#a drunk relative at the door when i was home alone and refusing to leave

[gogomarinette]

What kind of a human being looks at an eight-year-old girl and thinks, 'it's ok to casually discuss violence and assault in front of her, I'm just teaching her about the real world.'

Like, what the fuck? What the absolute fuck?? I may be oversimplifying it but that's literally how our 'discussion' just went and I am actually shaking with anger and disgust right now. I told him my 20year+ younger brother he should watch how he talks in front of my niece, like maybe cool it with the mentions of that recent nine-year-old murderer news story (and especially not in jokey way about it), and he accuses me of "treating her like a baby" and how he sees her "as a teenager" already,  even ordering her to wash the dishes earlier. Like ok, yeah, of course I want to protect her because she is literally a CHILD??? She doesn't need to know about that sort of stuff yet and it literally is, as an adult, your responsibility to protect her from that sort of stuff??? Like ok, she's gonna grow up and learn about that sooner or later, but it doesn't need to be now and in such an awful way???? 

The way I see it, it's not even about "teaching her about real life/how hard it is", it's literally he doesn't care to fucking control himself and curb his behaviour/words. Because then I asked him "what, are you gonna discuss assault in front of her too?" and he was like, all defiantly glaring, "yeah, why not, she'll eventually learn about that too. " Like, does he actually hear himself?? What the actual fuck is this!!! She shouldn't need to be know and be worried about that sort of thing already, children are literally not emotionally or mentally equipped to deal with it?? Then I tried to point out our childhood, and he goes "well, no one protected me, people swore and did bad shit in front of me" - and well, yeah you turned out right fantastic didn't you, to be now thinking that's fucking ok to talk to a kid about!! 

Then I said, you wouldn't talk like that in front of her mother, would you? And he said, he's already okay-ed it with her, in 'teaching her about real life'. So now, I'm gonna have to phone her up! ! !

[cafeacademic]

Marshal Commander Hardass

Pairing: Commander Cody x Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors dni)

Warnings: light degradation (use of the word cockdumb mostly), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected PiV sex (wrap it before u tap it)

Word Count: ~3.4k

A little (and by little I mean several thousand words) something for one of my favorite Clone Commanders. This is one of several current WIPs, so it felt good to finally finish this one up! Hope you all enjoy lovelies <3

*Read on AO3* or under the cut!

You huffed as the door to the bar swung open and half a dozen clone troopers walked in. You were used to seeing a single soldier here and there, but a large, fully armored group meant trouble. Sighing, you excused yourself from the conversation you were having with a regular patron and returned to your place at the center of the bar.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” you deadpanned, not at all in the mood to have to deal with the war today. Your planet had been lucky enough to stay relatively neutral, but the arrival of the soldiers reminded you how fragile that neutrality was.

“Good evening, miss,” the presumed leader of the group said. His armor was slightly different from other clone troopers that had stumbled across your bar in the past; his helmet was framed by an orange visor, and a rank insignia was affixed to his chest plate. “We’re looking for a man named Tost. Do you have any information about his whereabouts?”

“No,” you snapped, hoping to shut down the conversation. “If that’s all, I do have patrons to get back to,”

“Are you sure? Any information would be very helpful--” you waved a hand dismissively, silencing the trooper.

“I don’t know anything, and I don’t want to get caught up in this war. All it does is bring destruction to the planets it claims, and we refuse to offer ourselves up for annihilation on a silver platter,” you said impatiently. “So either order a drink or get out of my bar,”

The regular you were chatting with earlier snorted at your little speech, and a very drunk group in the back broke out into a loud cheer. You raised a single, challenging eyebrow at the soldiers.

“Come on, the General is probably waiting for us,” another clone spoke up from the back of the group. The leader nodded, not even turning to look at the clone who had spoken, seemingly too transfixed on you.

“You’re right, Boil,” he said calmly. “If you can think of anything that would be helpful to the Republic cause, please don’t hesitate to come to one of our outposts. Ask for Marshal Commander Cody, and I’ll see to it that your information is in good hands,”

You scoffed and folded your arms over your chest defensively. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way out,”

As the troopers filed out, you were sure that you could hear one of them swearing at you, but you chose to ignore it.

Later that night, when darkness had fallen completely and drunk patrons would fall off their stools every so often, two of the soldiers came in and tucked themselves away at a corner table. You grumbled a swear under your breath before walking over to the table and standing there, a single hand on your hip. The clones, now without their helmets, looked up sheepishly at you.

“I know you told us to get out earlier, but we’re not here for the Commander. We just want to unwind and have a drink,” one of them stuttered, obviously reciting a speech he had planned since before they walked in. You softened slightly as you watched the two men; it wasn’t their fault they were stuck in this war. Offering them a small smile, you took their orders and brought them their drinks, a little extra poured on top as a sign of goodwill.

“What’s up with them?” one of the men sitting at the bar asked you.

“Don’t know for sure,” you replied. “The whole squad came in earlier, asking for information. I get the feeling their commander is kind of a hardass,”

“Bet they just need to blow off some steam then,” the man said, and you nodded in agreement. With a sly look, the man glanced over at the troopers. “I’m sure you could offer them a much better way to relax,”

“You’re such a creep,” you deadpanned back, and the man laughed. “Besides, I don’t think clones are really my type,”

The door swung open with a clatter, and the orange-visored Commander stood in the doorway once more. You winced at the sudden loud noise.

“Is that Commander Hardass?” the man at the bar asked, and your grimace was enough to answer his question.

“Crys, Wooley, get back to camp,” the commander ordered, not even needing to raise his voice. The tipsy clones mumbled apologies and tossed a handful of credits on the table before shuffling out of the bar.

“What the hell!” you snapped at the clone commander. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“It was their turn for watch,” the clone said, sliding onto one of the unoccupied stools at the bar. The man you were speaking with earlier looked between the two of you, amused. “I’d like a drink. Corellian whiskey,”

“It’s after last call,” you lied.

“Since you won’t give me any information, the least you can do is give me a drink,” the commander said, taking off his helmet and setting it on the bar next to him. You stood there for a moment, simply taking the clone in. He somehow looked older than the other clones; perhaps it was just exhaustion from the war. His face was partially marred by a scar, but it only served to make him look more striking. It was the challenging look in his eyes, however, that made you pour him a glass of whiskey.

“So, you must be Commander Hardass,” the man at the bar said. You braced yourself for a fight, but instead, the clone just sipped on his drink, not even glancing at the other man.

“That’s Marshal Commander Hardass,” the clone replied. “But I much prefer to just be called Cody,”

“Well, well! We’ve got a big man in charge, here!” the man said, obviously inebriated. You glanced at the clock on the wall; it was probably time to start clearing everyone’s checks.

“I think you’ve had enough, hun,” you drawled to the man, taking his now empty glass away from him. “You should be getting on home,”

“Come on! I just wanted in on the fun!” the man protested, but Cody shot him a glare, and the man dropped credits on the bar and left without further complaint.

You went about your nightly duties of wiping down tables and clearing tabs, only having to break up one drunken argument before it turned into a brawl. By the time you were finished, the Commander was the only person left in the bar.

“Time to go,” you said, voice clipped. Cody looked up at you, still nursing his glass of whiskey. You couldn’t help but find yourself staring as an errant drop of liquid ran spilled over his lip and down his chin, trailing a path down his neck. You swallowed hard.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like to stay and chat,” he countered, as if daring you to throw him out once more.

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” your reply was weakened by the slight crack in your voice as you watched Cody grip his drink tightly. His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly in his throat as he swallowed the whiskey, and your eyes traced over the movement.

“No more little speeches?” he taunted you. “I even went so far as to buy a drink,”

“I told you, I don’t know anything about the guy you’re looking for,” you said, a hint of resignation in your voice. “And if I did, I have no reason to trust you,”

“Your lack of trust certainly isn’t stopping you from eye-fucking me from across the bar,” Cody countered, and you blushed bright red. So he had noticed.

“I think you may be misconstruing my looks, Commander,” you tried to regain your blasé attitude, but it was no use.

“No, I think I’m quite right,” he said mildly as if he wasn’t laying all your dirty secrets on the table for him to peruse. “For someone who hates the war, you sure do seem to want a big, bad soldier to put you in your place,”

You gave up on trying to act aloof: “Hating the war and recognizing a good fuck aren’t mutually exclusive,”

A gloved hand fisted into your blouse and pulled you over the bar, and Cody crashed his lips into yours with so much force you felt your teeth clatter together. As you melted into the kiss, you weren’t quite sure if you had won your little battle of wills with the Commander, but at the moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

With surprising grace, Cody climbed over the bar and pushed you backward, framing your body by placing his arms on either side of you. He kissed you once more, less violent, but no less passionate. When you let out a soft whimper, Cody seized your moment of weakness and slipped his tongue into your mouth.

“Mm, cyare, look at you,” he breathed out, and you felt your face get hot at his praise. One gloved hand ran over the curve of your hip and up the side of your ribcage, before dragging up the side of your neck and gripping your chin between his fingers. “Absolutely at my mercy,”

As much as you were sure you looked the part of a good submissive, eyes glassy and mouth slightly agape, you refused to give him the satisfaction of having won so easily.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Commander,” you taunted, dropping one hand to press against his codpiece. He hissed at the contact, even though it wasn’t direct, and you smirked.

“Oh, my sweet girl,” Cody said darkly in your ear. “Don’t get in over your head,”

“I won’t,” you replied confidently, mustering up all your strength to keep your voice even, despite the way one of his large hands was kneading the flesh of your waist. “I’m quite sure that you’ll be a mess for me by the end of the night,”

It was like you had flipped a switch in Cody’s head, and any sort of softness he was holding onto flew out the window. The hand that was gently touching your waist soon captured your wrist in a bruising grip, and he pulled you flush against his body.

“Is there somewhere more private that we can do this?” he asked, and you nodded frantically.

“I have an apartment above the bar,” you managed to stammer out.

“Good,” Cody said, grabbing his helmet and dragging you up the stairs by the wrist. You followed along but made sure to walk slowly, just so he’d have to put the extra bit of effort into getting you there. As you resisted, his fingers tightened slightly in warning.

When you had gotten upstairs and into the bedroom of your small apartment, Cody finally released your arm. He dropped his helmet on your dresser and pushed you back onto the bed, kissing you again. You whimpered as he slipped a hand under your shirt, cupping your breast through your bra.

“Cody--” you gasped between kisses, but Cody only smirked and pinched your nipple roughly. You cried out in a mix of pleasure and pain, trying to press into his touch.

“No, no. Address me with respect,” he said, and you whimpered as he looked down at you. One of his legs slotted between yours, and he held himself over your chest with his free arm. All you could think of was how he looked over you.

“Commander,” you said in a mockingly sweet tone. Cody growled and kissed you again, this time trailing kisses and soft bites down your neck and jaw. The hand that had been covering your breast was now toying with the edge of your shirt, and you pulled back to let him take it off. When your shirt was discarded, Cody made quick work of your bra, and you had to hold back a moan as he looked at your now exposed chest reverently.

“See something you like?” you teased, but the dark look in Cody’s eyes shut you up immediately. He looked near feral, as if he was trying to stop himself from lunging at you right then and there. Involuntarily, a grin started to creep across your face.

“Something funny, pretty girl?” Cody said, reaching out and grazing his thumb over one of your nipples.

“You just look so eager--ah!” you were cut off as Cody took one of your nipples into his mouth, rolling the other between his fingers. You could feel him smirk against you as you continued to whimper, your breathy moans turning needy as he continued his work.

“You like that, sweet girl?” he teased, sitting back so he could watch your chest heave as you sucked in labored breaths.

“Cody, I swear if you don’t fuck me right now,” you said, but your threat had no force behind it. Nonetheless, Cody started to remove his armor, his eyes never leaving yours.

“You’re not very patient,” he said, one eyebrow raised.

“I’ve been known to be a bit demanding at times,” you said, pleased that you got what you wanted.

“The only thing you’ll be by the time I’m finished is a cockdumb little whore,” Cody challenged, and you swallowed thickly. He had finished taking off his armor and was now pulling his shirt over his head, and you tried to memorize the plains of his body as quickly as you could. The muscles in his abdomen flexed as he relaxed, and you couldn’t help but notice the thin trail of dark hair that crept down below the waistband of his blacks.

“See something you like?” he parroted back your earlier words. You nodded, and Cody smiled as he tugged you closer to him once more. His hands worked at the button on your pants, and before you knew it, he was shimmying the garment down your hips, leaving you in just your panties. With a gentle push, you fell back against the bed and Cody positioned himself between your thighs.

“You’ve soaked through your panties, pretty girl,” Cody said, tracing one finger lightly over your slit. You whined, trying to jerk your hips up for more friction, but he merely chuckled and placed an arm over your hips. “No, you’ll take what I give you,”

“Yes, Commander,” you looked down at him with glassy eyes, the feeling of his warm breath ghosting over you was almost too much. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait long, because Cody pulled your panties to the side and dove in, lapping up the wetness you had already created before wrapping his lips around your clit. Your mouth dropped open with your loud moan.

“For all your bravado, you’re quite easy to control,” Cody said, voice rumbling against you in a way that sent sparks flying up your spine. He was right, as much as you hated to admit it; the way he was working your body right now, you would’ve committed murder if he’d asked. His tongue traced lazy circles over your clit, occasionally dipping down to thrust into you for a moment, making you squeal.

“Ahh! Commander!” your moans were whiny, and you could almost feel Cody’s ego inflating as you writhed underneath him. Suddenly, he slipped one thick finger into you, and you clenched around it so hard that Cody throbbed in his blacks.

“That’s it, take my fingers. Have to prepare you for my cock, pretty girl,” he growled before giving your clit another teasing lick. A second finger joined the first, and you bucked your hips up to meet them. Cody laughed. “It’s so easy to make you squirm,”

“Don’t get smug on me,” you tried to scold him, but it came out as a whine. You could rapidly feel your orgasm approaching, and you tried to warn the man underneath you, but your words all turned into moans as you tried to form them.

“Come on, pretty girl, let go for me,” Cody ordered, and you did as he asked. Clenching around his fingers, you whimpered as he worked you through it. It wasn’t until you were too over sensitive to bear it that he finally pulled away.

“Holy shit,” you said dreamily, head still a little fuzzy from your orgasm. Cody kissed you once more, and you could taste yourself on his tongue. “Commander, please,”

“Please what?” he said back, and you rolled your eyes.

“You know what I want,” you said, trailing your hand down until you could rub him through his blacks. He groaned as you palmed him, and you smiled innocently.

“Ask for it nicely,” Cody teased. He was nearly as impatient as you were, however, and he was already reaching for the waistband of his blacks.

“Please fuck me, Commander,” you said, rolling your hips against his in an attempt to get some friction. Your shame had flown completely out the window, your brain now singularly focused on the man above you.

Grinning eagerly, Cody pulled off his pants and discarded them, and your mouth hung open slightly at the sight of his cock. You quickly closed it when you heard Cody snort in amusement, and pouted as he lined himself up.

“You still want this?” he asked, face so close that you could feel his breath on your neck.

“Stop teasing and just do it already!” your voice pitched up as he slowly pushed himself in. You could feel him stretching you, and Cody swore under his breath as he bottomed out.

“So fucking wet for me,” he groaned, rocking his hips slightly to let you adjust to the movement. You hooked one leg around his waist, trying to pull him deeper into you.

“Please, I’m not gonna break, Commander,” you gave him your best doe eyes, and Cody growled and thrust into you hard, pushing you up the bed slightly. He kept a steady pace, making sure to press his cock as deep as it would go with every thrust. He grabbed the leg that you had wrapped around his waist and pulled it up until it was sitting on his shoulder, letting him hit a whole new angle inside you.

Your whimpering turned into loud moans as he continued pounding into you, hitting the bundle of nerves inside of you that sent spots flying through your vision. Cody gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as he fucked you. His face was dusted pink from exertion, and his pupils were blown so wide that they nearly eclipsed the soft amber of the iris.

“That’s my girl, taking me so well. Tell me how good I’m making you feel,” Cody groaned, his grip on your chin tightening. “Want my pretty girl to feel good,”

“So fucking good, feel so big inside me,” you stammered, unable to think about much other than the way he was fucking you. Your back arched off the bed as Cody dropped your chin and trailed his hand down to your clit, rubbing tight circles on it.

“There’s my little cockdumb girl,” he said, a tinge of admiration in his voice. “Taking me so fucking well,”

“Yes, please, anything!” your words were jumbled, but Cody seemed to know what you meant. His thumb worked faster on your clit, and you squirmed, trying to lean into the touch and wriggle away from it at the same time. Cody held you in place, watching your chest heave as he brought you closer and closer to orgasm.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he said, and you did, a broken moan of his name on your lips. He fucked you through it, his thrusts getting erratic as you tightened around him. As you trembled with the aftershocks, you were able to see Cody pull out of you and jerk himself a few times, before spilling all over his hand and your stomach.

“Where the hell did you learn how to do that?” you said. Your voice was still a little shaky, and Cody laughed at how fucked out you sounded. He swiped a towel from your attached ‘fresher and cleaned you off, before falling into bed beside you.

“Practice,” he said smugly, and you rolled your eyes. “So was I?”

“Hmm?” you mumbled sleepily, snuggling your face into the clone’s chest. He wrapped his arms around you comfortingly.

“You said I looked like a good fuck. Was I?” he said, kissing the top of your head playfully.

“Well, I’m not completely cockdumb like you said I’d be,” you said, a mischievous smirk on your face. Cody sat up, a wicked look in his eyes. A surge of arousal pooled in your stomach.

“Guess we’re not done, then,”

[secretsickysideblog]

putting it lightly

'“m’not drunk,” abbacchio groans, rolling over.

bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “yes. alright. i am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”'

after a day spent searching for his awol teammate, bucciarati comes home to find that abbacchio had been peacefully asleep on his sofa all along.

(sicktember day 6, alternate prompt: asleep on the couch)

read under the cut!

Bucciarati is, put lightly, seething.

There’s this rage he hasn’t felt in a long time bubbling in the pit of his stomach, and although it’s the type that stems purely from concern, his blood is undeniably boiling. Because upon stepping into the front door of his apartment, Bucciarati is greeted with the sight of a familiar someone asleep on his couch--the same someone who has been AWOL all day, refusing to pick up the phone.

Bucciarati considers himself to be a rather patient man on the best of days and relatively tolerant even on those days that are not so great. And he is--he tries to be--as understanding as possible. So normally, if this were any other day, if he had gotten so much as a text confirming that Abbacchio was alive, Bucciarati would be fine with this. Mildly annoyed, but mostly in the sense of preferring to know when things were wrong with the people he holds dear before the problem rears its ugly head and less from the standpoint of work.

But Leone Abbacchio has been dead on air all day long. Bucciarati had gone through the other man’s apartment twice, and, accompanied by Fugo himself, they’d checked the youngest’s apartment all the same as if Abbacchio would have any reason at all to be there. Internally, Bucciarati slaps himself in the face for not considering that Abbacchio would have wandered here--but really, what reason would Abbacchio have to be here while vehemently ignoring any attempts to get into contact with him?

Bucciarati sucks a long inhale in through his teeth. It won’t do him any good to yell right now; for all he knows, the man passed out before him might be too far gone to comprehend a word he says, and Bucciarati would rather not strain his vocal chords for a reason so pointless as yelling to what may as well be a wall.

“Leone,” he calls, and the man doesn’t stir. He tries again with a little more fervor. No response.

A cold feeling manifests in Bucciarati’s veins as the consideration that, maybe, Abbacchio had trudged his way here to die pops up in his head. Maybe Abbacchio came all the way here because he knew it was the end, or because he had opted for the end, and maybe Bucciarati should be calling an ambulance right about now and he looks awfully similar to--

Bucciarati squeezes his eyes shut and shakes that train of thought away. The only way to know whether or not any of that was true would be to approach him, and if it were, Bucciarati would just have to deal with it. He’s come to be an expert at just dealing with things over the course of his eighteen years and change. With a tumultuous mix of rage and fear turning his stomach, Bucciarati approaches the couch, and he watches for a moment until he spots Abbacchio’s chest rise and fall once.

Good. He’s alive.

And with absolutely no sympathy, Bucciarati gives Abbacchio a firm shake by the shoulder to jostle him out of what Bucciarati assumes to be an alcohol-induced stupor--the flush across his defined cheekbones says all he needs to know. Except when Abbacchio blinks his eyes open with a groan, they’re glazed over and hazy in an unfamiliar way; when that golden gaze locks onto Bucciarati, it appears to lock onto something behind him. Within him, even. Through him.

“What in the hell are you doing here, Abbacchio?”

Abbacchio’s expression turns confused and quickly contorts into something that looks rather pained. Bucciarati keeps himself firm, even though something in him wants to ask ‘what hurts?’ Perhaps it’s a selfish act, to be angry, but Abbacchio has been sober for nearly a month now and Bucciarati sees no good reason to be ruining that. Abbacchio is guilty until proven innocent.

When he speaks, much to Bucciarati’s surprise, his breath smells like mint-- shockingly, mint and a hint of sleep and not at all alcohol. Not even coffee, which has served as Abbacchio’s replacement vice, in a sense. (It gives him something to refine taste in. Something to be picky about, a type of fill-in high.)

“Your door...it was unlocked,” is what Abbacchio says, and it’s slurred, but not in the way that he slurs when he’s wasted. It’s slurred in a manner that’s groggier than anything else.

“It’s always unlocked,” Bucciarati snaps. That was not the answer he was looking for, because that’s common sense. His door is always unlocked for the two subordinates he’s recruited that might need something at an ungodly hour, Abbacchio being a frequent visitor just after midnight.

Abbacchio hums, and his eyes close again as if he’s struggling to keep them open.

“Abbacchio,” Bucciarati gives him a quick pat on the cheek to get his attention back. “Don’t pass out on me again. I want an explanation.”

Dual-colored eyes reappear. Abbacchio says nothing more.

“Leone Abbacchio, why the hell did you decide to fuck up now? It’s been nearly a month and you haven’t come close to a relapse since three weeks ago! Not to mention, you have avoided me all day, only to end up here? What if you had been dying? I thought you had crawled your sorry ass over here to die on my couch,” Bucciarati growls, tone undoubtedly dripping with poison, and yet some aftertaste of it is sweet. Vaguely sweet. Because he isn’t really angry. He’s worried, as is often the case.

“M’not drunk,” Abbacchio groans, rolling over.

Bucciarati laughs, a bitter sound, and shakes his head in pure exasperation. “Yes. Alright. I am so glad you did not decide to pursue a career in acting.”

“I mean it,” Abbacchio’s voice comes out muffled by the navy throw pillow he has his face buried in, and yet there’s a distinctive whining quality to it. He doesn’t sound drunk--he sounds off. It’s disconcerting, because Bucciarati’s only assumption is that he’s more inebriated than he’s ever had the displeasure of seeing him before, and yet that wouldn’t make sense because the first night they met Abbacchio had a foot and a half well in the grave and a heel slipping downward.

Flushed cheeks, glazed-over eyes, and this slurring, whining tone. A clear dislike for the light in his eyes, as shown by the way he’s burying his face in a pillow, and he’d managed to get out of bed and brush his teeth but he’d opted against coffee. Bucciarati looks over his clues, looks over the sight before him, and tries to connect the pictures with a piece of logical twine. All at once, it comes together, and that burning rage within him is ignited by a cold wash of guilt.

He must be sick.

Bucciarati presses the back of his hand to Abbacchio’s cheek, and then to his forehead, and the heat radiating off of his pale face (paler than usual, somehow, and devoid of makeup) confirms it. For the second time in the past ten minutes, Bucciarati mentally slaps himself, and then again for good measure. As ample punishment, he decides to give himself an internal kick to the shin, too.

He exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, the high-strung tension in his body melting into a puddle at his feet. Sick, he can handle. He can handle sickness just fine, actually. He crouches down beside the sofa and nudges Abbacchio’s shoulder with more care this time, gently prodding for his attention for just a moment longer. Bucciarati knows from experience that sleeping on this couch is comfortable, but not nearly as pleasant as a bed, especially not on lead-limbs and fever pains.

“Come on,” all of the venom has drained away from his voice, and so has a good half of the volume, “let’s get you to bed, alright? This couch is cheap. It won’t do any good for your back.”

Abbacchio takes a long while to respond to the suggestion, but eventually, he sits himself upright and manages to force himself up onto his feet. He sways a bit, and Bucciarati prepares himself to catch him if he goes down even if he has more muscle in his left bicep than Bucciarati has in his entire body. Maybe it’s the sentiment--if he goes down, at least he wouldn’t go down alone.

It takes a couple of pauses for Abbacchio to lean against the wall and take a breather (and there’s a moment where even more color drains from his face, and Bucciarati just about unzips a hole in the floor to avoid having to clean vomit off of the hardwood). Ultimately, though, they make it to the bedroom. Bucciarati makes sure Abbacchio is settled. He slips off the other’s shoes, which must have been unpleasant to fall asleep in, and sets them by the bedroom door.

“Do you need anything?” Bucciarati asks, and Abbacchio shakes his head. “Another blanket? I’m getting you water, and that isn’t up for debate.”

His answer comes in the form of complete stillness. Quiet. And Abbacchio, for someone that must have a rather high fever, seems to be at peace. Bucciarati sighs, looks over his form. Now that he’s certain the other is sleeping and not dead, he wonders if he should address the fear he felt at the notion of losing Abbacchio with himself, because it was a different kind of fear. As though losing him would leave not only a gap in his life, in his heart, but in his being entirely.

He slips off to fill a glass of water, sets it on the bedside table. And he settles into bed on the other side of Abbacchio’s sleeping form, carding fingers through his silky hair as though it’s the most natural gesture in the world. He’s gotten far too used to Abbacchio’s presence in the handful of months they’ve known each other. And maybe it could be chalked up to the closeness they’ve been forced into, or up to the reliance Abbacchio has on him and the feeling of being relied on. Maybe it’s the way Abbacchio looks at him when he’s wasted. Maybe it’s the grateful way he looks at him when he starts sobering up later in the night.

Or perhaps, Bucciarati muses, he might be, lightly put, falling in love.

[hvitserkmarcosource]

The Arrangement

Chapter Eleven: Thin Ice

Warnings: None. (Warnings will be updated with each chapter so make sure you read them!)

Chapter Eleven Summary: An unexpected tale of fate.

Word count: 2,396

It's been a while!!! I've missed you guys ❤ I hope you all like this chapter!

Read Chapter 10 Here ⬇️

Chapter 12 coming soon!!

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

A noise. A noise so faint you almost ignored it. Almost. It pricked into your ear and worried into your brain, until you got out of bed. Hvitserk had finally fallen asleep, and you debated on whether or not to wake him. He looked so peaceful… you decided against it. 

The windows of your chamber were frosted over, except for one pane, and when you went to look out you were met with nothing but heavy snowfall. It was coming down so hard you could barely make out the other buildings. All of the torches were extinguished. All of the people were safe in their homes…

No one could have made a noise outside.

No one would be crazy enough to subject themselves to weather like this. 

Another knock makes you flinch. This time it is louder, almost as if someone is tapping on the window from the outside. You know that is not possible. 

And so, you open the window. Cold air and snow blow in making you gasp and cover yourself “Oh that was foolish, what is wrong with me?” You struggle to get the window closed again. Fighting with the wind like it’s some great battle. 

Out of breath and freezing, you lock the window and turn to go back to bed. Satisfied that no one is at the window and the noise must have come from somewhere else inside of the castle. Maybe Ivar is walking around, pacing the halls, waiting for someone else to try and usurp him so he can hang them. 

You step in a puddle of melted snow on your way back to bed and you have to stop yourself from screaming when the cold water touches your bare feet. 

Shaking your foot off, you sigh, you can’t just leave a puddle in the middle of the floor. What if Hvitserk wakes before you and slips. You’d never forgive yourself. Grabbing a fur from the foot of the bed you begin using it to soak up the water. 

Agin the noise startles you, seeming much louder than a second ago. You turn, but again no one is at the window.

 How is he sleeping through all of this?

You gasp and fall backwards when you pick up the fur. Out of the water formed a bird. A beautiful white raven… just like in your dream. 

She caws, except it doesn’t sound like a bird, it sounds like the knocking. She caws over and over, walking closer to you. Leaving watery claw prints behind. The knocking gets louder and louder, her cawing turns into a scream

You realize it’s you screaming…

And Hvitserk is holding you tight, rocking you back and forth, chanting that you are ok and that you need to wake up.

Out of it and confused, you pull away from him. You’re shaking and drenched in sweat, your throat is hoarse from screaming but you scream again when the door to your chambers slams open. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

It’s Ivar and that is a shock in and of itself. Since when does Ivar care if you are ok?

“Did you have it too? The dream.” He asks

Hvitserk groans “Ivar leave us be, I can handle this-“ 

“No!” He yells “I had a dream and I need to know if she had the same one. I need to know if it was a dream or a vision” 

“Ivar you are not a god!”

“Stop it!” You yell, and move away from both of them. You look at Ivar and question “A vision?” 

“I dreamt that you were running in a storm and fell through ice, I was trying to save you.” 

The snow storm, the knocking, stepping in the water… it all makes sense. “My dream was not exactly like yours, but I understand it now.” 

Hvitserk moves closer to you and takes your hand “Tell me what happened” 

“It all felt so real, you were sleeping. I heard a knocking sound coming from the window. It was storming and water came inside when I opened the window, the water turned into a white raven and her cawing sounded like the knocking too. Until it turned into my own screams.” 

“I was trying to break the ice with my crutch, that was the knocking. And when you opened the window that is when you fell through… Guards! Bring me The Seer, now.”

Hvitserk stands and places a hand on Ivar’s shoulder “Ivar he doesn’t leave his hut, he will not come to you” 

Ivar smiles “He will or I will kill him” he looks at you then and you notice his eyes are even more blue than you remembered “She is forbidden from going outside, I will not take any chances-” 

“You can’t do that!” You scream, cutting off his sentence  “I will not be locked up in here” 

“You will stay if I say so, Gods help me I will bar these very doors and windows shut if I see you outside even once.” 

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

For fear of falling through the ice twice in one night, you conceded. Even if it means being locked up in this hell castle until spring. Your only hope would be for Ivar to leave on a raid or something, but then that meant Hvitserk could possibly go with him and you would be alone. All alone in a big castle… Truth be told you feared that more than every Viking in Kattegat. 

“You are over thinking my love” Hvitserk whispers as he kisses your cheek “This is going to be alright, winter will be gone in a couple months, then we will be married in your meadow.” 

Closing your eyes you take a deep breath and try to be positive. Only a couple months, you could do that. After the dream you had you should want to stay inside anyway. And if this was all a vision of things to come- well you don’t know, you don’t know what you’re going to do. But staying inside is a good start. 

“The seer will not come!” Ivar yells, slamming his horn of ale on the table and startling everyone. “How can he refuse me? I am king!”

Hvitserk smirks “I told you brother, I told you he would not leave his hut.” 

“Why can’t we just go to him?” You ask. “We don’t have to cross a lake to get to his hut, Do we?” 

“I have forbidden you from going outside" 

You sigh,  not wanting to argue. You're so tired of arguing with men and not solving anything. So for the rest of the night you stay as silent as a mouse. Ignoring everyone, including Hvitserk. You know he just wants to protect you, keep you safe, but it's infuriating that he is agreeing with Ivar. Since when does he agree with Ivar? Never. They are always at each other's throats.  

Your silence however doesn't go entirely unnoticed, Freydis sees it, can tell what is going on. She steps down from her throne and takes a seat next to you. At first you are weary, she's Ivar’s wife after all, she could just be following orders, trying to trick you.  Spy for him.

"I like having another woman here," she says with a smile "it makes me feel not so alone."

You nod "We hardly see each other though, you are always busy with Ivar."

She laughs "He's a handful, but not as dangerous as everyone thinks…but don't tell him I told you that."

You smile "I won't, promise."

She looks towards Ivar and you do the same, noticing Hvitserk has joined him and they are talking civilly. It almost looks like they care about each other, like they could get along and be great friends if ivar wasn't so- so Ivar. 

Freydis hums and looks back at you "You do not know much about being a viking, do you?"

"Is it that obvious?" You say with a laugh 

"The seer is a very important man, he can tell us our future. If he chooses. He can tell us what we are destined to do and if we will stray from that path. He is all-knowing. That is why Ivar wants you to see him."

You nod "I understand, but if he will not come then how am I supposed to see him? Ivar will not let me leave."

The queen leans in and whispers, so soft that you can tell she's said things in secret before. Perhaps you are not the only one Freydis has tried to help. 

"There is a back gate just outside of the courtyard, it is not guarded. Ivar leaves it hidden incase he needs to make a quick escape. I will get the key and unlock it for you after Ivar falls asleep tonight-"

You stop her "How am I to know when he falls asleep?"

She smiles "look at them, it won't be long before both men are out like a flame." She continues "The Seer's hut is small and dark in color, animal bones hang from the door.  You can not miss it."

Taking a deep breath you say "Ivar will kill me if he finds out."

Freydis stands "Then be quick and quiet, princess. If he awakes I will keep him occupied for as long as I can."

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

It was easy enough to escape, what with Ivar and Hvitserk being drunk out of their minds. One minute they were laughing and saying how much they loved each other and the next they were rolling around on the floor fighting. In that moment you decided that you'll never understand men. Especially viking men.

After Freydis unlocked the gate, The trek through the snow wasn't as bad as you would have thought, and the Seer's hut was relatively close. If you weren't so paranoid you might have actually enjoyed the walk. 

As you entered the hut a wave of nausea washed over you, a sort of sinking feeling set deep in your heart. And suddenly you knew you were not going to receive good news. 

"I've been waiting for you" A raspy voice says out of the darkness "come closer child, come and sit down."

As you step further into the hut you find him, a tall dark figure dressed in a torn black cloak. His features are hidden from you but from the sound of his voice, you are glad. 

He reaches out for you and reluctantly you give him your hand and allow him to pull you closer. "Say what you've come here to say. Waste not my time."

"I want to know my future… not- not all of it just, Ivar."

He chuckles, a sound so sinister it rattled the bones in your body. "Ivar the boneless,"  he speaks his name with pause "Not a God, as he would like to think." 

You nod "I know he is not, I want to know if he will be the cause of my death-"

The Seer stops you. Holding up his hand "I can not tell you of such things. Nor would you want to know."

You scoff and begin to leave "I knew I should not have come here, you're just a fraud. Just another man who wants to make people believe that he is more than ordinary… you're no better than Ivar-"

"I am nothing like Ivar Lothbrook," he growls "I have seen a great many things. War. Death. Murder. Darkness. I have seen it all. I have seen your future child and I shudder at the sight." 

He stands and blocks your way to the door, stopping you from leaving. "Please let me go," You plead "I no longer require your sight." 

He grabs your hand roughly and brings it to his mouth, licking your palm. He growls once more and begins to ramble  "Your lives are intertwined and mangled. Hate. Love. Everything hangs in the balance. I see a fate worse than death. You speak of being ordinary but you are no such thing. You are greater than you think and Ivar will fall because of this greatness… He is just a man. He will fall. You will make sure of that."

Violently he let's you go, he's panting and disoriented, so you take the chance and run past him. Out of his hut and back towards the castle. 

Once the gate is closed behind you, you fall to your knees. Out of breath and shaking. 

You would be Ivars downfall? And what did he mean when he said you are not ordinary? You have no powers, no control over your own life. You can't do magic or spells, you are no seer. 

So what did he mean?

Footsteps bring you back to reality and only then do you realize you are completely out in the open. Luckily it is still snowing… maybe no one has seen you. 

Slowly, you begin your walk back inside. The castle isn't too far away from the gate so you're praying no one will stop you. Or recognize you. 

Your heart is racing you can hear it in your ears, like the menacing beat of a drum. You know you're walking back into a situation that could possibly be dangerous. Ivar could be waiting for you, this could have all been a trap. 

You should have never trusted Freydis…

As you open the castle door your arm is grabbed and you are drug into a small corridor, a hand is clasped around your mouth preventing you from screaming, but you still try. If this is how you die you want to see Hvitserk one more time. You want to apologize. 

"Next time you leave I suggest being less obvious princess." A man whispers, his voice familiar.

You look up at him and realize it is Ubbe, the brother who helped you before. He let's you go and smiles "Hvitserk has been looking for you, he's afraid you've left him."

"He hasn't told Ivar-"

He stops you, "my brother may be young but he is not dumb. He's only trusted me with this, we've been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?"

You take a deep breath "I went to the Seer, he's told me many things… not all good."

Ubbe groans "Come, we'll find my brother and then you can tell us what, exactly, the wise one has said."

Tag List: *Open*

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[ibijau]

How to Woo a Lan pt3 / on AO3

The issue with getting Nie Huaisang’s assistance in seducing Lan Sizhui was that Nie Huaisang wasn't an easy man to get a hold of. Except for conferences, or to go beg for help from his brother's sworn brothers, he rarely ever left the Unclean Realm. The second reason wasn't going to ever happen again, and Jin Ling wasn't in the mood to wait for both of them to attend the same conference.

That meant he had to invite Nie Huaisang to Jinlin Tai (an invitation he was almost sure would be refused) or invite himself to the Unclean Realm. He'd need a decent reason for that, or else the Nie wouldn't allow him inside their fortress, sect leader or not. He also needed an excuse to give the Jin elders and Jiang Cheng, who might not want him anywhere near Qinghe at the moment… but that part would be easy enough, when he had a lifetime of experience in dealing with overprotective relatives. He’d just say he had been invited by… well, not the Lan, that’d be too odd when he’d just been on a Night Hunt, but Ouyang Zizhen was always up for some mischief, and he was weak to a good love story.

Or a bad love story, for that matter, but Jin Ling knew his future romance with Lan Sizhui was definitely going to be a great one.

So he’d tell everyone he was going to meet up with Ouyang Zizhen for a made-up Night Hunt, and they’d head for Qinghe together, and… and it wouldn’t be difficult to dig up some official sounding business that he’d need to urgently check with sect leader Nie.

It would be easy.

It was easy.

Ouyang Zizhen loved the idea, especially since he’d had yet another argument with his father and wanted some space. That seemed to happen every other week, and Jin Ling suspected that his friend spent more time away from home than with his family. He suspected, also, that sect leader Ouyang wasn’t quite the tyrant that Zizhen made him out to be, but rather a grumpy old man who didn’t know how to deal with his emotions, much like Jiang Cheng.

The two of them, after meeting in the place they’d decided, headed for Qinghe together. Ouyang Zizhen stayed behind at an inn, so he wouldn’t get dragged into a bad situation in case sect leader Nie didn’t take too well to having his past affair with Lan Xichen thrown in his face. So it was alone that Jin Ling made his way to the high gates of the Unclean Realm, alone that he faced the guards standing at the entrance, alone that he announced he needed to urgently meet with Nie Huaisang on important business.

The guards, quite predictably, refused to let him in so easily. They insisted on being given details before bothering their sect leader, while Jin Ling absolutely refused to share any critical information with low ranking disciples. It was, quite frankly, a little insulting that people so low in importance could dare resist him in that manner, especially when Qinghe Nie hardly counted as a great sect anymore these days, but Jin Ling was starting to have some experience in dealing with obtuse underlings. He insisted, and insisted, and insisted some more until at long last the highest ranking of the guards gave in and sent someone to warn their sect leader he had a guest.

Jin Ling was allowed inside.

Not only was he allowed inside, but Qinghe Nie’s first disciple in person came in person to fetch him, and after he refused to talk to her about the business that brought him there, she promptly took him to see her sect leader. Everything was going according to plan. Jin Ling was starting to feel mildly nervous, especially as quite a few Nie disciples glared at the sight of an intruder wearing robes of gold… but that was to be expected. He’d known he wouldn’t be a welcome guest, and the Nie weren’t exactly warm people to begin with.

It came as something of a relief when Jin Ling realised that he wasn’t being led to the normal reception room to meet Nie Huaisang, but instead towards private quarters, most likely the sect leader’s office. It meant there would be no witness to their conversation. Then, just as quickly, Jin Ling panicked a little when he realised that meant he’d probably be alone with Nie Huaisang, a man who had every reason to despise him for being related by blood to his beloved brother’s murderer. It occurred to him that maybe this whole plan wasn’t the smartest thing he’d ever come up with, but at that point it was already too late: the door to Nie Huaisang’s office was being opened for him, revealing the man himself, sitting at his desk.

As he walked inside the room, Jin Ling thought there was something different about Nie Huaisang. Maybe it was just that he’d so rarely seen him in a state other than “drunk and making a scene” or “crying and making a scene” or even “just making a scene for no discernable reason”. Instead, Nie Huaisang looked calm and collected, a bit annoyed perhaps, but there was enough paperwork on his desk that the annoyance might not even have been caused by Jin Ling’s visit.

“Leave us alone,” Nie Huaisang ordered his first disciple, in a voice firmer than Jin Ling had ever heard from him. To the boy’s mild horror, the first disciple did leave immediately, closing the door behind her. “Well? What urgent business do you have to share with me?” Nie Huaisang asked, opening an elegant fan and using it to gesture that his guest was welcome to sit down.

Jin Ling took the invitation and knelt down on the other side of the desk. He realised, a little late, that he hadn’t really thought of something to say, having half expected he wouldn’t even making it this far. In the end, Jin Ling decided that the best way to deal with this situation was to be brief and to the point.

“I remember about your affair with Lan Xichen,” he announced. “And I want to talk to you about something regarding that.”

The fan in Nie Huaisang’s hand closed with a sharp sound, and for a brief moment the man glared at Jin Ling with such open hatred that Jin Ling shivered and unconsciously leaned backward. Then, just as quickly, Nie Huaisang’s expression turned so perfectly indifferent that Jin Ling might as well have imagined that brief moment of rage.

“So you remember that,” Nie Huaisang pleasantly mused, tapping his fan against his chin. “I suspected as much, but Lan Xichen seemed to believe you’d forgotten. He’s always been the hopeful sort. I must commend you for keeping that secret, Jin zongzhu,” he said, his smile turning sharper. “And for trying to blackmail me now. A very bold move certainly, though not exactly smart, I’m afraid. After all, you know what sort of things I’m capable of, and I doubt you told anyone you were coming here. I might well do something regrettable to protect Lan Xichen’s reputation.”

“Someone knows I’m here,” Jin Ling retorted, suddenly glad Ouyang Zizhen was waiting for him. “And anyway you’re not stupid enough to kill me. You know if there’s one thing that could make Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng reconcile it’s that, and if they’re working together they’d find out the truth for sure.”

Nie Huaisang’s smile became milder, yet somehow Jin Ling still felt half threatened. “You’re a smart boy. Smarter than I expected. Very well, I’ll listen to what you want, if only because I’m very bored lately.”

Jin Ling nodded, and took a deep breath.

“Right. I want you to help me court someone from Gusu Lan!” he said. “Because everyone else I could ask for advice is a damn idiot, and you at least had that fling with Lan Xichen, and I don’t know when the two of you broke up, but…”

Nie Huaisang chuckled somberly, reopening his fan and moving it in a lazy manner.

“Of course you know. You were there. Let this be a piece of advice for you, Jin zongzhu,” Nie Huaisang added with an innocent expression. “Don’t make your lover kill his best friend, no matter how just and deserved the death. It can put a strain on a relationship.”

Jin Ling gaped, and awkwardly stared at Nie Huaisang who placidly returned the stare. He had expected the break-up to have happened a while before all that business with Wei Wuxian’s return started. But if those two had been together, then…

“Why didn’t you get him to willingly help you avenge your brother, if he was still your lover?” Jin Ling asked.

“That’s none of your concern, Jin zongzhu,” Nie Huaisang snapped, before mellowing back into a pleasant, if insincere, smile. “So you have a thing for someone from Gusu Lan… I heard you’ve been very friendly to that loudmouth boy, what’s his name again?”

“It’s not Jingyi!” Jin Ling protested, offended at the very idea. “I have better taste than that!”

“Then my second guess is Lan Sizhui,” Nie Huaisang mused, his smile falling. “Hm… of course you’d have to make this complicated for yourself. It runs in your family, I’m starting to think. You Jin can’t ever do things the easy way."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Nie Huaisang’s fan stilled, and he glared at the boy.

"It means give up, Jin zongzhu,” he said coldly. “If I'm right about the object of your affections, he'll refuse you even if he likes you. Especially if he likes you,” Nie Huaisang corrected after a moment of consideration. “He was raised by Wangji, he'll be just as stupid. No, find yourself a nice girl who'll let you play under her skirts, marry her, have a few babies… love isn't worth it, my generation should have proved that."

“Well, my generation isn’t going to be stupid about it,” Jin Ling hotly retorted. “If I had problems, I would trust Lan Sizhui to understand, and to do the right thing about it, because he’s the best person in the world! I just… need to figure out how to let him know I like him, first. I’m making a bit of a mess with that so far.”

“Truly your father’s son,” Nie Huaisang muttered, appearing unimpressed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nie Huaisang didn’t reply right away. Instead he resumed fanning himself and stared a long while at Jin Ling. So long, in fact, that it was becoming uncomfortable, and Jin Ling found himself wanting to shout at the other man for being a creep… but ultimately Nie Huaisang was his elder, and someone of equal rank, and Jin Ling was pretty sure shouting at another sect leader could get him in trouble if his uncle heard about it.

Then again, just being there at all would get him in trouble if Jiang Cheng heard about it.

“I don’t suppose people have told you all that much about your father, have they?” Nie Huaisang asked, something going softer in his face. “A good man. Not the smartest, terrible with people, but… yes, a good man. A kind man, even. Bit of a prick when he was a teenager, but we all were, and he grew out of it in time. We had good fun together, back in the days.”

Jin Ling stared right back, and nervously pinched the hem of his sleeve.

“I didn’t know you were his friend?”

In truth, he didn’t know a lot about his parents, aside from a few basic facts. Few people had actually known them well enough for that, and those few people hadn’t been very willing to talk. Even Jin Ling, capricious as he could be, had quickly figured out how unkind it would have been to ask Jiang Cheng too many questions about the family he’d lost. But if Nie Huaisang had known his parents too… well, Nie Huaisang didn’t deserve Jin Ling’s pity, did he?

Nie Huaisang shrugged, and looked away.

“Zixuan and I got along pretty well, but I’m not sure I would have called us friends.” He sighed, and turned silent for a moment, before a half smile crept on his lips. “Well, I might have, I’m just not sure he would have agreed. But I helped him write poetry to woo your mother, back then. Heavens know he needed the help. Lovely, wonderful man once you knew him, but he had a gift for always saying the worst thing possible, no matter how well he meant.”

“Everyone told me my father was a perfect young master,” Jin Ling protested, fidgeting harder with his sleeves while heat creeped up his face at the insult, however slight, “and that he was well liked everywhere he went!”

“Oh, they said that when he was alive as well,” Nie Huaisang said with a short laugh. “People always find something nice to say about rich young men. No, your father was a disaster, and it’s a miracle your mother ever gave him a second chance.”

“A second chance?” Jin Ling gasped. “What’s that supposed to mean? They were engaged from birth, and they fell in love over the course of that engagement, and then they got married, what second chances were there to be had?”

It was the story he’d always heard. Even Jiang Cheng hadn’t ever said differently, on those few occasions he’d agreed to talk about Jin Ling’s parents. Their story had been beautiful, and romantic, and…

And come to think of it, Jiang Cheng had always firmly been opposed to any efforts by the Jin sect to pick a fiancée for Jin Ling, insisting that it should wait until he was old enough to have his say in the matter. Jin Ling had thought it was just his uncle expecting him to be a confirmed bachelor as well, or guessing that he usually liked boys more than girls, or…

Nie Huaisang grimaced, and closed his fan so he could toy with it.

“So you really don’t know the whole story, hm? You should ask…” he trailed off, and frowned. “Ah. Well, I suppose there’s not really anyone you could ask, so that’s the problem. Guangyao’s dead, Wanyin can’t stand speaking about his sister… I’d suggest you turn to Wei Wuxian, but quite frankly he’d already ran off to the Burial Mounds for the truly fun parts of the story. Of course I could tell you about your father’s great effort to seduce your mother once he realised that she was, in fact, the best woman in the world, but… I don’t particularly feel like it,” Nie Huaisang admitted with a disdainful smirk. “Nor do I feel like getting involved with any of your family’s problems. So shoo, off you go,” he ordered, chasing Jin Ling away with a gesture. “You’ve come to make a request, I have refused it, now leave me alone.”

“But you have to help me!” Jin Ling protested. “If you don’t, I’ll have to ask Wei Wuxian! Do you want that to happen?”

“Or you could just give up,” Nie Huaisang retorted. “I’ve told you, even if he likes you, that boy won’t… It would be a bad idea.”

“And it wasn’t, when you got together with Lan Xichen?” Jin Ling asked, slamming his fist against the desk, earning an unimpressed glance from his fellow sect leader.

“Of course it was a dreadful idea,” Nie Huaisang replied. “It’s a choice I’ve regretted almost every day for the past few months. Every day since I’ve discovered what was done to my brother. And now, the man I loved is in seclusion because I kept secrets from him and turned him into a murderer, almost ruining his reputation. If I could go back to the past…” Nie Huaisang paused again, his face tightening. “I should never have become involved with him. Love is a mistake, Jin zongzhu. Look at me, look at your parents, what good did love ever do anyone?”

“My parents were happy, before things went bad,” Jin Ling retorted, getting annoyed by all the self-pitying happening before him. Maybe Nie Huaisang really was as pathetic as he’d seemed to be, in the end. How disappointing. “Jiujiu doesn’t talk much about them, but he always says that: they were happy. Even after my father died, my mother said she didn’t regret that she’d at least had a little time with him!”

Nie Huaisang blinked at him, his expression softening.

"They were happy," he said. "Your parents. Out of everyone I’ve met from our circles, they were… I remember when your father told me your mother had agreed to marry him. I've never seen a man happier than that, except for the year after when he told me that they were expecting a child."

"I want to be happy like that, too," Jin Ling said. "And I know if I could just convince Sizhui… and I'd make him happy too! I'd do anything to make him happy! I just… I'm not sure how, because he's so perfect, and I'm me!"

Nie Huaisang blinked a few times, and put his chin on his hand, resting his elbow on the table.

"Oh dear, you have it bad, uh ? Ah, you remind me of… well. Nevermind that. And I suppose I'm the last person who could blame you for falling for a Lan. You are really sure it has to be a Lan, and that Lan in particular?"

Jin Ling thought of Lan Sizhui, kind and strong and unwaveringly good, and nodded firmly.

"Yes. I love him, and I'll court him, with or without your help!"

Nie Huaisang grimaced, but this time it looked almost like a smile.

"I see. Well, I suppose someone needs to make sure you don't cause a diplomatic incident like your father almost did a few times. I'd like to go a few years without Lanling Jin causing any trouble, if that's not too much to ask. Fine. Fine! I'll help."

"You will?" Jin Ling gasped, trying to restrain a happy grin.

"Sure, why not. I'm bored enough," Nie Huaisang sighed. "Fine, let's just… Tell me about Lan Sizhui."

"But you know him already. Better than me, probably."

"Oh, without a doubt I know him better than you," Nie Huaisang agreed. "But I want to hear this from you. I have to figure out how serious you are about this. Yes, yes, very serious,” he said, raising his hand to stop Jin Ling from protesting. “I remember being fifteen, thanks, and I thought I’d die if he didn’t look my way for too long. But he was a few years older than me, and there’s a lot I didn’t understand at the time, so I want to see how much you understand.”

Jin Ling opened his mouth to answer, than closed it again as he realised what Nie Huaisang had just said.

“You were already in love with Lan Xichen at fifteen? How long…”

Nie Huaisang raised a hand again, a severe expression on his face.

“Let’s establish something right now,” he said. “I am helping you, out of pity toward you and because your father was, in fact, one of very few people I’ve ever considered a friend. Aside from this, I still consider you an annoying brat, and the grandson of the man who had my brother murdered. Just because I’m willing to help you doesn’t mean I intend to confide in you, least of all on the subject of Lan Xichen. In fact, I’d appreciate it if you never mentioned him again in my presence.”

Jin Ling grimaced, but nodded anyway. Nie Huaisang, however, wasn’t done.

“And let’s be clear on something else,” he said, slowly, as if to make sure Jin Ling wouldn’t miss a single word. “If you ever tell anything, to anyone, about his relationship with me, nobody, not even Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian, can save you from my wrath. I will not let anyone ruin Lan Xichen’s life, least of all another Jin. Do I make myself understood?”

Jin Ling shivered at the threat, which he felt to be a very serious one. Then, because he just didn’t know when to shut up, he said: “Oh. You still love him, don’t you?”

It was the wrong thing to say, and Nie Huaisang startled at the accusation, tensing like a wounded animal cornered by dogs. Of course it had been the wrong thing to say. Otherwise, Jin Ling wouldn’t have said it.

“I’ve just said I don’t want to confide in you,” Nie Huaisang hissed, but he couldn’t quite make himself feel scary again, and instead just looked again like the sad, pathetic man Jin Ling had known all his life.

“Have you told him that you still feel like that?” Jin Ling asked before he could stop himself. “Because I think you should. Maybe you can still mend this! I mean, if Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji got together, then anything in the world is possible. You should…”

“I should kick you out of my house and let you deal with your boyfriend alone,” Nie Huaisang snapped, his face redder than cinnabar. “Now tell me why you love that damn Lan kid, and stay out of my business.”

Jin Ling pinched his lips, annoyed that yet again, every adult around him was apparently determined to ruin their own life by refusing to just talk. First there had been his uncle with Wei Wuxian, now Nie Huaisang… Apparently, growing up made people stupid. Jin Ling could only hope he wouldn’t end up like that, too stubborn to do the right thing.

He was sure he wouldn’t, because Lan Sizhui wouldn’t let him.

Ultimately, though, Nie Huaisang’s private life really wasn’t his problem. So Jin Ling dropped the matter, and instead prepared himself to explain every little thing that made Lan Sizhui the most amazing person in the entire world.

[inkwell1013]

Hungering for Friendship - Merlin

Pairing: Merlin & Arthur (platonic), Merlin & various knights (also platonic).

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: This fic includes a character struggling with food related trauma and includes mentions of death (specifically death by starvation), though it is not graphic and more passingly mentioned.

Summary: Merlin is used to having his food stolen from him. When Arthur takes some food from him, in a misguided attempt at kinship, he accidentally brings back some bad memories for his servant.

- - - - - 

There were seven bad harvests in a row when Merlin was young, one after the other. Food was scarce and Merlin’s parents could barely scrape together enough to feed themselves, let alone their son.

Merlin was one of the lucky ones. Even when people were dropping dead from hunger on the streets outside, he lived a relatively cushy lifestyle and was accustomed to eating somewhat regularly. It was hardly ever a complete meal, but who ate a complete meal in such trying times? Certainly not him. Certainly not his family.

It was enough. Not much, but enough.

He had it better that the children who were dying of hunger, his stepfather would remind him. Better than the homeless and the orphans and the runaways.

Merlin’s stepfather was a shrewd man, the kind inclined to speak his mind without thought of the consequences of his words, nor indeed any feeling it might bring another person; if he had strong feelings about something, you’d be sure to know about it. He wasn’t one for sugar-coated words and euphemisms, so when he told Merlin he was lucky because he wasn’t starving to death, Merlin believed him.

Sometimes, when he misbehaved, his stepfather would take away his plate and scold him, saying “You can have this back when you learn to your lesson.”

Invariably, the food would disappear, leaving Merlin with nothing but a growling feeling in his stomach.

He learnt quickly – he always was a perceptive boy – that doing something wrong meant you would lose the privilege of food. It meant that you would go hungry. Even when he left Ealdor for Camelot, that fearful belief lingered in his mind and refused to be shaken.

This fear reminded him that he had to be careful what he said or did around Gaius and Arthur because – at the end of the day – they were the ones who decided if he ate. As his masters, they had the power over him that his stepfather had.

Still, they never exercised that power, as Merlin never gave them the opportunity. He stayed on his best behaviour (or as close to that as he could) and in return, he had never lost those precious privileges.

There were times when he thought he would, times when he pissed off Gaius with his reckless behaviour or irritated Arthur with his snarky attitude, but neither of them had ever done anything about it, which was strange. Even so, he remained hypervigilant. He couldn’t let those things happen to him again.

He had just settled down for lunch with Gaius when Arthur barged into the room. “Come with me Merlin. You will be eating with me and my knights today,” he announced.

“But I don’t want to,” said Merlin.

“You don’t get a choice,” countered Arthur, beckoning Merlin towards the door. “You are my servant, and I’m ordering you to eat with us today. Now come with me.”

Merlin cast a desperate look to Gaius, who shrugged. There was nothing he could do about it. Sighing, Merlin rose to his feet and followed Arthur down the corridor.

This whole ordeal had unsettled Merlin. He was meant to eat with Gaius today. He always ate with Gaius.

Meals with his mentor were quiet, somewhat formal events. Gaius wasn’t much for conversation, especially not a meal times, so Merlin refrained from talking too much, not wanting to bother him. Despite all that, Merlin liked eating dinner with Gaius, because he was predictable.

Gaius was as regular as the sun’s rising and setting - he went through the exact same motions every day, at precisely the same time. Having such a routine comforted Merlin, and having it disrupted by Arthur pissed him off beyond measure. Who was Arthur to barge into their chambers and demand that Merlin ate with him and his knights?

‘He’s the heir to the throne, that’s who. Of course he gets to boss you around, the privileged asshole.’

Arthur guided Merlin into the mess hall. In the centre of the room was a rickety old table, which currently housed five rowdy knights. Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and deposited him on the bench, right between Gwaine and Percival.

Hot food was slammed down in front of him – some bread and meat of some kind – along with a pitcher of ale.

“You’re giving me ale?” said Merlin. Back in Ealdor, this stuff was a luxury; it was not the kind of thing people like him drank.

“Why not?” shrugged Leon. “Heaven knows we drink enough of the stuff. You might as well get in on the action.”

“We don’t drink that much booze,” grumbled Gwaine, crossing his arms like a petulant child.

“Says the man who gets black out drunk at the tavern every chance he gets,” smirked Merlin. “You don’t exactly hide it well, the way you stumble home every night.” The group erupted into a chorus of rowdy laughter, and Percival clapped Merlin on the shoulder, making Merlin jump a little.

“That was a good one Merlin,” laughed Arthur. There was something hidden underneath his cheery expression, though Merlin didn’t know what it was.

The conversation shifted to another topic - some play the knights were thinking of seeing - when Arthur, still nodding along with the conversation, reached over and swiped a piece of bread from Merlin’s plate. Arthur didn’t even look at him as he did it.

Merlin’s anxiety spiked. He glanced around the table, looking to see if any of the other knights had noticed, but none of them seemed to care.

Had he done something wrong? Was it something he said? Why was Arthur doing this to him?

Swallowing his worry, he did his best to pay attention to the conversation that was going on around him. Even so, he found himself getting distracted. Arthur kept eyeing him out the corner of his eye, and even though he probably thought he was being subtle, he really wasn’t. It all made Merlin feel even more anxious. He hoped it was all just a fluke and Arthur wouldn’t do it again.

“What do you think Merlin?” asked Lancelot.

“Huh?”

“Head in the clouds again?” jested Percival. “You’re such a daydreamer.”

“Oh, piss off,” said Merlin, taking a sip of his ale. It tasted bitter and he resisted the urge to scrunch up his face in disgust. How did people stomach this vile crap? “What were you saying?” he asked.

“Are you free later this week,” repeated Lancelot. “We could all go to see that play together. Make a day out of it.”

“I don’t know,” replied Merlin. “I’m pretty busy. I have my job and everything.”

“Eh, I’m sure Arthur will give you the day off.”

The group expectantly looked at Arthur, who shrugged. “I don’t see why not,” he said, taking a swig of his beer, and chewing on chicken bone, rather like a dog. The conversation drifted again, and much to Merlin’s dismay, a hand reached over once more, swiping a piece of meat from his plate.

It was Arthur. At least now Merlin knew the first time wasn’t a fluke. This was deliberate. Arthur was trying to punish him, but for what? All he had done was talk.

Talk.

Was that it? Did Arthur want him to be quiet?

But he had invited Merlin here to eat with his friends. He had practically dragged him here, kicking and screaming, and now he was trying to force him into silence? Why? What purpose could that serve?

He could feel Arthur’s eyes on him, staring. Merlin opened his mouth to respond to something Gwaine said, and saw that same hand reaching into his peripheral vision, this time taking another roll of bread.

Fine.

Arthur wanted him to be silent.

He’d be silent.

He’d behave and this would all stop.

Right?

Thankfully, after that, Arthur didn’t make any move to steal from him again, and Merlin was able to scoff down the meagre remains of his meal in peace.

The rest of the meal had a sour tone to it, and both Merlin and Arthur were in dour moods. The other knights, noticing the tension between the two, excused themselves and left the room. Soon, only Merlin and Arthur were left.

There was a silence. A long, empty, depressing silence.

“What did I do wrong,” blurted Merlin, at the exact moment the same words left Arthur’s lips.

Both stared at each other in bewilderment. “What are you talking about Merlin?” asked Arthur.

“You kept taking my food from me, and I don’t know why. What am I doing wrong? Do you not want me to speak at all? I will if that’s what you want. I just want all this to stop.”

“I wasn’t… I don’t understand. I was just trying to make you feel welcome,” said Arthur.

“By stealing from me?” snapped Merlin, anger finally bursting out of him.

“By sharing a meal with you!” exclaimed Arthur. “Do you not share meals in Ealdor?”

“Not like this.”

“Look, Merlin, I don’t know what it’s like in your hometown, but in Camelot sharing a meal is normal. The other knights and me always eat off each other’s plates. It’s just a kinship thing. What’s mine is yours, you know?”

“Then why were you staring at me the whole time like I’d done something wrong?”

“I was looking to see if you would do the same thing in return. I’m sorry Merlin. I truly didn’t know that this was a trigger for you.”

“It’s not a trigger,” barked Merlin. “It just brings back bad memories.”

“That’s the definition of a trigger dumbass.”

“Shut up.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, collecting up the plates from the table. Then, he disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared moments later, having exchanged them for a plate of food. There was enough on there to make up for what Arthur taken, and then some. Grabbing Merlin by the shoulders, he sat him down at the table and set the dish in front of him.

“Here,” he said. “This is all yours. I promise I won’t take any of it.”

Merlin stared at Arthur, still worried that he might take it all away. Noticing his apprehension, Arthur pushed the plate closer to him. “It’s yours Merlin. I’m not having my servant go hungry.”

Merlin barely stopped to breathe as he wolfed it all down.

The next time Arthur demanded Merlin come to dinner (or invited him, as Arthur would so eloquently put it), Merlin couldn’t help but notice that Arthur and the knights kept their hands to themselves. He was secretly pleased, but said nothing, not wanting to give Arthur the satisfaction of knowing he had done something right for once in his life.

Across the table, Arthur smirked.

[gingerwritess]

Ok crazy thought. So if the last predating is to go through with Loki being tortured and reader saving the day like a boss, would Loki be hooked up to machines? More specifically a heart rate monitor? That for some reason increases when you get close? And goes ballistic when you touch him?

part 17, in which you absolutely snap

warnings: a big phat long chapter, prisoner situations, lots of emotions, the beginnings of tension, and big reactions

You’re mad—but you’re not exactly sure if you’re supposed to be.

Technically you didn’t kiss Loki. You kissed Laing, and it was all part of keeping up your cover, so automatically…no strings attached.

But the so-called god now strapped to the hospital bed a few doors down is definitely the one who’s lips had been on yours, at one time or another.

He’s also the highly dangerous criminal wanted by most of the worlds officials, who you also at one point let shower in your home, sleep under your desk, sat on his lap, brushed his hair, fed him, clothed him, patched him up—

Sheesh, that’s enough.

You scrub at your mouth with your shirt sleeve, blanching at the memory of almost liking it.

Now—and you really shouldn’t be surprised—you get to answer for it all.

Thor is not helping.

“I knew it,” he announces and points a finger at you. “You are attracted to him! You like him in a physical, romantic sense of the word—”

“God, no, that’s–that’s not even close—”

“Easy, Thor.”

Luckily Tony shuts the other god up while you bury your face in your hands.

After Loki had passed out, you’d been escorted—in a much gentler fashion than he was—to a crisp white holding cell and given some remedies to try and sober you up as best they can.

You recognised it to be an interrogation room, much like the one you’d seen Loki cursed to before this whole thing got blown to hell, but at this point, you can’t care.

Steve is the first to come question you (probably because he’s the only completely sober one), and the first thing you can think to blurt is “don’t hurt him.”

Then you mentally smack yourself across the face—they already saw you kissing him. Now this?

Maybe Thor was right.

“I have to ask,” the captain slowly starts, “was the motivation of your…partnership…romantic?”

Even with how furiously you deny it, you still don’t think he believes you.

The night becomes morning before you know it, filled with endless questions and exhausting interrogations, which you answered completely truthfully and to the best of your ability.

Even taking the liberty to include some of Loki’s story.

When Thor was in the room, you jumped on the opportunity to describe just how beat up his brother is and how he’s been covering it up because of some “target” on his back, how he’s been lying through his teeth about every motivation for the attack, how he needs help.

You’re still mad—you’re mad at Loki for refusing to talk for so long, for being so damn stubborn he nearly got himself killed, and now for dragging you this deeply into the newest villainous conspiracy.

…and for becoming himself when you kissed him.

Kissing Loki was never the plan; you didn’t mind kissing Laing.

The sun is fully risen by the time you’ve covered the whole story from day one, almost down to every detail—the avengers don’t need to know how many times you accidentally saw him shirtless—and you still have a team of people grilling you.

Marcus lounges against the doorframe, gun limp in his hands and visor down, most likely to cover his eyes as he tries to catch a few winks of sleep, but another guard walks in and they both shoot to attention—a bit groggily.

“He’s awake,” she says, “and he said he wants to speak with all of you immediately.”

Your head shoots off the interrogation table with a start. “Huh??”

“You stay here,” Tony instructs, gut twisting when your face falls. “Look, I’m sorry, but as far as we know now, you’re in kahoots with a criminal. We have to take every precaution, alright? Just while we get this figured out.”

“Tony, he’s been lying—”

“I know, I know, you’ve told us.” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But we’ve got hardly any proof of that. Give us some time.”

Motioning for the two guards to follow them, Steve, Tony, Bruce, a pretty hungover Clint, Natasha, and Thor head out, leaving you in the cell to freak out about what the next few hours hold by yourself.

You’ll be fired, without a doubt. Even if Loki does admit to any of what you told them, you still aided in his deception.

Damn it, why did you have to let him sleep under your desk??

Who in their right mind agrees to that?!

Worst case scenario, you stay in jail for a good chunk of your life. Loki will either be in the same position or worse—if he was that adamant about not returning to Asgard, you figure it’s execution that awaits him there.

Or something worse. They’re gods, they probably have something much worse.

The little cot is relatively comfortable; this isn’t a jail cell, technically. It’s a holding cell, for…characters of interest.

Which is now you, apparently.

Thanks, Loki.

It’s comfortable enough, and you slip into a dreamless slumber within minutes.

—

Eyes on you bring you back to the land of the living, that eerie, squirmy feeling that you’re being watched.

And you are: stifling a yawn and blinking to clear your eyes, you sit up to find Clint and Thor staring at you through the cell windows.

You can kind of understand why Loki hated it. It’s an awful feeling, being a trapped specimen to be watched and studied.

It’s Tony who opens the cell door, and followed closely by Thor and Clint, he leads you to a couch this time, not the interrogation table.

“What happened, what’d he say?”

Tony laughs uncomfortably, chewing his lip.

“This…isn’t going to be easy for you to hear,” he carefully tells you, stepping around his words. “You, uh, you were influenced in this whole ordeal.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You laugh, looking around to each of their somber expressions. “C’mon, we were all a little drunk.”

“Not like that.” Tony sighs and presses his palms to his eyes. “You were, for lack of a better term, mind controlled. Loki had you under his flying monkey spell, he admitted to the whole thing.”

You gape at him, trying to process what he just said. “I was not—”

“I know it’s hard to hear,” Clint cuts in. “It’s an awful feeling. But he made me his right hand man, so…you’re not alone in this. Loads of us were affected by it, too.”

Mind controlled. This whole time??

You fall back against the couch with a thud, mind reeling.

He hadn’t mind controlled you. Sure, he threatened it, but you made every one of your decisions perfectly consciously. You chose to let him come over, you chose to feed him, and yes, you’re paying for it now, but everything you saw with your own two eyes and remember vividly as your own.

He did kind of coerce you into pretending to date him, and it was a little more like blackmail, and yeah, he did try to alter your memory, and–and…

“Shit.”

“We’ll give you a moment,” Tony quickly offers, patting you on the shoulder. “Clint is here if you need a companion with similar experience, don’t be afraid to talk through this.”

“Nooo, this can’t—”

“The good news is you’re in the clear!” The false cheeriness is anything but reassuring. “You don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to, but we do have some support, or therapy kind of things for people he hurt this way.”

You stare at Tony, then at Clint.

You’d seen footage of the assassin when he was under Loki’s control: terrifying and exceptionally believable, but nothing like what you looked like.

You take a deep breath and turn on Thor.

“Have you even thought to go talk to him??”

“Of course,” Thor immediately answers, brow furrowing. “He refuses to talk, he won’t say any more than what he wants to say.”

“But have you shown an interest in wanting the truth??”

“He’s the god of lies,” he exclaims, glaring right back at you.

Shoving up in the face of the god of thunder was never something you thought would happen, but here we are.

“That doesn’t mean anything, argh, you two are so stuck in your god complex—”

“Truth has never been his way,” Thor interrupts. “I tried to warn you he would do something like this, you can’t actually be surprised this happened.”

“Actually, I am, because apparently I’m the only person in here with an ounce of sense—you know what?” You drop your accusing finger and laugh. “Screw this. I wasn’t mind controlled.”

Then you turn on your heel and sprint down the hall to find Loki.

He’s being kept in a what’s basically a lab, and ten times worse than a cell: strapped at the wrists and ankles, he’s restrained to the bed but propped up slightly, an array of needles in his arms and cords reaching for monitors from his chest, and worst, a stupid little smirk on the lips you wish you hadn’t kissed.

“You little shit,” you hiss the moment you’re through the door. If it weren’t for the injuries still hiding beneath his facade, you’d slap him, but you resolve to grabbing the cup of water by the bed and throwing it in his face.

That wipes the smirk right off his face.

“You didn’t mind control me!”

Sputtering and shocked, he opens his mouth—

“No,” you snap, shoving a finger in his face. “No more bullshit, you didn’t mind control me. I saved your ass and I did it by choice. And I don’t regret it! You didn’t have any say in that, and yeah, you threatened it, but I never let you.”

Thor and the others crash through the doorway after you and come to a screeching halt as your rant rages.

Loki’s eyes flicker to them and for a split second he considers just taking all his strength and leaving—this can’t end well.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warn, and lean over him with a gaze so threatening and fiery the heart monitor next to him starts beeping steadily faster.

You pretend not to notice.

“I’m trying to help you,” he whispers, trying to keep up the cocky facade, but his eyes almost plead. “Trust me—”

“Trust you.”

You turn to Thor with a hysterical, exhausted laugh. “He wants me to trust him!”

The other God’s face twists in confusion.

“I don’t trust you,” you spit back at Loki. “You haven’t earned that, but I don’t want you to die, either.”

Loki’s eyebrows lift, water droplets clinging to their curve.

“Why?”

Clenching your eyes shut and chewing your bottom lip, the right words just won’t come to you.

“It’s a valid question,” Thor helpfully adds from the doorway—and in that moment, you silence a god with one burning look.

“Because I don’t—I haven’t found any…ugh.”

“See,” Loki cuts in, “alterations to the mind—”

“Because I already should’ve killed you,” you blurt, then clap a hand over your mouth, eyes wide.

Nobody moves, all staring as you try to sort through everything that’s come to light.

“The day I first saw you,” you grit out, glaring at the stubborn god, “I wanted to hurt you, I wanted you to die and I made a stupid judgement call and decided that’s what should happen.”

“Thanks,” Loki dryly remarks.

“Shut up. I shot you, that time you showed up in my office, and I really thought I–I shot you—but, um, you didn’t die.”

Your hands clench into fists by your thighs.

“And now I have to live with that guilt, even though it didn’t actually go through. So…I don’t want you to die, ‘cause after everything you’ve failed to hide from me, I don’t think you deserve to.”

The room falls silent, and Loki shifts uncomfortably on his pillow.

Damn it all to hell, maybe you were mind controlled. Where did that come from??

“Sorry,” you mumble; then with one last decision, refill the cup with water and fling it in his face again.

Just for…everything’s sake.

You flop into the nearest chair and drop your head into your hands with a groan.

“So…”

Tony clears his throat, gaze falling on Loki.

He’s never seen the god trying so hard to look like himself.

“You better start freaking talking.”

Loki considers it for half a moment—eyes flitting to you and really weighing the options—and with a twitch of his lips, his restraints fade and he stands.

“Mm…no.”

The plan was to fade into nothing and leave them all grasping for him right at that moment, but you’re on him in an instant, tackling him back onto the bed.

“YOU’RE GOING TO FUCKING TALK,” you screech, pinning him to the mattress. “YOU’RE GOING TO TELL THE TRUTH AND WE’RE GOING TO HELP YOU, YOU LITTLE—”

“Fine, fine, norns,” he gasps, struggling to catch your arms and flip the tables, “gods, woman, STOP—”

Thor moves to grab you, but you finally come to a stop simply holding Loki’s shoulders down—and straddling his hips, you realise, but like, professionally.

The heart rate monitor is going ballistic, and Loki can’t glare up at you with enough venom.

“You are the stupidest, most disdainful midgardian I have ever encountered—”

“Oh, cause all your interactions with mortals were so great,” you scoff, pressing down harder on his shoulders. “I’m sure all your subjects would agree—”

“Hey,” Tony cuts in, stepping closer to the two of you—on top of each other on a bed, you remember. Oh well. “What the hell is happening right now??”

“Loki is going to drop all his magic shit, right now.”

“Like Hel I am,” the god under you spits.

“Take it off,” you order and give him a good shake, “all of them, off, no magic.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Do it, dipshit—”

“No.”

“Yes!”

“No!” He mimics, that sick grin back on his face. “There’s no point at all—what are you doing??”

Practically ripping his shirt open, to be specific, and Thor gasps, positively scandalised by the image you can only imagine this looks like.

The beeping of his heart rate speeds to a ridiculous amount and you actually catch a deep flush spreading over his face; pushing the shirt from his shoulders, you climb off of him and take advantage of his fluster to shove him onto his side.

“HAH.”

You point in triumph at his back as he scrambles to pull the blanket over himself.

Gaze falling on the array of something on his brother’s back, Thor holds out a hand to summon mjolnir with a whoosh and a thud; he grabs Loki to push him onto his stomach before he can get away, and sets the hammer right on his butt.

“You have got to be joking.”

“Nice trick,” you tell Thor, clapping him on the shoulder before moving to stand beside Loki. “See? Told you.”

Thor moves first, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to poke one of the barely scabbed cuts on his brother’s back—you catch his wrist before he can.

“That’ll hurt.”

He can’t speak a word, silently staring at the plethora of half-bloody lashes striking across his brother’s skin. You can’t blame him.

“I hate every single one of you,” Loki announces from his pillow, still struggling to move. “You will pay dearly for this—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you cut in dismissively, “we know, you’re a big, tough, scary god. Now shush.”

You can practically hear him gritting his teeth together, no doubt holding himself back.

“So…someone did this to you?” Tony asks, cautiously scanning the god for other signs of abuse.

“No, I did it to myself, Iron Man.”

“Sorry, bad wording. Mind telling us who the hell we should be searching for, if it’s not you?”

“Thor, get your precious hammer off my arse—”

“C’mon, Thor.” You wave him over with a nod. “Let him talk to us when he can face us, I think he’s thoroughly humiliated.”

Thor removes the hammer, and you help Loki struggle to pull himself onto his pillows and face the rest of the group.

Most of the team has joined now, no doubt hearing the screaming matches from ten floors up, and sit sparsely around the little lab, waiting.

Finally situated, Loki draws in a slow breath, casting his gaze around the room at the somber faces.

You can’t help but notice when he makes eye contact with Clint and immediately gets a burning death glare in return—it only makes sense, after what Loki, or who you thought to be Loki, did to him.

“Talk to us,” you whisper, perching on the edge of his hospital bed.

The beeping from the heart rate monitor picks up in the slightest.

This time, you glance over to watch the little spikes get closer and closer together as Loki, the god of lies you almost killed, decides to tell the truth.

—

There’s a new air sitting heavy in the little room when Loki finishes, slumping back onto his pillows in defeat.

No one responds, and you don’t think anyone wants to.

To your surprise, Clint breaks the silence.

“No one should ever have their conscience ripped apart,” he states flatly, void of emotion and staring at the wall. “But you’ve got a long ways to go before you have my respect or forgiveness.”

That gets a couple nods scattered around the room.

“I am not asking for forgiveness,” Loki says, steeling himself. “And I certainly don’t need your respect. Just punish me, release me, kill me, make a decision.”

Steve stands with a slow exhale, gaze hard as concrete. “I think we need a moment,” he tells Loki, turning to nod to the rest of the team. “Thank you for your honesty. We’ll see to it that you’re healed, but past that…we’ll get back to you.”

Tony stands, too, shakey and deep in thought.

“Sorry you got pulled into this,” he says to you with a small smile. “But thanks for all your help. And thanks for jumping him, I don’t think he would’ve talked if you hadn’t.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it.” You point to the silent god next to you. “Thanks for believing me and letting him talk.”

Thor has yet to speak.

The rest of the team trickles out of the room, eventually leaving just the two of you and a couple guards stationed outside the door.

You certainly don’t want to talk first, so you slip off his hospital bed and wait uncomfortably by his bedside.

Not sure what you’re expecting, to be completely honest.

Maybe an apology for…everything, but your hopes aren’t too high.

Loki just picks at the palm of one hand, staring holes into the wall.

You clear your throat. “Well, I’m gonna go—”

“Thank you.”

That gets you to freeze. “Excuse me?”

“Thank you,” he repeats, still refusing to look at you. “I owe you a great deal.”

“I mean, I did try to kill you, so I think we’re even—”

“You’ve kept me alive,” he cuts in, “when I didn’t even want to be. That…annoyed me at the time, but if this is another chance they decide to give me, I–I suppose I owe it to you.”

It’s not an apology, but you’ll absolutely take it.

“Well.” Fighting back a smile, you drop your gaze to your hands. “Sorry for–for shooting you. And tasing you. And all that stuff.”

“Don’t be.”

A relieved breath lifts your chest and you give him a small smile.

“Mind if I stay a bit?” You point at the couch in the room, “I’m exhausted.”

He nods, fishing around in the blankets for his shirt again—it’s on the floor, but you find yourself deciding not to share that with him.

“Be my guest.”

You can’t help the sigh that leaves your lips as you sink into the cushions, as uncomfortable as they may be.

Maybe, for once, when you wake up, you can begin your normal life again, with no fake boyfriends and world-threatening secrets.

Then you remember you kissed a god last night.

Who’s still shirtless on a hospital bed, barely an arm’s reach from you.

“Loki?”

“What?”

“You passed out after I kissed you,” you grin, closing your eyes. “In case you didn’t remember.”

“And your point?” He doesn’t exactly sound happy to be reminded, but the beeping of his heart rate monitor speeds up again and tells differently.

“I gotta ask. If you passed out, how long has it been since—”

“Centuries,” Loki blurts much too quickly, and the beeping might’ve reached a concerning level. “Cut me some slack.”

“Centuries,” you repeat with a low whistle. “Well then.”

“It wasn’t because of that,” he assures you, wishing you’d just change the subject. “I was knocked out right afterwards by a guard, a fist straight to the head.”

“Right.” You smile at the ceiling, eyes still closed. “Definitely wasn’t the kiss.”

“Of course not.”

His heart rate hasn’t slowed.

Loki takes one look at the scribbled lines flashing furiously on the monitor and promptly rips the cords from his chest.

“Right.”

―   ―   ―   ―

fuel the writer?

~ masterlist link in my bio ~

loki tags: @bluediamond007 @himitoshi @drakesfiance @destiel1597 @dangertoozmanykids101 @archy3001 @jcalpha1 @yzssie @skullvieplu @forthesnakeofdragons @skulliebythesea @wegingerangelica @storiesfrommirkwood @agarwaeneth @adaliamalfoy @laurfangirl424@fitzsimmons-is-forever @ladylokimischief @katelinwrites @tarynkauai @polaristrange @loavesofmeat @canadian-ravenpuff-multishipper @lou-makes-me-strong @holyn0vak @chocolatealmondmillk @swtnrholland @kenzieam @jessiejunebug  @catticas @the-republic-and-face-of-texas

~ breaking up the taglist to fix the scrolling problem! ~

@doralupin01 @whitewitchdown @atomiccharmer @falconfeather23435 @babygirlicecream @avengrcs @vethrvolnir2 @bookgirlunicorn @wabisabigrl @myhealingstar @khaleesi-marvel @ei77777 @spacecrumbs @scarlettghost13 @rocks-are-pretty-odd @confessionsofastrugglingteen @easilydistractedwriter @arttasticgreatnessoftheawesome77 @fluffyllamaswearinghats @milktearose @lcyouinhell @h0tshotholland @dontmesswithmemundane @southsidesarcasticwriter @helnik-s @lilith-akemi @fire-in-her-veinz @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt @mischievousbellerina @kcd15

~ scroll here ~

@mellowgirl01 @lokislilcaribbeanprincess @allthingzhiddleston @scorpionchild81 @lokixme @blue-automne @devilbat @kangaroobunny @end-up-well @planetariumx @sarcsep @mrfandomtastic @amaru163 @im-way-too-many-fandoms @caswinchester2000 @kybaeza @wester-than-west @vintagesunshinebitch @adefectivedetective @poetic-nikolai @moonduhsted @kerri-masson @iamverity @innaminitus @spnbarnes @narcissxblack @woohoney @anxiousamandapanda @padmeisgay @authordreaming13 @lokisironthrone @theunknowinglys

~ scroll here ~

@highfuncti0ningfangirl @epicfallenismine @stubby-toe-589331 @fandomnerdsarecool @retrofantasyland @arch-venus25 @forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @littleredstarfish @marshyrebelcloud @okie–loki @atterodominatus @stfxlou @pandacookieowo @tonakings @shinisenko @tinchentitri @nildespirandum @thefallenbibliophilequote @vodka-and-some-sass @highfunctioningfangirl19 @sadwaywardkid @lokioneshot @brooksaza @wild-honey-piy @ellaenchanted91 @watermelon-lights19 @just-another-romantic @skinny-macncheese @lokisironthrone @rorybutnotgilmore

~ scroll here ~

@toozmanykids

[iridescent-petrichor]

we’re living in a dream, baby

Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Beer/Parties, mild insecurity about your body

Words: 2.2K words

A/N: This is very loosely based on a dream I had, except the dream I had consisted of me sprinting away from mr. steve harrington while being aggressively insecure about my body

It was a warm Tuesday afternoon, nearing the end of summer – not that it mattered for you or Steve considering you were both out of high school. You stood at the counter of Family Video where Steve was manning the register. Or at least, he was supposed to be manning the register. Currently, he was sitting on top of the counter talking to you about the unbearable summer heat of Hawkins. When a customer approached, you had to cover up your laughter at Steve rushing to jump off the counter, cursing under his breath.

He hurriedly rings the man up, barely giving him a glance as he handed the movie back and took the money. As he left, he dramatically turned back to you. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“By your job?” You laughed, eliciting a smile from Steve. You loved making him smile, it was one of your favorite things about him.

“So, anyways, Robin mentioned a few people at the highschool are heading to the lake tonight as one final ‘hoorah’ before school starts. I was wondering if you wanted to tag along with us?”

“Isn’t it a little sad for two people who’ve already graduated to go to a party full of highschoolers?” You asked despite how little you already cared as long as you got to spend the night with him.

“Yeah, but the free alcohol.” Ah, of course. It was a highschool party after all.

You hum, pretending to think for a moment, “well, you’ve convinced me.” You smile brightly. “What time?”

“I can pick you up at 7:30. Deal?” You nod, moving away from the counter. When you turn to leave, yelling goodbye to Robin without looking behind you, and walk out the store, you miss the way Steve’s smile fades when you pull away. Just before the door to the shop closes, you call out, “see you tonight!” And get into your car, trying to ignore the butterflies bubbling up in your stomach.

“See you.” He mutters with a dopey smile on his face, knowing full well you couldn’t hear him.

“Dude, you are so whipped for this girl.” Steve jumped, nearly knocking his elbow against the register before he stopped himself.

“Jesus! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you’re not doing your damn job.” Robin smiles, flipping him off before grabbing a stack of movies to stack on the shelves. Steve sighed, crossing his arms and looking outside where you were just standing. She was right, Steve was so whipped for you.

 7:30 came quicker than you would’ve liked. You stood in front of your mirror, criticizing every little thing about how you looked in the bikini you bought at the beginning of the summer. Of course, you never had the opportunity nor the confidence to wear it in public, but it was the only swimsuit you had that fit. You hear a car pull up to your driveway through your open window and quickly throw a loose dress over your swimsuit.

By the time Steve got one knock in, you ripped the front door open, smiling widely. He’s wearing a navy T-shirt paired with red swim shorts, and you enjoy seeing how happy he looks. Ever since everything went down in Hawkins the past few years, it got harder to get a genuine smile out of him.

“Hey!” You say, taking a moment to catch your breath.

He laughs for a moment, looking at you. “Ready to go?”

You nod, calling out a goodbye to wherever in the house your parents were and followed him outside.

The two of you climb into his car, neither one of you speaking as he pulls out of your driveway. The silence feels deafening, both of you suddenly too nervous to say anything. Tension builds quickly between you two, and you can’t help but notice how stuffy Steve’s car feels despite the fact that Steve’s window was rolled down. You hold back a sigh, leaning your head against your hand and looking outside at the passing trees.

“We still have to pick Robin up, by the way.” You nod at Steve’s words, hoping Robin’s comforting presence will relieve the tension in the car.

 The air in the car seems to clear the moment Robin gets in the car, and it’s not long before she and Steve are having a dumb argument over whether or not Risky Business was a better movie than The Breakfast Club.

“It’s a great movie! It brings all the different groups together in detention!” Robin yelled, and you could’ve sworn they’ve had this argument before.

“You just think Molly Ringwald is hot!”

“And you don’t?”

You laugh louder than you anticipated at your friends, and they both stop.

Steve glances at you as he drives down the empty road, “Y/N, what do you think?”

“Y/N obviously you know the right answer-”

“Okay Robin at least let her talk-”

“I don’t know!” You cut him off, throwing your arms up in surrender. “I never saw Risky Business when it was out, but Robin did make me watch The Breakfast Club…”

“One point for me! I win, Harrington!”

“No no no, that doesn’t count she hasn’t even seen it-”

“Doesn’t matter, it’s not as good-”

“That’s not fair-”

“You’re just upset cause YN has good taste in movies-”

“She didn’t even say she liked it better-”

“But it still wins by default-”

“She hasn’t even seen it! YN, I’m renting Risky Business tomorrow and we’re watching it at my place.”

You did not miss the way Robin wiggled her eyebrows at you in the rearview mirror.

“Uh, yeah sure. I can- I can do that.” Robin laughs loudly behind you, and you reach around to hit her.

“She’s going to side with me!”

Steve shook his head, laughing as he pulled over on the side of the road. You could see the lake in the distance, nerves finally catching up to you, and sighed to yourself as you prepared for a long night. Why did you agree to this anyways?

“Alright, let’s have fun!” Steve cheered, climbing out of the car.

Oh right. That’s why.

He quickly takes his shirt off, shoving it in the backseat while Robin shrugged off her shorts and t-shirt, revealing a light blue one piece, before doing the same. Hesitantly, you followed suit, removing your dress, and throwing it into the pile of clothes. Your arms instantly shot up and rest around our midriff as the three of you made your trek towards the lake.

It didn’t take much walking before you were stepping over the trash people have left around in their drunken stupors. Glancing at the beer cans strewn about, you briefly wondered who would be the unlucky one to have to clean them all up before Robin grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the party.

One thing you knew for sure, was there were a lot of high schoolers here. And not only were you and Steve not in high school anymore, you felt way too exposed in your bikini. You tried to turn to Steve to have someone else out of place to stick to, but he was already talking to a girl – probably a senior? You’d seen her around the halls, but she was never in your circle. The pit in your stomach feels heavier by the second, so you look to Robin for help.

She’s already heading towards the lake with a couple band friends of hers, one you can even pinpoint as what you and Steve call “the girl” at work based on how often she comes to visit when Robin’s working to “check out the movies” but you’ve seen enough flirting to know better by now.

Your two best friends were gone, and you feel like an idiot for agreeing to go to this stupid party. It feels like everyone is staring at you, and your arms stay firmly around your sides.

It’s not like you could just leave, anyways. Your house is across town and you’re not walking home this close to sunset in the least amount of clothes you think you’ve ever worn. And your clothes are locked in Steve’s car. Which is definitely locked.

There’s no “corner” that you can curl up and hide from people in, so you walk down towards the lake and find a relatively empty spot to sit, dipping your legs in and trying to relax. After all, if you’re stuck here for the next couple hours you might as well try to enjoy yourself.

You almost begin to enjoy yourself as you start people watching, observing the faces of the people you’ve seen around town or school a couple times as they stumble around to the music playing out of the boombox someone brought. Living in a small town meant that you’d probably seen these people before, and you’d definitely see them again in your lifetime. But they definitely won’t remember it, cause most of the people here seem drunk enough that they won’t remember much in the morning.

It feels like no time has passed, but if someone asked you, you couldn’t accurately tell them how long you’ve been sitting there. Suddenly, you feel a hand on your shoulder that makes you jerk back, nearly falling into the lake before the mystery person steadies you.

“Whoa, hey.” Steve’s voice is soft, crouching down to your level as he keeps his hand on your shoulder until he’s sure you’re not gonna suddenly drop into the lake. “I was looking for you, dude. You just kinda disappeared.”

“Oh yeah,” you force a smile, avoiding his stare in favor of looking at the people swimming in the lake. “I guess you just seemed sort of… busy.”

He sits down next to you, his own legs now dipping into the water as well. “Yeah it seems like some people didn’t get the memo that I’m not really top dog anymore, huh?” When you don’t respond he frowns, scooting closer to you. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You look him in the eyes, trying to convince him despite both of you knowing your smile isn’t quite reaching your eyes. “Seriously, don’t worry about me. Go have fun!”

Still, he refuses to move. “I’m not going to leave you just sitting here alone, Y/N.” He slips off the rock the two of you were sitting on, into the lake, and grins at you. “C’mon, don’t make me pull you in.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t stop the smile from creeping up onto your face. With a quiet laugh, you follow his lead and hop off the rock into the lake. The cold water is a shock, but you can’t find it in you to care because Steve is staring at you like you’re the only person in the world and it feels like nothing else matters in that moment. Carefully, and almost too slowly, Steve swims closer to you, placing his hand on one of the rocks beside you to hold himself there. The space between the two of you is practically nonexistent, and for the second time that day, butterflies flutter around in your belly. It feels like the entire world stops spinning just for you, and when you look up at him, he begins to lean closer, nearly closing the gap between you until-

A sharp scream erupts from somewhere around you and before you can process who that was or why they screamed in the first place, cold water splashes into your face. You shielded your eyes from the onslaught of water, laughter bubbling up in your throat. A few people cheer at the size of the stranger’s cannonball, and once the water settles, you feel Steve’s gaze stuck on you

“Got a staring problem?”

“You’re beautiful.”

Whatever joke you were going to make dies on your tongue. You stare at him in awe, trying to process that you did, in fact, hear him correctly. At your silence, Steve reels backwards, groaning.

“Sorry I just-”

You cut him off, pulling him against you and kissing him. One of his arms loop around your waist, and he presses the other against a rock, keeping you two afloat. It almost doesn’t feel real, and god is Steve a good kisser. A moment goes by before you hear a singular voice whooping and hollering, recognizing it to be Robin’s, and smile through the kiss.

You pull away too soon for your liking to catch your breath, and stare at him.

“Having fun yet?” His arm stays hooked around your waist, holding you close.

You feel like your face is gonna split open from how much you’re smiling. “Yeah, I think so. Although we haven’t had any of that free alcohol you mentioned.” If it was even possible, Steve’s smile widened.

With that, the two of you clamber out of the lake, and Steve grabs your hand as he runs over to a cooler of beer he spotted on his way over to you. His hand doesn’t leave yours for the rest of the night.

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱 | 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤

Rowaelin modern AU ▶ Masterlist

note: boy, this chapter really killed me. you'd all better appreciate the fuck out of this one because it fought me real hard. I'm surprised I made it out!

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Rowan knew he should stop staring before she noticed.

Aelin arrived to class earlier than usual, a rare occurrence for her, and seated herself in the farthest row from her normal seat. The new placement was a message, loud and clear, how unwilling she was to talk to him—let alone explain herself. The hood of her sweatshirt covered a better part of her face and she tugged it forward every so often, hiding her left cheek from view like she had that evening at the diner when he walked out.

She looked the same as ever—he didn't know why he expected otherwise.

He couldn't keep his attention from her, no matter how hard he tried. Aelin didn't look at him the whole week except when she slammed the project file she had finished herself on his desk two days after their arguement.

Dorian had an arm around her shoulder. He whispered something in her ear and she laughed out loud—too loud, even.

For a moment, her face scrunched up in a wince, the smile faltered as her hand shot up to the hidden cheek. Then she caught herself and fixed her expression fast enough that Rowan wasn't sure he had imagined it until he noticed the frown on Dorian's face.

He leaned forward to catch snippets of their conversation. "...still think you should tell... unsafe, move in with..." Dorian's face grew more serious with each word. Perhaps it was no business of Rowan's but he noticed Aelin's tense shoulders, a suddenly rigid and defensive posture that he couldn't resist trying to listen.

"I know I have to... he sleeps all day, not bothering... few more months."

The two of them quieted down when the teacher entered. Rowan couldn't stop thinking about that half-known conversation he listened to.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

A week passed; Aelin didn't bother to talk to him. Rowan's pride refused to let him surrender. It didn't stop him from wishing they could talk.

He watched from his seat in the school cafeteria as she talked to her friends, loud and proud. She never looked his way but sometimes when Rowan saw those littlest of twitches in her lips when he stared at her, as if she knew he was looking. He shook the idea away. Whatever they had been—friends, acquaintances, group partners—it was over now.

The sooner Rowan accepted that, the better it would be for all.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Another two days later, Rowan found himself in Cairn's office. He'd been accepted into the team out of nowhere after more than two years worth of applications and requests.

Rowan knew who made that happen.

He couldn't sleep that night. When he closed his eyes, she was all he saw. He tossed and turned, hoping to drown out the pleas she had made of him, the way her voice sounded so little when she asked him to let her explain, to at least let her talk. He'd been so mad when after an hour of waiting, he saw she'd finally arrived only to flirt with the waiter. And maybe it wasn't about her being irresponsible at all. Maybe he'd been so angry at seeing her flirt with that gods damned asshole—Sam Cortland—that Rowan overreacted.

Tomorrow, he promised himself, he'd fix this and they'd be friends again.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Aelin was absent the next day, and the next day and the next.

Rowan assumed she must have had some reason the first two days. The third day, he sat in a corner table in the cafeteria and almost out of force of habit, he looked towards her usual seat to find solemn looking faces. He couldn't build up the nerve to talk to them though. Aedion glared at him every time they ran into each other since the fight with Aelin and his ire only seemed increased now, Lorcan refused to talk to anyone, standing up silently in one corner. Aedion's girlfriend was back from her trip and kept close to him at all times, the rest of the group quieter than usual.

When Aelin didn't come to school another day, Rowan approached Dorian—the only one of her friends who won't punch him in the face right now—in the library. The dark-haired guy sat quietly in a corner, his eyes on the book in his hands. Rowan could tell by the unfocused way they moved that he wasn't actually reading. He looked up when Rowan sat down beside him, not quite sure how to start.

Thankfully, Dorian Havilliard took pity on him. "I'm assuming you want to know where Aelin is?"

Rowan nodded.

Dorian tried to give him a reassuring smile but it faltered. He forced out, "She'll be fine, she's alright, she'll be back any day now." The words were meant to assure him but instead, they worried him more. Dorian sounded like he was trying to convince himself she would be fine.

"Look, I was a bad friend. I have no right to ask this but I need to know."

Dorian said, "There's nothing to know."

"Please, Dorian," he said, "I know something isn't fine. If she's hurt—"

Dorian shook his head, then in the most firm voice he'd ever used, he said, "She isn't hurt. Aelin is fine." Then he added, "But I can't tell you why she's not here. It's not my secret to tell."

He didn't like that at all, especially not the sad expression on Dorian's face. His mind kept taking him back to the worst case scenarios and he couldn't handle the thought of Aelin being hurt or in trouble. But Rowan did understand that he was keeping Aelin's privacy. He nodded, about to leave.

Dorian cleared his throat. "I can't tell you but I can give you her address? If you want to—I mean—"

"I'll take it," Rowan interrupted.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

Aelin trembled as she looked through the keyhole. The man—boy, she realised—wore a leather jacket from what she could see. Not Arobynn. The backpack in his hand meant he was from her school. The boy held a bouquet of flowers in his other hand. It seemed like a safe bet that it was a student. It couldn't be Fenrys since he'd left only recently and Aedion was spending time with Lysandra, she was sure.

Aelin opened the door a little, cautiously peeking her head out. She threw it open in relief when she saw the visitor.

Rowan Whitethorn stepped forward and extended a bouquet of kingsflame flowers towards her. "I'm sorry I didn't let you explain yourself," he said. He scanned her up and down once and a weight settled in her stomach when she realised what she must look like—puffy red eyes, mascara running down both cheeks, clothes rumpled.

She tugged the hood of her sweatshirt forward, making him frown. "Can I see?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

He shook his head. "Please, Aelin? I need to—I want to help. Please?" It was the please that broke her resolve. Aelin nodded, throwing her hood off.

Rowan took a sharp breath. There was a shallow scab on her left cheek, face stained with tears and her mussed out hair were much shorter than they'd once been. He ran his hand over the cut with a gentle touch, dazed, as if he didn't know what he was doing.

Aelin swallowed. "What? My new look that bad, you're speechless?" she joked but her words came out bitter.

"What happened?" He'd asked that question before and she hadn't answered. Aelin didn't know if she should answer him now but she did know she wanted to. She could hear Lorcan inside her head, telling her to do whatever she wanted.

Aelin couldn't keep the hurt off her voice. "He made me—he cut my hair. He had no right! I told him he had no right and he... shattered wine bottle... I don't want to—he didn't listen." Without thinking, Aelin threw her arms around his neck and held on for dear life.

Rowan helped her inside, seating her down on the couch. "I'm here, Ace."

She stood him up, then refused to talk to him and didn't even explain herself. Still, he was here. "I didn't—that day, you called—I wanted to come but he came home—Arobynn—I tried to sneak out but he was drunk and I—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Aelin didn't want to look at Rowan and see how she'd hurt him. She buried her face in his chest.

"You have nothing to apologise for." Unflinching steel shone in his green eyes. "You can trust me, Ace."

Trust, she did. She told him everything, starting from the accident that killed both of her parents, followed by the demise of her Uncle Orlon. The mantle of raising her fell on a distant relative Arobynn's shoulder when she was eight. He didn't know the first thing about kids but this one had an inheritance that he could leech off for a few years. At first, he left her alone to do as it pleased her, free to do whatever she wanted. Then he started drinking more than usual, came home at odd hours of the morning until one day, Aelin threw a fit and he threw a vase at her.

It worsened over time.

His contacts in the police force prevented her from being able to report the bastard and now, with less than an year left for her to turn eighteen, she found it wise to not provoke him and spend this year somehow.

Aelin waited for him to rise up and leave after hearing that, waited for him to tell her she was an idiot or something.

He didn't run. "Who else knows?"

"Aedion, Lysandra, Lorcan, Dorian, Fenrys and—and Chaol." Her throat tightened at the memory of him. "That's my ex. We, uh, we broke up a few days after I told him. He insisted I should go to the police but—"

"—but if he managed to use his contacts, it would be worse?" When she nodded, Rowan tightened his hold. "I'm sorry I was an asshole."

She shook her head, leaning forward. They were close enough that their foreheads touched. "I'm sorry—" At the growl of protest from Rowan, she shut up, letting her sentence hang unfinished. "How did you know where I live? I'm sure I didn't tell you."

"Dorian told me."

Of course he did, that matchmaking know-it-all bastard. "If this had gone bad, I would've killed him."

"Fortunately for all of us, it didn't."

"Fortunately," Aelin smiled.

Rowan smiled back at her. She had never seen him smile before. "You're the strongest person I know, fireheart."

That nickname—it made her heart flutter. She tried not to smile like an idiot at his words but it was impossible. Aelin asked, "The strongest? Even if you and Lorcan could probably crush my skull in like point five seconds?"

"Even then," he answered.

Aelin felt good. She hadn't felt good in quite some time.

──────✧❅✦❅✧──────

tags:

@thesirenwashere // @judexcardanxgreenbriar //@fangirltrash74 // @the-dark-swan // @queenofgreenbriar // @clockworkgraystairs // @julemmaes // @rowaelinforeverworld // @mymultiversee // @queen-of-glass // @strangely-constructed-soul // @mijaldraws // @http-itsrebecca // @aesthetics-11 // @lord-douglas-the-third // @flowersinvegas // @towhateverend17 // @aelinchocolatelover // @justabunchoffandoms // @cool-ish-nerd // @faerie-queen-fireheart // @sad-book-whore // @didsomeonesayviolin // @atozfantazyxx // @hizqueen4life // @the-gods-killer // @booknerdproblems // @annejulianneh111 // @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln // @b00kworm // @mysweetvillain // @curlyredqueen06 // @moondancer-204 // @thesurielships // @witchling-leonor // @ladywitchling // @amren-courtofdreams // @ifinallygavein // @jlinez // @faequeenaelin // @df3ndyr // @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato // @bitchy-knees // @superspiritfestival

btw I absolutely love to hear from y'all so please do share your thoughts. if you're uncomfortable, send a message/ask/comment (hell, reblog it and write it in the tags if that's what you'd like) but please do tell me how you like it!

[spicykoreantatertots]

The Dive Bar and an Old Fashioned (or Five)

Pairing: CEO!Taehyung x Bartender!Jungkook (briefly ft. Beomgyu of TXT)

Word Count: 5k

Genres: Non-Idol AU

Warnings: Misunderstandings and a trip to the hospital (but everyone is okay).

A/N: I’m so happy I got the opportunity to write this fic in honor of one of @bangtan-headquarters​‘ editors, @rkivepacks​!! This is a very well deserved gift and I apologize for the delay on getting this out. I hope you can enjoy this! Also shout out to @guktro​ for the stunning banner! ~~~~~~~ After signing the lease on a new warehouse down town, Taehyung decides to stop by a nearby dive bar for a quick drink to celebrate the further expansion of his company. 

Taehyung pulls on the heavy door and quickly steps in. He starts to pull off his dark Armani jacket, but he quickly realizes that there is no one there to take it from him. He shrugs it back on and walks toward the bar. 

The dim lighting makes it hard to tell which of the bar stools is the least dirty and he wonders if that’s intentional. The bar top itself is surprisingly not sticky. While waiting on the bartender to make an appearance, Taehyung scans the other patrons. 

Several large men with oil-stained hands sit around a table, beers piling up quickly in the middle. A couple of older men sitting at the other end of the bar sipping on whiskeys. There’s a few people huddled around a game of cards in the back corner booth. Quite a few people considering it’s just after 5pm on a weeknight. 

“I’ll be right with you.” The bartender nods in Taehyung’s direction, appearing from behind a swinging door carrying a large tray of nachos. He takes it over to the table of large men and clears away the empty beer bottles. 

“What can I get you?” The bartender asks when he approaches. Taehyung looks up to ask for his usual, but his breath catches. From a distance, he didn’t realize how beautiful the bartender is. 

“Uh, just, uh, whatever’s on special.” Taehyung chokes out and, to his dismay, the bartender flashes a half smile. He quickly looks down at his phone to try and catch his breath. He scrolls through a few work emails and responds to a text from his mom, something he’d been putting off.

The bartender sets down an Old Fashioned in front of Taehyung and heads back into the kitchen. Taehyung sets his phone down and lifts the glass a few inches, inspecting its contents. 

He’s used to drinking cocktails made with the finest spirits, but he can’t imagine that this bar has anything higher quality than Jim Beam. There’s a thick slice of an orange and two cherries floating alongside the ice cubes. He’s not quite sure what to make of it, but he takes a sip anyway. 

The cheap bourbon burns on its way down, but there’s a sweet aftertaste that follows. The bartender definitely put too much sugar in, but the sweetness soothes his throat. Taehyung gulps down the drink, not wanting to offend the handsome bartender, but also not wanting to savor the taste of it.

“Did you like it?” The bartender seems to have appeared out of nowhere, his dark eyes wide and hopeful. Taehyung scans his beautiful features, a face he refuses to disappoint. 

“It was actually really really good!” Taehyung overenthuses. He picks up the glass and shakes the ice around. 

“Great I’ll make you another!” The bartender spins on his heels and grabs a new glass. 

“No I-” Taehyung stops himself, accepting his defeat. “That’d be great... what’s your name, Mr. Bartender?” He questions. 

“Jungkook.” The bartender turns back around and sets a fresh drink in front Taehyung. “And you are?” 

“I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” Taehyung tries to smile behind another sip of cheap bourbon. It doesn’t burn as much when he’s got two doe eyes trained on him.

The third doesn’t burn quite as much either.

The fourth doesn’t burn at all.

The fifth... well Taehyung can barely remember the fifth drink of the night. 

~~~~~~~

A loud and unfamiliar ringing sound wakes Taehyung. When he opens his eyes, he can see sunlight pouring in, and he knows he’s late for work. He pulls back the sheets and rushes to find the source of the ringing. 

He follows the sound through his large penthouse and finds himself in a room he very rarely visits: the utility room. Hanging on the wall near the cabinet with cleaning supplies is a corded landline phone. 

Who even has landlines anymore?

“Hello?” Taehyung picks up the phone, fiddling with the tangled cord. 

“You’re late.” Hye-jin is on the other end.

“Why do I have a landline phone in my million dollar penthouse?” Taehyung rubs the bridge of his nose, a headache is forming behind his brow.

“So I can call you when your phone is dead and you are late.” She responds.

“Can you rearrange some things? I need a shower and some coffee.” And some time to remember what I did last night. Taehyung yawns into the phone. He just hopes he didn’t make too much of a fool of himself in front of Jungkook.

“I can’t rearrange an international call, you know that. There’s a driver there to pick you up, we’ll have to go pick up your car later. I hope it’s still intact. I’ll have coffee for you by the time you get here.”

“Thanks.” Taehyung slams the phone into its holder. Much more satisfying than hitting the non-existent button on a glass screen. 

Taehyung returns to his bedroom and plugs his phone into the wall. It charges up while he washes his face and brushes his teeth. He carefully puts on a clean suit and grabs a pair of sunglasses before he heads down to the ground floor. 

In the town car, he finally opens his phone and scrolls through the barrage of emails, texts, and other notifications from his assistant Hye-jin. At the bottom of the notifications, there are a few texts from The Cute Bartender.

The headache intensifies, but Taehyung clicks on the messages to assess the damage.

TCB [2:40am]: Hey let me know when you get home safe. 

TCB [2:46am]: Oh I realize your phone is probably dead. Maybe when you come back for your car you could stop back in for another drink. It was nice talking to you all night. 

TCB [3:34am]: Next time I won’t make you so many Old Fashioneds. 

Taehyung breaths out a small sigh of relief. It’s not as bad as he expected it to be considering he can’t really remember what happened. 

~~~~~~~

Hye-jin greets Taehyung in the lobby of the office building with an iced coffee. She updates him on his meetings for the day as they walk toward the elevator, but the moment the doors close, she changes the subject. 

“Tell me about Jungkook.” Hye-jin turns and cocks her eyebrow. Taehyung tries not to react. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He replies, taking a rather large sip of his drink. 

“Did you check all your texts this morning? You texted me a dozen times last night about “the cutest guy you’ve ever seen” and I want to know more.” She emphasizes her urgency with a few taps of her foot. 

“Can we do this later?” Taehyung rolls his eyes, but he knows he won’t be able to avoid her forever. 

“Fine, we’ll talk when I drive you to your car later.” The elevator stops on the 47th floor instead of the 50th. Taehyung gives Hye-jin a questioning look. “I’m going to go talk to the cute girl in IT that helped me set up my new computer. I think it’s got a virus...” Hye-jin gives her best pouty face and promises to be in the conference room for the international call before stepping out of the elevator. 

Taehyung takes out his phone and scrolls through his messages with Hye-jin.

Taehyung [1:32am]: i’m at th at bar dow by the new warehouse with the CUTEST BARTNDER UVE EVR SEEN

Taehyung [1:33am]: he’s CUTE AND SINGEL AND FUNNY???

Taehyung [1:46am]: he keeps making me drinks but they are not that good

Taehyung [1:53am]: his name is jungkook and i’m going to ask him out

Taehyung [1:54am]: HAHA i can’t ask him out

Taehyung [1:55am]: i asked him out

Taehyung [2:34am]: he said he would love to go out sometime and then called me a cab is that mixed signals or what

Flashes of boisterously drunk Taehyung appear in his mind as he reads through the texts. Did he really ask out Jungkook or was he being his dramatic drunken self?

~~~~~~~

The work day drags on with meetings and spreadsheets and green juice that Hye-jin swears will cure any hangover. Taehyung swears the only cure for his hangovers is a big bowl of ramen, which he orders for lunch. The soothing broth relaxes him, heals his soul much more than some watery greens could. 

Lunchtime is one of the few times that Taehyung can sit in his office undisturbed. His secretary holds his calls, Hye-jin leaves him alone, and he can sit and enjoy the view from his window. The world seems so small from the 50th floor. 

Today, after slurping down his ramen, he stands in front of the floor to ceiling windows and looks far off to the east. He can’t quite see the warehouse from here, but if he focuses hard enough he can imagine where it would be. He can imagine the bar down the street too. 

There’s not much that Taehyung can learn about Jungkook without having his last name. He searches for the dive bar on Google, but aside from the phone number and hours of operation, there’s not a lot of information to go off of. A text pops up, interrupting his thoughts. 

Hye-jin [1:17pm]: Sorry to bother you during your lunch, but I ran a background check on Jungkook. I can bring you the report if you’d like to see it.

Taehyung [1:17pm]: How did you find him, I don’t even know his last name.

Hye-jin [1:18pm]: Do you doubt my sleuthing skills?

He should have known that Hye-jin would go sleuthing sooner or later. Taehyung flips back over to the unhelpful Google search. And he thinks. Does he really want to know what that report has to say about Jungkook? His past jobs, education, relatives, his debt? And what does Jungkook know about Taehyung? Probably not a lot. 

Taehyung [1:19pm]: Is there anything dangerous in his past?

Hye-jin [1:21pm]: No, there’s not. He seems pretty legit.

Taehyung [1:21pm]: Then I don’t want to see it.

Hye-jin [1:21pm]: WHAT

~~~~~~~

“Would you mind explaining to me why you don’t want to read this THOROUGH report about your new love interest?” Hye-jin interrogates Taehyung the moment he steps into her car after work. 

“Can you even call him a love interest? I don’t even remember asking him out.” Taehyung points out. 

“I’m just trying to protect you.” Hye-jin sighs. “You know people take advantage of wealthy men with good hearts...” 

Silence falls between them in the car. Taehyung knows that she’s right. He’s been hurt many times before.

“Maybe I should... try to hide it.” He suggests.

“Hide what? Your money?” Hye-jin scoffs. “You better get rid of that Rolex and that Armani tie.”

“You think he can tell?”

“He’s a man who dates men. He can tell.” Hye-jin and Taehyung roll their eyes at each other. 

Hye-jin pulls up next to Taehyung’s BMW and waits for him to get out. 

“You know, you probably shouldn’t let him see that car either.” She laughs. 

Taehyung gets out of her car and walks around his car once to make sure everything is just the way he left it. After finding his hubcaps intact, he unlocks his car and gets in. Hye-jin honks a couple of times as she drives away. 

He flips the sun visor to look at himself in the mirror. His hair is getting long again, it’s curling at the ends. He looks pretty good for someone who got absolutely hammered last night. Looking down at his watch, he decides to shed the accessories that make him stand out from the crowd. His watch, his tie, and his Saint Laurent wallet, opting to shove a few twenties in his pocket instead. 

He gets out of his car and walks down the street toward the bar he visited the night before. As he approaches the door, he can feel the nerves fluttering around in his stomach. He recalls the cheeky smile on Jungkook’s face and he cannot wait to see it again. 

Once again ducking into the poorly lit bar, Taehyung heads straight for the bar. 

“There he is!” Jungkook shouts from behind the bar. He begins slowly clapping as Taehyung approaches the bar and sits down on the same stool from last night. “I’m glad to see you in one piece.” 

“Thank you.” Taehyung laughs, admiring the tall bartender. “I have to be honest, I’m still recovering my memories from last night.” He adds with a sigh. 

“Oh no, does that mean you don’t remember stripping on the bartop?” Jungkook chuckles.

“I did WHAT?” Taehyung’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and his cheeks turn red. 

“I’m kidding Tae. Calm down, calm down.” Jungkook, still laughing, places a napkin on the bar in front of Taehyung. “What can I get you?”

Taehyung, still stuck on being called Tae, gives Jungkook a puzzled look. Jungkook looks back at him with a small smile as he processes the information. But the lingering eye contact draws Taehyung in, the original question long forgotten, a new one forming to take its place. 

“Listen... did I...” Taehyung pauses, finally breaking eye contact. He licks his lips and starts again. “Did I happen to ask you out last night?”

“Yeah you did.”  Jungkook smiles to himself as his cheeks heat up. “You were pretty drunk though, so I wasn’t going to say anything.” He grabs a bar rag and wipes down the already clean bartop. 

“You probably get hit on at work all the time.” Taehyung watches the blush on Jungkook’s face deepen and he feels his confidence level rising. “Well, I’m sober now and the offer still stands, if you’re at all interested.” Taehyung lifts an eyebrow at the bartender. 

“I’d like that.” Jungkook flashes his teeth. “So, can I get you something to drink?”

“I think I’ll pass tonight. Would you like to meet for dinner on Saturday?” Taehyung asks. Jungkook works on weeknights, so he hopes that he has weekends off.

“Ahh Saturday?” Jungkook runs his fingers through his dark locks and looks off into the distance, thinking. “I can’t on Saturday. I know it’s a bit weird, but would Monday work? The bar is closed on Mondays.”

“Monday is perfect.” Taehyung replies. “I’ll text you details and see you then.” They exchange smiles and Taehyung leaves the bar. 

Once he’s back in his car, he lets himself breathe. He has a date with the most beautiful bartender he’s ever seen. His eyes shine even in the darkness of the bar, what will it be like to see him in the real world?

~~~~~~~

On Saturday, alone in his apartment, Taehyung sits and tries to focus on the movie his friend Jimin recommended he watch. All he can think about, though, is a pair of doe eyes and a brilliant smile. 

He tried to stay busy, but after working out, cooking lunch and dinner, and doing some online shopping, he still finds himself bored out of his mind, wishing that Jungkook had the night off. 

Taehyung [7:54pm]: I can’t stop thinking about him.

Hye-jin [7:55pm]: Don’t you have a short pink haired friend you can hang out with? Or at least text him, I’m sure he’s at home alone. 

Jimin [7:55pm]: I HEARD THAT

Hye-jin [7:56pm]: Did you seriously put us in a group chat??

Hye-jin [7:56pm]: I’m getting ready to go OUT LEAVE ME ALONE

Jimin [7:57pm]: Did you say he was working tonight, why don’t you just go visit him?

Taehyung [7:57pm]: I was thinking about it....

Hye-jin [7:57pm]: NO

Hye-jin [7:58pm]: DO NOT DO THAT YOU WILL LOOK SO DESPERATE

Jimin [7:58pm]: Don’t you have somewhere to be hag

Hye-jin [7:59pm]: DO YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU PUT YOUR TWO GAY BEST FRIENDS IN A GROUP CHAT

Taehyung [8:00pm]: I’m going to the bar ttyl

Hye-jin [8:00pm]: NOOOOO

Jimin [8:00pm]: YESSSSSS

~~~~~~~

On a typical Saturday night, Taehyung would be in a town car on his way to a nightclub on the north side, decked out in Gucci from head to toe, ready to dance the night away. Tonight, he’s driving himself downtown, dressed in some casual clothes he normally wouldn’t wear outside his apartment. 

Taehyung finds a spot to park a block away from the bar and walks the distance, nerves nibbling away at his insides. As he approaches the bar, he can tell it's quite a bit busier than it has been before. Maybe this isn’t a great idea. 

Pushing away his doubts, Taehyung opens the door and walks into the now familiar bar. The place is pretty packed. Groups of loud, boisterous men huddled around tables and booths watching the game on the televisions. He approaches the bar and an unfamiliar face greets him. 

“What can I get ya?” The short bartender asks. Taehyung looks around to see if he can locate Jungkook, but after scanning the room he finds nothing. The bartender clears his throat and asks again.

“Actually, is Jungkook here?” Taehyung questions. 

“Are you his new friend?” The bartender scans Taehyung’s face, then shakes his head. “He’s with Beomgyu tonight.” 

“Oh.” The nerves flitting around his stomach turned to stone.

This wasn’t a great idea.

~~~~~~~

Sunday was spent at Jimin’s apartment eating carbs. Switching between cursing and praising Jungkook. He’s so stunning, Taehyung was stupid to think that he was the only one Jungkook was seeing.

“I’ve been avoiding asking you this, but are you still going to go out with him tomorrow night?” Jimin questions Taehyung gently.

The two of them are sprawled out on Jimin’s broken down sofa. The leather is worn out under them, but it’s much more comfortable than the high end couch at Taehyung’s place. They are sharing a bowl of popcorn. Some drama is playing in the background of their conversation. 

“I guess so. I mean it’s not like he lied about anything. It just kind of sucks.” Taehyung sulks.

“I think you should confront him about the Beom-whoever.” Jimin gets up from the couch to replenish their snacks. “What kind of name is that anyway?” He mumbles to himself. 

As Jimin continues muttering to himself, Taehyung grabs his phone from the coffee table. He ignores the I told you so messages from Hye-jin and opens his conversation with The Cute Bartender. As he rereads the caring messages Jungkook sent him a few days ago, the text bubble pops up. 

Taehyung sits up straight on the couch and Jimin returns with chips and pocky. The bubble pops up and disappears a few times before the message finally comes through. 

TCB [4:48pm]: Hey, are we still on for tomorrow night? Let me know what sounds good for dinner. 

Taehyung sets the phone back down on the table and closes his eyes. Why does he feel so much turmoil over this bartender. He barely knows him. What is so special about Jungkook? Taehyung tries his hardest to forget the curve of his cheeks... his nose... his lips. 

When he opens his eyes again, his phone is not on the table, it’s in Jimin’s hands. 

“What are you doing?!” Taehyung shouts, reaching for his phone. But it’s too late. The message that Jimin had been typing out was sent. 

Taehyung [4:49pm]: How was your date with Beomgyu?

“Why would you do that?!” Taehyung shouts. “Now he is going to think I’m stalking him!”

“You deserve to know the truth!” Jimin shouts in return. They both watch and the typing bubble appears. 

TCB [4:50pm]: What? 

TCB [4:50pm]: How do you know about Beomgyu?

Taehyung doesn’t hesitate with his response.

Taehyung [4:51pm]: The other bartender told me. I went to visit you at work last night, but obviously you weren’t there. 

TCB [4:51pm]: Yoongi?

TCB [4:51pm]: Listen, I promise it isn’t what it sounds like.

TCB [4:52pm]: Let me explain over dinner tomorrow night. My treat.

Taehyung and Jimin consider the offer. If he isn’t dating Beomgyu, then who is he? 

Taehyung [4:52pm]: Okay.

~~~~~~~

The sushi restaurant that Jungkook picked is a little bit... quaint. Is quaint the right word? Taehyung is used to dining at sushi restaurants that have plates starting at $40, but the most expensive thing on the menu here is a $12 Drunken Sailor roll. 

There are a few people eating at the bar and a few tables taken up around the restaurant. Taehyung arrived early so he could ground himself before facing Jungkook. He’s still embarrassed about the message Jimin sent. Maybe he’ll be able to explain himself....

“Hey! You’re early.” Jungkook is walking in the door. He’s wearing dark ripped jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The same thing he usually wears at work. Every part of him is shining. 

“Yeah sorry.” Taehyung tries to laugh, but it comes out more as a cough. “I’ve never eaten here before, thought I’d check out the menu.” He gestures toward the menu board that’s secured to the ceiling. 

“Well everything is good here. I come here at least once a week.” Jungkook smiles brightly. This is exactly why Taehyung came early. He knew he would struggle to focus on anything but Jungkook. 

It’s not just his physical beauty. The way he carries himself is so warm and inviting and Taehyung wants to be close to him. Even after the awkwardness from the day before, it feels so natural to be standing there with him. 

“The Drunken Sailor roll sounds interesting, but I may have to stick with the timeless classic, the California roll.” Taehyung says.

“Ah, you know I’ve been meaning to try the Drunken Sailor. It’s a new addition to the menu.” Jungkook steps forward to order and pay for the two of them. “Two California rolls and a Drunken Sailor roll. Oh and a bottle of sake.” 

Jungkook confidently leads Taehyung toward the back of the restaurant to a booth. The way he slides into the seat, Taehyung can tell this is his preferred spot in the restaurant. 

“So I guess, I should go ahead and address the elephant in the room.” Jungkook starts. A waiter brings two glasses of water, two empty cups, and a bottle of apple sake. Taehyung reaches for his water to sip.

“I think there was a misunderstanding. Yoongi thought you already knew about Beomgyu.” Jungkook says as he pours some of the sake into the cups, Taehyung chokes a little on his water. 

“Who is Beomgyu?” Taehyung finally asks. Jungkook waits a moment, sipping the sake before responding. 

“Beomgyu is my son.” Jungkook states plainly. Taehyung pauses to absorb the information, but quickly a feeling of relief washes over him. 

“Did you mention him when I was wasted?” He asks.

“No, no. I don’t usually tell people I have a son until after a few dates.” Jungkook replies. It makes sense. It’s safer to protect the child’s identity. “But I like you and I didn’t want to throw our chance away because I wasn’t telling you the whole truth.” 

Taehyung smiles, but he feels a twinge of guilt growing in his gut. He had been planning to hide his wealth from Jungkook, but maybe he should just be honest too. 

“In the spirit of being honest, maybe I should tell you that I’m... fairly wealthy?” Taehyung’s voice fades to a whisper by the end. “I run a company.” He adds. 

Jungkook cracks a smile. 

“I know.” He says. “You told me all about that when you were drunk.” Jungkook chuckles. 

“Oh really?” Taehyung scratches the back of his head. How embarrassing. 

“To be honest, that’s another reason why I didn’t want to tell you about Beommie at first.” Jungkook shuffles in his seat. “I don’t want you to think that I’m interested in you for your money. I mean look at this place, obviously I don’t make a lot of money.”

“Hey this place is great. I’m sure the sushi is delicious.” Taehyung argues. 

“Yeah, it’s just. I don’t want you to think that I’ve got a son and I’m a... gold digger.” At that, the two of them break out into laughter. 

“Well when I’m sober, I try not to let many people know about my money. It changes the way people act around you.” Taehyung sighs, pouring himself some of the sake.

“It’s the same with having kids. No one is interested in dating someone who is already tied down like that.” Jungkook watches Taehyung’s face carefully for a reaction, but he just furrows his brow. 

“I think kids are great.” Taehyung shares with a genuine smile. 

“I’d love for you to meet Beomgyu sometime in the future. I usually wait until things are more serious than a first date to introduce him to people.” Jungkook explains and Taehyung lifts a brow. 

“Not, not that there’s been a lot of people, I’ve only introduced him to one person I dated a while ago.” Jungkook tries to recover.

“Hey, hey it’s okay. We both have pasts. I am kind of curious though, are you gay or bisexual? Most single gays don’t end up with children.” Taehyung questions and Jungkook shakes his head a little.

“I don’t really like to label myself. I guess back then I thought I was straight, but now?” Jungkook taps his fingers against the table, thinking. “I guess most people would label me pansexual.” 

“Wow so I’m in competition with... everyone then?” Taehyung chuckles to himself and then takes a sip of the sake. 

“I actually met Beomgyu’s mother in high school, we were-” Jungkook is cut off by the sound of his phone ringing. Jungkook fishes the phone out of his pocket. “And this is her, sorry I have to take this.”

Jungkook scoots out of the booth and steps away from the table. Taehyung can tell by his body language that he’s worried. After just a few seconds on the phone, Jungkook returns to the table with a crease in his brow. 

“Apparently Beomgyu fell and hit his head pretty hard. He’s okay, but he’s at the hospital getting checked out...” Jungkook trails off. 

“Oh, okay, we can reschedule for another time.” Taehyung throws a couple of twenty dollar bills on the table and exits the booth, but Jungkook pauses. 

“Listen, I rode my bike here, could you possibly... give me a ride?” Jungkook asks hesitantly, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“That’s no problem at all.” Taehyung motions for Jungkook to follow him and leads the way to his car at a quick pace. Jungkook seems unfazed by the shiny BMW parked down the street. 

“I really appreciate this, Tae.” Jungkook smiles over at Taehyung as they buckle into their seats. 

“Please don’t worry about it.” Taehyung reaches over and squeezes Jungkook’s hand before driving off toward the hospital. 

~~~~~~~

“Would you like me to wait here, or I can schedule a Lyft for you?” Taehyung questions Jungkook when they arrive at the children’s hospital and he thinks about it for a moment. 

“Would you like to come in? I know it’s very sudden to meet Beomgyu, but...” Jungkook squeezes Taehyung’s hand that he hadn’t yet let go of. “I’ve got a good feeling.” 

The two men navigate the hospital corridors together, stopping to peer inside the window of Beomgyu’s hospital bed. The small boy, who shares many of his father’s beautiful features, is playing with his mother’s cell phone. 

“Would you mind waiting here for a few minutes?” Jungkook asks.

Taehyung nods and Jungkook enters the hospital room. Immediately Beomgyu abandons the phone and Taehyung can see him mouth something excitedly to his dad. Jungkooks sits on the foot of Beomgyu’s bed, his all black outfit stark against the clinical background.

Taehyung catches Beomgyu’s mom looking at him while she talks to Jungkook. She’s beautiful too. She stands and collects her phone from Beomgyu before exiting the room.

“I’m going for a coffee, would you like anything?” She says with a coy smile. Taehyung shakes his head and gives her a little wave. 

Jungkook is still chatting with his son. Beomgyu is animatedly explaining something to him and both his and Jungkook’s eyes light up, almost a mirror image. Taehyung is grinning when Jungkook looks over at him and motions for him to enter the room. 

Taehyung cautiously enters the room, but keeps his distance. He gives wide-eyed Beomgyu a wave and a slight bow. 

“Hello, I’m Taehyung. You must be Beomgyu?” The boy nods. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Beomgyu smiles, but his attention is quickly grabbed by the doctor entering the room. 

“Which of you is Mr. Jeon?” Jungkook promptly stands. “I’ll catch you up quickly.” Jungkook follows the doctor back into the hall to discuss Beomgyu’s status. 

Taehyung crosses the room and sits on a chair near the window. Beomgyu’s eyes follow him curiously. 

“Beomgyu, what kind of things do you do for fun?” Taehyung questions.

“I like to do art!” He responds. 

“What’s your favorite medium to work with?” Taehyung continues.

“Medium..?” Beomgyu’s face twists with confusion. 

“Ah.... Do you like to draw with crayons or do you like to paint?” Taehyung clarifies his question. 

“I like to paint, but my mom thinks it’s too messy, so I mostly draw.” Beomgyu explains. 

“I like to paint too. Maybe we can paint together sometime. I have an art studio in my home.” Taehyung smiles. 

~~~~~~~

After the doctor gets the important information out of the way, the fact that Beomgyu will be okay and doesn’t require any treatments, Jungkook’s gaze falls back inside the hospital room. Taehyung and his son are laughing about something together. Taehyung seems like a natural. 

“Dad!”

“Beomgyu!” Jungkook responds as he enters the room. 

“Taehyung is so cool, he said we could do art together and he doesn’t even care if we make a mess!” Beomgyu practically falls off the hospital bed in excitement. 

“Wow that sounds like fun, as long as it’s at his house.” Jungkook winks at Taehyung, who smiles and nods in return. 

“Can he stay for dinner tonight?” Beomgyu asks, Taehyung’s smile growing wider. 

Maybe he can stay forever... Jungkook thinks.

~~~~~~~

Thank you so much for reading!

[marveloussupernerd]

I really enjoyed the way you wrote that Jumin Han ANGST my friend and if you don't mind I would very much like to request more ANGSTTT but with Seven because he is the CEO of ANGST FOR NO REASON. Be as creative as you want with it, you're the author! I was thinking something like MC getting seriously hurt/shot?? by someone who's after Seven from his agency work, or something less *deadly* like MC drunk and cheating/kissing another RFA member. Either way, I know I'll love what you come up with!

Hi bb! Sorry you’ve been waiting for this for like WEEKS but I was NOT in an angst vibe LMAO. But after I’ve brainstormed I’m v excited to write this. If ppl don’t like angst / want to see a resolution maybe request a pt 2 ? 🥺

Bullet Wound - Seven

Warnings: violence (shooting), medical stuff (surgery, injury), argument, spoilers for Seven’s real name !!

Summary: Seven’s company was not very happy that he betrayed them. Neither of you has thought it was a problem anymore. You were wrong. Seven feels responsible for you getting hurt

You held his hand, swinging it as you walked. “I had a lot of fun today,” you told him, smiling as you glanced at him, then down at your entwined hands, his golden wedding band shining in the sunlight.

“Me too! I can’t believe you had never had fish-shaped buns before today,” he mentioned, feigning shock.

You laughed. “They were very good. But honestly, I hadn’t even heard of them until the RFA talked about them.”

He sighed. “Who would believe my wife was so boring before she met me?”

You used your shoulder to ram into his side slightly, pushing him off his path slightly. He simply laughed. “What do you wanna do when we get home?”

“Hmmm...” you thought aloud, “nap. Cuddle. I’m exhausted.”

“You shouldn’t have stayed up all night with me when I was doing my work,” he pouted.

You shrugged. “What can I say? I can’t sleep without my husband by my side.”

He stopped for a second, halting you with him and pulling your hand slightly to turn you towards him. He had that goofy, fond smile you loved so much. “You’re so cute. I love you.” His voice was firm, full of meaning, as though nobody could deny it.

You couldn’t hide your grin, turning back on track and pulling him along with you. “I love you t-“

A deafening noise. It made you jump. “What the hell was that?” Seven exclaimed.

You looked around, trying to find the origin of the sound. And then you felt it; fire in your body. In your back. You placed a hand on it and flinched from the pain, blood slicking your hand. “Saeyoung,” you uttered out, the shock evident in your voice. “I think we need to run.”

He turned to look at where you were glancing, and then saw your hand. “Shit!” He exclaimed. Without hesitation, he swung you into his arms. “Hold on tight and stay with me, Babe.” He started running toward his babe car.

He threw the door open, setting you down gently in the seat. He buckled you up, hand pulling the lever to move the seat upright. “Ow!” You hissed in pain from the contact of the chair against your wound.

He shut the door and headed to his side, climbing in and driving off without even buckling his seatbelt. “I know it hurts but that’ll help keep some pressure on it. I’m driving to the ER as fast I can, so just hold on.”

“Sae... Saeyoung,” you choked out, trying to focus on your breathing and not the pain. “Your seatbelt.”

“Oh!” He used one hand to buckle it up. “Sorry. I didn’t even think about it.”

“You have to be safe too, okay?” You started tearing up. “Remember that.”

“Don’t say things like that.” He raised his voice. You nodded. You saw him frown. “I just... you’re making it sound like you’re going to die. And you’re not.” His voice was much softer now.

“I understand. I’m sorry I made it seem that way.” You let out a breathy sigh. “I’m just scared.”

He stopped the car pretty suddenly, right outside of the emergency room doors. He unbuckled, rushing out of the door, leaving his keys and phone inside. He opened yours and picked you up again. “I know. But you’re gonna be fine. I’m not going to leave your side.”

“I don’t think-“

“I’ll figure it out. Even if I have to watch you on the cameras. I’ll be here for you. Promise.”

“I love you,” you whimpered, lip trembling. You were scared.

“I need help! My wife’s been shot!” He announced as he entered the room. Fortunately, nobody was waiting and subject to the scene, only the people working there.

The lady at the front’s eyes widened. She announced something over the speakers, but you couldn’t hear it. “Where at?” You heard her ask Saeyoung. Your vision was blurry. You were nervous.

“Back.”

“Scale of 1 to 10?” They both shifted their eyes towards you.

“Eight.”

They didn’t stop looking at you. You raised an eyebrow. Why? “One to ten?” She asked again. Saeyoung looked petrified.

Were your words not coming out? You took a deep breath, focusing on expelling the air and moving your mouth to get the words out. “Eight.”

“Okay,” she nodded, scribbling things down. Seven smiled sadly at you.

Two people burst through the doors with one do those rolling beds. Seven set you down gently in it. He didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye. Your eyes widened in fear as you heard the doctors frantically speaking medical jargon. Saeyoung, in the distance, blew you a kiss. You closed your eyes and tried to relax.

When you did open your eyes again, they felt extremely heavy. Like you were doing physical labor to open them. “Thank God!” It was Seven’s voice. You worked harder to open your eyes and saw him, still in his bloody outfit from earlier, bags under his eyes and concern marking his features.

“Hi,” you said weakly, trying to give him a smile.

“Oh my God. I was afraid I’d lose you.” His eyebrows knitted in concern. “Did you know your heart stopped during surgery?” A sob escaped from the back of his throat. “It stopped.”

“I’m here,” you whispered. Your voice was hoarse. “I’m still here.”

You reached out your hand to grab his own, not surprised to see an IV hooked to your arm. “This is all my fault.” He was crying hard now, eyes refusing to meet your own. “This is because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassured him.

“It is! None of this would have happened if I wouldn’t have let you get close.” He walked away from you, moving to look out the window. “I’m an idiot.”

“I don’t think so. I’m glad you let me in, Saeyoung. I don’t blame you for this at all.”

“But I do. I blame myself.” His voice was now more angry with himself than sad.

A knock on the door. The doctor. Saeyoung composed himself, turning to meet him.

“Nice to see you again, Saeyoung.” The doctor greeted, a bright smile on his face. “And there’s our fighter. How are you feeling?”

“I think whatever pain stuff you have me on helps, but I just woke up so I’m still a bit drowsy.”

He looked down at your chart. “You did sleep through the night. 17 hours,” he explained.

Your eyes snapped back to Seven. “You’ve been here for seventeen hours?” You asked, the shock evident in your voice.

The doctor laughed. “He’s been by your side the whole time. Now I do want to keep you probably for another few days to monitor, but it should be pretty relaxed. Just try to keep your mind at ease and your heart rate down. All helps the healing.”

“Any significant injuries I should know about?” You asked. You knew people got really messed up from shot wounds.

He grinned, shaking his head no. “You were very lucky. Didn’t hit any major organs or your spine. You’re in good shape, relatively speaking.” He wrote something on his sheet. “I’m going to make sure the nurses visit you every half hour. I’ll probably be back in two hours or so. If you need anything in between, feel free to page the nurses.”

“Thank you Doctor,” you smiled. He waved and left.

“I... don’t think we should do this,” Seven spoke up, breaking the silence.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I’m putting you in too much danger,” he stated simply.

“Well I’m okay. And I think it’s worth it,” you defended.

He sighed, shaking his head. “You’re such... an idiot. How could you get shot because of me and still be so naive and stupid?” He wasn’t yelling, but his voice was cold. The beeping on your heart monitor steadily increased, betraying you by giving away how his words made you feel.

“And what do you want me to do about it Seven? It’s not like we’re just dating casually. We can’t just break up. We’re married. And thank goodness we are,” you added for good measure.

“‘Maybe we shouldn’t be.”

The monitor jumped again. This time it didn’t slow down. Your eyes felt heavy again and your back felt like it was on fire once more. “Don’t say that.” You whimpered, your voice quiet due to the pain.

“I’ll say what I want. It’s a bad idea.”

“Saeyoung.” Your voice was very firm. “I-“ you listened to the racing heart monitor again. “Do you hear that? My heartbeat? How fast it’s going because of things you’re saying? I’m supposed to be relaxed. You’re not helping.”

“I’m trying to make you be realistic” he defended.

“Go home Saeyoung.” You demanded.

“Huh?”

“Go home. Take a shower. Change out of the bloody clothes. Take a nap. Come back to me when you’ve decided to be mild and respectful of my health.”

“But, I-“

“No.” You said, allowing no room for argument. “You are upsetting me. Come back when you feel bette.r.”

“I’m scared to leave you,” he whimpered, turning to you so you could see his eyes watering.

“I need to be alone right now. Go home. See you later.”

He frowned. A lot. He sniffled.

“Stop!” You called to him. “You’re the one who said you wanted to get a divorce. And I said to leave and calm down for a while. So stop pouring.” You jutted your lip out. “I can’t get comfy laying down and my husband wants to divorce me because I got shot and I got shot.”

His frown only increased. “Take care,” he said softly, heading to the door. “I’ll respect your wishes.” He walked out the door.

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

All Emiya-san AU's are good AU's (its where my Actor Fionn lives too lol) and man there's a lot of untapped comedy gold of Shirou hearing all these stories about Diarmuid scaring away rude customers and thinking he looks super scarred up or w/e and then he meets him and it's like "??? he looks so nice?? are u sure this is the guy who nearly stabbed someones eye out???"

EHEHEHE I wrote a thing beneath the read more I looooove the Emiya Gohan AUS so much...

Everything about this situation was concerning for Shirou. It was bad enough that Archer was using Shirou’s name (the number of times he’d gotten, “Is that guy a relative of yours, Emiya-kun?” from ignorant but well-meaning classmates was starting to grate on his nerves) at his dumb part-time job (why Servants even needed part-time jobs was a mystery) and the fact that Lancer kept popping up to invite Taiga out for dinner and drinking but now, apparently, a third Servant had arrived.

The cafe’s regulars, of course, had no idea he was a Servant. Sakura and Rider had confirmed it after visiting the cafe on one of their dates, but didn’t seem to be worried. Of course, they weren’t worried. Sakura and Rider had enough power and magical energy between them to flatten the city, let alone deal with Servants. Rin also brushed off what Shirou believed was a wholly justified concern - “He’s probably just some lingering ghost from a past Grail War. Archer seems to like him fine, and he hangs out around Lancer, so what’s the big deal? If he becomes a problem, we’ll just deal with it like we always do.”

But in Shirou’s view, the Servant was already a problem. It was bad enough that the restored Servants of the Fifth Grail War could still draw upon the wild, free-flowing magic of Fuyuki’s leylines and pop up whenever they pleased - the fact that Servants from previous wars might show up too was giving him anxiety.

And this was before the rumors started.

Nobody seemed to know the guy’s name, or remember it if they saw it written down. He would pop up - always in the vicinity of the cafe - and often left behind gifts. One time, it was a bottle of wine for the manager. Another time, an antique coin for one of the waiters. He always seemed to disappear right when anyone asked for information about him, and reappear whenever something interesting happened. One time, near closing, a couple of drunk university students came in and tried to convince their waitress to leave in their car. When she refused, one of them joked about following her home.

At once, the mystery Servant walked in the door.

Another time, a middle-aged man from out of town shouted at one of the baristas until they had to run into the back to cry for the rest of their shift. On the local news the next morning, the man appeared to have been dropped at the hospital with a broken jaw and a soul full of remorse.

(Lancer actually laughed when he informed Shirou of this story.

“You were there and didn’t say anything?”

“Hey, I was the guy who had to deal with the asshole after he made our barista run off. It wasn’t a big deal, I just happened to call in a favor from a friend. Plus, he deserved it.”

And Lancer winked, like they were sharing an inside joke.)

And so on and so forth. Nobody could purge the service industry of customer horror stories, but this mystery Servant seemed to be doing his damnedest to make a dent in the problem. He was the most ghost-like of any Servant that Shriou had ever encountered.

Ayako and Kaede quickly became regulars at the cafe. Shirou thought it was hard to tell whether or not they were in love with the mystery Servant or whether or not they wanted to challenge him to a duel. It seemed to be a combination of both.

“He’s like, the toughest guy I’ve ever seen,” said Ayako, mystified. “I swear I thought he was going to tear that woman’s throat out.”

“This guy threatened a customer,” Shirou said, “and you’re happy?”

“Well, she was being rude to Yukika,” Kaede retorted, like that settled the matter. “I mean, I wasn’t counting, but I think she sent her coffee back six times before anyone said anything. She kept berating her like it was Yukika’s fault that she kept changing her mind about sugar and milk. She literally lied about what her original order was to get a free drink. It was awful.”

“But then this guy shows up,” Ayako continued the story, talking over Kaede as she continued muttering about the injustice faced by the track team’s manager. “And he clocks what’s happening, like, instantly. I dunno where the blue-haired guy was, I guess he was late for his shift or something, but he just - “

She motioned like she was trying to take up more space than her physical body allowed.

“I swear, it was like you could’ve heard a pin drop! He takes one look at Yukika and just goes up to the lady and -”

Another vague gesture like a karate chop.

“He hit this woman?” Shirou said, outraged.

“Nah, he wouldn’t hit anyone,” Kaede said, nodding sagely. “He doesn’t really need to, you know? You could just take one look at him and you know not to mess with this guy when he’s mad.”

That settled it. Shirou had to investigate on his own, since obviously no one else was going to take this seriously. It was bad that customers were mistreating the staff at Yukika’s job, but a Servant threatening humans was unacceptable.

It was time, at last, to enlist Saber’s help.

She had been living at Shirou’s house since her restoration, recovering from her injuries. Shirou hated the idea of asking her to fight again, especially when she was so clearly enjoying her life as a “normal human,” but he couldn’t afford to hold back if there was a dangerous, unknown Servant in the city. To her credit, Saber was happy to assist. She said she had been meaning to drop by and try Archer’s cooking for quite some time.

The two of them met on Sunday for lunch. Saber ordered two coffees and went into the kitchen to see Archer. Yukika wasn’t on shift today, so Shirou didn’t recognize any of the other staff. But he did notice that they all kept watching the door, as if waiting for something.

After the coffees arrived (Saber’s was left to cool on the table), the bell above the door chimed. Shirou felt the shift in the area’s magical energy before he looked up and saw the Servant himself. It was remarkably subtle, considering that it was like an icy draft passing through the cafe. You wouldn’t notice unless you were looking for it.

The waitstaff was suddenly all smiles.

Shirou looked up - and felt his jaw drop to the floor.

He did not look remotely threatening. The mystery Servant was, in fact, the most physically beautiful person that Shirou had ever seen in his life. Tall and muscular - his build was not dissimilar to Lancer, though he lacked Lancer’s wolfish aura - with a head of dark, thick curls. His face was elegant, from piercing, bright eyes all the way down to his perfect lips, only marred by a tiny beauty mark beneath his right eye.

Shirou had to look away, blushing despite himself. What the hell is wrong with me? He realized belatedly that he had come to this battle totally unprepared for a charm attack.

Is this guy cursed or something?

That was the only explanation. Why else did he feel like he would collapse if he looked this Servant directly in the face for too long? It wasn’t normal.

And on second glance, it appeared that Shirou wasn’t the only person taken aback. A couple on a date had paused their conversation to stare at the Servant, murmuring their appreciation in hushed tones; a middle-aged woman was holding a fork in her hand, oblivious to the fact that her cake had just splattered over her shoes. Two little kids were waving at him, apparently recognizing him from somewhere, and their parents had to hurriedly shush them because it’s rude to try and pull someone out of a conversation like that.

One of the waiters was talking to him. Shirou strained to listen, shaking himself.

“Want the usual?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” said the Servant, in a smooth, polite voice that made Shirou hate him irrationally. Stupid, handsome guy. “Is Cu in today?”

“I think he said he’s on vacation,” the waiter replied. “But Emiya’s here if you want to talk to him.”

Shirou looked up, baffled by the fact that the unfamiliar waiter knew his name, momentarily forgetting that Archer had stolen his name as a cover-up.

The Servant noticed. Barely a glance, a flicker of the gaze in his direction.

Shirou turned back and drank deeply from his coffee, which scalded his tongue.

“Oh, I see,” said the Servant, sounding amused now. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing! I’ll let him know you’re here.”

Once the initial shock of the Servant’s appearance dissipated, everything went back to normal so fast that it was almost jarring. The middle-aged woman clicked her tongue and grabbed napkins to clean up her shoes; the couple resumed planning the rest of their day; the kids kept eating, having gotten bored with trying to get the Servant’s attention. The faint, drafty aura of magic passed and the temperature in the cafe seemed to rise back to comfortable levels. Definitely cursed, Shirou decided, frowning into his coffee cup.

“Excuse me?”

Shirou blanched. The Servant had appeared behind him, smiling patiently.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked, indicating Saber’s coffee cup.

Shirou was suddenly, oddly conflicted. Without knowing what this Servant was capable of, was it fair to expose Saber like this?

“Uh, no,” he said, uselessly. “Well, not exactly.”

The Servant waited, patiently, for him to explain. Shirou grimaced.

“My friend is a friend of the guy who cooks here,” he said, hating himself for giving it away. “She wanted to come visit him, so I’m just waiting for her to get back before we leave.”

“Really?” said the Servant, smiling. “That’s nice. You’re a friend of Emiya?”

Shirou twitched. “No. I am Emiya.”

“Oh?”

“Not related to that guy, obviously,” he muttered. “But - anyway,” Shirou blurted, suddenly noticing a distinctive piece of fly-away blonde hair emerging from the kitchen, “it’s a long story, and we’d better get going, so see you later -”

He hastily threw some money down on the table for his coffee and rushed to Saber’s side.

“What’s the matter?” she asked him, brows furrowed with concern. “I thought that you were -”

“Saber!”

Shirou winced, and then - wait a minute. How on Earth did the enemy Servant know Saber’s name!?

To his horror, a huge smile spread over Saber’s face.

“Saber, don’t!” Shirou hissed. “You have to look away! This guy’s got some kind of charm spell on him that -”

Saber only laughed and lightly pushed him aside. Though she’d scarcely used a fraction of her true strength, Shirou stumbled.

“Oh, don’t be silly, Shirou. This is an old friend of mine.”

And she crossed the cafe in order to give the Servant a huge hug. Because Saber was approximately half of the mystery Servant’s size, he was able to lift her easily and spun her in a circle. Saber laughed at this.

“I must admit I’m surprised!” she said. “I didn’t think -”

Saber seemed to become self-conscious. But the enemy Servant merely beamed.

“Think nothing of it! I had no idea you were here in the city.”

“Really? Cu and Emiya didn’t tell you?”

“They mentioned a surprise,” said the Servant, shrugging. “I suppose this must be it.”

Saber shook her head. “Of course they did. Foolish boys.”

“I must apologize - I was introducing myself to your friend.”

“Oh, yes! This is my current Master, Shirou. Shirou,” said Saber, waving to him. “This is my old friend - he was a Lancer in the previous quest for the Grail.”

“Please,” said the former Lancer, “call me Diarmuid, if you’d like.”

He gave away his True Name so casually. Who the hell is he, though? Shirou frowned as he came closer.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t realize you were one of Saber’s friends.”

“And I did not realize you were a mage,” said Diarmuid, breezily. “But no matter! Are you really leaving?” he asked Saber. “Your Master has indicated that you might have plans -”

“Nonsense!” Saber assured him, cheerful as well. “We were just sitting down. Did you order? I’ve been meaning to try Archer’s cooking for awhile, you see, so I plan to stay here for the afternoon.”

Saber and Diarmuid walked back to their table and pulled up a third chair.

Shirou bit back a groan.

It was going to be a long day.

[letstrywritingmaybe]

What better way to start the new year than with a fic idea I’ve been wanting to write?

New Year’s Dream

Companion fic to New Year’s Day: based on the belief that the first dream of the new year will dictate how the year will treat you. A dream is a wish your heart makes. If you can dream it, then you can achieve it. Maybe it’s just nonsense, but if there’s a recurring theme in your dreams, then there’s something you need to ask yourself.

Ringing in the new year in his shrunken form didn’t go as terrible as he thought it would have, knowing he wasn’t alone in this ordeal certainly helped. He still doesn’t quite know what to make of her, but he needs her to be on his side for there to even be a chance of regaining his former glory. Her demeanor is impassive while the rest of the Detective Boys eagerly count down then shouting loud cheers as a way to brighten the mood and set the tone for the upcoming year. Truthfully he thought they were a bit too loud, but their childlike wonder is something to be in awe at, something he doesn’t remember much of during his own childhood.

“Would it kill you to smile a little? Come on Haibara, it’s officially new year’s day!”

“It’s just like any other day in our existence, we’re still stuck. I see no reason to celebrate.”

“Live a little, when are we ever going to experience this again?”

“Hopefully never. Once is enough.”

He fails trying to get her into a more festive mood, he decides to at least enjoy himself for the moment. There’s no point in staying down when he had a whole future to look forward to, this was just a minor setback. That night when he goes to sleep, he dreams of the scientist who refuses to let loose even on a holiday. He tries in vain to get her to join in, but she doesn’t budge, this time he doesn’t give up. Instead, he takes her hand and pulls her towards their new friends. She stays quiet for the most part, but her lips curve up briefly for the slightest of smiles that she immediately hides when she sees his attention on her. When he wakes up, he understands what he has to do this coming year.

Two years later, they’re on the brink of breaking up the Black Organization for good, all they need is to hold onto hope this will all pay off. The two partners are invited to an event by Jodie who insists that they need to relax a bit or else they’ll be too high strung when the main event unfolds. They both reluctantly agree to attending the party full of other agents, but they mostly keep to themselves and watch as everyone gets drunk celebrating the upcoming year without the threat of the Black Organization looming over them.

“I only promised to stay until after the countdown. I’m going home.”

“I’ll go with you, no point in me sticking around if you’re leaving too.”

“I thought you told Mouri-san you wouldn’t be going home tonight?”

“I did, I wasn’t sure how long we would stay, so I told her I would spend the night with you… uh I mean at the professor’s…”

She looked like she was going to say something, but decided against it, she headed for the door after waving goodbye to Jodie. Though at this point it seemed everyone was too far gone to notice their departure. The walk home was relatively silent as they passed by hundreds more people celebrating in the streets. He’s lost in his thoughts wondering if he would dream of the girl next to him again this year. Three times in a row has to mean something right? He’s just not quite sure what that something is. The sound of her laughter sends a shock into his heart, when he turns to face her, he nearly forgets how to breathe. She was staring back at him with a wide smile as she reached to hug him, they finally did it, the Black Organization had fallen. They were finally free, she pulled back to hand him the completed antidote she’d been saving for this moment. She starts to disappear after giving him the pill, he drops it to chase after her, but it was too late. She was already gone. He wakes up with a thumping in his chest as sheer panic registers, it only ceases when he sees her still fast asleep next to him on the bed. He’s not sure why the thought of her leaving makes him sick, but he knows that he has to do everything in his power to keep her by his side.

Another two years pass as they begin their middle school careers together, they defeat the Black Organization, but the files for the antidote are lost as a result. He accepts his identity as Conan now, he was a little disappointed at this outcome, but he knew he wasn’t alone as long as his partner continues to stick around. She still hasn’t given up hope for a cure as she works tirelessly into the night trying to find the correct formula. He manages to coax her out of the lab to countdown with Agasa as they cheers to the new year and their graduation from elementary for the second time. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but he pulls her into a hug and asks her to stop working on the antidote. He can tell she’s lying when she says she’ll stop, but at least for tonight, he can make sure she gets a proper night’s rest as he crashes at the professor’s again. He’s chasing her this time, but a crowd of people separate them as they all vy for her attention. She pays them no mind, but when he shouts her name, she stops and waits for him to catch up. She extends her hand for him to take as the people in the background fade away leaving them alone. She smiles at him and he finally understands why the thought of her leaving hurts so much. When he wakes up, she’s curled up next to him on the couch where they must have fallen asleep together. They’re wrapped in a giant blanket and her head rests on his shoulder.

Two more years and he still hasn’t made any progress in confessing his feelings to his dream girl. He sighs for the millionth time as he holds back his anger at her for attempting to complete the antidote he no longer wanted nor needed. Even after attending Ran’s wedding together, she still hadn’t given up. Another year is going to pass, this time he has to make it clear that she is the only keeper of his heart.

He’s nervous as hell, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this unsure of anything in his life before, but she’s always been the one person to keep him guessing. She’s the only one who still calls him his old alias though he’s long accepted his new identity as Conan. This year, his one resolution is to make sure she moves on with him. She’s looking at him now as if he’s grown two heads as she tries to figure out why he couldn’t stop fidgeting and his cheeks are awfully red even with the drop in temperature outside. It’s maddening that she hasn’t come to the conclusion as to why he may be acting this way, he just has to spell it out for her.

“Happy new year Ai.”

His soft whisper is carried away by the wind as he closes the remaining distance between them to finally seal the deal. That night he dreams of her soft lips that he now knows the taste of, he wishes he had the courage to love her sooner, he just needs to make up for lost time.

Five more years and they’re finally past the age they would have been had they been able to go back to their normal bodies. With both of them accepted into Tokyo University, their future is brighter than ever, and their relationship even stronger. She’s practically moved in by now as she makes herself comfortable co hosting their New Year’s Eve party. The guests are incoherent, full of joy and nonsense as they countdown in a room of their loved ones together. As he kisses her right at midnight, per tradition of course, he was planning on asking for her hand in marriage immediately after. He’s rehearsed the speech in his head for weeks now, how New Years was when he fell for her, when their relationship became official. Naturally it would be fitting for him to propose on this day as well, except he finds himself dumbfounded by her loving expression when they pulled apart. Her dreamy smile, eyes full of the childlike wonder he’s sure he’s never seen on her face before.

“Happy New Year Conan.”

She kisses him again, all thoughts of proposing disappear from his mind as he focuses on the woman in front of him. The way she’s stroking the back of his neck, her delicate rose scent he can never get enough of, her small sigh of content when he backs her against the wall without caring about any wandering eyes spying on them. Everyone was too drunk to notice when they slipped away upstairs locked inside his bedroom until the morning sun rose to greet them. That night when they fall asleep after hours of exploration, he dreams of her in white walking down the aisle to take his hand in hers. When he wakes up, he’s certain she’ll say yes, all he had to do is ask.

Also posted on ao3! Hope 2021 treats you with kindness <3

[amberskywrites]

Silent Comfort

AO3 Link || Masterpost 

Fandom / Genre: Nanatsu no Taizai (The Seven Deadly Sins) / Canon-Divergence

Pairing: Ban and Meliodas

Warnings: Spoilers for anyone who only watches the anime

Summary: Ban needs a hug from his best friend.

Notes: This was created using a prompt by @notquitebroken from This Prompt List! It’s a pretty short friendship fic, and really the reason why Ban needed a hug is up to anyone’s interpretation ^^

Also, Arthur being revived didn’t happen in this timeline and the sins + Elizabeth still work at the Boar Hat-

They weren’t really touchy-feely people, Meliodas and Ban. Their way of coping was to fight things out or level a mountain or get so drunk they couldn’t remember the night prior. And everyone was fine with that! They didn’t like bringing up their feelings to anyone, really, and dealing with it in this way made them both feel better without things getting awkward.

At least, that’s what it was like before Purgatory.

After they had escaped Purgatory, and the Demon King had been defeated, things went back to how they were for awhile. But it always felt off, and slowly, the two started sharing their emotions more.

After about two years, they showed their emotions freely, around themselves and their loved ones, at least. But in becoming more open and expressive, their relationship changed.

Still they got drunk until they (Ban) blacked out and they would still fight out their issues. But following those fights would be long talks or apologies, and days after drinking all night would result in fits of laughter as Meliodas recounted the events. Sometimes, after days where things became too much and everything hurt they’d just sit and talk or lie down in the grass and watch the stars, refusing to sleep to avoid the nightmares not even their beloveds could drive away.

This was a first since they had left Purgatory, however.

It was a relatively cloudy day in Britannia, and Meliodas was reading in his room in the Boar Hat alone. Elizabeth was with her sisters on a picnic for the day, and the bar was closed to anyone who didn’t call it home. Hawk was sleeping somewhere, and Meliodas thought everyone else had left to go and do their own thing for the day.

Until someone knocked on his open door, that is.

“Hey, Capt’n?”

The demon looked up from his book, face lighting up briefly at seeing Ban. His grin quickly faded when he saw the expression on Ban’s face.

It wasn’t a look he was unfamiliar with, but it had been awhile since he had seen it on his friend’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Meliodas set his book aside, and Ban seemed to relax a little, making his way over to Meliodas and Elizabeth’s bed and collapsing onto it face down with a sigh. Meliodas joined him on the bed moments later, and Ban glanced up at him.

It was only then that Meliodas noted the dried tear tracks and irritated skin on his face, and Meliodas’ concern grew.

“I need a hug. Please?”

Meliodas’ face softened at that, and he nodded immediately. He got comfortable on the bed before pulling Ban onto him, holding the other close the best he could.

Ban melted into Meliodas, arms like a vice around the small demon. Meliodas’ arms around him tightened, a silent promise that he was there and not leaving.

It had been so long since they had done this, hugged each other like this. The last time had been in Purgatory, and they had been recounting their times of loneliness, venting and holding each other in fear that they might just lose hope again and lose themselves to the depths of Purgatory.

“What was it about this time?” Meliodas whispered, almost as if speaking any louder would shatter them. Ban hummed, his face buried in Meliodas’ shoulder, but other than that he remained quiet. Meliodas didn’t push further, nor did he bring up how Ban’s grip around him got tighter.

“Thank you,” Ban had mumbled after a while, and Meliodas was the one to hum this time.

“Anytime,” he said softly.

They didn’t get up until they heard Elizabeth and Elaine downstairs, feeling just a little bit better than before.

[blankdblank]

Just Leave Pt 3

Up and down a leather strap your straight razor eased making Dwalin swallow, he had chosen to go first before the young Princes and shirtless he waited until you walked and flashed him a kind grin. A gloved hand rising to tap his pectoral muscle where you would start shaving, all around his nipple to cover the skin, “Just breathe buddy, don’t forget to breathe. I won’t shave more than what’s needed.”

He nodded and gentler than he expected the sharp blade eased the hair off then was wiped and closed to be set aside for the application of the stencil. “That’s backwards.”

Grinning at him you said, “This side faces down, so it will be the right way on your skin.” Watching carefully he saw the marker settle just right on the space he wanted it and got a better view with the mirror you lifted for him from the stand, “That’s how you want it, right?”

“Yes,”

He nodded and you said, “Okay, let’s get you laid back on the table.” Slowly he exhaled and shifted to lay back on the cushioned sheet coated table he was seated on and his eyes followed to the tattoo gun you lifted from your case from the stand holding your ink you would be needing. “Now, it’s going to buzz, and I’ll just do a small dot so you can feel what it’s like.” The buzz alone almost had him flinch and his gaze followed your hands settling on his chest to count down to the spot that left him blinking for how much worse he had expected it to feel.

“That’s it?”

Smirking at him you pulled your chair up behind you with a foot and settled back saying, “Yes, though the coloring needle sometimes feels sharper depending on where it is.” Steadily you got through the outline and his eyes lowered to the handkerchief you lifted to wipe the excess away.

“You wipe it? All my others they have to let it soak in.”

“The needle goes in and out of the skin hundreds of times in a matter of seconds pushing ink in as it does. If I don’t wipe the excess away it won’t be done well. I believe our processes for tattoos are just a difference in tools used for the job. Don’t worry, I won’t spoil it. Now, when it’s healing you don’t rub it then, just rinse it off no scrubbing or harsh soaps or salts. Keep it nice and moist with the cream I give you.”

During the detailing of the complex piece of runes and what seemed to be his animal guide for his personality he asked you questions keeping himself calm from disturbing you by moving around to see how things were going until the final wipe of the tattoo when you grinned saying, “Finished.”

He glanced down, “That’s all of it?”

“That’s all of it.” You said with a grin and helped him up cleaning your ink cups while he admired the work in the hand mirror you passed him. Back again you came with a tin of your skin cream saying after removing the lid, “A dab is good and you just smooth it across all of it, just like this,” you said spreading it for him making him grin to himself at the cooling effect on his mildly stinging skin. “When it feels dry just put some more on it to keep the skin moist. Can you go shirtless?”

“Shirtless?”

“Well, I ask because I don’t know what material your shirt is from and if it’s too rough it could scratch it up and there’s risk of infection from too course a material.” Parting his lips, “But I have some wrap I can put on it if you can’t let it breathe.”

“I can go shirtless. Infection is common?”

“No, just like a burn or a bad bite, just if you bathe don’t scrub it, rinse it off, no harsh soaps. Think of it like skin scraped raw, just give it the cream and some time to breathe. By morning with the cream it should be mostly healed, the pain will be gone along with any swelling.” He nodded again with brows knitting together in focus, “Tomorrow it may start to peel, but that is good, the top layer of skin heals and peels back and it leaves the tattoo intact. Third day should just be for any lingering peeling or tightness of the skin. Please don’t worry, and I am here to check it if you did accidentally get attacked by a scrub brush or something,” making him smile to himself. The tin was folded in his palm and you said, “There you are, you survived.”

Hopping down he chuckled laying his shirts over his arm and left five gold coins in your palm after having taken a look at your size versus time and event marker charge chart you had made up for the Dwarves to calm them and their kin that because you weren’t a Dwarf the usual prices for various event markers would remain intact. “Thank you,” he said watching you add the gold to your till mounted on top of an enchanted safe from your own stand in the old shop you worked for swapped with currency from the mountain.

Out he went to show off the work to his relatives with Fili puffing up his chest to join you back behind your dividing curtain to strip and be shaved for his barely postage stamp sized marker on his collar bone. “Just breathe Fili,” you said leaving him sitting up on top of the propped up sheet coated lounger while the other table swapped sheets and had wiped itself down to be clean again.

New needle and gun sanitized you neared the shaved and stenciled Prince saying, “Since this is on bone just try to be still but don’t stop breathing. I’ll give you a tap with it to show you how it feels.” He nodded and the relief was instant on how harmless it seemed. “See, not bad.”

He chuckled eyeing the braided trip of hair on the side of your side swept bangs with a bell in it to go with the other tucked back into your messy bun from the longer stretch of your unruly curls. “Uncle doesn’t mean it you know.”

“Which one?” you asked wiping away some of the ink before continuing on after his next exhale.

“Thorin,” your eyes shifted to his a moment, “He can’t control it.”

Grinning to yourself you replied, “All our families have demons Fili. I don’t blame him for that. But thank you.”

“Your family had demons?”

After a moment you replied, “My parents liked to eat hallucinogenic mushrooms and drink, then they would hurt themselves.” Parting his lips, “Never got to hurting us until the next to last time.”

“Next to last?”

“They left us alone and took off to the Grand Canyon and jumped off.”

“Miss Pear-,” he could barely whisper out unable to imagine the pain that had caused you.

You shook your head, “Everyone back home always said to count our blessings, they stopped before hurting us, stopped the cycle of us seeing them drink themselves into stupors. They stopped hurting. I think I’ve done well since then. So no pitying stares, and don’t worry about drinking around me, just if you know any poor drunks let me know so I can steer clear.”

Fili, “No one’s hurting you.”

“I don’t doubt that, but I also tend to be followed by the ones who tend to get sick after drinking too much.” Making him chuckle to himself, “Then I get to spend the night holding hair from their face holding their heads in the toilet to keep the floors clean.”

Fili, “We will ensure you do not get roped into playing nursemaid in our celebratory balls.”

Kili came next, with less hair to shave but just as much nerves and three times the joy in bounding out shirtless to show off his marker leaving Bombur next with a few small markers he had been overdue on taking you to lunch.

Bofur and Bifur also caught up on markers with Oin finishing the day with another large piece on his back to tribute his lost wife just prior to Smaug’s arrival. Soaked and back in bed again you slept once again being joined by the fuzzy footed King angered still by the shirtless males flaunting your artwork. They were trying to steal you away, meant for his portraits, his markers this was near enough to make him want to lock you away from all of them. More Dwarves were coming and against his morning growls the day before you simply picked him up and went off to your first appointment anyways leaving him on one of your couches. Skin painters were a treasure beyond measures of value in gold or silver. No one was taking you anywhere.

.

Two days of sulking and the sulking Dwarf King was left to last while the Elves inspected your portrait collection to see how they wanted their private portraits to look. Inched back to another fur raising rage he paced in his apartment pausing only at your walk inside after his refusal to answer the knock at his door. “Are you wanting to reschedule your appointment?”

“No,” he growled then turned to continue pacing again.

“Are you worried about the shaving, I’ve seen your back it isn’t nearly as hairy as your chest.”

“No,” he rumbled and you rolled your eyes and turned on your heel for him to growl, “Where are you going?!”

“I am going to my shop, when you are ready come down.”

He scoffed then smoothing his hand across his chest feeling his temper rise, “Why did you do this to me?!”

“I am not doing anything to you.”

Facing you fully he shouted alerting his relatives in their apartments luring a few to inch closer to their doors to hear if Thorin would start another fight. “You are the one behind this transformation I keep being forced through!”

“I am not and you know it.”

“I am a KING!”

“SO WHAT?!” His mouth fell open and you said, “See! That’s it right there! You want my apology?! Fine! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry that you’re more than just a name in a book to me! Not just another King that I read about once! That I actually love you enough to give a damn about you possibly killing yourself by racing out of the mountain without so much as a scrap of armor when the orcs arrive because you have something to PROVE, OH GREAT King Under the Mountain! I am so sorry that I inconvenienced you by not letting you fly into rages and dangle Bilbo from the ramparts accusing him of stealing your Arkenstone! And try to kill Dwalin for trying to talk your head out of the dirt!”

By now the color was leaving his face as well as the faces of the Company having crept into the hall to listen along. His chest clenched again seeing tears spilling into your eyes, “I am so sorry that you are going through the Dragon Sickness and feel so alone right now in a place that holds such painful memories for you but trust me it does not feel good, and certainly isn’t amusing to make you feel more helpless to your rages while suffering through this! But I’m not like Gandalf or Saruman, I’m not a good Wizard and I’m not very powerful and all I had to protect you was a birthday wish. I am so sorry but I do not have any control over it at this point, you have to beat it!”

“I CAN’T!” he shouted back.

“Seriously?! You survived a Dragon, in your thirties fought off an orc with a TREE TRUNK!” He scoffed and you shouted back, “And don’t you fucking dare forget everything you did for your people to settle them in the Blue Mountains!”

That had his mouth agape staring wide eyed at you to his kin clasping their hands over their mouths in the hall muffling their pleased squeaks to your point, “You might not have had a hoard of gold but you gave them plenty! Plenty, Thorin! Don’t you dare go lessen yourself as King based on how much gold is under your butt, you think you needed a crown to be their King? You really think you need that hunk of metal? You were hurt, I get that, you lost a grandfather, a father, brother and however many hundreds of your kin to a giant fire spitting lizard that kicked you out of your home sending you pretty much to the other end of the continent. You weren’t happy, for decades you were in pain otherwise you wouldn’t have gone chasing after a fucking Dragon! You got your home, you got your gold! You have family! I don’t have anyone. Don’t lose your family, don’t you dare! And I give you my word I will turn you into as many damn things as I damn well please to keep you from feeling that again from a stupid decision made out of anger. Because it never stops hurting and it’s bleeding out of that book, all your pain and I can’t stop drowning in my own pain so I have to try and help you fix yours.”

He tearily looked you over a few moments as you wet your lips in a glance away and then looked back pointing to the door saying. “Now I’m going downstairs to my shop and you either sprout a tail or you get your ass down there so I can do my job and write King on your butt cheek or wherever else to prove to you and every other Dwarf on the planet that you are one.”

Just two steps away he tearfully whispered, “You love me?”

Turned again right up to him you strode and his hands were taken, fingers extended on both that inched up your shirt making him swallow then his heart plummet with a tear down each cheek tracing the scar from the sword Azog stabbed through you matching the smaller scan on his upper back. Up at you he peered and was the only one to hear you whisper back, “Proof, need more? I can take it if you do.” Another tear rolled down his cheek in his hand trailing down the scars from the sword as they dropped to his sides.

“I’ll be downstairs sharpening my razor, prepare yourself for a shave.” Out you walked and in silence he stood in all but silence past the echoes of your words in his ears. The pain still gripped in his chest but now didn’t seem to bite as hard retracing the things you had reminded him of, those years in the Blue Mountains, hard but steadfast in resettling with every smile on the faces of his kin growing by the day bolstering something in him. Far from courage but something he couldn’t name, a feeling he knew, the feeling nightly urging him to make it to another sunrise to be there for another day to possibly find his lost relatives, a way to rebuild chance to return home again. The feeling of being alive and strong again without fear of losing everything he had suddenly.

“Well said,” Thranduil lowly stated just outside the Royal Wing he had been walking to the library from to distract himself until lunch.

When your hand found the front of his robe his brows arched up through the hunch caused by your tug, and silently he froze to your arms crossing behind his neck with hands clutching at his back. The Elven guards and Prince all watched your eyes close tightening your hold while saying, “I’m so proud of you.” That had his arms melting around your back and his own eyes shutting to keep from crying and relishing the moment as it lasted. “And I always will be, never forget that.”

“I would never dare to be so foolish.”

Eased back his eyes met yours with a grin ghosting onto his face at your hands brushing a few strands of hair from his face you cupped ticking his brows higher again, “Good, and for the record you are way prettier than Galadriel.” Deep throated he chuckled to the peck you left on the tip of his nose with shoulders shaking at the laughter bubbling out of him unable to wait in sharing your sentiment to his good friends.

Still he shook, smiling on your walk to Legolas who awkwardly slumped into your hug that with a tug on his wrist he just accepted was going to happen. “You are more magnificent than you know,” a peck on his cheek and he couldn’t help but grin awkwardly trying not to cry at the familial gesture.

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you’re too strange,” you said to Tauriel who was puzzled at the advice, “the world is changed by dreamers who see un-walked paths to take. I may not know you that well but you Ma’am, are a dreamer and welcome to be strange with me.” Making her smile as well while you turned to keep walking down to your shop, “I am off to wait to shave a King.”

Silently and shirtless Thorin sat allowing you to touch up his back tattoo across the back of his shoulders riddled with tiny scars from scrapes and work related injuries between wear marks from armor in the few battles he had faced around the white scar from your saving his life. Beneath the sprawling black and blue ravens around a line of anvils down the back of his neck to between his shoulder blades was surrounded by sacred runes based with a new rune for King and Conqueror for reclaiming his home and throne.

Gravely Thorin rumbled near to the end of his session, “What happens at the end of the book?”

“Everyone is broken, in various ways. Some find their way back to whole again others don’t.”

“I meant for me?”

“You reclaim your home and beat the Dragon Sickness.”

“The way you spoke, it was if you had lost me.”

“I do lose you Thorin,” that had his heart sink and shoulders slump a moment, “Every time those clouds of grief roll in.” That had him glancing at you over his shoulder, “You know what those eyes are?” He shook his head, “It’s the clear blue sunrise in the middle of winter. Clouds blow away and billow up again, so I lose you, but you’re always there. Just decidedly puffy at those moments.”

“Absolute nonsense.”

“Well thousands have said this quest was a death march so I will take absolute nonsense as a compliment from you.” Making him chuckle lowly to himself.

The needle pressed into his skin and for the final touch to his Conqueror marker he asked, “Why the fox? For all the animals,”

At that you giggled saying, “Because they’re adorable, and small, and have large ears.”

“Are you making fun of my ears?”

“I wouldn’t dare, I am quite fond of your ears, King Thorin. Make it hard to be mad at you when you growl my way.”

“Other Kings would arrest you for treason.”

“Other Kings would be turned into grasshoppers and fed to you for supper.” Making him chuckle as you wiped off his upper back. “Time for the cream,” You passed him the mirror and to the mounted mirror on the wall he walked smirking once there to the finished job. “Try to sleep on your belly tonight, and try not to get angry, who knows what would happen to my work.” His brow inched up, “Unless you prefer coming to do it all over again, and again, and again.”

From his pocket he set a small stack of gold on the counter turning so you could coat his back with the cream and instruct him on how to care for it before leaving to head up to his room feeling a strong urge to nap. Thanks had been heavily given and once you were done with your lunch you were free of any appointments on this blustery winter day to grant you ample time to finish your fox painting.

 *

Deep lost to his dream Thorin opened his eyes belly down in his hoard sinking more and more to the sound of coins falling across his back pushing him deeper into the gold. Doubts of his quest, his sanity, his bloodline and right to rule rippled between the clinks of gold blocking all else from the world around him in painful hisses clenching tight in his chest. Images flashed of his lost kin and brother before his eyes settled on a single gold coin etched with a jackalope right in front of his eyes.

“A strain of madness runs deep in that line…”

Reaching forward his fingers folded around that coin and he could hear his own voice responding, “I am not my Grandfather.” Suddenly he was falling and every pound of gold dropped away scattering in the fall with coin after coin turning to jackalopes wiggling their ears and tilting their heads in catching his gaze. The fall lasted hours it seemed through glimpses of smiles and each brightening moment from the Blue Mountains aiding in his carrying on flooding with appreciative smiles his way and respectful bows of the head to the young title free King. Down he glanced only to find the ground just inches away. Timidly his feet planted on the ground and looking around to see the creatures all around him on top of the snow he began to sink past his knees when you appeared cross legged in front of him.

“You look stuck.” Slicing an apple with a knife in your palms.

“Miss Pear?”

Instantly your brows furrowed asking him, “You know me?”

Scoffing at that he replied, “Yes, I know you. You know me.”

“Do I?”

“Yes!” He replied feeling his legs sinking a bit more in the snow while the Jackalopes came closer at your chewing a slice of the apple, “Stop this, help me out of this hole!”

“I don’t usually help strangers.”

“This is not funny! We spent the better part of a year trudging across country to win back my lost home from a Dragon! You know me! You live in my Kingdom now, you have a shop there.”

After a giggle you asked, “Your Kingdom? You’re a King?”

“Yes!”

“What would a King be doing out here?”

“I don’t know, now will you help me?”

“I thought Kings were supposed to have guards to keep them safe.”

“I don’t need a guard I’m with you.”

“I’m your guard?”

“No.”

“So, we’re friends then?”

“N-no,” The word next to painful to stammer out. “Yes,” he blurted out to correct himself.

“It is no or yes? Are we friends?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Can’t be that complicated you’re waist deep in snow and I have this knife and you say you trust me. Who are you again, Your Majesty?”

“Thorin.”

“Thorin, hmm. I don’t know any Thorins.”

Grumbling to himself he exhaled to the sinking of his body again another inch into the snow, “You know me, you know my Company and Bilbo. We spent nearly a year together,”

“Not ringing any bells.” You said shaking your head luring his eyes to the bells in your hair still.

“Thorin, Thorin Oakenshield, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror. King under the Mountain. You know me! You love me!”

“Do I?” Your head tilted and he snarled as your voice echoed with a low hiss to the flicker of a shadowy pair of wings circling the both of you on the snow as you sliced off another piece of the apple. “Why would I love a stranger? Where’s your proof?”

“Proof? You love me!”

“Mr Thorin King of the snow, who are you to tell me who I love?”

“You told me! You did!”

“Did I? I have no clue who you are, the one I love went away, far away,” Again you ate the slice as his hand slammed into the snow in a failed wiggling try to get free himself.

“I am right here! Right here! Look in my eyes! Look! And tell me what you see!” he let out a raspy breath feeling himself sinking more, “Tell me you don’t know me!” Over his back he could feel paws settle reminding him of your fingertips through tattooing him, so gentle but steady as the jackalopes steps. “Tell me-,” he whimpered out to the sudden tug he felt jerking him under the snow.

Just a blink later he found himself panting on his knees, matching the sound of a ragged whimper of pain. Looking up his mouth dropped open finding you curled against a rock back on that day before jolting up he raced to your side slamming hard onto his knees. “You’re in pain,”

“Thorin?” you whimpered out barely able to open your eyes, “I can’t get up,” a tear rolled down your cheek, “I can’t get up, I’m trying, it hurts.”

“I know,” Up into his arms he lifted you cradling you to his chest, “I know where to take you. I know who can help.” Hours he ran through the growing storm muttering soft words of encouragement to hold on and stay awake. Stone arches broke his sprint and a line of Elven Guards stopped him with spears aimed at him over their tall shields. “Please,” he panted out, “Please help her.”

“I know you,” Elrond spoke stoically speaking with shadowy wings flickering behind his back, “Thorin Oakensield. Son of Thrain,” a hissing echo tailing his voice, “Son of Thror.”

“Please help her! She’s dying!”

“I don’t believe you. She is young. You are lying.” He paused and straightened up facing Thorin fully, “You are mad.”

“She is dying! Look! Just look! You know it!”

“I do not know her, nor do I wish to. Take your ally and leave. You bring doom upon us all.”

“Please help her!”

Elrond turned away and everyone seemed to disperse from the courtyard, “You are mad. Just like your father, just like Thror.”

“I AM NOT MY GRANDFATHER!” Turned back his head shifted granting them eye contact again, “And she is not me,” he panted out, “Help her please, she knows where the ring is, she could save us, all of us. Please, save her, kill me, send me away, but save her!”

“You offer your life in return for her safety,”

“She is so kind, so infallibly kind, and loyal and had shown me love in languages I did not bother to understand. I never cared to see, until the day she nearly died saving me, and all of us. I am weak, I can be cruel, I have had hate in my veins for so long. But she sees pain in others while wading in her own, and she drowns in theirs to spare them the waters and blood. Help her. We don’t deserve her. I, I don’t, I-,”

His voice faltered seeing the jackalope on Elrond’s shoulder and he could hear your voice loud and clear through his formerly hazy memory before transforming last inside your shop. “Jackalope, very rare to find, bring patience and kind thoughts to those who befriend them.”

Ori’s voice asked, “Kind thoughts?”

“They tend to stumble upon people who aren’t very kind to themselves, the ones who need it most.” A groan from Thorin came in the culmination of the hissing thoughts in his mind and his clothes dropped with his fox self scurrying over to curl up halfway sitting on your foot after knocking his head uselessly into Dwalin’s ankle. “Mom hoped by naming me after their Queen in an old children’s tale they would show up around the house. Like that old myth you paint leprechauns in the yard and they bury their gold on your land assuming it’s their own territory.” You said bending to pick up the King as his clothes folded themselves and flew back up to his rooms following the enchantment you had set on them. Around the shop now he could see a herd of the creatures peering up at him sniffing the air as if his scent was changing to something more tolerable to their noses. He could feel your hands and arms folded around him gently stroking him to calm him down.

Kili, “Did it work?”

Fili, “Did they come?”

“I thought they did, but my parents couldn’t see them.”

Thranduil, “That does not necessarily mean that they were not real. A great many creatures chose who cannot see them. Some are merely unworthy.”

“Save her,” Thorin muttered feeling his eyes lulled shut by your touch, more and more it became apparent he was waking up to his struggle of unseen weight on him. “Save her.” With a snort awake he was on all fours and groaned feeling the sting on his back signaling him to reach for the cream tin beginning the application of awkward streaks over his tattoo calming the mild irritation of his skin. And once that was done straight to your room he went leaving the tin by his bed.

Awake in your sitting room hours from supper he eyed the painting of himself as a fox you turned from hearing his entrance asking, “What do you think?”

“I love you,” he blurted out and you turned to set your brush in the water glass to soak.

“It is nowhere proclamations of love level good.”

“The painting is infuriatingly adorable, it’s you I love.”

Folding your hands in your lap you asked, “Now who are you and what have you done with Thorin?”

Across the room he walked taking your paint dotted hands, “I’m going to prove it to you.” Curiously your eyes lingered on his though his timid inch closer leaving you a breath from lips touching only to face the door at a distant muffled explosion.

“Now that’s infuriating,” you said standing up and taking your wand holster from the stand clipping it to your waist on the way to the front overlook where you found Gandalf firing off fireworks left and right alerting you all to the growing sea of orcs and goblins turned to colored glass in a swish of your wand.

Over the blustery wind while Gandalf trudged closer through the snow Thorin rumbled out, “I had a dream about you,” glancing at him you smiled as he said, “I saw jackalope, whole herd.”

“Really?”

He nodded, “I will tell you about it later sometime, once we find out what he has been up to.” Just now spotting the sled driving Radagast beside his cousin with a stack of bodies on his rabbit powered sled.

“Abduction again by the looks of it. By this rate I am starting to think there’s a quota for abductions each Wizard has.”

“Do not start abducting people.”

“Aww, not even a few Hobbits? They’re so much fun, and you’ve tons of land to cover, see, you could fit a lovely little Second Shire all across these plains, and the Master of Laketown will have a sassy shakedown if he tried to march on Erebor.”

He chortled then his grin dropped seeing his brother and father in the sled waving up at him, “Frerin, Father,” turning rapidly he grabbed your hair he confirmed was clearly not green showing you had tried to use a locator charm. “Checking,” his hand lowered to clasp around yours leading you to the steps to take you down to the gates. “Come, meet father and brother, best gain allies from them before Amad arrives and official proceedings are begun for my coronation and our marriage. That will require many drafts for our wedding markers we will share and an artist for our portrait will have to be chosen…”

[osita-iza]

Want: Chapter 1

After high school, you’re an adult. And when you’re an adult, life gets really confusing (and depressing). You’re reminded again of how confusing it is as you head back home for the first winter break from university, spending time with people from high school once again. 

The most confusing is your ex-boyfriend, Oikawa Tooru. Because you still couldn’t answer the question on everyone’s minds: Why the hell did you break up with him?

At least you have your best friends, Kuroo and Kenma. Right?

Pairing: Oikawa x gn!reader x Kenma

Genre: Existential angst, fluff later on 

Word Count: 3,353 

There were a lot of things people knew about you. If someone had surveyed your high school class, they would have all agreed on two things about you: 

Your best friends, Kenma and Kuroo would always be a part of your life. Despite them going to a different school, you three seemed to always know everything about each other’s lives. 

You and Oikawa were going to be the high school sweetheart story from your class. You were going to make it. Never any fights, jealousy, or possessiveness. A match made in heaven.

Those two facts were indisputable. 

And that was why, on the first winter break after graduation, everyone was shocked to find out that Oikawa showed up to the party alone, and someone broke the news that you two had broken up. People didn’t want to ask him ( he was tearing up after only one shot) what happened between the two of you. He was going through a lot without their probing questions.

However, Kuroo and Kenma were fair game. Everyone was more confused when they found out that your best friends knew nothing. Kenma stuck to the corner; if someone looked closer, they would see that his eyebrows were slightly furrowed. He hadn’t seen you since graduation, while Kuroo had last seen you at Thanksgiving break. Kuroo was dodging questions the entire time. However, they both made eye contact, and there was a silent agreement that it must be Oikawa’s fault. 

It was an hour after the news of your break-up hit the party that you showed up. An old teammate had let you know that Oikawa was there. The nerves were already buzzing as you walked through the door. There was a small group by the front entrance wearing volleyball jackets; none of them gave you friendly looks when they saw you. You set your jaw as you sped walked towards an emptier room. 

The only occupants in the kitchen was one couple flirting to the side, but if you didn’t mind them, they wouldn’t mind you. The countertop was lined with an array of drinks. While you were debating on whether or not you wanted to stay sober tonight- the looks some of Oikawa’s fangirls were sending you would not be fun to deal with- two hands came up to your waist, pressing just enough to tickle. You whipped around to see Kuroo’s devilish smile. You hit his arm with a smile. “That was 100% unnecessary.” 

“It was fun though,” he retorted, “I didn’t know you were coming tonight,” 

You shrugged. “I wasn’t sure myself. But I needed a break from my parents,” 

Kuroo nodded, taking a step back. “Me and Kenma have been in the backyard,” 

“Kenma came?” You asked as you grabbed a closed water bottle and followed Kuroo. 

He sighed, “It took a lot of convincing and bargaining on my end,” 

You decided that you would ask about those bargains later. “Has it been fun so far?” You stepped out into the backyard, and the chilly night air surrounded you. The noise from the door caused a couple of the girls to look over, glares immediately falling onto their faces when they recognize you. 

Kuroo leaned closer to your ear. “It was alright, but you should know-” 

“People are talking about me?” You asked with a tight smile, walking to one of the tables set up on the lawn. Kenma was leaning back on the chair, looking at something on his phone. His natural color was starting to grow in, and the way he had his hair pulled back almost hid his dyed end, emphasizing his grown in roots. 

His eyes shot up when he heard your voice, and a smile came up on your face. You were reminded of how much you had missed his voice as he spoke up. “People are kind of obsessed with you, ya know?” 

“Sadly,” you chuckled, sitting down. The cold metal of the chair was able to sting through the fabric of your jeans. 

“So, I have to ask-” Kuroo sighed, raising his eyebrows, “Why didn’t you tell us about you and Oikawa?” 

You groaned, avoiding both of their gazes. “I just… really didn’t want to talk about it to be honest. I told my Mom, and her reaction was enough,” Kenma furrowed his eyebrows, a silent question. “”When I told her that we broke up, my Mom went on a rant about how she was sure we were going to get married,” 

“Oof,” Kenma muttered. 

“Pretty much,” you chuckled, rubbing your arms as goosebumps appeared from the night air. 

“Why did you break up with him?” Kuroo asked, “If you’re okay with that,” 

You felt nauseous at the question; it was a question that you had been asking yourself for a long time as well. Right after you said the words, you were mortified at your decision. Oikawa was great. You were spoiled with having as your boyfriend, let alone your first love. Most people would have killed to date someone like him. But… 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it,” Kuroo reminded. You looked up, and Kenma’s eyes were focused on you. 

“It’s not that,” you exhaled, “I just felt that I couldn’t be with him anymore. It’s hard to put into words,” 

They both nodded, and a silence fell over the three of you. There was a roar of laughter from one of the nearby tables. You couldn’t help but feel like they were talking about you. It had felt that people here had been talking about you nonstop since your first date with Oikawa. “Are either of your families doing anything special for the holidays?” you asked. 

Kenma shook his head, but Kuroo spoke up. “We have some extended family coming over next week to trade presents. It’s a pre-Christmas, since a lot of my cousins are working that day,” 

“At least you’re getting to see them,” 

“I also have to figure out gifts a whole week early,” 

Kenma spoke up. “How many gifts do you have now?” 

“Two,” Kuroo groaned.

You shook your head with a smile. “Don’t you have like a million relatives?” 

“Fifteen, I’ll let you know, but yup,” He popped the ‘p’. “Would you guys mind helping me find presents?” 

“Sure” “No” You and Kenma answered at the same time. You sent a weak look at him, and the corners of his mouth lifted up slightly. “Fine.” 

Kuroo was about to make a comment on Kenma’s lack of enthusiasm when a wet coldness ran down your back. You flinched, immediately jumping up to your feet. Turning to see where it came from, your eyes connected with Kaori’s. 

A smirk was evident on her face as she took in your drenched top. She had been pining over Oikawa just as your relationship with him started. The hatred she had for you clearly took enjoyment at the fact she could finally mess with you without fearing Oikawa’s judgement. “Sorry, I tripped,” 

You forced a smile and sighed. “It’s fine,” you turned to your boys, “I’m gonna go to the bathroom before I start stinking like alcohol,” 

Kenma stood up, pulling off the crimson hoodie he was wearing. “Here, you can change into this,” 

You smiled, taking the clothing. “Thank you so much, Kozume,” 

Kaori’s voice rose to a higher pitch as she walked away to her friends, “Thank you so much, Kozume,” 

“I’ll be back,” you muttered to the boys. Kaori’s drink was already leaving its alcoholic scent on you as you trudged your way to the bathroom. It felt like everyone was staring at you, and Kaori’s antics made it difficult to tell yourself you were imagining it. 

You pushed at the bathroom door, but it refused to budge. Your hand met the door as you knocked, but there was no response. A groan escaped your mouth as you went to find the other bathroom you knew of across the house. 

Every time you passed into a new room people would turn to look at you. Grabbing the doorknob and turning it, you sighed out of relief as you opened the door, although you weren’t sure if some of the relief was at the idea of getting to be alone. 

That relief disappeared as you saw your ex-boyfriend kneeling over the toilet. “Tooru?” 

He looked up, frowning. “Y/N?” 

“How drunk are you?” 

“Not at all, Mom,” he said before spitting into the toilet. 

You pressed your lips together before locking the door behind you. Turning towards the corner, you pulled off your shirt and rushed to get the hoodie on. It smelled like Kenma; he had been using the same detergent since you were kids, and the scent reminded you of walks from school. 

“Did you seriously just change in front of me?” Tooru asked. His eyes were squinting at you like he was annoyed, but it was hard to take him seriously when he was slumped against a bathtub. 

“I had a drink spilled on me.” He tried to respond, but it was indiscernible. “Are you alright?” 

“Peachy.” 

You rolled your eyes at his curt response, more mad at yourself for continuing the conversation than him. Why were you even talking to him? “Do you have a ride home at least?” 

He spit into the toilet again before grumbling, “Why do you care? You’re the one who broke up with me,” 

You wished he wasn’t right. He wasn’t the type to get drunk like this.The back of your mind reminded you that you were the reason he felt the need to get drunk tonight. “I still want you to be safe.” 

Oikawa shoulders slumped further. “Gonna walk home,” 

A million images of him tripping somewhere and getting stuck in the cold played in your mind. He wasn’t exactly a smart or stable drunk. “I can walk you home.” 

“No.” He shook his head, making his hair go everywhere. It would be cute in a better situation.

“I don’t want you to go alone.” He mumbled something about exes to himself. As you tried to follow along, your phone vibrated. You reached down to read a text from Kenma. 

You good? You’re taking a while. 

“I-” You put your phone down and sighed, “If you saw me drunk and vomiting, would you want me to walk home alone?” Oikawa sighed, a clear tell that he was close to giving in. “Your house is only a block away from mine. I’m heading there anyways,” 

He gripped the tub and groaned as he stood up, “Fine,” 

A small smile set itself on your face, and you put a hand out to steady him. That nausea in your gut multiplied when your hand met his warm skin. His nose scrunched up as he looked at you. “You smell like alcohol,” he muttered as he dragged himself to the door. You immediately pulled your hand away from him as the door opened and hung your head down lower. God, you hoped no one saw you two. The rumor mill would only have more to talk about.

Tooru walked through the hallways towards the front door. Something you had always admired about him was the way people instinctively moved out of his way when he walked. He didn’t even have to ask for attention. His confidence and looks just brought it to him. You pulled your phone out to answer Kenma. 

I’m going home. Do you mind if I give you your hoodie back later???

Oikawa stopped by the front door to hug Iwaizumi and say bye. You stepped through the door, exposing yourself to the chilly weather again; you didn’t think it was your place to say bye to Oikawa’s friends anymore. Iwaizumi had always been nice to you. You liked hanging out with him and Oikawa together because of how he calmed Oikawa down. He always took your side in the teasing too. A part of you wondered if walking home with those two were some of your favorite memories of high school. 

Your phone dinged, lighting up with a text from Kenma. 

Sure. Bring it back whenever. Let me know if you need to talk. 

A smile graced your face. The memories with Iwaizumi and Oikawa would have to beat the memories with Kenma and Kuroo first. You knew you weren’t being the best friend right now. They had stuck with you for a long time; it would be sad to lose them now. There was a feeling in your gut that was telling you that you would lose them. 

Thanks, i mean it. We should all plan to hang out soon 

Oikawa burst through the door before a reply came in. You crossed your arms and smiled at him. “You good?” 

He nodded and stepped closer to you, following you. You began walking towards his house. It felt weird walking with him to his house and not being close with him. You spent three years of your life walking this path while holding his hand. Kuroo’s question popped into your head again.

‘Whose hoodie is that?” Tooru’s voice was quiet. 

“Huh?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him. 

“The hoodie you're wearing. Whose is it?” 

You glanced down. The red color staring back at you. “Oh, it’s Kenma’s. He gave it to me, so I could change,” 

“Kenma’s?” Oikawa’s brows furrowed, and there was a small frown in his face. 

“Yeah, why?” 

Oikawa shook his head. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. 

You didn’t believe him, but you decided against probing. “Are you feeling any better? Not nauseous or anything?” 

He shook his head. “I think I got most of it out of my system.” You nodded. “Did you drink at all?” 

“No, I basically just talked to Kenma and Kuroo and left,” you said. 

Oikawa furrowed his eyebrows at you. “You didn’t have fun?” 

“No. I’m glad I went because it’s been a while since I’ve seen them, but I felt pretty awkward,” 

“That’s not like you,” he muttered. 

You weren’t sure if he was right or not. He was right in that you had gone to a lot of parties before, some with him and some not. You were always a social butterfly at them, pulled into conversation after conversation. But you were also always aware of how your voice sounded, the way you were sitting, how long you took to answer. You always felt like you were playing a role, like you were in a video game. You controlled your actions, but there was a disconnect. “I don’t know. It was just different tonight.” 

“I felt that too,” he said. 

You had a feeling that it was you that made him feel different. It was only a couple of blocks until you got to his house. “I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t have to-” 

“No, I do. I could’ve handled it better,” you said, “And I know I hurt you, so I’m sorry,” 

“I know.” Oikawa gave you a feeble smile. You both stared at each other for a moment before he sighed and looked forward again. “How are your parents doing?” 

“Pretty good, my Dad just got a promotion at work,” you answered. You felt like a video game character again, even with him. “My Mom’s really excited for the holidays. She already has a list of traditions planned,” 

“I always really liked your Mom,” he smiled. “She’s really sweet,” 

You laughed at his reaction to you just mentioning your Mom. “She really liked you too,” you said. 

Coming up to his house, you both stopped in front. “Well of course she liked me. Who wouldn’t?” He winked at you, smiling when you cracked up. 

“I don’t even know if I should dignify that with a response,” you smiled. 

“You don’t need to dignify the truth, sweetheart,” 

You rolled your eyes, and Oikawa’s smile grew wider at your reaction. “I should probably head ho-” 

Oikawa leaned down, pressing his mouth against yours for a moment. You froze. It had now been a couple of months since you last kissed him, and you forgot how soft his lips were. How he would barely push against you. How one of his hands would always travel to the back of your head with just enough pressure to keep you steady. 

Before you could react, he had already pulled away. He stayed close enough that you could feel his breath on your face; the alcohol he drank earlier was more noticeable now. Oikawa whispered, “I’m… Do you want this?” 

You let out a shaky breath. “I- Tooru…” you mumbled. 

Oikawa sighed, shutting his eyes as he pulled away completely this time. The cold air hit you again without his body there to shield you. There was a part of you that wanted to pull him back; instead you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I’m sorry. I think I’m still drunk, and I really miss-” Oikawa said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I’m sorry,” 

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumbled. A silence fell over the two of you, and you became focused on your breathing. “I should probably be heading home before it gets too late.” 

Oikawa nodded, backing up towards his house as you turned to walk away. “Can you message me when you get home? So I know you’re safe?” 

A small smile appeared on your face as you nodded. “Tell your Mom hi for me,” you called back. 

“Tell yours too,” he said with a smile. 

You sighed as you began walking towards your house.You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself as a breeze came by. The winter used to be your favorite season, but the coldness just served as a reminder that Oikawa wasn’t there. That one moment of having him against you made the air colder. Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, burning against the wind.

After the breakup, you had only cried twice- right after and three days later. Even though you hadn’t been sure if the breakup was the right decision, you had been good at learning how to live with it. Until now. Until you had to deal with reminders of him from people asking about him to Kaori and the rest of his fangirls being pissed at you. You felt like you were back in high school, except at least in high school you had teachers telling you what to do. 

Your house came up in view, and you let yourself in quietly. Your parents were probably asleep by now, and the last thing you wanted to deal with was your Mom asking you a million questions. Slipping off your shoes, you tiptoed over to your room and locked the door behind you. 

You grabbed your phone before collapsing onto your bed. 

To Oikawa: I’m home, didn’t get murdered 

Kenma had sent you a message sometime while you were walking. Me and Kuroo are gonna go xmas shopping tomorrow. Wanna come with??

Breathing felt hard. You typed ‘yes’ to Kenma as Oikawa’s message came through. 

Glad you got home safe! Goodnight :) 

You dropped your phone to your side, choosing to stare at the wall in front of you instead. You didn’t want to cry. You were the one who broke up with him; you’re not supposed to be the one who cries. Despite your disagreement, tears began falling. You covered your mouth to keep any sounds from escaping. 

Oikawa had been perfect. He treated you great. Even tonight. He loved you. What would have happened if you had grabbed him and pulled him in for another kiss? Would he have wanted to talk about it, or would he have wanted to just keep kissing? Was that all he wanted, or did he want to get back with you? 

You remembered how warm he had been tonight. How you felt safer the second you were with him. 

“Do you want this?” 

You willed yourself to at least stay quiet, since you couldn’t stop the tears. You had missed your chance to answer him. 

And you had no idea what that answer would have been.