anoshag

[andoutofharm]

hearing about people being jumpscared by ray toro at the fob concert is truly beautiful

[azaleavi]

“All of the songs are about you”

Requested by anon: Hi, first of all I want to thank you for all your amazing work that you share with us, I absolutely adore everything that you write!!! Secondly, I was wondering if I could request something with Sebastian, where reader is a famous singer and younger than him, and when they reveal their relationship, people start saying that he is only using her and he gets worried that she will leave him for someone her age. Once again, thank you! 😚

Word count: 2k

Author's note: Thank you for your kind words dear nonnie! I hope you like it.

Warning(s): language

Feedback is always appreciated and don’t forget to reblog and like if you enjoyed it and want to see more. Thank you!

Masterlist

Both of you being famous wasn't easy with you being a singer and Sebastian being an actor. Especially when you wanted to keep your relationship a secret and you were quite younger than him. You have been dating for a while now and you couldn't be more in love with him. He was your muse for many of your songs, but the fans didn't know that. They did notice though that you started writing more love songs than before. You got questions about it almost every day, but you never answered them. They had their speculations, but you never confirmed any of it. It might be selfish, but you wanted to keep him all to yourself and both of you agreed to wait a little more before going public. He was promoting his new movie and you didn't want people to think that you announced your relationship only to give more publicity to it. But sometimes the universe doesn't care what you want.

It was a normal day, like any other, when you were at Sebastian's house and you started craving some McDonald's. The weather was nice for the time being past 10 pm so you decided to go out to buy it instead of ordering. It was dark already so you weren't afraid that anybody would see or recognize you. It was a five minute walk from his house and you thought it would be nice have a short walk. You waited for Sebastian to lock the front door then started walking down the street hand in hand. It probably wasn't the best idea, but you really didn't think that any paparazzi would be near you. You went into the fast food place to buy what you needed, then started walking back to his place, laughing at a story he was telling you. You loved these late night walks, the dark giving you a sense of comfort.

"Baby" he stopped walking as still giggled, making you stop as well. You turned to him, eyebrows raised in question, a smile still on your face. "I love you" he blurted out, intently looking at you, waiting for your reaction. He never said it before, despite dating for almost 6 months now. You didn't say it either yet, not wanting to make him uncomfortable or rush him. After his last relationship he wanted to be extra sure when saying the three words and you understood him. Your heart skipped a few beats at his confession, the smile widening on your lips.

"I love you too, Seb." you beamed, stepping closer to him and pulling him into a hug.

"Thank god." he mumbled into your hair, making you pull away.

"What do you mean 'thank god'? How could I not feel the same way about you? Haven't you heard the songs I wrote lately?" you asked jokingly in disbelief, but knowing he didn't mean it like that.

"You know what I mean" he blushed under the light of the streetlamp.

"I do" your arms going around his neck you pulled him down into a deep kiss. When you broke apart you walked back to his house to finally eat.

What you didn't realize was that there was a paparazzi following you, getting the perfect angle of your kiss, taking a series of photos.

The next morning you were woken up by your phone essentially exploding with calls and messages. You groaned as you reached for it, barely being able to touch it as Sebastian refused to let go of your waist.

"Why is your phone waking us up at the ass crack of dawn?" he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

"I don't know" you unlocked it to see at least 25 calls from your manager and another few from friends and family. Around the same amount of texts were sent as well, making you sit up in bed, confused. "Something is wrong." he sat up at your tone to look at your phone. You dialed your manager, putting it on speaker. She picked up right away.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she almost screamed into the device, making Sebastian look at you.

"I was sleeping. It's 7 am." you explained.

"Care to tell me why is you and Sebastian kissing plastered on every news site on the internet right now?" your whole world stopped at her words.

"What did you say?" Sebastian spoke up as you were still frozen in your spot.

"Oh your partner in crime is there too? Great. I don't have to say this twice." she was being sarcastic, but you didn't care. You just wanted an explanation.

"Tell us what is happening, please" you pleaded.

"There are multiple pictures of you going around. They are claiming that they took them last night." she explained, but that wasn't enough.

"What pictures?" you asked.

"Pictures of you holding hands and kissing." you ran your hand through your hair.

"Fuck" Sebastian sighed.

"That's an understatement." you heard shuffling on the other side. "So I recommend you guys figure out what you are going to do and do it real fast because it is getting out of hand."

"Yeah, sure we will do that." he took the phone from you. "Thanks."

"Just doing my work." she ended the call with a sigh. Sebastian looked at you as you stared at your legs, deep in thought.

"Hey" he brushed his hand up your back, shaking you out of your mind.

"Yeah?" you looked at him, startled.

"We need to do something." he explained.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. What should we do? Go public? I mean we don't really have any other choice." you furrowed your brows.

"Do you want that?" he wanted you to be hundred percent okay with whatever you were going to do.

"Yes, I just hoped it wouldn't happen like this." you sighed. "Do you want that?" you asked back.

"Yes. We already talked about going public so I guess we will have to do it now." he shrugged.

"How are we doing this then?" you stood up to get dressed, getting ready for the day.

"Posting a video on TikTok?" he grinned.

"Absolutely not. We are not posting on Tiktok." you shook your head, laughing.

"So where do you want it? Facebook?" he raised his eyebrows, joking.

"No." you laughed. "I was thinking about posting a pic on Instagram." you threw out the idea. Both of you used the app a lot so it would be the best choice.

"Okay, let's find a picture." he also stood up.

"Ah-ah" you held out your hand to stop him. "You talk to your manager while I pick out a picture to post on my account and you can post one on yours if you want to. Mine is going to be a surprise." you grinned, already having one in mind. It was your favorite picture of you, taken by a friend without your knowledge. You were in a parking lot at the beach, you sitting on the hood of his car while he was standing between your legs, kissing you. There was a second picture, where you were leaning your forehead against his, both of you laughing at your friends shouting at you to get a room. Both of your faces were clearly seen on them so you decided to post both of them.

'All of the songs are about you' the caption read. In seconds your notifications were blowing up with comments from fans. You didn't want to read them, because you knew how people on the internet could get and you knew that you being younger than him would bother some of them. Sebastian came out of the bedroom to sit next to you.

"You posted it?" he asked, taking out his phone.

"Yep" you smiled. You leaned your head against his shoulder as he opened the app, waiting for his reaction. He immediately searched up your name and tapped on the photo. His thumb froze on the little heart as he read the caption. He put the phone down and grabbed your chin to pull you to his soft lips in a kiss.

"I love you." he mumbled into your lips.

"I love you too." you giggled. He pulled away to pick up the phone to leave a comment. 'If I wrote songs mine would be about you too' you snorted at it. "You are cute"

-

A few days later you had enough courage to check the comments people were leaving online. Maybe it wasn't the best idea.

'Jesus. Isn't he like 12 years older than her?? Gross'

'He is definitely using her lmao but I can't blame him, get that coin king'

'Y'all think she calls him daddy in the bedroom kjsdnhs'

'She is just using him to write songs'

There were nice comments as well, calling you cute together and wishing you well. The mean comments always stuck with you more though and you didn't want Sebastian to read them. It was enough that you went through them. Both of you were a little insecure about your age gap, but you loved each other so you helped the other through the harder times.

You got to his house and walked in as he asked you to not to knock anymore. You found him sitting on his couch, phone in hand. Hoping that he wasn't doing what you thought he was doing you sat down next to him. He had instagram open.

"Seb" you sighed, taking the phone out of his hands.

"What? I just wanted to see what they were saying." he tried to defend himself.

"You shouldn't read these." you shook your head. "So you wanna watch a movie?" you changed the subject. He agreed with your suggestion.

The movie had been playing for a half an hour when he pulled away from your cuddling.

"What if they are right?" his voice was so quiet so almost didn't hear him. You paused the movie to look at him.

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused by his sudden outburst.

"The comments saying that you could do so much better than me" he kept looking at his feet. You sat up and grabbed his chin to turn his head towards you, your heart breaking at his words. This was exactly why you didn't want him to read them.

"Baby" you sighed. "They are not right. Not even by far. I could not find anyone better than you even if I tried. But I'm not trying because I have you with me and you are the best thing that happened to me in a long time. So get that thought out of your head." you stared into his eyes to get your point across.

"But don't you want someone your age?"

"No I don't." you shook your head. "I am perfectly happy with you and I don't need anyone else." you held his cheeks between your palms. "Plus I like it that you are older." you smirked making him chuckle lightly. Climbing onto his lap you pulled him closer. "I love it that you are more experienced." you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. "I love it that you are taller." a kiss under his ear. "I love it that you are always so so sweet to everyone you meet." a kiss on his nose. Your right hand went into his hair as your lips kissed down to his neck. "And I love the way you make me feel when it's just the two of us." you whispered into his ear, your breath hitting his skin, making him let out a moan. He grabbed your waist in a strong grip. "I love how big your hands are." you nipped at his skin on his neck earning another noise of pleasure and his fingers digging into your skin. "But most importantly" you pulled away so you could look into his eyes to show your sincerity. "I love you. All of you. With everything I have." his eyes softened as he pulled you into a passionate kiss.

"I love you too."

Permanent taglist: @byatomoe

Sebastian Stan taglist: @wobblymug @sleutherclaw @toms-spiders @sarcastically-defensive17 @allforkook @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @mrsbarnesinmyimagination @bbl32 @wakandabiitch2

get added to my taglist

[the-darklings]

“ i’m gonna marry you one day. ” Santi + V please? Thank you so much in advance 🥺

prompt: “ i’m gonna marry you one day. ”

pairing: santino d’antonio x v (coa)

wc: 966

notes: takes place post ch1 but after s/v first meeting; this could honestly be canon for how in character that prompt is lmao. also had no good place to end it so it overran like crazy & ends kinda weird but we're just gonna ignore that.

Champagne bubbles tickle your nose, tickling your tongue as you survey the lively crowd silently. The live band transitions to yet another classic piece, the dancefloor full of swaying and cheery guests. Your eyes scan the smear of people and colour, blending in easily enough amongst the numbers, and never moving too far away from your mark.

Your dress shimmers around your body when you adjust your position—strangely fitting, and even more strangely comfortable, even if it’s a novelty for the poor little girl—and you let the glass of your drink touch your mouth again. Painted blood red for the occasion. You look appealing in an unassuming, elegant way. Especially when compared to other women in attendance.

A part of you wonders what John would think of you right now if he saw you. If he would prefer you like this—pretty and dressed up, with a glittering gown and smokey makeup. His absence feels like a limb that’s been removed too swiftly. Gushing blood and weakening you. Every time you expect to glance into the shadows and find his silent, too still frame looming there. Protective, dangerous, and ever watchful.

No such thing happens despite your mute hope for it.

Tarasov is clearly eager for you to be detangled from one another after your screw-up.

“What a lovely sight on this rather dull night.”

Your mouth purses into a line, eyes remaining on the flow of the crowd.

There’s a glimmer of familiarity about the accented purr of a voice at your side. Back straight and arms crossed over your chest, you don’t move when a man comes to a stand beside you. Faint heat emits from his body, and you pull the cool glass away from your lips—not like you were drinking anyway.

“Mr. D’Antonio.”

Your greeting is cool, if barely polite. No reaction to his previous compliment leaves your mouth.

“Ah, and so we meet again,” he notes pleasantly, a low rumble of pleasure at this fact stark in his melodic voice. “I did not expect the Russian to send you. Should I, ah, call for a clean-up in advance?”

Your eyes slide his way at long last. Clad in a fitting dark suit, combed curly hair, and a wicked glint in his eyes, Santino D’Antonio strikes a similar image to the one he did back at the church.

Too arrogant. Too condescending with little to no effort. And far, far too charismatic for his own damn good.

“Are you planning to die tonight?” you question coolly, rising a single brow.

His mouth twists, forming a crooked grin that takes the place of his previous indifference, and you choose to ignore the suggestive sweep of his eyes down your figure. He’s so blatant about it you wonder if he clearly wants you to see or if he simply doesn’t care if you find it distasteful.

Men in power, you seethe silently to yourself, they’re all the same. Stupid and entitled.

“A sharp tongue for a beautiful woman,” he muses curiously; a bait to play with him rather obvious. He doesn’t move closer, however, content to stand beside you and that’s the only reason you don’t pull a blade on him again. “Many would consider me to be a lucky man.”

“Or a stupid one,” you cut in idly, peering into the crowd to avoid looking at him. “To be bothering someone clearly not interested in warming your bed. And working. I don’t think you need me to remind you what exactly my profession is.”

“Do you talk to everyone in such a manner or am I a rare exception, hm?”

“A rare exception. I like most people just fine.”

“But not me?” he hums in thought. You feel the heat of his eyes on you, and his next words come as lower, drawling, “Why not? There are a great many things a man like myself can offer a woman such as yourself.”

Your eyes slide back to him. Vivid green steals your breath for a moment and you remind yourself he likely purposely baited you enough to force your attention back his way. Does he think his looks will sway you? It’s almost comical how ignorant this man is.

“I don’t need anything from a son of Camorra,” you tell him, frowning faintly. “Your reputation precedes you, Mr D’Antonio. I don’t keep company with backstabbers.”

“Just murderers and cheats?”

You try to bite back your slight grin but fail. “Yes.”

A pause, then, “I'm going to marry you one day.”

You nearly drop the glass in your hand, your head jerking in his direction. But this time, he’s the one who's peering out towards the party. Nonchalant and at ease.

“Excuse me?”

His slight grin stretches and he gives you a sly look. “Hm, hard on hearing?”

When you don’t respond—still wide-eyed and speechless—he lets those intent, raging eyes journey over your face, searching for something. He looks a little startled himself, as if he hadn’t expected those words to escape him. Like he needs to confirm to himself the validity of them.

“I’m going to marry you one day,” he repeats, a little more sure this time. His grin stretches at the swiftly fleeing bewilderment being replaced with prickling anger at his sheer nerve. “Three children. Two sons and a daughter. With their mama’s smarts and their papa’s beauty.”

“How lovely,” you hiss. “But I’m not looking for a husband.”

As if you would ever marry him of all people. As if you weren’t chained to Tarasov.

Santino offers a one-shouldered shrug. His only explanation. Still effortlessly haughty despite your burning glare. “I’ll see you around, cara mia.”

One last, heated stare in your direction, and then his lean figure disappears in the crowd.

[avnkin]

Not What It Seems ( d.m )

Summary: Draco starts spreading rumours about you and you demand to know why.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!reader

Word Count: 2k ish

Warnings: angst and draco being mean

Author’s Note: here’s my first draco fic!!! i’m currently working on 4 others, one series, two requests and a one shot that i’m 8k words deep into,, please continue sending in requests i love hearing your ideas and writing them out!<3 PSA I wrote this in like an hour so it’s not my best work lmao I just wanted to post something since i’ve been so inactive (not my gif)

You and Draco had always had a sort of rivalry going on between the two of you. Everyday in class he’d throw a snide comment directed your way which you’d send right back with a remark of your own.

Everyone had gotten used it by now the teachers hardly bothering to intervene whenever you two were having one of your ‘arguments’ in class.

It had been a monday when the rumours had started. You’d been walking to your charms class when you noticed the abnormally large crowd of Slytherin girls stop and stare when you walked past, whispering in each other’s ears while they not so subtly pointed at you.

You’d thought nothing of it since most of those girls hated you and made damn sure you knew it so that wasn’t anything new, but the stares and giggles had continued on for the rest of the day and not just from the Slytherin’s but the other houses as well, what the hell was going on?

When you’d finally made it to your last class of the day you’d grown fairly sick of it. Hermione had taken a seat next you which was when you knew something was definitely up since she always sat next to Ron and you to Harry.

She’d given you a worried glance which you’d returned with one of confusion.

“Why is everyone acting so weird?” you finally asked noticing the lingering stares from your fellow classmates who quickly looked away whenever you made eye contact.

“I was actually coming to see if you knew” Hermione had hesitantly replied, shuffling uncomfortably in her seat.

“Knew? knew what” you inquired feeling the tiniest hint of nerves as you watched Hermione bite down on her, lip carefully contemplating her next words.

“There’s been this rumour... about you” Hermione cautioned, it was obvious she didn’t feel comfortable telling you this but you didn’t care continuing to press on her. 

“What rumour?”

“Well it’s just people have been saying that you’ve been- uh sleeping around” she spoke the last part of her sentence quietly as she looked down onto her lap “please don’t think I’m judging you, I would never do that what you do in your own time is entirely your business and no one else’s, it’s just to bad nobody at this school seems to be familiar with the word privacy- but anyways, I just wanted you to hear it from me rather then anybody else”

Your eyes widened at her words and you suddenly became very aware of the students that we’re still staring now knowing what they were thinking made it ten times worse.

“What? why would anyone think that” your voice wavered even though you felt like you knew exactly who had started the rumour, Malfoy.

He’d seen you with a fellow Slytherin boy the other night, you knew that because you’d made very awkward eye contact with the platinum blond once you’d entered they boys dormitories.

It hadn’t been anything like everyone seemed to think, but you couldn’t go telling people that you were sneaking around with a boy who was helping you cheat on your tests.

You hadn’t been doing well in school so you saw no harm in paying someone off to do your homework or work on spells that would enable him to talk to you during tests and tell you the answers. Your family was wealthy which was why you knew they wouldn’t question the missing money.

You figured that Draco had been watching you whenever you’d sneak into the Slytherin common room but decided to keep it to himself until today apparently.

When he walked into the classroom accompanied by his usual entourage, you gave him the deadliest stare you could muster which he only replied too with a wink.

It infuriated you that he’d been spreading such lies about you, who did he think he was? Even if you had been sleeping with the boy it wasn’t his or anyone else’s damn business.

Since the teacher had yet to arrive you angrily stood up stomping towards Draco, wanting to get more than a few things off of your chest.

When you finally stood in front of his desk you slammed both your hands down on the wooden surface causing him to turn towards you leaning back in his chair his signature smirk resting on his lips.

“Anything I can help you with Y/L/N” his voice was smooth, as if he didn’t have a care in the world, asshole.

“You can stop telling lies about me for starters” you chided, rolling your eyes once you heard the ‘oh’s’ from around you, clearly you’d caught the attention of the rest of the class.

“They’re not lies and you know it” he challenged now sitting up fully in his chair.

“Yes they are and why do you even care Malfoy? Are you jealous” that sentence seemed to throw him off as he uncomfortably shifted in his chair his body language changing in mere seconds.

That’s when you realized you’d hit a soft spot, smirking before continuing “oh I get it, that’s it, you’re in love with me aren’t you” you teasingly pouted leaning forward on his desk to rest your chin in your palm smiling innocently up at him.

A bright pink tint appeared on his cheeks as he took in a deep breath giving you a warning glare which you ignored even though you knew you were skating on thin ice.

“Poor Malfoy can’t even get the girl he likes”

That’s when he seemed to snap, quickly getting up pushing the chair from behind him causing it to almost fall to the floor but Zabini’s arm had caught it just in time.

He placed his fingers on the desk in front of him, all embarrassment seeming to fade off of him as he looked you up and down, his signature smirk now back on his lips.

“Believe me Y/L/N, I don’t want you and neither does anyone else so any guy who says he’s interested in you beyond just fucking you is full of shit”

You’d been expecting him to say a lot of things but not that. You stood frozen for a couple of seconds, this was probably the first time you couldn’t come up with anything to say.

His words had cut deep and the chortles from the students around you weren’t helping at all. You felt tears beginning to brim in the corner of your eyes but you didn’t dare let them fall, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d hurt so you just shook your head before heading straight for the exit of the classroom.

“That was a low blow Malfoy, even for you” Hermione glared at him before hurriedly standing up and following you out into the hallway.

Draco didn’t melt into the cheers and laughter of his friends like he usually did, instead he sunk into his seat ignoring everyone around him.

He knew what he’d said wasn’t true but he’d been so blinded by jealousy when he saw you enter another boys dormitory that he’d gone to Blaise and told him that he wouldn’t be surprised if you would have gone through the entire Slytherin house by the end of the term.

He truly didn’t know why he did it and a sudden guilt creeped onto him as flashes off your hurt face lingered in his mind.

Tears were now fully falling down your cheeks, you felt embarrassed and humiliated, he’d given all the students yet another thing to gossip about without a care in the world.

“Y/N!” Hermione’s voice sounded from behind you causing to you quickly stop and turn around gladly accepting the comforting hug she engulfed you in as soon as she reached you.

“He’s full of shit Y/N don’t you dare let someone like him be the cause of your tears. You are so much more than his stupid comments believe me” you nodded letting her wipe away your tears.

You stayed out in the hallway for a couple more minutes but when you saw professor Snape walking past you, you didn’t feel like getting yelled at for being late as well so you and Hermione quickly followed after him.

As soon as you walked into the classroom all eyes were on you but you ignored them keeping your head held high as you walked back to your seat not daring to look over at Draco.

After class had finished you felt much better having spent your time with ‘the golden trio’ letting them cheer you up, your embarrassment long forgotten as the four of you made your way into the Great Hall for dinner.

You’d been walking behind them having been to caught up in your own thoughts when you felt a hand wrap around your wrist pulling you into an empty corner of the hallway along with them.

You let out a yelp as you were pressed against a wall a hand coming up to cover your mouth. You quickly looked up at your assailant only to be met with a pair of grey eyes you weren’t expecting to see, Draco.

“Calm down it’s just me”

You immediately pushed him off of you “Is that supposed to make feel better? God you’re such an arse” you scoffed attempting to walk away from him but he grabbed your arm again pulling you back in front of him.

“Y/N please hear me out” he pleaded, the mention of your first name startling you a bit, not once in all your years at Hogwarts had he called you Y/N.

“Y/N huh, that’s new” you folded your arms over your chest glaring up at him.

He ignored your words as he fiddled with his fingers clearly trying to think of an apology good enough for what he had said earlier.

“Shit, Y/N- I mean Y/L/N, I’m so sorry I shouldn’t have said that it was stupid, I-I hope you know I don’t actually think that, It’s just when I saw you with him I got so mad, I don’t know why I-I didn’t mean it-“

“You didn’t mean it? Well that sure as hell didn’t stop you from saying it in front of the entire bloody class” you cut him off now resting your hand on your hip.

“I know, I- I don’t know what to say except that I’m really sorry” he shook his head before he turned to walk away from you, but just as he was about to round the corner you called out after him.

“I’m sorry for what I said as well”

He stopped dead in his tracks before slowly making his way back to stand in front of you, you were now very much aware of how close the two of you were and you almost invontarily backed into the stone wall causing him to take another step towards you.

“Well you weren’t exactly wrong”

“Oh so you were jealous” you teased looking up at the platnium blond who already had his eyes glued on you a small smile resting on his lips

Instead of answering he surged forward pressing you even harder into the wall, his hands wrapping around your waist as his lips connected with yours.

Your eyes widened at his actions as you stood frozen against him which he seemed to notice after a couple of seconds quickly pushing himself off of you.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have-” you cut him off by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet your lips again.

He hungrily kissed you back his arms wrapping around your torso before travelling down to your hips pulling you even more into him.

“What on earth is going on here” professor McGonagall’s voice suddenly sounded from beside you causing the two of you to quickly jump away from each other.

“Oh- uhm sorry professor we were just- uhm” you tried to come up with an excuse turning your head towards Draco hoping he would help but he just stood frozen like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Detention, both of you for the next two weeks”

[banigarubug]

Boys (Corpse x MALE!Reader)

VERY excited for this prompt! here is where i acknowledge corpse irl is straight: (pause to acknowledge). and here is where i write a piece of fiction that corpse has expressed he’s ok with!

-

Please do a Corpse x male!reader - if you write for males but if not then GN will be okay ^^ - where reader is very edgy, wears techwear 24/7 and is taller than Corpse.

I’m not seeing enough male reader/GN fics where the reader is just as edgy if not edgier than Corpse—

you met corpse at a gas station, but he’s still cute. no corona ;)

warnings: minimal food talk, maybe swearing but i can’t remember lmao

-

The day you met Corpse had you both stopped in your tracks.

Well, admittedly, Corpse was more so. You pride yourself on being able to keep it together, but Corpse has always been a dweeb who just tries his best - and often fails - to play it cool. This was obvious from the moment you’d met him, literally bumping into him at a gas station as you were both on your phones walking towards each other.

Your phone survived the accident, but Corpse’s clattered to the floor. You tore your eyes away from your screen as soon as your bodies made contact and immediately picked up his phone from the floor. “I’m so sorry,” you said, inspecting his phone. It’s fine, save for one long crack across the top left, thankfully missing the front camera entirely. You handed it to him, and finally noticed him staring up at you with wide eyes. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, confused.

He cleared his throat. “All good,” he replied, voice muffled just slightly by the fabric mask over his mouth. It’s deeper than you’d expected, and you startled a little at it, but he didn’t seem to notice. “Uh, it’s my fault too.”

“Well, you know,” you replied, shrugging. “There’s no place like twitter dot com.” You quirked a smile as you flashed your phone, displaying the Twitter timeline open on the screen. 

He laughed, opening his phone to show that he’d been on Twitter too. “Uh, I’m Corpse,” he said.

You smiled at him, maybe more bashful than intended. “Y/N,” you replied, sticking out your hand to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he said, and as your hands met, a blush threatened the outer corner of your cheeks. His hands were… really nice. “Even if you broke my phone,” he teased.

You laughed, already feeling the tension between you two melt. “You’re just as much to blame here, Corpsie.”

As it turned out, your cars were parked next to one another’s at the pumping station, so you walked there together. You talked the whole way through picking up an armful of candy as he got a collection of energy drinks apparently for him and his friend Dave, and you kept talking while you finished putting gas in your car. And then you kept talking afterwards too, until Dave reached over and shouted out the open car window, “Dude, just ask for his number already!”

You grinned and Corpse blushed. “I’m sorry,” he said, turning to you, but you shook your head, still smiling at him happily. It was cute. “Look, if it’s too forward, I’m really sorry, but - I don’t usually get along with people this easily. Maybe we could… do this again?”

“Sure,” you agreed easily. You told yourself it’s only because you didn’t mind it, not that it was too hard to say no to that hopeful look in his eyes and that you didn’t want to forget how cute he sounded when he laughed. “Give me your phone.”

“You might crack it again,” Corpse replied, but he handed you the phone anyway. You rolled your eyes as you typed in your number, adding a heart next to your contact name.

-

A week later, after texting and calling and FaceTiming nonstop, finally he asked you out. He took you to get boba, and you had dinner at his place, and when he dropped you off at yours, he stood on the front porch, only a few inches between you.

“I had fun tonight,” you said. There was something exhilarating about it, how he craned his neck to look at you, eyes scanning over your face nonstop like he was trying to read something off of your skin. To break the tension, you softly added, “Even if you did keep making fun of my pants.”

Corpse laughed, a breathless thing. He reached out to pull at one of the straps hanging down, letting it fling back gently against your leg with a dull smacking noise. “I just don’t get why there’s so many straps. And pockets.”

You leaned in. You told yourself - and later, him - it was because you wanted him to shut up about your stupid pants, but you and Corpse both knew the truth.

-

When Corpse asked if you would be his boyfriend, you got the upgrade: access to the streamer room. You’d known, in your dating period, that he was an ‘internet personality’, as he very vaguely described it, but the lack of details he was willing to share discouraged you from sleuthing around on the internet. Of course, when he finally let you in a little more, thanks to his million followers, you blended in. Nobody knew that you, the random account simping in his replies, was the same guy whose hand made its way into Corpse’s Instagram stories more than once.

Your favorite thing maybe ever was seeing when Corpse posted pictures of him holding your hand. Most of the time, you didn’t even notice him taking the photos, but it was sweet, how your nails matched and he had sweater paws while you had tattoos. Even as a faceless YouTuber, it meant something to you that he was still proud of your relationship. His fans got a kick out of it too, nicknaming you Corpse Boyfriend.

But now, the real boyfriend test. He invited you to stream with him while he played Phasmophobia. You would talk to chat and ghosts as needed, and Corpse would do most of the heavy lifting. Of course you were nervous, but you never let on about it.

Well, Corpse knew you pretty well. When he asked if you were sure you were ready, and you said duh, bro, of course, he said, “Don’t bro me.” (He still kissed you though.)

“Corpse Husband, did you bring Corpse Boyfriend?” Corpse read aloud from the chat while they were waiting to get started with the game. “You guys have been hearing rumors? Well, lucky you, I did! I want you guys to meet N/N.”

“Hey,” you said, smiling at Corpse. “I wanna start my presence on this channel by telling all two hundred thousand of you that I’m taller than Corpse.”

“That’s the most important thing?” Corpse laughs at you. “You’re like, maybe two inches taller.”

“Don’t lie to your fans, Husband. You’re at least three inches shorter.”

“Two,” he insists playfully. “And that’s the hill I’ll die on. Boyfriend.”

-

A few days later, when Dave comes over to hang out, you make him measure the two of you and force Corpse to post the lines on the wall as evidence. Three inches, he captions. Boyfriend wins :(

[iwadori]

Hiiii can i request prompt 53 with tsukki? My annoying cousin u may know @chibiiichan(i cant tag her its a surprise) recommend ur account and well she never been right more than now I LIKE UR ACC TOO URM JUST TAG HER IN THE POST (bcs its actually her birthday next week monday so....the least i could do this bcs she likes tsukki and shes recently talk abt the iwazumi story of yours....lmao shes cringe but in the same time got mad n i was besides her hearing her whining like bruh 'its 1 am'...i know i should buy something for her but she got spoiled enough 💅...that mf-) thank you ✨

‘ALWAYS AND FOREVER’

TSUKISHIMA X READER

2K WORDS

GENRE: ANGST,FLUFF

TW: SLIGHT AMBIGIOUS MENTION OF SUICIDE/ASSISTED DEATH, AND DEATH, CURSING (IN MY A/N)

THIS IS FOR @chibiiichann Happy birthday, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS (BECAUSE I HATE IT :D ) SOOOOO YEAH I HOPE YOU ENJOY YOUR BIRTHDAY.

NOT PROOFREAD AT ALL. EXPECT SLIGHT MISTAKES

You were dying. You knew it. Your husband, Kei, knew it. Even friends you haven’t spoken too since high school knew it.

So why did you all pretend that everything was okay?

5 year old Y/N:

You were running around your neighbourhood park chasing after butterflies, without a care in the world. As you were frollicing in the grass, you manage to trip over a rock tumbling to the ground scraping your knee making it bleed. Looking down at your slightly injured knee, your lip begins to quiver which eventually leads to wails of tears streaming down your face.

“you don’t have to cry you know?” said a slightly quiet voice towering over you. Above you was a boy, quite tall with a fat pair of glasses, golden eyes and a head full of blonde locks.

“Well when I get hurt, I cry” you say matter oh factly (is that the phrase?) rubbing your nose as you sniffle. He held out a hand to you, which you immediately took shooting upwards and brushing yourself off.  

The boy, after looking at you wildly, turns around and walks back to the actual park. “Oi wait,” you call at the boy swiftly following him “aren’t you going to ask my name?”

“no.” he says simply, proceeding to walk ahead.

“well my names Y/N L/N pleasure to meet you,” you say jumping in front of him so he doesn’t move, waiting for him to tell you his name...which he doesn’t. “you don’t have to be so rude you know”  

“I’m not being rude” he says stiffly “ it’s just my brother says not to speak to strangers” a smirk appears on his face to say ‘you can leave me alone now.’  

As if on cue, his brother approaches the both of you given the boy a slap on the back making him cringe “Hey Kei, who’s the friend you’ve made here?”  

“My name is Y/N L/N and I'm here to be KEI’s best friend!” you said putting the emphasis on the word Kei after just learning that was the blondes name.  

Kei rolled his eyes and sighed saying “nii-chan can we go home now” he folded his arms in annoyance.

“No Kei, you’ve got to get to know your new found friend Y/N-Chan right?” his brother said teasingly, knowing it was the last thing Kei wanted to do.

“Yes ofcourse!” you say with a toothy grin, dragging Kei along with you to his demise.

Until the sun went down, you spent the rest of your time with Kei getting to know eachother (well him getting to know you more, since you did all the speaking.) Regardless of his previous annoyance in getting to know you in the first place, Kei would be lying if he said he didn’t want to know you now.

As the sun was setting, Kei’s older brother (who’s name you learned was Akiteru) called him to tell him he had to go home because dinner was ready. Before he left, you grabbed his hand and wrapped your pinky finger around his saying “As long as we shall live, we will always look out for eachother as we are forever bestfriends, agreed?”

back to present -  

In some odd way, this was Kei’s way of looking out for you. He knew what you had was uncurable and would weaken you even more as the days go by, so pretending like nothing was wrong seemed to be best in his eyes.  

Everything you and Kei did was a game or some nostalgic act that you once did when you were children. It was sweet to say the least, seeing Kei all engrossed and determined to make you happy.  

Your alarm rings snapping you out of you daydream, ‘it was time for medicine’ you thought with your face scowling at the thought. Immediately on time, as always, Kei comes In the room with all your medicine thats needed.

“Aren’t you my perfect little nurse Kei” you say teasingly giving him a wink, laughing as you see his face turn red.

“Do you have to do this every time y/n?” he asks rolling his eyes at your childish behaviour.

“Oh I'm just showing love to my best and favourite nurse” you continue laughing at your own words

“Im your only ‘nurse’” he deadpans giving you your medicine as you talk.

“Well that is more reason to make you the best nurse.” you say smiling.

Silence falls between you, and you stare down at your arm watching as your husband gives you the medicine making you frown. “Do we have to keep doing this?” you ask which is probably the 1000th time you’ve asked.

“Of course we do Y/N as I’ve said yesterday and the day before that and the day before that it-”

“But do we really?” you interrupt “I can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep doing this.”

“Do you doubt me Y/N, I can do this forever” he says “ I can take care of you forever”

“But I don’t wan-”

“I’m finished, I’m going to start on dinner” he gets up and leaves the room yelling “I’ll call you when it’s done.”

Sometimes you and Kei have these conversations. And all the time it ends the same way. You complain, he ignores and then you go and have dinner.

You can understand why he doesn’t want to have this conversation. Who would want to hear about their partners complaints about practically being alive. Kei was torn, ever since he met you all he wanted to was to keep you happy. But could he compromise his own happiness for it.

15 year old Y/N - flashback

“Kei Kei, aren’t you excited!” you yell smiling widley

“Excited for what?” he asks, amused by your enthusiasm “it’s just highschool.”

“Well it’s a new highschool! Karasuno high school, to be exact.”

“And that is still just a school.” he says

“Not just any! That’s the school nii-chan went too, and even tho he lie-”

“Let’s not talk about it Y/N” he murmurs “we should go now, don’t want to be late on our first date.”

Going to Karasuno was fun, at the start everyone was pleasant and nice. But after a week or two when you and Kei were still stuck to eachother like glue, people weren’t so pleasant. Kei was like a pop idol, being gorgeous and over 6ft at just the age of 15, caused alot of attention, especially when he was always around you.

At the start, the hate you got was bearable, it was the petty bitchy notes in your locker or just people blatanly talking badly about you infront of you. People didn’t do it when you weren’t around Kei, so when he had volleyball practice (which you were so excited that he joined the team) you were a big target for the bullies to come around.

Kei didn’t really know of the bullying that happened towards you, especially since he was mainly in practice or not around when it happened. But one day in practice he heard some of his teammates, kageyama and hinata who seemed to talking about a student in one of their classes that was always getting picked on by the other girls in the year.

“Yeah and I heard that Nana-san was planning on getting her and her friends to attack Y/N-san soon.”  said Hinata

“Shrimpy, who are they planning on attacking?” Kei asks to make sure he just heard the ginger correctly.

“Oh this lovely person in our class their name is Y/N-san” he says, looking at Kei’s reaction he also asks “Why? Do you know them?”  

Kei doesn’t respond, and immediately leaves the gym, ignoring Hinata’s and the other members of the teams yells of ‘Where are you going tsukishima.’ He didn’t care, he just had to get to you.  

He searched all the classes, asking every student if he knew where you were. Someone directs him to the toilets, where he burst through the door to see the other girls in your year surrounding you and beating you up.  

“What the fuck are you doing to them?” he yells startling the girls.

“T-T-Tsukishima-san" one girl says “It’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh fuck off” he says, with them still frozen in shock “I said go!”  

“And don’t think I don’t know your names either” he calls after them.

He rushes towards your bruised body on the ground and cradles you gently, confused on what to really do. “Oi Kei,” you say weakly catching his attention “I would’ve won if you didn’t come to stop the fight.” you joke making him scoff.

“Whatever you say Y/N.”

After you heal up, Kei already told on the girls that beat you up getting them suspended, and you explain how they were treating you because of their infatuation of him. And how they only did it when he wasn’t around.

Once he learns this information, he decides to quite the volleyball team, to your surprise. But you demands on making him not quit were ignored, as he excused it by saying “I have to make sure you’re always alright remember, and if that means quitting some volleyball team then so be it.”

That was one out of the many times that Kei put his happiness before yours.

Flashback over.

When you first got diagnosed, Kei was immediately researching on it as it was a very rare condition. But sadly, he only found what the doctor already told you both. It was uncurable and your immune system and your body will weaken as the days go by.

Which it did, you were a shell of your past self. It was always shocking for Kei to see, especially with you only being 25. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be this way,’ but he never let you see his sadness.

Whenever you knew Kei was sad you always reminded him “Kei, I may be dying but please don’t cry over me” every time you said, there was a slight undertone of humour in your voice which always worked in boosting Kei’s spirit.

AN: IVE GOTTEN TO THE POINT WHERE I HATE THIS SOOO IM SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR THE SHITTING RUSHED ENDING IM GOING TO PROVIDE FOR YOU LOL.

The days passed and the years went by, and you and Kei were still alive and kicking it. Doing your daily routine of you making some joke, Kei giving you your medicine and then you eating dinner. You eventually stopped complaining, realizing and remembering your promise you gave to Kei at 5 years old in that park. “As long as we shall live, we will always look out for eachother as we are forever bestfriends, agreed?”

Of course you had your rough days, everybody did and it was even harder being sick with a terminal illness. But having Kei to guide you through the storm made It better for you.

However, Kei isnt a miracle worker. He couldn’t save you, noone could. And you both knew that. That didn’t mean it made it any easier when the medicine stopped working and your pain got too hard to bear. Kei couldn’t watch you do this anymore, “the choice is yours” he said with tears in his eyes.  

So you knew what you had to do, you got in your bed pulling Kei with you, and letting him envelope you in a big hug as you both cried.

“I love you,” you say “You know that right?”

“Of course I know that, idiot” he replies “And I love you.”

“Always and forever?”

“Always and forever.”

AN: how did I END UP CRYING WHILST WRITING THIS WHEN IT MADE NO FUCKING SENSE, I WAS TRYING TO DO THIS COOL NOTEBOOK (I HAVENT EVEN WATCHED THE NOTEBOOK) ENDING WHERE ITS AMBIGIOUS AND SHIT AND I JUST GIVE UP OKAY? I APOLOGISE LOOOOOOL. I HOPE YOU ENJOY ATLEAST A SENTENCE OF THIS AT LEAST.

[lilyrachelcassidy]

Summer Nights (2)

A/N: Is that... is that...? The unbridled enthusiasm I’m hearing? Or are you trying to reach me with torches and pitchforks for being so untrustworthy? Assuming the first option.

Anyway -- Yes, as I promised, this is the second part of the Summer Nights which you would hopefully enjoy. Waiting for your feedback. It’s the INDEX if you need a refresher.

ALSO, I give a lot of credit to @drawlfoy and @bored-and-botheredwho helped me with editing this chapter and steamed off my emotional breakdown related to my writing (lmao). I love you so much gals and a big THANK U once more!!!

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: coarse language; alcohol; Narcissa turning into a shitty-mother (lol)

Tags: @war-sword @paradigmax @winnsmills @idkatee@bforbroadway @okaydraco

The next thing Draco knew, he was being woken up with a massive hangover in the snuggly, way-too-comfortable bed by the high-pitched squeal of his mother.

"You, darling, made a lot of trouble for yourself yesterday," Narcissa admonished her son, a glacial cool look on her face. Entering Draco's hotel apartment, she walked over to the window and opened the drapes with one swift movement, splashing an annoyed Draco with light. He groaned, not yet daring to complain due to his mother's livid mood, to say the least.

"You have no idea of what happened yesterday, do you?"

"Yyy-" was the only sound he could make. God, where to the fuck was he? He hadn't been this plastered in forever.

"Of course you don't." Narcissa shook her head and laughed nervously, although she made it plainly obvious there was nothing humorous about the situation. "You blacked out so hard in that sleazy bar there is no way you can recall anything from yesterday. Look at you -- you are squinting at me like I'm the sun!"

Draco nervously ran his finders through his disheveled hair. He was definitely not in the right mind to provoke the conflict. "I left you the note at the reception," he informed her, trying to slickly get out of the unenviable conversation. "Told the receptionist to hand it over."

Contrary to his mother's accusatory ascertainment, he actually had some glimpses of the previous night (or should he say an all-night rave?). There were for sure drinks -- a lot of drinks; a variety of kinds he didn't recognize from the magical world but still guzzled delightfully. The second recollection was dancing --which wasn't his intention, but with some luck of his -- got invited by some hot-looking chicks from across the table. And yes, he definitely remembers the swaying and the rhythmical moving of the hips along with some cheesy muggle vibes mixed with the smell of booze and weed. Maybe he even hooked up with one of the girls? The last thing he recollects before passing out, almost like through a haze, was seeing Narcissa's furious face screaming something incoherent at him. Overall, that's his all night wrapped in one.

"Do you think the mere note 'I will be fine' was going to calm down my shattered nerves? Draco Lucius Malfoy, I swear to our dear ancestors, I did not raise you to act so irresponsibly." She waved the finger at him warningly. “We come from rich history. You are the descendant from a line of successful forefathers who put their effort into building up our reputation. Do you think Lucius would approve of such unrestrained behavior? I’ve been already hearing of letting you be too careless. Is tha-"

"Mother, could we skip the lecture?" Draco snapped angrily, try as he might to suppress it. "I've heard it too many times. All I’m trying to have is a peaceful life. Without the prying eyes of the media and the meddling of my family..."

"And all I’m trying to have is an integrated, happy family to offer you support and love.” Draco opened his mouth to cut her in, but she shushed him with a wave, clearly suggesting 'Don’t even get me started’ meaning. “I’ve been- been trying  to get a job, going through the infelicitous job interviews and looking for a solution to help our household through the post-war crisis. Have you shown any interest in that? Any?"

"But mo-"

"The last thing I want to have on my mind is dealing with your ignorant, boyish transitional stages, and let me tell you -- you do not make it any easier for me," she said without taking a breath. She exhaled slowly and continued, this time forcing a softer tone. "I ask you one thing for this summer. Let it be an enjoyable time without unnecessary conflicts. We have come to the beautiful country as France. Let's make a good thing out of it."

Draco, who was already wide awake by the buzz of adrenaline, looked at her with a serious expression. Scanning her face made him suddenly realize how hard must it have been for her to bear everything, and seeing the bags of tiredness under her beautiful, hazel eyes stopped him from retorting. "Mother, no matter what happens, I'll always support you. Remember that."

Narcissa smiled. “Oh. I know, honey, I know.” This time she lowered her voice by two octaves, slowly sitting at the edge of the bed. “It’s just… people have been gossiping behind our backs lately, partly throwing the blame at us. All I’m trying to do is protect us from those tormentors. But your binge drinking is not making the deadlock any better, and it drives me mad.” She chortled a little bit and patted Draco’s palm. “So, until the rumors die down, all we can do is raise our chins high.” Narcissa ended, her voice encouraging yet plaintive.

The last thing Draco liked is seeing his mother on the verge of emotional exhaustion, like in this moment. He felt an instant surge of sympathy, so he quickly found himself locking Narcissa in the supportive embrace. She responded to the gesture by wrapping her arms around her son’s neck and stroking his cheek delicately with the back of her hand, just like in the old times. Both of them yearningly wished to come back to those years of frivolity.

"I promise I'll try to be better," Draco said with certainty. Seeing Narcissa’s eyes light up in gratefulness and the smiley dimples form on her features, he assured himself it was the right thing to say at that mother-son moment.

“How could I be so lucky to have such a wise boy,” she muttered proudly, kissing Draco at the top of his head. “But perhaps you should not restrain yourself too much during the holiday. I give you the partial alibi per se. Just keep it under control.”

Smiling, Narcissa got up, straightening up her impeccable posture as in the habit of the high-status woman. For the first time in that day, Draco noticed how elegantly she was dressed up: the black, partly lacy dress stopping at the level of her knees; the shiny-white pearl jewelry perfectly matching her entire outfit; dark yet not defiant high-heels; andhair fixed up in the tight bun. In Draco’s opinion, she looked too prim...even for herself.

"Mother, are you heading somewhere?" he asked curiously.

“Well…” she started, blushing. “I’m going to see my old friend in the coffee shop. I haven’t been there for ages, so it’s one of the chances to meet up with them. Hopefully, you are going to take care of yourself for a few days.” 

"Days?" he asked, shocked.

“You didn’t expect me to travel from town to town, did you?” she laughed lightly. “Bordeaux is quite a route to overcome. So I might be settling there for a few nights. Do you mind it, darling?”

Was he positive about the information? Did he mind? Partly yes. He didn’t imagine the prospect of wandering around the alleys of France on his own, especially on the first day of being there. But from the other side, seeing the joy painted on his mother’s face as she told him about the planned get-together made him feel less skeptical. Plus, getting rid of the extreme supervision for a few days wouldn’t be such a disaster as well.

As he calculated now, the ratio about the idea was 90% pro and 10% against.

"Of course not," he said simply, smiling at his mother.

"I knew you would understand." The crease of uncertainty on her forehead disappeared, and she let out a sigh of relief. "Meanwhile... I have already booked you the brunch downstairs but seeing as you are not in the wholesome state, I might order a delive-"

"Don't..." Draco opposed, rising from the bed and throwing the nearest shirt he could find over his head. "I'll come down. Some fresh air may be a cure for a hangover. Oh, and speaking of hangovers -- do you happen to have an anti-hangover potion?"

Narcissa let out a quiet chuckle and clapped her hands, seemingly satisfied with herself. Her tranquil gaze landed on the cupboard. "As a matter of self-preservation, yes, I do. Try searching inside the bedside cabinet."

He thanked her and then they talked with each other a little bit longer until Narcissa took the pocket watch out of her handy purse, noted the time ("Merlin's Beard, I am so tardy! I'm going to be alone on the platform if I stay here a minute longer!), and –a little startled with her inadvertency – hurriedly declared she should get going ("I really should get going Draco!”). Pecking her son twice on the cheeks as a farewell, she rushed towards the door and, for the last time, turned around to blow a brief motherly goodbye kiss. She left in such a hurry that the only sign indicating her presence in the room a few seconds ago was her familiar perfume lingering about in the air.

Draco gathered his clothes, and after half an hour of very difficult preparations while dealing with the consequences of yesterday's actions -- because the potion finally hits after two to three hours -- he found himself in front of the hotel's restaurant. As he walked in, he had to admit the room enchanted him with its lovely atmosphere, which brought back the memories of his first Hogwart's magical feast as an eleven-year-old boy.

With the large windows allowing plenty of light in, the entire space was in the classical style. The whole floor was clad with marble tiles in the white-like color; the walls were purely white and, apparently, someone must have put a lot of effort not to let a single dust spot appear in there; the ceiling was created in the concept of the sky resemblance making an impression of the real clouds hovering over heads. Three enormous chandeliers made a very good fit with carved wooden tables and similarly-looking chairs.

"Sir, would you like to make an order?" The decently looking waitress walked over to his table, with a white apron around her waist and green, deep eyes staring at him. "I'm Laura, by the way. I'll be serving you today."

He nodded, not really paying much attention to her primitive attempts of having a chit-chat. Cursorily glancing at the menu, he decided on having a french bagel with melted cheese and a coffee which was a specialty of the house as was written in the recommendations. The waitress scribbled something sloppily in her notes, smiled briefly, and then strode away.

The restaurant was almost fully emptied, and the only things heard in the background were a heated discussion of the couple beside the table and a composition of french, old songs prepared specifically for the guests.

Draco let out a small sigh of boredom, thinking yet again about the scenery of today. The only ideas that crossed his mind were either lounging in his stuffy hotel room or finding another hang-out spot to drown his sorrows.

After the War, he had found out it was pretty easier not to give in to any of the memories, blurring them out with the support of Scotch as a coping mechanism. Pansy and Daphne, his childhood friends, had tried to talk him out of it, kindly offering some tenderness and a chance for a conversation. But he had eventually stopped caring about any of that bullshit anymore.

That's why perhaps he'd just--

"Hi!" said a cheerful voice behind him, making him jump slightly at his seat with surprise. At first, he thought it was a mistake; that he must have been deemed as someone else considering he didn't know anyone around, so was in the opposite way. Turning around, however, made him realize it wasn't entirely the truth. "Do you remember me?"

"Hello." Of course, he remembered her. It was the receptionist from the previous day, whose name he didn't bother to memorize. Although he planned on avoiding potential candidates for a talk today, he said truthfully, "Yes, I do. You work here, right?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, smiling. "Can I join?"

For a moment, his sluggish brain did not process what she was asking about, and that made him frown. The girl probably comprehended what it was about because she explained, reading his confused expression. "...the table".

"Oh," he said, feeling more than embarrassed for his dumb reaction. "Yeah, help yourself."

"Thanks," she mumbled, pulling out the chair to make some room for herself. "Tough night, huh?"

The inquiry made him suddenly realize she must have witnessed the whole scene yesterday -- him asking her for a favor, Narcissa drilling her out for any clues about his disappearance, his arrogant attitude, and scurrility as he spoke to her. For sure, if she were smart enough, she would deduce what the situation was about.

He couldn't help it, but a wave of shame pierced through his body, and his stomach rolled slightly.

"A little," he answered minimizing a dimension of the spree, almost like a lie, and then he shook his head. "Listen, sorry about yesterday. I might have been...rude."

A small smile of courtesy formed on her lips. "I presumed you were a little off. Happens..." she said tentatively, gripping both of her hands together. "Oh, and about yesterday -- you lost this at the lobby." She took his wand out, and Draco's stomach made a second roll, the heartbeat hastening like a speed of light. He quickly tried to bring his face to the natural expression, but the girl had noticed that, and curiosity filled her eyes. "I thought I should give that back. In case it was valuable or something."

Fucking great... How was he supposed to elucidate that?

His throat felt so dry he couldn't let out a word of excuse. The moment was so mortifying to him he just reached for the familiar wand and nodded politely in gratefulness.

"Mhm..." Draco hummed, barely audible and momentarily deflated. "It's just... Something I've been training with..."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean, dolt?!

"Oh," the girl unconsciously flipped her hair off the shoulders, probably trying to make sense of the information. Furrowing her brows, she put her hand under the chin. "Are you a magician?"

"Kind of..." he agreed, not happy about the reputation he had just created for himself, but at the same time satisfied he didn't have to make up more explanations.

Luckily for Draco, the uncomfortable pause was rescued by the arrival of the food -- thank Merlin -- and even though he hadn't been hungry at all, now he felt an unexpected appetite to eat up the awkwardness. The girl probably caught a hint it was about time to end an encounter because she grunted.

"Listen," the girl started, clearing her throat yet again. "I better get going. But..."

The next thing Draco knew was that she was reaching to her pocket again, this time taking out something similar to a quill, only without ink. He assumed it must some kind of muggle invention, only a mechanical-like version. The girl uncorked it and suggestively drew out her hand, clearly signifying he should bring his hand closer as well. He obediently did.

"France is a big city," she said, glancing at him and sounding serious. "If you ever needed someone to show you around, let me know."

Without any preamble, her soft, delicate fingers grasped his forearm (he made sure to give her the right one), and with a few scrawls on his skin, she looked at him merrily, blushing slightly, and then left a table.

He stared after her for a while, looking at her curls bouncing behind her back as she walked away at a slow, monotonic pace. After a few seconds, she disappeared out of his sight, letting him finally peek at the note she had left:

'Call me, Y/N,' and a nine-digit number attached.

XOXOXO

A/N: I know this part might have contained too little Draco x Reader momento, but I promise it’ll get better as a plot develops. Also -- is it only my impression, or is Narcissa as changeable as the weather in Germany lol.

[likeshipsonthesea]

Pls !!

Pls post the ayuan and lan zhan ficlet u wrote 🥺 !!! We would love to read it !!

sorry for the late response, i didn’t have a chance to edit until last night and i thought your ask would be the perfect way to avoid having to title this lmao. here is the yuan and lan zhan ficlet!! it takes place ~somewhat early~ in lan zhan’s seclusion following wei wuxian’s death and yuan is about idk five??

anyway, enjoy :))

Yuan lays awake in a large, quiet room. He can’t be sure, but it feels as if it’s been hours since the caretaker put him to bed, and still he has yet to fall asleep. Instead, he listens to the emptiness around him and tries to blink away the monsters his mind conjures from the murky darkness around him. It doesn’t work.

He doesn’t remember exactly why, but he thinks that this is wrong. Lying alone in a room full of empty beds. Beds should be full, of people snoring and talking in their sleep, of people who sing Yuan lullabies before bed and hold him when he wakes from nightmares. He doesn’t know why he thinks this – it isn’t as if these things have happened in Cloud Recesses. All he knows is that the quiet and the dark and the loneliness is worse than anything else in the world.

Knowing it’s against the rules, Yuan gets out of bed. He crosses to the window, where he can look out at the courtyard beyond his room, moonlit and bright. No one is out this late, but the light makes it better anyway. It’s cool in the mountains at night, even in summer. A breeze drifts in and Yuan shivers, missing the warmth of his blankets, but he can’t return to the darkness, not without –

The courtyard is full of what seems to be millions of white pebbles, glittering like tiny moons as far as he can see. Yuan likes the moon. The moon is bright and smiling and always watching, always stays awake when the world gets quiet.

“Don’t worry, A-Yuan,” a voice said to him, once. “I’ll keep watch while you sleep and make sure the nightmares can’t find you.” He doesn’t remember who said it, but he remembers the safety he’d felt. The moon – the moon feels like that.

Another breeze sends Yuan shivering. Maybe – maybe if he could bring the moon back to bed with him, the nightmares and the loneliness and the darkness wouldn’t be able to find him. Mind suddenly made up, he crawls out of the window, taking careful, barefoot steps across the warm, wooden boardwalk to the courtyard full of little moons. He grabs a handful and peruses them.

One has dirt smudged over it, so he tosses it back, and one is missing a chunk like someone got so hungry they just couldn’t help themselves and, with a giggle at the thought, he puts that one back, too. He goes through the pebbles, weighing each one’s advantages until he comes to the final pair.

Hands flat to the sky, one moon perched in the center of each palm, he brings the pebbles to his face for a better look. They are both seemingly perfect. Smooth, unblemished little circles, each one shimmering, smiling, equal in every way. Yuan frowns.

How can he pick just one? Both pebbles are perfect and if he chooses one over the other, he will surely hurt that one’s feelings. But he can’t take both! Two moons for one boy! How greedy can he be?

So troubled is he by this conundrum that he almost doesn’t hear the soft music breaking the dark silence of the night. 

But with another gust of mountain air comes low, drawn-out notes, unlike anything Yuan has ever heard. He’s heard music before – his uncle plays his xiao for Yuan sometimes at their weekly dinners and, before that, he thinks someone who loved him played him lullabies on a dizi – but never has Yuan heard something like the song the wind carries now.

It makes him feel sad, a little, without really knowing why, but he’s used to that. More than that, though, it sounds like magic. The stories the caretakers read him sometimes have music. Young maidens singing songs of longing for their cultivators to rescue them, clever heroes distracting ghouls with witty tunes. Yuan has long thought up his own stories in these veins, though his tend more towards – towards a song that drifts in from the woods, that only Yuan can hear. It guides Yuan to a secret house where his parents have been waiting for him. Here, they hug him and smile, tell him they love him, tell him they never meant to leave him, tell him they’ll never do it again.

Yuan knows the rules. The caretakers read the rules for him more than they read him the stories. He knows he shouldn’t go off into the woods at night. He shouldn’t have climbed out the window either, though. Yuan thinks about it really hard for a moment and then decides that, if he’s already done something wrong, he might as well do this, too.

Yuan hasn’t a clue where such a thought comes from – Heaven knows he didn’t learn it in Cloud Recesses – but it seems logically sound to him. So, a moon clutched in either hand, he follows the music out of the courtyard, off of the porch, and into the trees beyond.

With bare feet and little legs, it feels like ages that he walks. He steps over pointy things that hurt his toes and hurries across cold stones that send chills up his legs. Once, the music stops, and Yuan holds his breath and his two moons tightly and almost begins to cry before another song appears, different than the one before. Where the last one was sad, this one is light, soaring and settling and sighing with fond notes, so loud in the darkened forest.

Not long after that song begins, Yuan comes to a clearing. Sprouting from the center of it is an understated home with a lantern flickering in its window. Yuan breaks into a sprint, heedless of the twigs that catch on his soles, doesn’t even wait to knock before tearing open the doors and stumbling inside.

At a low table sits a man dressed in all white, fingers poised but paused over the strings of a guqin. He looks at Yuan with a nearly passive expression, excepting the too-wideness of his eyes. He looks – familiar. Yuan doesn’t remember his parents, but this must be – he has to be –

“Baba?”

The man startles. “A-Yuan,” he says, and Yuan’s small heart goes shooting around in his chest. He knows Yuan’s name. He knows Yuan’s name.

“Baba.”

Yuan rushes to his father’s side, collapses next to him and buries his face in the fabric of his baba’s robes. With the stones still in his hands, he can’t tangle his fingers in the robes the way he wants to, he can only press his fists as tight to his father’s chest as he can.

He only realizes that he’s crying when Baba’s hand settles on his shaking back. He doesn’t know why he’s crying – he’s anything but sad – but Baba doesn’t tell him to stop or to meditate like the caregivers do, he just lets Yuan cry into his chest until he can take a breath without it shivering in his throat.

“A-Yuan,” Baba says again, in a soft, low voice Yuan wishes he could remember, “how did you come here?”

Yuan sniffles. “The music.” Did Baba not mean to call him? Did he not want to see Yuan?

“No one stopped you?”

“Everyone’s asleep,” Yuan says. He pulls away far enough to crane his neck back and peer at Baba’s face. “I climbed out the window.”

Baba doesn’t smile, but something in the way his mouth moves makes Yuan think that he wants to.

“Going out alone is not safe,” Baba says, but it doesn’t sound like the scolding the caregivers give. It sounds softer.

“I’m safe,” Yuan says, still defensive, at least a little. He hates punishments, especially the ones where they leave him alone to copy rules. He hates being alone.

Baba hums mildly and looks at Yuan’s feet. Kneeling as he is, the soles of his feet face the room, and the stings and scrapes he suffered on the trip over are visible. Yuan notices, then, the small spot of blood he’s made on the rug and begins to cry again.

He turns and buries his face in Baba’s side again, rushing through the words like all the breath from his lungs has disappeared. “I’m sorry, Baba, please don’t leave again, I’ll be good, I promise, I won’t do it again, please don’t go, please.”

Baba stiffens and Yuan cries harder. He doesn’t want Baba to leave, he doesn’t want the silence and the darkness and the caregivers who leave and let the nightmares find him, he wants Baba to hug him and tell him he’ll keep him safe and hold him when he wakes up in the middle of the night feeling like he’s been left alone in the world.

“A-Yuan,” Baba says softly, “let us clean you up.”

Baba picks Yuan up and he clings harder. Baba has to untangle Yuan’s arms around his neck when he kneels to place Yuan on the bed. He says, “I will be right back,” and crosses the room to take out a box before returning just as he said. Yuan’s tears slow as Baba kneels in front of him.

Baba takes a piece of cloth from the box at his side and wets it before bringing it gently to the soles of Yuan’s feet. He wipes away the blood and dirt and lifts Yuan’s foot to examine the cuts. He takes out a funny smelling jar and puts the stuff in it on Yuan’s foot. It tickles. Yuan laughs.

Baba looks up when he laughs. His mouth does the not-smile thing but his eyes look sad. “Dont be sad, Baba,” Yuan says. Baba hums and looks back at Yuan’s feet.

When he���s done, he returns the items to the box and returns the box to its place before he comes back to kneel in front of Yuan again. Yuan thinks that Baba isn’t mad – he wouldn’t be so nice if he were mad, right? – but he isn’t sure, so he says nothing, just watches Baba watching him.

“A-Yuan,” he says, after a very long time, “I didn’t want to leave you.”

Yuan’s heart beats too fast in his chest. It’s what he’s wondered about, ever since he asked Uncle where his parents were and Uncle didn’t tell him. If they were dead, Uncle could’ve just said, but he didn’t, which meant, maybe, that they’d just left. Left Yuan. Didn’t want Yuan.

Baba reaches out and Yuan holds his breath. Baba’s hand stops a few breaths away and Yuan squeezes his moons so tight it hurts. After another moment, Baba’s fingers brush away some stray hairs from Yuan’s forehead, thumb smoothing over his hairline.

“Can I stay with you?” Yuan whispers, afraid that, if he’s too loud, someone will hear him and come and take him back.

Baba shakes his head, a short gesture. “You must stay with the Sect.”

Yuan hates that the tears come again, hates how they make Baba’s eyes go tight. “Why?”

“They can take care of you,” Baba says quietly. “I cannot.”

“Forever?”

“No.” Baba’s thumb brushes against his skin again. “Just for now.”

“Can I visit?”

Baba frowns. He seems to think about it for a moment. “We will see,” he says. “You cannot walk here in the dark again. It is not safe.”

Yuan nods. He doesn’t want to upset Baba. But, he has to ask – “Do you want me to visit?”

Baba nods without hesitation. “Very much.”

Yuan smiles and, careful of his sore feet, throws himself forward into Baba’s arms. Baba huffs in surprise but holds Yuan close, his big hands warm on Yuan’s back.

He holds Yuan for quite some time – not enough, though – before he says, “You must return.”

Yuan holds on tighter but nods. Baba stands, Yuan still in his arms, and carries him out of the house. Yuan thinks he’s going to be put down, once they’re outside, but Baba carries him through the woods the whole way. Yuan presses his cheek to Baba’s chest and listens to his heart beating. He thinks this is what parents are for, to hold you in the dark, to keep you safe. He doesn’t know if Baba is the voice in his memories – he sounds too different – but he knows that Baba must love him the same, love him enough to stay up all night and keep the nightmares away, if he could.

When they get back to Yuan’s big room with all the empty beds, Baba very quietly and gracefully steps through the window. Yuan giggles. Baba says nothing, but his mouth does the not-smile, and he lays Yuan in his bed and pulls the blankets up to his chin.

“Will you stay?” Yuan asks, suddenly so tired, in the comfort of his bed, Baba watching over him.

“I cannot,” Baba says, eyes sad again. Yuan swallows hard. Baba can’t stay. Yuan will be alone, with the dark and the empty beds, alone with no one to watch over him again—

Yuan remembers the moons and gasps, opening both of his palms. Baba’s eyebrows raise a little. Yuan turns and places one moon on the table next to his bed. It shines and shimmers and smiles. It will keep the nightmares away, while Baba cannot. Yuan looks to the other moon, warm in his hand, and looks back to Baba.

Baba must return, now, to his own empty room. He will have to blow out the lantern and lie down to sleep in silence and darkness, just like Yuan.

Yuan holds out the pair to his perfect moon. Baba stares at it. Yuan explains, “To keep the nightmares away.”

Baba stares at the pebble some more. After quite a long time, he reaches out with careful fingers and takes the moon. “Thank you, A-Yuan,” he says, quiet, the not-smile on his lips.

Yuan beams sleepily. His eyelids drag heavy, leaving him blinking slowly as he tries to stay awake as long as he can, take in as much of Baba as he can, while he can. But Baba smooths his free hand over Yuan’s blankets, brushes warm fingers against his hair. It feels—it just feels so nice. Yuan can’t fight the sleep that embraces him.

“Goodnight, A-Yuan,” he hears, soft and low, when his eyes shut and refuse to open again.

“G’night, Baba,” Yuan says around a yawn.

He doesn’t remember Baba leaving. In the morning, he wakes up alone in the room full of empty beds, the sunlight still cold and thin, early as it is. Yuan shivers with it, wondering if it had all been a dream, one of his dearest dreams, a dream where his parents, his baba, loves him and wants him and never wanted to leave him. It’s like the made-up stories the caretakers tell him. It can’t be true.

But then Yuan turns, sees the perfect round moon sitting on his bedside table, and he knows. He knows Baba loves him.

[zigtheeortega]

out of time

✿ pairing: sienna x danny

✿ word count: 3354

✿ warnings: death, loss

✿ author’s note: well, i thought i’d just flesh out what we didn’t get to see, since i highly doubt they’ll expand on it since it’s off screen. it’s not my best work, but it was written out of spite so hopefully that makes up for the lack of quality LMAO. anyways, i tagged everybody who liked this post and added it to the end since there were quite a few! [sidenote: i wrote this post after i’d started this fic so if you see similarities, that’s why] i really hope you like it and that i did both sienna and danny justice!

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

She sprinted down the hallway, pager still beeping erratically on her hip, the weight of the numbers enough to make her feel like she was slugging through wet concrete.

No, no, not him, please, not him, she chanted to herself, vision blurring with tears before she had the chance to let the negative possibilities set in.

He’s gonna be okay. It’s okay. We’re okay.

Thankfully she was only one floor away, taking the steps two at a time, shoes squeaking against the waxy floor. Sweat formed on her brow as she shoved through the stair’s exit door, pushing past every intern in her way.

Normally she’d stop to apologize, but not today. She didn’t know how much time she had. It could be minutes, and she wasn’t going to waste even a second apologizing when someone’s life was on the line.

She saw the small crowd forming outside of the room and barrelled towards them without a second thought, tearing her way to the front.

When she saw Spencer’s terrorized gaze, her chest tightened involuntarily. Her body covered the entrance to the room, so she could barely see into the room, but she did catch a glimpse of something that made her blood run cold.

A purple pant leg strewn across the floor, ankle relaxed, unmoving, peeking out behind Spencer’s side.

“Sienna, stop. You can’t go any further,” Ethan murmured, gently holding her in place with his arm.

“But I have to – Danny – he’s –” she struggled against his grip, lip wobbling.

“Please,” he said, more of a statement than a question, like he was holding back, too, the strain in his voice enough to stop her in her tracks.

She watched, helpless, as Spencer and Rafael scrambled to seal the room, Bobby convulsing on the ground, Travis passed out, and Danny getting weaker and weaker by the second.

It was like turning on the news and seeing tragedy after tragedy – she always felt absolutely helpless. Her empathy always felt like a curse in those moments. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling everything, whether she wanted to or not.

She wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingernails into her side, rocking from foot to foot. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Danny’s frail form on the ground.

“Hey, I came here as fast as I could,” a voice huffed at her side. She turned, met with Jackie’s concerned gaze, hands on her hips as she panted, tiny sweat stains dotting her teal scrubs.

“It’s… All of them, Jackie, –” she couldn’t find the words to quite describe the soul crushing weight of the situation.

Bobby, Rafael, Spencer, and Danny… people that had been her emotional rocks through the lowest points of her life.

Bobby was her unsung hero. He’d keep guard while she cried in the supply closet so she wasn’t disturbed, in return for a dozen of her chocolate chip cookies. After the first few times, she brought him baked goods weekly regardless of whether she had a breakdown or not.

Rafael was her empath twin, as weird as it sounded. She’d branded them that as a joke, between giggles, on her late night break at the cafeteria. Despite it being stated jokingly, it was true – they found themselves confiding in each other each time they faced a difficult situation, bonding over the fact that their jobs took a lot more out of them than the normal person.

Spencer was her late night confidante, the person who she’d crawl into bed with at 3 a.m. after having another detailed nightmare where she was cursed with endless terminal patients. There weren’t that many people she’d platonically cuddle and sob until she was a snotting mess next to.

And Danny… he was the future. He was a vision of what she’d always wanted.

It took her too long to break away from Wayne’s hold. She knew he was toxic, but she didn’t want to admit it – how was she supposed to admit that she’d been wrong for that long?

With Danny, she was comfortable. He got her in a way no one else did. He had the potential to be every single role that her friends played simultaneously.

God, and she’d told him she needed time. She hadn’t properly healed from Wayne so she needed some time before she moved on and –

Now it’s too late, she thought to herself as she watched them wheel out Travis and Danny in glass cases.

And Bobby in a body bag.

“Holy shit,” Jackie breathed, eyes widening. “Fuck – Oh my god, Sienna –”

The tears were already flowing as she slammed her face into Jackie’s chest, body wracked with inconsolable sobs.

She’d never hugged Jackie like this before, as she hated physical affection unless it was… PG-13.

Jackie stiffened, but wrapped her arms around Sienna’s shoulders, patting her back, slowly melting into the embrace.

“We’ll visit him as soon as we can,” she said in her ear, holding Sienna up as she nearly crumbled.

––––

Danny’s body was still, the only movement his heaving chest as he took shallow, labored breaths, his normally warm skin tone muted, drained of color.

“Hey, it’s me,” she called as she closed the door behind her, voice shaky, tote bag at her side. “I hope you can hear me.”

No response.

“Uh… I brought some of our favs. Secret of Ninradell and some music to play so hopefully it makes your dreams a little sweeter – ” she forced a laugh, trying to keep her brave face. “I brought some cookies that I baked last night – uh, I’m sorry they’re not fresh – I –”

Her voice cracked, and she rolled her lips together to keep her chin from trembling. She dragged a nearby chair closer to the glass box, sliding into it, never taking her eyes from his face.

God, why did it have to be you? She thought to herself, covering her mouth with her hands as she cried, her soft sobs muted by the loud machines monitoring his vitals.

She popped open the cover of the hardback, highlighter in hand. “I’m gonna read this to you, if that’s okay? I’m highlighting passages that remind me of you,” she smiled sadly, watching his eyes roll underneath their lids. He was dreaming.

“I know you hate when I mark up books. That’s the librarian speaking, huh?” She giggled, remembering the time he told her about his job in the campus library, and his deep hatred for the Dewey decimal system.

She began reading, trying her best at different accents, failing miserably, but it distracted her from reality if just momentarily.

Her year had been full of blow after crushing blow, both professionally and personally. Losing Wayne, breaking the news to terminal patients, dealing with the toll it took on her mental health, as well as dealing with an intern that was using her – she wasn’t stupid. She just would rather suck it up than have someone upset with her that was supposed to look up to her. Stupid, but she couldn’t handle the thought of disappointing another person.

Hours later, voice hoarse, pages and pages marked up, her hands stained with neon yellow ink, she was drifting off to sleep where she sat – but a groan startled her awake.

“Uhhhhhh,” he moaned, visibly in pain, writhing uncomfortably.

“Danny? Hey, I’m here,” she rushed forward to the box, pressing her hand up against the side, hoping he could feel the warmth of her hand through the glass.

“Sienna…?” He asked, eyes fluttering open and closed. He couldn’t focus on her face.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

“Good,” he croaked, weakly flopping his hand to touch the glass.

He didn’t know it, but those two words were enough to strengthen her withering resolve. She fell asleep cradling the glass, arm slung over the top.

–––

She was ripped from her sleep by intense beeping from the machines surrounding Danny, and she glanced down, peering through the glass at Danny’s quivering form, switching between violent shakes and gentle shivers.

She slammed the emergency button and quickly went to work trying to find the source of the issue, waiting for the nurses to come as back up.

“Danny. Danny, stay with me. Listen to my voice. Hold on, alright? Nurses are heading here now, and we’re going to take care of you,” she said calmly, betraying her shaking hands.

They set to work immediately, trying to keep him from slipping into unconsciousness, all four nurses working swiftly, nimble fingers and precise movements, never getting into each others’ way.

Sienna watched from outside as they worked, glass box open, desperately wishing she had a hazmat suit. Ethan and Jackie observed, giving calm commands.

“Sienna!”

She turned, eyes red rimmed from crying and lack of sleep, startling Elijah as he rolled to a stop next to her.

“Jackie asked me to send an intern up to bring you a hazmat suit… but I thought I’d bring it myself, to check on you,” he said, eyebrows furrowed, handing the folded hazmat suit from his lap to her arms.

“Don’t feel like you need to talk to me right now, alright? I’ll wait out here, if you need me.” He gave her a sympathetic smile as he patted her arm.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, hastily throwing on the hazmat suit and ripping at the zipper, growing more and more frustrated as it caught on her clothes. “Come on. Come on, come on –”

“Here, let me help,” Elijah offered. “Bend down and I’ll zip it up.”

She followed his instruction and squatted as Elijah glided the zipper upwards, patting her back softly when he was done.

And like before, she had no time to thank him. She didn’t want to miss one second with Danny.

She burst into the room, not disturbing the hive-like efficiency of the nurses.

She watched as they poked and prodded and worked tirelessly to keep him conscious. There was an undeniable tension in the air, stretched so thin it could snap at any moment.

The strained atmosphere of the room didn’t come from the doctors – it came from the nurses. Sienna knew how much Danny meant to his coworkers. He was always the first to resolve conflict and make people feel at ease.

They were tight knit; losing Danny would be a crushing blow.

“Please, Jackie, tell me what’s happening,” she said between panicky breaths, unable to contain her anxiety. “I need to know.”

“We’re trying to stabilize him… but we’re not sure what’s causing him to go into shock in the first place,” Jackie said, brows furrowed.

Three long, painful minutes later, his heart rate returned to normal, his whole body in a feverish sweat.

“That took a lot out of him,” Sienna whispered, watching a nurse press a damp, cool cloth to his forehead and neck.

“You know we have to get rid of your bag, right? It’s contaminated,” Jackie grimaced, motioning to the nurse that was zipping it into a sealed bag, about to throw it away.

“No, you can’t – I didn’t even get to finish reading Ninradell to him last night,” Sienna pleaded, rushing forward to the nurse.

“You can’t take it out of this room,” Ethan shook his head, his statement dismissive, but his tone of voice sympathetic.

“Can I at least finish reading it to him? I promise I’ll dispose of it properly. I just… I need some more time with him.”

“I don’t think –” “I’ll stay with her,” Jackie nodded, holding Ethan’s gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ll page you if anything happens.”

With one firm tilt of his chin, he left the room, presumably towards Spencer and Rafael.

“We think he can hear what’s going on around him, so it’s actually a great idea to read to him,” Jackie said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It might help pull him through this.”

Jackie grabbed the bag from the nurse wordlessly, handing it back to Sienna. “You can take a break,” she said to the group of nurses anxiously huddled next to Danny. “We’ll watch over him.”

One of them started sealing the box, but Sienna stopped them with a frantic “Wait.”

“Keep it open. I’ll seal it later,” Jackie ordered gently.

She slipped into the seat next to him, holding firmly onto the edge of the glass.

Jackie must’ve noticed she was debating whether or not she should touch him, so she confirmed it for her. “You can touch him. Don’t be afraid.”

“But I am,” she said, voice cracking, tears threatening to spill. It was tiresome how much she’d cried over the past twelve hours.

She was thankful he’d held on for that long, but she had no idea when it was coming. From his steadily declining health as well as appearance, it was inevitable.

“I’m so scared,” Sienna whispered, refusing to look at her, eyes trained on the rise and fall of his chest.

“You have every right to be, babe. I’m so sorry,” Jackie said, striding over to rest an arm around her shoulders.

“I… told him I needed more time to be me, you know? I needed to figure out more about me because with Wayne and with surviving last year and the stuff with Spencer and Mrs. Martinez and – and –” she cut herself off, trying to regain her composure.

“You lost sight of who you were.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. Everything I thought I knew was thrown out the window and it’s like I haven’t even had time to recover,” she said, her voice still wavering.

“I did the same thing last year. But you can’t beat yourself up about it. You never in a million years would’ve guessed that this could happen.”

Sienna took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to unravel the tight coil in her chest. “But he was the only thing making coming to work worth it. I like him a lot and I just… told him to wait.”

“If he had a problem with that, he would’ve moved on.”

She glanced up, met with Jackie’s soft expression, sympathetic and kind – so much different than the tough exterior she was used to. “Don’t blame yourself, Sienna. It’ll break you.”

She knew she was right, but the nagging voice at the back of her mind wouldn’t allow her to let it go. 

She cracked the book open, flipping to the last page she’d read from, about two-thirds into it. But before she could start reading, Danny stirred.

His hand twitched, his fingers flexing like he was grabbing for something. Without a second thought she grasped his hand between her glove-clad palms, the book clamoring onto the ground.

“Sienna…” he whispered, trying to open his eyes, but they fluttered shut, like a weight pulling at his lashes.

She wanted desperately to see his bright eyes again, to hear him to reassure her that it’d all work out. That she’d be okay. That he’d be okay.

“Hey, I’m here,” she said, lightly squeezing her hand.

He moaned, presumably in pain, wiggling like he couldn’t stay still.

“How bad is your pain on a scale 1-10? I’m gonna count up and you squeeze my hand to stop me, alright?”

He gave a weak tilt of his chin, a single nod the only thing he could muster.

She began counting. “One… two… three…”

Nothing.

She kept counting, feeling a weak squeeze when she said “Nine.”

“I’ve never felt this bad before,” he whispered, Sienna having to lean in to hear him.

“Danny, if it’s a ten, you need to tell me,” she chewed the inside of her lip, already racking her brain for the best pain medicine that wouldn’t react with the mystery poison.

“It’s not at a ten…” He stirred, wincing, managing a weak smile. “Because you’re here with me.”

He sighed, like it took a lot out of him to say two sentences.

“That was so sweet,” she said, glancing up at Jackie, knowing her haunted expression would ruin the moment if she let him see it.

Jackie looked equally as upset, her jaw set, fists clenched at her side.

“Stop it, Dr. Varma… you’ve done –” he took another deep, shuddering breath. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

“So have you. You’re a trooper,” Jackie nodded, looking up at the ceiling. Sienna couldn’t tell if she was trying to hold back tears or keep herself from thinking about it. “Thanks for holding out for us, Danny.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can, though,” he said, gripping Sienna’s hand, opening his eyes unexpectedly.

She shook her head, holding his hand to her chest. “No, don’t think like that. You can hold on for a while longer. I believe in you.”

“Sienna… You’re my favorite person,” he breathed, looking up at her with a spark of life in his eyes, a contrast from the gaunt look of his face. His dark circles gave the allusion that his eyes were sunken in, a skeleton of who he was less than 24 hours ago.

It scared the hell out of her how quickly he changed – and how content he looked with slipping away.

“You have to let them test on me,” he squeezed her hand. “It’ll help.”

“No, you’re gonna be fine –”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, a soft smile adorning his lips, pale and cracked. “You’ll be okay.”

He craned his neck, trying to hold his head up. Sienna slipped her hand underneath the nape of his neck, supporting him. He tilted his head forward, lightly pressing his damp forehead against her hazmat suit.

She leaned forward, pressing hers against the loose protective fabric, feeling the warmth of his skin through it. 

“You can’t go, I – your family hasn’t even gotten to visit you –” She choked, the warm tears dotting the thick plastic screen, streaking down to fall farther into her suit.

“They couldn’t get here in time,” he said, matter-of-factly.

They sat there like that for a while. Her concept of time was thrown out the window as soon as she got the initial page, so it could’ve been ten seconds or ten minutes.

“Thank you for reading to me.”

She laughed, sniffling. “We spent all night talking about Ninradell, so it was only fitting I stayed up all night to read it to you.”

Another little while passed. Talking took so much out of him, that he had to take a few breaks between his speech so he wouldn’t pass out from exhaustion. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said, cutting through the silence. “You couldn’t have stopped this.”

She stared at her hands, clasped around his own, drained of color. He’d closed his eyes, so thankfully he couldn’t see her pained expression.

“I know. I can’t help but feel responsible for everything, even when it’s out of my control… I’m so sorry,” she said, voice breaking for the millionth time. She could barely form words without choking on them.

She cursed herself for not being stronger. Overwhelming emotion was enough to render her speechless, meanwhile Danny was pushing through searing pain in order to leave her with words she’d carry with her forever.

He’d mustered his last bit of energy to tell her to be kind to herself.

The machine behind him beeped. His heart rate had slowed to a crawl, and he was gone before Jackie could spring to action.

And when his hand went limp in between her palms, she let out an inhuman wail that no one, not even Spencer, had heard before.

––––

tags: @saintniceguy ; @part-of-the-circus ; @vandalasal ; @dudebro-lahela ; @averysheart-raleighsdick ; @cptnvers ; @bringing-back-socks-with-sandals ; @la-huerta ; @ironysyndrome ; @anotordinarygoldfish ; @pumpkinbutt ; @browneyedmissy ; @soo-empty ; @anonymous2094 ; @lumpyspaceprincessismybitch ; @lady-stirling ; @papinaveensbitch ; @writinghereandthere ; @unusualvisionsblog ; @beccadavenport ; @messofakind ; @violinet ; @serafinedupont ; @raleiighcarrera ; @pixeljazzy ; @pixelsandkink ; @altairadtaz

[dreamscapesin1582]

[ d-1 ] morgenstond

prompt: theo nsfw / freestyle day

tagging: @delicateikemenmemes​

notes: i know its late af but i’ll post it anyway since i already had the draft of it lying around. also its not really nsfw lmao, i prolly stuck around with freestyle. basically fluff day pt 2

Theo sank his body lower on the warm water of the thermae, quietly attempting to erase his thoughts about the exchanges he came across in that damned strange rectangular object.

Meanwhile, back in the lady’s bedroom, someone was attempting not to squeal in delight.

She hugged the pillow closer to her chest as she buried her face there, feet uncontrollably hitting the mattress. With an excited heart, she recalled the events once more.

“…Hondje, something happened.”

With a furrowed brow, Theo began tapping to oblivion when he clicked the home button by mistake. But before she was able to respond, he found himself viewing her past messages. By the looks of it, with the speech bubbles on either side, it seemed like an exchange between two people.

“Conversations?” He mumbled. He tapped the back button (just as he was taught) and scanned the list of people she talked to. And with his sharp eyes, he didn’t miss that one name that seemed… interesting.

Babe. And with a heart, too. And if that wasn’t alarming enough, there was more text below: Thanks for today. Love you!

“Wait, what are you—” She found out he wasn’t in the gallery anymore and tried checking, but he immediately raised his hand to keep it out of reach. “Theo? Let me see?”

“I was reading something.”

“Reading..?” She thought for a moment, and then her eyes widened. “Wait, did you see my inbox?! Give it back!”

“Why?” Challenged, Theo moved out of the bed and stood up. She followed, jumping to reach the phone he so desperately tries to take away from her. “Was I not supposed to see anything else?”

“I’m trying to take it back because I think we’re misunderstanding something here..!”

“So, you can also receive messages here? So much convenience for one small object.” She didn’t like the smirk he had right now. It was a bit crooked, as if forced. “Just answer me this one thing.”

“…Yes?”

“This—” He stopped. Swallowing his words, he looked at the phone screen once more, only to find it unable to light up again. “What’s wrong with this thing now?”

“Oh, maybe the battery’s dead.” She took the chance to snatch the phone from him. She sighed. “Oh well.”

All of a sudden, Theo marched over to her and gripped her shoulders, prompting her to look up to him and his cerulean eyes. He stared at her intently, while she only blinked curiously at him.  

For some reason, he was itching to ask her who the hell was this babe. But he didn’t want her to think he was being possessive of her, when he himself still couldn’t fully comprehend the reality that there was something between the two of them—that out of the many great men in the mansion, she chose him.

Instead, he just gave her a peck on her lips and moved away, tossing his coat on the bed. She blinked once, twice, her cheeks getting warmer. “W-What was that all about..?”

“I’m gonna head down the thermae for tonight.”

“…S-Should I join you?”

Theo paused for a moment, but schooled his expression when he glanced behind his shoulder to look at her. “They’re still awake. We can’t have them getting a look at you.”

He left, almost as if in a hurry, leaving her to raise her voice and announce that she’s going back to her room. He wasn’t able to hear the addition where she clarified that in case he was misunderstanding, Babe (with a heart) was actually her best friend.

And here we are.

Theo grunted as he stood up, making up his mind to see her again. Quickly changing to fresh clothes, he made his way to her room and knocked. No response. After knocking several times, he found out the door wasn’t actually locked.

“I’m coming in.” He announced, and after stepping inside he found her in her bed, hugging her pillow with a blissful smile while wearing his coat. “Just how many times are you going to sleep…?”

The door closed behind him as he strode towards her bed, sitting on the edge and began admiring every nuance of her sleeping face. He slowly reached out and tucked the few strands of her hair behind her ear. If only she could see the endearment behind his eyes as he watched her…

Just as he bent forward, he was startled to feel the familiar sensation of his lover’s lips on his. The beauty in her eyes, seen in close proximity.

“…Just how many times are you going to fall for this trick?” She quipped back with a teasing smile. His eyes widened a fraction, and her mellifluous laughter spilled tenderly from her lips as she noticed color touching his cheekbones.

“…I was going to apologize, but now I see you just like being naughty.” His words came out husky as he leaned forward, pushing his lover down the bed and trapping her in the confines of his muscular arms. The room suddenly felt warmer, hotter, and he found the burning feeling in his chest mirrored in her eyes. “How can you make me feel so bothered inside…?”

“You tell me,” she purred, locking her arms around his neck, “I don’t know, Theo. Please tell me.”

Schijt. He wasn’t prepared for this. But the last thing he knew was that he was kissing her, his hands uneasy, his whole body begging to feel her in ways that could satisfy the hunger he felt all this while.

But oh, her voice drove him mad. The way her body responded to him. The acceptance. The love. The intense need of him. There was no doubt she reciprocated what he felt, and perhaps more.

Her eyes never lied. And in the heat of the moment, just looking at her eyes left him breathless. All through the night…

“Mm… Hmm…?”

She woke up just as the sun was about to rise, finding herself in the comforts of her lover’s arms. Fast asleep. She took a moment to watch him breath softly, eyes closed, a serene look on his face.

Her hand reached out to cup his cheek, her thumb tenderly caressing his cheek. And she whispered, “I hope you know just how much I’m grateful to be able to love you like this.”

She knew of his insecurities, his doubts, his regrets. But to her, Theo was a man of passion. There was art in his blood, zeal in his fingertips, love in his heart. And he had so much love, she always wondered why he doubted that she wasn’t receiving enough when she was rich of it, every single day.

“Hey, Theo…?” She called out softly. “…I love you.”

The light in the room slowly transitioned with the breaking dawn just as Theo opened his eyes, a smirk playing on his lips. She looked surprised.

“So this is how it feels, huh?” He teased. She blushed, pouting.

“No fair!”

He only chuckled as he pulled her closer to him, pressing a kiss on her cheek. Fragments of his previous dream flashed through his mind’s eye, yet in that blissful moment he somehow believed that everything was going to be all right, because he will shower her with everything she deserves and more.

Not bothering to hide the affection in his gaze, Theo exhaled as he beheld the most magnificent artwork he could ever find, right here in his arms, bathed in early morning light.

[from-home]

𑁍 MARK LEE┊ 𝒔𝒊𝒙𝒕𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕 / one ˎˊ˗

𑁍 summary : the one where mark lee time travels back and forth throughout the past and future with his crush, (y/n) ˎˊ˗

𑁍 pairing : mark lee x older!reader (by like three years lmao) ˎˊ˗

𑁍 word count : 6.7k ˎˊ˗

𑁍 genre : fluff, comedy (i hope??), minimal angst, time travel!au ˎˊ˗

𑁍 warnings : swearing, unrequited love (i know that shit hurts omg), my humour is ass, mark gives me slight second hand embarrassment in this, bad writing??, i gave up like halfway through this lol, first time writing a fic like this pls have mercy, it’s almost 2:30 am i'm too tired to proof read fuck ˎˊ˗

𑁍 a/n : first chapter of my first ever fic on here hehe - idk when the next chapter might come tbh but hopefully i’ll continue this series for my own enjoyment! in the meantime, uni still kicks my ass >:(( but anyway, enjoy and i hope that at least someone will find joy with this!    ˎˊ˗

[ 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟬 : 𝗗𝗔𝗬 𝟬 ]

when your pastor dad’s best friend was the biggest nerd in high school and became an eccentric scientist

O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,

  What a beautiful Pussy you are,

       You are,

       You are!

What a beautiful Pussy you are!

      If he could write like that, maybe Mark wouldn't need to be here in this boring literature class of his. Don't get him wrong, he liked writing, and he liked the way he could express his emotions through a pen and paper. But for the twenty-one-year-old boy who could barely sit still in one place without his mind wandering off into four different dimensions, it was hard to be interested in whatever the professor was rambling on about. Maybe Professor Jung was telling the story of how she met Dylan Thomas' widow's sister's friend's cousin, and how much of an artistic impact it had on her. She had told the story a good three times in the past two months - Mark kept count.

      Yeah, writing was fun and all, but literature class specifically was boring and dull to him. "Oh but Mark, why take this course then?" one might ask. But one should also know that it was a necessary course if Mark wanted to earn his oh-so-coveted diploma.

      Curse him for majoring in creative writing. His dad always did wonder why writers even bother writing when the bible exists.

      But maybe one day, an hour and a half of John Keats would produce him some ideas for a romantic poem that he could write and gift off to his love of seven years... and counting.

      (Y/N), the shiniest of all pearls and the most beautiful of all Mona Lisa's, the older woman and her beauty often left Mark stunned and helplessly in love. He first met her when he was fourteen, when she had been introduced as his seventeen-year-old tutor. She was so pretty back then, and still was now. In fact, it was as if she didn't age at all!

      Someone who resembled a goddess like (Y/N)  deserved only the most romantic of all romantic poems, and Mark Lee made it a mission to be the one to write it for her. He was so helplessly in love with her that he was able to channel his feelings for her into five different written forms: poems, song lyrics, an 'A for effort?' drawing of her, letters, and anonymous blog posts about how "unrequited love hurts".

      Sure, those blog posts were anonymous, but as good as Mark thought he was at hiding his feelings for her, everybody in town and their ancestors' spirits knew about the big crush Mark had on her. But no one bothered to tell (Y/N) about her not-so-secret admirer and nobody bothered to let Mark know that his mysterious crush wasn’t as well-kept to himself as he thought it was.

      But it was cute. Not the part where Mark slowly died on the inside as each day passed without his feelings being returned (that was pretty sad, everybody acknowledged), but the part where the adoration in his eyes were so clear for (Y/N). Legend went that he held stars in his eyes whenever his gaze rested on the older woman - like, actual stars from the galaxy. Or so the first-hand accounts go.

      Mark Lee was a talented and hardworking boy, that much was a shared sentiment by everybody in town. He excelled at all subjects, mowed the lawn twice just because he thought he missed a spot, gave it his all at church every Sunday by rapping and dancing in the name of Jesus Christ until he was reduced to sweat and threatening to rip his dress shirt off - he was a jack of all trades. There were even rumours that whenever it was time for a 'Make a Wish' patient to... make a wish in heaven, he would dress up as Spiderman and visit them in the hospital to make their final dreams come true. So maybe that's why it was so endearing, his one-sided love for his noona. If there was one person who could jump over that hurdle of "just friends" and out of the friend zone, it had to be Mark, the boy who's always gave it his all in everything ever since he moved here from Canada when he was twelve. It was one thing to have this crush that you desperately wanted to be returned, but it was another to have the whole town cheering for you - it said a lot about Mark's character.

      Which is why! There was no other perfect test subject for Scientist Kim, the local eccentric scientist who was obsessed with creating his "next big invention". He also happened to be the best friend of the town's pastor (weird combination, everybody knows), courtesy of their high school days and a misunderstanding over a carton of milk. The town's pastor also oh-so-coincidentally happened to be Mark's father, who had lived in Korea for all his life until he moved to Canada so his wife could give birth to baby Mark. He ended up moving back to his hometown, however, thus creating a new relationship between his best friend and son.

      Now Scientist Kim - who liked to go by "Cabbage" as a homage to his idol, Charles Babbage - didn’t really care about Mark's painful one-sided love, but he knew the boy could never say no to his father's best friend from high school, so there was no one better to try out his experiments and inventions than Mark. Like, there was literally no one else at all - the whole town swore Cabbage was out of his mind and were still waiting for the day the newspaper would come out with a headline that he's been charged with involuntary manslaughter. Everybody would be disappointed, but not surprised. But such an incident hadn’t happened yet, so for now, Cabbage was still freely working hard everyday to successfully complete and unveil the invention that would propel him to "the front page of every science magazine and a Nobel Prize in Physics".

      And it just so happened to be today, October 30th 2020, when Mark received a phone call from his dad's best friend in the middle of class. He was glad he kept his phone on vibrate, but god, was it distracting. To answer or not to? Why now of all times? Right, he forgot that some people don't have anything else to do with their lives other than... creating things that usually end up on fire by the end of it. You know, now that he thought back on it, the last time Mark willingly participated in Cabbage's experiment which involved some tinfoil, antennas, and laser beam machining, it left Mark's right shoe on fire - thank God he had brought a fire extinguisher over to Cabbage’s house with him.

      Just that memory alone convinced Mark to ignore the call, nearly forgetting about it once it had stopped ringing if not for the fact he received another call just seconds later. "What is this, an infatuation?" Mark grumbled to himself, before glancing up at the front to see if Professor Jung was distracted enough for him to take this call without her noticing. It didn't help that he sat three rows away from the front. But she still seemed to be rambling on about how much she loved Dylan Thomas' works, and that was a sign for him to accept the call. He kept his voice to a hushed whisper, however, "Hello-"

      "Mark! You have to come over!" There was no way Professor Jung did not hear that screech that came from his phone. He glanced up nervously, noticing his classmate's startled gazes on him. But his eyes wandered over to the front, and judging by how Professor Jung was now going on about Dylan Thomas' "attractive appearance", it seemed he was in the safe for now.

      "Cabbage, I'm in class, so could you keep it down?" Mark hissed quietly into the phone.

      "Right, right, sorry!" While he was still loud even after lowering his voice down, it was more than quiet enough for Professor Jung not to notice, thankfully. "Mark, I've just completed my latest invention. But this isn't just any invention, it's the invention of both my - and everybody's dreams!"

      Mark would be mildly curious if not for the fact that Cabbage said that about every invention of his, but he figured that his dad was going to urge him to go anyway, even if Mark didn’t want to. "But he's my best friend, Mark!" Jeez, because how could he possibly say no to the power of friendship?

      "Mark? Boy? You still there?" Cabbage’s voice pulled Mark out of his thoughts, and the boy could do nothing but sigh. This was just going to be like every other time - he’d be introduced to some machine that supposedly did one thing, said machine would catch on fire the next minute, and it would all result in Mark going home an hour later.

      "Fine, I'll be there. After class in like, half an hour." Mark reassured the scientist, and he swore, he could hear something catching on fire in the background.

      "Great!" He then heard rushed footsteps and... a fire extinguisher? "See you then!" And the call ended.

      He just couldn’t wait.

       When visitors would come to the humble town of Uicheon (의천), located just thirty minutes away by car from the bustling capital city, Seoul, the first thing they would notice was how much the town gave off Suburban American vibes, like walking through a town where the main characters of some random Disney high school movie lived. All single detached houses, varying in style from Country French to Cape Cod with recent contemporary and modern upgrades to those houses by residents who wanted to "spice it up".

        Uicheon was a town seen by others where most of the population was upper-middle class. There was nothing wrong with that at all, and actually, the residents of Uicheon were both happy and welcoming of anybody and anyone who stepped foot into town or even took an interest in moving, no matter of their social or economic status.

       If anything, the residents of Uicheon - the ones who've lived in the town for longer than ten years at least - were often worried that those who did show interest of moving in inevitably get... scared off. By one particular daunting house.

       It was a beautiful town. No seriously, Uicheon had been mentioned on multiple "Top 5 beautiful towns just outside of Seoul that you should visit!" lists published on the internet. And in the beautiful small town where all the houses provide comfort and beauty, surrounded by flowers on nearly every available patch of grass like something straight out of a magazine, there stood a modern house - the only completely modern house in the town - its exterior all... black. Even the big windows were tinted black, and it was obvious that the house stuck out like a sore thumb. Sometimes, the local kids told stories of how the house was abandoned, and was home to a ghost with a vengeful spirit inside who wanted to steal your teeth. The residents of Uicheon had gotten used to the house's presence already, but it didn’t stop the mutual sentiment of "...really?" amongst them.

       And currently, Mark stood in front of its black front doors, ringing the black doorbell and covering his ears as trumpets echoed from inside the house, playing to the tune of the guitar solo of Gun N' Roses' 'Sweet Child O' Mine.' Only seconds later, did the door swing open, revealing a robot, half of Mark's height. "SCANNING FACE... HELLO M-A-R-K, MARK." It greeted, well, robotically.

       "Hey, Edison," Mark greeted the robot nonchalantly, walking in and shutting the door behind him, "where's Cabbage?" He asked as he took off his shoes and placed it on the nearby shoe rack.

       "LOCATING THE DOCTOR..." Edison's eyes turned yellow, colour blinking repeatedly until it turned into a green light and stayed like that. "DOCTOR LOCATED - HE IS IN HIS LABORATORY DOWNSTAIRS."

       Because was it really surprising that the house belonged to a guy who invented things for a living and went by the name of a vegetable in a bizarre way to honour his idol?

       "Got it, I'll go meet up with him then." Mark informed, heading down the hall until he reached the black spiral staircase that led both to the third floor and bottom floor. It was really nice up there on the third floor though; Mark had been there before and it even came with a movie room! Too bad Cabbage rarely used it because he "doesn't have time for action sequences". So Mark, being the loyal lab assistant/test subject he was, headed down instead to the bottom floor, where he was greeted by a hallway that was lined up with pictures of old men on the walls. "My inspirations!" Cabbage would say. Among them were the likes of Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison (who he named his robot after, clearly), Nikola Tesla... you got the drift.

       Regardless, Mark never stayed in the hall longer than he needed to - he wasn’t sure if portraits of old men who were dead by now staring at him was exactly his kind of vibe.

       At the very end of the hall, all that awaited him was a grey metallic door that had some vapour seeping through the narrow space at the bottom of it. "Shit, I didn't bring a fire extinguisher today..." Mark cursed, grabbing onto the straps of his backpacks and readjusting it on his shoulders. "It's okay, Mark. He hasn't killed you before, so he can't kill you today...?" He wasn’t sure what the logic behind that thought was but you couldn’t blame him for trying to... reassure himself for whatever was about to come beyond those doors. It was funny to him; he had been the lab rat of many of Cabbage's crazy experiments and inventions, yet he kept coming back and every time he did, the jitters were always there.

       Maybe it wasn’t because he was scared of death. Because he wasn’t - his father always drilled the idea into his head that God would welcome him with open arms when the time came. At the very least, if Mark died - most likely because of one of these experiments and inventions - he'd be bringing Cabbage with him. But hey, that was beyond the point.

       If not the fear of death, then what? Maybe, just maybe... one of these days, one of Cabbage's revolutionary inventions would actually be successful. That for all of the craziness that's going on inside the mad scientist's head, it would finally pay off.

       If only he knew when.

       Mark reached for the handle and twisted it, pulling the door open and nearly coughing when a whole cloud of mist and vapour rushed at him. "Jeez, Cabbage, what are you doing this time?" Mark coughed into his arm as he took a step into the laboratory. He actually couldn't see the scientist at first, waving his hand around in hopes that he'd be able to swat away the mist and vapour. The space around him eventually did clear, though, revealing...

       Nothing?

       Instead of the usual grand machine that looked like it was taped together, Mark was greeted with... a clear space. The scientist was over at his desk just up a set of stairs that led to a second floor within the big room. "Cabbage!" Mark called after him, waving his hands to get his attention.

       Whatever the scientist was busy doing, it was important enough to leave Mark ignored for a good five seconds. It left him pouting, though the scientist eventually did glance over at the boy, his eyes widening behind his circular glasses. "Mark, boy, there you are!" Cabbage sprang out of his seat, quickly rushing down to the boy he had called over. He held some sort of watch in his hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world. Jeez, since when did Cabbage wear Rolex? "Took you long enough! I was bouncing in my seat waiting for you to come over! But in the meantime, I was able to complete another one after confirming my calculations for the twenty-seventh time..."

       One thing that nobody wanted to do was sit through Cabbage's rambling, prompting Mark to speak up. "Whoa, calm down, Cabbage. What's going on? Where's your invention?"

       "Oh Mark, you're looking at it." Cabbage held out the watch and Mark raised an eyebrow.

       "That small thing?" Mark narrowed his eyes at the watch in the scientist's hand. "Are you sure? Last time I came in for one of your creations, it was twice my size and almost killed me." But knowing the kind of person Cabbage was, Mark wouldn't be too surprised if this little watch managed to wreck havoc as well. How ironic it would be, for something so small to cause so much chaos.

       Cabbage shook his head, meeting Mark's gaze with oddly serious eyes. "Mark, the creation I hold in my hand can - and will - change the world. If left in the wrong hands, everything could collapse. Society will crumble, the universe will be left in a never-ending stream of terror, reality will no longer exist, the concept of time will-"

       "Okay, okay," Mark was left, once again, trying to calm down the frantic scientist, "Cabbage, deep breaths. Tell me, what did you create?" It couldn't be that bad that it left the older man going on some admittedly fear-inducing rant.

       "A time travel machine."

       One Mississippi, two Mississippi...

       "Alright, I'll see you next time then, Cabbage." And almost immediately, Mark turned on his heel, prepared to just dip out of there.

       "Wait, no, Mark!" The scientist called after the boy, grabbing a hold of his sleeve, "Please, hear me out!"

       "Time travel, Cabbage!" Mark whirled around, disbelief painted in his features. "Do you even hear yourself right now? That's impossible! This is impossible! Listen, I'm fine with being your test subject but even I have to put my foot down somewhere when things get a bit too crazy!"

       Despite Mark's reasonable concerns, Cabbage really didn't feel like letting his lab assistant slip away from the tip of his fingers, especially now of all times. "Come on, Mark! Twenty-seven times! I checked my calculations twenty-seven times! Don't let my hard work go down the drain!"

       "Then do it yourself! Time travel yourself!" Mark exclaimed.

       "I can't! I need you to go so I can stay behind and collect all the data while making sure you don't get stuck in the future or something!" Cabbage explained.

       Unfortunately, Mark's face still showed utter disbelief. "You know, this really doesn't help your case, Cabbage!"

       "Fine! We'll do this the fair way then!" Cabbage shouted, holding his fist out.

       "Are you serious? Rock, paper, scissors?!" Mark cried out, covering his eyes. If there was one thing he couldn't say no to, it was rock, paper, scissors. Why? Maybe because he boasts a seven-hundred-fifty-two win record, with a mere twenty-one losses in the game. As you could probably assume, Mark was the undisputed rock, paper, scissors king in Uicheon, and only two kinds of people would dare challenge him in the game when it came to bets. Those who were bold and those who were desperate.

       "I mean it, Mark! If you win, you can walk right out that door and never look back. I won't force this onto you. But if I win..." If Cabbage won, "you have to at least give this experiment a thought."

       "Wait, that's it?" Mark uncovered his eyes, surprise in his voice. But hey, it wasn't a bad deal at all - in fact, the opposite. If Mark won - which he was pretty much guaranteed to - he could leave. If he didn't, he could pretend he thought it over and just say no in the end. "Well shit, say no more, Cabbage." And out Mark's fist went. “On shoot?”

       "On shoot." The scientist confirmed, the two men placing their fists behind their backs.

       "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

       Rock for Mark, and... rock for Cabbage.

       "You got lucky." Mark rolled his shoulders back. "But this is it." And back their fists went behind them.

       "Rock, paper, scissors... shoot!!"

       Scissors for Mark, and... rock for Cabbage.

       "I won..." Cabbage glanced down at his fist, mouth left agape, "I-I won! Against you!"

       Yikes, better make that record seven-hundred-fifty-two wins to twenty-two losses now.

       "I-I..." Mark was still in disbelief, for a totally different reason now, however. "I... I lost?" Under such circumstances too... but seriously! Time travel was a bit too much! "H-Hey, that doesn't mean I'm going to be going through with this! Remember, you said if you won, you'd let me think about it!" Mark reminded.

       "Yeah, but only because I didn't think I'd actually win!" Cabbage snorted, shaking his head as he tucked the watch safely in the pocket of his white lab coat. "But I am a man of my word, so I'll give you some time to think about it. How about until the end of the day?" He suggested.

       "That's a bit too soon, don't you think?" Mark frowned, not really liking the idea of being forced into a decision so quickly.

       "Sorry, is that loser talk?" God, that damn Cabbage always knew how to get under Mark's skin.

       "Fine, by the end of the day. But don't be surprised if my answer doesn't change." Mark warned. "Now if that's it, I'll be going." Mark huffed, turning around and heading to the door once more. This time, the scientist let him go, but not without some parting words.

       "See you soon, Mark."

       (Y/N) doesn't know where her life went wrong.

       Okay, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration and a dramatic one as well, but it didn't change the fact that instead of living out in the city and pursuing her dream as a world renown film director, she was stuck in her small hometown, working full-time at a film-rental store.

       What was even the point of this store anyway? Everything was online nowadays anyway - who did the owner think he was, trying to compete with Netflix?

       "One Mississippi, two Mississippi..." (Y/N) mumbled to herself from behind the counter, staring dully at the analog clock hung just above the front doors. An analog clock - what year was this again?

       "(Y/N)," the voice of the store's owner, Mr. Yoon, was a less than welcoming disruption to her daily "clock-watching" (as she termed it herself), but at least it was a good way to remind her that the day was almost over, "did the kids all go home already?"

       (Y/N) nodded, reaching below into the counter for a piece of paper with names and times. "Yup, Jungwoo and Sungchan just finished their shifts half an hour ago." She pointed to their names on the paper, "Signed out here."

       "Great. You're in charge of closing up for today then, I have business in the city." Mr. Yoon informed, proudly readjusting his grip on the handles of his briefcase.

       "Godspeed, Mr. Yoon." (Y/N) nodded, watching as the man left with a nod. And as the doors closed behind him, the female found herself alone in the store. All alone... which actually wasn't even that uncommon.

       (Y/N); twenty-four years old, graduated from a local college two years ago with a degree in Film Studies with hopes of eventually entering the field of film-making and directing. She had high hopes, especially when she graduated. "To the city and A-list I go!" She could remember cheering that day in her car, diploma in hand and graduation gown still on.

       But somebody must have forgotten to tell her that the university you went to mattered - and just how competitive the job market was for... pretty much every job.

       Now this wasn't to say the college she attended was bad or anything, it just wasn't... one of the SKY universities.  And before she knew it, when it came time for job hunting, the positions were constantly being filled out by "better candidates" and after a certain amount of "we regret to inform you"s, (Y/N) decided to go back home.

       Home, in the beautiful yet small town of Uicheon. All she wanted was to make it big, live in a nice condo in Seoul and shop at luxury brands. Yet now, she found herself wearing what was possibly a ten-year-old uniform from the back storage with a name tag that was always tilted at a forty-five degree angle no matter how many times she tried to fix it.

       But don't get her wrong! She hadn't given up yet - she absolutely would not! Her films might not be playing in theatres or at the Busan International Film Festival, but she still enjoyed writing up ideas and getting some of her co-workers to act out some scenes for her while she filmed eagerly with her trusty camcorder.

       The Sony HDR-CX675; this bad boy cost her a good two months of saving up but God, was it worth it. Jungwoo in a wig and Sungchan throwing pens like they were daggers had never looked so good in HD until (Y/N) had gotten her hands on that beloved camcorder of hers.

       "Should I film the clock or something?" She sighed, eyes wandering back over to the analog clock. At least she only had an hour left before the store closed, and she usually spent most of that time cleaning up anyway.

       And so that hour began, dreadfully long until with only ten minutes to spare, the front door had opened, prompting (Y/N) to rush back to the counter from the storage room, though not without grumbling to herself quietly about what asshole comes into a store ten minutes before they close.

       But it wasn't just anybody who came in - it was Mark, the boy who always complimented her hair no matter how lazy she had been to brush it that day. Still, flattery always earned some brownie points in (Y/N)’s books. So she wasn't hesitant at all when she had greeted Mark. "Hey, it's nice to see you here! Renting a movie?" She asked, resting her arms on the counter top.

       "Yeah, looking for some Christian-friendly Halloween movie. For the kids at church this Sunday, since Halloween is tomorrow." Mark chuckled shaking his head.

       "Let me see what I can find," (Y/N) grinned as she slipped away from the counter and to one of the shelves, "I'll be honest though, you're probably better off showing the kids some cartoon from Netflix or something."

       As if Mark was going to tell her that he insisted to his dad on renting a movie, for he wanted to see and talk to the girl of his dreams who currently had her back turned to him. "Well you know us, terrible with technology." Instead, that was all he could muster up.

       "I'll bet." She snickered jokingly, turning back to him with a movie now in her hand, "Toy Story of Terror sound good to you?"

       "Better than showing them Scream." Mark shrugged before heading back to the counter with her. "I'll pay with debit."

       "Mhm," (Y/N) nodded, taking his card and swiping it for him through the machine, "you know the usual, watch within thirty days and return it after those thirty days." She reminded him with a yawn. God forbid Mr. Yoon ever see that.

       "Busy day?" Mark offered a small sympathetic smile as he took his card back as well as the movie. "I kind of get it. Cabbage called me in for one of his inventions today."

       "Today?" She asked, watching as the boy across from her nodded. "What was it this time?" Everybody in town felt bad for Mark since he was the one always testing out Cabbage's inventions, but at the same time, at least it wasn't them?

       "Gosh, you wouldn't believe me if I said it." He shook his head with a heavy sigh. "A time travel machine - or like, a time travel watch, I guess."

       "Time travel?" The gasp from the female was expected; anybody would be surprised. "I always knew Cabbage was ambitious but definitely not to the extent of time travel!"

       "Yeah, needless to say, I said no. Or like, I told him I would think about it, you know?" Mark frowned. "I just can't believe... time travel of all things."

       "I'll be honest," there was a smile spreading on (Y/N)’s face, to the slight surprise of Mark, "the idea of time travel sounds so cool though. I'd love to try it out." When Mark had brought up what had happened at Cabbage's house, he didn't think (Y/N) would actually be... interested in the scientist's invention. Definitely not when it was so absurd. But she looked so cute, the way she stood up straighter and her attentive eyes as he talked about it. Gosh, he wished he could tell her that it wasn't worth the time. But her interest was clear, that much he couldn't ignore.

       "Then... why don't you try it in my place?" Mark suggested hesitantly. He didn't want (Y/N) and her pretty little self anywhere near those dangerous creations, for concern of her safety. But she really seemed to be interested in this, and this... it was the least he could do.

       "Alone? No thanks." She giggled softly, to the relief of the boy who had suggested it in the first place. "Maybe if someone else was with me though. Like a time travel duo!" Hold up - someone else?

       "This is your chance, Mark!" His inner voice practically screamed at him. Anything for (Y/N), right? "But it's so dangerous!" His other inner voice tried deterring him from going through with what he was about to suggest. But for (Y/N)! "Then," Mark felt his heartbeat quicken, excitement and hope visible in his eyes, "you wouldn't mind if we did it together, would you?"

       If his friends Johnny and Donghyuck were here, they'd definitely be cheering and slapping him on the back. It felt like he was asking her out, something he always dreamed of doing but never really having the guts to do so. Rejection was a scary thought, but as he watched the wide smile that spread onto (Y/N)’s face, he knew he had something to look forward to, even if through... this.

       "Of course! it'll be fun!" Score! "Too bad only one person can go though, I assume." She frowned.

       And for a second, Mark's hopes had shattered once again. But then he remembered something back at Cabbage's house, and maybe, just maybe, it wasn't over yet. "Actually, I think Cabbage mentioned making two watches." After confirming his calculations twenty-seven times. "Why don't we go together?"

       "Seriously? You wouldn't mind?" Oh, what Mark wouldn't given just to see that wide smile on (Y/N)’s face every single second of the day.

       And with a smile of his own, he nodded. "Of course not, noona."

       Love has always been a motivation for man, ever since the beginning of humans. And as time continued on and advanced, a variety of factors had been added to that list of motivation, such as money and power. But one constant above all was always going to be love - something that had always been interpersonal.

       So that was why Cabbage wasn't too particularly surprised to see Mark come back to his house later in the evening, this time, with a female companion. And judging by the look of awe on her face, it didn't take much for the scientist to connect the dots. "Mark, you came back!" Cabbage smiled down at the boy from the second floor of his basement lab. "With a friend this time?"

       "Right," Mark cleared his throat, gesturing to the scientist, "(Y/N), this is Cabbage as you already know, and Cabbage, this is (Y/N), my friend."

       "Hi! It's great to be here! Like, really great." (Y/N) was still enamoured by the many... things going on in the lab, though Mark couldn't blame her.

       "Anyway Mark, have you given my invention a thought?" Cabbage inquired, standing up from his seat by his computer and leaning against the railing. "I assume that's why you're here, after all."

       Mark nodded. "I have." He confirmed, biting down on his lip. "And I'll do it."

       "You will?" The scientist's eyes widened, grin spreading on his face. "That's great!"

       "But," Mark began, gaze falling over onto (Y/N) for a short second before back onto the scientist, "with conditions."

       "Conditions?" Cabbage raised an eyebrow, pleasantly intrigued.

       "Conditions!" (Y/N) suddenly spoke up with a grin, earning a look from the two. "Sorry, it just felt kind of intense so I wanted to ease tensions a bit." She coughed, glancing back and forth between the two. "Please, continue." She urged.

       "A-Anyway yes, conditions." Mark cleared his throat before turning to the scientist once more. "I want (Y/N) to come with me. You have two watches, don't you?"

       "I do." Cabbage nodded, fishing his hand into the pocket of his lab coat and bringing out two identical watches. "So far, they're the only two I have so I need to make sure that your friend will be extra careful with this."

       "She will." Mark reassured without any hesitation. "I know she will, because she's (Y/N)." A man who was claiming everybody's hearts left and right - except for (Y/N)’s though, unfortunately.

       Cabbage looked as if he was pondering on the thought for a bit before eventually nodding and making his way down the stairs. "Well, if Mark is vouching for you, I guess it should be okay." Cabbage nodded before gesturing for the two to follow him to the back of the lab, where large screen rested on the wall and multiple smaller monitors on both it's sides, resting on a glass desk. Below it were multiple keyboards, a few touch pads here and there with clearly different functions. It was like something straight out of a sci-fi movie. "This is where I'll be monitoring and communicating with you two while you're in whatever time period you land in." He explained, gesturing to his set up.​​​​​​​

       "What about the watches?" (Y/N) asked.

       "I'm just getting to that." Cabbage nodded, reaching for the two watches once again. "Gather around, you two." He motioned for them to come closer. "It looks like a regular analog watch at first, but if you tap the clock face," he did what he had just said, the other two watching in awe as a small digital hologram had appeared in the air, just above the clock face, "it has information such as your battery life on the right hand corner, the date and time you're in, the option to video call me, and the option to switch time periods." He pointed out each detail on the hologram. "Now the problem with the switching time periods is that once you arrive somewhere, you're stuck there for, at a minimum, twenty-four hours before the voltage and particle energies recharge and allow you to travel elsewhere."

       "Wait, so you're staying we might be stuck in a different time for a whole day?" Mark asked, a bit of alarm evident in his voice.

       "Unfortunately, I haven't been able to find out the proper calculations to make the recharging process quicker but for the meantime... yes." The scientist sighed. "But hey, at least it's not twenty-five hours...?"

       "Cabbage!" Mark groaned, running his hand down his face.

       "I mean, twenty-four hours doesn't sound that bad." (Y/N) hummed. "I'd love to explore a different time period, really get to know what it was like!"

       "See, at least someone's optimistic." Cabbage sent a not-so-subtle look over at Mark. "But anyway, I actually have a quest for you two."

       "Ooh, a quest! I feel like I'm in a video game." (Y/N) giggled, and if it weren't for the fact that she was totally digging this right now, Mark would have just straight up left out of fear for his own safety.

       "Exactly!" Cabbage nodded eagerly. "Since you two will be going to different time periods, I want you to bring back a memento of some sort from each time period."

       "Anything specific?" Mark asked, wanting to make sure he was going into this with full details.

       "Yes, for the purpose of analytic purposes due to their high amount of energy." Cabbage turned to the two, a suddenly serious look on his face. "A meaningful item to at least one person you encounter."

​​​​​​​        The two waited for him to say more, but nope, all he did was stare back at them. Mark ended up being the first to speak up. "Hm, I think you're missing the part where you, oh I don't know, tell us what you mean by ‘meaningful item’??"

       "That will vary from person to person, Mark boy." Cabbage sighed, giving an empathetic pat on the boy's shoulder. "One person's 'meaningful item' might be a necklace that their mother gifted them, or maybe a letter from a lover for a soldier - everything in life is a variable anyway."

       "Wait, then how do we know something is a meaningful item?" (Y/N) asked.

​​​​​​​        "That's where this last function of the watches come in," Cabbage turned his attention back to the watches, "this icon," he pointed to one of the icons on the hologram screen that resembled a heart, "will allow you to scan a person once you've talked to them. This only works one person at a time though, and it does drain a lot of energy from the watch battery. It'll allow you to see particles coming from objects, like sparkles. The more vivid, bigger and brighter the particles, chances are that's your person's meaningful item. So be careful with who you choose to use it on - once you scan that person, you'll have to find their meaningful item before you can use it again. Not to mention that the longer it takes for you to find the meaningful item, the more energy it drains." He warned.

​​​​​​​        "Talk about ominous, gosh." Mark sighed, shaking his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this."

       "It'll be exciting though, Mark." (Y/N) glanced over at the boy beside her, a grin spreading on her face. "We're in this together, after all!"

       "Noona..." A shade of red coated Mark's cheeks as he stared down at her, eyes sparkling with adoration.

       "Ahem, and me too." Cabbage interrupted, "Just, I'll be back here handling everything."        

       "Yes, of course, because where would we be without you, Cabbage?" Mark sighed, feeling a bit salty over the scientist's interruption during his and (Y/N)’s "moment".

       "Love you too, Mark." Cabbage blew a kiss his way before handing a watch to Mark and (Y/N) each. "Are you two ready?"

       "Wait, we're doing this so soon?" Mark's eyes widened, staring down at the watch in his hands with a bit of fear.

       "Better sooner than later." Cabbage shrugged, helping attach the watch onto Mark's wrist and then to (Y/N)’s. "You guys will be fine, don't worry. I'm here, after all!"

       "So reassuring, Cabbage." Mark grumbled, about to protest over the quick timing and suddenness of all of this if not for the sudden feeling of warmth in one of his hands. He glanced down at said hand, eyes lingering on the smaller hand that had clasped his own. And as his eyes wandered up to the hand's owner, he swore she was going to be the death of him.

       "It'll be okay, Mark." (Y/N) squeezed his hand softly with a reassuring smile. "We're in this together." She repeated.

       "Right..." Mark trailed off before taking a deep breath and nodding. "Together." He then glanced over at the scientist. "We're ready, Cabbage."

       With an excited smile, the older man nodded before turning to his set up and taking a seat down in the chair. The sounds of his quick tapping against the keyboard keys had Mark worrying with every passing second, but as (Y/N) held his hand, he figured this wouldn't be a terrible way to die. "Adios, you two!" Cabbage called out before hitting one last button. Click!

       And as a bright and large flash of light illuminated within the lab, Mark knew it had begun, especially with the way his limbs practically burned and his consciousness struggling to stay intact.

       The things he'd do for love, huh?

[arrow-guy]

Author and Auror (9/??)

Synopsis: Eleanore Vaughan has never been one for the spotlight. Her cousin, Rosaline, is the one best suited to the limelight, and is happier for the attention. Though Nora is most comfortable tucked away in her book shop, what happens when Grindelwald’s sudden takeover flips her world upside-down and thrusts her into the inner circle?

A/N: MOre drama, more nonsense. @thorne93​ has finished posting her half of the collaboration but i very obviously haven’t, so we’ll see what happens lmao. Until then, go nuts.

Page dividers by @carryonmyswansong​

Pairing: Theseus ScamanderxOFC

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: General angst

Part 8

There’s a crowd of aurors in Rosaline’s room when she wakes and it takes nearly ten minutes to convince them their services aren’t needed. An interrogator from the DMLE stomps his way in and shoulders past Newt and I to plop down at the table Rosaline’s been sat at. Much like at my flat, Rosaline refuses to answer a single question, the same stony expression firmly in place throughout the process. The interrogator gives up after only half an hour and I take his place once everyone has left.

“Why do you refuse to give us any information? What could he possibly mean to you?” I snort and lean back in the chair when she doesn’t answer. “The longer you refuse to tell us anything, the longer you’ll be held here. If Grindelwald were in your position, he would not hesitate to give you up.”

“Don’t speak as if you know him,” she says, the fight gone from her tone.

“What else can I do? You’ve refused to speak to us outside of taunts for nearly two days.”

“What exactly is it you want from me?” she snaps. “You took me from the love of my life. I’ve told you I won’t give you his locations or his plans. You’re just doing this to hurt me, like you’ve always done.”

“Hurt… hurt you?” My stomach drops. “Rosaline, when have I hurt you?”

“When haven’t you? You and your family weren’t exactly welcoming…” she mutters.

“We’ve never done anything to intentionally hurt you. My parents have been nothing but kind to you. You’re practically my sister.”

“Well you’re nothing to me. So, unless you’ve something else to question me about…” She gestures to the door.

I sigh and scrape the chair back from the table and turn to leave. “Someone should be in shortly with your evening meal. I expect you’ll eat it, otherwise nutrients potions will be forced down your throat.”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. Instead of saying anything further, I excuse myself from the room. I run into Newt on my way back to the lift.

“She doesn’t seem to be in the mood for a chat,” I warn.

He nods and looks at the door longingly. “You believe she’s bewitched?”

“Yes. I’ve contacted Albus. He should be here over the weekend. Hopefully he’ll be able to tell us something more.” I smile sadly at him. “You’re still going to go in there, aren’t you?”

“I have to,” he says. “Maybe I’m just torturing myself, but I-I have to speak with her.”

I nod and squeeze his shoulder. “Remember that you can leave if it becomes too much for either of you.”

He nods and heads for the door.

Newt slumps down in a chair beside me, just outside Theseus’ office.

“She said she didn’t love me,” he whispers.

I blink and shake my head, trying to dislodge the sleep that’s threatening to drag me under. “Hmm?”

“She said that I’m just a… a zookeeper?” I see his shoulders sag and his bottom lip quivers and I’m immediately wide awake. “She told me that I could never hold her interest or any place in her heart and then said that I could “never be half the man he is.”

“She what?” I shoot up from my chair and Newt makes to grab my hand but I pull it away before he can. “Is that exactly what she told you?”

He stares at me with wide eyes and nods slowly.

“I’m going down there.”

“Nora, wait!” Newt follows after me. “Don't-”

“Don't what? Try to understand what's going on here? Let her know it's wretched to treat people like shit, even if she is bewitched?” I turn on my heel and head back down the hall when he doesn’t say anything. “Tell Theseus, tell any auror you want, no one is getting between me and her.”

Newt doesn’t protest, but hurries after me regardless. He’s silent all the way down to the Department of Mysteries and takes a seat outside of the room where Rosaline is being held. He nods when I place my hand on the doorknob. I open the door and slam it behind me, startling Rosaline in the process.

“Are you serious?!” I demand.

“Serious about what?” she asks.

“Why did you lie to Newt about loving him? After I watched you pine after him for years, you just throw him away?”

She squints. “I didn’t lie. I never loved Newt Scamander. How could I?”

“That is complete shite!”

“Is this because Theseus won’t spare you a second glance?” She shakes her head. “Get over it, Nora. Anyone who wanted Leta Lestrange is trash and you shouldn’t concern yourself with him.”

I grit my teeth and round the table. I grab the back of her shirt collar and haul her up from the seat she’s in. With my hands on her collar, I slam her against the wall.

“You selfish, selfish child! You can't even see you've been bewitched! Grindelwald hasn't come for you. His little minions haven't come for you. No one is tearing through the streets of London looking for any trace of your magic. He didn't care about you. He cares about your power. That's it. There was no end where you ruled alongside him. You’d have been thrown onto the rubbish heap with the other poor souls he's used up along the way."

“At least he cared enough to consider me. Can you say the same for Theseus? Or are you to be his rebound? Simply serving as a replacement for a dead woman.”

I release her and step back, pressing one shaking hand to my forehead. “You can’t be my cousin. Whatever he did to you, whatever he turned you into… you’ve grown cold. Heartless. My cousin-my sister, would never be this cruel.”

“The sister you knew was weak!” she shouts. “I’ve outgrown being Little Miss Perfect.”

“So you’d rather be a murderer?”

“I never murdered anyone,” she said, her voice low. “I simply came into my own.”

All the fight I have left leaves me and my shoulders sag. I leave and the door slams shut behind me. Newt rises from his chair and opens his mouth to ask a question, but I shake my head and wave him off.

“Nora?” I jerk my head up when I hear Theseus’ voice.

I look at Newt questioningly. “There was shouting. I was worried, so I called Theseus.”

I nod and shuffle up the hall to meet him halfway. I press my forehead to his chest and mumble, “I can’t keep doing this”

“What happened?”

“Rosaline told Newt that she’s never been and never could be in love with him and made him sad.”

“You hate it when Newt is sad.”

“He looks like a kicked crup when he’s sad. Of course I hate it.”

“What happened after that?” he presses, gently combing flyaway hairs back into my plait.

“I confronted her and she got in my head again. Whenever I bring up Grindelwald she throws it back in my face, as if I’ve got some kind of vendetta against her due to my feelings for you.”

“But you don’t. You know that and I know that.”

“Yes. That doesn’t change the fact that I completely lost my temper.” I look up at him and he tilts his head to the side.

“To be fair,” Newt says. “She was saying some pretty nasty things.”

“Like what?” Theseus asks.

“She called her your rebound a-and Leta’s replacement.”

Theseus’ hands still at the back of my neck. My hands go to his waist.

“Theseus, no. It's not worth it,” I murmur. “None of this is about us. This isn't about Leta, or any of our relationships. Rosaline is grasping at straws, trying to tear us apart from the inside.”

“Dumbledore can't get here soon enough,” he mutters.

I nod and stroke his side. “Let’s get some tea, yeah? Calm ourselves down a bit.”

“I don't think any of us should go in there until Dumbledore arrives,” Theseus says. “She's too dangerous to be around like this.”

Newt and I agree and Theseus leads us back to the lift. We don’t return for five days.

“Albus, thank you so much for coming.”

“Of course, Eleanore. I only wish I could have gotten away sooner.”

“Don’t worry about that,” I gesture to the lift and Dumbledore follows after me. “Newt and Theseus have already gone down to her room.”

“The Ministry allowed her a room?” I nod and he raises his eyebrows. “Given the circumstances, I’m surprised they didn’t insist on putting her in a cell.”

“At this point it feels as if the head of the DMLE is waiting to see if she’ll step out of line so he can throw her in a cell.”

“How do you mean?”

I shake my head. “More aurors have been wandering down to the department of mysteries, none of them were assigned to the case. Some of the people who end up near Rosaline’s room aren’t even people we’ve seen before.”

“Unspeakables?”

“No, definitely not. They’ve given the entire corridor a wide berth since we were granted permission to bring Rosaline in. No one outside of the department head and the team Theseus put together should know she’s even here.” I select the floor number and lean on the hand rail. “I worry that if we can’t bring her out of this soon she may be shipped off to Azkaban, simply because the DMLE head is a little too antsy.”

“I’ll do everything in my power to help Rosaline avoid such a fate.”

“I appreciate that.”

“How is Newt holding up?” he asks.

“He spoke with her once after bringing her here and it didn’t go very well. Left him a little shaken up. We’ve stayed well clear of her for the better part of the week.”

“And you?”

“I’ll be a little more sane once we’ve figured out what’s wrong with my cousin.”

“That bad?”

“She’s used Leta’s passing against Theseus and I on several occasions. It’s taken its toll on our relationship, but we’ve been able to learn from it and communicate better.”

“You and Theseus?” he asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

I feel my cheeks flush and roll my eyes, folding my arms across my chest. “Don’t make a fuss about it.”

“Oh, but now I must.” He laughs. “How long?”

“I don’t know… maybe two months? Maybe a little more?” He raises his eyebrows. “Don’t look at me like that, there was never any real discussion of when it happened, it just did.”

He raises his hands in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Don’t tease us, Albus, you’re nearly ten years older. Please be the adult,” I beg as we step out of the lift.

He laughs and squeezes my arm. “I’ll make no promises.”

I sharply turn my head when Theseus clears his throat. Dumbledore chokes back a laugh and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I reach out to Theseus, and he wraps an arm around my shoulders and steers me down the hallway with Dumbledore on his other side.

“How is she today?” I ask.

“Dawes said she’s about the same as yesterday. Hasn’t moved much, but she’s eating, so that’s an improvement.”

“Alright,” I take a deep breath and steele my nerves. “Shall we go in, Professor?”

Dumbledore nods and I open the door. Rosaline looks up momentarily before dragging her eyes back down to the table.

“Rosaline, you’ve got a new visitor today,” I say softly.

“What idiot have you decided to bring with you today?” she spits.

I step into the room and open the door wider. Albus enters with a serene smile on his face.

“Dumbledore?” she gasps. “What-what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see you,” he says. “How are you?”

“I would be fine if someone would simply give me my wand and allow me to leave. Seeing as I haven’t committed a crime, I have no idea why I’m still trapped here.”

I roll my eyes and close the door. Albus takes this as an invitation to take a seat across from Rosaline.

“You’re here because it’s the Ministry’s belief that you aren’t quite yourself.”

“The Ministry, or the people who chose to treat me as a second class citizen all my life?” she questions, pinning me with a piercing glare.

“Everyone, really,” he corrects. He tilts his head to the side. “Tell me, what do you remember from Paris?”

“What about Paris?”

“Do you remember anything about the Lestrange mausoleum?” I ask, taking the seat next to Dumbledore. “Maybe the blue flames?”

Her brows pull together. “Of course I remember.”

“What happened?” I press, hoping for more information.

“Gellert was asking people to join him. When I got closer to the fire, he invited me in. He told me he would give me salvation. That he would protect me and value me as I should be treated.”

“You don’t remember that you went into the fire? That he didn’t invite you?”

“I remember stepping in but his hand was outstretched. He told me we would make the world a better place together, with me at his side. How could I refuse that?”

I glance at Albus and he raises his eyebrows. I shrug and shake my head minutely.

“Is there anything you remember before Paris?” I ask.

“I remember how you kept me in your shadow. How Newt never let me live up to my potential. How your parents always treated me like dirt.”

“Rosaline, none of that’s true.”

“Of course you’d see it that way,” she says.

Dumbledore discreetly taps my elbow twice and pushes his chair back from the table. I copy his actions and he leads us back out into the hall.

“So?” Theseus asks as soon as the door is closed.

“I believe Nora is correct,” Dumbledore says. “The inconsistencies in her memory are more than enough to assume that some sort of magic has been performed on her.”

“Is there anything that can be done to help her?” I ask.

“Immediately? Nothing major, but if you can somehow instil the desire to break free of the enchantments, then the job of undoing whatever’s been placed on her will be easier.”

Everyone turns to me and my brows pull together. “What? You want me to go back in there, alone?! The last time I I slammed her up against the wall and yelled in her face. Theseus,” I turn to him. “Please see some reason! You can’t honestly think this is a good idea.”

He takes my hand in his, running his thumb over my knuckles. “It’s a terrible idea, but there really isn’t anything else we can do.”

“I don’t like this,” I announce.

“I know,” he says. “Just try to stay in your seat this time, yeah?”

I snort and turn for the door. “Spoken like someone who’s never been in the room alone with her like this.”

“You want me to try it?”

“Oh, absolutely not.” I reach for the doorknob. “I’ll do it alone.”

I return to Rosaline’s room.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” she demands, clearly disappointed to see me.

“He’s taking care of something,” I lie. “He’ll be back.”

“How long do you plan on keeping me here?”

“As long as is necessary.”

She groans and shoves her chair back from the table before she begins to pace. “I'm not your dog, Eleanore. You can't push me around or tell me what to do anymore. You've treated me like a child far too long.”

“Perhaps recently, but I’ve only treated you as your behavior demanded. And it would do you well to know that I’m not the one who holds your leash. Take a look at that ring on your finger. It wasn’t me who collared you.”

Hatred flares in her eyes. “Don’t. He has nothing to do with this.”

“He has everything to do with this, Rosaline. He killed innocent aurors. He’s the reason Leta is dead. How can someone preaching peace and prosperity do that to his own people?” The volume of my voice grows steadily louder. “How many died by his wand while he kept you as his own?”

“He’s just trying to build a better world for us,” she says, tears forming in her eyes. “You don’t understand. No one here does.”

“Then help us. From where I stand, all I can see is death and destruction.”

“That isn’t what he wants. He just…”

“Just what?”

“He wants freedom from the muggles. I don’t think he meant to hurt those people.”

“That’s not how the statute works, Rosaline. He’s filled you and his followers heads with lies of power and promised something that he cannot deliver. People are dead because of him. He has to pay for what he’s done. Please. Help us.”

She chokes back a sob and turns her face away. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why, I just can’t.”

“This is hopeless. You’re never going to give him up, are you?” She doesn’t answer as tears roll down her cheeks. I shake my head and sigh as I push my chair back from the table. “If you’re not going to help us, then I’m wasting my time.”

“Nora, no, please don’t leave me,” she begs, following me as the door swings open. “Nora! No!”

The door closes behind me and I clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle my erratic breathing. I reach out to Theseus and he pulls me to his chest as tears spill down my cheeks. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead to Theseus’ chest, willing myself to stop crying. Rosaline begins to pound on the door and I can hear her cries on the other side. Theseus rubs my back with one hand and combs through my hair with the other.

Dumbledore places a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve done her a great service, Nora,” he says softly. “We’ll be able to begin the process of understanding the extent of the enchantment tomorrow.”

“Then you’ll go alone. I’m not going back in there until we have an idea of what’s happened to her,” I say firmly. “We can’t keep hurting ourselves like this, not to mention Rosaline. We have no idea what’s happened to her and she’s been locked up for a week.”

“Of course,” his hand falls from my shoulder. “I’ll work as quickly as possible.”

Dumbledore places a small phial on Theseus’ desk and waits for us to comment. Inside a silvery strand of memory wriggles around.

“What did you do?” I ask.

“I proved that you were right, Ms. Vaughan,” he answers. “This is Rosaline’s first memory after being taken. It’s quite fuzzy. Greatly tampered with, and not because of anything Rosaline did.”

“So she’s innocent?” My heart begins to race, but I force myself to stay seated.

Dumbledore smiles. “Quite.”

“That’s great,” Newt says.

“What do we do next?” I ask, leaning forward slightly. “We can give her the news, but what past that? Do we find curse breakers?”

Theseus nods. “If we were to do so, it’d be best to screen them properly. Assure that none of this makes it into the Prophet.”

“Of course,” Dumbledore says. “I have a few friends I may be able to call in. The rest is up to you, really. I’m sure Nora would like to be a part of bringing her cousin back to herself.”

I press my lips together and meet Theseus’ eyes. “I would, actually.”

Theseus nods. “Of course. And you will.” He looks around at the people gathered in his office. “We should deliver the news.”

I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. “Right, of course.”

I head for the door and everyone follows after me. The ride down to Rosaline’s room is silent. No one speaks until we’re seated around the table.

“What’s going on?” Rosaline asks.

“We have something we need to tell you,” I say.

“What could it possibly be?”

“Rosaline,” Dumbledore began, huffing out a breath, “you’ve been cursed.”

Her eyebrow twitches up. “Cursed?”

“It appears Grindelwald put you under a series of complex curses.” Dumbledore explains. “He toyed with memories, he put you under the Imperius curse, along with other loyalty spells and charms. The love you feel for him, the loyalty, it’s all a farce.”

“I…” She trails off, her brow furrowing. Confliction clouds her features. “So, what now? Am I imprisoned?”

“Absolutely not. We’re going to work to get the curses out of you. So long as you don’t fight us, it should be relatively easy and painless. We have to be careful not to destroy your mind in the process. I’d like to give you your memories back.”

She nods slowly. “Whatever you think is best,” she says. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“I’m surprised you aren’t fighting us more,” Theseus remarks.

“Either you’re wrong and this is a waste of our time, or you’re right and I won’t be cursed any longer.” She shrugs. “It’s all the same to me.”

I nod absentmindedly and Dumbledore pushes his chair back from the table. He excuses himself, closely followed by Theseus and I. When Newt hangs back, I place one hand on his arm, silently asking if he’s alright. He covers my hand with his and nods. I squeeze his arm and leave the room. Theseus pulls me close when the door closes behind me and he doesn’t ask where Newt is.

“I should stop by the store,” I say. “Check on the kids and do some inventory.”

“Do you want me to come with?” Theseus asks.

I shake my head. “James and Tessa are still a little wary of aurors, even if it is just you.” I lean up and kiss him. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

He smiles and nods once. “Of course. I’ll come by after I’m done here.”

“Great,” I murmur, gently squeezing his hand.

He stoops down and kisses me softly. “See you soon, Love.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this chapter, please reblog, comment, and/or shoot me ask! Feedback would be greatly appreciated!

[evansfm]

𝙨𝙚𝙚 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 –– 𝐞𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐥𝐲 .

every  morning  evan  woke  up  to  a  london  sky  that  refused  to  let  the  sun  in  ;  summer  was  drier  than  spring  ,  but  the  clouds  seemed  to  linger  year  round  .  .  .  not  that  she  minded  .  she  had  ,  after  all  ,  grown  up  in  county  dublin  ,  where  things  were  always  a  bit  damp  .  still  ,  the  lack  of  COLOR  could  be  draining  .  .  .  so  she  searched  for  it  in  unexpected  places  ,  creating  little  pockets  of  color  for  herself  in  a  rather  grayscale  world  .  golden  lights  strung  on  her  balcony  ,  isla’s  bright  red  hair  and  matching  smile  ,  an  array  of  bright  letters  boasting  NME  lining  a  wall  ––  covers  from  past  decades  ,  a  rainbow  rubik’s  cube  next  to  her  keyboard  ,  two  framed  photographs  perched  on  her  desk  .  the  first  seemed  like  forever  ago  ,  a  beaming  eloise  with  a  twin  on  either  side  ;  beck  on  the  left  ,  evan  on  the  right  ,  both  planting  kisses  on  her  cheek  one  valentine’s  day  years  and  years  ago  .  the  second  was  more  recent  ,  backstage  at  a  show  in  galway  ;  kieran  sat  in  his  chair  with  his  fingers  intertwined  with  evan’s  as  she  draped  her  arms  over  his  shoulders  from  behind  ,  chin  resting  on  top  of  his  curls  and  a  smile  that  looked  SOFT  compared  to  the  goofy  one  ruairi  wore  ,  looming  behind  her  with  his  chin  on  her  head  .  she  felt  warmth  every  t​​ime  she  looked  at  them  ,  but  there  was  always  a  tug  in  her  stomach  .  .  .  the  undeniable  feeling  of  something  missing  .  she  found  her  little  pockets  of  color  ,  but  they  still  seemed  muted  w​​ithout  the  people  she  loved  ––  the  PERSON  she  loved  .

their  schedules  had  begun  to  clash  ––  and  evan  hated  the  way  she  was  beginning  to  get  used  to  the  dull  ache  of  his  absence  .  distance  had  been  a  part  of  their  relationship  for  months  ,  but  the  time  zones  were  killing  her  .  they  couldn’t  always  make  time  for  hours  wasted  away  on  facetime  ;  she  couldn’t  always  fall  asleep  to  the  sound  of  his  voice  on  the  other  end  of  the  line  .  they  were  both  where  they  were  supposed  to  be  ,  chasing  their  dreams  together  ,  separately  .  .  .  but  evan  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  the  path  she  was  on  ––  the  desk  ,  the  deadlines  ,  the  distance  ––  was  actually  what  she  WANTED  .  there  was  a  lack  of  creative  control  at  nme  ;  she  was  a  part  of  a  greater  whole  ,  confined  to  a  desk  when  she  wasn’t  out  in  the  field  .  she  felt  restless  .  .  .  bored  ,  almost  .  and  with  her  most  recent  deadline  met  and  a  job  of  her  own  ––  evan  connely  ,  sans  nme  ––  waiting  at  the  end  of  the  week  ,  she  was  distracted  .  

“  WHAT  are  you  doing  ?  ”  isla  popped  up  behind  her  ,  coming  out  of  nowhere  to  look  over  her  shoulder  .

“  jesus  ,  ”  evan  startled  ,  nearly  dropping  the  plastic  puzzle  in  her  hand  ,  “  where  t’e  fuck  did  you  come  from  ?  ”

“  charlotte’s  office  .  answer  my  question  .  ”

“  playing  wit’  a  toy  ,  ”  she  held  up  the  half  solved  rubik’s  cube  ,  then  let  out  an  audible  sigh  as  isla  looked  unimpressed  ,  then  jutted  her  chin  towards  the  computer  screen  ,  “  trying  to  put  together  a  mood  board  for  t’is  gig  i’ve  got  wit’  saint  valentine  on  friday  .  ”

perfectly  shaped  auburn  brows  raised  ,  “  we  got  saint  valentine  ?  ”

“  no  ,  ”  evan’s  lips  lifted  into  the  faintest  smirk  ,  “  i  got  saint  valentine  .  ”

“  you’re  bloody  joking  .  shut  UP  ,  ”  isla  gasped  ,  rounding  to  her  side  of  the  table  desk  ,  just  to  roll  her  chair  around  ,  “  and  you  didn’t  fucking  tell  me  ?  ”

“  no  ,  because  you  couldn’t  keep  a  secret  if  you  tried  .”

“  well  that’s  because  it  shouldn’t  be  a  fucking  secret  ,  ev  .  this  is  fantastic  ,  ”  hazel  eyes  widened  with  excitement  ,  “  so  you’re  shooting  them  for  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  t’ey  weren’t  too  explicit  about  it  .  i  know  for  certain  i’m  covering  bot’  shows  at  t’e  o2  ,  documenting  t’e  whole  thing  from  t’e  moment  they  get  there  ,  ”  evan  huffed  a  curl  away  from  her  face  ,  nodding  to  the  screen  ,  “  and  t’en  a  shoot  on  site  at  t’e  venue  .  so  i’ve  got  to  work  wit’  what  i’ve  got  .  i’ve  got  ONE  chance  here  ,  and  nicky  haven  scares  t’e  absolute  fuck  out’a  me  ,  so  i  can’t  blow  it  .  ”

“  nicky  haven  scares  EVERYONE  .  it’s  part  of  h​​is  charm  ,  ”  isla  leaned  in  ,  ma​​king  herself  perfectly  comfortable  in  evan’s  space  as  she  took  the  mouse  and  began  clicking  through  different  ideas  opened  on  photoshop  ,  “  let’s  see  what  you’ve  got  so  far  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  isla  ,  it’s  not  a  big  deal  .  really  i  shouldn’t  even  be  working  on  t’is  HERE  ,  right  now  .  it’s  not  exactly  nme  related  stuff  ,  you  kn––  ”

“  i  TOLD  you  she  was  here  today  ,  ”  a  girl  called  sophie  ,  who  manned  nme’s  front  desk  in  the  mornings  ,  materialized  on  the  other  side  of  evan’s  desk  .  a  junior  writer  ,  andrew  ,  was  hot  on  her  heels  .

“  soph  ,  now  really  probably  isn’t  the  best  time  and  it  really  isn’t  your  busi––  ”

“  someone’s  got  to  show  her  ,  ”  sophie  was  ,  admittedly  ,  obnoxious  .  and  coming  from  EVAN  ,  that  was  a  feat  .

“  show  WHAT  to  WHO  ?  ”  isla’s  voice  changed  in  tone  ,  taking  on  a  hint  of  authority  as  she  looked  at  andrew  ,  “  aren’t  you  meant  to  be  doing  some  social  media  research  right  now  ?  ”

“  i  WAS  ,  but  ––  ”

“  but  we’ve  found  something  that  evan  HAS  to  see  ,  ”  sophie  .  again  .

“  we  ?  ”

“  ME  ?  ”  evan  said  in  tandem  with  isla  ,  brows  lifting  as  she  clicked  the  final  piece  into  place  on  the  cube  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  and  felt  a  strange  twist  in  her  stomach  when  she  saw  the  redhead  had  gone  rigid  .

“  is  this  about  ––  ”

“  rebecca  stringer  ,  ”  andrew  nodded  solemnly  ,  as  though  evan  was  supposed  to  know  who  the  hell  THAT  was  .

“  better  known  as  BEX  ,  ”  sophie  added  .

it  was  evan’s  turn  to  go  rigid  .  her  back  straightened  ,  and  it  felt  like  ice  had  just  been  shot  through  her  veins  .  truth  be  told  ,  she  was  more  worried  about  conflicting  schedules  lately  .  .  .  not  the  way  bex  sing-songed  a  shortened  version  of  kieran’s  name  .  .  .  or  the  way  she  answered  his  phone  and  simply  couldn’t  remember  who  evan  was  .  .  .  or  the  way  she’d  made  sure  evan  could  hear  her  promise  to  personally  deliver  kieran  to  his  hotel  room  that  first  night  in  los  angeles  .  it  wasn’t  exactly  PLEASANT  being  reminded  of  the  instinct  that  she’d  shut  down  ,  intuition  telling  her  something  wasn’t  quite  right  there  .  her  brows  pinched  together  as  the  rubik’s  cube  slid  from  one  hand  to  the  other  and  back  .  she  glanced  over  at  isla  with  a  prompting  look  .

“  we’re  .  .  .  doing  a  piece  about  nepotism  babies  in  the  industry  ,  and  she’s  a  PERFECT  example  of  one  so  i  was  having  andrew  look  into  the  way  she  interacts  with  fans  and  her  socials  and  what  not  .  she’s  one  of  like  TEN  people  we’re  look​​ing  into  ,  ”  she  explained  with  an  apologetic  look  .  it  was  then  that  she  turned  a  sharp  eye  to  andrew  and  sophie  ,  “  don’t  know  what  THAT  has  to  do  with  evan  ,  though  .  ”

“  see  for  yourself  .  ”

“  SOPHIE  .  ”

“  what  ?  it  probably  isn’t  even  new  information  for  her  ,  ”  she  shrugged  ,  reaching  over  two  monitors  to  hand  evan  a  phone  .  twitter  was  opened  to  a  profile  with  bex’s  beaming  face  in  the  icon  ,  but  the  handle  wasn’t  hers  .  she  gave  the  pair  of  them  a  skeptical  look  before  glancing  over  at  isla  who  only  offered  a  half  -  hearted  shrug  .  it  didn’t  take  long  to  see  what  ,  exactly  ,  sophie  had  been  talking  about  ,  a  slew  of  tweets  and  retweets  .

bexupdates  :  bex  &  kieran  pulled  up  to  the  venue  together  .  .  .  and  then  left  at  the  same  time  .  why  are  they  lowkey  so  cute  annathefound  :  not  bex  wearing  a  baby  tee  version  of  the  found’s  merch  .  .  .  stanning  her  boyfriend  just  like  the  rest  of  us  

ruairidailyposts  :  ok  wait  are  evan  &  kieran  even  dating  anymore  bc  i  could  be  down  with  a  bex  &  kieran  moment  cheerupbailey  :  @ruairidailyposts  you  know  two  people  can  have  a  relationship  without  posting  about  it  right  ???  they’re  in  separate  countries  rn  lol

babybexxx  :  i  just  think  that  bex  &  kieran  walsh  as  a  power  couple  .

bxhq  :  no  offense  but  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  than  some  rando  from  ireland  like  what thefoundupdates  :  @bxhq  babes  they  LITERALLY  grew  up  together  ????

totallyconan  :  be  honest  do  u  guys  think  the  reason  evan  isn’t  on  tour  with  them  is  bc  they’re  not  together  anymore  like  she  literally  never  misses  shows

adamfitzupdates :  why  are  y’all  so  obsessed  with  a  relationship  that  doesn’t  concern  you  ???  chill bexlevitates  :  @adamfitzupdates  bc  it’s  weird  that  evan  knew  him  for  so  long  and  only  started  dating  him  AFTER  the  found  started  to  get  big  like  that’s  shady

bexupdates  :  find  someone  who  looks  at  u  the  way  bex  looks  at  kieran  on  stage  wtf  did  y’all  see  that

newruleshq  :  no  waaaay  this  man  has  a  gf  when  he  and  bex  look  so  good  next  to  each  other  LMAO  

thefoundupdates  :  according  to  the  girl  who  wrote  the  article  kieran  literally  WALKED  OUT  on  the  interview  ???  rockstar  behavior  but  also  hope  he’s  ok

evan  could’ve  kept  scrolling  for  hours  as  her  heart  rate  began  to  rise  and  rise  .  the  crease  between  her  brows  deepened  ,  and  she  reminded  herself  of  everything  she  knew  to  be  true  .  kieran  LOVED  her  .  twitter  was  a  BRUTAL  place  .  it  was  as  though  the  worst  parts  of  her  subconscious  had  come  to  life  in  280  characters  or  less  .  her  head  began  to  swim  as  her  heart  sank  into  her  stomach  .

“  what  does  t’is  ––  .  .  .  ”  her  voice  cracked  ,  and  she  cleared  her  throat  ,  finally  looking  up  from  the  phone  screen  ,  “  why  ,  exactly  ,  are  you  showing  me  this  ?  ”  

sophie  looked  as  though  she  was  shocked  by  evan’s  question  ,  “  because  i’ve  dated  musicians  .  .  .  and  like  HALF  of  those  are  in  bex’s  likes  .  which  are  public  ,  by  the  way  .  just  doesn’t  seem  subtle  to  me  .  ”

“  are  you  trying  to  insinuate  something  here  ,  sophie  ?  ”  her  tone  shifted  ,  irritated  as  she  handed  the  phone  back  .

“  like  i  said  ,  i’ve  dated  guys  in  bands  ,  too  ,  and  ––  ”

“  enough  ,  ”  isla  snapped  ,  “  you’re  sticking  your  nose  where  it  doesn’t  belong  .  BOTH  of  you  should  be  off  doing  your  jobs  right  now  ,  so  ,  run  along  .  ”

both  of  them  scurried  off  without  a  word  .  

evan  was  still  for  a  moment  ,  but  her  fingertips  were  itching  for  the  keyboard  .  she  was  no  stranger  to  things  like  this  ,  unkind  words  from  strangers  who  didn’t  LOVE  the  idea  of  her  ––  despite  not  knowing  her  .  the  good  outweighed  the  bad  on  the  internet  ,  but  the  voices  who  didn’t  like  her  were  always  the  loudest  .  even  BEFORE  she  and  kieran  had  gone  public  with  their  relationship  .  .  .  even  before  they  were  ever  in  a  relationship  at  all  .  over  time  ,  she’d  learned  to  tune  it  out  and  focus  on  the  kindness  that  flooded  her  comment  sections  and  mentions  .  .  .  but  every  now  and  again  something  slipped  through  the  cracks  .  .  .  and  when  they  did  ,  she  absorbed  them  like  a  blow  to  the  abdomen  .  they  settled  into  her  memory  and  cemented  themselves  there  ,  tucked  away  until  they  found  the  perfect  moment  to  make  her  self  conscious  .  like  the  fan  who  had  commented  on  the  shape  of  her  body  before  and  after  going  to  uni  .  .  .  and  another  from  galway  who  made  it  their  business  to  let  everyone  know  she’d  slept  around  while  living  there  .  .  .  and  every  time  someone  said  she  wasn’t  good  enough  for  kieran  or  any  of  them  .  that  she  had  bad  intentions  ,  leeching  onto  the  boys  for  fame  .  that  her  career  was  based  SOLELY  on  the  four  of  them  .  

if  she  caved  and  kept  scrolling  ,  she’d  commit  it  all  to  memory  .  .  .  everything  that  made  her  intuition  about  bex  STRONGER  .  

instead  ,  she  launched  forward  and  snatched  the  rubik’s  cube  back  up  ,  immediately  distorting  its  perfect  faces  and  mixing  it  up  again  .  it  was  good  to  keep  your  hands  busy  ,  she  knew  ,  when  your  mind  began  to  run  away  .  

the  worst  of  it  wasn’t  even  TRULY  comments  about  their  relationship  .  .  .  those  hurt  ,  but  they  didn’t  sting  quite  as  bad  as  real  -  time  updates  about  kieran  and  bex  showing  up  or  leaving  venues  together  .  she  dulled  the  pain  by  reminding  herself  that  THREE  other  boys  were  never  too  far  behind  .  that  kieran  would  never  .  .  .  COULD  never  .  .  .  

but  then  again  ,  there  was  the  tweet  that  weighed  heaviest  in  her  mind  .  kieran  walked  out  in  the  middle  of  an  interview  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  something  rattled  him  to  the  point  of  his  version  of  an  outburst  ,  and  he  hadn’t  told  her  .  that  seemed  like  something  he  would  have  told  her  .  .  .  it  seemed  important  enough  ,  she  thought  to  herself  ,  right  ?  RIGHT  ?

her  throat  felt  tight  ,  and  she  kept  running  the  tweets  she’d  read  over  in  her  mind  .  there  was  a  deep  furrow  in  her  brow  as  she  looked  down  at  her  hands  ,  still  vehemently  mixing  up  the  toy  .  something  felt  off  kilter  .  .  .  but  she  couldn’t  pin  down  which  hurt  more  :  the  slew  of  tweets  from  people  pretending  to  know  what  went  on  in  her  relationship  .  .  .  or  the  thought  of  kieran  doing  something  as  rash  as  storming  out  of  an  interview  ––  and  then  not  telling  her  .  

“  i  didn’t  know  about  t’e  interv​​iew  bit  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  eyes  still  trained  on  the  colorful  cube  .  she  was  certain  her  face  was  the  opposite  ,  color  drained  .  

“  evan  ––  .  .  .  ”

“  it’s  fine  ,  ”  she  said  firmly  ,  “  it’s  probably  not  true  .  just  like  t’e  rest  of  it  isn’t  true  .  ”

her  voice  sounded  distant  .  .  .  and  she  wasn’t  sure  if  she  was  trying  to  convince  isla  or  HERSELF  .  clearing  her  throat  again  ,  she  set  the  toy  back  down  on  her  desk  and  scooted  towards  the  computer  .  

“  i’ve  got  work  to  do  ,  ”  she  said  quietly  ,  getting  back  to  the  monitor  .  though  all  she  wanted  to  do  was  go  home  .  how  many  more  people  thought  that  she  wasn’t  GOOD  ENOUGH  for  kieran  ?  how  many  people  thought  someone  like  bex  was  a  better  fit  ?  how  long  would  it  take  for  the  suggestion  to  become  potent  enough  to  make  the  people  who  KNEW  them  question  it  as  well  ?  and  if  kieran  had  walked  out  of  an  interv​​iew  ,  WHY  hadn’t  he  told  her  ?  

she  glanced  down  at  her  own  phone  screen  ,  hoping  that  maybe  she’d  missed  a  text  or  a  call  .  .  .  but  all  she  got  was  nothing  .  nothing  but  the  words  she’d  seen  written  down  ,  now  cemented  in  her  mind  :  bex  is  simply  so  much  better  for  him  .  .  .  because  SHE  was  there  ,  wrapped  up  in  the  same  world  he  was  in  .  she  was  accessible  .  immediate  .  beautiful  .  

and  evan  was  stuck  in  london  with  nothing  but  time  to  wonder  .

[ivegotbreadinmypants]

16 normal witcher au , 1 , 34

Geralt/Jaskier—Angst

Prompt list post—

AU: 16 - Supernatural AU

Trope: 1 - Friends to Lovers

Prompt: 34 - “I don’t even know why we’re doing this.”

A/N: Oh lord, this ended up being so long lmao. I got pretty damn inspired by this prompt and my brain got carried away. But I swear, not every prompt is going to be as long or angsty as this one. This one—oof

Word Count: 3317

Warning: Angst, light self-loathing on Geralt’s side.

By the time they leave the tavern, the village has been swallowed by darkness, the sky an inky black. The innkeeper who gave them their contract didn’t spare details, possibly the result of the air of fear emanating from everyone in the village.

People wander into the woods in the middle of the night, usually after days of complaining of horrific dreams; it’s brought everyone on edge, eyes full of distrusting hope when they see the Witcher and the bard enter the tavern.

They’ve crossed the blood-stained meadows and are already skirting the edge of the forest when Jaskier asks, “What is it? The creature?”

The poor bard nearly slips on an unseen rock, giving a startled yelp that disturbs the rows of crows resting on branches above them. Geralt turns around, a nasty glare in his glowing amber eyes. Jaskier used to think they were beautiful.

“Shut up,” the Witcher grits out, continuing down the path without waiting for the bard. A deep frown covers Jaskier’s face, eyes dull, but only for a second, because he doesn’t want—

Jaskier straightens up and forges on, ignoring the hollow beating of his heart.

When Geralt approached him two months ago—a full year after it—Jaskier had thought things would change, that everything would be different and being with Geralt doesn’t have to mean having his heart squeezed and broken as if it were a nailed to a wheel—the cycle repeating over and over.

He thought everything would go back to the way it was, but better, after the Witcher had willingly apologised—after the man had opened his heart and let every hurt pour out in full view for the bard. He’d been wrong.

Geralt is still as well-guarded as he was, even after they shared a painfully tender moment when he gave his apology. It’s like Geralt wants to erase the memory of that having happened.

At first, Jaskier thought it was down to Geralt still not used to being generally open with his feelings—that the man needs a little more time to adjust to their slightly different dynamic. But as time passed, as the scathing remarks and dry barks from the White Wolf never once relented, Jaskier had a slow dreadful realization. Geralt isn’t going to change.

And it’s only a matter of time before it—Jaskier’s heart skips a tormenting beat—happens again.

Jaskier doesn’t want to be here when his whole world inevitably burns down to ashes again.

He trails after Geralt a little ways, giving them both space—space that Jaskier despises now because he knows no matter how much land there is between the two of them, Jaskier will always feel like there’s galaxies of space separating them.

He feels like a husk, an empty shell of who he used to be, and it’s getting worse the longer he lingers and waits for his heart to be shattered in the hands of the man he used to trust with his life.

He has to leave. It’s hurting him in ways he can’t even see, can’t even fathom. He can’t see the extent of his grisly scars because they’ve been woven into his skin for so long he’s forgotten.

Twenty-two years and counting.

Jaskier bites on his lip, pressing hard until it tears through. Copper tinges his tongue and he wonders how much longer will he not feel the pain. Everything is so numb it hurts.

Geralt stops, sniffs the air.

The bard inwardly sighs, an ire-stricken face of one Witcher popping into his head. He doesn’t have to meet Geralt’s eyes to feel the vexation.

“Jaskier, what the fuck?”

This time, Jaskier sighs out loud, “What, Geralt? It’s nothing.”

Geralt spins on his heel, a twitch in his eyebrow when he notices the space between the two of them, and crosses the threshold to enter Jaskier’s space.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing. Just bit my lip on accident,” Jaskier mutters, quiet and meek and nothing like him.

Geralt doesn’t need Witcher senses to know something is wrong, because even he cocks his head a little to the side, a curious look to his otherwise irritated gaze.

Jaskier looks up, drawing his eyes to meet amber ones. He’s struck with the thought this may be the last time he’ll ever see them.

His voice is soft. “I don’t even know why we’re doing this.”

Geralt’s brows furrow, some of the hated ire vanishing. “To finish the contract. The alp.”

Jaskier’s lips stretch into half a smile, but it’s hollow and dimmed. His words are defeated, softer now. “That’s not what I mean, Geralt.”

The Witcher loses some of his confused fog, something acute and sharp in his eyes replacing it.

“Jaskier,” there’s the smallest pressing tone in his voice. The bard only breathes out, a cheap imitation of a chuckle, a little too quick for it to be a normal conversation; even then, it sounds flat.

There isn’t even a shadow of anger in Jaskier’s body, all of the fiery feelings snuffed out over hours, days and months of waiting for Geralt to change. But there’s a deep sadness painted on every surface within, delicate and unwavering, never leaving.

Jaskier’s blue eyes bore into Geralt’s, words easing out of his mouth. “I can’t keep doing this.”

The sharpness in golden honey hardens, the gruffness accentuated, “Jaskier.”

Jaskier takes a step back—avoiding his touch—when the Witcher reaches out, as if he wanted to shake sense into the bard. For the first time in a long time, Jaskier sees something in Geralt crack.

The poet—but is he one anymore? He hasn’t written anything in so long—shakes his head, standing taller. “I’m leaving, Geralt.”

There’s a sharp inhale, the leather of his armor creaking when he reels back, the line of Geralt’s jaw hardening under the moonlight, as if he was struck.

Jaskier dimly realizes this may actually hurt Geralt.

But he forges on, blue eyes unrelenting in the darkness, “I’m leaving.”

“No,” Geralt bites out, his upper lip curling.

Something in Jaskier sparks, blazing hot for a split second. “What do you want? C’mon Geralt, what do you really want? You tell me to go away and when I do, you come running back. Then when I say I’m leaving, you don’t allow me to.”

His words aren’t as cutting as he wants them to be, but it gets the point across.

Geralt stares, the Adam’s apple of his throat bobbing.

“I have to leave, Geralt. I have to go.”

Then his eyes go unfocused, staring past Jaskier, the line of his shoulders going straight as a rod.

Jaskier opens his mouth, but Geralt puts a hand up, tilting his head a bit.

The heat comes back roaring within Jaskier, “How dare—”

“Shh.” Geralt comes closer, his eyes now searching the line of trees surrounding them. Jaskier narrows his eyes, but then the anger in him dies out quickly when he hears it too. Crunching grass. Footsteps.

“Must have smelled your blood,” Geralt mutters.

Jaskier pushes Geralt, “Go.”

But Geralt doesn’t budge, his hand snapping out to grab onto Jaskier’s wrist, his full attention now on the bard. Not for the first time, Jaskier feels trapped under golden eyes, but instead of anger or exasperation greeting him, there’s pained desperation.

“Stay,” Geralt says, as if leaving was out of the question. Jaskier takes another step back, shaking his head, but he’s held in place by Geralt’s grip on his wrist. “No, Geralt, you don’t understand. I have to.”

“No, I understand, Jaskier. I do. But, please, fuck—please,” Jaskier flinches at the sound of a twig snapping. She’s getting closer.

Geralt’s tightened fingers bring him back, cornflowers on gold. A battered heart meeting desperation.

There’s nothing fake about it, only the most earnest desolation swimming in amber honey.

“Stay.”

Tightened fingers go lax, turning around Jaskier’s wrist so Geralt’s thumb can skim over his pumping pulse. The touch is gentle, delicate and scared.

“Jaskier,” Geralt whispers, not even twitching at the sound of louder footsteps, and tugs lightly on the bard, bringing the speechless man a little closer. They’re breathing the same air, almost nose-to-nose, and Geralt only has eyes for him.

“Don’t leave.”

Jaskier can feel something else in him spark, brighter than anything.

The sound of a shriek is what breaks Geralt out of his trance, but the haunted urgency doesn’t leave. He turns around and there she is—

Naked, blood-soaked, red-headed. The alp.

Geralt turns back to Jaskier and somehow, the anguish in his face is worse.

Jaskier can’t stop the rushed words escaping him, “I won’t.”

Geralt opens his mouth, but Jaskier places his hand over his lips, speaking faster now, “At the inn. I promise.”

Then Jaskier nudges him, nodding to the impatient vampire awaiting the Witcher. Geralt only spares the smallest of nods, and spins on his heel, brandishing his silver sword.

Jaskier doesn’t waste a moment, turning in the other direction and sprinting away from the action.

For a moment, Jaskier wants to run away. To leave.

——

The fight is rushed, over relatively quick. Maybe it’s because of the Black Blood coursing through his veins, or maybe it’s because of the relentless fear rushing through his body—piercing his heart and haunting his mind.

He cuts the head off of the alp and heads off to the tavern. He storms through the rotting wooden door—with the urgency of a man scared of losing the most important thing to him—and drops the head on the bar, staring at the barkeep with blackened eyes and blood-splattered armor.

The man is quick to toss the bag of coin his way, and when Geralt catches the bag, he turns away to rush out, not wasting time to speak a word. He steps towards the inn—the smallest of tension leaking out of his shoulders when he scents the pine and cedar and sea-salt at the threshold of the inn.

He skips steps when he climbs the stairs, following the awfully familiar scent like a dog following a treat. He fears the scent is old, because it’s the same room they got the previous night, and that Jaskier is long gone—run away like he said he would.

But he opens the door and the scent overwhelms him, drowning him in painful relief and dread.

Now that the danger has passed, he’ll have to face something worse than an alp.

Jaskier is sitting upon the bed, staring out the window with an air of melancholy that smells like cold soot—like a campfire that died overnight. The man turns to face him and it’s Geralt’s turn to feel trapped. He realizes all of the bard’s belongings are packed, right next to the man in question.

“I admit. I was thinking of—”

“Leaving,” Geralt finishes, his throat closing against his will. Jaskier nods, taking a soft breath that punches Geralt’s out of his chest.

Jaskier’s brows furrow, “The potion hasn’t run its course?”

He must be seeing the inky blackness of Geralt’s eyes, the deathly grey veins spanning over his sallow skin.

“Yes. I wanted to—” Geralt swallows hard, glancing to the floor, changing his words, “I didn’t want to be too slow.”

“So… you just ran over here?” Jaskier asks, slow, as if he’s scared of the implication. Geralt nods, jerky and awkward. He steps away from the doorway and glances at Jaskier, asking permission.

Jaskier looks between him and the door, something warring within his eyes, but something must have won because he ducks his head and quietly says, “Close it.”

Geralt inhales shakily and shuts the door behind him. He takes the first step towards the bed, knowing how horrible he must look in candlelight—bloody, pale, and spellbound by one thing and one thing only.

Jaskier looks away and that—

The small crack in Geralt splinters.

Geralt grits his teeth and steps away from the bed, settling down next to the fireplace, away from the bard. Everything feels precarious, like glass, like everything is balancing on one point and Geralt—God, he will do anything in his power to stop it from tipping over.

Jaskier sits there, waiting. Geralt knows he doesn’t have much time. There’s nothing right now that’s in his favour, except for the fact Jaskier is still here.

God, he’s still here.

Waiting, expecting something more—something that Geralt should have given him a long time ago.

Waiting.

Even after everything.

Geralt knows he’s so fucking selfish, asking him to stay when the bard should have left the moment he met the Witcher in Posada.

Asking him to stay when he almost got him killed, his throat torn to shreds.

Asking him to stay when he has the fucking gall to say the infuriating bard isn’t his best friend—his only friend.

Asking him to stay when he shut Jaskier out, letting an invitation to his open heart and a trip to the coast fall on deaf ears.

Asking him to stay when he said the only thing he knows will break the bard, blaming every shitshow he gets himself into on the poor man.

Begging him to stay when he has no fucking right to even look at those cornflower eyes.

Geralt is the first to break the deserved silence, “I’m sorry.”

Jaskier doesn’t even look up. “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“For everything.” Geralt’s tongue thickens in his mouth. “Everything I let you go through. Everything I did to you.”

Jaskier is quick to shake his head, “Geralt, you didn’t do anything to me—”

“Yes. I did.” Geralt looks down. “When was the last time you wrote a song?”

It’s silent. It’s enough of an answer for the Witcher.

“Jaskier.” His tone is almost begging, hoping the man will meet his eyes. And he does, but the look in those eyes he loves with every fibre of his being is stricken, teary and hurt. “I know you’re hurting yourself the longer you’re with me. I can see it.”

Jaskier’s breath becomes shaky.

“Jaskier. You can leave—I’ll let you leave. I will.” Geralt is wishing to every djinn out there that he won’t.

He licks his lips and hopes his heart doesn’t pop out of his chest from how hard it’s thumping in his ribcage. “If you listen to what I’m going to say.”

Jaskier nods his head, patient and still looking the saddest Geralt has ever fucking seen him.

Geralt locks his gaze onto Jaskier, pouring every bit of his heart into his eyes.

“Jaskier—”

Geralt clenches his fists.

“I love you.”

A beat.

Nothing but the blood rushing in his ears, his teeth grinding as his heart spills out from his sleeve and onto the carpet in front of him.

The sound torn from Jaskier’s mouth is harsh, cutting and so fucking grating it twists something in Geralt.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right?” Jaskier rocks backwards on the bed, a cold laugh bubbling in his throat. But when he faces Geralt again, his face is splotchy, eyes red and tears glistening in warm candlelight—looking heartbroken.

“You can’t—Geralt,” his name sounds raw and wobbly out of the bard’s mouth, “You can’t fucking say that. You can’t.”

Geralt’s jaw is hardened when he grits out, “But it’s true.”

“How long?” Jaskier snaps.

Geralt straightens up, meeting his gaze. “Cintra. The bathtub.”

Jaskier’s gaze cuts deep, splaying him open, and Geralt can’t keep the eye contact, looking away.

“Right after I said I didn’t…” Geralt furrows his brows, “need anyone.”

“I realized what I said was wrong. But I didn’t want—I couldn’t take it back.”

Jaskier looks even sadder, something dark swirling in those bright irises. They used to remind Geralt of the sea, full of life and depth. Now, all he sees is dull, glassy eyes.

“Geralt—”

“I know I can’t apologize for everything overnight,” he blurts, something in him pushing him forward to pull through, “I know I can’t. But I want to try. Fuck, I want to try. For as long as it takes.”

It’s like steel forging within him, giving him the strength to yank out the last bit of brutal honesty. His words are a rumble, like thunder in a storm, “Because I don’t want to travel the Continent without you by my side.”

Jaskier is silent, parsing Geralt with his beautiful eyes.

The longer the quiet stretches, the more his hope dwindles in his chest, fluttering down into nothing.

“Promise me.”

“Anything,” Geralt is quick to say. It pulls a twitch of the lips from the bard.

“Promise me you’ll try. You can hurt me with your words and I’ll bite back—I swear to all the Gods, Geralt—I’ll fucking bite back.” Jaskier narrows his eyes, breathing out slowly. “But I’ll forgive you because I know you’re trying.”

Jaskier digs his fingers into the blankets, “So you have to promise me you’ll try. Otherwise I’ll leave. I’ll leave and I’ll never go out of my way to look for your stupid face again.”

“I promise, Jask,” he mutters, the words so deafening over the quiet crackling of the fire behind him.

“I-I’ll never sing your stupid songs, I’ll never speak of you again, I—” his voice cracks, a sob echoes and Geralt snaps up, his heart breaking at the sight of Jaskier crying, “—I won’t have to pretend like every insult of yours doesn’t make me question if everything is real—”

“Jaskier,” Geralt snaps and oh Gods, Jaskier fucking whimpers and fuck—

Geralt can’t stop himself from jumping to his feet and rushing over to Jaskier, picking up the man and plopping him into his lap as he sits on the bed, despite the bard’s protests.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry, Jaskier,” Geralt mumbles. The second his hand starts running through Jaskier’s brown hair, the bard quietens, his hands gripping onto Geralt’s armor as if it were an anchor.

They settle like that, Jaskier’s heart-breaking sobs muffled by Geralt’s blood-stained armor, his strong arms curled protectively around the bard.

But Jaskier wiggles out of his hold after a long moment, and braces his thighs around Geralt’s hips and—

He kisses Geralt.

The Witcher isn’t one to waste time, quick to reciprocate in movement and emotion.

It’s both everything and nothing that Geralt had imagined it to be. He never thought it would be salty with tears, or that they’re both so hurt and raw and open in a way Geralt never is. But it fills the gaping hole in his chest just like he thought it would, warm and tantalizing and soothing like a balm.

Everything isn’t going to be fixed overnight, they both know that. Everything is on the line for the two of them; the bard has his whole heart, soul and mind devoted to this; Geralt doesn’t want to lose the only thing that matters to him.

So, Geralt has to try. Wants to try. To fix every little tear and scar between the two of them. It may take days, months, years—Geralt doesn’t care. He’d spend his whole fucking life trying to make it up to the bard if he must.

But he has to start somewhere. And so he starts honesty in every action.

Geralt pulls away for a moment and grumbles on Jaskier’s lips, “In the forest, you said, ‘you don’t know why you’re doing this’.”

Jaskier nods, confused. Geralt’s arm tightens its hold on the other man’s waist, pulling them flushed, and the Witcher mumbles, “I’ll give you my answer. Because I want to touch you so much—”

Geralt’s nose trails the line of Jaskier’s throat, teeth grazing his collarbone, reveling in how the man in his arms shivers. “—it fucking burns.”

And he must say, it’s already looking up.

[the-last-airblender]

Chapter 5: The Siege (part 1)

You gaze after him until he’s out of sight again, the same strange feeling from before distracting you to the point where you only notice the footsteps when they are right behind you.

This is part of the Run series, check out the masterlist for the other chapters

Word count: 9,2k whoops

Notes: Din Djarin x fem reader. As you can probably tell by the title, this is a AU/retelling of the season 2 episode. The whole destroy-the-base-storyline is still there, but I’ve changed the story a bit so that you can have an active role in it instead of simply following Din around. It includes a scene very much inspired by this particular tiktok hehe. I had to post this in two parts since I reached the post limit lmao.

Warnings: violence, swearing, feelinggggsss owyeahh

Summary: Cara Dune and Greef Karga ask Din to help them destroy a secret Imperial base. As it turns out, you’ve just scored an invitation to the party taking place in the mansion the base is hidden beneath.

~

~

You look up from your book when the cockpit starts to get lighter by the minute. A glance outside tells you that you have entered Nevarro's atmosphere and a wide, rocky, volcanic landscape stretches out before you as far as the eye can see. Although Duugan is mostly covered in sand, the two planets are quite similar in their apparent desolation. On Duugan people are forced to settle near the places where water can be found, making agriculture -and therefore survival- possible. You’ve often gone into the desert at dusk to sit on top of a large dune and watch the sun sink into the sea of ​​sand. The beautiful colors the sky had turned in those moments had often put you in such a state of calm and wonder that you wouldn’t return home until it was too cold to sit still any longer. Duugan is a beautiful planet and its inhabitants are warm and hospitable. Too bad your now… complicated home situation will keep you from ever returning. You didn't have many friends there, but there are certainly people apart from Samick and Avlin that you will miss. However, after all that has happened, you aren’t sure if they will trust you anymore. The stories that are undoubtedly already being spread about you don't even have to deviate very much from the truth to scare them off. Certainly not for-

'Kira!' you blurt out.

The Mandalorian startles. 'What?'

'My girlfriend', you sigh, putting your forehead in your hand in desperation. 'Well, my would-have-been-girlfriend. She probably heard of my first escape and now she's going to hear how I killed my father and several guards and fled the planet… '

Din can't stop the wave of disappointment flowing through him and forces himself to say: 'He might have survived, if they got him to a good doctor. It's not like you stabbed his heart. '

The way you slightly shrink in your chair tells him that his remark wasn't quite as uplifting as he'd hoped.

'Still', you say, 'she hates violence and I'm fleeing halfway through the galaxy. Even if I found a way to see her again, there's no way she'd even want me anymore. Ugh, I always do this!' You rub your face in frustration. 'Every time I have a good thing going with someone, my recklessness sweeps in and ruins it. Last time, my ex and I were at a bar and when a girl came onto him, my drunk ass punched her in the face.'

Din silently smiles, for more than one reason. He would pay good money to see you drunkenly punch a flirting girl.

'Also, I ... might or might not have ... thrown a knife at her. If it wasn't for the alcohol, I would've hit and probably killed her. Needless to say, he immediately broke up with me.' You cringe at the memory. 'Luckily, my dad never found out.'

A silence falls as he starts the landing. When you look out the window again, you see that you’re just outside a town that appears to have been dug out of the rocky hills. A gigantic freestanding gate gives access to a wide street that is flooded with people. Vendors advertise their wares under self-fashioned sunscreens and people walk in and out of the houses embedded in the hills. Clouds of dark dust rise up as the Crest touches down and much to your surprise, you appear to be awaited. A dark-skinned man in a long coat and a very muscular woman slowly approach the ship, while Din shuts down the engines and gets up from his seat. You hastily put your book in your bag and hesitantly stop him when he’s about to leave the cockpit.

'Look, I need you to know that I'm eternally grateful for your help', you say, looking straight at where his eyes should be. 'And I'm sorry for everything that happened to you because of me-'

‘None of the things that happened there were your fault’, he interrupts.

For a moment you are dumbfounded, not entirely sure if you agree with him. 'Still, thank you. I was so relieved when you showed up. I don't really know what I would've done if you hadn't.'

'You would've found a way', he says, sounding so sure that you look away, your cheeks reddening. 'Besides, you did the most work in that courtyard.'

‘That's not true, my brother was a great help’, you shrug shily.

For a moment, he doesn't answer. Then he remarks: 'Chavez got away.'

You manage to keep your face neutral. 'I noticed.'

'Do you think he'll come after you?'

'Nah, he's got a city to run. Besides, he wouldn't be able to find me even if I walked around with a big-ass target on my back.'

'Good.'

The pod floats after him as he climbs down the stairs and before you follow him, you quickly wipe the dust off your face and loosely re-drape your headscarf. You throw your bag over your shoulder and climb down the stairs. As you walk through the hull and past the now empty pod to the lowered platform, voices reach your ears.

'And you, come here, little one! Has Mando been taking good care of you, huh?'

You smile at the tone clearly intended for the childs and hesitate for a moment, fiddling with your dress.

'Looks like you two have been busy', you hear the Mandalorian say.

'I myself have been steeped in clerical work', says the other male voice again. 'Marshal Dune here is to be thanked for cleaning up the town.'

Your hand grabs the handle of the dagger on your belt for a moment and with a deep sigh you muster all your courage. Then you step into the sunlight and walk down the platform to where two pairs of eyes immediately turn to you. All of a sudden you are very aware that you’re still dressed in your red wedding dress and that the gold paint on your arms glistens in the sunlight. Even though you've put your jewelry in your bag, you know you're more out of place than a shellfish in the desert. Determined not to show Din’s two friends your nervousness, you stop next to the bounty hunter.

'I knew I saw a beautiful face looking down on us,' the man says jovially, still holding the child, who clearly met him before, in his arms. 'Aren't you going to introduce us to your lovely companion, Mando?'

'These are Greef Karga and Cara Dune', says Din, after which he introduces you to them.

'Nice to meet you', you smile politely.

Dune sizes you up, no doubt wondering why the hell you look so dressed up.

'Where are you from?', she asks.

'Duugan.'

'Ah. How do you know this guy?'

'He... got me out of a bad place. Literally.'

She nods slowly and seems to settle for this vague answer for now. Then she turns to Din. 'Come, I want to show you something.'

As you pass through the meter-high gate, you ask nobody in particular: 'Is there a market here somewhere? I could use a new outfit.'

Karga points to a street on your left.

'There is a bazaar over there', he replies. 'You can meet us at my office when you're done.'

'Thanks! See ya'.'

You turn into the street before you can hesitate, your dress blowing in the wind. The staring eyes of the locals don’t escape you and you suddenly can't wait to get changed. The only other piece of clothing you have with you is your blue dress, which was still in your bag and is no less notable, so you will have to get some practical clothes. When you enter the network of streets full of shops and stalls, where many others are also doing their shopping at the moment, you curiously let your gaze glide over the merchandise. In addition to clothing, the vendors offer beautifully woven carpets, household items and all kinds of food that you’ve never seen before, from prickly fruit to delicious-smelling soup and crates full of strange-shaped nuts. As the chaotic mixture of scents enter your nose, you suddenly realize how hungry you are. A little later you’re, now a large piece of vegetable pie richer, looking at a stall with bizarre fruit, when a rough voice catches your attention.

'What’s a girl dressed like you doing on a planet like this?'

Annoyed, you look back at the messy-dressed boy who is looking at you with a grin that promises nothing good. Wisely, you decide not to dignify his question with an answer and turn back to the fruit, munching on the cake.

'Hey, I asked you something!'

Ignoring the boy, you point to a bright yellow egg-shaped fruit and ask the seller what it is. Just as he starts to answer, a strong hand grabs your pie-arm.

'Don't ignore me, you bitch!', the boy snarls.

Within a second, the point of your dagger is against his throat. His face turns white as a sheet and when the grip on your arm loosens, you calmly take another bite of your cake. He raises his hands defensively and walks back slowly, but you don't lower the dagger just yet.

'No need to get all aggressive', he grumbles, suddenly not so brave anymore.

You snort at his hypocrisy and look at him with your signature penetrating look.

'Don't you dare lay a hand on me', you growl. 'If you get near me again, I will literally stab you in the fucki- oh, dresses!'

Suddenly, you’ve forgotten all about the creep and you walk right past him to the stall on the other side of the street, while he looks at you in confusion and then quickly runs off. With your dagger still in your hand, you admire the simple but practical-looking clothing on display. The green-skinned salesman is watching you nervously, happy with the interest but a little afraid of your weapon. Just as your gaze falls on a long, dark green skirt, a warm smile reaches your ear. To your right stands a blond-haired young man wearing a light blouse and dark brown trousers, his hands in his pockets. The smile on his face is entirely different from that of the other boy, yet you don't put your dagger away just yet and you stay where you are.

'You'd think people were smart enough not to mess with heavily armed women’, he says, amused.

You give him a smile. 'There are stupid people on every planet.'

'I'm sure you're right.' He strolls over and holds out his hand. 'I'm Hal.'

After a moment's hesitation, you put the dagger back into its sheath and shake his hand.

‘Our friend handled it quite badly, but he asked the question that the whole town would undoubtedly want an answer to', Hal says as you put the last piece of cake in your mouth, wipe your hand on your dress and pick up the skirt to get a better look at it. 'Don't get me wrong, you look... beautiful. But… well… why?'

You raise an eyebrow at him and he awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

'Sorry, I phrased that wrong. You're clearly not from around here and you look like you're dressed for some kind of occasion. I just...'

You decide to put him out of his misery for both your sakes.

'This is traditional Duuganese bridal attire.'

'Oh.' Hal blushes and unconsciously takes a step back. 'In that case, congratulations.'

'I didn't get married,' you say, just a little too quickly, smiling encouragingly. 'They couldn't make me.'

'Ah, well, good for you', he says with relief in his voice. 'So that's what brought you to Nevarro, then? You escaped?'

You almost cringe and force yourself to nod.

'Yeah', you sigh. ‘And that's why I desperately need new clothes. I didn't exactly have time to pack my bags.'

'Sounds like you've been through a lot, lately', he responds softly.

You absently rub your thumb on the fabric of the skirt in your hands. 'I guess I have.'

Then you quickly pull yourself back to the present and hold the pleated skirt in front of you. It falls mid-calf and appears to be your size.

'You could probably use something fun to put your mind off things', says Hal, while you grab a baggy white blouse from the stall. 'How about you keep that beautiful dress on for a little longer?'

You pay the vendor for the skirt and the blouse and then take a good look at Hal. You can't deny you find him attractive and he seems very aware of the fact that he shouldn’t get on your bad side if he doesn't want to meet one of your weapons.

'What do you propose?'

~

As you enter the small building where, according to a friendly local, the magistrate resides, you hear a familiar voice, which tells you that you’re in the right place.

'And you wanna mop up the last of the Imperial force before they do.'

'Mando, I just want them off my planet.'

'If we could take out that one last base, Nevarro would be completely safe', you hear Dune say. 'We could be a trade anchor for the entire sector. And the planet would finally be free. We just need a way into Mayweather's place.'

You walk into the room and Dune quickly clicks away a projection, but your attention is already drawn.

'Did you say Mayweather?', you ask curiously. 'As in Tomas Mayweather?'

Dune and Karga exchange glances. It’s the latter who answers.

'You know him?'

'Yeah,' you say, putting down your now very heavy bag, 'or, rather, my father does. Say about him what you want, but my dad sure was well-connected. I only met him once, years ago, when he came to Duugan for business. I didn't know he was from Nevarro. Why do you need to get into his house?'

'There's an old Imperial base hidden underneath his mansion', Din replies. 'We need to take out the skeleton crew stationed there.'

'What stopped you guys from kicking them out before?'

'Mayweather is an influential and wealthy man', Dune explains. 'Most of the businesses in town are his. We can't just waltz in there. Besides, we don't have the manpower or the watertight proof for it.'

'Why would he even hide them?'

Dune shrugs. 'Presumably, he gets paid handsomely for the protection his status gives them.'

'So you need a way in', you repeat with a straight face.

Karga squints suspiciously. 'Yes, we said that.'

You dramatically put your hands together in a thoughtful gesture, visibly enjoying the little play you're now putting on.

'If only there was some kind of big event to keep him distracted', you muse exaggeratingly. 'Something that would make him feel secure and not suspect that people are coming for him...'

'What are you getting at?', Dune asks, unable to hide her curiosity.

You spread your arms.

'A little birdie told me he's having a party later', you reveal with a big grin. 'And guess who's invited!'

~

'Nothing yet?'

The modulated voice in your ear almost makes you jump as you lean against the city gate, your hands behind your back and your jewelery softly jingling in the wind. You’re not quite used to the communication device hidden in your ear, which creates a non-stop connection between you and the Mandalorian’s helmet, since you need to be reachable and it would look highly suspicious if you were constantly sticking your finger in your ear to switch it on and off. Besides, you wouldn't even know how -Samick had often teasingly called you “technologically challenged”. The fact that Din can hear what you are doing and saying at all times makes you more nervous than you care to admit. Before you left, you made sure to go to the toilet and you don't plan on drinking anything all night, lest he has to hear things neither of you want him to. However nervous you may be, his digital presence does reassure you somewhat. After all, you’re about to go to the lion's den with a boy you barely know, who was supposed to pick you up at the city gate five minutes ago.

'No', you mutter with a sigh.

You look around again, but no trace of Hal. To be honest, you also have no idea how he’s planning to pick you up, so you don't know what kind of vehicle to look out for. Mayweather's villa is located in the hills outside the city, which means walking is not an option.

Hal had mentioned that guns are not allowed at parties like this one, but you’ve casually ignored that. You did leave your blasters behind, as well as your daggers, but your six throwing knives -which can also be held and used at close range- are attached to your legs. Dresses really do lend themselves well to hiding things on one’s legs. Few have the guts to search there without good reason.

Your gaze lands on the Razor Crest, which is parked a stone's throw from the gate. A couple of figures scurry around the ship, probably busy with some maintenance or refilling the fuel tank. For a moment you consider checking with Mando, but then you decide against it. He probably has better things to do, like preparing for the operation. 

The plan had sounded pretty simple: you infiltrate the party and make sure that Mayweather doesn’t get wind of what goes on beneath his feet, while Din, Karga and Dune sneak into the base and place explosives, after which you set a small fire and ensure that everyone clears the villa before it blows up. Not everyone at this party will be an Imperial sympathizer, so you made sure they added that last part to the plan. If you can help it, you don't want more innocent blood on your hands. Plus, everyone will be so busy with the fire that no one will pay attention to what's going on downstairs. Mythrol, a nervous man with blue skin and fins on his head, will take the others to the base with his landspeeder. The tension between him and Mando had been palpable; they've undoubtedly met before and given Mando's profession, you can probably guess why Mythrol was so nervous.

'Are you sure Mayweather won't recognize you?'

'No,’ you admit, 'but it's been at least ten years and I don't exactly look the same as I did then. And even if he recognizes me, it's still not the end of the world. I can't imagine he's already heard about my… actions. '

'Let's hope so.'

'Where's the kid, by the way?’, you ask.

You don't remember seeing him in Karga's office.

'School', is the short answer.

You blink, confused about the lack of context, still not quite used to how frugal the Mandalorian is with his words. Not that you can blame him; he probably used to be alone most of the time and the child is not exactly a great conversation partner, as he never replies -not in a language you or Din speak, that is. You’re not quite sure whether he actually understands what people are saying to him. Though, he seems to listen to Din. When he wants to, anyway.

Then a yellow two-person speeder enters your field of vision. It’s coming straight for the city gate and after a while, you recognize Hal's blonde hair.

'He's coming', you announce softly, while standing up and waving at him.

Your heart starts beating faster and for a moment you feel guilty for abusing his kindness. 

‘It's the right thing to do’, you silently remind yourself. ‘This is best for Nevarro.’

'Alright’, the man's voice sounds in your ear again. And, a moment later, as if he was hesitating, he adds: 'Be careful.'

A strange but warm feeling seems to wrap you in an invisible blanket, but the speeder is already so close that you can’t react without being noticed.

'Hey, Hal', you greet -partly to make that clear- when he comes to a stop right in front of you.

'Hey, sorry I'm late!', the young man shouts cheerfully. 'Jump in!'

You climb into the speeder and while Hal smoothly gets the speeder moving again, you mumble, only audible by the gods thanks to the sound of the engines: 'Oh Adur, give me strength...'

~

'How close do you want me to drop you off?'

Mythrol nervously eyes the area as he maneuvers the speeder through the pass, half expecting stormtroopers to show up at any moment to turn him into a smoking pile of blue pulp.

'How' bout the front door?', Karga says coolly.

'It's a little close for a civilian, isn't it?', he protests cautiously.

'I got two choices for ya’', Karga says sternly. 'You take us in and I knock a hundred years off your debt.'

Mythrol isn't sure if he wants to hear the other option. 'Or?'

'Or I leave ya' out here to walk home with whatever's left in your humidity vest and maybe the stormtroopers won't kill your blue ass before you dry out.'

'It's not much of a choice, is it?', the blue man grumbles under his breath.

The speeder quickly soars between the rocky walls towering over them, to where soon a large metal door emerges: the deserted-looking entrance to the Imperial base. Mythrol brings the speeder to a halt.

'All right, we can't go any further than this', he declares.

When the others get out, he stays seated, looking around and ready to fly away at the first sign of danger. Dune takes a look at the control panel next to the door, which is large enough to get a sizable spaceship through. Din scans the area, but the software in his helmet shows no signs of immediate danger. If he listens carefully, he can hear music coming from above them, where the party in the villa is clearly already in full swing. He had noticed that you didn't leave all of your weapons behind and he feels relieved for it. Judging from your story, Hal isn't the one he's concerned about. The question remains whether Mayweather will recognize you -and more importantly, whether he knows about the events on Duugan. If he has been warned about you, he also knows that you came with a Mandalorian. What conclusions he draws from that information is anyone's guess.

'We have a problem.' Dune's voice pulls him away from his pondering. She points to the panel. 'I recognise this technology. This security takes ages to override and if we do even one thing wrong, it'll send off an alarm.'

'And then our element of surprise is blown', Karga grumbles. 'They'll be way more on guard after that.'

'All right', Mythrol interrupts, starting the speeder again. 'I'm headed back. Hit me up on the comm, we can set up a rendezvous time. '

Karga whirls on him, losing his temper with the nervous employee.

'You park your gills right there until I say otherwise', he snarls.

'I'm starting to dehydrate, boss', Mythrol whines.

'Okay, how does thirty more years off your debt sound?'

He frowns thoughtfully and then sighs. 'Can you at least be quick about it?'

'We could be a whole lot quicker about it if we could get our hands on an access key', Dune says, with a meaningful look to the Mandalorian.

He understands the signal and unmutes his end of the comm. 'Can you hear me?' A clearly fake cough tells him you can't talk. 'We need a key to get in without alerting anyone. It should look like a thin bar about half the size of your hand. Can you get us one?'

You cough affirmatively and he mutes himself again.

'Are you sure that's a good idea?', Karga asks.

'She's our best shot', Din says evasively.

'Why was she traveling with you, anyway?', Dune wants to know.

He looks at her and carefully formulates his answer. ‘She needed a way out and I got caught up in the situation. We got away eventually. Got my ass handed to me a couple of times in the process, though. '

Dune gives him a wicked grin. 'I would've loved to see that.'

He wisely refrains from dignifying that with an answer. The cuts you caused in Lossith have not yet healed and still hurt with certain movements. You’d known very well where to hit him. By now you’d offered to bandage them four times, but he’d politely declined, insisting that you had every right to defend yourself. Besides the fact that the Creed wouldn’t allow it, he can't stand the idea of ​​your touch on his skin for some reason. The thought alone is enough to spark something deep inside his chest.

Suddenly he misses the sound of your voice in his helmet and he thinks back to the ride here, during which he was listening to how you told Hal about the Duuganese gods.

‘On Duugan we worship four gods', you’d explained. 'We have two suns and one moon. Dedis is the largest sun. He is the god of wisdom and the harvest, because his light allows things to grow. Adur is the smaller sun and Dedis' younger brother, as well as the god of dawn and strength. He goes down first and rises first and often quarrels with his brother, who always has the last word - that's why he goes down last. When they’re gone, Qalla, the goddess of the moon and water, appears. She watches over the dreamers at night and keeps the nightly travelers safe. Finally, you have Yris, the goddess of the ground under our feet. She gives life to all that breathes on Duugan.' You laughed shortly. 'Admittedly, there aren't many of those on such a dry planet -you know how it is- but still. All four of them protect us in their own way. That's a very comforting thought when you’re fleeing through the galaxy. '

His gaze travels up to the mansion again and a silent prayer floats up to the sky as well.

'Maker, keep her safe.'

~

Seemingly casually, you lean on the handrail that prevents you from falling off the gallery. From the open second floor, which wraps around the large courtyard, you can see just about the entire party. Nevarro's contemporary fashion is a true spectacle to behold: women are wearing brightly coloured dresses and they’ve created the most bizarre and elaborate braided updos with their hair, while men walk around in loose-fitting and equally colourful clothes. Their hairdos are even more striking: apparently it is a trend among the wealthy to grow a big mustache and sculpt it into curly shapes -the races that can do that, at least. In addition to humans, you have also recognized a Rodian, whose green reptile skin and antennae are unmistakable, and a beautiful female Twi'lek with copper-colored headtails. An energetic group of musicians is playing cheerful music and a couple of guests are dancing to the beat. Your eyes slide over the dozens of guests and land on Mayweather, who is busy talking to a small group of men. His red hair stands out against his bright blue robes and on his hands, with which he gestures enthusiastically, a number of large rings sparkle in the sunlight coming through the skylights. Luckily he doesn't seem to have noticed you yet, clearly busy with his job as host. Moreover, you’re positioned somewhat concealed behind one of the columns that carry the roof above your head and the storey you’re standing on.

Who would have a key to the hidden base? Mayweather, of course, but it would be too ambitious and dangerous to steal his. The various waiters, their beige robes a strong contrast with the colorful guests, probably have no business going down there. The security, on the other hand...

You push yourself up from the balustrade and hurry towards the stairs, the heels of your shoes clicking on the turquoise tiles covering the floors. Hal has been getting you something to drink for about five minutes now, so you have to be quick if you want to avoid him. Fortunately, even in this dress, you don't stand out too much from the rest of the attendees. Once downstairs, you move smoothly through the partying crowd, making sure you steer clear of Mayweather, towards a hallway that you suspect leads to the private part of the villa. In any case, that you’re not allowed to go there becomes clear when you catch a glimpse of a Zabrak security guard, recognizable by the numerous small horns on his head. You take a deep breath and then quickly stagger into the hall, grabbing your stomach and panically waving at the guard.

'Ma'am, you are not allowed to come here', he says immediately, taking a step in your direction.

You spot the key instantly, clipped to his belt with a ring. Bingo.

'A bathroom!', you cry. ‘I need a bathroom, I don't feel so good! What kind of food are you guys serving here?! '

The man looks at you hesitantly while you say this and before he can respond, you throw yourself into his arms, wailing dramatically. He manages to catch you, but almost falls over in the process. You take advantage of his instability by grabbing the key from his belt in the kerfuffle and hiding it in your hand. Only then does the hole in your plan dawn on you: your dress has no pockets.

The Zabrak awkwardly pushes you away. 'The bathroom is that way.'

'Thank you, good sir', you squeak. 'I'm gonna go puke now.'

You quickly turn around and place the hand with the key on your chest in a dramatic gesture, stumbling back down the hall.

'Hey!'

You keep walking, even though you start panicking for real now, but you hear his footsteps coming after you. Silently cursing, you try to figure out where to hide the key and make a mental note to have pockets made in your dresses and skirts.

'Did you just steal my key?!', the guard snarls, firmly grabbing your arm. 'Give it back. Now. '

You open your mouth for a really ill-prepared defense, but then you hear a familiar voice behind you.

'What's going on here?'

Hal walks into the hallway and glares at him.

'She stole my key, Mr. Mayweather', the Zabrak replies.

The blood in your veins goes cold. Mayweather? Hal is Tomas's son?

'What?' Hal turns to you. 'Is that true?'

Your hand is still on your chest, just above the collar of your dress, and suddenly you realize there is only one place to hide the key now. As you turn toward Hal, you let the thin bar slip down your dress and pray to all your gods that no one sees it. Much to your relief, it doesn't immediately fall out of the other end of your dress and instead get stuck between your boobs, safely out of sight under the red fabric.

'Of course not', you pout, grabbing your forehead. 'I'm just looking for the bathroom, I’m feeling rather unwell.'

Every trace of suspicion disappears from Hal's face and with a short gesture he orders the guard to let you go. He reluctantly obeys.

'Can't you see she's sick, you idiot?', the boy barks. 'Look at her, she's white as a sheet! You just lost your key somewhere.'

You have no intention of telling him why you’re really turning white and you let yourself be supported by a concerned Hal. He accompanies you to the bathroom and then offers to get you a glass of water. You nod and enter the ladies room, but ignore the toilet.

'Hey,' you whisper as soon as you hear him walk away, 'I have the key.'

'Good', the warm voice of the Mandalorian says almost instantly. 'Can you get to the balcony on the east side?'

You noticed it when you were on the second floor earlier, so you respond affirmatively. Quickly, you open the door and when the coast turns out to be clear, you slip towards the stairs. Your braided bun wobbles up and down on the back of your head as you run upstairs, past a man and a woman who had clearly hoped for some privacy in the closed stairwell. Your headscarf falls down on your shoulders, but you ignore it and turn right twice, into a narrow corridor that opens onto a beautiful, gracefully domed balcony hanging many meters above the pass below you. It offers an amazing view of the volcanic, hilly landscape, but that doesn’t interest you very much at the moment. Panting, you put your hands on the balcony edge. What now?

Then you hear a strange, motor-like noise and the next moment, the Mandalorian appears in front of you. You almost let out a scream and step backwards.

'How are you doing that?', you hiss in bewilderment, staring at the man floating in the air.

'Jetpack', he answers shortly. 'Where's the key?'

It's his turn to be baffled when you put your hand down your dress and pull out the key. Suddenly he’s very glad that you can’t see his face.

The metal is still warm from your skin when you put it in Din's gloved hand.

'Go and blow up some stormtroopers for me, will you?', you say with a smile.

'Will do. Thanks.'

With those words, he flies away again. You gaze after him until he’s out of sight again, the same strange feeling from before distracting you to the point where you only notice the footsteps when they are right behind you.

~

Read the next part here.

Tag list: @buckysalefty @dark-academics-and-florals

[butmomilovepeter]

first date

read on ao3?

imagine not posting for a year only to come back with this for no reason lmao hey guys 

~

The mission was over and done within the hour, and that should have been the first sign that something was wrong. There was an ache in Tony’s chest; a mix of anticipation and anxiety, but he chose to ignore it. That was the second sign. 

“Hey, Pete, come with me,” Tony said, motioning for Spiderman to follow. “I just want to do a quick sweep down that block.” He waved towards it absentmindedly. 

“On it!” 

He’s in a good mood today, and it makes Tony smirk. Peter’s a genuinely happy kid, but he’s also seventeen, and if Tony knows anything about seventeen year olds, it’s that their mood swings are unpredictable. So when Peter doesn’t give him any attitude, the ache in his chest dissipates, and a bit of relief replaces it. They made their way down through the street, fixing lampposts and flipping cars and helping pedestrians. (Why people still wanted to live in New York City he didn’t know. It was clearly one of the most susceptible cities for alien attacks.)

All the while, Peter was kind and quiet for the younger kid’s sake, and put on a more mature facade for the adults. It made Tony’s heart swell, though he would never admit it. 

“You’re chipper today, young Skywalker,” Tony joked. “What’s up?” 

“Chipper is a weird word,” Peter said, but there was a laugh in his words as well. “Does something have to be “up” for me to be in a good mood?” 

“Yes, because last week you snapped at me for asking if you wanted pizza for dinner.” 

“I was tired!” he argued. 

“You were being moody.” 

Peter thought about this for a moment. “Fair.” 

“So, really, what’s going on?” Tony was genuinely curious. “Is it about MJ?”

“What? No,” he said, and Tony could hear the embarrassment in his voice. “No, it’s not about MJ.” 

“I think you’re lying to me,” said Tony. “I can tell when you lie to me.” 

“That’s creepy, Mr.Stark.”

“Maybe,” he said. “C’mon, spit it out.” He nudged Peter in the shoulder. 

“I have a date tonight, alright? Is that what you wanted to hear?” He whispered it as if she would hear him, which only made Tony laugh. “At seven. Right after this.”

“God, finally. I thought you’d never ask her out.” 

They rounded the corner, finding themselves alone and away from the crowds. The alleyway was clear. (That really should have been sign number three.)

“Whatever.” Peter crossed his arms. “I don’t know. I’m excited.” 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Tony smiled. “What’s the plan? Dinner and a show? A little Lady and the Tramp action? Or maybe--”

“Stop talking.” 

“There’s the attitude--”

“No, stop talking.” Peter was rigid. He was sensing something, and the ache in Tony’s chest bombarded him. 

Tony blinks. He blinks, and it’s chaos. 

Chaos because he just closed his eyes for a millisecond, a millisecond, and then there was the shout. The firing of the weapon. The cry as Peter went down, and the thud as he ungracefully hit the ground. 

“Peter!”

He fired blindly at the source. Anger is a funny thing, in this case, because anger isn’t just anger at the moment. It’s protection, loyalty, and fear all wrapped up with anger slapped in front of it. Tony chases the alien-- a sickly grotesque vomit-green thing, with drooping skin and bones. No doubt sent by a Thanos wannabe, or even some other powerful entity, pushing the limits for the Avengers. Clearly, this was Tony’s limit, because he doesn’t even register how fast he flies at it, his ammunition being wasted and catastrophically used on the stringy green thing. It falls down dead a couple feet ahead of him. 

“Tony, what the hell was that?” Steve commands through their coms, his voice edged with worry and annoyance. 

Tony can’t even really hear him. “Peter.”

“What about the boy?” That’s Thor. 

“There was one more. It got Peter.” 

Tony clambered out of his suit, not caring about the dangers anymore. The others yelled in his ears, but he didn’t want to listen to them. He just wanted to get to Peter. 

Peter had somehow army-crawled his way to the brick wall. His face was pale. He had taken his mask off, and now all Tony could see was the sweaty and ghostly way his face gleamed off the newly-lit lampposts. 

From the front, there wasn’t anything wrong with him. From the front, he just just looked stressed, tired, and pained. 

Tony exited his suit swiftly, knowing the dangers and not caring. He wanted human hands to help the kid. (Well, human hand. The other one was lost to Thanos. But it was Tony. He wanted to be Tony, not Ironman, when he approached Peter.) 

He fell to his knees by his side, cupping his face with his good hand. “Look at me, Pete. Look at me. Where--?”

“My back,” Peter wheezed. 

“Let me look at it, alright?” 

Tony carefully leaned him into his shoulder so he could see the damage. He suppressed a gag first when he saw it. It’s the smell. Burning flesh. It’s not a normal wound. It’s like fire. It burned away the back of the spandex of Peter’s suit, his back now exposed. And his back...Tony could puke. Layers of skin were burnt--he couldn’t tell you what kind of burns he’d have. He didn’t know. He tried to touch it, but all Peter did was yelp into his shoulder and seize in on himself. 

“Mr. Stark-- Tony--” and Peter doesn’t call Tony that often, so he knew his pain tolerance was being breached. He wouldn’t be able to handle it for much longer. 

Tony pulled Peter back against the wall, watching as the poor kid winced and screwed his face up to deal with the pain. When he did open his eyes again, they were hazy and red, and they didn’t seem to really see anything at all. 

“It’s gonna be alright, yeah? We’ll get the team and we’ll get Strange down here, and he’ll fix you up, huh? So just--so just stay with me.” Tony cupped Peter’s face with both hands. “Stay with me.” 

Peter tried. He truly did, and Tony could tell. But still, his head lolled in Tony’s hands, and the grip he had been keeping on Tony’s sleeves weakend. “Can’t.” 

“Well, you’re going to have to,” Tony chided, shaking him in a way he hoped didn’t hurt. “You’ve got a lot of people counting on you.” 

He didn’t want to explain to Morgan why Peter wasn’t coming back. He didn’t want to have to tell May Parker that she had lost her whole world again, this time permanently. He didn’t want to add a Spiderman hologram to their Avengers memorial. He didn’t want to plan a funeral. He didn’t want to lose a child. He didn’t--he couldn’t. 

“God, MJ is gonna kill me,” Peter said, his words playful, but his tone thin. “And don’t even get me started on May and Ned.” 

“Kid?” Tony was scared. Very, very sacred. He pulled Peter into his arms, careful to avoid the growing wound on his back. “Don’t say stuff like that. You’ll give me more gray hairs.” 

Peter hugged Tony back weakly. “If you have to, tell them, okay? Morgan, too.” 

Tony knew what Peter meant, and somehow that made it worse. “Well, that’s just not happening, you know that, right?” 

“Tony, I’m not asking you, I’m telling you,” he said between gasps.  Peter was weak. He was strong, but he was very weak. He was nearly liquid in Tony’s arms. 

Tony swallowed. “Fine. If.” 

He could tell Peter was smiling, but when he finally went completely limp, Tony prayed that wasn’t the last time he’d see him do that.

~

“Don’t lie to me.” 

Tony’s voice is shallow. There’s something caught in his throat. His demeanor is tight, his face is strict. He feels like if he moves an inch he might explode. 

Strange, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically soft. His eyes have bags under them, and his shoulders droop forward. He looks mentally exhausted. 

“Tony—”

“Tell me the truth, Strange.” 

Strange’s eyes flicker towards the chart in his hands. “He’s been burned bad, Stark. He’s alive, but it’s painful.” 

“I can deal with painful,” Tony responds. 

Strange’s lips made a thin line. “Perhaps...but can he?”

This startles Tony, so much so that his demeanor cracks a bit, and his mouth drops open. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that this isn’t a normal kind of pain because this wasn’t a normal kind of weapon,” he responds, keeping his voice low. “This tech--there’s magic in it. My kind of magic.” 

“But the stones are gone,” Tony says, anger veering on his voice. 

“They are, but that doesn’t mean that magic like that isn’t still out there, Tony.” 

“So...what's your plan, then?” 

Strange didn’t respond for a second. He looks like he was weighing his options. “There’s a couple ways we could deal with it, and none of them are ideal.” 

Tony gulps. “Lay it on me.” 

“One, we could wait it out, but he’s either going to be in incredible amounts of pain or not conscious at all.” Strange starts leading him down the hallway to Peter’s room. Everything is white and clean and shiny, and Tony feels like a stark contrast to everything around him. “That’s...the simplest way.” 

“I take it the other way isn’t like that?” 

Strange shook his head. “It’ll be quicker, but it could also make it worse.”  Strange continues to stare at him, like he was trying to find the best route to follow the conversation. 

“Just spit it out, Strange, Jesus!” Tony completely crumbles. He’s worried. He wants to be able to go home with Peter by the end of the week, by the end of the day. 

“Tony, I’m being cautious because you can’t make this decision in your state,” Strange responds sharply. “You want him better, we all do, but if we rush into anything, we could do more harm than good.” 

“What’s option two?” 

“Stark--” 

“What’s option two?” he says more forcefully. 

Strange stares at him again, his face hard to read. “There are spells. I know some that may help.” 

“That sounds peachy,” Tony says, looking at the ground. “But there’s a price, right?”

“Yes.” Strange opens the door to the hospital room. “Even if it succeeds, it could cause new problems, ones that we might not be able to solve. Magic is a fickle thing, Stark. It’s almost its own entity. It doesn’t like to be controlled, it likes to be channeled. ” 

“Would it kill him?” 

“It might. Or it could paralyze him, void his mind of thought, make his burns move to a different place--there is a lot of risk.” 

Tony stares at Peter’s bed. The kid was on his stomach, his wounded back prominent against the white linen sheets and pale skin. His head was turned to the side. His whole face was smooth and lineless and white. It makes Tony’s stomach turn. 

“But if we don’t? If we don’t use magic?” 

Strange sighs. “The sedatives Banner and you made will keep him under, and I can  work on treatments now, but there are no guarantees. We don’t know when he’ll wake up.” He pauses, looking carefully between Tony and Peter. “... if  he’ll wake up.” 

Tony’s voice hitches in his throat. He closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to think about that. He takes deep breaths and he tries to steady himself, because he cannot handle that. He holds his hands together; the smoothness of the right arm against the calloused and worked one of the left. His words are stuck in his throat. 

“It’s your choice. I’ll back you up either way,” said Strange. “I’m sorry, Tony.” 

“Yeah. I’m sorry too,” he says after a moment. 

Strange grips his shoulder as he walks out, leaving Tony alone with the prone Peter. He finds himself making his way to sit in the armchair next to the bed. 

His hand moves on it’s own towards his head. He pushes back Peter’s hair from his face, trying to stop his hands from shaking. 

“Don’t let it be if, kid,” Tony says. “I’m begging you.”

~

May answers on the second ring. “Please tell me you’re calling to make lunch plans.” 

“May…” 

“This isn’t a lunch plan phone call, is it?” 

“I wish I could say it was.” 

He paces up and down the linoleum hallway of the medical wing, his footsteps echoing off the walls. 

He hears May shudder a breath over the phone. “What’s wrong with him?” Of course she already has an idea. 

He goes into his scripted explanation, being careful to keep his tone hopeful and light. He knows she didn’t buy it, but he knows she’s grateful anyway. 

When he finishes, she doesn’t say anything. He just listens to her breath deeply, no doubt holding tears back. He doesn’t blame her. He kinda wants to cry too. 

“Um, Happy can, uh, pick you up if you want to come up here,” he says, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah, I would,” she responds, her voice thick. “Do you...do you think he needs anything?” 

“I don’t know if he’d even notice,” and he regrets saying it as soon as he does. 

May doesn’t seem to mind or care. “Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“What-what do you think? Do you think he’ll…” She can’t bring herself to finish the sentence. 

“...That’s the other thing, May. We have some options. But neither are ideal.” He somehow has made it back to Peter’s room, much to his dismay. He wanted to be far away from there. 

“Let me guess. Either way, it’s still up in the air.” 

Tony nods. “Either we wait it out, see what Dr.Banner and Dr.Strange can do...or we take a more mystical approach.” 

“Mystical?”

“The wound isn’t human, May. It’s, in the good doctor’s terms, magical.” He sat down at that same armchair. “And with him being a wizard and all, he says he might be able to do something about that.” 

May is quiet. He assumes she’s thinking it over. “What’s your take?” 

“Usually, I’d say we wait,” he says. “But...I trust Strange. And I feel like it’s worth a shot.” 

“Then do it. I spent the last five years grieving over him, Tony. I can’t do that again.” There’s rustling on her hand, probably her gathering Peter’s things. “So if you’re saying we’ve got a shot at this, take it.” 

Tony feels his heartbeat hammer in his chest with adrenaline. “I do. I have to believe we do.”

May’s voice was full of tears. “He had a date tonight. His first real date. Laid out his clothes and everything.” 

Tony doesn’t respond. He if did, he wouldn't be able to make clear words. 

At some point, May hangs up. Tony sends Happy to whisk her up to him. 

Tony watches Peter’s mechanical breathing. The wound itself he tries to look away from. The skin around it is red like hell. The burns are bone deep, but there’s something unsettling and wrong about them, like they clung to his very existence and not just his back. Maybe that’s what Strange was talking about. 

He walks in about fifteen minutes later. “Stark?” 

“Let’s do it,” he says, getting to his feet. “Bring on the magic, Dumbledore.” 

~

Lighter footsteps come running down the hallway. “Daddy!”

Morgan was dressed in her favorite overalls, which we rustled from playing and other such five-year-old activities. 

“Hey, squirt.” Tony scoops her up into his arms and twirls her around, glad for the moment of solace after such a harrowing day. “What’re you doing here?”

Pepper, and May follow in suit, each wearing a matching solemn expression. May looks like she’s been crying. 

Pepper lands a kiss on his cheek. “How is he?” 

“Strange is testing some things out. Seeing what might work. He hasn’t started anything yet,” says Tony, placing Morgan on his hip. “But the gang’s all here.” He nudges Morgan’s cheek with his own. 

“What’s wrong with Pete? Mommy won’t tell me,” Morgan says, gaining a few dry chuckles from the group. 

“Oh, you know Peter. He always lands himself in trouble,” Tony supplies, hoping she’ll accept his answer. 

But she’s his daughter, so of course she won’t. “What kind of trouble?” 

He doesn’t answer right away, because explaining to a five-year-old that her pseudo older brother got shot with a magical alien gun isn’t easy. 

Pepper takes May’s hand, leading her down the hallway. “Let’s go grab some coffee. You look like you could use it.”

That leaves Tony alone with his daughter. She tries to ask him again, but stops short when he gives her a quick look. He sits down on a bench outside Peter’s closed off room. “It’s a long story, kiddo.” 

“I like stories,” she replies. 

Tony gives her half a smile. “Not these kinds, baby.” 

“What’s wrong with him, Daddy?” She pushes on his knee while he kneels in front of her. 

“You remember when Mom and I went to that big fight? And everybody was there?” When she nods slowly, he continues. “I got pretty banged up, remember? So I had to get this?” He waved the metal hand around, flexing his fingers and pushing her hair back. 

“You got your cool arm,” she says, trailing her fingers down it. 

“Right,” Tony continues. “We had another fight today. And Peter got pretty banged up.”

“Will he get a cool arm, too?”

Tony kisses her forehead. “No, not that kind of banged up. It’s on his back, M.”

“Can I see him? He says I always make him feel better.”

Tony felt his eyes well up with tears. “Not yet, baby. You know Dr. Strange? He’s trying to fix Pete up. But it might take a long time.” 

“I don’t like waiting, Daddy.” 

“Yeah, me neither, babe. But we’re gonna have to if we want him to get better.” 

She stares down at her sneakers, like she doesn’t know the right thing to say. Tony doesn’t know either, so they stay silent for a few minutes. 

The girls return after a few more minutes. 

“I told Ned to make something up for that MJ girl’s sake,” May says quietly, one hand in her pocket and the other holding her coffee. “He’s out of his mind worried.” 

Secretly, Tony knows it’s kind of selfish of him to feel so hollow about losing Peter. It’s May who should be on the edge of a breakdown, not him, yet somehow she seems calm and collected. It took a whole year and a half before May and Tony spoke about anything, much less about Peter. She didn’t accept his invitations, and Tony didn’t blame her. She was angry at him for losing her nephew, her only living family. Tony blamed himself too. It wasn’t until Morgan’s second birthday that she brought him up, saying how when Peter was Morgan’s age, his favorite color was red, like Morgan’s was too. 

For her, it was always something. The Parker’s, then Ben, then Peter. 

Tony had lost people too, but he had Pepper and Morgan to help him through. 

He’s about to say something to her, an apology or a condolence, but Strange busts out from Peter’s room, huffing. “I think I’ve figured it out.”

~

Tony watches Strange make strange symbols and movements, but he doesn’t interrupt. His worry clouds his curiosity. The orange glow of Strange’s powers hurt his eyes, but he keeps them trained on Peter, who was still stone-like in his sleep. 

He made his wife and daughter wait in the hall, but he did ask May to join him. Should next to him, her jaw stiff upon seeing her nephew (her son ) lying so still. He grabs for her hand in a comforting way, which she gladly accepts. He knew why; she wanted to hold some tangible if she couldn’t hold Peter. She wanted to hold onto something real. 

Strange’s eyes are closed and concentrated, breathing deeply as he conjures some sort of spell. 

There’s a sudden blast of energy that ripples between them all, sending shivers down Tony’s spin and the brief scent of burning in his nose. Strange holds the energy (perhaps the spell? Magic still confuses Tony) in his hands, and then slowly dissolves it into Peter’s wound. 

For a brief, cold, solid moment, Peter does not breathe. He does not move. He flatlines, and Tony is already to fall to his knees if it wasn’t for the equally distraught May holding him up. 

And then, he gasps. 

Strange immediately does something else, another spell or other such magical words, and Peter’s back seems to heal itself. 

“Woah, what the hell--?” Peter says softly, shifting his arms underneath him to sit up a little. 

“Peter!” May cries, letting go of Tony’s hand in favor of helping Peter turn around. “Jesus, baby, are you okay?” 

Strange seems a bit put out, and he nearly falls back into the other armchair on the other side. Tony mouths him thank you before coming to Peter’s otherside, gaining him half a nod and a sigh from the other man. 

“May? What happened?” Peter asks, flexing his fingers and stretching his shoulder. “Mr.Stark?”

“What do you remember, kid?” Tony asks, removing the tubes away from Peter’s face. 

Peter raises his eyebrows. “We just finished the mission, and we were talking about my date, and then...oh God . Did I miss my date?” 

Tony and May both bark out ridiculous laughs, causing a helpless look from Peter. 

“I’m sorry, baby. Ned had to cover for you,” May replies, pushing his hair out of his eyes. 

“She’s not going to be happy. She’s been waiting for me to ask her for, like, a month.” 

“You can ask her again, Pete. I’m sure she’ll say yes,” Tony offers. 

“I hope so. I don’t know what Ned could have possibly come up with. He cracks under pressure,” Peter says, letting May and Tony coddle him. 

The door swung open. “Pete!” 

Morgan came running at them, ready to jump right on Peter if it wasn’t for Tony catching her mid-air and dropping her down softly. 

“Sorry. I could only keep her out there for so long,” Pepper says, a light smile on her lips. 

Morgan clammers to squeeze herself between Peter and her father. “You’re awake!” 

“Yeah, Morg, I am,” Peter says with a laugh. “No doubt because you’re here.” 

She grins wildly at him, asking a million questions about why he didn’t get a metal back, why “Mr.Strange” was being so quiet, why Peter didn’t have a shirt on, why everyone looked like they were crying, and just about anything that came to her head. 

Tony took mental snapshots. These were the moments to remember. These were the moments that made it worth it.