#no sorry but no comforting words will save me from this for the foreseeable future

[satohqbanana]

That result from the latest uquiz I took said something about feeling at home with people other than family. It got me thinking about how, if you're a fan of something, you're considered a part of a community.

However, I find this notion untrue from the fan perspective these days.

When I become a fan of something, I don't necessarily feel belonging to a community. A community has its own set of soft rules, see? It's been that way for a long time, especially when I disengaged from a certain fandom I had been creating a lot for.

I also noticed that this applies to more than just the series I like. It's also with me in the sphere of broader communities such as being an artist, being a writer, and being a gamedev. I just feel so out of place next to everybody, detached from things they passionately care about, and struggling (and forcing) myself to like things and people that the community likes. There are people who say they like me and my works, but a lot of times I can't bring myself to say the same thing. I can't assimilate into the subculture enough to make me feel like it's a part of me.

And all I feel is just burnout, disgust towards myself for failing commitments, and devastating loneliness that feeds my impostor syndrome.

Perhaps that's why I feel so sensitive about community events such as Secret Santa exchanges, zine projects, and other activities. I try so hard to reach out and be part of a community - even going beyond my comfort zone - but the community, in some way or another, closes its door on me. I know that it's really nobody's fault, but I just can't help but feel like a true oddball.

I'm tired. I'm tired of feeling so alone.

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝓜𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓫𝓮 : I can't save us

There are lessons in life no one should have to learn.

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hurt & Comfort, Idol!Jungkook, Hybrid!Reader, Cat Hybrid!Reader, mentions of depression and depressive thoughts, heartbreak, homelessness, it's a bit heavy sorry, mentions of mental abuse and manipulation, betrayal, slow burn, eventual smut, dead dove do not eat

Dead Dove do not eat: warning for potentially triggering content that can't be tagged without spoiling the story.

Length: 2.5k words

-> Masterlist

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"Have you informed police about it?" Yoongi wants to know, sitting on the youngest's couch, but the idol in question immediately shakes his head.

"They'll put her into a shelter, and she would stay forever in there due to the fact that you can't put a legal NDA on her- so the company told me she could never be adopted by anyone ever again- they, they'd make sure of it-" Jungkook rambles, holding his head, and Yoongi feels both confused and concerned over the entire situation. He himself never really knew why Jungkook suddenly gave his hybrid away back then- he never really talked about it, avoided the topic, so the rapper simply assumed you both broke up and decided to part ways. But from what he hears right now, Jungkook still very obviously still cares about you.

So what really happened?

"But if you care about her so much, why'd you give her away?" He wonders, looking at the younger Idol in front of him.

"When.. Jin-hyung got engaged, remember?" Jungkook tries to explain himself. "The stalking, the comments, the airport incident, the protests- I… got scared. I just wanted her to be safe, a-and when I saw everything happen to him, I just felt so awful because I never thought of that.." He rambles, making Yoongi nod in understanding.

"I mean, I won't lie and say it was a cakewalk-" Yoongi starts. "But they got through it, didn't they? No one really cares about it anymore." He shrugs.

Jungkook stays silent at that, looking at nothing in particular, while his hands hold the tri-colored dog plushy that belonged to you at some point. "Jungkook.. you're not fine." Yoongi tries to reason next to him. "And you won't be fine unless you either fix this, or close this chapter-" He attempts, but Jungkook shakes his head, letting his head hang low.

"There's no fixing anything, hyung." He sighs in defeat. "There's nothing left to fix." The idol simply says, seemingly having given up.

"You're not even trying-" Yoongi shakes his head, but Jungkook grows irritated at that, it seems like.

"I've tried!" He argues with teary eyes. "I've tried, I failed, and I can't accept it!" He sobs, fingers clenching the soft material of the plush toy. It's long lost any scent of you, and he feels terrible for it. He should've just left it in your room, where it would've waited loyally until he himself would man up and bring you back home. But was this even a home to you anymore?

He can't tell.

What's the point of anything if he completely fucked up not only his potential future, but yours as well? He's taken every chance of a happy life from you because of his own selfishness back then. Because he didn't think it through, didn't realize that there were issues at hand that he should've been able to foresee. But he had been blinded by his own love for you that he was convinced love alone would be enough down the line. That if he loved you enough, the world would protect you as well.

But it doesn't work like that.

"How about we go one step at a time?" Yoongi wonders from the side, careful not to rile the young man up again. "one step at a time, nothing more."

"But every step I take towards her will only make it worse.." Jungkook denies, shaking his head. His eyes are still red from crying, head aching from the force of his sobs. He can't deal with the fact that you're still outside, sleeping god knows where, probably running off further and further away from him. Maybe you're not even there anymore, maybe you've been hit by a car, run over by a train-

"Jungkook you're having a panic attack-" Yoongi worries, trying hard to calm his friend down. "We can get her back here, just for now, okay? We can bring her here where it's warm, where she's safe- Jungkook there's security here, no one will harm her here." He attempts to push through whatever train of thought is running through his friend's mind at the moment.

"And then what?!" Jungkook breaks out. "She hates me, she has to- I hate myself too.!" He confesses, and the producer nods in front of him.

"I know, Jungkookie." He nods in sympathy. "I know you do."

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"Come on tannie, do your business so we can go back inside!" Taehyung whines, watching his tiny dog roam around the streets, a rare break from the rain having given him a chance to have his dog go a little round outside to stretch his own legs as well for once. The weather is terrible, and he hopes that everyone's safe tonight.

His dog is yapping at something in the distance, before he seems to try and jump up at a person, a white cat tail peeking out from a little oversized dark blue coat. Similar to one Jungkook used to have, he thinks to himself, as the person bows down to pet the dog.

Wait.

Taehyung walks closer, can't see your face- but he knows it must be you. He doesn't know the entire story, or what's really going on- but he knows that Jungkook and you were together at some point, until you both broke up, the reason never declared to anybody. And he himself didn't ask- at the end of the day, he'd hoped his best friend would open up to him at some point himself, but he never really did. What were you doing back in Seoul? Last time he saw you, you'd taken a train.

"Hey- you should probably go inside soon, before the weather gets worse again." Taehyung tells you, picking up his dog. "I'm sorry he's barking so much. He doesn't like cats." He apologizes, and you just nod, smiling at the little dog. And much to his surprise, you reach out to pet him, something the Pomeranian eagerly accepts. "Oh? You're just excited?" He asks his dog, and you nod as if to answer for him.

He gets why Jungkook liked you. You seem very friendly, but also calm in nature- and from what he can see, you're very pretty as well.

"Hey- Jungkook asked about you a few days ago." Taehyung tells you, and you tense up at that, as if you just realize who he is. "He never really said what happened between you two?" He questions. "Though, it's fine if you don't wanna say. It doesn't really concern me, I was just wondering." He shrugs, and you don't answer. Ah yes- he remembers Jungkook once said something about you being really quiet. "Well-" He nods, bowing respectfully to you. "-take care, okay?" He offers, and you nod, before pointing at him as if to say 'you too'.

Before you leave, swallowed up by the night.

And he can't help but feel a bit weird.

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You're sure he just wants you to go back to Hanako.

You won't be doing that- Hanako doesn't want you, and shouldn't be forced to take care of you. You didn't even need to hear why he was there- his scent had immediately alerted you of his presence. You could never forget him at any point in your life. He's haunting you like a bad dream, constantly filling your mind. You were definitely stupid to even come to Seoul- but your transportation ticket has expired at this point, giving you no legal way of getting out of here.

You don't want to go back to Hanako. She should live her own life, and not spend it taking care of you. It's not fair.

You didn't sleep at all since yesterday- somehow now terrified of him finding you at any point, forcing you to go back where you came from. He's mad, isn't he? You didn't do what he said, even if he didn't even say anything at all. Will he send out authorities after you now? Has he told police you're missing yet? You can't trust anybody now, shouldn't- or maybe you should dye your hair and hybrid features, maybe that would help you at least a little not to stand out anymore. Maybe that'll help.

Maybe it'll make you a better ghost.

You're awfully tired today, but not as in sleepy. Your muscles feel weak, like you've done a horrible workout- but they're not hurting. It's more like they just won't work the way they're supposed to- and it's making you stumble and trip constantly, jeans already cut open by the pavement ground. You're also not sure anymore where exactly you are- you know you should remember these streets, but the memories are foggy, unclear, making you unsure and scared of your surroundings.

And your arm is hurting, skin tender and muscles below aching bad.

You know you shouldn't scratch it, but you can't help the irritating feeling of it bothering you to the point of tears. You've got no money for food left, nothing to really buy you anything- and in a way, it feels like the end.

Like you're about to become a real ghost.

Is Jungkook at home? He must be, considering its pretty late, and the weather is still pretty bad outside. No one really wants to be out in the rain like this, the wind constantly blowing your hair around, wet strands sticking to your face. It forces you somewhere more secluded, a parking lot belonging to an apartment complex- having you climb over a fence to get to it, a more tedious action than usual considering your physical state. You know something's wrong with you, but you can't really do much about it, can you? Going to a hospital would just lead you into a shelter, or worse, back to Hanako who's probably happy right now you're not with her.

You just want to sleep a little, right here, underneath the little roof for the bikes standing around. It's not dry at all, but it's at least something. It's a dark corner where no one will see you until tomorrow morning when everyone will start going back to work. It'll be alright until then.

You just need a little nap, you think, as you curl up in the very corner to close your eyes just for a moment.

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"Let's go." Yoongi offers suddenly, getting up.

"What?" Jungkook whines almost in protest, before his friend forces him up from the couch as well.

"Grab a blanket or something we can put in the back of my car. We're gonna go out, search for her, get her back home." He says.

"But what if it's not home for her anymore?" Jungkook weakly protests. "She-"

"One. Step. At. A. Time." Yoongi shakes his friend by the shoulders a little. "First, find her. Then, get her here, where she can warm up, where we can talk. Step after step Kook, no running this time." He scolds, and Jungkook weakly nods, walking into his bedroom to fetch a blanket.

Later in the car, it's silent for a moment- until Yoongis car alerts him that someone's calling his phone. A little annoyed, he declines it, instead turns towards his friend in the passenger seat.

"Where do you think she might've gone to?" Yoongi asks the Idol sitting next to him in the car. The rapper has put down the seats of his car in the back, making room for you to comfortably lay in in case they find you tonight- a thick blanket covering the interior of the backseats and trunk area.

"I don't know." He sighs in defeat, trying to keep an eye on everything passing by as they drive around the neighborhood you were last seen- but there's no sight of you. "She's probably hiding. Hyung, the weather is so bad-" He worries, watching how they have to drive a bit slower to not spray the water everywhere on people walking past them, and his fears only grow when the first lighting of the night rips through the sky above. It's barely seen amongst the tall buildings, and for the first time, he feels small, tiny, insignificant. Do you feel intimidated by the tall structures? He remembers when you first met, you told him he was scary because he was so much taller than you.

Tall things scare you. You've got a fear of heights, a fear of flying.

"I know it's scary, but focus." Yoongi offers, driving carefully. "She's smart though, isn't she?" He offers, and Jungkook nods almost on instinct. Of course you're smart. The smartest around, the smartest cat he's ever known. "Then she must've tried to find shelter around somewhere further away after she's noticed you. She wouldn't want to get caught in case authorities are after her- she doesn't know you didn't call anybody, right?" He asks, and Jungkook nods again. "See? So she probably wandered a bit further away, tried to find somewhere secluded, sheltered, where she could sleep for tonight."

Yoongi is right. But still, it worries Jungkook greatly that there's no trace of you, that he can't seem to figure out where you could've gone. He's lived together with you for years, has loved you- but right now, he's so unsure of everything he's done and doing and going to do, that he doesn't trust in anything his mind comes up with. It could all just make it worse, and he doesn't want to make it worse.

He's done that enough.

Taehyung calls again, and this time, Yoongi accepts, well aware that his friend won't stop until he's picked up the call.

"Taehyung- it's not a good timing right now." Yoongi says into the car's speaker system as he accepts the call from the younger singer.

"Yeah I know, but Jungkook isn't picking up his phone." He whines almost, in the background the sound of Yeontan's nails clicking on the floor. "Has he made up with his ex?"

"I'm in the car, what are you talking about?" Jungkook snaps almost irritated. He doesn't like that word, 'ex' all that much. It implies that you two broke up, which.. never actually happened. You were broken up by everyone around you, but you never chose to break up willingly. That's a huge difference to him.

"Oh, hey" Taehyung greets. "It's just- cause I saw her outside a few minutes ago, and-" He says, but immediately, both Yoongi and Jungkook try to interrupt him.

"Where?!" The youngest bandmember asks, leaning into the control console of the car as if that would make his friend answer quicker. "Taehyung, where the fuck did you see her?!" He presses.

"Uh, near your apartment, why?" He asks. "I thought she came from yours, that's why I thought you two made up or something.." He says, and one look towards Yoongi is all it takes.

His hands immediately setting the turn signal before he rushes back.

[dejabluebabygirl]

I See You - Chapter 2

Miles Quaritch x Fem! Na'vi OC

Summary: Vira Te Wou Auhew’ite, an albino Na'vi and future Tsahìk of the Tayrangi Clan, The Ikran Riders of the Eastern Sea, keeps needing to save the demon Miles Quaritch at Ewyas command. When she's given a sign to try to teach him The People's way, both she and Miles struggle with their growing feelings for each other.

Authors note: This one just ran away with me, I had it almost written and then felt I need to add some more scenes and went back. I hope it all flows okay, I've read it over quite a few times but feedback is appreciated!

Sorry for the delay on this, I went out with my Grandma for her 82nd birthday and we just had too many Salted Caramel Martini's LOL. I've been feelin’ rough since.

Rating: T

Warnings: Canon typical violence, strong language/swearing, mild mentions of mating/sex, mentions of nudity, hunting/animal death, use of drugs/alien alcohol??? (I'm so bad at tagging, let me know if I need to add something please), and unrealized attraction/pining

Words: 6955-ish

--

Chapter 2

Vira declared bright and early the next day that she and Miles needed to move camp, if he wanted to learn to be Na’vi they needed to sleep like Na’vi which meant finding a temporary Hometree for them. She’d briefly considered him back to the Tayrangi clan but her mind flashed back to when he burned the village of Ta'unui and chasing her down in the jungle last night hadn’t helped. She couldn’t bring herself to bring him home until she knew for certain he could be trusted. Ewya willed she teach him so she would, the great mother didn’t say she needed to talk him home. They wasted no time mounting their Ikrans in search of one.

In the back of Viras mind it lingered that she needed to be home in 2 short cycles to mate with Huärì. Would she trust Miles enough by then to take him home? The Tayrangi were known for being a progressive clan but could they ever accept a demon? She could only do so much with her sister, she’d have to rely on her mother to interpret Ewya’s will as she had. 

The pink Na’vi mulled over her thoughts as she and Miles soared over the dense jungle on their Ikrans. Her orange eyes distractedly scanned over the tree tops for a suitable tree to stay in for the foreseeable future. The sooner they found one, the soon they could get themselves settled in and get comfortable.

“What kind of tree are we looking for, Princess?” Miles called from the left. 

“Tall and strong with large branches to live in, long vines to climb, near water and game trails would be best.” 

“Like that one?” His large blue hand pointed to a tree that was poking a few meters higher out of the canopy than those clustered around it. 

She’d been so caught up in her thoughts she hadn’t seen it. 

“We’ll see.” A brazen smile crossed her lips as Vira dove towards tree tops. 

–

Miles had been right about the tree. They found it had a suitable large upper branch that could have fit six na’vi of Miles size side by side comfortably, if the ground looked good this would definitely be the branch they would sleep and dwell on when not out in the jungle.

The two of them climbed the vines down the jungle floor to find several fruit trees and game trails they could follow, Vira was impressed with the strength and speed Miles displayed going down them. Even with his large size, everything he did was graceful and agile, every movement had a powerful purpose behind it. If he was in pain from his injuries, he didn't show it at all. Her stomach flipped as she watched him scale down, Miles had abandoned his awful sky person vest at the last camp giving her full view of his back and arm muscles under his tight shirt. 

He trailed behind her as they walked the forest floor together, she showed him how to step lightly on his feet, and make less noise as he moved through the jungle. His pants still rustled and made noise but when she suggested making him a tweng he looked uncomfortable at the thought.

“Not quite ready to run around the jungle in my skivvies just yet, Tiny.”

Vira laughed, she’d have to ease him into their ways, he was sharp and rough, quick to anger, and he needed gentle hands to guide him. She knew she planned to start with him giving up his sky people weapons for a spear and a bone knife.  As she walked the game trails with him, she’d stop and kneel to identify the tracks in the soil, he’d slowly come down to join her, resting his hands on his knees and as she showed him Yerik, Nantang, 'angtsìk, and Talioang and how to identify each along the natural paths the animals created.

The game trails lead to a beautiful water site, it had a small waterfall cascading into it and flowed into a large pool at its base before continuing to snake through the jungle as a river, a perfect place to fetch fresh water, bathe, swim, and maybe even fish.

Ewya had provided sanctuary and Vira felt a little weight lift off her chest that she was right in interpreting the great mother's will that Miles learned to be Na’vi. She was not Tsahìk yet, she knew better than to presume she knew anything of her will but she couldn't help but feel this was right. This is what she was meant to do.  Vira renewed her promise in silent prayer to do all she could to teach him as they walked back towards their Hometree. 

On the way back she made Miles gather stones so they could make a fire pit on their living branch, with a proper firepit made it would not burn through the branch through the duration on their stay. She felt blessed when she found a bountiful amount of tautral, she knew she could weave into a mat for them to sleep on until she was able to make them each a Nivi. Her people slept in huts in caves but she’d observed the technique and helped the elders of tree-dwelling villages on her travels and felt confident in her ability to make them, it would just take time. That mat would at least keep them comfortable and off the bark of the tree. She walked back with her arms overflowing with bean stalks with right Miles behind her. 

—

Quaritch propped himself up against the tree trunk while Vira busied herself around the large branch that would serve as camp. He could hear their Banshees playfully snapping at each other in the upper branches. Viras first priority had been to check his rib once they started to settle in for the day. He was actually surprised by how good it felt after it had stung like hell last night after chasing Vira through the god-forsaken jungle. She said a little prayer to the tree god as she wrapped him up again in leaves and muck. 

When Miles tried to get up to help her build the fire pit she shooed him away and said he needed to rest. The little pink native impressed upon him how important it was for them to get a kill tomorrow so she needed him well rested. He watched her build up their camp quickly and efficiently and he couldn’t help but be the slightest bit impressed by how fast she was able to get their little operation up and running. It was just past midday and she had the fire pit built and all the fruits they'd gathered were organized. He watched with interest as her little pink hands worked to break apart a large stone that looked akin to obsidian back on earth. It seemed she liked the two big pieces she broke from it since she brought them over. 

“Shape for spears,” handing him one and sitting beside him, unsheathing her bone knife from her thigh holster and using it to shape the black stone. He watched her small pink fingers gently shape the stone to a point, he took out his own company knife and tried his best to mimic her movements.

“Don’t force the shape, let the stone guide you.” She said, stopping work on her own spearhead and placing her hands on his hands over to work hand over hand with her small pink ones over his large blue paws. “Gentle.”

“Never been very good at being gentle.” He was a hard-ass gyrene, made of stronger stuff than most. When was the last time he’d been gentle with anyone or anything? Spider, probably. Not even Paz, his mother, not really. Paz had been something fleeting, burned fast and hot, something that was bound to happen when you put hundreds of marines together on an alien moon with no bar in sight to get your rocks off at. Quaritch would never have described their relationship as gentle, amicable maybe. They had respect for each other but they both knew what they were each after. 

When he’d taken Spider from the jungle, he’d tried to be softer with him, have a gentler touch. He really had and in turn, the kid, his kid,  wormed his way him in and had softened up. Just a touch. Spider had stopped him from killing the natives on more than one occasion, and took the time to teach him basic Na’vi and their customs but in the end Quaritch was a marine, a soldier, it was all he’d known for so long. His mission in life was always to complete the mission he was given at any cost.

Now, his focus on the mission had shifted, sitting in the tree far from the familiar, human comforts of the RDA. Sitting here while a little pink savage held his massive blue mits that still felt alien to him, was all for his mission,  learning the strange Na’vi’s ways, were all, in service to the mission. He’d Kill Jake Sully, and secure a new home for humanity. 

Vira released his hands and he kept working the stone, feeling her orange eyes staring at him.

“What?” his knife shaping the stone as gently as he could.

“See? You’re being gentle now. You have a strong heart, don’t doubt.” She placed her own rock beside him.

“Could you shape mine? Please? Need to work on mat.” 

He grunted out an affirmative sound as she gathered the bean stalks and sat beside him again and began quickly and skillfully weaving them together. They worked in silence mostly, they hadn’t talked much small talk since they’d had their spat yesterday. When she talked to him it was mostly something she was teaching, impersonal. 

Quaritch stole glances at her quick nimble little fingers weaving the bean stalks together. He watched as her orange eyes glanced at his hands as well, all the natives seemed to have some interest in them, normally the attention was negative but she was almost fascinated by them. Their eyes locked after a while of exchanging glances in the evening quiet. 

“Sorry,” Vira blurted, he could see her face was practically purple she was so flushed. “For yesterday, should not have been rude.” 

The Recom Na’vi shifted uncomfortably, he wasn’t really blameless in the interaction, and he’d let his temper get the better of him. 

“Yeah well, guess I should have just let you go. Just didn’t want anything to happen to ya.” Half a truth, he didn’t really care about her per se, she was just a pink monkey but she was an asset to him. It was why he hadn’t turned around when she bathed at the river, the Recom Na’vi got no gratification out of watching the female alien. Quaritch just didn’t want something bigger and meaner snatching her up for lunch before he’d even gotten the chance to ask her to teach him the ways of the Na’vi. That conversation hadn’t gone to his plan in any capacity but she was here agreeing to teach him so he had to be the smallest bit thankful to the weird little seeds that made her stop her hasty retreat through the jungle. 

“Let’s just put all that behind us and forget about it, alright Princess?” 

Vira nodded and shyly looked up at him through her white lashes, “would you finish telling me of the metal spiders?” 

—

Quaritch woke up with the sun and sounds of the jungle no longer at rest. The two of them had fallen asleep talking again the tree trunk, the little pink Na’vi frantically had weaved the mat until sleep overcame her and it was so large draped over the two of them like a blanket. He watched a few moments later as Viras sleepy orange eyes blinked a few times and she stretched her long limbs and yawned. She didn’t offer a morning greeting but got up and went right to work, he was actually pretty sure she was muttering curses in Na'vi, something about her back hurting too. She took the mat off them and gathered vines and large sticks they’d collected yesterday to make their spears. Maybe the aliens didn’t say good morning or maybe she just wasn’t a morning person. 

The Recombinant Na’vi watched as she showed how to tie the spearhead on. He’d tied a complicated knot or two in his time and did it quickly. Earning a 'quick study' as praise from Vira. Not that he needed her praise but I did puff up his ego that maybe this whole learning to be Na’vi thing would be easier for him than it had been for Sully, he’d seemed to have a hard time when he started out from what he remembered of the tapes he’d reviewed. 

They climbed down the tree, and Vira went through some practice thrusts and throws. It felt surprisingly good in his hands. Natural. 

“Spear is extension of you, all tools are extension of you and your energy.”

Miles nodded even though really didn’t understand but figured playing along was easier than asking questions. 

They walked the game trails, Vira explained they were looking for yerik tracks, Hexapede, from Quaritchs understanding they were kind of like deer. She explained how one of them would need to hide in a tree and the other would drive one to that spot. 

“I am not skilled with spear, better with bow” she admitted, “you are big and strong, you will have to make the kill.” 

“That’s a tall order, Tiny.”

“I will show you how, if you miss, we have fruit to eat. Bow will wait, no harm.” She offered a small smile of reassurance. 

Once they found tracks along a path, she lead him to a low hanging tree branch over the natural game trail. Vira explained to him how she would drive one down and he would have to take aim and throw his spear at the beast. 

“Lay flat, be one with tree” she demonstrated by practically melding her small pink body against the branch, her head cocked to one side white hair splayed everywhere. 

“When you hear me coming up the path,” she made a whooping sound, he could have mistaken it for the prolemuris if he didn’t know the pitch of her voice. “Slowly stand, get ready. You will feel the movement in the tree.” 

Yellow eyes watched her slowly roll her pink body up off the tree in a fluid motion, taking her spear in hand. He could see the lean, strong muscle in her arms. 

“Breath slow, slow heart. Hold breath and release with your throw”

Miles watched Viras release her breath with her spear as it spear pierces the ground below. 

The pink native had him run through the motions a few times before she felt comfortable leaving him glued to the branch to go try and heard a Hexapede his way. He felt crazy laying on the branch, what was he even doing out here? He could just shoot the thing when it ran by, he was sure Vira would be pissed but he was a helluva shot, he had no doubt if he used his pistol he’d make the kill. But it did defeat the whole point of him trying to learn the Na’vi way. So he waited, and waiting, his blue ears flicking and straining to hear Viras call. 

He felt like he’d been waiting damn near an hour when his ear perked he heard the far-off “whoop” of Viras soft voice. 

They came in closer and closer succession after that, so close he could also hear the rustling of something else approaching through the woods and feel the gentle thumping of the earth through the tree. The Recom na’vi stood slowly, his bare feet finding their foot on the branch. He readied his weapon and thought of Vira and slowed his heart with a deep breath. This all felt almost instinctual, was it the Na’vi DNA mixed with his own helping him? Was this something primal they all felt? 

He felt the ground shift as the beast ran under the branch, his toes gripping the bark, yellow eyes sharp as he took aim and released the spear from his hands.

—

Vira and Miles celebrated his first kill into the night. His spear had struck true. Vira had called him down from the tree as she slid her knife across the creature's neck to end its suffering and thank Ewya for the energy they would receive. She couldn’t be anything but impressed with Miles, even if he was a demon, such a kill on a first hunt was impressive. His strike has been as true as any true born Na’vi. 

They spent the rest of the day breaking down and preserving pieces of the animal, she taught him how as they went but they worked quickly and she wasn’t sure how much of her teachings he absorbed. She reminded herself that after they consumed this kill she would make him say the prayer next time. That was a thought for the future, for now, they sat by the fire cooking their Yerik and reliving the hunt. 

“You were so strong and fast!” Vira praised as she mimicked the movement of throwing a spear across the fire from him, cooking meat on twigs. Her next project for the fire would be to make a spit and a smoker soon, better cooking and preserving but this would do for now. It would fill their bellies. 

“I heard you and felt it coming down the path just like you said, felt the tree and all. That was just incredible.”

She smiled at him “See? The energy flows through all things.”

He gave her a skeptical look like he still didn’t believe in Ewya's presence. Her orange eyes searched his yellow ones. How could he not? The atokirina' chose him, he felt the rumble through the tree. All things were connected. All energy borrowed from the great mother, energy they would all have to return one day. 

She moved the meat from the open flames and handed him a piece to eat still on the stick. They each devoured their food in silence and Vira pondered how to make him see. Would he ever? It was part of the Na’vi way, surely she needed to show him. 

As she looked down upon the glowing jungle from their Hometree, an idea struck her. 

“Come,” Vira stood grabbing onto his hand, attempting to pull him up. The pink na’vi knew she could not lift him but he relented and got up and scrambled down the tree's massive vines behind her. 

When they reached the floor of the jungle, it was lit up with all its nighttime glory. Most of the vegetation held a faint flow, the grasses beneath their feet shined bright with contact. 

“Come, come,” she beckoned him further into the jungle along the trails, dragging him by the hand. She flushed a little at the touch, thankful for the darkness, still not understanding why he made her feel that way.

Light was created everywhere in the wake of their movements, with every step and touch of plant life. Vira let her fingers trail along a row of shrubs, lighting the way. They came to a grouping of trees where glowing moss flowed from tree tree-like rivers. This is what she has been looking for, what she thought would show him.

“Do you see?” she gently touched the moss, the light brightened and dissipated but clearly spread out from the spot she touched until it disappeared. “All is the Great Mother's energy, we borrow it from her. Some day it must return .” 

“Yeah, yeah, circle of life, Kum ba yah bullshit, I get it.” He mumbled but his eyes didn’t match the disinterested tone. 

Vira watched his yellow eyes dart around the forest with interest and wonder. Had he truly never really looked at the beauty of their home at night? She watched him experimentally touch the moss and other plants with his five fingers as they continued walking. She smiled a little, he didn’t believe her but it would take time. At least he saw the beauty in the jungle.

There were tall orange rounded flowers along the path they had been following, their petals glowed beautifully, so different than most of the pink, purple, and green hues. Vira knew them as txon ’ong. Their nectars were drunk at celebrations if one drank too much they might have trouble walking, or sleep most of the next day, sometimes it was said challenges of Combat were made when the nectars were consumed but that was few and far between. For most it made them jovial, some even said na’vi were said to feel closer to Ewya when they drank it.

They were celebrating his great victory, what could it hurt? She would be sure not to loose her wits.

—

Miles watched the albino Na’vi go to the glowing orange flower, bend its stem and drink from its rounded top. 

“Txon ’ong, night blossom, celebrate.”

Quaritch shrugged and came beside her and did the same, bending the stem of the orange bioluminescent flower and taking a few large gulps. It was sweet at first but the aftertaste reminded him of some strong spirit he couldn’t quite place, maybe gin. 

He let out a low whistle. “Well, now it’s a party,  Tiny.” 

Quaritch felt more relaxed from the blossom, whatever it was exactly made him lower his guard just a bit in the jungle, just like he had the first night he was injured. The first night he’d met Vira.

The forest was truly otherworldly at night, so different from anything on Earth. The pink na’vi teacher kept walking the trail and he followed behind, he felt more acutely aware of the lights they created. How the slightest bump or rustle made small chain reactions. No, Quaritch didn’t believe in some little tree god. This little display meant nothing in the end really to him, just a pretty little light show. Maybe it slightly proved to him what Grace Augustine had been blathering about, the connections between the trees and the plants. Miles had never gone out after dark onto the forest when he’d been human, especially not after dancing with the viperwolf his first day on Pandora. He could maybe, just maybe, be behind the science. Not the tree hugging hippie all mother crap. 

They walked for what felt like a long time, enjoying the natural glow of the forest. Sometimes she’d have to come back and grab his hand to tug him along if she felt he was lagging. 

They wandered to the clearing with the watering hole they’d found earlier. Quaritch rubbed his yellow eyes, unsure if the drink was playing tricks on him. The river, waterfall, and the little lake itself all lit up in a purple glow. 

Vira laid down in the soft grass next to the water’s edges. It glowed around her pink form as she found and comfortable position on her back. Her orange eyes looked glossy from the nectar. 

“Come, see the stars.” She patted the ground beside her, sending small shocks of green glow through the grass from her pink fingers. 

Miles walked forward, only to be started by a group of fan lizards he nearly squished beneath his large blue feet. A dozen of them shot up around him, casting different colored hues onto him. The little guys were actually kinda cute. 

Vira laughed at his startled expression. “Like a baby.” 

He felt his face turn purple, this was all new to him. Normally he gave orders, normally he knew exactly what he was doing, not learning. Being called a baby by her again lit a little fire in his gut, he’d be the best goddamn Na’vi. He’d show her. He’s already made the kill today with the spear, something she didn’t think she would have been able to do herself. Instead of getting angry though, a roll of relaxation flowed through him, must have been the nectar because he laid down beside her and they stared up into the starry sky. 

Vira pointed out the visible constellations and told him stories and names that different clans had for them. Quaritch was surprised by how much he enjoyed the little stories, they reminded him of Greek and Roman epics he’d heard on Earth.  They also had horoscopes, different signs with different meanings that each Na'vi was born under.

In the middle of one story, his stomach let out a loud rumble, Vira turned on her side to face him and laughed, a deep one in her belly. The kind of laugh where sometimes no sound came out. He turned to face her too and laughed just as hard. 

“Sign to go back,” she said between laughs, her large orange eyes crinkled at the sides from how wide she smiled. 

—

A week passed in a flash, and Quaritch felt was managing to get a small handle on how the Pandora natives lived. He’d started keeping track of the days my making tallies on the trunk of the tree, where he often reclined against at their base camp. When Vira saw him marking the tree she’d decided to add to it as well, above his first 5 marks she’d taken her bone knife and crudely drawn him on a branch, victorious, as his spear pierced the Hexapede below. It was truly a primitive etching, it reminded him of cave paintings or even stick figures back on earth but they each knew what it was. He couldn’t deny it made him puff with a touch of pride inside when he looked at it. 

The Hexapede had indeed been a boon for them, food to keep them fed, turned out he actually liked the taste of it too, especially when Vira put some hot spices on it, it reminded him a bit of Cajun cooking back on earth, from his human memories. 

Vira was continually impressive to him, she was a hard worker and wasn’t scared of getting her hands dirty. She used every bit of the beast for something too. Guts and sinew for bow string, thread, and bindings, she uses its hide for laces and made clothing for herself. She didn’t wear her big collar anymore unless they went out hunting, just wearing leaves or flowers tied up intricately over her breasts or even just a string of beads and feathers that precariously covered her nipples but she seemed to have no shame in her lack of covering. She’d also made him a water bottle from the hide which proved useful. The Pink Na’vi didn’t want anything to go to waste. It reminded him of how it had bothered on some level him with the poachers killed the Tulkun, not that it was dead but because they'd wasted such a large animal for a few measly drops of liquid. Seemed wasteful and inefficient. He didn't care for innefeicies.

While Vira worked she also made sure she was teaching him something, either going over the techniques she used or quizzing him on his Na’vi language skills. He’d been working hard to memorize her little prayer the people said over the animal's bodies for when he next killed a critter, he wanted to be the one to finish his kill from beginning to end next time. Miles didn’t buy into any of the hippie tree-hugging crap she was peddling but he’d do the song and dance to keep Vira teaching him.

He’d remembered from his review of Sullys videos that he’d referred to learning from his woman as ‘learn fast or die’ but it wasn’t like that at all with Vira. She didn’t have contempt for him, she wanted him to succeed and was a patient teacher. He’d learned this past week she was kind and smart as a whip, and her English was improving much quicker than his Na’vi. Quaritch found an internal struggle over his Na’vi teacher, he was struggling to see her as just a helpful savage, that she's only a step above a monkey. 

Having this time with just her and to just breathe, not chasing Turk Makto to the ends of Pandora, forced Quaritch to accept a few things. One of those being that his body was 20 year old Na’vi body now, but his mind was still that 51 year old hard ass marine. He’d known it since the minute we’d woken up with the rest of the Deja Blue but being out in the forest with no one but a local, forced him to take stock of things. Miles thought about his actions over the past 4 months chasing down leads with Spider, he really didn’t feel such intense hatred as he did back when he was human for the Blues or even when he’d first been decanted in space and decked Lyle in the face, thinking he was surrounded by enemies. He tried to work out if it was because of Spiders' influence on him or because he knew he was looking at a Blue when he looked in a mirror. Maybe he’d just gone soft, he was an old man in a young man’s body at the end of the day.

They settled into an easy rhythm together, each taking care of things around camp, she’d give him Na’vi lessons on language, customs, and histories, and he helped her improve her English. Sometimes they’d race their Banshees around the treetops together and go off and explore. She was a hell of a flier, he learned the Banshee was nearly sacred to her people, the Tayrangi of the Eastern Sea. When Vira found out he hadn’t named his Banshee she scolded him, loudly, from the back of her golden one who he’d learned was named Stiwi. Mischief. 

Miles had quickly pretended he misunderstood her question and said the royal blue beast named was Wasp, after his SN-9 WASP pistol. That felt fitting as anything the military dog in him could think of on such short notice. He supposed he could have just called it Banshee.

With there only two of them, they didn’t need to hunt or even gather every day, sometimes they’d just go for long jungle walks and she'd point out the flora and fauna and quiz him on what things were. She told him once he was more sure of his footing in the trees she’d teach him to swing from the vines. Images of Tarzan flashed in his mind. Things were simple but they were good. They’d gone back out another night and drank the nectar of the night blossoms again, she’s said it was really meant for parties and ceremonies but she said having some fun couldn't hurt. He wondered if that meant she was a bit of a troublemaker in her village, sneaking out to drink with the other village deviants when she’d been younger, like a teenage who snuck out through their window. The thought made me chuckle since now she seemed like a rule follower now. 

Quaritch focused now on shaping the small segments of black stone, the same used to make the spearhead. Vira had been put in charge of making arrowheads today. The thought of shooting with a bow made him uneasy, he’d seen enough of Mrs. Sullys arrows to know how deadly they could be but it seemed an odd twist of fate that he’d have to learn to use the same type of weapon that ended his human life and got him into this na’vi body in the first place. 

“Bows are ready,” Vira called as she walked along the branch holding a large bow she’d made for him. He took it from her and saw all the work she’s put into it. She'd carved intricate patterns into, way nicer than her crude little etching on the tree. It was dozens of stars forming the various constellations she’d pointed out to him during their time together drinking the night blossom. Vira had strung small tassels with beads made of teeth that she’d dyed different hues at the top where the strong met bow. The front had some kind of holder made of blue leaves that replaced a quiver. Miles tried to think if he’d ever gotten a gift that had so much work out into it. He’d seen her over the past several nights sitting across the fire from him instead of next to him as she normally did after dinner, working on something. He ran his fingers over the carved grooves. 

“Thank you,”

“No need to thank, fine hunter deserves fine bow.”

He watched her pink skin flush a shade darker.

Quaritch had originally thought she flushed so often at him back at their first camp because she found him an attractive Na’vi, she was a young female after all, didn’t they have little infatuations and mess around like humans did? Just some natural instinct. He was a young male and she was a young female, that was all. Miles was sure there were plenty of forest boys back at her home who’d thought she was a looker with those orange doe eyes, they were warm and inviting like the first rays of sunshine. Miles' mind thought back on Vira being a young troublemaker and sneaking out with derelict jungle boys and getting drunk off the nectar in the woods. The thought of her causing mischief didn’t seem as amusing as much anymore. 

The colonel shifted gears in his mind and filed away that he would have to ask one day about societal customs of recreational customs like courting and sex, it was so embedded in human society he assumed it had to be a part of the Na'vis. They were a humanoid society after all, no matter how primitive they may be. He’d heard mention from the science pukes of a mating season but he’d never really paid attention. Now that he was trying to get into the belly of the beast, truly know his enemy. He knew no information on the enemy was unimportant. It was all part of his mission to learn all he could. 

That’s what he told himself anyways, it was practically a mantra in his mind at this point. Every question, every kindness he showed Vira, every moment spent together, was all in service to his mission. He was not enjoying himself out in the jungle with some native woman. 

“One more,” the pink na’vi quickly made her way from him across the tree. He caught a whiff of her scent as the breeze blew, she smelled like a sweet lavender from the herbs they washed with and an underlying scent of something almost spicy, warm, and cloyingly sweet, that was just her scent. Her musk. It was all over the camp. He was sure he could track her scent at 100 clicks he knew it so well from his sensitive na’vi nose. 

“Jeez Princess you’re spoiling me,”, he drawled to her, making her shade blush so deep it touched her ears. 

Quaritch pondered then that she just flushed often because she got easily embarrassed and flustered. It was just harder for her to hide her flush than a Blue na’vi.  He had just been reading too much into things.

She scrounged around in a pile of yerik bones and came back holding a bone knife, it seemed like she’d tried to make it comparable to his RDA combat knife in size and shape, he saw where she’d tried to even shape a serrated edge opposite the razor-sharp bone edge. 

“Now that’s a fine blade, Tiny. Thank you.” 

She handed him a sheathed to go across his chest, not unlike the ones he’d seen over Navi wear. He didnt know when she’d made the sheath either, had he just thought she was working on clothes or things for herself and had really been making him all these gifts?

He stood and slipped the sheath on over his tank top and put the knife in the holder. 

“How do I look?”

Her orange eyes danced up and down his form, “more Na’vi every day.” 

— 

Vira and Miles scaled down to the base of their hometree, she was eager for him to try out the bow she had made for him. She had concerns that he might not have been ready to use it with his chest injury but he seemed stronger and stronger every day thank Ewya, he healed faster than she had ever anticipated. Maybe it was the great mother's plan to heal him quick so he could learn quickly. She had no other explanation, she hadn’t expected him to heal for a cycle, and they were not even halfway through.

The pink Na'vi brought paint down she’d made and marked three large yellow circles on the trunk for Miles to take aim at. Vira demonstrated how to shoot with her own bow, placing the arrow, nocking it, and letting go with her breath just like she taught him with the spear. She hit her mark first try in the center of the circle she was aiming at.  The pink Na’vi smiled to herself, a bit smug, definitely more skilled with a bow than a spear. 

Miles tried next, he seemed far less comfortable with the bow she noticed that he had with the spear. He handled it almost as though it may bite him. He knocked his arrow and took aim, his arrow falling below the circle he aimed from.

“Try another,” Vira ordered, she did a half circle around him, pink tail swishing in thought and he pulled another arrow back and it fell low again.

“I don’t think I’m meant to use a bow, Princess”

She made a thoughtful sound. “We need to fix your stance, that’s all. Pull back, do not release.” 

He did as he was told and Vira got up close to him, chest to chest, she could feel his breath on her forehead, hear his soft inhales, and feel the rise and fall of his broad chest. She used her feet to push his legs into the proper position. 

Vira took her small hands and lifted his drawing arm so his elbow was higher, she adjusted his bow arm by touching his forearm. To her those few moments she spent fixing his stance felt like an eternity. She turn her face up toward him, face flushed, surprised to see his yellow eyes were looking down at her and not at the target. His lips would have brushed her forehead if the bow did not prevent them from getting closer. 

“Take a strong, deep breath,” she moved her hands to gently touch his abdomen. Vira heard the deep inhale and felt him take a deep breath. Kentens danced in her stomach and heat pooled to her face and between her thighs. 

“Now try again.” She broke away from the close contact.

Vira watched his strong arms release the arrow with his breath. It whirled through the air, hitting its mark.

—

For dinner they ate the smoked spicy yerik she’d cooked, the smoke preserved the meat so it was good for several days but they would need to hunt soon. Vira was excited to hunt with her new bow, she was not the strongest or greatest hunter but she was skilled with a bow. If they had more numbers she’d consider they go hunting talioang on their Ikrans but with only two it would be hard and too much meat to try and eat. When she brought him back, he could try with the clan.

Still hungry after eating the meat she grabbed a Yovo fruit to peel and eat while they sat propped against the trunk of the tree on the sleeping mat. Miles sat beside her with his arms resting on his knees, legs spread apart, and relaxed as his large body took up extra space. He plucked the fruit out of her hands before she could even draw her knife from her thigh. Vira whined indignantly at the theft. 

“Oh come on now, didn’t your mama teach you to share?” He looked down at her wickedly, “I can try out your gift,” he pulled the bone knife from the holster on his chest, its sharpened edge shining low in the firelight. 

Vira rolled her eyes but didn’t say anything to Miles as he began to peel the fruit. Vira had come to enjoy watching his hands work with the extra finger, she no longer found it alien or even him really alien over the past several days, he just needed a teacher. The watched as he expertly used the knife she’d crafted for him, it made her happy to see it put to good use. 

“See somethin’ you like there Princess?” He quipped as he kept peeling, Vira hasn’t even tried to hide that she was watching his hands. 

She smiled and ignored the heat rushing to her face. “Your hands, too many fingers. Should be clumsy.” 

“Here I thought I should be flattered with you staring and you just want to pick on my hands.” He laughed and laid his hand flat on his leg closest to her, palm up and open. He wiggled his fingers. 

Vira tilted her head, orange eyes sparkling up at him with fascination. “Can I touch?” 

He nodded and surprised at her own boldness, Vira took his hand in her own two. She was curious in nature, always wanting to learn and see and touch all she could. Greedy for knowledge. 

She traced the lines of his blue hands, moved the smallest finger up and down and bent it. She bent Miles's whole hand in a fist, it shouldn’t have worked with 5 fingers but it did. She had him hold up his hand and lined it up her own with it, thumb to thumb, finger to finger all minus the small one. Not so different. He surprised her when he wrapped his small finger around the back of her hand and curled the tops of his larger fingers over her small ones.

Viras smile reached her eyes and glanced at him, she couldn’t read what the gesture meant behind his yellow eyes. It was a gesture that Na’vi did, it had no real meaning to them but something they did with babes and younglings. It was something her father had done many full sky cycles ago. 

Miles pulled his large hand away and resumed peeling the Yovo fruit, he halved it and handed it to her not bothering to cut it more. His yellow eyes looked far away while he ate. 

--

Last Chapter - Next Chapter

Master List

--

Taglist: @bandomonia @milknhonies @hobnob2020 @nissilou @neteyamsbulletwound @bitchykittenconnoisseur @missroro @unhingedcanary @whoreforquaritch

[musette22]

MINNIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

I know we’ve been screaming at each other for the past 36 hours but like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m so insanely happy I don’t even have the words to describe it. This is EVERYTHING

Sebastian LAUGHING with his entire face. JUST BEAMING at his boyfriend 😭😭😭😭😭 AND CHRIS. CHRIS JUST LOSING IT LIKE I AM RIGHT NOW. It’s just so fucking perfect and they’re so beautiful and so beautiful together and this is all I wanted and more than I hoped for and it’s just INCREDIBLE, I wanna scream and cry and I’m doing both those things right now but it’s NOT ENOUGH, I need to play that clip over and over again, play it at my funeral, which will be soon bc I am DEAD.

Ana just looking at the of them like ??? BUT ANA THIS IS JUST WHAT IT IS LIKE WHEN YOU’RE HANGING OUT WITH TWO GUYS THAT LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH THAT STARING EACH OTHER IN THE EYES FOR MERE SECONDS TRYING TO BE SERIOUS IS IMPOSSIBLE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

They look SO happy and comfortable and I just want to tattoo the image of this on my forehead so everyone knows what I’m about bc I won’t care about anything else for the foreseeable future 😭😭💖💖💖💖🩷

OUR BABIES MINNIE. WE GOT REAL CONTENT with our boys 😭😭😭😭😭

I LOVE THEM SO MUCH.

I love YOU SO MUCH.

I’m gonna crawl under my table and bawl my eyes out but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.

Maya............. MAYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

We HAVE been screaming at each other pretty much non stop lmao but there's always time to scream together some more!!!!!!!!!! 💗💗💗💗💗

IT'S ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING AND I AM LITERALLY SO FILLED WITH JOY 😭😭😭😭 It would be embarrassing if I didn't know you and probably some other folks on here feel the exact same way 🤣

This is just so special!!!!!!!! we waited so long and suffered so much and now we have been REWARDED and it feels so goooooooooood 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I'm literally gonna cry again now oh god, I'm not stable lmaoooo

I LOVE HOW ANA IS LIKE "??? HUH? WE'RE LAUGHING? WHY? 😅" and it's pretty much just because Chris and Seb can't keep a straight face around each other (or a straight anything, really) bc they're just so comfortable and happy together and OH MY GOD WE HAVE ACTUAL PROOF OF THEM BEING JUST AS CUTE AND ADORABLE AND SILLY TOGETHER NOW AS THEY USED TO BE BEFORE 😭😭😭😭 TAKE THAT MARVEL SUCKERS

Fuck, you're so right, Seb really does laugh with his whole face and Chris literally pees his pants a little, it's BEAUTIFUL 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

And!!!! When I was watching the reel, I saw Mackie pop up, and then Ryan, and the clip was nearing its end and I was like "...figures we don't get any Sebastian bloopers..." because all the disappointment as turned me into a cynical asshole, AND THEN! Like manna from the heavens 😫 They saved the best for last, because they KNOW. The KNOW how much we love them and what they do to us. So I hope Dexter is paying attention and making a movie with Chris and Seb in the leads next time, okay sir??????

Alright that's quite enough rambling from me, I'm so sorry, I'm EXHAUSTED and I need to go sleep for a thousand years, but I love youuuuuuuuuu so fucking much and I am SO HAPPY FOR US!!!!

[reidingmelodies]

The Date Jar: February

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Word Count: 3.5k Includes: Mentions and consumption of food, brief discussions of a case (no specifics are given) A/N:  Part of The Date Jar series, but can be read as a stand-alone piece as well :)

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‘Time to let that inner creativity shine!  Plan a date for $20 or less (and tell me all about it xoxo)’ Your brows wrinkled at the phrase, fingers twirling the yellow popsicle in your hand as you looked out the window.  

It was February 3rd, you were missing Spencer, and your mind was a blank slate when it came to date ideas.

Spencer had been called away on a case eight days prior, his and your moods worsening with every second spent away from the other.  It was a bad one, there was no doubt about it.  It was obvious in the way his voice was tinged with exhaustion each time he managed to call you, in the way he made it a point to text you that he missed you every day regardless of the time, in the way he never answered questions about his day, all too eager to hide the disparity of the case from you to keep you from worrying.

But he was the love of your life- worrying came with the job description.

So, when you got a text from Penelope in the late evening hours warning you that the team was on their way back and Spencer would probably need a little extra loving that night, you didn’t hesitate to drop everything in favor of prepping for your reunion with Spencer.

Cups of tea were made (because even though you knew he’d prefer coffee what he’d really need was chamomile), your softest blankets and comfiest pillows were brought into the living room, and Dr. Who was playing softly on the television in front of you. The lights were dimmed, a pair of pajamas resting on the cushion awaiting his return, two containers of Jell-O situated on the coffee table.

Now, all you needed was his safe return.

Somehow, in your waiting, you had ended up in front of the window, popsicle stick in hand while you thought of ideas for your monthly date.  The task was simple, but the opportunities were endless, and you were stumped.

Spencer had insisted that you pick the date jar stick for February without him present, an idea you were vehemently against until he proposed video chatting once he was back in his hotel room so you could do it together (you really had to thank Penelope for her tech influence on him).  

Sure enough on the night of February 1st, you got a video call at 11:57 PM, your eyes bleary with sleep as you hit accept.  

And all too soon, your eyes were bleary with tears as you caught sight of Spencer’s face.

You missed him, plain and simple.  You were used to spending time apart but being accustomed to something certainly didn’t make it any easier to accept.

The ten-minute chat was the epitome of bliss, both of you purposely avoiding talk of work in favor of brainstorming twenty-dollar dates.

A bookstore?  There’s no way you’d only spend twenty dollars.  The park?  We wouldn’t spend a dime.  A diner? Too typical.  

You knew an idea would come to you sooner than later, especially when Spencer was home and safe in your arms and your brain could rest.  

For now, there was an overworked, exhausted man in dire need of a hug making his way into the apartment, and all thoughts of the date were abandoned in favor of him.

The door opened, Spencer’s slouched figure making his way into the entryway.  The bags under his eyes were prevalent from across the room, his rigid expression making way for a slight grin when he locked eyes with you.

Your legs swiftly carried you home, your arms making their way around his neck as he dropped his satchel in favor of holding your waist.

You stayed like that for what could’ve been five minutes or two hours, all too content swaying to the beat of Spencer’s heartbeat, his lips pressed against your hair.

“Missed you so much,” he murmured, breaking the silence and squeezing you impossibly closer in the process.

“Missed you too, Spence. More than you’ll ever know”.

A lingering kiss was placed on your head in response, Spencer’s arms slightly pulling back as he moved to examine you.  You did the same, taking note of the permanent frown etched on his features.  

“What do you need, baby?” you whispered, hand gently moving to trace his cheek.

“Just you,” he responded, sleep evident in his voice.

You nodded, grabbing his hand and directing him towards the couch.  Wordlessly, you handed him his pajamas and he changed into them right then and there, determinedly unwilling to be without you for the foreseeable future.

He collapsed onto the couch when he was done, forgoing the heap of blankets at the end of the sofa and opening his arms for you instead.  You quickly obliged, your head settling against his chest as his fingers mindlessly traced along your spine.

“It was a rough one,” his voice was low, your ears straining to hear him, “we weren’t able to save the last victim”.

You nodded solemnly, heart instantaneously breaking for the victim, for their family, for the team, for Spencer.  He was telling you as a means of an explanation rather than a means of a conversation, a fact you were well aware of after spending one too many nights like this, your arms wrapped around each other as though you were lifelines unwaveringly keeping the other afloat.

And so, you settled closer to him, head resting against his chest, legs heavily intertwined until his deep breaths filled the entirety of the room.  And when you were convinced he was asleep, at peace, and most importantly safe, you allowed your own eyes to close, your body finally resting serenely for the first time in eight days.

***

You awoke the next morning to a pillow underneath your head where Spencer had previously rested, your body jolting up in fear that he was prematurely called on another case.  But your worries were quickly put to rest at the sound of humming coming from the kitchen, your body filled with a mixture of relief and excitement at the sound.

You rose from your spot on the couch, body stretching in a useless attempt to make away with the aches that accumulated during the night.

It was worth it though. You’d sleep on a pile of rocks for Spencer if the situation called for it.

After your failed attempt, you made your way to the kitchen, eager to see your lover in daylight hours.

His back was to you, his blue flannel pajama pants and oversized white t-shirt looking oh so inviting as you burrowed yourself into his back, his posture instantly relaxed at the feel of your warmth against his.

“Morning, Y/N”.

You smiled into his shirt, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade.  “Morning, Spence.  What are you up to?”

“I figured I’d make you breakfast, but then I remembered I don’t have the greatest track record in the kitchen, so I settled on toast with jam instead,” he shifted his body so you were face to face, your expression lighting up with mirth at the sheepish look he was sporting.

“Mm wise choice, we don’t want a repeat of last time”.

He groaned, remembering how your neighbors called the fire station when they smelled smoke coming from your apartment a few months prior.  He was trying to surprise you with a homemade meal in celebration of your promotion, but instead, you came home to an apologetic Spencer, a concerned neighbor, and a stern firefighter.  Not quite the celebration you were hoping for.

Cheeks still red but desperate to change the subject, his hand found yours in an instant. 

“Thank you for last night, Y/N.  I’m sorry you had to deal with that”.

“Don’t ever apologize, Spencer- that’s what I’m here for.  You’d do the same for me, right?” At his nod you continued, “then it’s settled.  We’re a team- I was just fulfilling my half of the bargain”.

He chuckled, playfully rolling his eyes at you.  “Only you would call our relationship a bargain”.

“Mm well it was the best deal I’ve ever gotten- walked into a museum and came out with a bookmark and a boyfriend!  I mean c’mon Spence, even you have to admit that’s a bargain”.

His lips softly met yours in response, and you watched as he pulled away slightly, leaving your foreheads brushing.  “I love you. And I still feel bad I bought the last copy of the book you wanted that day”.

You closed the gap once more, letting your lips linger for a few seconds, pulling away when the grumble of your stomach interrupted the otherwise quiet room.  “I love you, too, babe.  And don’t feel bad- now that we live together, I can read it every day if I want to.  It was all part of my master plan”.

His eyebrows rose, fingers wiggling in your direction as he moved to tickle your sides.  An uproarious laugh left your lips in response, immediately jumping backwards and retracting your statement.

“Okay, okay I lied! The book was just a bonus”.

He smirked, pulling you against him and letting his fingers dance along your sides for a moment, both of your laughs echoing throughout the room.

The impromptu tickle session was cut short at the sound of your stomach grumbling once again, his newfound mission of making you toast and a cup of coffee taking centerstage.  He released you with a gentle kiss on your forehead, your figure immediately moving to stand by his side.  Your fingers moved along his arm, gently toying with the sleeve of his white t-shirt on the ascent and fiddling with his wrist on the descent.

Toast made and coffee poured in matching ‘I ♡ Vegas!’ mugs, you and Spencer found yourself situated at the kitchen counter, dangling feet bumping into each other at every opportunity.  

His eyes were skimming over his book while yours were tracing the mug closest to you, smiling in recollection at the memory of Diana sending them to you a week after your first visit along with a note saying she wanted to get you something as colorful as the rainbow you saw out her window.

Wait.  That was it.

Your eyes turned to Spencer, taking in the way his white tee shirt hung from his frame.  He had dozens like it in your bedroom, the shirts a trusted go to when he had to pack pajamas in a rushed go bag.  

It wouldn’t hurt to add a pop of color to a few of them.

Penelope said you had to spend $20 or less on a date- and if you used clothes you already had, you were almost positive you could buy tie dye materials and have money to spare.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” his question cuts through your thoughts, your eyes meeting his to find nothing but love.

“You have a lot of white tee shirts”.

With that, love made way for utter confusion.

“Um…yes?”  His brow furrows, watching as you moved the mug into his line of sight before jogging towards the living room.

Your return was marked with his fingers tracing the sides of the mug, every inch of his being determined to figure out what had you so fascinated.

Plopping down next to him, you place the date jar stick next to the coffee, moving your legs until they rested against his calves.

“What if we did tie dye for our February date?”

“With my clothes?”

Your features soften, taking his question as a sign of hesitation.  “Only if you’re okay with it, otherwise we can find some on sale?  Or we can always do something else if this isn’t’-”

You trailed off as his left hand found your cheek, looking up to find his eyes already on you.

“We can use mine, love. I think it’s a great idea, and I wear them to bed anyway so it’s not like anyone really sees them,” he watched as a smile overtook your features before continuing, “we can do some of yours too! And maybe some plain white socks? I think we both have some buried in our drawers”.

“Oh and we can do a pair of your boxers!” you added, positively giddy at the thought.

Spencer, on the other hand, was not.

“My boxers?  Isn’t that weird?”  His lips were pursed, his hands protectively moving to cover his thighs.

You smirked, right hand moving to cover his.  “I don’t think so, it’s not like anyone’s gonna see them besides me, baby- unless Penelope hacks into my photo album again”.

You both shuddered at the thought, heat rushing to your cheeks as you remembered the shrieks she let out the last time she looked through your photos (and the ‘atta boy’s’ Derek graced Spencer with).

You shook your head, willing the memory to a far corner of your mind before squeezing Spencer’s palm.

“So, babe, what do you say? Tie dye for our date?”  You watched as his lips curled into a smile, his teeth swiftly biting his lower lip before he responded.

“Only if you dye a few pairs of your underwear, too”

That was already a given, but he didn’t need to know that.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Spencer”.

***

You went to the store for supplies the following Saturday while Spencer mess proofed your living room floor. $18.65 later, and you were armed with a tie dye kit, two squeeze bottles, pancake mix, and a basic food dye set. The kit only cost $9.99 and sticking with the theme of the day you figured colorful pancakes were the way to go.

Surely, there wouldn’t be another kitchen incident if you were there to help Spencer.

You walked into the door, instantly greeted by a plastic tarp placed on the floor and covered in an assortment of tee shirts, underwear, socks, and pillowcases.  Spencer was amid the pile, face beaming as he placed a white bedsheet on top of the pile.

“I figured we may as well go all out, right?  Go big or go home or something like that?”

You laughed, nodding your head in his direction while you walked into the kitchen.  “That’s the spirit, Spence!”  Pancake supplies placed on the counter, you grabbed the tie dye kit and two glasses of water before taking your rightful seat next to your boyfriend on the floor.

“Ready for this, babe?”

He enthusiastically nodded, inching closer to you to help set up the dyes.  “Mm-hmm.  Did you know that the origin of tie dye traces back to the 6th century, with the first recorded instances taking place during both the T’ang Dynasty and the Nara Period?”

You looked up at him, admiring the way he licked his lips while he awaited your answer, his fingers fiddling with the top of one of the bottles of dye.

God, you were so in love with him and the infinite amount of knowledge he seemed to possess.

“That’s really cool! So, what did they use as their dye?” You questioned, eyes solely focused on your favorite view- his face lighting up every time you asked him to elaborate on one of his fun facts.

“Well, it’s quite interesting, actually,” he began, “they used natural dyes and essences from things like berries, flowers, and leaves”.

You grinned, adding the final bottle of dye to the pile that had accumulated at your feet.  “Maybe next time we can try that method”.

He nodded in agreement, placing a kiss on your forehead before reaching for a tee shirt.

“Okay, so where do we start?”

He observed as you put rubber bands around one of his tee shirts, blotching up the fabric in a series of places to allow the dye to spread.  Pink, purple, and red dye was splashed across the material, your glove covered hands coming in handy as you twisted and folded the shirt with each splash.

Once you were satisfied with the design, you laid it on the corner of the tarp, leaning up to give Spencer a quick kiss on his pursed lips before reaching for the next item.  He followed suit, and together you worked to the sound of giggles, bundles of socks, underwear, and shirts joining the line of finished products.

Taking a break, you watched as he mixed every color on one of his tee shirts, the colors bleeding together until they resembled the color of mud.

“Spencer!” his name came out of your mouth in a breathy huff, your smile uncontained as your hand moved to pick up the material and observe it for yourself.  

Secretly, he knew it looked awful, and he was sure whoever roomed with him on the next case would agree.

But, he also knew he’d do anything to keep that smile on your face- even if it made him the most unfashionable agent in the FBI.

“I for one think it’s gorgeous, Y/N”.

“Everything looks gorgeous on you, babe, so I’ve gotta say I’m inclined to agree”.

All this time together and his cheeks still flushed every time you complimented him.

“Can I ask you something?” The serious tone of his voice was enough to drop the smile off your face, especially when you noticed the wrinkle that had developed between his eyebrows as he awaited your response.

“Anything.  You can always ask me anything, baby”.

He took a deep breath, moving to take one of his gloves off as you mirrored his action.  Uncovered hands clasped together, you squeezed his hand between yours, giving him the time he needed to gather his thoughts.

“Do you- do you think we’ll do this with our kids one day?”  His voice was quiet, and if the room wasn’t as still as it was you would have missed the question.

It was something you had discussed in passing before, midnight pillow talk turned into discussions about future children and Punnett squares as you daydreamed of a life with the pitter patter of little feet.  Children that were made from love and taught to be kind to others, shoot for the stars, and make their mark on the world.  But, this was the first time the discussion breached daytime hours.

You pulled the other glove from your hand, motioning him closer to you as you grasped his cheeks, your eyes fully situated on each other’s.

“There’s nothing I want more, Spencer.  You’re gonna be the greatest dad one day, I just know it”.  He closed the gap between your lips at your statement, his kiss swimming with love, respect, and excitement.

You broke apart when the need to breathe became too strong, resting your forehead against his while your fingers played with the strands of hair resting at the nape of his neck.

“I have something else we can do with our future children in the kitchen, actually,” you began as you stood, leaving the mess of tie dye materials for later, all too eager to get a move on with your plans for the day.

Spencer followed suit, mind swirling with possibilities.  “Is this a good thing to do with our kids or a bad thing?”

You laughed, sneaking a peak over your shoulder at him.  “It’s a good thing!  At least I think it is.  You’ll probably hate it”.

“That’s reassuring”.

You laughed, clutching his hand in yours as you approached the kitchen.  “Ta-da!  I got some stuff to make rainbow pancakes, I figured we can layer the bottles with colors and try to make tie dye pancakes for dinner to stick with the theme”.

“You and I have very different ideas of fun- do you not remember the kitchen incident?” He shook his head with a chuckle, his actions contradicting his words as he gathered bowls to mix pancake mix and dye.

You worked together in the peaceful glow of the afternoon sun, your fingers leaving trails of colorful batter on each other’s faces with a mixture of kisses and belly laughs in between.

He bit his lip in concentration as he worked to make the perfect pile of pancakes, each slightly burnt around the edges and raw in the middle but a massive improvement from having to call the fire department.  His consisted of circles, ovals, and squares while you wrote out ‘I ♡ U’ in a sea of colors, turning the pan towards him so he could see your creation.

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” he sealed his words with a kiss, leaning closer as you took the opportunity to let out a confession of your own.

“I can’t wait until the day we tie dye our entire house with our hypothetical children and feed them rainbow pancakes for dinner, Spence”.

A life full of love and a house filled to the brim with happiness- it was all he ever wanted, and in this moment with you, streaks of red pancake batter splattered across both of your cheeks, he knew he was already there.

“I can’t wait either, Y/N”.

Young Spencer Reid would be proud.

***

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Looking Too Closely (Bucky x Fem!Stark!Reader) -- part three

I did not expect to get so invested in this damn fic but here I am :))

Summary: The one in which Tony invites you to the “family dinner” but you sleep through it. Also, the “Father Test,” as Tony calls it.

Warnings: angst (what’s new?), talk of food/eating (so sorry, I should’ve tagged this a lot sooner!), medical stuffs (needles, blood being drawn)

A few hours pass by slowly as you doze, floating in between sleep and consciousness, both places completely unsoothing to you.

You wake abruptly when FRIDAY’s voice echoes throughout the room. “Do Not Disturb overridden by Tony Stark.”

With a groan, you sit up, listening to Tony knock — though surprised that he even does.

“Come in,” you sigh.

The door swings open and Tony opens his mouth to speak, but stops when he sees you on the floor. “What…” He glances between you and the bed, giving you an incredulous look. “What’s wrong with the perfectly new bed I gave you?”

“The least of your concerns should be that I’m taking a nap on the floor,” you deadpan. “What do you want?”

“Dinner will be ready in a few,” he says, still looking at you all concerned. “We have a family dinner once a week to...build rapport.”

You raise an eyebrow.

He continues. “You live here now, so...you’re invited. Wanda and Pepper will be there. Bucky, too.” Tony pauses. “Bucky didn’t bother you earlier, did he?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, good.”

“You bothered me, Tony.”

“Right,” Tony nods. “Sorry about that. I shouldn’t have brought that stuff up. I should’ve just been happy that you’re okay.” He pauses again, like he’s having trouble putting all the words together. “I am, by the way. Glad you’re okay. I’m sorry you went through that.”

“Thanks,” you say slowly. “You don’t have to worry about it.”

Tony offers a half-smile, half-grimace, because what you don’t know is that he has FRIDAY currently working on a full, extensive background check on your mom. And you, but your mom is top priority. Ever since the conversation in MedBay earlier, he’s been worried. For your safety — both past, present, and future. But he’s also worried about who you really are — and the worst worry of all is that you might not even know.

“Anyway, dinner in a few,” he says. “Nothing fancy. Come as you are, all that bullshit.”

You snicker at his reference.

He tries not to think of it as too much of a win. “Oh and,” he points to the bed, “it really is new. No one’s slept in it before you. And you can adjust the settings on it — softness, heating, cooling, all that. Just,” he pauses again. “FRIDAY, will you show Y/N the control panel?”

“Yes, Mr. Stark.”

Your eyes widen when a hologram appears next to the bed, projected onto the wall. There, all the settings — and many more — that Tony mentioned are shown.

“When you get it set where you like, FRIDAY can save it for you,” he explains. “Just for whenever you feel like sleeping in a bed again. I guess.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, looking over at him. “Really, thank you, Tony.”

“No problem, munchkin.” He smiles fully this time as he leaves, closing your door. And to your surprise, he activates Do Not Disturb again.

Food is the last thing on your mind, so instead you head over to the hologram on the wall.

You spend the next hour and a half fixing the settings. Once you get it just right, though, you lie down and you sleep.

Soundly. For five hours.

+++

When you wake again, you’re confused and disoriented to find yourself sleeping in a bed. But you love that your back, shoulders, and hips aren’t screaming in pain for once.

One glance out the window tells you that you’ve definitely missed the dinner Tony invited you to, but you don’t care all that much. You’ve met everyone individually. You didn’t really need or want to go to a big dinner. It seemed pointless.

But, unfortunately, you are hungry, so you drag yourself out of bed to go to the kitchen in search of something resembling food.

One glance at the clock in the hall tells you it’s just past midnight, so you relax even more, knowing you won’t encounter anyone.

Or at least, you hoped.

There, leaned against the kitchen counter, straight up guzzling a glass of water, is Bucky.

At least it’s him, you think.

Bucky smiles gently when he sees you coming. “Hey.”

You offer a slight nod and a quiet “Hey” in return, going straight to the fridge.

“Oh, the plate in there is yours,” he says. “Top shelf.”

You look up and spot it, your eyes widening as you grab it. Did they eat monstrous portions here or something? It must weigh five pounds or something crazy.

As if reading your mind, Bucky says, “Sorry there’s so much. I think Tony went overboard.”

You blink down at the food. Tony made you a plate? You expected Pepper to do it, if anyone. Quite frankly, you weren’t expecting it at all. You figured they wouldn’t even notice your absence.

Bucky wordlessly steps to the side, giving you access to the microwave. It even looks expensive, which makes you snort. It’s touchscreen. Of-fucking-course.

“We missed you at dinner,” Bucky says. You didn’t know he liked to talk this much.

“I fell asleep,” you confess with a laugh. “Tony uh, showed me the controls for the bed.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “No more sleeping on the floor for you, then?”

You shrug.

“I sleep on the floor most nights, too,” Bucky continues, taking in a deep breath. “It’s just…”

“Normal,” you finish quietly.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It feels normal.”

You turn back to the microwave, opening the door a second before it beeps. The food is warm enough now, you guess. Where the hell are the forks, though?

After opening two drawers, Bucky realizes what you’re looking for. “Here.” He opens the drawer across from you and pulls out a fork.

“Thanks,” you murmur, taking it from him. “Night.”

He nods and gives a slight wave. “Night.”

+++

The next day, Pepper stops by your room with a ton of clothes, shoes, and a phone.

“Uhm, thanks…”

“I know it’s a lot,” she smiles gently. “And if you don’t like anything, just let me know. Or if I didn’t get anything that you need, let me know, too.” She pauses. “You don’t have to do it now.”

“Okay,” you sigh, trying not to feel overwhelmed, but it’s hard. There’s like...fifteen bags on your bed right now. Not to mention the boxes of shoes that are stacked on the floor. And the new phone, still in the box, that you’re holding in your hand.

Pepper points to the phone. “It should have my number, Tony’s number, and the rest of the Avengers programmed in there. You’ll see one named Happy, that’s just Tony’s assistant, just in case. You don’t have to talk to everyone on there, but they do have your number as well. It’s all a precautionary thing. Oh, and the phone can be tracked.” She pauses, lowering her voice. “Just a heads up. In case Tony goes crazy.”

You smile at that. “Thanks.” As if he hasn’t already gone crazy and driven you closer to insanity, too.

“Speaking of Tony,” she says. “He’s willing to do the paternity test whenever you are.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Is today good?”

Pepper blinks. “I don’t see why not.”

“Okay, just...I’ll put some clothes on first.” You’re still wearing what Wanda gave you.

“Yeah, of course,” she nods. “I’ll let Tony know and whenever you’re ready, you can just ask FRIDAY to take you to the lab.”

“Okay.”

Pepper leaves you be, while you get dressed, and it takes you a lot longer than you were expecting.

There are so many clothes.

After finding something somewhat comfortable (and because you’re tired of looking through the bags), you grab your phone, though it feels foreign having it in your pocket.

“FRIDAY...where is the lab?”

“If you head to the elevator, I’ll take you there.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

Following FRIDAY’s orders, you head to the elevator and step inside. The doors close and the elevator begins to move, and when it stops, the doors behind you open.

“Welcome to Mr. Stark’s lab.”

Hesitantly, you step off, and you’re met with blaring music.

“Really?” You scream, and Tony lifts his head. “AC/DC? Really?”

The volume lowers a little while Tony replies. “You know your music. I’m impressed.”

“I’m disappointed,” you say. “I prefer Pink Floyd.”

Tony smirks. ‘Another Brick in the Wall, Pt. 2’ begins to play. You hate that you grin, but you do.

“Much better,” you comment. “Pepper told me to come here?”

He nods. “Right, the Father Test.”

You snort. Of course he calls it that.

“We’ll have to head down to MedBay to do it. I’ll be done in just a second.” He taps something on the screen before looking back up. “Did Pepper give you your phone?”

“Yeah.” You pull the device from your pocket and wave it. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“I’m not gonna leave you stranded without a phone,” Tony replies. “Also, just for the foreseeable future, don’t leave the Tower without someone. Preferably without me.”

You furrow your eyebrows. You hadn’t thought about leaving and going anywhere until now. “Why?”

“Well, for one, you have an arrest warrant,” he reminds you. “They won’t question it if I’m with you. Which is why it needs to be me — Steve is also fine. But, let’s say, if you left with Bucky, they wouldn’t hesitate to grab both of you.”

“Wasn’t he pardoned or something?”

“Doesn’t mean no one holds a grudge against him.”

You nod. “Right.” Then, you reel back. “So you’re not going to turn me in?”

He shrugs. “I believe you. Even though you won’t tell me who stabbed you.” He taps something else, then drags the screen, and a hologram appears right in front of him.

You roll your eyes. “Because I don’t know who they were. I told you.”

“And I still think you’re lying,” he retorts.

You glare at him through the hologram.

A few more minutes pass where all that fills the silence is Pink Floyd. You’re not complaining, but even Tony’s breathing is grating to your ears.

Once he’s finally finished with whatever the hell he was doing, he heads to the elevator, and you silently follow him.

+++

This time when you enter MedBay, it’s empty, aside from the on-site doctor, Dr. Cho.

“Here for the Father Test,” Tony quips, smirking when Dr. Cho rolls her eyes at him.

You like Dr. Cho already.

“Alright,” she says, putting a pause on what she was doing. “It’s just a simple cheek swab and a little blood.”

“Blood?” You ask. You hate having your blood drawn. Not because of the needle, but because of the idea of your blood being drawn out of your body and used for things you’re unaware of.

It’s creepy.

“Just a small amount,” Dr. Cho assures you with a soft smile. “It acts as a double-check for the paternity test. The cheek swab can give us a general yes or no, but blood is definitive.”

You agree, you just hate it.

First is the cheek swab and Dr. Cho lets you do it, probably sensing your anxiety. She refuses to let Tony do his on his own, but that probably has something to do with how much of a child he is.

Tony gets his blood drawn first, and it is too short for your liking, because once he’s done, Dr. Cho preps you.

Your head is turned the other way while she wipes your skin. Tony moves into your line of vision, and you’re ready to tell him to fuck off before he teases you, but he doesn’t.

He just talks to you.

“Barnes told me you fell asleep yesterday.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “Yeah. That’s why I missed dinner. He said you made a plate for me?”

“I did,” Tony nods. “I didn’t want you to go hungry.”

“I could tell,” you snort. “There was enough food on the plate to feed four of me.”

He chuckles. “Did you at least eat?”

“Yeah, I did,” you say. “It was good.”

“Good. How’s the bed?”

“Really good,” you say. “Thanks for showing me the controls and stuff.”

“No problem,” he shrugs. “Nat asked me earlier if you’d like to train with her and Wanda.”

“Train?”

“Yeah, train, workout, whatever you want to call it. Barnes and Rogers usually run if that’s more your speed, Wilson, too, when he’s here.”

“Who’s Wilson?”

“Sam,” Tony fills in. “Falcon.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“He’s in...Louisiana right now, but he should be back here in a few days, so you’ll meet him.” He pauses. “But...stay away from him.”

“Why?”

“He’s...flirty.”

You nearly wheeze. “Are you joking?”

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “I’ve been meaning to say that about Barnes, too. I don’t care if you talk to him. I think it’s good for him — and you. But don’t…” He waves his hands in an ambiguous manner.

“Tony, the absolute last thing on my mind right now is a boyfriend, but even if it was, why would you have any say in it?” You counter.

“Because I know them, and I don’t want them anywhere near you,” he says, like that’s the end of it. “All done, Dr. Cho?”

“All done,” she confirms, and that’s when you feel her pressing a Band-Aid over your skin.

Your head whips around. You didn’t even feel the needle go in or out. What the fuck?

You look back at Tony with a small smile. “Well played.”

“You’re welcome,” he smirks. “Though, I wasn’t kidding.”

You roll your eyes. “Not even Nat or Wanda?”

He looks surprised, but still shakes his head. “Still no.”

“Darn. My plans have been foiled.”

This time when he looks at you, he smiles.

As the two of you are walking to the elevator, he says, “Want to help me in the lab? I’ll let you control the music — just this once.”

You almost say yes, but you’re not really in the mood. “No, thanks though. I really should go through all the clothes Pepper brought me.”

“Ah, right,” he nods. “She told me she went shopping.”

“Yeah…” You exhale. “She went.”

You step onto the elevator after him, and he presses the floors for you and the lab.

“You know, Wanda might help you sort through the clothes if you ask. She might wear whatever you don’t want.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll ask.”

“She’s training right now, though.”

You nod. “Okay. It can wait, I guess.”

Tony rocks on his heels. “I could really use an extra set of hands…”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

He grins. “You still want to control the music?”

“There’s no way I’m letting you play AC/DC the whole time.”

[galactic-magick]

As Long As I’m With You: Agnes/Agatha Harkness x Reader

Request: Hi, can you please do where Agnes (a villain) saves fem reader's life because she has feelings for her? In the end they end up together // also took some ideas from this request

Summary: You’re accused of witchcraft in your village, and a mysterious beautiful witch comes to your aid.

Words: 2200+

Warnings: fem reader, Agatha is low key evil so she hurts some people, a swear word, reader has an angsty past

Author’s Notes: This can be read as either a standalone fic or as a prequel to my other fic “Spell Practice.” I took quite a lot of creative liberty with this, hopefully that’s alright. Also disclaimer I am in no way a history expert so even though this is set in like the 1500s-1600s it’s probably very inaccurate, but it’s fanfic so anything goes right?

Taglist: @nyx-aira​ @midnight-lestrange​ @thestrangeundoing​ @thegayances @sleep-deprived-athlete @dr-robotnik-said-hella​ @fallingfor-fics @p-nymph​ @thelanawinterrs @sunproud​ (if your tag didn’t work it might be bc your blog isn’t searchable so make sure that’s on so you’re notified of future fics!)

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You had no idea how much your life would change when you left your house that day.

It started out with a simple run to the market and the garden to get what you needed for supper that night, a job that almost always falls to you. You don’t necessarily mind getting away from your family and talking to some people in town, but it’s clear that your family doesn’t want you in the house as much as possible either.

It’s gotten to the point where they’re just looking for a reason to get rid of you. You’re a disappointment, after all. You refuse to marry in order to help your family’s status, even though you’ve gotten a couple offers. You counter your parent’s rules and ideas every chance you get, no matter how much they tell you you’re crazy. They belittle you constantly, saying your dreams are worth nothing and you’ll have to be dependent on them forever if you never submit to the role in society you’re supposed to.

Obviously bullying you out of their lives wasn’t working, so they’ve moved on to spreading rumors about you and setting you up for crimes. None have worked yet, of course, but every day you fear they’ll get too close.

Until you get burned at the stake, though, they’ve given you basically every responsibility of the house. You do all the shopping, cooking, and farming, as well as taking care of your younger siblings. You wonder what they’d do without you, despite how much they seem to want you gone.

As you’re buying a few crops and eggs from your neighbors, you swear you see something move. You turn around and see a little boy floating in the air, screaming.

You drop everything in your arms and reach up to him, trying to grab him and help him down, but he keeps flailing, and his screams start to feel directed at you.

“Hey! It’s okay! Let me help you!” you hold your hand up, speaking as calmly as you can. “I’m not going to hurt you,”

“WITCH!” a man yells as he sees you. “SHE’S A WITCH!”

Everyone around turns and watches you.

“No! No! I’m not the one doing this! I’m trying to help!”

“Let him down and maybe we’ll wait to kill you til tomorrow!” someone else demands.

A couple people march towards you to grab you, and all you can think to do is start running.

You race out of the center of town into the trees, and about five men chase after you. You keep going until it feels like your legs are going to give out and you can barely breathe, but they keep coming.

“Please! Please stop! It wasn’t me I swear!” you cry. “I don’t know what was happening!”

“Shut up, girl,” one grunts. “Your father always said there was something wrong with you, makes sense that you’re a witch!”

“What’s so wrong about witches?” a female voice calls.

You and the men spin around, trying to figure out where it came from.

Before you can blink there’s purple smoke surrounding you, and the men are thrown against the trees. They’re knocked unconscious instantly, but you remain standing and untouched.

“Who are you?” you ask, your voice quivering.

“Don’t be afraid, my dear,” the smoke starts to fade and you can make out her silhouette, then eventually her face. “I’m here to help you,”

She’s beautiful. You’ve never seen someone that immediately feels so friendly, so different in all the best ways.

“It’s alright to stare, I know I’m quite a sight,” she laughs. “I’m Agatha,”

“I’m Y/N,”

“Ah, yes, I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of you,” she smiles. “Everyone in the village can barely stand you,”

“Thanks…?” you’re not sure how to respond, especially after all that just happened. “Wait, if you live in my village, why have I never seen you? And how come you’ve never gotten caught using magic?”

“Memory spells, of course,” she shrugs. “Now, let’s get you somewhere safe, alright?”

You nod, and she wraps an arm around you. She takes you deep into the forest until you reach a small house, the glimmer of the fire peering through the windows.

You settle down on a chair while she makes some tea and food. She offers you a blanket and hands you the cup and plate, sitting down across from you.

“So how long have you been practicing magic?” she asks.

“Oh…I…well actually I don’t know how to use any magic,”

“Really? Why were the witch hunters after you then?”

“I was set up, I think,” you say. “There was a little boy floating in the air, and since I was near him they thought it was me. But I wasn’t doing anything,”

“Well,” Agatha sips her tea. “Sometimes magic can manifest itself subconsciously. Maybe you were doing it but didn’t realize it. It’s quite common,”

“But…how would I have magical powers? I’ve never learned it from anywhere,”

“Some people are just born with the gift,” she grins.

You exhale, thinking over what she said. Could it be true? You’ve been a witch all your life without even knowing it?

 -

 That night, Agatha conjures another bed for you to sleep in. But even though she made it as comfortable as she possibly could, you can’t get a wink of sleep.

You lift off the blanket and wrap it tightly around you, getting up slowly and quietly. You walk outside and sit against a tree, looking up at the stars.

You’re sure your family has heard the news by now. Their disappointment of a daughter is finally gone, accused of witchcraft. It seems that the foreseeable future will be spent with Agatha, the only safe person you have.

You wonder just how much she already knows about you. She mentioned she’s heard people gossiping about you all the time in town, yet she still saved you after hearing all those negative things.

Why is that?

“Can’t sleep?”

You jump at her voice, and she chuckles a bit at your reaction.

“Sorry,” you sigh. “I just have a lot to think about from today, I guess,”

“No worries,” she sits down beside you. “So do I,”

“Agatha,” you say. “Why did you save me?”

“Us witches have to stick together. I saw you were in trouble, so I saved you,”

“But you knew, didn’t you? You’ve known I was a witch long before this, didn’t you?”

“I had my suspicions,” she agrees. “Whenever I heard people talk about you, I figured you weren’t like everyone else. But I didn’t know for sure until today,”

“I wish you had taken me before,” you huff, a few tears falling down your cheeks. “It’s been so bad, Agatha, feeling worthless just because you’re different, everyone hates you…”

She pulls you into her shoulder, letting you cry into it, “I know, dear, I know,”

 -

 It takes you a while to come to terms with your potential powers, but as soon as you’re ready Agatha begins to teach you how to use them. You spend your days studying her spell books and practicing simple spells, most of which you fail at.

She encourages you as much as possible, explaining to you that magic is not something you can learn overnight, sometimes not even over years. She tells you that she’s actually thousands of years old (a surprise to you due to her stunning looks) and she’s been practicing for much of that time, and there’s still some spells she hasn’t mastered.

Your impatience still gets the better of you most days, though. You can’t imagine waiting several centuries to get something to work, if you get it to work at all.

One day you’re sitting at the table, trying out a simple transfiguration spell. You wave your hand repeatedly at a potato, hoping to turn it into an apple. It doesn’t even wobble, not even a single spark, but you’ve been sitting here for hours and don’t want to give up just yet.

You nearly fall asleep from exhaustion when all of a sudden it happens. It works.

There’s an apple in front of you. Not a potato, an apple.

“Holy shit!” you scream. “Agatha! I did it!”

You run over to her and point at your small accomplishment.

“Look at you go, darling!” she smiles, hugging you. “At this rate you’ll be changing rocks into cats before you’re 200!”

You laugh, “Oh come on, this is literally just one of the beginner spells,”

“So what? That’s where everybody starts,”

You break out in giddy excitement again, jumping up and down a bit and looking back and forth just to make sure your creation is still there.

Without thinking, you kiss Agatha quickly on the lips.

She stares at you, mouth open.

Before you can apologize, she grabs your face and kisses you hard. She’s everything you’d imagined and more, soft and warm but with a spark you can’t ignore.

When you finally break apart, her hands linger, brushing across your features and in your hair, “I’ve been waiting to do that,”

 -

 Things change after that, but in only the best ways.

Agatha isn’t just your mentor anymore, the only friend who came to your aid.

She’s your everything now, a soulmate, your home.

You tell her all about your life, and she tells you all about hers. As she has significantly more stories to tell, you’ll fall asleep many nights to her whispering all the legends she lived through that no one else knows are true.

She makes you laugh every day, and makes sure you always know how much she cares about you. There’s only so much you can do in your hidden home in the woods, but with magic the possibilities are endless and she’s never short of romantic ideas.

Tonight you find yourself lying your head in her lap while she plays with your hair, close to the fire so you can watch the little shows she creates with the flames.

“What about love?” you ask.

“What about it?”

“Out of all the stories you’ve told me, you’ve never mentioned being in love before,”

“Well,” she sighs. “That’s because I haven’t been,”

“Why not?”

“It’s just never appealed to me,” she says. “Until I met you,”

“Oh,” you grin, looking up at her.

She leans down to kiss you, but you’re broken apart by a loud noise outside.

You shoot up, looking at Agatha in pure panic. Your heart races as the noise gets louder and louder, eventually leading to shouting and knocks at the door.

“WE FOUND YOU!” a booming voice yells.

“Aggie?” you whisper. Everything crumbles around you. Your perfect, happy life, now about to be stolen from you. You have no idea how they found you, if you are about to be dead, if you’ll be able to defend yourself at all.

She kisses you and stands up, “Stay here. I’ll take care of it,”

With a fling of her fingers the door flies open, and the torches the townspeople are holding are burnt out. She smirks, purple smoke covering the area as she goes through them one by one, some just throwing to the side and others suffering a painful death.

She turns their own weapons against them, their own people against them, and makes them regret everything they’ve ever done.

When she returns to you, you’re still in so much shock and panic you couldn’t tell exactly what she was doing.

“Did you…kill all of them?”

“They got what they deserved for threatening us,” she says nonchalantly. “But we’re not safe here anymore. It’s time to find somewhere new,”

“Okay,” you nod as she pulls you against her. “As long as I’m with you,”

“I’ll always protect you, even when you learn enough to protect yourself,” she kisses your forehead. “Always and forever,”

 APPROXIMATELY FOUR CENTURIES LATER

 “I’m back, darling!” Agatha calls, shutting the door behind her.

“How’d it go?” you run to her, grabbing her hands.

“Splendid, that poor Wanda already loves her new neighbor!”

“Wow,” you giggle. “You know I must say, this whole living in a sitcom thing isn’t that bad, you look gorgeous in that 50s dress,”

“Oh darling, somehow after all this time you still flatter me,” she pretends to fan herself. “I have to go back over real quick, alright? Gotta give her this spicy magazine,” she holds her hand up in the air and magically forms one in her grasp.

“Ah! Be sure to get some ideas to use on me when you get back,” she laugh.

“Oh I will honey,” she winks, kissing you before going out the door.

You settle on the couch, looking around at your home. Out of all the places you’ve moved to together, this was by far the weirdest. There’s no color, and everyone besides you and Agatha and Wanda are under some kind of mind control.

You never imagined that day all those years ago would bring you here, spending your life with a beautiful witch and being her partner in all things, even sinister ones. But you wouldn’t have it any other way, and you know this strange town will only bring you more opportunities to practice your magic and help Agatha with her plans.

[atsushigre]

stay over

pairing: hawks x reader

summary: after a long day of hero work keigo finds himself on your roof. again. 

wc: 2183

a/n: hello again everyone it is i, hazel, back at it again with More Hawks Content. i’ve had this one done for a while and genuinely forgot about it lmao but istg next time i will write about a different character. anyway enjoy!!

everything feels….weird, without his wings. logically he knows that the feathers will grow back, but two days is a long time to be grounded for someone like keigo, so used to taking to the skies. he feels almost naked without the wings at his back, once beautiful and grand and now reduced to nothing but lesser covert feathers for the foreseeable future. his hands sank deeper into his pockets as he hunched further, trying to compensate for the lack of weight at his back as he made his way through the empty streets. the day was long, even for a hero like him, and between the fight with the nomus that left him grounded to the tense words he’d shared with dabi moments ago, he was just about ready to speed home and call it quits. though he couldn’t help the feeling of wrongness that was eating at him even still, annoyance rising in him as he tried to place exactly what it was making him feel this off. a gloved hand rose up to rest on his face, finger tapping on his chin in concentration as he sank deeper into thought. all in all, despite the overall frankly terrible atmosphere of the day, objectively speaking, things could have gone worse. way worse. he’d even managed to save all those people, scraping through the afternoon with a grand total of zero casualties, and even the mild to severe annoyance he’s feeling over a spontaneous transformation to flightless bird will dissipate in a day or two, so what could it be that’s got him all twisted up thinking about it?

oh. right. you.

 his feet came to a stop almost on their own, and as he craned his head upwards he couldn’t help the small twitch of his lips into a smile as he came face to face with not his own high rise, but your apartment complex. a tad bit run down, smack dab in the middle of his patrol zone, and oh so familiar. see, pretty much every night for the past four (five? he’d almost lost track) months he’d found himself perched on the roof of this very building, takeout from the restaurant across the street in hand (what could he say? he was a busy guy and their fried chicken was to DIE for) taking a quick break to scarf down some dinner before he took to the skies again. it was convenient, centrally located, and, well, he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also come with good company. it had seemed he wasn’t the only one fond of spending his nights up on that rooftop, as nearly every time he’d found his way up there in recent history he’d been met by you, busying yourself with one thing or another, and over the time you’d shared together he’d actually become quite fond of you and the snippets of (near) normalcy you provided. after all, with such a chaotic schedule like his, breaks were few and far between, and it was nice to be able to sit and just be for a while. 

boots touched down on the roof of the ratty apartment building, and the flapping of wings slowly died down, the rustling of feathers and clothing slowly stilling as the whipping wind dissipated. his whistling cut clean through the still night, and he couldn’t help but let the chuckle escape him as he heard a startled noise come from the center of the shoddy rooftop garden. the scratching of a chair on cement echoed as you padded out into his field of view.

in slight disarray (as always) you made your way over to him, a contented grin on your face and cradling your laptop to your chest. he raised his hand into a two fingered salute, hopping off the ledge of the rooftop to meet you in your advance. 

“you’re a bit late today,” you giggled as you gratefully accepted the drink he’d held out to you, setting your laptop down so you could take a seat next to him. your gaze followed him as he shuffled his meal around in his lap, and you watched as he chuckled and shook his head, directing his gaze up towards you.

“sorry bout that, kid. all the villains in town ganged up and decided i’d be eating a late dinner today.” he gave himself a moment to stretch his tired wings, subconsciously curling them around the two of you as you sat, you with your legs dangling over the side of the building and he with his legs crossed, dinner in his lap. he’d rarely admit it, but the downside of all his speed was that quiet moments like these, and time to just take care of himself, came few and far between, which only led him to cherish the minutes you’d spent together even more.

he hadn’t meant to make an unlikely friend when he’d first landed on your building those months ago; honestly, he’d just wanted five minutes to eat his chicken in peace. but he was so so tired and even though when he’d landed he’d found you star gazing, he’d decided it wasn’t damned worth it to find a new building to park himself and scarf down his dinner. this’d have to do. but you were cute and entertaining and non intrusive and he couldn’t help but leave with a bit of a light feeling in his chest, and subconsciously or not when he found his boots landing on your roof the next day, and the day after that, he never pulled himself away. he could let himself have this, fifteen minutes a day of peace. 

“you alright?” you questioned, and he blinked out of his thoughts to meet your gaze, brows slightly furrowed and face pulled into a concerned expression. he chuckled with a nod, hand rubbing over his neck as he pushed his visor up and off his golden eyes, looking out over the city before his gaze flitted back to you. 

“course. just thinkin, is all.” he gestures between the two of you, a small smile growing wider on his face. “just happy to have this.” he buried his face in the collar of his coat, light blush rising on his tanned cheeks as your delighted laugh rang clear in the night air. you bumped your shoulder against his, head tipping back to take in the night sky as your own smile cut wide and bright across your face.

“i’m happy to have this too.”

of course this was what was eating at him. he’d been so busy today, wrapped up in the hectic nature of his lifestyle that he hadn’t had a minute to his pause, and how could he take a break if it wasn’t here, right? he’d conditioned himself to associate the ratty brick building before his eyes with comfort and peace, and while he didn’t quite have time to unpack all of that he also didn’t have the patience to leave without getting what he came for, despite every bone in his body begging for a well-deserved nap. he pushed up on his feet, instinctually trying to propel himself into flight before he came crashing back down to reality. ah, right. flightless bird, for at least two days. how could he forget? 

his glance strayed to the door, and then to the call box on the door, and in an instant, it dawned on him that he didn’t actually know what unit you resided in. he cracked his knuckles once, twice, pondering how to combat this predicament before his gaze landed on salvation, otherwise known as the fire escape.

with a running start he launched himself up to grab the ladder of the fire escape, burning muscles screaming in protest as he hauled himself up and onto the first level, metal clanking and disturbing the quiet evening atmosphere. with a huff he straightened himself out, straightening his ruffled clothing and beginning to climb the stairs before he heard a gasp, and moments later your worried face was peeking over the side of the building. 

“hawks?” you cried, panic laced in your tone, and keigo perked up at your call, tired smile beginning to stretch over his face before it fell as he took in your panicked appearance. 

“sorry i’m late, busy day today,” he sighed, and you scoffed, ripping a hand through your already disheveled hair, taking in his own appearance (and most notably, lack of wings.) a shaky sigh left your lips, and you quirked your head to the side as you leaned farther forward the edge.

“hawks, why are you on my fire escape?”

“couldn’t exactly fly up today, now could i?” he gestured to his empty back, and as he reached the final level of the fire escape you weakly held out your hand to help pull him up onto the roof, he waved it away, using the last of the energy in his fatigued body to launch himself to a position where he could finish his climb, hauling himself over the ledge and onto the hard cement of the rooftop. he leaned up against the ledge, and you kneeled down in front of him, hand ghosting up to land over his before hesitantly pulling away. you looked a wreck, eyes faintly rimmed in red and hair disheveled, a side effect of the frustrated raking of it away from your face, and the corner of his lip twitched upward as he drank you in. though his muscles were screaming and every part of him was tired, hauling himself here tonight was more than worth it.

“i saw what happened today, on the news. good job,” you weakly smiled, eyes darting around before finally landing on his. “i didn’t think you’d swing by today, given everything.”

“and yet here i am.”

“and yet here you are,” you sighed, finally allowing yourself to rest a hand on his upper arm. “you should be resting, not here. today was rough.”

“i am resting. here, right now. with you. well, for as long as you’ll have me, and then i’ll trudge my way home. or maybe i’ll call a cab, haven’t taken one of tho-” he began to ramble, before you cut him off.

“stay over.” his eyes widened slightly, and he fought the urge to tear his eyes away and tuck his face into his coat to hide from the gentle resolve in your gaze. 

“pardon? sorry kid, don’t think i heard that quite right.”

“i said stay over. you’re tired, i was...worried, and you already went to the trouble of dragging yourself over here anyway. so stay over, and i’ll take care of you, and you can take off again tomorrow morning.” silence fell over the two of you as he mulled over your proposal, and if he noticed his heartbeat picking up at the prospect of staying the night he’d die before admitting it.

“well, when you put it like that, how could i refuse?” you sighed, shaking your head before outstretching your hand, hauling him up and digging through your pockets for your keys. your hand tightened around his and he went to pull away, and he tried to fight the grin splitting over his features as he laced his gloved fingers with yours. pulling him down a couple flights of steps, making sure the hallways were empty (you’d die before you had to explain what you were doing dragging number 2 pro hero hawks through the hallways of your complex this late at night) before pulling him into your tiny apartment. it was nothing to write home about (and honestly, secretly, you were a little embarrassed now that you had hawks standing inside your tiny, messy apartment. but he was tired, and so were you, so you could be embarrassed tomorrow.)

“i’ll get you set up,” you said, disappearing into the bedroom and giving him time to take in the (slightly) chaotic surroundings. despite the chaos, he couldn’t deny that it was wholly you, and he couldn’t help the glee bubbling up in his stomach as he took in the surroundings. you emerged a few moments later, blankets and pillow in hand, and that warm feeling spreading through his body only got warmer as he watched you set the couch up for him.

“if you need anything let me know,” you smiled, hand resting gently on his arm. he met your gaze with a grin, and as he settled into his makeshift bed for the evening he could feel your gaze on him from the doorway of your bedroom for a few moments, but when he cracked one eye open to look at you you had already disappeared, shutting the door gently behind you. 

he settled back onto the couch, tucking himself into the comfort the space around him provided. and, if a few hours later, his sleep-addled mind felt a hand card through his hair once or twice, his blanket get readjusted, and a soft kiss pressed to his forehead, well, he’d just have to chalk it up to a dream. 

[honklore]

is nothing sacred? | quackity

(4.6k+ word count, prince!alex, augur/seer!reader, gn!reader, angst, alex has a sucky dad, reader has a sucky family, karl appears as a time traveler ofc, neg and pos religious themes, deification is the belief that when a monarch dies they will become a god, the rapids is a kingdom in this but it isn’t an smp au)

listen to: evermore by taylor swift, foreigner’s god by hozier, (the end) by levi weaver, exile by taylor swift

There’s a warm spring just outside the monastery. It’s hidden in the mountain, a few miles away from the castle walls and yet you find that it’s too close for comfort.

Every bright and loud fanfare that announces the prince’s coming and leaving echoes off of the hills and pours through your peaceful respite. It’s just enough to make you grumpy.

It’s one of those mornings again, and you find yourself floating in the hot spring, eyes open towards the sun, wishing you had more patience with the dear prince you call your best friend.

Your robe is heavy across your torso, floating around your bare legs as you ponder your plans for today. That is, if the prince doesn’t come visit you.

That would be wishful thinking, though. You don’t have to close your eyes to know that someone has blocked the sun. With a sigh, you sink your body beneath the warm water and submerge, blinking the water off of your lashes. “Alex, this is sacred ground.”

“I know,” the prince replies, squatting down to see you. “I tied my boots around my neck, see?”

You stare at the boot he’s proudly holding up, then shift your eyes to his bare feet. “Why are you here? This is my day off.”

“Excuse me for wanting to see my best friend,” Alex sneers mockingly, rolling his eyes. “Listen, are you coming back to the castle tomorrow?”

“We literally have an augury lesson at one in the morning,” you say. “So, yes.”

“Good, I’m going to disprove all of your theories.”

“They aren’t theories, Alex. I read patterns for a living, alright? I know what I’m talking about.”

“It’s not science.”

“Neither is your father deifying your grandfather,” this time you mock him.

He holds a steady gaze, lips quirked into a cheeky smile. “You’ll tell me about the night of my coronation again, right?”

“Because it warned of extreme change,” you say, voice level. “Yet I can’t figure out what’s going to happen. There’s something the stars aren’t telling me, and I have to figure it out to protect you and the kingdom.”

Alex’s eyes are a deep brown that you could probably get lost in, if he wasn’t such a little shit. “Protect me, you say?” He’s flirting now, eyes alight with the thought of annoying you, and if this spring wasn’t so important to you, you would’ve yanked him in already. “Didn’t know you cared that much about me, Y/n.”

Your robes are clinging uncomfortably to your body, accentuating the lines and curves — or lack thereof. “Hand me my towel and look away please.”

Alex closes his eyes and turns his face away, holding out the towel. “Learn anything divine from your swimming trip?”

Alex holds the towel out like a makeshift screen, and averts his eyes while you dry off and change into the clean robe he brought you. As annoying as he is, the prince is thoughtful, and he fills in the places where you lack.

“I was reflecting,” you say, buttoning the front of the robe. “It’s good for you; clears out your soul.”

Alex tosses the towel over your head and ruffles your hair. He chuckles at your protests; taunts you with warmth in his eyes. “You’re so spiritual.”

You glare at him. “I’m an augur.”

“Right,” Alex says, holding the now-wet towel close to his chest. “But you take it so seriously, sometimes.”

“I hate you,” you say, no venom in your words.

“I love you, too,” Alex says. He leans forward, almost as if to kiss your forehead, and then remembers that you’re on sacred ground, and kissing is forbidden.

Still, the very thought of what he might’ve done sends an unwanted flutter throughout your chest.

Wax drips onto the closed letter. You dip the silver stamp into the dark purple puddle, leaving the royal seal behind.

Inside is a letter to your family. It’s a prophecy you’ve received just for them. Despite them disowning you for your gift, you still find it important to warn them of upcoming woe. Like now, for instance, when you wish to warn them about the upcoming rainstorm that could ruin their crops if they don’t take precautions.

You rub your temples and blow out the candle, leaving you in silent darkness.

Your room is on the highest tower of the castle. The turret is small; a circular room with a circular bed and a circular desk and a glass, circular ceiling that showcases the stars to you each night. There’s a telescope standing against the window, a chest for your clothes, and the writing desk you’re seated upon. However, your bathroom is a few stories down, near the bottom of the tower and closer to accessible plumbing.

The door behind you bursts open, and you know it’s the young prince and his lack of basic manners when it comes to privacy. Your privacy, anyway. “What is it, Alex?”

“I’ve been waiting for you in the tower for an hour now, silly,” Alex’s words get softer as the light from the corridor pours in, and he can see what you’ve been up to. He stills, smile faltering. “You had another vision of them.”

“I wish they would stop,” you mutter. If you clench your eyes tightly enough, you can will any tears to suck back into your head. Then you can suffer through a headache, like you always do. You’ve had this “gift” since you were a little kid; you know the ups and downs of using it.

Not that it gives you much choice sometimes.

“Are you drinking the–“

“No,” you snap at Alex. “Look, suppressing them only makes it worse. Prophecies become... darker. I see things I can’t unsee. I have to allow them through.”

Alex has a hurt look on his face, but you can’t tell if it’s because you snapped at him or because he doesn’t want to see you in pain. You selfishly hope it’s the latter.

“We can talk about something less harsh on the mind.” Alex sits on your chest, avoiding your bed. It’s another sacred place for you, same as the monastery grounds. Alex knows the rules of being a seer; the ancient laws you practice. He’s read the same books as you — if just to understand you better. He’s the most loyal friend you can think of: the only person in the entire kingdom who has never questioned your beliefs.

“I can’t stand the thought of them getting hurt,” you admit. “And with the vision about your coronation... I’m so scared this kingdom is going to crumble and it’s going to be because I couldn’t prevent it.”

Alex fiddles with his necklace. It’s a rune, one for protection. You used to wear a similar one beneath your robes, but with your fear of something happening, you’ve made Alex promise to wear it.

“It’s not your job to keep the kingdom from crumbling,” Alex relays. “All you need to do is tell me what you see. Then I hint to my father ways to change the kingdom. After that, it’s up to fate.”

You bite your lip. “Fate has a tricky way of playing its own hand.”

“Then it was never in your hands in the first place, yes?” Alex speaks honestly, but there’s a bit of cheek to his voice that eases your nerves.

You smile sadly. “Your father is too prideful, Alex. I can see it; the ravens, they flock the castle whenever he makes a speech. He wants to become a god. He wants something that’s impossible.”

“He deified Grandfather,” Alex quips, no emotion backing his voice. “Like you said earlier. It’s just to start the tradition, so that when he dies he’ll become holy, too.”

“I told him it was wrong. I told him that the stars foresee ruin if he stays on this trail of pride.” You cast your eyes down to your family’s letter. “No one believes me.”

“I believe you,” Alex’s soft voice urges you to look at him.

He’s quiet. The rune is resting on his outstretched palm and he’s looking at you. “Do you think I’d take these lessons and wear these trinkets if I thought you were wrong?”

“Maybe you do it because we’re friends,” you say. You're well aware of the fact that the prince is the only person in the entire kingdom who advocates for your beliefs. But with the rest of the realm against you, you can't help but think that deep down, he's making fun of you, too.

"You sure do worry a lot for someone who can foresee the future."

You choke out a laugh and run your hands down your face. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm so sorry. I just– I feel like if I can't prevent every bad thing I predict, then it's my fault when they happen. I wish I was ignorant to omens."

Alex tuts. He pouts at you, dragging his lower lip between his teeth and holding it there for just a beat too long. “Let’s skip lessons today. You should rest.”

“Alex—“

“Ah!” Alex stands up. He begins to unclip his cufflinks from the hem of his sleeve before he passes you a coy glance. “That’s Prince Alexis to you, and if I say you should rest, then you should rest.”

You grumble, but inwardly you’re thankful.

There’s an altar, rectified in the middle of the castle courtyard. Though it was once a place of healing — a place seers would go to cleanse their minds — it is now standing in ruins.

You lay down your offerings anyway. Dried rose petals, and a few copper coins saved up. You wait with the objects until a few crows come to diligently take them away. To where? You don’t know. You’ve never asked.

Alex’s father plans to take down the altar and replace it with a shrine of himself. The knowledge of change reeks the air with a foul scent only you can smell.

It’s as if the entire kingdom is rotting and you’re the only one who knows.

You lift your hood off of your face and continue your walk throughout the court. Those you pass politely ignore you, though some choose to sneer at your mannerisms. The king has them wrapped in his prideful rule, and your heart aches for them.

There is no freedom in serving man. This much, you know.

You find yourself in the tower, waiting for the prince to come in time for his lessons.

“Father says he wants me to study more practical subjects,” Alex relates to you.

He’s lying across the balcony floor, and you are perpendicular, with your head on his stomach. You feel every breath he takes, and something about the closeness comforts you in a way you refuse to analyze.

“I’m not sure what else you could learn,” you say. Your eyes are stuck on a chip in the balcony railing. Stone that hardly cracks, and of course your foundation is crumbling quicker than your resolve. “You have lessons from dawn till dusk.”

“And you’re the only tutor I care for,” he says with a flippant sort of tone. “I don’t know what I’d do if I saw you less. I already wish I had more time with you.”

You’ve spoken to nuns and monks and those who swear off love in servitude to the one they worship. Most admit that it’s a lonely existence, and a torture to make up for their sins. You understand that true love must be as sacred as an old god, and to worship another person would be the greatest act of devotion. For how else do you serve a creator than by worshiping the created?

You don’t think kings are meant to be worshipped. No one with that much power should be revered with such ignorance.

But a prince is different. To worship a prince alone, in secret, for just yourself... perhaps that is the most spiritual devotion of all. Perhaps it is the most torturous.

Hearing Alex’s words makes your heart yearn for a future that can never be. You don’t need a vision to tell you that his father will soon grow tired of you. Of course you will soon be sent out of the kingdom, and Alex will forget about you in time.

You know this without a doubt in your heart, and yet Alex still clings to these moments with you.

You’d do anything to keep him safe.

“Where will I go?” You ask. “Where will I be accepted?”

Alex’s breath hitches; you feel it. And you know what he wants to say — you know what lingers at the tip of his tongue.

With me.

Your family sends back the letter, unopened. You try not to cry about it, but the truth is that you feel more alone than ever. Surely you are the last of your kind, and no one cares in the least about what you have to say.

Except maybe Alex. Lovely, beautiful Alexis. He could no sooner harm a butterfly’s wing than deny you your beliefs.

But Alex is not king. He is merely a prince, and the king does not like you. It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long.

“You fill my son’s head with nonsense,” the king paces back and forth in front of his empty thrown.

You hide your hands in the sleeves of your robe. “Your Majesty, I only relay what I see. I fear your kingdom is in danger.”

“And you think it my fault? Tell me, what if the stars told me to deify my father? What if I am following my own visions?” The royal cackles. “You have no sensible argument. All you have are silly dreams and lies to propel your own agenda. I will not have you spoiling my son’s brain.”

“Your Majesty—“

“I forbid you to speak on anything of the sort from hence forth. The altar will be torn down, and any peep from you regarding these readings will result in instant banishment.”

The sentence hurts more than it should, considering you aren’t being willed to die. You’re quite lucky in this sentence, considering you can still see Alex. Though, a part of you cracks and splinters to think of suppressing your visions.

The vision of Alex’s coronation still remains. You fear for the prince’s life. You fear the king will have something to do with it.

How do you tell the boy you adore that his father may be his downfall?

How do you get him to believe you?

The warm spring only gets hotter as the seasons change. You sink your head under, and the heat of the water burns your closed eyelids. Your head is killing you; pounding from holding back your emotions: your tears.

The monks don’t even worship the same as you. They lend you their springs and advice, but they aren’t the same. There are no other augurs in The Rapids, so no one else really knows how taxing the job is.

More visions come to you when you’re stressed, so you try your hardest to calm yourself. The water scalds your skin, but it distracts your mind enough to keep the visions away.

It’s all the same. All the visions are the same — Alex gets crowned king and overturns the deifying decree. And only days later, he’s assassinated, and the regent — his father — takes back the throne.

As the old proverb goes: pride cometh before a fall, and the king certainly has enough pride. You just don’t want Alex to get caught in the fall.

“You’re so predictable.” Alex’s voice is warbled.

It takes a minute for the water to release from your ears.

Surfaced, you can see Alex crouched by the bank, careful not to fall in. He’s got that same gentle smile — thin, rouge lips and eyes that seem to shine when they look at you. Alex never judges. He never makes fun of your methods. He’s simply there for you, and your heart longs to be there for him as well.

“This place is sacred,” you blurt. Seeing Alex’s face in the light of the sunset just makes you think of your visions. What would a world without Alex even look like? You aren’t sure you want to find out.

You start to cry, and Alex holds a hand out silently.

He helps you out — holds out the robe for you. His boots are around his neck, and you focus on the thinness of his ankles while you clothe yourself.

“You can’t hold me.” You say plainly.

“I know,” Alex’s voice is watery. “Let’s get you back to the palace, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sniff. “Okay.”

“I’m not dead.” Alex lightly scratches your arm. Up and down. Up and down. “I’m not going to die.”

Your shoulders are braced against his side. You keep your gaze on the white smoke rising off of his incense cone.

This is his room, and his bed, because those aren’t sacred. His bed can be slept in and snuggled in and kissed in and loved in. He has scratchy cotton sheets and incense that is too old to really smell like anything.

He’s a prince with messy documents surrounding his desk and curtains that haven’t been dusted in days. Some days you wonder if the entire castle has forgotten about him. You don’t want to bring it up — don’t want to ask — but it flummoxes you.

You reach for his hand and stop its motions. “I’m sorry I bring you into all of this.”

“I want you to bring me into everything,” Alex slurs. He’s staying awake for you, and you know it. He rests his temple against your head. “I don’t want you to keep anything from me.”

You hum. His body is warm against yours. Too warm, to the extent where you know you’ll wake up in the uncomfortable sort of sweat that comes when a child falls asleep on you, or when you fall asleep without the window open.

Something heavy squeezes your chest. It feels like your ribcage is sentient — hugging and pressing into your lungs until it’s nearly impossible to breathe without an uncomfortable stutter.

Alex falls asleep quick, so you don’t worry about him noticing.

You settle against him and breathe through your nose. The feeling will pass — it always does. You feel this way whenever Alex reveals something so vulnerable to you. You reckon it’s something to do with the tenderness of his voice, or the earnest squeeze of his hand.

There’s a need to protect him. You want to be there for him, more than anything else in the world.

Stripped of your job — the altar torn down — you resort back to your first and foremost activity: Alex’s best friend and (unofficial) advisor.

In this position, you’re confident in your abilities. You know just as well as anyone that you’d rather die than see the prince harmed in any way.

You’re kicked out of the tower, and your telescopes are left to dust. The king locks the door personally, ardent in his attempt to keep you away from any visions that might harm his reign.

You stay in Alex’s room, on a spare bed mat near the fireplace.

Of course, Alex has offered his bed, but you refuse to bother him any more than you have to. And now, with your rituals forbidden, you need a place to privately gather your thoughts.

The flames lick the stone furnace and you lie still. You watch them dance and close your eyes, hoping to rest without any visions or nightmares.

But the nightmares come, and they’re always the same.

When you wake in a fervent sweat, you know that only one thing will keep you from fearing Alex’s death. So, you crawl beneath his scratchy sheets.

You don’t snuggle into him or bother his slumber. All you need to do is know that he’s here. You rest your smallest finger against his bare arm and fall asleep to the sound of an owl hooting outside the window.

On the morning of Alex’s coronation, fog rises from the earth. You see it as a sign: this day will be confusing and blurred.

Alex is just excited to have cooler weather. The blistering heat has been plaguing the kingdom for days, so to have a day of fog and hollow wind sounds like heaven to the prince.

You wear your runes beneath your robe, and the weight of them is less than the weight of knowing you’re dead if you’re caught. But you need them; need this day to come and go without blood and tears.

Alex cannot see you. He’s far too busy with final rehearsals and receiving guests from far and wide.

You stray beyond the castle, into the square, where traders and travelers have set up shop in the hopes of making a profit.

There’s a sign. Fortunes Read Here. It’s tacked over a purple curtain, and you can see amber light shining through a thin slit. Like maybe someone is in there. Like maybe you aren’t alone.

You walk in.

Disappointment smacks against your ribs like a heavy wave against jagged rocks. It’s a scam. A boy no younger than yourself is sitting behind a table, with a green sash tied over his forehead. There’s a mystical rune of some kind that looks like a portal, and it’s tacked to nearly every surface you can see with dripping green paint. The place looks like that of a madman, and you fear you’re about to be mocked.

“Hello,” he says. He doesn’t offer a name. The blues of his eyes flicker from time to time with a shimmery purple, and you think it’s a trick of the light.

“Are you going to laugh at me?” You sit across from him. “Once I leave, are you going to think of me as just another gullible customer?”

“Can you not tell the future?” He says, and he grabs the crystal ball and tucks it under the table. “I can sense it. You want answers, genuine answers, not some promise of success.”

“Who are you?”

“Karl,” he says. “I’m from the village of The Rapids, but you know, magic is looked down upon. I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them what I know.”

You trace the lines of the rune. Your brain fogs, but as you repeat the motion, it clears up, and you suddenly see Karl, clear as day, standing in a crowd and watching Alex make a speech. “You’ve been there? You’ve been to the future?”

“Look closer,” Karl mumbles.

So you focus on the details, and you can see the black banners of mourning, and the redness of Alex’s eyes. “Oh. This is his grandfather’s funeral. This is the year before I became Alex’s tutor.”

“Walk closer.”

Unsure what he means, you continue to trace the rune, and imagine yourself walking through the crowd. Only Karl moves instead, so you pause your tracing and look at Karl.

He’s got his eyes closed, and his eyebrows furrowed. “Why did you come here? What did you want to see?”

You brought me here, you think of saying, but you wonder if this is what Karl can do. If he can travel to the past and show people what he sees. “I- I suppose I want to know why he was deified. Was it a plot?”

You trace the rune again, and Karl walks over to the king, where he stands apart from the podium. Even though his son is giving a heartfelt speech, he’s not listening at all. Instead, he’s talking to one of his trusted advisors.

“I will make a wonderful god.”

“Prince Alexis hates the new creed,” the advisor observes. “Surely he’ll overrule it once he is king.”

“Yes,” the king says. “Well, I suppose we’ll just have to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

You gasp, and even Karl seems winded as you stop tracing the rune.

He places his palms on the table. “So that’s what you wanted to find out. A regicide plot.”

“I have to find Alex,” you mutter. You stand and rip one of your runes off of your neck. Intuition. “Here, take it. You should go.”

“I can’t go into the future,” Karl warns. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

“No,” you think of Alex’s words. “None of us can predict fate. I have to go.”

You run out of the tent, and when you look back, it’s gone, left with nothing but a dirty sign labeled Fortunes Read Here.

Perhaps it’s past tense now.

Your purple robe billows behind you as you rush into the castle in search of the prince.

The staff says they haven’t seen him, the lords are already drunk off of mulled wine. His own tailors are running around, fearing they won’t be able to dress him in time.

So he’s gone, and that means you’re too late.

Or rather, maybe Alex is smarter than you give him credit for, and he’s gone to the one place his father won’t go.

You head up to the tower.

He’s there. Of course he’s there. And he’s in only part of his ceremonial clothes, leather pants and a cream-white collared shirt. He’s leaning his palms against the stone railing and staring out against the wind, like he’s waiting for it to speak to him. Tears slip down his cheeks and drop into the air.

“Alex…” You wrap your arms around his soft waist, squeezing tight to try and convey how thankful you are that he knew to get away. “Your father… He’s—”

“He poisoned my breakfast,” Alex whimpers. He grabs blindly for your arms, and at the touch of your skin, he folds in on himself; shifts around to face you, and buries his face into your neck. “My taster… He thought my taster was out. But he wasn’t. Now he’s dead, and the counsel are trying to figure out what to do with my father.”

“Alex, I’m so sorry.”

He cries harder, and you think your hug must feel weak compared to the comfort he so clearly needs right now. “I have to go tell the lords and the staff. We have to postpone the coronation until everyone involved is apprehended.”

You think of what he does when you feel alone. He visits your spring, and he takes off his shoes. He takes you to his bed and scratches your arm. He kisses your head and hums old lullabies from his childhood until you fall asleep.

So you grab his hand, and you pull him down the few stairs where your old bedroom lies. And you bring him toward your bed, but he stops you.

“It’s sacred to you,” he hiccups.

“You’re sacred to me,” you finally decide, and you let him crawl under your sheets.

You untie his boots and pull them off of his feet, along with his socks. Then you take the blanket and pull it up to his chin. You kiss his forehead and crawl in next to him. And you scratch his arm, up and down, and you hum old lullabies from your own childhood until he falls asleep.

While he’s asleep, you trace the moles across his cheeks and close your eyes. Suddenly, it’s like Karl’s tent, only you can see into the future, not the past. And you aren’t Karl, you’re Y/n.

The sun is bright on Alex’s back, skin tanned and warm. You’re swimming with him in the spring, and all that is sacred to you is him. All that matters is him, so he can float in the spring, and he can kiss you on holy ground, and if he can’t be deified in the kingdom, he can be deified in your soul.

And when you stop your motions, you’re back in your bed. Alex is there, sweet Alex, snoring softly and snuggling into your warmth, like you keep him safe. Like your visions aren’t the ones he believed in at all.

He has always believed solely in you.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (7)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Sorry for the delay! I either have my shit together in real life or fandom life, but never both at the same time lol. Anyway, I got endless joy from reading all your reactions to last chapter’s clifhanger (sorry not sorry). I didn’t respond to comments because I don’t trust myself not to spoil anything, but just know that I appreciate every single one of your theories. Also, many of you were at least somewhat correct. (Yikes am I becoming predictable?? Gotta fix that.) This chapter ends at a good stopping point, so I’m going to switch gears and write a couple chapters of other fics (which I encourage you to read!!) before coming back to this. But fear not! I have big plans for the future of this fic, and I’ll send you all down the theory rabbit hole soon enough. xoxo

*****

The world narrows until Mac is only aware of two things: his racing heart and the fact that Riley is gone. 

The blood is fresh, but there’s no sign of a struggle—no sign of anything, really. The windows are locked and unbroken, the bedroom door is half-closed the way it always is. Not a single thing is out of place…except for Riley. 

So, where the hell is she? 

His body goes taut as the worst case scenario plays in his mind. Please don’t be gone, Mac silently begs. Please. 

The apartment is quiet. Too quiet. So when the shower turns on with a loud thunk, Mac flinches. Hard. Without thinking, he scrambles out of bed and lunges for the bathroom door. 

As he bursts through the door, Mac’s awareness shifts to three things: Riley is alive, she’s naked, and she’s screaming. 

“Mac!” She hisses, glaring over her shoulder. If looks could kill, he’d be very, very dead by now. At least her back is to him. “What the hell?” 

Mac barely hears her over the roaring in his ears. He scans her naked body, trying and failing to be professional as he scans for injuries. 

His eyes land on the blood smeared between her thighs, then the thin stream rolling down the inside of her knee. As understanding dawns on him, Mac holds out his own blood-covered hand in silent explanation. 

Riley winces. “Sorry about the blood.” 

Mac still feels a little disconnected from his body when he says, “I was afraid you were dead.”

Embarrassment floods Riley’s face. She begs,“Can we please finish this conversation when I’m not naked and bleeding all over the floor?” Mac’s gaze automatically flicks to the drops of blood between her feet, but he doesn’t move. His limbs are still frozen in place, the way they’ve been since he found her. “Get out!” Riley snaps. 

His own embarrassment finally taking hold, Mac stumbles backward, tripping over the door frame on his way out. 

While Riley showers, Mac busies himself by stripping the bed and washing the sheets and blankets. Not just because it needs to be done, but because it’s easier to process emotions when his hands are busy. It feels like he just experienced the entire spectrum of human emotion in the span of three minutes, and now all these untethered feelings are floating around in his head. As he works, Mac examines them one by one. 

He woke up this morning wanting to cuddle with Riley. Not just wanting to, but comfortable enough to act on that desire. 

When his hand landed in the blood, his brain immediately jumped to the worst case scenario. He is deeply afraid of said scenario. 

Then panic set in, as he desperately tried to prove himself wrong. 

Followed by relief at finding Riley and learning the blood was not from an injury, but from a normal bodily function. 

Then embarrassment, because he freaked out and barged in on her over something he could’ve deduced for himself if only he’d just stopped to think. He’s supposed to be smart, so why couldn’t that big brain of his, as Jack would say, figure this out? 

The answer to that question, at least, comes easily: Because it’s Riley, and he doesn’t always think with his head when it comes to her. 

For example, while he’s mortified at seeing her naked, a part of him wishes she’d been facing the other direction. 

Mac starts the washing machine and decides to do the mature thing and hide in the kitchen for the entire foreseeable future. He spies Harley lying on the couch, gazing out a window. “And where were you for all of this?” he asks. “A heads-up would’ve been nice.” 

Harley stares at him for a few seconds before resuming her vigil, and Mac hears the message, loud and clear: You’re on your own. 

When Riley still hasn’t emerged from the bedroom long after the shower turned off, Mac suspects that she’s hiding too. He doesn’t blame her. 

It’s late morning by the time the laundry is finished, and Mac can’t hide any longer. Clutching the still-warm sheets and blankets to his chest, he cautiously ventures into the bedroom. Riley is lying on the bed with her knees tucked up to her chin, and a pang of sympathy echoes in Mac’s chest. Her eyes are closed, but Mac doubts that she’s actually asleep. 

Dropping the sheets on the floor, he asks, “Are you alive?” 

Riley groans. “No.” 

“Could you please go die on the couch then, so I can make the bed?” She groans again and mumbles something incoherent. “Also you’ll feel better if you eat something.” 

“No I won’t.” She sounds like a whining toddler, and Mac has to stifle a snort. Still, a bit of the awkwardness dissipates. But only a bit. 

“Yes you will. I know you, Miss Hangry.” 

“I’m not hangry.” 

“Says the one who skipped breakfast.” 

“I was hiding from you.” 

“So was I,” Mac confesses. Riley cracks a single eye open at that, just in time to see his cheeks heat. “Trust me, I am way more embarrassed than you.” 

It takes him a second to notice that she’s blushing too. “Wanna bet?” 

Mac starts putting the fitted sheet on the unoccupied side of the mattress. “I didn’t see anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Nothing he hasn’t seen before, anyway, but Mac wisely decides to keep that part to himself. “Victoria’s secret is still a secret,” he adds with a wink. 

Riley rolls her eyes. “You did not just say that.” 

“Made you laugh, didn’t it?” Mac gives her a shit-eating grin, and despite her best attempt at hiding it, amusement slips through the cracks in Riley’s unimpressed facade. 

“Whatever. We don’t have to do anything today, do we?” Mac raises his brow at the question. For all the years he’s known Riley, she’s always been more of a ‘suck it up’ kind of person, not a ‘stay in bed’ person. So her question is surprising, if not mildly concerning. 

“Nope.” He pauses. “Are you okay? This isn’t like you.” 

Riley rolls onto her back. “Dude, it feels like someone took a cheese grater to my insides.” 

Mac winces at the mental image. “Ouch.” 

She pauses, as if contemplating her next words before she says them. “I got a new IUD a couple months ago, and this one makes my cramps way worse. I used to be able to ignore them, but this sucks.” 

Not knowing how to reply to that, he squeezes Riley’s ankle in a way he hopes is reassuring. Mac flicks his gaze up to meet hers and finds Riley already looking at him. Her gaze is warm and steady, but Mac can see hints of pain clouding her dark eyes. He thinks it isn’t fair that her body turns on her like this. 

"I'm getting back in bed the second you're done making it," she warns. 

"Go right ahead." 

Riley wanders into the kitchen, and, true to her word, reappears right when Mac finishes smoothing down the comforter, with Harley at her heels. To Mac's surprise, Harley jumps on the bed, waits for Riley to get situated, and then tucks herself into Riley's side. A smile blooms on his face. Riley puts an arm around Harley, pulling the dog into her stomach before moving to scratch her head. When Harley licks Riley’s face in return, Mac suddenly gets the feeling he's watching something private. 

Satisfied that Riley is in capable hands, Mac leaves without another word.

*****

Beneath the weathered wooden conference table, Harley’s head rests on Mac’s foot as she dozes through the Patriots’ council meeting. When they arrived, no one looked more put off by their presence than Conrad, but, true to his word, Ethan welcomed Mac and Riley with open arms and encouraged their participation. A murmur of dissent snaked through the room, but no one openly questioned Ethan’s decision to include them. 

Twenty minutes in, Mac would rather be anywhere but here. The “meeting” so far has been very little business and mostly rehashing some fishing trip a few of the guys went on over the weekend. Mac is holding out hope that it won’t be a complete waste of his time, but said hope dwindles each time someone exaggerates about the size of a fish. 

There’s nothing interesting to look at in the room, save for Riley. No art, no plants, no wall of guns. Not even a clock. Just drab gray walls with no windows. And he doesn’t dare study any of the men for longer than a second or two each. Making an enemy is as easy as looking at someone the wrong way, and Mac has no desire to antagonize the other members of the Patriots…at least not yet. 

Extricating his foot from beneath Harley’s head, he’s just about to make an excuse about needing to use the restroom when Ethan’s phone rings. After quickly checking it, Ethan excuses himself from the meeting with a curt nod to Conrad. Mac understands the look; he’s given and received it countless times himself, after all. Permission to continue without him. Because despite his tendency to toe the line, Conrad is still Ethan’s trusted lieutenant. The exchange is subtle, practiced, and apparently insignificant to the other men at the table, who are somehow still talking about fish. 

When the storytelling finally lulls, Conrad clears his throat. "Let's start with recruitment. Report." No nonsense, right to the point. Maybe he’s tired of the fish conversation too. 

As Conrad steers the conversation through the various items on the agenda, Mac realizes two things. 

One, the Patriots are far more organized than he originally made them out to be. This is no grassroots startup, and their plans go much deeper than protests and parking lot shootings. 

Two, Conrad is careful not to let anyone share too much information, instead asking everyone to give their detailed reports in individual meetings. And it's more than just trying to keep him and Riley in the dark. It's almost as if…almost as if Conrad doesn't want anyone to see the big picture besides himself. 

Mac decides to take his theory for a test drive. "I know I'm new here," he says, "but why have everyone meet with you a second time individually instead of sharing their full reports now? Wouldn't that be a better use of time?" 

Conrad sneers. "On the contrary, boy, why would I waste everyone's time making them listen to information they don't need to know?" 

It takes every ounce of Mac’s self control not to roll his eyes. 

Beneath the table, Riley grips his knee, nails digging in through his khakis. Mac wants to tell her that he’s thinking the same thing she is, but he can’t. The best he can settle for is a brief touch on her arm before needing to do something with his hands to distract himself from the way his skin burns under her touch. He elects to drum his fingers on the table, mostly to push Conrad’s buttons even further. 

If Conrad’s furrowed brow is any indication, it works. 

“Do you mind?” Conrad says with a pointed glare at Mac’s hand. 

Feigning ignorance, Mac replies, “Mind about what?” 

“The tapping.” 

“Oh!” Mac makes a show of sliding his gaze down to his hand before flattening his palm against the table. “My bad.” 

Looking none too pleased, Conrad moves on, but to Mac’s surprise, the man sitting beside him leans in to whisper, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. He's not the one to piss off." His words are tinged with genuine concern, and under different circumstances, Mac would appreciate the advice. 

"He's a man," Mac whispers back, "just like everyone else at this table." Minus Riley, of course. 

The man presses on. "The previous occupant of your seat was shot point blank for asking too many questions." Mac's brows raise at that. "You're sitting in a dead man's chair." 

Mac pockets that little detail gratefully, but he hesitates before ultimately heeding the man's warning. He fiddles with the button on his sleeve, impatiently waiting for the meeting to end so he can share his theory with Riley. 

What Mac doesn't anticipate is Riley beating him to it, pulling him aside before they're even back in the car. "Conrad's compartmentalizing information," she says in a quiet, confident tone. 

They’re too exposed to be having this conversation. Mac nervously checks for eavesdroppers, but doesn’t spot any. Deeming it safe for now, he replies, "Yeah I thought so too." 

"He's made himself essential. No one else knows how everything works." Riley pauses, eyes catching on something over his shoulder. Barely audibly, she adds, "An asshole and a control freak." He doesn’t need to turn around to know she’s looking at Conrad, not when she has a white-knuckled grip on Harley’s leash. 

"So if we eliminate him…" 

Riley nods in understanding. He’s controlling everything in an attempt to rise through the rankings and seize power. So if they eliminate Conrad, the whole organization may very well come tumbling down in his wake. 

Now they just have to figure out how the hell to accomplish that. 

"What if we help him?" Riley suggests, reading Mac’s mind. 

"What?" 

"We've spent all this time looking for the weakest link, but maybe…maybe we need to attach ourselves to the strongest one." A stray curl falls in Riley's face, and as she brushes it behind her ear, Mac absentmindedly wishes his fingers were brushing it back instead. Riley continues, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think we should help him become more powerful than he already is. That way, we can do as much damage as possible when we take him out." 

A man they don't know walks by, and Mac nods in greeting. Waiting for the man to move out of earshot, Mac drops to one knee, giving Harley a good scratch. She wags her tail and opens her mouth in a smile, clearly enjoying the attention. When the coast is clear again, Mac says, "You just made this op so much longer, but I think you're right." 

Riley snorts. "What, is there somewhere else you need to be?" 

Gazing up at the woman before him, the answer is obvious. Not unless you're coming with me. 

*****

In the gray hour before dawn crests over the world, Mac wakes to something tickling his nose. He exhales sharply, trying to blow it away, but the tickle persists.

His face is pressed into the nape of Riley's neck, and a deep inhale causes a few strands of her hair to go up his nostrils. Reaching up to brush Riley’s hair out of his face, he hesitates right before his calloused fingers brush her skin, afraid that even the barest touch will shatter the moment. As soon as Riley wakes, he'll have to hide behind his mask of indifference, and Mac isn't ready to do that yet. 

For as long as he dares, Mac allows himself to imagine what it would be like to wake up with Riley for real, in his own home. He sees her curled in his bed, sheets pulled up to her chin, hears the soft, steady cadence of her breathing, smells the lingering traces of perfume on her skin. 

Riley stirs in his arms, and the vision blurs, moving out of reach. Mac grasps for it, but it evaporates into nothingness as she settles back against him. 

He shifts his focus to the very real sensation of Riley’s body tucked into his. Her back to his chest, his leg slotted between hers, her ass pressed against his—

Shit. 

Mac jerks backward, trying to put as much space between them as possible before Riley wakes and realizes just what she scooted back against. 

Except, in his haste, Mac doesn’t realize there’s a third party present until his foot slams into the small, warm body lying at the foot of the bed. Guilt washes over him at Harley’s ensuing yelp. 

Awake, Riley mumbles, “Did you just kick the dog?” 

“It was an accident!” Mac insists, sitting up. He turns his attention to Harley. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. You can come back if you want.” He pats the bed in a way he hopes is reassuring, but Harley merely eyes him with suspicion before slinking out of the room. 

“I can’t believe you kicked the dog,” Riley says, still half-asleep. “She finally slept with us, and you betrayed her.” 

“I told you it was an accident!” 

“Betrayal.” 

Mac rakes a hand through his hair. “You’re never going to let this go, are you?” 

“Nope.” Riley sighs, rolling back to her side of the bed, and Mac isn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed. Or maybe a little bit of both. “You better go apologize.” 

Mac scoffs. “And let you take over the entire bed while I’m gone? I don’t think so.” 

And there it is. The closest they’ve come to acknowledging the evolution of their bed-sharing habits. Particularly the newfound lack of sticking to their respective sides. If he’s being honest with himself, Mac doesn’t know where to go from here. He wants to see it as a sign of things changing between them. Obviously Riley is aware of their precarious positioning, but based on her casual relocation, she doesn’t see this any differently than the dozens of times they’ve slept squished in a small space together in the past. Whether she’s aware of the other thing, she doesn’t let on. 

“Your funeral,” Riley says, pulling Mac out of his head. 

Right. 

The dog. 

The dog whose forgiveness he needs to earn via extra breakfast. Maybe extra dinner too. 

Sighing, Mac goes after her, cursing his inability to get things right with either of the females in this house. 

.

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[junicai]

boil over.

| summary | Aria gives Jaemin some tough love (and then hugs)

| word count | 2.1k

| warnings | 1 (one) curse word

| era | circa. 2017, Jaemin’s hiatus

29. “NO! You can’t get up, you’re my prisoner for today.”

40. “Get out.”

a/n: anon i am so sorry. u said it would be funny i - it took a turn and i couldnt save it im so sorry

“Nana?” 

Aria knocked gently on Jaemin’s closed bedroom door with one hand, rapping her knuckles against the dark wood while her other hand balanced a plate in her palm precariously. 

There was no response heard through the door, and Aria frowned. She raised her fist again, knocking once again. “Jaemin? You asleep?” 

A low groan sounded this time, and Aria could hear the rustling of his bed sheets. 

“Can I come in?” 

“No.” Jaemin’s voice was rough with unuse, petulant to the point where Aria could hear the pout she knew he was donning in his tone.

“Too bad,” Aria shrugged, hand pressing the door handle open regardless, “Please don’t be naked.”

A spluttered sound came from inside the room when Aria pushed open the door, eyes trained on the ground. Stepping inside, the door closed behind her with a soft click and she heard the tell-tale rustle of Jaemin’s bedsheets that he was trying to adjust himself into a sitting position.

“Nana,” Aria scolded, turning briefly to place the plate down on the desk on the opposite side of the room before crossing the floor in three quick strides to make it to Jaemin’s bedside. Her hands reached out to help him lift himself but stopped in mid-air when a glare was sent her way.

“Get out.”

Aria could tell the words were meant to be cold, but they just came out petulant when accompanied by the slight whine Jaemin let out immediately following another attempt to push himself upright. 

“Oh shush,” Aria muttered, hands slipping underneath the sheet to place one on the small of his back and using the other to press his shoulders up. Slowly, Jaemin shuffled into a more sitting-like position, back pillowed up by several pillows that had been gathered onto his bed from around the dorm.

The Dreamies had banded together and collected what pillows they could spare - Jisung offering both pillows from his bed until Jeno reminded him that he actually needed one of those if he didn’t want to have neck pain every single morning for the foreseeable future. 

Stepping back from Jaemin, Aria placed her hands on her hips, eyebrow cocked at the boy who laid sheepishly in his bed, covers tucked underneath his chin.

“How’re you feeling?” Aria asked.

“I’m alright,” Jaemin said, dismissing her with a shrug. 

“So. Do you want to explain why you’ve spent the last two weeks moping in your bedroom and I had to find out about it after coming back from practice today? Or shall I find Injunnie and let him explain?” Aria said, head tilted to the left. 

Jaemin’s eyes fell away from Aria’s face, suddenly finding interest in the pattern-less sheets that covered his bed. His fingers played with the off-white material while his teeth nibbled on his bottom lip. 

Aria let out a sigh, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. It sank slightly underneath her weight, and Aria shuffled backwards so she was sitting comfortably. 

“Nana, it’s ok. It sucks. I know.”

“Do you?” 

Aria looked up surprised, eyebrows furrowing as she looked at Jaemin’s face. There were deep purple rings beneath his eyes but his skin was clearer; the lack of make-up was doing him good. Slightly thinner - the look all of them get when they’d been too busy to find time to eat a meal. By the plate on the floor beside his bed, still with a good deal of food on it - Aria wasn’t sure if it was the lack of time or the lack of desire.

 He looked tired, but also ticked, like something she’d said had rubbed him the wrong way.

“I don’t think you do.” Jaemin’s voice wasn’t angry, but his words held weight to them regardless.

Aria sat back slightly, taken aback by the sudden change of tone. “What-”

“I don’t think you understand this at all,” Jaemin interrupted her, pushing himself further upright with another small wince. “I don’t think a single person understands what its like to be told, a year after debuting that I’m going to have to take a six month or more hiatus. I don’t think you understand that I’m sitting her, watching you all go to practice and learn new dance routines and promote; and I’m being left behind. I don’t think you get the fact that it feels like I’ve been gut punched, and then told to walk it off!”

“Nana no that’s not what’s happening-”

“It is! It is what’s happening and you’re lying to me when you say it’s not. Its like trainee days but worse because I can’t even go to the practice room. Hell, I can’t even go home because the company doesn’t want me seen outside. So I’m stuck here, alone, no one else in the dorms for the most part of the day, can’t go see my family like you normally can on a hiatus, can’t do anything except sit here and be useless! Do you know what that’s like? I can’t see my parents, I can’t practice, I can’t do what I trained to do for years and you’re telling me that you understand? Bullshit.” Jaemin was yelling now, all the words that had been building up exploding on the wrong person.

Aria felt her teeth break the skin of her lip.��

“So,forgive me, for staying in my room all day. I just didn’t fancy having to drag you all away from practice to make sure I didn’t fall over myself on the way to the bathroom.” With a resounding bite in his words, Jaemin settled himself against the pillow again. 

It seemed like the conversation was over, Jaemin with his gaze fixed downwards on his extended legs. Aria kept her eyes upwards, blinking rapidly. But the fact that they were both still sitting in silence made the atmosphere fill up with tension like a bubbling pot that was half an inch away from an overflow. 

Jaemin had his hands folded in his lap, fingers toying with the unravelling string on the hem of his t-shirt as he refused to look back up. 

The pot boiled.

“I’m sorry.”

That, was not what he was expecting. 

“I’m sorry, that was insensitive of me. You’re right, I don’t know what it feels like.”

Suddenly, Jaemin was simultaneously infinitely grateful and incredibly disappointed that it was Aria whom he was having this conversation with. 

Had it been Donghyuck, he could only imagine the screaming match it would have turned into. Donghyuck was always quick to lose his cool when someone was being uncooperative, and Jaemin was looking to get a rise out of someone. It wasn’t even that Jaemin was unwilling to talk to them anymore, it was the fact that he insinuated the fact that they didn’t care about him? Donghyuck would have brought the walls down; and Jaemin doesn’t know if that’s something he craved at this moment or not.  

Renjun would have simply turned around and left the second Jaemin got huffy - the older boy had minimal patience for things like this, and liked to remove himself from the situation before he said something he would regret. 

Aria, on the other hand, would sit there and let Jaemin yell at her for however long he needed to with her head bowed and hands in her lap. She wouldn’t yell back, wouldn’t rise to meet his anger but would sit there calmly until it fizzled out like a candle wick burned down to the end, wax spilling over slowly until it hardened and became stagnant once more. 

Jaemin didn’t think he really wanted to yell; not anymore. 

Aria still wasn’t looking at him, choosing instead to focus her gaze on the top of his headboard. Her eyes were darting back and forth slightly, like she wanted to look down at him but kept thinking better of it. 

“I don’t know what it feels like, but what I do know is that it’s not going to get better if you hole yourself up in a room for six months,” Aria explained, hands curling into fists.

“The only thing you’re doing is making it worse, Nana. So so much worse for yourself - we don’t care about having to help you do things, we don’t care about being a few minutes late to practice because you needed something from the kitchen and just couldn’t face getting up again; we don’t care. And I need you to look at me right now and tell me you understand that.”

Jaemin looked at her. 

“We don’t care,” Aria spoke softer now. “What we care about is the fact that you’re in pain right now, and we care about what we can do to help you fix that.”

Jaemin let his face scrunch up, a retort forming on the tip of his tongue. 

“There’s no shame in asking for help, Jaemin.”

Jaemin sunk, boneless, into the pillows supporting him - a crack being multiplied by ten and suddenly shattering. The pot boiled, spilling over the sides and splashing down. Tears spilled over Jaemin’s cheeks, shoulders shaking as a fist was shoved into his mouth to stop himself from making a sound. 

“Oh, Nana,” Aria’s voice was saddened, a deep blue colour as she moved to lie beside Jaemin on the bed while being careful not to jostle the boy. “Please don’t cry, it’s okay.”

Jaemin only cried harder, teeth making indents in his skin until his hand was puled gently but insistently from his mouth and was being held in Aria’s hands. With no muffler there, a sob ripped itself from his chest and he choked at the force of it. 

Aria only moved closer, pushing herself up the bed slightly to allow Jaemin to hide his face in her chest as he cried. 

Jaemin shook through his cries, Aria running a hand through his hair the entire time. It was knotted, like he hadn’t brushed through it in a few days and she made a note to bring in one of their hairbrushes later on when he was asleep. 

Slowly, his sobs petered out into small sniffles, Aria’s shirt soaked through but she paid no mind to the wet material sticking to her skin. Her back ached slightly from the odd position she had forced herself into to ensure that Jaemin wouldn’t be twisted uncomfortably.

Jaemin’s breaths evened out again over the next ten minutes or so, eventually to the point that Aria was sure that the boy had fallen asleep until he shifted slightly to look up at her from his position lying on her chest. 

His red eyes were stark against his pale skin, and Aria never thought she’d be jealous of how prettily someone cried and yet here she was. 

Jaemin rubbed at his nose slightly with the corner of his sheet, sniffling and then sneezing when the loose ends tickled his nose. He let out a watery laugh, throat clogged slightly and he cleared it when Aria began to smile despite herself.

He choked out another weak laugh before pressing himself back into Aria’s side. 

The air stilled around them, the pot taken off the heat and now cooling in the aftermath. 

Aria kept her hand carding through his hair, letting her other hand move to rub gently at Jaemin’s ear in a soothing gesture now that she didn’t need to keep herself elevated slightly. 

Her arms ached, but she paid no mind to it, instead choosing to delicately open their little pocket of serenity. 

“You’re so important to us, Nana. You can’t forget that.”

Jaemin declined to respond, instead choosing to hide his face further into the material of Aria’s clothes. 

“Even if this hiatus takes seven, or eight months. Or a year. There’s always a place for you in Dream. Always.”

This time Jaemin sniffled, still refusing to speak but let his hand come up from underneath the sheets to intertwine with Aria’s. She squeezed it lightly, holding it tight in her grasp. 

They stayed that way for another while, Jaemin slowly falling into sleep while Aria pet his hair. 

“Nana,” Aria whispered, moving closer so that he would hear her.

Jaemin made a small hum in acknowledgement. 

“I have to go prep dinner for the others, they should be back soon.” Aria apologized.

There was nothing for a second, and then Jaemin was craning up to look back at Aria; eyes wide and sparkling. 

“Stay?”

Aria stayed.

[steves-on-a-plane]

The Ambassador

Words: 1613 Square Filled for @buckybarnesbingo: Bodyguard Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Reader is a young ambassador tasked with setting up with a new US embassy in Wakanda. She is less than pleased to find out she's been assigned a body guard to watch over her.

"Enjoy your flight!” The attendant said as they handed you back your ticket. They waved you through the ramp and assured you that your luggage would be taken care of. You texted your boss, letting him know you were about to board your almost thirteen-hour flight to Wakanda. It was just the first item on a laundry list of tasks you’d have to complete in order to set up the first US embassy in Wakanda.

till tapping away at your screen, you sat in the nearest plush leather seat. You had a few emails you needed to send before the flight crew made the rounds and asked everyone to turn off electronic devices. The same attendant from before came by and took your drink order. You took note of the five other passengers on board. Traveling in a private jet might not be cheap, but so far it was more comfortable than commercial.

“Ambassador [Y/L/N]?” You looked up from your phone when someone called your name. Standing in front of you was a handsome man with neatly cropped chestnut brown hair. He was wearing black jeans, a black moto jacket and black leather gloves. Not your typical diplomat’s style. “My name is James, it will be my job to keep you safe while you’re in Wakanda.”

“I wasn’t aware I was in any danger.” You told him in a bristly tone. “It was my understanding that the Wakandan government was in full support of us building an embassy.”

“It’s standard protocol apparently.” He assured you.

“I don’t need a baby sister, James. I suggest you get off the plane now before they start to taxi us to the runway.” You advised.

“No disrespect, Ma’am, but I’m staying.” He sat down in the chair across from you. The bag he had slung over one shoulder was tossed to the floor with a thump. “I’ve been assigned to protect you and I’m a man of my word so that’s what I’m going to do. At least until the embassy is up and running and you have a full security detail.”

“Well then I’ll have you reassigned.” You took out your phone again, but the cabin crew had already closed the doors and seatbelt indicators had been turned on. It was too late to turn back now. You were stuck with him for at least the next day.

You rolled your eyes and swiveled your leather chair, so you were facing the window. It would be at least thirty minutes before you’d be allowed to use your phone or laptop. You looked out the window and watched the earth descend below. You began running through your mental checklists. You had a checklist for everything that needed to get done once you landed. You had a checklist for the welcome dinner the first night you were in Wakanda. You even had a checklist of work you wanted to accomplish during your day long flight.

What you didn’t have a checklist for was the new bodyguard you’d been saddled with. Protection details were common with embassy work, but usually the team was cleared well in advance. They weren’t just thrown onto a plane with you in the last minute. Still, it wasn’t this guy’s fault he’d been stuck with you. You swiveled your chair again to face him.

“Have you ever been Wakanda, James?” You asked, trying to make conversation.

“Once or twice.” He nodded. “You?”

“No.” You confessed. “Have you ever worked security for an ambassador before?”

“I won’t get in your way Ma’am.” He assured.

“You’d better not.” You smirked. “But I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I just think if we’re going to be working so closely together, we might as well get to know each other.”

“No thanks.” He reached into his bag and removed a book. “Kumbaya isn’t my thing.” He opened the book and began reading. You took out your laptop and got to work. You had checklists that needed tending too.

The flight crew came around and brought everyone their drink orders. When a cool glass of whiskey was placed in front of the bodyguard, he put his book down and sipped slowly. He watched you over his glass.

“Why Wakanda?” He questioned suddenly.

“I thought we weren’t talking.” You commented before drinking from your own glass.

“I don’t want to braid your hair or talk about our hopes and dreams. Sorry.” He rolled his eyes. “I want to know why an ambassador with such little experience was chosen to set up a new embassy with the US’s most important ally.”

“Not that I owe you any sort of explanation,” You sighed. “But from what I understand I was the only one who wanted it. Those ambassadors with more experience don’t want to put in the leg work needed to set up an embassy. They want to go somewhere already established, to bring their wives or mistresses somewhere romantic like Italy or France. Not to mention they aren’t dedicating their spare time to learning about the culture or the people in the nation they're assigned to.”

“And you are?” He raised his eyebrows and sounded surprised.

“You might not think so, but I’m not an idiot.” You huffed. “I’m not going to Wakanda to bring the America way to them. Wakanda’s made more technological, medical, and overall scientific advances in the last decade than we have in the past three. The US needs Wakanda far more than they need us. But it’s my job to make this whole experience feel like a mutual partnership. It’s not something I take on lightly.”

“You know.” James yawned, reaching for his book again. “I’m willing to bet if you gave that exact same speech to the king, that might be all he needs to hear.”

“Thanks for the input.” You huffed sarcastically. “I don’t know why you asked if you were just going to mock my answer.” You looked back at your computer screen.

“I wasn’t trying to mock you.” He said earnestly. “This is a genuine piece of advice, so do with it what you will, but T’Challa would rather you be honest with him. He’s very good at reading people.”

“So he’s just T’Challa to you?” You couldn’t help but smirk. Surely this man wasn’t implying what you thought he was. You looked over at him again. “Are you trying to tell me you’re on a first name basis with the King of Wakanda?”

“As a matter of fact,” He said, turning the page in his book. “I am a close friend of sorts. The royal family really helped me out of a bind a while back.”

“I thought you said you’d only been to Wakanda a few times.” You remembered.

“I said once or twice. I didn’t say for how long. I’m going to back to this now.” He said, pointing at the book.

You weren’t sure if he was bluffing and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to be or not. You thought about spending some time researching James Barnes trying to see if you could verify his story but decided that it would be better to take him at face value. After all, he had no reason to lie to you. Instead you’d sped as much time in the next ten hours as possible reworking your dinner speech and some of your other talks planned for the week. It never hurts to have a backup plan.

Six hours into the flight, Bucky had finished his first book. You’d been tapping away at your keyboard aggressively nearly the entire time. As he read the last sentence on the page and closed the book, he realized you’d gone awfully quiet. His eyes flashed to you, you were sleeping.

It didn’t look like you were sleeping comfortably either. You were still sitting upright, your head lolled to one side. If he left you like that, you’d wake up with a neck cramp and probably be even crabbier than you were before. He picked up a cashmere blanket off one of the vacant seats.

“You’re not so scary when you’re sleeping.” He whispered to himself. He leaned over and saved the document you were working on. He caught a hint of the perfume you were wearing. It smelled like Jasmine and sandalwood. He secured your laptop and reclined your seat ever so gently. The last thing he wanted was to be caught in the act of being nice to you. After ensuring that you were still asleep, you draped the blanket over you before tip toeing back to his own seat.

You awoke with only an hour left of your flight. You stretched your limbs and opened your eyes. You noticed someone had covered you with an incredibly soft blanket. The urge to snuggle up to it and go back to sleep was strong but you still had a lot of work to do. You looked to your right and James was still there, reading his book.

“What time is it?” You yawned.

“Just about three.” He told you.

“Three?” You exclaimed. “You let me sleep for six hours?”

“You looked like you needed a rest.” He explained logically.

“No what I need is…” You stopped yourself. “Look I’m under a lot of pressure to make this work. If you’re planning on being glued to my side for the foreseeable future. You’re going to have to get used to my…”

“Bristly attitude? You don’t have to worry about me. I’ve got thick skin Ma’am.” He said, casting his eyes back to his book.

“You can just call me [Y/N], James.” You told him.

“Buck.” He corrected you. “My friends call me Bucky.”

[barbecuebabybackribs]

Their Mate (Male! Reader x Jasper hale, Emmett Cullen, Edward Cullen)

Requested: Yes @shamelessloverhairdopainter

Length: Short (Sorry)

(I’m not a fan how this turned out, It was perfect in my head but it came out all EGH)

Oh how lovely being in a relationship with the three strongest vampires was, but oh how much of a pain in the ass it could be from time to time.

Usually it was pretty minor things such as fighting over there relationships with me, for instance jumping from Jasper gently caressing my hand and smiling when I leaned into his shoulder telling him about my day, to Emmett bounding in and dragging me away to play super smash bros with him, to Edward beckoning me over because he simply wanted my attention, and then a fight usually ensues about who I should spend the day with.

That’s the only fighting in this relationship I’m used to, it’s the only fighting I can handle.

So standing in front of my three extremely pissed off boyfriends while I ran through the very violent threat the Volturi threw my way, the main gist of it was humans can’t know about us, your boyfriend is a human so we’re going to come and tear him limb from limb- not exactly comforting knowing essentially the top dogs of the vampire world wants your head on a stake.

I could feel the anxiety course through me, twisting my stomach into knots, it almost felt like it had wrapped so tightly around me it was stealing every breath I took- And watching Emmett and Edward bickering on what to do wasn’t helping, Edward wanted to try and reason with them, no matter how unreasonable they were, and Emmett- oh poor Emmett had suggested setting a date on when they’d turn me so the Volturi would be kept at bay, But neither Jasper nor Edward seemed to appreciate him nonchalantly suggesting turning me in the foreseeable future- even if it was becoming clear it was a very likely out-come.

A gentle yet frigid touch to my shoulder snapped me from my anxious whirlwind of thoughts, and as I turned a sudden calm overtook me but I knew it wasn’t genuine, although looking into the beautiful golden eyes of Jasper normally would put me at great ease, however now I could tell it was artificially made by the one and only- Jasper Hale, or Whitlock as in insisted I call him in private.

“Jazz, you know I appreciate it but you also know I don’t like you using your powers on me.” I smiled at him, taking his cold hand and moving it into my own, “Don’t you want to air your opinion? I mean Edward and Em already let us know what they think, what do you think we should do?” I asked playing with his hand, putting aside him easing my anxiety with his powers for the moment.

“I think,” He paused for a moment, looking over my shoulder to Edward and Emmett, before looking into my eyes again, “As long as your with us, we’ll keep you safe. This isn’t the first time we’ve had to deal with the Volturi.” His thumb gently traced my jawline as he continued, “If it come to a battle, we’ll be prepared, This isn’t exactly my first battle.”

“Yeah, but-”

“No buts.” A voice piped up from right behind me, forcing me to let out an audible gasp and snap my head towards my other boyfriend Emmett, who seemingly had put to rest his argument since he was standing next to Edward like they weren’t just seething with rage moment before.

“Surprisingly I agree with Emmett.” Edward said with a hint of distaste in his tone but and overall comforting tone, “We’ll protect you no matter what.”

“New rule,” I sighed knowing there was no stopping them but you blame a guy for trying, “You can’t fight over me and you can’t fight for me- it’s way to dangerous and I’m not worth all that trou-” I ceased my talking when I saw the look and all three of their faces at what I was implying.

But it was true- risking the lives of all three of them and most likely more, just to save mine? A human with no particular talent or worth in the grand scheme of things-

“Stop thinking your worthless, Y/N. We wouldn’t be here if you weren’t worth it.” Edward stated as if it was obvious.

“Surprisingly I agree with Edward,” Emmett mimicked and I could tell by his smile he was joking but his tone remained serious, “I’m more then willing to kick some Volturi ass for you.”

I couldn’t hold back the breathless laugh that escaped my lips when he spoke, leave it to Emmett to lighten the incredibly dark mood. I could feel Jasper let up his control over my emotions and I could feel the anxiety I felt earlier take hold but it wasn’t as bad as earlier, it was still there on the edge of my every breath and in the pit of my stomach, but with every word that left there mouth I grew more and more comfortable around them.

“Well thanks.” I chuckled shaking my head slightly, turning back to Jasper and smiled at him, I could tell he was at ease knowing I was at ease, and despite the fact that so much was going wrong, in this moment everything felt right.

Two large arms slithered around my waist and pulled me flush against his body, “So, sorry, but I won’t be following either of your rules.” Emmett teased while resting his head on my shoulder, swaying gently back and forth.

“Well if he isn’t going to follow them,” Edward’s voice sounded from besides me and in the flash of an eye he was yanking me out of the gentle grasps of Emmett- which was only possible because Emmett didn’t expect to have to ‘guard’ me quite yet.

“Neither will I.” Edward finished his sentence smugly.

“Boys,” I joked, “How about we don’t play hot potato with the human.”

This time I was the one making the three of them laugh out, and in this moment, in the arms of Edward and looking at two of the three people I loved more then life itself, everything felt right- not perfect but nothing in life is perfect especially when your juggling three relationships, but god damn it does this moment come close

[jenonctcity]

My Beginning - Part 3

Differences – Lee Jeno

Part of the Bad Boy Series.

Badboy!Au, Streetfighter!Au

Warnings: Mentions of mental health, Disability (blindness), Mild Violence, Mentions of suicide.

Word Count: 5.3k

“It’s hard being a father.” Renjun’s words rang through Jeno’s head like a school bell echoing through empty halls. The words bouncing around and causing his headache to build every time his head repeated the words in his brain. He let out a sigh, his head resting against the back of the sofa and his eyes shut, not that it would matter if they were open, he couldn’t see either way. He just preferred to keep his eyes closed, it meant he didn’t have to remember to blink when his eyes started to dry out or irritate. For the past week, Jeno’s world had been pitch black. Mentally, emotionally, and physically. With blindness came a sense of self-pity, boredom, and the overwhelmingness of relying on others to do basic tasks. It wasn’t only the blindness that was dousing his normal way of living with stress and worry. It was also the fact that you were carrying his unborn child. A child he did not want. Despite having you with him almost 24/7 because of his accident, the two of you still had yet to talk about the elephant in the room. You both kept putting the topic off and instead focused more on how to cope with Jeno’s lack of sight. You had quit university. It was a decision that was hard for you to make, but you knew it was the right thing to do. Jeno only had his friends to rely on, and they couldn’t be there for him as much as you could. So you quit your studies. Jeno had a lot of money saved up and had gotten Renjun to sell his car on for a hefty price too, so you could both live comfortably for the foreseeable future. Of course the money would run out eventually, but hopefully by that time, you would have solutions to your problems.

Jeno could still hear your whimpers echoing around his head with Renjun’s words. The whimpers you had let out when you’d walked back into the hospital room with a cup of water and found a doctor examining Jeno’s eyes, only to be told your boyfriend had lost his sight because of the damage done from the accident. Your knees buckled and luckily Jaemin had caught you before you’d hit the floor. Jeno just laid there and listened to you sob into his best friends’ chest for what seemed like hours. He felt numb, despite all the pain he was in, and he was at a loss of what to do. He was blind, with a baby on the way. He’d never felt more useless in his entire life as he laid in that bed and stared at the darkness. Jaemin had calmed you down, with promises whispered into your hair of everything being okay. The doctor had told you that it was rare for people to lose their sight permanently from head injuries, but it could happen, and only time would tell.

“When they’re babies, you think it’s easy to take care of them and then boom, they get diarrhoea, they wiggle around a bit, and shit goes all up their back.” Jeno could almost hear the smirk in Renjun’s voice. He let out another sigh and shook his head.

“Shut up.” He grunted, clenching his fists by his side as he tried to keep calm.

“You have to be cautious of the three S’s, screaming, sick, and shit.”

“You have to be cautious of my fists Renjun.” Jeno growled, lifting his head and turning it into the direction of Renjun. “I may be blind, but I can still hear you, and I will beat the fuck out of you if you don’t shut up.” He mumbled, his threat sounding weak causing Renjun to know he didn’t mean it.

“Alright daddy, keep your diaper on.” Renjun sniggered, reaching out and patting Jeno on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine Jen; you have all of us here to support you and I am the best dad in the world. Jiyeon is still alive!”

“You forgot her name yesterday...” Jeno deadpanned with a frown on his face.

“That was because all I’ve heard for the past few days is baby names! You know I’m about to have another one, it’ll be arriving any day now.” Renjun and his girlfriend had decided not to find out what gender their baby was, instead waiting and discussing baby names constantly. She was 4 days overdue and the baby would be arriving at any time.

“I’m pretty sure she is the one who takes care of you most of the time.” Jeno let out a soft laugh, his head turning to the sound of the door as it creaked open.

“Hey.” You greeted quietly as you walked through the door, smiling at Renjun and placing the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. “Is he okay?” You mouthed silently at Renjun, to which you received a smile and a curt nod. You rushed over to the sofa and slowly sat beside Jeno, not wanting to alarm him. He had been flinching a lot more and his nerves were constantly on edge if he couldn’t hear where everyone in the room was. “Hey handsome.” Your voice was soft, and you took his clenched fist into both of your hands. Jeno let out a long sigh and roughly pulled you into a tight hug. He breathed in, basking in your scent and rubbing his cheek against your own. This was the most affection he had given you since before his accident, and you felt like crying at the sudden love he was projecting onto you.

“I’m tired and fed up of hearing Renjun’s voice.”

“Fuck you, blind ass bitch.” Renjun muttered with a laugh.

“Do you kiss your daughter with that mouth?” Jeno shot back, pushing himself to his feet and lacing his fingers with your own.

“Do you know how to use protection?” Your eyes widened as the boys kept trying to push each other’s buttons. You knew they were both only jesting and that neither of them meant any harm, so you silently started to tug Jeno towards his room as he continued to argue with Renjun.

“Right back at ya, whore.” You closed the door once you’d gotten Jeno into his room, letting out a sigh and gently pushing him to sit on his bed.

“Well I’m glad that you’re still arguing with your friends.” You laughed softly, taking off your jacket and sitting behind Jeno on the bed. You grabbed a hairbrush and ran your hand through his hair, brushing it gently and being careful of the wound he had gotten from hitting his head on the floor. “How’s your head?”

“Painful, I have a headache too.” He sighed, leaning into your touch and relaxing. You’d gotten used to taking care of him as though he was your own child. He could probably do more for himself than you would allow him to, but you didn’t want him to hurt himself yet, so you were just being extra cautious with him. Silence fell between you both, and you pressed a kiss to the top of his head, having to lean up on your knees to reach. “We have to talk about the baby. We’ve been avoiding it since we got home, and it needs to be talked about.”

“Okay.” You sighed, moving to sit beside him and looking down at your feet. “I should have made you aware I wasn’t on the pill, I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault too. It takes two people to make a baby and we were both irresponsible.” He faced forward, his voice sounding low but with a soft timber to it. You felt nauseous just from the conversation, not knowing where it would take you and what decisions you would make between the two of you. “I’m not ready for kids…I had it in my head that I would never be a parent, so this is…fucking with my head.” He ran has hands over his face and let out a groan. You could see he was battling with what to say, and you had a feeling he was going to lose his temper more than once in the upcoming months.

“Well…we should have talked about this before we started having sex. We had sex nearly everyday and you came inside of me nearly every time! Why did you not think to ask me about whether I was on contraceptive?!” You felt frustration coursing through you at how things had happened. You were too caught up the honeymoon phase of your relationship to even think about talking to him about what you both wanted in the future. You knew you wanted kids, and it didn’t bother you when you had them, especially since you were so infatuated with Jeno, you just felt like you were ready. Had you known he didn’t feel the same way, you would have done things different.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me not to finish inside of you?!” He shot right back at you, his own temper flaring up at your tone of voice. He couldn’t see you, which was making him frustrated because it was hard to tell how you were reacting based just off of your words and tone of voice.

“I wasn’t exactly a sex expert! I just laid on my back most of the time and let you do your thing, you know you’re my first for this, how was I supposed to guess that you were going to finish inside of me every fucking time!” It was starting to turn into a shouting match as you both expressed your opinions. Jeno didn’t want to admit that his breeding kink was what caused him to do it, because honestly, he felt stupid for not being cautious with his kink.

“This isn’t what I fucking wanted.” He stood up quickly, his fists clenching. He needed to hit something, but he couldn’t see what he was hitting, and there was no way in hell that he would endanger you by throwing fists blindly. You didn’t say anything to him, staying dead silent as you stewed in your thoughts and feels. Your silence made him snap. “Say something!!!”

“Are you going to leave me…?” The heart-breaking tone in your voice had Jeno’s hands unclenching and his chest rising and falling as he took a deep breath. His pause had tears welling up in your eyes, and you were glad he couldn’t see your watery eyes.

“No.” He shook his head, running a hand through his hair and gripping it tightly. You sniffed, trying to make sure that your voice was stable.

“Do you want me to get an abortion?” Your voice cracked as you spoke, warm tears falling down your cool cheeks and siting on your chin, waiting for the heaviness of more tears to fall to drip onto your tensed hands.

“No.” He answered faster this time, his own tears pooling in his eyes.

“Do you still love me?” You reached out and took one of his hands in both of your own. His fingers laced with yours, and he used your hand as a guide to sit himself back down on the bed.

“Of course I do.” He raised your hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to your fingertips. “Look, it’s going to take a long time for me to adjust to this, and I’m not going to lie to you and tell you that I’m happy about having a baby. But I love you, and I don’t want to lose you. So we’ll make it work and I’m going to be there for you and the baby…our baby.” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close to him. You squeezed him tightly, burying your head into the crook of his neck and letting out a soft sob.

“Thank you.” You whispered, kissing his jaw with a quick peck and relishing in being in his arms once more.

---

Haechan had never seen Jeno more down and depressed before in his life. It was hurting his heart to see Jeno sit on the sofa and wallow in self-pity, with the cloud of his disability and despair sitting around his head like a poisonous fog. Jeno was someone who needed to let go of his pent-up emotions, and he always did it with fighting. But he couldn’t do that easily without his sight. Haechan had been worried about Jeno’s mental health, especially because Jeno couldn’t wrap his head around the fact he was going to be a father. He’d created a life, and he knew he’d have a responsibility he had never originally signed up for. It was when Haechan had walked in on Jeno laid on the floor on his back with tear streaks on his cheek that Haechan had finally snapped.

“Get up Jeno.” He snapped with a dominating tone, kicking Jeno in the leg lightly.

“No.” He grunted back at him, not even moving a muscle.

“Get the fuck up. We’re going somewhere.” He left the room, leaving Jeno on the floor to quickly pack up a bag of things in Jeno’s room. When he came back, he saw Jeno sat up on the floor. “Get up!”

“Why?!”

“I’m fed up of you sitting there feeling sorry for yourself all of the time, we’re going to the gym. Come on!” They were teetering on it being an argument as Haechan grabbed Jeno by the collar and lifted him to his feet. Jeno shoved Haechan away roughly.

“Fuck off. I lost my sight and I’m having a baby I don’t fucking want. If I want to feel sorry for myself then I fucking will.” He growled, smacking Haechan’s hand away when it landed on his shoulder. “Don’t act like you suddenly give a fuck about me. Leave me alone.”

“Jeno you’re my fucking brother, I’m done with you not doing anything, it’s been a month and all you do is sit around and mope about the cards you’ve been dealt like no one else has any problems!!!” He shouted, causing his girlfriend to come out of their room with wide eyes.

“Hyuck, what are you doing?” Her voice made Jeno’s head hurt more.

“You can fuck off too!!!” He couldn’t help the words from leaving his mouth. She flinched, her eyes widening at the sudden attack. “You broke my heart and then tell my new girlfriend about what I’m like when I’m sleeping?! Yeah, I haven’t forgotten about that, it was as though you were trying to sabotage my happiness, but poor Jeno is a fucking push over who always lets everyone use him as a fucking doormat, so he never said anything!!!” He practically screamed, finally getting everything off of his chest. Jaemin and Renjun also appeared from their rooms, ready to step in in case anything happened. “Everyone thinks they can just say whatever they want to me or screw me over because I’m too kind to do anything about it. Fuck you all!” Jeno had tears streaming down his face that had everybody’s stomachs turning in guilt.

“Jeno calm down, this isn’t good for you.” Jaemin’s voice nearly had Jeno calming, but then his back went back up again and he shook his head, turning to where he had heard Jaemin’s voice come from.

“Don’t tell me to calm down you hypocrite, you’re the first person to get yourself into a state so bad that I have to talk you out of not killing yourself! Have I ever told you to calm down?! No! Because I know it doesn’t work. You don’t understand the pressure you put on me Jaemin, I’m constantly worried about whether I’m going to lose my best friend to depression.” He started to sob more, all of his thoughts spilling out because he couldn’t deal with them all being bundled up in his head anymore. Jaemin’s face fell and his stomach dropped through to the ground floor of the apartment building.

“Jen…” He rushed over to his best friend and bundled him up into his arms, Jeno broke down completely, his knees almost buckling as he sobbed on Jaemin’s shoulder. Jaemin silently cried as he cuddled his best friend. “I’m so sorry.”

“I can’t do it anymore; I can’t see, I’m not ready to have a baby, and people need to leave me the fuck alone.” He whimpered into Jaemin’s shoulder. “I need to process this in my own time, but everyone is rushing me!”

“Jeno, it’s going to be okay. Let it out.” He rubbed Jeno’s back, swaying them both gently. Everyone else silently left the room, letting them be alone so that Jaemin could calm Jeno down. Haechan felt horrible, he was only trying to help, but he went about it the wrong way and ended up causing his best friend to have a complete mental breakdown.

“My life has just always been a mess…then I finally meet a girl I fall in love with that hasn’t hurt me, and now I can’t even see her…Jaemin I’m starting to forget what she looks like and it hurts so much.”

“I know, I know.” He moved them both to the sofa and settled Jeno on there tenderly.

“If I wasn’t blind…I would have left.” He mumbled, looking down at his hands and feeling like the worst person in the world for saying that.

“You don’t mean that.” Jaemin shook his head and tapping Jeno on the leg. “Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

“I’m not sure if I meant it or not.”

---

 It had been 5 months since you and Jeno had came to an understanding about your baby. The past months had been difficult for you both. Jeno’s disability had been tough on you and him, but together the two of you were working through it. There had been some rough spots, like the time Jeno had tripped over his own feet and had ended up with a black eyes for a few weeks, or the time when you were super emotional because of you hormones and he snapped at you about something minor, leading you to cry on Jaemin’s shoulder for 3 hours solid. You had notice that he was still super hesitant to talk about the baby, and he would very rarely bring it up, only talking about it when someone else talked about it first. He had taken very little interest in his own child and had only touched your small bump when he was cuddling you in bed. Also, his vision hadn’t come back at all, which was making the tension inside of him get stronger and stronger the more the time went by.

“Tell your child to stop kicking me.” You mumbled, half asleep under the covers of Jeno’s bed. He was cuddling up to your neck and laying the softest of kisses to your hot skin, his lips trailing up your jaw and getting closer to your lips until he heard your words. He sighed and let out a soft groan, sitting up and placing his hand on your leg, trailing it up until he got to the small mound on your abdomen where his baby was cooking.

“It’s not kicking though?” He furrowed his eyebrows, twisting his body so he was facing your bump and placing both of his hands on it. “I can’t feel anything.” Jeno hadn’t felt the baby kick yet, he hadn’t been interested enough to ask if he could feel it whenever you made an offhanded comment about it moving, kicking, or hiccupping. You were actually taken by surprise when he’d placed his hands on the bump instead of just shrugging your words off.

“Wait a second...” You giggle and take his hands in your, moving them to either side of the bump and very gently putting pressure on them so his fingers dug in slightly. “There, feel that?” You smiled widely, watching the gentle look wash over his face as he felt his baby move for the first time. He nodded quickly, his whole body relaxing and a small smile tugging at his lips. You’d read online that the first time a father feels his child moving inside of the mother, could be a magical moment. And this was the first time you’d seen Jeno be paternal towards his unborn child, so it did feel magical to you. He suddenly pulled his hands away and cleared his throat.

“I’m worried that my sight won’t come back.” He laid back down on his side, pulling your body against his and letting out a sigh that sent a shiver down your spine. “It’s been over 5 months and I still can’t see shit…what if I never get to see our baby?”

“Jeno, give it some more time, the doctor said it could take up to a year for you to see any improvements. Don’t give up hope.” You leaned in and brushed your lips against his. His lips sought after your own when you withdrew them, causing you to smile softly and push them back against his.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” He whispered against your lips, moving the two of you so that he was half laying on top of you, being cautious of your stomach.

“You don’t have to thank me.” The kiss turned filthy, his tongue flicking against your own with one of his hands moving up to rub at your breast over your pyjama shirt. You felt arousal heat your body up for the first time in a while. You’d had sex with Jeno a couple of times since his accident, but it was getting harder to do the further along you got in your pregnancy, and Jeno often wasn’t in the mood whenever you were. “I need you.” You whispered into his mouth, gently giving his chest a push. He laid down on his back and got comfortable, his hands reaching out and trying to find your hips as you climbed on top of him. You straddled his hips, making quick work off pushing down your pyjama shorts and pushing Jeno’s boxers down just enough to pull his hardening cock out.

“Be careful baby.” Jeno muttered breathily, his hands finding purchase on your hips to keep you steady on him. You leaned down as far as you could, trying to reach his lips and letting out a whine when your bump wouldn’t allow you to get any closer to him. Jeno heard your whine and his eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I want a kiss, but I can’t reach!” You giggled through a whine, giving up and sitting back on your knees. Jeno chuckled lightly, then let out a long moan when you sunk down onto his cock, your warm walls sucking him in and sending a dull sensation of pleasure through you.

“Fuck baby, I’ve missed this.” He squeezed his shut eyes tighter, leaning his head back on the pillows. You placed your hands on his chest and rolled your hips, grinding down on his cock with vigour. He planted his feet on the bed, bucking his hips up to meet your own once you started to bounce, his cock hitting you in all the right places. You knew neither of you were going to last long, the ball inside of your stomach tightening the more you moved on top of him. He kept his hands tight to your sides, making sure you didn’t accidentally topple off of him as his thrusts got harder.

“Jeno I’m gonna cum!” You squealed, almost falling forward as you felt the fire of your orgasm rip through you, your thighs shaking and pussy convulsing around his solid cock.

“Shit!” Jeno opened his eyes as he came, his hips stuttering and his eyes immediately tearing up when he saw your blurry silhouette in the light of the room. “Fuck.” He bursts into tears, shutting his eyes immediately and letting go of your hips to cover his eyes with his hands.

“Jeno? What’s wrong?!” You carefully moved off of him, crawling beside him and trying to pull his hands from his face. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine baby.” He sniffled, rubbing his eyes and smiling through his tears. “I just love you so much. Thank you for looking past all the shit in my life and seeing the good.” He didn’t want you to know about his improvement, just in case it was a fluke and he went back to being completely blind permanently.

“Oh Jeno.” You melted on the inside at seeing him weep from the reason he gave you. “I love you too.” You leaned down, finally able to from the angle you were now sitting in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

---

Jeno had been keeping a huge secret from you. One he was actually surprised that he could keep a secret because of how much time he spent with you. But it had been two months since he first got a sliver of his vision back. And he could happily tell people that he could officially see again and was no longer classed as legally blind. His vision wasn’t the same as it once was, but he could now see clearly if he had on his new glasses. After finding out about his improving sight, he’d asked Renjun to take him to and from appointments so that he could keep it silent from you in order to surprise you when the time was right. He did admit to Renjun that when he saw you for the first time with your pregnant belly, he had a nervous breakdown. The whole situation of becoming a father finally dawning on him as he saw you struggle to put on your socks. He didn’t help you, mostly because it would have given his surprise away, which yes, he does feel bad for, but you got your socks on in the end!

Something Jeno never could have prepared himself for was when you woke him up at 3am, complaining of pains in your abdomen and whining about the food you had eaten earlier on in the day. He had cuddled you, stroked your hair, and told you to go back to sleep. You’d managed to drift off, but an hour later, you were whining even more because the pain had gotten worse, and the pain was coming in waves that didn’t seem to be slowing down, but instead of speeding up. It was when the bed suddenly became wet and Jeno had thought that you’d peed on him when you realised you were going into labour. The next thing you did was cry, because you weren’t supposed to be due for another 6 weeks, so the baby was more than a month early. Jeno had shouted for Renjun, who had come running in his pyjamas to help the two of you out. You couldn’t thank Renjun enough for all the help he’d been giving the two of you since you found out that you were going to become parents. Sure he loved to clown you both about it, but he was also a big help with getting ready for the baby’s arrival.

When you’d arrived at the hospital, you’d been taken to a room to be prepared for giving birth. You were frightened, because you knew your baby wasn’t going to be as big as most babies, and anything could happen. Jeno had been sat at your bedside through all of your contractions, his hand being held tight in your own and his lips on your forehead whispering words on encouragement. You wondered why he was wearing the glasses that he had told you were simply for fashion and because he felt strange walking around with his eyes shut, but the thought quickly rushed from your head when a painful contraction hit you like a truck.

“Fuck!” You screamed, not usually cursing but the word just tumbled from your lips as you squeezed Jeno’s hand tightly.

“You’re doing so well babe.” He kissed your sweaty forehead, pushing back the messy hair of your forehead and watching as some midwives entered the room. His heart was pounding in his chest, he knew there was no going back now, his life was about to change forever. But he didn’t know whether it was for the good or bad.

“It’s time to push now sweetheart.” The midwife said to you, her and her colleague prepping you to give birth. Jeno took a deep breath, exhaling and inhaling repeatedly to stop the panic attack that was creeping up on him like a lion about to attack a zebra. Everything went by like a blur to Jeno. He heard your groans of pain as you pushed, his hand being gripped in yours like a tightening vice as the midwives gave you words of encouragement. He was speechless, his eyes following the tiny baby as it was pulled from you and taken away to be cleaned up. Jeno had never seen a baby so small in his entire life, and he turned to look at you, his mouth hanging open in shock from the reality of becoming a father.

“Oh my god.” You let out a soft sob when they handed you your baby wrapped in a white blanket. “Jeno, it’s a boy…he’s so beautiful.” Jeno gulped, looking down at his son in your arms. You couldn’t describe the love that bloomed in your stomach as you stared down at your squirming baby in awe. He didn’t cry, he just opened his little eyes ad stared blankly up at the ceiling. “Hey little guy…”

“Can I hold him?” Jeno’s voice was wobbling and you nodded, very carefully handing over the baby to him. You still thought he couldn’t see, so to see him looking down at the baby with open eyes, his eyes flickering up and down the tiny boy’s body as he studied his son. “Minjun.” He whispered the name you’d agreed on for a boy. “He looks like a Minjun.” Jeno glanced up at you, and you felt your heart soar.

“Y-you can see?” Jeno nodded, leaning forward and kissing you tenderly on the lips. “Since when?! Jeno I’m so happy.” You started to cry once more, overwhelmed from the birth of your son and from finding out about your loves eyesight. You wanted nothing more than for Jeno to be able to see his baby, and he could. Happy wasn’t strong enough to describe how you felt.

“The past few months it’s been slowly coming back, I have to wear glasses to see but…it’s better than nothing. (Y/N) you did such a good job, he’s wonderful.” Jeno’s smile lit up his entire face like you’d never seen before. He held Minjun’s little hand with his fingertip and could feel the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Well you helped me make him.” You giggled, watching the magical moment between father and son.

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Minjun’s forehead, sniffing back his tears even though one rolled down his cheek. “I wasn’t too keen on the thought of you when I first heard you were going to be arriving you know, but now I can’t imagine not having you. I’m going to do the best I can for you, and you will have the best life I can give you. My own father wasn’t a nice man to me, he hurt me a lot, and set me up for a lifetime of worry. But that’s all my past. You and your mummy are just the beginning, my beginning.” 

---

So what are we thinking? Let me know your thoughts! This story has been a wild ride, thank you all so much for getting this far!

[sir-gwaine-my-man]

A rewrite of the ending for The Letter for the King

If we're being honest, did the ending live up to anyone's expectations? Certainly not to mine. My babies deserved better and I hope my attempt at writing can help to rectify that for anyone else looking for a happier - and hopefully better - ending. At some point, I'll probably write a fic for the entire series, possibly with an OC (maybe a younger sibling of one of the knights because I want more interactions with Piak). Feedback would be greatly appreciated! I'm always looking to improve. I struggle with accurate characterisation in fanfics when writing non-canon dialogue/scenes so if anyone has any tips then please send them my way.

I know there's maybe 12 people in the fandom (this had better become a running joke, so help me) but hopefully I will please those 12 of you. This will take place from when they exit the sewers. Without further ado, let us proceed.

5000+ words

~~~~~~~~~~

The thick, rancid scent of the sewers still lingered in the air as the novices clung to the ladder several metres up. Damp metal frigid to the touch, covered in something that they wouldn't dare to ask the origin of. Even Tiuri - who had made his way to the top of the ladder - could still smell the murky water (or, at least, what they thought to be water) below.

He swung the grate at the top open, gritting his teeth as he hoisted himself up and out of the entrance to the sewer. The fresher air was a welcome comfort in the dimly lit room, candles flickering gently in the little draughts that filtered in, and he was thankful to take in a deep breath of fresher air.

Pushing himself over the edge with a grunt of effort, he turned around to help Piak climb out, safely pulling him up. It was certainly far more graceful than Tiuri's attempt to get himself out.

"You're pushing me again," Jussipo snapped, looking down and glaring before pulling himself out as well, a look of clear disgust etched upon his face.

"Because you're going even slower than you were before," Arman retorted, evidently still frustrated at having to go through the sewers.

"It's-it's in my hair! It's in my hair." Jussipo's face contorted as he tried to hide the extent of his revulsion as he essentially jumped out of the exit.

Arman came out soon after Jussipo, quickly pushing himself out, glad to be away from the dreadful place, and was quickly followed by Foldo. "It's definitely not water," Foldo choked out through the stench, his face paling as he resisted the nauseating temptation to throw up any food still left in his stomach.

"See?" Tiuri started, trying to reintroduce some positivity into their quest that seemed to lack a favourable outcome for the foreseeable future. "I told you. Easy."

The others stared at him as though he were insane, many still looking disgusted from their time in the sewer. Foldo looked greener by the second. No one particularly wanted to know what was in the sewer now that they knew it wasn't water from his expression. They also didn't want to know how Foldo found out.

The group rushed out of the room, breaking out into a run as they hurried to get to the throne room. They had hardly made it down a single corridor before turning into a hall and running straight into a line of servants.

Attempts at acting natural were made. Bowed heads, feigned interest in the exquisitely crafted banners and candleholders - although, they had to admit, they were beautiful. But, of course, despite the dirt on their clothes, they still reeked of nobility and they neither looked nor acted like the staff of the castle, not to mention the swords hanging from their belts. Still, the servants had far more important matters to attend to other than herding some wandering nobleman's children back to the feast.

As soon as they were alone, they all raced through the open doorway, speeding down more passageways, thankful not to encounter anyone else.

"That was close!" Piak exclaimed with a smile, jogging next to Jussipo, clearly enjoying the excitement.

"Be quiet," hissed Arman sharply, turning back to the boy. "You don't know who could be lurking in the shadows, listening to our every word."

"Don't talk to him like that," Jussipo replied, moving threateningly closer, attempting to turn any anxiety brewing within him to confidence.

"I'd appreciate it if you directed your aggressive energy towards the task at hand, please," Tiuri sighed. "Besides, I think we're safe for now."

"Perhaps we should be a bit quieter, it couldn't hurt," Foldo suggested gently.

They continued their way through the castle, footsteps echoing far louder than they would've liked through the stone hallways. Cautious glances were frequently casted towards the windows, the steadily rising blood moon harsh and bold against the dark sky, glaringly bright as it outshone the gentle twinkling of the stars.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Arman asked as Tiuri led them down yet another tortuous corridor. "We're running out of time. You could be getting us lost for all we know."

"Of course I know where we're going," Tiuri insisted, vaguely remembering visiting the castle once as a child. If he was being honest, he was mostly guessing the path to the feast. "It's around this corner."

The door creaked as he pulled it open, but they paid it little mind as they hurried down a set of steps and into yet another corridor. It would be a miracle if anyone knew their way around the entire castle.

"Come on," he whispered as they ducked around a wall, praying that the area would be empty.

It was, in fact, not. "Where do you think you're going?" a heavily armoured guard asked as the five of them came to a shuddering halt in front of him.

Jussipo was just about to come forward - casting worried glances towards Foldo and Piak - with a story about how they were the sons of some visiting nobles and had gotten lost when the guard keeled over following a sharp blow to the head from the pommel of a dagger. The knights-to-be watched in confused shock as he fell over to reveal Iona behind him.

"Surprise," she said, tears evidently brimming in her eyes as she looked at the people she could almost call friends before she turned them in.

Arman rushed towards her in a fit of rage, his fist raised as he prepared to strike. He was followed by the rest of the novices, ready to jump to his defence if needed, but Arman was brought to a quick halt by the blade millimetres from his throat, glinting menacingly in the candlelight. Iona urged him back in what seemed to be reluctance.

"You have every right to hate me," she began, the dagger still held out in front of her.

"Well, we do hate you," Arman claimed, jumping forward again as Tiuri held out an arm to stop him from doing anything stupid.

"I hate me too. What I did... what I've done." She finally held the dagger back by her waist, a choked laugh escaping her as she blinked back tears that threatened to spill. "I'm sorry," Iona admitted, the tears that she had attempted to withhold streaking down her cheeks despite the wary glances the group gave each other, "for all of it. I'm sorrier than you'll ever know. But I just... I wanted you to know that."

With a determined look, she furiously wiped away the tears, seemingly angry at herself for showing such emotion. Iona turned away, ready to never see any of them again.

"Iona?" Tiuri called out.

Iona stopped, turning around as hope glittered in her eyes. Tiuri approached her, wrapping his arms around her in a comforting embrace as if to say that he forgave her, it was alright now, she was forgiven. She returned the hug with one arm, seeming to relax for a single moment.

And then the moment broke, shattering into hundreds of pieces of betrayal and hurt as she snatched the letter with her free hand.

"Every time you think you've got her pegged," Jaro chuckled as he entered the hall with two knights following, a sinister edge to his laugh, "she turns around and she surprises you all over again." Tiuri backed up to the safety of the group, fear and pain smothering his features as Iona hesitantly handed over the letter, a frown upon her face. Was this really the right thing to do? Yes, of course, Tiuri had dashed her hopes of becoming a knight, this was her only way forward. Jaro took the letter with a sickening smile, pocketing it. The group's hands reached for the hilts of their swords, prepared for a final display of courage. "Looks like the letter's not going to the king after all. Now, do you want to walk away and live or make a futile gesture of defiance and die?" Each of the boys drew their swords with little hesitation, willing to put their lives on the line to save the world they knew. "A futile gesture it is." The three Red Riders and Iona drew their swords as well, a determined grimace etched upon everyone's faces.

Jussipo turned to Piak, the brother that he had sworn to himself that he would protect at all costs. He couldn't risk Piak’s safety, not for anything, not for the world. "Stay there," he whispered, gently pushing him back.

With a fierce cry, Jaro charged towards them, the novices racing into the fight. This included Piak who had decided to ignore his brother's instructions and fight anyway with little regard for his own life and lack of training, using his lack of size to dodge any incoming attacks.

Sword clashed against sword, metal ringing out in the brutal melodies of battle. Deafening clangs that brought the children's hearts to their throats for, after all, despite all that they had been through, they were still children. Adrenaline surged through each person, the fight blurring time and reality as they solely focused on the simple motion of swinging their swords. Back and forth. Blows and parries. Attacks and counters.

Piak stayed close to Jussipo, ready to jump to his aid at a moment's notice. That was until Jaro had forced Tirui to the floor. The tip of his sword inched closer to Tiuri's throat, slowly threatening to slice through skin. Piak took the distraction as an excuse to nick the letter from Jaro's belt, instantly jumping to action.

"I've got it!" Piak called out at the same time Jussipo yelled out his name more out of fear than anger. Piak passed the letter to him as Jussipo looked towards him in a mix of frustration and admiration.

"What did I tell you?" he asked in breathless exasperation as he deflected another attack. "Tiuri!" he yelled as he flung the letter through the air, Tiuri deftly catching it. "What are you waiting for?"

"Go!" Arman and Piak insisted in sync as Tiuri rushed out of sight, quickly chased by Iona and Jaro.

In that brief moment of distraction, in those few seconds in which the group thought they could recover, one of the Red Riders lunged towards Piak, the most defenceless of them all. In that split second before the sword hit him, Jussipo saw what was happening. Not Piak, anyone but him. He wasn't even supposed to be here, he was too adventurous for his own good.

In that split second, Jussipo remembered everything he could about Piak. The way he would leap around as he practiced fighting with a wooden sword. The way he could talk about anything and everything for hours. How he would sneak him extra food from the kitchens after a particularly tough training session. How he was so carefree despite all the troubles in the world.

In that split second, Jussipo made a decision. Whatever it takes, he thought, whatever it takes to save my brother.

With a breathless but purpose filled shout of, “No!” he leapt in front of Piak. Jussipo tried to deflect the incoming sword but he knew there was little point in even attempting to raise his weapon before the sword plunged into his chest.

Everything seemed to slow down at that point. He felt as though he should cry out in pain, the agony coursing through him immeasurable. He could hear his heart beating inside his skull, strong and steady and pounding and loud, far too loud. Why was it so loud? It was becoming difficult to breathe, ragged gasps attempting to escape his lungs. Why couldn’t he breathe? Why was it so hard? The panic mixed with the agony in a violent surge, every ounce of his being fighting against the sickeningly cool metal inside him. And everything was becoming blurry and hazy and he wanted to just let go, to not be tethered to this world in which he felt so much pain. Why wouldn’t it stop hurting?

Was he dying?

And all he could do was blankly stare forward, hoping that the pain would simply vanish.

As he crumpled to the floor in a dazed heap, the faintest flicker of a smile swept across his face in the knowledge that Piak was safe, he had saved him. He hoped that Foldo would be alright. Sure, they had been friends for years, but it felt wrong to leave him after the two had just confessed their love for each other, but he would be fine, he had to be. 

Piak stood behind his injured brother as the only emotion he could feel was pure shock. This was the person he had looked up to his entire life - Jussipo couldn’t die, the very thought was inconceivable. But he had to believe it, that sword should be inside him, but Jussipo had willingly sacrificed himself to save Piak. He crouched down next to his brother, attempting to support his limp body with shaking hands.

Foldo was the first to snap out of the trance. “JUSSIPO!” he screamed, his voice cracking, his world crumbling as the boy he loved threatened to slip through his fingers. 

With a cry of despairing, rage fueled pain that no one his age should ever have to experience, Foldo swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing the knights backwards. Within seconds he was behind Jussipo, gently pulling him to his feet as he pushed Piak to safety behind him. Foldo helped Jussipo up the stairs, Arman close behind, knocking the Red Riders down the steps with a powerful blow.

The only thought running through Foldo’s head as he half dragged, half carried the stumbling Jussipo was how to save him. He was still alive, still fighting, there was still time. He would not let Jussipo die, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t forgive himself.

They rounded a corner into another deserted corridor, certain that they had lost the knights. Foldo laid Jussipo against a wall as carefully as he could, his heart clenching as Jussipo groaned in pain. Piak looked on in shock, unable to comprehend what was happening.

The world seemed to twist and turn and spin and blur as Jussipo tried to remain as still as possible, dizzying waves of nausea washing over him as darkness encroached his vision. Blood had already soaked through his tunic, slowly dripping onto the floor; a dark, thick substance that stained the ground and the novices’ moods. Foldo tried to press his hands against the wound, attempting to stop the flow of blood, but his hands shook and trembled, hot tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

“It’s alright,” Arman murmured, “I’ll do it.” Foldo gave him a nod of appreciation, withdrawing his blood soaked hands.

“I should get help,” Foldo said, beginning to stand despite his very soul shattering before Jussipo loosely grabbed his hand, pulling him back down. Jussipo could hold on until Tiuri came back, he had to hold on.

“No, stay, please,” begged Jussipo.

“It’s alright, I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” Gently, he brushed dark locks of hair from Jussipo’s face, terrified to hurt him any further.

Jussipo looked to him in dazed confusion, attempting to ignore the searing pain that shot through him with each movement. “Am I going to die, Foldo?” he asked, sounding so innocent and quiet that Foldo had to resist the urge to let out a choked sob.

“No, no. You’re going to be fine, I won’t let you die,” he said with as much confidence as he could muster.

“That’s nice, I believe you. There’s a lot of blood, though.”

“Don’t look at it, just look at me.” Foldo grabbed his hand, not daring to glance away from his eyes for a moment as he offered a weak smile. “Just try to stay awake. Everything’s going to be alright, I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Meanwhile, completely unaware of the tragedy that had befallen his friends, Tiuri ran despite the burning in his legs, despite feeling as though his lungs would tear. He was close, so close, the dining hall was only metres away. The pounding footsteps of Iona and Jaro thundered behind him but he didn’t dare to look back, he couldn’t risk slowing down.

The room fell into a stunned silence as he sprinted in, nobility providing him with questioning looks. It wasn’t every day that an Eviellan boy charged in dressed in fine clothing. Jaro and Iona came to a hasty standstill, quickly realising that they had failed. With an awkward glance at each other, they subtly backed away, hoping that they could still escape with their lives.

Slowly, Tiuri took several careful steps forward, panting slightly as his eyes darted around the room, flicking to Viridian who simply stared at him, apparently not worried about the implications the delivery of the letter could bring. One look sent chills down Tiuri’s spine as haunting eyes met his own. The guests studied him, looking down at him, judging him for his clearly Eviellan descent despite his obvious nobility. As Tiuri approached King Favian, two guards blocked his path.

“I have a letter,” he started, his voice wavering as he stood before the most powerful man in the three kingdoms, “for the king.”

“What?” the king queried. 

“What letter?” Prince Iridian asked, oozing power.

“Who cares ‘what letter’?” Fantumar demanded as he stood up, trying to play his part in stopping the letter from reaching its destination. “Does the royal court now allow mere children to enter the presence of the king?”

“My father died for this!” Tiuri cried before turning to the king. “The Black Knight with the White Shield died too.”

“The Black Knight?” the king asked, his interest piqued at the mention of such a well respected knight.

“I have his ring as proof.” He removed it from his pocket, the precious silver almost glowing in the light of the room. Favian continued to listen in concern. “He was slaughtered by Prince Viridian’s Red Riders.” Gasps echoed around the room whilst Viridian remained stoic. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

“Who is this boy?”

“He is nobody,” Fantumar insisted, sounding remarkably suspicious considering Tiuri’s claim.

“I am Tiuri, son of Sir Tiuri the Valiant. Born of Eviellan, raised in Dagonaut. And we are all in danger if you do not read this letter.”

The king looked to Prince Iridian. With a nod, he said, “Let him through.”

Hesitantly, Tiuri approached the king, flicking a fearful glance towards Viridian. He bowed, holding the letter out in front of him as King Favian stood up to take it. And there, written out in an elegant script, sat the words that confirmed Viridian’s betrayal. Twenty families he had chosen to die, a member of one of those families slowly dying in the arms of a boy of another of those families within the very castle that Viridian resided.

The king studied it, hardly daring to believe what was in front of him. His own son desired to betray him? To kill his allies? No, it seemed impossible. Reluctantly, he turned to his youngest son. “What is this?” he questioned, not even sure if he wanted to know the answer. Viridian returned a blank stare in response. “Treachery? You take my crown? Kill my friends and allies?” He paused, still reeling from the news. “Answer me!” he yelled, fury lacing every word.

“You dare ignore your king?” Iridian asked, almost as furious as his father - despite sensing the betrayal all along - but twice as vicious. “Bow your head to your father!” Short, sharp paces clicked across the stone as he advanced towards his brother. “I will not tell you again. Bow your head. Beg for your king’s mercy.”

“If the world is to be healed,” Viridian began ominously, looking through the window to see the blood moon reaching its peak, a fierce glow shining into the hall, “then the power he has, the power you want to be yours, has to be mine. The decisions you take-” He stood up, walking up to his brother. “-the decisions the people on that list take will now be taken by me.”

“What is this?”

“Lives you’ve all led, lives of comfort and luxury, lives built on the bodies of soldiers like me and my enemies, are now over.” If it wasn’t for the cruelty dripping off of Viridian’s words, he would seem to be the most reasonable one in the room. “And yes, freedom is over too. And the world will have peace at last. A peace that will last forever.”

“He’s mad,” was all the king could offer to Iridian.

Iridian looked to a knight standing close by, handing him the letter. “Sir Tristan, gather your knights and send them to these families, they may need protection.” Sir Tristant gave a sharp nod, quickly leaving the hall.

“It has been foretold,” Viridian stated with an almost giddy smile. “And there’s nothing any of us can do to stop it.” He looked to Tiuri with a sneer. “Even you.”

“Brother,” Iridian hissed, drawing his sword, “I beg to differ.”

Viridian drew his own sword with a snarl. Brother pitted against brother, familial love forgotten as the two faced each other as enemies. The swords clashed together in a blur of experience and anger. Viridian was the first to give in, lowering his weapon slightly and subjecting himself to his brother’s will. Iridian took the opportunity to sink the sword into his own brother’s chest, killing him almost instantly. Horrified gasps escaped the gathered crowd as the prince that had attempted to betray them was murdered before their eyes, Favian the most mortified of them all. 

With one last look at the fully risen moon, Viridian keeled over. Dead.

But then came the darkness. From where Viridian’s body lay came a dread filled rumbling, shaking the entire room. Dark droplets of blood rose from his body, hovering in the air as they shimmered with magic and evil. They popped and fizzled in grey wisps of smoke, gathering and collecting as Viridian’s corpse was pulled from the ground by some sort of invisible force.

A rolling cloud of grey smog seemed to engulf Viridian, coalescing around him in a violent storm of malevolent darkness. Everyone in the room rushed away as the blackening cloud stretched out, absorbing every speck of light.

But Tiuri stood his ground. He may not have the magic he thought he did coursing through his veins but the idea of backing away, of faltering, never crossed his mind. He had faith.

From the dark emerged Viridian’s face surrounded by swirling wisps of the smoke, glaring out at the world he had sought to right. “NO!” he screamed. “I was to be the light that corrected this world! And you, boy, were to be the darkness! It was foretold, this cannot be!” 

As his rage seemed to grow with every second, so did the size of the smoke. Churning and surging together in violent clashes.

“But that’s where you’re wrong, I wasn’t supposed to be anything,” Tiuri replied simply, looking back into the crowd.

With shaky steps, Lavinia pushed her way through the throng of onlooking nobles. Her heart thundered in her chest, threatening to jump out at any moment. Any sense of logic had deserted her. Surely she couldn’t defeat whatever this was. The magic inside her, however, strongly disagreed. Its warmth spread throughout her body, tingling and gentle as it guided her to where she was supposed to be.

Her eyes were wide as she approached, fearing that she couldn’t do what was expected of her, couldn’t save everyone. “I’m scared,” she whispered, her breath escaping her as everything went cold the closer she got to the cloud of darkness.

“I know.” And he took her hand, guiding her into the darkness she was destined to defeat until it swallowed her whole as Viridian seethed, the smoke boiling in anticipation.

With gritted teeth, Lavinia allowed the magic inside her to spread out in a fierce glow so bright Tiuri had to look away. Viridian squinted at it, the light seemed to burn him away into wisps of dust.

“Foolish girl,” Viridian uttered with a maniacal smirk. He turned to Tiuri, the black smoke curling around him until he was obscured from view, ostensibly whisked away from the light. “You cannot defeat me, I am too powerful for you alone.” Lavinia’s eyes darted around in a panic as the cloud began to engulf her, the light shining out of her dimming.

“But that’s where you’re wrong,” Tiuri claimed, coming back into view with a dull glow, “she’s not alone.”

Tiuri and Lavinia’s intertwined hands shone with the brightest light the world had ever seen. An intense flash of white that had saved Tiuri, passing the tiniest amounts of Lavinia’s magic into him and igniting the beginnings of a power within him so great that it would be decades before it was fully understood. For now, they pushed every ounce of energy they had into sending the flow of magic into Viridian. Grunting cries of strain escaped them as all of their strength was forced into defeating Viridian.

“Stop!” Viridian yelled as parts of his magic induced body disintegrated.

“Never,” Lavinia hissed.

With a great cacophony of sound and an explosion of light that illuminated the night for miles, Viridian was blown out of existence. The darkness had been vanquished.

The two children breathed heavy sighs of relief, panting from the exertion. “You did it.” Tiuri beamed.

“We did it,” corrected Lavinia with a weak smile. “Guess you had some magic in you after all.”

“I’m not sure what it was, to be honest.” He studied his hands in confusion before looking up at Lavinia. “Are you okay?”

“Never been better.” And then she collapsed to the floor, Tiuri rushing to catch her, proving that she was, in fact, not okay.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

She gave a weak laugh. “Would now be a good time to get that reward?”

~~~~~~~~~~

The corridor that the novices had taken cover in glowed with a fierce light as Lavinia’s magic spread throughout the castle. “They did it, they must’ve done,” Arman said hopefully. “Lavinia must’ve come back.”

“They’ll be here soon, just hold on a little longer, please,” Foldo told Jussipo who, even now, was still clinging to life, refusing to let death take him.

Arman’s hands had done very little to stop the insistent flow of blood, the red liquid staining his fingers. Despite his efforts, Jussipo had lost far too much blood for their likings. All colour had been drained from his face, ghostly white in the flickering candlelight. Shallow breaths occasionally made their way past his lips but they were often ragged and forced. His eyes were strained from the pain and it was evident that it was a struggle just to keep them open.

“Y’know, they had better knight me after all this,” Jussipo said with a weak smile, coughing slightly.

“It’ll be a grand celebration,” Piak stated, speaking up for the first time since the fight. “There’ll be a feast and tournaments and everyone can sing songs about you.”

“That would be nice. Their songs can’t beat mine, though, can they, Fol?”

“No, you’ve always had the best songs,” Foldo replied, a soft laugh escaping him.

It was only moments later when Tiuri and Lavinia stumbled into the corridor. Whilst she had regained some of her strength, she was still using Tiuri as support, his arm securely wrapped around her waist as she leaned on him. 

The pair stopped short when they saw what had happened, the novices crowded around Jussipo’s weak, dying body. Tiuri and Lavinia hurried over as quickly as they could despite Lavinia’s fragile state, kneeling beside him. Jussipo tried to sit up upon seeing them, gritting his teeth and wincing in pain.

“Easy, easy,” Foldo repeated as he gently pushed him back down with Piak’s help, pushing back Jussipo’s hair again, “easy.”

“Did we do it? Did we stop him?” Jussipo asked, terrified that everything they had done would be in vain.

Tiuri smiled. “How could we not stop him?”

Everyone let out a sigh of relief. Jussipo smiled. Even if he died he could go knowing that he had helped save the world. But the feeling of relief and celebration was brief as they focused once again on the tragedy. 

“Has he messed up my hair with all his… all his fussing?” Jussipo joked, the faintest flicker of a smile upon his face despite the stabbing pain throughout his abdomen. 

“Your hair looks good.”

“Better than good,” Arman added. “It looks great.”

“I’ve always had great hair,” Jussipo claimed, looking to the boy that had quickly become his entire world, “Ain’t that right, Fol?”

Foldo chuckled softly despite the tears brimming in his eyes and the clenching of his heart, placing a hand on Jussipo’s shoulder. He couldn’t let him go, there had to be something he could do.

With a peaceful release of breath, Jussipo closed his eyes, finally free of pain.

“He will be alright, won’t he?” Piak asked, his voice threatening to break as his confidence faltered, tears glimmering in his own eyes.

Shakily, Foldo placed two fingers against Jussipo’s neck, desperate for any sign of life. He was met with a weak but persistent pulse. “He’s still with us, just,” he sighed gratefully.

Lavinia’s hand hovered over Jussipo’s wound as she snapped out of her fatigued daze, a shimmering aura glowing around it, but it was fractured, flickering, faltering. “No,” Tiuri hissed, grabbing her arm. No one commented on how the magic looked stronger the closer Tiuri was to it. “You’re too weak, you’ve just defeated Viridian.”

“If I healed you then maybe I can save Jussipo,” Lavinia countered, attempting not to sound as exhausted as she felt.

“This injury is far worse. You could die, Lavinia.”

“If I don’t then he will die.” Lavinia turned back to Jussipo with a fierce determination, Tiuri’s hand falling back to her shoulder. 

The last remnants of magic and energy still residing in her soul were dragged out. Forced through her veins, scraping and burning as it clawed its way out. The magic seemed gentle and warm in comparison as it floated above the wound, an incandescent glow that seemed to twist and swirl. Blood stopped leaking out, vanishing altogether as the skin stitched itself back together. Lavinia collapsed back into Tiuri’s waiting arms, welcoming the comfort of sleep.

And then it was over, a scar being the only reminder. Jussipo blinked rapidly as he awoke, confused and mystified as the agonising tear in his chest dulled to a mild ache. Hesitantly, he placed a hand where he was sure the wound had been, amazed to find no blood. And everyone was smiling, they were all alright, they had won.

“You’re alright, you’re alive,” Foldo cried, tears freely falling down his cheeks as he grinned.

“I should hope so, you’d be lost without me,” Jussipo chuckled, looking up at him, the world brightening as the darkness of death left him. “You couldn’t have found a nicer corridor for me to die in?” He looked around the dusty, deserted hall.

“We didn’t have much time, the Red Riders were-”

“Shut up.” And Jussipo pushed himself to meet Foldo’s lips in a kiss of relief and passion and ecstasy, gently cupping his face in his hands. They felt invulnerable, immune to the dangers life threw at them.

“Eww,” Piak groaned despite his smile.

The pair broke apart with breathless smiles, their hearts pounding with love. There was no way they weren’t alive. Jussipo looked to his brother who threw his arms around Jussipo in a tight embrace, almost scared to let go. “You can’t get rid of me that easily, I’m not going anywhere.”

And they were happy.

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the mermay fills: 10 & 22 with indruck? 👁️👁️ (nsfw or sfw)

I went with ten (tattoos/piercings) first, since 22 will be part of another fill. I went with NSFW, and wrote this as a follow-up to my “Heat” fill from last year.

Indrid swims up  and down the hall outside the palace infirmary. He’s far from the only one doing so; the reef serpent wreaked havoc through the city before the Chosen mers defeated it. He’s not even the only person waiting to see if Duck is alright.

“Have courage, Prince Indrid Cold!” Minerva, sporting a new gash on her face, clamps her hand down on his shoulder in what he knows is her version of a comforting gesture, “Duck Newton is the strongest Chosen after myself. He will pull through.” The blue of her tentacles flashes with pride. 

“Besides” Ned, the castle mer who has, against all odds, become Indrid’s closest advisor, flicks his orange and silver tail “you informed us yourself there were no futures where our friend passed away.”

“I know.” Indrid takes a breath, intending to explain the tangled net of anxiety in his chest. All that comes out is another, “I know.”

Behind him, he hears two nurses murmuring that they’d better bump the prince’s consort up in the line, but before he can turn and order them not to, they’re gone. 

It happened like this: Duck kept his word, began courting Indrid properly once the seer's heat passed, and Indrid reciprocated without hesitation. This caused a near scandal; yes, Duck was a Chosen and thus noble to a degree, but Indrid was a prince, and a prized one. Indrid pointed out that he rather liked someone who cared about his welfare, not just his happiness, and if they had an issue with that, that was their problem not his. And so the comments about Duck moved from to his face to behind his back, which he counted as good enough.

Duck found the whole consort business stressful, given that he’d forgone his Chosen destiny in favor of tending the kelp forests specifically to avoid that kind of fanfare and politics. Thus, they steered clear of the castle when they could, spending their time with their friends in town or in the sunken ship Duck called home. 

When the serpent attacked their town, Duck discovered the limits of his rejecting his destiny, and joined the fight to save his home. Indrid is proud of him, even if his stomach churns whenever the futures shift and he has to see whether the strings of fate weave a grimmer outcome for the man he loves.

It’s well after moonrise when he’s allowed to see Duck. The other mer is half-asleep in his infirmary bed, a massive bandage on his side and one of his tentacles bitten down to a nub

“Hey darlin” The sleepy drawl is accompanied by the mer opening his arms. 

Indrid carefully settles against the non-bandaged side of him, rests his head on his chest with a relieved sigh, “I’m so glad you’re alright. Or, well, mostly alright. You’re in one piece. Sort of. I, I’m not conveying this well.”

“I ain’t dead, given how today went I’m callin that a win. Besides, this’ll grow back in no time.” He wiggles the stub of his tentacle. 

“Mmm” Indrid cuddles closer, purring softly as intact tentacles pet his tail and back.

“When’d you last sleep?” Duck murmurs, kissing the top of his head.

“Not since the attack started.”

“Seems to me we’re both due for some shut eye.”

Indrid nods, right before falling asleep and dreaming of strong tentacles and stronger arms. 

-----------------------------------------

“Guess I gotta get a tattoo now.” Duck studies the scar on his side, his bandages having permanently come off this morning. 

“I suppose so. Though, if you’ve avoided so many other parts of Chosen protocol, I fail to see how skipping this one will make things worse.”

“I dunno, I kinda like this one. Used to strike me as macho bullshit, showin off how many battle scars you got. But now...makes me think of how when the forest gets trashed by a storm, or a huge-ass monster tearin through it, there’s a certain kind of pleasure that comes from watchin it heal, watchin it go from desolated and scarred to somethin beautiful.”

Indrid loves when he talks like this, smiles dreamily as Duck adds, “you could even design it for me. I’d like that.”

“I could do you one better; I could apply it as well. And since I foresee you asking yes, I do have the training to do so. Royal mers learn to tattoo themselves, due to rules about being touched by lower ranking mers that I judiciously ignored.”

“No kiddin” Duck grins, two tentacles coiling around Indrid’s tail, teasing the red stripe, “now that I’m healed up, gonna do all kinds of things to you to remind you why you ignored those rules in the first place.”

------------------------------------------------------------------

“Are you nervous?” Indrid finishes setting out his tools on the pristine table in his pristine chambers. He tends towards messiness in his habits, but when it comes to Duck’s health he’s cleaned the whole place by hand and with magic. Twice. 

“Nah, I know I’m in good hands.” Even as he says this, a burst of anxious yellow moves up his tentacles. 

“All the same, if you need a break at any point, let me know. And if the scar starts stinging or throbbing, tell me at once.”

“You got it, darlin.”

Indrid takes his time using a spell to transfer his design to Duck’s skin, double checking the placement before picking up the charm-powered tattoo gun. When finished, the tattoo will be a small forest of kelp, with the scar making up most of the body of the serpent swimming between the leaves. Six shades of green ink, three shades of brown, one shade of copper, and black for outlining, lay on the table, Indrid dipping into each of them in turn as he brings the image to life. 

“Love watchin you draw” Duck sighs, then shudders, “sorry, gettin a hell of an adrenaline rush from the pain.”

“Just try to stay still. If you twitch or fidget too much, it will cause mistakes on my end.”

“Do my best.”

“If you don’t, I’ll just have to tie you down.” Indrid says breezily. The tentacle near him pulses purple. Desire. Interesting. 

He’s most of the way through when Duck’s arms shake, his tentacles following suit, occasionally bumping Indrid’s tail or sides.. They’re small movements, all things considered, but in most futures they mean he has to re-do the entire last third of the tattoo. 

“Nono, this won’t do at all.” He set’s the gun down, flitting across to the closet near his bed. A sea-grass rope waits, right where he left. There hasn’t been much call for it, Duck capable of restraining Indrid in a variety of ways all on his own. 

“Now” Indrid bites off several lengths of rope, “since you cannot be still, I am going to tie your tentacles down. You’re to keep your hands where I put them, or I will tie them as well.”

Ducks tentacles are now deep, unflinching purple, “Holy fuck, ‘drid.”

“Just because I am generally submissive around you does not mean I’m not capable of giving orders.” Indrid smirks, tying the first two tentacles down.

“I, I know, it’s just  you, uh, you, you never talk like this.” Duck’s eyes are wide, excited even, as they track Indrid’s circular path. 

“I suppose you don’t hear me during advisory meetings, so this is a new experience for you.”

“Maybe I oughta start sittin in on ‘em.” Duck whines when Indrid kisses his cheek but refuses to stick around long enough for Duck to kiss him back.

“Perhaps. Right now, however, you are to sit still until I’m done with you. Understood?”

“Uh huh.” Duck smiles, docile and sweet, and Indrid wonders why they never thought to try this before. 

He returns to his work, inking colors into Duck’s skin, enjoying the intimacy of learning the familiar curves of his ribs and belly in new ways. At one point he notices Duck tensing and almost moving his hand, but the other mer catches it in time. 

“Good boy.” Indrid purrs.

“Fuck.” Duck tips his head back, “how much longer?”

“About ten minutes more, I’d say. You can manage it my sweet, you’re doing so well already.”

Duck whimpers low in his throat as Indrid goes back to his work. Exactly ten minutes later, he puts a protective covering atop the tattoo and pushes his supply table aside.

“There, all done. You did wonderfully.”

“Great, now untie me.” Duck wriggles hopefully.

Indrid raises an eyebrow, “In a hurry, sweet one?”

“Yes” Duck holds out a hand, trying to coax him closer. 

“Whatever for?” He replies airly, as if can’t sense the arousal pouring off his boyfriend in waves, “and stop moving so much, you’ll aggravate the tattoo.”

“‘Drid please” The folds between his front-most tentacles ripple as his cock starts emerging. 

“Oh I see.” Indrid swims so they’re face to face, pinning Duck’s hands to the back of the chair as he leans into his space, “you want me to fuck you, is that it? You’re willing to risk pain to new scar tissue, even marring my lovingly done work, just to have your cock played with?”

“Holyfuckinshit, why is this the first time you’re talkin like this?” Duck bites his lip with a little moan as Indrid rubs their cheeks together. 

“I don’t know. In hindsight, it seems so obvious; you’re my powerful, competent mate, you always take such wonderful care of me, but you want someone to take away that power from time to time, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Duck tips his chin up, hoping for a kiss, but Indrid floats backwards out of reach,

“What shall we do about that, hmm?” He swims a slow, tight circle around the other mer, staying just out of arms reach, “shall I keep you bound until the urge passes? No, that’s far too cruel for my beloved. Perhaps I should make you see to it yourself? But no, you might accidentally hurt yourself. Hmmm, what to do, what to do….” He taps his chin as Duck growls and whines, tentacles now straining against their bonds. Indrid knows Duck could snap them easily if he needed or wanted to. Which means he wants to remain at Indrid’s mercy for the time being.

“You do look wonderful like this. I didn’t even plan it this way, but how I tied you shows off most of your assets.” Indrid rubs the upper front of his tail, “now you’re getting me all wound up.”

“Good” Duck growls, tentacles swirling purple and pink. 

“Yes it, ahnnn, it is rather good, isn’t it. After all, I have the perfect solution to the situation sitting right in front of me.”

Duck’s cock is fully out, it and the slit beneath it tempting Indrid to abandon his plan. He swims in front of the other mer, eyeing his cock approvingly, “yes, you’ll do quite nicely.”

“Thank fuckOHfummmhp” Duck’s surprised moan turns to a laugh as Indrid, having zipped upwards in a flash, finishes shoving his cock into Duck’s mouth.”

“Yesss, ohyes, goodness I love doing this, you look so charming with your lips around my cock. Ah, ah, don’t you dare move your hands from the chair. This” he gives a sharper thrust, “is all I need to be satisfied.”

Duck moans louder, which Indrid takes as his cue to hold his head in place and fuck into his mouth with abandon. 

“That’s it love, that’s it, oh I ought to have done this months ago, tied my big strong hero down and reminded him of hisAHAnnn, his duties as consort.”

“‘M ot a ero.” 

Indrid looks imperiously down his nose at him, “It’s rude to contradict someone when they’re giving you what you want, my sweet. I guess I’ll need to render you further incapable of speech” He concentrates and extends his cock, a mechanism meant to ensure he can reproduce with mers of any size or genital configuration but that he uses only to make Duck groan with pleasure. 

His orgasm is already racing towards him, as it always does when Duck lets him (or orders him to) fuck his throat, and he shuts his eyes, concentrating on tight heat and the happy, muffled grunts floating up to his ears. 

“Just a little, nnnn, little more my sweet, let your prince ravish your throat a little longerOH, ohgods, Duck, sweetheart, yes.” He cums, a shudder rippling down his tail, and doesn’t pull out until Duck struggles to swallow the rest down. The other mer is still collecting his breath when Indrid wiggles down and pushes his tongue into his slit.

“Fuck!” Duck jerks hard enough to move the chair an inch to the right.

Indrid snickers, wraps both hands around Duck’s cock, stroking it hurriedly as he raises his head, “What do you say, beloved?”

“Th-thank you?” Duck cracks an eye open. Indrid nods, then dips his head back down to to suck and tongue at the senstive skin. 

“Fuckme, ohfuck, ‘Drid, darlin’, this is fuckin incredible, gonna, gonna be such a good consort, do whatever you say, fuck you five fuckin times a day, just, FUCK, just promise we can do this again.”

“Muv ourse.” Indrid thrusts his tongue deeper, twisting his hands on his upstrokes. The fourth time he does, he pops up to suck on the head just in time to catch Duck’s cum in his mouth. He takes his time, sucking him clean with happy trills and moans while his boyfriend utters curses that would make sailors blush.

He pulls away to wipe his mouth, intending to start untying Duck. The futures show that won’t be necessary, 

Snapsnapsnapsnap

The ropes break in pairs, rapid fire, and then Duck is on him, enveloping him in arms, tentacles, and love. He tries to press closer, then winces back, “owfuck, you’re right, the tattoo is real sore.”

“It’ll be that way for a few days. Your Chosen strength will help, but you should still rest when possible.”

“I dunno” Duck kisses him sweetly, then nips his lower lip, “you know how stubborn I can be. Might have to uh, tie me to the bed.”

“That, my love, can be arranged.”