendship.

Damon liked to purposefully annoy Y/n, see what made her angry enough to the point where she would hurt him. He wanted to know why she was so strongly against vampires. He wanted to know where she went when she disappeared.

Because disappearing wasn’t uncommon for Y/n, since those days when she hunted down Klaus Mikaelson. The beast who was supposed to be impossible to find but clearly wasn’t trying very hard to hide. Since then she would disappear for a week every couple of months, release her built up anger and hatred for the supernatural by going to a vampire nest and seeing how many she could take on at a time.

Between stakes, wooden bullets and enchanted blades she did very well.

She would return, any wounds wrapped in bandages and nobody would ask, Elena and Jeremy had come accustomed to it. They would hug her, thank her for coming back in one piece and she would promise to never leave without coming back.

Damon however would dance circles around her: “where were you?” “Why do you smell of blood” “what did you do?”

One day she snapped at him and told him she killing of leeches like him. She proceeded to stake him through the stomach and leave him on floor before going up to bed.

That was how Stefan found out. He witnessed the scene and very cautiously raised his hands in surrender when she stomped past him on the stairs.

Damon and Stefan had many conversations on it but nothing ever came of them.

Actually a sort of alliance was formed between the three, nobody tells Elena or anyone for that matter that Y/n is a vampire hunter and Y/n will help behind the scenes when needed.

It worked well.

When Elena and Caroline were taken by the wolves, Y/n killed more of those dogs than Stefan Damon combined.

When Elena was kidnapped by Rose and Trevor for Elijah, she had seen it happen and tracked them before anyone else realised they were missing. She waited patiently in the shadows for Elijah to arrive. She already knew so much about him and it was a dream of sorts to see him so close. She had the dagger of course but she wasn’t sure if that was the right thing to do. Looking at the situation, his tone and the look in his eyes, he didn’t seem to carry any untoward intentions with Elena and if Y/n were honest she wanted to take Elijah down to Augustine. She wanted to scan the originals brain, test his blood to see if he were different to the others.

But when Elijah continued to smack Trevors head clean off and grab Elena in a painful hold, she couldn’t just stand by. A stake was thrown strain into the top of his spine, temporarily paralysing the original and causing him to let out a sharp cry of pain and anger. Elena turned to face Y/n in shock, confusion and relief. Damon and Stefan moved as soon as Y/n did and tackled Elijah unto the others presumed him dead. Y/n however collected a small sample of his blood before they left.

She returned home with the others, explaining to Elena the best she could about how she got to be who she was. About their father’s secret vampire hunting job, leaving out the Augustine side to the story as she knew Elena would not approve and Damon, Stefan and Caroline would be appalled.

Everything was different from then, Elena seeked more support in Y/n like she used to do when they were younger and Y/n guarded Elena with her life. Even when Elena was determined to sacrifice herself, hand herself over to Klaus, Y/n was there.

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat when Elijah stood in-front of her, two hearts in his hands from the vampires that were here for the doppelgänger. He gave a her a strange looked, confused as to who she was before he noticed the way Elena hid behind her and Damon grabbed at her wrist. He vanished into thin air and Y/n went on edge.

She slept in Elena’s room or had Elena in her own. She dug back through her original’s knowledge and information, pages and pages worth of history and myths. Sketches of Klaus’s face and the daggers. A small figure, hand carved by Klaus himself and made of white oak which she had stolen and kept hidden away. But then she remembered what she had learnt from the witches she had conversed with.

Killing one original would wipe out every vampire of that sireline.

She wasn’t sure what to do. Kill Klaus and the Salvatores, kill Caroline? Her childhood friend? Destroy her bond with her sister and be left alone?

She hid the white oak away and decided on presenting Damon with the mystical dagger and white oak ash. He immediately took to the idea while Stefan was hesitant but after another week of Elijah proving to be nothing but a threat in their eyes, he found himself as close to death as he could be in the cellar of the Salvatore’s.

But then Klaus showed up, we’ll sort of.

He had taken over Alaric and assumed they would all be too stupid to notice.

But Y/n could sense something. And he didn’t like the way she was looking at him, a calculated and curious look. She knew he couldn’t question her, that would be confirming her theory. So she just waited and watched. Klaus couldn’t help but feel a little nervous when she narrowed her eyes and glanced toward Elena.

When he finally revealed himself and attacked the girls in the school, Y/n was already in the cellar and forcing Elijah up the stairs.

“You’re fucked up brother is here, wake the fuck up” she yelled as his fingers slowly twitched to life. She threw blood bags at him, watching him drain them in seconds through coughing and groaning.

Once he came to he tried to have her by the throat only to be smacked back by the invisible force of the doorway. She held the dagger threateningly at him until he calmed down and took a step back to compose himself.

They grabbed Elena ASAP and got to talking.

It was another couple days before she actually saw Klaus in his true form. Y/n had just stepped into the grill, ready to yell at Damon for force feeding her his blood when she noticed the dirty blonde, blue eyed vampire stood with a glass of scotch in his hand and a cruel smirk on his face. She swiftly weaved her way through the grill and to a booth in the corner to watch the interaction.

Klaus finished threatening Damon, walked all the way to the door and paused. He could feel himself being watched, his head turned in her direction, his eyes locked onto hers and his brows pulled together with a hint of confusion. He watched as Damon noticed Y/n and called her name, drawing her attention and beckoning her over. Klaus left with her on his mind.

She was soon forgotten when he completed his ritual, was faced with his brothers betrayal and then set free.

He then left with Stefan, unaware that Y/n knew exactly where they were all of the time. Following them, tracking them, hunting them.

She watched as they moved from the road to motels, to diners to hotels to dodgy alleyways to drain helpless humans, to houses to slaughter petrified people.

And while they slept she would break into their hotel rooms, seeing how long it would take to wake the beast. She rummaged through his duffle bag of clothes and papers. She flipped through his sketch books, seeing what new things he had added since the last time she looked. She made her own copies of his maps, marking the same places as he had to know where he would be going next to find the werewolves. It was amusing to her that the reason he struggled to find them was because she had helped kill a proportion of them over the past few years.

Klaus could always feel like someone was watching him but he wasn’t sure if it was actually there or just his paranoia so he never thought too much of it. She was always hidden when he looked over his shoulder anyway.

What he didn’t know was that sometimes she would slip a concentrated doses of ketamine into his and Stefan’s drinks when he wasn’t looking to ensure he would sleep through the night. What she wasn’t expecting was for him to have a nightmare.

She had been in Klaus’s room, transferring all the data from his phone over to her laptop so she could track is messaged and phone calls when he began muttering. She ignored him and waited for it to load but he began to get louder so she stood up, a little worried he would wake. But when his breathing turned rapid and his mumbled became cries for help in fear she started to understand. He was in the middle of a nightmare and the ketamine refused to let him wake.

Hesitantly she came over to his sleeping form, placing a hand on his shoulder which his shook off.

“Shhh” she hushed quietly, not wanting anyone else in the motel to wake. “It’s okay” she whispered but he wouldn’t shut up. He just wouldn’t stop screaming, begging for the wolves to let go of someone- Henrik.

Y/n pulled the covers off him, leaving him in only his boxers. His skin was covered in sweat as he struggled against his own mind. She gently rubbed her hands over his chest, trying to soothe him with physical touch. She whispered kind words to him as she smoothed her fingers over his skin to his face, petting him gently and calming him back to a more settled sleep. His face turned to press his cheek into her palm and she sighed, relieved.

Carefully she pulled away and grabbed her laptop which now had all of his information. She placed everything back when she found it and left, locking the door and moving into Stefan’s room.

Klaus could faintly remember the feel of hands on his body, such soft skin on his. He could remember her soothing voice as she told him to breath and relax. He could still feel her fingers in his hair when he closed his eyes.

Stefan almost always knew that Y/n had been there, he could always smell her perfume. Plus sometimes she would leave him little notes to let him know she was with him.

What wasn’t planned was for Klaus to actually find Ray. She was torn between staying with Klaus or following Stefan when Stefan promised to get rid of Damon, who was searching for him as he assumed Y/n was glad to be rid of the two monsters.

Y/n only stayed because Stefan had spotted her in the bar and mouthed for her to stay, that he would be back.

So she stayed and observed. Watched as Klaus threw vervain-dipped-darts into the man’s body with a smirk on his face. It was creatures like him that she reminded her of why she killed. Why she was apart of Augustine.

So she ordered a drink for him, had the waiter tell him a girl had gotten payed for it and watched as he grinned, flattered and looked around for her. He didn’t spot her as she hid herself behind the bar, he shrugged anyways and took the drink in one gulp. His eyes went wide instantly as the liquid quite literally burned through his throat, a mixture of vervain and wolvesbane in his system. He angrily looked around for the culprit but she was out the door in seconds and in her car.

Once he came back outside, Stefan was back and Ray was unconscious.

She followed them to the mountains and followed at a safe distance, stakes and wolvesbane grenades ready. She stayed low and far enough away, occasionally climbing into trees to watch as he snapped each wolves neck.

She watched in boredom as he failed, she already knew why he wasn’t successful. The witches had already told her Esther’s plan. The double curse.

Cruel but necessary.

She watched his tantrum and then she watched as they both dragged themselves back down to the car.

Following them to Chicago was a low point for her. She had dozens of cans of red bulls and protein bars in her car and had been listening to the same list of songs for months. Klaus’s messages were dryer than a dessert and Stefan was losing his spark. He was losing what made him special, the reason she began to trust a vampire. He was proving that all vampires were beasts.

Thankfully for Y/n, she had already met Gloria in the past. So when Y/n came into the bar after Klaus and Stefan had left and explained the situation, Gloria was happy to let Y/n stay with her in the apartment above the bar for a few days. Without Klaus’s knowledge of course.

She was also happy to let Y/n sit and watch the security cameras whilst Klaus and Stefan were downstairs. In return Y/n offered Gloria a favour, whether it be an ingredient to a spell or the death of another supernatural. Either way it didn't bother Y/n, she was just as happy to do either. if anything she craved to kill a vampire, it was her release and this trip was nothing but a bore for her so far.

It became slightly more interesting when Klaus woke his sister; Rebekah. watching them whine at each other was somewhat amusing but it also reminded her of Elena and Jeremy. She had never been away from home for more than two weeks and these past few months had been isolating and lonely.

What definitely sparked her attention however was when they began talking of Elena's necklace. She bit at her finger tips as she watched Stefan's dreadful attempt at behaving oblivious and the way Gloria's eyes darkened when she glanced toward him. y/n knew this would not end well. she was 100% certain that Klaus or Rebekah would figure out what was wrong and so she left with a head start.

She had Damon on the phone in minutes, bag packed and on the road.

"They know Elena's alive and by they i mean Klaus and his wacko sister, that's right another crazy original bloodsucker is coming to town! Get Elena, get Bonnie and get out!" she yelled down the phone as she drove way past the limit.

"woah woah woah, what? Y/n is this a joke? I'm not in town!" Damon whisper shouted back, clearly frustrated

"where the fuck are you?" she borderline growled

"I'm.... I'm with Katherine" he sighed, knowing the pissed off expression she would have on her face in that moment

"Well I'm in traffic! So get home, get Elena back ALIVE and then say goodbye to you dick because I'm gonna chop it off!" she screamed down the phone at him before abruptly ending the call and coming to a standstill as dozens of cars in front of her come to a halt. She clicked the radio on only to be told that a crash had happened a few miles ahead of her. Y/n smacked her head against the horn of her car and groaned loudly.

Klaus must've taken a diversion because she returned late into the night, Stefan was home with zero humanity and an angry blonde bitch. klaus was missing again and Elena was crying in her bed. Y/n laid with her until they both fell asleep.

The next morning Y/n, Elena, Jeremy, Caroline and Damon were piled into the Gilbert's kitchen. They figured out Tyler was sired/Y/n told them that it was obvious. Together they agreed that getting Mikael would be a good idea. Y/n didn't want him to kill Klaus, although it would have probably been the best thing for her. However she did want him to scare Klaus away at least for a while.

The problem was getting Rebekah to agree but Y/n already knew just the secret to spill to get her attention. It was pure luck that the creatures from 'the other side' were able to cross the barrier and that mason revealed the symbols. Y/n decided it would be better if Damon thought that Klaus killing his own mother was discovered by him instead of Y/n. And she thought it would be better if Elena spoke to Rebekah over herself. Y/n didn't really want to form any kind of relationship with the originals if they were going to be here any longer. Especially not Rebekah, she was too girly and obnoxious for Y/n.

So she let the plan fall out. She played her part, even let Caroline dress her up for homecoming just to make her happy. Afterall if Mikael did end up killing Klaus then Caroline would die too and Y/n would rather she went out on a high.

Everything was going fine, she even had a conversation with Mikael himself. He was rather impressed with her actually, he could recognise a vampire hunter within miles.

They then went to the gym, got redirected to the Tyler's, weird but whatever. And then Klaus made his appearance, reclaimed homecoming as a wake and effectively ruined everyone's night.

Y/n tried to cruise through the evening, keeping to herself and drinking shitty punch. She was pretty happy with just waiting until Katherine, posing as Elena pulled Y/n aside and let her in on what she and Stefan were gonna do. Well not everything they would do but that they planned to save Klaus because the hybrids would kill Damon. Y/n reluctantly agreed, much to Katherine's surprise if she were honest but she took the win.

Y/n then returned to the 'part' in annoyance and relief, that familiar confusion settling over her as she grabbed a real drink and stood to the side of the crowds.

Unfortunately for her, Klaus had spotted her and taken her loneliness as an invitation to approach her. and what was even more unfortunate was that Stefan was glaring straight at her, warning her not to fuck this up.

So she looked back to Klaus with an awkward smile. She knew her body was tense and she could feel her fingers twitch with the urge to defend herself. His power radiated like heat. She just knew Augustine would kill to have him in their facilities.

"Y/n, isn't it?" Klaus questioned knowingly.

"mhm" she mumbled, unsure how to behave.

"why are you all alone?" he asked, his eyes flicking up and down the length of her body, lingering on her cleavage without shame.

"I don't like people" she stated simply and he let out a chuckle.

"Ah I understand that" he smiled but she shifted a step away from him which he noticed but didn't comment on though his smile did drop, it was common for people to distance themselves from him. "you know things aren't going to end well tonight" he warned, his voice quiet but clear

"I'm aware" she mumbled, glancing to where Tyler was dragging an annoyed Caroline toward the house

"Then you should really make better decisions about who you side with, sweetheart. You're strong, and smart. I could tell that from the first time seeing you, it didn't take you 5 minutes to figure out that I wasn't Alaric" he murmured to her, his tone changing from threatening to proud though his face remained neutral.

She said nothing in response, she didn't know what he wanted her to do so she just stared back at him, watching his jaw clench and unclench as he watched and waited for her to come to some sort of answer. He knew that realistically he wouldn't received one but he hoped that she would be intelligent enough to at least take his words into consideration. Klaus liked her, he liked that she was observant and that she had the common sense that everyone else in the town didn't have, to stay out the way. If he were honest, he would have liked her to have been on his 'team', he imagined that she probably had a lot of untold knowledge just waiting to be put to use.

If he only knew the half of it.

Klaus was too buried in his thoughts to notice how Y/n's eyes focused on someone behind him, Damon, who mouthed that he needed 10 minutes before Mikael to get there and that Klaus needed to be occupied.

Y/n could have smacked him when she gave him a look as if to ask what to do and he acted out a dance scene. Her eyes flicked between Klaus and past his shoulder, and then just as Klaus let out a sigh and took a step back she cleared her throat and mentally stabbed herself

"Dance with me?" she offered, her hand very unwillingly lifting out for him to take. His brows shot up but he accepted with little hesitation.

She bit at her own tongue to keep her expressions at bay. Almost everything in her wanted to shove him off, stab him, stake him, behead him. She could feel the vervain syringe she had brought with her in the hidden pockets of her dress, she so desperately wanted to weaken him, kill him.

But no, instead she had a half vampire/half werewolf with his hand on her waist and the other holding her own. His werewolf side made his touch warm, almost like a human's. Slowly her hand went to his shoulder, lightly touching the expensive material of his suit jacket.

Her eyes found his awaiting blue ones, she didn't like how they seemed so deep, they reminded her of Damons. They were those obvious blue eyes, they could be beautiful some of the time and terrifying other times. They were the sort of eyes you could fall into, the kind you could swim in, the ones you would lose yourself in and never find a way out.

It was for that reason that she looked away from them and instead glanced around, taking in the music and the people. There were so many people, it didn't take a genius to guess that most of them were with Klaus, hybrids. She hoped this would be the last time she would touch him, be this close to him but deep down she knew better.

She could feel him pull her a little closer so that his cologne engulfed her, the scent was rich and her inhale for a second too long. She could sense Klaus's smirk in response but refused to acknowledge it. Hopefully someone would come get him soon.

Until then, however, she was to stay in the arms of the beast.

He wirled and twirled her around, doing whatever he could to entice a smile or a laugh from her. Klaus knew many dances from over the centuries, some slow and some fast. Some much more erotic than others and he took great pleasure and amusement in changing between them until a melodic laugh was buzzing through the air. His arms held her close as he brought them low and high, round and round. He spun her one last time before dipping her. Her breathing calmed and her laughs faded as she because aware of how his body pressed to hers, how his arms supported her and how close his face was to hers. The warm air from his mouth fanned over her face and the words she needed to say got trapped in her throat.

Thankfully a women cleared her throat which gained Klaus's attention.

"What is it, I'm busy?" he huffed as he lifted Y/n to stand by herself. He frowned when her touch left him and she moved away, a look of self disgust scrunching up her pretty face.

"Someone's here for you... he says his names Mikael" She told him, unbothered by his angry tone.

His demeanour changed in a second . That familiar coldness returning, it reminded Y/n of the vampires she'd seen with no humanity though it was a little different. She wasn't sure what was different about it but something was.

Either way she didn't like it.

And so by the time Klaus had turned around to apologise to Y/n for the interruption, she was out of sight. He sighed and shook his head before going to end his father.

Y/n proceeded to go sit in Katherine's car, turning the engine on and the radio as she waited for the inside to heat up. She was patiently waiting for the doppelgänger and Stefan to arrive and as soon as they were in the car, her foot was down and they were speeding into the night.

Ripper Stefan and Katherine Pierce were the two worst vampires for Y/n to be around. She wanted them dead, they deserved to die. She wished Klaus had died to his sireline went too. She really did...until she remembered that Elena would be broken. Family would always be more important than anything else.

So when Katherine and Stefan started talking about a way to get revenge on Klaus, she left. She went home and to bed so that she wasn't on 'the wrong side'.

Y/n didn't want to be on any of their sides. She didn't want to be in support of any supernaturals.

Which is why she hated to admit that she had some sort of weird friendship to Damon Salvatore who had been relentlessly teasing her on what he witnessed at the homecoming.

"Oh you should have seen them Elena, for a moment it was like I was in Spain watching salsa dancing and the next I was back in the 1800s" He laughed and Y/n lobbed a dart at him

"You wanted him distracted" she grumbled and he grinned while Elena rolled her eyes

"There's distracting and there's seducing" Damon chuckled

"Hey! He started the whole-"

"The whole what love?" Klaus's voice sounded from behind the trio. It was cold and sharp like the icy wind of the winter. He didn't appreciate being played with let alone mocked, especially when she had asked him too dance. Whether it were apart of a plan or not, she could have done something else for his attention. Throwing a drink on his would have taken him a good few minutes to rage about before changing his outfit but she chose a dance.

"Nothing" she answered, standing and walking away from them all, over to the farthest point of the bar so that she couldn't here what they were saying. 'No involvement' she would warm herself.

She knew they were talking about Stefan from the defensive stances the pair were taking but she didn't want to know why, not even for a second.

And she hoped and hoped that Klaus would just leave after his little threats but of course he had to hover.

A drink was placed infront of her and a hand spun her round on the bar stool forcing her to face the beast once again. "Afternoon sweetheart, lovely to see you again after our little moment. You could even call it a date" the sarcasm was clear but the words alone made her nose wrinkle up.

"I'd prefer you didn't" she mumbled and he hummed

"well I'd prefer a lot of things so I suppose we're all unhappy. Now, where's Stefan hm? I know you had something to do with last night, I witnessed you talking suspiciously quietly with Katerina." He placed a threatening hand on her upper arm and both Damon and Elena stood from their places, worry on their faces as they saw a darkness swirl inside Y/n's eyes. "Where is Stefan, and where had he put my family?"

Y/n let out a laugh, she couldn't help it.

"He took the originals?" she questioned, covering her mouth as hiccups of laughter threatened to escape. Damon headed over fast, muttering to Elena to get it the car. He quickly wrapped an arm around her waist and let out a nervous chuckle, looking to Y/n with wide eyes but she couldn't stop giggling.

"She's just...going through something right now" He smiled fakely and pulled her out of her seat, holding his own hand over her mouth making her shove him off out of reflex, her voice aggressive as she began to yell

"Get the fuck off you filthy-" she cut herself off when she noticed multiple people staring at her with surprised expressions. Damon simply chuckled and grabbed her elbow, pulling her toward the door

"don't hit me" he whispered quietly as he pushed her through the door and toward the car.

Klaus watched the two in confusion and interest. He certainly hadn't expected her to switch up so fast and he definitely wanted to know what the end of her insult was supposed to be.

His curiosity grew when he went to the Salvatore's to try and see if maybe Stefan was there only to find Damon and Y/n with a supernatural board, pictures and names written with strings running from the to different information.

"God if you and your fucked up brother just pissed off instead of following Elena around like the hungry mosquitoes you are then everything would be sunshine and daisies" Y/n complained and Damon rolled his eyes as he linked Stefan to the originals via some red wool.

"What and you would have carried on hunting and slaughtering vampires while Jeremy, Elena and Jenna would obliviously move on with their lives and eventually Elena would have settled down with good ol' Matt Donovon?" he mocked and Klaus's brows furrowed.

"Sounds better than my life right now" she mumbled and Damon rolled his eyes

"Surely this is every crazy vampire hunters dream?" he questioned "cmon think about it, you're surrounded by the oldest vampires, a famous ripper, hybrids and best of all...you got me?" he grinned and she groaned, dropping onto the couch.

"I know and it just makes me feel murderous all the time" she whined "and gross and contaminated" she gagged and he dramatically huffed.

"Come on, you can attack me" he offered with a playful glint and she let out a mocking 'ha ha'. "hey no come on, how about you get to stab me a few times and I get a shot of your blood?"

"Damon?"

"yes?"

"I would rather rip my own heart out then let a soulless , leech anywhere near my blood" she sneered and he laughed with a clap.

"How did it take me so long to realise you undying hatred for what was it?-my kind?" he raised his brows and she glared at him

"These past few months have done nothing but confirm my every belief. You and everyone like you are monsters" she whispered, enjoying how his expression faltered "unsavable, unloveable-"

"shut up" he uttered, veins appearing under his eyes making her lips curve up

"see? you can't even control yourself"

"says the girl who nearly lost it in the middle of the grill" he quipped before walking out and leaving her alone.

Klaus's mind was spinning with new knowledge. It made sense to him but he still wasn't exactly expecting it. Either way, he would find a way to put this to his advantage.

(Okay I'm going to make this part one and then from here Klaus and Y/n will have more time together and start to fall for one-another. I know this is a little different to my usual stories as I never usually give so much build up/back story but I had a lot of ideas and wanted to share those with you. So thanks for reading and I hope you loo forward to the next part/parts)

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Faking It | Part V

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

And thus continues my ode to all the tropes that ever troped XD Wanna hear something funny? I have this story saved in my one-shots folder. Like, what was I thinking??

Anyway, thank you so much for following this meandering tale. I still can't believe the epic support and love you guys have given me and this story <3 I appreciate you more than you know!

Summary: Fake dating your friend, Bradley Bradshaw - what could possibly go wrong? Your sister is getting married and you need a date. You enlist Bradley's help and the rest is history.

CW: swearing, some angst (y'all knew it was coming)

Start from the beginning: Part I

You open your eyes the following morning to find Bradley’s arm draped over your body, his fingers wrapped around your hand near your chest. You hold your breath, lest you wake him before you can fully appreciate the moment. You close your eyes for a minute, imagining that all of it is real.

Before the minute is up, however, Bradley begins to stir. You decide to keep your eyes closed, curious as to how he will react upon waking in an embrace with you. You feel his body shift behind you, his head lifting slowly off the pillow. He doesn’t withdraw his arm just yet and you can feel his breath warming the tip of your ear as he rests his head briefly over yours. His fingers tighten around your hand for a split second before he releases it and drags his arm away, his hand lightly skimming the exposed skin under the hem of your shirt as he rolls onto his back. Meanwhile, you nearly convulse at the absolute upheaval of your entire nervous system as your body grapples with the chaos ignited by his fleeting touch.

You turn around slowly to see him covering his face with his hands and your heart sinks. He’s clearly mortified and possibly regretting the entire endeavor. He must know that you like him. He must see right through you. And then it hits you. You were drunk last night. Had you done something that might have given you away? Other than convincing him to share a bed with you and cuddle you to sleep? You think you might be sick.

You sit straight up, wincing at the pounding in your head, and slip out of the bed without so much as uttering a good morning to the man who’s been spooning you all night. You rush into the bathroom, hurriedly locking the door behind you, as if Bradley might try to barge in. You start running cold water over your face, trying desperately to remember every single thing that happened the previous night.

Bradley had seemed fed up with Steven, but that was likely for show. Bradley had helped remove your shoes, but that was likely because you would’ve otherwise ended up with your face in the sand. Similarly, carrying you when you had expressed some ridiculous phobia of crocodiles? That was likely an attempt to get you home before you did something stupid. You cringe, looking up at your grimace in the mirror.

When you step out of the bathroom, Bradley is already dressed. He looks over at you with an apprehensive expression. “You up for some breakfast?” he asks.

“Uh, I’m actually going to head over to my sister’s chalet,” you say quickly, gathering your things. “All the bridesmaids are getting ready there.”

“You should eat something,” he says.

Your eyes meet his across the room. “I’m sure they’re going to have a platter of sandwiches or something.”

Bradley looks like he might have something else to add but ultimately seems to reconsider. “I guess I’ll see you later,” he says.

You give him a tight smile. “That’s the plan,” you respond, heading for the door.

…

You spend the morning in a daze. Your sister is getting married and you can hardly think of anything other than Bradley Bradshaw. Once or twice, this realization infuriates you, but then you blissfully revert to daydreaming about his captivating grin and his expressive eyes and his beautifully sculpted shoulders.

By the time the ceremony rolls around, you’re frighteningly untethered from reality, and you desperately try to focus on the task at hand. You take a deep breath, grounding yourself before taking the final step off the stone staircase onto the perfectly manicured lawn, clutching your bridesmaid’s bouquet to your chest. You haven’t seen Bradley since that morning and your nerves are shot with the anticipation of what the day might have in store. Your thoughts that morning may have all revolved around Bradley’s shoulders but, if you’re going to make it through the rest of the weekend, you’ll have to feign indifference toward him, romantically speaking – while pretending that he is the love of your life. It can’t be as complicated as it sounds. You take several more breaths, concentrating all your efforts on your walk toward the altar without letting your heels sink into the soft ground.

Your eyes scan the chairs briefly but you see no sign of Bradley’s wavy, brown hair. You take your place next to the other bridesmaids, turning to the collection of lawn chairs in front of the flowered trellis. You’re still searching for Bradley in the crowd when the flower girl skips up the aisle sprinkling handfuls of rose petals over the freshly cut turf. When you can’t locate him, you start to worry that perhaps he’s changed his mind about attending. The thought upsets you because the least he could have done was talk to you beforehand so that his absence wouldn’t catch you off guard.

You’re still annoyed when your gaze lands on a particularly handsome face that’s smirking up at you from the assembled guests. You stare at him for a moment, shocked that you didn’t recognize him sooner. He’s wearing a light-colored suit and his hair is slightly more gelled than usual but, other than that, he’s the same old Bradley. Except, you’ve never seen him in formal attire before. And he looks good.

You give him a smile, playing the part of the enamored girlfriend despite the turmoil in your gut at having left things unsettled that morning. You look away from him so as not to give him an opportunity to perceive the discomfort on your face. In doing so, however, your eyes settle on Steven instead. He grins at you broadly, wiggling his eyebrows. You feel sick to your stomach and promptly look away just as your sister makes her way down the aisle in her blindingly white gown. Behind her slender form, you notice that Bradley is glaring at Steven.

You smile inwardly at Bradley’s transparent animosity toward him. Your ex-boyfriend certainly deserves it but, what’s more, it’s a pleasant feeling having Bradley in your corner against enemy number one.

When the ceremony comes to an end and all the guests rise as the wedding party heads back up the aisle, Bradley gives you a slight nod as you walk by which sends a fluttering sensation throughout your insides. You quicken your pace, racing after the happy couple as if you plan to outrun them, completely forgetting about the grass versus heels situation. Your left foot sinks into the ground and you nearly lose a shoe as you stumble forward.

Just as you’re about to fall face first into the greenest grass you’ve ever seen, Bradley hops out of his row and grabs your arm, sliding his hand around your waist to steady you. It all happens so quickly that you’re still visibly shaken as you straighten your back.

“You okay?” he asks, his face hovering far too close to yours as he leans forward to look at you.

“I think so,” you breathe. “Good catch,” you add.

He smirks with one side of his mouth. “You are too, babe,” he replies.

You stare at him for a moment, trying to decipher how much of the current scenario is an act, and you decide that Bradley Bradshaw has missed his chance at a seriously successful career in acting.

“Shall we?” he asks, holding his arm out for you. “I hear it’s cocktail hour.”

You try to calm your overwrought nerves and glance up at him with a guarded smile. After all, you need to convince your mother – and Steven – that you’re in a happy relationship, and you can’t do that by avoiding poor Bradley’s gaze all evening. It’s not his fault he’s hot as fuck. “Let’s do this,” you say, sliding your arm through his as the rest of the guests begin to make their way toward the patio where the servers are already walking around with platters brimming with ridiculously small, and unnervingly unrecognizable, food.

…

“You look good,” Bradley says casually as he reaches to take a miniscule quiche off a circulating platter.

You swallow a large chunk of stuffed mushroom, praying you don’t choke on it before you could respond. “You’re not so bad yourself, Bradshaw.”

He grins, popping the quiche into his mouth.

You meet his gaze and nearly lose yourself in his eyes when you feel a violent tug on your dress. You look down to see your niece smiling up at you. She continues pulling on your dress even though she’s already captured your attention and you have to pry her little hands off the chiffon skirt before the material disintegrates in her iron grip. “Aly, Aly, what’s up?” you ask hurriedly.

“Is this the pilot?” she asks with a sly smile on her face as she turns to look up at Bradley.

Bradley grins at the little girl. “Hey, how’d you know?” he exclaims.

Aly giggles. “I guessed,” she admits.

“Good guess,” Bradley says, winking at her.

“How big is your airplane?” Aly asks excitedly.

Bradley lifts his eyes to look at you as you bite into your bottom lip to keep from laughing.

“Size doesn’t really matter, little girl,” Bradley says.

A small chuckle escapes your mouth despite your efforts to contain it and Bradley shoots you a pointed look.

“What matters,” Bradley continues, “is how you use it.”

“Use it?” Aly looks at him with furrowed brows.

“Fly it!” Bradley corrects himself. “How you fly it.”

You put a hand to your mouth, trying to hold in your laughter.

“In any case,” Bradley says. “My plane is quite large as far as planes go.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and turn away, because looking at Bradley will certainly compromise your poker face.

“What’s so funny, auntie?” Aly yanks on your dress again.

You turn to look at her with tears in your eyes from the strain of withholding your laughter.

“Yeah, auntie,” Bradley chimes in. “What’s so funny?”

“I am not laughing,” you say with a giant smile.

Bradley chuckles, shaking his head. “Get your mind out of the gutter, auntie,” he says, and the rough quality of his deep voice makes the statement sound ridiculously sexy, nudging your mind in precisely the opposite direction.

“Yeah, auntie,” Aly agrees. “Get your mind out of the udder.”

At that, you burst out laughing. Grabbing Bradley’s shoulder – the very one you’d been fantasizing about for the better part of the day – you try to steady yourself while attempting to stifle your own amusement. Bradley chuckles while his hand slides around you and rubs your arm absently as you try to breathe through your hysterics.

Aly squeezes in between the two of you, peeking up at you with a grimace. “You’re really happy today, auntie,” she says.

Bradley’s hand stops stroking your arm and his embrace briefly tightens around you.

“Well,” you say, wiping your eyes and straightening your back. “It is my sister’s wedding day. Happiest day of my life.”

Aly eyes you skeptically while Bradley’s hand falls back to his side as you slowly move away.

Bradley looks down at the girl. “You ever heard of the Super-Hornet, Aly?” he asks.

Aly glances up at him with wide eyes and shakes her head.

“Tell you what,” he says, crouching down so that his face is level with hers. “You tell your auntie that she’s going to have to let you borrow me for a dance so that I can tell you all about it.”

You chuckle lightly as Aly glances up at you with a couple of round, excited eyes. “I suppose I can lend him for one dance,” you say.

The girl runs off cheerfully and Bradley rises, his eyes settling on yours as a smile spreads on his face. “Look at you being so generous,” he says.

You shrug. “What kind of person would I be if I refused to share with a child?”

He laughs, his eyes still holding your gaze as he licks his lips. “So,” he says after a moment. “You left in a hurry this morning.”

Your giddy mood instantly deflates and, as you contend with a sudden and rather debilitating panic attack that derails your plans for an uneventful evening, the space between the two of you becomes fraught with tension. “I was running late,” you say dismissively, turning away from him to try and locate another server distributing appetizers.

“I saw your sister at breakfast,” he says.

You shoot him a horrified look. “Oh no!” you exclaim. “Was she wondering why we weren’t together?”

 “Probably,” he says. “But that wasn’t really my point.”

“Fuck,” you groan. “She’s going to tell my mom. And my mom’s already on my case. And” –

“Why’d you lie?” he asks.

You glance up at him. “I didn’t lie. I had no idea my sister would still be having breakfast.”

“Your sister said you weren’t supposed to show up till noon.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Why are you interrogating my sister?” you ask crossly.

Bradley watches you levelly. “My bad,” he says after a short period of silence. “I thought we could be adults about this.” He pushes off the banister and heads across the terrace toward the bar.

You let out a frustrated sigh and shake your head. Of course, Bradley would choose the most crucial event of the entire weekend to pick a fight with you. You stomp off in the opposite direction, grabbing a flute of champagne from one of the trays as you go.

…

“Trouble in paradise?”

You look up from your drink to see Steven eyeing Bradley, who is standing on his own at the stone barrier separating the terrace and the grassy slope that slants toward the lake below. He’s looking out at the water with an impassive expression on his face. “Not now, Steven,” you say tiredly.

Steven leans into the high-top table you’re standing at. “I think now is the perfect time, baby,” he says.

You roll your eyes. “Please don’t call me that.”

“Look,” Steven says, sliding closer to you along the curve of the table. “It’s clear to me that this Bradley guy – that he’s just a rebound…”

Steven continues talking but you’ve stopped listening. You’re watching Bradley finally turn around and look at you. Even from a distance, you can see the subtle shift in his features when he notices whom you’re conversing with. Bradley sets his jaw and starts towards you.

“…but I’m here now,” you hear Steven’s voice frighteningly close to your ear and you flinch, backing away.

Steven is giving you a smirk that he probably thinks is irresistible and perhaps, once upon a time, it had been for you. You’re about to tell him off when Bradley walks around the table from behind, forcing his way in between you and Steven. “I’m getting tired of finding you near my girlfriend,” he says, the antagonism palpable in his tone.

Steven appears annoyed that his advances have been cut short. “We were just having a chat,” he replies.

Bradley gives his head a slight shake. “Plenty of other people here to chat with,” he says tersely.

Steven lets out a scathing laugh and glances at you. “Y/N, since when do you let your boyfriends decide who you get to talk to?”

You’re about to bite back when Bradley takes a step toward Steven, lowering his face so that he could stare him down at close proximity. “I’ll tell you what,” he says in a low voice. “I see you bothering her again, and you and I? We’re going to have a chat. And, believe me, you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

Steven takes a step back uncomfortably, glancing between you and Bradley with a begrudging expression. “I’ll see you later, Y/N,” he calls to you before turning and walking away.

Bradley shakes his head at him heatedly before turning to face you. You don’t meet his gaze, still upset with him for losing his temper and stalking off earlier, leaving you to navigate cocktail hour on your own.

Bradley doesn’t say anything either, so the two of you just stand in silence, refusing to look at one another.

Then, Bradley says, “Your mother’s on her way over.”

“Great,” you grumble, letting out an irritated sigh. You look up at Bradley with a sour expression. “Can you just pretend to be happy to be here?” you say, although the acidity in your voice is a far cry from the pleading and begging you’d done only a couple of days ago. You realize that you’re taking him and the favor he’s doing you for granted, but you’re far too mad to apologize for it now.

Bradley gives you a stony look and shifts his jaw. “Can you?” he asks flatly.

You bring a hand to your face and close your eyes, trying to reset your emotions. But it’s too late; your mother’s condescending tone makes you bristle. “You two seem to be enjoying the party,” she says with a hint of irony.

You glance up at Bradley worriedly to find that he’s already watching you. You wish you’d never asked him to come. There is no way the two of you could convince your extremely attentive mother that you are in love when you can barely stand to look at one another. At the same time, it’s not like you can come clean about the whole thing now; you’ll appear even more unhinged than your mother has already deemed you to be.

“Your gracious daughter here was just trying to convince me not to throw Steven into the lake,” Bradley says, apparently channeling his anger toward you into a jealous boyfriend persona.

You mother visibly stiffens. “This is a formal event,” she says sternly, giving him a horrified look. “There will be no such altercations.”

Bradley lets out a contemptuous chuckle, sticking his hands into his pockets before balling them up into fists. “That’ll be up to Steven, ma’am.”

Read Part VI

Tag List:

The rest of the tag list is in the comments!

@lonelywitchv2

@fanboyluvr

@marrianena

@anotherr-fine-mess

@mrs-obrien

@living-in-my-imagination88

@kindablackenedsuperhero

@whitewolfsbitch

@beebslebobs

@gretagerwigsmuse

@mak-32

@strangunddurm

@desert-fern

@maverick-wingman

@jamielovesbucky

@n3ssm0nique

@misshoneypaper

@roosterscockpit

@jakexfmc

@wintercap89

@gracielou0518

@averyhotchner

@bxwitched

@yeetzel

@xoxabs88xox

@cynisarmy

@kwanimations

@onlygetaway

@hope-love-equality2

@shanimallina87

@ijustwantedplums

@oliviah-25

@gayforsteve

@gingerbreadandpaper

@vemonbby

@sebastianstansimp

@alexxavicry

@spn-marvel-nerd

@army24--7

@emmy626

@criminalyetminimal

@candid-confetti

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@thefandomimagines

@moony-artemis

@my-secret-life-1

@roostereads

@currentlybradshaw

@whisperofsong

[torukmaktoskxawng]

tsamsiyu ta’em - a new leaf part two

Masterlist - part five

Summary: Desertion must run in the family.

Pairing: Ronal/Tonowari/Original Female Character

Tag: #tsamsiyu ta'em fic

posted on ao3

Word Count: 9k+

Taglist (bold indicates “could not tag”): @mooniequeen @shit-i-say-shit-i-think @heart-an0n @amiets2 @slutforsmut4ever @yeosxxx​ @im-in-a-pansexual-panik

Warnings: canon-compliant, canon-typical violence, mature language, adult content, slow burn, polyamory, found family, cool aunt agenda, alien/human (technically avatar), jake sully sister agenda, time skips, I'm trying to hurry up and get to the good parts so bear with me, fluff, angst, adopted spider, tags to be added

A/N: Thank you so much for 300 followers! 🎉

Right from the start of the day, Jake knew something or someone was bothering his sister. She was quiet, she kept to herself, and she went stiff when anyone came near her. It was as though they were right back at the start when he first brought Kayla to High Camp. What was worse is that the kids had noticed and asked their father what was wrong with Auntie, and Jake couldn't afford to tell them that he didn't have all the answers and he had been wondering the same thing. A small part of him was scared that something had happened to her back at Bridgehead or maybe she was changing her mind about staying. Whatever was wrong, Toruk Makto needed to fix it, one way or another.

She had been particularly moody to him all day, but unfortunately, she had to be in close proximity to her brother when they were both given the task of tending to the ikran and their harnesses.  She decided to be silent, cold, and distant as they worked. Jake decided not to push his luck and worked in silence alongside her, just trying to be a comforting presence despite not knowing what was wrong. He did, however, notice other presences around them, and they were paying particularly close attention to his sister.

It was a small group of young Na'vi warriors, likely around Kayla's age if not a little younger. They stood off to the side, openly staring at Kayla and whispering to each other. Jake couldn't tell if they were curious or making fools of themselves by mocking her, but Kayla didn't appear to even notice them at first. Then, some avatar scientists joined the group, also publicly gawking at Kayla when their fellow Na'vi friends whispered to them, too. They laughed quietly among themselves and one unfortunate bastard was cursed with a snorty laugh that drew Kayla's attention to the group, sharp eyes locking onto them before she could even blink. The whole group quickly turned away, all either embarrassed or ashamed.

Jake took this opportunity to laugh and lighten the mood, "You've got a growing group of admirers, it would seem."

Kayla paused, still watching the group of men and women now clearly avoiding her gaze before actively ignoring them, bringing her eyes back down to her hands as she worked on weaving together a spare banshee harness. Jake huffed with amusement, "What? Not your type?"

"Not my priority," she muttered, "Besides, I'm pretty sure they're not staring at me because they wanna get some."

"Does that mean you have someone?"

Her eyes shoot up to him like a bullet, narrowed and glaring into his soul as she spits out, "Would I have come to Pandora alone if I did? I'm not the one who abandons people when they need me."

The silence is thick and palpable, able to cut through with a knife. Both Sullys stare at one another, unblinking. One stared in shock while the other glared in rage, but it's not hard to tell which is which.

Jake swallowed back the emotions when his throat suddenly dried, ears lowering in shame, "I'm sorry."

"After all, 'Sullys stick together', right?" She mocked, and one look at her and Jake could tell why she was suddenly pissed off at him. The shame quickly eats him up and threatens to spit him out as her voice wavered, "Usually, I'd find it sweet that you taught your kids some of our family's old traditions... but when that tradition ended up becoming a lie--"

"I was going through it," he tried making up excuses as a desperate attempt of calming her, "I wasn't thinking."

"You were going through it?" She huffs out a laugh of disbelief, the smile that briefly graced her lips was vile and hysterical, "I get that you were twins, Jake. But Tom was my brother, too."

Jake lowered his eyes, unable to look at her any longer. It seems as though Kayla can't just settle on one emotion, all her thoughts that have been stewing for some time beginning to boil over like a volcano. Her voice shook, either in rage or distress, Jake didn't want to look up and find out. "And for a while there, I thought I lost both of you."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sure you are. Doesn't excuse the fact that you left me all alone, found yourself a wife, and had a few kids all the while letting your sister believe you were dead!" She snapped, growing angrier by the minute when tears started to brew in her eyes. She didn't want to cry. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to punch him and scream but she was frustrated because she had clearly missed that opportunity when they first reunited, "I missed out on so much of your life, Jake. I missed out on their lives, and you didn't care."

"I did care. I still care--"

"You didn't. If I recall, the last thing you ever said to me was 'have a good life, kid' in that passive-aggressive tone of yours."

His eyes flick up to hers, "And your last words to me were even less than friendly."

"Sue me." Kayla snarled back, quick as lightning, "My brother abandoned me on a dying planet, all alone, and didn't bother to make sure I was taken care of."

The wording felt like heavy lead beginning to build in Jake's gut, tilting his head curiously at her, "What do you mean? What happened?"

"Nothing happened. I just did exactly what you told me to do. I grew up." His ears pin to his skull as his mind prompted him to a distant memory of the last time he ever spoke to Kayla. The shame and humiliation were evident in his eyes when she glared back, "To make ends meet I became a marine. You didn't give me much of a choice."

His hand reaches out before his brain could order it to do so, "Kayla--"

She hissed ferociously for her first attempt, the sound coming low from her chest and throat, baring her sharps fangs at her brother, "Don't fucking touch me."

Jake pulls his arms back, afraid she'd bite, and raised them in surrender so she had a clear view of both of them. Defeated, Jake keeps himself back and willingly exposes himself to her verbal lashings, "Alright, let's hear it. I wasn't sure how long it would take us to talk about it. But there's no easy way around it. So come on. Let's talk."

Her eyes were still pooling, threatening to spill, as she shook her head when words failed, "Maybe we shouldn't."

"No, we should. I knew this was coming. Go ahead."

She took a moment to try and find the right words, but there weren't any that she hadn't already said. Instead, Kayla confessed what she had been feeling all this time after having bottled it up for so long, "Initially I was glad that you're still alive. Now that the initial shock and relief have worn off-- fuck you, Jake."

She picked up her work and turned a full one-eighty, walking away and keeping her head low so no one would think she was making a scene. She wasn't able to get far before Jake comes after her, being sure not to touch her, and instead making her stop in her tracks when he rushed around to cut off her escape, "Look, Kayla, wait-- hate me all you want. I know I deserve it. But don't take it out on anyone else but me."

The words were enough to confuse Kayla as her rushing thoughts pause, peering up at Jake in puzzlement, "What makes you think I would do that?"

"I can't afford not to," his whole posture displayed the stern form of an olo'eyktan, shoulders stiff with the weight of hundreds of lives relying on him, "Kayla, you and I, right now, are on opposite sides of a war. Alright?"

The firm reminder breaks the spell and Kayla quickly looks away, deciding to focus on a Na'vi child in the distance, running away from their mother as they laughed instead. Jake sidesteps until he's in her field of view again and she is forced to make eye contact. His expression stays serious, like a father talking down to their child, "Whatever punishment you think I deserve for what I did, I'll take it gladly. But don't do anything to punish anyone else, like telling Ardmore where we are. Don't feed my family to the wolves for my mistakes."

It hurt to think that after everything Kayla has seen in these last few months, Jake would believe she could possibly do something so monstrous. Her eyes widen at him, shattered as she voiced this in such a soft tone, "Do you honestly think I could do something like that?"

He doesn't relent even though he wants to. He wants to believe his sister loved his kids and would never throw them under the bus for crimes he committed, but he's seen too much. He knows what people like Ardmore are capable of, and has seen firsthand what they can do to get what they want. "It's like you said. Twenty years is a long time but it's enough for someone to change. And the side that you're fighting for, the Sky People... They have done nothing but hurt the Na'vi. They've killed animals, entire ecosystems, and even the People themselves. I watched them destroy Neytiri's home and there were many casualties. Men, women, and children. All for what? For the ore that lay underneath. I thought we had driven them away but now they're back, and they're more ruthless than before. That field outside Bridgehead. The Kill Zone? That used to be a forest. A beautiful, powerful, living forest. And now it's gone. Burnt down to the dry desert it now is."

Kayla's eyes dart away, her expression crumbling into a whole range of emotions that she tried to contain, conflict and sadness being only a couple of them. Jake doesn't relent, "Come on, Kayla, you know I'm right. You know what the Sky People are doing is wrong."

It was a weak attempt at defending herself and her species, but Kayla's sisterly instinct to argue with her brother was a lot stronger than common sense, "... They're my people. They're your people."

"No." He shut her down firmly, harshly, "I chose my people. I chose people who love life. 'People who love the ground they walk on and respect the animals they hunt. They believe that everything must return to the dirt so life can start all over again. When have you ever seen a human give back?" When he's met with silence, he takes a different approach, "You're a soldier, Kayla. Soldiers don't have the freedom to make their own choices. They're not allowed to feel or have their own opinions. I would know because I was a soldier, too. I was just like you. But now I'm a warrior."

She frowns, staring up through her eyebrows with doubt evident through her yellow orbs, "There's a difference?"

"Yes. Warriors are loyal and brave. They have honor. They're not mindless animals who only do what they're told regardless of whether or not what they're doing is wrong. Only a soldier does that. I refuse to be a soldier ever again."

The arguing side of her finally gives in, exhausted from spewing all her emotions out all at once in the heat of the moment. She just wants to sleep now, and at this point, she'll do whatever it takes to get back to her nivi, "What do you want from me?"

The opportunity presents itself and Jake finally admits the motivation behind bringing her here in the first place, "I'm asking you to stop being a soldier and start being a warrior. Join us. Join us and learn to love life again as you did before. Stay here. Be a part of our family. Fight for the survival of our family." Kayla looked as though she had expected him to say this, but still appeared unsure, scared of the danger of staying. Jake took a brave step forward and gently placed his hands on either of her shoulders, "My kids love you and they need you. Do you love them?"

She thought of Neteyam, so kind and brave and nurturing. Kiri, so full of hope and life and is just trying to know herself. Lo'ak, desperate for approval and to make himself seen, yet so reckless and funny. Sweet Little Tuk, so full of love for everyone around her and all-inclusive when showing her creativity and happiness. Kayla even thought about Spider, who smiles and laughs with her and tries to make her feel welcome, despite being an odd teenager who has yet to figure out how adult life works. Going beyond the kids, Kayla thought about Neytiri and Norm, people who have included her in everything and accepted her despite their differences, and who have grown to be her friends and family. Kayla's eyes briefly flick back to Jake and nodded, "Yes."

He smiled, "And the forest? The colors? The people?"

"Yes."

"All of that will go away if the Sky People continue to stay here. They'll dig up and burn every tree all the way down to the roots. They'll be an infestation to this world that you've grown to love. Please, Kayla. Stay here."

Determination and desperation intertwine on his face, and Kayla hated how she had to be the one to break such confidence in him. She partially wondered when did their roles reverse, where she had given up but he had hope. Maybe it had been when he first came to Pandora and saw his life through other people's eyes did he decide to change, and even though Kayla was proud of her brother for becoming a better man, she still felt the hurt of abandonment. Despite wishing she could hurt him as he hurt her, she didn't want it to be like this, "I can't, Jake."

His face had started to fall before she could quickly add, "Not when my real consciousness is in Bridgehead. As long as my body's there, I'll always have to go back."

He breathed a small sigh of relief through his nose, calm now that he knew she wanted to stay but just couldn't find the courage to do so, "Then wake up and run away."

"... How?"

"I have a plan."

~~~~~~~~~

The nights were a little cold high up in the cave systems of the floating mountains, but Kayla was ignoring the cold in exchange for looking into a cracked mirror hung up off to the side of the Longhouse, meant to be used for when the avatars needed to do their nightly routines. Kayla purposely waited until she was the last one to use the mirror for the night, the other avatars already lying in their hammocks, waiting for lights out to be called.

Her reflection was something she had only just begun to get used to. Big, yellow eyes, and cerulean skin with natural, flowing blue stripes perfectly shaping the angles of her face. Kayla pressed a finger to one of the many star-glittered freckles on her cheek that she had recently learned the Na'vi call tanhì. She followed the design for a while, losing count after twenty and then meeting her cat-like eyes in her reflection.

It was a face she was going to have to get used to if she was really going to go through with this. She once saw the avatar as a separate person entirely, but now she understood that they are one in the same both mind and soul. No matter what form she took, either blue or peach, she was still Kayla, and she had to remind herself of that every day in the mirror, no matter what reflection was looking at her. Although she was beginning to wonder just how much time she’ll be spending in her human body after tonight.

A plan had been set and now all she had to do was go to sleep and wake up in Bridgehead. Easier said than done, her nerves acting as a stimulant to keep her awake. Already, she was hearing snores coming from the biolab trailer. She heard quiet chatter in the distance, but other than that, the whole camp was asleep, marking just how late her rushing thoughts kept her up. Taking one last look at her avatar, she finally pulls away from the mirror and gets comfortable in her hammock, internally asking Eywa to wish her luck before closing her eyes.

She's awoken by the same blinding white lights and lab coats, asking a hundred questions a minute while routinely going through the motions of giving her nutrition and simultaneously taking blood samples through various needles and tubes in the crooks of her arms. Kayla blankly stared at her pale arms, a little thinner than normal. She hadn't had time to take care of her body in between links and decided that this should be one of the many reasons she needs to leave. Her stomach growled at the idea of freshly cooked teylu waiting for her back at High Camp and was extremely disappointed when a scientist handed her a granola bar instead. Finally, after they had bandaged her fresh wounds and were satisfied with her answers, Kayla stood from the ledge of the link bay and steadied herself,

"I need to talk to General Ardmore."

The general was summoned and brought to the biolab by the time Kayla was offered water and a full meal. The corporal even had time to pull her hair up into a more respectable bun before she would stand in attention for the general. Frances Ardmore walked in and Kayla salutes stiffly, keeping her eyes lowered until she had been given permission to speak.

"Report."

Kayla looked up with a stern look in her eye and a monotone voice, lying through her teeth gracefully, "There's a crash site near the location of what used to be the Na'vi's Hometree. A gunship with some bodies inside. It's not my brother, I know, but with your permission, General, I'd like to go out there and extract them."

"With your avatar?"

"Just myself, ma'am. I had to leave my avatar behind at the crash site." The general's eyes narrow and so Kayla quickly adds before she could be interrupted, "She's safely hidden, I assure you, but I left a tracker on her so I can find my way back. With your permission, I'd like to take a gunship out there and I'll retrieve the remains myself and bring them back so they can be properly identified and sent home to their families. There won't be any need for extra manpower or wasted supplies."

Ardmore didn't speak for a while, and Kayla had to use every muscle in her face to keep herself from smiling at the idea of Ardmore trying to remind herself that she needs to act sympathetic to the families of possibly deceased soldiers. Kayla was sure that Ardmore could care less about some bodies that were over a decade old, but courtesy forces her to be civil as she curtly nods to Kayla, "Permission granted. You get there, you extract the remains and come right back. That's it."

"Yes, ma'am."

The next morning, with a large satchel of "rations" at her hip, a mask over her face, and an AR rifle strapped to her back, Kayla is led to a gunship and then left alone. Remembering her previous training, Kayla strapped herself in and begin the process of starting up the engines while waiting for Control to clear her for take-off. Finally, she gets her orders and she barely contains her eagerness when responding cordially and taking off, floating up into the air before flying away. Silently repeating the rendevous coordinates Jake had provided her the day before, Kayla beelined in the direction of what used to be the Omatikaya's home.

In Sector Twelve, about ninety-three kilometers from the abandoned Hell's Gate facility, now sat a slowly healing memorial site of Hometree. Kayla had heard stories about this place, mostly from Mo'at, Neytiri, and even Neteyam, despite the fact the young Na'vi boy had never seen its former beauty before the RDA had decimated it. Despite never seeing it stand tall and mighty, Neteyam told stories that he had heard from the Na'vi around him who had seen it. He even proudly stated how his own bow, much like his mother's and maternal grandfather's, was made from the wood of Hometree. It is from Neteyam's stories that now let Kayla's imagination run wild as her gunship slowly circles around the site of the former home of the Omatikaya.

Most of it was still barren, Eywa's hold not yet fully restored over this land. Plants and signs of life were visibly, but not yet solidified. The great corpse of such a large, magnificent tree was still visibly, lying across the landscape like a fallen giant. Vegetation was growing all around its trunk, uproots, and branches, cementing it to the forest floor where it will one day fully return to the dirt to give back what it had taken from the Great Mother. Neytiri once told Kayla that the tree will likely not fully decay under her children's grandchildren are born, but by then, she hopes that more songs will be sung for them to remember it by.

Reaching her destination, Kayla slowly lowers her gunship to the forest floor but wisely chooses to stay inside the vessel, knowing that the world's immune system will not take her presence lightly-- not in this mundane form. She anxiously waits, breath somewhat shaking when she exhales, and purposely cuts the engine. She won't be needing to bring this gunship home, after all.

She's thankful that she doesn't have to wait for very long, hearing the familiar, echoing call of an ikran approaching. Sighting familiar blue and purple wings, Kayla grabs her things and climbs out of the gunship, double-checking that her mask was tightly secured before stepping out into Pandoran air. Tightly holding the strap of her bag, she makes the trek over to the ikran and its rider, who has landed a bit of distance away from the gunship out of paranoia.

Jake sucked in a sharp breath of air, his expression solemn and grave as he took in the human form of his sister, in the flesh, for the first time in over two decades. She was shorter than he remembered, with her dirty-colored hair cut to her shoulders and those familiar, Sully blue eyes staring back up at him through her mask. It was like staring at a ghost, haunted by several memories and none of which Jake was entirely proud of, given the latest argument with his sister. Kayla stared back at him with an all-knowing gaze, equally somber and grim as she stood off to the side of his ikran, patiently waiting. Bob had bristled underneath his rider, clearly uneasy about the human beside him, but through the bond, the banshee kept mostly to himself, aware that he was not allowed to eat this human. Jake broke off tsaheylu and dismounted, trudging over to Kayla and motioning her to lift her arms.

"You're a lot smaller than I remember." He stated slyly while inspecting her person for any trackers or listening devices, gently taking the bag from her shoulder and flipping it open.

"Last I checked, I was taller than you in your wheelchair, so watch yourself."

He glanced up from the bag and hissed playfully at her, causing a small smirk to form behind the glass of her mask. Jake hands her back her belongings and then rejoined his ikran, taking a few sticks of dynamite and a detonator out from the pockets of his saddle.

Kayla frowned at the sight of the explosives, glancing between them and the gunship, "Are you sure you don't want another gunship on your side? Two is better than one."

The Na'vi shook his head, "We can't risk it. For all we know, the RDA is tracking all their gear now."

Sighing in defeat, Kayla nods and stands off to the side while Jake rigs the gunship with explosives and calibrates the blasting cap with a timer. He walks back to his ikran, forming tsaheylu before hopping on and reaching down to Kayla with an offered hand. She takes it willingly and allows him to lift her up on the banshee while Bob grunts disapprovingly at the added weight. Jake places Kayla in front of him on the saddle and they take to the sky, high enough to be out of range when Jake finally hits the button setting off the detonator.

The gunship explodes in a blooming flower of fire and debris, the smoke rising into the air in the form of a small mushroom cloud. The loud noise disturbs the wildlife momentarily, with small forest ikran and stingbats taking to the sky. Jake doesn't give the explosion much thought as he grabs a tighter hold on Eywa te' Bob tan'sey mak'ta with one hand, but squeezes Kayla's shoulder with the other, "Now with any luck, they'll label you killed in action."

"Or missing." She muttered.

"Ardmore isn't gonna want that kind of paperwork. She would much rather label you as a traitor than start a manhunt looking for you lost in the woods. You said it yourself, she doesn't like wasting resources on just one individual."

"... So that's it? Just like that, we disappear?"

"Not what you were hoping for?" He peered down at her briefly before looking ahead, continuing to fly.

Kayla hesitates, glaring ahead at the skies while internally fighting with herself before finally confessing her inner thoughts, "A part of me thought it would've been easier for the both of us if I never found out you were still alive. We could've just-- lived out the rest of our lives living in our respective worlds."

Jake allows the wind to fill in the silence, noting how defeated she sounded even with her back to him and the air whipping past them, obscuring her voice. He shakes his head despite the fact she couldn't see him, "The 'what if' scenarios aren't a thing around here. We don't believe in that kind of thing. Everything happens for a reason, and everything happens because it is the will of Eywa. I hope, in time, you'll learn to call this world your own as I did, kiddo."

She drops the debate, for the moment, and scoffs distastefully, "Okay, new rule. No more 'kiddo' talk. I'm not a child."

He smirks, "No? Then why are you small like one?"

He earns himself a sharp, small elbow in his ribcage when she reached back at him and a threatening promise, "Just wait, Sully. Soon I'll have your kids pinned against ya with all the stories I have of you up my sleeve. You'll regret the day you decided to pull me into this world."

~~~~~~~~~

Her nerves returned when they flew back to High Camp and a horn was blown to announce their arrival. Bob lands and Jake helps Kayla down before letting the ikran fly away. Na'vi were beginning to gather, and Kayla, yet again, felt more exposed than usual, even more so now as she was given some obvious glares regarding her obvious sky demon body and military clothes. Jake places a hand on the back of her neck, yet again, and led her away, immediately finding his family huddled together in the back of the crowd, waiting for him. He and Kayla part through the Omatikaya that have gathered and now stood in front of the Sullys.

Kayla wasn't surprised to see them all slightly hesitant by her human presence, and even though she couldn't blame them, it still made her stomach clench uncomfortably. She couldn't meet any of their eyes due to the height difference, and to her horror, even Tuk was taller than her in this form. When Kayla's eyes met the youngest Sully child's, Tuk shied away behind her mother's leg, clearly curious but unsure of getting closer. Off to the side, Kayla noticed that Norm, Max, and Spider were also there to greet her, and, much to her disappointment, even they stood taller than her as her fellow humans. The traitors. Kayla has never felt so small in her whole life.

Jake pats Kayla's back in sympathy while addressing the family, "Alright, Sullys. Your Aunt Kayla is going to be a more permanent presence in our lives now, and she's going to need help to feel welcomed as both a human and a Na'vi. I'm counting on you to have her back, okay?"

And of course, Neteyam is dutifully the first to step up, offering his hand out to Kayla with a gentle smile, "It's wonderful to meet you, Auntie-- again."

She sees a small hint of humor behind his eyes and relaxes, taking his hand in both of hers and smiling up at her oldest nephew, "You, too, 'Teyam."

He steps aside when he felt the shadow of his little brother behind him. The ice is broken and Lo'ak is milking the height difference with good-natured laughs and Spider was egging him on, glad that he was no longer the shortest out of the group. Kayla felt a grin twitch on her lips without her consent and pinches Lo'ak's side to make up for it, laughing when he yelped in surprise. Kiri had walked up, holding Tuk's hand so she didn't feel alone and the sight of the girls reminds Kayla that she had come bearing gifts to try to ease the kids back into accepting her.

"Kiri--" she calls out while frantically fishing around in the bag she kept strapped at her hip. Pushing aside a few necessities she had taken with her, she pulled out a book and sighed in relief, smiling up at the girl while holding the gift out to her, "As promised."

Kiri's eyes widen and reached out, gingerly taking the gift as if it was something precious. She read the title and then the author's name before glancing back down to Kayla, eyes and smile warm, "Thank you, Auntie."

Finally, Tuk's shell cracks and she begins by poking and prodding at the human woman that now stood shorter than her, lifting Kayla's arms and inspecting her form in awe before her fingers find her aunt's hair and instantly start playing with it. The girl giggles while stating, "It's so soft! We gotta braid all this, Kiri."

"Tomorrow, sweetheart, okay?" Kayla shines a smile at her youngest niece, who nods eagerly and puts her whole weight into hugging her aunt, who is barely able to catch her before they could fall.

Jake smiles while watching the heartwarming interactions before tapping Human Norm on the shoulder, "You got a space for her, right?"

"Absolutely. The second half of the old shack is still functional and is currently being used as storage. She can have my old bunk if she wants."

Jake's nose scrunched up, a little put off by the suggestion, "I doubt she'd want it if I told her all the things you and Trudy got up to in that bunk. She can have Grace's old space."

Norm snorts while shamefully scratching the back of his head, "Sure thing. Probably a better idea." He breaks away to greet Kayla himself, putting on the widest grin as he stands next to her, comparing their height difference with his hand much like before, "It's nice to see that this transfers, no matter what form you take."

Kayla rolls her eyes and shoves him in the chest, causing Norm to bark out a surprised laugh. Through reacquaintance with her family and friends, Kayla had noticed Neytiri standing off to the side in her peripheral. The human woman took a moment to pointedly stare at the Na'vi woman, their eyes meeting and forming a standstill. Neytiri was stiff, both in posture and expression, a statue that didn't waver against Kayla's gaze. It unsettled the Sully woman but she tried not to show that in her eyes, instead she brought her fingers to her forehead, and lowered them in Neytiri's direction. The Na'vi woman blinked, and with the gesture, her posture began to relax. Neytiri smiled. It wasn't big or emotional, but it was small and sincere. She nodded back in response.

After dinner, Norm brought Human Kayla to her new room she would be sleeping in when out of her avatar body. It was a separate trailer from the biolab, standing on its own and older than some of the buildings the humans have taken from Hell's Gate. Norm explains that the trailer was a part of Site 26, a small mobile link meant for avatar scientists who went off-grid for research in the mountains. He tells the story of how he was part of a small science group who retreated there to work so people like Parker Selfridge and Colonel Miles Quaritch wouldn't be breathing down their necks back in the day. After he and Kayla go through the airlock pressure doors and step inside, Kayla takes off her mask and looks around, immediately noticing a few familiar sights.

The first was a wheelchair, abandoned, covered in dust, tossed off to the side. Clearly, the place needed some cleaning, but Kayla wasn't worried about the dust at the moment. She beelined for the wheelchair, bending down and helping it stand back up on its wheels. Norm stands in the doorway and watches the scene in front of him with a solemn reaction, explaining as she continued to look around, "This is it. This is where Jake and I made our last stand as avatars before the fight. The other half of this shack is where the link bays were, but the trailer was completely demolished back in the war and so we left it abandoned out in the woods."

She moved over to the desk and lifted a picture from its home there, blowing away the layer of dust and revealing the contents of the picture. It was clearly Jake at the front of the group photo, human, sitting in that very same wheelchair, smiling at the camera lens. Kayla's finger briefly traces her brother's old face, willing her mind to remember it after staring at his avatar form for so long. Standing on either side of him was Norm and a woman Kayla didn't recognize. Clearly of a military background, the woman -at least younger back then compared to Kayla now- grinned behind her sunglasses, her dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and spilling over one side of her shoulders. Behind Jake, with both hands firmly placed on his shoulders, stood an older woman with short, curly red hair and sparkling eyes as she smiled, proudly, at the camera.

Kayla hears Norm shuffling around behind her and gently places the picture down, turning back to him as the male scientist was moving around some old equipment and patting the mattress of a bottom bunk off to the side of the trailer, "This was Grace's bunk. It's yours now."

That night, as she sat alone in her new living quarters, Kayla got to work on making this place feel more like home. The first order of business was to clean away all the old pictures and put up the new ones-- well, not really new compared to the photo of Jake, Norm, and the two women. Kayla retrieved her envelope of pictures and placed one photo on the mini-fridge, inspecting it for a moment before she had to move on.

The picture was definitely older than the ones of Jake and the scientists. It was a picture that was taken roughly a month before Tommy was killed. The twins were sitting on the couch so Jake could feel a bit of normalcy, requesting that his wheelchair be kept out of the frame of the photo. The twins smiled at the camera, and Kayla stood behind the back of the couch, leaning over her brothers with a wide grin on her face. Present Kayla smiles to herself before moving on to the next big step of her life.

~~~~~~~~~

As promised, Kayla spends the next morning and afternoon with her nieces, in human form, so that she can watch and learn how to properly braid Na'vi hair. She learns this by letting the girls use her unconscious avatar as a demonstration. Kayla's avatar hovered in her sleeping hammock, unconscious to the world, while both Kiri and Tuk weave every little bit of her locks into various small, intricate braids, pulling them tight along her scalp and purposely braiding the hair behind her large ears so the locks were out of her face. Kayla watched from off to the side, trying to pay attention even as the braiding took hours to complete. Tuk eventually got bored and left her sister to finish the look before excitedly asking her aunt if she could braid her human hair instead, to which Kayla agreed but only if the braids were larger and didn't take as long.

As the girls worked on both human and Na'vi hair, they decided to share their parents' love story, much to Kayla's awe, amusement, and horror all in one. Of course, she was curious about how her brother and Neytiri met and why Jake decided to turn against his own kind for her, but Kayla wasn't hoping for any specific details. Unfortunately, the Na'vi do not shy away from such topics and even openly talk about it to their young, as Tuk liked to prove to her auntie as she refused to spare her any... scrutinous details.

"-- And then they mated before Eywa!"

Kiri's body and tail go rigid even as she frantically scrambles over hammocks to cover Kayla's ears while berating her loudmouth sister, "Tuk!"

Despite the uncomfortable conversation, Kayla found herself laughing to the point she was crying, holding her ribs as they ached and wheezing until she couldn't breathe. She didn't find the initial storytime hysterical, but Kiri's haste to spare Kayla's dignity, Tuk's innocent gaze, and Kiri's hands practically folded on either side of the human woman's face definitely acted as the cherry on top.

Days went by and Kayla was much more comfortable jumping in and out of her avatar form, even more so now that she wasn't waking up and being constantly poked and prodded. On one of her first days as a human in High Camp, Kayla wore a tank top and was bombarded with concerned questions when Max noticed all the needle scars on her arms. Although she tried not to think about how she was practically a guinea pig for the RDA, her family wasn't letting her forget it. Max must have told Jake because the olo'eyktan regarded his duties for the day to instead take some time to spend with his little sister. He grabbed a child's bow and brought her down to the forest floor to do some fishing, even keeping a spare mask strapped to his hip for her if she needed it. He never asked about the scars, but Kayla could feel his eyes on her arm when she pulled the string of her bow back and tightened her form per his instructions.

After firing and missing a few arrows, clearly distracted by his stares, she sighed heavily before turning to look up at him, "It'll never happen again, thanks to you."

~~~~~~~~~

In between lessons, Kayla was finally getting to know other humans who honorably live among the Omatikaya. One individual, Jocelyn, was one of Kayla's personal favorites, aside from Norm and Max. Jocelyn was a biolab tech and didn't own an avatar, so she goes about her day normally, as a human, with a breather mask always secured on her face. Her knowledge stemmed from fixing vital technology -to help the humans survive- all the way to medical training -to keep the avatars kicking-. Not only did she live among the Na'vi, she talks to them fluently, and they don't appear bothered by her tiny presence. Kayla often sees Jocelyn, short as she is, trailing after a couple of young Na'vi hunters. Two young men, to be precise, who always love showing their little sky demon friend things they've brought back from their travels outside High Camp. They always let Jocelyn take samples and further inspect whatever they bring home. Not only was she a technician and a healer, she was also a scientist and she was always hungry for more knowledge of the world she lived in.

But even though she's full of wonder and excitement, she is also pretty strict. The kids in particular exasperate Jocelyn and Kayla always gets a kick out of watching her trying to wrangle the Sully kids whenever Spider sneaks them around the biolab. Kayla has interacted with Jocelyn loads of times at this point and always found her intriguing, but this took the cake, especially when she noticed how Spider practically had the female biotech wrapped around his finger. To be fair, Spider has most of the human scientists and avatars wrapped around his finger. They say it takes a village to raise a child, and the humans left behind on Pandora were no exception when it came to raising Spider.

However, despite this, Kayla couldn't help but wonder why Spider doesn't hang out with anyone else outside of the humans and the Sullys. He's an overall good kid and he's passionate about the Na'vi culture. If it weren't for the physical looks, Kayla would've definitely thought he was one of the Omatikaya when they first met.

She decides to ask him about this one day when Spider decided to sit down and teach her more of the language. Kayla was in her avatar form that day, now sporting tightly braided hair with beads that clicked when she walked. Kayla had to admit that she liked her new look even more knowing that her nieces had woven her a new identity. Spider appeared relaxed while teaching her certain words that are generally used in combat while her mind was still buzzing with her own questions.

"So do you just hang out with Kiri and Lo'ak or do you have other friends?"

Spider shrugged, "Some of the other scientists had kids while being stuck here, but I was older than all of them so I didn't play with them much."

Kayla nods, indicating she was listening. She had been told of Ardmore's initial threats to the humans who harbored Jake Sully and the Omatikaya when the Sky People first returned to Pandora. Some humans, especially the ones with families, stood down and surrendered in exchange for full pardons and safety for their children. That included Spider's foster family, the McCoskers. From what Kayla has heard, Spider's foster family was not the greatest of guardians, especially the foster father. He had betrayed Jake and the Na'vi to Ardmore, being responsible for the deaths of fellow humans who sympathized with the Omatikaya. Jake didn't go into depth with what happened to the McCoskers and the other humans who surrendered, but she assumed that for Spider's own sake, no one wanted to mention them now that they're gone.

Spider didn't appear to notice Kayla's inner turmoil as he continued, "Tuk is kinda in the same boat. I hung out with Neteyam for a while there. We're the closest in age... but he hasn't really been wanting to hang out anymore."

"Why not?"

The boy stares off in the distance, unable to keep his eyes on Kayla for long before he has to look away again as he muttered, "Probably because he's training to be the next olo'eykan. Which is fine. Good for him."

It sounded only partially genuine, and Kayla doesn't back down, "But Kiri can still hang out with you even as... uh... what's the word for tsahik in training?"

"Tsakarem."

"Right." Silence lingers until Kayla braves awkward silence, "It... it doesn't have to do with whatever Neytiri has against you, does it?"

A scowl immediately forms behind the breathing mask, "She hates me. Hates the fact her kids love me even more."

"From my experience, it doesn't take much to be on her bad side," she tried lightening up the mood, "I wouldn't sweat it too much, kid."

"You don't get it."

"Don't I? I know she's not overly fond of humans."

"It's more than that with me. To her... I remind her of the man who nearly took everything from her family. My father was Quaritch."

The name sounds bitter on Spider's tongue, clearly a bad taste for him. Kayla's comically big and yellow eyes widen even further, "You mean the colonel who ran security at the mine before the humans were sent back to Earth?"

He only nods and she hisses in sympathy, "Shit. Okay, I can see why you'd have a hard time getting on Neytiri's good side."

"Yeah. No kidding."

~~~~~~~~~

Unlike Spider, it didn't take Kayla a whole lot to get on Neytiri's good side, but it's not as though she had to try. Neytiri was already warming up to Kayla, both in and out of her avatar form. The Na'vi woman sometimes enjoyed Kayla's presence in her human body, despite not wanting to be around the other Sky People that live amongst her clan. In many ways, Neytiri felt as though she was with Grace or Sylwanin again. They would've loved Makayla Sully. She was more level-headed than Jake -or at least compared to when he was younger- and she was observant, someone who calculates before doing anything. She thought ahead and she always had something Neytiri remembered Grace calling 'common sense'.

Neytiri grew to appreciate Kayla and would fondly watch her interact with Jake. Neytiri was aware that her mate had at least one sibling in the past, but up until now, she could only imagine what kind of a brother he was. With Kayla around, Neytiri got to see a side of her husband he hadn't let anyone see before. With Kayla around, a bit of mischief returns to his eyes, always ready to tease his sister without a second thought, regardless of who was watching. Mo'at wanted to berate the olo'eyktan for such childish behavior, but Neytiri was quick to silence her mother, "They need time to be reacquainted as siblings."

And siblings they were. Neytiri often smiled when around the adult Sully siblings. Watching Jake and Kayla interact often reminded her of other sibling duos, such as Neteyam and Kiri, or even herself and Sylwanin. But it's not to say Jake and Kayla were the most perfect siblings. Kayla still had trouble forgiving Jake for past mistakes and would often remind him of said mistakes just to add dirt to the fresh, reopened wound. Neytiri understands why Kayla must hurt Jake the way she had been hurt, but Jake was still Neytiri's husband and she was protective -if not a little possessive- of him. So, to try and find peace between the brother and sister, Neytiri decides to take Kayla hunting without Jake present.

Kayla didn't refuse, slipping into her avatar form and excitedly following Neytiri to her ikran. The pair fly down to the forest floor and immediately pick up a trail that had to be yerik. While tracking the animal down, Neytiri found it the best time to breach the topic, "Jake tries his best to help you feel at home here. You try your best to push him away."

Blunt as ever, she takes Kayla off guard, the female avatar turning back to face her with wide eyes. They stood in silence, the hunt momentarily forgotten until Kayla's mind catches up to her and she shakes off the initial shock. She turns back to the task at hand, following the tracks Neytiri had instructed her to follow with a scowl on her face, "Jake was the one who told me that relying on others won't help when you're trying to survive. I'm just living up to his advice."

"He's not like that. Not Ma Jake."

"Then congratulations, Neytiri," she exclaimed sarcastically, "You got to experience the best side of him. I didn't. I lost a brother before him. I can do it again."

"Can you?"

She is met with silence again, staring at the back of Kayla's head. Neytiri took the moment to admire the braids her daughters have woven into their aunt's hair before bringing herself back to the present and gently adding, "I understand."

"Do you?"

"I lost my sister," Neytiri forced out, her tongue tasting bitter from the words. She never said such things out loud, and the shock that sinks into Kayla's face was one of the reasons why. Neytiri despised any pity people send her way after everything she's lost. She didn't want the pity, especially now when she has more family than she ever thought she'd have. "The Sky People murdered her right in front of me. I was only a little older than Neteyam when it happened."

Kayla's mouth opened and closed as she tried to come up with something comforting to say but the only words that come out are her initial thoughts, "Oh, my God. I'm sorry."

Neytiri tightens her lips together and briefly smiles before letting it fall, having heard all those words before. She took point in the hunt, walking ahead while following the tracks so she wouldn't have to look at her sister-in-law, "Can I ask? What happened to Tomsully?"

"He was killed," Kayla explained automatedly, "Some... murderer with a gun shot him down in the streets and left him to die alone. It was cold and raining that day. They said he didn't suffer, but..." Kayla shook her head to refrain from thinking about it, "I wasn't there. Neither was Jake. I was job searching and Jake was out drinking his life away. He never mentioned?"

"He grieves as I do. I don't talk of my sister. My children don't know enough about her. Ma Jake says little about his old life."

Kayla swallowed thickly, eyes hard as she stared at the back of Neytiri's head, "Let me guess. He never mentioned me."

The Na'vi woman paused in her steps, hesitating before finally turning back to meet Kayla's eyes, "I did not know he had a sister until you came here."

That stung. It stung knowing that neither women were ever aware of each other until now but Kayla couldn't wrap her head around another mystery, "So-- how are you so calm about all of this? Why are you so accepting of me? I'm part of the same species that's responsible for your sister's death."

"So is Ma Jake."

"But you're not hostile toward me like you had been when you first met Jake, or so I'm told. Why?"

Neytiri smiles, opening her mouth and taking a breath before whispering, "... You are my husband's sister. He shares your blood... as do my children."

She steps closer to Kayla, reaching out and placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, much to Kayla's surprise as Neytiri proclaims, "You are Makayla te Suli tsmuke te Toruk Makto. You are my family now. Ma tsmuke."

Kayla's ears and tail twitch in attention to the sound of her name, using her newly gained knowledge of the language to finally understand what her sister-in-law said. Slowly, a smile formed on her lips, warm and quivering ever so slightly, nodding to Neytiri when she didn't have any other words to say.

She had always wanted a sister.

~~~~~~~~~

By the time the kids had gotten used to Kayla's human form, they were dying to show her their world through her eyes and not her avatars'. Without her night vision, everything glowed so beautifully at night and Spider suggested taking her to some fields to watch the fan lizards fly. Lo'ak was immediately all for the idea, dragging the rest of his siblings into it so they could all go. His parents were hesitant at first, but then Kayla reassured them that she'll keep a close eye on the children and so Jake and Neytiri relaxed before seeing them all off, wishing them to have fun.

The children didn't waste time once they were deep in the forest, hunting for kenten as eclipse rolled around. Before she could blink, Kayla was completely surrounded by floating lizards, glowing in many shapes and colors, flying above her head with helicopter-like wings. All the kids laughed at her reaction, the human gobsmacked by such wonder. Tuk tugged her along and the kids all began running around in the fields, disrupting more fan lizards and laughing as the animals took to the sky, igniting the world around them with their soft lights.

Kayla stood off to the side, watching the children and laughing with them. After a time, Spider had taken a break from the fun and collapsed on the ground at Kayla's feet, laughing in between catching his breath. Looking up, he noticed the adult's eyes on his and his smile immediately fell, quickly turning his eyes away to watch his friends play in the fields while trying his best to ignore Kayla's stares and shrink in on himself.

Kayla didn't take it to heart, only bluntly stating what she thought, "You prefer me in my avatar form, don't you?"

Spider's shoulders rise and fall but he still couldn't look at her, "... Sorry."

"No sweat. Can I ask why?"

He shrugged, "I don't know."

"I think I do. Can I guess?" Spider shrugs again and Kayla plops down in the spot beside him, resting her arms over her knees when she brought her legs up close to her chest, "Originally I only wanted to hang out with you and the other humans in my own skin so you didn't feel intimidated, but I think you're actually more intimidated by humans compared to Na'vi. You prefer my avatar because it's all you've ever known living here."

They sit in silence apart from the Sully kids laughing when one of the kenten decided to land on Lo'ak's face to rest. Spider huffed a small laugh at the scene but otherwise didn't say anything. Kayla grabs his attention again by elbowing him, "It's not a bad thing."

"It's not?"

"Why would it?"

He spares a glance at her, the reflection from both of their masks making it difficult to find her eyes right away, "You don't think it's bad that I prefer hanging out with a species other than my own?"

She flashed an amused, exasperated expression, "Kid, my brother permanently transferred his soul from one body to another of a completely different species. Do you think I'm one to judge you when you're the one teaching me the Na'vi ways and hanging out with my brother's kids?"

She laughed and Spider's ears heat up in shame, a little embarrassed for assuming the worst out of her. He looked away and mumbled under his breath, "My foster family didn't want me to forget where I came from."

"That's not bad either unless they forced you..." Initially, Kayla brushed off the silence until it began to linger too long, then she spared a glance back at Spider. He was stiff, unable to stare back while stubbornly keeping his eyes on the Sully kids. Kayla's eyebrows furrow, "Did they force you?"

"... What is Earth like?"

"Sure. You strike me as the kind of guy who would like music concerts. I'll start there."

Beating around the topic and finding a new one. Classic. It almost would have been easier if Spider had just said 'yes', but Kayla doesn't scold him. Instead, she hums, staring up at the stars as she thought back to her homeworld, "Nothing you would miss, kiddo."

"Can you tell me things I might've missed?"

A/N: Jocelyn is technically one of the many unnamed scientists we see in the Way of Water. She's the one who Tuk annoys with her toy in her first scene and further gets after the teens when they cut through the Avatar Longhouse. She technically doesn't have a name but I used her actress' real name to fill in the blanks.

Sorry if this felt a little rushed, but the next chapter is gonna be the start of the events that transpire during the Way of Water! Buckle up! We're getting close and I'm so excited to share with ya'll! Thank you so much for the support!

[cultofdixon]

Focus

Daryl Dixon • They/Them Pronouns • How can one not notice how big a certain archer is compared to you? Hell…stirs up a thought or two • SFW/NSFW - unprotected sex (no glove no love) / oral (m receiving) / biting

Requested by: Anon

“Y/N. Why are you staring at him like a hungry animal?”

“Holy shit do you ever not speak your mind?” Y/N snaps through a hush whisper at their best friend as Rosita glared at them a moment.

“Why don’t you do anything about it? You two are already together. Or whatever your non-verbal stolen glance Victorian style romance is. Doubt he’s an animal but he sure as hell could make you feel good”

“Seriously. Is a part of your brain detached to the rest of it and just makes you speak your mind without a second thought?” Y/N groans hiding their face in their hands as they sat with Rosita at the picnic table while some of the men worked on the walls of Alexandria.

Rick couldn’t help but notice the two watching and then the sudden drop of expression from Y/N. He brought his attention back to Daryl who needed help holding the support while a third secured it in.

“Y/N alright?”

“Why?” Daryl frowns instantly quickly glancing over to the two seeing them smack Rosita in the arm as she laughed. “I think so, but again. Why?”

“I don’t know, just curious. The conversation looked heated one second and the other Rosita is laughing like a maniac. I can’t read lips”

“And yea think I can?” Daryl gave him a confused look, bringing his attention back to the support.

“Oh Daryl is definitely talking about you” Rosita took a hold of their chin facing them toward the two as Y/N felt the heat rush to their face.

“The fuck could they be talking about!”

“Language” Michonne interrupts the two as she joins them with Judith and some lemonade for them. “What are you going on about anyway?” She asks having Judith sit beside her along with some coloring items as Y/N took one of the glasses and started to drink.

“How Y/N wants to jump Daryl’s bones but is too chicken”

“Think it’ll fit?” Michonne knew exactly what she was referring to as the loud sound of Y/N choking on their lemonade made the girls laugh but caught the attention of everyone working on the wall. Concern rising on Daryl’s face seeing them stumble out of their seat and leave to clean themselves up.

“Oh you knew exactly what you were doing” Rosita laughs with Michonne as the two watch Daryl leave the wall to chase after his partner making sure they’re alright. “Huh. Maybe shit will finally happen”

“Better get a thank you later”

“If they can walk by the end of the night” Rosita quips with a smile.

Daryl enters the house finding it surprisingly quiet given he followed a very flustered Y/N inside the building. He eventually found them changing their shirt in frustrated silence as he waited patiently by the door, only to flinch to their sudden scream. Maybe he was too quiet entering the place.

“Sorry”

“No I am…didn’t think you’d come after me or anything. I just choked on lemonade” Y/N frowns walking over to the bathroom and tossing their wet shirt on the pile of dirty laundry. “I’m fine. You can go back…”

“Yea sure?” Daryl gave them a worried look bringing himself close as Y/N instinctively reached to grab his biceps holding him a moment feeling his large hands rest on their hips. They felt their face heat up having him so close and unintentionally towering them. He noticed of course how quiet they were being as he gently lifts their chin to make them look at him. “Sunshine?”

“I’m perfect, D…Don’t let me hold you up any longer, I know they really need you to finish the job”

“Job can wait” Daryl frowns knowing there was something more to it but it was something more to it. Y/N felt as if their voice was stuck in the back of their throat feeling his hand move from their chin to hold their cheek.

“You drive my mind wild, Daryl…” Y/N eases into his touch seeing his expression soften to their words. “Can’t think fucking straight when you’re flexing as you’re working in securing the place we live in”

“Hm. You like watching me work…” Daryl felt a smirk rise on his face enjoying that knowledge bringing them closer to his person. “Maybe I shouldn’t deprive yea huh?”

“Y-Yeah…you shouldn’t.” Y/N kept their eyes glued on his biceps watching him flex, knowing damn well what he was doing.

But expecting him to just take them now…Daryl parts from them smirking on his way out to go back and do his job.

Tease… Y/N groans sitting on the edge of the bed falling back onto it.

The women at the picnic table watched Daryl return to the group as Rosita couldn’t help but whistle to gain the archer’s attention.

“Thought you’d be busy!”

“Wouldn’t you like to know” He chuckles lightly returning to his position.

Once the job was done, Daryl decided to finally act on what he learned earlier. Y/N on the other hand thought he wasn’t going to act on and continued on with the night when Daryl came home. He made his way to their bedroom finding them just stepping out of the bathroom with a towel around their shoulders in shorts and a tank top. He’d admit a million times if he was a more talkative being, that he likes them in anything.

“You’re staring, D”

“Mm. Like yea earlier?” He smirks watching their eyes immediately dodge his as he brought himself closer.

“…How could I not?” Y/N exhale feeling his large hands take a hold of their face bringing them slightly on their tippy toes as he lowers himself enough to press his lips firmly against theirs.

Y/N pushed the towel off their shoulders before bringing their arms around his neck as Daryl took that to bring his hands to squeeze their waist. Soon finding purchase on their ass picking them up by such as their legs instantly hook around his waist.

The kiss went from soft and gentle, to hungry and passionate as Y/N couldn’t help but push their tongue past his lips exploring his mouth. Tasting the usual smoke from the cigarettes he manages to find out in the world outside the walls. A deep groan escape Daryl’s throat as they continued to explore each others mouths while his hands squeezed harder on their ass, almost a brushing grip.

Soon a whine escaped from them to indicate for the two to part so that Y/N could catch their breath along with Daryl who recovered quicker, bringing his lips to their exposed neck sucking a hickey in the spot he stuck to. The action making his partner moan and dig their nails into his biceps.

“Hm. Sweet spot Eh?” He smirks against their skin hearing them whine once again as he returns to kissing that spot.

“W-What’s gotten you this w-worked up…” Y/N felt their whole body heat up against his touch as their grip tightened on his shirt feeling like they were going to rip it off of him.

“You” Daryl sighs pressing them gently against the wall seeing their attention glued onto him and the current state they both were in. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

How fucking huge you are Y/N thought to themselves feeling themselves being lowered as their feet touched the ground they instantly looked up at Daryl. Dragging their hands down his biceps to his torso as he couldn’t help but watch their hands trail his person before smirking to himself.

“Come on…use your words, sunshine” The hint of teasing in his voice made them not wait much longer, that when he brought his thumb and pointer to hold their chin bringing their trailing eyes back onto him. Giving them the opportunity to gradually bring his thumb into their mouth sucking slowly listening to the excited groan to rip out of him. “God you have no idea what yea do to me”

They pull away with a pop and the smirk grew on their face. “Isn’t that my line, sunshine?” that shot right through him getting the man more excited and the strain in his jeans more noticeable to his shorter partner.

Y/N brought themselves to their knees bringing their hands to his waist band bringing their hands to meet and work on unbuttoning his pants pulling them low enough along with his boxers to come face to face with his massive dick. Where is this man‘s permit to hold such a weapon? The more they looked the more impatient Daryl felt himself get but he wasn’t going to force it. Just feel the cold breeze on his hard aching cock until he flinched to the warm that fanned from Y/N’s breath as their tongue met his tip while their dominant hand held his shaft.

At first it was kitten licks at the tip to get a taste. Running their tongue against the slit, making the man almost buckle at the action. Y/N moved their hand holding his dick slowly, pumping as they brought their lips to his tip first with a kiss…feeling him twitch in their hand before wrapping their mouth around the tip and the immediate thought was it’s fucking huge while bringing more of his dick into their mouth. Daryl started to form fists with his hands trying to contain himself to the feeling of their warm mouth wrapped around him seeing the slight struggle of getting it all in.

Fuck… “Don’t hurt yeaself….” Daryl groans noticing them scoot closer as they started sucking on his cock, at least with what they can’t get in their mouth.

But boy did they test themselves. Y/N closed their eyes bringing his entire length in their mouth feeling the tears build up and spill. The feeling of his cock twitching in their mouth excited them as they tried to contain themselves but another part was screaming you need to breathe.

“Fuck, ain’t gonna last long if yea keep it up” Daryl groans making them pull away to catch their breath as the look of saliva from his tip to their lips excited him all over again. “Get up”

The confusion grew on their face while wiping the saliva off their lips with the back of their hand. Then the second they stood, Daryl suddenly grabbed them picking them up and tossing them like they were nothing onto the bed.

Hot. Hot hot hot. Y/N felt the warmth build more in their core as their instant reaction was the curl up on themselves watching their partner meet them at the edge of the bed.

“You’re driving me crazy, Y/N. I can’t wait much longer”

“Ruin me, Daryl” and without a second thought, the man grabbed them by the ankles pulling them to the edge of the bed.

Daryl hooked his fingers on the waistband of their shorts pulling them off with their help. Y/N immediately shimming out of them along with their underwear feeling his fingers graze their thighs at first. His eyes glued to their center holding their legs apart bringing his attention back to theirs. Finding their pleading expression and their eyes return to his cock when he brought it to their core.

“You really are gonna rip me apart”

“I’ll be gentle” Daryl grinds against them gathering up their slick to make it easier for him to enter.

Y/N couldn’t wait any longer feeling their body instinctively grind up against his length, feeling his large hands push them into the bed to stop their actions. Fuck me already a whine escapes them making that smirk of his appear on his gorgeous face.

Daryl aligned himself at their entrance keeping an eye on their expression when he starts to push in. So far only the tip in resulting in a hiss coming from his partner making him stop a second.

“Y/N if—-“

“Just…adjusting, baby” Y/N relaxed slightly propping themselves up by the elbows feeling him push in more. Daryl couldn’t help the moan to escape him feeling them clench around his length the more he pushed in.

The moment the entirety of his cock met its hilt, Y/N couldn’t help the moans and whimpering feeling the bulge in their lower abdomen as Daryl took the mental image for himself.

“Just right…” He moans feeling them clench not being able to contain themselves as they brought their legs around his torso. “Eager huh sunshine?”

“Move. Rip me apart. Fuck me good” Y/N begs and it didn’t take long for Daryl to start thrusting in a slow pace at first listening to their moans just from the full feeling. “Fucking huge” they screamed out a moan when he started to pick up the pace.

“Takin’ me well…” He smirks leaning forward enough to cage his partner feeling their hands grip onto his biceps. They’re obsessed. He hums to himself using his dominant arm to wrap around their torso lifting them off the bed. They instantly arched against him when they hit a new spot listening to the music which be their moans getting louder and even higher.

Hell. The community could probably think something is howling.

Y/N dug their nails into his biceps when they were reaching their climax. And the second they did, Daryl moans louder than he has before reaching his shortly after.

The archer gently lays on top of his partner feeling their arms wrap around his large frame. He kissed their shoulder staying inside of them for a little while longer.

“Next time…work without the sleeves” Y/N half jokes listening to him laugh to their words.

“Nah. Next time I’m watchin’ yea”

[try-set-me-on-fire]

‘you could say I’m fond of you.’ for the soft prompt 👀👀👀

@leothil also asked for this one! Send me soft fic prompts! Here’s the rest of the fills on ao3!

"You could say I'm fond of you," Buck says, head tilted almost sideways, the sort of twinkle in his eyes that Eddie always worried might prove fatal one day for the way it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

"You could say that, huh?" He crosses his arms, mouth curving upward unbidden. He’s pretty sure Buck is actually saying “hehehe” as he leans forward, giggling, to kiss Eddie’s cheek. Eddie snorts and dodges the attempt, which just causes Buck to follow, until they’re chasing each other in dizzy little circles between the sink and the table. Buck catches him with an arm thrown around his waist, and plants a big wet kiss sort of on his cheek but mostly hitting nose and eye. Eddie laughs in a way that still surprises him, sometimes - a helplessly open thing, so much joy in his body that he has no reason or care to hide.

“Ahem.”

Well, maybe some reason. Maddie stands in the entryway to the kitchen with the squiggly kind of smile someone trying not to. Buck and Eddie are gently frozen around each other, no survival instinct to spring away and avoid capture.

Maddie holds out a hand. “Chim says you owe the PDA jar.”

Eddie makes an indignant sound as Buck throws back his head with a shout of laughter and then, terrible coward, flees the room.

“Nobody was in here! We’re not even at work! This is my house!” Eddie protests even as he digs to find his wallet.

Maddie puts a finger up, reciting “If more than four members of the 118 including the two of you are present at a gathering it counts as a work functio-“

Eddie slaps cash in her hand. “I don’t like your husband very much.”

She grins at him, and then raises an eyebrow. “Two dollars? That seems kind of steep.”

“Inflation’s been brutal.”

She laughs, pocketing her ill gotten bounty. Eddie expects her to return to the party but she stalls there, a curious look in her eyes. Eddie feels suddenly nervous. He counts Maddie as a friend, and he’s pretty certain they’re going to be in laws one of these days, but they haven’t spoken one on one very often and her expression reminds him of the one his own sisters would get when they were about to make his life a little more difficult. He’s started self consciously pretending to rearrange finger sandwiches when she speaks.

“It’s nice to see you being goofy.” When he huffs out a startled laugh she grins and tilts her head, so like her brother. “Evan- Buck is always goofy, no surprise there. But you’re… Funny, certainly, you’re sarcastic, but it’s nice seeing you be silly, Eddie.” She’s so sincere it makes Eddie duck his head, just a little. “You seem really happy. And you make Buck so happy.”

Eddie exhales more than laughs, a quick little sound of awed half-belief. It’s true, he knows it is. It hollows him out completely some days, looking at Buck and seeing such easy elation on his face, and knowing he has some part in putting it there fills up his empty form with light, or champagne, or some other metaphor for love given shape. “I’m glad to,” he says softly. “That’s all I- I want to make him happy, for the rest of our lives. I’m… honestly, the happiest I’ve ever been, and it’s because I get to share it with him.”

Maddie’s smile gets all squished and watery. “I can see why they charge you so much for public displays of affection, you romantic.”

Eddie laughs outright, shaking his head. “It’s the coffee fund anyway, I’d still just be spending it on his ridiculous lattes. This is only an extra step.”

Maddie puts her hand on her hip, gleeful and incredulous. “Okay, even that was stupidly sweet. Do I have to charge you again?”

“Have mercy,” he says, putting his hands up. “I have no more cash.”

“You wanna go mug my brother for it?”

Eddie laughs, and picks up the sandwich tray to bring outside. “Come on, let's go sick Chris on him.”

Later, when Buck sprawls to the ground like a sack of bricks under the gentle force of Chris’s tackle, Eddie tells him to give over extra money to the jar.

“Why?” He grins, sweaty from the chase and smelling like fresh grass.

“Preemptive payment.” Eddie bends down and kisses him thoroughly, ignoring the wolf whistles and groans from the audience. He pulls back just slightly, holding his happiness with two hands, and kisses sort of Buck’s cheek, but mostly his nose and eye. “You could say I’m pretty fond of you, too.”